Ash Reckoning Page 13

Well, that explained why his fingerprints weren’t on record. She wrote a note to contact the Marines and insist on his fingerprints, just for confirmation.

  Sanchez had left the service five years back and had gone to work for one of those clandestine mercenary operations. Information on this particular private military contractor was secret for some reason. To Bellucci, that meant that he’d been hired to do dirty deeds. Probably worked for the CIA or some other intelligence community organization.

  There was no record of when he left their employment. Or if he was still working for them. She couldn’t imagine the Feds had any reason to take out Ash.

  Could they?

  Time to find out. She picked up the phone and started dialing.

  “Ash?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you ever deal with the government, or military contractors, while an insurance man?”

  “No,” Ash said, not even looking up from his phone. “Just commercial. Warehouses, stores, apartment buildings, and shipping companies. Nothing government related.”

  He looked up, staring off into space, before returning to his phone with renewed interest. It looked like he’d had an idea, but then someone answered the phone.

  “Hello, Commander Hamilton, I need a favor.”

  Chapter 31

  Ash shifted into a more comfortable position. The chairs here were incredibly uncomfortable. On purpose? Probably.

  Bellucci was focused on her phone conversation while Boone continued working on his computer. No one was paying attention to him, leaving him open to do what he needed to do online.

  For one, he needed to stock up his armory. Like, yesterday. He knew how to buy automatic weapons online, but dismissed that idea. It would take too long for delivery. He needed to get with his local sources. So he checked Twitter to ensure Big Al was still in business. The old gun-runner was a huge social media junkie.

  Remembering back to his days as a claims adjuster, Ash changed what he searched for on the late Mr. Sanchez. Why didn’t he think of that before? People liked to brag about their deeds on social media. And they’d admit the most bizarre things online, too. Up to and including felonies.

  He searched all variations of Sanchez’s name, finding Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. Lots of accounts. Then he checked each one out. He was about to give up when he found one Eddie Sanchez on Facebook. His profile picture confirmed it was the man he’d killed on Wednesday. The picture at the top of his page was of himself, in uniform and holding an assault rifle.

  Bingo. Social media seals the deal.

  Eddie hadn’t updated his page in over two years. And it was pretty sparse after he’d left the Marines. But while serving in the Corps, Eddie liked to post lots of pictures of him and his buddies in war zones.

  Most of the pictures and videos were of Eddie holding various firearms, or firing weapons like AK-47s, crew served weapons, and even a Russian-made grenade launcher. Next, Ash found a series of snapshots from a family reunion and that’s when he spotted the other two men trying to kill him. There were no names, but it was them, all right.

  Ash continued to scroll back through Eddie’s social media life. Back a year. Two years. And even six years… And there it was. Wartime pictures.

  And names.

  Carpenter, he read almost speaking it out loud.

  That was without a doubt the leader of the gang of three that had ambushed him in his apartment. The other man was tagged at Kurt Crenshaw in one picture. Eddie never gave Carpenter’s first name.

  There were other soldiers pictured and named. Marines, he reminded himself after looking at Boone’s back. They like to be called Marines.

  Ash couldn’t find any social media for either Carpenter or Crenshaw. Apparently, they weren’t as sociable as Sanchez.

  Now that he knew who they were, how did he locate them? Right now. Same way he’d found out where Osorio had moved after his family’s murder. His old friend was a master of tracking down men who didn’t want to be tracked down.

  First, he had to leave without alerting Bellucci about his intentions. And then he could deal with Steinberg’s goons, Carpenter and Crenshaw.

  There are only two left, plus Joel Steinberg, Ash thought. I can handle them without police help. Steinberg’s billions will protect him from Bellucci’s justice.

  But not from mine.

  Chapter 32

  “They’re here,” Kurt said.

  Carpenter looked toward the front window. Kurt stood in the kitchen, looking out the window. Steinberg gave him a curious look.

  “You invited someone over?”

  “Yes. Hookers,” Carpenter said, and winked. “Don’t worry, I got one for you, too. She looks just like that hot assistant of yours, Fiona.”

  Steinberg looked shocked. “Are you crazy?”

  Carpenter and Kurt laughed. He nodded. A lot of people had asked him that over the years. So yeah, maybe he was crazy, but not in a bad way. Controlled crazy allowed him to try and accomplish the impossible.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Steinberg,” he said, heading for the door. “I called in some markers. We need more firepower to deal with Wexler. I’m through playing around with him.”

  “We’re going to kill his ass dead,” Kurt said, locking eyes with the billionaire in challenge. “You got a problem with that?”

  Steinberg looked like he’d object, but then shut his mouth. He shook his head instead.

  “No. It’s painfully obvious that he’s too dangerous to live.”

  The newcomers were halfway to the door by the time Carpenter opened it. A black G-Wagon sat behind their new Chevy Tahoe rental. They were dressed business casual, in slacks, nice polos, and sports coats. Nothing about their attire spoke hired killers. It was all in their eyes.

  “Carpenter,” Davis said with a single nod.

  He’d known Doug Davis the longest. They’d gone through boot camp together. Davis stood a stout five nine. Short by Carpenter’s standards, but he still had proven himself an efficient and ruthless killer. Of all of them, he looked the least like a mercenary with his completely bald head and small round glasses. He looked like an accountant.

  Next came Sammy DiMarco. “Hey, boss.”

  Sammy stood right at six feet. The Italian-American ex-Marine looked more like a movie Mafioso hitman than a mercenary with his slick back hair, hawk nose, and fierce dark eyes.

  “Did you break your nose?” Carpenter asked. It looked crooked.

  “I broke the fool who hit me in the nose.”

  Carpenter grinned and looked past him. Mark Kerr was big and muscular enough to be a professional wrestler. His long blonde hair was pulled back and tied off at the base of his skull. Mostly, though, Carpenter remembered him for his obsession with getting more, more, and more tattoos.

  “You shaved your goatee.”

  Kerr grinned at him with cold eyes. “Who needs all that damn hair?”

  Everyone gathered in the living room. Kurt came out to hug, joke with, and insult the others. Carpenter finally introduced them to Steinberg.

  “He’s the real boss man,” Carpenter said. “The man paying us to snuff out a problem.”

  “Where’s Eddie?” Kerr asked.

  “Dead,” Kurt said. “Killed just the other day.”

  Davis, Sammy, and Kerr stiffened. Their eyes narrowed as they turned to Carpenter. He nodded, confirming Kurt’s report.

  “And the man that killed him is dead?” Kerr asked, his voice becoming menacing.

  Carpenter held his gaze unflinching. “Not yet. That’s why you were called in. Ashley Wexler is a hard man to kill.”

  “Ashley? A girl?” Davis asked.

  “A man,” Kurt snarled.

  “Who names their son Ashley?”

  “Idiots,” Carpenter replied. “But the man has training. He’s like a SEAL on steroids. You think you have him, and bam. Eddie’s dead and he’s slipped through our fingers.”

  His shoulders tightened. The thou
ght of Wexler’s ability to escape dug at his crawl. No one had defied him so easily.

  “We’re going to hunt Wexler down,” Carpenter said, eyes narrowing. “And kill him.”

  Chapter 33

  Ash parked the car in a Kroger’s parking lot. He chose a spot as far from the other cars as possible. Then he stuffed a straw into his Coke, pulled his burger out of the bag, and finally picked up his phone.

  Time to get the ball rolling.

  He used this new “burner” phone to access his old cloud account. Finding his old phone book, Ash quickly ensured it had the numbers he wanted before downloading it to his new phone. Then he exited the cloud and pulled up his phone book.

  He stared at the name and number for a long moment. Memories of his old life in California flooded back. Memories of a job he loved, and a family he loved even more.

  Ash tapped the number, holding his breath as he listened to it start ringing. He had no way to know if Vince Norman was even alive. The retired insurance investigator had to be at least seventy-nine. Plus, he could’ve changed phone numbers. It’d been over five years since he’d called his old work friend.

  “Hello?”

  A smile spread across Ash’s face. He sounded older, but that was definitely him. Some of the joy of the good old days returned, if only for a moment.

  “Hello, Vince. Ash here.”

  “Ash Wexler, you old hound dog! I was just wondering whatever became of you just last week,” he said, his voice lighting up with pleasure. “Good to hear from you. How’s life been treating you?”

  “Life’s a rollercoaster, Vince. Especially my life,” Ash said. “How’s Fran?”

  “Ornery as ever, but she’s mine,” he said with a cheerful laugh.

  “Then I take it she’s just as sweet and friendly as ever.”

  “Yeah, well, she puts up a front for others,” he said. “She’s mean to me. That woman has me on another crazy diet. I swear, her diets will be the death of me.”

  Ash shook his head. Fran and her fad diets, Vince and his prediction of dietary doom, they were all things from his happy past. The Good Ol’ Days, as they say.

  “So, young lady, how can I help you?” Vince asked.

  Rolling his eyes, a smile on his face, Ash shook his head. Vince loved to tease him about his first name. A lot of people did, but no one got as much as joy out of it as Vince.

  “If I told you once, I told you a million times,” Ash said. “Ashley is an ancient warrior name. Viking, I think. It means strong as an ash tree.”

  “Actually, I looked it up once. It means something like a clearing within an ash forest,” Vince said. “The perfect place for a young maid to await her prince charming.”

  Ash shrugged. “Well, that’s the politically correct version. But I do have a reason to call, besides catching up.”

  “Does this have anything to do with your family’s killers?”

  His breath caught. Ash’s mind returned to that fateful day. That most painful of all his days, until recently.

  “No. But I do appreciate your help finding the killers,” he said. It was Vince who discovered Osorio had moved to Dallas. “This time it’s job related. Well, personal, too. I think Joel Steinberg hired men to kill me.”

  “The billionaire philanthropist?”

  “That’s the one,” Ash said. “I think he might have had his wife murdered for the insurance money. I found paperwork with my forged signature on it in the cloud. If you’re willing, I need you to do your magic and find out all you can about the men trying to kill me. I managed to kill one of them. Eduardo Sanchez. He’s an ex-Marine Scout Sniper. I know the leader of the group is named Carpenter and that they served together in the Middle East. Found it on Sanchez’s Facebook page.”

  “Marine Scout Snipers? Like Army Cavalry Scouts?”

  “I don’t know crap about the military. I’m just telling you what I know,” he said. “Can you find out all you can about them for me? I’m kind of in a hurry since they’re trying to hunt me down and kill me.”

  Ash couldn’t mention Deanna. His brain and mouth still didn’t want to believe it. Just thinking about her hurt too much.

  “I’m on the job, my friend. You gave me purpose! Find the bad guys, which has always been my goal in life.”

  “Thanks, Vince. You’re the best.”

  Ash gave him his new phone number and e-mail address before hanging up. Then he ate lunch while contemplating his next move.

  First and foremost, he needed a safe haven. A place to live and stash his weapons and equipment. The farm was lost. The apartment was known to his foes. So he got on a real estate website and searched for houses for rent in his area.

  That area of Dallas was perfect for his purpose. It was close to major arteries like I-635 and Central Expressway. Carpenter’s hideout had been nearby so Ash assumed he’d stay in the area. And there were a lot of single family homes in the area.

  Finding five homes that appeared to meet his needs, Ash made appointments to see them that afternoon. It felt good to move forward. Each step was one closer to vengeance. Deanna would be avenged. Her murderers would pay with their lives!

  The first two houses were too rundown and one of them needed major renovations. They were good deals price wise, but he didn’t need the distractions such homes presented. The next realtor represented the landlords of the last three rentals. Layla Ford proved a little dynamo. The thirty-something realtor was a fashionista with a flashy wardrobe and cute little asymmetrical bob.

  “Honestly, Mr. Coltrane, if I had the money, I’d make an offer to buy this house,” Layla said. She whirled around, arms wide, as she half-danced across the empty family room. “The acoustics are amazing.”

  Miss Ford was head-over-heels in love with her stilettos and the sound they made on hardwood and other hard surfaces. Sometimes Ash didn’t know what to think about her, but she had shown him three good houses. And that particular three-bedroom, three-bath, three-car garage was pretty nice. Best of all, the location was perfect: near the intersection of Preston and Beltline, which was close to where Central Expressway and LBJ crossed.

  “I told you, Layla,” Ash said. “Call me Jake.”

  Jake Coltrane was one of several aliases he’d created while hunting Osorio. He hadn’t used it in two years, but it was time to revive him. Renting a house was perfect.

  The house in question was a Midcentury Modern, open floor plan, with a kitchen that had been renovated five years ago. It came fully furnished, which was key for Ash. It also had the highest price tag at three thousand a month.

  “The owner is highly motivated. I think you can get it for twenty-five hundred a month.”

  “I like it. Three thousand is fine,” Ash said. “I want to move in today.”

  Layla froze, jaw dropping. “Wow. That’s awesome. The lease contract is out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  She returned in record time and they sat at the kitchen island to go over the contract. Ash signed it with his alias of Jake Coltrane. She handed over the keys once he gave her a check to cover the deposit and first month’s rent.

  “It’s been great working with you, Jake,” she said as she headed for the door. “I know you’ll enjoy living here.”

  Ash’s phone rang before they reached the front door. He had to take the call so she showed herself out. He didn’t answer until the door closed behind her.

  “Hello, Vince. Have you found something already?”

  “I did,” he said. “You’re not dealing with an amateur here, my boy.”

  “Like I always said, you’re the best. What do you have?”

  “You’re dealing with some really black hats here, my friend,” Vince said, his tone turning deadly serious. “Like you said, Carpenter is ex-Marine Scout Sniper. Quite a few members of his unit got out of the service around the same time and joined up with a PMC operating out of Arlington, Virginia.”

  “PMC?”

  “Private Military Contractor. They hir
ed on with Blackstone, a company working closely with the Pentagon, CIA, and even with our allies,” Vince said. “They specialize in special ops, especially black ops.”

  “So hired killers?”

  “Pretty much, but they’ll do anything from corporate espionage to assassinations,” Vince said. “And more importantly for your case, Blackstone had security contracts with Steinberg’s company. Mr. Carpenter was the man leading the security team at the time of Mrs. Steinberg’s unfortunate death at sea, too.”

  “Wow,” Ash replied, his mind going at a million miles an hour.

  “I can’t prove it, but it appears to me Steinberg hired Blackstone for a few black bag operations against competitors, and only stopped working with the company after Carpenter quit and went out on his own.”

  Ash shook his head. How did the rich get away with this shit? Hell, they had private armies and special ops teams available. Meanwhile, a hungry man could steal a loaf of bread from the supermarket and end up in prison.

  What happened to the world? What ever happened to justice?

  Vince’s report supported Steinberg being the man who’d hired Carpenter and his team of killers. The highly celebrated philanthropist was a bad actor on the world stage. He’d had his own wife murdered and now he’d hired the men who’d murdered Deanna.

  “One other thing you might find of interest,” Vince said.

  Ash perked up. There was more? “Yes?”

  “I discovered that Mr. Steinberg took a private jet to Fort Worth yesterday,” Vince said. Ash’s blood ran cold. “It wasn’t easy, but I found where he’s staying. There’s a swank Airbnb out on Lake Grapevine. Have you heard of the place?”

  “It’s Grapevine Lake, but yes. It’s a little north of DFW Airport.”

  “I’ll send you an e-mail with everything I’ve found so far, including the Airbnb’s address. It’s a very nice place. You can view it on the website.”

  Ash thanked him and ended the call. His skin tingled. Steinberg had come to witness, or personally supervise, Ash’s murder.

  He wants me dead that badly. Instead, he handed himself over on a silver platter. It was time to put an end to Mr. Steinberg.