Road Rules Online

“Lawyer,” said Mason.  “I’m not kidding.  I know my rights.”

“Fine,” said Estevez.  “As soon as we find one, you can see him.  Or her.  But tell me one thing.  First, you say two thugs jacked your Lexus.  Then you say Myron Blake and Stan Yarazelski jacked the Cadillac.  Then you say you took the Cadillac from them before you yourself were jacked.  Mr. Mason, how many stories will you tell your attorney?”

“It won’t be long,” said Kennedy, “before the US Attorney’s office subpoenas your cell phone records.  We already pulled Koradovich’s mobile and land lines.  Just tell us what your part in all this is.”

“Lawyer,” said Mason.

“All right,” said Estevez.  “Do you understand your rights?”

“Absolutely.  I have the right to remain silent, and I get a lawyer.”

“One will be here shortly,” said Kennedy.  “On the other hand, the US Attorney for either Cleveland or Miami might offer you immunity if you tell us why you’re on a known Miami drug kingpin’s phone records.”

Mason’s face went blank.  “Huh?”

“Still want that lawyer?”

“Yeah.  My number?  Miami?”

“That’s what the DEA folks tell me.  They’ve had Julian Franco under surveillance for months.”

“Insurance business.”

“That’s not what Andre Koradovich said last night,” said Estevez.  “In fact, as soon as we offered him his own deal, he sang like a canary, and your name was in every chorus.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.  “You will call my lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  When he gets here,” said Mason, “I’ll tell you about Julian Franco.”

The glass partition came down shortly after the collisions stopped.

“Loman,” said Franco.  “What happened?”

“Some crazy sonofabitch tried to ram us a few times,” said Loman.  “Guy in a Chrysler.  Didn’t get a good look at him.”

“We hit him?”

“He stopped, but that could mean anything.”

Franco pushed a button and the partition rose again.  “So you don’t know where the Chest is.”  He took out a small automatic and screwed on a silencer.  Pointing it at Stan’s head, he said, “You’re sure about that?”

“Find Tim Mason,” said Stan, “find the Chest.”

“What about this Myron Blake?”

Stan laughed. “Are you kidding?  Mike Blake stealing the Chest?  Mr. Dots-his-i’s-and-crosses-his-t’s?  You’re shitting me.”

Franco poked him in the forehead.  “Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him since I left Cleveland.  I’m telling you, Franco, I was jacked.”

“By Mason?”

“Yes.”

“What about this black hooker they said you were with?”

“Showed some leg to a trucker and got in his eighteen-wheeler.  Bet she sucked his dick all the way to Jacksonville.”

Outside a siren sounded.  Franco dropped the partition again.  “What’s that?”

“Must have done some damage to the rear end,” said Loman.  “Or a speeding ticket.”

“Christ, that’s all we need.”  He holstered the gun under his jacket.  “Be cool, Stanley.  Just be cool, and you might live.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Chapter 26

Below the ramp to the Tallmadge Bridge sat another cheap motel, cheaper than the one Sharon and Mike stayed at the night before.  What this one lacked in roaches, however, it made up for in running water.  The motel catered to day travelers looking for a place for their stuff while they partied in Savannah.

They lounged on separate beds while waiting for the appointed hour, watching, but not listening to, politicians jockeying for best soundbite on one of the Sunday morning verbal slugfests.

“Mike?” asked Sharon.

“Yes?”

“Why would the Church insist we not call the police?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.  It bothered him.  From the look on Sharon’s face, it bothered her, too.

“Maybe we should do some reconnaissance before we go in,” he said.

“Aren’t you glad I used to work for a PI?”