Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  “Nothing can be worse than this.”

  “Come to my office.” Flood ripped off the shower cap, peeled off the latex gloves, and slipped out of the surgical gown. Underneath, he wore blue scrubs. “You’ve got to see this.”

  Malone followed him through the double doors, into a long corridor. Halfway down the hallway, Flood went into his office and sat down behind a cluttered desk. He picked up a bottle of water and guzzled it down. Reaching into his top desk drawer, he took out another glassine evidence bag and set it down on the desk. Flood finally said, “Take a look at this.”

  “It’s a poker chip,” Malone said, sitting down. “Hundred dollars, I believe.”

  A speculative look came over Flood’s face. “Did Jones gamble a lot?”

  Malone felt like he just got hit with a two-by-four. He regretted asking Jones to get involved in the murder investigation. “Yeah, I’m afraid he did. Send the chip to the crime lab. There could be some prints on it.”

  “It looks like Officer Jones owed money to the wrong person.”

  Malone pressed his hand against his forehead. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was lodged behind his back molars. Someone tried to ram it down his throat.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Malone got to his feet, shook Flood’s hand, and left the office. Walking down the long corridor, he thought about the Jones’ gambling addiction. He shouldn’t have told him to go aboard Stillwater Cruises and find out who roughed people up for not paying their gambling debts. Damn, I screwed up, big time. He blamed himself for his death. He stopped, leaned against the wall, and took a deep breath to clear his head.

  Chapter 46

  Looking forward to executing a well thought out plan, Kemp signaled for the driver to stop in front of the two story white house. Courtesy of the Miami Police Department, Black Capital Investments had been dealt a severe blow. Thanks to Malone and Peterson, he could no longer use insider information from Tucker & Sutton Associates to make a killing in the stock market. Kemp intended to send them a powerful message. You either stop investigating me, or you’re going to suffer the consequences. Sitting in the back seat, he tucked his Beretta nine millimeter into the back of his pants. He looked at his associates—one behind the wheel, the other in the passenger seat.

  “Everyone has to stick to the plan,” Kemp said. “No exceptions to the rule.”

  “Not a problem,” the driver said.

  “I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “We’ve been over this a dozen times, boss. So, I don’t see any reason to be worried.”

  Kemp’s tone was stern. “Just make sure you follow my instructions to the letter.”

  “It’s your world, boss. Everyone else just has to find a way to live in it.”

  “That’s right. Don’t ever forget it.”

  The work van looked official, with the words Superior Hydrant Services stenciled on both sides of it. The two men climbed out, wearing official looking uniforms and heavy leather tool belts. They placed two red cones on the street, one in front of the van, the other behind it. At once, they opened a valve on the fire hydrant, letting water gush onto the front lawn. One of the men, the man who had been sitting in the driver’s seat, spoke into a tiny microphone, strategically pinned to the inside of his shirt’s collar.

  “Can you hear me, boss?” the man asked.

  “Yes.” Kemp adjusted the tiny headphone in his ear. “Bring me up to speed.”

  “It’s gushing water.”

  “Is it safe for me to get out of the truck?”

  “You got it, boss.” He sounded confident. “It looks like the coast is clear.”

  Kemp didn’t want to take any chances. “Check up and down the street again, will you?”

  “We look like a couple of working stiffs. No one is going to give us a second thought.”

  “If anything changes, let me know immediately.”

  “No problem, boss. I won’t let you down.”

  Kemp climbed out of the van, cut across the grass, and stood behind two garbage pails. Staring at hedges that had to be at least seven-feet tall, he leaned against the side of the house. Aware of Officer Brown’s routine, he knew he would be pulling into the driveway at any second. Wearing latex gloves, he unlocked the side door, opened it quickly, and slipped inside. Using a small flashlight, he weaved through the cluttered garage. He opened another door and slipped inside. Using his elbow, he shattered the laundry room window, making it look like a break-in. Satisfied, he moved down a narrow hallway, into a small living room, and dropped down onto the couch. Several minutes later, he heard someone opening the front door. Officer Ken Brown switched on the light and walked into the foyer. He was dressed in full police uniform. He was a tall man, with a square face, a bald head, and a prominent chin.

  “Don’t move,” Kemp said, pointing the gun at his chest. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  Officer Brown’s face paled. “Take it easy, will you?”

  “Lock the door, both the bottom and the deadbolt.”

  “No problem.” Officer Brown complied with his demands. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Do you recognize me?”

  Officer Brown cocked his head. “No, I don’t.”

  Kemp could see the fear in his eyes. He was going to enjoy watching the police officer beg for his life. “We’re going to have a good time together. In fact, it’s going to be a blast.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “When you took your car to the dealership, I had a friend duplicate your house keys.” Keeping the gun on him, Kemp grabbed Officer’s Brown’s firearm and tossed it onto the living room floor. It was easier than taking candy from a baby.

  Officer Brown swallowed hard. “Oh, I remember you now.”

  “That’s right, officer. Sergeant Malone had you raid Back Capital Investments.”

  “I was just doing my job.”

  Kemp pitied him. The poor guy had no idea what was going to happen to him. “You took my stuff. Computers, files, records, things like that.”

  Officer Brown sounded scared. “You’re the subject of an ongoing police investigation.”

  “You took something from me, so I have to take something from you.” Kemp peaked out the blinds. Outside, in the front yard, the two men were working on the fire hydrant. One of the men was busy turning a wrench, decreasing the amount of water flowing onto the grass. The other man was holding an instrument in his right hand, checking the water pressure. So far, everything was going according to his plan.

  “Let’s talk about this.” Officer Brown’s face twitched. “Let’s work something out.”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  Officer Brown’s voice was strained. “Listen, I’ll let you leave here. No questions asked.”

  “You’re a coward, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m just giving you a chance to put this whole mess behind you.”

  Kemp’s stomach turned over. It wasn’t in his nature to turn the other cheek. “When you took my personal records, you crossed the line.”

  Officer Brown’s hands were shaking. “I was just doing my job, Kemp.”

  “It’s nothing personal, officer. But I have a job to do, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Using his left hand, Kemp punched him in the face. Officer Brown’s knees buckled, sending him to the floor. Kemp kicked him in the ribs several times. Officer Brown moaned. Kemp knelt on his chest, grabbed his neck, and used his thumbs of steel to crush his throat. Officer Brown jerked spasmodically, sucking for air that couldn’t pass through the broken cartilage in his windpipe. Kemp darted into the living room, grabbed a pillow from the couch, and hurried back to the foyer. Consider yourself lucky, he said. I could have made you suffer a lot more. To muffle the sound of gunfire, Kemp placed the pillow over Officer Brown’s face, pressed the gun’s barrel into the fabric, and pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 47

  Malon
e stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Jack Daniel’s. He took a long pull off the glass, savoring the taste, letting it warm his insides. He immediately began to feel the tight knots in his neck and shoulders loosening. Someone rang his door bell. He was surprised to see his dad standing there, holding a brown package in his hands.

  “It’s a little late, isn’t it?” Malone asked.

  “I thought I’d drop by for a minute, if that’s all right with you.”

  “It’s eleven o’clock at night.”

  Dean gave him a sad look. “I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

  Malone rubbed the back of his neck. He always had a hard time falling to sleep. “No, I don’t want you to go, Dad. I just wasn’t expecting company this late, that’s all.”

  “I know you’re usually up until one or two in the morning.”

  “You came all the way over here, just to bring me a gift?”

  Dean shook his head. “No, I just picked it up. I mean, I saw it sitting on your door step.”

  “Well, come on in, Dad. Take a load off your feet.”

  “Thanks. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “You have my attention. What’s on your mind?” Malone dropped down onto the couch. Not sure what to expect, he lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and blew out a cloud of smoke. He set his glass of whiskey on the coffee table, leaned back against the cushions, and looked at him.

  “The incident at the park really shook me up.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  Dean’s face paled. “My whole life flashed before my eyes.”

  “It was a bad scene. No doubt about it.”

  “Benson almost slit my throat.”

  Malone laid a hand on his shoulder. For the first time in his life, his dad probably realized how important it was to have law enforcement officers protecting the community. “Being held hostage has to mess with your head.”

  “I’m still in shock.” Dean’s bottom lip trembled. “I still can’t believe it happened.”

  “I had to make a split second decision, Dad. Either I kill him. Or I let him kill you.”

  Dean’s eyes softened. “I’ve been too hard on you, son.”

  “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say that, Dad.” Malone crossed his legs. For the longest time, he’d wished they could make peace with each other. “I mean, I almost gave up hope on us. I thought we’d never have a good friendship.”

  “I’m sorry for judging you, for not accepting what you do for a living.”

  “That means a lot to me, much more than you’ll ever realize.”

  Dean’s eyes glittered with tears. “Thanks for saving my life, son. I’ll never forget it.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Malone grabbed the brown package, noting there wasn’t a forwarding address on it. He took another long drag on his cigarette and crushed the head into the ashtray. Opening the box, he removed a single CD, enclosed in a clear plastic holder. He slipped it into the DVD player, sat back down on the couch, and pushed the play button on the remote controller. Images flashed onto the screen. Two people were having sex with each other. At first, it was hard to tell who they were, but then Kemp slowly turned his head, flashing his pearly white teeth for the camera. Lying underneath him, drenched in sweat, was Malone’s wife.

  “Turn it off, son,” Dean said, jumping off the couch. “Don’t watch anymore of it.”

  Malone felt a cold, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Leave it alone.”

  “Obviously, someone is trying to push you over the edge.”

  “It’s working.”

  “Don’t let them get the best of you.”

  Malone was filled with blinding rage. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It’s too late for that, Dad. I’m past the point of no return. I can’t come back from this.”

  Dean’s jaw dropped. “What does that mean?”

  “I have to get even with him, Dad.” Malone clenched his hands into tight fists. On the screen, Kemp continued having sex with Malone’s wife. Every so often, Kemp turned toward the camera, grinning from ear to ear. “I have to make him pay for this.”

  “Think things through, will you?”

  “I already have.”

  Dean looked worried. “Don’t go off, half-cocked. You’ll end up regretting it.”

  “Someone has to stop him.”

  “You’re not going to throw your career away, are you?”

  “Right now, I don’t care about anything in the world, except for settling the score.”

  Malone gulped down the whiskey and threw the empty glass at the television set. The screen shattered, sending a plume of black smoke into the air. Malone intended to make Kemp pay for doing this to him. He placed his hand on the sidearm and stormed out of his house.

  Chapter 48

  Malone got into his unmarked police car, peeled out of the development, and headed down NW 62nd ST. He was a nervous wreck, thinking about his wife having an affair with Kemp. Everything spun around him—the cars, the trees, the streetlights. Unable to see straight, filled with adrenaline coursing through his veins, he pulled over onto the side of the road. He buzzed down the window, stuck out his head, and took a deep breath of fresh air. How in the hell did this happen? He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It didn’t make any sense. His cell phone rang. It was his boss, Lieutenant Harper.

  “This isn’t a good time, Lieutenant.” Malone felt irritated. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “You sound terrible.”

  Malone thought about throwing his cell phone out the window. The lieutenant was the last person in the world that he wanted to talk to right now. “I’ll stop by your office tomorrow, fist thing in the morning.”

  “This isn’t a social call, Sergeant. Get over to Officer Brown’s place.”

  Malone was taken back. “Why should I?”

  “Take a deep breath, Sergeant. Your night is about to get a lot worse.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Sergeant. But somebody murdered him.”

  Sirens blaring, Malone blew through a few traffic lights on NW 62nd ST. A few miles down the road, he made a left hand turn, onto N Miami Ave, and raced down another long, flat straightaway. He made a sharp right, into Officer Brown’s neighborhood, and parked behind several marked and unmarked police cars. On either side of Officer Brown’s house, the street was being cordoned off by a barricade of blue-and-whites. Malone ran to the police officer manning the outer perimeter, signed the log, and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. He rushed past several uniformed police officers, some shaking their heads, others gritting their teeth. Inside the house, Dan Henderson, the Crime Scene Unit crew chief, was stooped next to the corpse. On either side of him, his crime scene techs were busy working the scene, dusting for fingerprints, bagging evidence, and taking photographs.

  “This isn’t good,” Henderson said. “Someone is killing Miami cops.”

  “I can’t believe it, either.”

  “It must be tough on you, pal. Seeing him like this. I know you guys were friends.”

  Malone felt sick to his stomach. “You have no idea.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “You can take a few moments to pull yourself together.”

  Malone felt like things were going from bad to worse. Regardless of what he was going through, he was determined to get to the bottom of it. “No, that’s all right. What do you know?”

  “The laundry room window is broken. That must have been the point of entry.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Someone grabbed a cushion, covered his face with it, and shot him at close range.”

  “We can’t let anymore of our people die.” Malone’s heart sank. Over the years, he’d gotten together with Officer Brown a lot to have a few drinks and share some laughs. It was a hard pill to swallow, rea
lizing someone had killed him in cold blood.

  “I’ll know more soon, after I’m done processing the crime scene.”

  Malone felt a sense of urgency. “Get it done as quickly as you can.”

  “I’ll get back to you on the prints. And we’ll leave the rest for the ME.”

  Malone looked out the front door. Six uniformed police officers stood on the front porch. One of police officers, a short, stout man, was talking up a storm. The rest of the police officers stood around him, all listening and nodding their heads. The short, stout officer stopped talking and pointed at the foyer, where Officer Brown lay in a pool of blood. The rest of the police officers looked over at the sight—all with solemn looks on their faces.

  “I need you guys to help me,” Malone said, stepping onto the front porch.

  “Sure thing,” the short, stout officer said. “You name it. And we’ll do it.”

  Malone cleared his throat. “Break up into two groups.”

  “All right, sir.”

  “Canvass the street. Knock on doors, wake people up. See what you can find out.”

  “We’re on it.”

  “See if someone noticed anything suspicious. A car, a truck, a van, things like that.” The uniformed police officers took off, cutting across the grass.

  Three houses down, Malone saw the Medical Examiner’s van come to a screeching halt. Two TV news vans parked next to him, right under a street light. Flood climbed out of the van and walked up the street, carrying a black bag. Reporters swarmed around him, all shoving their microphones, lights, and cameras in his face. Oh, great, that’s all we need. Malone wasn’t in the mood to deal with was a media circus. Several cops manning the outer perimeter let Flood under the crime scene tape and did a good job keeping the reporters at bay.

  “I hate running into you like this,” Flood said. “Too bad it’s not under better conditions.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Flood looked grave. “We lost another member of our team, I presume.”

  Malone felt like running for cover. He felt like his life was spinning out of control. “Someone killed Officer Brown. Put a pillow over his face and shot him to death.”