“That’s not the way it was explained to me.”
Vick folded her arms. She had said all she was going to say. DuCharme got the hint and abruptly stood up.
“You know what your problem is, Rachel?” He paused, as if expecting a reply.
Vick said nothing.
“You’ve got a crush on Wayne Ladd. He’s young and pretty, and that’s what turns you on. You’ve convinced yourself that he isn’t a killer despite all the evidence, so you’re running around town, trying to prove otherwise. It’s a god damn waste of time.”
Vick didn’t like his tone, or the way he was looking at her.
“Please leave,” she said.
“Are you throwing me out?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got some nerve, little lady.”
Vick nearly slapped him across the face. Instead, she pushed herself off the desk, and walked around him. She jerked open the door.
“Get out,” she said.
DuCharme’s face turned bright red and the veins popped in his neck. His dreams of chatting Vick up over a late lunch had come crashing down on his head. Hustling past her, he walked quickly down the hallway toward the elevators.
“Stupid bitch,” he said loud enough for her to hear.
Chapter 22
At a few minutes before midnight, Linderman drove an unmarked FBI van beneath the wooden arch that greeted visitors to Starke Prison. A thunder storm had settled in, and the van skidded on the rain-slicked highway. Drake emitted a nervous laugh.
“Just be my luck to get in a wreck,” the prison guard said.
Linderman glanced at the pair of headlights in his mirror. Wood was following in a second van and had also taken the skid. Wood righted his vehicle and fell in behind him. Up ahead, the lights from the prison blinked like buoys in a turbulent sea.
“Tell me what I’m supposed to say if Thunder asks about my face,” Drake said.
“We just talked about this,” Linderman replied.
“I know, but my memory ain’t for shit. Tell me again.”
“You’re not high, are you?”
“Course not.”
Linderman repeated the story. Drake was a strange bird. His imagination was limited to NASCAR and the sitcoms he watched on TV. John Wayne once said that life was tough, but it was tougher if you were stupid. Drake lived up to that remark.
“Got it,” Drake said “Now explain the deal to me again.”
“We signed papers with your lawyer,” Linderman said. “The deal is done.”
“I know it’s done. I just want to hear it again.”
“Once you deliver the slave phones to Thunder, you’ll walk out of the prison, and get in a van being driven by Special Agent Wood. Wood will drive you to a hotel by the airport where a pair of FBI agents are waiting.”
“A safe house,” Drake said.
“That’s right. You’ll stay in a room with the agents. If we have to use you again, the same procedures will be followed. Once the sting is done, you’ll be put on a plane to Arizona, and enter witness protection.”
“Will there be a car in Arizona for me, and a house?”
“Yes, Eric.”
“I’m gonna need money.”
“We’ll help you find a job. Anything else you want to know?”
“I think I’m good,” Drake said.
Soon they were on prison grounds. Linderman parked and zippered up his rain slicker. They both got out. Drake turned up his collar and headed toward the employee entrance of the prison. He had not gone five steps when Linderman called out to him.
“Your forgot something,” the FBI agent said.
Eyes downcast, Drake retrieved the slave phones from the back seat.
Linderman entered Warden Jenkins’ office at a few minutes past midnight. A dinner tray from the cafeteria sat on the desk, the meat loaf and mashed potatoes hardly touched. Jenkins sat at his desk, staring at his computer.
“You want some dinner?” Jenkins asked.
“I already ate,” Linderman said. “Is the feed on your computer?”
“Yes, sir. Came in a few minutes ago. I’ve never been involved in a sting operation,” Jenkins admitted. “What exactly is going to happen?”
“It’s quite simple. Any call made over the slave phones will be transmitted by satellite to our Jacksonville office. The call will be recorded, and typed up by a stenographer. The text will be sent to your computer for us to see.”
“What kind of delay is there?”
“It depends upon how fast the stenographer types. There’s usually no more than a ninety second lapse.”
“How will we know which conversation is Crutch’s?”
“Two things will tell us. Crutch will be calling Broward County. His call will either have a 954 or 754 area code. And, he’s the only inmate using a cell phone who isn’t a drug dealer, so what he says will give him away.”
“Will you trace the call?”
“Yes. A team of FBI agents is standing by in Broward.”
“Sounds like you’ve got all the bases covered.”
“Let’s hope so.”
The two men fell silent. They both knew what came next. Lightning flashed in the windows and the rumble of thunder shook the building. Fifteen minutes later, Linderman’s cell phone vibrated. It was Wood, and he sounded furious.
“What’s wrong?” Linderman asked.
“Drake is in my car,” Wood said. “He changed his story.”
“Jesus Christ. I’ll be right down.”
There was no fast way out of the prison. Linderman left Jenkins’ office and was processed through the main building. He reached the parking lot five minutes later. His chest was heaving as he walked through the puddles. He wanted to rip Drake’s head off, only Drake was too dumb to understand how dangerous a changed story could be. A single slip-up or suspicion and someone could get killed.
Wood’s van was parked with its headlights on. Drake sat in the passenger seat with a blank look on his face. Linderman banged on the passenger window.
“Get out of the car,” Linderman shouted over the storm.
Drake climbed out. He stood in the pouring rain with a pitiful look on his face. Linderman grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“Tell me why you changed your story,” he said.
“I’m sorry… I just forgot.”
“Tell me what you said.”
Drake cowered in fear as lightening cracked the night sky. “I saw Thunder in the mess hall. He was making snacks for the night guards. He delivers the cell phones the same time he delivers the snacks. He asked about my face. I got tongue-tied and forgot my story. I told him I’d fallen asleep driving home, and hit a tree.”
“Did he buy it?”
“I guess.”
“Did he ask you about the phones?”
“Yeah. I gave him the bag, and he said “New phones?’ and I told him the old ones got destroyed in the wreck. He asked me if I was going to charge him more to pay for them. I told him I was thinking about it.”
“Was that the end of the conversation?”
“Yeah. I left right after that.”
“You’re sure you didn’t say anything else to him?”
“Positive. Oh, wait a minute…”
“What?”
“Shit. I can’t believe it.”
“ What?”
“I forgot to get the money.”
Linderman nearly hit him. Thunder had run a street gang. He would piece the puzzle together – Drake’s busted up face, the brand new cell phones, Drake forgetting to get paid – and realize that Drake was running scared, and working with the law.
“Go back and get the money,” Linderman said.
Drake’s eyes went wide. He was soaking wet and looked like a scared dog.
“Say no, and the deal is off,” Linderman told him. “We’ll take you back to your house, and leave you there.”
“No Arizona?”
“No Arizona. That’s the price for screwing up.”
A storm cloud opened up directly overhead, the rain coming down so hard that Linderman could hardly see the shivering figure standing directly in front of him.