Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  Lee checked her watch. It was 16:45 military time. So they could spend an hour looking around and still get out before the gate closed for the night. “Let’s go for it,” Lee said. “There’s a good chance that our extralarge friend was lying. But who knows? Maybe we’ll luck out.”

  “Right,” Omo agreed. “But let’s buy a scarf for you first. Something you can wrap around your face.”

  Lee knew he was right. She was wearing a mask, but a strip of cloth could be used to disguise her even more. So they stopped at a stall where Lee bought a long black scarf. It hid everything but her eyes. “That’s better,” Omo said approvingly. “We’re ready to go.”

  Omo was familiar with the TA but no expert. So they asked the vendor for information. He was about twelve years old and on crutches. “The Road Kill is closest,” he informed them. Lee gave the boy a one-nu tip and followed Omo through the area where the TA’s moneylenders were shutting down for the day.

  The Road Kill was only a few minutes farther on and marked by an internally illuminated sign. It was early yet, so there were plenty of tables, and car seats to sit on. In keeping with the name, the decor consisted of auto paraphernalia ranging from wall-mounted grills to preplague license plates. Some of the customers turned to look at the pair but no more than usual.

  Lee and Omo sat at a table fashioned from a car door and began to scan the crowd. Wheels was nowhere to be seen. So they bought beers, and pretended to chat, but to no avail. “What do you think?” Lee inquired, once fifteen minutes had passed. “Should we stay here? Or move on?”

  “Let’s move on,” Omo replied. “We’ll try the Blue Pig. If we come up empty there, we’ll head for the gate.”

  The Pig, as the locals referred to it, was a five-minute walk. It was a barbecue joint and, judging from the odors that wafted through the air, a good one. It had been a long time since her last meal, and Lee felt her stomach start to rumble as they entered. She couldn’t eat there though—not without running a considerable risk.

  Omo saw a spot against the north wall and hurried to claim it. The table was flanked by a couple of stools, and he chose the one that would give him a good line of sight to the door. Lee felt her stool wobble as she sat on it. A quick scan of the room produced no results. Wheels was nowhere to be seen. “Can I help you?”

  The waitress would have been too short for the job had it not been for the drywall stilts she was wearing. “Yes,” Lee responded as she eyed a well-worn menu. “I’d like a Coke and a brisket sandwich to go.”

  “Got it,” the waitress said, without bothering to write the order down. “And you, sir?”

  “I’ll go with the pulled pork,” Omo said. “Also to go. And a Corona.”

  “Perfect,” the waitress said, and walked away.

  The food arrived fifteen minutes later but would have to wait until Lee could eat it alone. There was no sign of their quarry as Omo paid the bill, and Lee checked her watch. They had fifteen minutes in which to exit the TA. “We’d better get going,” she said, and Omo nodded.

  It was dark by then, but Lee thought it best to rewrap the scarf anyway, and was in the process of doing so when she saw a couple emerge from a side passage. When they passed through a pool of light Lee felt something akin to an electric shock. “It’s Wheels!” she exclaimed. “And Vicki.”

  That was enough to send Omo charging forward. But the lunge came up short as Vicki stepped in to block his way. Omo hit her, tripped, and went down. His doggie bag fell and was lost in the shadows. Lee rushed to help him up. “Come on! The bastard is getting away!”

  And the bastard was getting away. He shoved an old man to one side as he ran up the path and disappeared around a curve.

  Omo was on his feet by then, but Lee was the faster of the two and took the lead. A woman stepped out of her front door and staggered as Lee brushed past. Her dog gave chase, yapping as it ran, determined to nip at Lee’s heels. Omo came up from behind to give the animal a kick. It produced a yelp and scampered away.

  That was when Lee realized where they were. The gate! Wheels was running for the gate! With what? Five minutes left before it closed?

  A siren wailed. “Three minutes!” Omo shouted. “We have three minutes!”

  Lee forced herself to run faster, and could see the gate in the distance, when a herd of sheep poured out of a pen to block the way. And by the time she was able to get clear, the gate was closed. Wheels was gone.

  SIX

  NOW THAT THEY were trapped in the TA, all Lee and Omo could do was book a room in a hotel, lock the door, and take turns trying to sleep on the grungy bed. There was a TV, so that helped a bit, but the hours dragged by. Lee heard the muted rattle of gunfire at one point but wasn’t tempted to investigate. The last thing the police officers needed to do was get in the middle of a local dispute. Lee had been asleep for an hour or so when Omo spoke her name. “Cassandra . . . It’s time to get up.”

  She thought it was her father at first, getting her up for school, then Lee remembered where she was. So she sat up and swung her boots over onto the floor. There was a bad taste in her mouth as she went over to the rust-stained basin to finger-brush her teeth. Then, after checking to be sure that she had everything, Lee went to the door where Omo was waiting. Had he grown some stubble? The mask made it impossible to tell. “Okay,” Lee said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They arrived at the gate five minutes before it opened. A crowd of people had gathered there, and they surged into the open as the double doors swung out of the way. The police went straight to Omo’s truck and got in. “I need some coffee,” Omo said. “And some breakfast.”

  Lee nodded. “I’m in.”

  They drove into town and chose a restaurant located just off the highway. There were lots of big rigs in the parking lot, and Lee chose to interpret that as a good sign. Heads swiveled as they entered, and Lee knew what the other customers were thinking. Were the newcomers norms? Wearing masks for some extra protection? Or were they mutants? After they sat down, the eyeballs drifted away.

  There weren’t any breakfast burritos on the menu, so Lee had to settle for an omelet and a side of crisp bacon to go. While they were waiting, she sucked coffee through a straw, and that made her feel better. Once their orders arrived, it was time to pay and return to the parking lot. They couldn’t eat together, so Lee left him to eat in the truck, while she took her breakfast over to a retaining wall, where she could safely remove the mask and chow down.

  The food tasted good, and once breakfast was over, it was time to apply a new stick-on face mask and return to the SUV. They were back on the road by eight.

  Lee fell asleep at some point and awoke with a crick in her neck. By that time, they were entering LA. “We were going to share the driving.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  “But I said it.”

  “And I ignored it.”

  Lee laughed. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

  Omo nodded. “Yup. That’s what they tell me.”

  The trip had been a bust as far as the case was concerned. But after spending some time with her new partner, Lee had to admit that he was okay. And that was a pleasant surprise.

  After entering the parking garage at police headquarters they went straight to McGinty’s office. They arrived to find that the chief of police had beaten them to it, and McGinty’s door was closed. “In spite of our best efforts, we haven’t found Amanda,” Jenkins said, as the officers sought refuge in his office. “So the bishop complained to the mayor, the mayor called the chief, and he’s talking to the boss. Fun times.”

  “Maybe you’re having fun,” McGinty said as he entered the room. “But I’m not. Chief Corso wants to know when I’m going to put someone competent on the Screed case.”

  Jenkins frowned. “Did you remind him that both he and the mayor specifically requested Lee?”

  McGinty
grinned. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. You should have seen his eyes bulge . . . I thought he was going to explode! Of course, that triggered another five-minute shitstorm, but it was worth it. How was the trip to the TA? “

  Lee provided them with a rundown. “So,” she concluded, “we never got to talk with Wheels. Maybe he’s involved somehow—or maybe he runs every time he sees a cop.”

  McGinty sat in one of the guest chairs. “Fortunately, while the two of you were drinking beer in the TA, we caught a break.”

  Lee sat up straight. “What kind of break?”

  “Sims was arrested for a DUI last night. He’s on ice at the MDC.”

  “Did he lawyer up?” Lee inquired. “Or can we talk to him?”

  “You can,” McGinty replied. “But I’d get over there right away if I were you. The guy who runs security for the Purity Center is looking for him. That’s what all the messages on my phone say. Unfortunately, I’ve been too busy to call him back.”

  McGinty was stalling. Lee remembered Harmon and wondered what the security chief’s motives were. Did he hope to help Sims? Or to shut him up? Because if Tavez and Sims were on the take, he could be as well. “Thanks, Chief,” Lee said. “We’ll get over there right away.”

  The Metro Detention Center was a short walk from the headquarters building. Once inside, there were multiple layers of security to wade through. The officers had to show ID in order to get beyond the reception desk, then they had to show it again once they arrived at a checkpoint, and that’s where they were required to surrender their weapons. The clerk’s eyebrows rose as four handguns went into a wire basket.

  After logging in, the police officers had to pass through a metal detector and a health screening before being shown into one of the interview rooms. The walls were covered with puke green paint, and the space was furnished with two innocuous cameras, a table that was bolted to the floor, and some mismatched plastic chairs.

  Sims had been sent for. So all Lee and Omo could do was wait, knowing that anything they said would be recorded and might be played in a courtroom. That’s why they said very little until the door opened, and a corrections officer escorted Sims into the room. “Cuffs on?” the guard inquired. “Or cuffs off?”

  “Off,” Lee said.

  The officer nodded, unlocked the cuffs, and gestured to a wall-mounted phone. “Dial five when you’re done.” And with that, he left the room.

  Sims had short black hair and there was two days’ worth of stubble on his receding chin. His eyes flicked from Lee to Omo. It was easy to read his mind. He was thinking about the mask. What was he looking at? A mutant? Or a paranoid norm?

  “Take a load off,” Lee instructed. “Sorry about the DUI charge . . . That sucks.”

  Sims mumbled something unintelligible as he sat down across from the police officers. “Speak up,” Omo said crossly. “Detective Lee can’t hear you.”

  Even though they hadn’t discussed strategy prior to the interview it was clear that Omo planned to play good cop–bad cop with himself in the role of bad cop. And that made sense given the mask. “Okay,” Sims said. His voice was louder now.

  “That’s better,” Lee said approvingly. “I was sorry to hear about Tavez . . . That’s why we’re here. You guys were partners just like Deputy Omo and I are. So you know who killed him.”

  Sims looked startled then worried. “Killed him? Edward committed suicide.”

  Lee nodded. “That’s what everybody believed until the coroner’s report came back. Now we know Tavez was murdered because of the angle at which the bullet entered his skull.”

  The lie was perfectly legal since it hadn’t been given under oath, and Omo played along. “I think we’re looking at the guilty party right now . . . Maybe the two of them got into an argument over money.”

  “I think Deputy Omo is onto something,” Lee said thoughtfully. “The kidnappers paid you to let them take Amanda. You got into an argument with Tavez, he ran his mouth, and you popped him.”

  “No!” Sims said. “That isn’t true.”

  Omo shrugged. “Okay, convince me. Who, other than yourself, would want Tavez dead?”

  “Oh, shit!” Lee said. “I’ve got it! The kidnappers killed Tavez to cover their trail!”

  “That could explain it all right,” Omo said gravely. “Of course, that means they’ll have to grease Mr. Sims as well. Maybe they’ll do our work for us. “

  All of the blood seemed to drain out of Sims’s face. “I don’t believe that,” he said weakly.

  “You don’t believe it,” Lee said, “but you agree that it’s possible.”

  “I have an idea,” Omo said brightly. “Sims will make bail pretty soon. We’ll tail him. Then, when the muties kill him, we’ll be there to make the arrest.”

  “I like it,” Lee said approvingly as she pushed her chair back from the table. “Good thinking, Deputy Omo. Our work is done. Case closed.”

  “Wait,” Sims said desperately. “Maybe we can do a deal.”

  “We don’t do deals,” Omo said ominously.

  Lee scooted her chair forward. “Don’t be such a dick, Ras . . . Sims is trying to work with us. The least we can do is hear him out. Go ahead, Oliver. What have you got in mind?”

  A sweaty sheen could be seen on Sims’s forehead. He swallowed nervously. “I give you a name, and you get the prosecutor to up the charge.”

  “Now that’s clever,” Omo said admiringly. “Sims sends us after the guy that did Tavez . . . And he stays where the muties can’t touch him. This norm ain’t as dumb as he looks.”

  Lee nodded. “Okay, I get it. That could work. So give us the name, and we’ll have a chat with the prosecutor.”

  Sims looked from Lee to Omo and back again. “You promise?”

  Lee smiled sweetly. “We promise.”

  Sims swallowed. “Okay, then . . . I’m not saying that any of the money stuff was true. But there’s a guy who works for the traffickers. A guy named Wheels.”

  Lee shrugged. “I’ve never heard of him. And when you say traffickers, are you talking about drug traffickers or human traffickers?”

  Sims looked away. “Human traffickers. They take normal girls into the red zone and use them for . . . You know.”

  “They use them as surrogates?” Lee demanded.

  “Yeah,” Sims said weakly. “Anyway, because Wheels is a norm, he can drive back and forth without getting pulled over.”

  “Tell me something,” Omo put in. “How would a nice guy such as yourself come to know a scumbag like Mr. Wheels?”

  Sims looked down into his lap. He was silent for a moment. And when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

  “So he’s the one who shot Tavez?” Lee inquired.

  “No,” Sims said miserably. “But he would know who did.”

  Lee looked at Omo, and the mutant nodded. “We need his name Mr. Sims. We need his real name and his address.”

  * * *

  After leaving the metro, Lee and Omo returned to LAPD headquarters where they met with McGinty. He listened, made some suggestions, and placed a call to the prosecutor’s office. That led to a second meeting. The DA was reluctant at first, but came around once the extent of the mayor’s involvement was clear, and agreed to bump the charges against Sims up to reckless driving and racing. The hope was that the revised charges plus a request for high bail would keep the ex-bodyguard on ice for a few days. Then, if all went well, he would face charges of aiding and abetting a kidnapping.

  But in order to get the evidence required to file those charges against Sims, the police had to find Willy Conroy, AKA Wheels, and get some information out of him. The good news was that they had an address. But would Conroy be there? And if so, would some of the traffickers be present as well? Either way, it could be a difficult situation.

  So to avoid mista
kes and minimize the possibility of a firefight, every effort would be made to check the location out prior to the raid. That included drive-bys in unmarked cars, overflights by drones, and a tap on the subject’s phone. As those arrangements were being made, Lee and Omo went off to grab a few hours of much-needed sleep prior to the raid.

  They were back six hours later and meeting with Lieutenant Mick Ferris half a mile from the house where Conroy lived. His SWAT team and various support units had gathered in a parking lot and were ready to move in. It was dark by then, which could be an advantage or a disadvantage depending on how things went down. Ferris placed a laptop on the hood of a squad car. “Here are the daylight photos the drone took,” Ferris said as he swiped a picture onto the screen.

  The images were crisp and sharp. Lee figured they had been taken at a very low altitude. That suggested one of the smaller drones, some of which were no larger than a model airplane. She saw a house with peaked roof, a driveway that ran along the south side of the property, and what looked like a prefab building out back. She figured it was large enough to hold three or four vehicles. Just right for a transporter like Conroy. “How many people are there?” Lee inquired.

  “Good question,” Ferris replied. “We shot some infrared stuff about an hour ago and saw four heat signatures. Conroy has a wife and two kids, so that would make sense.”

  “Unless the family is somewhere else,” Omo mused. “Then we could run into trouble.”

  “Exactly,” Ferris agreed. “So it’s important to be careful.”

  It took ten minutes to load up. Once all the units were ready, a patrol car led the way. Its assignment was to block the north end of the street, while the SWAT team’s armored “war wagon” stopped in front of the house, and another black-and-white sealed the intersection to the south. Other cars were scheduled to swoop in via the alley behind Conroy’s shop. Their job was to prevent Conroy or other members of the gang from slipping out the back.