Houseboat

by Paul Shadinger

  A couple of lights apparently on timers turned on. The lights were high in the rafters and were widely scattered throughout the large structure. They did very little to illuminate anything, but they were slightly helpful.

  Now that I could see, I carefully made my way towards where the voices were coming from. I made sure I stayed hidden as I slipped around the scattered pallets, and as I drew closer to where I thought the voices were located, I could tell one of the voices was angry. He was shouting, but the sounds were echoing so badly it was impossible for me to completely make out the words. One time I did I hear, “Listen pig, I am telling you to stay away…You have…” and the voice fell away.

  As I continued to listen, I heard someone swearing, and then a loud shout. When I heard two gunshots, my heart stood still. I slowly moved towards where the sound of gunfire had come from. At the same time, I heard someone running and then the sound of a door slamming. I picked up my pace to where I thought the gunfire had originated and as I rounded the end of a stack of pallets, with the help of the feeble overhead lighting, I found Jeff L. slumped over some boxes, a dark stain spreading across the right side of his chest.

  I reached over and snatched Jeff’s cell phone from its holster, and punched in 911. A female voice came on and asked me what I was reporting. I told her I was calling from a Seattle Police officer’s cell phone and that there was an officer down. The voice on the cell phone immediately came back and asked me who I was. I knew I was in deep water. I also knew I didn’t want to get in any deeper after what Jeff had told me earlier this evening.

  I ignored the 911 operator’s question and started to inform the person on the phone who Jeff L. was, and in addition, I mentioned he was the head of Seattle detectives. I told the voice I had heard two shots, but the only visible wound I could see was in his chest. When the voice asked me where I was, I realized I had no idea of our exact location. I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to give the operator an address. I asked her to hold on for a moment.

  As I looked around the large room, I noticed a door on the far wall with a lit EXIT sign above it. Running over to the door I told the operator to please continue to wait and I would see if I could find an address. I knew the name of the industrial park and I gave her that information. I pushed the door open, and found it led directly outside. I stepped out and when I turned around, I found numbers on the building above my head. I read them off to the operator. When she started to ask more questions, I interrupted her and told her I was really busy. I stressed I needed a medic, immediately, then I hung up.

  I turned around, looking for something to prop open the door. I slipped off a shoe and wedged it place so the door wouldn’t close. Since I didn’t want to be without my shoe, I continued looking for something more permanent to prop the door open. I wanted the emergency workers to know where to enter the building.

  Behind a dumpster, I found a busted piece of wood from an old pallet and I grabbed it. As I returned to the door to prop it open, I saw a lone car sitting in a parking lot across the street. I could hear the motor, but it was just waiting with the lights off. The car looked like an old Washington State Patrol vehicle, a Ford Crown Vic, but because it was dark, I couldn’t decide if the color was dark blue or black. Because of the tinted windows, I couldn’t see inside the car, but I did notice the driver’s window was down a few inches.

  Just then, it dawned on me I was standing directly under a light above the door. I saw what looked like a flash of metal slip through the open driver’s side window and I immediately dropped to the ground. Just as I hit the ground, I heard the roar of a gun. The roar of a gun and the sound of something hitting the door above my head. All of this was followed up by the squeal of tires as the car sped off into the night. When I jumped up, the car was sliding around the corner still without its lights on. There was no way I could read the license plate. I remembered Jeff L. was still back in the warehouse and I finished propping open the door and headed back to see what I could do for him.

  When I found Jeff L. I was immediately shocked at the amount of blood pooling around him. To try and help staunch the flow, I removed my shirt and T-shirt. I folded up the T-shirt making the best square pad I could create. Then I unbuttoned his shirt and placed the T-shirt tightly against his oozing wound. Then I used my other shirt to secure the T-shirt as best I could.

  As I sat there shivering in the cold warehouse, I held Jeff L.’s hand and spoke to him. I have no idea if he heard me or not. I think it was as much for me as it was for him. While I was talking to Jeff L., his cell phone rang. I answered it and it was the 911 operator. She rudely informed me I had hung up on her. I smarted off to her I was going to hang up again. I also wanted to add that if Jeff L. died it would be on her head for not sending out help. As I thought about that comment, I decided not to hang up. I knew she would continue to call me back, and by keeping the line open I also could continue to harass her about why nobody had showed up yet.

  Instead of ending the call, I laid the phone beside Jeff’s head and I continued talking to him. I told him that everything was going to work out, that all he had to do was just hold on. I talked to him as I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, but I’m sure was actually only a few minutes. Finally, I heard the sound of sirens arriving.

  The sirens stopped and in a few seconds, I heard a voice shouting, “Hello! Anyone in here?”

  When I heard the shout, I called back to them, telling them where we were, and shortly there were two medics helping me trying to stem the flow of blood from Jeff L.’s wound. I stepped back and allowed them to do their job. When I heard more voices calling out I picked up the cell and told the woman on the phone that the local police had just arrived. As I started to close the phone, I could hear her continuing to tell me not to hang up, and asking me who I was. I hung up anyway and called out to the two new voices telling them where we were.

  In a few minutes, two uniformed police officers from the local town came forward and started to ask questions. At that point, I reached down and removed Jeff L.’s badge from his belt. I thought this would explain who was on the floor. I told them about the dark colored Crown Vic and why I didn’t have any more information on the vehicle. I showed them one of Jeff L.’s business cards and suggested they needed to call his office and tell them what happened. I avoided telling the police I had been following him and instead gave them the impression I was just driving by and heard the shots. I told them when I stopped to investigate I found Jeff L. and saw the car drive away.

  When the two officers started to ask me more questions, I suggested they first needed to call the numbers on the business card I’d given them. I pointed to my naked chest and mentioned how cold I was and asked the officers if I could return to my truck and find a fresh shirt. I showed them my bloody shirt wrapped around Jeff and why my shirts were saturated with blood and the reason I would have to discard them. They gave me permission. While they started to make their calls, I went out to my truck. Once I reached it, I got in, shooing BJ over to her side, and I took off for my apartment as fast as possible. I certainly didn’t need the stress of being caught up in the aftermath of anyone’s wrath—be it Frank’s or Sakol’s, or even worse, both of them. I wondered if Hollis played into Jeff L. being shot but I was at a loss to figure out how it could have happened. Had Jeff L. actually taken my information about Price and Hollis and perhaps been working on it? I sure wished there was some way to ask Sakol what Jeff L. had been up to.

  Even after I had returned with BJ from her trip to the vacant lot, I was restless. When I heard my elevator door open and saw Sharon enter the room, I’m sure there were tears of gratitude in my eyes. She knew instantly something was wrong and asked me what was going on. I explained where I had been and what had happened. She asked me for my cell phone and made a call. When she finished her call, she told me Jeff L. was in the ER and was being examined. Other than that, nobody had any more information.
r />   Sharon sat wrapped in my arms for a long time on the couch while we looked out over the lake. I must have dozed off because the next thing I was aware of was Sharon tugging on my arm, trying to get me to stand up and come to bed. I left a trail of clothing down the hallway and I vaguely remember crawling into bed. I must have been totally exhausted because I fell back asleep at once.

  After the evening I had just dealt with, I would never have thought I could go to sleep so quickly, but I did.

  CHAPTER 32

  There were two things I noticed as I woke up. One of them was Sharon’s lush body curled around me and the other was a phone next to my head ringing. I reached out to answer it. I still wasn’t completely awake and I moaned something into the mouthpiece. I recognized Sakol’s voice and I heard him say, “Matt?” I grunted affirmatively. “It’s Sakol.” Again, I grunted. I knew who it was, I just wasn’t ready to acknowledge anybody yet. “Jeff’s at Harborview. He is in the ER and he was found shot in a warehouse down in Auburn, south of Seattle. The person who called in the shooting took off after the medics and police arrived. Do you know anything about any of this?”

  I knew all about it. I was happy to hear Sakol say that he was at the ER. To me that meant Jeff L. was still alive. My mind raced for the proper response. After a moment I mumbled, “How’s he doing? Will he be all right?”

  “They are operating on him as we speak. He was shot twice. One bullet went through his leg, but the other was a front entry, and that’s the one they have some concern about. Without an operation, they don’t know how much damage he’s sustained.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  Sakol paused a moment, “Jeff called me when he got home last night and told me you were waiting for him at his house. He told me about your conversation and I want you to know we’ve been working on the two names you gave us, but we haven’t told Frank about anything. If he knew where the names came from we would all be toast. I think after we find out what the prognosis is on Jeff, you and I need to talk. Oh…by the way, I’m warning you now, Frank wants me to pick you up and take you down to the station.”

  “Why?” I was wide awake now and I could feel Sharon stirring beside me.

  “Frank thinks you might have had something to do with the shooting this evening. He doesn’t think that you did it, but he believes you know who might have. He also thinks you could have prevented it. I don’t know what to tell him. When Jeff called me, he told me he was waiting for a phone call but he didn’t tell me from whom. Keep in mind Frank’s the boss and I need to do what he says.”

  I shouted so loud Sharon put her hand on my shoulder and made a shushing sound. “What! How could he think something like that?”

  “Matt, you have to admit that with all that’s gone down and with your involvement, Frank’s just covering the bases. Be grateful he isn’t aware of Price and Hollis. I would have a difficult time covering for you then.”

  “OK, Sakol,” I paused for a moment, “you tell me. What do you think?”

  “Matt, we are having this conversation because I don’t believe you had anything to do with Jeff, or with Slim or the other shooting. If I did, well, let’s just say we would be having our little chat at the station. For what it is worth, I’m just warning you that Frank’s on the warpath. He is getting a lot of heat from above, I mean way above, and he wants to make sure that you’re not in the way. In addition, the military putting up a stone wall about you and Price and Hollis hasn’t helped his attitude, either.”

  “OK, I understand. Thanks! I really do appreciate it. I’m going to get dressed and head over to Harborview immediately.”

  “I’m there now. I’ll see you in a few—”

  When I heard the phone click in my ear, I headed to the bathroom and quickly brushed my teeth and my hair. As I dressed, I explained to Sharon some of what Sakol had told me. I asked her to watch BJ for me and that I’d try and call when I got a chance.

  I drove across town to Harborview and as I was speeding through the empty early morning streets, it suddenly hit me. I’d just finished a conversation with Sakol and to my surprise, I had not heard any sign of an accent. In fact, he’d used complete sentences and not once had I heard his familiar broken English. There was no question he had completely fooled me all this time. Evidently having to deal with Jeff L.’s shooting had made him forget his little act. If possible, I was even more impressed with him than before.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  When I arrived at the hospital, I entered through emergency and I saw Sakol standing in the hall talking to a man dressed in scrubs. As I approached, I overheard Sakol ask, “Any way that you can be more specific?”

  I assumed the man in scrubs was either the surgeon or Jeff L.’s doctor. The doctor replied, “I think by tomorrow evening, but maybe earlier.” The doctor looked down at his wristwatch, “I mean sometime this evening. We’ll have a better idea then if there will be any permanent damage. All in all though, it seems that he is in good health and he’s resting as comfortably as we can expect.”

  Sakol turned to me as the doctor left, “One bullet went through his leg and the other entered through the right side. There’s been some damage, but as you just heard, by tonight we should know just how bad, or how good things are.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Jeff called me after he saw you near his house. By the way, we do need to talk about that. I know about Hollis and Price and how you got the information. He told me after dinner he had one lead he wanted to follow up because he thought he might know somebody who would know where to find this Hollis person.”

  “You think Hollis did this?”

  “It hard tell. Look like…” I noticed Sakol was lapsing into his normal, funny way of speaking. I had to mention it.

  “What is it with your speech?”

  “What mean?”

  “What mean bullshit. Sakol, your English is perfect! Why do you talk like someone who just got off the boat?”

  “Not understand, explain please.” He grinned, looking up at me.

  “Let me take a guess. When you talk to people as if you barely understand English, people tend to underestimate you, and that’s just what you want?”

  His answer was another of his grins. All I could do was grin back at him. It was a very clever ruse. When somebody can’t speak your language well, there is a tendency to think of them as either a little slow or perhaps a bit stupid. For a time, I have to admit, I too thought he wasn’t the brightest light in the harbor. But I’d also seen him figure things out far too quickly for somebody who is stupid. My estimation of him just continued to grow by leaps and bounds.

  “Can we talk and you and I will be totally honest with each other? Nobody will ever know about this conversation. Is that possible?”

  “Possible, we try.”

  “And can we cool it with the Charlie Chan act for a few minutes?”

  “Possible…we try.” Sakol responded again, but he grinned at me.

  “Since I don’t know what Jeff L. told you, I’ll tell you what my friend told me about the two of them. I proceeded to tell Sakol about Walter and why he knew them so well. Because Sakol knew I had the picture of Price from the morgue I shared with him that I had shown the picture to Walter and he had identified Price. I mentioned the stripper who was supposed to know Price and Hollis and the reason that Walter had shared with me. Finally I ended my story with the question, “Why is everybody so pissed at me? You know I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Sakol looked at me and I could see in his eyes he was trying to decide just how much he wished to confide in me. After a pause, he started, “First, thank you for sharing what you learned from your friend. That explains a lot. You already know Frank is upset with us, Jeff and I, and with you. In a way, he feels you’re the reason the military came and took away the body and the records of the shooting behind your place.
But with what you just told me, I can see why the military would intervene.”

  I started to speak but Sakol stopped me. “There is something else. Off the street, we’ve heard a local drug dealer named Jersey hired a mechanic to kill somebody, or at least we were told this Jersey dude knows something about the affair. Narcotics know all about this Jersey guy and the story of looking for a hitman going around, so Jeff and I went to see him. Turns out he’s from the East coast, and that’s why he’s called Jersey.” Sakol shrugged his shoulders.

  “At first, of course, he said he knew nothing. But after a little coaxing,” Sakol grinned at me for a moment, “he told us he knew Price from a long time ago. Back East there had been a problem during one of their drug wars and one side brought Price in to handle a very big problem. Basically he did a couple of hits. Jersey met Price once during this time and he knew roughly how to go about finding him.

  “Jersey went on to tell us about this kid who is small timer around here. This kid buys from Jersey from time to time, never a lot, but enough so Jersey would do business with the kid. One time this kid asked Jersey if he knew anybody who could do a hit for him. Jersey said it scared the shit out of him the way the kid asked. Since he didn’t want to have a thing to do with the kid, he told him he had no idea what the kid was talking about and for the kid to go away. The kid wouldn’t take no for an answer and he kept bugging Jersey, telling him he had heard things had happened where Jersey came from, and the rumor was Jersey knew how to get things done. So to get rid of the kid, he told him about Price and how to contact him.”

  “Did this Jersey guy tell you what the kid looked like?”

  “Yeah, Jersey kept calling the kid a punk. When I asked him why he kept calling the kid a punk, Jersey said, ‘You know, like spiked hair, nose ring and the kid always wore black: black shirt, shoes, pants and sweatshirt’. Jersey said the kid was way overweight for somebody so young and he even had black fingernails.”