Money to Burn

54

“JUST GOT OUT OF A CAB?” SAID JASON WALD.

Wald was in the back of a white van that was parked in the bus lot across the street from the Tonnelle Avenue motel. Seated in the captain’s chair beside him, wearing headphones, was his tech expert. Between them was a laptop computer. Weeks earlier, Mallory Cantella’s “boyfriend,” Nathaniel, had given them everything they needed to program Mallory’s cell with spy software. Ivy’s conversation with Michael had come through the speakers on the laptop in real time, loud and clear.

“How did they get out of the motel without us seeing them?” asked Wald.

It was their job to let Burn know exactly when Michael and Olivia made a move. A wireless camera on the fence was aimed at the motel room door, with either Wald or his tech guy watching the image on their computer screen at all times.

“What does the GPS say?” Wald said.

“For some reason the spyware still isn’t giving me a read from the cell phone.”

“What about Olivia’s car?” Wald had gone over in the middle of the night and planted a backup under the bumper.

The tech guy pulled up the satellite coordinates on the computer screen. “The car hasn’t moved.”

“Of course it hasn’t,” said Wald. “They took a cab. Try getting the GPS reading on the cell phone again.”

“Definitely won’t work now. She told him to take the battery out.”

Wald yanked at his hair, as if trying to pull the answer out of his head. “I just don’t understand how they could get out.”

“I don’t either,” said his techie. “I gave the manager twenty bucks to let me look inside one of the rooms, just like you asked me to. There’s only one way in and one way out-and that’s the front door.”

“This has to be a ruse. They must still be in there.”

Wald flung open the passenger’s-side door, jumped from the van, and ran across the street toward the motel, hurdling over the concrete barrier that separated the divided highway. He stopped at Olivia’s car and laid his hand on the hood. It was cold; the car hadn’t moved since they’d pulled up last night. He went to room 107 and put his ear to the door. Silence.

They can’t be gone!

He wanted to bang down the door and find out for sure, but if it turned out that they were still inside, what would he say when Cantella answered the door? He needed another plan. A maid’s cart was two doors down. He ran to it and found the housekeeper making the bed inside room 103.

“Come quick!” he said. “I think my friend in room 107 is sick!”

She paused.

“Come!” said Wald. “You have to open the door.”

She followed him out to room 107. Wald retreated a few steps and waited in the doorway to room 103, behind the maid’s cart, where he would be out of sight when the door opened. The maid knocked on the door to 107.

No answer.

“Open it!” Wald said, speaking in a hurried whisper.

She knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer.

“Open the damn door!” he said, his whisper even more urgent.

The housekeeper was getting nervous and more than a little suspicious. “I’ll get the manager,” she said.

Wald cursed under his breath as she walked away. Every fiber in his body was telling him Cantella had somehow escaped, but he had to see with his own eyes. He went to the window. The drapes were drawn, making it impossible to peer inside. He tried the knob, but it was locked. He put his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge.

The maid’s cart was still in front of room 103. He went to it, grabbed a large bath towel, and pulled the gun from his jacket. With the weapon in hand and his finger on the trigger, he wrapped the towel around it, aimed it at the lock, and fired once. The makeshift sound suppressor reduced the noise level to that of a cap gun, and the lock was destroyed. He pushed open the door and burst into the room. The gaping hole in the back of the closet immediately told the story.

“Son of a bitch!”

He tossed the powder-burned towel aside, tucked away the gun, and dialed Burn.

“Cantella’s on the move,” said Wald. “She called him and said to meet at the Dairy Queen.”

“Which one?”

“The one in North Bergen.”

“What street?”

Wald struggled, no more information. “Hell if I know.”

Wald could hear Burn’s keyboard clacking in the background. It took less than thirty seconds.

“It’s on Kennedy Avenue,” said Burn.

“You want me to meet you there?” asked Wald.

“No,” said Burn, a certain finality in his voice. “I’ve got it.”