Макс Коллинз - Spree

“What if the job goes down? If Comfort’s planning a double cross like you say, then—”

“Then a triple cross is called for. He thinks he’s on top of everything — he won’t expect us to be on top of him. I’d like to pull Phil in on this, and talk to Fisher, too. I’ve worked with him. Not as often as with you, but I’ve worked with him.”

Winch was nodding. “I think he’d line up with you. But it’s going to be tricky. And dangerous.”

“Yes it is. Remember — you’re not supposed to know about Sherry. As far as you and Phil know, this score is something Comfort and I put together as partners.”

“Could you make it twenty grand?”

“Fifteen.”

“Five up front?”

“No. Fifteen after.”

Winch shrugged. “Done. What now? The thing is supposed to go down in less than forty-eight hours.”

“I’m going to try to find Sherry and steal her back. I figure he’s got her stashed someplace being baby-sat by his boy Lyle.”

“Yeah,” Winch said, “his boy’s in on this — Comfort says so. But he wasn’t at the meet last night.”

“I only saw the kid once,” Nolan said. “Years ago. He was just a teenager. I don’t remember much about him.”

“He was around when I worked with Comfort, five years ago,” Winch said. “The boy was on the fringes of the supermarket jobs I was in on — he was in his late teens, then. He’s a nice enough, nice-looking kid, but a little thick.”

“Is he dangerous, do you think?”

“Nolan, he’s a Comfort.”

“Yeah. Stupid question. Do you know where Comfort’s staying?”

“No. I got a phone number, though.” Winch dug in his pocket and found a slip of paper. “Here. Copy it down.”

Nolan did, and Winch went back to his hotel, and Nolan looked in the Quad Cities directory, yellow pages, hotels and motels, and compared the number to the numbers listed there.

“He’s at the Holiday Inn,” Nolan said. “Figures he’d stay close to Brady Eighty, close to the Interstate, his getaway route.”

Jon looked at the slip of paper. “It says extension 714.”

Nolan nodded. “Which is probably his room number.”

“Could he have Sherry there?”

“Almost no chance. She’s stashed somewhere. Lyle’s looking after her. I’m sure of it.”

“Could we break in Comfort’s room tonight and just put a gun to his fucking head?”

“Sounds like fun,” Nolan said, “but all we’d have at best is a Mexican standoff. We can always try that — grabbing Comfort himself and threatening to kill him if he doesn’t call and have Sherry released.”

“Wouldn’t that work?”

“If Comfort wasn’t crazy, maybe. Who knows what he’d say when at gunpoint he called Lyle or whoever’s holding her? And he’s got firepower. He’s probably got the Leeches in his corner, and they’re violent crazy fuckers too. He’s got his son. Too many unknowns.”

“I don’t know. It’s tempting to bust in his room in the middle of the night, and—”

Nolan was shaking his head no. “We don’t know what or who is in his room. Sherry might be there, and we don’t want to start a shooting war. Cole Comfort could buy it, and we’d never get Sherry back from Lyle once that happened. Too risky. She’s safe for the moment.”

“So what do we do?”

Stake out the Holiday Inn. Which was how Jon had spent his day today. The plan was, if Comfort went to his pickup and left, Jon would tail him, calling Nolan on the mobile phone. Nolan would then search the room at the Holiday Inn — despite the slight chance Lyle might be in there with Sherry, which was a situation he could better control than one that included Coleman Comfort.

If Nolan could get in that room, without Comfort there, something might turn up — a phone number, a room key, a matchbook, something that would lead them to where Sherry was being held.

But so far Jon had done nothing but sit on his ass in this van, reading his paperback, calling Nolan briefly every hour, drinking hot chocolate, eating McDonald’s food and, every now and then, leaving the van to use the Men’s off the Holiday Inn lobby. Nolan had wanted him to piss in a tin can, but you have to draw the line somewhere.

By eight o’clock his bones were starting to ache; it was colder, and now and then he would turn the motor on and get the heat going. He was starting to think Comfort wasn’t going to leave his motel room until the second meet, tonight, which would once again be at 2:30 A.M. at Nolan’s. He was contemplating getting out and going into the lobby for another piss, when somebody approached the parked pickup.

And got in and started it up and pulled away.

“Holy shit,” Jon said to nobody in particular, and pulled out after the pickup.

“Nolan,” Jon said into the phone.

Nolan’s voice came on, tinny: “What?” The sounds of the restaurant/club, now open for business, were a muffled presence in the background.

“I’m tailing the pickup truck.”

“Good. I’ll toss the room.”

“No! Nolan, it isn’t Comfort driving! He isn’t even in the goddamn thing.”

“Who is?”

“Some girl.”

“Some girl.”

Jon was having trouble keeping up with the red pickup, zooming along up ahead of him on the one-way that was Harrison. “She must be about seventeen. I just got a glimpse of her, is all. Good-looking. Great ass.”

“Reddish-blond hair?”

“Yeah!”

“He has a daughter. She was just a little kid when I saw her. It was years ago. She was cute.”

“You think this is Comfort’s daughter?”

“Probably.”

“What should I do?”

“Just what you’re doing: follow her. She may be headed for where they got Sherry.”

“Do you think so?”

“Follow her. Call me when you got something.”

“Nolan—”

“Give it your best shot, kid. I’ll be waiting.”

The phone clicked in Jon’s ear; then he put it back in its bed on its black battery pack. He was right behind her, as they headed down the oneway of Harrison toward Davenport, the vast North Park Shopping Center whizzing by at their right (never say “whizzing” to a guy who has to pee). She was moving fast. Speeding, actually. For a moment Jon wondered if she’d made him; but he didn’t think that was the case. He could see her up there, looking straight ahead, no discernible rear view mirror glancing, no turning her head to look behind her.

He allowed a couple of cars to get between him and the pickup, but she was traveling too fast for that to work without losing her. He had to keep his speed up. Which was just swell, considering he had a .38 in his pocket. He pulled the ski mask off. Comfort’s daughter — if that’s who this was — didn’t know him from Adam. Why risk being a guy in a ski mask with a gun in his pocket stopped by a cop for speeding.

At the foot of Harrison, she turned left onto River Drive. Soon she pulled into the riverfront parking lot near the Dock, a fancy seafood restaurant, and the Loading Ramp, a nightclub in an old remodeled warehouse adjacent to the restaurant. He cruised by her, as if looking for a parking place, just as she was getting out of the car, a strawberry blonde, hands tucked in the short pockets of the denim jacket, which was much too light for this cold, to which she seemed oblivious; she had a nice tight little ass encased in denim paint. She wore red spike heels. Yow.

Jon saw her go in the big wooden door of the Loading Ramp, and then he pulled the van into a parking place not far from her pickup, but not next to it. He called Nolan.

“I’m going in there,” Jon said.

“And do what?”

“I’m not sure. Talk to her.”

“Better keep your distance.”