Better off Dead

Chapter 10

Fenton’s phone pinged and a moment later there was a knock at the door. She whispered, “Pizza.” I moved along the side of the bed where I’d be out of sight. I heard Fenton open the door and thank the delivery guy. Then she grabbed a towel from the bathroom, spread it on the bed like a tablecloth, and set down the giant square box.

We ate in silence. When we were finished I asked, “You said Dendoncker inspects the bodies. Where? At the scene? Or does he have them taken someplace?”

“He always does it at the morgue. He likes the bodies properly laid out and examined. The whole nine yards.”

“Is the ME on his payroll?”

“I don’t know. Could be, I guess.”

“That means to pull this thing off we need to clear three hurdles. To convince Dendoncker that one of us is a threat to him. To make him believe that person was killed. And to persuade the ME to cooperate. That’s a big ask.”

“I came to the same conclusion.” Fenton brushed a crumb from her chin. “I was thinking about it while we were eating. It is a big ask. But it’s not impossible. And I have a way we can do one and two, if you play the role of the dead guy.”

“How?”

“OK. First hurdle. Make Dendoncker believe you’re a threat. That’s easy. All you have to do is play the part of Mickey. Dendoncker’s already sold. He sent two guys to ambush him. Those guys didn’t come back so Dendoncker must be doubly convinced that Mickey’s a problem by now.”

I said nothing.

“Second hurdle. Make Dendoncker believe you’re dead. That’s harder, but still achievable. We do it by setting up another rendezvous with Mickey, which I will attend on Dendoncker’s behalf. Then –”

“How do we set it up?”

“The foundations are already in place. Dendoncker must have gotten his hands on my note because he used the email address on it. But he didn’t know I sent it or there would have been no need for the first rendezvous. He would have sent his guys straight after me. So, I’ll write another note. The handwriting will be the same, which will seal the deal.”

“Another note saying what?”

“That no one showed up today, so let’s try again.”

“He’ll know that’s not true. At the least he thinks his guys are missing. And if he has ears inside the police department he’ll know they’re dead.”

“Of course he’ll know. But that’s not the point. He won’t care if Mickey is lying to him. All he’ll want to do is eliminate the threat he represents as quickly and cleanly as possible. What’s he going to do? Leave Mickey out there, free to come at him whenever he wants, because he didn’t tell the truth? No. He’ll jump at the chance to take him out. He’ll agree to the rendezvous, and pull a double cross. Again.”

“Say you’re right. Say he agrees. Then what? He sends another couple of guys? Maybe more?”

“No. In the note I’ll say Mickey knows he’s not communicating with Michael. But he’s willing to pay ten thousand dollars for information about Michael’s whereabouts. And he will only deal with me.”

“How will you get the note to Dendoncker?”

“I’ll give it to his deputy. I’ll ask to meet him. Tell him I was approached by a guy outside the Red Roan. I’ll describe you. That’ll be plausible because they must assume the last note was brought to Michael by Renée, since she’s gone missing. And if they bite, they’ll offer another rendezvous. We’ll both show up. And I’ll shoot you. At least that’s what I’ll report to Dendoncker.”

I thought for a moment. “There’s a big risk for you if they don’t buy it.”

“I don’t think so.” Fenton counted off on her fingers. “The scenario, with someone getting one of Dendoncker’s crew to carry a note? A match. The handwriting on the note? A match. The email address for Dendoncker to reply to? A match. The note leading to a rendezvous? A match. The setup is plausible. I can sell it. I’ve done this kind of thing before, remember.”

I didn’t reply.

“OK,” Fenton said. “Yes. There is a risk. But whether to accept it is my choice.”

“That’s fair. And getting them to set up a rendezvous might work. But what if they send someone with you? Or they have someone hidden, watching? You can’t just report a shooting. We need to stage one. And we need it to look real.”

“That’s easy enough. I’ve done it before. In Kosovo, years ago. I was there on a mission. We needed leverage over a local gangster so we made him believe he’d killed a guy who we revealed was a US diplomat. All we had was fake blood in a special kind of bag, a detonator, a transmitter, and some tape. The army provided the supplies, of course, but I know where they came from. A store in New York. I could have the stuff shipped here. The only other prop is blanks and I already have some. I brought them with me. I didn’t know what kind of things Dendoncker would have me doing and I thought I might need to avoid killing the wrong people.”

The trick with the blanks and the fake blood could work. I knew, from experience. Only not in Kosovo. And not with a diplomat.

I said, “That leaves the ME. Could be a problem if he’s loyal to Dendoncker. We’ll have to tread carefully.”

“That’s true. Although I’m sure he could be convinced to take a sicky. Given the proper encouragement.” Fenton winked at me. “But that’s maybe best left until last. We should see if Dendoncker bites, first.”

“We also need a wound that looks convincing. We need Dendoncker to believe it’s real. Even if only for a minute.”

“No problem there, either. When operatives go undercover they often use a false wound to hide a handcuff key or a blade. That way, they have it even if they get captured and stripped. It works, even if they get searched. Psychology 101. Humans instinctively avoid contact with wounds. You can get the stuff from the place that sells the fake blood. I’ll add some to the order.”

Fenton cleared away the empty pizza box and lifted her case onto the bed. She opened it and took a card and a pen from a pocket in the lid.

“This is the same kind I used before.” She started to write. “I took a bunch, just in case.”

After a minute Fenton put her pen down and showed me the card. There was a picture of a horse on one side. A red roan, I guessed. She’d written her message on the reverse, next to the café’s address. It looked OK to me. I nodded. She put the card down, grabbed her phone, and tapped out a text.

“I said I’ve just been contacted by an angry stranger who asked me to carry a note to someone called Michael. Keep everything crossed.”

The reply came within a minute. “All right,” Fenton said. “That was Dendoncker’s right-hand man. He wants to meet. He wants me to give him the note. We could be in business.”

Fenton stood up and unfolded a jacket from her case. To conceal her gun.

I said, “Where are you meeting?”

“The Border Inn.” She turned to the door. “My other hotel. It’s a regular type place. I’m booked under my real name, but it’s just for show. I never stay there. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

The door closed behind her and the room was suddenly quiet. It felt empty, with just a hint of her perfume to remind me she’d been there. I went back to the couch and lay down. I wanted to play some music in my head. That always helps to pass time. I figured John Primer would fit the bill. He backed Muddy Waters until he died. Then he backed Magic Slim for fourteen years until he died. John’s music is as good as it gets. But try as I might, it wouldn’t come. Because I was worried. About Fenton. That she would be able to sell our scam to Dendoncker’s guy. Or worse, that she wouldn’t be able to sell it. Then they’d kill her. If she was lucky.

I told myself to snap out of it. Fenton was ex-Military Intelligence. She’d have had extensive training in all kinds of black arts. She could no doubt convince anyone of anything. Only that thought made me more worried. I really knew nothing about her. Only what she’d told me. Which was what she wanted me to know. I got up and started to search the room. I didn’t enjoy it. Even though she had invited me in, the old feeling of being a trespasser came back to me. I always used to feel it when I searched a dead person’s place. I hoped it wasn’t a premonition.

I went through her case. Everything was neatly folded or rolled. She had clothes. Toiletries. Extra ammunition for her Glock. A spare prosthetic foot. A blond wig. Glasses, with plain lenses. A field dressing kit. But nothing that said she’d lied to me. I checked under the mattress. Along the seams of the curtains. Under the couch. And still found nothing. I went to sit back down but stopped myself. The solution was obvious. I should leave. Walk out and never look back. That would leave the plan dead in the water. It needed two people. There was no way Fenton could do it alone.

I took a step toward the door. And stopped again. If Fenton couldn’t get Dendoncker, what would she do? I pictured her with a gun to her head. Again. I didn’t like that image. I didn’t like it at all. So I went back to the couch and waited in silence.

There was no sound of a key in the lock. Just a subdued click, seventy-two minutes later. Then the door swung open and Fenton appeared.

“I think they bought it.” She checked her phone. “No confirmation yet. But I made progress while I was waiting for the guy. I ordered the fake blood and the other stuff we’ll need. I expedited the shipping. It’ll be here in the morning. I just hope they don’t want to meet tonight.”

I agreed. But that wasn’t all I hoped. We still had two hurdles to clear. I wanted it to stay that way.