Road Rules Online

As he crossed the North Carolina border, Mason called Franco.  He thought he heard sniffling on the other side.

“It had better be good news, Mr. Mason,” said Franco.  In the background, a woman giggled.

“I just called to tell you I now have the Chest, and I will be there tomorrow morning.”  The car began to vibrate on the rear passenger side.  “I do have to stop and have the car looked at.”

“Is there a problem?” said Franco.

“Nothing major.  Our mule had to change the tire before I took this car from him.  Nothing a quick stop at Pep Boys or Wal-Mart couldn’t fix.”  Did he really just say he’d stop at Wal-Mart?  Oh, well.  A small sacrifice for such a big payoff.

“If that’s your only problem now…”

“Julian…”

“Mr. Franco.”

“Mr. Franco, I will drive all night to get to Miami in time.  You have my word on it.”

Franco laughed.  “Mason, if you’re here by noon tomorrow, I’ll invite you to stay at my estate all this week as my guest.”

“Well, my job…”

“Your job?  To hell with your job, Mason.  I’m paying you a small fortune to have a saint reside in my home.  You don’t need your job anymore.”

That’s right.  He didn’t.  He didn’t need Walden Insurance.  He didn’t need the homeowner’s association.  He didn’t even need Deanna anymore.  “You’re right as always, Mr. Franco.”

“Julian.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Julian.”

“The Lord be with you, Mason.”  He hung up.

The vibration became worse.  Yarazelski must have botched the tire change, maybe on purpose.  Still, the Caddie seemed to handle it well.  He’d get off in Statesville and see if someone could fix it for him.  If not, he’d drive on to Charlotte and rent a car there.

Maybe a Navigator.  Might as well try out his car of choice before he bought one.

“I didn’t know!  I swear!”

Stan Yarazelski actually got on his knees.

Mike reached down, grabbed a fistful of shirt collar, and hauled Stan to his feet.  “You sonofabitch, I got fired over this!  And that redheaded bastard just stole the very thing he used to get me fired!”  He shoved Stan backward.

Stan somehow managed to keep his balance and not fall in front of a speeding SUV.  “I didn’t know it was in the trunk, Mike.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay, I didn’t know until we blew that tire in Cambridge.”

“I ought to leave your ass here at the side of the road.”

“Mike, please!  We still have it.  We still have the Chest of St. Jakob.”

Sharon came up and squeezed Mike’s shoulder.  “He’s right, Mike.  We have the Chest.  We can use this to our advantage.”

“How?”

“We can take it back to Cleveland.  Go to the police.”

“No!” said Stan.

“What do you mean ‘no?’” said Sharon.

“We’d be better off taking it to Miami,” said Stan.  “Let the authorities find it there.”

Sharon balled her fists at her sides.  “This asshole cost me my job, Mike.  Yours, too.”

“I can make up for it!”  Stan whined now.  “I know who had the Chest stolen!”

Mike and Sharon started back toward the Lexus.

“Fuck you, Stan,” said Mike.

“No,” said Stan.  “Wait.  Really.  If we go back to Cleveland, Franco will kill me.”

“Franco?” asked Sharon.

“The guy I’m supposed to give the Cadillac to Sunday morning.”

“So what?” said Mike.  “That’s your problem.”

“If we go to Miami, we can catch this guy.  Maybe split the reward money.”

Sharon stopped.  “We could call the Miami PD on our way in.  Set up a buy.”

Mike spun on his heel and glared at both of them.

Stan looked at Mike with a nervous grin on his face.  “Yeah.  What she said.  And how did I cost you your job?”

“Never mind,” said Sharon.  “We can’t keep the Lexus.”

“What do you suggest?  Did you leave a car in Charleston?”

“I’m not going back for it.  Not today, anyway.  Look, let’s make a little more time before we ditch the car.  We can leave it in long-term at an airport and rent a car there.”

“What if Mason’s called this in as a stolen car?” asked Mike.

Sharon looked over her shoulder to the south, off where Mason had taken the Cadillac.  “I doubt it.  He’d have to explain the car.  He might be able to bullshit his way out of stealing the Cadillac, but it’s one extra problem for him.”

“Well, I doubt there’s a car rental place anywhere around here.”

“Not nearby, but maybe in Charlotte.  How far are we from there, anyway?”

“We’re probably half an hour from the North Carolina border,” said Stan. “Charlotte’s probably another hour and half beyond that.  Less, if we drive like we have been.”

Sharon marched over to Stan.  “You, backseat.  Mike, I’ll drive this shift.  You can take over when we get the rental.”

Mike blew out his breath.

“Come on, Mike.  You want to nail that sonofabitch’s balls to the wall worse than me or the genius here.”

That he did.  And he wanted to see the look on Deanna’s face as the man she left him for wore shackles and prison orange.  He walked toward the Lexus, a spring now in his step.

Estevez looked up at the knock at his door.  Kennedy stood in the doorway, holding a sheaf of papers.  He motioned her in and hung up the phone.

“I swear to God,” said Estevez, “I’m going to kill that new bishop.”  He looked over Kennedy’s shoulder as she sat down.  “Er…  Don’t let that one get around.”

“What makes you think I haven’t said it myself,” she said.  “We’ve been digging through Koradovich’s records, including a diary he kept written in Russian.  If we were in DC, I’d have had one of the counterintel guys look at it.  Instead, I dragged a linguistics professor from over at Cleveland State off the golf course.”

“And?”

She handed Estevez the papers.  “We had him concentrate on the last two weeks.  This is what he translated so far.”

Estevez almost wished she’d have brought the Russian version instead.  They’d have been easier to read than the prof’s handwriting.  Halfway down the second page, Kennedy had highlighted an entry for Tuesday.

“1962 Caddie, eh?”  He read on.  “Who’s this Havelcek guy?”

“We don’t know yet.  We know some guy by that name, apparently another car dealer, owed Koradovich some money but didn’t feel like paying up.”  She leaned back in her chair.  “Too bad we don’t have a VIN number on this.”

Estevez put down the papers.  “We might not need one.”  He pulled his cell and speed dialed Robert Jordan.  “Hey, Bob.  Remember Havelcek?”

Jordan said he did.

“Is that the car your niece let get away a 1962 Cadillac?”

It was.

“Bob, I’m sitting here with Terri Kennedy from the Bureau.  How’d you like to find your niece and get some payback at the same time?”

Yarazelski cackled as the Caddie sped away.

“What’s so funny?” asked Sharon, not bothering to hide her Midwestern accent anymore.  With the Cadillac stolen, her whole reason for coming down here had driven off with some guy who had it in for both Yarazelski and Mike.  She saw how Mike stood there, shoulders slumped, staring down at the asphalt.

Yarazelski managed to compose himself.  He held out his hand.  A lugnut sat in his palm.

Mike looked up and started to smile.  Even Sharon felt the side of her mouth twitch.

“I couldn’t get them all back on,” said Yarazelski.  “That dumbass Mason kept waving his gun at me.  Besides, two of the lugs are bent.  One’s about ready to snap off.”

“So…” said Sharon, liking where this was heading.

“He gets a rude surprise before he even reaches Charlotte.”  That set him into another fit of laughter.

“Yeah, but we’re still stranded,” said Mike.  “Stranded with just our bags.”

Sharon walked over to the Lexus and opened the driver’s side door.  “Hey, Mike.  Your wife left you for this genius?  He left his door unlocked.”

Yarazelski and Mike looked at her.  She popped the hood.

“Hey, repo boy.  Can you hotwire a car?” she said.

Yarazelski pointed at himself, giving Sharon a questioning look.

“Yeah, you.  And yes, I know what you do for a living.  Can you or can you not hotwire a Lexus?”

Yarazelski came over to the car and looked at the steering column.  “Can I plead the Fifth?”

“Do you want to walk back to Wytheville?”  She stepped away from the car.  “Mike, come over here and open the hood.  Make it look like we’re having engine trouble.  I’ll get the bags.”  She rolled her hand at Yarazelski, who reached under the dash.  Behind him, the Lexus’s trunk lid rose.

Mike came over, raised the hood  and leaned under it.  Sharon walked over to where the red-headed freak made her toss the bags.  Gathering them up, she took them back and threw them in the trunk.  While Yarazelski finished stripping the wires inside the steering column, she made her way over the guardrail to check out his mysterious box.

It was a shipping crate, relatively small considering how much Yarazelski had struggled with it.  It had a broken lock and no metal straps holding it closed.  She knelt down and opened it.  Inside, she saw…

The Lexus’ motor roared to life.  Sharon stood and shouted, “Mike!  Come look at this!”

Chapter 12

Mason watched with satisfaction as Stan took the car off the jack.  When Stan took out the keys to open the trunk, Mason said, “Uh-uh.  Gimme the keys.”

Stan tossed him the keys.

“Now, throw the jack over the guardrail,” said Mason.  “The tire iron, too.  Or I blow your pretty friend away.”

Stan did as he was told.  “What makes you think I won’t just flag down a cop after you leave?”

That was a good one.  “You know what’s in the trunk, don’t you, Stan? That makes you an accomplice.”  He saw Mike shaking his head.  “What’s the matter, Blake?  Finally realize what a loser you are?”

“What’s this all about, Mason?  Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?  Boning your wife?  Destroying your career?  What?”

“Carjacking Stan.”

(continue reading…)