Solid Gold: A Red Riley Adventure #3 (Red Riley Adventures) Page 5

  Park, against my better judgement, was riding my little motorcycle around the area, a red Honda Grom. I say against my better judgement because I loved that bike like most people love their pet labradoodle. Her job was to instantly move to intercept the mystery woman once she was spotted. Zipping around on Gromet was the best way to make that happen.

  Ruby’s job was to run interference on whomever we might need to keep out of our way: Ruiz’s associates (if she cheated and brought any), random passersby or patrolling police. Once I made contact with Ruiz, Ruby would hit her from behind with the taser and Marty would scoop us up in the black SUV he was using. I wasn’t big on the kidnapping idea, but if we couldn’t break into Ruiz’s office, it was about the only way to get information on Negron. If Park could snag the mystery woman, that would be a bonus.

  The big question was, who would we find first? If we found Ruiz first, I would approach her as Negron’s associate and keep her busy until Ruby arrived. If we found the mystery woman first, Park would incapacitate her and we would scoop up the heroin and use it when we met with Ruiz to prove that I was legit.

  The biggest of many risks was that Ruiz and the woman would meet each other before we found either of them. It’s possible that we would miss the meeting altogether, or that we would create too big a ruckus trying to take them both at once, and someone would call the police. Despite the chilly weather, there were a lot of people milling around. Everyone was on Christmas vacation.

  “I’ve got eyes on Ruiz,” said Ruby into my ear.

  “Where?”

  “Approaching the yacht club. She appears to be alone.”

  “Oh, crap!” I started to sprint. I was about as far away from the yacht club as it was possible to be and still be on the island. I crashed through some bushes and into the Pavilion parking lot, almost getting run over by Marty who had anticipated my move and driven to the end of the lot. I jumped into the passenger’s side. “Go!”

  He tossed the drone controller in my lap. “Don’t let it crash,”

  Man, I sucked at flying this thing. I looked at the LCD screen and could make out Soldier Field. I oriented myself and began moving the drone over the harbor toward the yacht club. It was mid-afternoon but the sun was already low and causing glare. The empty docks spindling out into the frozen water made me think of a cemetery for some reason.

  The drone flew over our heads just as Marty reached the southern end of the parking lot and came to a stop. I grabbed the backpack from between the seats and handed him the controller.

  “Find the other woman,” I commanded. “Fast.”

  I shouldered the pack and tried to still my heart, walking swiftly past the empty Pavilion toward the entrance to the yacht club. It was open, and people were coming and going. There seemed to be a Christmas party in full swing. I noticed Ruby standing near some people waiting for a taxi. She inclined her head and I turned my eyes to see Ruiz disappearing around the far corner of the building. As I followed, I could hear the distinctive whine of my motorcycle coming from further south. Park must have passed by the club and was now turning around.

  I rounded the corner of the yacht club and spotted Ruiz walking toward one of the empty docks. There was no one else back here, no way to blend in, so I screwed my courage up and followed her across the snowy lawn to the docks. How on earth were we going to sedate her and get her back to the SUV without being seen? Park was going to have to create some kind of diversion.

  She turned when she heard the crunch of my footsteps. I was twenty feet away when she held up a hand for me to halt. She looked carefully at my face, then nodded toward the backpack. As I was taking it off my shoulder my earpiece burst to life with Marty’s voice.

  “Abort, abort, we’ve got company!”

  I turned to look behind me, and saw a string of six black SUVs with tinted windows cruising down the road toward the yacht club. No sirens, no insignias, but they were definitely trouble.

  Before I could say or do anything, a noise came from the bushes hugging the building. A woman stepped out of the shadows.

  It was her. Nick had done a good job with the make-up and hair, the resemblance was good. I hadn’t done as well with the clothes and accessories. My backpack was new, and made of some kind of nylon used for camping gear. Hers was just an old green canvas army duffle. I was wearing the properly insulated jacket that one naturally wears in December in Chicago. She was wearing a ragged looking brown tweed overcoat over jeans and an old pair of construction boots. In short, we looked like twins separated at birth: She had grown up in the rough and tumble drug trade in Mexico City, while I had grown up to be a soccer mom in Evanston.

  Oh, and she had a gun. I didn’t.

  She waved the gun at me and pointed toward Ruiz. I got the message and walked toward the older woman.

  “What the hell is going on here?” asked Ruiz. In response, the mystery woman indicated we should walk out onto one of the empty docks. “I think I deserv—"

  The mystery woman said something rapidly in Spanish and Ruiz stopped talking. Then the woman turned to me.

  “Take off the hair,” she said, with a strong accent.

  I did as she said, dropping the wig off the side of the dock where it landed on the thin layer of ice that covered the little harbor.

  “Hands above your head.”

  I did that too. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a swarm of FBI agents cautiously crossing the lawn in our direction. Standing behind them, leaning on one of the vehicles, Caleb Carter was talking into his cell phone. Damn.

  Our eyes met, and he straightened up in surprise and started toward us. Clearly he recognized me, my hair, my exceptional ability to be in the middle of a total mess.

  Meanwhile on the dock, Ruiz and the mystery woman were arguing back and forth in lightning fast Spanish. I couldn’t catch any of it, but I slowly moved one hand to my ear and activated the microphone in my earpiece. Maybe Park would be able to make sense of it and fill me in later, if there was a later. I wasn’t sure there was going to be.

  Suddenly, the air was split with the sound of a bullhorn. It drowned out whatever the two women were saying, and got their attention for the first time.

  “This is Agent Caleb Carter of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Put down the gun or we will be forced to shoot you. We have you surrounded.”

  The mystery woman turned around to look at the approaching force. I gave Carter a little wave with my raised right hand. He didn’t wave back.

  Ruiz was shouting at the woman now, and I clearly heard her say Negron’s name several times. The mystery woman turned back to Ruiz. She dropped her canvas duffel bag, then threw the gun to the side, far enough away that the FBI could clearly see it. Then, facing Ruiz and I, she opened her coat to reveal a bomb strapped to her chest.

  I would tell you all about what kind of bomb it was: Dynamite, C4, Easy-Bake Oven. But I didn’t stay around to find out. The minute I saw it I knew it was bad news, the worst kind of news. My spidey sense screamed at the top of its little spidey lungs.

  I turned and sprinted toward the end of the dock; there was nowhere else to go. I heard several gun shots. A bullet splintered the wood of the dock by my foot, but I don’t know if it came from the FBI or the mystery woman.

  “Stop!” shouted Carter through the bullhorn.

  I didn’t stop. I hoped my microphone was on and shouted “Gold Star” out loud into the air as I launched myself off the end of the dock.

  The bomb went off while I was still in the air.

  Twelve

  I woke up bleary-eyed, wrapped in blankets and laying on the couch in my own living room. I turned my head to see Ruby sitting in the green overstuffed recliner, her eyes closed and her head resting on her chest.

  I groaned.

  “You found me.”

  “Of course,” she said, never moving or opening her eyes.

  Thirteen

  I laid low for several days, waiting for news to hit. Turns out, I was once again
presumed dead. Only this time, I was only known as “Mystery Woman,” as in: Two Dead in Terror Attack on Yacht Club, Mystery Woman Missing and Presumed Dead. The irony was not lost on me; I’d been calling Negron’s associate the Mystery Woman all week. Although no statement was given, the FBI presence on the scene was enough for the papers to presume terrorist activity. Ruiz was cited by name and described as an upstanding member of the Chicago Chamber of Commerce. The bomber was still unidentified. Caleb Carter was not interviewed. What was he doing in Chicago? Was he possibly following me?

  That seemed unlikely. If he’d planted some sort of tracking device on me, he’d have shown up at my door long before we went hunting for Elena Ruiz. He must be after Negron as well, which would be welcome news. We had been operating under the assumption that nobody suspected Negron of anything. If this were untrue, there might be other ways of gaining information about him. I would have to think about ways to approach Caleb Carter. To that end, I had engaged the services of Ellery Park, Private Investigator, to locate Carter and keep tabs on him. Ruby had been assisting. My calls to Selena Salerno had been met with a voicemail indicating that she was traveling but would be in contact when she returned. What was she up to?

  It was a few days later, on New Year’s Eve, that Nick stopped by. I hadn’t seen him since the explosion—the recent explosion (I’m going to have to start numbering these things, or give them names, like hurricanes, to keep track)—Ruby had told him I was fine but needed my rest.

  I had escaped hyperthermia, barely, but the exposure to the cold water had given me a high fever, chills, sore throat and body aches for several days. When most people were taking down their Christmas trees and hauling cardboard boxes out to the curb I was laying on the couch wrapped in blankets and reading Wayne Stinnett books about solving crimes in the tropics. I love Chicago and all that, but winter here makes you think of warmer places, especially when you’re sick.

  When Nick rang the bell, I was in the middle of a set of sit-ups on my living room floor. I had dragged myself up and into gym clothes the day before, stretching for an hour to get my muscles to unclench, and to remind myself that I’m supposed to be fit and flexible. Today I had moved on to basic calisthenics, and it felt good to be working up a sweat.

  When I opened the door, his face lit up, and I have to admit my heart melted a little bit. I’m sure he felt guilty for not being there when something bad had happened, for choosing his family over me. I had stoked the fire of guilt by being unforgiving. How many days should you be mad at someone you love? I didn’t know what etiquette would indicate, and I didn’t care. I reached out and grabbed him by the front of his overcoat, standing on my toes to give him a long kiss. He tasted delightful, of coffee and something else—caramel?—and as usual he smelled of paint. Cold radiated off him, and my sweat quickly cooled into a chill that made me shiver. Nick caught it.

  “You shouldn’t be standing in the cold like this,” he said worriedly.

  “Then why don’t you invite me in?” I asked.

  He grinned, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the hallway, shutting the door behind us. Upstairs, Nick made coffee while I took a quick shower, coming out to the living room in my terrycloth robe and furry bear feet slippers. Nick isn’t one to be critical of my clothing choices, especially when the neck of the robe gaped enough to show that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He nearly dropped one of the mugs of coffee, recovering just in time to avoid spilling it on the floor.

  “I told you to call me in an emergency,” Nick said.

  “Things escalated a bit fast for that.”

  We sat on the couch and I told him the whole story of the Christmas Eve Catastrophe, as I was calling it. About how I had crashed through the thin ice when I jumped off the dock, how there was just enough daylight coming through the ice for me to see. I then swam for thirty seconds underwater until I reached the docks on the other side of the slim inlet. Moved closer to shore until I could get my feet underneath me, and then burst up through the ice and collapsed on the other shore, near the Gold Star monument for families of fallen soldiers. At that point I passed out, but Marty and Ruby had pulled up quickly, driving Marty’s SUV down the lawn and bundling me into the back. Everyone at the yacht club had been so focused on the scene at hand that nobody had noticed us across the water until we were all back in the car and speeding away. Marty heard Carter’s bullhorn yelling at him to stop, but hopefully we were far enough away that no one got his license plate. In seconds, we were thoroughly lost in the crowd of traffic around the football stadium. Lots of those fans drive SUVs, so we had natural cover. Nobody had come looking for Marty in the six days since so it looked like we had made a clean getaway.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Nick said when I finished recounting my tale.

  “So am I, but at least you were out of harm’s way when my scheme blew up, so to speak.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it was!” I ran my hand through my wet hair, exasperated. “When will I learn to not rush into things? I mean, sure, last spring with Aldo, that all happened so fast that I had to make it up as I went along, but this...” I gestured at the empty air.

  “Was what?”

  “Was a serious lack of planning, and it could have gotten any one of us killed. Clearly, Ruiz was on the outs with Negron, and instead of a drug deal he had set up an assassination. And we walked right into the middle of it. I need to get better at this. Patience, planning. Like Don did at the museum with Negron. That was beautiful, perfectly planned, and well executed.”

  “People still got killed. You almost got killed.”

  “Fine, but that doesn’t make what I’m saying wrong.” I drank the dregs of my coffee. “I was a beat cop, basically a traffic cop. I wasn’t a detective. I’m not trained in investigation. I basically just make crap up as I go along. I’ve spent all year getting my body in shape, but I need to spend some time getting my mind in shape. I should be taking lessons with El, learning how to really be a private eye.”

  “Sounds like a New Year’s resolution,” said Nick, getting up from the couch and taking our coffee mugs into the kitchen. When he returned, he stopped at the coat rack and took a small, gift-wrapped package out of his coat pocket. He handed it to me smiling.

  “I was going to get you diamonds, but I feel like you’re all set in the that department.”

  “We said no gifts!” I exclaimed, reaching behind me and pulling a wrapped book off the shelf where I had been keeping it since a week before Christmas. I handed it to him.

  “Merry Christmas,” I said. I had given him my mother’s signed first printing of Blood Meridian. I had noticed him studying it when we visited her a few month’s ago. He had given me a beautiful little golden box. It had a handle sticking out of one side, and when you cranked it, it played “Fur Elise.” It was beautiful.

  “Now that I think of it,” I said, standing and stretching. “There’s something else I have for you.” I took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. “It’s right in here.”

  He smiled and followed, and by the time we finished it was 2018.

  Fourteen

  Peace and bliss don’t last long, and it was just a week later that all hell broke loose. Again.

  Park and Ruby had located the office building downtown that Agent Carter was working out of and had begun tailing him each day.

  “A lot of meetings,” snorted Ruby derisively. “That seems to be all he does. Then occasionally he shows up after an arrest is made somewhere in the city and stands around with his bullhorn.”

  “He also works out at least once a day,” said Park. “He’s in really great shape,” she added, then blushed slightly.

  Ruby rolled her eyes. “Sure, handsome, if you like that kind of milk-toasted G-man look.”

  “I kind of do,” said Park.

  I raised my hand. “Me too, among other types. Variety is good.”

  “I thought you were taken
,” Park stated.

  “So is he,” put in Ruby. “Wedding ring, and two cell phones. One on a belt holder for work, one in a suit coat for when he talks to his wife.”

  “Wow,” I said, raising my eyebrows, “you’re getting good at this detective stuff.”

  Ruby shrugged. “A little, but mostly learning from the little one here. She’s the one who got close enough to figure that out.”

  I looked at Park. “So, he’s married and you’re still blushing?”

  “So what? I don’t want to marry him, I just like watching him work out at the Radisson gym. That’s where he’s staying.”

  “Moving on,” said Ruby with a dismissive grunt, “he’s clearly here in the city looking for information about Negron. Every bust he goes to involves arms or drugs from Mexico, and he has made repeated detours to drive past Ruiz’s office building.”

  “I thought they would have closed it up after her death,” I interjected.

  “No, just brought in someone new to run the place. We don’t have a name yet, but he never smiles, and everyone seems afraid of him.”

  “We don’t know how much Carter knows about Negron, or if he is just trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.”

  They found out a few nights later, while tailing Carter’s SUV through downtown.

  “You’re losing him,” blurted Park, as his taillights swerved to the right and disappeared down an alley behind a row of shops.

  “I am not losing him,” said Ruby calmly. “I do not lose people.”

  She turned quickly down the alley and then slammed on the brakes. Fifty feet ahead of her, Caleb Carter was out of the stopped SUV, leaning against the back of the vehicle. In one hand he held up a badge, and in the other he had a gun. Both objects gleamed under the only streetlamp.

  “Uh-oh,” squeaked Park, and reached for the glove box that held her gun.

  “No,” said Ruby, reaching over to stop Park’s hand. “He’s a federal agent. You don’t pull out a gun unless you’re willing to use it, and you can’t go shooting an FBI agent.”