No way out

Chapter Thirty-six

I entered the code on the garage door keypad when a car came to life across the street, pulling into my driveway as the door rose, high-beam headlights blinding me, a replay of the gun dealer robbery. I pulled my gun from its holster, holding it at my side as I backed into the garage.

“Put your gun away, Jack. It’s me, Ammara. I’m getting out of the car, so don’t shoot me.”

The passenger door opened, and she stepped out, her lean frame familiar but not enough to put me at ease since I didn’t know who was behind the wheel or why she’d shown up like a thief instead of an old friend.

“Kill the lights.”

She motioned to the driver, who cut the engine and the headlights. I blinked, clearing the starbursts from my eyes as the driver’s door opened. The driver, burly and broad shouldered, a ball cap pulled down over his brow, stepped out, using the door as a shield. I guessed he was holding his gun out of sight, waiting to see what I would do.

“Jennings,” Ammara said, “put your fucking gun away before I tell Jack to shoot you. This isn’t a raid. And, Jack, please put your gun away too, before this ATF asshole ruins our friendship.”

I slipped my gun into my jacket pocket. Ammara walked toward me, her arms open, embracing me as a round of shakes rocketed from my belt to my chin, buckling my knees. She leaned into me, bracing her body against mine until the shakes passed. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or embarrassed so I settled for both, pulling away when I could stand on my own.

“Don’t expect me to say I’m glad to see you. Why didn’t you call, give me some notice?”

“Wasn’t up to me. Jennings and I came by a couple of hours ago. Joy told us you were out and she didn’t know when you’d be home. She made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for company. The message you left said you were in a hurry for information and, it turned out, Jennings was in a hurry too, so we decided to wait in the car. While we were waiting, he asked me about the stories he’d heard about you, about what happened at the Bureau and with Wendy. I told him the truth, but I didn’t think he’d pull something like this.”

“Guy’s a jerk, lighting me up like that.”

“Yeah, but now he’s your jerk. He’s running the investigation into the stolen guns you asked me about.”

Ammara was near my height, all lanky muscle from her college days playing volleyball. I looked over her shoulder as Jennings stepped toward us.

I had asked her for help, giving a thumbnail sketch of the two cases I was working and a quick summary of what I needed, some of which I figured she’d have to get from ATF. When she reached out, odds were that Jennings had reached back with his own wish list. Nobody in law enforcement gives anything away for free, pissing matches over pride and turf too often leaving everyone with nothing to show for it except wet shoes. This was shaping up the same way.

I was still twitching, my left shoulder jerking up and down, alternating with my bobbing chin. Jennings watched me with curious eyes as if I were a magician and he was trying to figure out my sleight of hand. Ammara said he’d heard the lingering rumors at the FBI. People from DC to KC still believed that the shakes were a scam I’d used to duck the indictment I deserved for covering up Wendy’s involvement in the drug ring, and that her death was more convenient than tragic. It didn’t matter that Ammara had told him the truth. He came at me the way he did to see how I’d react, testing the rumors against his own eyes before deciding whether to work with me.

“Satisfied?” I asked him.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, but I had to see for myself. Braylon Jennings, ATF,” he said, his hand extended. “Can we go inside and talk?”

I ignored his hand. I didn’t blame him for testing me, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.

“I don’t want to wake my wife.” Ammara stared at me with raised eyebrows. “Ex-wife. Forget it. It’s complicated, but whatever we’ve got to talk about, we’ll do it right here. You first, Jennings: what do you want from me?”

He tilted his head to one side, weighing the advantages of going first or last, giving in with a sigh. “Ammara says you’re interested in the robbery of a gun dealer last month?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

He knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it. I’d passed his first test, and it was time to take another.

“I was having lunch yesterday at LC’s Bar-B-Q when a guy named Frank Crenshaw used one of the stolen guns to kill his wife. A woman named Roni Chase was with Crenshaw and shot him but didn’t kill him. She went to the hospital last night to see how he was doing, but somebody killed him before she could say hello. The cops say Crenshaw was killed with a handgun registered to her. She’s being arraigned in the morning, and I’m helping with her defense.”

“You were there when it happened, when Crenshaw shot her?”

“You know I was, so what’s the bottom line?”

He nodded. “We’re interested in Crenshaw, how he came into possession of that gun.”

“I’ll bet you are. Too bad someone killed him.”

He cocked his head, uncertain whether I was sympathizing with him or yanking his chain.

“What do you know about that, about Crenshaw getting popped in the hospital?”

I shook my head, stuttering as another round of shakes twisted my vocal cords. “Not much. The cop sitting on Crenshaw’s door left his post long enough for the shooter to get it done.”

“Roni Chase, what’s your relationship with her?”

I took a few breaths, enough to stabilize my voice. “I told you. I met her yesterday at LC’s. She’s in trouble, and I’m helping her out. What’s your interest in her?”

“I’m interested in those stolen guns. She did Crenshaw’s books. She was with him when he killed his wife. She shot him and then shows up at the hospital when Crenshaw gets popped. You was me, you’d be interested in her too.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean, what else? The stolen guns, that’s it.”

“Which means we’re back to bullshit. You haven’t asked me one thing you didn’t already know. I assume you were the ATF agent at the hospital last night. Quincy Carter was all over Roni until you showed up. Next thing I know, he’s gone, you’re gone, Brett Staley’s gone, and Roni gets to go home. If you’re so interested in her, how does that happen?”

Jennings shot a quick glance at Ammara when I mentioned Brett’s name.

“You want to help Roni, work with me and maybe I can help her and you.”

“Work with you, how?”

“Give me your cell phone.”

He added his name and number to my contacts and tossed the phone back to me.

“Anything you get on the stolen guns, I hear about it, including anything you get from Roni Chase. Doesn’t matter who it involves or what it is, it comes to me. I call you, you answer. You don’t put me on hold, you don’t promise to call me back. We tell you to wear a wire, you wear a wire.”

He was giving orders, not asking for suggestions, but he didn’t own me, at least not yet. Going along was a promise I’d decide later whether to keep.

“Understood. You think Roni knows something about the guns, or do you want to use me and her to get to Brett Staley?”

This time, he held his poker face, making me wish Kate were here to read it for me.

“I’m saying Roni Chase’s life can get real complicated. You want to help her, I’m telling you how.”

“And what do I get for being your butt boy?”

He looked at Ammara again, nodding.

“Copies of the files on the Martin and Montgomery missing children,” she said.

“I need those files, but that won’t help Roni.”

“Sorry, Jack, it’s the best deal I could get. Half a loaf, you know what I mean.”

“How does an ATF hump get copies of missing person files?”

“He didn’t get them. I did. KCPD asked for our help on both cases. Jennings made the deal with our new SAC, Debra Williams, and I’m stuck with it.”

I looked at Jennings. His face was flat, impassive, a brick wall shutting out further negotiations until I had something more to offer than cooperation. He and Adrienne Nardelli were dealing from the same deck. Knowledge was power. They had it, and I needed it.

“When do I get the files?”

“Right now,” Ammara said. “They’re in the car.”

“Who do I deal with? You or asshole?”

She shrugged. “Asshole.”

“Hey!” Jennings said. “I’m standing right here.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Give me the files.”

“One last thing,” he said. “You tell anyone about this, our deal is off and Roni Chase goes away.”

The lights were off when I walked in the house, lurching on uncertain legs, bracing myself against walls, countertops, and furniture. Roxy and Ruby were fast asleep, back-to-back, in their doggie bed on the kitchen floor. I left the files Ammara gave me on the kitchen table, my brain too fogged to make sense of them.

When Joy moved in, she took the bedroom that had been Lucy’s. We didn’t start sleeping together for a couple of months, and when we did, it was for comfort, sex one of the last things to come back into our relationship and then, only occasionally, given her condition. We were intimate in other ways, though, that held us together, knowing that we were sharing the last months of her life with one another.

Even then, we didn’t sleep together every night. It wasn’t something we discussed or negotiated. There were times one of us needed the other, and there were times we needed to be alone. We just let it happen as if that part of our life had an identity and will of its own, sometimes going a week or more together or alone as our uneven rhythms dictated, Joy keeping her clothes and toiletries in the other bedroom and bath.

Climbing the stairs, seeing the door to her room closed and mine open, I understood why she wanted it this way. She’d lost too much-our children, our marriage, and the certainty she’d be alive from one day to the next-to trust the future or me enough not to need a place of her own.