She smiled. “Just doing your job, Harry. I understand that Bagby lawyered up and isn’t talking.”
“Yeah. He’ll have his first appearance in the morning. I don’t think the judge is going to set bail. He’s already on probation and the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer charge should keep him behind bars forever.”
“I don’t guess you found out anything about who’s behind all this,” said J.D.
“We’ve got nothing. I wish I could give you better news.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
We walked out of the police station into the bright sun of late morning. J.D. was talking about Steve Carey, the young cop who’d been shot at Leffis Key. He was doing well, and the chief was keeping J.D. updated on a daily basis. “He wants to get back to work and the chief is going to let him start coming in tomorrow to do admin stuff. His arm is still hurting, he says, but he can answer phones.”
I noticed a car with darkly tinted windows idling at the curb about thirty feet from us. I’m not sure what caught my attention, maybe that it was idling in a no parking zone in front of a police station. It obviously hadn’t been there very long or some cop would have been writing a ticket. Three officers in uniform were coming up the sidewalk, apparently heading toward the door we had just come out of.
The car started to move and the right rear window glided down. The muzzle of a shotgun was beginning to poke out of the window as I dove to my left, taking J.D. to the sidewalk. We fell behind a concrete receptacle that held a trash can, giving us some cover. I twisted as I fell, bringing J.D. on top of me to cushion her fall. At the same instant, I heard the explosion of the shotgun and heard buckshot hitting the trash container.
I landed on my side and back, with J.D. on top of me. My head hit the sidewalk. I felt pain shooting through every lobe of my brain. My eyesight dimmed and the buildings within my line of sight seemed to sway. My world slowed down. I heard pistol shots, people running, a crash. A weight lifted off me, my sight sharpened some. I saw J.D. standing next to me, her knees flexed, her hands holding her pistol. More gunshots. The smell of cordite. A yell of pain. Darkness was edging into my consciousness. I pushed it back, tried to sit up. I felt pressure on my chest, somebody holding me down. The darkness receded further. My eyes began to focus. I saw J.D.’s face looking down at me, marked by worry or fear or sadness or, maybe, pain. I couldn’t read it. I realized that she was sitting beside me, my head in her lap, her hand resting on my chest. She was saying something I couldn’t make out. Her lips were moving and sound was coming out of her mouth, but it was just noise. Nothing made sense.
I heard sirens. They were coming toward us, getting louder. J.D.’s words were becoming clearer, starting to make sense. I tried to get up. “Stay down, Matt, please.” It was J.D.
“I have to get up,” I said.
“No, Matt. Stay down. You’re hurt. The paramedics are on the way.”
“Was I shot?”
“No, I don’t think so. You hit your head pretty hard. You’ve probably got a concussion. Just stay still until they get here.”
I felt a stickiness through my shirt and reached down to my waist. I was relieved that I couldn’t feel any holes in my precious hide. My mind was clearing. Then it hit me. J.D. was bleeding. “You’re hit,” I said.
“I’m fine. I think you busted up my bandages when you pulled me down. It’s just blood from the knife wound.”
“Did you get the bad guys?”
“I think I hit one of them. The officers on the street fired at the car. They must have hit the driver, because he crashed into a parked car. Just as I was getting untangled from you, one guy came out of the car’s rear door with a pistol in his hand. I think I hit him, but there were other cops firing, so who knows. How’re you doing?”
“My head hurts like a son of a bitch.”
A paramedic came up with his bag of supplies and squatted down beside me. “You get hit?”
“No,” said J.D., before I could form an answer. “But he hit his head when he pushed me out of the line of fire.”
The medic snapped on a pair of latex gloves and felt around on the back of my head. “I don’t think there are any fractures, but you’ve got a large bump back there. We better get you to the hospital for x-rays.”
“Check her side,” I said. “She’s bleeding.”
J.D. lifted up her blouse. “It’s from a knife fight last night. I think I opened up the wound.”
“A knife fight?” the paramedic asked.
“Yeah. But you ought to see the other guy,” I said.
He smiled and pulled the bandages from J.D.’s laceration. He pulled a spray can out of his kit and doused the area. “A little antiseptic,” he said. “I’ll get another bandage on this and we’ll take you in to the hospital.”
“Can we ride in the same ambulance?” J.D. asked.
“Sure,” said the medic.
“Can we share a stretcher?” I asked.
“You’re going to ruin my reputation, Royal,” J.D. said.
The medic laughed. “I’ll go get the gurney.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I was in the Sarasota Memorial Hospital emergency room for the second time in less than twelve hours. Only this time, I was the patient. They were going to take me upstairs for an MRI to see if my brain had been scrambled. The doc was pretty sure there was no skull fracture, but the imaging would tell him for sure.
J.D. was in the next cubicle having her laceration tended to. When they finished, she came and sat by my bed. “You’re going to have to buy a whole new set of blouses, if this keeps up,” I said.
“How’re you doing?”
“Head still hurts, but they gave me some aspirin or something and it seems to be getting better.”
She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “Does that help?”
“Yes, but I probably need a few more doses.”
She leaned down again and kissed me on the lips, softly and fleetingly. “You’re my hero,” she said, grinning at me.
“Ah, I’m just the babysitter. Not a very good one, I’m afraid. I almost got the baby killed.”
“Your famous quick reflexes saved us both,” she said.
“Yeah, but I messed up your side.”
“Not a big deal.”
“If it scars up, we’re finished, you know.”
“Just like that?” she asked.
“I like my women unblemished.”
“Better stay away from cops, then.”
“Let’s wait and see how it turns out. The scar and all.”
She laughed. It was that big laugh that made me feel good enough to jump up and do the watusi. “How about another kiss?” I asked.
“We better wait. You know, see how the scar turns out.”
“My head isn’t getting any better,” I said.
She leaned in and kissed me again. On the lips. Very quickly. I’m not above using sympathy for my own ends.
“That’s better,” I said. “Have you heard any more about the bad guys?”
“No, but Bill Lester’s here. One of the Sarasota cops said he and their chief are talking out on the ambulance loading dock. He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay. Tell the nurse that I don’t want to go to imaging until I’ve talked to Bill.”
“If they try to take you away, I’ll just shoot them.”
“You’re getting pretty aggressive.”
“I’m feeling aggressive. I want the bastards who’re behind this. And it’s not just about me. There’re two dead women whose only connection to me was that somebody was trying to tell me something. Make a statement or scare me. Something that got them killed just because somebody wants me dead.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I know that. But there will be more innocent women killed if we don’t stop these people.”
Lester walked into the cubicle. “You okay, J.D.?”
She nodded.
“How about you, Matt?”
he asked.
“I’m good, Bill. They’re going to run some tests, but everybody seems to think I’m fine. What do you know?”
“The two guys in the car are dead. Apparently one of those Sarasota cops who was on the street when the firing started got a lucky shot and hit the driver in the back of the head. The car crashed into a parked car and some guy crawled out of the backseat with a pistol. He took five or six shots to the chest. I think they’re still counting the hits over at the morgue. Sarasota P.D. will need your weapon, J.D.”
She pulled the nine-millimeter out of its holster, pointed it toward the floor, dropped the magazine out of the butt, pulled the slide back to clear the chamber, and handed it to the chief. “How did they know we were going to be at the police station?” she asked.
“This may not be the same bunch,” Lester said. “One of Sarasota P.D.’s gang detectives was on the scene and he said the tattoos on the guys in the car were Guatemalan gang ink. They’ve recently moved into the area.”
“Still,” said J.D., “somehow they knew we were going to be at the police station today. How?”
“That’s the sixty-four-dollar question,” Lester said. “How did they know you were going to be at Lynches last night?”
“Somebody followed me from home to the Lazy Lobster Sunday night. Maybe they’ve been following me all along.”
“What about a tracking device, Bill?” I said. “Somebody put one of those on my Explorer a couple of years back.”
“I remember,” said Lester. “I’ll have your car and J.D.’s car checked out.”
“My car’s at the Sarasota police station.”
“I figured as much. I’ve got a patrolman bringing Jock here.”
“Why is he coming here?”
“I told him to come armed. I want a little more protection for you two.”
I laughed. “You know, Bill, I’m never going to live this one down. Jock will tell everybody we know that he has to protect my fragile ass.”
“Obviously, somebody’s got to do it.”
“Call your guy,” I said, “and tell him to take Jock to my car. It’s parked on the street about a block south of the station. Jock knows where I hide the spare key. He can bring it here and take us home later. And tell him to bring me the pistol in the glove box.”
The MRI showed no damage, but the doctor wanted to keep me overnight for observation. I told him I couldn’t do it. I had to get home. He said I’d have to have somebody there to check on me every couple of hours. I told him I had two houseguests, and we’d make do.
Jock arrived while I was in imaging and was sitting and talking quietly with J.D. when they brought me back to the emergency room. “How you doing, podna?” he asked.
“I’m fine, Jock. Don’t even have much of a headache any more. I’ve had worse after a night at Tiny’s.”
“You ready to go home?”
“They said they’ve got some paperwork for me to sign. They’ll be along soon. How’s the side, J.D.?”
“No problem. They gave me a couple of Tylenol for pain.”
“I guess they told you that somebody’s got to stay with me for the next couple of weeks,” I said.
She smiled. “They said a couple of days.”
“Well, I knew it was a couple of something,” I said. You never know what sympathy will do for you. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
A lady in a dress came with a sheaf of papers for me to sign. We left the hospital in the Explorer and Jock drove us back to the key. It was nearing four in the afternoon when we crossed the Ringling Bridge onto Longboat. “Anybody hungry?” I asked.
We stopped at Harry’s Corner Store for take-out sandwiches and drove on to the village. A Longboat Key patrol car was parked on the side of the street in front of my cottage. The cop sitting behind the wheel waved at us. I was pretty sure he’d be there all night. I’d keep him supplied with sandwiches and coffee until we turned in for the evening.
The chief called just as we settled into the living room with our lunch. “I’m sending a tech out to go over your car, Matt. If there’s a tracking device on it, he’ll find it. Tell J.D. he’ll need the keys to her car. Is it back at her condo?”
“Yeah,” I said. “One of the Sarasota cops drove it back early this morning.”
“Okay. If you need anything, call,” he said, and hung up.
Logan showed up as we were finishing our food. “Lester called. Said you guys were causing trouble downtown. Everybody okay?”
“Pretty much,” I said. “I just can’t figure out how the bad guys knew J.D. was going to be at the police station this morning.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Logan. “Maybe they weren’t after J.D. Maybe they came for you.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all, Logan,” I said. “Why in the world would a Guatemalan hit squad be after me?”
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “But you almost got killed by that car in front of Cha Cha’s last night.”
“I ran in front of him.”
“But he didn’t even try to stop. He was speeding up, like he was trying to hit you.”
“Logan’s right,” said Jock. “I thought that was a little odd at the time.”
“Just some drunk,” I said.
“Then he was a Hispanic drunk,” said Jock.
“Are you sure, Jock?” asked J.D.
“Pretty sure. It was dark and I only got a glimpse of the driver, but he was looking right at Matt. Like he was aiming the car. And he was picking up speed. I’m pretty sure he was Hispanic. His skin was dark and he had black hair. I wouldn’t have thought anything about it except for what Bill had to say about Guatemalans. I figured he just didn’t see Matt.”
“Why would they be after Matt?” J.D. asked. “He didn’t have anything to do with anybody at Glades Correctional.”
“Matt’s name was in the paper,” said Logan. “In the article about Qualman getting killed in the Lazy Lobster parking lot. It didn’t name Jock and it wasn’t clear as to who fired the shot that killed him.”
“Revenge?” asked J.D.
“Why not?” asked Jock. “That’s apparently what’s motivated the attacks on J.D.”
“I’ll be damned,” I said. “You think he was waiting for me to cross the street? That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
Jock shrugged. “Maybe he was waiting for you to leave Cha Cha’s, or maybe he was about to do a drive-by and he saw an opportunity to get you with the car.”
“I guess that’s a reasonable hypothesis,” I said.
My cell phone rang. Blocked ID. I answered. It was David Parrish. “The governor called back,” he said. “He talked to the superintendent down at Glades. I think you’ll get everything he has by first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks, David. I hope you didn’t have to call in too many favors.”
“No. Nothing like that. Glad to help. Tell J.D. hello for me.”
“Before you go,” I said. “Do you have any information on Guatemalan gangs operating in this area?”
“There’s one. A bunch of really bad hombres. Why?”
“Two guys took a shot at J.D. or me or both of us this morning. They had tattoos that the Sarasota P.D. gang unit said are tied to a Guatemalan gang. I understand they probably operate out of Tampa.”
“Are they in custody?”
“No. They were killed by some really pissed off Sarasota cops.”
“What do you need to know about them?” asked David.
“Do they hire out as killers?”
“They do. If there’s a buck in it and it’s illegal, they’re your go-to guys.”
“We’re thinking that they may have been hired by whoever is trying to kill J.D.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Let me check in with my people who’re monitoring the gangs.”
“How’d you do with Deanna Bichler this morning?”
“She kicked my ass. I’ll call when I have something.”
&n
bsp; “Thanks, David.”
I looked at J.D. “Your buddy kicked the big man’s ass in court this morning.”
J.D. laughed. “She thinks Parrish will get her in the end. But she keeps on plugging.”
“You two are a lot alike,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “But she has better taste in men.”
I wasn’t going to touch that one. I told them that David was looking into the Guatemalan gang based in Tampa and would let me know when he had something.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I was on my patio drinking coffee and watching daylight slowly push back the darkness. There was no sun that Friday morning and the bay looked bleak. A chilly wind blew from the north. A weak cold front was moving in and would probably bring some rain.
We had turned in early the night before. Jock drove to J.D.’s condo and retrieved the suitcase of clothes she’d packed that morning. She was tired and went to bed early. Jock and I sat for an hour talking about old friends and times gone by. He went to bed and left me with my thoughts.
J.D. and I hadn’t yet finished our conversation about our future, or lack thereof, and somebody was trying to kill her and perhaps me. Not a good way to start a relationship, even if that was what she wanted. I couldn’t tell. I gave it up and went to bed. I slept fitfully and was up early.
The somber bay, gray and foreboding under the cloud cover, matched my mood. Even the seabirds that nested nearby were quiet. In deference to the weather, I was wearing socks, boat shoes, jeans, and an old sweatshirt that read “Longboat Key, a Place in the Sun.” Well, most days that was true.
The morning paper was full of bad news, but then that seemed to be the state of things these days. The Bradenton City Council had annexed some land a few months before when the county fathers balked at a developer’s plans to turn a beautiful piece of bayside property into another condominium complex. The city then granted permits for the developers to start tearing up more of our limited waterfront property. They were planning a couple hundred condos in five high-rise buildings overlooking the bay near the Manatee Avenue Bridge. It didn’t matter that someday when the big hurricane came ashore, the roads would not be able to handle the traffic fleeing to safety. No thought was given to what that many people would do to our beaches or the strain they would put on our water supply. All the councilmen could see was the taxes that would flow from the new residents. More money for them to piss away. The Florida I knew and loved, the one in which I’d grown up and lived in for most of my life, was dying under the onslaught of the omnipresent bulldozer.
Fatal Decree Page 14
