Across the street from the entrance to RichJo Lane was a tire store. Parked in the lot was a large camper with multiple antennae on the roof. The camper hadn’t been there earlier in the day, and he assumed it was filled with FBI agents.
He crawled past RichJo Lane. He didn’t spot any other FBI vehicles, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here. When making busts, the FBI liked to use overwhelming force, and he assumed that more agents were nearby.
A pair of headlights appeared in his mirror. A car had pulled out of RichJo Lane, and was also heading north. Earlier that day, he’d seen a number of residences on the street, and guessed it got a fair amount of traffic.
The car gave him an idea.
He had resigned himself to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to pay Dexter back for killing his brother. If he put a bullet into Dexter, he would not only end up in jail but also endanger the bust, as well as put the victims’ lives in jeopardy.
So he couldn’t put Dexter out of his misery. But maybe he could get someone else to do it. It was the next best option, and would taste just as sweet.
A mile down the road he spotted a second camper parked in front of a storage facility. It was identical to the camper up the street, with multiple antennae on the roof. To conduct the raid, the FBI would use armored vehicles, which was standard operating procedure. The storage facility was the right size to hold a pair of such vehicles.
The FBI had the area covered. If he put his plan into action, they might spot him, and that would be bad. Did he want to risk his freedom to pay Dexter back?
He decided he needed a second opinion.
He kept driving until he reached Dunedin. The first business he saw was a craft brewery. It was housed in a snug little building that could have been a concession stand on the beach. There were bike racks in front, and he guessed their brews had such a high alcohol content that locals didn’t risk driving for fear of getting pulled over.
The tasting room had five empty stools. A chalkboard behind the bar announced that day’s selections. The beers had exotic names like Ale of Two Cities, Imaginary Friends, and Control Freak. A female bartender asked his pleasure, and he picked a farmhouse ale called Evil Urges. She placed a pint in front of him.
“Do you want to run a tab?”
He gave her a credit card. There were no TVs or jukeboxes, the only noise the sounds that came out of people’s mouths.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Elizabeth. My friends call me Liz,” she said.
She had a kind face and soulful eyes, and impressed him as the honest type. “My name is Jon. Do you mind if I ask you a question? It’s nothing personal, I’m just a little torn.”
Liz crossed her arms in front of her chest. She’d had guys bend her ear before, and didn’t act as if his request were anything out of the ordinary.
“You break up with your girlfriend?” she asked.
“I wish it was that simple,” he said.
“When is breaking up with your lady simple?”
“Sorry, that didn’t come out right.” He took a sip of his beer, and tried again. “When I was a teenager, my older brother got arrested for being part of a convenience store robbery where the owner got shot and later died. My brother and his partners got arrested, and were put on trial.”
“This is heavy,” she said.
“I can stop if you want,” he said.
Liz put her elbows on the bar, and looked him in the eye. “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“Wow. And it’s still eating you up?”
“Afraid so.”
“Were you part of the robbery?”
“No, I was at home, doing my homework.”
She took a can of soda out of the cooler, popped the top, and clinked it against his glass. “Okay, you’ve hooked me. So what’s your question?”
“My brother wanted me to testify at the trial, and say that he was at home with me during the robbery. The problem was, a witness picked my brother out of a lineup, and there was also a videotape. My brother was guilty, and nothing I was going to say would have changed that.”
“So you didn’t do it.”
He shook his head, and took a long swallow of his beer.
“Did they put him away?”
“Yeah. He got out two months ago. I saw him, and he still held it against me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I did the right thing, but also the wrong thing.”
“How so?”
“I spoke the truth when I got up on the stand. That was the right thing. But I didn’t stand up for him, and that was wrong.”
“You couldn’t have done both. So what’s your question?”
“If you were in my shoes, what would you have done?”
The question caught her by surprise. She finished her soda and crushed the empty can between her palms. He had made her feel uncomfortable, which had not been his purpose for coming in. He threw money down for his drink, and told her to keep the change. She retrieved his credit card and slid it toward him.
“Good night. Thanks for listening,” he said.
“You don’t have to leave,” she said.
“Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“You’re not bothering me, really.”
It didn’t feel that way. He said good night, and made for the door.
“You really want to know what I would have done?” she said.
He turned around and slowly nodded.
“If it had been me, I would have lied, and said he was home,” she said.
“But lying wouldn’t have changed things,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. He’s still your brother.”
Not just his brother, but also his hero. And he hadn’t stuck up for him. There was always time to make amends, and he said, “Is there an all-night grocery nearby?”
Chapter 42
Daniels thought she was going to have a heart attack.
She was staked out across the street from RichJo Lane. On the camper’s roof were three high-resolution, infrared digital cameras that allowed her to not only capture the license plate on a car at night but also peer into the car, and get a good look at the driver. These images were sent to a computer whose screen she now stared at. A man that could have been Jon’s twin had just turned down RichJo Lane. The images were being recorded, and she played them back, just to be sure.
The resemblance was uncanny. Same round face and stubble of beard. And the trademark baseball cap, this time one bearing the logo of the Miami Marlins.
She told herself that it couldn’t be him. Baldini had threatened to arrest Jon and throw him in jail if he showed his face, and she couldn’t imagine Jon taking that risk.
She replayed the video. On the passenger seat was a bag of groceries with a loaf of bread sticking out. She remembered Jon once saying how he liked to put groceries in the passenger seat when tailing a suspect. If the suspect happened to look in the mirror, he’d see the groceries, and think it wasn’t a cop on his ass.
She told herself it was a coincidence. Jon wasn’t that dumb.
“Find something?” a voice asked.
She glanced over her shoulder. Three other agents shared the camper, and were drinking coffee. Baldini was with them, and was facing her.
“Just a car,” she said.
“A car,” he repeated.
“Yes, a car. It turned down RichJo Lane. It was nothing.”
His eyes were cold and unfriendly. Baldini hadn’t let her out of his sight, and she felt like she was being stalked. He returned to his conversation.
She switched screens. A satellite shot of RichJo Lane appeared, taken through an infrared lens. The local police used satellite surveillance to catch burglars, and had given the FBI permission to use the satellite for their bust.