by David Thurlo
“Got it. I’m on the sixth floor, so it may be a couple of minutes before I leave the courthouse. Be careful, Charlie.”
Shortly thereafter, still pretending to be studying his cell phone, Charlie watched as Gina walked across the inlaid stone of the courthouse grounds to the corner, the intersection of Lomas and Fourth Street. She waited, along with several other people, for the light to change, then crossed Lomas to the north.
By then, her tail had stepped away from the wall and was walking quickly toward the street corner. He wouldn’t make this light—it was already too late—but clearly he wanted to cross on the next cycle. Charlie waited. He’d catch the one after that. With the layout of the route back imprinted in his brain now, he had a plan.
As expected, Camera Guy followed Gina from about fifty feet back, maintaining his distance and pausing to look at the buildings, camera in hand. Time to make a move, Charlie decided, touching the phone display and sending the call.
“Gina. Slow down to just below normal. Once you get to the next corner, instead of crossing the street, turn to your west, continue down the sidewalk until you reach the alley, then quickly jaywalk across the street.”
“Heading north again?”
“Copy. Um, exactly. You’ll notice me coming up the alley in your direction. Once I’m almost at the end, cross the street, but don’t look at me after that. Just turn east and quickly walk down the sidewalk to the next corner. Head north again, for your office. And don’t get run over or look back. Clear?”
“I think I see what you’re doing here.”
“Good. Wish me luck!”
“Luck. Bye.” She ended the call.
He turned around and raced back toward the courthouse, turned west at the corner, then ran in that direction to the alley. Now all he had to do was sprint the entire block and come out ahead of the target before he could turn the corner. Even if he did, however, the guy should be close enough to grab.
Several people watched, curious, as he ran past them, but he smiled and nodded, muttering “I’m late” every time he passed someone. Reaching the alley, he cursed the weight of the boots and the fact that he was carrying a briefcase. Halfway up the alley, at full sprint, he also cursed the tie and the sports jacket. He slowed once he spotted Gina standing there on the sidewalk, having just crossed the street. At the end of the alley, he took a quick peek around the corner. No sign of Camera Guy. Good! He’d counted on the guy not wanting to look around the corner immediately, in case Gina had noticed him and stopped just out of sight. The guy had been careful so far not to get too close.
Charlie hurried up to the northeast corner of the building as quickly and quietly as possible, then set the briefcase down against the wall, out of the way. Now he waited. If he could only keep from breathing so loudly after the race up the alley, he had a chance to nail the guy.
He watched as Gina walked up the sidewalk, turned the corner, and disappeared to the north. Listening, he heard a click. Less than ten agonizing seconds went by; then the man stepped into view, heading in Gina’s direction.
The guy flinched as Charlie suddenly appeared at his side.
Chapter Seventeen
“Gotcha!” Charlie gasped, still a little out of breath as he yanked the guy around and shoved his back against the building wall.
“What the hell? Hey, let me go!” the young man yelled, his voice cracking.
Charlie had his left hand on the guy’s throat, thumb at the Adam’s apple. His right arm was cocked, ready to punch, if necessary.
“Not until we have a talk, kid. Why have you been following that woman?” Charlie demanded, anger in his voice. The poor kid was barely out of his teens, probably about to pee his pants, if he hadn’t already.
“What? No, let me go. Or I’ll…” His voice squeaked as he struggled for air.
“What, call the cops? I am the cops,” Charlie lied, pulling back his jacket to show the authentic-looking badge taken from the pawnshop display case. “What’s your name, kid, and why have you been stalking that woman? You know she’s a lawyer, right?”
Charlie almost felt sorry for the kid, who was either a great actor or clearly out of his element. He loosed his grip on the punk’s throat so the guy could still breathe, and, seeing the guy’s camera about to fall to the sidewalk, he reached down and grabbed it.
“You just a pervert, or what? What am I going to find on your camera?” Charlie insisted.
“Don’t arrest me, Officer. Just take a look at the photos. They’re just of that lawyer, Gina Sinclair, and she’s fully dressed, out in public. Really. I’m a freelance photographer doing a job for my client. Look for yourself.”
“First, kid, what’s your name, and how old are you?” Charlie asked, easing his grip but not removing his hold.
“Nineteen. Well, almost. My name is Eric Sharp. I’m a journalism major at CNM. Here’s my wallet,” the kid answered, his tone shifting from frightened to confident as he reached for his back pocket.
Charlie fell for it—almost.
A knife suddenly appeared in Eric’s left hand. “For Tony!” he snarled. His arm whipped around, stabbing at Charlie’s gut.
Charlie’s training had already kicked in. The blade encountered the camera instead of his stomach. The deflected knife bounced off, slicing Charlie’s finger and ripping at his jacket and shirt. The camera fell to the sidewalk.
With his bloody right hand Charlie grabbed the kid’s wrist, bending it out and away, slamming his attacker’s hand into the wall with a soft crunch. Eric cursed in pain, but the scream was cut short as Charlie tightened his squeeze on the kid’s throat with his left hand, then shoved the back of his head into the side of the building. Again there was the dull thump of flesh and bone striking brick.
The knife fell to the sidewalk with a clank.
Eric tried to kick, but Charlie was so close there was no force to the blow, just pressure. Charlie kneed the guy in his groin, then let him go suddenly and jumped back. The kid collapsed with an agonized gasp, then a yelp as his knees cracked on the sidewalk.
Charlie kicked the knife off the sidewalk into the gutter. “Face down, flat on the sidewalk, dumb-ass, or I’ll bounce you off the wall again!” he ordered. The guy struggled for a few more seconds, then gave up when Charlie pushed his face into the concrete.
Realizing that someone was standing at the corner, Charlie looked over his shoulder and saw two girls in their teens standing there, cell phones up, clearly recording the action. That gave him an idea.
“Did you get the part where he stabbed me with the knife?” Charlie placed his bloody right hand on the scrape across his stomach, adding more color to what he knew was a minor wound.
The young, skinny teen with multicolored hair and a tight, shiny gray dress six inches above her knobby knees nodded, the pink phone still up. She was staring at his bloody shirt, which was important to his new plan.
“We all did, Charlie,” Gina yelled, running across the street toward him. “I called 911.”
Both girls looked around, then turned and directed their phones toward her.
“They’re on their way,” Gina announced, her voice shaky as she got down on her knees beside Charlie, fear in her eyes. She reached into her purse and brought out a canister of pepper spray.
Charlie wanted to cuss out Gina for not sticking with the plan, but now he could use that to his advantage. He turned his head so only she could see his face and winked. “I’m okay,” he mouthed.
Her mouth fell open just for a few seconds before she whispered, “You bastard,” then put the spray back into her purse.
“Call Detective DuPree,” he said, then groaned, playing it up for the teens. His knees still in the middle of the kid’s back, he turned to address the second girl, who’d stepped closer, her eyes focused on the fresh blood at his stomach. “You need to stand clear,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m cut real bad, and if he tries to get away…”
Charlie collapsed onto the kid, pinning him t
o the sidewalk, his left hand cutting off the guy’s ability to speak. At the same time, he was trying to look seriously wounded. “Play along,” he whispered to Gina.
Gina stared at him angrily for a few more seconds, then finally relented. “Don’t you die on me, Charlie,” she moaned, clinging onto his arm tightly. “Help is on the way.”
The girl lowered her phone and turned to her friend. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered.
They disappeared around the corner of the building just as Charlie heard the pulse of a siren, that brief tone a cop usually gives when signaling someone to pull over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a police car coming up the street from the west.
“Don’t let the cop run over the knife,” he told Gina.
Eric, or whoever the hell he was, started struggling again, but now Charlie didn’t have to fake dying anymore. He twisted both the guy’s arms up and across his back at a painful angle, and the guy stopped jerking around. “Stay still or I’ll break it,” Charlie ordered as Gina stood up and stepped to the curb, holding her palm up, then pointed to the knife in the street.
The car stopped at the curb on the opposite side of the alley, and the APD cop climbed out. Charlie recognized the short, slender officer instantly. It was Jan or Janet something, the young officer who’d been first on the scene a couple of years ago when he and Gordon had been ambushed. Hopefully, she’d remember him as well.
If Charlie knew anything about the current generation, those teenaged girls were already uploading what they’d just seen onto the Internet. To misquote Mark Twain, hopefully the news of his death would also be exaggerated, and some of the heat would be off.
It would be nice to think that Eric was the last perp out to get him, but experience had taught him never to jump to any conclusions. He was convinced now that Gina had just been the bait to lure him out into the open, where he’d be vulnerable. This slippery kid had set him up and almost succeeded, but now, if he was thought to be dead or hospitalized, it might take some of the pressure off. Maybe he could operate under the radar for a day or two.
“Mr. Henry,” the officer addressed Charlie as she approached, hand on her holstered handgun. Then she looked at Gina. “You called to report an assault, Counselor?” she added.
Charlie noted the officer’s name tag. Her last name was Martinez. “This guy sliced me with his knife. It’s over there, just off the curb,” Charlie announced, pointing toward the spot.
A second APD unit suddenly came around the far corner, stopping with a screech, blocking the street, and Eric turned his head to look. He saw Officer Martinez for the first time. “Oh shit,” he mumbled.
“You know this dipstick?” Charlie asked, moving aside and giving the officer room to handcuff the guy’s hands behind his back.
“His name is Ted McConnell, and he gets off hurting people. Served time for manslaughter right out of high school. Isn’t that right, Ted?” Officer Martinez asked, snapping the cuffs into place on the man’s wrists.
“Mr. Henry. You’re bleeding. Stay still!” the officer exclaimed, finally seeing the wet crimson smear on his shirt.
A black police officer with a shaved head—a sergeant, judging from his stripes—came up quickly. “What’s the situation, Martinez?” he asked, looking at the suspect, then Charlie. “Damn, you get cut up, sir?” he asked.
“Not too bad,” Charlie replied, rising to full height as he looked at his hand first, then his stomach. Blood was still flowing, but at a low volume. “But my suit is pretty well trashed.”
“Sergeant. Can you control the suspect while I get my first aid kit?” Martinez asked.
“Go ahead,” the sergeant replied.
“I’ve already called for the EMTs,” Gina announced, coming closer and putting her hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We need to stop the bleeding and get you checked out.”
More sirens sounded in the distance as the sergeant hauled McConnell to his feet, then made him hug the wall while he searched for other weapons.
* * *
Charlie walked out the hospital’s emergency entrance, slipped past a parked ambulance, and jumped into Jake’s black SUV.
“How you doing, Doctor?” Gordon asked, noting Charlie’s dark blue scrubs and fake hospital staff ID as he gingerly fastened his shoulder belt and stretched out with a groan.
“The slice on my gut wasn’t much more than a deep scratch, but it stings every time I twist or turn. I can’t feel my finger at all, though.” Charlie held up his right hand, the middle finger bandaged with gauze and a lot of tape.
“Right back at you,” Gordon responded, flashing his own middle finger at Charlie as he pulled away into the wide passage leading toward the street.
“At least it’s not my trigger finger.”
“So you didn’t need any stitches?”
“No, the knife blade was sharp but didn’t go too deep. I’m glad the guy’s camera was hefty enough to deflect it. If I hadn’t had the camera to block the jab, I’d have probably bled out on the sidewalk,” Charlie admitted. “The kid played me for a sucker from the very beginning.”
“Good old survival instincts come in handy sometimes—that and a lot of training.”
“Yeah. I remember when I found out that a standard ballistic vest would stop a pistol bullet but not a sharp knife,” Charlie said.
“Important detail to know, considering most of our missions were hands-on,” Gordon said. “Maybe you should learn from your ancestors and take up a bow and arrows.”
The skills he’d acquired during four deployments had probably kept him alive today, Charlie knew. He thought back to their missions in Iraq, and later in Afghanistan. These operations were usually intelligence assignments, where they identified and grabbed insurgents for interrogation. This was work that usually required them to hand over their prisoners for processing while they were still capable of speech. There had been several incidents involving hand-to-hand combat, and not every potential resource had survived the takedown.
“I’ll have to top off the gas tank and thank Jake for the use of his vehicle this afternoon. There’s no way we can ensure we won’t be spotted if we keep driving around in my purple Charger or your pickup,” Charlie said. “You already have a rental for me, right?”
Gordon nodded. “Once I know we’re not being followed by someone who doesn’t believe you’re still in the hospital, we’ll meet up with Detective DuPree and Nancy.”
“Somewhere out of sight, I hope.”
“Yeah, the third floor of a downtown parking garage, west of the train station. The van is already there.”
“Generic white?”
“No, I managed to track down one that’s a faded blue. Won’t stick out so much at night, in case we decide to stake out somebody’s place.”
“Disguised as shop owners.”
Gordon chuckled, pulling off the street into a minimall. Instead of coming to a stop, he circled around the end building, then entered the alley and headed in the opposite direction. “Gotta lose the tail.”
“I didn’t spot anyone.”
“Just making sure.”
Five minutes later, Gordon parked in a space beside Detective DuPree’s unmarked sedan, nodding to the detective as they came to a halt. Nancy, in uniform, walked over to join them. When they’d come into view, she’d been standing several feet away, apparently looking at the city streets over the wall of the open structure.
Gordon stepped out immediately, but Charlie took his time. If pushed, he could move quickly enough, but right now he was taking it easy.
Nancy was first to meet him, and she gave him a gentle hug. “Thanks for looking out for Gina,” she whispered. “You got lucky, though. McConnell is a crafty little bastard, so I’ve been told.”
Just then, DuPree walked up, stopped, and shook his head. “If there’s really a God up there, Charlie, he or she has been working overtime looking out for you. Still, you’re pressing your luck, which is why I need you to disappear for a whil
e. The DA is going to depend on you when Ray Geiger’s case comes to trial, and I’ve been advised to keep you safe.”
“Advised?” Gordon asked, coming around to join them.
“Okay, ordered, whatever,” DuPree said with a shrug. “Hell, Charlie, you’ve been kicked, punched, stabbed, and shot at this week.”
“Don’t I know it? All that’s left is getting run over, though not for lack of trying.”
“How about a vicious animal attack?” Gordon suggested, straight-faced.
“Make it a rattlesnake—poison. Two at once,” Charlie responded.
“Let’s get serious, guys,” Nancy said. “According to what Gina told me on the phone, we have one solid motive for today’s attack—Tony Lorenzo’s death. Uh, sorry, Charlie, I’ve been forgetting lately. It’s okay to say his name out loud, isn’t it?”
She was referring to the traditional Navajo reluctance to speak of the dead by name.
“Yeah, no problem. Once they’ve been dead three days, it’s safe,” Charlie replied.
Gordon looked at him with raised eyebrows. Charlie shook his head slightly.
“Anyway, you and Ms. Sinclair both heard McConnell yell the guy’s name as he attacked you with the knife,” DuPree summarized. “That suggests the motive was revenge on you, not the Randals, and implies that the guy knew the deceased. He couldn’t have been the third attacker. They’re all accounted for.”
Charlie nodded. “That’s the way I see it. Which begs the question, just what was the connection between the dead guys and McConnell? How did they know each other? Were they doing these home invasions together—including BJ? And where did they meet? Jail, Walmart, or the Cattlemen’s Club?”
DuPree shrugged. “We’re looking into that now, not only within the area but also through NCIC—the National Crime Information Center. If we can find a connection leading back to Ray or Frank Geiger, either back east or here, we might be able to close the circle on this business, and the Randals will be able to relax a little.”
“God’s ears,” Gordon added.
“You people still looking out for those two?” DuPree asked Charlie.
