Die Twice (9 page)

“Tony McIntyre.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Look. Three people in the world knew Tony was in the United States. Me. Richard Fothergill, Tony’s old mate in the Slime, who’s now here in Chicago. And one other guy.”

“So?”

“Well, I didn’t tell you. And the other guy didn’t tell you.”

“How do you know the other guy didn’t tell me? How do you know I’m not the other guy?”

“He’s a government employee. A government that only employs people from its own country. And that country isn’t England.”

“What country is it?”

“Some tiny one, in Africa. The name escapes me.”

“I can wait. Or I could help you remember, if you’re struggling.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll come back to me. But the point is, it must have been Fothergill who told you. About Tony.”

I didn’t answer.

“Don’t try telling me that you showing up here, outside his door, is some kind of coincidence,” he said. “I’m not new.”

“How did you know he was here?” I said.

“It was me who told him to come here. I gave him the address.”

“When?”

“Twelve days ago.”

“Why?”

“We served together, in another life. Stayed in touch. I help out once in a while, when Tony needs something done on the q.t. Everyone in the Slime has a back-door man, don’t they?”

“How did this other guy know?”

“He’s got lots of fingers in lots of pies. Like a giant octopus. Found out Tony was coming here. Then followed him.”

“How did he find out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did he follow?”

“Tony had something he wanted.”

“Something Tony was selling?”

“No. Tony wasn’t selling anything. The thing he had, he wanted to destroy.”

Or at least, he didn’t want to sell till he had a scapegoat lined up, I thought. People don’t destroy big heaps of their own money. Maybe this was big enough to be his pension fund. He could sell it, deflect the attention, and disappear into the sunset.

“What is this thing he had?” I said.

“I don’t know, exactly,” he said. “But Tony thought it was bad shit. He wanted to get rid of it. Safely.”

“Why weren’t you here, taking care of things, if you’ve got Tony’s back?”

The guy shrugged.

“I got here as quick as I could,” he said.

“Where does Fothergill fit into it?” I said.

“Tony needed help. Fothergill was his last hope.”

“What kind of help?”

“Getting rid of this thing—whatever it was—and getting the other guy off his back.”

“Sounds straightforward. What went wrong?”

“I don’t know. Something came off the rails. Fothergill was on board. He’d agreed to help. Tony was on his way to see him. I guess he never got there.”

“Really?”

“No. But where are you going with this? You’ve been briefed, right?”

“You know bureaucrats. Fothergill plays his cards pretty close. He only paints in the broad strokes. So, McIntyre never made it to the rendezvous, do you think?”

“Right. He got hurt. Wound up with a slug in his side.”

“How?”

The guy shrugged.

“Someone pulled a trigger on him,” he said. “Don’t know who. Don’t know why. I just know he needed surgery.”

“Where?”

“At a place I know.”

“What place?”

“A clinic. In the center of the city. Does cosmetic work, normally.”

“Why there?”

“I own it. Or a piece of it. I told Tony about it ahead of time, just in case. That’s standard planning, for us.”

“What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter what my name is.”

Something creaked downstairs. I raised my gun, lining up on the bridge of the guy’s nose, and held my breath until I was sure no one was coming. His eyes locked onto the muzzle. He swallowed. Twice. Rapidly, like his Adam’s apple was trying to break through his skin.

“It matters to me,” I said, when I was satisfied we were still on our own.

“Young,” he said, after a couple of seconds. “Gary Young.”

That tallied with what Fothergill had told me in his office, two days ago. Gary Young was the person McIntyre had blamed for corrupting him, so I slowly lowered the Beretta. Some of the way. Using a recognizable name was a good start, but it didn’t explain everything.

“McIntyre’s accident with the 9 mm was nearly a week ago,” I said. “Why are you just looking for him now?”

“I have my reasons,” he said.

“Could they include, now, let’s see—you not really being his friend, for example?”

He didn’t answer.

“Or that really you’re here to buy this evil stuff he had, but you’re a little off the pace?”

“Look,” he said. “I had to get into the country. That takes time. See, the authorities would prefer I stayed out. There’s no welcome
mat for me. Then, ’cause I hadn’t spoken to Tony since he got hurt, I didn’t know which safe house he’d be using to recover in. He wasn’t answering his phone. I couldn’t find out from his doctor—the one from the clinic—’cause he’s disappeared, too. So, I had to start at the first location and work my way down.”

“How many safe houses have you got?”

“Five.”

“That’s not possible. McIntyre wasn’t here long enough to scope out that many.”

“He didn’t have to. They’re located in advance. By me. Or by my people, anyway. That’s how we work.”

“What number safe house is this?”

“Four.”

“So there’s one more you haven’t checked yet?”

“Yes. Not far from here.”

“Then get on your feet,” I said. “We’re leaving.”

Young gave McIntyre’s cell phone one more try as we left the building and walked east on Fullerton. There was no reply, so I took his phone and called Fothergill instead. His lust for detail turned to near panic when he realized I was with the sidekick of the guy who’d tried to kill him, and I was still trying to calm him down as we crossed Clark and turned left onto Lakeview. We kept going for another two hundred yards, then Young veered off onto a footpath on the right. It took us away from the apartment buildings and singlefamily homes on the opposite side of the street, across a stretch of grass, and through a long, narrow tunnel which led under another road. The trees were denser on the far side, lining the route toward a building at the edge of a large pond. It was wide and low, made of wood, like an old-fashioned pavilion, and it had a tall stone-faced
chimney at the far end. A row of symmetrical French windows were standing open all down one side, overlooking the water. A sign on the wall said it was a restaurant. The door was to our right, but Young went left and led the way around the corner of the building. He started to pick his way through the trees, and I soon realized what he was aiming for. A rough wooden fence, about forty yards from the restaurant. It was the boundary of some kind of compound, eight feet high and twenty-five feet long. Young was heading straight for a gate in the center, but when we’d closed to within ten feet of it I held back and listened.

“What’s the matter?” he said. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

“Dogs,” I said.

“Don’t worry. There are no dogs, here. No precautions at all. Just storage for the café. Spare furniture, old machines, Christmas decorations. Nothing worth a bag of bones.”

The gate was locked shut with a padlock. One that used a combination, not a key. Young fiddled with the barrels for less than two seconds before the hasp sprang open. I saw the code he’d used. 1—2—3—4. On that evidence, maybe he was right about the level of security.

There were six sheds inside the compound. All were an identical size and shape. Rectangular, eight feet by six. They were arranged in two lines of three. All had wooden walls, shingle roofs, and no windows. And all were padlocked from the outside.

“Doesn’t look hopeful,” I said.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Young said. “And I want my SIG back, please.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It will. I need it. I’m not going in that shed unarmed.”

“Why not? You said McIntyre was your old mate.”

“He is.”

“Old enough that he’s senile?”

“No.”

“So he remembers what you look like?”

Young didn’t answer.

“You think he’d recognize you, and shoot you anyway?” I said.

“No,” Young said.

“So you need a lethal weapon because . . . ?”

Young scowled at me, then made his way around to the back of the last shed on the left. He counted seven panels in from the far corner, pushed gently to check they were loose, then knocked rapidly four times.

“Terry?” he called.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Who d’you think we’re looking for, here?”

“Tony,” he said. “Obviously. But we only use real names if we’re in trouble. As a warning. Makes sense, if you think about it.”

We turned back to the shed. There was nothing but silence from inside.

“Terry?” he called, again. “It’s Graham. It’s OK. Are you there? Are you hurt?”

Still no reply.

“Looks like you could be right,” he said. “Not hopeful at all.”

“We need to be sure,” I said. “In you go.”

Young sighed, swung the loose panels out of the way, and wriggled through the gap he’d made. I took out my Beretta and followed him in. If McIntyre was there it would be a safe bet he’d remember what I looked like, too, and I’d be hard-pressed to call myself an old friend.

There wasn’t room to stand up straight inside the shed other than in the very center, due to the pitch of the roof. The air was heavy with damp, rotting wood pulp, and even with the narrow
beam of light that followed us through the hole in the wall it was clear that the place hadn’t been used for years. Except maybe by woodworm. The interior was completely empty, and the entire floor was shrouded in fine sawdust. It was everywhere, apart from the places where Young and I had stepped. If anyone else had been there recently, it would have been immediately obvious.

“Not much of a safe house,” I said, as Young reluctantly replaced the panels from the outside.

“A long shot, at best,” he said. “I knew it was the worst place. That’s why I left it till last.”

“So where else could McIntyre be? What about an emergency rendezvous?”

“Didn’t think we needed one, with five safe houses. And I’m starting to worry. Something had obviously happened at that last place. The crime-scene tape wasn’t there for decoration. And the door was gone, so someone must have busted in uninvited at some point.”

“True.”

“And what about the bloodstains? There were three. Two inside, and one outside. On the stairs. Did you see those?”

“Yes.”

“So, who could it have been? I was thinking, a bunch of random idiots? They tried something, and Tony dealt with it? Then I figured he moved on to the next place, since I’d tried all the others. Your people would know if he’d wound up in the hospital, right? Or if the police had arrested him for something?”

“They would.”

“Then we should head back up there. Try to find some more scrotes to talk to. Those last two were useless. They gave me nothing. But there were a couple more hanging around. They got away. We could find them. Maybe they know something.”

“Looks like you asked some pretty hard questions.”

“There’s a lot at stake. If Tony’s in the wrong hands, we’ve got huge problems.”

“Well, Tony does, anyway. I’m not so sure I care at this point. And I doubt the guys you killed did, either.”

“Forget them. They should have been more cooperative. But believe me, you should care.”

“Why?”

“Because of the stuff Tony had. If it’s gone, there’ll be a huge piece of Africa with a population of zero, very soon. Or stuck with a government full of ruthless, corrupt ass holes with their snouts permanently welded to the trough.”

“What, you mean politicians?”

“This is serious.”

“OK. So, Africa? Why a piece of there?”

“That’s where the guy’s from. The Republic of Equatorial Myene. The other person who knew Tony was here. He works for that government. And there are elections coming. Elections they’re going to lose, otherwise.”

“Maybe Tony was happy to sell to these guys. Or maybe they offered him a job, in lieu. Minister of ethical integrity, perhaps.”

“You don’t understand. Tony’s not like that. He’s completely ethical.”

“He sounds it.”

“He is. He isn’t here to sell. And specially not to them.”

“Really.”

“Trust me. He wouldn’t piss in their mouths if their teeth were on fire.”

“Well, if he wasn’t helping them with their election strategy, how did they know his address? It’s one thing knowing he was in the States. It’s another knowing which city. Which street. Which building. Which floor. Which room.”

Young didn’t reply.

“What, you think they just guessed?”

He stayed silent.

“Fothergill didn’t even know,” I said. “So you told them. Or Tony did. Or you’re just generally full of shit.”

“We don’t know it was them,” he said. “Not for sure.”

“We do. Your idiot theory? Forget it.”

“Why?”

“I saw the guys who disagreed with the door. And they were no idiots. Trust me.”

“How would you know? You weren’t there.”

“Oh, but I was. Right there. In the room. With Tony.”

“Doing what?”

“Following up after the rendezvous problem. Fothergill was concerned. Like you said, he wanted to help. He asked me to track Tony down.”

“What did Tony say? Did you speak?”

“No. I was about to broach the subject when the door imploded.”

“How many gatecrashers?”

“Two.”

“The two bloodstains?”

I nodded.

“Dead?” he said.

“That’s what happens when you bust in uninvited,” I said.

“Tony killed them?”

I didn’t reply.

“Was it Tony? Did he take care of business?”

I shrugged.

“Oh. That was your work, then?” he said. “Hypocrite.”

“Someone had to deal with them,” I said. “Tony was more concerned with leaving.”

“Can’t blame him for that. He was hurt. Stop. Wait. The stain on the stairs? That couldn’t have been . . . ?”

“No. It was the doctor. From the clinic.”

“Oh. Was he dead?”