As I drove out of the condo parking lot, I explained to the Henry that I had forgotten my swimsuit. I told him that I’d probably be back in a little while. He just laughed at my apparent stupidity and waved to me as I pulled out into traffic.
I dialed the number Cooper had given me—the same number that had patched me through to Kemp earlier in the day. Same process, same result. Kemp came on the line.
“So—what was in the bag Paula gave you?” he said right from the get go.
“A gift wrapped box,” I replied. I may as well be almost honest for as long as I could be.
“Yeah,” he said, “and in the box?”
“Don’t know yet. I haven’t opened it,” I lied. “So where do I find the Billy Ray?”
“Who?”
“Cute, Kemp. When and where is he being released?”
“First, tell me what was in the box,” he demanded. His voice was rising in anger and firming in self assured conviction– top cop bossing an underling.
“I told you; I haven’t opened it.” I wasn’t his underling. What was he going to do? Suspend me.
“Bullshit—open it then.”
“Can’t—I’m in traffic, and the box is securely taped and wrapped. Why is it important? If Langdon’s wife wanted you to know what it was, she’d have told you. I’m betting on a favourite family Bible—or a bomb.”
“Not funny—and not a Bible either.”
“This is getting boring Chance. Are you a man of honour or not? You said that you would tell me when and where Boyle was going to be released if I met with you. We met. By the way, your salad was delicious. Now, are you going to tell me where and when Billy Ray walks or not?”
“Not until you tell me what was in the box?”
“Chocolates—bye,” I pushed the little red end button smiling and hoping Kemp had a problem with high blood pressure. If he did, I’d probably just blown one of his head gaskets.
Five minutes later my little cell phone rang. I had guessed that it might, so I hadn’t turned the thing off. How did we survive before these tiny buggers came along? I had left the number with Cooper. How hard had it been for Kemp to get it? Only it wasn’t Kemp. It was Fred Cooper. He was succinct. “The guy you’re looking for has been released and is, as we speak, heading for Toby’s Gym.”
Just before he hung up, he gave me the gym’s address and told me that it was in one of the worst run down parts of downtown Tampa.
I pulled over and plugged the address into my GPS. Once it had located the destination and charted the course it displayed the drive time as about thirty minutes. I turned off the cell phone to conserve its battery life. I also did a careful inspection of the Sig. When I had checked its safety and felt its heft, I screwed on the suppressor—very neat—definitely a piece of craftsmanship. I unscrewed the silencer, and stashed the weapon under my seat. I stuffed the suppressor back into its wrapping and pit it in the glove compartment. I didn’t need to play with the Glock. It was like an old friend.
Two days ago, I was having a hard time trying to figure out how to get a gun. Today, people are throwing them at me.
As I drove towards Tampa and Toby’s gym, I kept my eye open for a busy strip mall. When I finally spotted one with a large wastebasket in front of a convenience store, I pulled in and threw out the shoe box and bag that the Sig had come in. I tested my memory one more time on the seven digit phone number on the back of Mrs. Langdon’s letter, got it right and tore the letter up and put it into the trash container as well. Before I left the mall, I dashed into the convenience store and bought a package of medium sized zip lock plastic bags. When I was back outside, I took out four of the bags and threw the remaining ones into the garbage bin. As I started up the Jaguar again, I wondered if Cooper’s phone call had been an independent action or was Kemp pulling Cooper’s strings? Probably best to assume the later.
Toby’s Gym and More