17

 

By the time Wes reached their rooms, the feeling of urgency had eased. He put his ear to Jess’s door. Voices on the television, but too low to hear what played. He raised his hand to knock then heard the familiar screech of the hotel’s cheap ironing board either being stowed or unfolded. Satisfied she was OK, he moved down a door, swiped the key card and entered his room.

He called Jordan to arrange a flight and started packing at the same time. The unlimited use of a private plane was a luxury few people had the privilege of experiencing. This was a first for Wes. The availability made his job easier.

He hung up and punched Tony’s number. It rang once. “This is Tony.”

“Hey, Jordan is expecting me and Jess within the hour. I want you to book another room somewhere. In another part of town. If this maniac is on to us and he’s killed before, you’re not safe. Until we find the leak, keep your location private. That means from Risa too.”

“Where do you want me?”

“I don’t care. Just let me know when you’ve settled in.”

“You talk to Jess about Meshach?”

“Not yet, but I will. Ride with us to the airport. You can take the car and get another hotel after we’re gone.”

“I’m not packed.”

“That’s OK. Come back, but I mean it. You get out of here this morning.”

“Got it.”

“Be ready in ten.” Wes clicked off then dialed the front desk, checked him and Jess out, and informed them of Tony’s late departure.

His employees stood in the hallway when he answered the light tap on the door a few minutes later. Jess looked smart in the same black-and-red outfit. If Tony ever appeared dressed in something other than the hoodie, Wes didn’t think he’d recognize him.

“Are you ready?” Wes tapped the iPhone in his shirt pocket and the wallet in his hip pocket. After another quick check to make sure he had everything, he grabbed his bags and stepped out.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Tony said, a big dose of whine in his tone. He smiled.

Wes squeezed Tony’s neck. “Not you.”

Jess reached and flipped up Tony’s hood. “You poor darling. Late Saturday, or early Sunday. Two days, and we’ll be back. You won’t be alone for long.”

Wes led them to the elevator. “Tony, you’ve got plenty to do. We’ll only be a text or call away.”

“I know. Just razzing you two. I don’t need to go to Las Vegas anyway.”

“Are you a gambler?” Jess said.

“Nope, but I might be tempted into thinking the odds are in my favor when I know they’re not.”

Made sense to Wes.

“I saw an interesting chirp, as you call it Tony,” Jess said. “I know y’all have seen it.”

“We have,” Wes said. “Tony saw it this morning.”

“He’s on to us, isn’t he?” she said.

This lady was sharp. “I believe he is,” Wes said. “We’re going to assume he is, for our safety.”

“Jessica, I saw Lamech’s warning before you left to pack. My bad. I should have said something,” Tony said.

She nodded. Her eyes wandered the elevator door.

Wes knew he should’ve knocked on her door. He was responsible for her safety, if not legally, then morally. But then another part of his being wanted to keep her from worrying.

They made the short trip down two floors to the lobby. Wes scanned the area when he stepped out of the elevator. Looked like business as usual. Mostly cleaning up, preparing for the next rush of overnighters. No one seemed to pay particular attention to his team. Meshach’s general description eliminated most men, but Wes didn’t know for sure if Meshach worked alone. He could have his own team on the ground with him, other than the online connections.

Although, in Wes’s experience, men like Meshach worked solo.

As they walked across the parking lot to the rental car, he made another sweep of the area. The place was swamped with automobiles. Off-airport parking businesses surrounded the Hilton. Cars waited in line at every pump at the nearby Shell station. The short and long-term airport lots were directly across the street. Meshach could be sitting in any of a thousand cars.

They loaded their bags. Jess got in the shotgun seat.

Wes closed the trunk lid, then took Tony by the elbow and handed him a thousand dollars. “Take this. Get receipts. Account for every penny. Let me know where you go. Don’t get a room downtown where you have to walk everywhere. Don’t play into his hands. I believe this guy is very dangerous.”

“You think he’s really watching us? Like now?” Tony glanced over the top of the car and stuffed the grand in his hoodie pocket.

Wes cringed. “It’s going to be hard to get receipts for that cash if you lose it.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Look, I don’t think we’re in imminent danger, but be aware of your surroundings. Lay low until we get back.”

They got into the Malibu and Wes cranked it up. He backed out, but instead of turning left to exit the lot onto Airline Boulevard, he veered right and looped around the center two rows of parked cars.

Jess glanced back at Tony then focused on Wes. “I wear big girl panties. Don’t’ ever keep me in the dark again.”

 

~*~

 

Meshach changed parking lots. He picked a space on the far west side of the hotel’s lot where he could see the front door in a side mirror.

His mom liked oldies, late 60s and 70s, even disco. His dad liked country music: steel guitars and the whining, dying, drinking stuff. Meshach hated both and he despised rap. That left gospel, Cajun, and some moron spouting opinion on talk radio. He lowered all four windows an inch. He’d as soon listen to the traffic on the roadway and the planes taking off and landing.

He caught sight of them leaving the hotel and eased lower into the seat. The old man pulled one bag and carried another. The woman did the same. Why not the fat boy? They walked up to a silver Malibu. Looked like a rental from the stickers on the back window. The woman got in the front passenger side. The other two loaded the bags and talked. Dad handed Hoodie something. If Meshach had to guess, a wad of cash. Spending money. He was staying put.

Mom and Dad were taking a trip. Where?

They got in.

Go or don’t go? Like gambling: nothing in, nothing out. This had to be who he was looking for. He liked the odds.

The Malibu backed out and drove toward the exit. A white tag in the upper right corner of the back glass would make tailing them easier. Meshach hesitated and the seconds paid off. The car made a right just as he lifted his foot to step on the brake and start the engine. They disappeared behind the line of parked cars.

Coincidence? Did one of them forget something so they had to stop by the front entrance again? He refused to believe it. He slid lower in the seat, below the windows, and counted, one thousand one, one thousand two…He watched for a reflection in the windshield. They passed on fourteen. He gave them another ten count then sat up, started the car, and sped to the nearest exit. The Malibu had turned right, away from the airport and had just passed the Shell station. He followed, two cars back.

At the second light, the target turned left and travelled a four-lane road along the right side of the airport’s perimeter fence, next to a north/south runway. General Aviation, a medium size blue building, came into view on the left, off the end of the runway. Three small private jets and two helicopters were arrayed on the tarmac in front of the place. None of the birds had identifying logos other than tail numbers. If Cole Blackwell hired them and the one-percenter supplied the transportation, this was where they’d go.

Then, in a moment, the old man slowed from forty-five miles an hour to fifteen, forcing everyone following him in the right lane to pass him on the left.

Now what? Pass or stop and blow his cover? He might be blown anyway. Meshach didn’t have a choice.

He flipped on the left blinker, moved over and put his bumper within ten feet of the pickup in front of him. As he passed the trio, he’d looked left at the United Airlines jet lined up for takeoff. Just ahead, the road forked, the ramp onto I-10 to the left, Veterans Boulevard to the right.

Meshach had found who he was looking for, and they were not amateurs.

He knew the old man would take the same ramp he did.

 

~*~

 

Wes watched the mirror as he pulled onto Airline and maneuvered into the left lane. A black sedan pulled out of the driveway behind them. “Notice anyone walk out of the hotel as we passed though the parking lot?”

Jess glanced at him then looked back. “The black car?”

“That’s a Chrysler 300 with a Hemi. I own one in matte black,” Tony said. “I saw it when we left, but I didn’t see anyone in it.”

Wes saw one occupied car in the middle row, toward the end, a white Taurus. Could he have missed the driver in the 300? How long would it take someone to stroll from the hotel, get into an automobile, and leave the parking lot? One minute, two at the least? That fact made the appearance of the Chrysler more interesting.

General Aviation, their destination, was on airport property, but the entrance was located off of Veterans Boulevard a mile away. He made a left, north, along the edge of a runway, and accelerated to forty-five miles an hour.

The black car followed.

Wes glanced at Jess’s seatbelt to make sure she was buckled in. “Tony, do you have on your seatbelt?”

“Yep.”

He had two options: drive, play the unsuspecting rabbit and use the map application on his cell phone to lead their tail into a trap and confront him, or force his hand. Identify him and shake him. If he wasn’t careful and Meshach was the driver of the 300, the first option could get someone killed. Wes glanced at Jess and Tony again and picked door number two. “You guys hang on.”

Instead of applying the brakes, he shifted the transmission into low gear. The Malibu’s engine screamed at the sudden change, slowing the car to a crawl in a matter of seconds.

“Dude,” Tony said. “That was slick. He’s moving over.” Tony craned his head around. “He’s going to pass. It’s a man, but he’s looking west. He has on sunglasses too. Got to be him!”

“Can you get a license plate number?” Wes watched in the side mirror as the cars shuffled to avoid him.

“I’ll try to get a front plate, but he’s tailgating the pickup. Only forty-eight, the last two numbers,” Tony said.

The Chrysler passed and moved farther left. A car behind him obscured the rear plate.

Ideally, he’d move over right behind the subject car as it passed and put pressure on the driver, tailgating him to get a reaction, see what cards he held. This time, he couldn’t, too much traffic.

Wes stepped on the gas pedal then moved rapidly through the gears using the car’s manual Techtronic transmission. “The rear plate’s dirty. Clean car, dirty plate. This reeks.”

One hundred yards ahead, the car turned right to exit onto Veterans.

The Malibu’s speedometer needle passed sixty before catching up with the two cars following the Chrysler.

Wes braked hard.

Jess pushed against the deceleration, arms stiff, clutching the sides of the seat. “He’s going right. Watch it. Traffic to the west. No way.”

She was correct. They were stymied. He braked to a stop. They’d gone from prey to predator to stifled by traffic in less than thirty seconds. “You see him. Watch for him. This isn’t over yet. Here we go.” He pulled in front of a red car and waved a quick sorry to the driver for the offense. “You got him?”

“I don’t. He’s gone. Too much traffic,” Jess said. “Tony?”

“Nope. Lost him.”

They sped through the light on Williams just as it turned red. A black car turned in behind them from the right. Wes knew. “There he is, far lane. That’s enough.”

Veterans Boulevard spanned six lanes, three each direction, with a wide, grass-covered median. They’d just passed a U-turn access. The guy was thirty yards back, two lanes over, behind two cars. A delivery truck and three cars were lined up in the center lane. From the light on Williams, far to the rear, it looked like the start of a NASCAR event speeding their way. It was going to be close. He stood on the brakes, put the Malibu in reverse, and hit the gas. In a second, they were traveling backward at forty miles an hour.

The Chrysler went by on the other side of the delivery truck.

As they came even with the U-turn lane, Wes made the same move in reverse. Once moving forward, he veered left and made the turn, headed in the opposite direction.

If it was Meshach, there was nothing he could do.

Tony sat quiet as a titmouse.

Jess smiled. “Nice driving.”