Rob Thy Neighbor

by David Thurlo

  Gordon spoke as Charlie continued walking toward the living room. “Hey, what’s going on, Charlie?”

  Charlie set his pistol down on the sofa, then walked over toward the front door, which was still open. “You okay? Everything quiet at the Randals’?”

  “So far, except for your phone call waking me up. Why?”

  “Watch for a possible attack. I just got hit.”

  “Hit? As in shot?”

  “No! Just shot at. Gunfire. A lot, maybe fifty rounds. One of the shooters had a rifle or carbine with a high-capacity magazine. The back walls of the house are like Swiss cheese. But I’m fine, and hopefully none of the neighbors were hit by strays. I yelled for someone to call the cops.”

  Charlie heard a siren. “Sounds like they’re on their way.”

  “They know your address by heart,” Gordon replied. “Stay safe.”

  “Thanks. Looks like I’m going to need a place to stay tonight. My house, well, Nestor’s house, is shot to hell.”

  “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Chuck.”

  “I need a bed, Gordon, not a life coach.”

  “Right. You can stay at my apartment, or use the sofa at the Randals’,” Gordon said. “I’m going to let Nancy know what’s going on. Then I’ll take a look around outside. Call you back in five.”

  * * *

  Charlie woke up, remembered where he was, and looked up from the Randals’ soft leather sofa to see Gordon in the kitchen area, sitting with Sam and Margaret at the dining table. He glanced down at his wrist watch. It was 8:30 AM.

  He’d slept inside a folded blanket with a velvet sofa pillow beneath his head, so he just swung around to a seated position. He was still in slacks and a T-shirt, so there was no reason not to stand up and search for his socks and shoes. “Who’s minding the shop?” he asked.

  All three at the table looked over at the same time.

  “Jake and Ruth. I’m planning on going down in a few minutes, but there’s some news you’ll want to hear,” Gordon replied.

  “They caught the shooters?”

  “No, but they found the pickup,” Gordon said, “and there was blood on the driver’s seat. You hit at least one of the attackers.”

  “Thought so. Have they named a possible suspect?” Charlie added, putting on his socks. He knew from experience there was more.

  “Not yet. But late yesterday afternoon, the Geigers were able to convince a judge to give Ray a little more freedom. Both father and son had alibis for the time those fake plumbers were at your house,” Gordon explained.

  “They could have hired that out, or maybe put the third perp up to it,” Charlie replied, shrugging on his shirt, which had been draped over the back of the sofa. “The fact that no shots were fired into the garage makes me think the plumbers were also the shooters and knew where my bedroom was located. But having the Geigers get another break is troubling.”

  “Well, the judge bought their lawyer’s argument. Ray still has to wear the ankle bracelet, but he’s free to come and go within Bernalillo and Sandoval Counties as long as he stays away from Sam and Margaret. Firm Foundation and this neighborhood are also off-limits.”

  “And Frank?” Charlie asked, slipping into his cowhide Western boots.

  “He’s been told not to communicate with any potential witnesses, including the Randals, Nancy and Gina, and either one of us. Otherwise, he’s free to roam. RRPD pulled the officers they had on stakeout.”

  “If you want to back out of this, Charlie, I understand,” Sam said. “You and Gordon have become targets from the moment you jumped in, and now it’s clear someone is out to kill you for what you’ve seen and done. You also have a business to run. I can relate to that.”

  Charlie looked over at Gordon, easily reading his expression. “No thanks, Sam, we’re going to stick this out. We keep making little dents in the case, and it won’t be long before we either catch those still out there or point them out to the cops. I can identify another one of the suspects, remember.”

  “But there are at least two of these dangerous men out there, and they keep coming up with weapons and explosives. They also know where we live and work and have attacked our business,” Margaret argued, reaching out and putting her hand over Sam’s. She looked up at her husband, and he shook his head slightly.

  “There were three at first, then two, now three again, at least, adding a new guy to replace the dead man—if we still include Ray. The Geigers have to know the others, and most likely are in contact with at least one of them. Once we get the name of that third stooge from the attack on you here, the rest should come together,” Gordon said. “It might well be the guy with the spiderweb tattoo, which at least gives us a face to try and identify. Most of the brass found in the alley came from a .223 rifle or carbine—maybe the same weapon Charlie saw before.”

  “Sam, are you going into work today?” Charlie asked, wondering if he and Gordon might be able to squeeze in some detective legwork before Cousin Nestor arrived from Santa Fe this afternoon to deal with the insurance and repairs on the shattered rental house. When Charlie had checked the mail at his house yesterday, the list of dojo students and former employees DuPree had promised was there. Looking over it late last night, he’d noticed something interesting. Now he had a plan.

  Sam stood. “Yes, but I was hoping you or Gordon could escort Margaret and me over to my office first. There’s a lot of paperwork to do, and my better half here has volunteered to help me out. I’ll have security on site, and it’ll free you two to do some work on my, well, our behalf.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” Charlie responded. “Let me have a few minutes to get ready, and we’ll get started.”

  * * *

  “So this Lori Hanson was one of the sensei at Ray’s dojo until a month ago?” Gordon asked, looking over the list of students and employees Detective DuPree had unofficially provided.

  “Yeah, and I’m thinking because she agreed to meet and talk to us, she might be in the mood to give us some details not provided to the Rio Rancho cops, assuming they’ve even interviewed her at this point,” Charlie responded. “She mentioned being contacted by the cops, but didn’t say anything else about it.”

  “You’re hoping she knows something about the dead guy, or the mysterious third member of the crew—web-tattoo man?” Gordon suggested. “And because she no longer works for Ray, she has no reason to try and protect her job. We might just get a lead here, pal, something she hasn’t told the cops.”

  “I’m counting on you to pour on the charm, Gordo. What is it with you and the women, anyway? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Hell if I know, I’m not even tall. Good-looking, yes. Charming, okay. But not a towering example of man flesh.”

  “You forgot modest.”

  “Clearly. Sometimes I need to hold something back.”

  Charlie laughed as he turned into the Starbucks lot off of Highway 528 and eased into one of the slots beside a well-used Jeep with a canvas top. There was a line of cars in the drive-up lane, and four tables on a patio, but they’d agreed to meet inside.

  “Suppose she’s here yet?” Charlie asked, looking around at the cars parked in the slots to the east. There was a Jeep, one of those smaller Humvee models, a Honda Civic, and a slick-looking restored Camino with a custom metal cover over the bed.

  “Honda or primo Camino?” Charlie added.

  “Easy. The lady kicks butt but doesn’t make a lot of money. I say the Jeep,” Gordon responded. “See that pink ribbon sticker on the bumper?”

  “Probably right,” Charlie said. “Let’s find out,” he added, stepping out of the Charger.

  Through the big glass windows beginning waist high, Charlie had already spotted a petite blonde in her twenties sitting alone by the time they reached the door. She smiled and waved with her tall container of coffee.

  “Charlie?” she asked.

  “Yes, Ms. Hanson, and this is Gordon, my partner.”

 
“Well, hi, Gordon,” she said, holding out a well-developed arm to shake his hand as they approached the small table. “Sit down and join me. And call me Lori. You’re really good-looking guys. How long have you two been a couple, may I ask?”

  Charlie and Gordon both laughed. “We’re not even close to gay, Lori. No offense to anyone. Charlie is my business partner,” Gordon responded, now red-faced as he took the seat next to the athletic-looking woman. “We co-own the FOB Pawn shop in the north valley.”

  Lori laughed. “My bad. And, for future reference, I’m not gay or married either,” she said, winking at Charlie, who was still standing. “I’m just a physical fitness addict who loves helping young women learn how to defend themselves.”

  “Um, before I sit, can I get you anything, Lori? Another coffee? Muffin?” Charlie offered.

  “Coffee, no, blueberry muffin, yes. I skipped breakfast after my morning run, and I’m starving.”

  Charlie stepped to the counter and ordered, noting that Lori and Gordon were already engaged in conversation. The woman, attractive with a broad face and bright blue eyes, was dressed in jogging pants, running shoes, and a short-sleeved athletic jersey that reminded him of a women’s soccer top. Lori was outgoing and confident.

  There were no customers in line except at the drive-up, and he soon had coffee for himself and Gordon, plus three blueberry muffins. Charlie sat down after handing out the food and joined in the conversation.

  “You mind repeating why you left Butkikin Dojo?” Gordon asked, then took a sip of coffee.

  Lori laughed. “Everyone just calls it Bojo. I don’t mind talking about it at all. Like I was telling Gordon, I eventually had it up to here when the boys and men wouldn’t stop hitting on me or making comments heavy with sexual innuendo. They’d say things like wanting to take me on, if I liked it rough, or worse. It was always between classes. I hardly ever got any out-of-line BS from the so-called bad kids, the ones who’d been busted or were on probation. Most of those guys and gals are dead serious about developing their skills and improving their focus and fitness, or they wouldn’t have been there. They also knew they were being watched, not only by the instructors but by their parole officers or social workers. Most of the crap came from the older high school boys and community college jocks.”

  “What about the other sensei?” Charlie asked. “Didn’t they back you up?”

  “When they were around, mostly. But they didn’t want to lose any students—they’re paid a percentage of each student’s fees. If they heard, they’d laugh it off like the troublemakers were just trying to be funny, or shake their heads as a warning. On the other hand, they didn’t let anyone bother the female students. They all knew that Ray needed the clients, and if word got out that girls were being harassed, he could lose a third of his business overnight and they’d be out of a job.”

  “What about Ray?”

  “He was pretty serious about it all. He tried to talk me out of it when he heard I was thinking of quitting. It worked the first time.”

  “What finally happened that set you off?” Charlie asked.

  “A couple of Ray’s buddies, who’d come to see him but never taken a class, kept making comments, licking their lips. Finally they asked me to come with them after class and party. When one of them asked me my favorite position, I kicked him in the balls. He got up, pissed as hell, but one of the other instructors stepped in.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I found Ray and told him that if his friend Tony showed up at the dojo while I was there, or if I saw his face again anywhere else, I was quitting.”

  “Tony. Anthony Lorenzo?” Gordon asked.

  “That’s him. When Ray tried to defend the guy, saying Tony was probably just high, I told him I was done with Bojo and handed over my ID badge. Mail me my check, I said. Ray didn’t try to stop me, so I walked out. Now I teach self-defense classes at the community college, and nobody gives me any shit. Some of my students have left Bojo and followed me there, and it pleases the hell out of me.”

  “You said a couple of Ray’s buddies. Who was the other guy?” Charlie inquired.

  “They just called him BJ, and I never asked what that stood for,” Lori replied with a shrug. “He wasn’t really much of a problem. Around me he sometimes added some lame follow-up to Tony’s crude comments, but BJ never initiated anything on his own.”

  “Can you give us a physical description? What kind of car did he drive? Anything that’ll help,” Gordon asked.

  “Does this have something to do with Tony’s death and why the cops want to talk to me? I thought that might have been him that got shot during the carjacking attempt I heard about downtown. Then I found out that Ray had been arrested for the same crimes. Should I even be talking to you about this?” Lori asked, suddenly uncertain.

  “Did you also hear on the news about the people that broke up the home invasion, and later the carjacking—which was really a kidnapping attempt? Tony shot at them that night, which got him killed. He was accompanied by Ray, and maybe BJ,” Gordon responded.

  Lori thought about it for a moment. “Ah, then you must be the two neighbors who saved the couple in the house.”

  “Exactly. Ray and the other two got away, though Ray was later identified and arrested, and Tony was killed in that carjacking attempt. Since then, someone has been trying to kill Charlie because he’s the only one who saw Ray’s face during the home invasion,” Gordon pointed out.

  “Then why haven’t the cops talked to me about this yet?” Lori asked.

  “Hell if I know. They say they’re overworked, and truth is, they do have a couple hundred students and instructors to interview. They may have put you further down the list because you no longer work there,” Charlie suggested.

  “So, now we’re getting to the reason we needed to talk to you, Lori. Can you tell us all you can about any of Ray’s other pals, starting with BJ?” Gordon asked softly. “Charlie’s life is on the line. Yesterday they rigged bombs in his home, and last night they shot up his place, barely missing him. He can’t stay there anymore as long as the remaining members of Ray’s crew are gunning for him.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I can, guys.”

  Charlie brought out a pen and a small notebook. “I was hoping you’d help us out. Describe BJ.”

  “The guy is tall and slender, with a narrow face and pale features, like a vampire,” Lori began.

  “Dark hair, dark eyes, maybe?” Charlie asked immediately, suddenly very hopeful.

  “Yeah. Kinda Goth, and with a lot of tattoos on his arms. He usually dressed in black or dark brown. A leather vest, sometimes. His latest tat was a big spiderweb around his upper chest and neck. What, you know the guy?” Lori asked.

  Charlie nodded. “I think I saw him the other night, though we weren’t formally introduced. You sure you never heard his full name?”

  “Not that I recall. Maybe someone else at Bojo knows what it stands for.”

  “That’s something we can pass along,” Gordon suggested. “What else you got?”

  Lori leaned back in her chair and took a final sip of coffee. “That’s all I can remember, guys, but if you give me your number, Gordon, I’ll call if I think of anything else that might help.”

  Charlie slid the notebook over to Gordon, who ripped out a blank page, then wrote down his name and number, plus the one for FOB Pawn. He slipped that paper over to Lori, who looked at it closely.

  “Where have I seen that name before—FOB Pawn?”

  “It’s been in the local papers, on the Net, and on TV news. We had an attempted robbery at the shop last year, among other things,” Gordon explained.

  Again Lori thought a moment before speaking. “Yeah. I remember because that led to another incident down in the Corrales bosque, south of Rio Rancho. Nobody screws with you two and gets away with it. You two are vets, right? Seen some combat?”

  Gordon and Charlie exchanged a quick glance, then nodded, but didn’t pursue the
subject.

  “Anyway, thanks for your help, Lori. I have one more question, if you don’t mind,” Charlie said. “What do you think of Ray’s dad, Frank? You met him, right?”

  “Yeah, Frank helped me with some of the larger classes once in a while, though his bad leg prevented him from demonstrating the kicks. The guy gives me the creeps. He treats all of the instructors respectfully but gives his son a hard time when no students are around. Frank’s always leaning on Ray, criticizing nearly everything. Frank is a bully, a petty tyrant. I’m surprised at Ray, actually, getting involved in these crimes. I never thought he’d do anything that would get him busted again. Every day, at the beginning and end of a lesson, he had something to say to the students about consequences and being responsible for their actions. He had me convinced he was really going straight,” Lori said. “He played me, and everyone else, I guess.”

  Charlie nodded. “Do you think Frank might get violent?”

  “Definitely. From the vibes I got, he must have been a hard-ass cop back in New York. I’d hate getting on his bad side. If you ask me, the NYPD is better off without officers like him. I’m glad he retired early,” Lori added.

  Charlie shrugged. Obviously she didn’t know why Geiger had left the force.

  “Lori, you’ve been such a great help to us. Can I get you something else to eat or drink? Maybe some coffee for the road?” Gordon asked.

  “No thanks, Gordon. I’ve got a class coming up in an hour and I need to stay light on my feet.” Lori looked down at her cell phone. “It’s time I get going, as a matter of fact. But it’s been nice meeting you two. Like I said, if I think of anything else, I’ll call.”

  She stood, and Gordon stood as well, stepping out away from the table to let her pass.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Charlie crossed the Alameda Bridge heading east, as Gordon read through Lori’s description. “Pretty detailed, even the spiderweb tattoo on his neck, which she said was new. If BJ has a record, and his photo was taken before the tat was added, that may explain why there wasn’t an immediate hit. I think it’s especially interesting that she mentions BJ having an accent, like Ray and Frank. She said that it sounded like her idea of a New York/New Jersey blue-collar accent,” Gordon said. “If there is such a thing.”