Quick Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 3)

by Robert Tarrant

  Thomas Ali pulled into the driveway of the Chase Bank and up to the night deposit. He cursed himself for being so late tonight. The bookwork had taken him much longer than he expected. The process had gotten so much more complicated since his little chain on neighborhood liquor stores had grown to three. By the time he closed his store, stopped at the other two and combined the receipts of all three for his nightly deposit, it was pushing 3:30 a.m. As he was reaching for the deposit bag on the passenger seat of his car, his attention was drawn to the sound of skidding tires.

  The pickup truck came skidding to a stop in front of Ali's car. Ali immediately recognized that he was in danger and threw his car into reverse. His car only traveled two feet when it smashed into the front of a second vehicle that had pulled in tight behind his. A dark clad figure holding an assault rifle had leaped from the pickup. Ali jammed down on the accelerator in an effort to push the vehicle behind him backwards. Smoke rose from his spinning tires. The dark clad figure raised the assault rifle. Three holes appeared in the laminated windshield and Ali slumped over in the seat pulling his foot from the accelerator. A second dark clad figure approached from the rear, reached through the open driver's window and across Ali's bleeding body, and pulled the deposit bag from the car. Both figures climbed into the pickup truck and left the scene. Ali's car was still in reverse, but its idling engine wasn't producing enough power to move the car blocking his. Ali was slumped across the front seat bleeding toward death.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PJ was leaning against the front fender of a black and white looking at the notes she had taken while interviewing the two uniform officers who were first on the scene. They said they had quickly checked the area immediately around the bank to ascertain that the perps were gone and then had started first aid on the victim while awaiting the ambulance. Additional responding officers had cordoned off the area to preserve the scene for the crime scene techs. Unfortunately, this scene was just like the two previous, no physical evidence had been left behind. Not even shell casings had been found. The second vehicle used in the robbery, the one used to flee the scene, had been found abandoned several blocks away. Like the one left at the scene, and the vehicles in the previous incidents, it had been stolen only hours before the robbery.

  The uniform officer who had accompanied Ali to the hospital had reported back that he was in surgery, but that the outlook was not good. As PJ had feared, the robberies had escalated to violence. Her thoughts were interrupted by Tim, "LT coming up on your six." PJ turned to see Lieutenant Eddie Hassinger striding directly toward them. He was not smiling.

  Eddie Hassinger is one of those people whose persona arrives even before his body. The commanding appearance he projects is undeniable. Even though he had no doubt been awakened less than an hour earlier, he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt, and deep burgundy tie. Only the most sweltering of days could cause him to shed his jacket and tie when in public. Standing at just over 6 feet tall with brush cut hair that looked like salt with a hint of pepper, and intense dark eyes, he had earned the reputation of being a "cop's cop" during his thirty years of experience in South Florida Law Enforcement. PJ had always known him to be fair, but demanding. Today would no doubt be one of the demanding days.

  Hassinger's growly baritone asked, "What have we got?"

  Tim and PJ ran through the information that had developed at this early stage of the investigation. When they concluded, Hassinger growled, "So, we have exactly what we got from the other two robberies, with the notable exception of a seriously injured victim, correct?"

  PJ glanced down, but knowing better, looked Hassinger in the eyes and answered, "At this point, that is correct. The representative of the bank just arrived and one of the techs is getting the camera recordings from him right now. Maybe we'll get lucky and spot something on them. Beans made a precise estimate of height and weight of the two perps from the previous tapes. Maybe something additional will show up on these."

  His dark eyes glowing Hassinger barked, "You mean other than these perps pumping three slugs into a local businessman simply trying to make a bank deposit." Two uniforms standing nearby turned, looked, and then decided they had something important to do on the other side of the crime scene. Hassinger continued, "This is yours. You two have the lead, so put everything else you're working on the back burner. I want to be briefed twice daily and anytime there is a development. Are we clear?"

  PJ and Tim in unison, "Clear."

  Hassinger nodded and rubbed his forehead, "All right, now tell me, what do you need?"

  Tim responded immediately, "Lieutenant, we're going to need warm bodies. We need to reexamine every element of the previous two robberies in addition to going forward with this one. There are four crime scenes with each robbery. Two scenes where the vehicles were stolen, the actual robbery scene, and the scene where the vehicles were dropped. We need to take hard looks at each again. Even absent physical evidence, there must be something we've missed thus far. No one's that good."

  PJ interjected, "We're also going to need to pound the pavement and see if we can turn anything from a source. That means everyone's going to need to squeeze their snitches."

  Hassinger looked at his watch, it was 6:15 a.m., "Be in my office at 10:00 with a detailed list of your needs. I'll find the resources somewhere. I want a full court press on this. I want these predators stopped." His voice softened, "Now, I'll get the hell out of your way and let you two get to it. Just remember, I'm counting on you two to bring this home. And soon."

  PJ asked, "Given that these scenes are banks, when should we expect the feds to swoop in and attempt to take over as a federal crime?"

  Hassinger replied, "Don't think they have jurisdiction until the money is in the care of the federally chartered institution. This is an armed robbery in my book. I'll let you know if I hear any rumblings from the feds."

  PJ and Tim both nodded.

  Just then, a uniform Lieutenant walked up to the three of them. He looked past PJ and Tim and spoke to Hassinger, "Morning Eddie. Would you like a tour of the scene?"

  Hassinger replied, "Not necessary. My detectives are my eyes at the scene. I wouldn't see anything that they don't." With that, he turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Since neither one of them had eaten anything that morning, PJ and Tim drove up A1A to the Wharfside where they took a booth in the rear corner away from the morning breakfast crowd.

  Just as the waiter dropped off the coffee and danish for Tim and PJ's chai tea and melon plate, Randy Siegel walked up and stood at the end of the booth. PJ looked up, "Hi Sarge. How are you today?"

  "I'm great. How's the dynamic duo doing on this fine South Florida morning?"

  Tim looked up, "Hey Randy. Where's your shadow?"

  "Vic took a couple of days off. His daughter is getting married this weekend."

  Tim slid over in the seat and said, "Sit down crime fighter. As you know, we had another stickup at a bank depository this morning. We can bounce some things off you."

  "Okay, but you promise you'll make it to the 'Alive Day' party next week. Joan will kill me if you don't show up."

  "Week from Saturday. I've got it on my social calendar."

  "Okay, I'll hold you to that promise. Now, what can I do to help two of my favorite detectives on this glorious South Florida morning?" said Siegel as he slid his large girth into the booth with the agility of a cat.

  Between bites of his danish, Tim sketched out the limited information they had developed in their investigation and what they found at the latest scene. When he finished he said, "PJ and I haven't even had a chance to noodle on this latest info yet, but three heads are always better than two."

  For the next forty-five minutes the three of them analyzed the information from every angle. Siegel remarked, "Pretty cool actors to police up their brass and still leave the scene as fast as they did. Like you guys said, looks very military. Where are those NCIS wizards whe
n you need them?"

  Finally talked out, the three of them sat silently for a minute as each internally reviewed everything they knew to see if they could find any unturned stones. The silence was broken by the crackle of Siegel's portable radio. The radio had chirped periodically with the mundane traffic of a metropolitan police department during their discussion, but this time, Siegel picked it up off the table and acknowledged the call from the dispatcher. He then said to Tim and PJ, "Better get out there before the kids get into too much trouble."

  Tim stopped off at the men's room after they paid their checks. PJ told him she would meet him at the car. Randy Siegel was sitting in his marked unit parked next to the Crown Vic. As PJ walked up, he hung up his radio microphone and rolled down his window. "I'll keep rolling your case over in my head and if anything clicks I'll give you a shout. Last thing I need is for this mess to migrate into my beat."

  "Thanks. Appreciate it. Hey, What's this 'Alive Day' you're celebrating?"

  Siegel's face wrinkled into obvious puzzlement, so PJ continued, "The party you were talking to Tim about? Is it your birthday?"

  Understanding swept away the puzzlement, "Oh that. That's not a real birthday. It's more of a rebirth day. That's a celebration of the day Tim saved my life in a shootout."

  PJ's eyes widened, "That was Tim? The bank shootout when you were hit? It was Tim who killed the two shooters and saved your life?"

  "Yup. Not a doubt that I'd have died next to my car in that parking lot if Tim hadn't arrived when he did and charged those guys like some 'Rambo.' Damn lucky he didn't get himself killed in the process. Always a fine line between being a hero and being stupid. The book says he should have kept them pinned down until more backup arrived because he was out gunned, but I would have bled to death in that time. Glad Tim didn't follow the book. Yup, that partner of yours is one heroic Irishman."

  "I can't believe that I didn't even know it was Tim. I'd heard the story of the shooting when it happened. I wasn't even a cop yet, but I remember it from the news. Since I've been in the department I guess I never heard it mentioned that Tim was the guy. Here I work with the guy everyday and he's never mentioned it. He said something about the event the other day when we saw you here, but still didn't mention his role."

  "Doesn't surprise me at all. Tim shunned the attention, even at the time. That's why I was busting his chops about the party. Joan puts this party on every year as a celebration of my second chance on life. It's a big deal around our house. Means a lot to Joan and the kids. To be honest, it keeps me grounded. Reminds me that every day is a blessing. Tim only comes about half of the years. He just doesn't want the attention. Guy got commendations from law enforcement organizations across the country, but he didn't attend any of the presentation ceremonies. Could have been on the banquet circuit for a year. The city administration and the department wanted him to go to the presentations because they thought if was positive publicity for the city. He just didn't want the attention. He's got boxes of plaques and awards packed away in his garage attic. Some he never even took out of the package they were mailed in."

  Tim came walking up to the cars and Siegel said farewell and pulled his cruiser out to A1A. PJ looked over the roof of the car as she and Tim opened their doors and said, "Partner, sometime we need to have a talk." This latest revelation about Tim only further perplexed her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thursday morning dawned a clear and bright day, erasing any memories of yesterday's rain. I made a pot of coffee and took my first cup out onto the balcony that runs the length of my apartment above Cap's Place. The apartment is really quite comfortable. A decent place to live was Aunt Jean's demand of Uncle Mickey when he first presented the idea of buying the bar to her. She'd closely directed the extensive remodeling of the apartment. The open galley kitchen, living area, and master suite run the length of the back, looking out past the Ocean Palms Marina to the Atlantic. The front half of the living area, second bedroom, and second bath occupy the front, looking out over the parking lot and A1A. I usually opt for the view out the rear.

  Jean had only lived here a couple of years before she was diagnosed with the cancer that killed her, but in that short time she had embellished the apartment with touches that only a woman can bring to a home. It was really very tasteful and well appointed. I think the kitchen must contain every gadget that Sur La Table sells. Unfortunately, I'm clueless to the use of most of them. With a well functioning kitchen and people who actually know how to cook right downstairs, I see no reason to dive into something for which I have absolutely no passion. Oh, I did cook some when Katherine and I were married, but it was a part of my attempt at playing the role of good husband. Walking in on her getting banged by a local Circuit Court Judge alleviated me of the responsibility of doing either, being a good husband or cooking. Sissy utilized the kitchen more during the couple of months she and I played house than I ever have.

  I drank my first cup while watching the blazing morning orb climb away from the emerald Atlantic into the sky. I always marvel at how much the color of the ocean and the sky can differ day to day. Some mornings I swear they have swapped place during the night. I know that ocean currents and atmospheric conditions can explain this phenomenon, but some days I like to just observe with a little boy's wonder. I guess some people would call it 'living in the now'. Walking back into the kitchen to get a second cup of coffee, I noticed the notepad I'd left on the counter with the intent of starting to create a timeline of events surrounding the attack on Sissy. My 'Oprah moment' was over.

  I poured my coffee and sat down at the table with the notepad and began to jot down the events leading up to my leaving Sissy at the Pinnacle Hotel and her subsequent attack. After the attack, I'd been so caught up in trying to protect Sissy that I hadn't really attempted to analyze the events preceding the attack. Consequently, my recollections, at this late date, were less than detailed. I jotted down events as I recalled them, studied my scribbles, then recreated my timeline. By my third iteration, the coffee pot was empty and my head was spinning. I knew the best thing I could do at this point was walk away for awhile and let my head clear. It's a fine line between productive mental focus and just spinning your wheels. At least it is for me, and I'd crossed the line.

  I took a shower, shaved, and made my way downstairs. We wouldn't open for another hour, but Marge was already in the office that occupies what was probably once a storage room. Between the desk, the work table behind it, and the small couch in front of it, the unoccupied floor space is probably about six square feet. If Marge, Moe, and I want to talk about something in the office, one of us usually stands in the open doorway. I may suffer just a bit from claustrophobia, because before Marge took over our management I spent as little time in the office as possible. Of course, it may just be that I'm adverse to the endless mundane tasks that go into running a small business. Either way, it's all working out.

  I stuck my head in the door, "Hi Marge. Did you sleep here last night?"

  Marge looked up from the pile of invoices on the desk, "Oh, morning Jack. No, I just came in a bit early so I could reconcile these invoices. Only quiet time I can find around here."

  I nodded, "I'll get out of your hair and leave you to it."

  As I came out of the small hallway that runs into the bar from the office, I heard voices. Moe and Dana were behind the bar at the far end. Nearly the entire bar was covered with liquor bottles. I called out, "Am I the only one who's not here yet this morning?"

  Dana looked up and replied, "What's so unusual about that, Jack?"

  Dana's an energetic little thing about 5 foot 4 inches with glistening black shoulder length hair. She's our number one bartender now that Marge is managing things and Sissy is only working sporadically between college classes. There's no doubt who's running things when Dana's behind the bar. Some people see her as impertinent, but I like it. I think some of the old fishermen come in just to joust with her. They must like her sass, too. Of course, they no doub
t also sense the truth. Beneath that blustery exterior beats a heart of gold.

  "You and Moe going on some kind of a bender?"

  "No, we misplaced Juan and we thought he might be in the back of the liquor cabinet."

  Moe looked up and said, "Morning Boss." He only calls me Boss because he knows I hate it. I really don't get any respect around here.

  I asked, "Speaking of Juan, has he come in yet?"

  Moe replied, "Haven't seen him yet. Why, you looking for breakfast?"

  "The thought had crossed my mind." Looking at the collection of liquor on the bar I asked, "What is it you guys are doing anyway?"

  Dana wiped her hands on the towel she was holding and replied, "I've wanted to wipe out this cabinet for ages. Never get a chance when we're open. Couldn't really have all of this liquor sitting here unattended during business hours. I came in early to do it this morning and Moe offered to pitch in and help."

  I looked at Moe, "Why are you here so early Moe? You come in just to help Dana?"

  "Not really, Boss. I came in to meet the guy who's going to service the cooling system on the walk-in. He should have been here an hour ago, but he's evidently running late."

  "We having a problem with the walk-in?" I asked.

  "No problems. I just want to keep it that way, so I'm getting routine service. Just like the service of the air conditioners. Well, probably more important than the air conditioners, 'cause people don't like to be hot, but they hate it if their beer's hot." With that Moe turned and started handing the liquor bottles to Dana as she put them back into the cabinet. I wandered away, again realizing that I'm totally clueless about most of what goes on around here.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tim rapped firmly on the closed office door and the baritone voice rang out, "Come in." Tim and PJ walked into Lieutenant Eddie Hassinger's office and sat down in the two chairs facing the desk. The office was the polar opposite of the one they had visited Beans in yesterday. It was larger and did include a window to the outside world, but the organization of its contents was the distinguishing factor. While it would be impossible to find enough vacant surface to set a coffee cup down in Beans' office, in Hassinger's, the top of the credenza, the small conference table in the corner, and the two faux wood lateral file cabinets were bare. Even the desk was bare, with the exception of the blotter on top with a single case file laying on it and the indispensable computer monitor. Standing on the corner of his desk, a single framed picture of Hassinger's wife was the only personal item visible in the entire office. It wasn't that Eddie Hassinger was a minimalist, it was just that he liked things orderly.