The Import, page 15
part #1 of Matthew Riker Series
“Like I said I’m not really interested in changing the world. A week ago I wasn’t even interested in being part of it any more than I had to, but thanks for answering the question.” Riker took a sip of water. “My other question is who do we work for?”
Hendricks and Brennan looked eyes for a moment. Then Hendricks turned back to Riker. “You work for me, and I work for Dobbs.”
“Dobbs is a lawyer. The very nature of his job means that he works for other people. I need to know who I’m really working for.”
“You are a smart one,” Brennan said. “I worked for Dobbs for months before I even thought to ask that question.”
“Shut your mouth, Brennan.” Hendricks turned back to Riker. “I’m going to make sure Dobbs shows you the door. We don’t need anyone on the crew that can’t accept an order and make it happen. You ask too many damn questions.”
“I agree with Hendricks in a way,” Brennan said. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that normally works with us. If you think it isn’t for you, then you should probably go back to farming or whatever it is you do.”
Riker gave Brennan a nod. “Thanks for the advice. I’m really just here to finish what I started with Helen. Then I’ll be heading out.”
Dobbs walked back up to the table. He sat down and took a big sip of his wine. “Finish up. We are going to see Weaver.”
Hendricks’ head snapped in Dobbs direction. “Are we taking him?” He pointed a thumb at Riker.
“Yes. Mr. Weaver is interested in meeting the man without a past.”
The side of Hendricks’ mouth curled up in a slight smile. “All right, Riker. You wanted answers to your stupid questions? You’re about to get them.”
24
BY THE TIME they pulled up to the warehouse, Riker felt he was getting to know the backseat of the Audi pretty well. A little too well for his tastes, actually. But he was also getting to know his companions.
On the way to the previous two jobs, Hendricks had been full of bravado, much in the same way Riker and his fellow wrestlers had been on the way to a tournament in high school. Now he acted more subdued. Not nervous, exactly, but serious, as if he knew he wasn’t going to be the cock of the walk in whatever situation they were about to walk into. Brennan was just as quiet as he’d been on the way to the other job, but Riker sensed more tension in him. He was sitting up straighter as they pulled into the warehouse parking lot. Even Dobbs seemed different. For the first time since Riker had met him, he didn’t exude the confidence of a man who owned everything around him.
To Riker, this all meant one thing—they were going to see the boss.
There were at least a dozen other cars in the warehouse’s parking lot. Riker wondered how many of them belonged to people doing actual warehouse work and how many belonged to those who served the mysterious Mr. Weaver in other ways.
The warehouse was a large building, at least fifty thousand square feet. It butted right up against the bay at the south end of New Jersey. They had gone past the port and Riker saw nothing but more warehouses with nothing in particular to distinguish them. Just a seemingly endless row of ugly buildings whose job was to store things until they were ready to be moved elsewhere. In the distance, he heard the beeping of a truck backing up and the sound of the water lapping against a boat.
As they walked to the warehouse, Hendricks sidled up next to Riker.
“You need to be on your best behavior now, understand me?”
Riker shot him a look of mock surprise. “Me? When have I ever not been on my best behavior?”
“I’m serious. Weaver doesn’t appreciate smart comments.”
“Then he must love you.”
Dobbs chuckled at that, and Hendricks’ face turned a deep shade of red.
“What Hendricks is saying in his less than elegant way,” Dobbs said, “is that Mr. Weaver has many wonderful qualities, but a robust sense of humor isn’t one of them. You’d do well to limit the number of jokes you tell to zero.”
Riker nodded. “Remember, I was a SEAL. I’m all too familiar with guys without a sense of humor. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
They reached the door, and Dobbs pressed the button next to it. There was no buzz or bell, but the button lit up green. As they waited. Riker saw the camera mounted over the door, and couldn’t resist looking directly into it, as if he’d be able to see whoever was waiting beyond it, watching them. After a moment, there was a loud click. Dobbs grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. They walked in single file, Riker bringing up the rear.
Beyond the door was a long, narrow hallway. Just inside, there was a small room off to the right. A hard-looking man sat behind a bank of video monitors. Riker gave him a nod which the man did not return. That was okay. Riker was aware that friendliness was not the most important quality in a security guard.
As they reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the open area of the warehouse floor, Dobbs stopped and turned back to Riker. “Mr. Weaver’s my oldest client. I’ve worked with him for decades. I actually got my start interning for him during law school. He’s provided me with steady work ever since. My house, the cars, and everything that comes with it…none of it would have been possible without Mr. Weaver.”
“He sounds like quite a guy,” Riker said. He didn’t mention the obvious question—what kind of businessman provides a criminal defense lawyer with steady work over the course of decades?
Riker scanned the room as they walked through it. There were at least a dozen men in the warehouse, all doing work that appeared at least somewhat normal for a warehouse environment. A forklift buzzed toward a stack of pallets on the west end of the room. Yet, for the size of the warehouse, they didn’t seem to be storing a lot of wares here.
He spotted four exits other than the one they’d entered through. One was a small door at the other end of the warehouse. There were cargo bay doors to his left, and a single large bay door as well as a smaller door on his right, in the direction of the river. They walked past a large bank of three electrical panels on the wall as they approached an office on the east end of the warehouse. Through the glass wall, Riker spotted a tall, thin man working behind a desk, hunched over a laptop. He immediately recognized him as the man in the background of many of the pictures in Dobbs’ office.
A beefy guard stood at the office door. He gave Dobbs a familiar nod as he approached and rapped on the office door before they even reached it. He opened the door and stuck his head through. “Dobbs is here, sir.”
“Ah, good,” a rich, baritone voice answered. “Send him in.”
The guard stepped aside, and Dobbs, Hendricks, Brennan, and Riker all filed into the well-appointed office.
The man closed his laptop and stood up. He held out his hand to Riker. “You must be Matthew. I’m Jeff Weaver.”
Riker shook his hand, not bothering to tell him he preferred to go by Riker. He didn’t seem to be the type of man who would respond well to being corrected. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weaver.”
Weaver let go of his hand and turned to Dobbs. “Tell me about the situation with Carter.”
“Not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Dobbs said. “He left his apartment in a hurry. Didn’t even take his stash with him. He must have known we were on to him.”
“The only question is how he knew.” Weaver let out a weary sigh. “You trust people, give them every chance in the world, and this is how they repay you. It’s a shame what the world has come to these days.”
“Indeed it is,” Dobbs agreed.
Watching Weaver, Riker understood what Dobbs had said about him. There was absolutely no humor in his eyes. When he smiled, it was only with his mouth. The rest of his face remained emotionless. Riker had met some serious people in his time, guys who could order the deaths of hundreds of people with nothing more than a word. They all had that same look in their eyes. The knowledge that you controlled the existence of so many people changed a person. Whatever Weaver was involved in, he’d been at it for a long time, and it had left his eyes cold.
“Carter’s stash. You have it with you?”
“In the car,” Dobbs said.
Weaver just looked at him for a long moment.
Dobbs turned to Riker and Brennan. “Get the bag out of the car.”
Riker nodded, then turned to Hendricks.
“What?” Hendricks asked.
“I need the keys.”
“Oh, right.” Hendricks fished them out of his pocket and tossed them to Riker. Riker and Brennan headed back out into the warehouse.
As they walked, Riker turned to Brennan. “I take it you’ve met Weaver before?”
“Yeah. A few times.”
“Is he always so bubbly and warm?”
Brennan cracked a smile at that. “Actually, this is him in a good mood.”
They walked in silence. Riker waited until they were outside before he spoke again. “So why do you think they really wanted to get rid of us?”
“Who knows,” Brennan said with a shrug. “Some things are above our paygrade. Personally, I’m glad I don’t have to hear everything that goes on. I’d rather just do my job.”
Riker opened the trunk with the key fob and grabbed the bag. When they got back inside, he once again gave the security guard a friendly nod, and he received the same cool lack of response for his effort.
“This place is a real laugh riot,” Riker said. “They should make a sitcom.”
Brennan chuckled at that.
When they got back to the office, Riker saw there were two more guys in there now. Weaver spotted Riker and Brennan through the glass wall and waved them inside.
“Set it on my desk,” he said.
Riker did as he was told. Weaver unzipped it and dug around inside for a moment. Then he looked up at Dobbs.
“Okay, enough fooling around. Let’s have the conversation.”
Dobbs nodded toward Hendricks.
Riker was suddenly aware of his mistake. In having him set the bag on the desk, Weaver had forced him to the middle of the room. Hendricks was behind him, and the two new arrivals stood on either side, flanking him.
He felt Hendricks’ beefy hand on his shoulder. “Have a seat, Riker.”
The men on either side of him had pistols in their hands now. With a sinking feeling, he realized he’d lost the fight before it had even started. He couldn’t see any way out of this without taking a bullet or two. He needed to stay calm and see where this was going. He gave in to the pressure from Hendricks’ hand and sank into the chair in front of Weaver’s desk.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Take it easy,” Weaver said. “We just want to talk.”
Riker nodded toward the men on either side of him. “They need their guns out to talk?”
“A precaution. I’ve heard you’re a bit excitable.”
“Yeah? Who told you that?”
A figure moved past the glass wall, answering Riker’s question. The door behind him opened, and someone new entered the room.
Weaver smiled at the new arrival, and this time there was actual joy in his eyes.
Helen walked past Riker and moved to Weaver’s side. She looked so different that Riker barely recognized her. Her hair was styled, her makeup was perfect, and she wore a beautiful red dress. It was a far cry from the disheveled woman Riker had seen running through the fair or the one who’d slept on his shoulder in the back of the semi-trailer.
“There you are.” Weaver stood up and put an arm around her, leaning in for a quick kiss. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my girl.”
25
RIKER PRESSED his palms against the arms of the chair. He could feel the smooth wood, worn down by a hundred hands that had been in the same position. The cushion under him was a thin compressed layer that no longer added any comfort. Focusing on a simple object was a trick Riker used when his mind was racing too fast. The technique worked, and he made a mental map of his situation.
A man stood on either side of him, each of whom had a gun pointed at the back of his head. Hendricks, Brennan and Dobbs were behind him, waiting for instructions. A large glass window to his left revealed the warehouse floor and at least a dozen men working. Weaver had the kind of power that allowed him to hold a man at gunpoint with his employees watching. Helen stood next to Weaver across the desk from Riker.
Her red dress hugged the curves of her hips, and the neckline dipped low, showing off ample cleavage. The fading bruise on her face was covered by makeup now, and her skin looked flawless. Ruby red lipstick matched her dress. Men would kill to be with a woman like this, but somehow it sickened Riker.
“Hey Helen, nice dress,” Riker said. “Somehow I think you looked better in your trucker T.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” She inched one leg forward, sliding it through the slit that went ten inches past her knee. “Matthew, you need to be smart right now. No one appreciates what you did for me more than Jeff here. You could find a home here with us.” She kept her arm around Weaver and her body tight to him when she spoke.
“Where’s Li?” Riker knew that he wasn’t going to get an answer to that one. He just hoped for a hint of shame in Helen’s eyes.
“She’ll be fine for as long as we have her. After that, she’ll be gone.”
The indifference in her voice made Riker want to wrap his hands around her neck and choke the life from her body. He gripped the arms of the chair hard and forced himself to stay calm. “So that’s it? She was nothing but a job to you? Is there anything real about you?”
“Plenty. For example, my name is Helen Wilborn, and I do think you would make a great addition to the crew.”
“That’s a shame, Helen. I really thought that there was some good in you. The gun pointed at the back of my head tells me I was wrong about that.”
Helen sighed. “I really do hope things work out okay for you. Just be honest with Jeff, and it will.”
“Helen has spoken highly of you,” Weaver said. “I’m grateful for everything you did for her, which is why you made it this far. If you are going to make it any further I need to know who you work for.”
“I know you don’t believe it, but the story that I told Helen is true. I wish I could say the same about what she told me.” He locked eyes with her. “I knew something was off almost from the beginning.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“A lot of little things didn’t add up. It started with the story about your husband. You said it yourself; if a story has too many details, it’s probably not true. Those shoes the waitress at the diner commented on, the Jimmy Choos. I Googled them. They cost three grand. No one who just came into money leaves three thousand dollar shoes behind in a truck stop without even commenting on it. However you got your money, you’ve had it for a while.”
“So then why help us?”
“Because you were in trouble. I knew that much was real. And it wasn’t until I got to New York that I confirmed the truth.”
“What truth?” Helen asked.
“Li isn’t your daughter. Adopted or otherwise. I thought it was odd that you never showed me a picture of her, or talked about all her small achievements. You never told me any of the stories that every new parent can’t stop talking about. But the chip in her neck confirmed it. The rest of the pieces fell into place pretty easily after that. Dobbs confirmed your story about Ted was a complete fiction. When I called your ‘husband’ Tom instead of Ted, he didn’t even flinch.”
“If you figured it out when Hendricks took out the chip, why didn’t you leave?”
“Unlike you, I actually care about what happens to Li. I needed to stay and find out a little more information to make sure she would be okay.”
“Good job on that, numbnuts,” Hendricks said. “Now you’re just an idiot with a gun to his head.”
“I have to admit I didn’t think the man behind the curtain would be this cautious. I hoped to have a little more time to figure out what was going on here. I guess this conversation is just going to happen a little sooner than I expected.”
Helen looked from Weaver to Riker. “I really do appreciate what you did for me. You saved my life and got me back home. This may not be the world you’re used to, but tell Jeff what he needs to know and you’ll be fine.” She couldn’t hold eye contact with the last lie.
Weaver stared hard at Riker for a long moment, as if trying to decipher a difficult equation. Finally, he appeared to come to a decision. “Brennan, take Helen back to my place and wait for me there. This conversation might take a while, and I don’t want to bore her with business.”
“You got it, boss.”
Weaver drew Helen in for another kiss. He reached around and grabbed her ass when their lips touched. “Leave that dress on until I get home. I want to be the one to take it off of you.”
Helen glanced at Riker one more time as she walked out of the office. “I hope I’ll see you around.”
As soon as the door closed, the joy left Weaver’s eyes. “Who do you work for, Matthew?”
“It’s Riker.”
“What?”
“Call me Riker. I really hate it when people call me Matthew.”
Weaver nodded at Hendricks. The big man stepped around in front of Riker, drew back his fist and smashed a hard right into Riker’s stomach. The air rushed out of Riker’s lungs, and he doubled over in pain.
“I’ll call you whatever I want. I can tell that you have been in difficult situations before, so I’m not going to sugarcoat this. You’re not going to make it out of this one. You can either give me the information that I want and die quickly, or you can spend the next few days being tortured and die in agony. I know neither of those options sounds great, but trust me, the first is much better than the second.”
Riker drew a painful breath and forced himself to sit upright, meeting Weaver’s gaze. “Thanks for the honesty. What happened to the option of joining your crew?”
