Cage's Crew Page 10
“Might not be bad here in the winter,” Norm suggested as he sedately drove along. “Lots of golf courses. Maybe the wife and I will get a winter place down here when the kids are gone. Montana has great summers, but it’s boring as hell in the winter after hunting season is over.”
We were initially too wired to do anything except listen to the scanner and keep our eyes peeled for the cops; we’d talk about what we should do next when we were on the interstate to Albuquerque.
******
We went directly from Martin’s house to our safe car, the Honda SUV with New Mexico plates and a title that had one of my valid driver’s license names written in as the name of its new owner.
I dropped off Norm around the corner from the parking lot where it was parked and waited until he appeared with the Honda a couple of minutes later. He hung back and followed me for about a mile until I came to a side street into a residential area of single family homes. We’d scouted out the neighborhood earlier and I drove a couple of blocks straight to a house with a “for sale” sign on it. I quickly parked the Ford so its license plate couldn’t be seen from the street, made sure its doors were locked, and walked up the street to where Norm was waiting around the corner.
I breathed a deep sigh of relief and was sweating and swearing profusely as I climbed in the Honda and we drove off. The Ford was as dangerous as a two-dollar pistol because it had been driven past the security cameras at the guard gate and Martin’s body may well have already been found; when it was, the security camera tapes were sure to be reviewed. The Honda, on the other hand, was clean enough to pass a routine police stop.
We obviously had to keep the cars separated at all times so that the Ford could not lead anyone to the Honda. That’s why I had walked in the sweltering sun and Norm went around the corner to wait for me—in case a nosy neighbor had gotten suspicious when he or she saw me back the Ford into the driveway and noted the Honda’s license number or its New Mexico tags.
From the vacant house where I parked the Ford, we drove straight to Interstate 10 and headed east. Less than three hours after I shot Martin we crossed into New Mexico on the interstate and kept going. We constantly listened to the police scanner and to a Tucson news and talk radio station. Norm drove safely and sanely at all times.
It was a comfortable drive because the sun was at our back and there was no glare shining into our eyes. We just cruised along, talked about what we should do next, and periodically drank from our water bottles and ate some of the candy and chips that had been in the car waiting for us. Neither of us commented on the fact that some of the candy had melted. Periodically, when the road was empty and no one could see us, we threw a piece of our disguises and other stuff out the window, including our gloves. The key to the Ford was the first to go.
******
There still had been no mention of a shooting by the time the last Tucson station faded out. But that was no guarantee that Martin’s body hadn’t already been found and a search wasn’t already underway. I didn’t think so because we’d been careful to keep our Honda escape car separate from the Ford. Even so, we couldn’t take any chances, particularly since Martin’s live-in lady friend may have already come home and found his body. In any event, we were probably safe even if he had been found because they’d be looking for the Ford, not the Honda SUV we were driving.
My face was more of a problem even though I planned to be out of Arizona long before anyone could begin circulating my picture. I’d held my hand in front of my face and turned sideways so my fake ponytail and other changes would show every time I thought there might be a security camera, such as when we came through the gate into Martin’s subdivision. Unfortunately there were a lot of cameras out there in the real world and I undoubtedly missed some of them.
Our only problem at the moment was having to pee and not wanting to stop. We couldn’t at Martin’s house for fear of leaving evidence. As a result, Norm and I were both near to bursting by the time we pulled out of Martin’s driveway. So we did our usual—we pissed into the lidded plastic jars we carried in the car without even stopping, first as we drove along the streets in Tucson and then on the Interstate right after we crossed the state line and entered New Mexico.
We intended to drive straight through to Albuquerque without stopping. Norm thought we’d have enough gas to make it because we would get good mileage driving with the cruise control on the interstate. Just in case, however, we were carrying a couple of five-gallon cans of gas and a nozzle. It’s a good thing we had them because we had to pull into a “scenic view” turnout and add the gas. We put in both cans, carefully wiped our fingerprints off them, and left the empties where we’d pulled in to refuel.
Norm was pissed about having to stop to add gas, absolutely furious might even be a better description, and it sort of amused me. The fact that the SUV needed more gas than he expected had insulted him as a professional driver.
“Goddamnit, I didn’t know Honda was lying about the mileage of its goddamn cars. I thought it was just the goddamn Germans and Detroit who couldn’t be trusted.”
******
I had taken over driving the Honda and was behind the wheel when we reached Albuquerque and turned off to the airpark where Norm’s plane was waiting. For the past few hours, until we turned off the interstate and headed towards the airpark, he had been sprawled out on the back seat sleeping. He’d been that way ever since we gassed up out of our emergency gas cans hours earlier.
The field where Norm’s plane was parked was deserted and its office closed. So, with Norm telling me where to go, I drove us past the office and out to his plane in the moonlit aircraft parking area. His plane was near the far end of the parking area so I had to drive between two long rows of planes of all types and sizes to reach it. I could see by the Honda’s headlights that each of the planes, including his, was tied down to the ground with metal chains so it wouldn’t be blown over or tossed about in a high wind.
I lit up the area around Norm’s plane by leaving the Honda’s motor running with its headlights aimed at it. Everything we had went into the plane except my toilet kit and a little duffle bag with a new and totally unused pair of jeans and shorts, a shirt, a pair of shoes and socks, two prepaid burner cell phones, and a couple of disguise items.
My appearance had changed. Now I was wearing a long sleeved shirt and a pair of glasses with thick rims that had been in the duffle bag, and no longer wearing the baseball cap, the fake blond ponytail, and belly padding. They had long ago been tossed out into the darkness along the road along with everything else we’d used in Tucson. I planned to get another fake ponytail when I got back to California. Maybe brown this time.
While we were loading Norm’s plane, a pair of headlights came around a hangar further up the way and drove slowly out to join us. It was the field’s night security guard coming to make sure we weren’t vandalizing one of the planes. We clearly were not since we were loading stuff into Norm’s plane instead of taking stuff out. He was a friendly old guy and what we were doing was exactly what he expected to see.
“Yo,” he said. “You guys need any help loading?” he said as he got out of the driver’s side door and looked over the car’s roof at us.
“No, we’ve about got it, but thanks,” said Norm as he unclipped one of the tie-down chains and used a little plastic tube to drain any of the moisture that might have accumulated in his plane’s extended range wing tanks. Draining the water from a plane’s fuel tanks, I knew from flying to and from jobs with Norm on several occasions, was a very important step in preparing for a takeoff, particularly if a plane had been sitting for a while.
“Old Charles, here,” Norm said as he waved his hand towards me and nodded his head, “was good enough to drive me out here tonight and help me, but I appreciate your offer, I truly do. I’m heading east to Nashville tonight, instead of waiting for the morning, because I can’t stand flying straight into the sun—I don’t know why, but flying into the sun always gets
to me and makes me sleepy, even when I’m wearing sun glasses, it truly does. Probably the glare, I guess.”
The good old boy just chuckled at Norm’s answer and agreed with it. “That’s a right smart idea. Have you checked the winds and filed your flight plan? An hour or so ago there were a couple of pilot reports that it was choppy going through the pass.”
“Naw, I didn’t know what time I’d be getting off. I’ll get a briefing and file when I get aloft.”
Then Norm turned to me and held out his hand with a big smile. “You take care of yourself, Charles, and thank Alice for that dinner. It was real good.”
I had just waved a casual farewell to the security guard and was climbing into the Honda when I heard Norm shout the traditional “clear” pilots give to warn people away from their propellers and start his engine. I waited with the Honda’s headlights shining on his plane until it lurched forward with a temporary roar of its engine and turned to taxi the rest of the way down the row of parked planes towards the end of the runway.
It was a relatively short runway and Norm’s extended range tanks were fully loaded. He was a careful pilot so to be on the safe side he was going to use all of it, as he had explained to me while we were driving, even though he probably wouldn’t have to do so since the heat of day was past. I waved at the guard and drove off watching as the flashing lights on Norm’s plane receded in my rear view mirror.
The chances of us getting caught for offing Martin were getting slimmer and slimmer.
******
My car and I were clean as a whistle and fully covered with a good title and plates as I drove back into downtown Albuquerque to find a place to spend the night. To my surprise, no vacancy signs were lit up at every motel I passed. I was starting to get worried when I finally found a Comfort Inn with its vacancy sign still lit. I checked in using the valid Vermont driver’s license I ’d gotten when I visited Vermont a couple of years ago and a good Visa debit card with the same name as was on the license. As usual, I prepaid for “a quiet room in the back “with cash, because “it’s been a long trip and my credit card is tapped out”—and put my Visa card back into my wallet before it could be run.
I was really beat by the time I drove around to the back of the motel and climbed the steps to my second floor room.
Tomorrow I’d begin my long circular drive back to California by continuing north until I reached the interstate that would take me west to California via Colorado and Utah. It ought to be a nice drive. But then I got to thinking about doing something different like driving to Denver tomorrow and inviting Pencie to join me.
Chapter Twelve
I ate the Comfort Inn’s “free” breakfast and waited until it was after nine o’clock to call Pencie on one of my two remaining burner cell phones. I waited, of course, because it was an hour earlier in California and she was not an early riser like I am. So I killed time by putting cream cheese on another toasted bagel and reading more of the local morning newspaper. The fire danger is high in the unlikely event I decide to go hiking today.
The dining area next to the Comfort Inn’s lobby had mostly emptied out by the time I made the call.
“Hey there, hon, it’s me; just checking in to see how you’re doing. How’s the golf?”
Asking Pencie about her favorite sport was our private code that everything was clear on my end and my job was finished. It was, even more specifically, my way of asking her if the coast was clear and she could get away for a vacation trip; if I’d asked her how her art gallery business was going, it would mean there might be a problem and I wanted her to do something for me.
“Oh, it’s been good. I shot an eighty-four a couple of days ago and all the girls are jealous. But, to tell you the truth, I’ve been getting a little bored playing every day.”
“I’m glad to hear you're bored, I surely am. Would you be up for taking off for a little vacation, I hope?”
“That's a wonderful idea. I’d love to. I’ve got an appointment at the gallery tomorrow but I’m pretty sure I can reschedule it or get someone to cover it for me. I’ll have to get back to you, though.”
Pencie owned a storefront art gallery that was open only by appointment and very rarely. When I wanted to launder some cash from a job I would sometimes spend a goodly sum of cash to “buy” a painting from Pencie that she had found at a flea market or garage sale. She would establish its existence by taking a picture of it that wasn’t very clear, then dutifully deposit the money in her bank, record the sale and pay sales taxes on it, and throw it in the trash.
“That’s great. I can hardly wait to see you.” Then I rattled off the number for her to call.
Pencie would call later on one of the prepaid cell phones I’d left for her to use. She’d only call after she’d driven some distance away from her home and only reach me if she increased the second, fourth, and sixth digits of the number I had given her by two. And we’d talk in circles when she did reach me, just in case anyone was listening on the line.
She thought it was all very exciting to take precautions so no one could use her to find me. I didn’t care what she thought so long as she did it.
Pencie didn’t know it, of course, but I had another money laundry. Harriet Kawalski was a licensed real estate agent and broker in Delaware with a home office. She was the wife of Joe Kawalski who was away taking an extended vacation compliments of the New York District Attorney’s office. Joe and I had been on a couple of jobs together about ten years ago. I’d met Harriet when Joe and I holed up together when the heat got unexpectedly turned up after a job we did together didn’t turn out quite right.
About once a year I sell one of my parking lots to a legitimate buyer with Harriet as the listing realtor. She, of course, properly reported and paid taxes on her commissions. She also prepares and files my tax returns for my very clean and legitimately papered alias, James Worthington Evans, “as a courtesy because Jim mostly works in the oilfields overseas.”
Most or all of the proceeds from such a sale usually go into “Jim’s” retirement account at TIAA-CREF. It’s prudent to be prepared for retirement, particularly in this business. Fortunately, I was also building up Social Security benefits under three additional names and addresses.
Harriet was very dependable; she needed the money and Joe had explained to her what would happen to the both of them if she played any games or in any way put me or my money at risk. We have a great relationship.
******
I spent the day driving from Albuquerque to Denver. Pencie showed up early the next afternoon carrying both of her burner phones just as I’d requested. I was still on the road when she landed at the airport. She’d used one of the burners to call me on the number I had given her and cheerfully asked “What next, oh lord and master?”
“Oh I don’t know,” I said playfully. I’m still on the road. How about getting a nice four-door rental car from Enterprise or Budget for a couple of weeks with unlimited mileage and calling the Four Seasons to see if you can book a room for us? Either way, I’ll meet you at the Denny’s restaurant on Seventh Avenue in about two hours.”
“Your wish is my command, oh master. Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”
“Yes, and as soon as possible. But you’ll have to get us into a room first.”
She giggled, said a long and drawn-out “Ookaay,” and hung up. Things were definitely looking up.
******
I put the Honda into a long-term storage lot, and we spent the next five days in bed together and leisurely driving from Denver to Philadelphia in the Cadillac Pencie rented at the airport from Enterprise Rent-a-Car. Along the way we shopped for clothes for me to wear on my trip to New York.
Pencie enjoyed helping me pick out my new wardrobe. She knew better than to ask where I would be wearing them or what had happened to the clothes I had with me when we were together a couple of weeks earlier. The only thing she couldn’t understand is why I insisted on buying overly large long-sleeved shi
rts with baggy cuffs.
The Honda I left behind in Denver was not a problem even though it had one of my aliases written in the new buyer’s box on its title as the new owner. Before I left Albuquerque, I had arranged a postal box at a Mailboxes USA franchise and mailed in the Honda’s title and a money order to pay for a new title to be issued with my newly acquired postal box number and the Mailboxes USA street address as the new owner’s address. My thinking was that I’d wait a bit and sell it the next time I was in Denver.
Leaving burner cars behind that cost a couple of thousand each is one thing; leaving the Honda was another. It did, after all, cost me ten large even though I’ll get double that much back for fronting the money as an expense of the job. About the only thing I didn’t leave behind was my tiny thirty-eight caliber over/under derringer with its bullets’ noses clipped off so they’d do more damage when they hit. I had it and my wrist holster sealed in a small Priority Mail box which I was carrying with me in the trunk of Pencie’s rental car.
******
We had a room at the Four Seasons reserved and waiting in Pencie’s name when we reached Philadelphia.
“I thought we were going to New York to go shopping and see some shows?” Pencie had asked earlier in the day when I took the Interstate turn-off toward Philadelphia.
“We are, but we can commute in from here by train and take the subway to anywhere in the city from Grand Central Station. It’s safer.”
“Safer? Are you working?” she asked all wide-eyed.
“Only sort of, just checking a few things out is all. All very preliminary.”
After we registered at the Four Seasons and spent a couple of hours in bed, Pencie came out of the shower and watched intently as I used Google Earth on a cheap tablet to pull up the address of the Arthur Avenue Private Social Club in the Little Italy section of the Bronx. I was trying to understand its location in relation to the subway station where we would have to get off to visit it. All Pencie could see was that I was searching for something, not what it was or where it was.