Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(152)

The guy walked around Kev and Sean’s vehicle. He opened the back hatch, looked in. Looked at the cases of equipment that Sean and Kev had unloaded. “What’s in those cases?” he asked.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself about,” Kev said. “They won’t be in the car you’ll be driving. And then abandoning. Forever.”

“I will be on the cameras at the emergency room,” the cabbie pointed out.

“Maybe so, but you won’t have committed a crime,” Kev countered. “Just a traffic violation. In a car not registered to you.”

The guy stared at the fan of bills in Kev’s hand once again. His hand stretched out, even though his head was still shaking. The extra thousand had clinched the deal.

Kev looked at Sean. “Get the phones out of the trunk.” He turned to the cabbie. “Listen up. As soon as he brings you those phones, do not say another word. Not one more word. Got it?”

“Ah! Bugged phones? This is so f*cked up, mon. I don’ like this,” he said, but the money had already disappeared into his pockets.

“Me, neither,” Kev said fervently. “Don’t forget the cursing and groaning, like you have a painful wound.”

“No problem. I groan real good. I drive all day, in this winter slop, and my arthritis kicks up. Auooow! Fuck, mon, that hurts . . . auooow!”

“Don’t overdo it, for God’s sake!” Kev said, alarmed. “Muffled groans, OK? Or they’ll be able to tell it’s not one of our voices. Got it?”

“Oh, yes, I got it, I got it,” the guy assured him.

“Take them out of the bags before you go in. If someone sees you drop a handbag into the garbage, they’ll think you’re leaving a bomb.”

The guy winced and opened his mouth, but Sean was there, finger to his lips, holding up the bag that held the phones. Kev clapped his hand over the guy’s mouth and yanked the driver’s side door open. Sean opened the back door and tossn.

The guy still looked miserably doubtful, but he climbed in. Kev slammed the door shut. Nodded farewell. The guy nodded back, started the engine with a roar. The SUV leaped and bumped out of the shelter, down the short concrete ramp, onto the street. It turned and was gone.

Sean walked over to stand beside Kev. They stared at the place where the vehicle had left their field of vision. They couldn’t step out of that shelter until the other piece of their hastily cobbled plan drove up.

“That was stressful,” Sean commented. “I hope that guy doesn’t get distracted and stop for munchies somewhere.”

Kev shook his head. “He wasn’t stoned. But he was scared.”

“So am I,” Sean said. “Do you think we’re f*cking him up?”

“I don’t think so. There are no explosives in monster chick’s phone. They must have gotten nervous about that, after the cabin. And there’s no way anyone could trace him back to the phones, even using fingerprints. He was wearing leather gloves. He’s safe from the Butthead Brigade. Unless they recognize him personally, if he gets caught on some camera. And that’s not likely.”

“None of this shit has been likely,” Sean said, darkly.

They stared glumly out at the rain-slicked street, and another vehicle appeared, turning onto the ramp. It was the aging but fitlooking Volkswagen panel van that Sean had spotted in a nearby used car lot.

The guy they’d met in the storage unit got out. He was a heavyset guy with slicked-back hair. “Here she is,” he announced. “I got ’em down to thirty-six hundred and filled her with gas, like you said. She runs real good.” He held out a handful of cash. “Here’s your change.”

“I appreciate the savings. Keep it as part of your commission.”

The guy looked taken aback. He slid the wad of money into his pocket. “Uh, thanks. Why didn’t you buy it yourself? You on the lam?”

“No. Long story, but nothing illegal. So, like I said. The van’s in your name. We borrow it from you today. When we’re done, we give it back to you, free and clear. I’ll call your cell, we get you the van.”

The guy shook his head, his mouth flat. “If you use it to commit a crime, I’m rolling over on you,” he warned. “I will f*ck you up.”

“Fair enough,” Kev said. “Say we stole it. I’m fine with that.”

Kev and Sean began loading the plastic cases into the back of the van. The man stared at them. “Yeah. Sure. And, uh . . . now?”

“Now we go,” Kev said. “And thanks for your help.”

The man just stood there. “What did you put in the storage unit?”

Kev just looked at him.

“Yeah, never mind. Whatever.” The guy walked away.

They climbed in. Sean started up the motor. It sounded pretty good. Kev opened up the laptop and opened the surveillance program, clicking open the view from the slap-on vidcam he’d attached with a single discreet gesture to the outside wall of the storage unit they had rented, using gray-brown putty and fuzz disguise, which made it almost invisible. They’d positioned repeaters to augment the signal at least to the street outside the storage unit.

“How far can we go and still get the signal?” he asked.

“Let’s park around the first corner.” Sean turned the van around and put it into park. “It’s ris, though. They might just eyeball us when they come. Those two guys both think we’re going to blow up the Chrysler Building, or something.”