by D D Loomis
BAKER’S LUCK
By: D.D. Loomis
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2020
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Author’s Page: www.amazon.com/author/dannyloomis
Dedicated to my family for their super support—Melissa, Pete, and Rob. Others of invaluable help were Clay, Susan and my friends at Wildacres Writing Workshop.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Interlude
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About The Author
Note
CHAPTER ONE
My car gave a last gasping wheeze and died when I turned into Sam’s Mini-Mart and Gas. I coasted to the first pump and rolled to a stop, giving a sigh of relief. A thump of my hand on the dashboard, and the gas gauge dropped from quarter-full to empty. “miserable piece of garbage,” I muttered.
I climbed out and rubbed my aching back before heading to the market. Almost midnight. Coffee first, then gas. Glad I was almost back to my hotel. This night work wore me out. Holding security training for ten banks in ten nights around the city of Charlotte was exhausting, mentally and physically. But this had been the last one. The rest of the contract would be done in two days–a class at the main office, then a couple of meetings would finish it up, thank God.
I pushed through the entrance and the cashier rose from his chair behind the counter. This had become one of my favorite stops. “Evening, Val. How’s the world treating you tonight?”
“Just fine, Mister Baker. Coffee’s fresh, go help yourself.” As usual, Val’s dark-brown eyes sparkled with good humor. His being from India was one of the reasons we’d become instant friends. I’d once dated a lady from his home town of Bangalore. Loved their accent, had a flavor all its own. Val was five-five, a couple inches shorter than me. Another reason I liked him.
I gave a half-salute and headed to the back, snagging a small bag of Hershey’s Kisses on the way. Once I’d drawn a cup of ambrosia, better known as Seattle’s Best, I peeled wrappers from two of the kisses and dropped them in. Man, it smelled good. I ambled down an aisle, hunting for a snack while stirring the concoction.
The bell above the entry gave a strident jangle when someone charged in, causing me to stop, all senses alert. Abnormal movement and sounds this late at night usually meant trouble.
A loud voice confirmed my fears. “Hands on the counter where I can see ‘em! Don’t push any alarms or nothing, ‘cause that’ll get you shot.” Besides noisy, he sounded nervous. Not a good combination. “Open that register slow-like an’ take out all the bills. Put ‘em in a paper sack. Now!”
I crept to the front of the aisle, and peeked around the edge. Six feet from me stood a sweaty faced kid with a baseball cap pulled low. Probably no more than 19. He was pointing a revolver at Val who pulled money from the till, hands shaking.
Well, hell. Just what I didn’t need tonight. Gathering shards of courage, more likely idiocy in this case, I stepped around the corner. “Why you giving money to a guy with a toy gun, Val? Look at the barrel, it’s got a plug in it.”
The kid flinched, almost dropping the pistol in his haste to point it at me. “What’d you say?”
I gestured at the gun. “The barrel. It’s got a cork or something in it, just like a toy would.”
His eyes widened, and he reversed the pistol to see in the barrel. I lunged forward and grabbed the weapon, plowing into him. A deafening bang and he fell to the floor, screaming. The round had caught him in the left elbow. Blood spurted from a severed artery.
I gripped his injured arm and squeezed above the wound, trying to shut off the flow of blood and glanced at Val. “Call 911. We need an ambulance and cops…” Val’s eyes rolled up and he fell. A loud thud resounded from behind the counter.
At the same time, the would-be robber passed out. Pieces of bone jutted from his shattered elbow. I gulped, my last meal trying to resurface. Unfastening his belt, I used it to tie off his arm. This slowed the squirting to a trickle. Damn, how’d I always manage to get involved in stuff like this?
I almost tripped over the pistol when I got up and hurried around the corner. Val was out cold. Blood leaked from the back of his head. I made sure he was still breathing, and called 911. “There’s been a holdup attempt at Sam’s Mini-Mart, just off highway seventy-three near the Interstate seventy-seven interchange. Send an ambulance and police. Shot fired.”
I hung up in the middle of the operator’s attempts to keep me on the line, and knelt by the kid. That elbow was really messed up. The bullet had traveled six inches up the forearm before exiting through the joint. He’d be lucky to use this arm again. Bile tinged with a chocolaty taste tickled the back of my throat, and I swallowed a second time. My knee bumped the pistol as the door crashed open.
“Freeze, dirtbag!”
Shit.
CHAPTER TWO
The rattle of a key in the door awoke me from a light doze.
“Up and at ‘em, Baker. You still want that phone call y’kept insisting on a few hours ago?”
I sat up, stifling a groan from the new aches and pains my body complained about. A glance at the wall clock outside my cell showed it was after eight a.m. Six and a half hours since I’d been unceremoniously dumped in here.
A large guy in uniform tossed me a phone. “I’m Sergeant Grunnion, the day shift supervisor for this joint. Make yer call quick, we gotta get you cleaned up for your visit to the judge.” He leaned his six-foot frame against the edge of the opened door, dark brown face openly curious while giving me a once-over. “Those the duds you wear when you do a hold up?”
I grimaced and punched in the number for my FBI contact. “Who says I’m a crook? My shirt and pants were covered with blood, so the night crew left me in this outfit.” The charcoal gray nylon body suit I still wore was ideal for slipping through tight spaces when sneaking into somewhere like a bank late at night. But now, it raised suspicions as to what I did for a living.
He snorted in laughter. “Told ‘em you were too smart to fall for a stupid question like that.”
The phone clicked. “This is Hilyard.”
Relief washed through me. “Hey, Mike. Francis here. Sorry to call, but I was picked up by the city cops last night. Think you could come down and vouch for me?”
“Don’t tell me, you finally got arrested for putting on boring classes.”
I rubbed my left shoulder, still sore from the beating I’d gotten when they manhandled me at Sam’s. “Yeah, I was arrested all right. But not for that. They think I held up a mini-mart. Didn’t get a chance to say anything before they tossed me in jail.”
“Hah! Wish I’d been there. Could’ve got some nice pictures for your album.”
I rolled my eyes and glanced at Sergeant Grunnion, glad he couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation. “Thanks for the sympathy. They haven’t gotten a statement from the clerk yet. He fainted and hit his head.”
“You might want to make sure they got a copy
of what happened from the security camera. Most all those stores have one.”
I shook my head in disgust. “You’re right. Should’ve thought of that. When you going to be down?”
“Give me an hour.” The phone went dead.
I handed the phone back to Grunnion. “Thanks, Sergeant. Hey, you got anything to drink? I’m dry as a bone.”
He tossed me a bottle of water. “Here y’go. Hurry up, so you can shower. Y’can eat later.”
I downed half the bottle, and stood. “Right. By the way, did anyone look at the mini-mart’s security tape? That will show I was just a bystander, not the crook.”
Grunnion shrugged. “I’ll pass on your question. Might of decided to wait until this morning to look at it. In the meantime, get a move on. The Lieutenant wants to make sure you’re all prettified before you appear in court.”
In the middle of my shower, Grunnion stuck his head around the corner. “Hey, Baker-Holy shit! What happened to you?”
I gingerly touched my left shoulder and hip. “A couple of your cohorts got carried away last night.”
He shook his head, a frown building. “What’d you do, put up a fight or something?”
“Nope. The robbers’ gun was still on the floor next to me. Lucky they didn’t shoot me.” I touched my shoulder and winced. “But it was a tad much when I was kicked around after they put cuffs on me.”
Grunnion’s lips thinned. Stay right there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Before I could wash the soap off, he reappeared with his cell phone. “Turn your back to me, would you?”
I complied, hearing a couple of quiet clicks over the rush of water from the showerhead. “Something wrong, Sergeant?”
He lowered his phone, a bland expression on his face. “Let’s just say I don’t like folks being bullied by those who’re supposed to protect ‘em. Even the shitbags who end up here.” He pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. “There’s a visitor wants to see you soon as you’re outta the shower.”
* * *
I relaxed in the booth, taking one more swallow of coffee. Bacon, eggs and sausage smells wafted faintly around the dining room. Even though just a fast food joint, McDonald’s definitely had a pleasing aroma in the morning. Good coffee, too. “Thanks for stopping here. I was famished. Didn’t get a chance to eat before they released me.” The crumbs of two McMuffins littered the tray in front of me.
Mike swallowed the last bite of breakfast burrito. “No problem, Francis.”
I leaned forward on my elbows, coffee cup in hand. “And thanks for loaning me this sweater. If I was taller, it’d even fit.” He was six feet tall, making him five inches taller than me. Same dark brown hair, an inch shorter than mine.
He gestured at me. “Had to get something to cover that outfit. Is that really what you wear when you burglarize a place?”
“Sometimes.” I patted my chest. “Not only hard to see me at night, but makes for an easier job of fitting through tight spots.”
“You wear it for every job?”
I shook my head. “Depends on the job.”
He smiled. “I’ve heard it’s a hit in the security classes you’ve been putting on. Not only do you break into their bank before the class, but you leave calling cards to show you were there.”
A herd of kids came through the entrance, their chattering and shrieks drowning out the ever-present buzz of conversation.
He took a swallow of coffee. “Sure raises the hackles of law enforcement types when they see you in that outfit, though. Case in point is the reaction you got from the city police.”
“Yeah, that plus having the pistol close by me when they barged in.”
Mike shook his head, a grin forming. “The really stupid thing was when you pissed off Lieutenant Reilly. I don’t think you’re one of his favorite people right now.”
I glanced away for a moment. “He got my dander up when they hadn’t even watched the video from the store yet. That and the fact he wasn’t a bit sorry two of his men beat me up. Even after he saw the recording, all he could say was ‘How unfortunate.’ Didn’t set well with me.”
Two girls no more than six years old rushed loudly by, intent on their footrace to the bathroom. Mike swirled the coffee in his cup, giving me a searching look. “Would you really have sued them, if the Lieutenant hadn’t agreed to a letter of apology?”
“You bet. When he got up on his high horse and said what happened wasn’t ‘germane to the case,’ I lost my cool. Yes it was dumb having that pistol so close to hand, but how’d that give those cops the right to beat me?” I shook my head. “The downside, like you said, is I’ve managed to make enemies of at least three members of the Charlotte police force. If I ever need anything from their department, not sure I’d get much cooperation.”
“On a more pleasant note, it looks like you won’t have to spend much longer around here,” Mike said. “Didn’t you say you were close to finishing?”
I gave a half-smile. “Another two-three days should see me out of here. One more lecture at the Carolina State Bank’s security conference, then a final write-up and meeting with one of the big bosses.”
“I seem to remember you talking about going to a writer’s workshop or something up by Asheville once you were done here.”
I nodded. “Yeah, a friend back in Seattle has been doing technical writing contracts for several corporations over the past few years. He wants to take time off to write the ‘Great American Novel’ and asked me to sub for him. I’ve done some of that stuff in the past. I said yes, but needed to brush up on my writing skills. So I scheduled time at a writer’s workshop. I’ve got an assistant back at T&M who does most of my other work since I started doing more training gigs.”
“Writer?” Mike leaned on the table, his interest evident. “Nothing about that was in your file. When did you do that?”
“Right after I left the Army. Did some freelancing for a few years, as a matter of fact. Found it to be really interesting.” I stirred my coffee. “Picked up this particular contract so I could take part in a two week writer’s class up at a place called Wildacres. Only a couple hours drive from here, too.”
“Nice. Hope you can stay out of trouble while you’re there.” He peered into his now-empty cup. “You want some more java?”
I stood. “Here, let me get us a refill.” I fumbled a wallet from my pocket and strode towards the front, veering off at the last moment to a table where two couples were just getting up to leave.
I touched an older man, in his late fifties, on the arm. “Pardon me. I found this in the restroom. Is it yours?”
The man’s eyebrows rose when he took the wallet and opened it. “Why-yes, it is! I hadn’t even missed it.” He looked at me, an earnest expression building. “Thank you, sir. I’m extremely grateful.” He pulled a twenty from his now-recovered property. “Here, please take this…”
I waved the money away, face heating. “No, I’m just glad I found it. Thanks for the offer, though.” I hurried on to the counter, intent on not only escaping but to get my refills. Once back and settled at the table, I took a healthy swig of coffee in relief, singeing my tongue in the process.
By the time I re-focused on Mike, he had a puzzled expression on his face. “I heard what you told that man. How could you have found his wallet in the restroom? You didn’t go in there.”
I thought quickly. “Um–it was on the counter by the cash register, when we ordered?”
His face shifted to mildly suspicious. “Then why do you look like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar?”
Damn, he was right. Always had trouble lying to a friend. I gave a shrug. “When you saw the file on me, you probably noticed there were some statements from other FBI agents about how I had a somewhat, shall we say, checkered past. They’re pretty sure I was a thief, but didn’t have any evidence to prove it.
Several years ago, I turned state’s evidence on some bad guys, and all was forgiven.”
Mike’s face creased in a crooked smile. “Forgiven is a strong word. In fact, the reason I’m a liaison for the conference is because the FBI has misgivings about your involvement in it. Not enough to keep you from doing it, though. So besides being a liaison, I’m supposed to keep a close eye on you. Now what about the billfold?”
“Well, the truth is I boosted it when we came in. He was returning to his table from the men’s room, and I brushed by him as we walked to the counter to order.”
“I’ll be damned. I was behind you, and didn’t see a thing.”
I gave an expressive shrug, hands in the air. “One of my major weaknesses is the urge to pick pockets. It’s just so much fun. Usually I switch the wallet to a different pocket, or do like I just did.”
Mike chuckled. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I don’t see how they could go so long without missing it, though. I’d notice mine being removed, it’s one of those bigger tri-fold ones.”
“Yeah, but it’s also nylon. Slides out of your pocket nice and easy.” I tossed his wallet on the table. “And I especially enjoy doing it to law enforcement types.”
CHAPTER THREE
The projector clicked off and I stepped in front of the class when the lights went up. “As you can see, there are several warning signs called ‘Tells’ that give you hints concerning whether there’s a possible risk from the people who approach your window while on duty at the bank.” I shifted my gaze around the room, eyeballing the 40-plus bank tellers attending the class I was holding on the second floor of the main bank in downtown Charlotte . “Are there any questions?”
As usual, no hands went up. I suppressed a grimace. What a bunch of deadheads for my last class. That’s what happened when an employer, in this case Carolina State Bank, forced their employees to come in on a Saturday. “Since you don’t have any questions, our time together is over. Thanks for your attention.”
