by Frank Perry
and the smaller man. Both men had confident sneers, too confident. Hunter repeated calmly, “Get out of my way.”
The smaller man made a small motion, almost undetectable, flipping his hunting knife open. Hunter recognized it and punched with lightning speed using an upper-cut closed fist, landing an inch below the man’s sternum, causing organ damage and lifting the man six inches in the air. The practiced karate blow was capable of bruising or stopping the man’s heart. While in the air, Hunter twisted the body and threw him into the other man who was momentarily stunned by the lightning-fast attack. Before the big man could reach the gun in his belt under his windbreaker, Hunter had it in his hand as both men tumbled into the street. With a swift kick, the second man’s head whipped back hard enough to compress his spine. Neither man moved as Hunter grabbed the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk.
In less than a minute, Hunter was driving the rental car down King Street, heading for the GW Parkway and one of the large turnouts south of Alexandria. There was no noise from the back for twenty minutes before he turned onto an overlook high above the Potomac River. The temperature in the trunk, with two bodies contorted into the wheel wells was over one hundred forty degrees Fahrenheit, and the air quality was poor.
With no one else around, he backed into a parking space and opened the trunk lid. The air inside smelled putrid. The larger man was foaming at the mouth and probably had a broken neck. Hunter jerked him out and laid his limp body over the guard rail, removing his wallet. The man made a slight gurgling sound in protest as Hunter leaned close to his ear. “Alright, scumbag, I know who you are. If I ever see you again or have any reason to believe you’re alive, I will kill you again. You will die a horrible death.” The man was nearly lifeless as Hunter lifted his legs, tossing him down the steep incline to the river a hundred feet below. He doubted that he could survive in the water.
The smaller man was in slightly better condition, but still helpless. Hunter threw him across the rail and removed his wallet. He didn’t look at either ID yet, but this one, at least, knew what was happening. The bigger man was probably paralyzed at the neck. Hunter made the same threat to the man and watched him tumble head over heal down to the water beside the other motionless body. Both floated face down in the river, unmoving. He doubted that either was live, but this was the closest to any kind of chance he was giving them. He threw the gun and knife far out then drove the car to National Airport.
He booked a flight on Delta leaving at two-twenty that afternoon. He called Laura telling her when he would arrive after changing planes and reaffirmed his love for her. After takeoff, once the plane was at cruising altitude, he asked the flight attendant for some ice in a plastic bag explaining that he had dropped some garbage on his foot rushing to catch the flight. He actually felt more secure for Laura with two of Peña’s men off the streets in Washington. It would be hours or days before anyone realized that these two were gone. He put his head back and rested while the ice soothed his foot.
In Denver, he changed planes and called Claire telling her his arrival information. He would rent a car.
When he arrived, he jumped aboard the Avis rental car shuttle that had a sign saying “cars available.” In ten minutes, he was driving out of the lot, dialing Laura. She answered, “Hunter! How was your flight?”
“Hi, lover. It was long, but uneventful, just the way I like it. How are you?” Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine, Hunter. Nothing even mildly upsetting going on here.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Look, doll, I’m on my way to Claire’s, so I’ll call you later.”
They said goodbye, as young lovers do, then he called John Richards instead of Claire. He answered, “Richards.”
“John, it’s Hunter Kohl.”
“Hey, Hunter. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon. I assume you’re still in DC?”
“Nope. I just landed in Sacramento, John. How ‘bout we get together?”
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation in John’s voice. “Ah, sure. I’ll come over to Claire’s house.”
Hunter responded quickly. “No. Not at Claire’s. Let’s meet at the park where Jose’s service was held.” He didn’t know many private locations around Sacramento.
John responded. “Look, Hunter. Let’s get something to eat. How ‘bout the Denny’s by Claire’s place. We can both find it.”
Hunter thought John didn’t want to be alone in a private location. “That would be fine, John. I can be there in fifteen.”
“Get a table, and I’ll be there in twenty.”
Hunter arrived at the restaurant before John and requested a booth that was slightly more private than others. None gave much privacy. He didn’t know what he would say to John. John was a big man who stayed in shape. He was ten years older than Claire and probably had a crush on her. His attention to her well-being was more that simple family friendship. Hunter didn’t have much intuition about the attraction, like most men, but there were enough signs from John. He hoped he was wrong about other things.
John arrived a few minutes later, wearing a sport coat even in the early evening heat, characteristic of lawmen wishing to conceal their shoulder holster. The waitress attacked them, taking their orders almost before they could look at the menu. After they were settled and somewhat alone, John said, “Well, this is a surprise, Hunter. You’re back so soon?”
Hunter looked at his glass of water. “I had to come back, John. I needed to find out what happened to Sue Ann. I think she was murdered.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Claire knows her, and I know her. She’s gone, and no one knows where she is. Not even her parents.”
John was earnest in his response. “There could be a hundred explanations, Hunter. There’s no reason to think she’s been murdered.”
Hunter looked at him. “Oh, no? Given her history and threats against us all, there’s every reason to think she’s dead. It’s the first thought in my mind.”
“Why don’t you give it some time.”
“I have, John. I just spent eight hours flying and nothing new came up.”
John fumbled with his glass. “You need to give it more time.”
“Why, John? Do you think anything will change?” Hunter was watching him intensely.
“Hunter. How would I know?”
Their food arrived, and the next few minutes were spent quietly as both men ate guardedly. Hunter finally asked. “John, did you tell anyone about Sue Ann’s confession?”
Richards put down his utensils. “What are you saying, Hunter?”
“John, my baby cousin was murdered, and that information would get her killed. I just need to find some answers.”
Richards began eating again, slightly more rushed. “Let the police find the answers.”
Hunter wasn’t eating. “Did you tell anyone? John, you know Peña has people in government and probably even some cops on the payroll. Did you tell anyone?”
Richards placed his fists on the table holding his knife and fork. “NO!”
Hunter looked away. “Alright, but I assume you shared the information with the FBI?”
“Yes, of course I did.”
Suspicions
The dinner meeting with Richards ended quickly. Neither wanted dessert or coffee. Hunter told him that he would be staying at Sue Ann’s apartment. If John had anything to do with her disappearance or associated with someone that informed Peña, Hunter just made himself a target. Anyone piecing together two missing men in Washington and his snooping around in California would see him as a threat, and Peña had only one way to deal with threats. He didn’t want to be close to Claire on this trip.
He drove to Claire’s house for the rest of his gear and cautioned her again about talking freely to John Richards. He hoped he was wrong, but his worries were growing. Claire worked near John’s office and would need to be on he
r best theatrical behavior.
The drive to San Jose would take more than two hours, which he used partly to call Laura. It was very late, but he wanted to hear her voice. They talked for almost half an hour. He never mentioned the street fight, and she didn’t bring up anything from the news. DC averaged three murders every night, so the punks that attacked him might not attract much special attention, or they hadn’t been discovered yet, which seemed unlikely. She didn’t mention it, and he didn’t inquire.
Hunter knew he was placing himself in the crosshairs for Peña. He wanted it that way. Halfway to Sue Ann’s he pulled off at a rest stop along I-80, parking in a shadowed area between light poles. It was after midnight and aside from the sleeping truckers, there weren’t any commuters stopping nearby. After glancing around, he opened the trunk and went into his equipment bag. He didn’t want to attract attention. He felt the holster straps and pulled the Beretta and spare magazines from the bag. He was still licensed to carry the weapon in California from his days in the Border Patrol. He preferred the Beretta over other brands used by law enforcement because he trained with it in the Navy. It was slightly heavier and larger than some brands, but he’d learned to fire instinctively at close targets without aiming. His familiarity with the weapon was one reason he’d survived in the SEAL team’s operations and more than once along the Mexican border.
He moved beside the car
