The Shack: An Unstoppable Man

"Yah think?" She turned to the trooper. "So, what the fuck did you stop us for? You should be chasing the guy doing the shooting." Delaney shook her head slowly in contempt.

"I needed to see if anyone was hurt. I radioed the car in."

She gave an exasperated breath. "Well, at least he'll get a good eight hours of sleep and a healthy breakfast before anyone starts looking."

The trooper looked at Delaney with a jaundiced eye. "You know, you may not be under arrest, but you still do have the right to remain silent. How about exercising that right for me?"

Delaney and I looked at each other and broke out laughing.

Even as we laughed, I felt the ice water running though me. I couldn't help thinking that if we hadn't been too lazy to remove the boiler plate in the door, Delaney would have been dead.

The trooper's radio pinged, and he had a quiet, terse conversation with the other end before turning towards us. "Hope you didn't have any plans today."

*****

Agents and Interviews

*****

Delaney glared straight at the plainclothes State Police Senior Special Agent. After two hours of bureaucratic bullshit, she was getting more than a little testy. I would have probably been more annoyed myself, but I had the amusement of watching the agent trying to figure out how to deal with Delaney.

Some of his training had been specific to dealing with minors, and I had to choke down laughter every time he tried to appeal to her as if she was a normal teenage girl.

He was one of those clean, button-up types — one of those quarterback and prom-king types that seem to pop up in high-level law enforcement. The exact kind of guy that instantly grated on Delaney's nerves. He smiled in what I think he meant to be a friendly manner but just managed to look condescending. "Just relax. We'll keep you safe."

Delaney's face twitched, then settled, and I was impressed with her self-control. For just about two seconds. "Safe?" She snorted. "Safe? With you idiots? Seriously? Holy shit. I should just throw myself off the nearest roof."

He looked over at me. "Do you think you could..."

I echoed her snort and shook my head. "No...no. Keep going. You're doing great. Really. I think she's warming up to you." I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging two thumbs up.

The door popped open, and Tara walked in, gripping her briefcase like a weapon.

The agent looked up. "I'm afraid you can't be..."

"Tara Dawes. I'm here as Mister and Miss Dawes' attorney."

He blinked as she handed him her card. "I'm Senior Special Agent Benjamin Stratton." He glanced at the card. "Miss...Dawes?"

She gave a terse smile. "Yes, we're related, and yes, it is perfectly legal."

"Normally, victims don't need attorneys present."

"Nothing about these two is normal." Tara glanced at me, then Delaney.

He looked at her card. "Lodestone? We had a briefing on your organization. High-powered charity that fights human trafficking, right? What are you doing here?"

"That's my day job. This has nothing to do with that. The card is just so you have my contact information. These two are eternally ongoing pro-bono."

"We've been at this for two hours and my patience is starting to wear a little thin. They aren't exactly cooperative."

Tara choked out a laugh and shook her head. "Only two hours? They haven't even gotten started. Just wait." She looked over at me with a raised eyebrow, an unspoken question.

"We've told him everything we know. We just don't know shit. 2008 Chrysler M300 in dark blue. No plates that I could see. Revolver. Magnum. I'm guessing a .357, but they should have the slugs by now. Six shots into Delaney's door from about four feet away. That's it. No matter how many times they ask, that's it. Maybe if they rolled up the shooter instead of the victims, we'd know a fuck-load more."

Stratton sighed. "I'm more interested in why."

"If your people had the sense to go after the fucker, maybe we'd know why." Delaney outright sneered at him.

His mouth tightened into a grim line. "I should probably separate these two..."

Tara cut him off and held up an open hand. "Don't. Just don't go down that road. She has to have a guardian present. Besides, the last time a special agent separated these two, Delaney broke his nose, stole his car and crushed it in a car crusher. I think it took her less than fifteen minutes. If you keep them together, she kind of behaves." She gave Delaney a withering stare that had absolutely no impact. "Kind of."

The special agent stopped and slowly looked us over with dawning suspicion. "Wait. These two are part of Stein's fucking mess?"

"Not anymore." I looked him dead in the eye. "Stein doesn't have a mess anymore."

Delaney cocked her head to one side. "Last time I saw him, he was pretty fucking dead. Big fucking chunk of his brain was blown out."

I watched as he thought it through. "That explains why you had boilerplate armor in the doors."

"We're kind of cautious these days."

"You think this shooting is related to Stein?"

"If it is, I don't know how."

He held a tablet up and looked at it. "I never really bought into that whole 'Stein lost it and became obsessed with a kid' story. He was a jerk, but he wasn't nuts. I could see him doing shit for money though..."

He fell silent for a moment and scanned whatever was on his tablet.

Delaney's smile twitched darkly. She suddenly stood up and began checking her pockets frantically.

I watched her for a second. Asking was a bad idea, but not asking would probably be worse. "What the fuck are you are doing?"

She looked up at me. "You have any Preparation H? I'm all out. It's supposed to shrink assholes, right?" She gestured at the Special Agent. "Make Benjy here disappear."

"It doesn't work that way..." I shook my head.

Tara looked like a migraine was starting to get a grip on her.

The agent leaned back, and I could see him recalculating. Delaney's deliberate jibe hadn't shifted him off target at all. I wondered if we were underestimating him. "Maybe I should put you in protective custody until we find out what's going on. Just for a few days."

Tara closed her eyes and touched her forehead. "I can't even begin to tell you what a stupid idea that is."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Twenty bucks says wherever they try to hold Thugbunny will be burnt to the ground inside fifteen hours."

She rolled her eyes. "And you'll be sitting outside, waiting to pick her up."

I held my hands up. "Hey, somebody has to; she doesn't have a license yet. You can't let kids run wild. That's just bad parenting."

Annoyed, the agent studied his tablet for a moment. "State keeps a file on everyone who ends up in jail. Lester Dawes, retired master sergeant, US Army, Special Forces, 18 Delta. That's a medic, isn't it?"

I nodded.

"That's a lot of medals. And a lot of blank spaces in your official records."

"Bureaucrats. You know how it is; they lose everything."

He gave me a jaundiced look. "A lot of those blank spaces are near the end of your career. I think the term is 'redacted,' isn't it?"

I sighed. "You really don't want to go there."

"I don't?"

"You don't. It has nothing to do with this."

"If you worked with us, this would be a lot easier."

"If I knew anything else, I'd tell you. Maybe. Delaney's right; you guys haven't exactly inspired confidence."

The agent scowled. "None of you..." He looked at Tara. "None of you seem to be taking this very seriously. You need to focus."

I leaned forward. "Oh, we're focused. Believe me. We're focused."

Delaney smiled, showing way too many teeth. "Oh yeah. We may be the short-bus kids, but we're focused as fuck."

He looked between us for a long moment, and I could see him fitting more pieces together. "Fuck."

Tara nodded grimly. "Only word for it."

*****

By the time we got home, explained what happened, got cleaned up and fixed a late dinner, Delaney's anger and adrenaline rush had worn off, and she fell asleep on the couch.

Sheree watched her for a moment. "I'll stop askin' questions. It's not worth it, and Shelly's probably lying anyway, even if I thought she wasn't."

"Did she ever tell you why she was at the hospital?"

"She said she was bringin' Lucy's purse to her."

"Was Lucy one of the overdose cases?"

She shook her head. "No, Lucy had an operation, a back thing, but while she was in, her boyfriend ran off to California with a new girl. Shelly said she went to pick up Lucy's purse because she needed her Medicare card. That's why she was in line at the desk."

I paused, thinking about it. "Lucy an addict?"

"She is."

"She still in the hospital?"

"Yeah, she is."

"Call the sheriff in the morning. Fentanyl works through skin contact. If Shelly reached into Lucy's purse and she had an open bag in there, Shelly could have touched it and gotten enough to overdose. Especially if she's being honest about how long it's been since she's used."

There was a slight, hopeful sound in Sheree's voice. "You really think so?"

"It's possible, but you'll need the sheriff to find it if you want it to swing with the judge."

"Shelly will be pissed if I dime Lucy out... but maybe it will keep her out of jail."

"That should count for something."

Sheree gave a resigned sigh. "That might work." She obviously didn't think Shelly would see it that way. "You still shipping the cars out tomorrow?"

"If everything goes well. The driver's a special K2 courier this time."

"I'd think so." She smiled. "Pretty expensive cars this time."

"Everything is sealed up and ready to go. Anything at all goes wrong; the driver just doesn't show. We can trust Kurt."

"We already do. Letting Delaney go out there takes a lot more trust than shipping a few...cars."

"It does." I thought for a moment. "I need to talk to Kurt, find out for sure what his plans are."

Sheree nodded.

*****

Pay the Man

*****

The truck driver glanced over the beater cars we'd loaded up. "Good enough for me. Kurt says you wouldn't short him."

"It's generally known to be unhealthy to rip off Kurt."

She gave a soft sardonic laugh. "That's funny. The usual payment will go to your bank." She pulled out two oil-stained Army green canvas tool bags. "The extra. Five thousand per block. Used bills. You need to count the money?"

"I trust him."

"Yeah. Besides, Kurt said it'd be a bad idea to rip you off." She looked over to where Delaney was perched on her bumper, watching intently. "He said that means either one of you."

Delaney frowned. "Kurt's taking all the fun out of things."

The driver chuckled. "He wanted me to ask if you're interested in some part-time work. Just occasional stuff."

I shook my head. "I've got my hands full."

"He said it'd be legal..."

Delaney choked out a laugh. "Yeah, 'cause that's what we worry about."

I cut her off. "Tell him I said thanks, but I'm taking a pass on it."

"For now, right? I'll let him know. He figured you'd say that, but there's a secure cell phone in the first bag. Just hit the K2 icon if you change your mind." She pulled a cooler out of her truck and handed it to Delaney. "Katie sent this for you; she's worried you can't get it here."

Delaney opened the cooler, and her eyes lit with religious fervor. "She sent carne asada and smoked brisket!" She continued to dig deeper into the cooler.

The truck driver raised an eyebrow at me. I gave a helpless gesture. "It's a bribe."

"And it's working! Steak!" Delaney popped back up holding a packet of vacuum-packed inch-thick steaks.

By the time the driver pulled out, Delaney had repacked the food and was watching it more intently than the money. I had no doubt the driver was going to relate the entire thing to Katie word for word.

Delaney interrupted my thoughts. "Tomorrow, we're eating the carne asada!"

"You need to put all that in the freezer in the office until we head home.

She gave a short, serious nod. "I'm not taking chances with any of this."

By the time she bounced back down the stairs, shooting watchful looks back towards her treasure, I had the rollback pulled around and started prepping it.

Delaney sprang up onto the back of the rollback easily. She'd had to climb up slowly at first, but now she did it with the ease of a pirate climbing the rigging.

Or a Soldier mounting up.

It suddenly dawned on me that the driver might have meant Delaney when she asked about occasional work.

I really needed to talk to Kurt.

Even as I reflected on that, my own cell phone rang. Charlotte didn't even bother to say "hello" when I picked up her call. "Lester. I just wanted to remind you to dig out your old medals and polish them up."

"I already pulled them out, Charli. They're gold plated; they don't need to be polished."

She gave an annoyed sigh and paused for just a second. "Oh, yes, the event planner needs a retainer. Today."

I glared at the phone. "And you were going to tell me this when?"

"Don't embarrass me; the man has an office at the Plaza. Deluca Events. Just pay him, Lester."

"How much?"

"I'm sure you can afford it." I could hear the smug attitude in her voice. Before I could answer, she hung up.

A grease-covered Delaney looked up from the back of the rollback, where she'd been listening while coiling chain into toolboxes. She grinned. "We going to go pay him?"

I'd thought of being nice about it to save Charlotte some grief, but the hell with that. "Yeah. Let's do that. Right now."

Fifty minutes later, we parked the wrecker directly in front of the Plaza entrance and clomped into the office of Marcus DeLuca, Event Consultant.

The secretary - no doubt an aspiring model, bone-thin and artificial - glanced at us dismissively, noting the greasy coveralls and crew caps with disdain. "All deliveries are through the Plaza receiving office."

She went right back doing whatever it was she had been doing on her computer when we arrived.

I leaned over her desk. "We're here to see Marcus DeLuca about the Davidson-Dawes wedding."

"Mr. DeLuca is not available at the moment." She didn't even look up.

I grimaced over at Delaney. "You'd think they'd want their money, wouldn't you?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it's a charity."

She looked around, then frowned. "Doesn't really look like one. Wait...don't most charities give away cookies and coffee and stuff?"

She leaned over the desk. "You have any cookies back there, do you?" She eyed the skinny secretary. "Probably not, huh?"

The secretary gave us a cool look and buzzed the intercom. "Mr. DeLuca, you have...visitors...related to the Davidson-Dawes wedding."

A short moment later, a tall thin older man in a pale grey silk suit and lavender tie walked smoothly out to the secretary's desk, a plastic smile on his face. I had to give him points for poise; he didn't even blink, just read my name patch. "Mr. Dawes? Charlotte informed me that you have the fiduciary responsibility for this event."

Delaney looked at me with disbelief. "Really? What the hell does that...?"

"He means I have the money."

"Oh..." She rolled her eyes. "Why didn't he just...never mind."

I shook my head and turned toward him. "What's the damage?"

"I hate to be so crude, but I am afraid the retainer is five thousand dollars. If you need time to arrange for financing..."

"Delaney, pay the man."

She thumped the stained green canvas tool bag onto the secretary's desk and unzipped it. "Five grand, right?"

"Right." I nodded to her.

She pulled out one of the Chinese-newspaper-wrapped bundles and dropped it on the desk. "Five thou."

Marcus DeLuca did blink that time, then raised one eyebrow. I held my hand up. "Count it; we won't be insulted."

He carefully picked it up and hefted the block of cash slowly, studying it. "This feels correct."

Delaney pulled three more blocks out, one at a time and lined them up on the desk, locking her eyes on his. "We really want Tiffany's wedding to be perfect."

An oddly calm smile crept onto his features. "I believe we can make that happen. May I assume you do not wish to burden Mrs. Morris with any financial details?"

"You assume right. When you need more, and I am sure you will, you call us direct." I handed him my business card.

He nodded slowly. "I've worked with...discreet customers before. We handled the Anzorov wedding."

I glanced down at Delaney. "Chechen Mafia."

She curled her lip in disdain. "Those pussies?"

I looked at Marcus. "Teenagers. They're hard to impress."

"Impressed? They leave survivors who can testify. That's amateur shit there." Delaney gave an exasperated sigh.

"See what I mean." I gave him a slight shrug.

He gave a hint of a real smile. "I wasn't always a wedding planner, Mr. Dawes. I was born in Algeria, a Pied-Noir. I recognize your type, if not you. I also recognize this particular packaging."

He touched one of the blocks of cash. "I doubt the young lady is exaggerating. Rest assured, Tiffany's wedding will be flawless." His smile broadened, and he gave Delaney a nod. "As will yours when you choose to get married."

Delaney's eyes widened in horror. "That will be a long fucking way off."

"Then I will make sure that Tiffany's event is perfect so that you'll remember me when that time comes, Miss Dawes." He gave her a slight, very formal bow.

She blinked and tilted her head slightly, then nodded once. Very serious. "I'm sure I will, Mr. DeLuca."

*****

Sheree listened to our tale with amusement. "Sounds like I should keep this Mr. DeLuca's number on hand, ya know?"

Wincing, Delaney groaned. "That'll be, like, a hundred years."

"I can wait." Sheree gave a patient smile.

Delaney shook her head, rolled her eyes and slouched back into her chair.

I chuckled. "We put the rest of the money and the cell phone in the safe deposit box."

Sheree nodded. She'd never really gotten over being a little disconcerted that I'd insisted she be on the access list to the safe deposit box. "So long as it's safe. Don't forget. Delaney has to be at the Learning Center by nine o'clock tomorrow. And don't forget her project."

"I did too much work on that." Delaney grinned. She had done a diorama of Celtic warriors and had spent way too much time attached little severed head trophies to their chariots.

Sheree chuckled lifting a box of ribbons and other decorations up to the table. "I know Delaney would rather help get all this wedding stuff figured out, but..."

"Ugh!" Delaney groaned from where she was lying across the back of the couch. "Flowers. And ribbons...Besides..."

"Besides, there's the pizza at the Learning Center." I shot a glance at her.

"...There is the pizza." She touched her heart while doing her best to flutter her eyelashes, not exactly her best skill.

"You know, that's cheap cafeteria pizza you could get in any school."

"It's amazing."

Sheree laughed softly, and I gave up the argument. Delaney's idea of fine cuisine didn't usually have French names, unless you counted French fries.

"No time to pick anything on the way to the Learning Center or on the way back. We'll take Sally out and run her for a bit."

Delaney grinned. She knew what that meant.

*****

Another Fine Day

*****

"Are we taking Eagle Pass?" Delaney gave an expectant and somewhat vicious smile. She loved the hairpin turns and was looking forward to the day I'd let her take Sally down the twisting unimproved rock road with its sheer drops and complete lack of guardrails.

"Why not?" I pushed Sally harder. We were on the back roads, and I knew there were never any cops, and damn little traffic.

Delaney grinned.

She was almost good enough. I worried more about her willingness to take chances than her actual driving skill. Delaney drove better than most of the pros I'd seen; she had amazing reflexes, and a natural rapport with the machines. Maybe because of that, she was always willing to push them, and the odds, just a little bit more. And sometimes that just isn't a good plan. Gravity is a cold and unforgiving bitch, and until I was convinced Delaney had that in the front of her head where it belonged, she wasn't going to fly Eagle Pass.