Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  “Your friend Jeff Barrows was warming up his Honda before. Haney wants us to use Jeff’s car, to confuse Swallow. Like a guy who can put a bomb in a deodorant can or slip unnoticed into my garage can’t figure out which car we’re in.”

  Carol frowned. “Are you sure it has to be Jeff? Why not that big Mexican? Ruiz.”

  “What difference does it make? Besides, Ruiz isn’t on duty today. I’m sure Jeff’s a fabulous driver, and he really likes staying close to you. He wants to be your savior. Nothing in the world would please him more than to capture Kevin Swallow single-handedly and deliver him to you on a platter.”

  Her voice went flat. “It doesn’t matter who drives.”

  They walked down the stairs, past the police lookout station. The woman officer from the other night was there. She nodded without saying a word. When they went into the garage, Barrows was sitting in his Honda Prelude with the engine running. He saw Carol and jumped out to get the door for her.

  “I hope my little car is okay with you, Carol,” he said as he reached for the passenger door. “We’ll use a different car every day. Swallow probably doesn’t know my Honda on sight. It won’t help much, but why make it too easy to spot us?”

  “That’s fine with me, Jeff,” she said with a definite chill in her voice. “Just so we get going sometime today yet.”

  Streeter and Barrows both chalked up her attitude to nerves, although the young cop looked disappointed. “It’s only a couple minutes after eight, Carol. Don’t worry, you’ll be in court with plenty of time to spare.”

  He opened the door. She was to sit behind him, with Streeter next to her.

  “Isn’t anyone else coming with us?” Streeter asked after they all got into the white Prelude. “I thought you’d have a uniform riding shotgun up front.”

  “Haney said this is enough. I asked him the same thing and he reminded me in his usual hard-ass way that the department has other concerns: ‘She ain’t the only citizen entitled to police attention.’ He also reminded me how many people he has down at the courthouse. I told him that you and I have everything under control.”

  He glanced at Carol in the rearview mirror as he strapped on his seat belt. She was looking out the side, apparently not listening. His grin fell. “Time to roll,” he announced without looking back again.

  He pressed the remote opener he’d taken from Streeter’s car, and the double-wide door lifted. A bright autumn morning yawned in front of the church. Streeter spotted the gray portable Dumpster at the end of the driveway. Squinting to get a closer look, he saw someone leaning over the edge of it looking inside. An old woman. There was a loaded shopping cart next to her, sticking out into the driveway.

  “Nice neighborhood,” Barrows said as they rolled slowly out of the garage. “One of your regulars?” He nodded toward the bag lady.

  “We get a lot of that down here,” Streeter answered. “On summer mornings, with my windows open, they usually wake me up. I can hear those carts banging down the street at sunup. You wouldn’t believe the noise they make.”

  Barrows stopped when they got outside, turned and aimed the remote at the door, and pressed it. Streeter looked to his right and saw Nathan’s dark Ford Bronco parked almost a block to the east, facing away from them. Terry knew their car would come from behind him, and he was positioned so he could follow it downtown.

  Gina had no idea what she was looking at as she bent over the edge of the Dumpster. In fact, the entire walk from her van, parked around the corner, to the front of the church was one long, terrifying blur. All the way in from Evergreen, Kevin had assured her she was safe. That he had it rigged so well a child could deliver the bomb. And that what she was doing was for the best. But she was too scared and confused to take much of it in. She’d felt okay when she dressed in the street clothes and wiped shoe polish on her face. Still, once she got in the van and saw the loaded shopping cart, once it registered what she’d be pushing down the street and that she would be killing someone, she turned rigid with fear and guilt. She even told Kevin that she couldn’t go through with it. Slick move on her part.

  “Damnit, Gina,” he’d screamed, his hand balling into a hard fist. “You don’t do this and I’ll rip your head off. That’s no shit, either. I’ve come too far to let you ruin it by crapping out on me now.” He glared at her as he started the van, his body quivering in rage. “Fuck this up and you’ll wish you were blown up with the cart. I don’t want to hear any more of this ‘I can’t’ shit. You can and you sure as hell will.”

  She knew he would do what he said, so she spent the entire ride staring straight ahead and going over the sequence for detonating the bomb and getting away. Put cart in driveway—kick wheels out—look in Dumpster—when car stops, trigger bomb with wire on cart handle—walk, don’t run away. It trotted through her mind over and over again. Especially the last part. She barely heard a word Kevin said. Her terror was so severe that it seemed to detach her mind from her body. She couldn’t even feel her feet touching the pavement when she got out of the van and began pushing the cart. And she certainly didn’t recognize the black man sitting in the parked Bronco studying her as she walked past him on her way to the church.

  Now, as she looked inside the garbage bin, she became aware of the Honda approaching her. Suddenly, she jolted straight up. Damn! She forgot part of the sequence: she hadn’t pushed the back wheels out to make sure the cart wouldn’t move. Kevin had loosened them to where she could easily kick them out to the side. She shot a glance at the approaching white Honda. Then she threw her right foot out, striking the wheel on that side. It pushed through the rubber outer washer and fell off its little axle. She did the same to the left wheel and the cart sank in the rear, immobile.

  “What the hell’s she doing?” Barrows asked as they got about halfway down the drive. He instinctively slowed the car to watch. “Did you see that, Streeter? She’s kicking at her own shopping cart. Gotta be nuts.”

  The bounty hunter had been looking up and down the street, not paying much attention to the woman. Now he studied her. She looked like a generic street person. At least she looked normal until they got closer. That’s when he noticed she was wrong. What was it? The earrings. She had on a pair of bright-orange hoop earrings. Big thick ones. He also noticed that she was wearing black eyeliner, heavily but carefully applied. And this woman was young. Younger than him. Streeter sat up farther in his seat and leaned forward.

  “I don’t know about that, but she’s sure overdressed for her line of work,” he told the driver. “That’s one classy bag lady. Check her out when we get there.”

  Gina turned away from the cart and watched the car coming toward her. She struggled to get back into the sequence, but forgetting about the wheels had thrown her off. Trip wheels out. Did that. Look in Dumpster. She started to turn back to the garbage bin, then realized she’d done that, too. Then the part she liked the best flashed into her mind. Walk, don’t run, away. She turned to face the road, her back to the car, and started walking.

  Barrows stopped about three feet from where the shopping cart blocked his exit. “The hell is she doing now?” He leaned out his window and yelled, “Lady! You’ll have to move that thing! We need to get out. Hey, get back here!”

  Gina was maybe ten feet away when Barrows’ voice hit her. What did Kevin say to do when they yelled at her? Start at the top. Trip wheels out, look in Dumpster, trigger bomb…Shit! Trigger the bomb! I didn’t do that yet. Kevin’ll kill me dead for sure this time. She froze and then turned to face the church again. The cop got out of the car, looking mad. Gina studied his face. He looked so young, she thought. So earnest. She started to walk back to the shopping cart, her mind struggling to recall where the trigger wire was located. Glancing at the rear wheels, she frowned. No, did that. Kicked wheels out. Where’s the damned trigger?

  “Come on, lady.” Barrows’ voice softened when he saw her coming back. “Move it, okay? We wanna get outta here.”

  Carol watched them
and then suddenly slapped the front seat. “Damnit. I forgot three files. They’re up in the loft. Tell Jeff I’ll be right back.” She quickly turned and got out of the car through the driver’s door. Once outside, she almost trotted toward the church.

  Streeter had been watching Barrows and the bag lady so closely, he didn’t hear precisely what Carol had said. Something about files. He wasn’t even aware she had left the Honda until she was outside and a few feet behind the car. She was heading for the small side door next to the overhead. This isn’t right, shot through his mind. Bag lady dressed like a hooker. The cart in the way. A hooker. This is Kevin! He jumped out of the car and yelled, “Wait right there, Carol!”

  When she ignored him, he glanced back at the street, where the woman had now returned to the cart. Barrows was only a couple of feet away, talking to her. Then Streeter looked again at Carol, who was reaching for the door handle on the side door. “Stand still, Carol! Don’t touch anything!” He started moving toward her.

  By the time Gina got back to the cart, she remembered that the trigger wire was on the left side of the handle. The cop was just a few feet away, and he kept talking to her. She tried not to listen, like Kevin had told her. Instead, she focused on the wire. She reached for the cart handle and found it dangling about three inches down. Pull hard, but don’t jerk at it. Kevin had been very clear on that point. She took the wire and gave it a firm pull, as she’d practiced the day before. Somewhere in the cart, the detonator timer clicked into action. Six sticks of dynamite waited. She knew she’d done it right and a smile shot across her face.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” Barrows’ voice sounded hoarse. “Move that thing and then stand over there. I want to talk to you.” He couldn’t understand why she pulled on the handle or why she was smiling and staring at the cart like an idiot. Then she looked up at him and her smile broadened. Although he was mad, Jeff smiled back and, instinctively, he winked at her.

  Gina’s pride was soon overtaken by confusion. What now? As she looked up at the cop, who was grinning at her, she felt a sharp hit of guilt: This nice man will die in a few seconds. He winked at me. He’s just trying to be friendly and I’m going to kill him.

  Barrows grabbed the handle and tried to pull the cart toward the side of the driveway where the Dumpster was. It wouldn’t budge. He frowned. “What’s the matter with this thing?” He stared closely at Gina and noticed what Streeter had seen earlier. Big earrings and the eyes all made up. This bag lady’s sort of a babe, flashed through his mind. Both he and Gina stood there for a few seconds, studying each other.

  Carol reached for the door handle when she got within a foot or two of the building. She heard Streeter’s voice, but she wasn’t sure what he had yelled. Then she grabbed the handle, turned it, and gave a hard pull. It swung open and she walked into the garage.

  Streeter watched. When Carol was safely inside, he stopped and turned to look back out at Barrows. The cop was about a foot away from the cart lady and they were just looking at each other. “Barrows! Get the hell away from her! Now! Jeff, get away!” He began to sprint toward the Dumpster.

  The officer heard the hollering and turned around to see where it came from. Streeter was running toward him, maybe thirty feet away. For her part, Gina felt she had to do something, and when the cop turned to look at the other man, it came to her. “He’s right,” she yelled. All thought of the bomb sequence was forgotten. Barrows turned back to face her.

  “What?” Barrows asked. But Gina was again silent, immobile with fear.

  By now, Streeter had reached them, and it was clear what he was yelling. He grabbed Gina by the shoulder with one hand and moved quickly toward Barrows, who was backpedaling away from the cart. Streeter grabbed Jeff’s arm with his free hand and pushed everyone past the Dumpster. Each step got them closer to safety. When the bomb actually went off, all three of them had turned and were running full-bore away from it. They had made it almost twenty-five yards by then. The force of the explosion lifted them off the ground and threw them several feet. Luckily they landed on soft grass, although Gina hit her head particularly hard. But they were all alive.

  The shock wave was enormous. Barrows’ Prelude was flaming like a stove; the blast had lifted the front of it nearly four feet in the air. The noises were deafening: both the initial bomb and then the car slamming back to the ground. Windows up and down the street, including many on the church front, shattered loudly. In the wake of the explosion, the car and the Dumpster burned for a long time.

  Streeter was mildly dazed. But he knew Carol and Barrows were alive. He pulled himself to his feet and heard a yell from down the street. Turning to the east, he saw Terry standing just behind his Bronco, waving his arms. Streeter shook his head to clear it and then started toward Nathan. As he moved, he saw Barrows kneeling on all fours, shaking his head. The bag lady was moving, too. Streeter’s legs felt flimsy at first, but the more he ran, the more control he got. As he neared the Bronco, he could make out what his friend was yelling.

  “He’s getting away! Come on! It’s a green van!” Terry turned and pointed east, to the next block, running north and south, perpendicular to their street. Then he looked back at Streeter. “Right over there. It’s got to be him in the van!”

  Streeter could see the vehicle making a U-turn about a third of the way into the next block. “Swallow?” He was gulping for air, so the word came out jumbled.

  “Has to be,” Terry said as he opened the passenger door for Streeter. “He must have sent the woman with the bomb and he was waiting for her. She looked strange when she walked by me, but I didn’t know why. Come on! He’s getting away.”

  Streeter got into the car and Terry ran around to the driver’s side. He hopped in and shifted into first gear. As he pulled away from the curb, he anticipated Streeter’s next question: “Your piece is under the seat.” The Bronco turned the corner onto 34th Street, heading northwest. “Is Carol all right back there?”

  “She was in the church when the cart blew.” Streeter’s breath was coming back but he was still gulping for air. He felt like he might be sick, but his adrenaline kept him focused. “There’s a cop in there to take care of her.”

  The green van was almost two blocks ahead of them. Swallow must have seen them coming, because he made a hard left, tires crying loudly, at the next corner. When Terry got to that corner, he turned as well. The van was still within sight. Two blocks south, with Terry gaining on it, the van again tried to make a sharp left. This time Swallow wasn’t as lucky. He turned too hard, causing the back end to skid wildly and fishtail to the side. Kevin slammed on his brakes and it looked for a second like he might roll. Instead he wrestled it under control, but the right rear tire couldn’t take all the excitement. When it slid into the curb, it smashed against the concrete and blew out. Sparks flew from under the right rear as the van scraped the pavement, producing a long, loud howl as it went.

  “Fuck me!” Kevin screamed at the windshield when he realized what had happened. He hit the brakes, knowing that the Bronco would catch him within a block if he kept driving. The van stopped with one harsh, low moan in front of a construction site for what appeared to be a convenience store and gas station. Kevin grabbed the small .38 from the seat next to him. It was Gina’s. He never had much use for guns. Looking over his shoulder, he couldn’t see the Bronco yet. Then he opened his door, jumped out, and ran toward the building to the west.

  About twenty seconds later, Terry came around the last corner. To his surprise, the green van was just sitting there, mostly in the right lane. He hit the brakes and stopped behind it. “He’s on foot!”

  “Over there!” Streeter yelled, pointing to the construction site. Swallow had already made it through the parking lot and past the gas-pump islands. He was running toward the side when they spotted him. By the time Streeter and Terry got out, he had turned the corner and was running along the far side. Several confused workers came out of the store and strained to see where the man
from the green van was going.

  “Move back!” Streeter yelled. Seeing two men coming toward them, both waving handguns, convinced the workers to get inside again.

  Kevin tripped and almost fell as he ran along the side of the building. He could hear someone hollering and the voice was gaining on him. To his right was a four-story apartment building, to his left was the store. Straight ahead was a high wooden fence. When he got to the back corner, he took another left, behind the store. It was a dead end. The privacy fence ran the entire width of the building. There was about six feet of space between it and the back wall. Swallow stopped for a second and looked at his gun. Then he ran to the far end of the building and climbed the fence. He’d take his chances with whatever was on the other side. Not a good idea. When he got to the top and looked over, he saw two large dogs snarling up at him. One was a narrow Doberman with what looked like watery shaving cream around its mouth. The other was a German shepherd about the size of a circus pony. Kevin set his butt down on the fence and straddled it.

  When Streeter got to the rear corner of the building, he stopped and pressed his back against its cinder-block wall. He could see the wooden fence and guessed that it ran along the back of the store, which must have slowed Kevin. Terry caught up and leaned against the wall next to him. They could hear the dogs howling insanely around the corner.

  “The hell’s back there?” Terry asked, his breathing choppy from running.

  Streeter just shook his head and inched toward the corner. When he got right to the tip of the corner he rocked slightly, like he was gaining momentum to make the turn. Suddenly, he spun around the edge of the building, holding his gun out in front of him at chest level with both hands. His eyes were huge with anticipation.

  Kevin had no idea what to do next. He had this bizarre notion that killing dogs was deeply wrong. After all he’d done in his life, Kevin couldn’t bring himself to shoot a couple of vicious mutts. He looked back to the other end of the building. That’s when he saw the man in a white shirt jumping into view, holding something in front of him. Instantly, he knew the man was Streeter and the something was a gun.