Last Man Standing

40

Antoine Peebles pulled off the gloves and sat back, a broad smile on his intelligent features. He looked over at Macy, who was driving. The man’s face was inscrutable, as always.

“Damn good performance, if I do say so myself,” said Peebles. “I think I got the man’s voice and diction just right. I haven’t said ‘ain’t’ that many times in my whole life. So what do you think?”

“You sounded like the boss,” agreed Macy.

“And the lady gets all pissed off and she goes to Web London and the cops and they go looking for Francis.”

“And maybe us.”

“No, I explained all that to you. You have to think at the macro and micro level, Mace,” said Peebles as though lecturing a student. “We’ve already distanced ourselves from him. And on top of that he’s got no product and half his crew is already gone because of that. His cash flow is down to almost nothing. In this business you have two-day inventory levels, tops. He had some stuff hidden, I’ll give him credit for that, but that’s gone. And when he shot Toona he lost four more guys just from that.” Peebles shook his head. “And with all that happening, what does he do? He spends every second thinking about the kid. Every night he’s looking for him, roughing people up, burning bridges, not trusting anybody.”

“Guess he’s smart not to trust anybody,” said Macy, glancing at Peebles. “Especially you and me.”

Peebles ignored this. “He could write a book on stupid management techniques, killing one of your own guys like that in front of everybody. In front of an FBI agent! He’s got a death wish.”

“You have to keep your guys in line,” said Macy evenly. “You have to lead from strength.” He looked over at Peebles with an expression that clearly showed he thought his companion lacked that attribute, but Peebles didn’t notice because he was still obviously reveling in his triumph. “And you can’t blame the guy for trying to find his son.”

Peebles said, “You can’t mix business and personal. He’s screwed himself already, burning political capital, over what? Something that is never going to happen. That kid is never coming back. Whoever took him, that boy is six feet under if there was anything left of him. Now I’ve already got new supply lines set up and his defectors have joined me.” He looked at Macy. “You probably don’t know this, but my maneuver is classic Machiavelli. And I’ve been skimming the best crew members from other gangs over the last six months. We’re just about ready to go and this time we do it all my way. We run it like a real business. Accountability, pay and promotion for merit, bonuses for exemplary performance and rewards for innovation that go right to the corporate bottom line. We’re going to take over our own money-laundering efforts and cut costs where they need to be cut. Not every crew has to have jewelry and five-hundred-dollar-a-night hookers. I’m even envisioning a retirement plan instead of the brothers throwing their money after cars and carats and having nothing when they’re too old to do this anymore. And I’m implementing a dress code for management level, no more of this looking like crap. A professional has to have a professional image. Look at you, you look slick, that’s what I want.”

Macy released a rare smile. “Some of the boys aren’t going to like that.”

“They have to grow up sometime.” He looked over at Macy. “I gotta tell you, it was an awesome feeling having that gun in my hand.”

“Would you have shot her?”

“Are you nuts? I was just scaring her.”

“Well, you pull a gun, some point you may have to use it,” said Macy.

“That’s your job. You’re head of security, Mace. My right-hand guy. You showed your stuff when you came up with the plan to nab Kevin. And you did the down-and-dirty work rounding up the other crews to join forces. Now we’re going to go places, my man; a lot farther than Francis was taking us, and a lot faster. He’s old school, the new ways are the best ways. That’s why the dinosaurs died.”

They pulled down an alley and Peebles checked his watch. “Okay, you got the meeting place all set up?”

“They’re all there, just like you wanted.”

“Mood?”

“Good, but suspicious. You got them worried but definitely interested.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. This is where we stake out our territory, Mace, and where we let the others know that Francis is no longer the force. This is our time. Let’s do it.” He paused as a sudden thought hit him.

“What the hell was that woman talking about, somebody switching Kevin for another kid in that alley?”

Macy shrugged. “No clue.”

“You got the kid, right?”

“Safe and sound. For now. You want to see him?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere near that kid. He knows me, something goes wrong and he gets to Francis . . .” The fear was palpable on Peebles’s features.

The car stopped and Macy got out and scanned the alley in both directions and then looked up to the rooftops. He finally signaled the all-clear to his new boss. Peebles climbed out, adjusted his tie and buttoned up his double-breasted suit. Macy held the building’s door open for him and Peebles walked briskly through. They climbed the steps and with each one Peebles seemed to transform into a larger and larger presence. This was his moment and he had been waiting for it for years. Out with the old and in with the new.

He reached the top and waited for Macy to open the door for him. There would be seven men waiting for him in here, each representing a slice of the District’s illegal drug distribution. They had never worked together; instead, each had grabbed his little share and over-seen his own little fiefdom. They shared neither information nor resources. When disagreements came up, they resolved them by shooting each other. They fed information to the police about other crews when it suited them and the cops came in and cherry-picked them. Francis had done the same thing, and while it was a short-term fix that seemed to have merit, Peebles knew it could not have been more of a management disaster from a long-term perspective. And it was time for Antoine Peebles to step in and take charge.

He opened the door and walked into the room where he would start his own legend.

Peebles looked around. And saw no one there.

Peebles didn’t even have a chance to turn before the pistol was at his head and the shot was fired into his brain. He dropped to the floor, blood running down his fine tie and over his very professional attire.

Macy put the pistol away and bent over the dead man. “I read Machiavelli, Twan,” he said without a trace of conceit. He turned out the light and walked back down the stairs. He had a plane to catch because things were really going to start rocking now.

Web guided Boo up the small hill and reined up next to Gwen, who was on Baron.

Romano was covering Billy down at the equestrian center; actually, Web had left the two admiring Romano’s Corvette. With most of the farm’s men gone to the horse sale, Web had felt particularly vulnerable and had gotten Canfield to okay some more agents coming on the farm to patrol the grounds and keep watch, at least until the men returned.

“It’s so beautiful this time of year,” said Gwen. She looked over at Web. “I guess you think we have a pretty easy life here. Big house, lots of help, just ride around all day admiring the view.”

She smiled, yet Web sensed she was being serious. He wondered why a woman like Gwen Canfield, with all she’d been through, would have the need to seek approval from anyone, especially a stranger like him. “I think you’ve both been through a lot, you’ve worked hard and now you’re enjoying the fruits of that labor. That’s supposed to be the American dream, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” she answered without conviction. She looked at the sun overhead. “It’s hot today.” Web could tell the woman wanted to talk to him about something but didn’t quite know how to broach it.

“I’ve been an FBI agent for so long, Gwen, I’ve heard just about everything and I tend to be a very good listener.”

She shot him a glance. “I don’t spill my heart even to people I know well, Web, at least not anymore.”

“I’m not asking you to. But if you want to talk, I’m here.”

They rode some more and then she stopped. “I’ve been thinking about the trial in Richmond. Those awful people even sued the FBI, didn’t they?”

“Tried to, but it got thrown out. The lawyer, Scott Wingo, the one who was recently killed, he tried to make some hay out of that during Ernest Free’s trial, but the judge saw right through it and put a stop to it. But it probably caused enough doubt in the jury’s eyes that the prosecutor got scared and did a plea bargain.” He paused and then added, “Of course he’s dead too now, and the judge.”

Gwen stared over at him with her large, sad eyes. “And yet Ernest Free is alive and free, after everything he did.”

“Life makes no sense sometimes, Gwen.”

“Billy and I had a wonderful life before all that happened. I love him very much. But ever since David was killed, it hasn’t been the same. The fault probably lies more with me than him. It was my idea to put David in that school. I wanted him to get a first-rate education and I wanted him to be exposed to lots of different types of people—translation, people of color and ethnicity. Billy is a good man, but he was born and raised in Richmond, not with any sort of wealth or privilege but in a neighborhood where you’d never see anyone but those of your own kind.” She added quickly, “He’s not a racist or anything like that. Half the drivers and dockworkers at his trucking company were black and he treated them all the same. If you worked hard, you had a job at fair wages. I’ve even gone with him to drivers’ homes when they’d fallen off the wagon. He would bring food and money to the families, counsel the men, get them professional help and pay for it, or AA meetings, get them back on their feet. And even though he could have fired them, even under union rules, he didn’t. He told me once his lot on earth was to be the King of Second Chances, because he’d had enough of his. I know some people might look at him and me and not see the attraction, but I know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me and he’s stood right next to me through good and bad times and we’ve both had our share of those.”

“Hey, Gwen, you don’t have to convince me. But if you’re having problems, have you sought counseling? I actually know someone.”

She gave Web a hopeless look, gazed up at the hot sun again and said, “I’m going for a swim.”

They rode back to the stables and Web drove Gwen back to the house in one of the farm trucks. She changed into her swimsuit and met Web at the pool area. He wasn’t swimming, he told her, because his gun would get wet. She smiled at this remark and went over and turned a key that was set in a device built into a stone wall next to the pool. The gray automatic pool cover slid back on its tracks.

“We put this in because we kept finding turtles, frogs and even the occasional black snake in the pool,” she explained.

As the cover slid into its holding trench at the far end of the pool, Web squatted down and examined the current-machine built into the deep end of the pool. He looked up in time to see Gwen step out of her sandals and slip out of her robe. She had on a one-piece suit that was cut a little low at the bosom and a little high at the hips and buttocks. Her body had a nice tan, and the muscles in her thighs and calves matched those he had already seen in her arms and shoulders. Forget the butt-burners and thigh-masters, women should just go horseback riding.

“How’s this thing work?” asked Web.

Gwen tucked her long hair under a swim cap and walked over to him. “Water’s pumped from the pool and through the cannon that you see there. It shoots out the water at a certain rate providing a resistance that you can increase or decrease, as you want. We had a portable machine for a while that was very cumbersome. And then I was using it so much that it made sense to have it built in. The pool’s heated, so I use it pretty much year-round.”

“I guess that’s why you’re in such great shape.”

“Thank you, kind sir. Sure you don’t want to swim with me?”

“I’d probably just slow you down.”

“Right. There’s not an ounce of fat on you.” She went over to a control panel that was bolted to the stone wall that was set against the side of the pool nearest the house, opened the box and pushed some buttons.

Web heard water pressure building up and then he looked into the pool and saw white frothing water pouring out of the underwater cannon, creating the current Gwen was going to swim against.

She put on a pair of swim goggles and dove in. Web watched as she came to the surface and started her strokes. He watched for about ten minutes. The woman never varied her pace or stroke. She was like a machine herself and Web was actually glad he had declined the woman’s offer to join her in the pool. Every HRT man had to be able to swim and know how to use diving equipment, and Web was a strong swimmer, but he wasn’t sure he could have kept up with Gwen Canfield.

After about twenty minutes the frothing water stopped and Gwen came over to the side of the pool.

“Done?” asked Web.

“No, I had it set for forty-five minutes. The circuit might have tripped.”

“Where’s the power box?”

She pointed to the double doors set in a stone wall that was built up against a small slope. “In the pool equipment room.”

With the grade of land the way it was here, Web figured the room was partly underground. He headed over and turned the knob. “It’s locked.”

“That’s odd, we never lock it.”

“You know where the key is?”

“No. Like I said, we never lock it, I just assumed there wasn’t a key. I guess I’ll have to cut my swim short.”

“No, you won’t.” He smiled. “The FBI is a full-service agency and a happy client is our best customer.” He pulled out his key ring, on which he always carried a very slim piece of metal that could pick ninety-nine percent of the world’s locks in about thirty seconds. He opened the pool equipment room in half that time.

He went in, found the light switch and turned on the lights, which was a good thing, because even with the lights, he almost took a tumble down a short flight of steps just inside the doorway. Well, he thought, that was a lawyer’s dream case. The place was noisy, with water running and machinery clanking and pumping. He went down the stairs. There were shelves filled with pool stuff, big canisters of powdered chlorine, skimmers, scrubbers, an aquatic robot to clean the pool and assorted junk that probably no one had used in years. It was cool down here and Web calculated that he was about ten feet underground at this point because the floor had continued to gently slope downward once he had gone down the stairs.

Web found the power box and sure enough the circuit had tripped. Since the current machine was a new addition, unless they had upgraded their wiring, it might be throwing too much electrical strain on the system. They should probably have that looked at before it blew and started a fire. He made a mental note to tell Gwen this. As he threw the breaker back on, he heard the machine start up again. There was really quite a racket down here. As he turned to go back outside, Web didn’t notice another door down a short hallway. He turned and walked back out, turning off the light.

On the other side of that door and down another short hallway was another door, for there was quite the little maze down here. Inside that room Kevin Westbrook held his breath. First he had heard footsteps and then he hadn’t. He had heard the damn machine go on and then off and then on again. And the chlorine smell, for he had long ago deduced what it was and grown used to it. But the footsteps going away had surprised him. Whenever people had come down here before, they had come to see him. He wondered why they hadn’t this time.