6. FBI's Most Wanted

Chapter Six

Mercedes, Number One

Roanoke City, Strike County

It was just after four PM by the time Mercedes actually went home. He hadn’t done much since he’d spoken with Corey, only the things he usually did when his emotions were challenged like that. Bought a carton of the green Universal brand cigarettes. Visited the grave of Gary “Wheels” Quest, his father. Sat in his car at the beach, again, smoking the carton of cigarettes.

The exterior of Mercedes’ home looked like a ranch style home and it was located in one of Roanoke City’s trashiest suburbs, the kind of place where street cops were the drug dealers. The attached garage door on the side opened onto a downhill ramp that led to the main living room and subterranean level of the house. The second level was actually the only piece of the building that was above ground. The front door on the exterior of the home was decorative only.

He drove down the garage’s ramp and parked a few feet from the living room couch. Mercedes slipped out of the car, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and taking one into his teeth. No light was on downstairs so Mercedes climbed to the second level of his main living space.

Alcatraz was dumping out a bucket of laundry when Mercedes came into the den. Alcatraz watched him drop onto a bench off to the left of the pool table before returning to the pile of laundry in front of him on the table.

“How was school?” Mercedes asked. He lit the cigarette that was hanging from his lips.

“Don’t do that in here,” Alcatraz said. “I just cleaned these. And don’t you dare ‘how was school’ me. Where have you been?”

Mercedes puffed his cigarette. “You sound like a disgruntled house wife,” he said. Alcatraz got on his nerves sometimes.

“Don’t even make me begin to explain to you what is wrong with that statement,” Alcatraz said. He pulled a pair of his jeans out of the pile and folded them. “Where did you go? Don’t tell me you were with him all night.”

“You say the word ‘don’t’ a lot,” Mercedes said.

“Don’t avoid the question.” Alcatraz turned away from the laundry to look directly at the man who more or less raised him.

Mercedes struggled to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t,” he said, but doubted the boy believed him. “How was school?”

Alcatraz seemed to know better than to press the issue. Mercedes had to wonder if Alcatraz would’ve questioned his real father about that sort of thing. Alcatraz turned back to the laundry. “Fine,” he said. “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”

“Absolutely not,” Mercedes said. Probably Alcatraz would press his real father like this. He seemed to like prying into other people’s business. Mercedes thought, not for the first time that, Alcatraz would make a fine addition to Stunt’s Psypher Network. “You know I’m not that stupid.”

“But stupid for sure,” Alcatraz said. “Oh, Ranger wants you to call him.”

“What for?” Mercedes asked.

“He didn’t say,” Alcatraz said.

Mercedes finished his cigarette and stood up. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’ll call him when I get up.”

Alcatraz turned his head as Mercedes moved to leave the room. He put a hand on Alcatraz’s shoulder and smiled. It didn’t touch his ears or wrinkle his cheeks.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

Alcatraz didn’t have a chance to say anything before Mercedes left the room. Mercedes ignored the rest of the upstairs, which was small by comparison, and descended down into the cooler subterranean area. When he had gotten the place a number of years ago, he tried to make sure that Alcatraz, who was only ten years his junior, would have a space of his own. In keeping with that, Mercedes had made the upstairs level Alcatraz’s, and so had his own bedroom on the first level.

After changing into a pair of loose-fitting black pants in the hall bathroom, Mercedes went into his bedroom and dropped onto the bed on his stomach. He closed his eyes as though to perpetrate sleep but he wasn’t tired. After a while of slipping in and out of sleep, he heard Alcatraz coming back down the stairs. The door opened a moment later and Mercedes wondered if the kid was going out. He doubted it. Alcatraz usually liked to stay close when Mercedes was in this kind of mood. Damn him.

The sound was followed by muffled conversation. Mercedes turned over onto his back and strained his ears to try to pick up what was being said at the door. He heard someone come in and then the door closed. They spoke for a few minutes beside the door before the concrete floor clicked as they moved farther into the living room. They continued talking, probably after sitting on the couch. The voice sounded like it belonged to one of the fraternal twins Mercedes considered to be close friends. They were Charm’s sons and were each a czar of a city in Strike County.

Mercedes groaned. Did that mean there was another czar challenge to deal with? Trick was busy with his wife these days, and Pop was busy with whatever abusive relationship he had gotten himself into, so Mercedes hardly ever saw the two of them on a social visit. But if they had bothered to drive into Raymond’s capital, it had to be important.

Mercedes rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over. His head pounded with the motion so he sat there for a moment before standing. The voices continued out in the living room as he crossed to the door of his bedroom.

“Who are you talking to?” Mercedes said as he pulled the door opened.

“Honey, I’m home,” Pop’s voice replied.

“Very funny.” Mercedes emerged from the hallway. His bare feet thumped softly against the concrete floor. Alcatraz studied him intently as Mercedes noticed fresh bandages on Pop’s neck and around his wrists. He knew better than to ask the thirty-two year old masochist what was going on.

“You look like you’ve been better,” Pop said and Mercedes felt his gaze rake through his unkempt black hair. Mercedes wondered if the white streak at his roots was concealed or if he looked like someone else, someone who wasn’t in charge of a street racing crime syndicate.

What did you tell him? Mercedes thought, turning his yellow eyes onto Alcatraz again. The teenager’s face turned red and he quickly looked away. Mercedes lifted an eyebrow. “Something up in Rockingham?” he asked, turning back to Pop.

“Just this,” Pop said offering a sheet of paper to Mercedes. “Which is a hell of a lot better than what I heard is happening here.”

“Shove it,” Mercedes said. So Alcatraz had been telling Pop everything.

Mercedes dropped his gaze to the text on the crease-lined piece of paper. Official FBI letterhead sprawled across the top. A brief paragraph printed below that but Mercedes didn’t bother to read it. The heading read “FBI’s Top Ten Most Wanted.” Below the paragraph was a numerated list. The list started with Hyde Mullins, southwest Indiana at number one. Cesare “Ides” Marchesi, New York City, New York was number two.

Mercedes, Roanoke City, Raymond was printed next to the number three. At least this was one thing Mercedes wasn’t number one in.

“This,” Mercedes said. “When? How?”

“This morning,” Pop said. “Having a field office in my back yard has its uses. I couldn’t say how.”

“What kind of criminal did I bump off the list?” Mercedes asked. “And who are the seven I’m in front of?” His eyes scanned down the list, looking for any hint of the names of his other officers, the Numbers. A guy like Wolfie, nearly Mercedes’ equal in skill if not better, should’ve at least been there. But Mercedes’ was the only listing identified as being in Raymond.

“I don’t know the details,” Pop said. “Just that you’re behind a mob boss and a cannibal.”

Mercedes dropped to the couch on the other side of Pop from Alcatraz. The page was shaking in his hands. Had Corey known about this when he had seen Mercedes? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned it? Was that the real reason why, after seven years of keeping his distance, Corey had suddenly wanted to see Mercedes again? Was Mercedes really that dangerous?

He had only taken one man’s life on purpose.

The ringing of Mercedes’ mobile broke the silence that had settled around them. Mercedes pulled it out of the pocket of his pants, having no recollection of transferring it before trying to sleep. The five digit mobile number told him the caller was from Locksley County. The screen wasn’t big enough to display the caller’s name but Mercedes knew the number belonged to the Locksley Number, Ranger. Alcatraz had mentioned that he called, hadn’t he?

“I was sleeping,” Mercedes said as he answered the phone.

“After spending all night with Corey Curse?” Ranger asked.

“That was none of your business, Ranger,” Mercedes said. “Now what do you want?”

“Can’t top the list,” Mercedes heard Pop whisper into Alcatraz’s ear.

“Uh, don’t think I’m just going to ignore the whole Corey Curse thing,” Ranger said. “But, anyway, I wanted to let you know that there is a native Raymonder running for the office of vice president.”

And, so what? Mercedes thought. “Why does that matter?” Mercedes asked.

“He has this plan—” Ranger started to say.

“Look, I have bigger things to worry about than some politician’s ‘plans,’” Mercedes said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“What was it?” Pop asked as Mercedes flipped his mobile closed.

“Some guy from Raymond is running for vice president,” Mercedes said. He dropped the list and stood up. “I’m putting a freeze on all czar challenges. I know I can trust the ones I have. I’m not looking to sacrifice that.”

“Grand, ’cause I’ve had some guys who were, like, chomping at my tail pipes,” Pop said. He stood as well. “Say I don’t deserve the title due to my arrest record. But you know me, I’m just playing the good officer’s game.”

Only Pop would call the officer who arrested him, held him in jail overnight, and physically abused him “good.” And mean it.

“Charm should still be in town,” Mercedes said. “Can you two contact the other Strike County czars and get them here? I want Stunt too.”

“Why do I gotta do it?” Pop asked.

Alcatraz jumped to his feet. “And where are you going?”

“I have races to arrange,” Mercedes said as an answer to both questions. He went back to get a shirt and a jacket before grabbing the keys to his Corvette and leaving the house.