“What do you want?” She was losing her grip on her temper.
“I have a job for you. Oh, let’s not use that term. Sounds so Mafioso, don’t you think? Let’s call it an errand.” The Brit purred in her ear. “Yes, that’s much more civilized. I have an errand for you, Fixer.”
She wanted to reach through the cell and pull out his eyes. Break his teeth as she smashed the phone into his mouth. Rammed it down his throat. Do things to him that would leave him incapable of uttering another threatening word.
Instead she took a deep breath. She knew nothing of her tormentor and the video of her undisguised life demonstrated he knew everything about her. She shook her head in frustration as she realized she didn’t even know how many of them there were.
She choked out the words. “I’m listening.”
“That’s the good girl,” the synthesized voice said. “Expect a package detailing your next errand. Her name is Cameron Williams. Choose your own method. You are, after all, the professional.”
The Fixer flinched at the backhanded compliment. “What is it you want?”
A soft Southern drawl replied. Female. “I want her neutralized, Darlin’.”
The Fixer clenched her left fist. Dug her fingernails deep into the flesh of her palm. “Why? What has she done?”
A gentle chuckle came over the receiver. “You’ve got to set that way of thinking aside, sugar. You work for me, now, remember? I’ll send you on errands. You’ll complete them as directed and go on with your life. Quiet and undisturbed.” Another soft sigh. “Until I require your services again.”
The Fixer bit hard on the inside of her cheek. She let the rusty taste of her blood linger on her tongue before swallowing. “That’s not how I work. I have to know…”
The high squeal from her phone stabbed into her ear. Loud and sharp. A sonic scalpel ripping at her ear drum. She threw the phone down, covered both her ears with shaking hands, struggled to stay upright, and blinked to clear her blurred vision. She stuttered four short steps to the nearest wall and leaned against it. She closed her eyes, listened to her heart pounding a staccato beat, and knew it was marching toward explosion.
Six full minutes passed. The Fixer felt her heartbeat slow to a more natural rhythm. She risked opening her eyes and was shocked to see her vision intact. She lowered her hands from her head, stared at the streak of red on her right palm, and brushed away the trickle of blood that snaked from her ear. The air around her hummed a low whistle as she struggled to remain conscious. She hobbled away from the wall, crouched down to retrieve her cell phone, and clicked the wounding instrument shut. Her hands shook too much to return the phone to her purse. Before she could push it in her pocket, it rang again.
The Fixer stared at the screen announcing Private Number again. She opened the phone and held it against her bloody right ear.
“Two weeks, Fixer.” The British voice was back. “I want Cameron Williams gone by Valentine’s Day.”
Chapter Twenty
Mort was surprised to see Lydia Corriger trudging through the snow-filled parking lot as he headed toward his car. Her red plaid coat offered a slash of color against the grey winter dusk. He watched her walk fifty feet in one direction, reverse course, then re-cover the area she’d just left. It didn’t require a detective with thirty years experience to deduce she’d forgotten where she parked her vehicle.
“Dr. Corriger,” he yelled. “Lydia! Over here.”
He saw her head snap up as she tried to locate who was calling. When she turned his way he waved and slogged toward her through four inches of new snow. She scanned the parking lot and Mort wondered if she was always this nervous.
“You look like you’ve lost something.” He hoped his smile would put her at ease. “Can I help?”
Lydia glanced over his shoulder like he was the last person she wanted to see. “It’s my car. I could have sworn I parked it right here.”
Mort pointed to the seven empty stalls in front of them. “You parked your car right here?”
Lydia looked annoyed. “I thought I did, Detective. I must have gotten turned around. Maybe I came out through a different door.” She turned to stare at the building that housed police headquarters.
“Do you remember climbing any stairs or taking an elevator to get to Daphne?” Mort asked.
Lydia looked back at the seven vacant stalls. “The receptionist? No.” Her tone was dismissive. “I walked right up to her desk. Why?”
“Then this is the only door you could have used. You didn’t get turned around.” Mort’s boots crunched as he walked to the end of the parking row. He reached a gloved hand and brushed a large clump of snow off a small sign. “You got towed.”
Lydia marched over in the fading light.
Emergency Vehicles Only
“You’ve got to be kidding.” She looked right and left. “It was snowing like crazy. The sign was buried.” Lydia turned her attention toward him. “So fast? I couldn’t have been in there more than a half-hour.”
Mort glanced at his watch. “Closer to ninety minutes, would be my guess. They’re sticklers about keeping this lane clear. I’m afraid you got tagged, lady.”
Lydia’s glare told him she didn’t appreciate his tease. “Now what?”
He pointed to his left. “My car’s right over here. Let me drive you to impound. See if my rank’s worth anything these days.”
Lydia backed up two steps and scanned the parking lot again.
“Take it easy,” he said. “I’m offering a ride to the lot. That’s all.”
She shook her head and took another step back. “No need, Detective. I’ll call a cab. If you’d give me the address I’d appreciate it.”
Mort tapped his watch. “It’s after four, Lydia. Those guys are union. Won’t process you out til morning. Charge you an extra day impound, too.” He could see her apprehension from ten feet away. “Tell you what, call your mother, your husband, whoever. Let them know what happened and that you’re with me. Keep the cell phone open the whole way there, how’s that?”
Lydia pushed her sleeve up to read her own watch. She looked around the darkening parking lot before turning toward Mort. “Is it far?”
“Down in the flats. I can have you there in less than fifteen.” Mort tried to look as harmless as possible. “Might even be able to talk someone into releasing your car tonight.”
She stood weighing her options. A fresh round of snow began to fall. She looked up into the gun metal sky. “I appreciate the offer, Detective.” Mort thought she sounded more resigned than grateful. “Let’s go.”
“Nothing like that’s come in yet. Let me give a shout out and see what’s what.”
Mort was glad to see Zeke McCallum behind the counter at the city’s lot. They’d first met at the downtown YMCA back when Mort was a patrolman. Zeke wanted to join the force but couldn’t get his weight down to academy standards. Mort offered to work out with him, and the two hit it off. Edie became fast friends with Zeke’s first wife Kim and the couples spent a weekend together on the Oregon coast when Mort made detective. Zeke’s fondness for donuts and sausage kept him out of the academy, but he stayed close to law enforcement working vehicle impound. Zeke’s second wife Alice didn’t care for his police friends, especially those who were fans of Kim, and they’d fallen out of touch. Still, Mort knew Zeke was always good for a smile and a stroll down Glory Days Road whenever their paths crossed.
Mort leaned against the counter while Zeke worked the radio. He kept an eye on Lydia, seated on a grimy bench across the small room.
“We’re in luck.” Zeke put the microphone down and called out in Lydia’s direction. “Your car’s on its way in. Donna Johns’ driving. She never leaves a mark. I was able to grab her before she hauled it to Center City.” Zeke turned to his old friend and leaned a beefy right arm across the counter. “That lot’s a sewer hole. Why the city doesn’t shut it down’s beyond me. I wouldn’t take a dying rat there.” He looked back toward Lydia. “Says she’ll be here within the hour. You guys want some coffee?” Zeke smiled and leaned closer. “Hell’s bells. It’s almost five,
