Figure Eight Page 24

  “We got another hit on an AP wire photo. It’s a captioned picture of a guy headed into federal court to be tried for income tax evasion. The guy on the left is listed as Mark Lewis, nephew of the guy on the right, David Stone.”

  “Lawler is Stone’s nephew?”

  “No Lewis is, but it appears as though they are the same person. There is more on him, but let’s move on to Stone. I queried the federal database, and, much to my surprise, I got a phone call from a very demanding and assertive FBI special agent within ten minutes. It seems as though his current and only career goal is putting David Stone out of commission. As these high-powered crime fighting geniuses tend to do, this guy started off by treating me like Barney Fife. I hung up on him and called our local SAC Keith Dickson. I explained who I was checking on but not why. He was very quiet, but finally decided to speak. It seems that David Stone is front and center on every FBI radar screen. He would not confirm nor deny the fact that they are running a current op on Stone. Not abnormal federal agent behavior, but seeing how Tanya and I and he and his wife go out to dinner together once a week or so, I would have expected a little warmer reception. He told me he’d meet me at Ma’s Diner in a half hour. He told me to forget whatever else I was doing and be there.

  “We sat down at Ma’s in the back booth. Excellent banana cream pie, by the way. He opened up a little but was heart attack serious about knowing why we were asking. I kept my cards close, or as close as I could anyway. What I am going to tell you is not for public consumption. I don’t know if it will help you.

  “David Stone is a hard ass. He has a huge net worth but exactly how much is difficult to estimate in that he has lots and lots of different corporations and LLCs shielding him, but it is fair to say the guy is worth a fortune. He is ruthless and has an almost pathological way of taking down those who get in his way. He is known as one of the most ruthless men big business has to offer. He has never been charged with anything other than the income tax beef, which he settled. He is known as anything but a nice guy. Business Monthly did a story on him; they called him a terrorist. They said he only knew how to play hardball.

  “The feds are not just kind of interested in David Stone, they are interested to the point that they have several agents working on him. Bottom line with Stone is that bad things happen when he is around and someone stands in his way. That includes a federal agent working undercover who went missing a year ago after getting close to Stone. The feds want him for that, and they will not rest until they get him. They didn’t confirm a full-fledged op, but my guess is they got one going.

  “Stone has made his fortune by laundering money from whoever needed it laundered. He sets up a series of different companies, corporations, LLCs and the like. He puts cash from one into another and keeps the ball rolling. The beauty is that the final big investments are all legitimate and profit making, real estate, mining, hell, even a professional hockey team. Big businesses with a lot of money coming and going, someplace where a million here or there won’t be noticed. He does everything by the book, and with that one exception, always pays the taxes. The one exception occurred because somebody dropped a dime on him. He barely fought and settled with the IRS. He’s been clean since then. They think he’s working with the cartels. They are happy laundering a buck for every five they bring in, and Stone’s schemes hook them up with legitimate investments that will allow them to rake in legal cash. He stays away from doing business where the cartels are operating and prefers more rural, less populated areas of the country. They think the Musky Falls area is his real base of operations, but he has stuff going all over the country.

  “The key part of information to be gleaned from all of this is that they have nothing on him yet. They are trying, but they got nothing. Lewis/Lawler working as a cop in Musky Falls is new information and is very interesting to them. They also let me know that they want any other information that comes our way, and if we withhold anything, they are going to make our life as miserable as possible. Understandable because of the missing agent.

  “John, this guy is a heavy hitter, and you need to be careful. I want you to listen to this and please consider actually doing what I ask. I have the contact number for the agent closest to the case. You need to talk to him, work with him. What you are into is not a one-man job. Call him now. Stop whatever it is I know you must be doing and call him. You get yourself killed, you accomplish nothing. Work with them and maybe you get the whole thing: Uncle Nick’s killer, find the missing agent, and put Stone down. John, I can’t help you with this anymore. Please call this guy.”

  Before I spoke, I considered my good friend’s request, for about a second anyway.

  “No worries, Bear. Thanks for your help. I will think this through and do the right thing.”

  “Fuck, that’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Thanks, Bear.”

  “See ya around, Johnny. Good luck. Oh, wait one second. I’ve got something else you wanted. Yeah, here it is. The ST Trust you asked me about is a subsidiary company of what sounds like a legitimate investment group out of the Twin Cities. Doesn’t look like they are involved. The only thing I really found was what the ST initials stand for.”

  He told me and it took my breath away. Things came together. I had already played my hand, and now I was sure as I could be that I had pushed the right button.

  I drove back to the lake, and I was deep in thought when I parked and got out of the car. I was so deep in thought I did not see the attack coming, but come it did, fast and hard. Punches to my head, several to the back of my legs, and a leg sweep put me face down on the ground; a knee in the back kept me there. A Glock pistol put up to the side of my head assured my compliance.

  A voice I recognized told me what was to come next. Lawler/ Lewis told me that was nothing compared to what would happen if I got any ideas.

  He stood up and with a brutal push of his knee backed a few feet out of my reach and holstered the Glock.

  A vicious bastard and a bully, he was in his element. “Cabrelli, I haven’t got time to waste. I need the stuff your uncle put together on the damn bird. I’ll get what I came for. You decide how much trouble I have to cause you before you give it up.”

  He took a collapsible police baton, extended it to its full length, and used it to hit my hamstrings a half dozen good licks. Practiced blows from someone used to giving them out, someone who liked it.

  “Tell me where the stuff is. Once I have it I’m gone,” he said.

  Then he gave me a crack across the lower back, just to make sure I was listening. My head was not yet clear from the initial assault, but my legs and back now screamed in pain. My ability to do anything to protect myself diminished with every blow.

  “Enough,” I told him. “I’ll get what you need. But stop, I have had enough.”

  He sat over at the picnic table and waited for me to get up. It was three tries and ten minutes before I was on my feet. My head was clearing and, except for the blood leaking out of my face, everything was intact, hurt but in original condition. I maybe could have gotten up in one try, but I wanted him to think I was hurt worse than I was. Once I was standing, he pointed the Glock at me. There was no way this guy was going to leave me alive. I don’t know how all this figured into a successful plan, but there was also no way I could see me as part of his future.

  I walked toward the house, slowly giving my head as much time as I could for it to clear.

  He kept his distance, following behind me. “Where is it?” he asked.

  “In the desk, the desk in the front room.”

  “Bullshit,” he snarled. “We went through that desk. Nothing in there.”

  “We” went through the desk, we is people, plural. It let me know that he or his partner had been the burglars that had ransacked the desk earlier.

  It also let me know that they were principals in the murder of Uncle Nick. I was pretty sure I knew who his partner was, but I wanted to make sure. All the pieces were coming together.


  I told him that I had just recently put it in the drawer, that’s why it wasn’t there when they searched. When we got into the cabin, I turned toward the desk. I reached to open the double large file drawer when Lawler/Lewis stopped me.

  “Back away from the drawer, Cabrelli. I’ll open it. I don’t need you pulling a gun out of there and making this more complicated. Go stand by the fireplace,” he told me.

  I did as directed. He bent down to open the drawer, his right leg to me. I remembered the surgical scar. I grabbed the trappers ax leaning against the fireplace, and with all my strength, I swung it at his exposed leg at the side of the knee, hitting him full force with the blunt edge. My aim was perfect. The blow landed with a crack that sounded like split wood. Lawler/Lewis was down. The Glock went skidding across the floor, out of his reach.

  Adrenaline pumping through me, I moved fast toward the door where I stopped and picked up the old LC Smith shotgun Julie had used to get my attention in a previous incident. Tables had turned. He was down and his knee was done for, and I now had a gun and he didn’t. He snarled and spit in rage as he tried to pull himself up using the desk as support, but his knee would not hold him. His gun was across the room, and he would have to crawl to get it. If he did, there was no way I would miss with a 12-gauge scattergun at this range.

  His screaming stopped even though he seethed with blood anger. I could see that his leg from the knee down was at an unnatural angle, and that it was about all he could do to sit up with his back against the desk. The truth is, I just wanted to shoot him and get this over with. I was hurt. He was still dangerous. Then he settled down and just sat there looking at his leg. Finally, he spoke, pain still evident in his voice, but under control.

  “Cabrelli, we are going to make a deal. I didn’t kill your uncle, but I know who did, and I can give you proof, hard evidence. I was just supposed to scare you off. I didn’t kill anyone, and I didn’t even know about it at the time. You let me go, let me get out of here, and I’ll give you what you need,” he said.

  Suddenly, an explosion filled the room, and Lawler/Lewis’s head came apart. In the doorway, gun in hand, was the guy I had been looking for, my uncle Nick’s killer … and one of his best friends, the “T” in ST Trust—Chief Don Timmy. Of course, who else would my uncle trust with the information about the bird? His friend and career law enforcement officer.

  He walked a few steps, bent down, and picked up Lawler/Lewis’s gun. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to, as what he was thinking was clear. He had the way out and could get everything he wanted in the process. The chief comes out to see me, a friendly visit. He walks in just as Lawler/Lewis shoots me, and he shoots him.

  Thirty-year law man, doing his duty. Dead men tell no tales.

  He holstered his own gun and pointed Lawler’s at my head.

  21

  Hospital

  “John, we need to call it a night. You’re fading, and so am I. Let me call the nurse for you to give you a dose of pain medication so you can sleep through the night. You need to rest up, and we can continue tomorrow,” Bill Presser said.

  The truth is, I was struggling to keep going on. I was tired, in pain, and fuzzy-headed, and the thought of rest and sleep seemed like a wonderful idea. I don’t even remember Presser leaving. The night nurse came in, along with a lab tech to draw some more blood, continuing with the series of tests, making sure the antibiotics were having the desired effect. I asked the nurse what the schedule for tomorrow was, and she pulled up my chart.

  “It looks like everything is set for surgery. All of your other signs are good. So barring anything unforeseen, you should be good to go. But right now, what you really need is some rest. The doctor left some medication to help you sleep if you want it, although the dose of pain meds I am giving you through the IV may take care of that. It is safe for you to have both, and sleep is going to be critical to your future, but whatever you think.”

  I wanted to keep a clear head in my conversations with Presser, but when the medication hit me, the sensation was like a warm wave, and it felt so good to have the pain go away.

  Nurse Holterman had returned to her battle station and woke me up at exactly 6:00 a.m. I was groggy but actually kind of glad to see her. Somehow I figured that if Nurse Holterman showed up, the world would continue.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, how are you feeling this morning?”

  “A little out of it, but I’m okay.”

  “I am going to look at your wounds and change the dressing. When the old dressings are removed, the doctor will come in. Let’s check your vitals and get to it. You can get another dose of pain medication now if you would like to help with the pain associated with the wound inspection and dressing removal and replacement. I would recommend it. The doctor may need to probe a little into the wounds to check for evidence of a secondary infection. The results of your lab tests are due at any moment, and once we have received those, there will be a visit from the surgical team and a consultation to determine the course of action.”

  “I’m good right now, Nurse Holterman. I can wait on the pain meds.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Cabrelli,” Nurse Holterman said as she peeled back the edge of one of the dressings. The doctor came in and began to press, prod, and probe. He asked me to roll up on my side a little, and when I did, I was struck with the most incredible, excruciating pain I have ever felt. It was like someone had just stabbed me in the spine with a hot knife.

  It was too much for me, and I howled in pain.

  The doctor was immediately concerned, “Mr. Cabrelli, where does it hurt? What is your pain level from one to ten?”

  I could barely spit out, “Doc, my back, pain level solid 12.”

  The world became fuzzy. Something was going on, but I could not grab hold of it. I could hear Nurse Holterman’s voice and others. They seemed like they were talking louder than usual. Then I went to sleep, peaceful, wonderful sleep.

  I came to in my room with new devices hooked up to me. I couldn’t really move. I could see, but my focus was off. Someone held my hand and spoke to me.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, welcome back,” a new nurse said.

  I wanted to ask where I had been but couldn’t get the words out. I could only look around and blink.

  The nurse offered me some ice chips. My lips felt like they were as cracked as dry mud. The chips were good, really good.

  I was so tired I just went back to sleep.

  After what could have been days or just hours, things started to clear up. Speaking was incredibly difficult due to an ass-kicker of a sore throat. I just croaked answers to questions.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, how are you today?” Dr. Jónsdottir asked. “Do you feel well enough to talk with me about what you have just gone through?’

  “I think so. Just go slow.”

  “Dr. Árnason will be here in a minute, but we might as well get started. You are in the intensive care unit. During the course of your wound inspection and dressing changes, the bullet in your back shifted, causing you extreme discomfort. Your respirations became strained, and at that point it became clear that you were in distress. We immediately moved to maintain your airway by intubating you. You may have a mild sore throat from the tube having been inserted. We were able to stabilize you in the room, and then we rushed you off to emergency surgery. The surgery took over four hours. You had the best possible team. We removed the bullet lodged next to your spine, along with several bone fragments. There was a small pocket of infection in the damaged bone. That piece of bone and the infection were surgically removed. The infection was isolated and should be of no further concern. You are a very lucky man. The bullet was in the bone and did not damage the spinal sheath. We removed some bone from your hip and transplanted that to your back.”

  “Doc?”

  “Yes, Mr. Cabrelli?’’

  “I feel like hell. Am I going to make it?’’

  The doctor just stared and looked over as Dr. Árnason entered the room. “Well
, let me take that one,” he said.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, you are going to make it. You will have a long and challenging recovery, but you are going to make it. You have been through it all. There were many points of real concern on our part, but I never underestimate the power of the human spirit. Your spirit rose to the occasion and helped us save your life. There was no doubt from anyone who met you that you would in fact survive. You will be here in intensive care for a few more days, then moved to the floor. As far as when you will get released, no predictions. We will have to see how you progress. For now, though, no visitors, even though I think I speak for the whole staff when I say we would love to meet Julie. She must be quite a girl.”

  “Huh, what, huh, what are you talking about? What about Julie? How do you know about Julie? I don’t even know about Julie. What the hell?”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Cabrelli,” Dr. Árnason chuckled. “When you were coming out from under the anesthesia, you just rambled on about Julie. I believe the term you used was ‘the goddess of the lake.’ You told us you must see her right now; you had things to say. It is amazing some of the things we hear. It is further amazing how many of those things turn out to be the unbridled truth. Whether you choose to say these things to Julie or not will be all up to you. I am just the repairman.”