Dressed in tan slacks and dark-blue Windbreaker to conceal his sidearm, their FBI contact began walking toward them. In his mid-forties, he had cropped thinning hair with a touch of gray at the temples. Former cop or military, Nathan thought. This guy would never make it as an undercover. Their new arrival identified himself as Special Agent Paul Andrews. He looked Nathan over from head to toe before smiling and offering his hand.
Located in the northeast area of Fresno in a mixed neighborhood of residential and commercial properties, Amber Sheldon’s apartment was part of a larger complex of identical structures laid out in pairs, back-to-back, with parking on both sides. Second-story walkways ran their entire lengths, accessed by concrete prefab stairs on each end. Several hundred yards to the north, the metal river of Highway 41 could be heard, but not seen. Andrews parked the sedan at the west end of the buildings where it wouldn’t be noticed from the target’s apartment. According to the NCIC file, Sheldon lived in apartment number 46.
“If she’s not here and has a roommate, we’re blown,” Henning said. “It’s fair to assume the roommate will call her and tell her the FBI came knocking on her door.”
“We don’t have much choice,” Nathan said. “We don’t have time for a prolonged stakeout. If she’s not here, we’ll ask where she works, that way the roommate will think we don’t know.” Nathan turned toward Andrews. “Do you know where Pete’s Truck Palace is?”
“It’s off Highway Ninety-nine, about twenty miles south of the city.”
“Okay,” Henning said. “It’s probably better if only two of us knock on her door. Andrews, you cover the stairwells and watch our backs in case the Bridgestones are around. Shoot first and ask questions later.”
“You got it.”
They followed a concrete sidewalk paralleling the building, then cut across the grass over to the west stairs. Apartment 46 was on the second floor. This had to be a nicer neighborhood because a big-wheel tricycle, along with several children’s bikes, were leaning against the building, unlocked. A smattering of litter was present, nothing serious enough to suggest it was a lowlife establishment. Licking its paws, a calico cat sat on the bottom step of the stairwell. She squinted in friendship as they moved past her. The windows on either side of Sheldon’s door were screened by closed curtains. Nathan and Henning paused and listened to the buzz of a muffled television set.
Nathan kept his voice just above a whisper. “Bridgestone could be in there. I’ll go left, you go right.”
Henning nodded and grabbed the butt of his gun. Keeping to the side of the door, he knocked twice. The sound of the television went silent, followed by a forceful, “Who is it?”
“FBI, ma’am. We’re just here to ask you a few questions. No one’s in any trouble, okay?”
The curtains parted, revealing a slightly overweight, dark-haired woman in her late teens or early twenties. Her yellow tank top revealed more than necessary.
“My mom’s got nothin’ to do with that man no more.” From what Nathan could hear through the window, Amber Sheldon’s daughter had retained most of her southern drawl.
“May we come in, please?” Henning asked.
“Y’all got some ID?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Henning held up his FBI badge.
“Lemme see your gun too. All you FBI guys carry guns, right?”
“That’s affirmative, ma’am.” Henning pulled his Windbreaker open.
“Okay, just a sec.”
They listened to the deadbolt click back and the slide chain being removed from its slot. The door opened and the smell of cinnamon greeted them.
Gun drawn, Henning rushed into the room and pivoted to the right.
“Hey,” the girl protested. “What the hell y’all doing?”
Nathan dashed into the kitchen and checked behind the counter. “Clear.”
Henning checked the bathroom, a hall closet, and both bedrooms. “Clear,” he called and returned to the living room. “I’m sorry for doing that, ma’am, but we had to be sure you weren’t being held against your will. We’re looking for a very dangerous man.”
“You could’ve just asked me.”
Both thinking the same thing, Nathan and Henning exchanged a glance.
“I apologize again, ma’am,” offered Henning.
Nathan surveyed his surroundings. Although the living room wasn’t a complete mess, it could’ve been neater. Some clothes were strewn on the furniture here and there, and a few dishes were out of place, but overall, it looked reasonably presentable. Nathan watched her freeze when she took in his face.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asked.
Nothing like a little tact, he thought. “Industrial accident.”
She whipped her waist-length hair to the side. Along with the tank top, she wore blue jeans—tight in all the wrong places—and fuzzy pink slippers. Her ankles were swollen. She introduced herself as Janey “not Jane” Sheldon.
Henning asked if her mother was expected anytime soon.
“No, and I don’t know where she is.”
He didn’t ask you that, Nathan thought.
“Does she have a cell phone?”
“Hardly, we can barely pay the rent around here. They just raised it on us by fifty bucks.”
“We really need to talk with her.”
Janey’s face clouded. “She’s a good mom and all, but she’s got a problem, you know… With drinking.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there some place she goes regularly?”
She cocked her head, “Probably, but it isn’t around here. I’ve already looked in all the close places.”
Nathan watched her body language closely as Henning continued. “Has anyone called her lately?”
“You mean that dangerous man you mentioned?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I can’t say it was him for sure, but she did get a call the other night. She was upset afterward, got really drunk, and passed out on the floor right about where you’re standing.”
“Did you hear any of the call?”
“Not really, I was watchin’ American Idol.”
Nathan took a closer look at Janey’s eyes. Piecing pale blue. He ran the calculation of her age through his head.
“What time does she go to work?”
“Eight at night. She works the graveyard shift.”
“Does she usually come back here before going to work?”
“Sometimes. Not always, though.”
Henning turned to Nathan. “Anything more?”
“That dangerous man is your father.”
Henning outwardly flinched at Nathan’s comment.
Janey narrowed her eyes, disgust stealing over her face. “I think you should get out.”
“You’re a lousy liar, Janey.”
“I said get out.”
Nathan took a step forward. “And if we don’t?”
“I’ll call the police.”
“We are the police.”
“I’ll still call.”
Nathan took another step toward her. “That’s going to be rather difficult after I’ve broken your jaw in three places.” He quickly scanned the room for a phone, which was in the kitchen.
“Listen, asshole. You can’t come in here and threaten me like this.”
Nathan spoke over his shoulder to Henning. “Why don’t you wait outside?”
Henning opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated, not sure what to do. “Yeah, I guess maybe I better,” he said. The FBI agent stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
When they were alone, Janey glanced at the phone behind Nathan. Her lower lip trembled when she spoke. “What do you want from me?” She was close to tears.
“The truth,” Nathan said. He moved between Janey and kitchen, trapping her in the living room. She crossed her arms over her chest as a tear rolled, but said nothing.
“It’s like this, Janey. I believe you about your mother having a drinking problem, and I believe your lif
e has been difficult because of it. I also believe that when you went looking for her, you found her at a local bar. And I also believe that’s where she is right now.”
“You don’t understand, she hates cops. If you go in there, she’ll freak out.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Janey. I don’t blame you for what your father did. You didn’t ask for any of this, it just landed in your lap. It’s a raw deal, but that’s the hand life has dealt you.” Nathan pointed to his face. “I’ve had a raw deal too. Life goes on. The bomb in Sacramento was made of forty pounds of Czech-made plastic explosive. We think Ernie still has three hundred pounds of it. He murdered twenty-four people and wounded fifty-five others. Six of them will never walk again. They’ll spend the rest of their lives in wheelchairs. The blast wave blew people’s arms and legs clean off, and the heat from the explosion was so intense, it peeled the skin from their bodies like barbecued chicken. Have you ever seen a third-degree burn victim, Janey?”
She was openly crying now. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You know why.”
“She’ll kill me.”
“Maybe it’s time you were on your own. Don’t you want to get out of this place?”
She nodded.
“Do the right thing, Janey. Break the cycle. Make something of your life.”
“The Parrot’s Nest. She hangs out there before going to work.”
“Will you show us where it is?”
“What, right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
Henning was visibly surprised at seeing Nathan emerge from the apartment with Janey in tow. She had changed into more respectable attire, wearing a formal, white-buttoned shirt with pressed jeans. Her fuzzy pink slippers had been replaced with tan walking shoes.
“Janey’s had a change of heart,” Nathan said. “She’s going to show us where her mother is.”
* * *
From the look of things, the Parrot’s Nest wasn’t in the best part of town. Most cities the size of Fresno and bigger had a skid row district and this area of downtown definitely qualified. Part of an abandoned five-story building made of brick, the Parrot’s Nest should’ve been called the Rat’s Nest. The small parking lot was lousy with trash, broken glass, dented pickups, run-down hogs, and various other beaters that looked like they may or may not start when their owners finally staggered out to them, assuming they could even find their keys.
“Is that your mother’s car?” Nathan asked. “The red Sentra?”
“Yes.”
Henning frowned.
Reading his mind, Nathan said, “It was in her NCIC file.”
Andrews parked on the curb in a red zone.
“Maybe I should go in with you,” Henning offered. “It looks like a rough joint.”
“They’ll make you right away. Just cover the rear door. Andrews, you stay with Janey.”
Andrews looked at Henning, then back to Nathan. His expression neutral, he nodded.
Nathan climbed out and walked toward the main entrance while Henning traversed the parking lot, heading for the rear of the building. The cracked sidewalk was peppered with hundreds of flattened, black gum wads. A staccato thump of bass emanated from within. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, the street was void of traffic. Most of the coin-hungry parking meters had been vandalized, their half-moon windows broken.
At the door, Nathan took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Chapter 16
Nathan’s entrance ended up as clichéd as any cheesy B movie. Every head turned and the pool game stopped. He strolled over to bar and avoided touching the grimy brass rails.
The bartender scowled and pointedly ignored him. Okay, fine. We’ll do this the hard way. Nathan used the time to study the place in the mirror behind the bar and spotted his mark right away, a tall, stringy blonde sitting at a table with three guys in sweatshirts, jeans, and stained ball caps. Scattered around the room, twenty or so other patrons stared in ape-faced silence. Aside from the bartender, who looked formidable, Nathan didn’t see any threats. Half a minute later, the bartender had made it plainly obvious he had no intention of serving someone who’d come in to case the joint.
Without looking at the bartender, Nathan walked over to the jukebox, grabbed its power cord, and yanked it free.
The machine went dark. Charlie Daniels went silent. All heads turned.
A few obscene grumbles spewed from dark corners.
“I’d like a Shirley Temple, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
The bartender shot Nathan a dirty look, came out from behind the bar, and plugged the jukebox back in. With his right hand, he pumped a quarter, and punched up another shit-kicker song. The music boomed again. Nathan waited for him to return to his hole, made eye contact, and pulled the plug again. The tension in the room instantly doubled, with all eyes now focused on the battle of wills unfolding. With an irritated expression, the bartender started back over.
A smile formed. Nathan McBride, in his environment.
He observed the bartender closely. Right-handed. Six-three or -four. Two hundred seventy-five plus. Weak left eye. Something was strapped to his ankle under his left pant leg, a knife or small gun. This gorilla probably runs the dive with an iron fist. As the bartender approached, Nathan saw a black nylon cord encircling his right wrist and his hand seemed to be half-closed around something, like a magician concealing a playing card. Using his left hand this time, the bartender reached down to plug the machine back in.
“Don’t do it,” Nathan warned.
The meaty hand froze before being retracted. The bartender straightened up, issued a give-me-a-break smirk, and swung for Nathan’s jaw with an open right hand.
Nathan saw it a split second before ducking. A palm sap.
If that blow had made contact, he’d be unconscious or maybe even dead.
It happened so fast no one in the room actually saw it, although half the room heard it. In less than a second, Nathan stomped down on the man’s right leg just above the ankle. The crunch of ligaments sounded like uncooked spaghetti breaking.
Howling, the bartender went down.
Nathan pounced on the downed man and rendered him inert with a right knee to the jaw. Several teeth flew. Nathan removed the man’s small semiautomatic handgun from its ankle holster and jammed it into his front pocket. Half the occupants scattered for the exits, gone in seconds—bar tabs unpaid. No doubt parolees who didn’t want to be caught in each other’s company when the cops arrived. Two men at a corner table caught Nathan’s attention. A little too clean-cut for this shabby crowd, they looked out of place. He ignored them. For now.
Amber Sheldon hadn’t moved. In fact, she appeared to be enjoying the show, not unlike a kid with a magnifying glass poised over an anthill.
Nathan addressed the silent room. “Anyone else?” When no one made a move, he approached the table where Amber Sheldon was seated. Although her smile had somewhat faded at his arrival, it wasn’t completely gone. He addressed the three men seated with her. “Would you gentlemen please excuse yourselves from the table?”
The politeness in Nathan’s voice took them by surprise, but all three left. One of them bent over the bartender, the other two grabbed stools at the bar.
Amber Sheldon removed a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table and fired it up with a wooden match. Through a slit in her lips, she blew the smoke up and away, and nodded to a vacant chair. “Have a seat, cowboy.”
Nathan sat down facing the center of the room. He caught the two men he’d noticed earlier watching him. He winked and they looked away.
She studied his damaged face for several seconds. “Been in a few fights?”
“A few.”
“What do you want?”
“My own private jet.”
“Cute. What do you want with me?”
“That’s much more specific, but you already know why I’m here, don’t you.”
“I gotta pretty good idea. You a cop?”
“No.”
She took another deep drag and blew it out slowly.
Nathan leaned forward slightly. “What did he say to you on the phone the other night?”
Her face showed instant understanding. “That little slut, what did she tell you?”
“I’m asking the questions from now on.”
“The fuck you are. I don’t have to tell you jack.” She blew smoke in his face and smiled.
In a lightning-fast move, Nathan snatched the cigarette from her fingers and flicked it at her. In a shower of red sparks, it bounced off her forehead.
“Hey, asshole. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He engaged Amber’s stare. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions. You’re the one who’s going to answer them.” Nathan softened his tone. “It doesn’t have to get rough. We can talk like mature adults right here and now, or you can be tortured in a soundproof room, screaming in agony. I’m good either way.”
“Some cop you are.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Who are you?”
“A vested third party.”
“A bounty hunter? Ernie told me someone like you might come around.”
“And.”
“He said if I talked, he’d kill me and Janey.”
“Does he know she’s his daughter?”
“Hell no.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
Nathan watched her reaction closely.
“I don’t,” she said. “I’d give his ass up if I did. He’s a piece a shit.”
She wasn’t lying. “Tell me about his old hangouts, places he liked to go, people he knew. Anything that might help me find him.”
Sheldon half laughed. “Places? He liked to play pool for money, but he wouldn’t be doing that now, would he? The only people he knew besides me were his brothers.”
“Why’d you visit him when he was locked up?”
She considered the question for a moment before answering. “Don’t get me wrong, Ernie’s a first-class jackass, but he still got a raw deal. The DUI thing? His court-martial?”
“What about it?”
“That dumb broad walked right in front of his car. I know, ’cause I was there, sitting next to him when it happened. It wasn’t his fault. We weren’t even speeding and he wasn’t really drunk. He got railroaded ’cause she was some sort of big-shot lawyer from a rich beaner family.”