Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery Part 21

At seven p.m. the guard was waving me through the gate in Forrest McMahon's neighborhood. Snow had been falling heavily for a couple of hours, big heavy flakes, and the streets were snow-packed and slick. Everything was covered with at least six inches of snow. I'd been tempted to reschedule my meeting with McMahon, but since I was almost certain that someone was still after him, and possibly Stephanie, I decided against it.

I pulled into the McMahon driveway. It hadn't been shoveled, and I drove through ruts in the snow created by Stephanie's BMW. I parked behind it and trudged through the snow to the front door.

"Reed, thank you for coming," McMahon said a moment later as he let me in. "I hope the roads weren't too treacherous."

"Not too bad."

He scrutinized my face, noticing my bruised eye, then gestured toward the living room, where Stephanie was sitting on the couch, her arm still in a sling. She wore jeans and a leather jacket, much more casual than usual, and her color had returned. But the frosty glare in my direction told me she wasn't thrilled to see me.

"Stephanie's been telling me what's happened," he said. "I must say I was surprised to hear of what she and her friends did."

"It's quite the story," I said.

He nodded, then cleared his throat. "I've been in discussions with the police and my lawyers, and I a.s.sume if they need anything from you, you will cooperate."

"Of course," I said. "And I'd advise Stephanie to cooperate with the police."

She started to protest but McMahon held up a hand and her mouth clamped shut.

"We will handle it, and I'm sure everything will be all right," he said.

"You're accustomed to getting your way, aren't you?" I said. "Connections will do that, and if that doesn't work, you manipulate people, right? You and your group."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I know about things, like that deal in Florida, and judges and senators. Like Warren Hatcher. That's how you came to me."

McMahon fixed me with a hard stare, then turned to Stephanie. "Would you give us a moment alone?"

"My pleasure," she said, brushing past me with as much of a flourish as her wounded shoulder would allow.

McMahon eyed me carefully. "What do you know?"

"You're involved in some kind of group, the secret type, where you all wield your power and money to help each other. I've got more than just the senators and the judge. Do you want me to list them all?"

He looked off into s.p.a.ce and then sighed. He sat down. "I've underestimated you. How on earth could you know any of this?"

"I don't like being manipulated." I sat down across from him on the settee. "It's sad that your daughter and her friends thought they'd imitate you. Someone died over that. But then, I'll bet your group has been involved in a few suspicious deaths." I guessed the last part, but his eyes told me I was right. He didn't say anything. "And now you've got the mob after you, right?"

He nodded, completely beaten.

"Want to tell me about it?"

He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess it can't hurt, especially since you seem to know so much. Who knows? Maybe you can help." He stood up and began pacing. "I help...clean up funds for some rather unsavory clients. Some of us in my 'organization', as you say, have worked together over the years, helping with investments, some insider trading. And then one of our members was approached about investing in a couple of companies. It looked good, a way to make a lot more money. Then things started to get convoluted, with each one of us knowing part of the money trail, but not all of it. Over the course of time, we figured things out, and who was behind it all." He sighed. "A few of us wanted out. I don't mind utilizing a lot of means to make money, but I didn't want anything to do with the Mafia. But when we started to withdraw, our business partners didn't take kindly to it. I think they're afraid we'd talk. There have been threats, and then a few months ago, they came after a colleague's wife. That scared me, and I sent my wife and sons overseas, but I couldn't convince Stephanie to go. I couldn't tell her how much danger she was in, and I tried using Tyrone and Oscar to protect her, and..." he waved a hand. "You know about all that."

"What are you going to do from here?" I asked. "You want me to continue guarding Stephanie?"

He shook his head. "That's not necessary. She's agreed to go with me to Europe to visit her mother, and I'll explain things then. She won't be happy, but at least we'll all be alive." He stopped and pulled a check from his pocket. "Here's a check for your services. I've included a bonus for you."

"To buy my silence?"

He seemed not to know what to say. "Let me show you out."

I stood up. "One more thing before I go. You know my past with Chancellor Finances, and now I know about you. We each have secrets that should remain secret. If I hear that you've told anyone about my involvement in Chancellor...let's just say I sometimes have a big mouth."

"That's quite a threat."

I didn't say anything, but it felt very 'film noir' to me, the noir hero using intimidation for his own means. We walked to the door in silence. I spotted Tyrone down the hall and wondered if he'd overheard our conversation.

"Have a pleasant night," McMahon said. I walked out, and the door banged shut behind me.

I rushed to my car, retrieved a s...o...b..ush from the backseat, and proceeded to clean the windshield. As I hurried around the car, I spotted something off the driveway and stopped in my tracks. Footprints in the snow, leading around the east side of the house. I looked around. Huge flakes of snow fell from a silvery sky. I glanced behind me. There wasn't a car anywhere in sight. I set the brush down and hurried over to the footprints. They came from the neighbor's yard, originating somewhere in the street.

I ran quietly back to the front door, then reached down and pulled my gun from the holster. I tried the door and the k.n.o.b gave. I eased the door open and slipped inside, shutting it behind me. I stood for a moment, listening.

Silence.

Then faint murmuring of two voices came from the direction of McMahon's office. I sneaked across the marble foyer and pressed myself to the wall. I listened again, then took a step. A snapping sound above me made me jump. I sank to the floor, aiming the gun up the stairs.

Tyrone stood at the landing, a gun in his right hand, his left palm raised at me.

I breathed a sigh of relief. He mouthed 'Stephanie' and pointed behind him, then gave me a thumbs up sign. She was safe upstairs. I nodded and signaled that I'd go down the hall. He acknowledged that. As he tiptoed down the stairs, I crept down the hall. Blood pulsed in my ears, a heavy thudding. As I neared the office door, I glanced behind me. Tyrone signaled he was going around another way, then disappeared through the living room.

I stopped and listened.

"Talk about easy," a voice with a thick New York accent was saying. "Here I am, supposed to be encouraging you and your business buddies to keep workin' with us on our little laundry operation. Supposed to be, maybe, takin' out one or two of your kids, you know, as a reminder of how much we value doin' business with you how unwise it is to cut ties with us. And funny thing, it turns out somebody else is in town, doin' my work for me. I just had to sit back and watch. Haven't had a job so easy in forever. But then that detective took out the killer, and I had to get back to work."

"I'm sure we can work something out," McMahon said.

"I dunno about that. When I come into the picture, it's usually too late."

"Please, I've got a family."

"Yeah, we'll get to them."

I crawled forward, peeking through a crack in the door. McMahon was standing by his desk, and a man in a dark suit stood in the middle of the room. He was tall and thin, with dark hair slicked back, and he was holding a gun that had a silencer on it. Then I noticed Oscar lying on the floor on the other side of the door. Since he wasn't moving, I a.s.sumed he was dead.

How do I get this guy? And where was Tyrone?

"So, how shall we do this?" the man said. "Do you "

He stopped as the house suddenly went dark. Tyrone must've cut off the power.

"What the h.e.l.l?" the mob guy said.

I slipped into the library. Gray light filtered into the room through the window. McMahon's silhouette moved near his desk, and the mob guy edged toward him.

"Stay where you are," Mob Guy said.

"I'm right here," McMahon said.

A moment of sickening silence followed, then a horrendous crash split the quiet. I jumped backward as Tyrone's big body crashed through the window and tumbled into the desk. McMahon ducked as Mob Guy raised his arm. As he aimed at McMahon, I dove behind a chair, then peered around it. I pointed my gun and fired, and at the same time I heard a m.u.f.fled shot and saw a flash. Mob Guy jerked his shoulder and then McMahon emitted a gasp. Another muted shot echoed in the room and Tyrone dropped out of sight.

Mob Guy whirled around and gazed in my direction, fired a few rounds, then leaped out the window.

I crept across the floor to McMahon. His eyes stared at the ceiling and I didn't need to feel his pulse to know he was dead. Tyrone moaned and I scrambled over to him.

"I'm all right," he said. "Got one in the knee. Go get him."

I leaped through the broken window, out into the snow. Footsteps led around the backyard, and as I followed them, I noticed periodic spots of red in the white. I'd hit him. I ran across the patio, slipped, then righted myself and continued on. The footsteps cut through the neighbor's yard and into the street. Icy air sliced into my lungs as I raced ahead, the Glock in my hand. I couldn't see very far in front of me and at one point, I thought I heard a bullet whiz past. I ducked for a second, then ran on. The footsteps suddenly veered to the right, down the middle of a short street. I stared into the haze and saw a brick wall. I was nearing the perimeter of the gated community. Then I spotted Mob Guy. He was at the wall, using a rope ladder to climb over. I raised the Glock, but he disappeared over the wall. I put it into overdrive but by the time I reached the wall, the ladder had been pulled up over the wall. I shoved the Glock in my coat pocket, then took a running leap and was able to get my hands on the top of the wall, but I had nothing to grip and I fell backwards, landing in a heap. I stood up and kicked at the snow. Then I brushed the snow off my backside and trudged back to the McMahon house.

As I neared the house, the whine of police sirens cut through the snowstorm.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Detective Spillman wasn't thrilled to see me. "Why am I not surprised?" she said as she combed snow off her head with her hands. She shook herself and big flakes flew off her heavy coat. Then she stepped into the foyer where I'd been waiting since a patrol car and ambulance arrived.

I held up my hands. "I came here to talk to McMahon, that's all."

We stepped aside as EMTs wheeled a gurney by us. Tyrone was lying on it, an IV running from an arm. He saw me and reached out. "You did okay," he said weakly, grasping my arm. "Look after Stephanie."

I nodded and they rolled him out the door and into the ambulance.

"Where is Stephanie?" Spillman asked.

"In the living room. A neighbor came over to be with her."

Spillman glanced past me to look at her. Stephanie was sitting on the couch, staring into s.p.a.ce. A woman in an expensive outfit was next to her, holding Stephanie's hand.

"Want to tell me what happened?" Spillman asked.

"Not really," I said, but I did. When I finished, she gazed at me thoughtfully.

"The mob?" she asked skeptically.

I nodded.

"And you didn't see the car they left in?"

I shook my head.

"Too bad," she said. "But we'll get them."

"No you won't." I gazed at her. "He's part of the mob. He's gone."

"You hit him, right?"

"Yes, I saw the blood," I said. "But it wasn't enough to slow him down too much."

"Too bad," she repeated.

Her partner Spats approached from the library. "You want to take a look?"

She nodded. "Get Stephanie's statement."

"Okay." He started to ask a question but was interrupted by the appearance of a st.u.r.dy-looking man who was elegantly dressed in a pinstripe suit.

"Conrad Collins," he said. He pinpointed Spillman as the official detective and handed her a business card. "I'm the McMahon's lawyer and I'm here to take care of Stephanie."

Spillman glanced at me. I shrugged. I hadn't heard of the guy, but given Forrest McMahon's secret organization, I wasn't surprised that someone showed up so quickly. Tyrone or Stephanie probably had him on speed dial.

"She's in the living room," Spillman said. "You can wait with her and I'll be in shortly."

"Yes, and I'd like a word with you," Collins said with an authoritative tone.

He marched away and she held out a hand to me. "I'm sure I'll have more questions, so I'll be in touch."

I shook her hand and left.

The storm was now a full-blown blizzard as I drove up University Boulevard toward downtown Denver. The wind whipped flakes around and visibility was near zero. I was barely able to drive more than ten or fifteen miles an hour, and the 4-Runner slipped more than once on icy streets. By the time I arrived at my condo, there was almost a foot of snow on the ground.

I tramped from the garage and up the steps to my place. I shed my coat and sprawled on the couch, sitting in the silence for a few minutes. I finally had a moment to reflect on the events at McMahon's house. I was relieved to be home and relieved that I'd survived my encounter with a gunman.

The phone rang and I hoped it was Willie. But it was my mother.

"h.e.l.lo, dear, how are you? The news said there's a snowstorm in Denver. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mother," I said. "Safe at home." I wasn't about to tell her about my gunfight. She wouldn't believe me anyway.

"That's good. You know I worry about you."

"I know." And I really did appreciate it ... but I wasn't going to let her know.

We talked for a few minutes, and then I hung up and immediately dialed Willie.

"Hey you," she said, her chipper voice music to my ears. "How'd your meeting at McMahon's go?"

"It could've gone better." I filled her in, and quickly tagged on the end, "but I'm okay."

"I'm coming over," she said. "Let's watch a movie and not talk about anything serious, or dangerous."