by Lynette Mae
“And,” Nate said, “if we tie the car that was used to run down the corporal to this place, the least of your worries is going to be charges of running a chop shop. Attempted murder of a police officer is a life felony.”
Roy took a long drag from the Marlboro. “What the hell do you want?”
Devon’s eyes bored into his. “Vincent Honeycutt.”
“ADAM SIX,” THE dispatcher called. A domestic disturbance was ongoing in an apartment in the housing project not far from the location of Devon’s shooting. Nothing about this poverty-stricken neighborhood had changed in six months, or for that matter, the ten years she’d been a cop. The sun had recently set, and the remaining blue of day was fading to shades of gray in the twilight sky. She listened as the details of the call were related, automatically heading in the direction of the dispute.
Most of Devon’s career had been spent in this sector and the streets were as familiar to her as her own home. She knew the corners where the kids slung dope, hung out behind the community mailboxes, or the dead end street where others gambled, their dice games often ending in physical violence or shots fired. Mostly now, the block where a routine call had ended in gunfire and resulted in the death of a teenager would stand out in her mind.
“Adam Four, I’ll be in the area of that domestic,” Devon advised as she made the turn onto Willow. She checked the computer screen for more details about the call. The female complainant said that her baby’s daddy had shown up unannounced, and they became involved in an argument. She now wanted him removed.
“All units responding to the domestic, the complainant says the suspect punched her in the face. He fled when she called police. He’s a black male, twenty-six years of age, six foot, short hair, light skinned, last seen wearing blue shorts, no shirt, and a Yankees baseball cap. Possibly westbound from the apartment, time lapse two minutes.”
The update told Devon that the man would be heading in her direction. “Adam Four, I’m on Spruce now, west of the apartment. I’ll advise if I see anything.”
“Adam Five,” Nate said. “I’m still a few minutes out. Corporal, you want me to come in from the east?”
“Ten-four,” Devon said. Two blocks away from the apartment in question, movement caught her eye. A car door opened with a flash of orange. Adrenaline flooded through her as she recalled that Scooby drove an orange car. Kelsey was systematically putting the case together and currently held warrants on Scooby for trafficking narcotics, conspiracy to commit theft, plus he was a major participant in Roy’s operation. Could it be him?
“Radio, is the complainant still on the line? If so, ask what the male’s name is.” She stopped and watched the guy lean into the open passenger door. Putting something inside? Getting something out? She couldn’t be certain in the waning light. He walked around to the driver’s side.
Devon said, “Adam Four, the suspect is standing next to an orange Chevy, one block west of the apartment. Clothing matches. I’m going to see if I can intercept him here.”
Not wanting him to drive off, Devon used her cruiser to block the car in. She automatically touched her left thigh, hoping her leg was indeed up to the task should this dude run.
Devon opened her driver’s door, and the suspect bolted.
“Shit!” Devon jumped from her car as she keyed her shoulder mic. “Adam Four, he’s running southbound through the cut.”
Nate said, “Adam Five, I’ll be on Chestnut.”
As they ran, Devon could tell she was not in top form. She prayed to keep Scooby in sight long enough for Nate to intercept him. They reached Chestnut Street at a full sprint. Devon wasn’t gaining, but she wasn’t losing him either.
The lights from Nate’s police car illuminated the street as darkness continued to descend, shadows lengthening with each passing moment. Vaguely, Devon heard radio chatter with additional units coming to help. She heard Nate call in that he was in foot pursuit. She focused her attention on her target, vaulted over a gaping pothole in the street, and followed Scooby through a break in the fence on the other side. Nate’s footfalls thundered behind her, gaining ground.
“He’s through the fence in the 1300 block,” Nate reported on the radio. “He’s coming out to Main. Need units on Main to intercept.”
Devon felt the strain in her leg, but refused to let this guy get away. She was closing the gap. They crossed over a cement slab porch. Nate caught up and ran along side her. The sound of revving V8 engines—police vehicles—approaching was wonderful. Scooby made it to the sidewalk on Main Street. He glanced sideways in the direction of the approaching units. Suddenly, from his left, the dark blur of a figure slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. He grunted when they hit the pavement.
Devon accelerated to assist with the arrest. She reached the location of the takedown where the suspect was struggling wildly with the tackler.
The officer shouted, “Get down! Police!”
“Jessie?” Devon didn’t have time to say anything more than that. What the hell was she doing here? She had his right arm behind his back with a cuff locked on that wrist. Scooby fought to break free. Jessie fought to remain on his back and keep him pinned on the sidewalk.
Devon grabbed his other arm with both hands, grasped his hand and pushed his palm inward, compressing his wrist in a pain compliance technique. “Stop resisting!” Devon ordered.
The suspect yelled in pain, but kept fighting. Nate reached into the pile and tried to dig Scooby’s free hand out. Devon drove her right knee hard into the suspect’s outer thigh while all three of them shouted at him to stay still.
Nate moved to Jessie’s side and delivered a couple of strikes to his shoulder blade area, and Scooby deflated.
Devon pushed his free hand behind his back and Nate secured the other handcuff. They searched him for weapons and then stood him up to walk him to Jessie’s patrol car nearby. After closing the rear door, Devon turned to Jessie and smiled. “Glad you happened by, but what the heck are you doing here?”
“I was on my way to court and you sounded like you needed a hand. I thought I was helping Nate, though,” Jessie said. Her gaze drifted to Devon’s leg. “How do you feel? You were supposed to be taking it easy.”
Devon bent and flexed her knee. “It feels the workout.”
“Mmm, hmm.” Jessie shot her a critical look.
“Great takedown, by the way.” Devon shifted the topic.
“Thanks.” Jessie pushed wild strands of hair back behind her ear.
“Hello?” Nate snapped his fingers to get their attention.
Devon blushed, realizing she’d lost a few moments watching Jessie. She drew a deep breath and refocused. “What?” she said with more force than necessary.
Nate rolled his eyes at her. “Which car was his?” he asked.
Devon said, “The orange Chevy. Let’s go check it out. He was doing something on the passenger side.”
They walked back to where Scooby’s car was parked along the curb. Devon concentrated on the passenger side. Darkness had completely enveloped them and she used her flashlight to inspect the interior. She sniffed. No mistaking the pungent odor of fresh marijuana. “Smell that?”
“Yep,” Nate said. He opened the console between the two front seats while Devon checked the ashtray and glove compartment. Nothing.
“He didn’t have time to do much concealing. There has to be something here,” Devon said as she shined her light under the seat. That was clean as well. She squatted in the open door frame, scanning the area. The trick, she’d learned long ago, was to look for what didn’t belong—even the smallest inconsistency or detail. She kept her eyes moving over every inch of the dash and then she spotted it. A gap around the edge of the air conditioning vent indicated it had been removed and replaced. She worked the tip of her knife under the lip of the plastic to pry it loose, and shined her flashlight into the space. The light reflected irregularly off the surface of what looked like plastic. “Nate, I’ve got something.”
&
nbsp; Devon reached into the opening, feeling her way. She pulled out the clear plastic baggie and held it up triumphantly. The sack contained probably thirty grams of marijuana, all neatly packed in tiny ring baggies and ready for street sale. Devon took a look up under the dash and grinned. Another gallon-sized bag was filled with more ring baggies. This time, the contents were tiny cube pieces of a whitish substance that Devon knew would test positive for crack cocaine. She tossed the find onto the seat with the other one. “Check it out, Nate!”
“Yeah, and lookie here.” Nate pulled a .380 chrome pistol from beneath the driver’s seat.
Devon whistled. “The shit’s getting deep for Scooby. He must have been getting ready to make a delivery. His mistake was stopping by to see the family.”
Nate laughed. “True. I’ll start working on a wrecker to seize the car.”
Devon radioed to Jessie, “Oscar Three, can you take the suspect back over to the apartment? We need to get a statement from the girlfriend. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Sure thing.”
Climbing back into her vehicle, Devon smiled contentedly to herself. Damn, it was great to be back. There was no other job in the world like being a cop. The ever-changing pace, the pulse of the streets at night, adrenaline rushes, even the chance to do some good every so often—that was her life. And now that life included Jessie. She pulled down her visor. Jessie smiled at her from the picture she’d clipped there this morning.
With the scuffle over, Devon felt the familiar unease creep into her chest. The first time she’d experienced this reaction was after the fight with Honeycutt. She didn’t really like thinking about times when Jessie would be taking down suspects without her help. Not that Jessie needed Devon to rescue her. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what she was feeling. She sighed at the realization that this anxiety must be normal for a cop’s lover. Devon wasn’t sure how she felt about this new role. She flipped the visor back up. Best get used to it, she told herself as she drove. She pulled up behind Jessie’s car in front of the original address, still struggling with her thoughts.
Jessie had gotten out and was interviewing the woman, so Devon took the opportunity to call Kelsey with an update. “Kelse, we’ve got Scooby in the back of Jessie’s car.
“How’d you get him?”
“He was going at it with his baby’s mamma. Woman scorned will get you every time.”
“So I hear.” Kelsey giggled a little.
“He also had a bunch of dope and a gun in his car. Do you want to come down and interview him?”
“Nah, I’ll wait and do it at the jail. Let’s let him think he’s only got tonight’s charges for now. Amazingly, the gun and dope he could bond out on, but the DV charge will keep him without bond for twenty-four hours. I’m betting Little Man will get with him at the jail, since I scared him shitless about the life felonies on the gun.”
“Good plan,” Devon said. “We can let this run its course a bit and see what the players do.” She watched Jessie return to her patrol car. “Nate and I gave Roy a tiny push earlier, too. I told him we were close to tying him to numerous auto thefts and gave him the news about his buddy in Orlando’s untimely demise. The icing on the cake was suggesting we know he’s tied to Scooby’s drug and weapons running.”
Kelsey was gleeful. “Oh, these boys are gonna be killing themselves to turn on each other first. I’ll call the jail right now and get Scooby and Little Man’s calls monitored and recorded.”
“Now we just have to hope they say something about Junior.”
“Oh, that reminds me, tell Jessie thanks for the information she sent me. She came up with a name on the property records in Zellwood.”
“No shit? Where is he?”
“Easy, hot shot,” Kelsey said. “I’m still checking some things out. I’ll let you know as soon as I have confirmation.”
Devon frowned. “Okay.”
“I know it’s hard to be patient, Dev, but we’re almost there. I’ll call you later.”
Devon hung up and walked toward Jessie’s car, where a few officers stood talking with Nate. After chatting with them for a couple minutes, Devon walked back over to Jessie’s car. She was filling out paperwork.
“Kelsey says you got some info on the property records in Zellwood? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jessie climbed out and they moved to the rear of the car. Devon leaned against the bumper while Jessie placed her clipboard on the trunk as they talked.
“I couldn’t exactly impart that information during the foot chase,” she said dryly. “I found a couple of names this afternoon, but I didn’t have time to dig further. I figured Detective Sinclair could check it out.”
“That’s what detectives do,” Devon said. “You know you can call her Kelsey.”
“She’s your friend, it’s different for me. It’s a respect thing. I don’t want anyone thinking because you and I—” She glanced over her shoulder at the other officers and then back to Devon. “Well, you know.”
“I do know. Steph and I are having dinner later, you want to come?”
Jessie looked up from her clipboard with a smile. “Thanks, but I’ll be tied up with all of this arrest paperwork for quite a while, and I probably should get back to my sector.”
“I can take care of it.”
“Nope. The call was Nate’s and I joined in. Besides, you may have started the chase, but I ended it. That makes it my arrest. My sergeant won’t mind, he’ll like the bust.”
“I guess I’ve been told,” she said with a grin. So much for the angst she’d been feeling a few moments before. Jessie always gave Devon a run for her money. “Okay, then superwoman, I’ll see you at home, okay?” She caught a brief flash of heat in Jessie’s eyes.
Devon brushed her hand casually over Jessie’s forearm and allowed her own emotion to show momentarily. “See you in a couple of hours.” She waved at Nate and headed for her own car. First stop was the evidence room and then to resume her patrols.
Chapter Twenty-Four
HONEYCUTT SAT BEHIND the wheel, sizing up the capabilities of the officer approaching in the sideview mirror. Prison gangs stressed the need to assess one’s opponent realistically. The cop was approximately six feet tall, two hundred pounds, muscular and fit. He noted the cop’s cautious approach, blading himself, body parallel along the side of the car, tactically keeping his gun side protected. He held a flashlight in his left hand to illuminate the vehicle interior—or to double as an impact weapon.
Honeycutt’s hand tightened on the grip of the pistol he concealed along the right side of the seat near the center console. The key to winning this was to use the powerful advantage of surprise. He waited, continuing to observe the advancing cop. He was either a rookie or something was making him nervous. Most cops, while alert, were more at ease on a traffic stop. Maybe it was just instinct. Or the owner could have reported the car stolen by now. That was always possible. Either way Honeycutt decided he was not going. Another couple of seconds and the cop would reach the doorframe at his left shoulder. That would be the moment of truth.
He drew a deep breath as the cop took another step. “Oscar Three?” Honeycutt heard the police radio. The cop stopped to answer. He didn’t understand the police jargon, but when their eyes met in the mirror, it was clear the cop was even more wary. Honeycutt pulled in another deep breath. He shifted the pistol along his right thigh, readying himself. The cop hesitated at the back door and glanced over his right shoulder. Honeycutt checked the inside rearview mirror. Another figure moved through the glare of the lights on the back windshield and crossed behind his car to the passenger side. Backup. If he allowed the other officer to reach the passenger door, they’d see the gun. Now or never.
“I think I left my ID at work,” he leaned out the driver’s window as he spoke. The cop stepped forward to the driver’s doorpost.
Now.
Honeycutt twisted left and shoved the pistol forward through the open window. He sque
ezed off three shots, dropping him where he stood. Without hesitation, he swung the gun across the car toward the passenger window and fired again. The female cop had pulled her pistol and was backpedaling out of the line of fire.
In slow motion, he saw the action of her pistol slide working, the flash from the muzzle and the spent brass ejecting into the air. The passenger window shattered. Bullets ricocheted and lodged in the seat and opened holes in the dashboard. The smoky smell of gunpowder clung to the air.
He leaned across the seat for a better aim and cranked off two more shots. At least one found its mark. Honeycutt grinned evilly watching her pitch back and fall to the blacktop
He threw open the driver’s door, barely glancing at the first cop. He lay on his back with gurgling sounds coming from the bullet hole in his neck. Honeycutt stalked around the front of the car knowing she’d expect him from the rear. The backup cop was still able to move. She attempted to scramble to her feet, but was in a dazed state. Her eyes darted wildly, no doubt desperately seeking help. He moved closer with his gun pointed at her head, thrilled to see that one of his bullets had torn a hole in her right shoulder. Blood pooled rapidly on the ground beneath her. She groped frantically at her shoulder mic. Recognition sent a bubble of wicked laughter from deep in his throat. Hatred and rage surged through his veins.
She struggled to reach for the gun lying a few feet away. He delivered a swift kick to her already injured shoulder. She cried out, but incredibly, she still managed to wrap her fingers around the pistol grip with her right hand.
The bitch had fight in her, he’d give her that. “This is for breaking my arm,” he snarled. The next roundhouse kick drove the toe of his work boot into the side of her head.
Lights out.
