When the Night Bird Sings Page 7

  The other one drove the truck up through the gate and cut the engine got off. He threw the keys as far as he could and picked up his AK-47 off the seat.

  They opened the front door and walked us into a big room with a long table and eight straight-backed chairs.

  “Sit down,” the younger one said.

  No sooner had we deposited our butts on the chairs than an old white-haired man with a matching white beard walked in smiling.

  “Well, if it’s not the famous mutilation detective,” he said.

  “And you look like Landon Fritz. I was going to come see you,” I said.

  “For a supposedly good cop you’re not very good at tailing. We had to double back just so you wouldn’t lose us.”

  “You bastard. Where’s Candy?” Darcie said.

  “I put her to sleep,” Fritz said.

  “For good?” I said.

  “Heavens, no. I stuck a needle in her. But the night bird will be dead soon.”

  “Candy’s got one tattooed on her butt,” Darcie said.

  I nodded affirmative.

  “Ashton said she had it when they met. She called herself a night bird because of her profession. It conveniently gave him a code name for her.”

  “A code name for what?” I said.

  “Since I’m going to kill you anyway,” Fritz said, “what the hell.

  “Candy killed whoever Ashton told her to kill; under suggested programming installed over a long period of time from hypnosis. She could blow anyone’s brains out without the slightest remorse and wouldn’t remember anything after. And with her looks, she never had any trouble getting men alone.

  “A perfect assassin.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “Nobody could do that.”

  “Ashton ruined it all when he discovered she was having an affair with his private pilot,” Fritz told them. “Kane told her what she had been doing for him and that he was going to turn her in to the cops. So she killed him.

  “We were paid a million and a half by a terrorist group for a hit that never happened and now they’re after us. I told them I would do away with Candy and give them her settlement money from Kane to make things even. I kept her alive to catch you morons.”

  “Your hit was Pons?” I said.

  “How did you know?” Fritz said.

  “Found the name on a card.”

  “She should have done what she was told. I had something else prepared for her if she got away.”

  “What was that,” I said.

  “Won’t need it now,” Fritz said and turned to the two hitmen. “Take them to the Melrose Mine Pit and bury them. I’ll take care of our night bird.”

  Both men nodded and Fritz hurried out the door.

  They were going to bury us alive.

  The men were standing on each side of us a couple of feet away.

  “Let’s go,” the younger one said, waving his AK-47.

  “The three finger plan,” I told DeMax.

  “But we only did that once,” he said.

  “Now it’ll be twice. Left.”

  “Right, on three,” he said and held up three fingers.

  “Under,” Darcie said. We nodded.

  Both men looked at each other, puzzled by what were doing.

  DeMax raised his right arm and held out three fingers. “One,” he said and dropped the first finger.

  “Stop that,” shaved head said and slapped DeMax’s hand down. “Get out or we’ll kill you right here.”

  DeMax raised his arm again. “Two,” he said and dropped a second finger.

  Shaved head swung his weapon at DeMax. He ducked.

  “Three,” he said and we all charged; myself to the left, DeMax to the right, and Darcie sliding across the floor, hitting their feet and making them lose balance.

  DeMax kicked one in the face, knocking his gun out of his hands, and grabbed it on the way to the floor.

  I tackled the other one and snatched his weapon as we were going down, then rolled over on top of him and pounded him with the stock several times.

  We scrambled to our feet and opened fire. Their bodies looked like a screen door when we stopped. The entire fight lasted less than a minute.

  Fritz ran in the doorway, saw what happened and ran out.

  We hurried out the door after Fritz. I saw a small statue rocking on a table beside the first door on the right. We pushed up against the wall beside the door and I grabbed the statue off the table and threw it as hard as I could against the door. Three bullets zipped through the door, making holes big enough to see Fritz holding an automatic to Candy’s head.

  I busted through the door and Fritz grabbed Candy around the neck, stood her up and pushed the automatic tighter against her head.

  “Don’t shoot, we’ll make a deal,” I said. “Back out the door without shooting her and we’ll let you go. Shoot her and you won’t leave the room.”

  Fritz began to twitch his hand and mock-pulling the trigger on the automatic.

  “Candy!” Darcie yelled.

  Candy was blurry-eyed and in a daze. She moaned and Fritz tightened his grip on her.

  “Wake up,” Darcie said while DeMax and I shouted her name.

  She groggily shook her head and saw Fritz was holding on to her. She started clawing at him, pulling him to the floor. Fritz let go of her and dropped his automatic. She picked up his gun and fired four quick bullets into his chest, tearing his heart apart. He fell over on his back with a thud beside her.

  Darcie dropped down beside Candy, snatched the gun from her and threw it across the room.

  “DeMax, go check the rest of this place,” I said.

  He nodded and hurried out the door, carrying an AK-47.

  “Candy, do you know what happened?” Darcie asked.

  “I killed him,” Candy said. “Good riddance.”

  “Is that what you do, kill people?” Darcie said.

  “You think I would be dumb enough to answer that,” she said.

  I heard footsteps and raised the gun, pointed it at the door.

  “Nobody else here,” DeMax said as he ran in.

  “I’ll call the FBI,” Darcie said. “Mecana, you call Verves. He should know too.”

  “Yeah, I will. DeMax, lay that AK down. We did all the shooting, you got me?”

  “I got you.” He wiped the stock with his shirt, laid it on the floor and sat down beside Darcie and Candy.

  Darcie patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, partner. You were great,” she said and dialed her phone.

  “You too,” he said.

  “The FBI is on their way,” Darcie said a few minutes later. “I told them to call before they drove in so we wouldn’t shoot them. They said they would be here in less than an hour.”

  “I had to leave a message for Verves,” I said. “Told him to call the FBI, too.”

  DeMax and I sat down with our eyes on Candy.

  Something about Fritz was still bothering me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I stared at him lying on his back. The four bullet holes were in a tight grouping that tore a hole in his heart, all in one place.

  The light bulb turned on.

  That’s what was bothering me. It was the same number of bullets and the same pattern as Kane.

  About forty minutes later, I was making sure Candy stayed in one place.

  Darcie’s phone rang. “They’re coming in,” she said.

  “I’ll go outside and greet them,” I said.

  “I’ll give you a million dollars to let me go,” Candy said.

  “Thought you weren’t going to give us anymore money,” I said.

  “For the right reasons I will,” she said. “Just say I got away.”

  “Can’t do that. My daddy would turn over in his grave,” I said.

  “You’re a simpleton, Mecana,” Candy said.

  “Maybe so. We misjudged you,” I said. “You set Fillmore up as a scapegoat, murdered your husband, double-crossed Fritz and were using us to eliminate your a
dversaries.”

  “Because I’m smarter than you,” Candy said.

  “Not anymore.”

  Chapter 14

  I heard a car drive up to the gate and walked outside with an AK-47 and stood in the shadows by the door. A black Mercedes like the one Fritz had been driving pulled up and a man leaned out the driver’s-side window and shot the lock off the gate.

  Hope that’s the FBI, I thought.

  He saw me and yelled, “FBI coming in.”

  “Come on,” I yelled. “We’re expecting you.”

  They drove through the gate with a SWAT van behind and stopped inside, behind my truck. The back door of the van swung open and ten men ran out, fully combat dressed, three taking positions on me. The others ran past me into the building.

  I stepped out of the shadow. “I’m Thomas Mecana. I’m the one who called you.” I showed the rifle over my head and slowly sat it down.

  The man driving the Mercedes got out and walked up to me holding a Glock. He seemed to be the one in charge. He was tall and fit-looking with trimmed wavy black hair and wearing the traditional FBI attire: white shirt, black suit and tie, with a careful walk.

  The one in the passenger side opened his door and stood behind it; looking at me, his bald head shining.

  The tall one kicked the AK-47 away and said, “Turn around and lean against the wall,” and patted me down. “Let’s see some ID. Move slow.”

  I carefully removed my wallet and showed him my driver’s license and PI card.

  “Everybody in there friendlies?” he asked.

  “The live ones are,” I said. “Except for maybe Candy Kane.”

  He stuck his Glock back in his coat. We shook hands and went inside, the others following our lead.

  Two were in the room with the dead guys and the others were in the room with my people and the dead Fritz.

  “I’m Special Agent Bradford,” he said and looked at Candy Kane. “Mrs. Kane, you’ll have to come with us, the CIA wants you.”

  “Are you arresting me?” Candy asked.

  “Yes, for the CIA.”

  “And do you have a warrant?” Darcie said. “I’m an attorney. We don’t want her to walk.”

  “We picked one up from Judge Davis before we got here. Here’s the one for her.” He handed it to Darcie. She read the warrant and looked at Candy.

  “The cops want you now,” Darcie said.

  The bald-headed man walked up to Agent Bradford. “I’m Agent Franks,” he said, looking at us. “The crime scene and coroner squads are on the way. I’ve made a security check on everyone, and Mrs. Kane, you are only one we will have to hold. Unless we find causes here to change that.”

  A few seconds later, Chief Verves poked his head in the door, hesitated for a moment and walked in. “Bodies up to your ass again, Mecana,” he said.

  “All necessary, Chief,” I said. “Agent Bradford, this is Chief Verves of Homicide in Dallas.”

  “Know of you, Chief,” Bradford said, shaking hands. “He’s right, these were some bad dudes with murder in mind.”

  “I heard,” Verves said. “I see you have Mrs. Kane?”

  “We have a warrant for her arrest,” Bradford said.

  “We have some more questions for her when we can,” Verves said.

  “Probably be a while; we’ve got priority on her,” Bradford said. “Franks and I will take her in tonight.”

  “Looks like you’re not going to need us now,” Verves said. “Mecana, we need to talk when you get through here.”

  “Sure, Chief,” I said.

  “They can go,” Bradford said.

  We walked out behind Verves and stopped him on the veranda.

  “Chief, we need a ride downtown,” I said. “They threw my keys away. You can drop us off at the rental agency so we can pick up Darcie’s car. They’re open all night. We can talk about Candy on the way.”

  “Get in,” he said.

  We loaded up with Sergeant Edward Maddox at the wheel, a twenty-year police veteran. Mattox backed out and we got back on the freeway.

  “Mecana,” Verves said. “Mrs. Kane has a carrying permit for a 9mm pistol. She said someone stole it when I called her yesterday. The only place we can think of that we haven’t looked is her car, it’s disappeared. She said you have the keys and she doesn’t know where it is.”

  “I have the keys but I couldn’t find the car, either,” I said.

  “If the gun checks out, she probably did it,” Verves said.

  “She killed Fritz during our fight with his own gun. Four tight shots to the heart, same as Kane. That was no accident. That was shooting.”

  “Talk to the FBI Chief, you don’t know the half of it. It’s unbelievable,” Darcie said.

  “Learned a lot in the last few hours,” Verves said. “The FBI and CIA are investigating Kane, Fritz and Mrs. Kane together. They found more associates that were involved with them in some sort of terrorist group.”

  Verves phone rang and he answered it.

  “My god,” he said. “We’re on the way.” He turned to his driver, “Head for 4th and Berryville, Maddox.”

  “Got it.” Maddox wheeled around, turned the siren on and flew down the street, headed for Berryville.

  “Mrs. Kane escaped in her car with some young man who shot the agents,” Verves said.

  Ten minutes later we could see flashing lights across the street at an intersection. Cruisers and ambulances were blocking the street both ways at 4th and Berryville. We weaved our way through and stopped next to an FBI Mercedes with all four doors open.

  They had Agent Bradford on a gurney, carrying him to an ambulance, and Franks lying on a stretcher on the sidewalk with a blanket over his head.

  Maddox cut everything off and we jumped out and ran to Agent Bradford.

  “What happened,” Verves said, looking at Bradford. “You get hit?”

  “Shoulder,” Bradford said.

  “Can you talk?” Verves said.

  “Yes. A young man rammed us at a stoplight and shot Franks in the head. I ducked but he shot me in the shoulder and grabbed Mrs. Kane out of the car. She called him Cactus, I think. I saw the tag number when they sped off. It was her car. They headed west on Berryville.”

  “She called him Cactus?” Verves said.

  “Yes. Pretty sure,” Bradford said and grimaced as they hit a crack in the concrete with the gurney.

  “What did he look like?” Verves said.

  “That’s the pilot who worked for Kane,” I said.

  “Stay out of this, Mecana,” Verves said and turned back to Bradford. “What did he look like?”

  “Maybe in his twenties, about six feet, muscular,” Bradford said. “Black hair and dark eyes. Carrying what looked like a 9mm.”

  “Okay, guys, get him in the ambulance,” Verves said as two medics wheeled the agent away. “That must have been her gun.”

  “Fillmore is right, she’s a devil of a woman,” I said. “She’s headed to France and that may have been her lover Cactus who shot them. And he’s going to fly her to France in Kane’s private jet.”

  “Why haven’t you told me this before,” Verves said.

  “We just found out a few hours ago,” I said.

  “Stay here, you’re not going to the airport,” Verves said.

  “We’ve got to go, chief,” I said. “This is our ass, too.”

  “Well, shit. Head to DFW, Maddox,” Verves said. “If they’re going to France then that’s probably where they’re going to leave.”

  We all piled in, slammed the doors and headed to the airport.

  “Maddox, open up the net and put out what we know,” Verves said.

  “I got it,” Maddox said, “opening things up right now.”

  He punched in Candy’s boyfriend’s alias ‘Cactus.’ The descriptions and plate numbers matched.

  Less than five minutes later, a call from a cruiser came back saying the car had been spotted on Mockingbird Lane. They were going to Love Field.<
br />
  Another call came in saying they turned on a side street and cut through a fence outside Love Field, jumped out of the car and ran to Gate 15 to a Lear jet sitting outside a hanger.

  “They’ll have to cut them off on the runway,” Darcie said.

  More than thirty police cars had arrived, along with SWAT teams at the fence, and directed their lights at the jet to blind them; but it didn’t seem to slow them down. The jet made its way out on the runway, spun around and revved up the engines.

  “Now we know how she got to New York and back in one night,” I said.

  “Make sure the control tower doesn’t give them permission to take off,” Verves said, while Maddox put out the word.

  A SWAT trooper ran up to the gate, pulled a rocket launcher off his back, and readied it for firing.

  “Are they going after the cockpit or the engines,” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter at this point,” Verves said.

  “It does if we want to find out the whole story.”

  “Damn, Mecana. You always want the whole enchilada, this may be it.”

  “No, there’s a lot more,” I said.

  Just as the trooper fired, the jet turned and the rocket cruised by, missing and blowing up a fence on the other side of the runway.

  The jet took off down the runway. It picked up speed, lifted off at the end of the runway, banked to the right and began climbing.

  Four or five seconds later, an explosion like a war zone blast blew the engines completely off the wings. Two big burning boxes shot out the side of the aircraft; money spilling out, floating and twisting and turning as it fell to the ground, a few bills catching fire on the way down through burning pieces of the aircraft.

  The jet was burned to a crisp by the time it hit the ground, long before a firetruck was in sight. Later, no human remains would be found. At least none large enough to recognize.

  Spectators started running out on the runway grabbing money.

  Police cars drove out on the runway, chasing everyone off and picking up the money and stuffing it in bags.

  When several firetrucks arrived, there was nothing left to save. They joined the rest in picking up money.

  “I’m goin’ to get me some money,” DeMax said, reaching for the door handle.