More Twisted: Collected Stories, Vol. II

I was asking you about stores you go to — for the security plan — you told me you get your cigars in Phoenix, right?”

“Right. So what?”

Eberhart held up the FedEx label. “These were sent from a Postal Plus store in the Sonora Hills strip mall.”

York thought. “That’s near—”

“Three minutes from Trotter’s company. He could’ve called the store and found out when you ordered some. Then bought some himself and doctored ’em. I’ll get a field test kit and see.”

“Don’t I need… I mean, don’t I need to eat cyanide for it to kill me?”

“Uh-uh.” The security expert sniffed the bag carefully. “Cyanide smells like almonds.” He shook his head. “Can’t tell. Maybe the tobacco’s covering up the scent.”

“Almonds,” York whispered. “Almonds… “He smelled his fingers and began washing his hands frantically.

There was a long silence.

Rubbing his skin with paper towels, York glanced at Eberhart, who was lost in thought.

“What?” the businessman snapped.

“I think it’s time for a change of plans.”

* * *

The next day Stephen York parked his leased Mercedes in the hot, dusty lot of the Scottsdale Police Department. He looked around uneasily for Trotter’s car — a dark blue Lexus sedan, they’d learned. He didn’t see it.

York climbed out, carrying plastic bags containing the FedEx envelope, cigars and food from his kitchen. He carried them into the PD’s building, chilly from an overeager air conditioner.

In a ground-floor conference room he found four men: the buddy team of Lampert and Alvarado, as well as Stan Eberhart and a man who was dressed in exactly the same clothes that York wore and who was his same build. The man introduced himself as Peter Billings, an undercover cop.

“Long as I’m playing the part of you for a little while, Mr. York, was wonderin’, s’okay to use your pool and hot tub?”

“My—”

“Joking there,” Billings said.

“Ah,” York muttered humorlessly and turned to Lampert. “Here they are.”

The detective took the bags and tossed them absently on an empty chair. None of the cigars or food contained poison, according to a test Eberhart conducted at York’s. But bringing them here — presumably under the eye of vengeful Mr. Trotter — was an important part of their plan. They needed to make Trotter believe for the next hour or so that they were convinced he was going to poison York.

After the tests turned out negative Eberhart had concluded that Trotter was faking the whole cyanide thing; he only wanted the police to think he intended to poison York. Why? A diversion, of course. If the police were confident they knew the intended method of attack, they’d prepare for that and not the real one.

But what was the real one? How was Trotter actually going to come at York?

Eberhart had taken an extreme step to find out: breaking into Trotter’s house. While the landscaper, his wife and their children were out Eberhart had disabled the alarm and surveillance cameras then examined the man’s office carefully. Hidden in the desk were books on sabotage and surveillance. Two pages were marked with Post-its, marking chapters on turning propane tanks into bombs and on making remote detonators. He found another clue, as well: a note that said “Rodriguez Garden Supplies.”

Which was where Stephen York went every Saturday afternoon to exchange his barbecue grill’s propane tanks. Eberhart believed that Trotter’s plan was to keep the police focused on a poison attack, when he was in fact going to arrange an “accidental” explosion after York picked up his new propane tank. The security man, though, couldn’t go to the police with this information — he’d be admitting he’d committed trespass — so he told Bill Lampert only that he’d heard from some sources that Trotter was asking about propane tanks and where York shopped. There was no evidence for a search warrant but the detective reluctantly agreed to Eberhart’s plan to catch Trotter in the act. First, they’d make it seem that they believed the cyanide threat. Since Trotter probably knew York went to the propane store every Saturday around lunchtime, the businessman would take the cigars and food to the police, apparently for testing, which would occupy them for several hours. Trotter would be following. York would then leave and run some errands, among them picking up a new propane canister. Only it wouldn’t be Stephen York in the car, but Detective Peter Billings, the look-alike. Billings would collect a new propane tank from Rodriguez’s — though it would be empty, for safety’s sake — and then stash it in his car. He’d then return to the store to browse and Lampert and his teams would wait for Trotter to make his move.

“So where’s our boy?” Lampert asked his partner.

Alvarado explained that Trotter had left his house about the same time as York and headed in the same direction. They’d lost him in traffic for a time but then picked him up at a Whole Foods grocery store lot within walking distance of Rodriguez’s. One officer saw him inside.

Lampert called the other players in the setup. “It’s going down,” he announced.

Doing his impersonation of York, Billings walked outside, got into the car and headed into traffic. Eberhart and York climbed into one of the chase cars and eased after him, though well behind so they wouldn’t get spotted by Trotter if he was, in fact, trailing Billings.

Twenty minutes later the undercover cop pulled up in front of Rodriguez’s Garden Supplies, and Eberhart, York beside him, parked in a mini-mall lot a block away. Lampert and the teams moved into position nearby. “Okay,” Billings radioed through his hidden mike, “I’m getting the tank, going inside.”

York and Eberhart leaned forward to watch what was happening. York could just make out his Mercedes up the street.

Lampert called over the radio, “Any sign of Trotter?”

“Hasn’t come out of Whole Foods yet,” sounded through the speaker of the walkie-talkie dashboard.

Billings came on a moment later. “All units. I’ve loaded the fake tank in the car. The backseat. I’m going back inside.”

Fifteen minutes later York heard a cop’s voice urgently saying, “Have something…. Guy in a hat and sunglasses, could be Trotter approaching the Mercedes from the east. He’s got a shopping bag in one hand and something in the other. Looks like a small computer. Might be a detonator. Or the device itself.”

The security specialist nodded at Stephen York, sitting beside him, and said, “Here we go.”

“Got him on visual,” another cop said.

The surveillance officer continued. “He’s looking around…. Hold on…. Okay, the suspect just walked by York’s car. Couldn’t see for sure, but he paused. Think he might’ve dropped something underneath it. Now he’s crossing the street…. He’s going into Miguel’s.”

Lampert radioed, “That’ll be where he’ll detonate the device from…. All right, people, let’s seal off the street and get an undercover inside Miguel’s to monitor him.”

Eberhart lifted an eyebrow to York and smiled. “This is it.”

“Hope so” was the uneasy response.

Now officers were moving in slowly, sticking close to the buildings on either side of Miguel’s Bar and Grill, where Trotter’d be waiting for “York” to return to the car, detonate the device and burn him to death.

A new voice came on the radio. “I’m inside Miguel’s,” came a whisper from the second undercover cop. “I see the subject by the window on a stool, looking out. No weapons in sight. He’s opened up what he was carrying before — a small computer or something, antenna on it. He just typed something. Assume that the device is armed.”

Lampert radioed, “Roger. We’re in position, three behind Miguel’s, two in front. The street’s been barricaded and Rodriguez’s is clear; we got everybody out the back door. We’re ready for the takedown.”

In Eberhart’s car, the security man kept up an irritating drumming with his fingertips on the steering wheel.

York tried to tune it out, wondering, Would Trotter resist? Maybe he’d panic and—

He jumped as Eberhart’s hand gripped his arm hard. The security man was looking in the rearview mirror. He