Knock Out
Page 94
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53
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER when Savich and Sherlock walked to his Porsche, he heard his boy singing at the top of his lungs in an off-key duet with his grandmother. It was recognizable—Bobby Darrin’s “Beyond the Sea,” the closing song to one of Sean’s favorite movies, Finding Nemo. Even though he was hyped, nearly running, Savich turned back and smiled when he heard Felix’s baritone join in.
His Porsche roared to life. He was backing into the street when Céline sang out “Nature Boy.”
He said into his cell, “Savich here.”
“Ollie here, Savich. Lizard’s Hideaway is in Tennessee, thirty miles from Chattanooga, right off Highway Seventy-five. What do you want to do?”
Good question. “It’s too dangerous to send a fleet of local cops to the motel; they might end up shooting each other or Autumn. I think Blessed is driving home to Bricker’s Bowl.” Savich knew he was the best person to bring Blessed down.
He said, “Ollie, how about you get some agents from the Chattanooga field office, have them follow Blessed but emphasize they’re not to be seen, and they’re not to try to take him down. Okay?”
“You got it. Now about the car they’re in—”
“A white van; I don’t know the license plate number.”
Ollie was silent. “Okay, we’ll get the highway patrol involved. When we identify the van, we’ll have agents follow them.”
“Good. Call me as soon as they’re spotted. I want to know where they are all the time, okay?”
“Not a problem.” Savich heard Ollie draw in a deep breath. He knew it was about Lissy and Victor, and he knew he wasn’t going to like what Ollie said.
“I’ve got an update on Victor and Lissy. Dane called to tell me a resident living three blocks from Arlington National Cemetery phoned 911 about a hysterical neighbor boy who’d run over to her house shouting that his parents were bleeding all over the kitchen floor.
“The dad will survive, but the mother is iffy, headed for surgery. Of course their car was gone, a red 2007 Chevy Cobalt. The little boy said the car is real pretty and shiny. His mother calls it Honeypot.” Ollie’s voice broke. “This shouldn’t have happened, dammit. We’re going to get them, Savich.”
“Thank you, Ollie. At least we have the description and the license plate. Keep in touch.” And Savich punched off his cell and told Sherlock what had happened.
“Honeypot,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank God that little boy isn’t going to be an orphan. Thank God Lissy didn’t try to murder him too. But his mother Dillon, I can’t stand it.”
Savich thought it made more sense the child had been upstairs and Lissy simply hadn’t known he was there. He didn’t credit her with a crumb of conscience. He found himself praying for the mother to survive.
He said, “Lissy and Victor aren’t going to give up, Sherlock.” His fist hit the steering wheel. “It’s my fault, that family is all my fault, no one else’s.” And he knew in that moment he had to make one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever have to make, but not right now. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Four hours later, Céline sang out “Nature Boy” again.
Savich and Sherlock were in the CAU on the fifth floor at the Hoover Building. When Savich punched off, he said to Sherlock, “That was Agent Cully Gwyn. Lissy was spotted at a Kmart north of Winnett, North Carolina. He and Agent Bernie Benton are covering Victor’s apartment building in Winnett. He wants to know what I want him to do.”
“You know what to do,” Sherlock said.
And Savich made his decision.
54
WHEN ETHAN WOKE UP, for one terrifying moment he didn’t know who he was. He only knew he wasn’t where he had been, and he was now someplace different, someplace he didn’t recognize.
Memory flooded back. He was Ethan Merriweather, and he’d been—away. He felt a spurt of fear, then forced himself to think, to remember. He had a rip-roaring headache, and it pounded so hard it was difficult to focus, but he did, and he remembered. He saw himself at the campsite in Titus Hitch Wilderness, remembered whirling about, bringing his Remington up fast to shoot Blessed but not fast enough. Blessed had gotten to him. How much time had passed? What had Blessed made him do? Something inside him didn’t want to know.
He saw sunlight coming around the edges of the draperies. That meant it was daylight, but how late? He knew he’d slept and awakened back into himself. So what did that mean? Blessed couldn’t hold him beyond a certain number of hours? Sleeping broke the hypnosis, or whatever it was?
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER when Savich and Sherlock walked to his Porsche, he heard his boy singing at the top of his lungs in an off-key duet with his grandmother. It was recognizable—Bobby Darrin’s “Beyond the Sea,” the closing song to one of Sean’s favorite movies, Finding Nemo. Even though he was hyped, nearly running, Savich turned back and smiled when he heard Felix’s baritone join in.
His Porsche roared to life. He was backing into the street when Céline sang out “Nature Boy.”
He said into his cell, “Savich here.”
“Ollie here, Savich. Lizard’s Hideaway is in Tennessee, thirty miles from Chattanooga, right off Highway Seventy-five. What do you want to do?”
Good question. “It’s too dangerous to send a fleet of local cops to the motel; they might end up shooting each other or Autumn. I think Blessed is driving home to Bricker’s Bowl.” Savich knew he was the best person to bring Blessed down.
He said, “Ollie, how about you get some agents from the Chattanooga field office, have them follow Blessed but emphasize they’re not to be seen, and they’re not to try to take him down. Okay?”
“You got it. Now about the car they’re in—”
“A white van; I don’t know the license plate number.”
Ollie was silent. “Okay, we’ll get the highway patrol involved. When we identify the van, we’ll have agents follow them.”
“Good. Call me as soon as they’re spotted. I want to know where they are all the time, okay?”
“Not a problem.” Savich heard Ollie draw in a deep breath. He knew it was about Lissy and Victor, and he knew he wasn’t going to like what Ollie said.
“I’ve got an update on Victor and Lissy. Dane called to tell me a resident living three blocks from Arlington National Cemetery phoned 911 about a hysterical neighbor boy who’d run over to her house shouting that his parents were bleeding all over the kitchen floor.
“The dad will survive, but the mother is iffy, headed for surgery. Of course their car was gone, a red 2007 Chevy Cobalt. The little boy said the car is real pretty and shiny. His mother calls it Honeypot.” Ollie’s voice broke. “This shouldn’t have happened, dammit. We’re going to get them, Savich.”
“Thank you, Ollie. At least we have the description and the license plate. Keep in touch.” And Savich punched off his cell and told Sherlock what had happened.
“Honeypot,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank God that little boy isn’t going to be an orphan. Thank God Lissy didn’t try to murder him too. But his mother Dillon, I can’t stand it.”
Savich thought it made more sense the child had been upstairs and Lissy simply hadn’t known he was there. He didn’t credit her with a crumb of conscience. He found himself praying for the mother to survive.
He said, “Lissy and Victor aren’t going to give up, Sherlock.” His fist hit the steering wheel. “It’s my fault, that family is all my fault, no one else’s.” And he knew in that moment he had to make one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever have to make, but not right now. Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Four hours later, Céline sang out “Nature Boy” again.
Savich and Sherlock were in the CAU on the fifth floor at the Hoover Building. When Savich punched off, he said to Sherlock, “That was Agent Cully Gwyn. Lissy was spotted at a Kmart north of Winnett, North Carolina. He and Agent Bernie Benton are covering Victor’s apartment building in Winnett. He wants to know what I want him to do.”
“You know what to do,” Sherlock said.
And Savich made his decision.
54
WHEN ETHAN WOKE UP, for one terrifying moment he didn’t know who he was. He only knew he wasn’t where he had been, and he was now someplace different, someplace he didn’t recognize.
Memory flooded back. He was Ethan Merriweather, and he’d been—away. He felt a spurt of fear, then forced himself to think, to remember. He had a rip-roaring headache, and it pounded so hard it was difficult to focus, but he did, and he remembered. He saw himself at the campsite in Titus Hitch Wilderness, remembered whirling about, bringing his Remington up fast to shoot Blessed but not fast enough. Blessed had gotten to him. How much time had passed? What had Blessed made him do? Something inside him didn’t want to know.
He saw sunlight coming around the edges of the draperies. That meant it was daylight, but how late? He knew he’d slept and awakened back into himself. So what did that mean? Blessed couldn’t hold him beyond a certain number of hours? Sleeping broke the hypnosis, or whatever it was?
