Sudden Impact (Tom Rollins Thrillers Book 13), page 5
“They found the meth, Wyatt,” Kurt says.
Wyatt feels the world fall out from under him. His stomach sinks. His head spins. He bites his lip to focus up, and as the world settles he’s surprised to find that his knees haven’t buckled. That he’s standing firm, resolute. That he hasn’t shown any weakness. “Well,” he says. “Shit.”
“Uh-huh,” Glen says, and he and Kurt nod in unison.
“How’d you find out?”
“He called us,” Logan says.
“And no one else knows?” Wyatt says. They know who he’s referring to.
“Just us,” Logan says.
The dumb son of a bitch, Wyatt thinks, wishing Nathan was here now so he could punch him in his stupid face. The FRD do not need drama right now. They need things to be smooth. They don’t need any kind of bullshit.
He runs his hands down his face and tugs at his beard. “He tell you what happened? In fact, scratch that – it doesn’t fucking matter. I don’t even care. I’m gonna go make a call.”
He feels their eyes upon him. They’re all waiting for him to erupt. They’re surprised at his calm. Wyatt walks away. He goes to the right, into the club room. He closes the door. He takes a seat at the head of the table at which they conduct their business. His phone is still in his hand. He doesn’t make the call straight away. He composes himself. Breathes deep. His eyes look to the left, to the wall, the framed pictures there of Brad Smithson, Kelvin Maynard, Willie Pence, Matt Harding, and ‘Heavy’ Henry Harding. Five dead brothers. Below them, stuck to the wall with a knife, is another picture. This one is not framed. A man in Army uniform – the only picture of him they were able to find online. There are stains on the picture where it has been spat upon, and gouges where his cheeks have been slashed. The eyes are X’d out. Damage has been done to the picture, but they all know the face. They’ve all committed it to memory, just as they’ve committed his name. The man who single-handedly killed the five brothers whose pictures hang in memoriam above him.
Tom Rollins.
Wyatt stares at the picture. Even with the X’d eyes, right now he can feel it looking back at him. Mocking him. Wyatt balls his fists. He squeezes the phone. He turns away from Rollins and he dials a number that always fills him with dread.
He places a call through to Austin Myers.
7
“Heard you had a busy night last night.”
Tom turns away from the river, looks back to see Lyle approaching him.
“Or should I say this morning?” Lyle says.
“It was a late one, that’s for sure,” Tom says.
“Surprised you made it out here at all.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Lyle grins. “I appreciate your work ethic, Tom, but in light of what went down, I wouldn’t have held it against you if I’d had to give you a day off. You slept yet?”
“Deputy Roach gave me a ride back to the bar,” Tom says. “I was able to get a few hours before I needed to be out here.”
“You’re a damn machine.” Lyle laughs, shaking his head. “Give me a few more like you, and hell, I don’t know what I’d do. Probably have to expand or something. Buy another couple of boats.”
Tom looks toward the nets. “You’d get sick of all the fights they’d keep getting into.”
Lyle stands beside him at the railing, holding it in both hands.
“Who told you, anyway?” Tom says. “Valerie?”
Lyle nods. “Me and Val, we go way back. But I would’ve heard it one way or the other. Davenport is a small town, and what you did was a big story. Two guys, with knives?” Lyle whistles low, impressed. “And you reckon they were gonna try and rape those two girls?”
“That’s what it seemed like.”
Lyle looks disgusted. “Scum,” he says, spitting out into the water. “Goddamn degenerates. Well, at least this story has a happy ending. Least you were there to see to that.”
Tom nods, but he’s not so sure this is the end of the story. After what Laila and Emma told him about being regularly followed and watched, he thinks it could be just the beginning.
When they take the boat back in, there is no sign of the two ecologists in the water today. Instead, as he gets off the boat, he spots Laila waiting at the road, standing beside her car. Tom says goodbye to Lyle and the rest of the crew and goes to her.
“I probably smell of fish,” Tom says, stopping six paces back. “I apologise for that.”
“You don’t need to apologise,” Laila says. “I don’t mind the smell. And besides, it would be real silly for you to be apologising when I came out here to thank you, from me and Emma both.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Tom says. “Especially not when it’s for doing the right thing.”
“Uh-huh, but just because it was the right thing doesn’t mean that everyone would have done it.”
Tom notices that the car is empty. There’s no sign of Emma. “How’s she doing?” he says.
“She was shaken up,” Laila says. “I gave her the day off. Truth be told, I was a little shaken myself. Decided to take the day off, too. Imagine my surprise when I went by the bar and Valerie told me you were out on the boat.”
“I wasn’t tired,” Tom says.
Laila smiles. She looks beyond him, to the river and the boat. “Hey,” she says, looking back at him like a thought has just occurred to her. “Would you like to go and get something to eat with me? My treat. As a thank you.”
“I told you, you don’t need to thank me.”
“And I heard you, but I’d still like to.”
There’s still a few hours before Tom has to work at the bar. He looks into Laila’s face, at her cheekbones and her sparkling eyes. He remembers how she laughed last night, covering her mouth with her hand like she was trying to keep it in. “All right,” he says. “And I’d like to take you up on it. But I’ll need to shower first, and change my clothes.”
“Oh, of course,” Laila says, playful. “You didn’t think I was going to take you out looking and smelling like that, did you?”
8
Laila told Tom where to meet. After he’d showered and changed, he drove across town to the diner where she said she’d meet him. Tom drives a Ford. He’s had it a while now. Since he was in Detroit. Cars don’t always last very long for him. They tend to get totalled. He never gets attached. Just needs them to get him from A to B. As Tom gets out of the car, he sees her through the window, sitting in a booth, sipping from a soda. She waves at him.
“Been here long?” Tom says when he reaches the table.
“Five minutes,” Laila says. “I would have ordered you a drink, but I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
It doesn’t take long for the waitress to come, and Tom asks for a water. He glances around the rest of the diner while she’s gone. It’s quiet. It’s too early for the dinner rush.
“I don’t usually come here at this time of day,” Laila says, watching him. “It’s normally busier than this. Maybe I should start coming earlier. It’s easier to get a table, and the service is faster.”
“You come here often?”
“Only sometimes. Friday nights, usually. Me and Emma. An end of work week treat. I pay for Emma. I’m going to do the same today, for you, and I’m not open for discussion so forget about it right now. Like I said, this is with my thanks.”
Tom holds up his hands. “I promise I won’t,” he says. “You seem fond of Emma.”
“She reminds me of my sister.”
The waitress returns with Tom’s water. While she’s at the table, she takes their food order. Tom quickly looks at the menu. He gets a steak. Laila orders a salad.
“The service here is fast when there’s hardly anyone in,” Laila says when the waitress is gone.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Tom says.
“Most of the time I’m a vegan,” Laila says. “But it’s hard to stick to, especially when you’re eating out, and sometimes I really just want cheese, or eggs. It kind of comes with the profession, though. Emma isn’t quite there yet. She’d probably order a steak, too.”
“Vegan, huh?” Tom says.
“Don’t sound so surprised. What, if you’d heard in advance would you expect me to be pasty and skinny? That’s a common misconception.”
“I had no expectations,” Tom says. He drinks some water. There’s ice in the glass. It’s cold against his lips, and feels good after a day on the boat, standing under the hot sun.
“You’ve cleaned up well,” Laila says. There’s a playful gleam in her eyes as she says this, then adds, “You got the fish smell out.”
“I made sure I scrubbed extra hard,” Tom says. “Since I knew I was meeting up with someone with such a discernible nose.”
“I’ve been told many times that my nose is my best feature.”
“Oh really? Not your cheekbones?”
“What, these old things?” Laila sucks in her cheeks in an exaggerated pout and turns her head side to side. She lets them out and laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.
Tom smiles. “Or maybe it’s your eyes,” he says. “Or maybe it’s the way you cover your mouth like that whenever you laugh.”
She glances down at her hand. “That’s more of an action than a feature. Is that something I do a lot?”
Tom shrugs. “It’s something I’ve noticed. Don’t get self-conscious – I like it.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, because until right now I didn’t know it was something I did.”
Tom looks out of the window. It’s a regular habit. He checks the parking lot. Studies the cars. Commits their makes, models, and colours to memory. Makes sure they’re all empty. He looks beyond the parking lot, too, to the road. Checks that no one has pulled over there and could be looking this way. No one is.
“What are you looking at?” Laila says.
“I’m just making sure no one’s following you right now,” he says.
“I haven’t noticed anyone today.”
Tom nods. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About you and Emma being watched. We never had a chance to go into more detail. Why do you think that’s happening? Do you know? Do you have any theories?”
The waitress returns with their food. She puts down their plates. Tom’s steak comes with a jacket potato. He looks at Laila’s salad.
“Should I have maybe ordered something else?” he says.
“No, no, of course not,” she says. “I don’t judge what people eat. I don’t preach. If you ever hear me preaching, tell me straight away and I’ll cut it out.”
They eat. Between mouthfuls, when she’s done chewing and swallowing, Laila speaks. “I work for a nonprofit called Mississippi Nature. Have you heard of them?”
Tom shakes his head.
“They cover the full length of the Mississippi River, from the mouth at Lake Itasca in Minnesota, all the way down to Louisiana, where it flows into the Gulf of Mexico. I’ve been in Davenport for three years now. Emma has been with me for fourteen months.”
“You said you first started to notice these watchers and followers a couple of months back.”
“That’s right. Frankly, I’m surprised they didn’t turn up sooner. Or maybe they did, and we just didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t want us to notice then, and now they’re ready to make their point. It’s clear they were going to try and do something last night.”
“Any idea of who they are?” Tom says.
Laila nods. “We think so. I’m getting to that. Have you ever heard of DuLac Chemicals?”
“No.”
“As the name would suggest, they produce large quantities of chemicals for distribution to other businesses who in turn use them in the manufacturing of other products. Places that produce fuel products, or dyes, washing liquids – that kind of thing. The thing is, they don’t have a great environmental track record. There’s been spills and leaks from their factories. They’ve failed health and safety checks. But the thing is, they never get more than a slap on the wrist. Despite their failings, they’ve never been at any kind of risk of closure.”
“If they’re as large a corporation as you’re making them sound, that doesn’t surprise me,” Tom says.
“Well, unfortunately, yes. Their CEO, Martin DuLac, he’s a very wealthy man. A billionaire. Any time that someone has protested them, or filed a report against them, the reason it falls quiet is likely because he’s throwing around his cash. Paying people off. Bribing them into silence. No one’s able to bring them to account. Every time they’ve had a health and safety issue, like a leak, their spokeswoman Carol Hardinge releases a statement about their endeavours to do better, and their guarantees that nothing like this will ever happen again – and then six months or a year later, one of their factories springs a new leak into a field, or a lake – once even into a town’s water supply.”
“That sounds serious,” Tom says. “Sounds like it would be a big deal.”
“And it would have been, except can you imagine who they must have paid off to keep that quiet? Mayors, councillors, even the local press and law enforcement. Barely anyone knows about it, and yet people are dying.”
“From the water?”
Laila nods solemnly. “It’s been a few years since the spill into the water supply happened, but now people are starting to get sick. Stomach issues, gastro-intestinal. People are developing rapidly spreading cancers. And yet no one knows, and no one can get the word out, because the authorities in that town are subduing the flow of news.”
“But Mississippi Nature have found out about it?”
“Mississippi Nature launched their own investigation about seven months ago, and this is where it ties into Davenport. A lot of our funding has been put toward this investigation. Truth be told, most of it’s going toward that as opposed to conservation right now, but this is important. We’ve hired private detectives, lawyers – even hackers.”
“Hackers? Mississippi Nature isn’t concerned about the legality of that?”
“These are desperate times. We need to do what we can. We’re attacking a tank with a twig here – we need to do what we can. We know DuLac Chemicals don’t concern themselves with legalities.”
“Okay. So, what happened seven months ago?”
“That’s when we found out DuLac Chemicals have gained the planning permission to build a factory here, right on the banks of the Mississippi.”
The pieces are falling into place for Tom. “And you’ve been protesting it ever since.”
“Every way we’re able,” Laila says. “We’ve issued circulars. We’ve lodged complaints and protests. Mississippi Nature is investigating the DuLac company’s negligent history in the hope we can bring a case against them and cancel their application. Could you begin to imagine the damage they could do to this area? The untold damage they could wreak upon the local ecosystem? And it’s not just local – they’re planning on building right on the banks of the river. If they have another leak it’ll go directly into the water, and from there it’ll be carried down to the Gulf of Mexico, and from there?” She shakes her head. Laila speaks passionately. This is clearly something she cares a great deal about.
“The men watching you,” Tom says, “the men following you, maybe even the two men from last night – you think they’re from DuLac Chemicals?”
“That’s what we believe,” Laila says. “Emma and I are right here, on the ground. We’re the front line. We’re the ones waging this fight directly. And now they’re trying to intimidate us. To scare us away. Last night, who knows how far they would have taken things? They were trying to shut us up, because they know that’s the only option they have. They can’t pay us off. We can’t be bought.”
Tom finds his eyes drawn to the window again, once again checking the parking lot and beyond. There’s nothing to see, but her story has raised his paranoia.
“If that’s the case,” he says, “I doubt the two from last night will be the end of it. You know that, right?”
Laila purses her lips, and Tom can see that she does. “They scare me,” she says. “I won’t deny it. Of course they do. But they won’t scare me away. This is about more than just me.”
“That’s admirable,” Tom says, “but you’re going to have to keep your eyes wide and your head on a swivel. Don’t take chances with anything. Anyone gives you a bad feeling, you need to listen to that feeling.” He looks at her, worried for her, and for Emma. “You still have my number. Anything concerns you, you call me. Don’t hesitate. Don’t overthink it. Don’t doubt yourself. Just call me.”
Laila manages to smile at him. “You planning on joining us on the front lines?”
“You keep smiling at me like that, I think you could ask me to do just about anything.”
9
Despite last night’s excitement, and the stories that have no doubt spread through town off the back of it, the bar is surprisingly quiet.
Tom cleans glasses at the far end of the bar. There is no Laila and Emma tonight. There are no suspicious patrons he feels the need to keep an eye on. Instead, there are two occupied tables, one booth, and a friend of Valerie’s at the other end of the counter, locked in conversation with her. Nine people total, not including Tom and Valerie.
He left the diner with Laila two hours ago. He walked her to her car, though it wasn’t parked far from his own. Before they parted, Tom once again looked the area over.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Tom,” Laila said, seeing what he was doing. “I’m capable. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but don’t take any risks.”
“I won’t.” Laila opened her car door. She patted her back pocket, where her phone was. “If I see anything I don’t like the look of, I’ll call you.”
Over the last two hours, since they said goodbye and drove their separate ways, Tom has thought about Laila more than once. About her smile, and the sparkle in her eyes. About the way she patted her back pocket, and the way she popped her hip to do so. Tom grins, remembering. From the look on her face, he knew she’d done it on purpose. The action was likely designed to stick in his mind the way it has. Other than when they were talking serious matters, such as DuLac Chemicals, their conversation had leaned toward the flirtatious. She’d said she wanted to thank him for last night, but their eating together had felt almost like a date.
