Bang Switch

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Zane turned around. “The kid in the store said the GPS on the phone was turned off, and as long as the phone is off, it can’t be tracked.”

  Rex shook his head. “They can’t, but the FBI and DEA can. You think they’re going to put their guy in the field and not be able to track him?”

  “They let him die, didn’t they?”

  “Sousa must have been closer than he thought. He said we needed to meet, that he had something for me. Usually he used me as his CI. That was my cover.”

  “So that’s why you were with him in Ruby’s that day.”

  “What day?”

  “Billy, the owner of Ruby’s Diner, said Sousa was asking about activity across the street, and you were with him. He thought you were maybe involved with Sousa’s death. Warned me about you. Said you looked like Robert Redford.”

  “Brad Pitt.”

  “What?”

  “I think I look more like Brad Pitt,” he grinned.

  “Whatever, man, dream on.” Brad Pitt, right, and Zane looked like Vin Diesel. Zane thought he looked more like Jason Statham, if they were going to be comparing themselves to actors. “Billy said you came in, but Sousa didn’t introduce you.”

  “I just happened to come in with him. I wanted to know if the guy knew anything, but damn if he didn’t clam up.”

  “Said he thought something fishy was going on, and he didn’t want his restaurant burning down in the middle of the night. Still worried about it. Asked me to keep him out of it.”

  Rex laughed. “Nice job.”

  “Hey, I haven’t said a thing to anyone but you. You’re the first person that doesn’t get my hair standing on end.” Well, that’s because he didn’t have any hair, at least not on his head. But that hadn’t stopped the prickling at the back of his neck earlier.

  “What hair?”

  Zane had to give him that one, and let it go.

  “So what happened to Sousa? I haven’t been able to get inside and get the details.”

  For some reason, Zane’s guard had dropped and he gave him the rundown of what they had so far, which was nothing. He hoped Trevino had gleaned some information from the interviews, because he certainly hadn’t learned anything from the people he’d questioned.

  “Are you on a personal or department issue cell phone?”

  “Personal.”

  “Take my phone.” He nodded toward the trunk. “Call your partner in on it. He needs to know not to talk to anyone in the department about this. I mean no one, not even his best friend. Nothing. We are the three stooges from here out.”

  “Yeah, right. And how are we going to meet with you without getting our nuts in a ringer? I gotta work this out in my head.” Zane needed to go for a drive, think things through. The bullshit just kept getting deeper, and he had no idea how to wade through it at this point.

  It was times like this he missed Kate the most. The logic they could work out between them was uncanny. Like brainstorming. They’d bounce ideas off the wall and see what stuck. He’d think something was like super glue, and she’d explain why it was more like flour and water. Then they’d go ‘round and ‘round, and next thing they knew, they’d have a theory.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rex said, suddenly on high alert.

  Zane turned and saw Moore’s SUV whip around the corner into the parking lot.

  Chapter 16

  Kate wasn’t sure if it was the gunshot residue from the shooting at the range, or running into Moore outside that made her feel so dirty. The entire drive home she squirmed in her seat, feeling covered in dirt, and imagined bugs crawling all over her. At least she knew it was her imagination, that it wasn’t really happening, though feeling dirty was real.

  Pulling into the driveway of her plantation, she marveled at it all once again, wondering when the feeling of living in someone else’s house would wear off. She hoped it would happen soon. What she hoped never wore off was the feeling of awe she felt when she drove in the driveway under an arch of weeping willows leading up to the grand house. Even Azizi’s place had held up well. While in Dallas, she’d Googled her home. The house she lived in had been standing for more than two-hundred years. Not in its current state, as it had burned down and been rebuilt, but the history.

  Azizi’s family had worked for her grandfather’s family. Not as slaves, but as employees, which was unheard of at the time. But also unheard of, Kate’s great-great grandfather had lived with a “colored” woman. They hadn’t been allowed to marry, but that didn’t stop them from wearing wedding rings and attending social functions together. Edmée Darjean, a Creole from Louisiana, spoke fluent French and Creole English, but could speak flawless southern English if the occasion presented itself.

  Her grandfather, Edwin Barrow, had apparently been Edwin Barrow IV. A grand family in the south. What an embarrassment her mother, Amy, must have been. Previous Edwin Barrows must have turned over in their graves. She wondered what they’d think of a cop living in this grand estate and laughed.

  She hadn’t thought about Amy since the beginning of her PTSD therapy. And she rarely, if ever, thought of Amy as her mom. But then she didn’t really think of her adoptive parents as her mom and dad, either. Her adoptive parents knew Kate’s life story, and each decided to let Kate be Kate. Kate the loner.

  Glad she hadn’t run into Azizi outside or in the house, Kate started to take the stairs two at a time, then remembered herself. Only three months out from her injury, she needed to start slow. And if her morning at the range had taught her anything, she had a long row to hoe.

  It wasn’t until she jumped out of the shower, dressed, and walked slowly down the stairs that she remembered Zane. Usually, she thought of him in the shower. Strange. But thinking of him squeezed her heart a little. She loved him so much, but she just wasn’t grown up enough to admit she’d been wrong. She should have been more forgiving, more open, and not so afraid he’d leave her.

  Therapy taught her a lot, but the one thing she came away with that surprised her was the knowledge she wasn’t afraid of commitment, but of being abandoned. The only way to avoid that was to be the first to leave. She owed several people an apology, and Zane was at the top of the list, right along with his dad, who’d welcomed her with open arms and never gave up on her, even when she’d broken his son’s heart.

  It had been a long time since she’d been to Pop’s bar; maybe she’d stop by after talking to Geo’s aunt.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Kate shook her hair out, flipped her head down, and pulled her wet hair into a topknot. With new resolve, she pulled out her phone and typed a text to Zane. I’m home! But then she chickened out and deleted it before she hit send. He didn’t need to find out in a text message. How rude. Besides, by now, he probably didn’t care if he ever heard from her again.

  * * *

  Turning the corner onto Beachside Drive, Kate marveled at the upper middle-class neighborhood where Newton had lived with his aunt. It made her wonder if she knew what her nephew did for a living. Because if she lived in this neighborhood, she wouldn’t let her drug dealing low-life nephew move in.

  At the stop sign, Kate looked behind her to make sure there wasn’t another car, then flipped open her notes to double check the aunt’s name. Abby Simmons. Must be from his mother’s side, she thought.

  She knew if anyone from Peculiar PD saw her car, they’d be curious, but only Moore knew she was back, and no one was looking for her personal vehicle anyway. Or were they? A horn honked. Shit. She looked quickly before pulling ahead and driving up one more block before turning left on Seashell Way. She snickered, as she always did, at the ridiculous names they gave streets that were so far away from any body of water, though this neighborhood was only about a mile from the lake.

  She hadn’t called ahead, wanting the element of surprise. Besides, what if her phone was being monitored? The paranoia was something therapy hadn’t erased. She liked to tell herself a good cop should be paranoid.

  Pulling over to the
curb in front of Abby’s house, she turned off the engine, but sat for a minute, watching for movement in her mirrors, or cars cruising slowly by. Nothing on the roads, but she did see the curtains inside the Simmons house move a little, as if someone had looked out through the sheers.

  Good. Someone was home. As far as she could tell, Abby wasn’t married. The house and all the bills were in her name alone. She wondered if the woman would answer the door. After what happened to her nephew, maybe not.

  Kate got out of her car and shifted her holster back a little on her belt. The last thing she wanted to do was scare the woman as soon as she answered the door. It was too hot for a blazer, and it would have looked out of place, so Kate wore blue jeans with a pastel aqua tee tucked in, and a long-sleeve thin cotton shirt over that. The tails of the shirt would cover her gun and since she’d moved the holster to the back of her hip, Abby wouldn’t see it first thing.

  She looked around, but not too much, as she walked up the limestone path to the front door. The house had a nice porch with two white rockers and a matching table. Homey, Kate thought, and a nice neighborhood, so maybe sitting on the porch in the front yard was something these folks did.

  Taking a deep breath, Kate knocked solidly on the front door. She rarely used the doorbell, even if she saw one, because half the time the suckers didn’t work. But then she had to consider the doors she’d been knocking on as a cop. She waited. She could hear movement inside, but no one came to the door, or said, “Just a minute.”

  She lifted her hand to knock again when the door opened just a crack. “Can I help you?”

  Kate had her credentials ready in her hand. “Mrs. Simmons? I’m Corporal Kate Darby with the Peculiar Police. Do you have a minute to talk to me?”

  Abby Simmons wasn’t old, maybe late fifties. That she was home in the daytime told Kate she either had retired, worked nights, or maybe even worked from home.

  “What do you want?” she asked, not friendly at all.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re tired of the police coming around asking questions, but I’m here to talk to you about your nephew, Geo Newton.” Kate hoped she didn’t slam the door in her face.

  “I’m not sure what you mean. You’re the first cop to stop by. And it’s been months. I thought the case was closed.” She still didn’t open the door even another inch.

  Kate couldn’t believe what the woman had just said. “Excuse me, no one came by to question you about the death of your nephew?”

  “What for? They talked to me when I called it in. After that, what else could I tell them?”

  Kate listened closely. The woman wasn’t rude, she was scared. Kate heard a tremble in her voice. “Mrs. Simmons, your nephew saved my life. And I’m just here to talk to you about him. I know they’ve closed the case, but I think they have the wrong guy.”

  She cracked the door about a foot now, and Kate could see the shotgun at her side. This woman was terrified. But of what? “What do you mean, he saved your life? You know he sold drugs for a living, right?”

  “If you would come outside and talk to me, or I could come in, I’d like to tell you the story. I’m on your side. You can point that shotgun at me the whole time, as long as you keep your booger hook off the bang switch.”

  She’d learned that this phrase could catch people off guard, but it was something she’d been told since she was a rookie. Don’t put your finger on the trigger unless you’re ready to shoot. And it worked. She got a small laugh out of Abby.

  The door opened, and Abby stood to the side. “Please come in. Sorry to be rude, but since Geo was killed in the doorway, I’m a bit skittish.”

  Kate stepped in, looking around at the tidy room, trying not to look at the floor. “Lovely house you have, Mrs. Simmons.”

  “Thank you. Call me Abby. And you can look at the floor if you want. I’ve had the floor replaced. His blood had seeped and stained the hardwood, so I couldn’t scrub it out.” She closed the door and locked three locks. “Would you like some sweet tea?”

  “Sweet tea sounds lovely, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Abby, standing just under six feet tall and maybe weighing a buck fifty soaking wet, wore black leggings and an oversized white silk blouse. Her silver hair had been pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She looked like a ballet dancer, Kate thought.

  “No trouble. Let’s talk in the kitchen. Better light.”

  Kate followed her. “Have you lived in this neighborhood long?” She knew exactly how long Abby had lived there, but wanted to see what she’d say.

  “I’ve been here since the first home when up in this development. I could retire if I sold the house. But I married my husband and we bought this house together, he died here, and now so has my nephew. Not sure if that’s good or bad for property values.”

  Kate sat down on the long bench next to the chic farmhouse table. She wondered if Abby had family over a lot, because the long table could probably seat twenty people.

  “About Geo, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Kate said.

  “That boy was usually up to no good, so I’m not sure many people would call it a loss. But he was my sister’s boy and I loved him.” She pressed the crystal glass against the ice maker in the refrigerator’s door.

  “I really didn’t know much about him, other than I was investigating a drug operation over on M Street, and he was a person of interest.”

  She filled a second glass with ice, then poured tea from a pitcher she removed from the fridge. Leaving the pitcher on the counter, she brought both glasses to the table and sat across from Kate.

  “You say he saved your life?” Abby asked.

  “He did. Actually, he called me and wanted me to come talk to him. Said he had information for me. But I never got to talk to him because I was ambushed outside the bar where we were supposed to meet.”

  “Did Geo have a part in that?” She sounded shocked.

  “No, no, at least not as far as I know. But he did happen to be in the alley when I was being attacked by another drug dealer, who happened to be a small-time leader in a local gang. He shot the person attacking me, but then he left. He couldn’t be there when the police arrived.” Kate decided that was probably all his aunt needed to know.

  She sipped her tea. “When he moved in, he told me he’d…I think he called it, leveled up.”

  “Leveled up?” Kate asked.

  “Yes, that’s the phrase he used. He said he didn’t have to deal anymore, just make it look like he was still in the game.” She laughed. “He always thought he was bigger and badder than he really was. Super particular about the girls he dated, too. But when he showed up driving that Range Rover, I had to almost believe him.”

  “Almost,” Kate said.

  “Well, you’d have to know him.”

  The Range Rover. “Where is the car he drove? Was it at home when he was killed?”

  “Well, maybe we should talk about that day. The day Geo was gunned down in cold blood.”

  Chapter 17

  The vehicle slowed to a crawl and stopped with Moore’s driver side window within inches of Zane’s. He rolled his down. Moore’s window was already down.

  “What’s going on?” Zane asked.

  “I just came from the range. Ran into Corporal Darby there. Why didn’t you tell me she was back?” Moore’s tone sounded friendly and curious, not accusing.

  “I didn’t know.” Zane didn’t want to be having this conversation.

  “She looks good. I invited her over to the house for dinner. The Mrs. will love seeing her. You should come, too.”

  “Sure, we’ll see.” Yeah, right, Zane thought. First, Kate would find an excuse to turn down the invitation, and second, no way was he sitting down at that dinner table with his lieutenant and all his kids. It didn’t matter his kids were well mannered and his wife lovely, he wasn’t sitting at a family dinner with Kate any time soon. “Are you checking up on me?” He tried to sound like it was a joke.

&nbs
p; “Thought I’d come check your progress with the history on Sousa’s phone.” He reached over and showed Zane the fast food bag on his passenger seat. “I stopped at Taco Bell, and on the way back, I saw your car still sitting here.”

  Zane looked in the back seat. “I had an incident. I was just running his I.D.”

  Moore sat up a little taller in his seat to get a good look at Rex. “Who’s that?”

  “Drug possession. I saw suspicious behavior when I was in the store, so I doubled back. Pretty sure he was making a drug deal… “

  “Fuck you,” Rex spat.

  Zane could feel the spittle on his neck. If there hadn’t been a grill between them, Zane would’ve reached back and punched Rex. “Shut up, I’m not talking to you. Sit back and zip it.”

  Rex slammed his shoulder against the cage. “You didn’t see nothing. Where’s the other guy, huh? Ain’t no one ever told you it takes more than one person to have a drug deal?”

  “But it only takes enough in possession for distribution to arrest your ass. Now shut up.”

  “No, you shut up,” Rex said.

  Zane swore he heard a bit of a chuckle in the words. He ignored him, like he’d ignore any other idiot drug dealer cuffed in the back seat of his car.

  “Take him in and put him in a holding cell. Get him processed and get back to work on the Sousa case.” Moore seemed annoyed. “Possession with intent? You found drugs on him?”

  “Yes, sir, I haven’t logged or tested anything yet, but I put them in the trunk while I was running him for priors.” He hadn’t run anything yet, so he’d be sure to do it at the station.

  “Get back to the station, and get on it. Then get back on the street. I’ll meet you back there and we can talk about Sousa’s phone.” Moore floored it, leaving tire tracks on the parking lot.

  “He’s pissed,” Rex laughed.

  “Shut up.”

  Rex actually shut up.

  “You can get a good look around while you’re in there, check out the hierarchy, sniff out the brass. Cuz you know it’s not a peon that’s getting away with this.”