Fatal Connections

Chapter 60

Since Nick seemed to be taking on status as an unofficial operative at the proverbial offices of Erica Jensen Investigations LLC, I gave him a quick recap of what I had unearthed so far.

Nick was willing to try my gambit of digging up more on Embrace the Wild and whatever suspect operations they might engage in. I tried to explain Alex's concerns without spelling them all out.

"Don't worry," he said. "Risk comes with the territory." I detected more than a hint of glee in his voice. "I'll get on this right away."

Since it was Sunday, I assumed he meant the next day. I spent most of the rest of the day doing my best to block out all thoughts of the Harcourts and whatever mess they had stumbled into. And ended up watching the old movie Full Metal Jacket. I shake my head over Private Pyle. Then—wham!—Nancy Sinatra sings, "These Boots are Made for Walking".

The movie was ending when my phone rang. Since I didn't recognize the number, I almost ignored it. Then, changed my mind and took the call without saying a word. After a prolonged silence, a tentative voice came through. "I need to speak to someone named Erica."

The caller had a male voice. "Who's calling?" I asked.

"My name's Benny. I drive for Round the Clock."

I was so startled, it took me a few moments to respond. "Benny? Yes, thank you for calling."

I wondered if my phone was tapped. But that would be illegal. Did it matter?

"Did your manager tell you what this is about?"

He swallowed so loudly, I could hear it on my end. "Yeah."

"Oh, good," I added with some extra oomph. Memories of the Gallagher incident floated through my head. "Are you on the graveyard shift tonight?"

"Uh-huh."

"Would it be convenient for you to swing by while you're in that neighborhood?" I emphasized the word "that," hoping he knew which one I meant.

Benny paused. When he spoke, the words came slowly. "You want me to—"

"Come by my house, while you're in that neighborhood." I finished his thought. "I'm at this address." I gave him the number of the empty house across from the Harcourts' residence.

Benny confirmed that he'd be there tomorrow. Really, really early tomorrow.

"Thanks," I said. "I hope that package comes. They say next-day service . . . well . . . shit happens, right?"

"Yeah," Benny said. He sounded lost.

"I'm really looking forward to getting it."

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He added cautiously, "I'll see you." It was a sentence with an invisible question mark.

"Yes, see you then."

After settling on 6:00 am as the time Benny would, in his words, "most likely be in your neighborhood," I hung up feeling ridiculous. The whole situation seemed over-the-top. I had no idea if Benny could help me. But I was so worried about the way the Harcourts had been butchered and the possible involvement of the CIA or NSA or MI6 or whoever it was, that it was essential to be cautious, especially since the police had actually considered me a suspect—not without some cause.

In any event, the Harcourt matter was doing a number on my circadian rhythms. I had trouble sleeping before, and constantly readjusting my sack time was not helping a bit. And somewhere along the line, I'd lost an hour when the clocks sprang forward.

Before attempting some shut-eye, I squeezed in a couple of chapters from a thriller I'd picked up. Sometimes I wonder why I find this kind of entertainment relaxing.

After managing to catch an hour's worth of light napping between glances at the clock and what seemed like long sessions of staring at the ceiling, I got up, almost fully dressed, put on my shoes, gathered my things, and headed for the door. I figured my ETA in the Harcourts' old neighborhood would allow plenty of time to meet with Benny.

Like all good Marines, I made damn sure to arrive on time by getting there early. I pulled into the Harcourts' neighborhood a couple of hours ahead of Benny's scheduled arrival time. Easing the car past the specified meeting place, I continued to the next intersection and began a three-point turn. Then I drifted back and pulled up to the curb. I positioned my car just close enough to be able to see the delivery van arrive, but far enough away to be discreet and be ready to escape, if necessary.

The time dragged by, but I used it to make some progress on the thriller I had started. It was a paperback that I could read by the light of a small but bright key fob LED. I figured reading wouldn't keep me from seeing a van driving through the area in the wee hours. If I had to pay strict attention, I could listen to a podcast. The book was by some chick named Alex Carr. Not bad at all. What was it about the name Alex lately?

By 5:00 am, I saw lights blinking on in some of the houses. As time passed, the early risers left for work and more lights clicked on. 6:00 am came and went. I checked my phone. It was 6:02. At least it wasn't a Saturday. By now, several houses had windows blazing with light. A few cars motored past. Could he be a no-show? Or could this be a setup? Just as that thought occurred, the familiar van moved into view and stopped across the street from our agreed-upon meeting place.

As the driver came to a stop, I slid out from behind the wheel and approached him, signaling with a couple of quick LED flashes. Benny got out of his van and looked at me as I gave him a quick friendly wave. As the gap between us closed, I could see worry lines across his brow. I smiled, and he flashed me a weak grin. The distinctive thwack of a crossbow nearly made my heart stop.

Benny looked around, confused. An arrow protruded at an odd angle from his forehead. He kept looking, even as blood oozed from the entry wound. Circling and looking, until he collapsed.