Abel is here.
I text Chelsea.
Go out to the truck. There’s a roll of plastic under the seat in the back. Have Abel carry that into the room and then send him up here.
Abel will know what to do with the plastic. Hell, Chelsea will too.
I tuck my phone away and go back to watching Paulson. He leans back against the wall and starts rubbing the heel of his hand down the front of his tan polyester uniform pants. Fucker’s watching porn.
I laugh silently.
My pocket vibrates again.
On my way.
OK.
Abel is coming up. He arrives a bare ten seconds later. He must have texted me at the bottom of the stairs.
“He watching porn?” Abel whistles under his breath.
“Yeah.”
“How you want to play this?”
“He doesn’t know you as well. Why don’t you go first? If you have a chance to take him out, do it. Otherwise I’ll be right behind you.” The motel hallway is one long shot. The main entrance and elevator bank must be at the other end.
Abel nods. He tugs his cap down around his ears and starts walking. With the dark cap and heavy navy pea coat, he looks dangerous but Paulson’s so hooked into his porn, he doesn’t realize there’s another person in the hall with him until Abel’s right on top of him.
Abel strikes fast. His one hand covers Paulson’s mouth and the other goes to his neck. There’s a small sound, barely noticeable and then Paulson slumps, unconscious in Abel’s grip.
“Nice.”
“Picked up a few things in the Marines,” Abel grins.
Inside the room we can wear some shouting. “What do you mean you didn’t make the exchange?”
I know that voice. Motherfucker, Chief Eric Schmidt is in on this. I wipe a hand down my face as I try to take in this new development.
“I told you I went to the gas station, put my hazards on and went inside. When I came out the shit was gone but there was nothing left behind,” Moose says.
“They’re supposed to leave you the address of the hand off.”
“Well I didn’t fucking get it.”
“Guys. Guys. There’s no sense in arguing.” That’s Trainor trying to play peacemaker. “Just call your contact up and tell him that the exchange was botched and we need to get the goods again.”
“Your lab blew up. You got another pound of meth somewhere we don’t know about?” Moose sneers.
“You know I don’t.”
“Then they’re not going to give me the information for fucking free.” Moose slams his hand on the desk.
“Then you shouldn’t have lost it,” Chief Schmidt says. “You fucked up; now you got to fix it.”
“Or what?”
“Or this is it for you.”
“Fuck you. Look. You wanted goods on the Death Lords dudes, right? Well I got it right here.” There’s silence and then…
“What the hell is this shit?”
“It’s video of the refinery over in Brooklyn Park.”
“So?”
“So that’s where Big gets rid of the problems at the club. He’s in charge of the fires down there.”
“What’s that got to do with Judge’s son?”
“Nothing but I got that other dude, the big fucking Marine, going in with Big the other night.”
“You’ve got two fucking blurry images getting out of a truck going into work. There’s not even a fucking body.”
“He takes the body in later. See, when he pulls out the garbage, he’s taking the trash out.”
“This wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. It’s fucking worthless.”
“I’ve got other stuff on the Misery crew. Judge will want to protect Junior. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again.”
“Until we catch him doing something, then all your talk is just that.” I hear a fist striking flesh. “Now you fucking get on the phone and find out where and when the hand off happens or the next trip Big makes to the ovens will be with your dead body.”
We haul Paulson’s ass between us, dragging him like he’s drunk off his ass. We just make it out of the hallway and into the stairwell when the door to 212 is wrenched open. “Paulson. Where the fuck are you? Let’s go.”
A door slams and then heavy footsteps stomp down the hall.
“That pinhead. He better not be jerking off in the maintenance room.”
Abel and I speed up and shut the door.
“Chelsea, why don’t you go get us some dinner.”
She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and then leaves. No questions and no arguments. Abel shakes his head in disbelief but takes himself into the bathroom to fill the empty ice bucket full of cold water. It takes three tries before Paulson regains consciousness.
I feel like punching him again when the first words out of his mouth are whiny threat.
“You’re going to prison for a long time for messing with an officer,” he cries.
“Really? What about Schmidt talking about meth delivery? How much time will he go down for that?”
I press play on my phone and the conversation plays back loud and clear.
“You can’t tell that’s Chief Schmidt,” he blusters.
Chelsea’s done a good job. There’s a single chair and a plastic sheet. Abel pulls out a small pouch from his pocket and lays it on the desk.
“Gag him.” Abel tells me.
I don’t even get the tape out when Paulson starts crying. “What do you want to know? I’m not going down for this. I just wanted to take my girlfriend to Hawaii.”
Hawaii? Abel and I exchange looks of disbelief. You can take a boy out of the small town, but you can’t take the small ideas from his pea brain.
I pull out my phone to start recording, but Abel shakes his head. “That shit can’t ever be deleted. Use this.”
He hands me a small hand held camera and we start questioning Paulson. He spills it all. Abel doesn't even have to take his tools out of the pouch.
Schmidt and a couple of others have been producing meth since Schmidt took office. Trainor and him met through the Eighty-Eight Henchmen after Trainor lost too much money at the Casino.
Trainor started cooking it up; his wife found out and the Eighty-Eight Henchmen had her killed. Schmidt thought it would be good to pin it on me but the best evidence he had at the time was parking a look-alike truck near the house. He planned on planting the gun but Chelsea recording everything that night I was arrested put a crimp in his plans. Since they executed the warrant and there was no gun recorded, they were going to have to plant it later.
When the Trainor house exploded, it put a wrench in things because Trainor had the gun in his house. Schmidt hadn’t wanted to keep it around.
God, they were so fucking stupid. I had to laugh.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Sorry, Paulson, but we can’t have you running back to Schmidt.”
The butt end of my gun knocks him out again. We could kill him here but we might need him later. Junior’s serial killer basement will be his new home until we figure out the best course of action. We bundle up Paulson’s body and carry that out to the truck. Chelsea’s in the driver seat but smartly doesn’t turn around. She steps on the gas and drives straight to the duplex. Abel follows close behind. When we arrive at the house, she puts the truck in park. I get out and go around to open her door.
“Don’t be gone too long,” she says as I lift her down.