Lucky Town

by Peter Vonder Haar

  Don emerged from the shadows of the doorway and crept silently up behind Morris, a silenced pistol leveled at his skull. He raised his eyebrows, a silent request as to how he should proceed. My face must’ve given something away, because Morris started to turn around.

  A couple things happened just then. Don turned his gun around and swung, hitting Morris in the back of the head with the butt. Morris pitched forward, unconscious, but not before reflexively squeezing the trigger.

  I felt searing pain in my chest even as the shot knocked me into the desk. Through increasingly tunneled vision, I saw Don rush over to me.

  “Hang on, bro. Hang on, I got you,” He said. A second later, he had me in a fireman’s carry and we were moving through Hammond’s house.

  He was talking, I assumed to Charlie, “Spartan, I repeat, Spartan. Evac proceeding from Constellation.”

  Charlie must have responded, because Don just said, “Out,” and kept moving. We were out of the house now and running up the street. Dimly, I could see the Range Rover up ahead.

  “Stay with me, Cy,” Don said, as he bundled me as gently as possible into the back seat. Gently or not, I was about to pass out from shock and the pain.

  “Don?” I said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  “Yeah bro?” He peeled out. The neighbors wouldn’t be pleased.

  “Those are dumb code words,” then I passed out.

  chapter FORTY-THREE

  I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next day or so. It was my second trip to an emergency room in less than a week, only this time I was the patient. It’d been a while, and it still sucked.

  They took me into surgery almost immediately after Don brought me in. I couldn’t be certain of the location, but given how fast he got us here, I suspected we were in the Memorial City Medical Center. I’d have preferred Ben Taub, which has a better trauma center, but thoracic gunshot victims can’t be choosers.

  The first time I realized I wasn’t going to die (not soon, anyway) is when I groggily came to in a hospital room and daylight was streaming through the windows. As my vision cleared, I saw Charlie arguing with Roy DeSantos next to my hospital bed. He was there in an official capacity, or so I assumed, given the presence of two uniformed cops in the room with him. I drifted off again before seeing any resolution.

  My money was on Charlie, though.

  Some indeterminate amount of time later, I woke up to a nurse checking my vital signs. It was night again.

  “Am I going to live?” I croaked. My throat was parched.

  “Depends on which law enforcement agency gets their hands on you,” she said.

  Interesting. I dozed again.

  Daylight again. I shifted my position slightly and discovered that the pain in my chest had faded to “nearly unbearable” while my entire head throbbed dully. Only one eye was capable of opening, and with it I saw Charlie sitting next to my hospital bed, an expression of relief on her face.

  “Ugh,” I said.

  “You scared the hell out of us, you asshole.”

  “I guess I’m not dying.”

  She shook her head, “Who goes on a mission like that without wearing a vest?”

  “We didn’t anticipate a firefight,” I said. Wary now, I looked around.

  Charlie answered my question before I could get it out. “Room’s clean. I swept for bugs earlier this morning.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Four days.”

  Jesus.

  I rubbed my face. At least my arms still worked. “What’s the damage?”

  “Collapsed lung. Luckily the bullet missed any major organs,” she said.

  “Since when is a lung not a major organ?” I said.

  “Please, you don’t need both of them.”

  I attempted to sit up, but a wave of pain put an end to that plan. “I guess the shit really did hit the fan.”

  “You could say that,” she said. “Don and I have been taking turns running interference for you against at least four agencies of interest.”

  “Homeland Security?”

  “That was an easy one.”

  “FBI?”

  “Two for two,” she said.

  “Houston PD?” I asked. “I thought I saw you arguing with DeSantos at one point. Or did I imagine that?”

  Charlie smiled. “He took offense at your freelance operation. Apparently he took you at your word when you said you were going to back off.”

  “There goes my last friend on the force,” I said.

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  I looked at her. “How come?”

  “Never mind that,” she replied. “You still haven’t guessed the fourth.”

  I thought, but the effort was already starting to tire me out. Customs? No, they’re part of DHS. Coast Guard? Men in Black?

  “I give up,” I said, finally.

  She said, “None other than the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  The hell? “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Don talked to them. They were here the second day, but I haven’t seen them around since.”

  In what was becoming a common occurrence, I was completely at a loss. The CIA wasn’t law enforcement and had no domestic agenda. This was an entirely new can of worms, and even the idea of unraveling this new wrinkle was exhausting.

  Sticking with what I already knew, I said, “What did you mean about DeSantos? About his still being a friend?”

  “I called him the night you got shot,” she replied. “He’s getting credit for the arrest, whether he wants it or not.”

  “Roy went to the house?”

  “Yep. He’s the one who found an unconscious Morris next to Hammond’s corpse.”

  “And my blood everywhere,” I added.

  “Give your big sister some credit,” she said.

  I frowned. “If Roy got there right after Don took me out, how did you manage to clean up the scene?”

  She smiled in that maddening way she had when she knew more than I did, which was often. “Just let the gears do their work.”

  “Any word on Mike?”

  For the first time since I woke up, her face fell. “No. Nothing.”

  “Morris isn’t talking?”

  “No idea. He’s disappeared into a black hole. Don and I haven’t heard anything else.”

  I yawned. “What have you guys told Mom?”

  Charlie rolled her eyes, “The truth? You think we could hide you getting shot again away from her?”

  “Hope springs eternal, as they say.”

  “The good news is, your name’s being kept out of things. So far.” She looked around. “Press coverage is focused on Roy and the cops, and HPD is letting them run with that for now.”

  “But that doesn’t mean they won’t come after us,” I began.

  She glanced at the door. “There’s been an FBI agent posted outside the room since you got out of surgery.”

  “Maybe they’re waiting to see if I live before they arrest me.”

  “Probably want you healthy for the lethal injection,” she agreed.

  I wanted to argue the point with her, but I didn’t get the chance. The door opened and a tall drink of water in a gray suit entered the room.

  “He awake?” His clipped tone matched his crew cut.

  “Are you?” Charlie asked.

  “I guess it’s too much to ask for the last week to have been a dream,” I said.

  The suit approached my bed, pulling a wallet from his jacket pocket and flipping it open to show the badge within. “Special Agent Winston, Mr. Clarke. I have a few questions.”

  “Not without his attorney present.”

  Emma walked in the room and my day improved one thousand percent.

  “That’d be you?” Winston was pretty quick for a Fed.

  She nodded. “If you have any questions for Mr. Clarke, you can submit them to me in advance. Any questioning takes place in my presence and at no o
ther time.”

  Winston looked at her, then me. “You don’t really think you’re going to get away with this, do you?”

  “Get away with what?” I asked, in the tone of voice that got me out of at least half the detention I should have been assigned.

  Winston sneered and left the room. Emma walked to the side of the bed Charlie wasn’t currently occupying.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey yourself.” Smooth as usual, Clarke.

  Charlie cleared her throat. “I’m going to go see if I can find Don. It looks like the sharks are closing in.”

  She walked to the door and I called after her, “Hey, Charlie?”

  She stopped and turned. I said, “Thanks for everything.”

  “Anytime, little brother.”

  “Two goddamn minutes,” I muttered as she exited. Then I looked into the face of Emma, my ex-girlfriend/current attorney, anticipating the glow of relief and affection on her face.

  “I should knock the shit out of you,” she said.

  Chapter FORTY-FOUR

  “Nice to see you, too,” I replied. “You talk to all your clients this way, or only the ones you used to date?”

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “You look great, by the way.” This was true.

  She just stared at me.

  “Mike’s been missing for over a week now,” I began. “The cops had no leads, and we had clear evidence Mike’s boss was committing crimes that Mike found out about.”

  “Why not turn that information over to the police? Or Homeland Security?” She asked.

  “Is this conversation covered by attorney-client privilege?”

  Emma glanced back at the door. “Of course.”

  “I couldn’t exactly go to the police with information we’d obtained illegally,” I said.

  “You could’ve sent it in anonymously,” she countered. “Let them work on it from there.”

  “And waste even more time.” It wasn’t a question. “Police have procedures to follow and policies to adhere to. Charlie and I don’t have that problem.”

  “Interesting to hear you refer to obeying the law as a ‘problem.’”

  “I’ll remember that next time one of your siblings goes missing.”

  Emma sat down. “And how did your way work out? You’re laid up in a hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest, no fewer than three law enforcement agencies are out for your blood, and Mike is still missing.”

  I sighed. Could I convince her my actions were necessary? That I wasn’t just satisfying my own ego?

  Maybe try being honest.

  “I couldn’t sit by while people kept trying to kill us,” I said at last. “Or take the risk they might come after you.”

  She seemed taken aback by that. “Was that really a possibility?”

  “Maybe? For all I knew, whoever was behind Mike’s disappearance did a cost-benefit analysis and figured the cost of coming after Charlie and me was too high. You, on the other hand …”

  “You went after Hammond to protect me?” She seemed dubious.

  “That was an unexpected bonus,” I said.

  “I guess thanks are in order.”

  She took my hand. Unexpected, but I wasn’t complaining.

  We stayed that way for a moment, then the nurse had to come in and ruin everything.

  “Time for your medicine,” she said, producing a syringe and injecting its contents into my IV.

  “Your timing sucks,” I said.

  “I get that a lot.”

  She left the room and even before the door shut behind her I started feeling the sedative’s effects. Emma started getting her things together.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey yourself.”

  I smiled, but felt the drugs working. “Look, I know things have been … tense between us for a while.”

  “Have they?” She asked.

  Ignoring her, I said, “But I just wanted you to know I never gave up on us. I always thought, if I got another chance, that we could make it work.”

  “I’ve thought the same thing.”

  “I appreciate all your help,” I said. I was fading fast now. “Even if we don’t find him, I appreciate all you’ve done to help look for Mike.”

  She grabbed my hand again. And as I slipped into unconsciousness, she said, “Hold that thought.”

  Daylight again when I woke up. The TV tuned to Family Feud and my mother sitting in the chair next to me. And now we’ve come full circle. She commanded me to tell her everything, and I did so.

  “That pretty much brings us up to date,” I said. I’d tried to ignore Mom’s increasingly disapproving looks throughout the narrative, but it’s no use lying to mothers; they’re going to find out anyway.

  “Unbelievable,” she said.

  “I agree,” I said. “After all that, we still never found out what happened to Mike. Morris and Hammond said they didn’t know where he is, and the thing is, I believe them.”

  Mom had a look I couldn’t interpret on her face. She said, “No, I mean how you managed to get yourself shot again after you left the police force. Maybe you should consider another line of work.”

  Blinking, I said, “I think it’s too late for me to become a doctor, Mom.”

  “I don’t think that’s even a good idea,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Apparently you can have shootouts in hospitals these days.”

  “You haven’t seen many John Woo movies, I guess.”

  A voice I recognized but hadn’t heard in weeks said, “Stick with The Killer and Hard Boiled, Mom. Whatever you do, don’t let him show you the Jean-Claude Van Damme one.”

  I turned (painfully) to the doorway. There, as if he’d just returned from stepping out to go to the restroom, was Mike. He smiled and walked into my hospital room, followed by Charlie and Emma. For possibly the first time in my life, I was speechless.

  Mom must have noticed the same thing. “Told you he wouldn’t know what to say,” she said.

  “I owe you five bucks,” said Mike.

  Charlie said, “How are you feeling, little brother?”

  “What the actual hell is going on?” I said.

  “He’s fine,” Emma said.

  “Where have you been? We’ve been going nuts trying to find you and you just waltz in here like it’s no big deal?”

  “Calm down,” Mike said. “We didn’t want to cause you any more stress.”

  “More stress than thinking my brother was dead?” I asked.

  He pulled a chair up to the bed. “Cy, I want you to know … the lengths you went to find me, it means a lot. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know where I was.”

  “Where were you?” I asked. It seemed the obvious question.

  Emma laughed. “The Feds.”

  I looked at her, then back to Mike, “The FBI?”

  Mike nodded. “When Ramirez’s report got buried by Hammond, I knew something was going on. Ramirez wanted to go to over Hammond’s head. I recommended against it, but he insisted on following the chain of command.”

  “And look where that got him,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Mike said, with real sadness, “I had my suspicions about Morris already — Hammond never struck me as the mastermind type — so I went to the Bureau. Turns out they were up on the two of them already. They were going to move in on them in a couple weeks, so they told me to keep my eyes open.” He paused. “Nobody realized Morris had already made up his mind about what to do with us.”

  I said, “That’s when you sent the emails. Smart move, by the way.”

  “My sum knowledge of encryption comes from the DHS’s four-hour Introduction to Cybersecurity training, so I was happy when Charlie told me it worked.”

  “How did you know to mention Enemy at the Gates if the sniper hadn’t killed Ramirez yet?” I said.

  Mike said, “Dumb luck, really. I was trying to tell you Steranko — the Russian — was actually not your enemy.”

  I said, �
��He’s not dirty?”

  Mike laughed. “He’s dirty as hell, but he’s smart enough to know the DHS and the FBI are focused on terrorists and human trafficking, so he steers clear of those. He also wasn’t paying off Morris.”

  “The enemy of my enemy,” Emma said.

  “Pretty much.”

  “So you ran,” I said.

  “Tactically and strategically, it was the wisest course of action,” Mike said. “I’m a good shot, but trying to take out a sniper with a .45 from a quarter-mile away is a little out of my league.”

  “You went back to the Feds,” I said.

  Mike shrugged. “It seemed like the best option. I didn’t want to endanger you guys by showing up unannounced.” He looked at me. “But it looks like you didn’t need my help.”

  I laughed and immediately regretted it, as pain lanced through my torso. “You thought your family was just going to sit on its hands while you were in the wind?”

  “I thought it’d take you and Charlie a little longer to almost get murdered,” Mike said. “The FBI and Justice were set to go, and then the two of you came along. Serves me right for underestimating y’all.”

  I said, “How’s the Bureau taking the news?”

  Emma said, “They aren’t exactly pleased.”

  Charlie said, “There were some agents here again yesterday, but I told them to get lost.”

  “They just wanted to ask him some questions,” Mike said. “They’re not going to arrest him,” he frowned. “I don’t think.”

  “You don’t think?” I asked.

  “They’ve had FBI agents stationed here ever since you were brought in,” Mike said. “I don’t think there are any plans to take you in, but I’m pretty sure they’d have preferred not to explain a high-ranking DHS corpse.”

  “What’s the official story?” I asked, emphasizing the second to last word.

  Charlie spoke up. “Well, since Hammond’s dead, the narrative is that he was arguing with Morris about his cut of their ill-gotten gains. Tempers flared, guns were drawn, bada bing.”

  “That’s it?”

  Mike said, “People will believe it. Government corruption never goes out of vogue.”

  “They’re not going to let Morris off the hook to save face?” I asked. “Even back at the house, he was careful not to say anything to incriminate himself.”