Mortal Prey

FedEx envelope. He didn’t know what it was. He thought it was from his office, so he opened it, and there was a cell phone and a note. She says she wants to talk about money, and about some other things. Said she was afraid to call him at his office and his home phone was unlisted, and that the feds are probably watching him. She said not to tell anybody about the phone. He might not have, if he’d had a choice.”
    “Does the note say when she’s gonna call?”
    “Yeah. She said she’d call at ten—twenty minutes from now. The guys already tried out the cell phone, and it’s the one she’s been using to call you, so she’ll either be calling from a new cell phone, or she’ll be calling from the ground. We’re ready to go either way. We’ve got choppers to look for the cell phone, and we’ve got guys all the way along the major interstates—we should be able to get to any ground station in two minutes. We’re all over Soulard. So you’ve got a choice. You’ve got enough time to get to Levy’s, barely, or you could head down to Soulard.”
    “Okay. Ah…are we gonna be able to set it up so we can all hear what she’s got to say?”
    “We’re trying, but I don’t think there’s time. We can tap it, but we won’t be able to hear it live. Listen, I gotta get going.”
    “Wait, wait, one second. How many guys are down in Soulard?”
    “Five teams.” “Too many already. I’ll see you at Levy’s.”
     
    LUCAS PARKED A BLOCK from Levy’s at eight minutes to ten, and hurried along. As he passed through the wrought-iron fence at the blocked end of the street, he looked to his left, into the dark, and said aloud, “Davenport.” “Go.”
    He went to Levy’s front door, knocked, and another agent let him in. Mallard was in the library with Levy, Malone, two more agents, including Sally with the epaulets, and a technician.
    “Three minutes,” Mallard said. He was excited, rolling.
    “Are we looking around the neighborhood? This could be an excuse to pull you or Malone into range.”
    “We got guys with night-vision glasses all up and down the streets, for two blocks around. We’re covered.”
    “Two minutes,” the tech said. He had a Sony tape recorder, and it ran to a pickup fastened to the cell phone. Levy sat staring at it, as though willing it to ring. To Malone, Levy said, “So I answer her questions and then I ask her about John, if she’s seen him. And ask if she knows what he’s done with his security. I say I was out at his place and he’s got some guys outside with night-vision glasses….”
    “Just like the ones you saw here—describe them, like you were impressed,” Malone prompted.
    “Yeah, I say that—”
    “You gotta keep coming back to the idea that you didn’t know what was happening in Mexico, and you didn’t know about her brother. Ask about her other brother, Roy. That’ll keep her going. We need two minutes, minimum, and every second after that increases the chances of getting her.”
    “Ah, Lord,” Levy said. “What’d I do to deserve this?”
    “Joined the fuckin’ Mafia,” Lucas said.
    “Does this guy have to be here?” Levy asked, looking at Lucas but talking to Mallard.
    “Yeah, pretty much.”
    “Then maybe you oughta tell him that I got nothing to do with any Mafia, for Christ’s sake. That’s like some kind of fairy tale. What do you know from Mafia up in Minneapolis? What, you got one Italian guy in the whole freezin’ fuckin’ place?”
    “Keep talking, I’ll pull your fuckin’ nose for you,” Lucas said, and smiled.
    “Shut up, everybody,” Mallard said. “We got one minute.”
    Three minutes later, they were still waiting.
     
    “ GOTTA MAKE ONE CALL , then we better get back,” Rinker told Pollock.
    “Okay.” They’d gotten cherry cones at a Breyer’s store in a strip shopping center.
    Rinker went to the pay phones, dialed the number of her old cell phone, and got a “Please deposit one dollar” recording. She dropped four quarters and the phone rang at the other end.
     
    “ THERE SHE IS ,” Levy said. He licked his lips once, picked up the phone, and pushed the talk button.
    “Clara?…Yeah, this is me…. Okay, let me see. One time, I was at the warehouse with John, we were doing some accounting stuff, and you came in and John said to you, ‘That tube top looks cheap. You ought to stop wearing them, Clara.’ And you said, ‘I’ll never wear another one in my life.’ Okay? It’s me.”
    MALLARD WAS