A Fistful of Empty Page 14

  “That’s all very interesting, Mr.…”

  “Hicks. Braxton Hicks.” I deadpanned.

  “Cute.”

  “You’ll get my real name when we’re partners.”

  “You still haven’t told me anything that proves you’ve got my data.”

  “All right. You snuck in using an unlisted phone number that you’d requested for Sally Boszik. On Fridays you waited until the buffer was loaded, then you degraded the data that was collected for the week. The significant drug effects would be invisible to Dr. Schatzkin’s team. You kept the actual data elsewhere, on a subdirectory in Sally Boszik’s name. Do you need more?”

  Sylvia rotated her coffee cup while she calculated her options.

  “So, what do you want?”

  “I like that. Right to the bottom line. This is a business deal. First, a finder’s fee. Say fifty thousand dollars cash. That’s for the disk itself. Then I want to participate in the investment potential of what’s on the disk. Say a percentage off the top of Palmetto Research. If you are onto something here, we all get rich together. If not, I’ve been paid for my time and considerable trouble and we go our separate ways.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “I take this disk to the police and Dr. Schatzkin. I’m a good citizen and you’re muff-diving for cigarettes in the Graybar Hotel. Trust me on this one. You’re not cut out to do time. So, what’ll it be?”

  She sat there, her hands clasped to her mouth, a faraway look in her eyes. Inside she was running to every exit her mind could conjure and finding each one bricked up. Hope starts at a gallop. Then a prance. Then a trot. Outside the last door you’re trudging uphill and there’s no air to breathe.

  “Okay, we’ll do it your way,” she said flatly.

  “There you go. That wasn’t so bad. Relax. This is going to work out just great. We’re all going to be rich. You’re going to be famous.

  “Oh yeah, there’s one more thing. The guy you hired to get this disk. He’s going to have to be eliminated. That’s my ticket of admission to this little gold mine.”

  “Why eliminated?”

  “Because the guy you hired is a fucking psycho. He’s already killed three people looking for this disk. He’s like way overextended, and I don’t think that just saying no to him is going to cut it.”

  Sylvia’s alarm at the death count seemed genuine, so I pressed on. “You didn’t know any of this, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  “How did you think this guy was going to do your dirty work?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  I leaned over the table. “What did you tell him, then?”

  She avoided my eyes and shrugged.

  “So, yeah, he needs to be eliminated. He ties you to three murders and he didn’t get the disk. Jesus, I hope you’re better in the lab than you are in the real world, Doc, or we’re all fucked anyway.”

  “Don’t worry about my competence in the lab. None of this would have happened if Schatzkin gave me the credit I was owed.”

  “Whatever. Just tell me about the guy.”

  She rested her head in her palm and dully recited the facts. “His name is Otto Kugler. Late twenties, no fixed address. Multiple drug abuser. PCP, grass, alcohol, you name it. Unemployed. I think he came out here from L.A. What else do you need to know?”

  “How about a description?”

  “About your size. Not so broad. Wiry. Very muscular, though. He’s quite tanned. He’s bald and he’s got a van dyke beard. His face is deeply lined. He looks quite a bit older than he is.”

  “Anything else? What’s the most distinctive thing about him?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t spend a whole lot of time with him, and I sure wasn’t going to stare at him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was hyper to begin with, and real paranoid about our meeting.”

  “So, what do you remember most about him?”

  “I don’t know. His mouth, maybe.”

  “What about it?”

  “He had no lips. Just this thin white line in his face. Like a scar that talked.”

  “All right. I’m going to take care of this guy. When it’s done, I’ll call you and we’ll meet to conclude our business. You need to come up with fifty grand. So I’ll let you get on it.” I pushed away from the table and stood up.

  “Uh, Mr. Hicks, this has all been quite entertaining, but inconclusive. On the offchance that you’re a policeman, I don’t think that I’ve admitted to anything other than having met a man named Otto Kugler. Of course, I’ve indulged your fantasies, but that was under duress, you breaking in here and holding me at gunpoint.”

  I shook my head. “Doctor, I have proof of everything I said to you. But I don’t want to use it. You know, you being the goose with the golden egg and everything. Tell you what, though. I can see where you’re coming from. You’ve got a lot more to fear from me than I do from you. That’s no way for a relationship to begin. I think the answer is for us both to be dirty. I’ve got to kill Kugler anyway. How about I bring you his head for proof? Or any other part you want?”

  She flinched, but didn’t answer. I went on, “We’ve got a deal, Doc. I’m going to do my end. You do your end and we’ll get along great. You don’t, and this is all gone.”

  I walked over and fingered the lapel on her robe. “No more silk robes. No more fresh-brewed coffee. No croissants.” I grabbed her chin. “Three months inside and you’ll think Santa Claus brought you this deal.”

  As I walked out, I picked up my clipboard and left her knife on the table by the door.

  Stepping through the doorway, I pulled it shut behind me. One down and one to go.

  34

  I climbed into Del’s car. He had the phone in his hand.

  “Cutting it close, aren’t we?”

  “Hey, that’s big-time detective work, Del.”

  “Now what?”

  “Sit on her. Make it an open shadow. If she knows she’s being watched, I think she’ll be good. She’s got a let to do. Don’t get too close, though. I don’t want her frightened, just aware.” I slapped him on the thigh. “It’s a time for subtlety, Del.”

  I got out of the car, and told him to call me on my beeper every three hours with a report on the surveillance.

  Back at my own car, I stowed my gear in the trunk and began to think about my meeting with Otto Kugler. Exchanges are hell to arrange. Everybody wants the same protection, but they pose different threats to each other. I tried on scenarios from Kugler’s point of view and then my own. I discarded lots of locations until I had one that worked for both of us.

  A couple of phone calls completed my plans. There was nothing to do now but wait for Kugler to call.

  Just after nine, my beeper went off. It was my office calling. I rang back and got Kelly.

  “It’s that guy, Leo. The one who called before. I told him you weren’t here, but I could reach you. He’s holding on line 22.”

  “Fine. Run it like a conference call. Call me on my car phone and I’ll talk to him.”

  “Anything else?” she asked expectantly.

  “No, Kelly. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” she said with some reluctance.

  “Kelly, don’t tape this one. Just hook up the calls and go downstairs for a donut. What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and waited for her to ring me back. When she did, I let it ring twice. No need to look eager.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Time’s up, Haggerty. You got the key?”

  “I’ve got it. Let’s just work out a way to make the exchange.”

  “I know a place. Down by the river. It’s quiet. We won’t get interrupted.”

  “No, thanks. A public place is more what I had in mind.”

  “Fuck that. How do I know it’s not a trap? You could have cops all over the place.”

  “Right. And I’m going to some isolated s
pot with you. Guess again.”

  After a moment of silence, I started again.

  “Look, I’ve got an idea. There’s a pedestrian overpass on the Beltway. It’s just north of the Braddock Road Exit. You approach it from the south and I will from the north. We pull our cars up under the overpass, get out and walk across to the other one’s car, get in and drive away. I leave the key you want in my car. We make the exchange and everyone lives happily ever after.”

  “Wait a minute. Suppose there’s no key in your car or it’s the wrong key?”

  “Then we’re back to square one. I’ve got the key and you on my back. If I were going to stiff you, why bother with the exchange at all? I just tell you to fuck yourself and I disappear. No, I’ve had enough of this. I just want to get on with my life. You can have the key.”

  “Okay. Sounds good so far. An overpass is pretty exposed, though.”

  “Not this one. They had a jumper there, so now it’s enclosed in a steel mesh. What are you worried about anyway, a sniper? Hell, bring a gun yourself. I don’t care. When you get to your side of the overpass, start to cross with your arms up. I’ll do the same. Either one of us goes for it, the other one can start blasting away. It’s wide enough for us to pass each other without getting too close.”

  “Okay. Let’s get it over, then.”

  “Wait a minute. What kind of car will you be driving?”

  “A Jeep Cherokee. Dark blue.”

  “Okay, but I need a description, too. I don’t even know what you look like.”

  “Yeah, right. Okay. I’m five feet ten, about 230. I’m wearing blue jeans and an orange T-shirt.”

  “Yeah, and …”

  “And what?”

  “So are you blond, bearded, wear glasses? I’m not getting out unless I know it’s you on the other side.”

  “Yeah. I got blond hair. It’s pulled back in a ponytail. No beard or nothing and I’ll be wearing shades.”

  “Okay. I’m driving a steel gray BMW. Four doors. I’m about six feet tall …”

  “Hey, don’t bother, sport. I know what you look like. I saw enough pictures of you to last a lifetime.”

  “I’m sure you did. Let’s get this over with. I can be at the overpass in ten minutes.”

  “Whoa. You picked the place. I’ll pick the time. I’m nowhere near there. Say forty-five minutes.”

  “Fine. When I see you, I’ll pull up to the overpass on my side. When we cut our engines, we get out together. Any delay on your part and I’m out of there. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Hands overhead, just go straight to the overpass, and we walk across. The key will be on the front dashboard of the car. The ignition key will be in the lock. Just get in and drive away. When you’re satisfied, call my office and leave a message where I can pick up the car. I’ll leave one for you. And don’t get any smart ideas. My car’s a rental. I’ll just have some stranger return it to the agency. This is where you get off.”

  “Yeah? You still gotta carry me for another forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ve got nine-thirty right now. What about you?”

  “Yeah, nine-thirty.”

  “See you at ten-fifteen, then.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  We hung up. Lying fuck. I twisted the key in the ignition, slapped the gears into first, and sped out of the lot.

  Fifteen minutes later I got off the road and slowed to a halt. I could see the exchange point between the trees.

  I pulled my Colt out of my holster and laid it on the seat next to me.

  “Well, Arnie, how’re we doing?” I said and looked into my rear-view mirror. His silence caught in my throat. I could almost see him there. The slick patches of skin on his face and head, the grafts that accepted no emotions, that conveyed no feelings. He’d say, “Enjoy it. Revenge is a luxury item. You’ve got to be able to keep score to even it. Most people can’t count that high.”

  And what was our score? Twice he’d saved my life. Panczak’s goons lay in unmarked graves in the Lorton woods. All three of them. Gutierrez’s gunman in Georgetown. That was the score I wished I could even. This was too little and too late. “It’s the best I can do, though,” I said to no one in particular.

  Too many times I’d consoled myself with the thought that Arnie would avenge me. That he was implacable and irresistible and on his way. How could I do less? He was a bastard, then an orphan. No wife, no children, some enemies, fewer friends, and no equals. If I would not do this for him, what he would do without a second thought, then he was never here at all.

  That just left Sam. She was right. I’d played fast and loose with her. She’d asked me not to go out. My decision, but she’d paid the price. Everybody had paid a price except me and Otto. That wasn’t fair. If you can’t make something good, at least make it fair. It was time Otto and I paid our share. I closed my eyes, afraid that I might see how far short this fell. I pressed the Colt’s barrel against my forehead and rubbed it back and forth. The metal was cold. And smooth. As smooth as the teardrops that would not fall.

  35

  Twenty minutes later the exchange began. I saw Kugler’s Cherokee pull up. He got out of the car and he was armed. A sawed-off shotgun. Probably the one he killed Arnie with.

  Just about time for me to pull up. And I would have, except the Jeep was now on the far side of the overpass and Kugler was crouched in the woods behind my side of the ramp. I wasn’t at all surprised that a burly, clean-shaven blond climbed out of the Jeep and put his hands in the air.

  It was okay though, because I was standing in the woods behind Kugler.

  The gray BMW sedan pulled off the road and came down the shoulder. When it came to a halt, the driver put the key on the dashboard and turned off the motor.

  Kugler waited until he heard the click of the door lock. He rushed out of his hiding place and fired a blast at the windows of the car. Hunched over with enthusiasm, he fired round after round into the car.

  Inside, the driver turned and waved at Kugler. Masked by the noise of his firing, I charged through the woods until I stood just off his right shoulder.

  Arms extended, all I saw was the notch in my sights. Startled, Kugler spun toward me, I centered the notch on his chest as his gun swung in a downward arc. He might have shot me. He might have thrown it down. I didn’t wait to find out. I pulled the trigger and kept on pulling until the slide locked.

  Kugler was on his back, arms out. He’d flung the shotgun behind him. I walked over to him. He had four holes in his chest, and a fifth where his left nostril used to be.

  There was a screech of tires and I crouched and spun toward the road. The Cherokee was racing down the far shoulder. I straightened up and watched it disappear up the exit ramp.

  Holstering my gun, I leaned over Kugler’s body. “Now, you’re off my back.”

  36

  I walked over to the car. The door was sprayed with pellet holes and the window was a lattice of white fissures from the buckshot.

  I pulled the door open and slid in. Davey Isaacs was smiling. He was an old friend and part of my groundwork for good luck. We had worked together as bodyguards, first for Franklin Security, then freelance.

  “Go down like you figured?”

  “Absolutely. He couldn’t resist an ambush. I set it up so this one made the most sense. When he lied to me about his description, I knew he was going to do it.”

  “So you bushwacked the bushwacker.”

  “That’s right.” I shook my head. “Why’d you wave at him?”

  “Distract him. Let him know he was fucked before it happened. So he’d go out knowing he’d been played for a chump.”

  “I hope so.”

  I turned and ran my fingers over the bulletproof glass in the window. Not a single pellet had penetrated. The Kevlar panels in the door had absorbed the rest of the buckshot.

  “Thanks, Davey. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Hey, Leo. After you told me about A
rnie and everything, how could I not help?”

  “I couldn’t assume it, though. It means a lot to me, Davey. I won’t forget it.”

  “Hey, I was glad to do it. You were cold, man, I’ll tell you. He was down, out, and gone, and you were still pulling the trigger like he couldn’t get dead enough to satisfy you.”

  “You’re right about that. This’ll have to do, though.”

  I reached down and picked up the car phone. Davey pulled out a flask and offered me some as I dialed. I took a pull while he was putting his housekey back on his ring, and gave it back to him.

  “Lieutenant Arbaugh, please. Tell him it’s Leo Haggerty calling. It’s important.”

  “Haggerty, where are you?” he demanded when he got on the line.

  “Sitting in a car, Lieutenant. I called to tell you that I was attacked today. I think it was the same man who attacked my … uh … Samantha Clayton.”

  “Attacked you, huh? Are you okay?” he said without a hint of concern.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Lieutenant.”

  “How about this guy? Can you describe him?”

  “Oh, sure. Caucasian. About six feet, two hundred pounds, bald. He’s got a beard. Brown eyes.”

  “Any distinguishing marks?”

  “Yeah. He’s got them, too. Five bullet holes. A close group in the chest and one in the nose …”

  “Jesus Christ, Haggerty, where are you?”

  “I’m on the shoulder of the Beltway. At the pedestrian overpass, right before the Braddock Road Exit.”

  “This guy, he’s there, too?”

  “Totally.”

  “Should we send an ambulance?”

  “There’s no rush.”

  “Shit, don’t move. I’m on my way.”

  I hung up the phone and we waited. Ten minutes passed and there was an ambulance, a cruiser with two uniformed officers, the crime scene wagon, Arbaugh, and yellow tape going up everywhere. They impounded Davey’s car and took my gun and Kugler’s shotgun. They searched for the three slugs I fired into the trees, and issued an APB for the blue Jeep. Kugler was officially pronounced dead, tagged, bagged, and put into the ambulance. Davey and I got separate rides to the station house and separate audiences for our versions of what happened.