A black on black Jeep Cherokee Grande pulled into Martin’s parking lot. With its tires and suspension, it stood a head taller than anything else there, and that included some tricked-out farm trucks the local boys spent their weekends tinkering with. Tony Morelli opened the door and a step folded out. He got out and shook hands with a bunch of high school kids who were impressed as hell by his machine.
“Anything stop you with that, Mister?”
Morelli smiled coyly. “Not yet. You guys like cars? Ever hear of Tacticals?”
One of the boys raised his hand and Tony smiled. “Just shout it out, son. You’re not in school now.”
They all chuckled.
“I heard about that on the news. They’re used in the Gulf War, right?”
“Dead on balls, son. This is a Tactical I got and made street legal.” He stepped back from the still open driver’s door. “Go ahead, take a look. Let me know what you think.”
They shied up like Morelli’s ride was their first crush. “Yeah.” “Yep.” “Yes, sir.”
“Tell you what. I’ll be in town for a while. I’m Larry Martin’s cousin, Tony. I’m up here fishing. I’ll bet you guys know some good spots. How about I let you drive me out to some.”
Enthusiastic nods and handshakes all around.
“You guys do fish, right?”
Less enthusiastic nods.
“We’ll figure something out. Okay if I go in and say hi to my cousin? Let him know I’m here?”
They parted like the Red Sea but swarmed Morelli’s jeep like bees inspecting a new hive as he went inside.
Martin stepped out from behind the counter. “Cousin! Good to see you and glad you could make it.” He called over his shoulder. “John, would you mind the store while I get my cousin situated upstairs?”
John came out wiping his hands on a green apron with a big white “Martin’s Store” on top and underneath “We can get what you want!”
“John, this is my cousin, Tony. Tony, meet John, stockboy and best damn fixit-man on the planet. Isn’t that right, John?”
John shrugged.
“Where’re your bags, Tone? Let’s get some of that road grime off you.”
Upstairs, Tony waited until Martin activated Croyden’s Cone of Silence. “We got – ”
Martin held up a finger and Tony fell silent. “Did you get a coffee downstairs, Tony? I got a Pavoni, did you see it?” He got a pen and paper and wrote:
Tony nodded. “A Pavoni? And I missed it? You got any kosher bagels to go with it?”
Martin offered him the pen. Tony wrote:
Martin took back the pen. “Better than that, I got today’s cheese Danish from Zabar’s.”
Tony nodded. “Tell you what. Let me splash some water on my face, get ourselves a couple of Mochas to go, some Danish, and you can give me a tour of this stunning villa.”
Half an hour later Tony had them so far into a backwoods trail he wasn’t sure even the Tactical could get them out. He adjusted the volume and station settings simultaneously. The radio flipped back and a screen took its place. Tony made some adjustments. “Okay, we’ve not been followed, I’m not picking up any trackers or transmitters, and any overflights would never find us through this canopy. Tell me the story.”
“I met your magician.”
“My what?”
“You said Knox disappeared in Rio and reappeared fifteen-twenty minutes later. You said you knew some stage magicians who could do that. I met somebody who did the exact same thing.”
Tony blinked a few times.
“Your coffee’s getting cold, Cousin.
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