Day Four
July 24, 1952
Thursday Afternoon
Wilde went back to the warehouse and found no Alabama, not on the roof or anywhere else. He pulled River’s place in with the binoculars to find it equally lifeless. He was pretty sure what happened. If he was right, River would die a million deaths and not one of them would be pretty.
An hour came and went.
The sky got meaner.
The clouds turned into storm clouds, not spitting yet but building up a hellacious arsenal.
Wilde didn’t move.
The map was in his shirt pocket. He didn’t take it out, he didn’t look at it, he didn’t care about it.
Suddenly something happened.
A figure moved quickly towards the boxcars.
It wasn’t River.
It was a man with a scar on his face and a tattoo on his forearm. Wilde’s chest pounded. This had to be the man from last night. Wilde raced through the guts of the building down to ground level and headed directly across the tracks and weeds and gravel towards his target. He made no effort to conceal himself.
The man saw him.
Wilde expected him to take cover and pull a gun.
That’s not what happened.
The man stood there in the open and waited.
Wilde stopped two steps away.
“You’re a bad shot,” he said.
The man smiled.
“It happens.”
Wilde hardened his face.
“I want the woman.”
“Alexa?”
“Yes, Alexa. Where is she?”
“She’s dead,” the man said. “Don’t look surprised. It’s your fault. You broke the rules.”
“The map you got is a fake,” he said. “I have the original.”
“Bullshit.”
Wilde pulled it out of his pocket and tossed it on the ground.
“I want the woman.”
The man bent down, slowly, keeping his face pointed at Wilde. He picked up the map and opened it. Then he looked at Wilde. “If this is a trick, I’ll kill you and everyone you ever met.”
“It’s not a trick,” Wilde said.
The man shrugged.
“I lied when I said she was dead. She’s actually alive. You can have her. It’s only fair.”
Wilde expected the man to lead him off to the south to a car. Instead, he headed across the tracks to the north. Wilde fell into step.
“I’m Vaughn Spencer,” the man said.
“Why would you tell me your name?”
“You’re Bryson Wilde.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways.”
“If the woman’s dead, I’m going to kill you,” Wilde said.
“You’re going to try,” Spencer said.
“There was no word try in what I just said.”
Spencer smiled.
“You got some balls Wilde, I’ll give you that.”
They walked past the warehouse Wilde had just come from and into a similar one a half block down. “Don’t tell me you have her in there,” Wilde said.
“Either that or I’m taking you in there to kill you,” Spencer said.
Wilde didn’t break stride.
The building was windowless.
In the back, a steel door was chained shut. Spencer pulled a key out of his pocket, got a padlock off and pushed through the opening.
“River killed your little assistant,” he said.
Wilde stopped.
“What’d you just say?”
“You heard me,” he said. “He spotted her up there on the roof and sent his little tattoo shit of a girlfriend up there. The woman killed her. They threw her in the trunk of a car, to dump her would be my guess. I saw the whole thing.”
Wilde pictured it.
He could hear the thump of Alabama’s body dropping into the trunk. He could see the back end of the car dipping.
“How do I know you didn’t kill her,” he said. “How do I know you didn’t see her over here, figure she was after you, and killed her yourself.”
Spencer grinned.
“Now that’s something I hadn’t thought of,” he said. “You’re right. You don’t know. Maybe it happened just like that for all you know. It’s a bitch isn’t it?” He held out the key and dropped it into Wilde’s hand. “The woman’s up on the top floor.”
He turned to leave.
He stopped and said over his shoulder, “Be sure she understands that she’s not to go to the police. You too, for that matter. If that happens, I’ll know. I always know.”
He walked away.
Wilde pulled his gun.
“Hey, Spencer.”
The man stopped and turned.
Wilde raised the barrel and pointed it at Spencer’s chest.
“Why’d you tell me about Alabama? Just to watch me squirm?”
Spencer shook his head.
“My job is to kill River,” he said. “Now I don’t have to because you’re going to do it. Have a nice life.”
He turned and walked away.
“Hey, Spencer,” Wilde shouted.
The man stopped again.
He turned.
“Why didn’t you kill Alexa? You thought you had the real map-”
“That was going to happen this afternoon, right after I killed River,” he said. “I was going to plant Alexa at River’s place and make it look like he did it.”
He turned and walked.
“What about London?” Wilde said.
Spencer stopped.
He tilted his head as if in thought.
“Tell her it’s her lucky day. She’s off the hook,” he said. “You too for that matter. Anything else?”
“No.”
Wilde headed into the building. It was windowless and the only light was the little bit that trickled through the door. That was enough to get him oriented to the stairway.
He headed over and felt his way up.
At the second floor, the light from the first floor disappeared altogether.
He continued up.
“Alexa Blank. Are you in here?”
There was no response.
He shouted louder.
“Alexa? Are you here?”
A muffled sound came from an upper floor, barely audible but recognizable as a voice, a female voice.
Wilde increased his speed.
“Alexa!”
“I’m up here!”
“I’m coming. I’m a friend-”
“Help me!”
“I’m coming. Just hold on.”
“Please! Help me-”