by Don Weston
“Who was your handler?” I pleaded.
He craned his neck to me and tried to smile through the pain. “It was . . .” His last words hung in air and disappeared like warm breath exhaled on a frosty morning.
The crowd still watched the battle so I went through his pockets. I found a ragged wallet with some money and a California Driver’s License. His ID said his name was Montgomery Bales. He had a Los Angeles address.
Chris crawled over beside me and watched as I went through The Jet’s pockets. “You saved my life. Thanks. If you can get me out of this alive, were even. I’ll give you back all your money somehow.”
Chris wasn’t very intelligent, but he had a loyal quality, and I believed him. I stuffed the wallet back into The Jet’s pocket and stood up.
“Let’s scram.”
“I’m with you,” Chris said.
We meandered behind bushes and tents along the Willamette River and later snaked up through the other side of the park, zigzagging between the crowd and tents to avoid being easy targets. We exited the park and somehow made it to his Jaguar. Chris started the engine and slunk down in his seat to where he could barely see over the dashboard.
And that’s how we left the Pirate Festival. Cowardly pirates, lying low and without any booty to show for our trouble.
Chapter 17
Our welcoming committee was in a sour mood when Chris and I stepped through the front door.
I knew I was in trouble when we drove up and saw two marked police cars and Steve’s unmarked squad car parked in front of my house. I counted six cops in my living room, my three brothers, who were in plain clothes, two uniforms, and Steve.
Jason met me at the door. “Careful. Steve’s on the warpath. I want to hit him real bad.”
“Don’t,” I said. He stormed out the front door, and I watched him walk to Steve’s car and start letting the air out of one of his tires. I chuckled and wandered into the hornet’s nest.
“Well, look who decided to pay us a visit, boys.” Steve’s face flushed against his green sport coat. “It’s Princess Billie. And who is this you’ve brought in with you, ex-P.I. Bly? I believe it’s our star witness, Chris Johnson?”
“Uh, hello, Steve.” I fingered my blonde hair, hoping to soften him. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I showed up here and Dan tells me you’re out with a client. You and your brother, Dagwood. Then Officer Johnson finds said brother in the alley. So where have you been?”
“I’ve been with Chris. He’s my new client. He wants me to protect him from someone he says wants to kill him. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”
“Right now, I’d like to tar and feather all of you. I’d like to suspend all of your brothers and get them kicked off the force. You lied to me. You’ve been out investigating Darrin’s murder against my explicit instructions not to.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I got a call to meet Chris over at Two Tarts. You can call the bakery. We were there for a while and then Chris took me for a drive in his new car and then we came home.”
“Why did Dan say you were with your client, Mrs. Fleming?”
“I told him I had an appointment. He must have thought I meant Mrs. Fleming.” It should be noted that I’m a very good liar under pressure.
Steve sneered at Chris. “Is any part of this true?”
Chris didn’t miss a beat. I guess lying to cops is some kind of prerequisite training for a thief.
“Sure,” he said. “I hired her to protect me. Rumor on the street is somebody’s out to get me. I guess word’s out I came into some money.”
“Oh man,” Steve said. “You’re the one who sued Billie and the city.”
“Yeah, and right now I wish I’d never done it. It’s causing me a lot of misery.”
I heard the gears mesh as Steve contemplated the repercussions of another lawsuit if he didn’t tread carefully.
“We’ll still need to talk to you about the shooting,” he told Chris. “So, Billie, explain why you were supposed to be with your brother and you weren’t.”
I noticed Dag’s expressionless face as he sat in a wooden chair by the reception desk. “Did you ask him?”
“He didn’t have an excuse,” Steve boomed.
“They wouldn’t listen to me at all,” Dag said. “Told me it would just be a lie anyway.”
“I see.” I glared at Steve. “Dag was inside with us at the bakery. I talked him into letting me go on the drive alone because Chris wouldn’t talk freely in front of a cop. I’m sorry, Dag.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
“This is all bull,” Steve said. “Your brother was found walking away from the house.”
“I lost my sunglasses,” Dag said. “I was going back to find them.”
Steve’s face became beet red. “Tomorrow is Darrin’s funeral, so I’m not going to take disciplinary action on your brothers at this point in time.”
“Damn right you aren’t,” I said. “It wouldn’t play well in the media, would it?”
And it was then I got one of my more devious ideas.
“Maybe not.” Steve’s tone was lower now. “But there are going to be some new rules. All of you are going to stay here. And I’m adding two patrolmen to the party, Officers Johnson and McGraw.”
As if on cue, McGraw walked in the front door. He was in plain clothes, dressed as if heading to the beach, maybe.
“I checked the hotel where Mrs. Fleming was staying, and she hasn’t seen them,” he said.
“As you can see, she’s turned up,” Steve said. McGraw turned in my direction and grinned. “He’s been searching for you ever since you gave him the slip at the bakery. Did you see Officer Bly anywhere near the vicinity when you were watching Billie?”
“No sir. She went in alone and about 40 minutes later Chris Johnson, here, showed up. They left soon after. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. Then they made a bunch of evasive turns and I lost them.”
“You’re blind,” I said. “Dag was there with us. He went in a minute before me to make sure it was safe.”
Steve grunted. “McGraw, make arrangements for a couple of cots to be delivered. Have another officer pick up whatever clothes and toiletries you may need. I don’t want this bunch left alone for a second.”
“Yessir,” McGraw said. He pulled out his cell phone and walked into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returned with a sober face. “Lieutenant Thomas? We just got a call from Homicide down at Cathedral Park. Lead detective thinks you should come down and see for yourself. The victim might be the guy you think shot Bly and her brother.”
I played along with the boys after the urgent call came in, asking questions and even becoming a bit emotional for them. Steve refused to let me go with him to the crime scene, but he promised to update me later. I had mixed feelings about going. I wanted to see what the cops found, but I was afraid a witness might remember me.
A few hours after Steve left, Angel arrived with Earl on her arm. She wore a hot short black skirt with black lace stockings and gold killer heels. Earl, in khakis and a yellow knit shirt, completed the odd couple ensemble.
She offered to help me cook beef stew and after dinner, she, Earl, and I cleaned up in the kitchen while Chris, my brothers and the two assigned officers played penny-ante poker at the dining room table. Occasionally McGraw would peek into the kitchen to check up on me.
I updated Angel on the events of the day, including our meeting with the now dead Monty Bales, alias The Jet. She peppered me with questions while Earl listened attentively and nodded.
“What a terrible thing,” Angel said. “To be so close to finding out who killed your brother and knowing it might be a cop or a politician. It sounds like one of those conspiracies you read about in books.”
“Except this is real,” I said. “Earl, you need to keep your mouth shut.”
“Don’t worry. Nobody would believe me anyway.”
I
must have been crazy to let Earl in on what happened, but he refused to go in with the boys, and he did save Angel’s life. I prayed he was trustworthy. One word from him would get us all in more hot water.
“My brothers don’t even know about this with McGraw and Johnson staying here,” I said. “They don’t give us a chance for any private conversation.”
I grabbed my phone and started tapping its keys.
“What are you doing?” Angel asked.
“Texting my brothers. They can read my updates at the table while they play poker with their watchdogs. Steve is just dreaming if he thinks he can stop me.”
“What are you going to do?” Angel asked when I’d finished. “I mean if a cop was responsible for killing Darrin and is trying to kill you, well, you can’t trust anybody.”
“I never do,” I said. “We’re going to have to find out who shot The Jet.”
“Maybe it’s the policeman who hired him,” Earl said.
“The Jet said his handler had a tattoo,” I said. “I’ve been wracking my brain all afternoon trying to think how many cops I know with tattoos. Shit, Steve has a couple, and I noticed during dinner McGraw had a small tat on his wrist. And the shooter would have to be a marksman. Whoever shot The Jet used a high-powered rifle, probably with a scope, and he nailed him from at least a hundred yards away.”
“You said he.” Angel shook her head. “It could have been a woman. There are plenty of lady cops on the Bureau, and I’ll bet a lot of them have tattoos. Did The Jet say the cop was a man?”
I scratched my head. I couldn’t remember him differentiating the sex. Surely, he would have mentioned a woman. I realized that he didn’t have time to tell me much of anything. If he had said he or she, I wouldn’t have heard it anyway over the canon fire.
“I guess not,” I said. “And I’m wondering how he knew it was a cop who hired him if the cop was out of uniform when they met.”
Chris walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“What you guys talking about?” he said.
“We’re trying to figure out the identity of the cop who tried to have Billie killed,” Earl said, also helping himself to a beer.
“Billie couldn’t remember The Jet ever referring to the cop as a man or a woman,” Earl said. “Do you remember if he said anything about it?”
Chris took a long swig from his beer bottle. “Not that I can remember. I always assumed it was a guy. I mean, The Jet was afraid of him and he didn’t seem the type to be afraid of many people.”
“I guess The Jet would have to be tough, to kill a cop and stick around to face the heat.” Earl chugged on the bottle and smacked his lips.
“He didn’t kill Billie’s brother.” Chris put his beer on the counter. “He told us someone else shot him.”
“That’s right” I said. “I didn’t believe him at the time, but there obviously is someone else in the game. It could be another hired contract killer, or it could be this cop. Things must be unraveling if his handler did the killing.”
“Hey,” Chris said. “When I first met with The Jet at the pool hall, he wanted to play a game to settle his nerves. He said someone just tried to kill him. And he blamed some broad for all his trouble. He was ranting about it between shots. ‘That damn bitch got me roped into all of this,’ he said. ‘I wish I never met her.’”
“So maybe the cop is a woman,” Angel said.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Earl said. “Why is someone out to kill Billie in the first place? Who do you know at City Hall who wants you dead?”
“Aside from the Mayor, I haven’t a clue,” I said. “But I don’t think he hates me enough to have me killed. I’ve got to get out of this house and stir things up. Starting with Clemons, I guess.”
“He’ll probably be at the funeral tomorrow,” Angel said. “You could corner him then.”
“The funeral’s tomorrow?”
Steve mentioned it earlier and it went over my head because I was busy hatching a plan to get him off my back. Immersed in finding Darrin’s killer, I’d lost all track of time. No time to think. No time to feel. No time to grieve.
“What are you guys up to in here?” Officer McGraw stood in the kitchen doorway. “I hope you aren’t plotting another escape for Billie. I’m in enough hot water with the Lieutenant as it is for letting you get away so many times.”
How long had he been standing there, listening? “We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to check on me every five minutes.” Soon his snooping would stop if things worked out the way I anticipated.
“I’ll feel better if I do,” he said. “I like my job. But that’s not why I came in here. You have a phone call in the living room.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Someone named Eileen.”
I passed by the poker game and could see they were gabbing more than playing.
“Hello, Billie? This is Eileen. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I said. Inside I felt wobbly and tired.
“I wanted to call and wish you well. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress, and I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Thanks, Eileen. I appreciate your concern.”
“I just wanted to take a minute to chat. I know your mind will be on other things tomorrow. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Not that I can think of. But thanks for offering.” It was quiet for a minute on the other end of the phone. “Eileen? Was there something you want to say?”
“Oh pooh. I don’t know if this is the right time, but here goes. I was just wondering. I mean, when you feel up to it. I had such a good time with you at the coffee house, and I was wondering if we could get together again sometime and get to know each other better. It was so much fun hiding out from the law together.”
I don’t know what I expected, but I sure didn’t expect this. Did she want to be my friend? I remembered what The Jet had said. Some broad had gotten him involved in this mess. But Eileen wasn’t what I would call a broad. Still, this was sudden.
“I, uh, I guess we could get together sometime.”
“When would be good for you?” she asked.
“I don’t know when I could get away. I’m being watched very closely and they’re restricting me to house arrest.”
“Who are they?”
“The police. They say I’m a material witness.”
But at that moment I knew it was more than that. I was being confined because someone was worried I’d find out who killed Darrin. The only person I could think of was Mayor Clemons. He’d used my brothers to keep me away from the investigation and when it didn’t work he’d called in reinforcements.
“I should be able to get away tomorrow if you don’t mind a chaperone,” I said. “Let’s meet after the funeral.”
“Won’t you have a lot of guests? I know how cop funerals are. Everyone will want to pay their respects. Probably lots of drinking too.”
“The reception’s is at Jakes Grill. Two o’clock. I’ll be leaving at three after making my appearance.” I figured Angel would be with Earl, and Steve had pretty much ignored me since our last tiff, so why not make a new friend.
“I’ll be at the funeral and then I’ll go to Jakes,” she said. “In case you need someone.”
We talked for twenty minutes about trivial things and after we hung up, myriad feelings surfaced. The conversation with Eileen was nice but felt odd at times. Why did she call me out of the blue? What did she want? I could always use another friend aside from Angel and my brothers and now that Angel was seeing Earl we likely would have less time together. But the timing of Eileen’s call—the night before Darrin’s funeral—seemed off.
I was too keyed up to mourn my brother. Call it denial, but I didn’t feel I could grieve properly until I found his murderer. Maybe that’s why I agreed to meet with Eileen. If she was up to something, I wanted to find out what it was. Why was I always so suspicious of people’s motives? Oh yeah.
It’s my job. Still, something about Eileen seemed sincere.
Little did I know that her sincerity was about to cause me a lot of trouble.
Chapter 18
It was an early fall morning on the day of Darrin’s funeral. The leaves on the trees were yellow and orange and a blustery wind tried coaxing them from their branches. Unable to sleep, I nursed a cup of coffee in the living room and witnessed the sun make its daily appearance.
I felt a solitary moment’s peace at the quiet outside as lights began to flick on in homes down the street. It was the closest thing to serenity I had experienced in recent days. I thought about Darrin and wept gently. I missed the way he would wink and grin after telling me a not-too-funny joke. I missed his smile and his eagerness to help others. I missed our late-night talks on the phone and how he helped me through my problems.
In these early morning moments, I felt close to him. Closer than I would feel at his funeral.
The last cop funeral I attended was for my father, William Bly, who also was killed in the line-of-duty, three days after my fourteenth birthday. It seems so long ago and, because of the trauma, most of my memories are nebulous. Of course, I’d heard stories of patrol officers coming from other states and even Canada to support a fallen comrade, but I was not prepared for what happened the day of Darrin’s funeral.
The procession started at the overwhelmed funeral home in Northeast Portland, where it weaved along side streets to the I-205 Freeway and snarled traffic for five miles. Motorcycle patrolmen closed freeway entrances and blocked southbound lanes to the public for the stream of over 400 squad cars, adorned with blue ribbons and American flags, as they moved solemnly along the route.
My brothers and I were in the lead squad car driven by McGraw. The Mayor and city councilmen followed behind us. Crowds stood on streets and overpasses and waved. Car horns bleated their support as their drivers patiently waited. My brothers and I wept openly each time someone honked or waved.
