The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1)

by Henri Jenkins

  Inside, a wide opening before him expanded into a large lobby. He remembered the space. With the electricity returned, safety lights illuminated the stairs. He started the climb. Making the turn at the landing between the second and third floor, something plinked the metal of the inner handrail. The noise startled Bo as it ricocheted through the concrete and steel.

  A second sound whizzed past his right ear bringing certainty to his mind. Someone was shooting at him. In using a silencer, they weren’t playing fair. Instinct told him the shots came from below. Bo moved to the wall and made his way up the next flight. He rushed into the darkness of the third floor.

  In unfamiliar territory, he turned right and found a wall. Bo knelt and pulled the .38 from his ankle. He slowed his breathing and listened for movement. All was quiet.

  Sliding a nickel from his pocket, he tossed the coin across the room. The zipping sound of two bullets chased the noise. The gunman was with him in the darkness. He counted to five and squeezed off one round to the same area hoping the shooter had gone to investigate.

  He wondered if Patty would hear the shot from the roof and come to investigate. In some ways he wanted to keep her from harm, in others, he welcomed the help. Working his way deeper into the dark, he disappeared. The smell of burnt gunpowder hung in the air.

  His training, early in life, returned. He slowed his breathing to a shallow pace. He sat the revolver on a desktop and slid his Colt from the shoulder harness. Bo eased the first two round from the pistol and dropped them to the carpet. He picked up the .38.

  He pulled both arms in close. They crossed at the wrist so that the right hand faced left and the left hand right. With a twist of the torso, it provided the optimal coverage of space.

  There was sound out near the stairwell. Patty screamed, "No. Don't!" Two more shots whispered in the dark. The thud of someone falling to the floor followed. A metallic sound rattled against the concrete.

  Patty called out, “Bo? Are you there?” Her voice cracked as if in despair.

  Leaving the comfort of the shadows, Bo started toward her. He was cautious. Guns led the way.

  “They’ve gone,” she said.

  Bo’s head was on a swivel. His eyes and ears on full alert. Wanting to reach her, his safety was paramount. Gaining a view, he saw her slumped over sitting on the stairs. Her pistol lay near her feet. Blood pooled.

  Bo ran to her.

  "He shot me," she said.

  He fell to a knee laying his guns within easy reach. Patty fell against him, sobbing. Grabbing her with both hands, he gently pushed her into a sitting position to examine the severity of her wounds. His ears remained vigilant.

  As he pushed, the metal of a silencer pressed up, into the skin beneath his chin. The heat lingered. Her face lit up in excitement as she burst into laughter. Bo was in shock. Patty stepped on his guns and motioned him back. Bo tracked her service revolver as he moved.

  “It’s empty," Patty said, "and so is this.” She held an empty blood IV bag as if taunting him then tossed it to the floor. “Fingers locked behind your head,” she insisted with a wave of the gun. She relaxed against the steps for a moment, reveling in her accomplishment.

  "We’re going to the roof and one of us is going to jump off. You want to guess who?”

  Bo scoffed. “You?”

  Patty laughed at his arrogance. She stood and kicked his guns across the stairwell. Stepping out of his way, she directed him to climb the stairs. She fell in behind, keeping a safe distance.

  “Patty, what’s this about?”

  “Come now, do I actually have to spell it out for the great Bo Boson, investigator extraordinaire?"

  Bo turned and shot her a stern look.

  "Well there’s the money but I think the greater part was getting one over on the genius.”

  “I’m no genius.”

  “I believe that - now.”

  “How deep is your involvement?”

  “Deep enough.”

  “Turn yourself and everyone else in and I’ll talk to the D.A.”

  “No one is turning themselves in and you won’t be talking to anyone, especially the D.A.”

  “Can you at least tell me why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why children, they’re defenseless, innocent.”

  Patty turned mean. “Rich kids aren’t innocent, they’re as guilty as their fucking parents and you know it. Kids killing kids. Ha! I’ve been to that big house of yours. It isn’t you. You’re more of the poor man’s lunch, you didn’t always have money. Did you?”

  “It’s a working man’s lunch but you’re right, I don’t come from money. I’ve earned mine, sometimes the hard way.”

  Bo pulled the roof access door open and stepped out. Patty followed, blocking the door for a quick escape. Having no desire to get anywhere near the edge of the seven-story building, Bo stopped quick and turned to Patty.

  “You don’t want to do this. You have no idea what kind of trouble you’ll bring down on yourself if you do.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll be alright. After your funeral I might stop off and visit the old girlfriend and her son. Maybe the boy won't survive afterall.”

  The burst of anger in Bo's face surprised Patty and she realized she had drawn too close. She went to step away but it was too late, a quick right jab landed square against her nose. Blood flowed, real blood this time, not from a baggie.

  Stunned, she moved to shoot him. He deflected her arm. The shot sailed wide right. A second punch landed. Her eyes went fuzzy. Bo captured her wrist. He rounded a blow to her midriff. It lifted her feet from the roof. The air rushed from her lungs. She sucked blood in.

  Trying to recapture a semblance of participation, she kicked him between the legs with every measure of energy remaining.

  She hurt him. He collapsed to his knees.

  She licked her bloody lips, savoring the violent flavor of victory.

  Patty raised the gun to his face. A bloodied smile spread across her face. A shot rang out.

  If for no one other than ourselves, we all die too soon.

  Bo's hands raised to block.

  Pain exploded from her hand as the gun flew across the rooftop. Patty yelped and squeezed, holding the life within.

  Bo had escaped another death. Through teary eyes he looked with Patty to see a figure with a gun trained on her. Gunner knelt at the stairwell door. His eyes and a pistol trained on her, watching every movement.

  "You fuck!," she hollered pulling her hand to her chest, "I'm a fucking cop. I'll have your goddamn balls mounted." She choked. A .300 Win Mag high-velocity round stole her words and flew away with her life. She had no time to realize she was dead. She just was. Her body collapsed.

  Bo and Gunner each understood the noise that followed. The suppressor hid the shooter. A supersonic round created its own sound in wake. Gunner ducked into the building. Bo leapt to his stomach getting paper thin.

  "Sniper," Bo said.

  "Yeah."

  "Can you see if she's down?"

  "Roger that.” Gunner’s head leaned far right. “She ate the whole thing."

  "Came past my right shoulder. You see a muzzle flash?"

  "No flash. From the angle, I'd say the building across the street, the one the tunnel connects."

  "That's my thinking too," said Bo. "How am I for coverage?"

  "I think you're okay there but open between."

  "Copy."

  "Want your Colt?"

  "Found it on the stairs?"

  "Yeah."

  "You have the .38 too?"

  "And a .45 I took from the short guy."

  "What short guy?"

  "The one in black fatigues I bumped into on my way in the back door."

  "Where's he now?" Bo asked.

  "He ran off when I took his gun."

  "They tend to do that." Bo smirked.

  "He had skills, I'll give him that."

  "Ah fuck Gunner, how bad are you?"

  Gunner sighed. "
A deep laceration on my left forearm, a surface slice and two shallow sticks on the belly."

  "Shit Gunner."

  "What? He had a knife - and a gun. I had nothing. And he surprised me."

  "You should go."

  "I'm good right here. The arm's wrapped tight. Nothing I'll bleed out from as long as I stay away from the pointy end of that rifle."

  "Toss me a gun and we'll get the hell out of here."

  "You want the .45 or .38?"

  "You're cover fire so keep the .45s and give me the .38."

  "Here." Gunner whipped the gun flat like dealing cards for poker.

  It slid in the pea gravel throwing rocks in Bo's face. "Mine's all live."

  "Copy that. Did D-Nut give you specs on the sniper rig?"

  "No. We'll hope for bolt action," Bo said.

  "Roger that."

  "I'm coming on three."

  "Run, duck walk or crawl?"

  "Roll I think."

  "You announcing?" Gunner asked.

  "No but I'd like to take the light out above you. Of course if he has a starlight it'll be a waste. "

  "Shoot and hold?"

  "Not with you bleeding. I'll take it as a diversion."

  "Cover fire - active or response?"

  "Response only," said Bo.

  "Okay I'll be high so stay low."

  "One. Two. Three."

  Bo rolled over and shot the light above the access door turning the roof dark. A high-velocity shot clanked hard against the metal access door. The force pushed the door open and it returned hard nearly shutting Bo out.

  There was no return fire from Gunner. Bo came flat near the door and started to belly crawl.

  A second round hit the door and it swung open again. The sniper was catfishing, shooting at the door hoping Bo would move into the line of fire.

  Bo realized the rifle was without night vision optics. He crawled as fast as he could.

  A third round hit near Bo's right foot, the shooter had adjusted.

  Gunner emptied one .45, tucked it, and reached down with his right arm. Bo rolled to his side, grabbed Gunner’s wrist with his left hand and locked his arm. Gunner fell away dragging Bo inside. Gunner and Bo snapped off their remaining rounds into the dark. Both men slid their bodies down the concrete stairs.

  They were safe.

  Bo and Gunner scooted down the next flight and sat against the sixth floor wall to catch their breath.

  "More pros or the same two?" Gunner asked.

  "I'm thinking same."

  "The fucker bounced the first round off the door and it almost goosed me."

  "They got skills."

  "Yeah they do."

  Bo put the .38 in its holster and examined Gunner's wounds. He pulled two extra clips from his shoulder holster and handed one to Gunner for the Pro's Remington. They reloaded the pistols and worked their way down. At the street, Bo took the Remington and hailed Gunner a cab.

  "Sorry I ruined your first date," Gunner said from the backseat.

  "And you promised you wouldn't be a third wheel."

  "I didn't shoot her. Well, okay I did but not the round that ended her."

  Bo shook his head. "Go get well, I’ll handle the press." He shut the door and walked to a payphone. He called 911, Prescott, and then Katie to apologize for not making it back for dessert.

  As he sat waiting for the police, he noticed a chunk missing from the outside of his right shoe. He realized a sniper round had chewed it out. His favorite shoes ruined.

  The Remingtion had no serial number so he pulled his magazine and cleared the chamber. He squeezed the bullet into the clip. He put the Remington and both magazines on the ground. As the first siren approached, he cleared his Colt and placed it on the ground. He added the .38 and the extra clips to the collection.

  He stood and stepped away, his hands high and visible as the first unit rolled up. Bo identified himself and told the officer about Patty. The second officer secured the weapons then patted Bo down and got his licenses.

  A thorough search of the building across the street revealed zero bad guys. On the roof, they discovered four spent rifle cartridges. They also found a surveillance room full of cameras watching the hideout and remote-operated triggers.

  The camera wires ran to a burst microwave LOS antenna that matched a twin on the roof of the hideout. The building owners had installed the system for the then tenants. The Pros used the equipment to their advantage.

  When Prescott arrived on scene, Bo took him through the evening. He then drove to pick Gunner up from the ER. They made it to Bo’s house around three in the morning and crashed.

  To a man, intelligence adds character. To a woman, beauty.

  It was true Bo loved beautiful women. Momma Grace was his first, his model for what a woman could be, and should be. Scholarly men knew what, laborers knew how, women knew why but Momma Grace, she knew all. She taught Bo everything and what she did not already know, they learned together.

  Gunner woke sore but with a clear head. Bo was more pissed than sore. The men talked while Bo wrestled breakfast.

  "You place the valve?" Gunner asked.

  "No, not yet. I mentioned it again to Prescott last night."

  "And?"

  "He told me to drop it by the office and he'll have the residue examined."

  "I have to return Brock's car, want me to drop it off?"

  "Appreciate the offer but I was thinking I'd stop by one of the big libraries downtown or maybe a museum to see if I can ID it."

  "Right."

  Bo carried a plate with bacon, eggs and toast to the table.

  “You know,” Gunner said as they sat to eat, “Maybe it was the drugs or tiredness but it came to me in bed last night.”

  Bo looked up from his plate, fearful of what had come to Gunner in bed.

  “I remembered where I saw the freaky deaky detective bitch before.”

  “Oh,” Bo sighed, “Where's that?” His focus returned to the food.

  “It was at a club south of Whacker. Three, four months ago, I reckon. A seedy place - the kinky kind of seedy.” Gunner shoveled a load of eggs into his mouth and plugged the hole with a chunk of toast. He wiped at his mouth. “Don't look at me like that," he said past chewing, "I was on the clock."

  Bo’s face questioned the truth of the statement. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Anyway,” Gunner drawled and slurped at his coffee, “I had to take a leak and it was the last place I wanted to go to the bathroom. You know what I mean. I tried to hold it but couldn't so I finally gave in."

  Bo sat his fork down, pulled his elbows to the table and rested his chin on a two handed fist. He wondered how Gunner needing to go to the bathroom led to an encounter with Patty Jameson and why, in heaven's name, why he chose breakfast to share the memory.

  “I walked into the men's room and there's a tall guy, six-four, six-five.” His bandaged left arm rose to demonstrate the man’s height. “He’s handcuffed to a pipe.” A smile formed on Gunner’s lips. “His pants and striped bikinis around his ankles. This chick in a leather skirt is bucking, I mean just slamming her ass against him.” His right hand pounded the table for effect. “She had one hand on her tit.” His left hand created the international male symbol for a woman’s breast. “The other hidden between her legs.” Without demonstration. “She's sputtering every dirty thing I’ve ever heard. And a few I hadn't.”

  Bo cleared breakfast bits from between his bottom lip and gums.

  “So the guy's like, ‘Hey dude - get this crazy bitch off me man.’ And she turned and stared at me like she would eat my freaking face if I interrupted her.”

  Bo remained unaffected.

  “It was her,” Gunner spouted. “I'm certain of it. Detective First Class Freaky Deaky getting her rocks off.”

  “And what'd you do? Did you rescue the pole bean?”

  Gunner raised a hand. “Me?" He thumbed behind. "I pee'd between two cars in the parking lot across the street.”

  A
vision of Patty Cakes with an open blouse and her ass peeking from a short leather skirt came over Bo. The doorbell interrupted his daydream. Bo checked his watch and smiled. He opened the front door to find a deep red head of hair as expected. Bags in both hands, she leaned close and kissed him on each cheek.

  “Bonjour Monsieur Bo,” she said with a light, flirty accent.

  “Bonjour Madame.” He took the bags.

  She winked and brushed past, a hand slid across his cheek.

  “How was Paris?” he asked as he trailed behind watching hers in skintight Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. She had it. That trait he had seen in Katie, the perfect mix of brunette and blonde, of intelligence and fun.

  “Enjoying the show?” she quipped before skidding to a stop. “Oh! Hello.” She glanced back to Bo then returned to Gunner. “I hadn’t realized you had company.”

  “Sorry,” Bo said, his eyes squeezing shut. "My apologies." It was the second thing Momma Grace had taught him.

  Bo sat the bags on the table and made introductions. Gunner and Raven shared niceties as they sized each other up. A few minutes later a cab honked out front and Gunner excused himself saying he had to return a car.

  Raven turned her attention to the bags and moved them to the counter. Rather than luggage and fine Parisian presents, the bags contained food. She unpacked fresh fruits and veggies, thick slabs of various cheeses, a cooked skinless turkey breast, and healthy snacks that scrunched Bo’s face into a soured frown. There would be no working man’s lunch for two.

  "What you say we work on our appetite?" said Raven as she loaded some items into the fridge.

  "Okay," Bo said flat. His thoughts sang, "Please don't say jogging. Please don't say jogging."

  Raven unhooked the top button of her crisp white Windsor shirt. Bo noticed and grew taller to watch. She wiggled her shoulders and bit at her lip.

  "Oh." Bo said. "Oh. Oh. Oh-kay!" His head nodded an emphatic yes.

  Raven flashed a broad, full smile at his boyish eagerness.

  “I would stop time to spend an eternity with that smile,” he thought.