Superior Collision Read online

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rowdy gave the guy two grand in cash—five hundred bucks more than he’d asked—and snatched the keys to the shit-brown 1992 Ford F-150 he’d just bought from an ad in the classifieds.

  Who knew people still took out ads in the actual newspaper?

  “Thanks, man.”

  “We’ll have to go transfer the title.” The older man smiled. “I think the office is open until five.” He glanced at his watch, then pushed up his glasses. The wind made his comb-over flap.

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “But—”

  “Thanks again.” Rowdy gave him a half-salute and hefted his duffel over one shoulder. He didn’t give a shit about the plates or the title.

  As soon as he was out of sight, he was going to ditch the current plates and steal some off another car, anyway. It wasn’t like he could tell the old man that.

  He also didn’t give a shit that the truck had been sitting in a garage for a while. The guy said he’d cleaned it up to sell it after his father had died. A mechanic had cleared it, and the owner had given him a stack of maintenance proof he couldn’t have cared less about, either.

  As long as the thing got him gone without breaking down, he was good. He couldn’t do anything on the up and up.

  His name—legal or otherwise—couldn’t be anywhere.

  Rowdy wrenched open the door and tossed his bag on the passenger side of the bench seat of the old pickup. The guy was watching him and his gut tightened.

  Shoulda stolen a car, actually.

  He shrugged at himself and hiked his ass into his new ride. Pretended he didn’t care if the truck’s former owner memorized what he was wearing, or was suspicious of his motives and disregard of sticking around to make the sale legal.

  The engine roared to life at the same time the burner phone in his pocket started ringing. Only Cami had the number.

  His heart skipped a beat and he dug his cell out, answering with a swipe of his thumb across the screen. “Cami? What’s wrong?”

  He backed out of the driveway slowly and made his way down the residential street without another glance at his truck’s former owner.

  Rowdy was only screwed if the old man called the police.

  His sister sniffled and alarm washed over him. She couldn’t know he’d snuck away from her place after she and Devon had left that morning, could she? It was too early, not even lunch time.

  He’d wanted to be gone already, but it’d taken more time than he’d planned to find a car he’d wanted to buy. Rowdy had thought about a small car lot, but the paperwork involved—even paying with cash—wasn’t something he’d wanted to mess with.

  A private seller had been his less risky route, even if he wasn’t as confident now, given the look the old man had given him.

  “Tyrone is an asshole, as per usual.” Her voice broke.

  “What did he do?”

  “It’s a half-day, early release at school today, and he was supposed to pick Devon up.”

  “Lemme guess, he called and said he couldn’t.”

  “Right. He gave me some line of BS about a luncheon with hospital execs he just had to go to. He was super apologetic, like he always is.”

  “I’m sorry, Cam.” What else could he say? Her voice was so bitter, and now his nephew was going to be disappointed, too.

  “I didn’t tell Devon, so that’s my only saving grace. I’m sick of Tyrone crushing him.”

  “Speaking of crush, his face under my fist isn’t a bad idea.”

  “I know. Sometimes, like now, I want to let you bash him a few times.” Cami paused. “Eric, I…”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m in a pinch. I can’t leave the hospital.”

  Rowdy slammed his eyes shut at the next stop sign. He knew what she’d say before she said it.

  “Can you go pick Devon up? I can’t leave here until at least three, and that’s only if I sneak out, I’m on rotation, and…”

  “Cami.” Her name came out a sigh.

  “I already called the school,” she whispered. “Told them my brother was coming for my son.”

  “Cami.” This time her name was meant to be all warning, but he fizzled out. He didn’t want to let her down like her loser ex had. But she’d probably given them his name. He’d need ID. Shit.

  “Please, Eric. I’ll meet you guys at home as soon as I can. This was supposed to be Tyrone’s night, and this coming weekend, but like I said, little man doesn’t know that, so we can do something fun together. Pizza for dinner, maybe? A movie? Oh! And you can tell me how your interview went at the shop.”

  Right.

  The interview she’d pulled strings to get him, and he hadn’t shown up to.

  Shit.

  He was going to have to lie some more. Too bad it would only take a phone call or two for her to figure out he hadn’t gone.

  Fuck.

  Rowdy ran his hands over his head and swallowed hard. He’d shaved his head that morning, so the feeling was unfamiliar. He was so fucked, and he was dragging Cami and Devon down with him. Just what he’d wanted to avoid.

  “All right.” His voice came out cracked. He prayed she wouldn’t notice.

  “Thanks, big brother. I mean it. See? I love having you around. Dev will love hanging with you all afternoon.”

  He sucked back another sigh. “I’ll love hanging with him, too. Someone has to teach him to do guy stuff.”

  His sister’s laughter only made him feel guiltier. “I love you, Eric.”

  “Me too. What’s the name of the school? And I’m gonna need the address.”

  * * * *

  Carter cursed as he slammed on the brakes at the red light. The tires screeched and he wanted to order everyone that gave him a second look to fuck off.

  That bastard Kai and his crew.

  Who the fuck did he think he was, humiliating Carter like that? For the second time, since he’d been summoned by the asshole for meeting number two, since they’d gotten more intel from whoever Kai knew on the inside of the train company. So much for the See ya around he’d received when he’d left the first meeting.

  He didn’t give a fuck that the information was helpful, and the new meet-up not only necessary, but smart. Carter would never give Kai any credit, even in his own head.

  The bastard crew leader still hadn’t required his input, so he’d listened to him talk, put up with BS from the peanut gallery, and left.

  Couldn’t even take revenge, at least not at the moment.

  It wasn’t worth calling Bubba to bitch about either, although he’d planned on it before Carter had stopped to think. He wasn’t a pussy, and he would smash Kai’s face in if he got the chance. After they were done hitting that train, of course.

  Almost three weeks.

  He just needed to lay low until then. One night’s hard work, and he’d take his cut and go. Or…he could take it all and leave Kai and his crew in their stupid warehouse to rot. Never to thieve again. Like sprayed bullets and blood spatter.

  A favor to society, really. Arizona, and luxury car owners everywhere, should thank him. Not to mention the authorities—they wouldn’t have to worry about finding and arresting Kai and his guys, either.

  Carter chuckled and flexed his hands on the steering wheel of the POS Buick.

  The other plan still in play, of course, was finding Rowdy Vargas and taking out his old crewmate. He would get him, too.

  He put the window down—he had to do it old school style, since the beater had power nothing. His arm burned by the time he was done, but he took in cool air that was only going to get more frigid by evening.

  Something told him to glance to his left.

  A massive apartment high-rise dominated the city block. Movement caught his eye.

  He saw a kid first. Holding the hand of a man who looked…familiar.

  A horn blared from behind him and Carter jumped. The seatbelt tightened and restricted his shifting. His shoulder screame
d a protest. “Fuck you!” he mumbled, but he hit the gas pedal, making a hasty left turn that just caused more horns, all for him.

  He didn’t give a shit about who he’d cut off.

  Pulling around the corner gave him a better look at the guy. Carter parked behind a car on the side of the road and sucked in a breath.

  No. Shit.

  The man and boy continued across the sizable front lot to the entrance of the building, seemingly caught up in conversation. The guy never looked away from the kid once. He even carried a small blue backpack on one shoulder and had a huge black duffel bag in his right hand, while the boy hung on his left.

  Carter would bet money the big bag was full of—well, money.

  Cold hard cash that could help his cause. When he was done here, of course. On the other hand, it didn’t matter if he had all the dough in the world, he would still take Rowdy’s money, too.

  “My, my, Rowdy, aren’t we getting reckless?” The guy used to be observant. Right now, all the man’s attention was on the kid. “Out in the open, like nothing’s doing.”

  An older man met them when they’d reached the building, and opened things up for them before going on his way. It didn’t seem like they talked much before disappearing inside.

  Who the hell’s the kid?

  Did his old friend have a secret family or some shit? A son?

  Well, not that it really mattered.

  Things were suddenly looking up for Carter. Now he had something to do with his ‘extra’ time.

  He smiled slowly and patted the gun in his waistband.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Texarkana finally happened the following Tuesday. They didn’t talk much on the drive, and Taylor was glad Holman didn’t push her. They were behind schedule because of her forced, third and final trip to the shrink. Unfortunately, that left the day with the makings of being long and arduous. Worse than anticipated.

  Her second appointment had consumed her Friday. Not seeing Shannon that night had made it worse, but damned if she’d admit that. The sessions’ dialogue could be interchanged, and Taylor had practiced telling the stupid man what he wanted to hear. Even pretended his questions didn’t reverberate in her mind and that she didn’t really contemplate valid answers hours after their time together had ended.

  She didn’t want to see—or even think about—Doc Wong again. Ever.

  Victim, my ass.

  Taylor was fine. If she heard And how did that make you feel? one more time, she was gonna scream.

  Then again, he had agreed that she was fit for duty, so she should rein in that horse. Should probably thank him, too.

  Her thoughts turned to what was to come, and she was able to discard the holdup, the shrink, even her Antioch sergeant.

  The trauma of having to see Joe Pompa, look him in the eye, speak to him… It was all so much bigger than a stupid punk kid holding a gun to her head. Or the man whose kiss curled her toes.

  Taylor had a major case of the jitters even before she pulled the Charger into the prison’s parking lot, but it only worsened when they checked in, did the required admin stuff, and locked up their weapons.

  Even though it was only temporary, she felt naked without her Glock. Jumpy, no matter how she screamed at herself to take a breath and sit still. She fought full body shudders as she followed Holman and a correctional officer down the wide hallway.

  Her chants of Everything will be fine went unheeded.

  They were shown to an interview room to wait for Pompa, and from the look on Holman’s face, he was dying to ask her what was up.

  Damn good thing he didn’t. She might’ve killed him with her bare hands.

  The door opened, and Taylor clutched her fingers together, pinning them to her lap to stop the shaking she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her heart was at a full canter and she had to consciously slow her breathing.

  Pompa looked a hell of a lot like his younger brother, even wearing an orange jumpsuit with a five o’clock shadow and shaved head, much shorter than it was when she’d…known him.

  Taylor couldn’t see the half dozen or so tattoos that covered his torso, but she spotted dark ink on his left forearm. Couldn’t make out the design, though, and didn’t have the guts to take a better look.

  She tried not to wince as the COs shuffled him into the private room. One waited at the door, while the other, a large dark-skinned man, clamped a huge hand on Pompa’s right biceps.

  Taylor avoided the round scar on the prisoner’s head, above his ear. If she could’ve gotten away with it, she wouldn’t have looked at him all.

  He didn’t have cuffs on his hands or feet—it was a minimum security federal facility after all—but he wouldn’t have been able to walk that way, anyway. Pompa leaned heavily on a cane, and his left arm shook, as if it would fail supporting his weight at any moment.

  Air breached his lips as he sat heavily in the chair across the metal table. It scooted back as it accepted his weight and gave a screech that bowed Taylor’s tongue with its sharpness.

  Holman, seated beside her, cleared his throat.

  She screamed at herself to get it together.

  Pompa glared up at the oversized guard who’d assisted him. “You can let go of my arm.”

  The CO nodded, but waited until Pompa had redistributed his weight by straightening in the chair. Finally, he released him.

  Guilt burned, causing a bad taste in the back of her mouth. It was Taylor’s fault he couldn’t even seat himself without assistance.

  “I’ll be right outside,” the officer said to Taylor and her partner.

  “What’m I gonna do, jump them?” Pompa muttered, but there was a bitter edge to his tone that made her wince.

  She swallowed and sat taller.

  “I’m Special Agent Holman, and I suppose—”

  “Got a new man, Agent Carrigan?” Pompa asked, looking at Taylor and disregarding Holman’s attempted introduction.

  She tried to ignore his dark gaze. Wished the other side of the table was really the other side of the room, or the other side of the prison. Taylor cleared her throat. “Agent Holman and I just have a few questions for you.”

  “Ain’t like I don’t got the time.” A mixture of resentment and amusement coated Pompa’s tone. He arched a dark eyebrow. “But why now?”

  “Has Rowdy Vargas attempted to contact you?” Holman dove right in.

  Pompa looked at her partner, then back at Taylor. “Is this guy for real? Did you miss the fact that I’m in prison?”

  “We’d appreciate if you’d answer the question, Mr. Pompa,” Taylor said. “We all know thick walls and bars don’t keep everything out.”

  “Unbelievable.” He shook his head. “Why the fuck should I tell you anything?” He looked directly at her.

  “Because if Carter Bennett finds your friend before we do, he’s dead.” She kept her voice low and even, and tried to ignore the hard look in Pompa’s dark eyes.

  The prisoner threw his head back and let out a laugh that didn’t sound too different from his brother’s on the phone the other night. “You still haven’t found that bastard?”

  “With your help, maybe we can,” Holman said.

  “Right.” Pompa leveled Taylor with another long look that made her want to squirm. He hadn’t acknowledged her partner at all. “This is fucking crazy.”

  Taylor and Holman stayed still and silent, letting Pompa work out whatever he needed to. She prayed they’d get something from him. Anything.

  “I shot him.”

  Holman spared her a glance, then looked back at Pompa.

  “I know you did,” Taylor said. “I was there that night. And we found a car he’d boosted and dumped a few days later. Bennett’s blood was found in it.”

  “Maybe the bastard’s dead.”

  “Doubtful,” Holman answered.

  Pompa dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his shorn hair. It made an audible scratching sound. “I doubt it, too. The asshole’s lucky for some fu
cking reason.” Concern crossed his expression and Taylor felt his desperation even before he spoke again. “How do you even know Rowdy is alive?”

  “We don’t,” Holman said.

  Taylor put her hand on the table and leaned in. “My gut says he is. Just like it tells me Bennett’s hiding and waiting. He wants Vargas as bad as we do, but for different reasons.”

  Emotion hardened Pompa’s face. “I want him dead, not in prison. He took everything from me.”

  He didn’t have to say he was referring to Brandelyn Willis, Taylor knew. Willis, the tech queen of their crew, had been Pompa’s lover. She’d died in the old trailer park in Antioch.

  Taylor had felt bad when she’d seen the young woman’s body. Not for Pompa, but for the life stolen because of Willis’ taste in men.

  “Then tell us something. Anything that can help us find Vargas,” Holman said. “Or Bennett. Any detail.”

  “Carter has friends in LA. I think he’d take his cowardice out there,” Pompa said.

  Taylor let him talk. She wasn’t about to reveal California had been a no-go.

  He went on to mention a few key players the FBI was already on to, not in her case, but Eddie’s.

  “What about Vargas? Where would he go?” she asked.

  “Rowdy’s always been the best at disappearing. Not even I know all his hidey-holes.”

  Disappointment crashed over her, but she tried to fight through it and ordered herself to sit still on the chair.

  “Has he reached out to you?” Holman asked.

  “Hell no. He probably has no idea where I am. Maybe even thinks I’m dead. Thought y’all wanted it that way.” Pompa gestured to Taylor and Holman. “I’m sure you looked into Rowdy’s background…”

  “Of course,” her partner said.

  “His story is similar to yours. Foster care, repeated running away, drugs, eventually aged out of the system, et cetera,” Taylor said.

  “Bullshit. Rowdy was never on drugs.” Pompa glared and made a cutting gesture with his right hand. “I got him away from that shit before he got sucked in by the dealers, too.”