The Ninth District - A Thriller

by Douglas Dorow

  Jack checked his hair and tie in the mirror. “I’m glad I found my sunglasses, Junior. I wouldn’t have worn yours to a funeral.”

  “You look good, Jack. Nice, but official. You’ll blend right in.”

  “Thanks.” Jack handed Ross the camera with the long zoom lens. “You shouldn’t have any problem getting everybody’s picture with this. I’ll leave the car running with the AC on for you so you don’t die. Be polite. Don’t let anybody see you taking their picture.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be waiting for you right here,” Ross said.

  The heat was almost unbearable. By the time Jack walked across the grass from the car to the gravesite, he was sweating. His shoes crunched through the dry grass, a sound amplified by the quiet of the cemetery. A couple of people glanced at him as he took up position at the back of the group of thirty or so people all facing the pastor preparing to perform the ceremony. Jack bowed his head while he waited for everyone’s attention to return to the pastor. Then he looked up and started his surveillance of the group in front of him.

  Nobody appeared not to belong. Family, friends, and coworkers were here to provide support and pay their last respects. The pastor said something that got Jack’s attention. Take these persons into your kingdom? Jack shifted to his right and looked over the shoulder of the man in front of him. Two caskets, side by side, identical in every detail except for their size, sat supported over the holes in the ground into which they would be lowered. The mother and the baby. Jack felt a knot in his stomach. He closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sky. He wanted to swear, but not here. He controlled his anger and returned his attention to the service to pay his respects.

  At the conclusion of the service, some people shuffled off to their cars, while others milled around to support each other. Jack waited off to one side in the shade of an old oak tree watching the people around him. A few people had formed a line offering condolences to the husband. Jack waited for most of the people to head to their cars before he approached.

  “Mr. Humphrey?” Jack extended his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jack Miller with the FBI. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’m a husband and a father, but I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I just wanted you to know that we’re doing everything we can to catch the man that did this.” Mr. Humphrey nodded and Jack turned and strode back to the car.

  Chapter 31

  The brown, leather satchel rode smoothly on its side on the seat next to the Governor. He laid his hand protectively on it and gently rubbed the smooth surface. Soon his dreams would come true; his problems would be behind him. He knew this day would come. A quick glance at the satchel proved what the touch of his right hand told him. It was still there.

  Months of planning, learning, plotting without knowing if what he dreamt of could come true. His business was a failure, he would soon have to file for bankruptcy, but now it didn’t matter.

  He drove down a long, winding driveway lined with crab apple trees and hosta. He had been here before, in the spring, when the trees were flowering and filled the air with their intoxicating smell and the pink petals created a path to the house. Vadim provided a newly emigrated Russian family with housing in exchange for their keeping up the property. They worked hard in exchange and also served as guardians. One of them appeared from around the corner of the house as the Governor pulled into a parking spot in front of the garage. When the gardener recognized the Governor, he relaxed and walked over to the car and opened the door for him.

  “He’s at the pool, sir. Can I help you with your bag?”

  The Governor held tightly to the handle of the satchel. “I’ll take it, thanks. I probably won’t be long.”

  The sun shimmered on the surface of the swimming pool. A light breeze pushed a blue air mattress around in the corner of the pool where it gently bumped against the side. Vadim looked up from his book and waved the Governor to join him in a lounge chair next to him. A table between the two chairs held a pitcher of something cold. Its sides dripped with condensation from the humid air. “Hello, my friend. Join me. Can I offer you some lemonade?”

  The Governor sat down in the chair and gently set the satchel on its side at his feet. “I would love a glass, thanks.” The Governor drank half of it and put the glass on the table. With the pleasantries completed between them, he couldn’t wait to get on to why he was here.

  “Vadim, I have been successful in obtaining the final piece.”

  Vadim closed his book and sat up. “You got it?”

  “Yes, but I have a small problem I want to take care of.”

  “What is it?” Vadim asked.

  “One of the FBI agents who’s been trying to solve the bank robberies. He’s getting closer than I would like him to be. I have a plan to take care of him and I think the distraction may be beneficial to our other endeavor.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I need a gun, and a rifle with a scope.” The Governor sat up and turned to look at Vadim. “I need it tonight, and I need to practice some. It’ll be about a quarter mile shot.”

  “Let me get somebody to take care of it for you.”

  “Thanks, but it’s something I need to do.” The Governor forced himself to relax and speak evenly. “It’s safe. I won’t put the job at risk, but it’s something I need to do.”

  Vadim swatted a yellow jacket away from the lip of his glass of lemonade. “You are sure I cannot have somebody take care of this for you?” The question hung in the air. “It would be no problem.”

  The Governor shook his head.

  One of the gardeners appeared from behind them through some bushes. Vadim and the gardener exchanged some words in Russian before Vadim turned to the Governor.

  “Follow him. He will get you everything you need. I will take the satchel. Is everything I need here?”

  “Everything but the password.”

  Chapter 32

  The line of oak trees created a horizontal shadow in the distance from the setting sun. Above the shadow, the hill in the background formed a backdrop of greens and oranges as the sun reflected off the grass and wild flowers. In the shadow below, the greens were darker or gray. A series of white discs hung from branches, appearing to hover in mid-air. They hung by monofilament line attached to large branches, twisting lazily in the air like a giant mobile, out of place in the natural setting. The plate on the left turned slowly showing a circle, and then a line as its edge faced the trees and then again, a circle. Then it shattered, leaving a cloud of plaster dust in its place and a loud explosion sounded and echoed off the hill.

  The Governor exhaled the remaining air in his lungs and took another breath, as he lay prone on the ground, his eye still at the eyepiece of the scope attached to the rifle cradled across his left arm.

  “Very nice. Good timing, just left of center,” the voice said from behind the Governor. Vadim had arranged for the Governor to visit a shooting range run by one of his friends west of the Twin Cities metro area. The men he met here had a variety of rifles for him to choose from and were providing him with some instruction. “Try again. The next plate. Remember to watch the target, anticipate, breathe, relax. It is not too much to remember, no?”

  “I’ve got it,” the Governor responded as he watched the plate spin in the circle of the scope, trying to keep the cross hairs centered on it as it came into full view with each revolution.

  “When you are near ready, take a full breath, release part of it, and gently pull the trigger.”

  The Governor tried to relax as he lay on the ground, the rifle resting on a dead tree that had fallen, and was bare of bark. He wanted to practice in as close to real conditions as he could create. The plate turned slowly, approximately a quarter of a mile away. Taking a deep breath, the Governor tried to ignore the sweat that ran down his temples and back. He exhaled slowly, held his breath. The circle in the scope turned to a line and started to form a circle on the next revolution. He gently pulled the trigger, increasing t
he pressure on it, feeling it resist until the force of his pull overcame it and the rifle barked, ramming its stock back into his shoulder, causing the Governor to blink. He refocused on the plate and saw it spinning rapidly, a small chip gone from its edge.

  “Try again. That is good enough for your purposes. Three more plates and we’ll move on to another exercise.”

  The Governor repeated the process, hitting the target on each of his subsequent tries. The rifle began to feel more comfortable in his grip and his confidence grew. The barrel of the rifle felt warm against the skin of his hand. He sat up and reloaded to prepare for the exercise his teachers had planned for him next. The ammunition was not large. He was using smaller rounds to keep the sound down, a quieter “pop” instead of a louder “boom.” The bullets would be effective despite their size.

  It had been a long day. Ross needed somebody to talk with so Jack had hung out with him at his apartment for a while when he’d dropped him off. The injury, its effect on his ability to sleep, what had happened to Sandy, it was all taking a toll on Ross, whether he was ready to admit it or not. It was mostly Sandy. Ross had really been interested in her and he was going to get hit hard over the next couple of days by the pain in his heart.

  At home now, Jack looked at his watch and swore. It was too late to call the kids and wish them a good night. He tried to remember when he’d talked to them last. The days were a blur for him too. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and a bag of pretzels off the counter and sat on the couch in front of the television, using the remote to flip through the stations to catch up with what was happening in the rest of the world. The Twins beat Detroit six to three, rain was in the forecast…again, no tornados had been spotted today, fireworks displays were planned around the metro area whether it rained or not, and there wasn’t any mention of a bank robbery or a homicide. The Governor and the bank robbery/murder were already old news unless something new happened that the public needed to know. Jack thought he better talk about public relations with Junior tomorrow.

  The funeral today had been tough. He missed his kids as they spent the night with Julie at her parents’ house, but he couldn’t imagine what he would do if they were killed. Mr. Humphrey was going to have a tough summer ahead of him. It would be a while before the memory of the small casket didn’t stir up strong emotions in Jack’s soul.

  Jack tipped back the beer and drained it. A small belch escaped his lips. The news ended and went to the introduction to the Late Show with David Letterman. Jack couldn’t decide if he wanted another beer or bed until he heard who was going to be a guest tonight. Salma Hayek was on to promote her new movie so Jack got up at the commercial to get himself another beer from the fridge.

  After popping off the bottle cap from a Bass Ale, Jack picked up the phone and debated whether or not to call Julie and talk about the Fourth of July. He put the phone to his ear and heard the multiple beeps indicating he had a message. He punched in the code in the handset of the cordless phone as he walked back to settle down in front of the television again. Jack smiled at the message on the phone and followed that up with an excited exclamation of a whispered “all right”. Julie had decided that the four of them should get together for the Fourth of July celebration on Nicollet Island, keeping the family tradition alive. He replayed the message three times before saving it to make sure he heard it right and also just to listen to his wife’s voice. The second message was from Patty. She said she had some information for him on the Governor case and wanted to talk with him tonight.

  Jack dialed Patty’s number. It was ten-forty. It might be late, but she wanted to talk with him tonight. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the phone ringing and waited for her to answer.

  She answered on the second ring. “Jack.”

  “Hey, uh, yeah. How did you know it was me? I’m the only one calling you this late?” he asked.

  “Caller ID, Jack.”

  Jack closed his eyes and rested his head back against the throw pillow. The beer was overcoming the effects of the day and he was suddenly very tired. “Right. You have some information for me?”

  “I do, but I don’t want to share it over the phone.”

  “It’s been a long day, Patty. You’ll have to tell me over the phone or share it with me tomorrow. I need to go to sleep.”

  “Tomorrow’s fine. If you’re running in the morning, I can be outside your house before the sun comes up. We’ll get out while it’s not too hot and I can share the information with you.”

  She wasn’t going to give up. Jack thought about the first call on his voicemail from Julie, and inhaled and exhaled through his nose. He told himself Patty’s call meant nothing. She had some information she wanted to share and if it took a run with her to get her to share it, he would do it.

  “Jack, you still there?” Patty asked.

  Jack opened his eyes. “Yeah. If you’re up for six miles, be outside my house at five thirty and I’ll show you some nice paths along the river.”

  Chapter 33

  Jack slowly opened his eyes. Empty beer bottles stood in a row on the coffee table in front of him. The pillow was wet against his face where he had drooled. He flipped the pillow over and closed his eyes, but his bladder coaxed him back from entering his dream. On his way to the bathroom, he squinted at the microwave in the kitchen and saw the blue numbers showing 5:12.

  On his way back from the bathroom, he grabbed his running clothes. He sat in his living room, laced up his shoes, and thought about the call from Julie the night before. She wanted to get back together, at least for a day. It was a start. The four of them together for the day at Nicollet Island celebrating the Fourth of July, Jack was excited about it. He glanced at the phone in its cradle and thought about the message, tempted to listen to it again. Maybe it was more than a start.

  In the kitchen, Jack drank a large glass of water. The thermometer on the counter said it was already seventy degrees outside. Jack pinched the small roll on his stomach and decided to wear a tank top since he’d be running with Patty, if she showed up.

  Jack pulled the front door shut behind him and positioned himself on the steps facing the house. His toes were perched on the edge of the concrete steps as he lowered himself to stretch out his calf muscles. He felt the calves of his legs slowly burn as the muscles lengthened like rubber bands.

  “So you decided to show up,” Jack said to Patty’s reflection in the window as she walked up the front walk behind him.

  “I didn’t think you’d be up this early. Seems like you’ve had some late nights lately with this investigation.” Patty stopped on the sidewalk and bent over into her own stretch, knees locked, her forehead pressed against them as she grabbed her ankles.

  “Show off,” Jack said.

  “Yoga, you should try it.” Patty put her hands out in front of her on the sidewalk and posed in an inverted vee.

  Jack took the opportunity to check out Patty’s back, butt, and legs. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail. The white top showed off her brown skin and the muscles of her back, shoulders, and arms. Her legs were well proportioned from her taut hamstrings down to her defined calves.

  Then he bent over to reach towards his toes, his fingers reaching his shins. “Whatever. You ready to run? I usually go down by the river, through the trees. Kind of gets you out of the city.”

  Patty rolled her head from her left shoulder, to her chest, and to her right shoulder. Then she windmilled her arms in large circles. “Lead the way, Miller.”

  By the time Jack reached West River Road, the sweat started to trickle from the pores of his head and his chest. Patty ran to his side or slightly behind him. “How’s this pace?”

  “Six miles?” Patty asked. “This will work.”

  Jack looked over at Patty. She was running easily alongside him, breathing without a struggle. “Am I the only one that sweats?”

  “I don’t sweat, I glisten.”

  “Well, you’re not glistening yet.”

&
nbsp; Patty laughed.

  The birds were flitting about singing their morning songs as the sky to the east warmed to an orange glow. Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand and jogged automatically onto a path that led down into the woods, deeper into the Mississippi River gorge. A sign at the head of the path said “Winchell Trail.”

  “This way,” Jack said and motioned down the hill through the trees.

  Jack had explored the trail with his son, Willy, before. Its history was that it was an old Indian trail used to move up and down the bank of the river. Willy imagined the past as he walked down the trail with his dad and they found routes down to the river. The well-worn path through the brush and trees at spots had been paved or had chain link fences erected to keep people from falling down the steep slope.

  The path offered some relief from the heat with the cooler night air trapped among the trees, but there was no breeze to evaporate the sweat from Jack’s skin and help to cool him. As he worked his way along the trail, he looked about twenty feet ahead for rocks, roots, and holes to avoid. He hadn’t sprained an ankle yet on a morning run on this trail and he wasn’t going to start today.

  Jack also found that if he focused on the trail and where to step, that kept part of his brain busy and the other part of his brain found something else to keep it occupied, usually his cases from work. Patty hadn’t told him yet what she wanted to share with him and he was trying to decide if he should wait or push for the info.

  “You were right, Miller.”

  Jack yelled back over his shoulder. “What’s that?”