BASED ON WHAT I saw, the way the scene developed, I didn’t have any time at all to think it through, to put all the pieces together to see if they fit, before I had to act.
Not far down the curved street, headed right at me, a red Peterbilt semi pulling a forty-foot trailer chugged out of an empty parking lot. The trailer advertised for its company with a large painting on the side, in the style and creative motif of an old-time traveling circus, clearly by the same artist who’d done the airbrush painting on Bobby Ray’s motorcycle.
The painting stopped me cold, made my mind run at full speed trying to catch up. It depicted a large gray elephant with big floppy ears, happy as he flew through a blue sky loaded with fluffy white clouds. The elephant wore a jaunty hat and a huge smile. Big red letters announced the logo, “Dumbo Auto Parts without a Jumbo price.”
Nothing more than a ruse, a cover for what really lay inside.
Jumbo would never put up with being called Dumbo; he hated it. This reeked of Bobby Ray’s morally bankrupt sense of humor—a cute, childlike character painted on a truck hauling a lethal payload.
Sonja pulled into the same driveway the truck came out of and disappeared from view around the back of that same truck as she drove deeper into the parking area.
I slowed, and at the last second cut in front of the Peterbilt, making the driver slam on his brakes. I got out, my hand in my pocket, pressing the panic button on the FBI phone. I held down the button and started counting as I waved and smiled at the driver.
One thousand one.
One thousand two
One thousand three.
I went up to the driver’s window and looked up at a biker with a craggy face and dirty brown hair down to his shoulders. The small black tattoo of a cross in the corner of his right eye disappeared when he squinted.
“What the hell you think you’re doin’, asshole?” he said. “Get that piece of crap outta the way or I’ll ram it outta the way.”
One thousand six.
One thousand seven.
“Ho, hey, oh, sorry,” I said, as the count continued in my head. “I just wanted to know if this was the warehouse for Jumbo Auto Parts.”
“Hell, no. Now move it or lose it.”
I waved again, took a step to the side, and tossed the phone on top of a folded-up blue tarp, the one strapped down with bungee cords in between the semi cab and the trailer. The phone wouldn’t stay there long, a few miles anyway. But maybe long enough.
I’d just tossed away my safety net. I’d just tossed away Marie’s safety net.
I got back in the GMC and went to find Sonja’s truck.
She had parked right out in the open by a shorter, smaller side door next to a larger roll-up door. The faded, defunct sign above the small door read Heavy Metal Extractors Inc.
She stood next to her truck with her arms crossed, her eyes watching me park and get out.
I thought in this situation that as soon as she spoke I’d slink away like the dirty, low-down dog that I was. I no longer felt that way, not with Marie’s safety at stake.
“Where’s my wife?”
Her expression of contempt turned to confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Marie’s gone.”
She said, “What the . . . What about my grandbaby?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She ran to the side door, yanked on the knob, and disappeared inside.
I drew the Smith .45, held it down by my leg, and followed her. Just before I went across the threshold, I looked up. A small closed-circuit TV camera, an older model under the high eave, watched all who entered. Bobby Ray knew I was coming. Nothing I could do about it.
We moved through a small office with a dusty and cluttered counter, right on to the pass-thru door and out into the warehouse.
The warehouse looked immaculate: stacked boxes, a big yellow forklift, shelving with more boxes. Lots of boxes marked Lamboni Bros. Stereos, Big Steve’s Appliances, or Dentco Inc.
Shipping and receiving central for Bobby Ray’s gun-smuggling operation.
And Sonja brought me right to it.
She didn’t plan on letting me survive this little meeting.
In the open bay area sat the sleek new van from the meet with Jumbo at the Sears parking lot, the one Bobby Ray had looked out from.
He now sat at a desk in the center of the bay with his feet up. Monster stood right next to him, Bobby Ray’s bulldog ready to be let loose. Neither overtly carried a gun.
I raised the Smith .45 just as Sonja yelled at Bobby Ray. “What the hell? What’d you do with my grandbaby? I told you not to mess with my grandchild, you son of a bitch.”
“You need to settle the fuck down, woman.” He stood and hooked his thumbs in his belt.
Monster started toward me.
Bobby Ray wore a black leather vest with Visigoths embroidered on the right chest. On the left side in smaller letters he had President. He wanted me to be sure what happened to me next came from the Goths’ organization, the revenge for what had happened out on the freeway. He grinned and said to me, “So you—”
I shot Monster in the knee. He went down in a heap and rolled to his side, put both hands on his leg, his fingers instantly going red. The gunshot echoed off the boxes with a loud slap. A cloud of white gun smoke rose in the still air.
I pointed the .45 at Bobby Ray, who’d reached behind his back for his weapon. He’d gotten slow being president and not having to get his hands dirty.
“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not in a good mood. I only need one of you alive to tell me where my wife is. And the way things are going, I’d just as soon make it Monster. I don’t like you very much, Bobby Ray.” I spit his name out. “So do yourself a favor. Take it out slow and toss it on the floor.”
He froze, his hand behind his back. He didn’t lose his grin. “You think I didn’t know you were coming, dickhead? You think I’d just let you waltz in here big as you please and throw down on me if I wasn’t holdin’ trump?”
Monster rolled and moaned, leaking on the clean floor.
I had one round left in the gun. That’s all I needed for Bobby Ray.
Sonja stuck a gun to the side of my head. “Gimme the gun, Bruno.”