To be done with them…finally.
The driver leaned to the side and poked her head out the window. She was a pretty woman in her late thirties, and she appeared angry and resolute. Next to her sat a pale, wide-eyed girl with flaxen hair.
Not Tank Potter at all. And where was Mary Grant?
The woman extended her arm out the window and gave him the finger.
Briggs braked and watched as the Jeep pulled away and disappeared into the night.
77
“You flipped that man the bird!” shrieked Grace, slumping in her seat with embarrassment.
Carrie Kramer kept her eyes on the rearview mirror as the BMW receded from view. “I sure did, sweetie. He deserved it.”
“What did he do?”
“It’s what he wanted to do that scared me.”
“Are we safe?”
“We are now.”
Grace sighed and sat up a little straighter in her seat. “You can call me ‘Mouse.’ My mom does.”
Carrie ran a hand across Grace’s head. “Okay, mouse.”
She turned south on Research. Even so late, traffic flowed steadily in both directions. The sight of so many headlights was a relief like no other. Mary’s plan had worked, but only just. She wasn’t sure she’d tell her about the man with the pistol. She looked over at her passenger. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“We’ll be at the hospital in five minutes. Can you hold on that long?”
“I think so.”
“Thatta girl.”
Grace nodded, her eyes keen. “When you drive fast,” she said, “it makes me forget all about my leg.”
Carrie hit the accelerator. “You got it, mouse.”
78
“You’re sure it’s here?” asked Mary.
Tank stared out the window. “I’m sure.”
It was 3:30. They sat in Carrie Kramer’s Lexus SUV, parked on the shoulder across the street from Bulldog Wrecker on South Congress, five miles south of the river, more out of town than in it. A sheet-metal fence surrounded the impound yard. Vacant lots bookended the property. Every few minutes a tow truck arrived, dragging its prey. The driver rang a buzzer, looked into a camera, and waited for the gate to rattle open.
“I picked up my car here Tuesday morning,” Tank went on. “The cops had it towed after I was busted for my DUI. Cost me four hundred bucks to get it out.”
Mary surveyed the lot. The neighborhood was a step below seedy and hovering just above dangerous.
“So what do I do?”
“Same thing you did at the Nutty Brown Cafe. Drive in. Flash your badge. Say you want to look at the car.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
“You’re a federal agent working the homicide of a fellow law enforcement officer. You don’t care what time it is. Own it and they won’t blink an eye.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be in the car if you need me.”
Mary checked that no traffic was coming, then made a U-turn and pulled up to the gate. She rang the buzzer and held Joe’s badge up for the camera. A moment later the gate groaned and rattled open on its track. Mary drove across dirt and gravel toward the office. Two drivers rested on the fenders of their trucks, smoking cigarettes and sharing a flask. Mariachi music blared from a stereo. She saw the Ferrari parked on the opposite side of the yard, next to a Toyota and a Ford pickup. “Guess you were right,” she said.
“I know my cars.”
“Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” said Tank. “You’re the law.”
Mary climbed out of the car, adjusting her jacket to cover Joe’s gun. A bell above the door tinkled as she entered the office. A Hispanic woman stood behind the counter. She had a pistol on her belt, too, and wanted everyone to see it. “We’re closed. Open again tomorrow at eight.”
“Emergency. I’d appreciate your cooperation.” Mary badged her. “I’m here to take a look at the vehicle we brought in two days ago. I see you have it out front.”
“Sorry. Keys are all locked up. Can’t get to them till morning.”
“What about the keys of the cars those fellas just brought in? What do you do with them?”
The woman eyed the two key chains on the desk, then shrugged, beaten at her own game. “Do you have the paperwork?”
Mary leaned in. “You have two Ferraris here?”
The woman stepped to her computer and tapped the keys for much too long. “Vehicle is registered to?”
“Harold Stark.”
“And you are?”
“Special Agent Mary Grant.”
The woman ducked her head around the computer. “Same name as that agent who was killed.”
“No relation.”
The woman considered this. She was short and solid, with tattoos covering both arms. The largest showed an eagle wrapped in a Mexican flag. She smiled, revealing a gold-capped tooth. “I want to be a police officer myself. I have my app in at APD, Department of Highway Safety.”
“Good luck.”
“I shoot competitively. Shouldn’t have a problem there. What’s that you’re carrying?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your weapon…pistol…sidearm. Whatever you feds call it.”
“It’s a Glock.”
“Nice. Nine, eleven, or sixteen?”
“Pardon me?”
“Rounds.”
Mary looked at her watch. “If you don’t get me the keys to that car, the only number you’ll have to worry about is one, ’cause that’s how many bullets I’m going to fire to get you moving.”
The attendant bucked to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Miss…”
“Garza. Yolanda Garza.”
“Thank you, Miss Garza. If I have the chance, I’ll be sure to put in a good word.”
Yolanda Garza unlocked a cabinet on the wall behind her. When she turned back, she held a fat rubber car key like the one Mary had seen in Joe’s study earlier. “Here you are, Special Agent Grant,” she said, placing the key on the counter. “I’ll need to see your government identification as well as your driver’s license.”
Mary patted her jacket and frowned. Earlier she’d forgotten to bring Joe’s picture. This was a more serious offense. “In my purse. Be right back.”
“Leave the key.”
Mary set the key to the LaFerrari on the counter. “There you are. I’ll just be a minute.”
Garza was already back at the computer, eyes squinting as she scrolled down a page. “Take your time. I’ve got to call your boss first.”
Mary paused at the door. “Pardon me?”
“This isn’t the first time you guys have left a vehicle with us. I can’t release nothing until I speak with the SAC. Company policy. Your company.”
“You’re taking your life into your hands,” said Mary, doing a bad job of trying to sound funny. “Don Bennett doesn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night.”
“Then you shouldn’t show up so late.”
Mary shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The tow-truck drivers were still perched on their fenders, smoking cigarettes. Seeing Mary, they made a halfhearted attempt to hide their flask. Mary gave them a stern look, all the while forcing herself to walk, not run.
“We need to leave,” she said, sliding behind the wheel. “She’s calling Don Bennett. She needs his permission to release the vehicle.”
“Did you get it?”
Mary opened her fist. “I switched keys when she wasn’t looking.”
“I’m beginning to think you missed your calling.”
“Let’s go before she talks to Bennett. The woman’s packing a piece the size of a bazooka.”