Whirlwind

40

Fort Worth, Texas

Children’s screams escaped when the glass door opened to the enclosed play area of the fast-food restaurant.

A kid named T.J. had, according to the banner, turned seven years old and a dozen of his friends had his party going full bore. Like competitors in a cage match they attacked the nets, the tunnels, the slides and ball pit in the contained section known as Playworld.

A grandfather of one of the little partygoers watched the action from his booth, occasionally lifting his eyes from the Dallas Morning News to sip his coffee and ensure the action didn’t get out of hand. Thick, silver-white hair accentuated his chiseled face. He wore a navy polo shirt.

Eli Maddick.

That’s him, Pavel Gromov thought after entering the restaurant and scanning the dining room for the man who’d described himself to Gromov over the phone last night.

White hair, sixties, said he’d wear a navy polo shirt. Yes, he’s the man I’m looking for.

Since Gromov and Yanna had arrived in Texas the previous day, Gromov had worked late into the night, talking with Yuri Korzun in New York. Korzun had reached out to his associates, calling in favors to help Gromov find ex-con Mason Varno, his girlfriend, Remy Toxton, and ultimately, his grandchild.

They’d exhausted the list of names of Mason Varno’s coworkers that Gromov and Yanna had gleaned from Triple E Carpenters. Korzun obtained telephone numbers and at Gromov’s demand, Yanna called, claiming to be a distant relative of Remy’s who needed to see her.

Yanna had surprised Gromov with her talent for acting. He listened to her emotional ruses, the way she smoothly played off names of the spouses of coworkers, woman to woman.

“Suzie, Billy’s wife thought you might be able to help me. I need to reach Remy, you know, Mason’s girlfriend? Yes, she was due to deliver a few weeks ago. Remy and I were friends, way back when I lived in America and we lost touch…”

But Yanna’s calls were to no avail.

Gromov had grown to believe that Mason’s coworkers did not know of Mason’s or Remy’s whereabouts. And Gromov had failed on another front. He couldn’t reach the person with the ex-con support group, the Fellowship of the Good Thief. After he’d considered a new approach he went back to Yuri, this time for help finding other ex-cons who’d served time with Varno.

It took several hours before Korzun called Gromov back with a contact.

“His name is Eli Maddick and he’ll be expecting your call.”

Yuri gave Gromov the background on Maddick, how all of Korzun’s associates in Miami, New Orleans, Houston and Dallas, vouched for him as a “consultant.” The speed and quality of his information is unsurpassed.

Korzun said that Maddick was a prison official who had resigned five years ago after allegations surfaced that he had controlled several inmates to make a brutal attack on other inmates. The men who were allegedly beaten at Maddick’s command contacted attorneys, who claimed their clients had had their civil rights violated. The FBI launched an investigation but soon all statements were mysteriously recanted and all complaints were withdrawn.

Maddick agreed to voluntarily resign and take early retirement.

Nothing was ever proven.

Since retiring, Maddick did “a bit of confidential security consulting,” using his expertise and contacts to help clients obtain information on the justice system.

It was late last night when Gromov called him on the cell number Korzun had provided and told him of his situation concerning Mason Varno. Maddick listened and said little. Then he gave Gromov directions, details and the time to meet before quoting his consulting fee, which was to be paid in cash, with nonsequential serial numbers. “I’ll have the information you need.”

Gromov and Yanna rose early to make the estimated four-hour drive from Lufkin to Fort Worth, to make it in time to the suburban fast-food restaurant where Maddick was now waiting.

“Eli?” Gromov said.

Maddick looked up from his newspaper at Gromov and Yanna.

“I’m Sergei, and this is my niece, Tatiana.” Gromov adhered to his practice of using false names. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, have a seat.”

Yanna paused to slide a child’s jacket, ball cap and small sneakers farther along the bench seat that she and Gromov took.

“How was your trip-from Canada, wasn’t it?”

“Uneventful,” Gromov said. “Thank you for agreeing to help us. You were highly recommended.”

“So were you.” Maddick offered the beginnings of a bitter smile. “I was advised rather strongly that I should help you.”

“Good. You have the information?”

Maddick lifted the corner of the folded sports section of the newspaper, showing a glimpse of a large plain brown envelope.

“It’s all there.”

“Thank you.” Gromov nodded to Yanna. “We brought you a box of your favorite chocolates.”

Yanna passed a small cardboard chocolate box to Maddick. He peeked inside. It held five thousand dollars in unmarked fifties and twenties.

“I’ll enjoy these, thank you. I’ll give you some additional background on the information. Would you like to get a coffee first?”

Maddick, Gromov and Yanna looked like any other group of suburbanites socializing at a children’s birthday party. Only the subject was the Texas justice system and Maddick gave them a primer.

“Are you familiar with prisons, Sergei?”

“No, I know very little of prisons.”

Yanna looked away so her face would not betray his lie.

Maddick said that there were some 150,000 offenders in over one hundred fifty prisons, jails and other facilities in Texas, and if needed, he could help get information on just about anything.

“For now, I am interested in locating Mason Varno,” Gromov said.

Before he was paroled, Maddick said, Mason Varno completed a five-year sentence at Hightower Unit for robbery. The prison was near Dayton, northeast of Houston. The unit housed about 1,400 prisoners, give or take. Like prisons everywhere, the institution had its challenges with gangs, beatings and other issues. While Varno was inside, he took part in various programs and also sought the help of the Fellowship of the Good Thief Society, a faith-based support group.

“He kept to himself and managed to stay out of trouble,” Maddick said. “However, I was able to find out that he associated with four prisoners, and maybe not always on the best of terms, but there were four.”

Maddick’s intel indicated that among Varno’s circle, there was talk of plans for various enterprises on the outside and that Varno feared retribution on the inside for a disastrous drug deal prior to his incarceration.

“By the sounds of things, you would think he would’ve been almost happy to be inside, or so it seems,” Maddick said.

“Where are these four associates?” Gromov asked.

“Two are still in prison. One died in a workshop accident. Only one has been paroled. All of their information is in the envelope.”

Gromov began opening it.

“Now, while it would be a parole violation for the inmates to associate with each other while on parole, we all know rules are broken every day.” Maddick smiled.

Gromov looked at the first page of records. The ex-con’s name: Lamont Harley Faulk.

“A little warning about Faulk,” Maddick said. “You’ll see he’s serving time for aggravated assault. In prison he was legendary for knowing everything about everyone. He was drawn to white supremacist gangs. He once put out a man’s eye with his thumb, bit off one of his ears and ate it, then used a nail gun to leave him crucifixion-style against the wall of a barn. This was after a fit of road rage. The man cut Faulk off. Faulk confronted him at a red light, hauled him away to the barn where he nearly killed him. Faulk’s not quite right upstairs. He’s got a temper. He hates most living things, but apparently keeps his word. He’s pathological about that. It’s all there in his psych reports.”

Gromov studied Faulk’s records.

“I don’t know how you’d persuade him to tell you anything about Mason Varno,” Maddick said, nodding to Yanna. “Oh, could you please pass me my grandson’s things on the seat there? I’m afraid it’s time for us to leave.”

Yanna passed him the small sneakers, jacket and ball cap.

“Thanks and good luck,” Maddick said.

After Maddick left, Yanna moved to the seat across from Gromov.

She sipped her tea while he slipped on his bifocals to study the documents more closely. She thought it a strange juxtaposition how this powerful Russian mobster, no doubt a murderer himself, was sitting here amid the laughter of American children, preparing to hunt down a violent psychopath.