Last Man Standing

52

When Gwen dropped Web off at the carriage house, she was strangely silent. He tried to thank her for saving his life, but she had cut him off and driven away. A very curious woman was Gwen Canfield. Maybe she blamed herself somehow for what had happened with Comet.

Yet at least Web had accomplished his goal of finally telling the woman what he had been holding in all these years. He thought about going up and telling Billy too, but maybe it would be better coming from Gwen—that is, if she bothered to tell her husband at all.

He went inside and Romano was eating breakfast. “You look a little whipped,” commented Romano.

“Hard ride.”

“So we are officially done here, aren’t we? See, Angie’s back and she is one ticked-off lady. I’m going to need to head home sometime and face the music.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re done here.”

“Hey, Web, I’ll race you back to Quantico, we’ll find out what your Mach is really made of.”

“Look, Paulie, the last thing I need is a speeding . . .” He froze and Romano looked at him curiously.

“What? It’s not the end of the world getting stopped for speeding. You flash your creds and they let you go. Professional courtesy.”

Web pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers. He asked for Percy Bates, but he wasn’t in.

“Where is he? This is Web London.”

Web knew Bates’s secretary, June, and she recognized his voice. “I know it’s you, Web. I’m so sorry what happened.”

“So Perce isn’t around?”

“The truth is, he took a couple days off. The media relations people are going nuts. They wanted to bring you in to get some quotes, but Perce said no. Have you seen the TV or the papers?”

“No.”

“Well, someone would’ve thought we killed the Pope by mistake, for the fuss people are making over what happened.”

“Well, a lot of people did die, June.”

“People with guns shooting at other people take that risk, Web,” she said, steadfastly toeing the Bureau line. “Anyway, Perce said he had to get away for a couple of days. I know he felt horrible about what happened with you.”

“I know, June, but maybe there’s a silver lining in there for me.”

“I hope so, I really do. Now, can I help you with anything?”

“Clyde Macy, he worked as a foot soldier for one of the local drug crews. I saw some speeding tickets in his file. I just wanted to find out exactly where he had gotten them and when.”

“I’ll have to call somebody for that, but it should only take a few minutes.”

Web gave her his number to call back. As promised, she did shortly. She gave him the information and Web thanked her and clicked off. He looked over at Romano with a dumbfounded expression.

“What?” asked Romano as he swallowed the last bite of his pastrami-on-rye breakfast.

“Clyde Macy got three speeding tickets over a six-month period. Almost lost his license.”

“Big whoop. So he drives too fast.”

“Guess where he got all three?”

“Where?”

“All within one mile of the Southern Belle farm, and one of them less than a hundred yards from the entrance. The entrance was actually noted as a landmark on the Fauquier County police officer’s report. That’s why I picked up on it.”

“Okay, so I guess I’m not going home to Angie today?”

“Sure you are. But tonight we’re hitting the Southern Belle.” They packed their gear and got in their cars.

“You tell them we’re heading out?” He motioned toward the mansion.

“They know.” Web glanced back at the stone house and said quietly, “Good luck, Gwen.”

As they were driving out, they saw Nemo heading toward them in his truck. He slowed and stopped. He looked, Web noted, very surprised to see him.

“Hey, you boys wanta have a beer?” Nemo asked.

The ’Vette’s top was down, and Romano was seated up on the top of the seat back. “Give me a rain check on that.”

Strait pointed at him and grinned. “You got it, Delta.”

“Thanks for your help, Nemo,” said Web.

“I guess you guys are closing up shop.”

“Looks that way, but keep an eye out on the Canfields. Old Ernie is still at large.”

“That I will.”

As Web and Romano drove off, Nemo looked thoughtfully after them and then stared up ahead at the mansion. Apparently the hellcat had lost her nerve.

Angie Romano was not in a good mood. She’d had her sons by herself all this time and the trip to Bayou Country apparently had not been all that pleasant. Web tried to give her a friendly hug when he came to pick up Romano but stopped when she glared at him like she might break his arms if he tried.

And so the toughest member of Hotel Team and the sole survivor of Charlie Team fled the Romano household late at night and climbed in the Mach for what might well be their final gig together. Web had not told Romano about him resigning from the Bureau, but the word had gotten around and Romano had found out when he got back home. He had been really upset at Web for not telling him, but now he was more upset at the Bureau.

“You give ’em everything you got, and this . . . this is how they thank you. Man, it almost makes me want to go and work for a cartel in Colombia. At least you know where you stand with those guys.”

“Forget it, Paulie. Hell, if things work out right, I’ll start my own protection company and you can come and work for me.”

“Yeah, and I’m wearing a bra under my Kevlar.”

The men were prepared to go to war, with their .45s and MP-5s and body armor and even their .308 sniper rifles, because they weren’t exactly sure what they would find at the Southern Belle. They couldn’t call the Bureau in because they had nothing to tell them except some speeding tickets and a few conspiracy theories. But the bright side to Web’s not being officially with the Bureau anymore was that sometimes an honest citizen could get into places and do things a cop never could. Web had had second thoughts about taking Romano, but when he voiced those concerns with Romano, the man had told him that if he didn’t go, neither would Web, because Romano said he’d shoot Web in a place no man would want to be shot. And Web chose not to test Romano’s resolve.

Web parked the Mach on a dirt road that ran along the property line between East Winds and the Southern Belle. As they were making their way through the dense forest, Romano was complaining. “These damn NV goggles are already giving me a headache. I hate the sons of bitches. They weigh a ton. And you can’t even shoot anyone when you’re wearing ’em. So what the hell good is that?”

“Then take the damn things off, Paulie, or stop complaining, before you give me a headache.” However, Web slid his off too and rubbed his neck.

As forest sounds came at them from all directions, Romano said, “No snipers to cover our butt. I’m feeling kind of nervous and lonely, Web.”

The man was just kidding, Web knew. There was nothing on this earth that really scared Paul Romano, at least that Web knew of. Well, except for Angie.

“You’ll get over it.”

“Hey, Web, you still haven’t told me what you expect to find tonight.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll be more than we know right now.” Without Bureau resources behind him, Web had not been able to send the FBI’s fact-digging machine into gear to discover what it could about Harvey and Giles Ransome. He could have called Ann Lyle, but he just didn’t want to talk to the woman right now. With him out of HRT, it would’ve been too hard because she would no doubt break down and then so would he.

The two men made their way forward through the trees until they could make out the buildings they had seen from the watch-tower. Web signaled for Romano to hold up while Web crept forward. Web smiled when he reached the edge of the tree line. There was a lot of activity at the old Southern Belle tonight. A large truck was parked at one of the warehouse-style buildings, its ramp down. Men were carrying equipment out of the truck and Web’s gaze went over each of them looking for weaponry, yet he saw none. A large crate on a forklift was being driven to the warehouse. When the door slid open, Web tried to make out what was going on inside, but he couldn’t. All he could see were blinding lights before the door closed. Off to one side Web did see a horse trailer with a man working around it. From his angle Web couldn’t see if there was actually a horse in it or not.

He spoke into his walkie-talkie and called Romano up to his position. Romano joined him a minute later and squatted next to him. He surveyed what Web had been looking at and whispered to him, “So, what’s your take?”

“Could be anything from drugs to a chop shop, I don’t know.” At that moment the door to the building opened and the forklift came back out. And that’s when they heard the woman’s scream. It rose higher and higher. Web and Romano looked at each other.

“Or maybe a slavery ring,” hissed Romano.

They put their MP-5s on automatic fire and slid out from the woods. Each held the butt of his weapon against his right pec, the muzzle gripped with the index and forefinger.

They made it to the side of the warehouse without being seen. Web spotted a side door and pointed it out to Romano, who nodded. Web made more hand signals, telling Romano with his fingers in the special language of the assaulter what he was planning. In a way it was like the communication between a baseball pitcher and his catcher. However, the big difference was they would be facing something a lot more ominous than a Louisville Slugger.

Web tried the door. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. He opened it a notch farther. Then they heard the woman scream again in a garbled manner, like someone was driving something right down her throat.

Web and Romano burst in, guns ready, took in the scene in seconds. From the corner of his eye Web could see Giles Ransome sitting in a chair.

Web bellowed out, “FBI, on the floor, fingers interlocked behind your head. Do it or you’re fucking dead.” Romano would be proud, thought Web.

There were more screams from all corners as people hit the floor. Web caught a glimpse of somebody flying by to his left and he pointed his gun that way. Romano was charging straight ahead and then stopped.

Harvey Ransome was standing in the middle of what looked like a bedroom, a bunch of papers in one hand. On the bed were three beautiful, surgically enhanced and totally naked women and one young man, fully aroused.

“What in the hell is going on here?” yelled Harvey. When he saw that it was Web, he paled.

Web and Romano were looking around now and they both noted the film cameras, banks of lights, generators, grips, gaffers, cameramen, props and the mock bedroom suite, which was one of four different sets, the others resembling an office, the inside of a limo and, Web noted with surprise, a church. That’s what this was? The Southern Belle was the cover for a porno studio? The screams had been ones of false ecstasy?

Web lowered his weapon as Harvey advanced toward him, script in hand.

“What the hell is going on, Web?”

Web shook his head clear and stared fiercely at the man. “You tell me.”

“This is a perfectly legit business. You can look it up. We have all the permits and approvals.” He motioned toward the naked people in the large bed. “And all of these people are professional actors, of legal age. You can check them out.”

Romano went over to the bed, where Web joined him.

The young women looked at the two men with defiant expressions, while the man tried to hide under the sheet, his most prominent feature now long since deflated.

The women didn’t make a move to cover themselves up in the presence of strange men with guns.

“All you people here voluntarily?” asked Romano.

“You bet, sugar,” said one whose bosom was so large it almost covered her stomach. “Hey, you want a part in the movie? I’d like to show you how voluntarily I can be.” When Romano blushed, the women all started laughing.

“You got a gun that big in your pants?” said another woman.

“Web?” Romano asked helplessly. “What do you want to do here?”

Giles joined his brother. “This is First Amendment territory, Web. You don’t want to go there. We’ll have you and the Bureau in court for years and we’ll win.”

“Well, if it’s so legit, why the farm cover?”

“We have to think of the neighbors. If they knew what we were really doing, they could make trouble for us. They’re wealthy and they know powerful people in public office who could make our lives miserable.”

“All we want,” said Harvey, “is to be left alone to create our art.”

“Art?” said Web. He waved his hand at the naked bodies. “Is that what you call screwing on a two-bit set with inflated Barbie dolls? Art?”

One of the women stood up in all her naked and pumped-up glory. She barely looked twenty. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“No offense, lady, but I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you’re right, and I bet your mommy’s real proud of you too, isn’t she?” said Web.

Harvey put a hand on Web’s shoulder. “Listen, Web, we are legit. We pay our taxes, we do things by the book. Check it out; we’re not going anywhere. My brother and I have been doing this for thirty years out in California.”

“So why’d you move here?”

“We got tired of the LA scene,” answered Giles. “And this is such pretty country.”

Romano looked at the naked actors. “Well, I doubt they ever see it.”

“We don’t want trouble, Web,” said Harvey. “Like I said, we’ll win in court, but we don’t want it to go to court. We’re not hurting anybody here. And lots of people, whether they admit it or not, use our product. And not just flakes on the fringes, but moms and dads smack in the middle of mainstream USA. You know what they say, sex is good for the soul, and watching professional sex can be even better.”

“It’s fantasy, man, all fantasy,” added Giles. “We just give people what they want.”

“Okay, okay, I get your point.” No wonder the two brothers had been all over Gwen Canfield. They probably wanted to hire her for their next production.

“Listen, is there anything we can do for you? You know, to say thank you for keeping this on the QT?” asked Harvey anxiously.

“Just so we understand each other, Harv, I will check you out. And if you’re lying to me, or any of these ‘actors’ are underage, I’ll be back. And if you’re thinking of sneaking out in the meantime, don’t try, because we’ll have people posted.”

“All right. I guess that’s fair.”

“Oh, and there is something you can do for me.”

“Just name it.”

“Stop flying your aircraft over East Winds. It’s bothering some friends of mine.”

Harvey put out his hand. “You have my word.”

Web didn’t shake his hand. Instead he looked at the young women. “And you ladies have my sympathy.”

Romano and Web made their way out, laughter following in their wake.

“Gee,” said Romano, “I’d call that mission a sterling success.” “Shut up, Paulie.”

As they were heading back to the woods, Web saw the same man standing by the horse trailer that he had observed earlier. Web walked over. The fellow was dressed like a farmhand. He looked alarmed when he saw their guns until Romano flashed his badge.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” said the man, who looked to be about fifty. “Serves me right, though, for hiring on to this outfit.”

“I guess you help provide the legitimate cover.”

The man looked toward the warehouse—or, as Web now knew, film soundstage. “Lots of things need covering up around here. If my poor wife were still with us, she’d skin me alive, but they’re paying twice the going rate.”

“That should’ve told you something,” said Web.

“I know, I know, but I guess everybody gets greedy and I been doing this work a long time. Too long, I suppose.”

Web looked over at the trailer. There was a horse in it. Web could see the top of its head.

“You going somewhere?”

“Yep. Got a long ride. Taking that horse up for sale. Got to put on a pretense that we know what we’re doing here. And that yearling is actually pretty nice.”

Web went over to the trailer. “Really? He looks kind of small to me.”

The man looked at Web like he was crazy. “Small? He’s fifteen hands. That ain’t small for a yearling.”

Web looked inside the trailer. The top of it was a good eighteen inches above the horse’s head. He looked at the man. “Is this a special trailer?”

“Special . . . what do you mean?”

“Sizewise. Is it particularly big?”

“Nope, it’s your standard seven-foot Townsmand bumper pull.” “This is a standard Townsmand? And that yearling is fifteen hands high? You’re sure?”

“As sure as I’m standing here.”

Web shone his light around the interior.

“If this is a standard trailer, how come you don’t have your tack boxes down there?” He looked at the man suspiciously and shone his light at the sides of the trailer’s interior.

The man looked at where the light was shining. “Well, the first point, son, is you don’t never put anything like that where a horse can nick its leg on ’em. A nicked leg can blow a sale.”

“You can pad them,” Web shot back.

“And the second point is . . .” He pointed up to the front of the trailer, where Web could see a large compartment filled with tack, medicine bottles, ropes, blankets and the like. “And the second point is, you got all that tack room right there, so why do you need to put something special in that might just tear up your horse’s legs?” The man looked at Web like he really was insane.

Web wasn’t paying attention because something was starting to seep into his brain that, if true, would put a whole new face on everything that had been happening. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out some photos he had kept in an envelope, photos Bates had given him. Web picked one out and held it in front of Romano as he shone his light on it. “The guy who you gave the kid to that night?” he said. “Is this him? Think of him with a blond crew cut, not bald. I know it’s hard because he was wearing shades. But try.”

Romano studied the photo and then gaped at Web. “I think that’s him.”

Web immediately took off running for the tree line, Romano right behind him.

“What the hell’s got into you, Web?”

Web didn’t answer. He just kept running.