Chapter 21
I had to call Bill and the D.E.A. I figured agent Bellini would be gratified to know that Panko and his confederates might be adding kidnapping to their list of crimes, but only if I told him. It just made the well deeper, but I hesitated. When I was sure we couldn’t find Sunny, I’d let the law dogs loose, but I hoped she’d be safe in my arms first. That meant my little errand had to appear to be proceeding as planned. The dope had to be loaded onboard and KAMALA had to leave for Baltimore on schedule. It was roughly a 36 hour trip up there. That would be the only window for Sunny’s escape. As long as the thugs believed I was their performing pony, Sunny had a pass. If we got lucky, maybe we could catch them by surprise. But hell, I didn’t even know where she was, much less how to find out.
I called Bill and told him the drop off was proceeding. I was reluctant to mislead him. I might need his help and leaving out critical information is not a way to inspire trust. Nevertheless, he couldn’t communicate what he didn’t know. And if any of his associates, the ones on the take, were wired into the system, they’d be confused, if not ignorant, of the plan that was forming in my mind.
My next call was Bellini. I spoke the magic words Fells Point Takedown into the phone and Bellini answered immediately. I didn’t tell him everything. As far as he knew we were right on schedule.
“Great,” he said, “makes any questions over jurisdiction awfully damned simple. Crossing state lines with smack lets the Feds in. We can definitely work with that, make this the real thing. They’ll soon be measuring your boys for jumpsuits and 7x9 luxury accommodations, gourmet meals on the state. What do you need?”
“I need two guys. Best case scenario . . . at a distance they resemble Glen and me. Both have to know how to handle a sailing yacht. Glen and I will leave the marina as planned, but near dawn we will pull up to the small dock near the Chinese Pagoda on the river. We switch out the crew and your people can head to Fells Point. In the meantime, I have some business to attend to.”
“I don’t know what ‘business’ you’re referring to, Fleming. Maybe it’s good that I don’t, but if you screw up our bust, your ass will be in a sling.”
I told him not to be worried, but I damned sure was.
The delivery went smoothly. Lurch was the supervisor. Two monsters in jeans and flannel shirts tagging behind. In the parking lot, a black Escalade sat with the motor running. The windows were tinted way beyond what state law allows, but in the glare of the streetlight I could just make out two shadows. One of them had to be Panko. There was a faint buzzing and the other one dropped the glass in the back seat a few inches to blow smoke out the window. I caught the barest glimpse of blond hair and red lipstick.
When the boxes were loaded, Lurch grinned at me and Glen like Bela Lugosi prepping for a bite on the neck.
“You got no worries, Doc. Your little lady is safe under lock and key. Just make sure you keep up your end of the bargain and she’s yours without even her makeup mussed.” He twisted his lip like a child who hoped he’d be able to pull that other wing off the struggling fly. He waved to the Escalade and it slid out of the parking lot.
We cast off the lines and headed out of the well-lit channel. It was only a couple of miles to Freemason Harbor where the Chinese Pagoda was tucked into the recesses. Except for one flickering dock light, the place was dark. The restaurant had closed earlier. No casual stollers, no other boats. We had the night all to ourselves. In five minutes, Glen and I had disembarked and two very business-like chaps took over the lines and the helm. No words passed between us. They had left us an old Crown Vic coated in dust and salt spray. I turned the key and the engine roared to life . . . I was betting it was an Interceptor, lots of horses and plenty of goodies that made them fly when they had to. Hopefully we wouldn’t need it. We went to Glen’s office and parked around the back. I checked the rearview mirror constantly and I didn’t think we were being followed. We snuck in the back door and settled into the chairs. Glen reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a fifth of Knob Creek and a couple of dusty glasses.
He poured us each a healthy dollop of the brown magic, then looked at me and spoke.
“They probably killed her.”
My gut wrenched. “Killed who?”
“BelleAmie. She never left that motel room. Just a paragraph in the newspaper . . . said it appeared to be an overdose. Just like Paul. Somehow they knew. Got to her while she was already stoked to high heaven. One more shot of high octane smack. Wouldn’t have taken much. I got the news off the street the next morning.”
The tired look on the hooker’s face surfaced and haunted me. The tortured homecoming queen from the south Jersey shore. The washed out hair, the red vinyl skirt, the callouses on her otherwise beautiful feet. All she’d wanted was a good night’s sleep. Her words echoed in my ear, “they find out I talked to you, I’m dead”. Well, she got that sleep. It was cold and permanent, and Glen believed Panko had arranged it. Could Sunny be next? Glen was quiet, but the twisted pain in his face said he felt responsible. He was driven by redemption, if not a cold passion for revenge.
I took another swallow of the Kentucky fire. Where was she? We had roughly 36 hours . . . maybe less if there was a leak we couldn’t anticipate. Anything could happen. The whiskey burned in my belly, but something else was stirring. It had been lurking in the recesses of my mind, just outside the ring of my consciousness, but I’d been so preoccupied with the madness around me that I couldn’t focus.
“So what now?” he asked.
I glanced at the clock on his wall. 3 A.M. Still at least a couple of hours of darkness.
“I think I know where she is . . . and we’ve got time.”