C T Ferguson Box Set

by Tom Fowler

  Gabriella snorted. "You know what he thinks about a woman doing the job."

  "I do," I said, "and I also know what he thinks of his daughter. You've always been the apple of his eye." Gabriella's cheeks colored. "Whenever he decides he's had enough, I know he's going to turn things over to you."

  "Maybe he will," Gabriella said in a quiet voice.

  "I'll try to stay out of your way," I said.

  "Might be a good idea," Gabriella said with a grin. I figured it would be. When I started working, I made sure to tell Tony Rizzo as a courtesy. He was a little frosty when he learned of my job, but he’d warmed back up. I hoped things didn't frost over with Gabriella when she took the reins.

  After Gabriella left, I got back to work. I checked for any signs of life or movement from Brian Sellers' burner phone. Nothing. I checked for interesting traffic on Esposito's router. Also nothing. While I researched other ways I might be able to find Brian, I kept monitoring the phone. At long last, it came alive as a red dot blipped on my screen.

  The dot was moving.

  Whoever had Brian took him farther into northern Baltimore County. I didn't have much of a relationship with the BCPD. Gonzalez and I hadn't worked together much. I didn't know anyone there like I knew Rich or even Paul King. Still, in the interests of not going into a building guns blazing by myself, I reached out.

  "I was wondering when I'd hear from you," Gonzalez said.

  "You solved a mystery today," I said. "Put it on your whiteboard."

  "We track all that shit electronically now. What do you have?"

  "Your people have anything on Esposito or the Sellers brothers?"

  "Nothing," Gonzalez said. "You got anything."

  "I do," I said. "He's on the move."

  "Where?"

  "Right now, they're driving deep into the north of the county.”

  "And you're tracking this from a burner phone?"

  "Yes," I said. "And you're probably thinking the same thing I am: what if Esposito and his goons found the phone? They could be driving the phone somewhere to see if we're tracking it and lead us into a trap."

  "Crossed my mind," Gonzalez said.

  "We can't just twiddle our thumbs. If we get an actual location, we have to check it out."

  "You're pretty big on this 'we' shit."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're not cutting me out," I said.

  "Don't need to," Gonzalez said. "We'll just get the information from you."

  "I'm not telling you where they are unless I'm part of the group looking for them."

  "Now hold on—"

  "No, you hold on," I broke in. "You'd barely have a handful of shit without me. You want my info; you cut me in. Or I save it to my extremely encrypted hard drive, and your techies will retire before they break my crypto.”

  Gonzalez sighed into the receiver. If he were Rich, I would have pictured his reddened face and steam spewing from his ears. I didn't know Gonzalez well, but I liked the visual, so I went with it. After a moment, Gonzalez said, "You're a civilian. I can't guarantee your safety."

  "I don't need you to," I said. "I'm a big boy, and I know the risks."

  Another pause. "Fine," Gonzalez said. "Let me know when you have a location." He hung up.

  I made another call.

  "That's in the county," Rich said after I explained the situation.

  "Geography may have bored me, but I passed it," I said.

  "Did you call Gonzalez?"

  "Yes."

  "And?" said Rich.

  "And he's waiting for a location," I said.

  The information made Rich chuckle. "I know Gonzalez a little," he said. "My guess is he didn't want you coming along."

  "It’s why I want you to come, too," I said.

  "Me?" Rich said. "What will you need me for? Jurisdiction issues aside, Gonzalez will bring plenty of men."

  "Jurisdiction issues can be overcome."

  I didn't say anything. Neither did Rich. He then broke the silence and said, "You want me there, don't you?"

  "I just told you I did," I said.

  "No, you want me there because you trust me."

  Rich wanted me to admit it. Fine. For once, I wasn't too proud. "With my life," I said.

  "OK," he said. "I'll do it."

  "I'll talk to Gonzalez."

  "Let me do it," Rich said. "I think he'll understand it more coming from me."

  "All right," I said. "Oh, you have an extra bulletproof vest?"

  "I'm sure I can rustle one up." I pictured Rich rolling his eyes. What would he think when I didn't give it back?

  "Thanks," I said. "I'll be in touch when I know something."

  We hung up. I watched the red dot and waited for it to settle in one spot.

  About an hour later, the red dot representing Brian Sellers' burner phone stopped moving. On a circuitous tour of Baltimore County, it finally settled in the Hereford area near Mount Carmel and York Roads. I hadn't made many trips to Hereford. The ball would be in Gonzalez's court on this one.

  Five minutes passed, and, I got a text from the burner. They moved us. We're OK but you need to come soon.

  I called Gonzalez and gave him the coordinates. "Looks like a car repair shop," he said.

  "Whatever it is, it's where they're holding Brian and Chris," I said. "Brian sent me a text and said we should come soon."

  "Your cousin called me. I'm OK with him coming along. Can you meet us at the precinct in forty-five minutes?"

  "We'll be there," I said.

  Two minutes afterward, I was in the Caprice. I carried my .45 and three spare clips. I also brought a tablet to keep tabs on the burner phone. While I drove toward his house, I called Rich. "It's going down," I said.

  "Gonzalez gave me a heads-up," Rich said. "Are you on your way?"

  "I am. See you in twenty."

  "Try to make it fifteen," Rich said, hanging up.

  I almost did. Seventeen minutes later, I swung the Caprice into the driveway of Rich's Victorian in Hamilton. He emerged from the house after a moment, carrying a large duffel bag. "I got you a vest," he said as he walked toward his car. "Get in. I'll drive."

  Rich had a blue Camaro with a large and loud V8. It was a proper sports car in all ways except its transmission. As a nod to the knee that needed surgery and got him a medical discharge from the Army, Rich had outfitted the Camaro with an automatic. His knee recovered, but he said he was glad not to have to use a clutch with it. I understood, even if I gave him grief for it.

  I got in the passenger's seat. Rich tossed his duffel bag on the back seat and fired up the Camaro. The engine roared to life. Rich backed out of the driveway, and within two minutes, we zoomed up Belair Road at a speed to make the city council blush. "You can keep the vest by the way," Rich said.

  "I can?"

  "I figured you weren't going to give it back anyway."

  "It's not something off the scrap heap, is it?" I said.

  "No," said Rich. "Kevlar only lasts so long anyway. This is new. A few months old."

  "I'll be sure to play dumb when your generosity leads a city bean counter to my doorstep."

  "Leon Sharpe approved it."

  "I knew I liked him for a reason," I said.

  We got to the BCPD precinct with a few minutes to spare. "We would have been late if you drove," Rich said with a smirk as we got out.

  "I made it to your house in seventeen minutes," I said.

  "Something would have happened on the way here, then," he said. "You're always late."

  "You two always bicker like this?" Gonzalez said, walking toward us from somewhere in the parking lot. I hadn't seen or heard him, so I jumped. My reaction made him chuckle.

  "Only when Rich is wrong," I said. "Which is pretty often."

  Rich let my barb go. "We're ready," he told Gonzalez.

  "Good. My team is headed to the van now. Come with me."

  We followed Gonzalez behind the building. Rows of police cars and obvious "unmarked" vehicles waite
d to be driven. Behind those were a few regular vans and a couple armored ones the SWAT team would use. To my disappointment, we were ticketed for a regular van.

  Gonzalez slid the door open. Three men waited for us inside. "Driver's Reyes," said Gonzalez. He was a compact Hispanic man with a dark complexion and a head full of thick, if short, hair. He nodded to Rich and me. "Those two are Sung and Simpson." A wiry Korean man and a tall white guy built like a linebacker offered us muttered hellos. "They all know the details and what we're there to do."

  I looked at my tablet. "They're still at the same location," I said. Rich and I sat in the second row of seats. He handed me the Kevlar vest from his bag, and I put it on.

  "How are you tracking them?" Sung said.

  "It may be best if I don't answer," I said.

  "The kid has a burner," Gonzalez said from the passenger's seat. "Past that, I'm sure whatever's happening is shady."

  "But beneficial to the people held captive," I said in my own defense.

  Sung and Simpson both shrugged. "I got no complaints," Simpson said.

  Reyes fired up the van. We pulled out of the parking lot, got on the Baltimore Beltway, and took it to I-83 North. It then hit me what I was doing. I sat in a van, wearing a Kevlar vest, surrounded by cops, and preparing to assault a car repair shop—all in the name of bringing two people out alive. I experienced a lot in my brief time as a PI and more back in China but nothing like this. I trusted Rich and Gonzalez and by extension Gonzalez's men, but it didn't make me bulletproof. It didn't make me a better shot. It didn't make me fearless.

  I took a deep breath and not for the first time in my career, I wondered how I got to this moment.

  Chapter 20

  Reyes pulled into a parking lot about a block from the auto repair shop. We could see the front of the building and the fading neon sign. I expected a goon on patrol but saw no one. A sentry would alert passersby something shady was going down inside. Esposito would be more careful. I checked my tablet. The burner remained stationary.

  Gonzalez turned in his seat and looked at me. "Well?" he said.

  "It's still there," I said.

  "All right. Weapons check." Everyone took out their pistols, gave them a quick inspection, and made sure a round had been chambered. I did the same. I was really going to assault a building. Sensing my apprehension, Rich clapped me on the shoulder. "You'll be fine," he said. "I know you're a good shot. Just be careful. Don't charge in anywhere not clear. Stick to the walls if you can."

  "Just like Call of Duty, right?" I said, offering a small smile.

  Rich grinned. "More or less."

  "You shot anyone before?" Gonzalez said.

  "Not yet," I said.

  "Think you can?"

  "I didn't get into this job to shoot people. But if it comes down to them or me, I'll send flowers."

  "That's the spirit," Sung said. "Make sure you get to go home, even if it means the other guy doesn't."

  "We done with the pep talks?" Reyes said. "This ain't the homecoming game." He reminded me a bit of Paul King, though King looked more disheveled and would have cursed at least twice there.

  "Let's go," said Gonzalez.

  Reyes pulled the van back out onto Mt. Carmel Road. The body shop sat immediately before the intersection with York Road on the left near a post office and convenience store. I wondered if anyone in the neighborhood ever reported strange goings-on at the body shop. I also wondered how Esposito came to use it. Eddie's Auto didn't sound like something he would be involved in, and I never saw a record of it in his financials.

  Before we pulled into the shop's parking lot, Reyes cut the headlights. He stopped the van alongside the body shop, where it was hidden from windows and doors. Past where we stopped, the parking lot turned into a driveway going to the back of the building. The bays must have been around there.

  Gonzalez gave earpieces to me and to Rich. Once we had put them in our ears, he gave us small microphones to clip to our collars. "Channel 12," he said. "Your mikes should already be on it." A tiny dial on the side of the microphone indicated channel 12. "We'll do a comms check once we're outside."

  Simpson slid the door open. I heard it open before at the precinct, but now I noticed how quiet it was. Most van doors could be heard 100 feet away. This one whispered. Reyes and Gonzalez opened the front doors slowly to be as quiet as possible, and closed them the same way. Once we were all outside the van, Simpson slid the door shut. It made a little more noise as it closed but it was much quieter than any other van I had seen.

  Reyes stayed on the other side of the van at first. "Comms check," he said at a whisper right into my ear. "Can you hear me in your earpieces?" I said I could as did everyone else.

  "Simpson and I will go first," Gonzalez said when Reyes had joined us. Sung handed Simpson a portable ram. He carried it like he might have a small two-by-four. "Sung and Reyes next. Rich, you and C.T. in the back."

  "Copy," Rich said.

  "Yeah, copy," I said.

  We padded toward the building. There had been no sign anyone noticed us yet. I hoped it continued. Of course, the element of surprise would be lost when Simpson battered down the door, but if we kept it until then, I liked our chances. As we closed in on the front door, it hit me again I would soon be assaulting a building with five cops. Of all the things I thought I might do in my life, this would rank near the bottom of the list.

  At the front door, we stood two abreast. Gonzalez gave Simpson a wide berth so he could swing the ram. He gripped the handles and gave Gonzalez a short nod. Gonzalez held up three fingers, then two, then one. Simpson drew the battering device back and turned his hips, powering it forward. The blunt head hit the door and blew the lock apart. The door opened into the shop. Simpson dropped the ram, drew his pistol, and followed Gonzalez inside. We were doing this.

  "Police," Gonzalez shouted to the room. "Hands where we can see them."

  Sung and Reyes went in next. While Gonzalez and Simpson went right, they went left. Rich stepped through, and I followed him. All the lights were on inside. Two goons stood near the two car lifts, their jaws slack, and their brows creased. As Gonzalez yelled again, they raised their hands.

  Once I got inside, I saw several closed doors. For a body shop, this building featured a lot of rooms and offices, confirming my hunch it had been repurposed. Rich pointed me to one of the doors, and I followed him. Once we were in position, he looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded. Rich moved beside the door and delivered a hard back kick just above the knob. The lock yielded, and the door opened. Chris Sellers sat at a computer, supervised by a goon whose eyes went wide. As he moved to stand, I walked into the room. "Don't move," I said, my gun pointed at him. Behind me, I heard Rich on my heels.

  The goon thought about it. He had a gun in reach on the table. He looked at me, looked at Rich, looked at the gun. "Don't do it," Rich said. After another moment of considering his options, Esposito’s lackey scowled and put his hands up. Rich stepped forward to arrest him. He turned the man around, patted him down, then bound his wrists behind him with a zip-tie. Rich directed the goon to a chair where he tied the man's ankles as well.

  "Chris, are you OK?" I said.

  He nodded. His wide eyes darted around the room.

  "Stay in here with him," Rich said. "I think we can handle the rest."

  "All right." I sat on the desk, between Chris and Esposito's goon. Chris kept looking around the room. The goon sat and scowled, glaring at me and not caring if I looked back at him.

  "Untie me," the man said. "Let's see who's tougher."

  "I'd still have a gun, genius," I said.

  "Put it down, then."

  "I'm not untying you."

  He spat at me. "You afraid?" he said.

  "Yes," I said. "I'm afraid I might beat you to death. Now sit there and shut up before I find something to gag you with."

  "Checking the door on the right," Sung said in my ear. I heard shouting, then gunfire erupted. A mome
nt later, wheels squealed outside. I wondered if someone made off with the police van.

  "Sung, you OK?" Gonzalez said.

  Sung groaned into his mike. "I'll live," he said. "Vest took it."

  "One suspect down," Gonzalez said. "Repeat, one suspect down. Another escaped out the window."

  I wanted to rejoin the team, but I also didn't want to leave Chris in the room with the glaring goon. Even with his hands and feet bound, he would get the drop on the shell-shocked Chris.

  "We have the younger brother," I heard Rich say in the earpiece. "He's fine."

  "They found Brian," I said.

  Chris released a deep breath. He stopped looking around all the time. "Can I see him?"

  "In time," I said. "There are a few more assholes to round up first."

  The bound thug spat at me again. This time, he managed to spit on me, getting his slime on my vest. I put my gun on the table, well out of his reach, and walked closer to where he sat. "What are you gonna do?" he said, glowering up at me. "Fucking cops."

  "I'm not a cop," I said. I kicked him, clocking him on the side of the head. He toppled from the chair, landing in an undignified and groaning heap on the floor.

  A minute later, Rich came back in. He saw the goon on the floor. "What happened to him?" Rich said.

  "He's a spitter," I said. "Must have made the floor slippery."

  Rich hauled the groggy jackass to his feet. "Let's go, asshole," he said. As Rich left the room, Sung led Brian in. He and Chris hugged tighter than I had ever seen two men embrace before. Sung walked gingerly into the room.

  "You all right?" I said.

  "Probably cracked a rib or two," he said. "I'll be OK. Light duty for a while."

  I couldn't imagine being so matter-of-fact about getting shot, vest or no vest. "Thanks for coming along," I said. It didn't seem like enough, but I didn't know what else to say.

  Sung smiled. "Gonzalez said we had a chance to bust a real prick. Too bad he got away."

  "It was Esposito who escaped?" I said. Sung nodded. "Shit."

  "That sums it up," Sung said.

  Brian Sellers walked to me. He spread his arms to go for a hug, thought better of it, and stuck out his hand. I was glad to shake it. "You had me worried," I said. "I didn't know if the phone was ever coming back online."