“Yes, I think so. Hard to see through the trees, but I think it is Billy.” Jeff lowered the glasses. “This can’t have anything to do with you and me talking to him the other day, could it?” Jeff looked over at the Doberman Pinscher sitting in the backseat.
“No, I don’t think so, Jeff,” Genghis answered. “He’s a known felon with criminal ties, so anyone could have had a reason to take him out.”
“Genghis is right, Jeff,” Jennifer chimed in. “Billy had a lot of people who hated him.”
“Drug deal gone bad?” Genghis thought for a moment. “Twinkie, did he deal in a lot of illegal drug trade?”
“Billy dealt in anything and everything that could bring him some extra money. Drugs, girls, stolen stuff,” Jennifer said, trying to see the crime scene through the trees. She couldn’t. However, she could see two men come out through the trees and started walking across the field. Just then, they heard the single squawk of a siren as a police car pulled up behind them with lights flashing.
The uniformed officer got out of his car and walked toward the driver's side of the Thunderbird. “Good afternoon, sir.” He looked over to Jennifer. “Miss.” He looked back to Jeff. “Sir, may I see your driver's license and registration please?”
“Well, of course, officer,” Trent said, as he reached for his wallet. Jennifer was already opening the glove compartment for the registration. “Always willing to cooperate.” He handed over the items that were requested. “May I ask to what this is pertaining?” Jeff asked.
“Actually sir, one of the detectives would like to have . . . a word . . .” The officer’s sentence trailed off as he looked at Trent’s license. “. . . with you. Funny, Mr. Trent, having a retro driver's license to go with your retro car.”
“Yes,” Jeff happily said. “We bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn for the last thirty years and thought, ‘Hey, what the hell!’ Let's restore it back to its original condition and drive it around.” He made steering wheel motions with his hands.
“Yeah, nice,” the officer said. “Now, may I see your identification please?” Just then, he was called on his radio that was attached to his belt. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said as he walked to the rear of the Thunderbird so as not to be overheard. He spoke into the microphone hooked to his epaulet. “Go ahead, detective.”
Jennifer quickly turned toward Genghis. “Genghis! That machine you guys have downstairs that makes stuff, you have to get below and make Jeff an up-to-date driver's license. This could get bad!”
“Well,” Jeff surmised, “why don’t I just tell him I’m also a police officer investigating the crime?”
“And show him what? Your IPF badge?” Jennifer said, as she reached up and pulled down the back cushion. “Genghis, he’s also going to need some kind of a badge too!” She looked back to the police officer, who was still talking on his radio and looking at those two guys Jennifer saw walking across the field. “Go, now!”
“Yes, detective,” the officer was saying into his microphone. “I’m getting his ID now.”
“Alright,” Frank answered back, as he and DeLaRue walked side by side. “The Lieutenant and I will be there in about two minutes.”
“Yeah, roger that. I see yah coming. Out!” The officer keyed off his mic, muttering “As if I can’t do my goddamn job.” He walked back to Trent. “Okay, Mr. Trent,” he said, as he handed back the retro ID. “May I see your real identification . . .” He paused looking around. “Hey! Where the hell is your dog?”
“Oh, he went to go take a piss,” Jennifer said, pointing into the park. “Over there somewhere.”
The officer walked to the front of the Thunderbird and looked into the park. “You can’t just let him run around like that. He’s not even leashed!” He turned back to Jennifer and saw the Doberman Pinscher sitting in the backseat. Its ears were folded back on his head and it looked like it was grinning.
“Oh!” Jennifer said, looking at Genghis then to the officer. “He must have been lying down on the floor. I just didn’t see him.” Jennifer smiled, “My bad!”
“I’ll need to see your ID, too, Miss,” the officer said.
He walked back to Trent. “Here you go officer,” Jeff held his ID out. “It was in my other pocket.”
The officer looked at the photo ID that Trent gave him just as DeLaRue and McVie walked up. Without a word, DeLaRue took the driver's license from the officer’s hand and studied it for a moment. He pushed his hat a bit back on his head and said, “Mr. Trent, I’m Lieutenant Dawson DeLaRue of the Westberry Police Department.” He had his badge and ID out and flashed it at Trent. “May I ask you, Mr. Trent, why this is the second time I’ve seen you at one of my crime scenes?”
“Um, excuse me, Lieutenant? Second time?”
“Yeah, Compton playground a while back, and now here.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Lieutenant.” Trent said, “We are interested in these recent murders and are doing a little investigation.” He then opened the black bi-fold leather case holding his new badge and ID that the replicator had produced for him. He showed it to DeLaRue and said, “Jeff Trent . . . ” He glanced quickly at the ID. “. . . Deputy United States Marshal, at your service.”
DeLaRue was taken aback as he took the ID from Jeff and looked at it. He then tilted it toward Frank so he could get a look at it. Frank slightly shrugged his shoulders. Dawson then said, “Marshal Trent, why is the U.S. Marshal Service investigating my crime scene? I didn’t request any assistance.” He closed the bi-fold case and held it out for Jeff to take.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that, Lieutenant,” Jeff said as he reached out and took his badge back. “I’m in town on vacation with my niece and canine.” Just then, Jennifer coughed with the word “dog” mixed within it.
“Dog ,” Jeff corrected himself. “My niece and dog, and we read about that poor girl who was found in the playground and, what can I say? It was just force of habit, we started to look into it.”
“Read about it huh?” Dawson said. “I saw you at the crime scene before it hit the papers.”
Jeff didn’t skip a beat. “I misspoke. It was on the television, live that morning.” Thinking back to the TV crews they saw at the scene. “Then I read more about it later that evening.”
“And the funeral for the girl? You were there as well.”
Jeff was surprised and very impressed. “Well, Lieutenant, I find it helpful to find out everything I can about a victim of a crime. And as you are well aware, that can include showing up to a funeral to see how the family is reacting. You can learn a lot that way, but sadly the poor girl had no family in attendance. We felt badly for her and chose to stay and pay our respects.”
“Very admirable of you, Marshal. How long will you be in town?”
“For a while, Lieutenant. I have accumulated a lot of vacation time and was ordered to use it up.”
“Alright, Marshal Trent,” DeLaRue said, placing both hands on top of the driver's door. “But let’s make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t want you actively involved in my investigation. And if you do happen to uncover any information whatsoever pertaining to any of these crimes . . .”
“Lieutenant,” Trent interrupted, “we’re on the same team. Of course I’ll bring anything I find to your immediate attention.”
“Thank you, Marshal. I would appreciate that.” DeLaRue reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his business card. “Here, you can reach me at either one of these numbers.” Trent took the card with a thank you. “Alright then,” DeLaRue said, rapping his knuckles on the top of the driver's door, “Have a nice day.” He turned away, stopped, and said, “Nice old car you have here, Marshal.”
“Well, thank you lieutenant,” Trent said with a smile. “We bought an old farm house in the country. Found this auto-mo-bile rusting away in the barn . . .”
“Right,” Dawson interrupted. “Have a nice day, Marshal.” He and Frank turned and started walking back to the crime sce
ne. Dawson adjusted his hat as they walked into the cold breeze and said, “Great, just what we need. The damn Marshal Service!”
“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “It’s just as bad as having the FBI sniffing around.”
As Trent started the engine and pulled from the curb, he thought how rude it was for the lieutenant not to hear about how they came across the Thunderbird. “Miss Winkles, thank you! If it wasn’t for your quick thinking our mission here would have been in real jeopardy.”
“He’s right, Twink,” Genghis said. “It just never dawned on me that Jeff would need those kinds of items. But that new badge could be very beneficial to us.”
“Yes, Genghis, I think you're right,” Trent said. “That Marshal's badge could give us the access to crime scenes that before would have been completely shut off to us.”
“Marshal Trent?” Genghis said. “I think we owe Twinkie a cup of coffee.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Jeff and Jennifer were in the kitchen fixing dinner when Genghis called out from his computer. “Okay, Marshal! I’ve set up a complete cover story for you. So, if our Lieutenant DeLaRue decides to check on you, he’ll find that Deputy Marshal Jeff Trent has been an exemplary U.S. Marshal for the last fifteen years.”
“What about commendations? I think I’m more than just an exemplary Marshal. I think the word great comes to mind.”
Genghis walked into the kitchen, reared up, and placed his paws on the counter to see how dinner was coming. “Let’s not push it there, Jeff. We want to keep this low key.” Genghis made a series of deep sniffs. “So, what’s for dinner?”
“Lasagna,” Jennifer said. She took a long piece of noodle and placed it next to the others in the casserole pan, then started spooning sauce on top of the noodles. “Hey, Genghis, could you get me the mozzarella cheese outta the frig?”
“Sure thing.” He hopped off the counter and opened the refrigerator, then asked, “You want me to turn the oven on?”
“NO!” Jennifer and Jeff both said together.
“Geez O’ Cow! A guy makes one wrong temperature adjustment on the oven and he never hears the end of it.”
“Well,” Jeff responded, “would you rather that or would you rather explain to Mrs. Remke why you burned down her apartment?”
Genghis shuddered at the thought. “Okay, I see your point. I’ll take the razzing.”
Bollar was in his apartment packing everything he had in a large suitcase that lay across his bed. His head pounded. He'd bought the case at a consignment shop and had thought about pulling his gun and cleaning out the register while he was there, but knew better. He knew nothing of the shop or of anyone working at that time. It just wasn’t something he ever did, arbitrarily picking a place and then robbing it without doing his research first. As he was leaving the consignment shop he saw a female walking down the sidewalk with an arm full of shopping bags and thought about stealing them just like a common thief. Again, why? He never took chances like that.
Damn, did his head hurt. Ever since that agent shot his ear off he hadn’t been thinking clearly, and the headaches wouldn’t stop. He went into the small bathroom and grabbed a couple of pills from the bottle that Bourbon gave him. He popped two into his mouth and tipped his head back and swallowed. Then popped one more. He looked at himself in the mirror.
The side of his head was badly scarred. If he'd thought about it earlier, he would have gotten the address of that IPF agent from Bourbon before he killed him. He would love to pay a visit to him one night. Sneak into his dwelling and slit his throat. A little payback for the disfigurement.
He threw the last of his things into the case, closed it, and snapped the locks. He placed the case by the door next to his A56 Auto Loaded. It was time to get the hell out of this town, away from the IPF, and as far away from Prodor Moffit as he could possibly get. Damn, his head hurt.
Dinner was finished and the dishes were churning with a rhythmic whooshing sound in the small dishwasher. Genghis sat on his haunches in front of his computer while Jennifer and Jeff tried to find something on TV to watch. A fresh pot of coffee sat on the coffee table next to a plate of Fig Newton cookies. The only other light in the apartment besides the television was their Christmas tree.
“Gee, there just isn’t anything on tonight,” Jennifer said, refilling all the coffee mugs.
“Yes, there really isn’t,” Jeff agreed. “Why don’t we put in that Christmas animation about the little bald kid that no one has any respect for?”
“Yeah,” Genghis said, “and what’s with his canine? Dancing around and playing that musical instrument. I didn’t think canines had the dexterity in their digits to be able to do that.” He looked down at his own paw.
“Well, Genghis,” Jennifer said, as she took a sip of coffee, “it is just a cartoon.” Then something came to her. “Hey guys? Let’s go to the movies.”
“That sounds swell, Twinkie,” Jeff beamed while finishing his coffee.
“Yeah! It’ll be fun, and Jeff, no one uses the word ‘swell’ anymore. You sound like a preppy 1950's Ivy League college student. Why don’t you just call me Babs and ask if I want to play badminton?”
“What?”
“Yeah, you two go ahead, have fun,” Genghis said, with a dejected tone to his voice. “I’ll stay here and find something to do.”
“No, Genghis. Come with us,” Jennifer said.
“Do they allow human canines in movie theaters?”
“Oh, that’s right!” Jennifer replied, then thought for a moment. “Well . . . they will if you’re a service dog.”
“A service dog, huh? I’m intrigued,” Genghis said, as he sat on the couch next to her. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Well, Genghis, you’ll have to wear a leash but we can say . . .” Jennifer looked up to the ceiling as she thought. “We can say that Jeff is prone to grand mal seizures, and you’re his service dog that can alert him to an oncoming fit.”
“Human canines can do such things?” Genghis asked.
“Sure they can,” Jennifer confirmed. “They can sniff out drugs and explosives at the airport, and I heard a story a couple of years ago about a beagle that could detect certain cancers in people.” She nudged Genghis in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t feel so bad about being a dog now, huh?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Twink . . .”
“I’ll get the leash!” Jeff interrupted.
“Oh, right!” Genghis said, watching Jeff go into the kitchen pantry. “You’ve been trying to get that thing hooked to me ever since we got here!”
“Don’t worry, Genghis,” Jennifer said, rubbing his back. “We won’t put it on until we get to the theater.”
“You sure? I think we should get him used to it now.” Jeff had the leash in hand.
“Keep it up, Mister Trent, I can set this Immobilizer to full stun and knock you out for about an hour.”
“Pish-Posh, Mister Khan. You're just a big cuddly puppy dog!”
“Alright, that’s it!” Genghis said, while fumbling for the Immobilizer.
Jennifer laughed as she got up to get her coat.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Bollar just stood absentmindedly in the middle of his apartment, like he had forgotten to do something. It was right there in the back of his brain, but what? He checked the drawers of the dresser for the third time. Empty. He opened the small closet. Nothing but a couple of wire hangers. Screw it! If he forgot something to hell with it. He had spent over two hours looking around for something he couldn’t remember. He took a couple more pills in an attempt to curb the pain in his head. He put the A56 in his coat and grabbed the case and left the apartment.
It was cold and windy as Bollar drove through Old Town toward the interstate. The sidewalks were crowded with last minute holiday shoppers going in and out of antique and consignment shops. As he passed a large electronic store, he looked through the front window and saw that it was very busy. Look at all those people with cash in their pocke
ts, the registers overflowing with currency, he thought to himself as he slowed and stopped the car at the curb.
Jennifer, Jeff, and Genghis were coming out of the theater with other people after the movie, the large screen and surround-sound experience of the event still very vivid in their minds. “That was outstanding, Twinkie!” Jeff said, wiping off the little popcorn bits stuck to his shirt. When they had arrived at the theater and approached the ticket box, Jennifer explained to the attendant that Genghis was Jeff’s service dog. He didn’t bother to ask what kind of service dog, he didn’t give a damn, he just wanted his shift to end; he had a party to get to. They bought tickets and snacks and sat in the large seats of the dark theater. Genghis had a seat to himself and shared Jennifer’s popcorn.
Bollar entered the electronic store, into a crowd of hustling and bustling patrons, the atmosphere electric with activity. This would be easy and would take no more than three minutes. He looked at the cashiers and determined that the tall lanky girl at the middle register would be the one he would approach. He walked up to her and pulled out the A56 when he felt a painful blow to his back. It came from the Louisville Slugger baseball bat that the manager always kept by his desk.
Ever since the shootout in Old Town, shop owners and customers alike had been very vigilant, knowing that the Old Town Gunman was still at large. The manager of the electronic store had been gleefully watching the customers with their laden carts. He thought to himself that this was going to be the best day of the year for his store. If only the crowds were like this during the rest of the year. It was then that he noticed a man enter his store and his heart stopped.
Eyewitnesses from the flower shop on that awful day said that the gunman was badly injured and lost his ear in the shootout with the police. And this man who just walked into his store was horribly scared.
The manager wasn’t going to take any chances. He hit the silent alarm and grabbed his baseball bat and quickly walked around to the back of the man who just stepped up to the register. He wasn’t going to do anything unless he was absolutely sure that this was the gunman. He wasn’t about to bludgeon a customer who just wanted to buy batteries for his kid’s Christmas present. Then, he saw the gun and swung.
The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission Page 29
