Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1)

by Nick Vellis

  “OK, OK, we’re cool, whatever you say mister.”

  “Did Alan tell you who you were shadowing or why?” I asked.

  I took a couple quiet steps closer and one to my right. I didn’t want them to zero in on the sound of my voice.

  “Naw, he don’t tell us nothin. He just said to follow you,” the one on the right said.

  He’d move first, I thought.

  “He tell you who you were supposed to follow. You’re lying. Dirt bags like you get shot for lying,” I shouted.

  Neither man spoke or moved. I shifted my left.

  “Did Alan tell you to get caught, 'cause that’s what you did,” I said. Short and fat was startled I’d moved again. “I had you spotted five minutes after I left the Sheriff’s Office. This’ll set you up real good with your boss. Maybe we should call him now.”

  The squat guy snuck a peek over his left shoulder. He was ready to come for me. I took a couple more steps toward him then side stepped into the headlights. Standing in the light he knew exactly where I was, but the lights would blind him when he turned around. He dropped his shoulder telegraphing his turn then charged me. I was ready. The taller one pulled a piece. Change of plan, I had to get him first or die. Squat guy’s charge floundered when I side stepped and tripped him as he sailed by. I launched myself at the one with the gun. Blinded by the headlights he tried to shade his eyes with his free hand as he struggled to see me. I cut beanpole off at the knees with a flying tackle and his piece went sailing into the darkness. The roll of quarters added weight to my punch. I straddled the guy’s chest and before he could react, landed three solid rights to his jaw. The man didn’t have a chance to resist. He was out cold. My $10 sap worked perfectly.

  The crunch of gravel behind me signaled the shorter gunsel had recovered and was rushing me from behind. I dropped the quarters, pivoted and instead of standing took a three-point stance. I side stepped at the last possible second and clothes lined the guy with my right arm then used my left to cinch down on his neck. The man struggled, but the chokehold was set. I shifted my weight and arms to the right and bore down hard over his carotid artery. With the difference in our heights, the duffus didn’t have a chance. His arms flailed for a few seconds, but soon his knees buckled. He was out like a cheap light bulb. I let him go and he dropped face first to the road.

  Had I been up against a couple pros I might have had a problem, but these two were morons. Both of my assailants were unconscious on the dark road and I wasn’t even out of breath. I patted them down, turned out their pockets. Both had cards from Barber Investigative Services. The shorter one had a .38 Special in an ankle holster. Too bad, if he’d used his head instead of his muscles, he might have taken me, I thought. I stripped the piece out of the holster and dropped it in my back pocket.

  I retrieved my roll of quarters, then drug first one then the other unconscious halfwit back to their car. A quick scan of the Nissan’s interior turned up nothing of interest except a pair of handcuffs in the center console. I was about to pocket the bracelets when a little mischief came to mind. I opened the driver’s side door and heaved the short stocky guy into the driver seat. I closed the door, stood the taller one up, and leaned him through the open driver side window. I cuffed the two together, left hand to right through the steering wheel. These two weren’t following me any more tonight. I retrieved a bottle of rye from my trunk. I wasn’t drinking anymore and there wasn’t much in the bottle anyway. I splashed the rye onto the two sleeping beauties, wiped it sown with my shirttail, and then dropped the bottle on the passenger side floor.

  I pulled the .38 from my pocket, wiped it down too, and tossed it on the floor next to the dead soldier. I grabbed the cell phone off the tall guy’s belt and dialed 911 then dropped it next to the bottle and the wheel gun. I was about to take a powder when one more idea came to me. I undid the tall guy’s belt and fly then pulled his pants and skivvies below his knees. The booze, a burner, and handcuffs on a passed out half-stripped guy would make a great story for the cops who found these bozos. These two goons would have a swell time explaining their way out of this one.

  I beat the bushes in the ditch and came up with the tall guy’s gun. It was an inexpensive Bersa Thunder .380. I hefted it in my hand and pulled out the magazine. The little pocket pistol was lightweight, held seven plus one in a single stack and was well made. Not a bad little piece and it looked new. I decided it was a fair payout for not smoking these two goofballs. Beanpole wasn’t going to complain.

  I headed back the way I’d come with the cruise control set just below seventy. A few minutes later three Volusia County Sheriff’s deputies, blasted by eastbound with lights and sirens. Wonder if they’re headed for the fairgrounds, I thought. It looked like I’d made a clean sneak. Those two dumb mugs weren’t going to let on they’d been taken by one unarmed guy. Besides, they had a lot to explain.

  I stopped for a drive through burger and got home just after eleven. It had been a long day. I made my way up the back stairs, giving a wave to Dave. The Drunk Monk was quiet for a Friday night. I fumbled for my keys, opened the door, and let it slam behind me. I ate my burger while I typed up my interview notes then did internet searches on the new names I’d collected. There was something on everyone. Jon Canning, Rad Wozninek, the victim’s friends, Tawni Williams, Libby Davis, all showed up with pictures attending events, going to concerts or sports events, but there wasn’t anything substantial other than their social media pages. I’d have to run the rest of them in the morning. I was beat. I was about to call it a night when the door buzzer sounded. “Yeah,” I said.

  “You finally made it home,” Roscoe said. “Can we come up?”

  “Got a mouse in your pocket?”

  “Stan’s with me. Open the damn door,” he teased.

  “Sure, come on up,” I said. I hit the buzzer and soon heard footsteps in the hall.

  Stan and Roscoe came through the door wearing shit eating grins. Stan was carrying a box of donuts.

  “Hi, my name is Roscoe, I’m an alcoholic,” Roscoe said as his huge bulk cleared the door.

  I’d never seen him so serious.

  “Ya got some coffee,” Stan asked.

  “It’s late for coffee for me, but I can make some for you guys.”

  “Well get on it. Can’t have fresh donuts without coffee,” Roscoe said.

  I went to the kitchen, my two buddies close behind. The Mr. Coffee was on the counter. I dumped out the day old coffee grounds, filled the pot with fresh water, put in a new filter, scooped in some Maxwell House, and pushed start.

  “Coffee will be ready in a snap,” I said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Every intervention starts with a substantial helping of coffee,” Roscoe said.

  “Is this an intervention?”

  “Not really,” Stan said, “but it sounds good. Roscoe and I talked a couple times today and we talked about you.”

  “Something good I hope.”

  “Only if you’ll listen,” Roscoe said. “Stan told me you were trying to dry out on your own. We want to help you.”

  “I appreciate it guys, but…”

  “Shut up and listen,” Stan said. He was serious.

  “OK, what do you have to say?” I sneered. I took a seat at the kitchen table as the first whiff of coffee began to fill the room.

  “When I left the Army I had a load of problems,” Roscoe began. “The biggest one was I liked seeing the bottom of a bottle.”

  “I remember,” I replied. “We polished a few off together.”

  “And I helped too, but I could walk away from it, neither of you two could,” Stan added.

  “I’ve done pretty well on my own so far, but tell me about the program. Maybe if I join up that lady shrink will get off my back.”

  “That’s not a good enough reason to join and if that’s why you do it, you won’t stick with AA,” Roscoe said. “Let me tell you about the parts of an alcoholic- the spiritual, mental, and physical parts.”


  Roscoe explained what amounted to the metaphysics of the program and it appealed to me. The passion he had for what he said impressed me. The coffee and hot donuts made it all a little more palatable.

  “I’ve heard about the twelve steps. How long does that take?” I asked.

  “You take twelve steps to sobriety,” Roscoe said. “Every AA meeting will have a list of the twelve steps in the front of the room. They’re at the core of the Alcoholics Anonymous program. You don’t ever complete the twelve steps though. There’s a beginning, the first step, but no end. From the moment you commit to changing, you’re working the steps in your life.”

  “What’s the first one,” I asked. I thought I already knew, but I asked anyway.

  “We admit we are powerless over alcohol - that our lives have become unmanageable,” he said.

  “Well I’m down with that,” I said. “How do I start?”

  Roscoe looked right through me, as if he was trying to see my heart. After a bit, he said, “I’ll be your sponsor. I’ll take you to a meeting in the morning and maybe tomorrow afternoon too. Don’t think quitting is easy.”

  “You’ve done pretty well on your own. You have the willingness to change, but it takes more,” Stan said. He looked at Roscoe and smiled. “I had to kick this asshole’s butt three times, one for every time he quit.”

  “And I had it coming,” Roscoe said.

  Stan slapped the larger man on the back.

  “When you’re faced with trouble, you’ll need the support of a group, Roscoe, or me,” Stan asked. “Can you do that? Can you ask for help?”

  Asking for help was never my strong suit, but I could see these guys were serious. I said I’d do whatever they told me to do.

  We’d polished off the donuts and Stan and Roscoe finished the coffee. I told them it had been a long day and I wanted to call it a night.

  “I’ll be here at seven forty-five to get you,” Roscoe said.

  “You bring that address book, Stan?” I asked.

  “That’ll have to wait. We can talk tomorrow…if you follow through with Roscoe.”

  He had me there. Stan and Roscoe got up, said good night and I was alone with an empty donut box, about a third of a pot of coffee, and my thoughts. I had a lot to think about, but I wasn’t going to solve anything tonight, so I decided to turn in. I hit the rack and killed the light as my digital alarm clock clicked onto one fifteen AM. The phone rang about one thirty. I hoped it would be Ashton, but it was Dave down stairs. The gang was asking for me. I told Dave I’d come if he would help me with my will power.

  I’d put in my share of late nights at the Drunk Monk and a hundred other bars over the years. Tonight was a totally new experience. I wasn’t blitzed. I’d had two shots of rye then stuck to club soda. The steps were still steep, but it was fatigue rather than the booze that made the climb slow. I slammed the door behind me, staggered to my rack and crashed. It could have been in a flophouse or a palace, ‘cause I was out cold by the time my head hit the pillow.

  When the phone rang again, it took a while to figure out what was making the racket. I groped around with one hand and finally found my phone on the floor. When I picked it up it was backward and I dropped it. When I finally got hold of it, I mumbled angrily.

  “What? Do you know what time it is?” I hoped the dick calling me did, ‘cause I had no clue.

  “Everett, this is Detective Deeds. You need to come down to the station to see Lieutenant Raven.”

  When a cop calls you in the middle of the night it’s always bad. Since I knew Deeds hated my guts, and Lieutenant Anwar Raven, my old commanding officer, wanted my hide, it had to be real bad. I sat up trying to clear my head, but didn’t have much success.

  “Oh hi Deeds. How’s my favorite flatfoot? What the hell do you want? Lose your keys? Need me to find ‘em?”

  “Very funny wise guy. Your ass is in a grinder now,” he snickered.

  “Don’t you know what time it is?” I asked. I still had no idea if I’d slept for an hour or all night. Then I noticed it was dark outside.

  “It’s 4:20 in the morning and you’re getting your ass down here right now or I’ll make the pinch myself,” Deeds replied.

  “What are you talking about? You peepers are all alike, all mouth and no ears. I asked you why you’re calling me in the middle of the night. I need my beauty rest.”

  “You could out snooze Sleeping Beauty and it wouldn’t do you any good. I told you, the lieutenant wants to see you and he wants you here thirty minutes ago.”

  Deeds was enjoying this.

  “Ok, ok, what’s the rush?” I said hoping he let something slip and knowing he’d never fall for it.

  “Never mind that, just get down here pronto, savvy? If you’re not here by five you’ll be in the tank with the other rummies.”

  When he clicked off it startled me. I stared at the phone for a few ticks wondering what was so damn important that my old skipper wanted to put the screws to me in the middle of the night. It had to be something important.

  I went to the sink and splashed some water on my face. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I did need my beauty sleep. I grabbed the keys to my Honda then thought better of it. Deeds and Logan might be staking out my place to bust me for DUI. I called City Cab and asked for a hack to pick me up in fifteen then headed out the door. I had time for one smoke before the cab pulled up. It wasn’t anyone I knew so I didn’t have to explain what I was doing. “Orange County Sheriff’s Headquarters on Colonial and make it fast,” I said.

  “Sure thing buddy,” the driver mumbled as he hit the gas.

  I strolled into the Orange County Sheriff’s Department lobby at four fifty-five a.m. and asked the receptionist for Lieutenant Raven.

  “Call my lawyer if I’m not out in an hour,” I said. The receptionist didn’t even look up.

  When Logan appeared in the lobby doorway I said, “What’s this all about, Logan?” I knew he wouldn’t tell me. He just looked at me with that familiar shit-eating grin on his pudgy face then turned and walked down the hall. He stopped in front of a door, knocked twice, and held the door open for me.

  “Good luck, asshole,” Deeds said as I walked past him.

  The last time I’d been in Anwar Raven’s office he was a sergeant and my next stop was the county jail. That wasn’t going to happen this time.

  “Hi L-T, what’s happening? Congrats on the promotion, who did you frame to get it?”

  Surprisingly, he ignored the barb and pressed on.

  “Where were you tonight between eleven and four?” Raven said without even looking up.

  “Oh fine thanks, lieutenant, and you, yes it has been a long time,” I said. I wasn’t trying to piss him off, but if I did, so much the better.

  “Still a smart ass aren’t you Everett?” he said without looking up. “Well, I’ll get you this time.”

  “I’m not a smart ass L-T. I point out the obvious and speak fluent sarcasm, that’s all. Yeah, I’m the same smart ass that beat you in court. Whad’ya want, Raven? I’ve got things to do.”

  He looked up, his usual sneer pasted on his mug. “I don’t know how you convinced that prosecutor you didn’t kill those two people, but I know you did it.”

  “You know better than everyone else and you don’t have any idea how the DNA was planted, the three eye witnesses you ‘forgot’ to interview were wrong and oh by the way someone else has been convicted of that crime. How do you sleep at night,” I shot back. “I still have most of the settlement money, by the way. Maybe if you’re real nice, I’ll buy you a cup of day old cold coffee. Oh and it was very nice of the county to pay for my PI license, my bond and liability insurance.”

  Raven was about to burst. “Where were you tonight between eleven and four?” His eyes narrowed, his thick black glasses rode up a bit, and his face turned even redder.

  “I think I need my lawyer, mind if I use your phone?”

  It took Charlie Ross about forty minutes
to get there and he went right in to see Raven. I spent the time examining my cuticles while I sat on a bench in the hall. None of the deputies passing by said anything to me, even the ones who remembered me. I looked up when I heard a door open and Charlie motioned for me to come in.

  “The lieutenant has some things to ask you,” Charlie said. “You may answer if you like.”

  I looked over at the recorder on the table in the corner and asked, “Is this being recorded or taken down?”

  “No damn it. Will you answer a couple simple questions or not?”

  Charlie gave me a nod and I said, “Sure Raven, ask away.”

  “How do you know Rad Wozninek?” he asked.

  That was the last thing I was expecting. I took in a deep breath, looked over at Charlie.

  “It’s a simple question. How do you know him?”

  “Who says I do?” I shot back, stalling to think.

  “You sayin’ you don’t?”

  “I’m not saying anything until you tell me what this is all about. You get me out of bed in the middle of the night, drag me down here with no explanation and you expect cooperation?”

  “Your business card is in his pocket and your number is the last one dialed from his phone. Was he a client? What are you working on?” Raven pounded his fist on the desk.

  “If this person were a client they’d be entitled to secrecy about their business. It’s called professional ethics, lieutenant. I know you don’t have any, but you’ve heard of that concept, right? You know common sense is like deodorant. The people who need it the most use it the least.”

  Charlie stifled a chuckle then tried to catch a straight face while Raven did a slow boil. This was too much fun. I hoped it didn’t backfire.

  “I’m going to hang you, you smart ass. You were a dirty cop and now I’ve got you in my sights again. We found Wozninek shot to death this morning in the Amway Center parking garage. You’re going down Everett.”

  To say I was surprised would have been the understatement of the year. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I looked over at Charlie and he shrugged back.

  I tried to keep my composure, “I got home around eleven. The bartender at the Drunk Monk saw me come in. I live over the bar, you remember, don’t you L-T? You tried to get me for that too. Around eleven fifteen two friends came over and stayed until about one.”