Rick Mofina - Whirlwind

“I’m Misty,” Remy said. “This is my husband, John, and our baby.”

“I can help you bring your stuff in.” Brice smiled.

“No, thank you,” Mason said. “I’ll take care of it.”

The interior of the house was menacing. The walls were cracked and had holes in them. The hardwood floors were warped and worn. Cigarette smoke and the odors of a locker room and stale beer permeated the house. A huge plastic trash bag, overflowing with pizza boxes, suggested someone had attempted to clean the kitchen.

In the living room, a man in his early thirties sat on a sofa chair that bled stuffing. He had a beer bottle between his legs, a cigarette in his hand and was watching men kick and punch each other on TV.

He turned and sneered.

“Hello, Mason.”

Mason was motionless.

The man had tattoos along his hands, his arm and collared around his neck, and a scowl creased his face.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise, Arlen?”

“Lamont told me to expect you.”

“He never said a word to me about you, or your friend.”

“Be careful, Mason. Young Brice there’s my little brother.”

Brice nodded, happily smiling his gap-toothed smile.

“Don’t mind him smiling all the time. It’s all he does. He fell off a roof when he was six. He’s what you call a savant. He’s an expert at computers and shit like that, and he’s got an incredible memory.”

“I like your baby.” Brice smiled at Remy. “Can I hold him?”

“No.” Remy turned protectively with the baby.

Brice smiled and went to his room. When he opened the door across the hall from the living room, Remy saw that he had two laptops, a tablet and heaps of equipment with wires and cables on his desk. He likely played video games all day long while Arlen dealt drugs or stolen property, or some crap like that, she thought.

“Before you move in here,” Arlen said, “there’s the matter of paying me for agreeing to share. My fee is one large.”

“To hell with that,” Mason said. “I paid Lamont.”

“If I were you, I’d reconsider your situation, son, seein’ what we both know about you.”

Mason felt the heat of Remy’s what the hell did you get us into glare.

“All right,” Mason said. “We’ll take care of it after we settle in.”

Arlen stood. He was two inches taller and about twenty-five pounds heavier than Mason.

“We’ll take care of it now.”

Mason assessed the option of going into battle against Arlen. Under the circumstances the benefits were few. Still, Mason needed to be prepared.

“All right, Arlen, let me go to my truck and get it.”

“You do that.”

While Mason was gone, Arlen’s ice-cold eyes walked all over Remy as he dragged hard on his cigarette.

“I hardly recognized you at first. You changed your hair. I like it. And I see you got your figure back after having that baby.”

Remy said nothing.

“You know, I kept my eye on you whenever you came to Hightower to visit Mason. And later when I was lying in my cot at night I could never understand what a fine woman like you saw in that loser. It hurt me because I thought about how right you’d be for me. Now fate has brought us together. You gotta love that.”

Remy said nothing. Caleb began fussing and she rocked him.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t smoke in front of the baby.”

Arlen took a long pull from his beer, keeping his eyes on Remy until Mason returned and gave him one thousand dollars in cash.

“Lamont said you’d be out of here in a week,” Arlen said.

“I’ll do all I can to make it sooner than that.”

Arlen downed the last of his beer, dragged on his cigarette and dropped the butt into the empty bottle.

“We’ll give you the big bedroom. It’s got its own bathroom,” he said before removing his shirt, revealing a stunningly powerful build laced with prison artwork. “I’m going to take a shower. Just keep your baby quiet, respect our privacy and we’ll all get along fine, like we did inside.”

Arlen closed his door. Upon hearing it, Brice got up and closed his. When they were alone, Remy stepped outside with Mason as he unloaded the truck of their groceries and bags.

“I don’t like them,” she said. “Why did you bring us here, Mason?”

“We don’t have a lot of options right now. We have to do all we can to stay off the grid, even if it means getting help from people I don’t particularly like, or trust.”

“We can’t stay here long.”

“That’s the plan, believe me.”

After they’d settled into their room and Remy fixed a place for the baby, she bathed and fed him. Afterward she and Mason showered. Then she made them a spaghetti dinner and gave the baby a bottle. When she was finished she washed the linen, pillowcases, and all the towels she’d stolen from the motel. They went outside to the backyard and, keeping their voices low, discussed calling the agency and arranging delivery.

“It’s time. We have to do this, Remy. We have to call and give him up.”

“I know, but it’s hard for me.” She gazed at the baby in her arms.

“And it’ll get harder the longer we wait.”

“Okay, okay.” Tears rolled down her face and she turned to the house.

At that moment she heard an explosion of laughter coming from the living room where Arlen and Brice were playing a violent video game.

I pray to God that we’re safe here .

Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex, Texas

The street was deserted as an eerie quiet fell over the neighborhood.

FBI Special Agent Phil Grogan scanned the front door of a ramshackle one-story house through high-powered binoculars.

The Dallas PD had established an outer perimeter, closing off the street, clearing the way for the Dallas FBI’s SWAT team. The SWAT team was part of the Dallas Critical Incident Response Team-an FBI squad that also included crisis negotiators, bomb techs and evidence response agents.

Grogan saw movement as SWAT members clad in military armor quietly took cover points behind shrubs, parked vehicles and against corners of the house. Within moments, FBI sharpshooters settled into concealed, close-range locations and took aim at the doors and windows of the house.

From a secure vantage point behind the hood of a command post truck, among a clutch of other police vehicles down the street, Grogan and his partner, Nicole Quinn, watched the final stages of the setup.

This was the bureau’s strongest investigative lead to date.

A lot of people had moved fast on it.

According to records based on a fingerprint collected at Unit 21 of the Tumbleweed Dreams Motel, the prime subject was a convicted offender paroled from the Texas prison system. After serving time in the Ellis Unit he was transferred to the Hightower Unit and finally the Clemens Unit before his release.

But Grogan and Quinn had been frustrated by the fact that their subject’s parole records were not up to date due to two factors: his parole officer had recently passed away from a heart attack, and a fire in the regional office had destroyed some records. An emergency retrieval operation for all of the destroyed records was ongoing.

At the same time, Grogan and Quinn had run down the only other clear fingerprints obtained from the motel unit-those belonging to Arb and Ella Winston of San Antonio. The FBI in Arizona, working with the Tucson PD, confirmed that the Winstons, who’d recently retired to Tucson, had not left the city for the past four weeks. They volunteered credit card records showing they’d been in the Dallas motel three months earlier while in the city to visit friends.

The investigators had cleared the older couple as potential suspects.