by Valerie Clay
“Of course,” Amanda replied, her expression, a combination of anxiety and hopefulness.
“Doesn’t look like he’s got a concussion to me,” Bobby said when they returned to our group. “Just scattered his chickens a bit. When you can, get him to the vet for a checkup, but I’ll bet you he’s gonna be just fine.”
Amanda was expressing her tearful appreciation when two black and whites, followed by an unmarked sedan and a state patrol car pulled up to the main entrance. They came in fast with blue and red pulsating lights but no sirens. Bobby with his bulk and height easily pushed through the crowd and we followed him to the first car on the scene.
Before the officer could climb out of his car, I rushed him, gushing information about Lenny, Crystal, Mark, and his brother. He lifted his hand, palm in my face, and interrupted me in mid-sentence. “Ma’am, I’ve been fully briefed on the situation and we’ve already been in contact with hotel security. If Mr. Nielson and his brother are still there, we’ll find them. Right now you and your friends need to go with Officer Hernandez over there.” He pointed to the second squad car as he continued, “He’ll take you to the station for questioning.” Numbly, we followed his directions.
Officer Carlos Hernandez opened the back door of his squad car and motioned for us to get in. Amanda and Carl entered first, sliding across the back seat, followed by Julie who was assisted by Dakota. Before he closed the door, he whispered something in her ear and handed her a piece of paper. A shy smile crossed her face as she waved goodbye to him. Bobby walked me around to the passenger side of the front seat and, like a true country gentleman, opened the door for me. I turned to him before I climbed in and said, “I don’t know how to thank you for your help. You literally saved our lives tonight.”
He gave me a lazy grin. “Nah, we didn’t do much, but if you really are looking for a way to say thank you, you and your friends could meet us tomorrow night for some line dancing. That is, if you’re up for it. We’ll be here tomorrow around eight P.M. in the casino area.”
“You’ve got a date,” I said as I reached up and gave him a big bear hug, then slid into the squad car.
From his pocket he withdrew a copper and beige-colored business card then leaned in and handed it to me before he closed the door. “Call me if you need anything,” he said. “Anything at all.”
I smiled, took his card and clutched it in my hands as I settled back against the seat. This was my first ride in a police car and it felt comforting, yet unsettling in a surreal sort of way. As we pulled away from the casino, the dancing fountains began their next show and I watched in silence as the brightly lit sprays of water rose two-hundred feet into the air. It was good to be alive.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I don’t measure a man’s success by how high he climbs, but how high he bounces when he hits bottom.” —General George S. Patton
*******
Detective Frank Caporale, a large Starbucks coffee cup in hand, greeted us at the front desk of the Special Investigations Unit on Bermuda Road. A gray tweed sports jacket over a white dress shirt, black striped tie, and black slacks complimented his dark Italian good looks. He walked with the swagger of a man who was used to getting his way, and his manner of speech was direct, no-nonsense. Motioning with his coffee cup, he pointed to a tiny, nearby office and ushered us in. In contrast to the lobby, the furnishings were meager—just a beat-up wooden table and a mismatched collection of four metal chairs. Three drab, sage green walls were badly in need of some fresh paint, and the fourth wall was mostly mirror. I wondered if it was one of those two-way thingys you see in the movies. Was anyone watching us? It gave me the creeps.
Gesturing to us to sit down, he removed his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. The sight of the shoulder holster and gun he wore sent a cold shiver through me, a dreadful reminder of my unfortunate shooting altercation earlier in the evening. A memory I’d just as soon forget. Getting comfortable, he loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves and took a sip of what looked like very strong, black coffee. It was going to be a long night.
“Now before we begin, would any of you ladies like something to drink—tea, coffee, water?” he offered in a thick Boston accent.
“I don’t suppose you have any alcohol on the premises? It’s been a hellish day,” Amanda asked, softly petting Carl who was curled up in her lap, sleeping peacefully. His pink tongue lolled out of the corner of his mouth like a tiny slab of bacon.
“You suppose correctly.”
“In that case, I’ll just have some herbal tea—decaffeinated please—and could I get a bowl of water for Carl?” Julie and I asked for decaf tea as well.
The detective called out loudly to someone in another room, “McPherson, I need three teas in here, and make ’em unleaded. Oh, and bring a bowl of water for the dog.”
“I’d like to get Carl to a vet for a checkup,” said Amanda, concern darkening her emerald eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine, but he was knocked around pretty hard today and I won’t be able to rest until I know he’s okay.”
“Absolutely,” responded Caporale. “As soon as we get your statement, you’re free to go. There’s a veterinary hospital not fah from here,” he said in Bostonese, “and I believe they have a 24-hour emergency room. So, let’s start with you. Tell me again from the beginning what happened, and don’t leave out any details, no matter how insignificant you think they might be.”
Amanda was halfway through her account when a beautiful young black woman in a police uniform carrying a tray of tea in paper cups, along with a small bowl of water entered the room. Her long, honey brown hair was pulled back in a soft chignon at the base of her neck. She looked more like a model than a policewoman. Amanda thanked her and put the water on the floor for Carl, who perked up immediately, stretched out from the cradle of her lap, and jumped down to get a drink. As he slurped up the water from the metal bowl, his little black and tan tail wagged eagerly. Watching him behave like his typical, energetic self again brought relieved smiles all around.
While Amanda finished her statement, Julie and I waited, patiently sipping our tea, then took turns recounting the events of our abduction and escape. Detective Caporale listened intently to our stories, stopping us from time to time to ask pointed questions or to clarify a comment. He took notes with an expensive fountain pen on a yellow legal pad and watched us closely as we responded. When he wasn’t writing notes, he absentmindedly twisted a large gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. After he finished his questioning he excused himself and left the room to confer with a group of detectives in another office nearby.
Despite the lateness of the evening, the station bustled with activity. The excitement in the air was palpable. But, feeling the effects of an emotionally and physically brutal day, we were far too tired to care, so we just sipped our tea and waited for Caporale to return. Carl lapped up the last of his water then pawed at Amanda, so she picked him up and cuddled him protectively on her lap.
“Well, I’ve got a little good news,” the detective said upon reentering the room. “Your pocketbooks were still in the hotel room—at first glance, looks like nothing’s missing—your wallets and cell phones were still inside. McPherson’s bringing them to you, along with a pet carrier we recovered from the accounting office. Blood on the floor, the silencer, and a broken lamp corroborate your stories. Unfortunately, the doc and his brother are missing and we don’t have any information on a Lenny, Tony, or a Crystal. Probably not their real names. Can you think of anything else that might help us identify them?”
That’s when it hit me—I had my tie camera. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot about this,” I said leaping up, “but I have a secret camera in my tie. I tried to take pictures, but I don’t know if I was very good at it. I unknotted my tie, pulled it off and handed it across the table to Caporale.
“A tie camera?” the detective said. “Are you kiddin’ me? You Seattle women are a kooky bunch, what with your oddball clothes and hidd
en spyware. No offense.” We looked at each other and rolled our eyes.
He yelled for McPherson once again, and once again the beautiful police woman entered the room. This time she brought our purses along with Carl’s carrier and set them on the floor next to the detective.
“Don’t tell me you’re McPherson,” I said to her.
She smiled. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“Not what I pictured for a McPherson. I thought you’d be a fat guy with grey hair. Why do you let him bark orders so rudely at you like that? No offense,” I said glancing over at the detective.
“None taken,” he said, grinning. He seemed to enjoy a bit of verbal sparring.
“Oh, he’s not such a bad guy,” McPherson said, winking at Caporale. “Bark is worse than his bite kind of thing.”
“Yeah, whatever,” the detective interrupted waving his hand. “Get this tie camera analyzed and see if you can come up with any pictures. Please,” he added. McPherson suppressed a smile as she took the tie and left the room.
Caporale reached down, picked up our bags, and began handing them to us one by one. Mine was last.
“You know,” he said as he hoisted it across the table to me, “I once went camping for a week in the woods when I was a boy scout, and my backpack weighed less than this purse of yours.” I tossed him a withering glance and took the purse.
“While we’re waiting, do you have any questions?” he asked as he picked up his cup and finished off the last of his coffee.
“Just one,” Julie piped up. Until now she’d been sitting in silence, staring into space, probably reflecting on her brush with death. “How did a cop from Beantown end up living in Vegas?”
“Please. I’m not from here,” Caporale sniffed. “I’m on what you might call a special assignment. MacPherson and I’ve been tracking your boy, LaRusso, ever since he escaped a prison van and killed two guards. You could say it’s personal for both of us.”
“Our boy?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah, the mob boss your doctor friend was going to put under the knife. Anyway, we got a tip he was headed to Vegas, so MacPherson and I flew out here a few days ago. We were on the verge of throwing in the towel, but thanks to you ladies, we may get our man yet. This is the first decent lead we’ve had.” A big grin of anticipation lit up his face as he stood up, grabbed his empty coffee cup, and exited the room.
Julie looked off into space again, probably contemplating how fragile and fleeting life is. “I wonder what Dakota’s doing right now,” she said.
“Julie, how can you think about cowboys at a time like this?” Amanda chided her.
“Can you think of a better time to think about cowboys?” Julie replied.
She had a point.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Caporale, McPherson, and a slender young man in T-shirt, jeans, and an afro returned. McPherson introduced him as Speed Davis, the IT specialist in the department.
“Any luck?” I asked as I searched their faces for a glimmer of hope.
“No, I’m sorry to say,” Speed explained. “Most of the pictures were blurred and unrecognizable. We only got two clear still frames; the first one was a close up of a man’s Adams apple, and the second appears to be a dog in a cape flying through the air.”
Amanda shot up her hand. “Ooh, could I have that one?”
Caporale ran his fingers through his dark hair which was beginning to grey at the temples. I lowered my head into my hands and sighed. “I was so scared, I guess I screwed up. Sorry.” Speed returned the tie to me and I put it back on, carefully tying it in a Windsor knot and adjusting my collar. As I looked up at Caporale, I got an idea. Just for the heck of it, I stealthily turned on the camera. Might be some good pictures for the scrapbook.
“What are you doing?” the detective immediately asked.
“Nothing,” I shot back.
“Did you just turn on that camera? Are you taking pictures of me?”
“No. Absolutely not. I would never do that. I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. That’s insane.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “We can do this the easy way, sweetheart, or we can do this the Italian way.”
I hesitated. “What’s the Italian way?”
He reached out, grabbed my tie, and yanked me hard across the table. Then he twisted the tie into a mild choke hold, disabled the camera and let go. I sputtered and gasped for air as I slid back across the table and down into my chair.
“Do I need to confiscate that from you?” he asked me.
“No, sir,” I wheezed.
“No more pictures—understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
McPherson cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt this delightful interchange, but there’s one other thing. This package came for you a few moments ago, Ms. Morgan. At least I think it’s for you. The courier had instructions to give it to the lady in the man suit.”
I sighed and reached for the small manila envelope. “Do we know who sent it?” I asked, feeling somewhat alarmed.
“According to the courier, a woman named Norma Jean gave it to him. Paid him in cash. Said she saw you getting into a squad car at the Bellagio, and wanted to return an item she’d borrowed. That’s all the information he had.”
I took the envelope from her and tore it open. “Woohoo—it’s my pen!” I shouted.
“Must be some pen. What is it—another spy camera?” Caporale asked sarcastically.
“Yes! How’d you know? Here, see what you can find with this one,” I handed it over to Speed.
“Are there any other secret cameras we don’t know about?” Caporale said. “Maybe something in your hat or your pants?”
“No, that’s it,” I assured him. “I only have two hidden cameras. What do you think I am?” Caporale shook his head as he, Speed, and McPherson left the room again. Smiling with renewed optimism, I sat back against my chair and tried to massage the kink out of my neck.
Carefully balancing Carl on her lap, Amanda fished her cell phone from her bag and began retrieving her messages. Julie and I followed suit, waiting for the detective to return with potentially good news. Multiple, anxious messages from Laini awaited all three of us. She panicked when she couldn’t reach anyone, she explained, so she decided to take the next flight out of SeaTac, and would be arriving around midnight. We took turns returning her calls and left messages that we were all okay. Too bad we couldn’t say the same for poor Mark and his brother. I said a silent prayer for their safety. We decided not to mention anything about them. Best not to get her more worried than she already was.
Caporale returned sooner than we expected, with McPherson following closely behind. “Bingo!” he said, grinning. “We got some terrific shots. Your buddy, Norma Jean, really came through for you. We ran ’em through facial recognition and ID’d all three of ’em. The first one is Deloris Bunn, AKA Crystal. Did time in the slammer twice for extortion and prostitution, among other things. A real doll. Since this is her third major offense they’ll probably throw away the key. If I were her, I’d be long gone by now.
The second one, Leonardo Plonski, AKA Lenny, also did time for armed robbery and attempted murder. He’s pretty much in the same sinking ship as your friend Crystal. The last guy, Tony, is actually Anthony Rubio. He’s had a few small offenses, but nothing on the level of this operation. How he got mixed up with this bunch of world class losers is a mystery to me. We’ve got APBs out for the three of ’em.”
“Well, that is excellent news, Detective Caporale,” Amanda said as she put Carl down on the floor, then stood up and tightened her belt. “Now, if we’re free to go, I need to get Carl to the vet.” She picked up Carl’s carrier and unzipped it.
Caporale stood up as well and faced Amanda. “Officially you’re free to go, and I don’t want to frighten you, but you’re not out of the woods just yet.”
“What?” Amanda looked up alarmed. “What do you mean we’re not out of the woods? We gave yo
u our testimonies. I thought we were done here—case closed.”
Caporale put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Look, I wish it were that simple, but the truth is, as long as these fugitives are at large, they may try to make sure they don’t leave behind any loose ends—like witnesses—if you catch my drift.”
“Well, then what can I do? I need to have Carl examined, and I can’t wait any longer,” she blurted, tears filling her eyes.
“McPherson here can escort you to the vet hospital, then she’ll take you to wherever your friends decide to spend the night tonight. You’ll all need police protection until we find these people. You’re our only witnesses at this point so it sure would be a shame if something were to happen to you.”
Amanda wiped her eyes, then lifted her chin, restoring her dignity. “I understand, Detective. Thank you for your help, and hopefully this will all be over soon.” She shuffled Carl into his bag, zipped it shut, then reached out to shake Caporale’s hand.
“You know, Amanda,” Julie reflected as she got to her feet, “Carl, the wonder dog here, saved our lives. If it wasn’t for him we’d all be dead now.”
“Yes, he’s a wonder dog all right,” Amanda agreed smiling, “but you’re the one who knocked the gun out of Lenny’s hand. If you hadn’t drop-kicked him to his knees we’d all be history.”
“True, but that only helped so much. Vic contributed a lot by shooting his ear off.”
“Well, thanks, Julie,” I said. “I’d like to take credit, but Amanda really finished off the job beautifully when she smashed the vase over his head. That last blow to the ribs was a nice touch too.”
“I wouldn’t want to meet any one of you ladies in a dark alley,” Caporale said. “You all scare the hell out of me.”
“That’s so sweet. Thank you,” I cooed. Beaming, Julie and Amanda chimed in their thanks as well. The detective looked up at the ceiling.
I glanced at my watch and realized it was nearing midnight. Time flies when you’re escaping from the mob. Laini’s plane should be arriving any minute now, and then we’d have to tell her about Mark—something we were all dreading.
