Dan climbed out of the Kompressor and opened the gate, waved me through, and I pulled forward and then off the road, parking half on the unkempt lawn. I stopped the engine and climbed out, Miata springing down after me and looking suspiciously around him. Dan pulled forward and stopped beside me, his engine still running.
"You don't want to see the house?" He pointed up the road, at the building that was perhaps two hundred feet away.
"Go ahead, I'll meet you there."
He creased his brow, then put the car back in gear and drove away. Miata looked after him, then began sniffing around on the grass.
I started with a walk of the perimeter, taking almost three-quarters of an hour before approaching to the house. There was no fencing to speak of, and no cameras or other perimeter security. Even with the autumn assault, the woods around the grounds were still capable of providing heavy cover. At the back of the house was a high hill, and anyone coming over it would have a view of the whole area.
I didn't like it.
Miata loped behind me as I walked back up the drive. The house was built in the colonial style, and from the outside appeared to have been recently renovated. A wide set of stairs came off the drive to a porch, painted white. Dan was waiting for me by the front door, smoking a cigarette, and when I came up the steps he flicked the butt away; it hit a puddle and died with a sizzle. He looked at Miata, and Miata looked at him, and I swore they were sizing one another up.
"No dogs inside," Dan said.
"The dog is hers."
The pained look he gave me vanished quickly, replaced by a question that he didn't feel safe in asking. Then he shrugged and opened the front door, heading inside. I went in after him, and Miata took up the rear. As we came inside I could hear the warning tone from an alarm system, one long bleet, and Dan turned the first corner we came to and rapidly tapped in a code on the keypad. The bleeting stopped, and Dan began walking through the house, turning on the lights.
I took another hour just going through the house, checking all of the doors and windows and corners, hoisting myself up into the insulated crawlspace above the second floor, checking out the cellar. The security inside was better, and every portal on both the ground and second floor was wired, though obviously so. Everything ran through a locked junction box in the basement. The house was entirely furnished, decorated to match the colonial exterior. On the second floor were three bedrooms, one master and two smaller, and two bathrooms. The ground floor had a kitchen, dining room, living room, and guest room. There was a hot tub on the back deck.
Dan was waiting for me at the table in the kitchen, drinking from a longneck of Budweiser. Another bottle was in front of him, and he gestured that it was mine, but I shook my head and went to the cupboards, started opening them. The shelves had been filled with canned foods, ravioli and chili and other junk. The freezer was brimming with T.V. dinners and frozen pizzas, and the refrigerator held mostly soda, beer, and condiments. There was a sad head of lettuce wilting in the back of the crisper. I threw that in the trash can by the sink.
"What do you think?" Dan asked.
"Tell me about the alarm, what's it tied to?"
"The monitoring service. If it goes off, they notify the police."
"Who owns the house?"
"Bank in Brooklyn." When I frowned, he added, "All the paper is good."
"Yeah, but by Brooklyn you mean it's a front, that there's no name on it. It can be traced."
"Not easily."
"You're going to need to change that tomorrow, put the ownership in a name, a married couple, I don't care who. Just make it look good, and if you can backdate the sale, that's even better."
"Anything else?" He sounded testy.
"I want you to start looking into doctors, we need someone good, someone who specializes in sports injuries. Has to be completely off the record, but that shouldn't be too hard, and I'm sure you can find someone who lost their license because they started stealing from their own drug cabinet. Make sure whoever you find is discreet, because he or she may have to come out here several times."
"Is this for 'Tasha?"
"Can you do it?"
"All it takes is money. I ask again, is this for 'Tasha, is she hurt?"
I ignored the question, checked out the kitchen window into the backyard. It was night now, and there were no lights from outside.
"You will want the guards, too?" he asked. "I've got some boys, four of them. All good with arms, I can equip them however 'Tasha wants, automatics, submachine guns, even grenades. I can have them here tonight, if that's what she wants."
"Tomorrow will be fine. These are your guys?"
"They work for me."
"They know anything about protection? I mean real protection, not shakedowns."
The chair scraped as he shifted around, and I turned back to see that he was getting up, and looking pissed. "You listen, Mr. Kodiak, you can just drop that shit with me, okay? Your attitude I don't need, I know what I'm about here, I do this shit right."
"You going to answer my question?"
"I beat you down once," he reminded me.
"You did. You want to try again?"
Dan stared at me, his weight shifting into his torso. The longneck was in his right hand, and I figured he'd start with that. I didn't look away from him, and I didn't move, just started cataloguing all of the kitchen utensils and supplies that I saw in my periphery, picking which ones I'd use to stop him if he decided things needed to go that far.
Then he relaxed, his weight settling lower again, and he took a swig from the bottle.
"No," he said, after he had swallowed. "No, I don't think I will."
Back on the Franklin Turnpike I found a pay phone and called the hotel, asking for Mr. Lieberg's room. When the phone was answered, I spoke first.
"It'll do. It's not what I hoped for, and we'll need the extras, but it'll do. Her friend is waiting for me there now."
"Where?" Natalie asked.
"Franklin Turnpike in Mahwah. I'll be outside the Dunkin' Donuts."
"Take us an hour."
"Take two, make sure you're clean when you get here."
"Got it."
I hung up and got back in the car, then headed along the turnpike to the Interstate Mall, which was just a couple miles away. I cracked the window and left Miata in the car, telling him I'd be back shortly, then headed inside. At a GNC in the mall I dropped almost two hundred dollars on various supplements, then headed over to the Radio Shack and picked up another hundred or so dollars' worth of electronics. I did a little clothes shopping, as well, buying some extra underwear and the like for both Alena and myself. When I was finished I brought everything back to the car and went back into Mahwah and stopped at the first grocery store I saw. I bought food, mostly fruits and veggies, some fish, two gallons of juice, a gallon of milk, a couple of pretty lean-looking steaks. I also grabbed a ten-pound bag of Science Diet for Miata. When I'd finished loading the car, the trunk was full.
Then I headed back to the Dunkin' Donuts and waited in the car, watching the traffic and thinking. After a couple of minutes I got out again and went back to the phone, but this time I called Scott.
"You free tonight?" I asked him.
"You say such things and my heart leaps with joy."
"You've always been my number one guy, you know that. I'm going to call you in another hour or so, give you a location. Take your time coming out, but when you do, bring your pad and pencil."
"She's cool with this?"
"She will be."
"I'll expect your call," he said, and hung up.
They arrived just over two hours after I'd called, pulling into the lot in Natalie's new Audi. Alena was in the front passenger seat, a coat in her lap, the submachine gun under the coat.