Paradox (FBI Thriller 22)

42

* * *

Victor didn’t steal another car. He dumped the Honda SUV that smelled like sweaty teenager socks in Alexandria and called a taxi to take him to Koons in Tysons Corner, where he paid seven thousand dollars cash for a dull brown 2009 Chrysler 300 LX. He gave a little wave to the salesman as he pulled out of the lot. It didn’t matter his face was all over TV and plastered in every cop shop in the area. No one would recognize him. He was no longer a clean-shaven young man with short brown hair. He couldn’t help his pale complexion or his size—skinny, his chinos hanging off his butt—but he’d changed as much as he could. Now he wore a longish dark brown wig and thick glasses with clear lenses, plus a bit of a goatee that was, unfortunately, coming off bit by bit, but he didn’t care. The goatee had been Lissy’s idea, and it itched. No more baggy chinos, either. He was wearing tight blue jeans and a black T-shirt under an open plaid shirt. The jeans itched, too, but Lissy assured him he looked sexy now, not at all like a nerd.

I really like the new you, Victor. I always wanted you to walk on the wild side. Yum, love those tight jeans. I hadn’t realized you have a butt. Now you’re my dark, dangerous avenger and you’ll help me send that bastard, Buzz Riley, straight to hell. While we were suffering in that stinky psych ward, all those rules and having to sit through all those sessions with those idiot shrinks, he was having a big time, all free and happy after he killed Mama. Well, we’re going to end that. Right between the eyes, Victor, or maybe in his mouth. I really like that. Lights out!

“We already checked his house once, saw his old car was locked up tight in the garage. I’ll bet you Savich told him to get out of town.”

He heard her huff out a breath, then, You’re probably right, but that doesn’t mean we can’t come after him again, later, when he thinks he’s all safe from us. You did good with the church, Victor. Blew the sucker sky high, exploded it off its foundation. To see all those bugs flying out of there, trying not to get burned to a crisp, it was fun.

“It was fun, Lissy, but you heard the radio. No one bit the big one, only minor inju

ries. I thought what with the fire bursting up through the church floor, they’d all go up in flames, but it didn’t happen.” Would she blame him? Call him incompetent? He waited, tense, already feeling his blood burn.

She whispered softly against his face, The way you put that bomb together, such tricky work, Victor. I was amazed. And how you knew where to fix it to the gas pipe in the church basement, that was so hot. And you made sure no one saw you. Don’t feel bad. You know the FBI agents are paid to not panic. They’re supposed to be cool and save lives. So they did their job, nothing great about that. You still sent them a powerful message: screw with us and see where you end up.

You did good with this car, too, dull brown so nobody will notice it. But why won’t you tell me where you’re getting all this cash? You peeled off all those hundreds from a big wad in your pocket. Why won’t you tell me where you got it?

Victor sped up to pass an old Mazda, then immediately slowed again to the speed limit. “I’ll make you a deal, Lissy. You tell me where your mama buried all the bank robbery money in Fort Pessel and I promise to go back in a week or so and let you kill Buzz Riley. That’s a good deal, isn’t it?”

She huffed and went silent.

43

* * *

FIRST NATIONAL BANK OF HAGGERSVILLE

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

Ty pulled her Silverado into the parking lot at the end of West Clover Street between the Midas Hair Salon and the First National Bank of Haggersville. The bank was a stately, older two-story redbrick building, well maintained and important-looking, a place where you could be more confident than not your money would be safe.

Sala waved at the salon. “Midas hair? Does that mean they dye your hair gold?”

Ty said, “I tried pink once as a teenager, but never gold. Think it’s too late for me to give it another shot?”

Sala laughed, gave her hair a tug. As they crossed the parking lot, Ty phoned Lulie Saks at the hospital. Gunny was out of post-anesthesia care, but she still wasn’t coherent. It might take some time, Dr. Ellis had told Lulie, before Gunny could be questioned and make sense. Both Lulie and Chief Masters were with her, and Officer Romero Diaz was seated outside her cubicle in the ICU. Gunny was safe and secure.

Ty slipped her cell back into her pocket. “The killer will know soon enough Gunny’s alive, if he doesn’t already know, which he probably does. He couldn’t afford to let her talk to the FBI, so he either goes into the wind or tries to kill her again in the hospital.” She sighed. “Of course, if the killer knows she didn’t see him, he might think he has more time.”

Sala said, “If he’s afraid she knows something that could bring him down right away, it wouldn’t matter if she saw him or not. I honestly don’t see how she could know who hit her on the back of her head. I’m hoping she heard something distinctive, smelled something, maybe a cologne she recognized, something like that.”

“I’ve always believed there’s a lot of faith involved in law enforcement, otherwise you get ground under.” After a moment, she said, “You know what? In the short time I’ve known you, I realize you’re always situationally aware, know who and what’s around you. I’ve got to learn that.”

“Well, maybe. My older brother was also in Afghanistan, still is. He taught me before I went in. Saved both our lives. All you have to do is clear out your mind, look and really see, listen and really hear. But none of that mattered with Victor Nesser.”

Ty reached out, touched his arm. “You can’t see in the dark, Sala, plus you were sound asleep. Teach me, okay?”

He studied her hand a moment, her long fingers and short buffed nails, a strong hand, a capable hand. He looked back into her serious face and smiled. “Yes, all right, I will do my poor best.”

“Speaking of poor best, Victor didn’t manage to kill anyone in the church this morning. Only minor injuries reported so far. I wonder what he thinks about that? That he failed?”

“Or maybe he’s happy he showed the world what a badass he is.”

Sala held one of the big glass double doors open for a man in Bermuda shorts and flip-flops, and he and Ty followed him into blessed air-conditioning.

“Wowza,” Ty said. “Would you look at the gold-veined brown marble floor?” She swept her hand around her. “It’s like a 1930s art deco Hollywood set. What a shine. Everything meant to impress.”