“I know. Just so we’re clear, I plan to turn Logan over to the sheriff after I talk with him. If Logan goes back to prison, so be it.”
“No love lost, huh?”
“Logan got paroled two months ago, and never called me. We’re not close.”
“What story do I tell Ricky Dixon?”
He gave it some thought. He didn’t want Andon to get any blowback. Logan was an accomplice to murder and kidnapping, and might not go willingly to see the sheriff. If Ricky Dixon heard about it, he might think Andon had played him.
“Tell Dixon that an agent with Team Adam contacted you, and said that Logan might have information about a kidnapping, and that you need Logan’s address so the agent can talk to him,” he said. “All of those statements are true. Just leave me out of it.”
“How soon do you need this?”
“Tonight.”
The line went silent. It was late, and Andon was probably ready to hit the sack after they hung up.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he added. “A Hollywood studio is making a movie about me. I’ll get you a part as an extra. What do you say?”
“You can really get me a part in a movie?” Andon asked, sounding starstruck.
“You bet I can.”
“Can it be a speaking part? I just want a line or two.”
“The studio sent me a shooting script the other day. There’s a part for an undercover cop with a few lines. You’ll be a natural.”
“My kids are going to go nuts when I tell them,” Andon said excitedly. “Let me track Ricky Dixon down and get your brother’s address. Call you right back.”
He bought a diet soda from a vending machine in an alcove outside his room. He was a producer on the movie being made about his life, and planned to leverage it to the hilt. Back in his room, he was channel surfing when Andon called back.
“You work fast,” he said.
“Ricky Dixon is a lady, and she was more than happy to help,” Andon said. “Your brother is staying at the Jayhawk Motel on Nebraska Avenue. It’s not far from Dixon’s office. She said a lot of parolees stay there when they first get out.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Just so you know, that’s a scummy part of town. Half the homicides in Tampa took place there last year.”
“Sounds like my kind of place. I appreciate the warning.”
“When does the movie start shooting?”
“This summer. I’ll email you all the details.”
“Can’t wait.”
He went to his car while googling the Jayhawk Motel on his cell phone. The reviews were less than stellar. “Dirty rooms crackheads and whores.” “Don’t waste your money.” “Wish I could give them no stars.” He decided to take Andon’s warning to heart, and popped his trunk. In the space for the spare tire was a plastic box lined with carpet that contained a tactical shotgun and several special handguns.
The latest addition was a GLOCK 17 9mm handgun. It was made of synthetic materials and nearly indestructible, and the seventeen-round magazine was also a plus. He got into his car, and slipped the GLOCK beneath his seat.
As he started the engine, he realized his hand was shaking. Logan had been a messed-up teenager, and he could only imagine his current state of mind. He asked Google for directions to the Jayhawk, and learned the trip would take thirty minutes.
An automated voice directed him to the expressway. Staring at the highway, he imagined seeing his brother again. They’d been best buddies as kids, and perhaps the euphoric recall would erase the ill feelings from later on.
He was kidding himself. Logan hated him for the betrayal, and Lancaster hated his brother for destroying their family. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, and he didn’t think it was unreasonable that they might end up wrestling on the floor.
So help me God, he thought.
Chapter 8
Nebraska Avenue had more slime than the beach at low tide, the street teeming with dealers and streetwalkers. The strip clubs were housed in windowless buildings that could have been bomb shelters, while the pawnshops were open all night.
Following Google’s instructions, Lancaster turned into the parking lot for a joint called All Night Long. The Jayhawk Motel was nowhere to be found, and he realized he was lost.
A lady of negotiable affections sauntered over to his car, and he lowered his window.
“Hey, sugar.”
“Good evening. I could use some help,” he said.
“You came to the right place. What’s your name?”
“Jon.”
“How novel. I’m Chantelle. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m looking for the Jayhawk. My GPS said it was around here.”
“The Jayhawk’s not far. Want me to hop in? I can show you the way.”
“No thanks, officer. I just need directions.”
Her playful manner evaporated. He’d worked stings as a cop, so he knew that she was wired, and that a surveillance camera was recording them from a van in the lot, the video to later be used in court after she busted him for attempted solicitation.
“I’m not a cop,” she said stiffly.
“Oh yes, you are. Your smile gave you away.”
She shook her head and played dumb.
“You have all your teeth,” he said.
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“No, ma’am, it’s an observation. You’re also not strung out on drugs. I was a detective, and ran in my share of streetwalkers. They were all high on something.”
“Well, aren’t you a fund of useful information. Anything else?”
“Your necklace.”
“What about it?”
“It looks real. Most streetwalkers don’t wear jewelry. If they do, it’s fake.”
“I’ll remember that. The Jayhawk is on the next block, same side of the street.”
“Much obliged. Can I make one more comment?”
“Save it,” she said, and walked away.
As promised, the Jayhawk was on the very next block. The marquee advertised XXX FILMS, CABLE TV, DAILY & WEEKLY RATES. He counted eight vehicles in the lot, but didn’t spot the sedan Logan had been driving at the Citrus Park Mall. Removing the GLOCK from beneath his seat, he slid it into his pants pocket and got out of his car.
The night manager buzzed him into the office. He had a blond ponytail and bloodshot eyes. Lancaster flashed his old detective’s badge, which the sheriff’s department had given him in a shadowbox when he’d retired. “I’m looking for a guy named Logan Lancaster. His parole officer told me he was staying in your motel.”
“I talked to Logan a half hour ago,” the night manager said. “Came into the office needing a pack of matches. He’s in room sixteen.”
“Which car is his?”
“Doesn’t have a car, at least not one that I’m aware of.”
“Logan has a friend, a guy with a mustache and sideburns. Is he here as well?”
“I don’t know about any friend.”
“You smell like weed. Did you sell Logan some dope?”
The night manager looked like he might cry. “Yeah.”
“What’s your name?”
“Richard. My friends call me Skip.”
“How much did you sell him, Skip?”
“A couple of joints. You’re not going to bust me, are you?”
A couple of joints would get Skip the equivalent of a parking ticket. But the laws were harsh for repeat offenders, and he guessed that Skip had gotten busted before, and would go down hard for a second arrest.
“Not if you cooperate,” he said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get Logan to open the door to his room without looking suspicious.”
“How the hell am I going to do that?”
“You’ll tell him he got a delivery. Do the doors to your rooms have peepholes?”