* * *
Eva bounced on her seat. “Martin! Look out!” The chair frame would collapse any moment now. It had to! She had to help Martin. She bounced harder and the wood wobbled but refused to break apart. She stomped her feet in frustration. There was nothing she could do except scream! “Help! Someone, please! Help!”
The man the bodyguards had dragged from the elevator popped up his head and smacked his forehead against the blond bodyguard’s calf. The bodyguard fell straight down and fired wildly.
A second later, Martin’s knees buckled, and he plopped onto the floor.
* * *
Mel felt along the window frame. Maybe she could pry it open.
“Help!”
Shit! That was Eva’s voice. She had to get inside right this minute!
Pop! Another gunshot. Mel flinched and looked inside. She spotted Richie crawling past the alcove. He was on the floor wrestling a dark-suited man. She couldn’t squeeze into the tiny space even if she broke the window, but she could shoot from here. She raised her flashlight to break the glass, but her gut told her to wait. She couldn’t fire her weapon at the moment without hitting Richie, and the breaking glass would just alert the dark-suited man.
Mel winced as the man slammed the butt of the gun against Richie’s head. At least he hadn’t shot him. Again she looked frantically up and down the alley for a way inside, and she noticed an indent in the wall a few yards past the window. Tears filled her eyes as she reached the nook. Thank you, God! A stairwell to the basement lay before her feet. She crept down the stairs and turned the knob. The door was locked!
* * *
Eva turned away as the bodyguard swung the gun at the man for the second time, and grimaced at the sound of metal striking bone. The bodyguard dragged him to Eva’s feet and the unconscious man’s head fell back, revealing his face.
“Richie!” His wrists were tied together and so were his ankles. No wonder he had only head-butted the bodyguard. She struggled to reach him but received only rope burns for her effort.
Mr. Rock yelled from inside the elevator. “Let’s go!”
Glaring at the bodyguard, Eva jumped up and down in her seat. “Untie me, damn it!” She looked Richie over and her eyes lingered on a red patch on the back of his head. “He needs help.”
“So does he!” The blond bodyguard pointed at the stocky man Martin had beaten to a pulp, and walked through the alcove.
“It’s about time!” Mr. Rock stepped from the elevator and rapped his cane on the floor. “Someone may have heard the gunshots. Drive me to my office right away.”
The bodyguard Martin had knocked out shook his head and rag-dolled to his feet. He kicked Martin in the side so hard his torso lifted an inch off the ground.
Eva gulped. Martin hadn’t even groaned. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. She thought about Sandra and their three small children. She’d never forgive herself if . . . no, she wouldn’t even think it. But still, she couldn’t tell if Martin was breathing.
“Come right back to finish them off. Without gunfire!” Mr. Rock held out his hand. “Give me the detective’s weapon.”
The bodyguard sighed and handed him the Glock.
Mr. Rock placed the handgun into his jacket pocket.
The punch-drunk bodyguard weaved toward the elevator. The other bodyguard stepped forward to steady him. “Are you okay to watch them until I return?”
Punch-drunk nodded.
“Let’s go.” Mr. Rock huffed.
As soon as the elevator door closed, punch-drunk wobbled to his knees and fell forward.
Eva tossed her head back and laughed. She couldn’t believe her luck. But how much time did she have before the other man returned?
She looked at Richie and called his name. The bleeding on his head had begun to clot. She wrestled her arms free up to their elbows but still couldn’t stretch far enough to reach him. “Richie! Wake up!”
His eyelids fluttered.
She gasped. “Richie, I need you!”
He opened his eyes and raised his head. “Eva, did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “But Martin has been shot.”
He sat up and pulled on her ropes. He winced and looked at his palms. “Damn.”
“Richie, what happened to your hands?”
“I broke a window when the lights went out. I had to find you.”
“Let me see.” She untied the rope around his wrists and examined his hands. She cringed at the pink gashes crisscrossing his palms.
“It looks worse than it is.” He half-smiled and untied the rope around her shoulders. “Did I mention that I broke a window?”
She slid to the floor and hugged him.
* * *
Mel shrugged her shoulders and stared at the glass insert in the basement door. Screw it! I’m getting inside, even if they hear me.
She lined up the flashlight butt with the center of the glass pane, pulled it back, and stopped in midswing. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. The dark-suited men would hear the glass smash and come running. And one of them had an automatic. She’d have no chance with her five-shot Chief. She patted her jacket, but the liner was too thick to feel through. She searched each pocket and found five extra rounds. She quickly transferred them to her front pants pocket. Now the odds were a little better.
She raised the flashlight again. Now or never. Wait, the jacket liner—it was thick! She whipped off her jacket, held it over the glass, and swung the flashlight. The safety glass shattered into tiny pieces, sprinkled against her jacket, and bounced quietly onto the floor. She shook out her jacket and threw it back on. She reached into the opening and turned the inside doorknob.
Holding her breath, she nudged the door with her knee. Please don’t creak. The door whispered open. She exhaled, made the sign of the cross, and unholstered her Chief.
Chapter 47
Richie pressed two fingers against Martin’s neck and waited. “I feel a pulse, but it’s weak.” He slapped Martin’s cheek. Not even a flutter. Blood pooled around his legs. Too much blood. He needed medical attention right now. Richie tore off his brand-new necktie and handed it to Eva. “Feel his leg until you find the wound. Then knot the tie two inches above the bullet hole. I’m going after them.”
“There’s so much blood!” She looked up at Richie. “Don’t leave yet! I can’t see a bullet hole.”
Richie pushed her aside and felt Martin’s blood-soaked trousers. “Hand me the tie.” He wrapped it around Martin’s upper right thigh.
“Check for breathing!”
Who said that?
Richie looked up to see Mel covering the room with her off-duty weapon. “Where the heck did you come from?” He looked back at Martin and held his hand under his nose. “Yes! He’s breathing.”
She walked deeper into the basement. “A basement door in the alley. Dewer’s Rolls is parked outside.” She quickly handcuffed the unconscious bodyguard and began patting him down. “Where’s the other goon?”
“He left with Mr. Rock.” Eva pointed to the elevator.
Richie squeezed Martin’s cheeks and wobbled his head. “Wake up, damn it, wake up!” Martin’s eyelids twitched and his eyes opened.
“Good work, Martin.” Richie shed his jacket and covered Martin. “Now stay awake.”
Eva stood. “I’m going upstairs to call an ambulance.”
“No!” He grabbed her hand and held firm. “They may still be up there. As soon as it’s safe, use my cell in the Bronco.” He dug into his pants pocket, wrinkled his eyebrows, and then leaned over Martin and began checking his jacket pockets.
“Eva, catch.” Mel tossed her Richie’s car keys. “I took them from the ignition.”
Richie propped Martin on his side. Color was returning to his face and his breaths were stronger. Martin shivered, and Richie tucked his jacket under his chin and shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Martin. He shot you with my gun.”
“Get your gun back,” he whispered. “Go.”
Richie pulled his off-duty nine from his ankle holster but couldn’t get a firm grip. Now that Martin was awake and Richie had a chance to think, the pain from his cut-up palms was flowing through his hands in waves. “Mel, show me that door.”
“Make a right down the hall.” She pointed past the elevator alcove. “Eva, stay behind me.”
They crept up the outside concrete stairwell in single file, Richie in the lead. A powerful car engine roared and the limo’s taillights came on. Richie aimed his nine but couldn’t hold the gun steady. His shot would land too high, and he couldn’t take the risk of a bullet hitting someone on Park Ave. He moved aside. “Take the shot, Mel.”
She raised her .38 and aimed at the driver’s side rear tire. The brake lights flashed and the Rolls began to move forward. Mel lowered the muzzle and shook her head. “I can’t. They’re fleeing. And they’re not using lethal force against us.”
“Well, I can.” Eva grabbed Richie’s gun and fired twice. The limo squealed and turned right onto Park Ave, its rear tires rapidly deflating.
“Yes!” She made both shots! “Eva, stay here.”
She held out his gun, muzzle down.
“Keep it, they might double back.” He flexed his palms and winced. “It’s useless to me, anyway.”
Richie and Mel ran down the alley. The limo completed its turn and thumped out of sight. He reached the mouth of the alley and put up a hand to warn Mel back before peeking onto Park Ave. A loud screeching flooded his ears and the smell of burning rubber hit his nostrils before his brain processed what it meant.
“Roll the windows down! Unlock the doors! Put your hands on the steering wheel—”
I know that voice.
A marked Midtown South RMP, turret lights spinning, had nosed the limo against the sidewalk. He looked back at Mel and smiled. “Mark is doing a freaking limo stop!”
Richie ran to the limo, peered into the rear seat, and felt a grin spread across his face. “Step out of the vehicle, Mr. Rock.” Richie grabbed Dewer’s flabby arm and pulled him out. “Put your hands behind your back.” Handcuffs were already dangling from one of Dewer’s wrists. He snapped on the other steel bracelet. Click. He had never appreciated the sound of locking handcuffs more. It was over.
“You’ll regret this, Detective. My taxes pay your salary.”
“Right, like you pay taxes. And right now, your freedom is in my hands.” He exhaled. “You are my prisoner.”
Mark and Mel ran up to the driver’s seat and cuffed the blond bodyguard.
“Make sure you toss them good. One of them has my service weapon, and there are fourteen rounds left.” Richie perp-walked Dewer to the RMP.
Eva ran up to the scene. “Here’s your phone, Richie.”
Two more RMPS screeched to a halt and four uniformed cops jumped out.
“Toss the limo. We’re looking for a loaded nine,” Mark ordered, while patting down the bodyguard. “He’s got nothing.”
Eva pointed at the bodyguard. “After he shot Martin, Mr. Rock took the Glock from him.” She stepped next to Richie, her right hand in her hip pocket. “I have Mr. Rock covered,” she whispered in his ear.
What a girl! He couldn’t help but smile. She was a great shot, and tactical enough to hide his off-duty from plain sight. And if Dewer forces her to use the gun, she’s close enough so it’ll look like I fired it.
Richie gave Dewer a thorough frisk and found the weapon in his jacket pocket. “Mark, I got the Glock.” He returned it to his waistband holster and sighed. Sorry Martin. I won’t let anyone take my gun from me again.
Mark’s driver escorted the stocky bodyguard from the basement and leaned him against the RMP.
“Eva, take a good look at the man the officer is holding. Do you recognize him?” Mark asked, as he escorted the blonde bodyguard into the RMP.
“He shot Martin with a Taser and dragged me from my office. Then he tied me up and said Mr. Rock ordered him to hold me in the basement.”
“Are you sure?” Richie asked.
“Yes.”
“Did everyone hear that?” Mark looked around until all the officers nodded. “Everyone makes detailed memo book entries. Not just the arresting officer.” He waited for all his cops to acknowledge his unusual request. “All right, then. Let’s transport them to the Station House.”
Chapter 48
Mark held the front door of the 19th Precinct open while Richie escorted Dewer Rock into the station house. The American flag, mounted at half-mast in the lobby area, sent a wave of emotion crashing through Richie. He was finally booking the SOB who had brought down the twin towers. Choking back a sob, he took a deep breath and marched Dewer to the desk. Richie had brought prisoners in front of the supervisors’ large wooden desk countless times before but never had an arrest felt so monumental.
The arrest wouldn’t bring back the dead. But it would expose the real threat to American lives. Once the trial proved that Dewer Rock and his superelite cohorts had planned the attacks through black operations and mercenary independent contractors, they couldn’t work in the shadows anymore. America would be safe again. The people would become watchful and the superelites would never be able to get away with a staged event again.
Suddenly, Dewer’s knees buckled, and it took both Richie and Mark to keep him from collapsing. Mel darted into the clerical room to scrounge up a chair. She plopped it in front of the desk and Dewer practically fell onto it.
Tossing his pen on the command log, the desk lieutenant looked down and frowned. “Really, Detective, a chair for a perp?”
Uh oh. He’d better let the lieutenant know whom he was processing before he skated onto thin ice. He and Mel had already knocked down the orange hazard fence. “Lieu—”
“Lieutenant, order your detective to free me.” Dewer Rock squirmed on the chair. “I’ve never been treated so poorly in all my life.”
The lieutenant stood and jutted his chin at Dewer. “Is he for real?”
Richie didn’t want anyone else to fall through the ice if he could help it. “Lieutenant, this perp is Dewer Rock.” He placed Dewer’s New York State driver’s license on top of the desk. “The charges are kidnapping and criminal possession of a weapon, for now. I’ll have a laundry list of felonies to follow.”
“I verified the arrest at the scene,” said Mark.
The lieutenant took a long look at the driver’s license. His eyes grew wide and he groaned. “Let me see your face, Mr. Rock.”
Dewer looked up, and the lieutenant mumbled under his breath. “Take him to the holding cell. Get him treated right away.” He glanced at Dewer’s bloodied shirt and shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll do it.” He pressed the Transmit button on the base radio. “9Base, Central. I need a bus forthwith at the house.”
Richie helped Dewer stand, and the front door slammed open. The sector car teams that had responded to Park Ave had a grip on each of the bodyguard’s elbows, and escorted them to the desk.
Mark looked up at the lieutenant. “These prisoners are Dewer Rock’s bodyguards. The top charges are attempted murder and assault on a police officer.”
The lieutenant cursed and picked up the phone. “I have to notify the borough on this one.”
“You should know, Lieutenant,” Richie said. “I phoned the chief of Manhattan South and he’s on his way.”
The lieutenant rubbed the back of his neck and cradled the phone. “Detective, take Mr. Rock to the bathroom. Let him clean up before you take him to the holding cell.” He looked at his officers and passed out pedigree slips. “Fill these out after you lock them in the cell.”
Mark pointed at the stocky bodyguard’s swollen and bloody face, and called out to the telephone/switchboard operator. “Order another bus for this mope.”
The front doors swung open and the t/s operator jumped to his feet. “Attention!”
The police commissioner and mayor strode into the station house. The police commissioner stepped onto the raised platform and walked be
hind the desk lieutenant. The mayor stood beside the t/s operator.
“At ease,” said the police commissioner.
“Did you notify them, too, Detective?” The lieutenant glared at Richie.
“No.” Richie shrugged.
Dewer smirked. “Like I asked, Lieutenant, free me.”
“You heard him,” said the mayor. “Release him.”
“All due respect, Mayor, but you don’t have the authority to order his release.” Richie held firm to Dewer’s arm. “The handcuffs stay on.”
“I have the authority,” said the police commissioner. He pointed at the two bodyguards. “Process them, but void Mr. Rock’s arrest immediately.”
Richie didn’t move. He had to stand firm, no matter what happened to him.
The police commissioner nudged the desk lieutenant aside and looked down at Richie. “Uncuff him forthwith, Detective.”
Richie straightened his shoulders and looked up. “Sir, I have probable cause to arrest this man on felony charges.” He took a breath. “Your order is unlawful and I respectively refuse to comply.”
Dewer swayed, and Richie lowered him back onto the chair.
The room fell silent. An undercurrent of energy buzzed through the air, and Richie struggled to keep his composure.
The police commissioner’s face turned red, and he leaned so hard on the desk that the protective glass under the command log cracked. “Detective, are you refusing to follow my direct order?”
Richie looked at the police commissioner. “Sir, I witnessed this prisoner commit two felonies. He is a must-arrest according to both the NYS Penal Law and the NYPD Patrol Guide. I have no discretion.”
“Excuse me, Commissioner,” a deep commanding voice boomed from somewhere behind Richie.
Richie turned to the rear of the muster area. The Patrol Borough Manhattan South borough chief stood next to the doorway leading to the garage stairwell. He was wearing his uniform summer blouse adorned with two gold stars on each shoulder. The chief of detectives, dressed in a sharp suit, was standing by his side. No one had called the room to attention when they entered. All eyes had been fixed on Richie and the police commissioner.
The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3) Page 21
