37: A Thomas Ironcutter Novel

by David Achord

  I was no pro wrestler, but I outweighed Wolf and I liked to think a lot of it was muscle. Besides, he wasn’t greased up like he was when I watched him fight in Memphis. I began squeezing and pivoted so that he was sandwiched between me and the car. He had one arm free, and he tried in vain to elbow me and gouge my eyes. I tucked my chin in and pressed my forehead against the back of his neck. He tried foot stomps and at one point hit me in the groin with the back of his heel, but I knew if I let go, I was a dead man.

  So, I squeezed with all of my might. The muscles in my arms and chest cried out in agony, but I refused to let go. My balls had been kicked up into my guts and I felt like puking, but still I didn’t let go. He growled like a cornered animal and cursed me in his native language. But I held on for dear life.

  Two minutes seemed to take forever, but I finally felt his body relax. I willed myself to continue squeezing him, although it felt like I was going to collapse at any moment. I heard the sirens, they were loud, but I kept my eyes scrunched shut, lest I get a finger or thumb shoved in one of them.

  “Sir, you need to let go of him.” It was a woman’s voice. Authoritarian, but I wasn’t sure who she was.

  “He’s a murder suspect!” I yelled. “Call the cops.”

  “I am a cop,” she rejoined.

  I opened my eyes. It was a woman about my age, stern expression, wearing a uniform and currently pointing her duty weapon in my direction. Her badge read Mount Prospect Police Department. She was not a small gal and she wouldn’t ever win a beauty pageant, but at the moment, I thought she looked wonderful. I dropped Wolf and stepped back. He fell to the asphalt like a sack of potatoes.

  I reached a hand out. “Cover me and I’ll cuff him,” I said. She responded with a suspicious stare. “I’m Thomas Ironcutter with the FBI,” I added.

  That seemed to do the trick. She dropped a hand to her duty belt, produced a pair of handcuffs, and slid them across the asphalt to me, never taking her gun off of either of us the entire time. At least her finger was not on the trigger.

  Wolf was lying prone on his stomach. I grabbed one of his arms and was about to snap the cuff to his wrist when he suddenly rolled over and kicked me squarely in the chest. The air exploded out of me as I fell backward. He performed a move known as a kick-up and was quickly on his feet. In spite of the circumstances, I was impressed at how quickly he recovered.

  “Sir, get on the ground, now!” the officer shouted.

  Wolf held his hands out placatingly. “He attacked me! Please help me!”

  Both Wolf and I could see the confusion on the officer’s face. Wolf took two small shuffling steps toward her.

  I tried to warn the officer, but I was having a hell of a time catching my breath. I struggled to get to my feet and tackled him from behind. He slithered out of my grasp, hit me in the chest with the heel of his hand, and then launched himself at the officer.

  Police are required to follow what is known as the use-of-force continuum. It’s like a scale which dictates the appropriate level of force to use against a suspect who is not behaving themselves. If the Mount Prospect officer followed the continuum, she was supposed to attempt some type of non-lethal use-of-force to subdue Wolf. Something like a taser or pepper spray. After all, he was unarmed.

  She shot Wolf three times center-mass.

  Chapter 44

  The impact of the bullets caused Wolf to stumble. He did not fall immediately. Instead, he stopped, looked down at his chest and grabbed at the bullet holes. Blood squirted out from between his fingers. He stared at the officer in a combination of puzzlement and anger. He took a step toward her before falling to the asphalt.

  “Officer, I’m going to check on him!” I shouted it as loud as I could in case the gunfire messed with her hearing. She was distraught, no doubt about it. Even so, she glanced at me and gave a curt nod.

  I approached Wolf warily. Keeping to one side so the officer still had a clear line of fire, I carefully rolled Wolf over to his side. He grimaced in pain and coughed up blood.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” I asked. “Now’s your chance.”

  He stared, not with malevolence, but more like he was looking at a long-lost friend.

  “Lilith told me of this day,” he said and then coughed again. A foamy spray erupted from his mouth. I wanted to ask him about that conversation, but there were more important things to get out of him.

  “Talk to me, Wolf. Is there anyone you want me to call for you? Do you want to confess your sins before you die?”

  He reached out and grabbed my hand like we were buds and mouthed something, but it was futile. He was dead within seconds. I’d hoped to be able to get some kind of confession out of him, but no luck.

  I stood and gazed at the officer. She had a questioning expression and I shook my head slightly. She took a deep breath and let out a shuddering sigh.

  “You did good,” I said. “Holster up and take some slow deep breaths.”

  She looked at me with a slight amount of uncertainty, but holstered her duty weapon and seemed to relax a little. I looked around and found my Springfield under a car. I had to get into the prone position in order to reach it. I stuck it back in the back of my waist before getting back to my feet. When I stood, I saw the officer watching me.

  “It’s my duty weapon,” I explained.

  She nodded slowly, as if she understood, but honestly, I had no idea if she was simply waiting for her compadres to arrive before arresting me for having a weapon. Within what seemed like seconds, we were surrounded by police cars.

  I must admit, she was handling it well. She told me it was her first shooting. I talked to her gently as the parking lot filled with emergency response vehicles. It was utter chaos at first, but these were professional cops. While a couple of officers provided cover, another officer checked Wolf’s vitals. He looked at his partners and made a slashing motion across his throat. I could’ve told him Wolf was dead, but he needed to confirm it for his own satisfaction. One officer radioed the information with his portable while another went over to the lady officer and checked her out.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  I turned to the voice. It was a gruff-looking uniform about my age. The lady officer answered for me.

  “It’s alright. He’s with the FBI.”

  He was giving me a suspicious once over while I identified myself and gave him a three-sentence synopsis of why I was there.

  “Alright, but stick around. I’m sure they’re going to want to interview you.”

  I responded with a nod and walked over to the lady officer. “That was some good shooting.”

  The adrenalin was wearing off and now she looked both confused and frightened. Her hands began shaking.

  “He was unarmed,” she said.

  “He was an extremely dangerous man, a martial arts expert. I can assure you if you tried anything else, he would have hurt you, maybe killed you. He’s killed at least two people I know of with his bare hands.”

  She looked at me like I was asking her to solve Fermat’s last theorem.

  “Why don’t we walk over to you patrol car where you can sit down and relax,” I suggested. “Don’t worry,” I said once I got her seated. “They’re going to grill you, of that you can be certain, but I witnessed everything and you’re going to be alright.”

  She looked up at me. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” I assured her. I saw a bottle of water sitting in the console’s cup holder and directed her to take a drink from it.

  A crime scene perimeter was erected around several blocks and a mobile command RV was brought to the scene. It had all kinds of bells and whistles, including a small soundproof room that could be used for sleeping or interrogating a subject. I always suspected the Feds lied when they said they do not record interviews, but the two agents who were tasked with interviewing me had no objection when I used my phone to record their questions and my answers.

  I was not worried. Even if Wolf was un
armed, he’d just been in a deadly shootout using automatic weapons and there was no way of knowing at that point in time if he was armed or not. This was going to be ruled a good shoot, I had no doubt, but they still needed to go through the formalities of the investigative process.

  And then, I thought about Hope and immediately called her. It went straight to voicemail. I tried several more times and sent a text.

  The officer and I were directed back to the original scene, where there was now a mobile command center parked and operational. The first thing I did was walked directly to a SWAT officer who had brass on his collar.

  “I’m looking for Special Agent Hope Delmonico. She was on the original takedown team.”

  He looked me over. “There was a female FBI agent who I saw getting loaded up in an ambulance. I do not know her status.”

  “Which hospital?” I asked.

  He looked a little perturbed at me. “I do not know, sir. I have my hands full here.”

  I left him alone and started to leave, but realized I had no idea which hospital to go to. So, I lingered around, somebody decided I needed to be interviewed, and directed me into the mobile command center. It took almost an hour and I finally had to stop them and tell them I was through for the night. They reluctantly released me with the directive to report to FBI headquarters first thing in the morning.

  I made my way to my SUV and decided to drive back to the house that Wolf had driven to. It was surrounded by cops. A man I did not know identified himself as an FBI agent and asked who I was. When I identified myself, he gave me a brief summary of what they had.

  “There was an old lady in there who claims not to speak English. She had an infant child with her who we believe is Amber Sowell.”

  “Let me talk to her,” I said. My suggestion was met with an immediate shake of the head.

  “There is no way. Sorry, but this has gotten way bigger than you can imagine. We have agents from Interpol flying directly in from New York as we speak.”

  “Alright, you know Hope Delmonico, the new agent who recently transferred in?” I asked.

  “I know of her. Haven’t met her yet,” he said.

  “She’s been transported to a hospital, but I don’t know which one. Could you find out?”

  He looked put out, but started to take his phone out. Before he could do anything, my phone buzzed. There was an incoming text from Hope.

  Are you alive?

  I frantically texted back.

  Yes where r u?

  Hospital. Northwest.

  I tapped my new pal on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, where is Northwest Hospital at?”

  Chapter 45

  Hope was in one of the ER’s rooms with the curtains pulled around, offering her some privacy. Security was not going to allow me to see her at first, but I sent her a text and a few minutes later, she sent a nurse out to get me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. Her words were slightly slurred. “I knew you’d come eventually.”

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Sore as hell, but thank God I had the trauma plate in my vest.” She pointed at it, casually lying in a nearby chair. “I caught one center mass. It literally knocked the wind out of me and I could not move for several seconds. My sternum has a hairline fracture, but the doctors said I was extremely lucky.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, well, I hurt like hell. I’ve only had one valium, but it’s not doing too much. They told me Pekoe is dead and Wolf escaped.”

  “He is. So is Wolf. A local officer shot him. Baby Amber was found back at the house. An old woman was also there and she’s been taken into custody.”

  Her eyes were closed, but then she opened them slowly and looked at me. “Were there any girls in the house?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “They didn’t tell me much.”

  I withheld any further comment. I was angry at them for shutting me out after all I had done, but I wasn’t going to vent to her; she’d been through enough.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked.

  Hope shook her head, causing her to wince in anguish. She then bit her lower lip. “You heard about Agent Lighthorse, I’m guessing.”

  I nodded. He, along with three uniformed cops, had been shot down and killed during the first minutes of the gunfight. Hope fought back the tears with an angry swipe of the back of her hand, which caused her to wince in pain again.

  “It hurts every time I move,” she said.

  “You need more pain medication. I’ll get the nurse for you,” I said.

  She responded with a slight nod. The tears were falling freely now. I stepped out into the main area and got a nurse’s attention.

  “I need to tell you something before the nurse sticks me,” she said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know how you found them, but color me impressed. Just because it ended up the way it did, I don’t want you blaming yourself.”

  “Thanks, beautiful,” I replied. “That means a lot.”

  When they injected her, Hope’s eyelids fluttered for a second and then she was out.

  I walked back out into the waiting room and saw a multitude of lights and cameras out in the parking lot. A security guard was kind enough to escort me out a side door and I made it to my SUV without even a curious glance from the news people.

  I was tired, so fricking tired. I wanted to go back to the scene and see what they had learned, if anything, but instead, I found the nearest hotel and paid for a room. My phone had been blowing up for the last hour. I sat on the bed and massaged my temples for several minutes before checking the numerous texts and voicemails. I opted only to call Ronald. Even if he was asleep, he’d answer if I called. I filled him in, asked him to call Anna, and then turned my phone off.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, only that I awakened while still wearing my clothes. I had not even bothered to take my shoes off. The clock on the nightstand read a few minutes before six in the morning. I wanted to strip and crawl under the covers, but I had a long day ahead of me at the FBI’s Chicago office. Although I had been debriefed at the mobile command center the night before, they insisted on a formal interview the following morning and admonished me to be on time. After showering, I found a restaurant serving breakfast and overindulged in hot coffee before heading to their headquarters which was located on Roosevelt Road. Traffic was heavy and it seemed to take forever before finally arriving.

  Apparently, my tardiness was going to be punished by making me sit in the lobby for over an hour. I wasn’t even offered a fresh cup of coffee while I waited. I took the time to catch up on the texts and voicemails, but after ninety minutes, I’d had enough. I stood and walked over to the security guard who was sitting in the booth playing online poker.

  “Would you mind calling whoever you need to and find out how much longer this is going to take?”

  He gave me an indifferent stare before answering. “They’re very busy, pal. Have a seat and they’ll get to you when they get to you.”

  I fixed him with a stare for a moment before responding. “Thank you for your profound wisdom.”

  I received no response—I didn’t expect to—and walked out. Leaving the esteemed FBI headquarters, I found a gas station where I gassed up and paid too much for some terrible coffee before getting on the interstate. It goes without saying they called about thirty minutes after I had left, wondering where I was and demanding I return to Chicago.

  “Yeah, I sat in the lobby for over ninety minutes. I couldn’t take it anymore, that security guard kept bugging me and showing me nudes of himself on his phone. He had pictures of him doing odd things with a couple of goats. It made me very uncomfortable.”

  The woman on the other end was stunned for only a moment. “We insist you come back,” she demanded.

  “As long as you got that security guard working there, I don’t feel comfortable stepping inside that building. I’ll rep
ort in to the Nashville office when I get back.”

  I disconnected the call before she could respond and tucked my phone into the console. The rest of the ride back to Nashville was uneventful. I listened to a radio talk show host for the first hour. He had a lot to say about the shootout, but he soon segued into some crazy conspiracy theory about the FBI. Remembering I’d subscribed to a satellite radio service when I bought the SUV, I found a station that played golden oldies and listened to some damn fine music the rest of the way home.

  Chapter 46

  Anna and I sat on the last row of chairs in the back. The only other person with us was Agent Carter Pike. Apparently, he did not care for dog and pony shows either.

  The rest of the FBI staff and guests filled most of the seats and watched the press conference being held in Chicago via a huge projection screen. At the moment, Special Agent-in-Charge Reuben Chandler was outlining the details of the case and how it led up to the assault of Special Agent Stainback and her CI, Raymondo Calendar. Carter nudged me.

  “See the gray-haired man with the red tie standing off to his left? That’s the deputy director, the number two man. Standing off to the side are a couple of Interpol agents. There’s already a brouhaha about Reuben getting to run the press conference and not someone from the Chicago office.”

  “Typical,” I murmured.