Snowbound - Crouch Blake - Страница 18
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“How’s it attach?”
“There’s a magnet kit. All right, look at this. You a fast learn with computers?”
“I do design Web sites for a living.”
She punched in a URL on the keyboard. “I’ve opened a free account on SoniyaMobile’s Web site. You’re gonna be able to track the truck from this computer.”
“How does it work?”
“The TrimTrac device sends location updates through international SMS and GPS to a Soniya back-end server. The locations are saved and stored and you can access them on a Google map. You’re gonna be operating this thing, so here, you do it.” Kalyn set the computer in Will’s lap. “You’re in semiauto mode, and I think that’s what you’ll probably need to stay in. Go up here and click that. Okay, now enable the motion detector, since you only need the TrimTrac functional when the truck’s moving. That’ll save power. And you’re gonna want real-time tracking. Click here, set update intervals at five minutes.”
They spent another half hour, Will familiarizing himself with the program. While Kalyn installed the adapter, computer, and extra batteries in the Land Rover, Will mounted the magnets to the TrimTrac device.
When Kalyn returned to the motel room, her demeanor had changed. She looked pale, her eyes distracted and distant.
“Hey,” Will said, “come here.” She came and sat beside him on the bed. “You all right?”
She looked up, her eyes boring into his. “You up for this, Will?”
“I think so.”
“I need to know for sure.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve tried to figure out some way to smuggle a gun into the trailer with me. Or that device or a cell. But it’d be too risky, so what I guess I need you to know is that my life is in your hands. Whatever truck I wind up in the back of, you cannot lose track of it.”
“Look at me, Kalyn. I won’t.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ll be fine here in a minute. Just pregame jitters, you know?”
“Yeah, I’ve got them, too. I keep thinking about what might happen. What if Jonathan freaks out when he sees me? What if he doesn’t buy it? Demands to speak to Javier? Asks some question I can’t answer? I’m guessing people in their line of work don’t like last-second curveballs.”
“It’s a risk,” she said.
“A big one.”
“I’ve been mulling it over, and I think we may need a different approach with this guy. The whole ‘Javier sent me instead and I’m sorry we didn’t let you know before’ is shit. I think he’d see straight through it. But you know what works with these kind of people?”
“What?”
“Fear.”
“I don’t understand where you’re going with—”
“Remember how Javier said there were two gringo Alphas?”
TWENTY-FIVE
At 10:50 P.M., Will and Kalyn sat in the Land Rover under the seventy-foot BIG AL’S neon sign, the smell of diesel overpowering, even from inside the car. For the third time in the last minute, Will wiped his hands across his leather pants.
“You gotta quit that,” Kalyn said.
“Sorry.”
“You are cool and calm and in control.” She handed him her Glock. “It’s loaded.”
“Where’s the safety?”
“There isn’t one, and there’s a round in the chamber, but don’t get all Jack Bauer on me. That’s last resort right there. If you have to use it, things are seriously fucked-up.”
Will closed his eyes. “He’s gonna know the second he sees me that I’m—”
“It’s like acting, Will, okay? Ever do any high school theater?”
“No.”
“Well, you were an attorney, right? Ever represent someone you knew was guilty?”
“Sure.”
“Ever get them acquitted?”
“A few times.”
“Then you’ve acted. Convinced twelve people. Tonight, you only have to convince one.”
“The stakes aren’t even in the same league.”
“You know what to say?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to run through it again?”
“No, I don’t wanna sound rehearsed.” He held up the gun. “Where do I even put this thing?”
“Just slide it down the back of your waistband when you get out of the car. And make sure your shirt and leather jacket are pulled over it. Listen. If you have to use it, if it comes to that, you calm yourself down first. Center mass is what you aim for. That’s a forty-five-cal. Thing’s got plenty of stopping power.”
“Jesus.” Will looked at the clock: 10:54.
He opened the door, stepped outside.
“Good luck,” Kalyn said. He nodded, felt like he was going to be sick. “I know you can do this,” she said. “So quit doubting yourself.”
But he didn’t. He doubted himself as he shoved the Glock into his waistband, as he looked back across the interstate toward the motel where he’d left Devlin, as he shoved his hands into his leather jacket and started across the parking lot.
Will stepped into the convenience store that adjoined the cafe.
Big Al’s was bustling for almost eleven, and, no surprise, 80 percent of the customers had the look of truck drivers—bearded, bulging guts, bloodshot eyes bleary with loneliness.
He walked past the drink machines, saw a black man filling what must have been a gallon-size cup from every soda dispenser—shot of Sierra Mist, Coca-Cola, orange Fanta, lemonade, Dr Pepper—a potpourri of colored, carbonated sugar water.
He headed for the rest rooms, found an empty stall, and sat for a moment on the toilet, making himself breathe, holding the Glock, turning it over, trying to settle into the weight of it. As he washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror. He studied his eyes, wondered if the man named Jonathan would see the cold, callous burning that he did not.
He walked back through the convenience store, heading toward the restaurant’s entrance.
A clock above the cash register read 11:02.
The hostess looked up, said, “Just one tonight, honey?”
“No, I’m meeting someone.” He strode past her, made a quick scan of the tables and booths, the stools at the counter. Soft drink signs and old license plates adorned the walls. A sign over the grill read KISS A TRUCKER. Breathe, Will. Breathe. The place was packed. Smell of fried things, onions, old coffee, bacon, body odor, eons of accumulated cigarette smoke. Long red hair, bushy beard, weighs over three hundred pounds. Aside from the long red hair, Javier’s description matches a third of the custom—There.
In the last booth, not far from the kitchen doors, an enormous man with braids of red hair and an unkempt beard occupied an entire bench seat. His back was to the wall, and he was staring at Will. You aren’t breathing. Will breathed, then moved carefully across the checkered floor to the booth, the man watching him with uncertainty.
The food on the table could have fed five, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all major fried-food groups represented.
Will slid into the booth.
“Jonathan?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Breathe. Will’s lower lip ached to tremble. He bit his tongue, glared at the man, summoning all the hate in his arsenal. He had a hand in taking Rachael.
“Once more. You Jonathan?” The man returned the onion ring he’d been holding to the basket and wiped the grease from his hands onto his size XXX T-shirt, which displayed three naked women engaged in some act that was indeterminate due to the stretched, faded quality of the cotton.
When he started to rise, Will pulled the Glock from his waistband, set it on the table, the barrel pointed at Jonathan, his finger on the trigger.
“You crazy?” The man’s eyes cut to every corner of the restaurant, but Will didn’t move. “Where’s Jav?” Jonathan whispered.
“Jav went to be with the Lord.” Will wiped his right hand on his pants under the table, sweat running down his sides. He tapped the Glock on the table. “Should I put this away or—”
“Yes. Nobody told me nothing about this. Who are you?”
It hadn’t occurred to Will that he might be asked to give his name, and he said the first thing that popped into his head: “Never mind what my name is. We discovered that Jav had this little operation going on the side. And you know what the upsetting thing was? He never shared.”
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