The Rule of Nine

TWENTY-THREE

Carrying 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.