Just the Facts, Volume 1

by Edward Kendrick

  “The fire alarm,” Michael cried out as he headed toward box by the emergency stairs. Breaking the glass, he pulled the lever and opened the door to the stairs. Before he could start down, Reid grabbed his arm.

  “Up,” Reid said. “He could be waiting for us down there.”

  Other people from Michael’s floor passed them as they stood there, moving quickly toward the ground floor, some in daywear, others already in pajamas and bathrobes. As Michael and Reid started the climb up, they ran into more people going down. Some gave them questioning looks but didn’t say anything other than to ask if they knew where the fire was. Neither man bothered to reply.

  When they got to the top floor, Michael pushed open the door to the roof. The sounds of sirens greeted them from the street below from fire trucks and squad cars.

  Both their phones rang at the same moment. As soon as Michael answered his, Officer Barnet asked, “Where are you?” When Michael told him, Barnet said they were to wait there until he gave them the all-clear. “The fire personnel should have things under control soon. You’re safer up there than you might be on the street.”

  “That’s what we figured. That whoever did this might have been trying to flush us out so he could shoot me…or…whatever.” By the time he finished talking, Michael began shaking as his adrenalin high wore off.

  “Easy, now. We’re alive and help is here,” Reid said, putting his arm around Michael.

  “Ten stories down,” Michael muttered, leaning into Reid’s embrace. “Do they know who threw that thing?”

  “Not according to Detective Daniels. Whoever it was, he was smart enough to use a grenade launcher from, Daniels thinks, the roof of the building across the street. Of course none of the cameras were facing that way because they were supposed to let the police know if anyone came into your place.”

  “It would take someone really fast on their feet to shoot it and then get back down to the street in time to catch me coming out of the building,” Michael said.

  “Unless there were two people involved.”

  “Had to say that, didn’t you,” Michael replied sourly. “If there are, that points to Fine, not some john Ms. Lee and Trask were blackmailing.” He heard the door to the roof open and swung around, his hands raised defensively. Like that helps if the guy has a gun.

  The ‘guy’ did, holstered at his waist. “It’s just me,” Barnet said.

  “Tell me you caught the guy.”

  “Sorry, but no. Whoever it was, he’s undoubtedly long gone by now.”

  “You don’t know that. He could be waiting outside for me,” Michael replied.

  “There’s an ass ton of fire personnel and cops down there and in the building, so I seriously doubt it,” Barnet told him. “I checked your place on the way up here. The fire’s out, but I don’t think you’ll want to stay there for a while.”

  Michael grimaced. “How bad?”

  “Most of the damage is in the living room, but the whole place stinks of smoke and wet ash.”

  “Damn it. I suppose I can sleep at the shop until I can get everything cleaned up.”

  “Nope, you’ll be staying with me,” Reid said. “And no arguing. I’ve got room.”

  “Thank you.” Michael caught the knowing smile on Barnet’s lips—and ignored it. “If I can get into my place now, I’ll pack some clothes. I’ll probably need to wash them before I wear them, and everything else, too. It’s a damned good thing there’s a washer and dryer at the shop. The shop! What if he did something there?”

  “He didn’t. The cameras would have let us know, but just in case, a couple of officers did a drive-by,” Barnet assured him. “Everything’s fine. Right now, I’ll walk downstairs with you before I leave.” Michael had a feeling that he wanted to be very certain the attacker, or attackers, hadn’t managed to get into the condo amid all the excitement of the fire.

  Other than two firemen who were setting up a huge fan in the living room window to suck out the smoke, the condo was empty. One of them suggested that Michael call a window repair company to come out and cover the broken balcony door with plywood for the time being, and then replace the glass during business hours. He gave Michael the names of two companies before leaving.

  “This sucks the big one,” Michael said angrily as he surveyed the damage. The carpet between the balcony and the sofa was a charred ruin, as was the sofa and some of the other furniture close to it. The rest of the room was in better condition, other than everything being water-soaked. The kitchen and bedroom had come through unscathed, if Michael discounted the overpowering aroma of smoke.

  “Go pack,” Reid said. “I’ll get a window company out here. With luck they have a twenty-four-hour service for things like this.”

  “Grenade damage?” Michael replied with a wry smile.

  “Not specifically, but…” Reid got on his phone while Michael went to put some clothes and personal items in his bag. “They’ll be here in twenty,” Reid said a few minutes later, coming into the bedroom. “In the meantime, I’ll file my story by phone, since your computer is down.”

  “Damn it,” Michael muttered. “Another thing to add to the insurance report when I file it.”

  “Tomorrow,” Reid replied as he sat on the edge of the bed and began transmitting his story to the paper.

  As promised, the men from the glass company arrived within twenty minutes and quickly covered the balcony doorway with plywood. Michael promised he’d be in touch with them soon to have them replace the missing glass there, as well as the cracked glass in the window that now held the exhaust fan.

  “Now, let’s go home,” Reid said when the men had left. “I have a feeling we’re both going to sleep like the dead.”

  “Better than being dead,” Michael replied, going to get his bag. “How far do you live from here?” he asked.

  “About a ten-minute drive, at this time of night.”

  “What time is it, anyway? It feels like at least midnight.”

  “It will be by the time we get to my place.”

  Reid called it right. They parked in the attached garage and walked into his house at one minute after midnight. If the living room was any indication, Reid’s decorating scheme leaned toward casual and comfortable. Not that Michael cared at the moment. All he wanted was sleep, preferably with Reid next to him so that he would feel safe. He didn’t think his attacker would try anything more tonight, but…

  “Let’s get you settled in,” Reid said. “I’ll give you the grand tour in the morning.”

  His bedroom, off a short hallway at one side of the living room, was roomy enough to hold a king-sized bed, a large dresser, and two chairs in front of the window, as well as a bookcase crammed with books.

  “We both need to shower,” Reid said. “We smell of smoke. And no, we won’t do it together. That could lead to something neither of us have the energy to deal with right now.”

  “Like finishing what we started earlier, before some bastard decided to try to kill me? For that, alone, I owe him,” Michael replied as he put his bag beside the dresser.

  “We owe him,” Reid said, giving him a hug. “Eventually he’ll pay.”

  Michael nodded, returning the hug. After taking a pair of sweatpants and his kit from his bag, he went down the hallway to the bathroom. He showered quickly, washing away the physical reminders of what they’d gone through, if not the mental ones. All he could think about was how close they’d come to being another statistic on the list of murders in the city. Right under Ms. Lee and Trask. It’s not happening. The killer’s going to make a mistake and then the cops will arrest him and I can go back to living my life. With Reid in it, I hope.

  When he finished, he brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his hair, and returned to the bedroom, the clothes he’d been wearing folded in a bundle that he put on the dresser.

  “You look better, and smell better,” Reid said. “You can toss all your clothes in the washer in the morning before you get dressed.”


  “Thanks,” Michael replied, trying to suppress a yawn.

  Reid had pulled the covers back on the bed, so Michael got in. He smiled when Reid gave him a kiss before saying, “I’ll be right back.”

  Michael drifted off, waking briefly when Reid returned and slid into bed to wrap his arms around him. “Now, I feel safe,” he whispered.

  “You are safe, and I intend to keep you that way,” he heard Reid murmur in reply as he fell asleep.

  Chapter 8

  “What time is it?” Michael asked when he found Reid in the kitchen the following morning.

  “Breakfast time,” Reid replied. “Your clothes are in the dryer and…”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Michael saw the clock above the kitchen table and grimaced. “You should have gotten me up an hour ago.”

  “Why? I’m quite capable of doing laundry. I do my own at least once a week.” Reid paused what he was doing, which was frying eggs and sausage, to give Michael a kiss. “Coffee’s ready if you want some.”

  “Big time.” He poured a cup before seeing the newspaper sitting on the corner of the table. “Oh, boy,” he muttered when he read the headline below the fold—’Witness to two murders attacked’. The story, with Reid’s byline, related what had happened, as well as recapping the fact that Michael was going to be hypnotized by the police to help him recall, if possible, more details about the men he’d seen with Ms. Lee or in the building around the time of her murder. He frowned as Reid set breakfast on the table.

  “Don’t like eggs and sausage?” Reid asked.

  “Huh? No, I love them. It’s…I was wondering something. Why didn’t he just shoot me, instead of firing the grenade through the door? If he’d used a rifle with a decent sight, I’d be dead now.”

  “Good question. Maybe he’s a lousy shot at that distance. Maybe he thought it would be fun to burn you to death.” Reid gripped Michael’s arm when he shuddered. “Sorry, not exactly the nicest thought, I know. Or perhaps we were right and he hoped to flush you out so his cohort, if he has one, could deal with you up-close-and-personal, to make sure you died.”

  “Blew that, didn’t he.” Michael took a deep breath. “Okay, enough of this for now. I have to get to work, which means we need to finish eating and I have to get my laundry so I have something to wear. I don’t think my customers would appreciate me showing up in sweatpants and nothing else.”

  “I don’t know.” Reid grinned. “I think it’s a great look.”

  “You would, however…” Michael shook his head in amusement. “I’m still going to dress like a respectable business owner.”

  He did, once they’d finished eating. They left the house by the side door to the garage, but not until Reid made Michael wait in the kitchen while he checked the car.

  “Tell me you don’t think he sabotaged it somehow,” Michael said.

  “Doubtful. I have great security on it and the house, but you can never be too careful. Something I’ve learned since I started working the crime beat. More than one person I’ve written about has been less than happy with my stories.”

  “Damn, you’re kidding,” Michael replied when Reid beckoned to let him know it was safe.

  “It happens. Usually they’re all hot air, but I’m still cautious when I think I have to be, like now.”

  When they arrived at the shop, they found Carolyn sitting on the front steps. She jumped to her feet, hugging Michael hard. “I saw the news. Unbelievable. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. We’re fine.” Michael chuckled. “I’ve even stopped shaking, finally. I take it the good officer hasn’t arrived, yet.”

  “Barnet? Nope. Or if he has, he didn’t bother to let me know and let me in,” Carolyn replied. “There were a couple of TV people here, but I sent them away with their tails between their legs. Okay, that’s a lie.” She smirked. “I told them you were taking the day off to recuperate.”

  “Smart,” Reid said. “My bet is Barnet was up a lot later than us,” Reid said. “He’s probably sleeping in. I would if it were me.”

  “True.” Michael unlocked the door, turned off the alarm, and let them in.

  As it turned out, Barnet was there, in the back room. When Carolyn grumbled that she’d been sitting on the steps for what seemed like hours when he could have let her in, he pointed out that it wouldn’t do much good for him to be there if the killer knew he was. “I want to catch him, not drive him away.”

  “If you can stay awake,” Carolyn replied, looking him over. “You need coffee, and lots of it.”

  Barnet smiled, giving her a salute. “Yes, ma’am. Coffee will help.”

  “Did you get any sleep?” Michael asked as he started the machine.

  “Enough,” Barnet replied. “I’m a cop. I’m used to living on four hours a night when necessary.” He shot a stern look at Michael. “Before you say it, I’m not going home to catch up. My job is making certain you’re safe while you’re here. The only reason I showed up at your place after the attack last night was because I caught it on my scanner and I wanted to be there to make sure you survived.”

  Reid said. “I’m sure you could have found out without showing up in person.”

  Barnet shrugged. “Call me dedicated. Michael’s my charge, so…”

  “I appreciate that,” Michael said. He poured coffee for everyone except Reid, who said he had to leave, and then, minus Barnet, they returned to the waiting room.

  “I’ll pick you up tonight,” Reid said as Michael unlocked the front door. “Be careful, and do not leave that—” he pointed to the coffee cup on Michael’s desk, “—unattended.”

  “Trust me; I know the routine by now.” Michael wrapped his arms around Reid. “You be careful, too. Okay?”

  “You bet.”

  They kissed then Reid left. When Michael turned around he caught Carolyn grinning. “Stop that. It was just a kiss,” he admonished her.

  “Michael, there’s no such thing as just a kiss between two consenting adults. Next thing you know, you’ll be spending your nights at his place, or vice versa.”

  “Been there, done that,” he replied. “Strictly platonically.”

  “So far.” She winked then turned serious, asking, “Do you want me to stay out here, in case, you know?”

  “No. The cameras will catch anything, if there’s anything to catch.” Unless he comes in with a gun, but if he did, there’s nothing she could do anyway, except maybe get shot, too. That idea did not make him happy. I should have taken the day off, or the week, or however long it takes for the cops to catch him. Or not. No one knows who he is. It could be one of Ms. Lee’s johns, or Fine, or one of his people he sent to shut me up. Unless they’re caught in the act, I’ll be spending every waking second looking at the people around me, wondering ‘Is it you?’. “So come after me again, damn it. Let’s get this over with.”

  Going to his desk, he booted up the computer. While it warmed up, he went to get the day’s working cash from the small safe in the back room, returned, and put it in the cash register on the corner of the counter. Then he unlocked the front door, turned the sign to ‘Open’, and began the business day.

  There were a few customers before noon—mostly just looking, although one man did rent a costume for a promotion he was doing at his store. Over the lunch hour he was hit by a group of young women who needed costumes for a booth their company would have at the Labor Day fair in two weeks. With Carolyn’s help, he got them set up with what they needed and put the costumes on the reservations rack until it was time for them to pick them up.

  Once they left, he was more than ready to eat—but he hadn’t brought anything with him since he’d spent the night at Reid’s house. He went in back to ask Carolyn watch the front while he went to the restaurant next door to get take-out.

  “I’ll do it,” Barnet said. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I don’t think anything’s going to happen to me between here and there,” Michael retorted.

 
“Are you willing to take that chance?”

  “Yeah. I need to get out of here for a few minutes. Those girls…” He rolled his eyes and Carolyn laughed.

  “Sorry, but this is not up for debate,” Barnet replied. “It’s obvious from what happened last night that the man’s getting desperate. Undoubtedly because both the stories in the newspaper and the ones on TV said you’re meeting with the police and the hypnotist tonight.”

  “Why don’t we order in,” Carolyn suggested. “We do that over Halloween.”

  Michael was about to reply when he heard the bell over the front door ring. “Do it. Pizza,” he said as he left the room. When he got out front, he saw a man standing at the counter.

  “How can I help you?” Michael asked.

  The man rested one hand on the counter, leaned in, and said softly, “You can keep your mouth shut about who you saw, unless you want all you loyal customers to know they’ve been dealing with someone who spent time in prison for a vicious assault against an unarmed man.”

  Michael tensed, his hands fisting, about to deny what the man had said. Then, he decided to call his bluff. “I have no intention being blackmailed, so do your worst.”

  “I was afraid that’s what you’d say. You have guts, Mr. Wright. Too bad I’m going to spill them all over your nice clean floor.” His other hand came into view, holding a gun.

  Instinctively, without thinking of the consequences, Michael grabbed his wrist, slamming the man’s hand down on the counter just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet went wild, the glass countertop shattered when the man’s hand hit it, and the gun fell to the floor. Then Barnet was there. He gripped the man’s shoulder, spinning him around, and snapped one end of a set of handcuffs around his uninjured wrist. “Show me your ID,” he ordered, training his gun on the man’s chest.

  “It’s…it’s in my pocket,” the man replied, his face ashen with shock and pain. “You can get it.”

  “Move and I shoot,” Barnet said. He took out the man’s wallet, flipped it open, and looked at the driver’s license. “Stanley Norwood, you are under arrest for attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon.”