by Dan Arnold
“No, Detective Escalante, I’d never seen him before in my life.”
He was thoughtful for a while. I waited to see where this was going. It appeared for a moment as if Tony had completed the interview. Then he spoke up.
“Ok. Here’s what we know, so far. Your story checks out, as near as we can tell from evidence at the scene. We found his 9mm shell casings and yours. We traced the shots fired from his Glock to the dumpster where they glanced off. The position of your shell casings supports your being crouched behind the dumpster. He had on Kevlar body armor, which saved his life from your double tap. He had a sound suppressor on his Glock, not the sort of thing we see much of…”
“… Yeah, and he knew how to use that weapon. He fired three shots very fast, and he barely missed me,” I interrupted.
Tony nodded.
“We recovered two of the bullets you fired at him, from the Kevlar. You were very lucky with the third shot…”
I shrugged, and interrupted again “… Actually, I was aiming for his head.”
Tony gave me a dirty look.
“He had no identification, just like you said. We ran his prints and the only thing we came up with is his military service record. Army, spec ops, he was a Sergeant and a squad leader. Saw action in two tours in Afghanistan. Further investigation brought up some personal info. He left with an honorable discharge and apparently went to work as a hired gun. He’s been questioned by the FBI on a couple of occasions, but has no arrest record. He’s never been charged with anything, but he was a suspected button man, and probably would do gun work for anybody who paid him.”
He regarded me again, still with some animosity.
“Mr. Tucker, do you have any idea who might have sent him after you?”
“No, Detective Escalante, nothing I can be sure of.”
“… Theories?”
“No, Detective Escalante, I’ve got nothing.”
“… And you’re sure you never met him?”
I nodded.
“Answer the question.”
Oh yeah, for the microphone.
“No, Detective Escalante, I never saw the man before today when he followed me into the alley, and I have no idea why he was trying to kill me.”
Tony was thoughtful again for a moment.
“Very well, there are no charges being filed against you, at this time. You’re free to go.”
“I’d like my gun back.”
“… Eventually. We’ll hold onto your Browning for now. Your other personal property is at the front desk. You can get it on the way out.” He simply walked out, leaving me cuffed to the table.
A few minutes later, a uniformed officer came and released me. He took me to the front desk where I got my jacket, tie, shoes, belt, wallet, watch, pocket knife, empty holster, car keys and self-respect back. The check was still in the jacket pocket.
At 9:30, I was sitting in the bar at the Olive Garden, when Tony came in. Technically, his shift had ended at 8:00, but he had caught my case, and had to finish the paper work. Like every day for the last few months, Tony came here to eat, drink, and remember. He sat in the bar, because it was right in the middle of the restaurant, well-lit and public. It helped him regulate his drinking.
In practice they closed the place at 10:00, but several employees didn’t get to go home till midnight. The manager was a friend of Tony’s. He knew what I knew.
Tony didn’t want to go home to an empty house, and find himself alone, drinking, with his service gun in his hand.
This restaurant was one of Marcia’s favorites.
Tony’s wife, Marcia, and son, Billy, had been in the ground for three months. Ninety days of grief turned to depression. Today was the anniversary of the day Tony had lost them to the highway. Tony’s wife had drifted off the shoulder at 70 miles per hour, on I-20, headed toward Dallas. She over-corrected, veered suddenly across the highway, hit the median, and rolled the SUV. They were both pronounced dead at the scene.
I had a cold beer waiting for him.
“Hey Tony”
“J.W.” he nodded. “Don’t you get tired of coming here all the time? I think I see you here two or three times a week.”
It had taken me a few weeks to figure out what he was doing with most of his evenings. I had only met him here, maybe a dozen times over the last few months. I was keeping an eye on him.
He was just now figuring it out.
“I will, when you do,” I replied.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Terrific, considering the way the day ended.”
“You’re lucky we live in Texas. If this had been California or New York, you would still be in a jail cell, having been charged with manslaughter.
“Oh come on, Tony. I’m a licensed professional and I have a concealed carry permit. In America, a man has a right to defend himself when he’s attacked.”
“In this part of America, maybe, other parts of America, not so much.”
“Who was that guy?”
“His name was Hudson, Jefferson Hudson. He went by ‘Huddy’ back in his uniform days. He was a real bad boy, J.W. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t believe in luck.”
“Yeah, I know. The point is somebody wants you dead. They hired a hitter. He didn’t even try to make it look like an accident. I don’t expect they’ll stop, till they stop you. Who have you crossed this time?”
I considered the implications of his statement.
“I really don’t know who or why, at this point. I’m working a couple of cases that could go sideways. Sometimes it’s something from the past. I just don’t know.”
“Officially, I can’t offer you any help. You know you can count on me, personally and un-officially.”
“I know, Tony, thanks.”
“Guys like him might not even know who they work for. There could be several layers of cutouts.” Tony reminded me.
“I know that too.”
He nodded, and sipped at his beer. I noticed his hand begin to shake. He set down the glass and gripped it very tightly, so tightly, I was afraid he would break it.
“I wish it had been me in the alley. I wish the guy had shot and killed me.” He said it quietly, but with intense conviction.
“No, Tony. No you don’t. I know you’re struggling, but you’ve got to hold on.”
“Why?” he choked. “Why would God… do this, to me?”
Good question. I had nothing to say. I can’t answer for God. Should I tell Tony everything was going to be alright? Should I point out the fact God is God and not answerable to our limited understanding of His plans and purposes? Should I mention being angry at God is sort of foolish?
He composed himself.
“I do take some comfort from knowing they’re in heaven. I know I will see them again,” he sighed.
I nodded.
“The thing is this, how do I go on without them? Where do I go from here?” He asked.
I waited a beat.
“Do you mean after you leave the Olive Garden? I hear IHOP is nice, and they’re always open.”
His head snapped around.
I lifted my eyebrows, innocently.
He laughed. He hadn’t laughed in a long time.
“We’re both alive, Tony. We have to go on; we just keep putting one foot in front of the other, till the race is run.”
He sighed and nodded.
“Yeah, I know. So what’s your next move?”
“Tomorrow is another day. My next move is to get some sleep. I’ll see you, Tony.”
“Be careful.”
“Right back at you,” I gave a little wave on my way out.
Twelve
I saw Dustin again the next morning on my way to my office. He was pushing his cart down the sidewalk on the east side of south Broadway. He was headed south toward the park that runs along the edge of the creek. I pulled into the parking lot of a big hotel and walked down to the trail beside the creek. After a couple of minutes, D
ustin came along pushing his cart.
He grinned when he saw me.
“Hello, Good Angel. I got a word for you.” He said seriously. “I know its name.”
Was he referring to the “bad angel”?
“Hello, Dustin. How are you?”
He raised his eyebrows at me.
Oh yeah, I remembered, “he done told me”.
“What name is that?”
He handed me his bible.
“It’s written in the Word,” he said.
Uh oh. There is a lot written in the Word.
He saw the look on my face, and laughed. “You got to open it to read it. You stupid - for a good angel.”
His bible was full of all sorts of page markers. He had leaves, feathers, scraps of paper, bits of string, even a ten dollar bill, stuck here and there, all through it. I didn’t have a clue where to start.
My phone rang. It was Christine, so I answered it.
“I’m waiting in the parking lot. Are you coming to open the office?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m on my way.” I hung up.
Dustin was studying me.
“Dustin, I’m sorry, I have to go. I don’t have time to read everything in your bible.”
“Then you gots to read this,” he said. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his bible and handed it to me. I looked at it. The only thing written on it was GEN 416.
Was this a reference to Genesis, chapter four and verse sixteen?
I looked at Dustin.
He smiled and nodded.
“Word,” he said, and he walked away, pushing his cart.
When I parked at the office, Christine was standing under the green and white striped awning at the entrance. Today, she was wearing a teal colored t-shirt with fancy embroidery on the front. The t-shirt was tucked into her tan jeans and she had a belt festooned with sparkling crystals. Her teal colored tennis shoes had embroidery on them as well. Her flaming red hair blazed in the sunlight, with copper and golden highlights. As usual, she wore it loose and unadorned. She smiled when she saw me approaching.
“I’m sorry if I rushed you,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were coming to open the office. I’ll bet there are days when you don’t come to the office at all.”
“No problem, Christine. You’re right, I do keep uneven hours. It will be a huge help having you here, when I can’t come in.”
I unlocked the office and handed Christine the extra key.
“I know we’re looking for a bigger office, but until we find it, you’ll need a key. This one is yours.”
Our office was kind of embarrassing to behold. Christine’s desk was a folding plastic table from Walmart. Her chair was a folding plastic chair from the same store. The office was now very crowded. I was actually looking forward to moving.
I pulled out the scrap of paper that Dustin had given me. I looked up Genesis 4:16. It said that Cain had taken up residence in the land of Nod, east of Edom.
What did that mean? Was the kidnapper a man named Cain, or maybe, Nod?
There is a town called Edom, a few miles west of Tyler.
But the passage said east of Edom. There are many towns that are east of Edom; including Tyler, and every other city between here and the eastern seaboard.
I looked up Genesis 41:6. It said that seven heads of grain appeared, and were withered by the east wind.
Huh? Oh please! No help there, either.
I didn’t get it, not at all. I was worried that I had put too much confidence in Dustin.
I called Tony to ask if he could shoot with me that evening. He agreed, but he sounded annoyed and made it a ‘maybe, if’ instead of a definite “yes.”
I called Gary Babcock to get him started on the new insurance fraud case. Gary is one of my part time operatives. He’s a fireman by profession, but because of his shift schedule, he has a lot of days and nights to work a second job. I use him for surveillance and photography. He’s a big guy that fits in nicely in any situation which doesn’t require white collar sophistication. He can pass for any kind of utility serviceman, exterminator or construction worker. He’s quite comfortable in truck stops, barbecue joints and sports bars. He blends in because he is such an ordinary looking guy. He’s content to sit in a car and wait, watching a subject. He has also proven to be a good enough actor, to put insurance fraud suspects into situations that test their claims of injury.
Once, while posing as a new neighbor, he invited one insurance fraud suspect to go hunting with him. When the opportunity to take a twelve point buck was offered, the guy was miraculously healed. Using a camouflage game camera, we got him on film, scurrying up a ladder and setting up a tree stand. The insurance company put his head up on their wall.
I wasn’t bothered with the ringing telephone, because Christine answered every incoming call, and I was impressed at her ability to do “triage,” setting appointments for people whose need was not urgent, taking messages and only putting me on the phone with the people I really needed to talk to. She employed hand-signal and facial expressions to secure my responses, while she repeated the name of the person on the line.
Later in the day, I introduced her to some of the web-sites I use for locating heirs and finding current locations for people. She started doing some simple name searches. She was a natural.
I was learning other things about Christine. She told me about her struggles with intimacy. She doesn’t like to be touched by people she doesn’t know well. She wants to be loved and to be in love, but she is afraid of intimacy. Her issues go back to somewhere in her development. Ever since her last boyfriend hurt her, she has been unable to allow herself to get close to any man. It’s sad, because she is “all that, and a bag of chips”.
Tony did meet me at the shooting range. I got there ahead of him and arranged for our usual shooting stations. When Tony walked in, I could tell he was not happy to see me.
“Hey, Tony, I talked to Dustin, again.”
“Why’d you tell that homeless nutcase about my family, J.W.?” Were the first angry words out of his mouth.
“Believe me, Tony, I didn’t tell him anything about you, except that you’re my friend.”
He scowled at me, clearly doubting my words, and maybe doubting our friendship.
“Tony, I swear, I didn’t say anything to him.”
“Well, how do you explain what he said to me?” he asked.
“Uh, I can’t. He says things that are off the wall, mixed in with things that make sense. He told me the Impala we’re looking for is black, not blue.”
“… Big help that is. Tomorrow, it will probably be green or yellow.”
He unzipped his gun bag.
“Well, no, I don’t think so. I misunderstood him the first time he described it.” I said, tentatively.
“We have nothing J.W., except the video tape from the supermarket, and the photo found in the parking lot. Everything else is based on the silly jabbering of a mentally incompetent homeless man,” Tony said, as he put on his shooting glasses.
“He was right about the Impala and the location where the girl was taken.”
“Maybe,” Tony shrugged, pulling his hearing protectors down over his ears.
Further conversation would have to wait. I knew I needed to put on my ear protection as well. Tony was preparing to fire the big .50 caliber Desert Eagle, he had just pulled out of his gun bag.
Thirteen
“... I think we should go look at it together,” Christine concluded.
She’d called a real estate agency and they’d suggested an office in a high rise, right on the south loop, just a couple of blocks east of Broadway.
“Get this - it used to be an office for the ATF. Talk about security, it has bullet proof walls and windows, and places where cameras were mounted to watch the hallway approaches and the entrance. The cameras are gone, but the mounts and wiring are still in place. I’ll bet you’d like that.”
“I’m not as paranoid as Uncle Sam, Christine. We
just need more space, not a fortress.”
“Fine, but it doesn’t cost any more than the other offices in the building. Prices are down right now in this economy. I think we can afford it. Come on, it might be fun.”
I liked the way she had said “we” could afford it. It had been just “me” for too long.
“OK, get an appointment and we’ll go look at it.”
The building was ten stories tall. The first floor housed a bank, with attendant security. Two sets of elevators serviced the upper floors. The office in question was one of three on the sixth floor. The other offices on the sixth floor, housed two law firms, very upscale law firms.
Christine was right. I saw where the cameras had been mounted at the end of the hall, right outside the heavy, beautiful walnut door of the office suite that had recently housed the ATF. There was a digital card reader mounted on the door, as well as a key lock.
The stairs at this end of the building had a doorway nearby, and the restrooms were very convenient. I liked the whole set up. It was far and away better than my little space in a strip-mall about two miles away. I was pretty sure it was more than I deserved, probably more than I could afford, and I hadn’t even seen the actual office space yet.
When I did see it, I was impressed. The front door opened to an oak paneled reception area, with windows at the back. There were two doors off the reception area, one on each side. The door on the right, led to a long room with windows all down the outside. The marks on the carpet, the variety of outlets and cable connections indicated there had been partitions to divide the room up into individual work stations. In the corner, there was a small area with a vinyl floor that had clearly been a break room area. There was also a door that opened out into the hallway. It would have allowed ATF employees to enter and leave the work area, without having to go through the reception area. That door had a card reader and key lock on the outside, as well.
The door on the left side of the reception area, led into a single office paneled in walnut, with built in book cases. One wall was windows. I took a moment to enjoy the view. South Tyler in particular is heavily forested. The view from up here was like looking at a park or nature preserve. I was reminded, like so many things in life; it was just a curtain, blocking off the view of other things. Under the canopy of trees, were the homes and businesses of thousands of people.
