Raven Rain

by David Stever

  I explained to Mike and Monica how Lamar Shanks was Kenzie’s dealer and accomplice in the blackmail attempt, and how I woke up next to him, only he was colder than the quarry water. I asked her to call it in. Even a drug dealer did not deserve to lie dead in the dirt.

  She handed our only phone back to me. We lost two cars, two cell phones, and four guns, including Monica’s three. We stayed in constant contact with Katie on our drive to Crescent Beach, via text. All was quiet, she reported.

  “Slow down, Mike, coming up on your left,” I said, as we turned on the access road for my property. The phone lit up, a message from Katie:

  “I heard something. A car door.”

  “She heard a noise. I’m responding,” I said.

  “Stay quiet, we are almost there.”

  “Okay, Mike, fifty yards is my drive. Cut the lights.”

  He did, and we went at a slow crawl along the narrow road until we spotted Talia’s Jaguar on the shoulder, near the entrance to my gravel driveway. My cottage was a hundred feet from the road and turning in would be louder than sounding an alarm.

  “Talia is here,” Monica said. “Surprise, surprise.”

  “Taking care of business herself.” I hoped we were not far behind. Talia proved she had no room for loose ends. Kenzie and Lamar could be linked to her organization. Paul Ellison sniffed too close, as did Monica, who she left for dead. And my fate, she left to chance. I feared what waited for us at the end of the drive.

  “Monica, move to the driver’s seat. If the person driving that Jag comes up here and we don’t, ram it if you need to,” Mike said.

  “Like hell! I’ll be right behind you.”

  “You can’t walk, and you don’t have a weapon,” I said. “Keep this.” I handed her the phone. “Mike, ready?”

  “Let’s do it, brother.”

  He carried the twelve gauge and I had the Glock, and we walked single file on the edge of the driveway, staying off the noisy stone. The light from the moon was my friend earlier in the night at the quarry, but now we were illuminated with nowhere to hide. Low sand dunes were on either side, with no tall cover. Easy targets.

  A blast broke the night silence. We both dropped to a crouch. Mike held up a hand and we listened. Nothing: no voices, no footsteps, nobody running for the road. My heart pounded. Was that Katie taking a shot, or…?

  An engine started. Not a car, something smaller.

  He turned to me. “You hear that?”

  “It’s my air compressor.”

  Then, bam…bam…bam…bam…bam…bam!

  “Go,” I said, and we stayed as low as possible until we got to the cottage. “Go around the back. I am going to the deck.”

  Bam, bam…bam…bam…bam…bam!

  I hugged the side of the house as I moved closer to the front deck, which was on my left. The noise stopped; so did I. To listen.

  The only sounds were the breeze off the ocean and the surf breaking on the beach. I waited as long as I could stand it, then peeked around the corner of the cottage.

  There stood Katie, in the glow of the moonshine, the wind flicking her blonde hair, nail gun in her hand, the conquering soldier straddling her prey.

  “Katie?” I said. “What…?” I stepped up as Mike came from the back. He followed me. On the deck was Anthony DeRenzo, out cold. She nailed his clothes to the boards, with him wearing them. She nailed around his body like a chalk outline. A handgun was beside him.

  “Is he dead?” Mike said.

  “No,” she said, her breathing fast and heavy. Her adrenaline must be spiking at record levels. “I…I…took a shot…” Her eyes were wide and animated.

  “Slow down,” I said. “Tell us what happened.”

  “I heard a car door. So, I hid in the corner, but I could see him coming down the drive. I didn’t want to be cornered in here if he came in, so I decided to wait outside to surprise him. He came up on the deck and I told him to stop. He didn’t, and he came toward me, so I fired.”

  “You hit him?” Mike asked.

  She shook her head. “Missed by a mile. Scared him, though, because he fell back—I guess tripped over himself, and hit his head on the rail. Then I got the nail gun.”

  Monica hobbled up on the deck, taking in the scene. “Holy shit. Are his clothes nailed to the…”

  DeRenzo stirred, opened his eyes. “What the hell?” Tried to move his arms and legs. “Hey, let me up. What is this?”

  Katie pressed the gun to his forehead. “Say one more word and I will put one in your brain.”

  “Whoa,” Monica said. “Warrior Barbie, now who’s the bad ass?”

  47

  “Where is Stan?” I took the nail gun out of her hand and led her away from a screaming Anthony DeRenzo.

  “Hiding in the bedroom,” Katie said.

  We went inside and called for him.

  He came out of the bedroom like a scared puppy, faced us, took in our collective gaze. “What happened? I heard shooting.”

  “Sit down,” I said.

  He sat on the sofa, and we helped Monica to my old leather recliner. I filled a plastic bag with ice for her knee, and Mike and I pulled in chairs from the kitchen. “Katie?” I motioned for her to sit.

  She shook her head. In fact, she couldn’t stop moving, fidgeting—still amped I’m sure.

  DeRenzo’s shouts drew Stan’s attention. “Who’s out there? Katie, did you shoot him?”

  “Stan,” I said, “you have three minutes to explain everything. No bullshit. Start talking.”

  He threw up his hands. “What do you mean? I already told you everything. Is that Anthony?”

  “Detective Mattson is ready to arrest you, so I would stick to the truth if I were you.”

  “Arrest me? I’m a victim here. These people tried to blackmail me. Johnny, if not for you, I don’t know what I would do.”

  “Stan, talk, now. We confirmed they flew girls in tonight; the FBI is on it. This is your one chance to come clean.”

  “The more you tell me now, the better it will be for you. Cooperate, and I help you cut a deal,” Monica said.

  “Deal? I was being blackmailed.” He got up and paced around.

  “Sit back down.” I got up from my chair. He sat, and Mike and I stood in front of him. “We’ll try this again, one more time.”

  He looked up at us with sad eyes.

  “We confirmed it was your plane. Makes you an accessory, for starters. Then, add in the dead bodies. One police detective, Kenzie, and now Lamar Shanks.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Kenzie’s blackmail partner. Talia is adept at eliminating any ties to her business, so you can bet she will give you up in a second.”

  “You’re talking like I need a lawyer or something.” Stan sat back on the sofa, defiantly crossing his arms.

  It was all Mike could handle. He stepped closer, bent down, and grabbed a fist full of his shirt, pulled him close and screamed in his face. “My partner, and this detective, were both left for dead tonight. Tell them what they need to know, now, or I take you out to the deck and put a nail into your wooden skull. Idiot.” He pushed him into the sofa.

  “Okay, okay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How about a drink?”

  “No,” I said.

  We all had our arms crossed in front of us, waiting.

  “Jesus, you should see yourselves. Scarier than the Steelers defensive line in the seventies.”

  Mike took a step forward. “Where are the girls now?”

  He sat forward, elbows on knees and head in his hands, and stared at the floor as he talked. “On their way to New York. Dee Dee is driving them.”

  “What vehicle?”

  “Anthony’s. Probably.”

  “How long have you been involved in this?”

  “Six months or so. I met Anthony first. Hired him as my pilot. We would talk about women while flying, as guys do. Me, anyhow. He tells me about this escort service, and eventually introduces me to Talia and Dee Dee,
and I loved it. Much like what I told you, Johnny— it was easy. Girls to my loft and all. Then Talia approaches me about investing and it sounds fun. I transfer some money. Two weeks later, she hands me an envelope with ten grand in cash, said there is plenty more and explains her deal. I figure, no harm—she’s taking care of these girls—so I go along.

  “I agreed to finance all the plane trips and even bought a house outside Atlanta where they stay for a few nights to lay low in case they were followed. Then we fly them to the airfield at night.” He looked at me. “You know about the warehouse?” I nodded. “They go there for a couple of days, and then Dee Dee drives them to New York. We are paid $15,000 per girl. $20,000 if they are underage.”

  “Kenzie?” I asked.

  “She wanted in on the deal. She found out about the trafficking and wanted in. Talia and Dee Dee wanted nothing to do with her, so she got mad and cooked up the blackmail scheme to get me on her side. She was going to expose everything unless I talked Talia into bringing her into the business. Talia solved the problem. You were right—it was a message to me. But the message was to play by Talia’s rules.”

  “How was I supposed to help?”

  “I figured if I hired you, it would look legit that I was being blackmailed. I was scared at that point and couldn’t see a way out.”

  “Where’s Talia?”

  “No idea.”

  “Stand up.”

  He did, and I threw the best right hook of my life, knocking him back over the sofa. Mike grabbed me before I dove over after him.

  Stan pulled himself up. “You know what, John—I deserved that, didn’t I?”

  “Monica?” I said.

  “With pleasure. Stan Shelton, you are under arrest for human trafficking and as many other charges as I can make stick. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

  I went outside to DeRenzo. “Where is Talia?”

  A sick smile went across his face. “Everywhere.”

  I flicked on the air compressor, and picked up the nail gun and held it against his head. “Try again.”

  “How would I know? I’m sort of stuck here with you.”

  “Is she with Dee Dee?”

  “You a cop?”

  “You are not that lucky.”

  “Go to hell.”

  I fired a nail into the deck, a fraction of an inch from his ear. The sound itself probably did some damage. The door opened, and Katie and Mike ran out.

  “All good here. Anthony was about to tell me where Talia is.” I put the nail gun to the other side of his head. “Right?”

  “I said, go to hell.”

  I fired again.

  “All right. Jesus. Airfield. But you’re too late.”

  “Yeah?” I hopped up. “Katie, I need your car keys.”

  ###

  I noticed the white, twin-engine plane on the tarmac as I pulled into the empty parking lot at the airfield. Was she still here? What exactly was I going to say: “Please don’t leave, the FBI are on their way to arrest you”? Or was it to be, “Hey, I survived the quarry, here I am to take another beating”? Or, could I talk her into negotiating a plea deal, to use her words, “on the grounds she was actually helping these girls who would come here anyway?”

  I was on a mission without a goal. A fool’s mission.

  I hopped out of Katie’s Honda and clicked off the safety on the Glock. The place was deserted, or so I thought.

  “We’re ready to go.” A man’s voice, somewhere near the hangar.

  Bobby Rodriguez? I stayed against the outside wall of the terminal. Maybe I was not too late after all. I stopped at the corner of the building; any farther and I would be exposed.

  From behind me: “Delarosa.”

  I spun around, and in the fraction of a second it took for my brain to register the Davis brothers, I caught a movement out of my left eye. A bash to my head and a sharp pain, and I was on the ground. The weight of two bodies on me, pinning me down. My arms yanked behind my back and my hands tied together. My ankles bound and trussed to my hands. Hogtied.

  Brothers Davis pulled me up by my armpits and dragged me to the tarmac, with my knees scraping the asphalt and blood trickling off my forehead, into my left eye.

  She approached. They held me up, and I raised my face as high as I could.

  “Never thought I’d see you here. I am genuinely happy you are alive.” She bent over so we were more eye to emerald eye. “Nasty cut. Might scar.”

  “Talia. Don’t do this.”

  “What—leave you to die, or flee the country?”

  “It’s over.” I couldn’t hold my head up against the pain from the wound, the blood dripping.

  She gently lifted my chin. “All these years, can you believe our paths crossed again? I am thrilled we had a chance to visit.” The engines started on the Beechcraft. “My ride. Until we meet again. Could be in this world, maybe some other.” She reached behind her with her other hand and flashed my Beretta in front of me. “A souvenir of our time together.”

  She let my chin drop, but I did my best to crane my head up as she walked to the plane.

  She stopped, turned around, and came back a few paces toward us. “I really am glad you are alive.” She fired two bullets, one into each Davis.

  They fell back, taking me with them.

  The twin engines roared as I struggled against the ties around my wrists, but all I could do was shimmy and maneuver my body around to watch as the plane rolled along the runway, climb into the air, and faded into the morning sky.

  48

  Katie set a drink in front of each of us.

  “Hey, there’s fruit floating in my drink,” Mike quipped.

  “Try it,” she said. “My new concoction. Similar to a Manhattan.”

  Me, Mike, and Monica were lined up at the bar in McNally’s while Katie served. Monica balanced herself on a stool with a wrapped knee and crutches. We all sipped. “Hey, not bad,” I said. “What’s in it?”

  “Bulleit bourbon, sweet vermouth, orange bitters, cherries, and a slice of orange. I call it… ready?…the Delarosa.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I’ll drink to that.” Monica sipped. “Delicious.”

  “A tribute to my favorite private investigator and my boss. The one who promised to take me shooting.”

  We all raised a glass. “A little fancy,” I said, “but tasty.”

  “There is still fruit in my drink,” Mike said.

  “Funny, funny,” Katie said. “Goes on the menu today.”

  “And I will take you shooting. Not sure if we should go to the range, or to the lumber yard and buy a two-b- four,” I said.

  “Speaking of which.” Mike reached under the bar and pulled a picture from an envelope. “Proof of the greatest capture in law enforcement history.” He held up an 8x10 photo of Anthony DeRenzo nailed to the deck. Written with marker in the bottom margin was “Warrior Barbie always gets her man.”

  “You took a picture?” Katie asked.

  “Damn right. No way I could pass it up.” He stuck the picture in the wooden frame around the mirror behind the bar. “Saved for prosperity. And some wild stories.”

  “I love it!” She danced around, hands thrust in the air. “Now who needs their license?”

  “Whoa, save the party for later. We got company,” Mike said, as we followed his gaze to the front window. Captain Elliott Lane was out of his black sedan and on his way in.

  “Captain. Welcome to McNally’s,” I said.

  “I’m glad you are all here. Wanted to update you on the case. First, Mattson, how is the knee?”

  “Bad bruise. Should be back on the job in two weeks.”

  He nodded. “Happy it’s not worse. More good news—we found your Camaro in a barn on Jacob Davis’s farm. Not a scratch on it.”

  “They knew not to mess with me.”

  “Delarosa,” he said. “Bad
news. Your car is at the bottom of the quarry. Sorry, but a decision will be made on whether it is worth pulling out. Hope you have decent insurance.”

  “I do, but not sure it covers car drowned by criminals.”

  They all laughed.

  “I’ll try to make a case for you. No promises.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “The NYPD picked up Daniella DeRenzo as she approached the Holland Tunnel, leaving the city. All because of your efforts, though. Can’t thank you enough. No sign of Talia Thorne. The FAA is reviewing all radar from the other night. Can’t find Bobby Rodriguez either, so we assumed he was her pilot.”

  “What about the girls she brought in?” I asked.

  “No luck yet, and DeRenzo is not talking.”

  “And Stan?”

  “Bawling like a baby. He’ll plead out. His lawyer is spinning him as a victim in an elaborate scam.”

  “Not surprised,” I said.

  Captain Lane turned his attention to my tall, blonde bartender. “Are you Katie Pitts?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard about what you did.” He reached across the bar and shook her hand, then gave her a business card. “We could use strong, fearless women like you on the PCPD. Give me a call.”

  “Thank you. I just might do that.”

  Handshakes all around and Lane turned to leave but stopped. “Oh, Mike. Abby says hello. We’d love to have you over for dinner some night. Been a long time.”

  If I ever wanted to capture a moment in time, it was then. The big red Irishman went so pale, his freckles disappeared. “Sure, I’d love to, but…I thought…you two…” He stumbled all over his words.

  “Split up? Yeah, vicious rumor. I caught her having an affair. Mike Curtis from the Fourth Precinct? Transferred him to Traffic, packed my stuff, and moved out. Lasted three days—she apologized, and I moved back. We talked it over, realized we are meant for each other, and now everything is better than ever.”

  “Oh. Glad to hear.” Mike had a nonplussed expression across his face.

  “I’ll give you a call.”

  Captain Lane went out, and Mike stared at the floor. He dared not even look at us, especially Katie. “Do not even say a word,” he said.