Dark City

  “What man?” Kadir said.

  Aimal jumped out of the truck. “A man was here—he was asking directions but I believe he was pretending to be lost so he could get a close look at the truck.”

  “Did he get a look in the back?” the American said.

  “No-no. The back is locked. The key is on the seat.” Aimal pushed Kadir toward the driver seat. “You must go! Now!”

  Kadir hopped in and slid over. The American followed and took the wheel. The engine was already running. Without a word he slammed the door, put the truck in gear, and began moving. Aimal had gone little more than a block when a pickup truck roared around the corner and onto the street. He saw the gray-haired man behind the wheel, pounding upon it in obvious rage.

  Aimal wished he could phone the truck to tell them to watch out for the pickup, but he had no way.

  As it passed, the gray-haired driver turned his angry face toward Aimal. Aimal would remember that face.

  9

  Jack offered no comment as Bertel took out his frustration on the steering wheel. Eventually he settled down to tailing the truck. Once they were back on 95, he began playing his leap-frog game again.

  In Maryland, a couple of dozen miles north of Baltimore, Bertel had his pickup in the right lane, ahead of the Ryder truck, when he said, “Uh-oh.”

  Without warning he tugged the wheel left, ripping across the two other lanes as he aimed for the ramp to the Maryland House rest stop.

  “What?” Jack said.

  “He just put his blinker on. If he’d waited a few seconds more we’d have missed the turn-off.”

  Jack peeked through the rear window as the truck followed them to the top of the ramp and then pulled over. Bertel kept going.

  “What do you think they’re up to?” Jack said.

  “Waiting to see who follows them into the rest area, maybe. It’s an old trick.”

  Over the next five minutes, only one car—a minivan with a man, a woman, and three kids—came up the ramp. Apparently satisfied, the truck headed for the parking area.

  “Now what?” Jack said.

  “Their options are eat, piss, phone, gas—take your pick, or maybe all of the above, although I find it hard to believe they need a food or a pit stop so soon after McDonald’s.”

  Bertel circled the parking area, waiting for the truck to find a spot. It did, at the far north end where it sat alone. He stopped where they could watch. After half a minute, Reggie got out and limped toward the big colonial-style brick building that housed all the fast food and services while Kadir stayed in the cab.

  “Damn,” Jack said. “Why the hell didn’t they both go?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “If they left the truck unattended, I could run up and bang on the rear doors. If someone banged back, I’d know the kids were in there.”

  “Well, they haven’t stopped along the way to load up, so it’s a good bet they’ve already got the kids.”

  “Doesn’t rule out an empty truck.”

  Bertel looked at him. “After all this, you still think that’s a possibility?”

  If it was all a charade, it was pretty damn complex. But with millions of bucks possibly at stake, no charade was too complex.

  Jack shrugged. “The longer we trail them, the less I think so. But I’d love to know. Because it would change everything.”

  And then a way to find out hit him between the eyes. A way so obvious he kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

  * * *

  Reggie stood at the phone bank and dropped in the required change. Why’d they have to put the phones on the goddamn second floor? His knees hated stairs.

  He waited for someone to answer, and recognized al-Thani’s “Hello?”

  “Yo, it’s Reg. We’re north of Baltimore with the truck.”

  “How long till you get here?”

  “Traffic’s light. Brooklyn in about three hours, I’d say.”

  “Excellent. Your companion has the location of your final destination. You should arrive around twelve-thirty. Perfect timing. Any problems?”

  “I thought I had a tail on the way down but he turned off. Your guy in Alexandria thought someone was sniffing around the truck, but we haven’t seen anyone following us.”

  “That’s too bad. Stick to the same route through New Jersey and into Staten Island that you used last time. They may be looking for you there. And remember: If you spot anyone following you, you are not to try to lose them.”

  What am I—stupid? I know that.

  “Got it.”

  He hung up and headed down the steps. He was tired of driving but didn’t trust that Arab behind the wheel. He saw the signs for Bob’s Big Boy, Roy Rogers, Sbarro, and TCBY, and would’ve liked nothing better than to take a break with a thick slice of pepperoni pizza, but he’d have to save that till later. He had many more miles to go.

  When he got back to the truck he found Camel Boy Kadir standing outside, back by the cargo box. He looked worried.

  “What’s wrong? Someone snooping around the truck?”

  He shook his head and spoke his lousy English. “I am worried about our”—his eyes darted left and right—“cargo.”

  Oh, yeah. Like he didn’t look too guilty or nothing.

  “What about our”—Reggie mimicked his look—“cargo?”

  “They are very silent.”

  “They’re good kids. They know to keep quiet or else.”

  “They are too quiet. I am worried. What if they are dead?”

  “Not our problem.”

  He gasped. “But then there will be no sale, no money for—!” He cut himself off.

  Reggie figured at this point it was probably best to tell him, otherwise he’d be whining for the rest of the trip.

  “Okay, Camel Boy, here’s the truth: I was just funnin’ you. There ain’t no kids in there.”

  His eyes damn near popped. “What?”

  “It’s empty, dumbass! Just like they told you it would be. This is all a trap to catch the guys who ripped off the last load.”

  Kadir threw his hands in the air, squawking gibberish as he wandered in a circle. Finally he returned to Reggie.

  “Why did you lie to me?”

  “Because I felt like it. And because I don’t think they should have told you in the first place. I don’t trust you people.”

  “You insult me!”

  “Live with it, Camel Boy! One of you gave it up last time. Because of someone on your end, all we wound up with was a pile of dead bodies and me with two fucked-up knees! For all I know it might’ve been you. Well, it ain’t gonna happen again, Camel Boy.”

  The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to break this asshole’s nose.

  “Why do you call me this ‘Camel Boy’?”

  “Because you’re an Arab. A camel jockey.”

  “I am from Palestine. I have seen pictures of camels but I have never seen a living camel.”

  “No shit. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “So you don’t go out and hump a camel or two when you get a little horny?”

  “What is this ‘hump’?”

  “Forget it. We need to get rolling again.”

  * * *

  Jack waited till the truck pulled out of the lot and started down the ramp toward 95 North before he jumped out of the pickup. Bertel exited on the driver side.

  “Now are you gonna tell me what you’re up to?”

  “All in good time, my dear,” Jack said. “All in good time.”

  Bertel followed him toward the Maryland House. “We’re not gonna be able to catch them again.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  They took the stairs up to the big house two at a time. Inside a sign pointed up to the phones. Jack ran up, dropped a quarter into the slot, and punched “O.”

  “Operator,” said a woman’s voice.

  “Could you connect me with the Maryland State Police, please? I want to report a c
rime.”

  When he was connected, he said, “My name is Ernest Pasquale and I’m at the Maryland House. I don’t know if it’s a real crime but I just saw someone open the rear of a Ryder rental truck and the cargo area was loaded—and I do mean loaded—with cases of Marlboros. It’s got Virginia plates and I wrote down the number.” He gave the truck’s tag number from memory. “It just took off, headed north.”

  He hung up and turned to Bertel. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Bertel was grinning as they headed back to the pickup. “I like it.”

  “It’s so obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”

  “Well, we weren’t following a truck until recently.”

  True. When the cops stopped the truck—and after that call, how could they not?—they’d find either a dozen scared kids or an empty bay. If the former, Reggie and Kadir would end up in cuffs and the kids would go to protective services.

  Problem solved.

  If the latter … well, Reggie and Kadir would simply continue on their way, very glad they had an empty truck, and Jack could call the Mikulskis and tell them this whole deal had been a big fat setup to trap them.

  “What are your two friends gonna think about this?”

  “Not worried about them right now.”

  Bertel slapped him on the back. “I always liked you, Jack. Damn, you need to come back to drive for me.”

  That wasn’t going to happen, but he didn’t want to get into that now.

  “Speaking of driving, why don’t I take over? You’ve done plenty.”

  Bertel gave a little salute. “The helm is yours.”

  Helm? Was he navy?

  Jack approached the ramp back to 95 but pulled onto the shoulder where he had a good view of the northbound traffic.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Meanwhile they’re getting farther and farther ahead of us.”

  “I don’t think catching up will be a problem.”

  A few minutes later a state cop roared by with his lights flashing.

  Jack smiled. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “They’re gonna send more than one,” Bertel said. “Count on it. Never know what you’re gonna run into with smugglers. They might want to defend their cargo.”

  “You oughta know.”

  He looked at Jack. “Did I ever tell you to defend your cargo?”

  “Never.”

  To his credit he’d always said to run if he could, or go quietly if he couldn’t. He’d forbidden Jack to carry a weapon on his runs.

  “But some guys are dumb. Resisting is a loser’s game. Only two ways it can end: bad or worse.”

  “I’m gonna wait awhile longer,” Jack said. “See if another goes by.”

  Sure enough, less than a minute later a second statie went flashing past. Jack gave it another minute, then started down the ramp. Once on the highway, he stayed in the right lane, keeping just to the limit or a little below.

  * * *

  Reggie’s gut knotted when he saw the flashing cop lights in the sideview mirror. “Oh, shit! I hope to fucking hell that’s not for us.”

  Kadir leaned forward and peered at the mirror on his side. “Were you going too fast?”

  Asshole raghead!

  “No, you dumb fuck. If you’d been paying attention to the speedometer instead of napping you’d know that!”

  He hadn’t been speeding. Okay, he’d gone above the limit a few times, but only briefly, only to pass some clown lollygagging ahead of him. With all the cars regularly zipping past, no way he’d be tagged for speeding.

  Has to be someone else, he thought. Or he’s rushing to an accident somewhere ahead.

  But no. The fucker pulled right up behind him and whooped his siren twice.

  “Shit-shit-shit!”

  Reggie put on his blinker and eased toward the shoulder.

  “What is wrong?” Kadir said, bouncing in his seat all twitchy and nervous.

  “Why’re you all worked up? Ain’t got no ID?”

  “This was not supposed to happen.”

  “No shit. But it is.”

  The big question was why? He had an idea but didn’t want to go there.

  He pulled to a stop on the shoulder with the cop behind him, lights still flashing. Reggie waited for him to get out but he didn’t.

  “What is he doing?” Kadir said.

  “You ever been pulled over?”

  “I do not have a driver’s license.”

  “He’s probably calling in to run a check on our plates, make sure it hasn’t been sto—”

  A second cop car zoomed up and pulled in front of him. He saw the Maryland State Police emblem on the front door.

  Okay. Still no reason to panic. Cops almost always backed up each other on stops, especially at night.

  When the third cop showed up he had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

  He pointed Kadir toward the glove compartment. “Check for the rental papers in there and hope to fuck you find them.”

  As the Arab did as he was told, Reggie pulled out his wallet and loosened his license in its slot. These cops might be jumpy and he wanted everything to go smoothly.

  “Are these the papers?” Kadir said.

  Reggie took the rental agreement and held it ready.

  Finally, both of the troopers behind him stepped out of their vehicles and approached the truck. The one ahead of them unfolded himself from his unit, but stayed by the open driver door. All three wore tan shirts, black ties, and Stetson hats.

  Kadir’s voice shook as he said, “What do we do?”

  “You do nothing. Keep your hands in plain sight on your lap and your mouth shut. Let me do all the talking.”

  He rolled down his window and tried to look confused as the trooper approached.

  “Something wrong, Officer?” he said in his most pleasant tone.

  “Good evening, sir. License and registration, please?”

  Reggie pulled out the North Carolina license and handed it over with the rental agreement. Light from the flashers reflected off the cop’s badge.

  “It’s a rental so I don’t have a registration. Can I ask why you stopped me?”

  He noticed the second trooper staring at them through the passenger-door window.

  “We had a report of a rented truck matching this description hauling contraband.”

  “What sort of contraband?”

  “Sir, would you mind opening your rear doors?”

  Reggie so wanted to tell him to fuck himself. Make the asshole haul him in, go through all the legal bullshit, get a court order or whatever the hell they needed to get into the truck, and finally pull open those doors to find nothing.

  But he wasn’t here to make a point or cause trouble. He was here to deliver this truck to New York.

  “Not a bit. Always glad to cooperate with law enforcement.”

  The trooper stepped back. “Would you and your passenger step out of the cab, please?”

  “Sure. Let me grab the key to the lock here.”

  He hopped out and headed toward the rear of the truck, hoping to hell the damn key worked. As he led the way, he tried to work through the timing of this stop. The fuzz had shown up after their visit to the Maryland House.

  “Can I ask you something?” When the trooper didn’t answer, Reggie went on. “Did someone call in a report about this particular truck?”

  “Why do you ask, sir?”

  “Well, I ain’t haulin’ no contraband or nothin’, but I did have a bit of an altercation with someone back at the rest stop over a parking spot. I’m just wondering…”

  The trooper said nothing, just pointed to the lock holding the doors closed. Kadir came around the far side, followed by the other trooper.

  Another Ryder truck similar to theirs whizzed by. Reggie pointed to it.

  “Why ain’t you stopping him?”

  “You might say it
’s a random thing.”

  “My lucky day, huh?”

  The trooper only pointed to the lock again. He and his buddy stepped back, hands resting on their gun butts, while Reggie stuck the key in the lock and twisted.

  * * *

  Eventually, as he continued north at a deliberate pace, Jack spotted a cluster of flashing lights ahead and slowed even further. He eased into the middle lane as the truck came into view with two cop cars behind and one ahead. The rear doors were open. He saw Reggie and Kadir standing aside while two troopers aimed flashlights into the empty cargo bay.

  “No kids,” Bertel said in a breathy voice as they passed. “Dear God, that’s a relief.”

  Jack let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

  “Yeah.”

  “And that white guy … that’s Reggie?”

  “You got it.”

  “The one who ordered Tony killed.”

  “One and the same. Why?”

  “Might want to look him up someday.”

  Jack wouldn’t mind if he did. But that was the future. The empty truck was the present, and as he’d said before, this changed everything. No more worrying about something going wrong and kids getting hurt.

  He grabbed the mobile phone and hit the speed-dial button. “Got to call this in.”

  Blue answered again. “Yeah, Jack.”

  “The truck’s empty.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The cops stopped it and I got a look inside. Just bare walls.”

  A pause as Blue repeated the message, followed by a brief, mumbled conversation. Then: “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that stop?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Another pause. “We made some plans, now we might have to change them.”

  “Sorry. But I had to know.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s good to know. We’ll just make new plans. You know, ad lib a little. We’re good at that.”

  “Want me to stick with them?”

  “Not much point. Wherever that truck’s aimed won’t be a healthy spot for you or us. We want to stay away from it unless it’s coming here. You know where Amityville is?”

  “I can find it.”

  “Take the Belt past JFK and follow the signs to the Southern State and then Sunrise Highway. When you hit Massapequa, call and one of us will meet you and guide you in.”