The Rule of Nine (14 page)

S
o then I take it we're all agreed?” The four of us are seated around the kitchen table at our house in Coronado.

“I don't see that we have any other choice,” says Harry.

Herman nods. “I agree.” Three days since they found Jenny's body and we're all running on empty from lack of sleep.

“Well, I don't,” says Sarah. “I don't like it. Besides, you're only doing this because of me. Why should we let him chase us out of our home?”

“We don't move, we're just playin' into his hand,” says Herman. “He killed your friend to send us a message—that he can reach any one of us anytime he wants. If we move and do it the right way, we take that away from him.”

“How do we know it's even him? How do we know he killed Jenny?”

“We know. Trust us on this,” I tell her.

“Why can't we go to the police? Aren't they supposed to provide protection?” says Sarah.

“They gotta have evidence,” says Herman. “So far they got nothing linking Liquida to Jenny's murder.”

“At least not yet,” I tell her. “We gave them his name and some other information. They're going to investigate—”

“You mean they can't provide protection?” says Sarah.

“They might send a patrol car by the house every few hours to keep an eye on us,” I tell her. “But that's all.”

“And that ain't gonna cut it,” says Herman. “Not with this guy. His game is to play with our minds. Man's evil, but he's got patience. He knows that sooner or later we're gonna get tired, give it up, and go back to livin' a normal life. That's when he'll hit. He's toyin' with us like a cat that has one of his claws in a mouse.”

“I should have taken Sarah and run,” I tell them. “The minute Thorpe told us about Liquida. Jenny would still be alive.”

“Maybe. But one of us'd be dead in her place,” says Herman.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Harry or me,” he says. “You gotta understand what you're dealin' with. Liquida's a mental case. One sick son of a bitch. Excuse my language.” Herman glances toward Sarah, then looks at me. “If you run, it's the way he'd bring you back, reach out and kill somebody close. It's why I had you shut down the office.”

“You closed the law office?” says Sarah.

“Had to,” says Herman. “He killed Jenny, so what's to think he won't go after one of the secretaries? Can't take the chance.”

Herman has managed to stay half a jump ahead of Liquida for the past few days. Otherwise, by now one of us would probably be dead. He is beginning to get a sense for the twisted mind that is shadowing us. Herman's take is that Liquida probably hasn't taken the time to tail any of our staff to their homes yet, because he thinks he has the four of us under glass, where we can't move.

“So we sent everybody from the office home,” Herman explains to Sarah. “Told them to stay away from the office till they hear from us, and to take all the home addresses and other identifying information out of the office so Liquida can't find any of it. You did do that?” He looks at Harry.

“Took care of it this afternoon,” says Harry. “The staff is on paid leave for as long as we can manage it. Told them to take all their personal stuff home and told them the reason. I had the IT people put everything behind passwords in the computers and cleaned out all the personnel files. I can't guarantee we got everything, but he'd have to hunt like hell to find it. Take him days. I had the phones rolled over to the answering service, locked all the windows and doors, and turned on the full security system—doors, windows, motion sensors, the whole nine yards.”

“So now it's down to us,” says Herman. He looks at Sarah.

“If we do this. Assuming I go along. How long do we have to stay away?” Sarah looks me dead in the eye.

“Until the police and the FBI can nail him,” I tell her.

“Oh, yeah, that's great! How do we know they're even looking for him? Besides, what good is the FBI? Harry tells me that when you call them, they put you on hold,” she says. “We lived with them for three months, now they forget our names?”

I shoot Harry a look and he winces. “Sorry.”

“Sarah, I know it's short notice, but it's the best we can do. If you have a better idea, let's hear it.”

“Let me have a gun. Teach me how to shoot and I'll take care of myself,” she says.

“What, and go off on your own?” I say.

“Why not? I'll stay away. Get another job. If he can't find your staff, he won't be able to find me.”

I roll my eyes, shake my head, and glance at Harry. “You talk to her.”

“Not that I want to discourage you from exercising your god-given right of self-defense,” says Harry, “but I don't think this is a good idea.”

“You don't think I can do it?” she says.

“Oh, I don't doubt it,” says Harry. “Nobody in their right mind would come after you if they knew you were armed. But if Herman's right, Liquida's a mental case. So he's not likely to be dis
suaded by the fact that you're packing a gun. Even if he knows it's there.”

“Good. Then I'll kill him,” she says.

“Just like that,” says Harry.

“You bet. Give me a gun and show me how to use it,” she says.

“Not me. I haven't figured out how to get the pistol out of the fanny pack yet,” says Harry.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“Not to worry. It's in my car. Locked in the trunk. Right next to the shotgun,” he says.

“What shotgun?” I ask.

“One I bought yesterday. Biggest twelve-gauge pump I could find, a barrel longer than my uncle Willie's dick. If I'm gonna have to pack a gun, I want him to see it. That way, even if Liquida's crazy, maybe he'll be less likely to come visiting.”

“Your uncle Willie's dick?” says Sarah.

“A manner of speaking,” says Harry.

“Well, there you go,” says Sarah. “So now we have an extra gun.”

“It's not a matter of guns,” I tell her.

“Why not?”

“Your dad's right,” says Herman. “It's a question of sleep.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around the table and tell me what you see. Four tired people,” says Herman, “all of us on edge. And it's only been three nights since they found Jenny. A couple more nights and some of us are gonna get the jitters. At that point I'm gonna be collecting all the guns. Otherwise we'll be shooting each other in the dark. We won't have to worry about Liquida. Besides, you go off on your own and he comes after you, he'll come when you least expect it. Gun or no gun. He'll wait until you get too tired, or till you think it's safe. He'll come when you're asleep, like he did with your friend Jenny. Or when you're walkin' to your car after work. You'll have to grow eyes in the back of your head, and stay awake around the clock. You think you can do that?”

“I don't know, but I can try,” she says.

“And do you really think your dad's gonna let you do it alone?” He smiles at her because they both know the answer to this. “Give it up 'cause it ain't gonna work. We gotta find somewhere safe, simple as that, and there's no way around it,” he says.

“And what about all of you?” she says. “Where are you going to hide?”

“Harry's going with you, at least for the time being,” I tell her.

“So you've worked this all out?” she says.

“We have,” says Harry. “You can ride shotgun during the drive.”

“May I ask where I'm going?”

“Not right now. But shortly after you leave, Herman and I will disappear,” I tell her. “We've got some work to do.”

“And if I don't go?” she says.

“Then you're putting all of us in jeopardy,” I say. “Because we can't get out of here unless you do.”

“So that's it,” she says.

“I'm afraid so,” I tell her.

“I still don't like it,” she says.

“None of us do,” says Herman. “Had my way, I'd kill the bastard now and get a good night's sleep. Problem is I don't know where he's at.”

“If we knew where he was, we could call the police,” says Sarah.

“Why waste a dime?” says Herman. “Besides, cops and courts are like fishermen—catch and release. Far as I'm concerned, a man threatens my life, it's open season.” He stands up and almost hits his head on the light fixture high over the table.

“You mean you'd just shoot him?” she says.

“Not necessarily,” says Herman. “I might not want to make that much noise.” Herman gives Sarah one of his big smiles.

“Is he kidding?” She looks at me.

“I wouldn't bet on it.”

“Good. Then I'll go along with the program on two conditions,” says Sarah. “You keep me posted on everything that's happening. No more secrets.”

“Agreed. And what's the second condition?”

“I want Mr. Diggs to teach me how to shoot when he has some time.”

“You got it,” says Herman.

“Make the call,” I tell him.

Herman takes the cell phone from his belt and starts pushing buttons as he strolls toward the living room.

I spend the next hour helping Sarah pack. About forty-five minutes in, I hear a vehicle pull into the driveway out in front. I step into my bedroom and look through the front window. It's a large white van, two guys getting out. They're wearing white overalls and baseball caps. One of them is pushing a small laundry hamper filled with coiled sections of large, ribbed gray rubber hose.

“It's my people,” Herman whispers up from downstairs. “Don't worry, you got plenty of time. Paul, can you come down? One thing we need to take care of.”

“Be right there,” I tell him. “Can you finish up?” I ask Sarah.

“Yes.” She's on her computer taking care of some last-minute business.

“Be right back.” I hear the men coming through the front door with their equipment. I head for the stairs.

“What do I do with my mail?” says Sarah. “Can I have it forwarded?”

“I don't know. Let me think about it. Why don't you wait? We can talk about it when you get back there.”

“I don't want to wait.”

“Gimme a second,” I tell her.

“Besides, I've got a paycheck coming. Everything's gonna pile up in the mailbox. Did you think about that?”

“No, it won't.” I hold up on the stairs so she can hear me with
out my yelling. “I had my mail and the household stuff sent to the business PO box. The secretaries will take care of it there and pay the bills. I set it up so they can write checks.”

“Oh, right,” says Sarah. “Took care of your stuff. Sounds like you've been thinking about this for a while. Nice of you to let me in on it.”

“Give me a minute,” I tell her.

Herman introduces me to his crew and we talk about how it should go down, the number of bags to be loaded, and I make sure they have the right address for the next stop.

The two men spend the next twenty minutes connecting the sections of hose, hooking up one end to the motor in the back of the van while they haul in carpet-cleaning equipment for the other end. They turn on the motor in the back of the van, loud enough that half the neighborhood can now hear it. For the next forty minutes, one of them puts his hand over the open suction hose every so often to drown the motor down while the other one starts a routine rolling the laundry hamper back and forth. The first load contains Sarah's two rolling luggage bags laid in the bottom of the hamper under several large white towels. On the second run I shake Harry's hand.

“Not to worry. I'll take care of her,” he says.

“I know you will. Let her share the driving. It's a long trip. It'll help keep her mind off things. What do you figure, how many days?” I ask him.

“Four, maybe five. Depends on the weather and traffic.”

“Drive carefully.”

“Will do.” Harry sits down in the hamper. They cover him with the towels and he goes for the ride. It takes both of the guys to lift the heavy hamper inside the van, out of sight. A minute or so later they come back out with the empty hamper.

I hug Sarah, hold her as tight as I can, and give her a kiss on the cheek and the forehead. “I love you. I'll call you tonight. Keep
your cell phone charged. And don't send anything with your address on it, no e-mails, no letters, don't tell any of your friends.”

“Got it, Dad.”

“We'll get past this. I promise. I know it's hard.”

“Don't worry about me. Love you.” She is starting to tear up. “Please be careful,” she says.

“Not to worry,” I tell her. “Herman is with me, remember?”

“I know,” she says. “Still…”

“I'll be careful.”

A few seconds later, she's in the hamper, covered with towels and being rolled out the door.

“I'm gonna keep watch,” says Herman. “When they pull out, I'll wait a few seconds and follow 'em to the bridge. If anybody looks like they're tailing the van, I'll know it.”

“Do it,” I tell him.

C
arrying the heavy pistol strapped to the hip pouch on my side, I load Herman's luggage and mine into the trunk of my car. It's parked in the garage behind the house. Then I head back inside through the door to the kitchen. I go upstairs and check all the windows to make sure they're closed and locked. Downstairs I do the same.

Herman has been gone about ten minutes. I'm beginning to wonder what's keeping him.

The van carrying Harry and Sarah will take them only a few miles, across the Coronado Bridge to a private parking structure in San Diego used by repo agents to store recovered vehicles.

This morning before dawn a driver in a carrier tow truck hauled Harry's car from the parking lot behind his apartment to this same repo facility. Harry's luggage, along with the two firearms, a .45 auto and the shotgun he purchased, are in the trunk of his car.

I look at my watch. In less than an hour, if all goes well, Harry and Sarah will be on the road, headed east, across the country to my deceased wife's sister. Sarah's aunt Susan lives on a small farm with her husband outside Groveport, Ohio, not far from Columbus. They
are retired. When I told them what was happening, they insisted that I send Sarah out of harm's way immediately. It's a good fit. Fred, Susan's husband, is a retired highway patrol officer. In his spare time he breeds and raises Dobermans for guard duty, and he is armed to the teeth. He knows every law enforcement type in the county. Sending her to the farm is like boarding her at a fortress.

It was the best place I could think of. And for the moment, it's certainly safer than my own house in Coronado. By now Liquida has marked every aspect of that like a dog peeing on a bush. I have wondered more than once whether he's been inside casing the place when we were gone, and if so, how many times. Even with the sophisticated alarm, I don't trust it.

Sarah was right about one thing. There is no assurance that the FBI or anyone else is breaking their hump to find Liquida. In the meantime, we know that he is stalking us. This is no longer surmise. We can't move on with our lives unless we can put an end to it. And for the moment we have only one lead. It's where Herman and I are headed, to meet with Joselyn Cole.

The key is the man she identified as Thorn. If Joselyn is correct, and I don't think she is one to make mistakes, Jimmie Snyder is linked to Thorn by the photographs that Snyder's father had. From all accounts, according to the FBI, and assuming the thumbprint on my business card means anything, Liquida killed Jimmie. Why, we don't know. But based on the information Joselyn gave us as to Thorn's background, it's not a far reach to assume that Thorn and Liquida know each other, and that Jimmie's murder may have been contracted by Thorn for a reason.

Liquida is a shadow, a wisp of smoke. But Thorn has a face, and according to Joselyn, some record of information, whether a rap sheet or an investigative file with the FBI. If so, it's possible that our only way to Liquida is through Thorn.

A second later I hear a rap on the front door. I walk lightly down the hall until I see Herman's large hand near the glass on the sidelight. I check to make sure he's alone, then I open the door.

“I followed the van to the bridge.” Herman is a bit breathless as he comes in and I close the door behind him. “From what I could see, they were in the clear.”

I check my watch. “I'll give them twenty minutes and then I'm gonna call Harry or Sarah, and make sure they got there okay. What I'm afraid of is if he knows they're on the run he may try to make his move now.”

“I don't think so,” says Herman. “My two guys in the van are armed and they know what they're doing. Once he and Sarah get on the road, Harry's got the shotgun. If you want, I can have one of my guys go with them, just for the first night or so.”

“No. I'm just worried that maybe we missed something,” I tell him.

“No. I think we got it covered,” says Herman.

“The luggage is in the car.”

“Good,” he says. “Then we better make tracks.” He starts to head down the hall.

“Did you see anybody watching the house?” I ask.

“No. And I went around the block on my way back. A few cars parked at the side of the road, but I slowed way down and didn't see anybody inside any of 'em.”

He stops just inside the kitchen door, turns, and looks at me. “You sure you got everything you need?” he says. “'Cause once we leave we don't want to have to come back.”

“I think so. I got the laptop for communications, cell phone, cords and wires for everything, credit cards and cash. I took nine thousand out of the bank. You think that's enough?”

“I'm hoping we don't have to go out of the country. Can't take more than ten thousand if we do,” he says.

“That's what I thought.”

“What about your passport?” he says.

“Damn it. Knew I forgot something. It's up in the safe.”

“What about Sarah's? Did she take it?” I'm already headed down the hall toward the stairs.

“No, it's there too. I'm sure,” I tell him.

“Get 'em both. That way we can send it to her if she needs it.”

I'm wondering what else I may have forgotten.

Five minutes later we're in the car backing down the driveway. The house is locked and the alarm is set. I punch the button and the garage door starts to slide down.

“I packed a box of extra ammo if we need it,” I tell him.

“Coulda saved the weight. We blow through more than half a clip, we'll know we're in real trouble,” he says. “Where are you supposed to meet her?”

“L.A. A hotel out near the airport. Joselyn's flying in tomorrow afternoon.”

“Joselyn, is it?” Herman looks over at me and smiles. “I assume she has other business out here?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You must have made an impression,” he says.

“Business,” I tell him. “She has information I want. I have information she wants. Nothing more.”

“You don't have to convince me.” Herman is still smiling. “I met the lady, remember? You had me lock her out of my office. Nice looking as I recall.”

I ignore him.

“I hope this meeting isn't too close to the airport.” He fills the void as I shift into drive and head down the street.

“What's wrong with the airport?”

“We'll have to shed the firearms the minute we get near a plane. And while I'm not personally too fussy, the permits to carry are only good in California.”

“So that means we use the car as long as we can,” I say.

“That's good, 'cause any big hops, and we're gonna be traveling naked,” he says.

 

Liquida smiled to himself as he watched the car cruise by the house, the lawyer at the wheel. He was standing in the empty living room looking through the blinds with binoculars in his hand. It was the same house, the one that was for sale when he'd scoped out the two girls a few days earlier.

He was flattered by all of the sleight of hand, the trouble Madriani and his friends had gone to. He wondered if the guys from the van actually cleaned any of the carpets.

They could have saved themselves the trouble. Liquida knew they were on the move the minute he got out of bed that morning and checked his computer. The only reason he came by today was because he was curious.

Did they really think he had nothing better to do than sit there and watch them twenty-four/seven? Liquida was a busy man. There was always somebody new to be killed. He had to work for a living, unlike some people who could stay home and hide in their houses.

Killing the blonde had put a bolt of lightning up their collective asses. They'd turned the lawyer's house into a bunker. And now they were all packing guns. This was like trying to run with a load of lead in their pockets. They couldn't fly, not commercial, not with all the metal. The guns would tend to keep them grounded and offered little protection as far as Liquida was concerned. He liked to work in close with something sharp.

Liquida knew something was up the minute the other lawyer's car moved in the middle of the night—3:42 in the morning to be precise. It went from the parking lot behind the lawyer's apartment to a location in downtown San Diego.

This was strange because for two days running, the car's owner had been shacked up in Madriani's house, barricaded with the rest of them.

Since Madriani and the investigator were in the car that just went by, Liquida figured that the girl and the other partner must have been in the van. He knew the house was empty. He'd watched Madriani going to all of the windows, locking everything up. It
didn't take a law degree to figure out where the van was headed. Liquida could take care of business, watching his computer, until the other lawyer's car, the one in San Diego, started to move again. There was nowhere they could hide that he couldn't find them. If they crawled under a rock, Liquida and his stiletto would be there waiting for them.