by David Thurlo
“No use returning fire, bro, shooting through a chain-link fence with our weapons,” Gordon replied. “We’re screwed.”
“Give me some suppressing fire anyway, make him worry. Keep moving so he can’t get a clear shot. He’s got a very narrow field of fire inside that van, so I’m going to flank him to the west,” Charlie called. He jumped to his feet and ran to his right toward the gate. “And keep Sam out of sight!”
His urban combat training took over now. The office building would screen him for a few moments, and he should be able to cross the street unseen, assuming there was only one shooter. If he kept moving, using the buildings across the street as cover, it would be hard for anyone with a heavy sniper rifle to track him, especially up close. He also was praying that the weapon was bolt action rather than semiauto, giving him a couple of seconds between shots, at least, if and when the shooter changed positions. Up close, his short weapon could be brought to target faster if the guy stuck to his sniper rifle. All he needed was a clear shot.
Charlie was across the street within seconds. He raced down the far side of the second building over, guessing that the shooter would expect an approach from the closest building. He couldn’t go left through the gap where the sniper was located without crossing the field of fire. The desert ground was flat and dry here, bare except for a few tumbleweeds, the usual blown trash and papers, and knee-high tufts of buffalo grass and other clumps of weeds. The only concealment was the sides of sheet metal buildings, and the biggest risk was being caught running alongside this wall before he reached the corner.
He’d already heard Gordon provide at least three shots covering fire, and one return shot came from the .50 cal rifle somewhere ahead and to his left. The weapon had a muzzle brake, undoubtedly, but the sound echoed between the walls of these buildings like thunder. The shooter, inside the metal van, would have gone deaf by now if he wasn’t wearing ear protection.
Once he reached the side of the building, Charlie raced forward with his weapon aimed ahead. He was ready to shoot anybody waving a firearm. Hopefully no innocent bystander would pick this moment to step out in front of him.
In the distance, Charlie could hear the wail of sirens. The shooter had to make his next move before reinforcements arrived, not knowing if it was the fire department or the police.
Charlie reached the far corner of the building. The van was two buildings to his left, and if the street layout was the same here, the road dead-ended to the east. The shooter would have to drive past here.
Charlie took a quick glance to the left. The van was pulling out from between the two buildings, about a hundred feet away. He ducked back, trying to decide how long to wait before confronting the driver.
Then he realized there were two men standing in front of an open bay door across the street from where he was, watching the van. If he waited any longer, they’d be in his line of fire. He came around the corner, crouched low, pistol extended, and saw the van—heading the other way! He fired one round into the driver’s-side rear door of the vehicle, hoping for a lucky shot.
The Chevy van raced maybe a hundred feet, swerved around the black and yellow dead-end barrier, then churned up huge rooster tails as it proceeded across the dirt field, fishtailing wildly.
Beyond lay the western edge of a mobile home park, with streets that would lead into Albuquerque’s eastern and southern neighborhoods. He lowered his pistol and placed it in his holster. Then he heard voices.
“What the hell is going on? You a cop?” One of the men, a mechanic, based upon his overalls, yelled at him.
Then there was a loud pop from behind him. Charlie turned and saw the truck crane burning fiercely over in the Firm Foundation compound. Three men were spraying fire extinguishers at the conflagration, but something new had exploded, maybe a tire, and they’d need help. Loud horns honking distracted his attention, and he saw a fire truck racing up August Avenue. Maybe they’d be able to save something, or at least confine the fire to the crane.
Turning back, he noted the van had cleared the field and entered the mobile home park. He grabbed his cell phone and was looking down at it when it rang. “Charlie, let’s get this one,” came Gordon’s voice.
A familiar horn sounded, and he looked west toward the frontage road. Gordon was racing toward him in the pickup. Charlie stuck the phone in his pocket, ran across the street, and waited for his pal to slow enough for him to jump in.
Charlie leaped up into the pickup, quickly fastening his shoulder strap and seat belt. “Let’s roll!”
“Straight ahead, across the field? I see dust,” Gordon said.
“Yeah! Follow the tracks into the trailer court.” He pointed. “I hit the van, but it hasn’t slowed him down.”
As Gordon bounced the big pickup across the open ground, Charlie tried to focus on the GPS on the dashboard. “There are two main roads leading south out of the neighborhood. Take the first one. It leads all the way to Alameda Avenue.”
Gordon had to slow down to a crawl for a woman and three kids who’d come out into the street. “A white van just come through here?” he yelled out the window.
“Moron nearly hit my daughter,” the woman yelled. “He didn’t have a license plate, just one of those dealer tags. Gillis Motors.”
“Call 911,” Gordon yelled back, speeding up only to the posted limit until clear of the neighborhood. Then he floored it again.
“The van is probably headed south on … East Sunset. Dealer tags for Gillis Motors,” Charlie said into his phone, searching ahead and down side streets as they passed them by.
“Nancy, DuPree?” Gordon asked, his eyes on the road.
“No, APD Dispatch. They’re sending more units to the area,” Charlie replied. “I’m staying on the line in case we get lucky.”
They hurried south, reaching Alameda Boulevard, which was crowded with after-work traffic this time of day. “East or west?” Gordon asked.
“Hell, he could be anywhere,” Charlie admitted. “Your call.”
“Hundreds of vehicles on the road. Let APD look for him.” Gordon turned west, heading down toward the valley. “We lost another one, Charlie. Might as well circle back to check on the damage. I made Sam get back inside and stay low.”
Charlie nodded to his buddy.
“No sign of him, ma’am,” Charlie told the dispatcher still on the line. “We’ll call if we spot the van, which also has a bullet hole in the rear door, driver’s side. Good luck with the search.”
They returned to the Firm Foundation compound, visible a mile away from the slowly dissipating cloud of black smoke still lingering overhead. There were a half-dozen fire trucks and emergency vehicles, their flashing lights illuminating the air above in an early evening glow rivaling the sunset.
A uniformed officer stopped Gordon at the wide-open gates, but Pat, the security guard, was standing nearby and asked the officer to let them in. They were directed to the opposite side of the big enclosure, and it took a while to cross the grounds with so much activity going on.
Charlie looked at the damage to the crane, which stood alone now, the adjacent vehicles having been moved a safe distance away. The fuel tank attached beneath the deck of the rear crane unit had blown open like a shredded beer can. White foam covered what must have been a burning pool of diesel fuel on the ground. Flames had apparently spread to the portable crane’s Kenworth cab just forward of the fuel supply and enveloped the interior, which had a nasty burned-rubber-and-plastic smell. Three firemen were cooling off the toasted metal with a fine spray, though it was clear that the fire was out.
Charlie looked around the compound and saw Sam standing next to a squad car and talking to a police sergeant, judging from his stripes. He and Gordon came up, and the officer instantly noted the handguns at their waists before looking up at their faces. “Now I know where I’ve seen you two before,” the sergeant said.
Charlie recognized the officer from last year, when armed robbers had shot up the pawnshop.
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br /> “Dispatch says APD officers are searching for the shooter. We lost sight of him once he reached Alameda Boulevard,” Charlie offered. “He’s armed with a high-caliber rifle, maybe more.”
“So there was a sniper?” Sam asked. “What happened, Charlie? Gordon ordered me into the office before he took off to help you out.”
Charlie nodded toward the buildings across the street. “The shooter was positioned in the back of a white van parked over there between the green building and the one on the left, lined up perfectly to shoot through the hole he cut in the fence. He was using incendiary ammo, almost certainly from a fifty-cal rifle. The bullet penetrated and ignited the fuel tank.”
The officer nodded. “I’ve seen those in gun shops, on the police range, and in civilian competition. Big suckers, distinctive blast, awesome firepower.”
“It could have been worse, I suppose. There wasn’t much fuel in the tank. The crane had barely made it back from a work site,” Sam replied. “Still, the vehicle is probably a total loss.”
“Now we know why the hole was cut in the fence,” Charlie pointed out. “The shooter was concerned that a wire might deflect the round. Probably wouldn’t have made much difference with a projectile that massive, at this range.”
“Still, a hell of a shot,” Pat declared.
“Guy knew what he was doing. This was well planned,” the sergeant concluded.
“The hole was cut sometime last night. Considering the trajectory, the fuel tank must have been the target all along,” the security guard observed. “But the crane could have been moved anytime during the day. So why wait until late afternoon to take the shot?”
“Scare tactic. Intimidation? Whoever did this wanted a witness,” Charlie decided. “Maybe his intention was to wait until someone came to repair the fence.”
Sam nodded. “Guys, that’s what I was trying to warn you about when the manure hit the fan. I’d just gotten a call from someone—don’t know who—and he said that something was about to go down.”
Charlie and Gordon exchanged looks. “What exactly did he say?”
“His exact words, as best as I can remember, were ‘Now you’re going to pay for what happened to my friend. Look outside.’ It was a private caller, no number or ID, and when I tried to respond, he’d already disconnected. I stepped outside to warn you.”
“And that was his signal to start shooting,” Gordon added. “The sniper was the caller, and he had eyes on us the entire time.”
“Exactly. Thank God this was an attempt to hurt the business, not kill anyone, at least not yet. All the heavy equipment and structures are insured, but that crane is worth north of 200K—used. My rates are going to skyrocket now.”
“We need to come up with some answers that’ll lead to a suspect,” Charlie declared. Something strange was going on, and every day the situation seemed to be getting worse.
* * *
“I wish I could come up with a better idea of possible motives,” Sam said, his words directed at those seated around his massive quarter-sawn oak kitchen table. Margaret was seated next to him, DuPree and Nancy opposite the Randals, and Charlie and Gordon at the ends of the table.
“All I can think of is the time I had to stop using Eldon Electrics as a subcontractor after Jim Eldon and I disagreed on a business issue,” Sam explained, looking over to his wife for confirmation. “That was over a year ago.”
Margaret nodded.
“How did Eldon respond to that, losing the jobs?” Gordon asked.
“Jim was pissed, but I never heard from him after that,” Sam answered, glancing at Margaret again. “I don’t think he was the caller, either. I know his voice.”
“What about Hank and Carlito?” Margaret suggested softly, looking down at her tightly clenched hands.
“I forgot about those two,” Sam observed. “And I suppose the guy on the phone could have been Hank, though I can’t be one hundred percent sure. I caught him and Carlito stealing from a work site after hours about two months ago. They’d unhooked a couple of appliances that had just been installed and were loading them into their truck.”
“You turn them in?” Charlie asked, glad to hear more names.
“Not at first. They made excuses, then agreed to hook everything back up if I just let them quit instead of firing them. It wasn’t until I discovered them breaking into the warehouse a few days later with copies of their old keys that I called the police,” Sam explained. “I dropped the charges after the investigating officers couldn’t get any more evidence against them. I haven’t seen or heard from them since.”
“These are people that might provide some answers. I’ll need the full names of those two thieves, Mr. Randal,” DuPree said, sliding a notebook and pen over to Sam. “Text me anything else you have on them once you can access your records.”
Sam nodded.
“So that’s it? Sam can’t come up with any more possible enemies, and you don’t work for the company anymore, is that right, Mrs. Randal?” Charlie asked.
“Please call me Margaret. There are times when I put in some hours at the office. If Tanya calls in sick, I go in and handle the clerical work, answer the phone, and do some of the accounting,” she explained. Charlie assumed she was referring to the young woman he had seen talking to officers earlier in the afternoon. “And I also help out when there’s a business crunch.”
“I suppose this has been asked before, but have either of you had any dealings with Ray or Frank Geiger, in business or otherwise?” Gordon asked.
“I’ve never met nor spoke to either man that I recall,” Sam replied immediately, sliding the notebook with the former employees’ names back to the detective. “I can’t even guess at what connection they might have to me or the business,”
“Same with me,” Margaret added.
Charlie noticed that she’d been looking down at the table or across the kitchen whenever she made a comment. He was no psychologist, but the lack of eye contact from the moment they’d sat down bothered him. Margaret’s voice had sounded strained after her husband mentioned Jim Eldon, the electrical contractor. Was she lying about something, afraid of being targeted, or was he just misreading her because she was still upset? The fact that he was now the only eyewitness able to testify put him on the spot, of course, but he was used to being a target. Still, her body language bothered him a little.
“Detective, have you found any connections between the previous home invasions and what happened here on Sunday?” Margaret asked, turning to DuPree and changing the subject. “You think it might be the same people committing the attacks, right?”
“We haven’t conclusively linked any individuals to the other crimes, unfortunately, though we’re unable to rule out Ray Geiger’s involvement. Geiger runs his martial arts school during afternoons and evenings, and none of the home invasion incidents were night attacks. We can’t prove he wasn’t involved, is what I’m saying,” DuPree clarified.
“Or that he was involved,” Charlie countered.
“That’s the problem,” DuPree responded. “Anthony Lorenzo, the attacker that got himself killed, had an alibi for at least one of the other attacks, at least according to those we were able to interview. We don’t know yet if Lorenzo ever visited the martial arts school either. Those students who sign up for classes have to leave their names and contact information, and sign a release, but according to Detectives Larranaga and Johnson, they didn’t find Lorenzo listed in the school records.”
“If this is connected to previous attacks, there must be a fourth individual involved,” Nancy speculated. “That’s assuming that the man who tried to kill Charlie in the parking lot, threatened Sam this afternoon, then shot up the crane is not the remaining attacker who first struck here on Sunday.”
“The current staff at Ray’s martial arts school has also been cleared. The two male instructors have day jobs and were with their families on Sunday, and there’s a female instructor, who wasn’t involved in the rumble in the park
ing lot.” DuPree looked at both Charlie and Gordon disapprovingly. “She had the day off, apparently. Anyway, she’s a UNM student who does not, even remotely, fit any of the descriptions given by any of the victims.” There’s also a former woman instructor who quit or was let go that the detectives have not yet interviewed. She left the school a few months ago.”
“So, we’re back to the theory that our home was first targeted for robbery, then that night the same people tried to kidnap me. I wonder if that was done in an attempt to persuade Margaret not to identify the guy she unmasked, not knowing she couldn’t anyway. And when they saw Charlie, they tried to shoot him for the same reason,” Sam concluded, his voice shaky. “The attempt to run him down could have simply been retaliation for the loss of their criminal partner. And we know that couldn’t have been either of the Geigers.”
Charlie shook his head, saw Gordon’s doubt as well, then turned to look at DuPree.
“That’s too complicated for home invasion thugs, and I don’t see Ray Geiger as any genius. I don’t think we’re getting the whole picture here,” DuPree responded. “They wanted to grab you, Sam, during the initial attack—then later. Kidnapping you was part of the plan all along. What happened this afternoon may have been retaliation for Lorenzo’s death, but why not take a shot at Sam when he came outside, or Charlie at the fence?”
Charlie found himself in agreement and nodded. “I don’t think we’ve identified the leader of this conspiracy either.”
“You thinking Frank Geiger, Charlie?” Nancy observed.
“He has police procedural knowledge, and the training needed to know what kind of evidence to avoid leaving behind. If that’s true, he’s also got his kid involved, despite the public image of Ray’s rehabilitation,” Charlie answered.
“What about that third guy?” Gordon offered. “I agree with Sam that he could have been the guy trying to kill us, well, Charlie, outside the Outpost. He could also be the same guy who shot up the crane.”
“Which means he’s skilled with a powerful rifle. Whoever he is, I think he’s someone who lives in the Rio Rancho area and has met up with Ray Geiger and Tony Lorenzo,” Nancy said.
