by Rick Murcer
“Hey, it’s what you get used to. And I’m not whining, just pointing out the facts.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay you two, get your asses in here, hide on the east side of the alley, out of view. And no more talking.”
Just as Manny got settled, the earphone crackled to life.
“Subject leaving through the front door and headed west.”
Manny’s heart began to jackhammer. Josh was still on the street. Chloe and Max had entered the building, but Josh had bent over to pick up something and was still in full view. Ruby would see him in a matter of seconds.
Josh moved in reaction to the radio communication, but not fast enough.
Ruby strolled around the corner, took one look at the FBI special agent, pulled her gun from her shoulder holster with amazing speed, and fired.
Manny watched in horror as Josh went down in a heap.
Chapter-33
Sometimes life moves in slow motion; other times, it moved like a super-demon controlled by the very elements of time and space, making an hour feel like a second. Rarely had Manny experienced both sensations in the same moment of time, but here it was, and he had only a split second to make a call, to do the right thing. He prayed a quick prayer and hoped God heard.
Max and Chloe had exited the storefront, both on a dead run, and got to the far side of the white Corvette, just as Josh sat up. They pulled him close to the vehicle and out of Ruby’s sight—for the moment. Good work.
Ruby continued to walk quickly toward the agents, and by the light of the streetlamps, Manny could see that she was talking to herself—actually, more like yelling. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was heading. If she got much closer to the Feds’ cover, they’d have no choice but to start firing, and he and his would have to do the same.
Manny saw no other options, if they were going to keep Ruby alive. Stepping from the alley, gun drawn, he took three steps, and spoke. “Ruby, stop where you are and drop your weapon. You’re surrounded by thirty cops.”
Ruby jerked her head in his direction and hesitated. The smile that bolted across her strong features was as unnerving as anything he’d ever seen. Maybe worse than the one Eli Jenkins displayed when he was ready to shoot Manny on the Ocean Duchess. It was as if she knew something he didn’t.
Been here before.
“Manny Williams. Are you the reason I’m in this mess?”
Manny noticed two Miami detectives coming up behind her, three blues to her right and two more moving to her back left. Sophie and Alex came out of the alley, a step behind him. This was going to end badly for her, unless he could talk her into laying down her weapon and giving up. He hoped she would listen.
“Yes, Ruby, I am. It’s all my fault that you’re in this mess.”
“I should have known. What was it?”
It was unsettling to be having a conversation with her like they were having a cup of latte on the patio of some coffee shop in South Beach.
“The tires of the ‘vette and the registered name gave you away.”
She nodded. “Good work. I thought I’d be out of here by tomorrow.”
“Ruby. You’ll need my help, or you aren’t going to get out of this.”
She cocked her head and moved closer, never lowering her weapon. His angst went up a notch.
“Who says I’m not going to get out of this?”
“I say you can, if you want to. Just lay down your weapon, that’s the first step.”
“But I like this gun. Besides, trusting the law isn’t on the top of my priority list.”
The chatter on his ear set told him SWAT was ready to take her out. Manny knew all of the rules regarding this situation, especially the one where danger to the innocents has to be mitigated, even if that meant deadly force. He shook his head, hoping the SWAT commander understood.
“Come on, Ruby. You’re a smart woman. Just put down the weapon and let me help you.”
“Help me?” She laughed. “That’s funny. I’ve killed people, Detective, that’s not going to bode well in Florida. Slapping the death penalty on me will be just a formality.”
“There are laws to protect you; you don’t have to die here.”
Maybe it was the thought of dying that caused her to pause. Manny was sure she was weighing her options. Survival mode is a powerful counselor, and hers was talking a blue streak.
She started to speak when the first shot rang out followed in quick succession by the second. Ruby crumpled to the concrete sidewalk. Immediately, the blood began pooling around her head and chest.
Manny frantically scanned the area on both sides of the fallen woman to see who had pulled the trigger. He focused on the surrounding officers, and they all wore the same surprised look.
“What the hell just happened?” asked Sophie.
“I don’t know. There wasn’t a go command.”
Alex bumped his arm. “Look, over by the Corvette.”
Manny didn’t catch it at first—the front fender blocked his view—but then he did.
Josh was struggling to keep his feet, gun in hand. Max and Chloe stood, shock on their faces.
The special agent carried a hard, angry expression as blood trickled down the side of his face. He stood and then balanced himself. “That bitch isn’t going to use anyone for target practice ever again.” Then he slumped back to the sidewalk.
Chapter-34
Sergeant Detective Paddie Harris turned over for the hundredth time and looked at the glowing green digits of his alarm clock, releasing a tired sigh: 3:25 a.m. Why was it that the days you were the most beat morphed into the nights you couldn’t seem to sleep to save your arse?
“Damned Murphy’s Law,” he whispered. He knew the concept hadn’t originated in Ireland, but the name was Irish, and for tonight, that was close enough. To top things off, his wife Lisa lay on her side of the bed, snoring in soft tones, totally unaffected by his insomnia. At least she was getting some rest.
But it wasn’t Murphy’s Law that was keeping him from the Sandman’s domain, was it?
The face of young Kathryn O’Malley rose up in his mind time after time. Each bruise, each torn patch of skin, each grisly bite mark, all took turns talking shit to him, and he wanted no part of that conversation.
Like most good cops, the question of who could have done it—and why—might as well have been tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Unless there was a lobotomy in his future, he was sure he was never going to stop asking those questions. It’s the kind of thing that drives a good cop insane and a bad one to another profession. Right now, he wasn’t sure who was smarter: good coppers or bad coppers.
Good God, he hated cases like this, but then again, had he ever really had one like this?
Had anyone? He’d certainly check out Interpol’s databases and anything else he could find on the FBI’s ViCAP site when he got to the office, but he was fully aware that some of these types of killers seemed to come out of the very deep abyss of anonymity.
They would practice in their minds as adults, until they couldn’t contain the hunger, the urge, or control the demon, whatever term was worthy, then boom: instant on-the-scene deviate. And this one seemed to know what he was doing—the worst kind.
He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed the stubble on his face. If parents would be more aware of the signs that lead to this kind of evolution, maybe something could be done. The McDonald Triad was a proper place to begin. First, bedwetting at an unusual age, then setting fires and a fascination with how the flames grew, mesmerized by them like some sideshow hypnotist. He thought of his tiny Shih Tzu, Buster, and his heart sank a little. The third and most devastating part of this triad was the gruesome cruelty to small animals and eventually to larger ones, usually cats and dogs. Shaking his head, he wondered what could possibly go haywire in a child’s thinking process to want to set fire to animals instead of being licked and loved by them. He knew what the experts said, but to him it seemed a choice—a terrible, evil choice.
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Harris stood and scratched his left butt cheek. Then again, what did he know? He was just a detective in a quaint, mostly quiet, college town in Ireland. Hell, he’d never really traveled anywhere else. Just a quick trip to Paris and one to Italy. The US was on his agenda someday, but the bloody cost that adventure entailed would put it a year or two out.
After going to the toilet, he poured a tall glass of water and stood in the dark kitchen, contemplating giving the bed another go or turning on his computer to check e-mail. Maybe there was something he could look up. His mind turned to Fredrick Argyle. He saw how Shannon had looked at him, and had even asked Haley Rose a few questions about him. Maybe there was something there, a reason Shannon was so curious.
What the hell—good a time as any.
Flipping on the light in his small den, he fired up the desktop, and it began the loading process. A minute later, he clicked the Internet icon and waited. It finally came to life, but even slower than usual, and he swore. This could be a problem. It seemed the only thing less reliable than his Internet connection was the use of common sense in government policy-making.
Eventually, he was able to pull up his e-mail. There was nothing too exciting, unless he wanted to increase his manhood by three inches in the next week. He supposed that would be all right if his wife wanted him to, but it wasn’t relevant tonight. Perhaps he’d call Mary Wiggins at the CSU in the morning to ask her advice. She’d not beat around the bush, now would she?
He went to his search engine and typed in “Fredrick Argyle” and watched the computer think, its goofy little hourglass symbol mocking him. He wondered if anyone would hear the shot as he blew the bloody screen to pieces.
The results list popped up on his screen, and then suddenly disappeared. The message said that it was updating and would restart when that task was completed.
He threw up his hands. “Okay. You win. I’m going back to bed.” He hit the off button and got up.
Finishing the water, he moved back to bed and crawled on top of the hard mattress, suddenly besieged with a desire to sleep for a hundred years. He closed his eyes and was out within a minute.
****************
Argyle looked through the dirty, semi-streaked window outside the small bungalow off Shantalla Road and watched Detective Harris turn off his computer. After turning off the den’s dim, overhead light, the detective headed back to his bedroom.
A few minutes later, he moved to the back of the building and peered into the bedroom window. The sheer curtains were separated just enough. He could make out the skinny figure lying on the bed near his wife, and his instincts told him the man was out. The only other issue was the woman, but he had a plan for her too, of course. He always had the details covered. Always.
Leaning a little closer, he wanted to see if he could get a better look, just to make sure.
Suddenly, there was high-pitched scream coming from inside the house near the window. The wailing caused him to leap back a few feet, trying to control his heartbeat all in the same instant. Harris’s wife had seen him.
Without thinking twice, he sprinted to the small clump of ash trees past the tiny yard, reaching cover just as the bedroom light streamed through the window. Harris was silhouetted against the window, searching for whatever caused his wife to lose her mind.
Eventually, the light went off. Argyle saw no more movement in or around the house.
He clenched his fist in rage. Harris’s slut had almost ruined everything, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He hadn’t counted on her seeing him.
He searched his mind and immediately recognized the problem. Somehow, Haley Rose had thrown his concentration off. He’d spent too much time playing games with her, and it had almost ruined everything. He felt his anger escalate. She’d be dealt with shortly, when her daughter returned to her homeland—two for one. A joy he’d not entertained prior.
Meanwhile, Harris and his bitch had to be dealt with. Argyle had been right. Harris and his partner were a problem and could upset the timing of what was going to be the grand finale he’d been dreaming of for months. Not allowed.
He cracked his neck. The cop inside the house was going to be very predictable, wasn’t he? Even though Argyle loved having complete control, he’d improvised a time or two when the circumstances dictated, like the wench in St. Thomas last year. She had been very useful in getting him expedited back to Michigan. He’d improvise tonight.
A twig snapped to his right, and he stiffened, then smiled.
“Put your hands in the air, Argyle,” said Harris, “Or I’ll blow your damned brains straight to hell.”
The voice was full of anger and apprehension. The good detective was nervous. How fortunate.
Turning around, hands in the air, he noticed Harris’s wife clinging to him like a frightened child. They’d made it easy for him. She was going to wish she’d stayed in the house—not that it would really matter in the end.
“Certainly, officer,” he answered. “Anything you’d like.”
This was going to be better than he’d thought.
Chapter-35
Josh sat on the edge of the ambulance bumper with his head in both hands. Manny glanced at his friend, then back to the subsiding chaos that had been sparked by the fiery exchange of Ruby and Josh.
The army of cops had been reduced to half of an army and the SWAT team was gone. The CSU units, one from the FBI Regional Office and one from MPD, were pulling out, but Alex and Max were going over Hayes’s condo one more time, like only they could. If there was something more damning than a few hairs and some DNA on the bed sheets, they’d discover it.
It was near midnight. The light ocean breeze brought the scent like oceans do. Manny caught the full moon as it rose higher, and his sense of déjà vu went crazy. The setting was perfect for a trip to the Caribbean, a getaway filled with relaxation and romance. Instead, each time he’d been exposed to these types of surroundings, death and pandemonium had been the norm. He felt an ancient curse had settled on his shoulders, and no curse-removing spell could get rid of it.
It rained shit for most people, some time or another, but he was tired of buying new umbrellas. Manny shook his head and gave himself a wry grin. He guessed things could be worse.
At least I still have my health, and Ruby Hayes won’t be in the killing game anymore: both good things.
He turned back to Josh just as the EMT threw up her hands and walked away. “Fine, if you drop dead from a blood clot to the brain, it’ll be your own damn fault. Freaking men anyway.”
Josh sat up straight, and Manny saw him wince, but his resolve was as strong as ever as he answered the EMT. “Hey, it’ll be my brain, and my family will be set, so no problem. Just understand, I’m not going to any hospital.”
She didn’t turn back to him, just waved her hand again and stomped faster to the front of the ambulance.
“Still making friends, I see,” said Manny.
“You know me, popular and in demand.”
Manny sat beside him and saw the sweat plastered to his forehead, soaking the bandage that covered the grazing shot that had almost finished Josh’s life.
“You sure you shouldn’t have them run some x-rays, just to see if there’s anything in there?” said Manny.
Josh grinned. “Smartass. I caught that . . . and no, I don’t. I might have a minor concussion from hitting the sidewalk, and the bullet was more like a scratch than a gunshot. The medical folks always blow this shit out of proportion . . . so yeah, I’m sure.”
Chloe and Sophie swung around the opposite corner of the ambulance, concern in their eyes. Josh looked at Manny, and they laughed.
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “What’s so funny?”
“You two,” said Josh. “You both had that look a mother has when her kid just fell down and scraped his knee. I’m fine. No worse for wear.”
“That’s great, but I think you could use a little TLC, so you need to come back to my room and let me take care of you,” s
aid Sophie. “I’ll even wear one of those little latex nurse getups.”
“Ah . . . wait . . . you brought an outfit like that from home?” asked Josh.
“Of course. Williams taught me to always be prepared.”
Chloe shook her head. “You ain’t even close to being right.”
“Thank God,” she grinned.
Manny laughed, then grew serious. They might as well get to it. “Josh, you’ve had time to settle down, but there’s going to be an investigation into why you shot Ruby.”
He nodded. “I know. The Office of Professional Responsibility (OPR) will be down my throat with a microscope, and they should be.”
“So, why’d you shoot her?”
Josh stood, walked a couple of paces, and came back. “Manny. I’m not sure. I was a little fuzzy, and I had this ringing in my head, but I saw she had her gun leveled, and you were only twenty feet away. I thought she was going to shoot you. I just reacted and pulled the trigger.”
“You didn’t hear me ask her to surrender and turn herself in?”
“No.”
“Not even through your ear piece?”
“No. Hell, did I even have my headset on?”
Chloe spoke. “You know, I don’t remember seeing it when Max and I got to you. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t have it.”
“I’d bet that’s true. I mean, a shot that almost killed you and then hitting the concrete most likely dislodged it from your ear,” said Sophie.
“That’ll be important. The OPR will want to know about it,” said Manny. He jumped back to just after the shots were fired. “They’re also going to drill and grill you about motives for pulling the trigger. Are you sure you weren’t thinking just about taking her out because she shot you?”
Josh’s eyes flashed. “I don’t work that way. I know I wasn’t clicking on all cylinders, but I love the justice system and wouldn’t have done that.”
“Easy. I’m just asking and, if you think the OPR folks are going to treat you with kid gloves, you’re dreaming.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. In my mind, she was going to start shooting again.”
