by Tripp Ellis
My ears rang, and it felt like someone hit my eardrum with a mallet. I couldn't hear for a moment.
I spun the weapon toward the shotgun and blasted another two rounds before he got off a shot. He tumbled back against the doorway, leaving a trail of blood as he slid to the floor. The glass was speckled with crimson.
The smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils.
Short Pistol took off running.
I wasn't inclined to shoot a man in the back, but it was tempting.
Shotgun’s body blocked the door.
Short Pistol yanked on the handle. It took several attempts to pry the door open. Then the little creep squeezed through the narrow opening.
I sprinted after him and yanked the door farther open. I darted onto the sidewalk and weaved through the horde of pedestrians, chasing the masked assailant.
My heart pounded, and my legs drove me forward.
Pedestrians shrieked and hollered.
The thug plowed into people, knocking them over like bowling pins.
A white van waited at the end of the corner with the cargo bay door open.
It was the getaway driver.
I guess the sight of his comrade being chased by someone with a gun was enough to spook the driver. The tires squealed as he mashed the gas. The van launched into traffic on Upton Street.
Cars jammed the brakes. Tires squealed. Horns honked.
The getaway van narrowly escaped a collision.
The tires barked as it hobbled around the corner and sped away on Mangrove Street.
Short Pistol dashed across Upton while the traffic was stopped. He weaved between cars and disappeared down an alleyway.
I followed, darting into traffic just about the time the cars started moving again. Horns honked, and obscenities spewed from angry drivers.
Short Pistol sprinted down the alleyway, the slap of his sneakers echoing in the narrow space. A green dumpster overflowed with trash. Old newspapers fluttered in the breeze. Someone had made a cardboard mattress and set up a small base camp.
My quads burned as I raced down the passageway.
Short Pistol ran to the end of the alleyway and turned left, darting down the sidewalk.
I cautiously rounded the corner and chased after him.
The little bastard was fast!
Again, he dashed into traffic.
More rubber squealed against the pavement as he dodged angry drivers.
I followed and chased him into another alleyway. The end of the passageway was blocked with a chain-link fence that was rimmed with concertina wire at the top.
Short Pistol jumped into the air and grabbed the links and tried to scale the fence. It rattled and clanked as he made his way toward the razor wire.
I almost wanted to sit back and watch him slice himself to pieces. Instead, I grabbed his ankle and yanked him from the fence. He fell flat on his back and smacked the concrete. He cracked his head on the pavement. The thunk echoed off the brick walls. It had to hurt.
He looked dazed as I hovered over him with the pistol aimed at his chest.
"Give me one reason, and I will end you."
The perp groaned.
"Roll onto your stomach, put your hands behind your head, and interlock your fingers. Do it. Now!"
The thug cursed at me, but complied.
I kept the weapon aimed at him while I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and called the Sheriff's Department. I told them I had a suspect in custody and to send a patrol unit. After giving my current location, I hung up the phone.
By that time, Jack staggered around the corner, sucking wind. Sweat misted his face, and his hair was disheveled. He hunched with his hands on his knees.
"What the hell were you doing?" I asked.
"Trying to get out of that parking ticket,” he said, speaking in between breaths. “Then I saw you chase the perp out of the store." His chest heaved, and he clutched at his side as he ambled down the alleyway. "Man, I need to get to the gym more often."
Jack pulled a pair of handcuffs from a cargo pocket and slapped them on the scumbag's wrist. JD wrenched the perp’s hands behind his back and latched the other cuff.
"Let's see who this little dirt-ball is," Jack said, ripping off the thug’s mask.
11
Underneath the mask was Lil’ Big Money.
"Figures," Jack said, holding the mask in his hand.
"Man, fuck you both!" Calvin Edwards snarled.
"No thanks. You're not my type," JD said. "But don't worry. You'll get lots of action where you're going."
"I guess that last album didn't do so well," I said.
"When was the last time you had a hit?" JD asked the perp.
"At least I had a hit," Calvin said. "What the hell have you two ever done?"
The alley filled with sounds of police sirens. They grew louder. Soon, patrol cars screeched to a halt at the mouth of the alley. Red and blue lights flickered. Uniformed deputies hustled down the passageway with their weapons drawn.
"Glad you could make it," JD said. "This piece of shit needs a taxi ride to the station."
Two deputies yanked Calvin from the concrete and dragged him down the alleyway. They stuffed him into the back of a patrol car. One unit sped away, while the other stayed to follow up.
"Did you get out of the parking ticket at least?" I asked JD.
"Nope."
"You’re losing your touch," I said.
"Not really," Jack said with a sly grin. "She did give me her number."
I rolled my eyes, then we strolled down the alley toward Deputy Willis. We gave him a rundown of the situation, then we headed back to the jewelry store. The sexy brunette was long gone. Willis took statements from witnesses, and the store owner filled out a police report.
I called Denise and updated her. She filled me in on some interesting background information regarding Calvin Edwards. I thanked her and told her we’d catch up at the station.
Jack and I strolled across the street and hopped into the Porsche. He cranked up the engine, twisted the volume on the stereo, then lurched from the curb. We sped down to the station.
Calvin Edwards waited in an interrogation room.
I booked in the pistol that I took from the scumbag as evidence. It was a .45–just like the one used to kill Olivia Carson.
I hoped we had our man.
We met Daniels outside of the interrogation room. My ears had finally stopped ringing, and I could hear clearly again—but now there was a symphony of crickets hissing in my ears. At least the high frequencies had returned. It sounded like I had paper cups over my ears for half an hour. The high frequencies had been muted.
"Have you ever met a suspect you didn't kill?" Daniels asked, dryly.
"Calvin is still alive," I muttered.
"Suspended deputy shoots two suspects in jewelry store heist. That will be the headline," Daniels grumbled.
"I much prefer the version that reads: Deputy thwarts robbery, captures spree killer." I smiled.
"That won't be the one they write," Daniels said.
"The lab will do ballistics testing on the weapon that Calvin used,” I said. “With any luck, it will be a match. That will be one more feather in your cap. Maybe that will swing the polls?"
The actual headline that ran in the paper the next day was far worse than even Daniels could have imagined.
JD and I pushed into the interrogation room. Calvin sat at the table, still cuffed. He slumped in his chair, and his tough-guy act completely vanished. His eyes were red and puffy. It was clear he had shed a few tears in between now and the time of his arrest.
"I'd start talking. Cooperate, and maybe the judge will go easy on you?" I suggested.
"I'm not talking to you, or anyone, without a lawyer."
"You mean a court-appointed lawyer, because I know you can't afford shit," I gloated.
He glared at me.
"I know the record label dropped you. You’re bankrupt. And you just don't have the magic anymore."
&
nbsp; "You killed my two best friends, you motherfucker!"
I shrugged. "You know as well as anyone, you live by the sword, you die by the sword. Maybe you and your buddies should have thought about that before you started knocking off jewelry stores and killing innocent people."
His face crinkled. "Man, I didn't kill nobody. The only killer I see in this room is you."
"You will be singing a different tune when we match the slugs in your .45 to those that killed Olivia Carson."
Calvin’s face twisted. "You still peddling that bullshit?"
"I'm telling you, if you cooperate, things will go a lot easier for you."
He glared at me.
"Tell me, did that hurt?" I said, examining the tattoo under his left eye.
"Nothing hurts me," Calvin said.
"It's a sensitive area. Looks like it hurt."
"Man, what do you care?"
"Just making conversation." I decided to mess with his head. "You know, Jasmine and Destiny have recanted their statements. They say they weren’t with you on the night Olivia Carson was murdered. Looks like your alibi just went to shit."
Rage boiled on his face. "That's bullshit."
I shrugged. "They don't want anything to do with you. You're going down, and they don't want to go with you."
"You fucking pigs are all the same. You just railroad people so you can get a conviction. Doesn't matter whether they're innocent or guilty."
"Oh, you're guilty, alright."
"Like I said. Talk to my lawyer."
12
There were mountains of paperwork to fill out. And I knew I could expect two more wrongful death suits.
Afterward, we left the station and headed to Starfish. It was an upscale restaurant and bar on Oyster Avenue. Dim lighting, and elegant appointments. The walls were lit with blue LED lights that were hidden behind sconces. Chill, down-tempo music pulsed through the speakers. They had a good happy hour, and the place would pack in the good-looking crowd in the evenings. You could usually count on lots of miniskirts and high heels. Rarely, if ever, did the scenery disappoint.
The specialty was fresh seafood, but they also offered Kobe beef burgers, filet mignon, and a great surf and turf special. It seemed weird ordering a steak in a seafood restaurant, but that's what I was in the mood for. The petite filet, topped with béarnaise sauce, with a side of sautéed mushrooms was usually excellent.
Bethany took our order and returned shortly with two glasses of whiskey.
JD lifted his glass, making a toast. It was a little victory celebration. "To catching bad guys."
We clinked glasses and sipped the fine liquid. It warmed my throat and hit the spot.
"I bet that little bastard will write his next hit song from prison," Jack said. "It might actually boost his career and give him street credibility. Can you fathom that?"
“If ballistics are a match, he won't get to cut a record anytime soon. He’s facing up to life for armed robbery."
“He could get a plea deal, but either way, he's going to do a long stretch," JD said.
Something caught Jack's eye over my shoulder. "Well, would you look at that?"
I craned my neck to see my favorite shoplifter strolling toward the bar with a girlfriend.
The girlfriend was equally gorgeous. Blonde hair, toned legs, skimpy dress. Their hips practically swayed in unison. Heads turned. They reached the bar and leaned against it. Within moments, the bartender slid across two drinks. Judging by their interaction, it wasn’t the first time she'd been here.
I looked back to JD. "That one's trouble."
"Let me let you in on a little secret. They're all trouble. That's the fun of it."
"No, I mean, she's really trouble."
"You mean, hide the knives crazy? Key your car crazy? Or just right?" Jack grinned. “A little crazy is a necessary ingredient. Keeps things interesting."
"I think she has sticky fingers," I said.
"I like a girl who is willing to get her hands dirty," JD said.
I frowned at him. "I caught her trying to steal jewelry."
Jack shrugged. "I'll be sure to hide my wallet when we're together."
He grinned.
The waitress brought our salad, and Jack ordered another round.
He kept looking over my shoulder at the girls.
"I'm telling you man, that girl’s bad news."
"Look, if you really want her, I'll take the blonde," JD said.
I sneered at him. "I don't want her. I'm not interested at all."
"Do I need to call an ambulance? Are you still breathing?" JD looked around, then shouted, "Is there a doctor in the house? My friend is having a medical emergency."
I clenched my jaw and glared at him.
A guy at the next table took notice. "Is everything okay. You need me to call 911?"
Jack smiled. "No. I'm just teasing my friend."
The man seemed relieved and went back to his conversation with his girlfriend. At least, I think she was his girlfriend.
Jack looked over at the girls again. "You're right. They're totally unattractive. You should stay away. I'll take them both. Somebody's got to jump on the grenade."
Jack pushed away from the table and strutted toward the beauties. He ran his hands through his long hair and pushed the length behind his shoulders.
I watched as he greeted the ladies with a smile and used a few of his classic openers. The girls laughed, and not in a good way. Hair flipped as they turned away from him and shuffled away.
I didn't see Jack strikeout often. He had a certain charm about him. But he obviously had left his mojo at home.
JD shrugged it off and strolled back to the table. "You're right. Too much trouble."
13
The steak was cooked to perfection, seasoned with lemon pepper and garlic butter. It practically melted in your mouth.
JD and I devoured our dinner.
I lost track of the girls. I don't think they stayed long. The crowd was too thin this time of night.
We paid the tab and left. The two of us strolled down the sidewalk, trying to figure out our next move. Jack wanted to go to Bumper.
I didn't want to go to Bumper.
The music pumped so loud in that place I couldn't hear myself think. But there was no denying the techno club was filled with eye candy. Even at this hour, the line was around the corner. Jack swore we’d only stay for a few drinks, then move to a less crowded, more relaxed environment.
Don't get me wrong.
I like a loud party from time to time. But after the events of the day, I wanted to chill in a place like Keys or Ivory. My ears were still hissing from earlier.
We bypassed the line of pretty people at Bumper. Jack flashed his badge, and we were granted VIP access. Bass thumped, vibrating my chest as we stepped inside the club. Colored lights swirled and a horde of revelers moved about like a river, sweat beading on their skin.
The place was packed.
You could barely breathe.
We pushed our way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a round. Two whiskeys later, and I was ready to go. I leaned over and yelled in Jack's ear, "Let's get out of here. It's too crowded."
Jack frowned. "The next ex-Mrs. Donovan could be here."
“You say that everywhere. She could also be across the street at Keys."
"One more drink," JD said.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine."
"What are you bitching about? I'm buying."
I raised my hands in surrender.
Jack pushed his way back to the bar.
I stood there watching the sea of revelers dancing in rhythm to the music. A commotion rippled the crowd on the dance floor.
One girl shoved another.
The onlookers parted as the catfight ensued.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips, then I charged into the fray to break up the girl-fight. In my experience, this could be dangerous. Girls didn't always play by the rules. They scratched and clawed and punched and
kicked and pulled hair.
I couldn't make much out through the tangle of hair and flailing arms.
A tube top got pulled down, and breasts bounced free.
Wardrobe malfunctions were fair game.
I grabbed the redhead by the arm and pulled her away as she was about to throw a punch.
Unfortunately, yanking the redhead out of the way opened an avenue for a fist to careen toward my face.
Pow!
The brunette hiding behind a tangled mess of hair clocked me in the jaw.
The girl had power behind her punch.
It twisted my jaw and dazed me for a second.
"Break it up! County Sheriff," I shouted, tasting my own blood.
The brunette pulled her hair out of her face, and I realized it was my favorite shoplifter.
She backed off as I held the redhead.
"She started it," the brunette shouted.
"Bullshit, bitch!"
"I don't care who started it. It ends right now. What are you people? In grade school?"
The two angry women glared at each other. The redhead pulled up her top and adjusted her breasts.
Neither of them had really connected with any of their punches. It was a lot of slapping and wrestling.
"Beat it! Or you're both going to jail."
"Let's see your badge," the redhead snapped.
JD appeared behind me, flashing his shiny gold shield.
The redhead backed off, but she got in one last taunt at the brunette. "Bitch!"
The brunette started to shout the C-word, but I stopped her.
"Play nice."
She stifled her words.
Jack handed me a glass of whiskey, and I left the brunette on the dance floor.
The crowd resumed their undulations, and within a few seconds, it was all a distant memory.
I took a sip of whiskey and realized the brunette’s punch had caused more damage than I had first thought. The numb sensation wore off. Now it throbbed. My molars had lacerated my cheek, and the alcohol stung as it sloshed in my mouth.
"Can we please find someplace more relaxing?" I said, trying not to whine.
JD slammed the rest of his whiskey. "Let's go."
He stormed through the crowd, and I followed him, gulping the whiskey down along the way. We stepped onto the sidewalk, leaving the thumping music behind. The line to get in was still around the corner.
