Grave Consequences Page 10

  Within a few minutes of their scheduled time, 9:30 PM, they saw headlights, then the Ford pickup approaching. Following several car lengths behind the pickup was a white van.

  Gordon, in the backseat, was crouched down low, the rifle with the nightscope on the bench seat beside him. It was up to Charlie, pretending to be using his cell phone, to keep track of the vehicles.

  “Okay, there goes the target,” Charlie announced, getting a quick look at the rear tag as the big pickup cruised by at a leisurely pace. It was very dark this far north from the city lights, the speed limit was 45 mph, and the part-time instructor was driving conservatively. “And here’s the chase vehicle, an old, dirty Chevy van, nice and heavy.”

  The van slowed as it passed him and Gordon, and Charlie, wearing a painter’s cap, turned his head away to avoid a good profile in case anyone knew his face. “Giving me a good look, I’m guessing. These guys are careful.”

  The van accelerated on. Charlie waited a moment before making a three-point turn, facing in the direction of the two vehicles but keeping his lights off.

  Gordon sat up. “They should be making their move right around the next curve, if we guessed right. According to what DuPree’s told us regarding victim accounts, they follow a regular routine—signal to pass, then cutting off the victim and forcing him or her to stop to avoid a collision.”

  “And they jump out and wave around their guns.” Charlie checked the rearview mirror, just in case. “Nothing behind us but Bernalillo.”

  They had their windows down and only a few more seconds passed before they heard the squeal of tires in the distance. Ahead, he could see the two vehicles that had passed blocking most of the road, which was narrow here, with irrigation ditches on either side.

  “It’s going down,” Gordon announced. “We missed picking the spot by less than a quarter mile. Let’s do this.” He pulled the ski mask down over his face.

  Charlie drove slowly toward the site of the carjacking, lights still off, then stopped, blocking the narrow road at a forty-five-degree angle. Gordon jumped out with the assault rifle. He ran over to the irrigation ditch, dropped to the ground, then found a suitable firing position, hidden by tall grasses. Charlie pulled down his own mask, climbed out, ran around and raised the hood, placing an old skillet atop the radiator.

  Whipping out a lighter, he watched the carjacking in the distance, waiting for the right moment to light the fuse of the smoke bomb he’d placed in the skillet.

  Once the two vehicles down the road began to move, Charlie lit the smoke bomb and stepped away, moving from side to side in mock panic but keeping his back to the approaching headlights. It took less than fifteen seconds for them to arrive, the pickup leading the way.

  The just-carjacked F-250 skidded to a stop and the driver jumped out of the cab, still wearing a black ski mask and waving a pistol. “Get that piece of shit off the road!” the guy yelled. The following van stopped just behind the pickup. As Charlie turned to face them, he could see two masked men inside.

  Gordon shot out the driver’s side front tire of the van.

  The pickup driver looked toward the ditch and Charlie used the distraction to Taser the man. The carjacker’s pistol went off before it fell out of his hand, the bullet striking the pavement. The driver fell to the asphalt, thrashing around like a trout on a hook.

  “Out of the van, assholes!” Gordon yelled, walking rapidly toward the vehicle, keeping the dot of the laser sight on the van driver’s face mask.

  Charlie turned off the Taser, then brought out his Beretta as he advanced toward the dazed pickup driver still twitching on the road. “Make a move and you’ll have more blood than piss on your pants,” Charlie yelled, yanking the Taser leads away from the man and breaking the circuit.

  A few minutes later, all three disarmed carjackers, one of them Al, were facedown on the pavement, bound with plastic ties behind their backs. Charlie took their wallets, and three cell phones, two of them cheap burner phones, plus a high-end one that probably belonged to the owner of the Ford pickup.

  While Gordon guarded their prisoners, Charlie put away the Taser, then got rid of his phony smoke diversion before turning the Suburban around, facing it toward Albuquerque.

  He joined Gordon, looked down at the ’jackers, then kicked Al in the ribs.

  “Listen up. You punks tell Deadhorse or whoever’s running your crew that we’re going to get a great price for this F-250. We’re taking over the jacking business in this state, so you’d better switch to purse snatching old ladies and busting open parking meters. We’re smart and you’re stupid. Come after us and we’ll rat your boss out to the cops.”

  Gordon laughed. “When I say get up, losers, you’re going to walk over to the side of the road and jump down into that irrigation ditch. If you try anything else, I’ll shoot you in the balls. Really,” Gordon added. “Now, get up!”

  The three men scrambled clumsily to their feet, unable to use their hands, then walked over to the side of the road. “You guys are dead!” Al threatened.

  “You first!” Gordon replied, then fired a shot into the ditch just beside Al. Immediately, the three stepped into the icy water, which was a disappointing two feet deep.

  “Start walking back toward that guy who just lost his pickup,” Charlie yelled. “Turn around and I’ll Taser you in the water.”

  “Do it! That’ll fry them up good,” Gordon responded. The three men, still wearing their masks, picked up the pace, splashing water everywhere.

  Charlie backed away, nodding toward the vehicles.

  * * *

  They were five minutes down the road, with the lights of Bernalillo in sight, when Charlie’s phone rang. It was Gordon, and he put it on speaker.

  “You think the victim—the real one—is okay?” Gordon asked. “We didn’t hear shots.”

  “Hope so. It’s only a few miles farther to his home, so I’m guessing the teacher is hot footing it there now. I used my burn phone to call the sheriff’s department,” Charlie replied.

  “What if the Night Crew can’t get loose in time?”

  Charlie chuckled. “I slipped a pocket knife into Al’s pocket while I was searching them, and he had a cell phone I didn’t find. They’ve probably already called for help and are no doubt running back to change that flat before the deputies arrive or the victim can make it home and report the incident. Hopefully the GPS you hid in the van will lead us to where they stash their vehicles.”

  “At least Al did a good job playing the tough guy in front of the others, considering this was a surprise for him as well. Bet his ribs are gonna hurt,” Gordon said.

  “I kicked him harder than that when I was back in the sixth grade. The bruise will give him some cred, along with the pocketknife and cell phone he managed to hide. This incident will make everyone but him look bad. He was just along for the ride.”

  “So, we’d better pull over so I can attach that fake license plate. I’m driving a hot truck now, Charlie.”

  “Copy that.”

  An hour later Charlie and Gordon left the Rio Rancho RV yard after dropping off the Ford F-250 in their newly rented space. Not long after that, they pulled into a parking space at Gina and Nancy’s condo next to Charlie’s Dodge and climbed out of the rental Suburban.

  “What’s Nancy going to say when she comes off shift and finds this beast in one of their two parking slots?” Gordon asked as they walked to the Charger.

  “She’ll guess, probably correctly, but we couldn’t stash it at our places or the shop—in case some of Fasthorse’s crew comes looking. They don’t know for sure it was us, but count on somebody checking anyway,” Charlie said. “The Suburban goes back to the rental place tomorrow morning, which means we’ll both have to get away sometime during the AM.”

  “What do you think Clarence is going to do about this?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Hopefully he’ll be pissed enough to try something stupid. I’m still trying to figure out how to link him back to t
he killing of that silversmith—and the incident at our place.”

  “We can’t forget about Lola Tso either. She’s the key to all this. I wonder how APD is doing tracking her down,” Gordon said as they climbed into the Dodge, Charlie behind the wheel.

  “Well, DuPree and Nancy both were supposed to keep us current on that, and sometimes no news is no news. Let’s ask tomorrow.”

  Gordon smiled. “It’ll also give us a chance to see their reactions to what we did tonight. That’s got to filter up through Al—you think?”

  “Yeah, all Al needs to do is get in deep enough to find out who did the hit on Cordell Buck. Once the undercover people get a name everything focuses on the motive—and gathering enough evidence to put the shooter away.” Charlie started the engine and pulled out into the street. “Stopping the carjacking crew is just icing on the cake.”

  “I’m hungry. Wanna stop for a burger?”

  Charlie looked at his watch. “They’re still open. Five Guys?”

  * * *

  “Nothing about last night’s fun and games on the news or in the paper, but I’m sure there is a police report on the missing F-250,” Gordon said, looking up from the Albuquerque Journal.

  He was in their office, waiting to open for the day. Jake and Ruth were already out front getting the register set up and the paperwork out. Every pawned item had to be photographed and cataloged, and since the squash blossom transaction they were being very careful. Each customer was also being recorded digitally by their surveillance system, which included a low-angle camera to catch faces.

  Charlie turned away from the keyboard of his computer. “We can ask Nancy to check crime reports for us when we drop by to pick up that Suburban. We’ll have to keep the F-250 out of sight for a few days before we think of a way to get it back to the owner.”

  “How’s this? We might just ‘find’ it by the road with the keys in the ignition and turn it over to the sheriff,” Gordon suggested.

  “Okay. Let me call Gina and see if Nancy’s awake now.”

  * * *

  There was news from Nancy, but it wasn’t much help. She’d found out that Leroy was Leroy Williams, a former Army MP listed as a Piñon Mesa Steakhouse employee, and that the woman they called Mustang Sally was really Melinda Beth Foy, a divorced and apparently unemployed “entertainer” with a brief prostitution record. She’d also worked for a local caterer as a server until three months ago.

  A few hours later they decided to follow through with the next phase of their plan. They immediately got a hit on the GPS Gordon had planted in the van, a converted gas station close to the downtown area that was now part of a used car dealership called Rex’s Quality Rides.

  When they drove past in Gordon’s pickup, Charlie counted nearly three dozen cars in the lot and spotted two salesmen outside. “I don’t see the van, so it must be inside the service bay,” Charlie observed.

  “Can’t think of a better place to stash stolen vehicles until they can be driven south to the border,” Gordon said. “The garage windows are painted over, naturally.”

  “A nice setup. This lot is only a half mile or so from Fasthorse’s restaurant. Jack the vehicle, park it at Rex’s in the bay, then stop by for a late-night steak. What do you think?” Charlie asked.

  “Convenient. Shall we fire up the bugs and see if we can hear any reaction from Clarence? He usually arrives at the restaurant this time of day.” Gordon nodded toward the glove compartment.

  “Good idea,” Charlie said, reaching for the monitor unit. “I wonder what excuses he got from the two regulars—McCrystal and Atcitty? This could backfire, you know, if Clarence ties this incident to the presence of a new guy, Al. It never happened before.”

  “Well, we don’t know how many guys are working the Night Crew, but he’s lost two already and has another out of commission—assuming the guy you shot is still alive somewhere,” Gordon pointed out. “Clarence might need Al and be willing to take the risk.”

  Charlie nodded, trying to come up with a reasonable number for Clarence’s gang. “There’s the three at first, minus two and a half, and I recall seeing five guys, including Al, around Clarence the night we dined at the restaurant—before Steve showed up. Help me here, bro.”

  “Okay, I get four and a half—the half being the wounded guy, plus Al. Leroy might be one of the others, or just Clarence’s security. Either way, according to what victims have said, they hit in teams of three. Clarence had seven people, at least. Maybe more.”

  “There’s whoever he has in the auto theft pipeline, here and around the border. You suppose he hires freelancers to deliver the stolen vehicles?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s what I’d do. If they get caught, who could they rat out?”

  “We’re getting close to the restaurant, well within bug range. Hit the horn,” Charlie requested, holding his ear to the receiver.

  Gordon complied, then looked over at him. “I picked it up on the bug, which means the blue SUV is probably at the restaurant.”

  “Try the frequency for the home bug, just in case he put the pen back into his pocket.”

  They tested it again with a honk of the horn, but heard nothing. “Pass by the restaurant, then let’s pass by Clarence and Sheila’s homes. Maybe we can pick up some chat.”

  The block containing the two buildings was less than five minutes away. As Gordon passed Clarence’s home, Charlie touched the pad to activate the pen bug.

  “Nothing.” He tried again. “I can’t get any signal. It won’t turn on. The battery was good. What happened?”

  Gordon continued down the block, passing the Ben residence, and turned the corner. “If it won’t activate, either the bug had given up the ghost or Clarence found it.”

  “Or he threw it away or gave it to someone else, or … Well, it doesn’t really matter. We’re screwed,” Charlie admitted.

  “We still have the one in his SUV,” Gordon pointed out.

  “Yeah, but if he found this one, he’ll be searching for another.”

  “And if he didn’t, maybe we’ll get something new. We know his schedule, well, his old schedule.”

  “Which he might just change around now that he’s feeling some heat,” Charlie agreed. “He’s got to wonder how we knew about the carjacking, so he’s going to be watching all of his crew, not just Al.”

  “Good point.” Gordon nodded.

  “Let’s come back after lunch and see if he goes home to meet up with his girlfriend—Melinda,” Charlie suggested. “He might also have something to say to Leroy during the drive.”

  “If not, I’ve got an idea, a way to use the stolen pickup.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Gordon chuckled, turning north along Fourth Street. “If what we did last night has Clarence pissed off, this will probably put him over the top.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Wearing gloves, Charlie drove the stolen F-250 past the Piñon Mesa Steakhouse just after lunch, Gordon following in Charlie’s Dodge. The restaurant parking lot was full, and the blue SUV that Clarence Fasthorse used for transportation was in its usual slot.

  “The bug in the car still works,” Gordon announced via Bluetooth, “and I’m going to see if we can still listen in when we reach the used car lot. With all the high-rise office buildings around, the signal might be blocked.”

  “Okay. Stand by to make that call to APD. I can see Rex’s lot ahead,” Charlie replied, stretching out his left leg, appreciating the space. The pickup was nice and the cab enormous. This truck was almost as well appointed as Gordon’s.

  Charlie took one more look around the cab, making sure there was nothing left behind, then came to a halt, waiting for cars to pass so he could make the turn into Rex’s customer parking area. Beyond were four rows of cars plus the business office. In one of the garage bays was the van used in last night’s carjacking—or at least the GPS bug Gordon had stuck under the seat.

  Nancy had helped him search public records for the owner of Rex
’s Quality Rides and got a corporate name neither recognized. It was a shell company and would take awhile to backtrack to the actual owner. Charlie’s money was on Clarence, his mom, or maybe a relative of theirs.

  Charlie parked the truck, climbed out quickly, tossed the key under the vehicle, then waved at a salesperson in a white shirt and tie standing just outside the office. Charlie turned away and took off his gloves as he walked over to the sidewalk. Gordon pulled up in the Charger and Charlie jumped in.

  “Cops are on their way?” Charlie said.

  “According to dispatch,” Gordon said, racing away from the curb, heading back in the direction of the Fasthorse restaurant.

  “How did the department employee working dispatch react when you told them where to find the stolen truck—and more?” Charlie asked, listening in on the bug beneath Clarence’s SUV.

  “She wanted my name. So I repeated Rex’s Quality Rides, their address, and asked her to advise officers that there might be other vehicles on site that are connected to crimes. I told her I was an anonymous caller and didn’t want to be involved. I added that she should ask Detective DuPree to come to that location as well.” Gordon grinned.

  “All that?”

  “What can I say? I like to talk to women, and they usually listen.”

  “Huh?”

  “Funny man. Anything on that bug?” Gordon said, nodding toward the receiver Charlie was holding.

  “Hang on. Better pull over,” Charlie said, glancing in the side mirror.

  Gordon squeezed to the right, allowing an unmarked sedan with emergency lights to race past. “Hey, is that?”

  “DuPree. Looks like he got the message. Better get out of here before he sees us,” Charlie advised.

  They were heading north, halfway to the pawnshop, when Charlie’s phone rang. He looked at the display—the call was unlisted. “Bet that’s Detective Dupree,” Charlie said, touching the green phone icon.

  “If it is, put it on speaker,” Gordon whispered.