Denouement (14 page)

I walked over to Hank and looked into the trash can. “Food scraps are fresh. No mold, no stink. Obviously, someone has been staying here. All right, let’s wrap up and head out. I want to get that phone in Terry’s hands,” I said.

“Okay,” Hank said.

I tried dialing the captain to let him know what we got at the scene, but my call went to the voice mail at his desk.

Ray made a last-minute turn into a parking lot. He’d stumbled upon the perfect place to meet Erik and hole up for the evening. The faded sign out front read Dusty Hill Motel. Below that, the sign read Air Conditioning and also Color Television. Ray had been driving north from Tampa for forty-five minutes on Highway 301—away from the city and away from anyone searching for him. A couple-year-old red Porsche was parked at the back. The front lot, next to the single row of motel rooms, was empty. He parked, stepped out, and headed for the office door.

Bells attached to the top of the door alerted the twenty-something year old woman in the office behind the counter to his presence. She slipped the phone she was playing with into her pocket and got up from her chair.

Ray glanced around. Behind the front counter, the office that the girl was in had an open door leading out the back. Ray could see the nose of the red Porsche parked just outside. Another door was directly to Ray’s left. Dark wooden paneling covered the walls. The front desk was dirty with a brown laminate top. A rack of tourist pamphlets stood to his right, covered in a layer of dust. The single window looking back toward the freeway had a yellow film covering it. The once-maroon carpet was worn and dark. Ray was sure from the state of the place that he wouldn’t be running into too many others booking rooms.

The woman approached the counter. She flashed Ray a smile. “Looking for a room, hon?” She twirled her long brown hair around her finger.

“I am,” Ray said. He showed her a smile in return.

“For how long?”

“Um, can I just go day to day?”

“Absolutely. It’s thirty-five a night.” She rested her elbows on the counter and her chin on her hands while she waited.

Ray removed his wallet from his pocket and grabbed two twenties. His eyes caught the tan line on his wrist where his Rolex normally resided. He handed her the cash.

The woman placed the money in the till. Small in stature, thin, and reasonably attractive, she wore a tight-fitting white shirt and a small pair of pink shorts. If he didn’t have more pressing matters, he would have made a pass at her.

“Just sign in for me here.” She slid Ray a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard and tapped a blank line. No other guest names occupied the sign in sheet.

Ray wrote down a fake name and slid it back toward her.

“I’m going to put you in room one, right next to the office here,” she said. She pointed toward the wall on the right. “There’s a vending machine out front and a decent mom-and-pop restaurant a few businesses up the street if you wanted to get some supper later.” She turned, took a key from a pegboard behind the counter, and handed it to Ray. “There you go. All set.”

“Thanks. Do the rooms have telephones?” Ray asked.

She nodded. “Local calls are free. Long distance will be additional, and you’ll have to settle up before you leave.”

“No problem.” Ray tapped the key on the countertop, gave the girl one last look up and down, and turned toward the front door.

“I’ll probably take a break a little later to go over to the restaurant I mentioned. If you wanted something, I can bring it back for you, or you could come along with me,” she said.

Ray looked back over his shoulder at her. The girl smiled widely as she went back to twirling her hair.

“I may just do that,” Ray said.

“Okay. Maybe see you later, then,” she said.

Ray nodded and left through the front door. As soon as he stepped outside, he smirked at the girl’s advance. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and went into his room, one over from the office. Ray closed the door at his back and latched the chain lock.

After flipping on the light and tossing his bag on one of the two beds, he surveyed his surroundings. A door with a lock stood on the right side of the room—the back side of the door he’d seen in the front office. The curtains covering the single window at the front had cigarette holes in them. The green carpet had frayed patches and burns. The television sitting in the corner on a stand looked to be twenty-five years old at a minimum. One of the beds was a good six inches lower on one side than the other. The center of the bed he’d just set his bag on was visibly sunken. A small table divided the two beds—some of the faux wood laminate from the top was missing. A single lamp lit the room—the lampshade was a smoke-stained yellow.

“Ugh,” Ray said in disgust.

He walked through the room and into the bathroom at the back. Ray ran his hand up the wall and flipped on the light. His eyes caught a pair of roaches skittering down the sink drain. The shower curtain was brown with mildew. A smell wafted from the bathroom that Ray couldn’t identify. He went back to one of the beds, took a seat on the edge, and grabbed the phone. Ray pulled the sheet of paper from his pocket that he’d written Erik’s cell phone number down on. He dialed, wondering if Blok had called him. The phone rang in his ear.

Erik picked up. “Hello,” he said.

“It’s Ray. I rented a motel room a bit north of the city. Where are you?”

“I just passed Ocala.”

Ray smiled. If Erik had spoken to Blok, he wouldn’t be coming. “Okay. You’re about an hour away. The place I’m at is called the Dusty Hill Motel. It’s a little ratty-ass place on highway 301.”

“All right. I’ll plug the joint into my GPS.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.” Ray hung up the phone and kicked off his shoes. He leaned back on the bed and rested his eyes. His thoughts went to his current situation and how he could possibly get himself out of it. He fell asleep before coming up with an answer.

In what seemed like an instant, a knock on the door jarred Ray from his nap. He stood and looked out the window next to the front door. A white cargo van was backed into the spot in front of Ray’s room. Ray unlatched the chain and opened the door.

Erik stood before him—small, thin, and smelling as though he’d just finished a cigarette. He took his hat from his head, ran his hand through his dirty blond hair, and put the cap back on.

Ray stared at him, thinking how easy it was going to be to snap his neck like a twig.

“Get into a fight or something?” Erik pointed to Ray’s face.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Ray said.

“Sure. Are you letting me in, or…?” Erik asked.

“Yeah, sorry, I just woke up,” Ray said. He stepped to the side so Erik could enter.

Ray closed the door at Erik’s back.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This place is a dive,” Erik said.

“It’s just temporary. I needed someplace off the grid.” Ray sat back down on the edge of the bed nearest the door.

“Off the grid?” Erik asked. “Doesn’t everyone think you’re dead? Isn’t that about as much off the grid as you can get?”

Ray shrugged. “I couldn’t stay in the city anymore. Unforeseen circumstances.”

Erik was silent for a moment, seemingly waiting for more explanation.

Ray didn’t elaborate.

“Okay, well, let’s get this show on the road,” Erik said. “I’m going to head into Tampa and find a room for the night after this. Do you have the money?”

“Yeah.” Ray leaned over and unzipped his bag. He reached in, took out the wad of cash, and held it out toward Erik.

Erik took the money, pulled the rubber band from the stack, and began counting.

“It’s all there,” Ray said.

“I’m sure it is.” Erik continued to count to the last bill and then jammed the wad of cash into his pocket. “I’ll go get your merchandise. Do you want it in here, or do you want it out in your car?”

“In here is fine,” Ray said.

Erik walked outside, pulled two large black canvas bags from the back of his van, and headed back in. He set the bags on the floor before Ray and unzipped them.

Ray rummaged through the assortments of handguns and assault rifles. “Any Desert Eagles?” Ray asked.

Erik shook his head. “No. Four AK-47s, two SKS and MAK-90s, three TEC-9s, and some miscellaneous throwaway pistols. Everything the aspiring street thug could want,” Erik said.

Ray removed one of the TEC-9 semiautomatic pistols and turned it in his hand. The serial number was gone.

“All three of the TEC-9s are the same. Thirty-two round magazines and converted to full auto. They should be pretty easy to dump for a couple grand each. Very desirable,” Erik said.

“Shells for any of these?” Ray asked.

“I’ll leave you with a couple boxes. But everything in there should be ready to go.”

“Okay,” Ray said.

Ray zipped the bags back up and moved them to the corner of the room between the bed and wall.

“Are we all good?” Erik asked.

“Yeah, that should be it,” Ray said.

“Okay. I’ll grab you those shells.” Erik turned and started for the door.

Ray took a couple quick steps around the edge of the bed after him. Ray’s hands left his sides as he started to reach toward Erik’s neck.

Erik stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned back quickly toward Ray, who was still advancing.

Ray stopped dead.

Erik stared at him for a moment. “Um…” Erik paused. “I have to say, Ray, seeing you like this just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“What do you mean?” Ray asked.

“You pushing guns on the street for cash. You holed up like this. I’m assuming that shitbox Toyota out front is what you’re driving. It’s not sitting right.”

“It is what it is. I need to do what I can.”

“You don’t have anyone who can help?”

“Everyone got scared of the heat and took off,” Ray said. “It seems loyalty goes out the window as soon as the feds come sniffing.”

“Feds? What’s going on?” Erik was quiet for a moment. “Should I be worried?”

“No. It’s unrelated.”

Erik’s face said he was thinking. “Well, I don’t know exactly what you’ve got going on down here or what,” Erik paused, “but your brother, and you, have always been good to me. I’ve made a lot of money because of you two. Here,” Erik said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the cash Ray had given him for the guns, and tossed it to him. “Take the guns as a gift. I don’t want your money.”

“Are you sure?” Ray asked.

Erik let out a breath and nodded. “Just call me when you get back on your feet.”

“I will,” Ray said.

“Let me grab you those shells. I’ll be right back.” Erik twisted the knob and left the room.

Ray sat back down on the edge of the bed and waited. He heard the sound of a motor firing and tires chirping. He lunged to the window, swatted the curtains and blinds to the side, and looked out. The back tires of Erik’s van were smoking as it sped from the motel’s entrance.

“Shit!” Ray shouted.

Hank and I sat next to Terry at a workstation in the tech department. The SIM card of the phone we’d found at the condo was plugged into a reader attached to a cord coming from a computer. Terry clicked a few buttons and leaned back in his chair. “This should only take a minute or so,” he said. “Every call that came and went should still be on here.”

I nodded and stared at the computer monitor. Just as Terry said, the screen showed the telephone numbers within a minute—just six calls made, and one incoming.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“That’s it.”

“When were these made?” I asked.

“It looks like they were all from today.” Terry pointed at the date and time next to each call made. He clicked the icon on the computer screen to print the page.

I stared at the numbers before me. Hank went to the printer to grab the sheet, brought it back, and handed it to me.

“The last one there, the incoming one, belongs to Faust. We need to find who these other six belong to,” I said. After setting down the sheet of paper with the numbers in front of me, I took my pen from my pocket and wrote
Faust
next to the top number.

“Well, let’s take a look and see,” Terry said. “I’ll start with the latest calls first.”

He began searching each number one by one.

A knock came on the office door. It swung open, and Pax stuck his head in. “The prints from the phone came back as Andrei Azarov. Same as the glass from the sink.”

“Thanks, Pax,” I said.

He nodded and closed the door.

“The second to last number called here is a land line that comes back to a business listed as Chicagoland Firearm and Supply,” Terry said.

I wrote the business name next to the number. “Never heard of it or saw it in anything relating to the Azarovs,” I said.

“What would Ray be calling a gun place in Chicago for?” Hank asked.

“It could be where he’s headed if he’s getting out of town. I’ll run it past Faust when I call him. Let’s get to the rest here,” I said.

“The next one up is a cell phone from Zap Mobile—prepaid, I’m guessing. No name attached.”

I wrote it down. The next three results were the same—Zap Mobile prepaids.

Terry punched in the last number. “Miami area code. It’s a cell phone,” he said.

“I’m betting it belongs to the former sergeant, Ivan Blok,” I said.

“What makes you think that?” Hank asked.

“It’s probably how he knew exactly where Azarov was. He talked to him this morning. Give me a second.”

I dialed Harrington at the Miami Dade PD. Within a minute, he confirmed the number as belonging to Blok. I asked him about the Chicago gun store. He said he’d never heard of it. I thanked him and hung up. Then I wrote Ivan Blok’s name next to the number.

“So all we have to work on is the Chicago gun store?” Hank asked.

“Can we try to use our GPS tracking for the other numbers, Terry?” I asked.

“I can try, sure.”

Hank and I waited as he plugged in each prepaid number. We didn’t get a GPS signal from any of them—a dead end.

“Okay, thanks for the help, Terry,” I said. “I’m going to go call Faust and see if he can do anything with the numbers. I also want to dig into this Chicago gun place and see what I can turn up.”