Music City Mayhem

by Jack Huber

  Just before a half-hour was up, Greco knocked and entered the office, just squeezing through the narrow doorway, holding a stack of candy-bar-sized cardboard boxes. He dropped them on the desk and said, “These are the antidotes for the hydrogen sulfide gas they released. We’ll all need to take them. I’ll be right back with some water.”

  The agent left and quickly returned with four clear plastic bottles of water. He took five of the boxes and opened them up, one at a time, removing the contents and setting them on the desktop. In each was a white round ball, about the size of a marble or horse pill, almost twice the size of a standard aspirin. He opened a bottle and took a drink of water, followed by one of the pills, then another swig to chase it down.

  I figured he was making us all take the GPS tracker so that the two brothers wouldn’t know what we were doing. I took a bottle and duplicated what Greco had done. Ronin did the same. Now it was time for the perps to take them, but they balked.

  “We’re not taking those,” one of them said. “They could be poisonous.”

  “You noticed we just took them ourselves,” Ronin said. “You think we poisoned ourselves?”

  “It’s a trick.”

  “It’s not a trick,” I answered. “We need to make sure you don’t die in custody. You don’t realize how dangerous that gas was in there.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Greco said. “You take the antidotes and I’ll call your cousin back and agree to her terms.”

  The two looked at each other and then nodded. Greco handed them each a bottle and a pill and they hesitantly took them.

  Greco took out his phone and dialed, then handed it to me. I put it on speaker.

  “Hello?” Lee answered.

  “Lee, this is Pat. You have a deal. Promise me you and your henchman won’t hurt her.”

  “I do promise. Give Vic the phone.”

  I reached out the phone and Vic took it from me.

  “Take it off speaker,” she instructed.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Greco replied.

  Lee hesitated and said, “Vic, when the police drop you off, you guys go to our loft, you know the one, and wait there for the family to take you home.”

  “Got it. Thanks, cuz.” He handed it back to me.

  “You good?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Have the police take them to an address I’m going to text you. After they are free and the police are gone, they’ll let me know and we’ll let Bonnie go on her way. I must say it’s been nice hanging out in her RV.”

  “We have a deal. Give us a little time, but it shouldn’t be long.”

  “If you follow them, the deal’s off, understand? Pat?”

  “We get the picture,” I replied. “This isn’t our first rodeo.”

  “That’s kinda what I’m worried about.” She hung up.

  We also hung up and I said, “Tell your agents that they’re still in Bonnie’s motorhome. They’ll have to be careful or they’ll have another hostage crisis on their hands.”

  “Understood,” Greco replied.

  Chapter 20

  “Maybe we should have flown to Atlanta ourselves,” I suggested to Agent Henson. “The waiting is always bad.”

  “I know, I know. But the team down there is one of the best in the Bureau. They’ll get it done.”

  It was crowded in Ronin’s office with the four of us sitting there. Ronin was behind his desk, Henson and Greco were in the two brown leather guest chairs and I had rolled in a black cloth-lined chair. The office door propped open, since it couldn’t be closed.

  There was silence for a few minutes before I decided to make small talk. “Thomas, you guys should try casual Wednesdays sometime.” I stood up briefly to show off my ensemble of blue jeans and blue-and-white-striped golf shirt. I sat down quickly since there was little room to stand.

  “Thanks, Pat,” Henson replied. “I’ll send that to Washington in a memo.”

  He and Greco were back in business suits and Ronin was in his usual classy three-piece suit but with a bright white shirt and strawberry-red tie.

  “Clothes make the man, I always say,” Greco added.

  “As a retired person, I’ll take that any day,” I replied.

  “Have you heard anything about Jimmy?” Ronin asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. He was able to keep a lot of the poisoned air out of his lungs — he basically held his breath when he couldn’t get his mask on. He passed out before anyone could get to him, so he did breathe some of it. They are treating him for it and he’s responding better than expected. I can pick him up later today.”

  “That’s good news,” Henson said. “He should get an award of some kind for his heroism.”

  “You can put him in for one, definitely,” I answered. “But he’s like me in that awards don’t mean a lot. Neither of us went into law enforcement to be recognized.”

  “I get that,” Ronin said. “But the awards are for the other officers and agents to feel good about what they’re doing. Right?”

  “Right,” Greco said. “Just think how you’ll feel watching Jimmy get that recognition.”

  “I guess you’re right, but, to tell you the truth, I’d feel embarrassed for him in front of a crowd like that. I know too well what he’d be feeling.”

  The desk phone buzzed and Ronin picked up. After hearing the other party, he announced, “I’m putting you on speaker,” then did so. “We have here your agents Henson and Greco, as well as an independent consultant, Pat Ruger.”

  “Thanks, gentlemen” the sultry voice said. She reminded me of Kathleen Turner. “This is Special Agent Lee McDaniel. Mr. Ruger, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I didn’t know whether to be flattered or irritated. “I hope some of it was good.”

  “Of course.” Her voice got more serious. “So, we’ve had somewhat of a tense situation here, as you might imagine. There were some shots fired and Tommy Marino — evidently he was Andilee Marchetti’s bodyguard — was seriously injured and taken to the ER at a nearby medical center. Fortunately it wasn’t very far away.”

  “This is Pat Ruger. How is Dr. Mann? Bonnie Mann?”

  “She is fine. We’ve had her looked over by a P.A. but she didn’t really want us to do anything more. We’re taking her statement now.”

  “That sounds like her. And Miss Marchetti?”

  “She’s a bit sore from the struggle. Mr. Marino fell on top of her when he was shot and she may have a broken arm. She was also transported to the ER. Dr. Mann’s motorhome took a couple of bullets, too, but there seems to be no serious or permanent damage.”

  “Thanks, Lee,” Henson said. “Do you need anything else from us?”

  “Not really, I guess,” McDaniel replied, and then added, “Unless you’d like to drive down here to help with paperwork.”

  “We’ll pass,” Greco said, laughing. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

  “My pleasure, Anthony.” She paused and added, “Hey, you still owe me a dance.”

  “I know. Next time I’m in town, we’ll hit the Groove.”

  “See you then!” she said and hung up.

  Greco was blushing slightly and said, “Long story.”

  The rest of us chuckled, more in relief than humor. It was good to hear that Bonnie was okay. I asked, “What about Bobbie and June? Are they still under surveillance?”

  “Yes, and we’ve not heard anything happening there. That will continue for a while, at least until we’re sure there’s no retaliation planned by the Marchettis.”

  “Good,” I sighed. “But that brings up another point. “It sounds to me like the Marchetti family had nothing to do with Bobbie and June’s accident. Neither did the Flaks.”

  Ronin answered, “True. We no longer believe either group did anything to them. What do the feds think?”

  “We concur,” Henson replied. “There’s nothing from our dealings with either the family or the gang that suggests they were involved.”

 
“What happened, then?” I asked, somewhat exasperated.

  “For one thing,” Ronin answered, “It might have been a simple hit-and-run accident. We don’t know for sure that there was any foul play, other than the driver leaving the scene.”

  “That’s because the accident hasn’t been investigated. Right?”

  “Well … We … That is …” Ronin continued stuttering, then stopped himself and stated, “You are correct. There were too many coincidences to think that this was just a traffic accident.”

  “That’s his point, I think,” Henson said. “The Nashville PD — you — didn’t do the normal investigation per your own department protocols. An accident might have been ruled out with proper investigation.”

  “Exactly my point.” I tried to reduce the tone a bit. “Look, Mike, let’s not dwell on what should have happened. Let’s move forward so that these nice women can go on with their lives without having to look over their shoulders from now on.”

  “Agreed,” Ronin replied.

  “If I may,” I continued, standing up. “I have a personal stake in getting this case solved. Why don’t you let me and Jimmy look into it and we’ll keep you informed.”

  “Very well, that sounds reasonable. I’ll have Sergeant Hakida give you everything they have on the accident.” He reached out to shake hands.

  “Excellent,” I replied, shaking his hand. I turned and shook Henson’s and Greco’s hands as well and added, “Thanks for your help, Thomas, Anthony. Maybe the end of this case is coming soon.”

  “Hopefully so, Pat. We should be closing in on the Marchettis soon. The GPS transmitters those two swallowed are still tracking. Luckily it takes a couple of days to get through their system. Anyway, good luck to you. Give our regards to Jimmy, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” I stepped out of the office and heard the murmurs of another discussion starting, fading as I walked farther down the corridor. I found a staffer and asked where Sergeant Hakida’s office was. I was directed to a large office space filled with cubicles. I walked through them until I reached Hakida’s nametag on the cube’s wall.

  “Mr. Ruger?” Hakida said when he saw me. “How can I help you?”

  “Detective Ronin said you would give me your reports and findings on the women’s accident — Bobbie and June, the country duo? I’ll be investigating that for a few days.”

  “Of course. I took the liberty of making a set of copies …” He picked up a large manila envelope filled with paperwork and handed it to me. “… In case someone was going to take over that case.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. We should have had that case solved already.”

  I chuckled and said, “I won’t argue with you.”

  He laughed as well and we shook hands. I left the police station and found my car, then hesitated, trying to remember where my motorhome was. I still needed to go to the hospital to check in on Jimmy, but I wasn’t sure where that was either.

  Chapter 21

  “You sure you’re okay?” I asked Jimmy. “You just got out of treatment.” We were laying back in my lounge chairs in front of my motorhome. The breeze was a little too cool this time of the afternoon but the RV was stuffy, having been closed up.

  “I’m fine,” he answered with a hoarse voice.

  “Like hell you are. Should I have Erin come and get you?”

  “No,” he answered flatly. “I want to see this case out. When are you going to get Guy out of dog jail?”

  “When I’m ready to leave Tennessee. It’s not jail; more like a pet resort. You know they do canine massages there?”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. He’ll be fine. In fact, he might not want to leave when I pick him up.”

  My phone rang and I picked it up. A familiar voice said, “Pat? Pat Ruger?”

  “Yeah, this is Pat. Who is this?”

  “Your Tennessee connection, Alan Drohan!”

  I sighed. “Hi, Alan. Last time we saw you, I had told you to stay in the car. You took off instead.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Sorry about that. I told you I was hungry. I have to watch my blood sugar, y’know? What can I say?”

  “What can I do for you, Alan?” I looked at Jimmy who seemed to be holding in a big laugh.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m at Mike’s. I was asking Xavier if he ever got my tab taken care of and he said it wasn’t.”

  “That’s right,” I said, remembering our offer. “I forgot all about that.”

  “That’s okay, he’s right here.”

  “Who?”

  Just like that, Xavier was on the phone. “Hi, Pat. Hey, there’s a wedding shower happening here tonight and our friend wanted to … let’s just say, share the good times.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Can you take a card over the phone?”

  He could and I completed the financial transaction without Alan coming back on the phone. I hung up and shook my head.

  Jimmy let out the laugh he was holding back, though it was full of hacking and coughs. “You did promise.”

  “I know I did.” I let it lie.

  A couple of minutes of silence ensued before Jimmy broke it. “What do we do from here?”

  “Well, while you were resting up yesterday, I was busy looking through the reports and paperwork of the accident.”

  “Thanks for giving up the master bedroom, buddy. It was comfy.”

  “It’s the least I could do.” I opened up the folder I had set on the ground next to my chair and found the police report. I handed it to Jimmy.

  “Find something interesting?”

  “Well, there is this one thing,” I replied. “Take a look at the follow-up notes by Officer Craycroft.”

  He flipped a couple pages until the right page was on top. “Let’s see …” He read down a ways and said, “I think I see what you’re talking about. Craycroft asked if anyone wanted to do either of them harm. He writes here that June told him that Bobbie’s ex-girlfriend, Danielle Whitman, was crazy and could have been behind the accident.”

  “June told me that same thing, almost word for word. That’s odd, don’t you think?”

  Jimmy set the report on his lap and leaned forward to cough. It sounded bad to me but he noticed my look and waved it off. “We’ve seen this type of thing before. There’s something goofy going on.”

  My phone rang in the distance and I remembered I had left it in the motorhome on the kitchen counter. I jumped to my feet and rushed to get the call before it went to voicemail. I was successful.

  “Pat, this is Detective Ronin. Got a second?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been told to send you someone official, a cop, so the PD will be in people’s faces as you talk to them.”

  “You’re talking about optics,” I said. “How the public perceives your handling of the investigation.”

  “I guess so, a bit above my pay grade, I’m afraid. In any case, I’m sending out Officer Jimenez to meet up with you. Do you have something to write down his number?”

  “Just a sec …” I looked up at the deep dashboard and saw a pen in a cubby in front of the driver’s seat. There was a partially-used steno pad on the floor and I picked them both up and said, “Go ahead.”

  He gave me the number and added, “Just text him your location, or wherever you want to meet.”

  “Okay,” I said with some disinterest. “Is he a rookie?”

  “He is. Go easy on him.”

  “Right.” I hung up and shook my head. I stepped out into my lounge area and said, “You’re not going to believe what we have become.”

  “What?”

  “Babysitters,” I answered. “For a rookie cop.”

  “That could be fun. Where are we meeting?”

  “I hadn’t decided. I’m supposed to text him an address.”

  Jimmy started laughing. “Why don’t you send him GPS coordinates for the RV? Let’s see how tech savvy he is.”
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br />   I chuckled and sat down. “You’re a genius, no matter what they say.”

  “Okay, wise guy. Do you know how to get our GPS coordinates?”

  “I … I think so,” I answered. “With the GPS coordinates app, right?”

  “Grab me a beer while you figure that out, will you?”

  “I don’t think the doctor would like you to mix beer and meds. Sorry.”

  He tried to huff a reply but coughed instead, then let it go.

  I managed to find a GPS locater app in my app store and downloaded it. I ran it and let it give me the coordinates in what it called “decimal format,” then copied the coordinates and pasted it into a text message I addressed to the rookie’s cell number. I added the text, “This is Pat Ruger- call me when you’re close” and hit the send button. “This should be interesting,” I told Jimmy, then set my phone down on the folder, now back on the ground.

  A couple of hours passed and I wondered if I should call the kid. When I reached for my phone, Jimmy stated, “There he is.”

  Sure enough, far off in the distance, a dirt cloud appeared, seeming to come from the far side of the meadow we were parked in. As the car approached, it looked more and more like a white squad car, now mostly brown from dust, with its sleek modern lights on top coming into view only when it got closer. It made an abrupt turn to its right and headed to the dirt road we were on. It turned toward us and slowed to a stop when it reached our makeshift campsite. A younger Hispanic officer stepped out, carefully scanning his surroundings.

  “You Pat Ruger?” he called out.

  We both stayed seated and I answered, “Officer Jimenez? So glad that you could join us.”

  The kid was about 24, maybe even too young to grow facial hair, though it looked like he had been trying. He was obviously out of his element away from the city. His navy blue uniform was impeccable and his shoes were shined up and sparkling, at least until he stepped out onto the dirt. “What are you doin’ way out here?” he asked with a slight Hispanic accent as he slipped his white gold cross and chain back under his dress shirt. “You know they have streets and stuff in town.” He looked at his watch, which was a fairly expensive Citizen watch similar to one I had been looking to buy recently. I noticed his ring finger had a barely perceptible light stripe on it where a ring once was worn.