Petit spat in Al’s face. “Get. Out. Now. Before you ‘accidentally’ get caught in the crossfire, Detective Fixit.”
That did it.
Al drove his shotgun butt under Petit’s chin. Teeth crunched. Petit spat out blood, his eyes rolled into his head, and he dropped to his knees on the cracked sidewalk.
Al held Petit steady so he didn’t fall and knock his head against the concrete. That would sting, even if Petit was wearing a helmet.
“You just refused a direct order from a superior, asshole.” Al turned to the team. “Does anyone else want to question my authority?”
The five of them collectively took a step back.
“Good.” He pointed to the two on the end. “You two, take your lieutenant and transport him to the ER for treatment. Looks like he might need some dental work.”
Petit groaned and rolled onto his back.
“You clocked him good, Captain,” Alvarez said. “He might need to stay in the ER overnight.”
“Excellent idea. You two, suggest that to Doctor Leslie. Tell him Captain Fixit recommends it. He’ll know what I mean.”
“Uh, yes, sir.” The two men stepped up. Between them, they dragged Petit over to his unmarked cruiser. Al didn’t spare him a second glance. Leslie would keep Petit out of his hair for a bit. The doctor was good that way.
Al picked up Petit’s megaphone and glared at the remaining SWAT team members.
“Someone run down this situation. Did you just fire a flashbang for the hell of it?”
“Uh, no, sir, Captain.” A kid stepped forward. God knew how Petit had gotten someone this green approved for SWAT. “Lieutenant Petit said a dangerous criminal was hiding out in an illegal flophouse. He was lying, though. He said we gave them warning. We didn’t.”
“So you toss in something guaranteed to cause panic. Great strategy.”
The men shifted. “Uh, what next, Captain?” the kid asked.
“Know the name of this very dangerous criminal who requires a SWAT team assault?”
“Salvatore Giamatti,” the man answered.
Bingo. Petit must be part of the group benefitting from what was being stolen from the museum.
“Did you know Giamatti’s a city employee? An office drone? You all descended on this place in riot gear for an accountant.”
While the remaining SWAT team murmured among themselves, Al held the megaphone up and directed it at the dry cleaners. “This is Captain Aloysius James of Major Crimes. I apologize for the zealousness of the officers. There will be no more flashbangs. I’m coming in to speak to you and ensure no one was injured.”
He handed the megaphone off to Alvarez. “Use your radio. Call this in to Major Crimes, tell them what happened. Detective Jacobs will know what to do.”
“Captain are you going down there alone?” she asked.
He leaned closer. “Do you trust SWAT to behave if both of us are gone?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Call Detective Jacobs,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Yes, sir.”
Al grinned. “Cheer up, rookie. Now we’re having fun.”
He strode into the burned-out dry cleaners. He gave Petit some credit; his team had cleared away the debris and exposed the cellar steps and the locked door at the bottom. They’d done some prep work.
It was an interesting place to go to ground.
And if there was some sort of illegal operation happening down there, it made sense as a meeting place to discuss some off-the-books business. Stolen city property? Al would lay odds it referred to stuff at the museum and either Salvatore had been involved in it or he’d discovered it and gotten in over his head.
In either case, Al needed the accountant alive, while Petit’s assault had been guaranteed to end with his quarry injured or dead. That was likely the point. And who cared if others were caught in the crossfire.
More than Petit’s head needed to roll for this.
No one shot at Al on his way down the steps. He supposed he should’ve worn his flak jacket. Petit had been too aggressive but that didn’t mean coming down here was safe. The scene sure as hell wasn’t secure. He hadn’t wanted to take Alvarez and endanger her. Noir was the one he needed. He wished she were a cop. Then they could be together all the time.
Never happen, he thought. Better get used to working alone again.
He pounded on the steel door. “SWAT is in stand-down. Is anyone injured in there? Do you need help?”
He set the shotgun on a table just to the right of the door. “I just want to talk,” he repeated and put up his hands. He bet whoever was back there had a way to see out here. But he felt naked, alone and exposed.
The door squeaked open. “I’m Rickey. This is my place.”
The smell of the grenade mixed in with something else, something awesome.
“Is that pie?” Al asked.
“That’s the finest pumpkin pie in the Double C,” Rickey answered. “My husband makes it.” The door opened a little farther to reveal Rickey, a middle-aged Indian woman wearing a do-rag to hold back her hair.
“I’d love some pie,” Al said, keeping his hands up. Holy shit. Petit had been about to send his team into a restaurant full of civilians. I should’ve hit him a second time.
“Now ain’t a good time for pie,” Rickey said.
“Bummer.”
“I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.” Rickey opened the door wider. “But I’m talking to you because these two spoke up for you.”
As if magically conjured by his need for her, Noir rushed into his arms.
He hugged her back because he could never resist putting his arms around her. And the hug covered his surprise at her being here when she was supposed to be lying low with Cassandra.
And then she kissed him and he kissed her back, because despite the audience, hey, who wouldn’t kiss her back? I missed you.
“Are you all right?” Dust smeared her face and she had a scrape on her right cheek. He brushed a smudge of dirt off her chin and took a deep breath. Noir was never one to stay out of trouble. “And how did you get here?”
She shook her head and tapped her ear. “Can’t hear you. Ears still ringing.”
“Hell.” If she was hurt…
“That’s from the damned grenade you pigs tossed at us.”
The woman speaking fit the description of Cassandra. And the man next to her, if his driver’s license photo was any indication, was one Salvatore Giamatti, his murder suspect.
“I’m in charge of SWAT now,” Al said to Cassandra.
“I have to get my friends out of here,” Noir said.
Her friends? That obviously included his murder suspect. This would be tricky since he couldn’t explain to Noir what was going on.
“You need to get that ear looked at.” He winced, realizing she couldn’t hear that. So he nodded in agreement. “Can you get her to a hospital if I clear the way?” he asked Cassandra.
“The ringing should clear up in a few minutes,” Giamatti said.
“How would you know?” Al snapped.
“I dealt with grenades like that in the service.”
Noir looked back and forth, eyes wide. She was scared, Al realized. He slid his arm around her waist. She did the same to him. If he’d lost his hearing, he’d be scared too. This had better be temporary. He decided if Petit gave him any more trouble, he’d kill him.
“Rickey, you must have a back way out of here,” Al said.
Rickey crossed her arms.
“I don’t need to know where it is,” Al said. “Just show these three the way and I’ll get SWAT off your front door.”
“And who will pay for the damage?” she asked.
“The alternative is for the team to come down here and start searching around. Best I can do
is get them off your case, Rickey. Otherwise, I’ll go and you can deal with them again.”
“Listen to him,” Noir said.
“You heard that?” He lifted her chin so he could look in her eyes.
“Distant, like through a tunnel but, yeah.” She nodded and that lost look was gone from her eyes. “Still have the ringing.”
He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Can you take them back to the place? I need to talk to Giamatti.”
She nodded. Yes, she could. Noir never let him down.
“You three really have to get out,” Al said to Cassandra.
“He’s right, Rickey. Get us out of here and let him do what he can,” Cassandra said.
After glaring for what seemed like forever, Rickey nodded.
Al hugged Noir again. “You sure you don’t need a hospital?”
“Better now.” Her voice sounded so tight. Damn you, Petit.
She wiped away the rest of the dirt from her chin with the back of her hand. “What did you do out there, Al? Are you in trouble again?”
“I’ll sort it.”
She smiled. “You mean ‘fix it’.”
He smiled back but inside, he cursed. What he should do is take Giamatti in for questioning right now. But that might create a riot down here. He would have to trust Noir.
“Yep, fixing stuff is what I do. Go. See you later.” He kissed her cheek and turned away from her. “Rickey, you and the rest of your customers, come with me.”
“Outside? To the cops?” Behind her, the others murmured defiance.
“We’re going out there to show them exactly who they just tried to assault,” he said. “We’re going to show them what damage they would have done if they’d followed their asinine orders.”
Rickey nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”
She called for someone to lead Noir, Cassandra and Salvatore out. Noir glanced at Al on her way out. He should be going with her. He should have called her and then they could have coordinated this so much better.
She should have called him too. Why hadn’t she?
Al picked his shotgun up and led the motley collection of people back through the equally motley storefront and out to the remaining SWAT team members and a stunned Alvarez.
He had the crowd stop a few feet from the SWAT team. Al tucked the shotgun under his arm. Rickey’s customers included the elderly and at least three kids who couldn’t be more than ten. The people were mostly clean, but their clothes were ripped and definitely had seen better days. Only about half had coats to keep them warm against the winter wind.
“Take off your helmets,” Al ordered the SWAT team.
They did, revealing their faces. All of them stared at the sidewalk.
“Look at them.” Al waved his hand at the crowd. “These are the very dangerous people you were tossing grenades at, Officers.”
The kid from the SWAT team stepped forward. “We were following orders,” he said in a low voice.
Rickey put her hands on her hips. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Not so good,” he said.
“Officers, disperse and go back to your headquarters,” Al ordered. “Now.”
They wasted no time in scrambling to follow that order. Al turned back to Rickey. “I’ll run some interference, but their leader, when he regains his senses, may be pissed. You should relocate.”
“One of them had a grenade launcher.” Rickey watched the SWAT team pack up. “They’d have destroyed my place and the people in it.”
“I’m hoping they’ll think better of something like that next time.”
“You never know, I guess.”
Rickey started shooing her customers away, telling them to go home. A few said they’d stay and help her clean up.
Alvarez stood next to Al and they waited together until SWAT was completely gone.
“Captain James, sir?” Alvarez asked. “Can I say something?”
“Sure.”
“I think I’m having fun now.”
Chapter Eight
Rickey’s husband, the pie cook, led Lucy, Cassandra and Salvatore through the maze of concrete tunnels. They finally reached wooden steps that led up to double doors that had likely served as a cellar delivery entrance once upon a time.
By the time the doors swung open to reveal the sky, the ringing in her ears had stopped and Lucy could fully hear again. Squeaking metal never sounded so good.
“Good thing I parked around the corner,” Cassandra said. A clang echoed behind them as Rickey’s husband shut the doors.
They looked around for signs of pursuit. No cops. “Let’s make a run for it,” Cassandra suggested.
“No, that makes it look like we have a reason to run away. Walk normally so no one has a reason to notice us,” Lucy said.
Cassandra in her jeans and hippie shirt kinda blended, but Salvatore in his suit sure did not, and the couple kept looking around, obviously nervous and out of place. Noir breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Cassandra’s car without incident.
Lucy took the passenger seat, leaving the back for Salvatore. He had made noises about wanting to flee the city earlier. She was going to make sure they all went back to the warehouse. She’d promised Al.
He should have called her and told her what was going on, though, then they could have coordinated better. Obviously, he knew something about all this that he hadn’t said yet.
“I don’t hear sirens or see lights,” Salvatore said. “Looks like SWAT is gone.”
“Al said he’d take care of it,” Lucy said. “He says he’s going to do something, he does.”
Cassandra pulled away from the curb and glanced in the rearview mirror at Salvatore. “You need to start explaining all this, babe.”
“No, we need to disappear fast, not talk,” Salvatore said. “I say we go north. To Canada. That’s only a half hour away.”
“If you run they’ll come after you again. Tell us what’s going on, Salvatore. We can help,” Lucy said.
“I had SWAT after me. I won’t chance that again. Your Al can’t be around all the time.” He looked at Cassandra. “Trust me, babe.”
“Trust you? When you run off and don’t call and I have to fight through grenades to get you to talk to me? Screw that. We’re going to her place—” Cassandra jerked her head in Noir’s direction, “—and you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s so special about her place?”
“It’s secure,” Lucy said. “Right now, it’s the only safe place you have.”
“Not so safe once I get through with him,” Cassandra muttered.
“Fine. Go there.” Salvatore rubbed the back of his neck. “Ouch, my head hurts.”
“Good. Saves me from giving you a smack upside the head.”
Salvatore slumped back in the seat. “Sorry.”
Cassandra looked over at Noir. “You sure about the warehouse being secure?”
Cassandra was wavering, despite her anger. “Yes. Definitely.”
“I sure hope so.” Cassandra pulled onto the highway leading to the other side of town at a high speed.
And I thought Al was a crazy driver.
Especially since they were trying to avoid the police. But at least Cassandra remembered how to get back to the warehouse without asking for repeat directions. The minute they were inside, as the sliding door slammed shut behind them, Cassandra verbally pounced on Salvatore.
“You freaked me out!” Cassandra slammed the car door. “Why didn’t you call?”
Salvatore got out of the back and slammed his own door. “You have no idea what I was dealing with.”
“That’s because you didn’t bother to dial a friggin’ phone!”
Now Lucy had a headache too. That was probably left over from the grenade, but she didn’t nee
d this adding to it. She left them arguing. Their raised voices faded as she entered the living area and went straight to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.
She winced at the sound of a high-pitched “Screw you.” How long was this going to go on? This was as bad as one of her parents’ fights.
Cassandra stomped into the living area, Salvatore hard on her heels, and they kept going. After ten minutes of yelling then silent seething, Lucy had had enough.
“We’ve still got a problem to solve.” She stepped between them and held Salvatore’s thumb drive out. “What’s on this that’s so important?”
That shocked them into silence.
After a few seconds, Salvatore put out his hand. “Where did you get it? And you need to give it back.”
“Uh-uh.” She put it in her pocket. “You tell me what’s on it first.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Use small words, then, so I can understand,” she said, losing patience. Did Salvatore realize he was a murder suspect?
“It’s accounting stuff.”
“Yeah, well, the goons at city hall were willing to grab Cassandra to get to you and this.”
He turned around to look at Cassandra. “What? Grab you? What’s she talking about, babe?”
“Oh, so now you’re worried about me.” Cassandra flopped on the couch.
Now, Mom and Dad, stop fighting. Lucy sighed. Would she and Al fight like that someday?
No, she and Al just tiptoed very politely around their issues.
Salvatore sat down next to Cassandra, but both crossed their arms over their chests and stared in opposite directions. Lucy waited until the coffee finished brewing and brought each of them a mug. They both said “thank you”, an improvement over yelling.
Salvatore drank his coffee, seeming to regain calm with each sip. “So the cop who stopped SWAT is your guy?”
“Obviously.”
Cassandra snorted. “You two needed to get a room back there.”
“How’d you guys meet?” Salvatore asked.
Lucy shrugged. She had explained to Cassandra about Al. She had no reason to explain to this guy. “Mutual interests.”
“Whatever they are, I owe both of you. Thank you,” Salvatore said.
Ghosts of Christmas Past Page 8
