Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  “All right,” the man said with a shrug. “Just thought I’d check.”

  “Thanks,” Sandy answered. “That was nice of you.”

  The man smiled. The short scar that ran from the bottom of his lip toward his chin stretched when he did so. “I’ve been stuck with car trouble before. Sucks to have to call Triple-A.”

  Sandy didn’t reply.

  “Then again, that’s why you pay the premiums, isn’t it? For when you need them.”

  Sandy nodded, his expression non-committal.

  The man returned the nod, turned and walked away. Sandy popped open his hood and pretended to inspect the motor briefly while he watched the man go. When he got into a small convertible BMW, he breathed a sigh of relief. No cop drove a Beemer on duty. Not even undercover. Not even the Feds.

  In fact, especially not the Feds.

  He dropped the hood into place. Then he opened the passenger door, removed the file and headed toward the business strip. He resisted the urge to go into the liquor store and get a bottle of something to steady his nerves. Instead, he went into the coffee shop.

  Once he had a cup of decaf, he settled into a corner table. He turned the envelope with the address face-down and let his mind set to work on the problem.

  NINE

  “You lost him?” The voice on the telephone was not pleased.

  “Yeah.” His reply was sheepish. He glanced at his partner. She gave him an inquisitive look in return.

  “How did that happen?”

  “It wasn’t Lori’s fault. It was the timing of the traffic lights, that’s all.”

  “You lost the target and now you’re going to sell me some happy bullshit about traffic lights?”

  “It’s true. He buzzed through a yellow and the car in front of us stopped for the red.”

  “Did he make you?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t speed up or anything. He just caught the light perfectly.”

  “And you let him go?”

  “Well, sir, we could’ve broke the light, probably, but that would’ve blown our cover. If we did that, then – ”

  “I don’t need an education on our strategy, Special Agent.”

  “No, sir.”

  “What I need is for you to stay on this subject like a second skin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You need to be between him and his shadow, that’s how close I want you.”

  “Yes, sir. We were, but then – ”

  “And I’m not interested in any excuses. Get me?”

  He fell silent. Then, “Yes, sir. I understand.” He glanced over at Lori. “We understand.”

  “Good. Now what’s your plan?”

  “We’re going to check around some large public areas. The mall, shopping centers, areas like that. If we don’t pick him up in the next couple of hours, we’ll sit off his apartment and try to reacquire him there.”

  “Change cars before you do that. He may have just caught the light like you said, but it’s a little suspicious that you couldn’t catch up to him again after that. Get a new car before you set up on his house, just in case.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “Uh, sir…?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “If it turns out that he is aware of our surveillance, shouldn’t we just make our move and arrest him? I mean, we already have everything from the CI—”

  “That’s my call, Special Agent, not yours. I’m the Agent-in-Charge. This operation is nearing completion, but I’ll decide when it is time to lower the boom on this guy. Meanwhile, I don’t want him to get a sniff of us and slip away. So do your job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The line went dead without a reply.

  He looked over at his partner and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Thanks for trying,” Lori told him.

  “No problem.” He shook his head in mild amazement. “How in the hell did that guy ever get to be a boss? He’s such an uptight asshole.”

  “That is exactly how he got to be a boss,” Lori said. She turned the ignition key and started the Taurus. “Let’s hit the Northtown Mall parking lot first.”

  TEN

  Sandy sat in the corner of the coffee shop with his back against the wall. He slowly spun the half-empty coffee cup on its base, listening to the paper scrape against the Formica tabletop. He stared absently toward the front door, examining each new customer that walked in. None aroused his suspicion.

  He glanced down at the still unopened manila envelope. Inside was a file probably every bit as heinous as the Odoms file. Some bad guy that got away with something horrible. Someone who wouldn’t know justice unless it came at his hand.

  No, he decided. He couldn’t be responsible any more. He did his time. His duty. All of them had. It was time for it to end.

  And none too soon, since it was clear that some branch of law enforcement was looking at him.

  Sandy focused on his next move. Assuming that the cops who had been following him were state, or more likely, federal, where did that leave him? He had to dump this file and disappear. It was that simple. Do not go home. Do not pass Go. Do not collect on the misdeeds of Odoms or whatever sick bastard was inside the sealed file next to him.

  If the feds were on to him, though, then they were probably onto the whole operation. That meant Brian and Hank were at risk. And The Keeper.

  Hank had slipped away years ago. No one knew where to, and Sandy imagined that it was likely to stay that way. If the feds located him, he’d have to work that out on his own. Sandy had no way to warn him.

  Brian might still be accessible, though. Sandy knew where he lived. Brian may have already left the area, too, but if not, the least Sandy could do was go over to his house and warn him. He didn’t expect he’d still be there, though. If it had been Sandy checking out, he’d have made all of his preparations before he ever came to see the last Horseman. After that final conversation, he’d have disappeared.

  Still, he owed Brian a warning.

  The Keeper, too.

  Sandy frowned. That one was more problematic. How could he warn someone that he had no line of communication with? Someone whose identity he didn’t know?

  He tried to remember all of the names of the cops he’d worked with a dozen years ago. Who among them would Lieutenant Cal Ridley entrust with knowledge of the Four Horsemen? Who would be at ease not only with the reason for their existence, but with the logistical details as well? The slush fund, for example, that Ridley used to funnel money their way for operational needs? Who would be smart enough to pick only the most righteous of cases for them to work? To do the follow-up before placing the file in the drop box?

  To not get caught.

  Sandy could think of no one. Truth be told, the faces and names of those long ago people were hazy memories now. He wasn’t going to figure out who The Keeper was by going down Memory Lane.

  Besides, Ridley wouldn’t have picked someone obvious. He was too devious for that. Too detail-oriented. He’d have picked someone that none of them would be able to figure out. He knew that they’d try, if for no other reason than to satisfy the driving curiosity that was an undeniable part of their makeup. That curiosity was the reason most of them became cops to begin with.

  Ridley had been right in that respect. More than once, the four of them sat in the office, drinking beer and theorizing about the identity of the new Keeper. But it had been all talk. No one had a clue. No one ever came up with anything other than speculation, either.

  The truth was, until today, it didn’t really matter. The operation hadn’t faltered after Ridley passed away. The files kept coming. The targets were good ones. The Horsemen did their part, first as a group. Then, as Bill left, then Hank, their operations devolved into solo operations.

  Sandy raised the cup to his lips and sipped. His coffee was lukewarm. He felt a duty to warn The Keeper, but how? He couldn’t risk going back to the mail drop. Even if the cops or the f
eds or whoever it was hadn’t known about it before, they’d been following him. Unfortunately, he’d led them there himself. It was no longer safe.

  So how? How to contact someone he’d never met and didn’t know when the only line of communication has been severed?

  How?

  Sandy clenched his jaw slightly. He squinted down at the splash of coffee left in his cup. Then his mind caught on something. A possibility. He paused for a moment and considered.

  Would she know anything?

  Maybe, he thought.

  Sandy rose from his seat, tossed the half-empty cup into the trash and headed out to his car.

  “Banks, you say?” she asked him through the screen door.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sandy Banks. I worked with your husband, years ago.”

  A smile crossed her lips. “You knew my Cal?”

  “I did.”

  “And you’re a policeman?”

  Sandy shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m retired.”

  Gail Ridley unlocked the screen door and pushed it open. “Forgive my manners, Mr. Banks. Please, come in.”

  Sandy thanked her and stepped into the small home. The entry way led into a surprisingly spacious living room. Light spilled in from the front window and another on the side. Pictures adorned the walls, the fireplace mantle and every table in the room.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Gail asked.

  “No thanks,” Sandy said. “I’m fine.”

  “I was about to pour myself some coffee. There’s plenty in the pot for two cups.”

  “Sure, then,” Sandy said. “As long as it’s no trouble.”

  “None at all.” She motioned to the furniture in the living room. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  Sandy glanced around. There was a short couch flanked by two easy chairs. He figured one belonged to her. The other had probably been Cal’s. The idea of taking the old man’s seat unsettled Sandy. It seemed like a matter of respect to him. He decided to sit on the couch instead.

  Gail returned with two cups of coffee on a small tray a short time later. She set the tray down and looked up to see Sandy examining an eight-by-ten black and white photograph.

  “That’s Cal in his rookie year,” she told him.

  “He looks so young,” Sandy said.

  “Yes,” Gail answered. “And so handsome. Here you are, Mr. Banks.”

  She extended a cup to him.

  Sandy took the cup and thanked her. He motioned toward the photograph. “You must have been proud.”

  Gail settled into her chair, cradling her own cup with both hands. “Oh, of course I was. Cal loved what he did. And he was good at it. I was terribly proud of him.”

  “You should be. He was a good man.”

  Gail hummed in agreement as she sipped her coffee. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke again. “I don’t get visitors very often these days.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, they came by frequently after Cal died. Quite a number of them, actually. But slowly, that changed. Fewer and fewer came by less and less often.” She shrugged. “Now, I don’t think any of the officers that worked closely with Cal are still on the force.”

  “Probably not many,” Sandy agreed.

  Gail let out another hum in agreement as she took another sip. She reached into her sweater pocket and removed a small silver flask. She held it up, proffering it to him.

  Sandy raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “Just a little Bailey’s,” Gail said. She twisted the cap. “Cal and I always liked a little nip of it in our coffee.”

  Without a word, Sandy extended his cup toward her. Gail poured a generous dollop of Bailey’s Irish Crème for him, then did the same for herself. Sandy waited until she’d twisted the cap back onto the flask and returned it to her sweater. Then he raised his cup.

  “To Cal,” he said.

  She smiled and raised her own cup to touch his gently. “Always Cal,” she whispered.

  They drank, sipping the hot coffee. Sandy welcomed the warmth in the coffee and the liqueur. He sat quietly, enjoying the tranquil setting as the booze soothed his nerves. Gail sat nearby, sipping her coffee and saying nothing. For a while, Sandy felt as if he’d stepped outside of his life. Like maybe he’d found a tiny, temporary oasis in the middle of his crumbling world.

  “Funny that I’ve never met you before, Mr. Banks,” Gail finally said, breaking the silence.

  Sandy shrugged. “Cal and I didn’t socialize much outside of work, except for the occasional choir practice.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Gail said. “I would have remembered you. You didn’t come by when he passed, either.”

  “No,” Sandy said. “And I’m sorry for that.”

  Gail made another humming sound, though this time it was closer to a grunt and held a slightly reproving tone. She sipped her coffee.

  “I went to see him,” Sandy said. “Up at Holy Cross. After.”

  “Did you like the headstone?” she asked him.

  Sandy shook his head. “I didn’t see a headstone. Just the ground plaque.”

  Gail said nothing. She sipped her coffee.

  Sandy smiled to himself. She’s testing me, he thought. Smart old bird. He lifted his coffee and took a swallow.

  She smiled slightly. “A little Bailey’s is good in the afternoon. Don’t you agree, Mr. Banks?”

  “I do.”

  A few more quiet moments passed. Then Gail said, “He spoke of you.”

  “Cal?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Near the end.”

  Sandy took another swallow of coffee and looked up at Gail. She wasn’t looking at him, though. She stared at the picture of Cal Ridley. Her eyes held a faraway look.

  “He kept asking me all kinds of questions,” she said. “About good and evil. I thought he was having a spiritual crisis. Like all those years of me prodding him to go to church were coming to a head. But I don’t think that was it. Not anymore. Not exactly.”

  “What did he ask you?”

  She smiled faintly. “About justice, mostly. If I thought the world was just. Which it isn’t, of course. But he knew that.” She turned her eyes to Sandy. “I imagine you know it, too, Mr. Banks.”

  “I do.”

  She nodded, then turned back to the photograph. “Cal was an idealist. He told me once that the world was in dire straits but that with enough good men, he could save it. Or at least the part of it that we lived in.”

  Sandy didn’t reply.

  “Near the end,” Gail continued, “in those last few weeks, he seemed to have an urgency about him. As if something was bothering him, something he had to get off his chest.”

  Sandy tried not squirm in his seat. How much did Gail know?

  “It was like he needed to know he was right,” Gail said. “He wanted to be right with things, before he died.”

  “We all do,” Sandy said softly.

  Gail raised her eyebrows slightly at his words. “Do we? Yes, I suppose that’s true. But Cal said he wanted to bring some justice into our corner of the world. So he came up with this idea of something he called the Four Horsemen. Did he talk about that with you?”

  Silently, Sandy nodded.

  Gail smiled. “I figured as much. He mentioned you when he talked about it. And Hank Gresham. Bill Blalock, too. And some younger man. Brian something?”

  “Moore,” Sandy whispered.

  “That’s it,” Gail said. She nodded resolutely. “He said he was going to get the four of you together. He would send you four the worst cases he came across where the bad men got away. And that you four would take care of those evil doers. You’d bring justice into their world.”

  “He said that?”

  Gail nodded, glancing up at him with keen eyes. “And you say he talked to you about those things?”

  Sandy nodded. “More than once. But it was just drunk talk. Drunk talk and wishes.”

  Gail didn’t answe
r right away. He watched as she turned her head, staring at Cal’s photo. Then she raised her coffee cup to her lips and sipped. Without looking at Sandy, she said, “Except he didn’t talk about it like it was something he was going to do, Mr. Banks. He spoke about it more like something he’d already done. Something he wanted me to validate. Or to offer absolution.”

  Sandy didn’t answer right away. He struggled with how to ask the question he’d come to ask, but couldn’t think of a subtle way to do it.

  Gail saved him the trouble. “He said it was his greatest act,” she said quietly, “and his worst.”

  Sandy let a small smile touch his lips. “Was he sad that it was over?”

  “Over?”

  “Because he was…passing on?”

  Gail shook his head. “I don’t think so. He said he’d made arrangements. Secret arrangements. That, for better or worse, his little project would continue. He wouldn’t say more than that, though. Perhaps you know something, Mr. Banks?”

  Sandy resisted the urge to sigh in disappointment. He wasn’t going to find a route to the Keeper here. He shrugged. “I don’t know what was going on in his mind. I’m sorry.”

  Gail waved off his apology. “No need for apology. I eventually came to the same conclusion you did. He was frustrated, that’s all. The Four Horsemen were merely a dying man’s fantasy.”

  Sandy took another drink of his coffee to hide his relief.

  “I told that same thing to the man who came to see me last week,” Gail said.

  Sandy stopped short, his mouth full of coffee. He felt his heart quicken. He swallowed quickly and asked her, “Someone came here last week to ask about Cal?”

  Gail nodded. “Not just Cal, though. He asked about this Four Horsemen idea of Cal’s, too.”

  “What did he ask?”

  Gail didn’t answer. She took a long drink of her coffee while looking at Cal’s photo. Then she looked up at Sandy. “Isn’t it strange, Mr. Banks? That he would come asking about some raving thoughts that my Cal had near the end of his life almost ten years ago? I thought it was. I thought perhaps Cal was foolish enough to have written down this idea somewhere. But if that were the case, why was someone coming to me now and not back when Cal passed?”