Circle of Terror

by Larry Powalisz

  “Thanks, Whitey, it means a lot.”

  They continued their conversation for several minutes as an attractive, petite waitress approached. “Good evening. I was told you’re Declan, party of two. Please come with me. Your table is ready.”

  “Lead the way.”

  “Great meeting you, Anne. Hope you enjoy your meal. Ski, don’t be a stranger.”

  “You can count on it. Talk to you later, Whitey.”

  They were directed to a table in a corner of the medium-sized dining area. Pictures hung on the walls and the décor reminded Anne of some of the old black and white movies she watched on late-night TV while in college. The waitress handed them menus and came back several minutes later with a woven straw basket of warm bread.

  “Okay, Anne. Now that you know everything about my life, you have to tell me about yours. Schools, dreams, and how you ever wound up in Milwaukee.”

  “Fair enough. I’m originally from Texas, but we moved around because of my father’s job. Like yours, he’s a Vietnam vet—Special Forces for five years and two tours in Vietnam. He finished out at Fort Lewis in Washington State, fell in love with the area, and attended the University of Washington in Seattle on the GI Bill. A football jock like you, he met my mother at school, and they got married. He then grabbed a job with DEA and spent the next twenty-eight-plus years as a narc. He retired at the mandatory age of fifty-seven as an assistant director, and they moved back to a small community called Issaquah. It’s in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, just east of Seattle. I spent my high school years around there and went to college at UW also. My parents have UW purple and gold running through their veins. They’re season ticket holders, and the Husky is their favorite animal.”

  The waitress returned to their table. “Hope you’re doing well tonight. Have you decided?”

  “I was told the filet ranks on the top ten in the world list. I’ll go with the lady’s cut—medium, please—and a potato with everything on it.”

  “Excellent choice, ma’am. You obviously have a great source.”

  “I’ll take the king’s cut, medium also. And another Captain Morgan and cranberry juice, please. Anne, would you like another Zin?”

  “Sure.”

  “And another white zinfandel, please.”

  The waitress thanked them, and a porter came with a large bowl of mixed salad and a dressing tray.

  “So you’re big Husky fans? Wonderful.” Tomczyk squirmed in his seat.

  “During the interview with the Pavalkos the other day, it struck me who you were. My parents were at the Rose Bowl game you played in. I watched the game from my sorority house on campus. You really seem like a nice guy, Declan, but my family doesn’t like you very much. My father came home from Pasadena with fire in his eyes and hatred for some guy named Tomczyk, the one-man wrecking crew. If he knew I was out on a date with you, he would disown me.” She shook her head and smiled. “Talk about small worlds. Maybe the fifteen-plus years since that game has softened his heart for you as a human being. If that wasn’t bad enough, after you beat the poor Huskies, you became a Marine. How do I even approach my father and tell him that one? My parents are still both mother hens and will be calling me tomorrow night.”

  “Tell him you had a date with the water boy, maybe?”

  Anne was enjoying the company. She found Declan to be an even more amazing person than she originally thought. “After college, I became a school teacher for a couple years, but realized I wanted more. My father’s love for government service called me, and I joined the FBI eight years ago. They sent me to LA as my first office. LA is, as we say, an interesting office. I was originally White Collar Crimes and lateraled over to the JTTF. Six years of crazy California living was enough for me. I’m not looking forward to the Wisconsin winter, but it sure will be nice to have four seasons again.”

  They were finishing up their plate of salad when the steaks arrived. Anne cut off a piece of the steaming, tantalizing steak and placed it in her mouth. “Wow, this is really fantastic. Great choice of restaurants.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you, Declan. I was married for about five years and went through a nasty divorce several years ago. Guess my ex didn’t like his wife being a ‘pistol packin’ Momma.’ I have a six-year-old daughter named Krista who is the light of my life.”

  He looked at her with understanding and sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear about your divorce. Things don’t always work out. Marie and I always wanted children, but the cancer ended all that. You’ve been blessed with one of God’s truly beautiful creations. I love to hear she is the light of your life.”

  “Thank you so much for that. I’ve been lucky to find a wonderful woman in the apartment complex that takes care of her. Krista loves her almost as much as she does her grandmother. My Dad was on a mission to take my ex out, and I mean out of the living realm. I had to take a two-week vacation to calm him down. It’s just my brother and me, so my parents are extremely protective.”

  “As well they should be.”

  They finished their meal, and the waitress asked if they wanted an after-dinner drink.

  “Could I maybe have a glass of Baileys?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” Tomczyk said with a wave of his hand.

  “Coming right up.”

  “Did I tell you John Lemke was my partner on a task force for about a year? He’s a great friend and a super guy. He’s been upgraded to stable and should be out of the hospital in a couple days. Thank God he made it.”

  “Rumor control has it you saved his life with your battlefield meatball surgery.”

  “No man left behind, and no one dies on my watch—if I can help it. It’s a creed that was hammered into me in jarhead land.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know all about that from my dad! You know, Declan, maybe he could like you after all,” she smiled.

  “That’s great to know. I’d hate to be dating the beautiful daughter of a father who couldn’t like me.” He raised his glass in a “salute.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Going back to Lemke. He’s been a bomb tech for over twenty years and still has all his fingers. He’s not the smartest guy, but he ‘aced’ every test at the six-week bomb training at Redstone Arsenal in Alabama. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “I’ll say. Nearly every bomb tech I’ve spoken with said the course was a real beast. If you flunk any tests, they send you straight home.”

  Tomczyk paid the bill, and they stepped out of the front door. He glanced over to his right and noticed four teenagers walking toward them. “Anne, are you armed?”

  She glanced at him with a surprised expression. “Never leave home without it, why?”

  “Good. Don’t look now, but four guys are walking our way. The guy on my right has the barrel of a shotgun or rifle sticking out slightly from underneath his jacket. They high-signed each other, and I think they’re going to try to rob us. I’ll take out the three guys on my right. You cover the one on the far left in case he’s armed. If he tries anything stupid, show him how good you FBI agents shoot. This’ll be interesting. You ready?”

  “Not really.”

  “It will be okay; just follow my lead and cover that guy.”

  Several seconds later, as the group was within ten feet of them, Tomczyk calmly glanced over as if to say something to Anne. As he did, the peripheral vision in his left eye picked up the young black male on the right opening up the navy blue nylon jacket he was wearing and reaching for the weapon underneath it.

  Chapter 9

  ON THE STREETS OF MILWAUKEE

  Tomczyk gently pushed Anne to her left and pivoted around on his left foot, swinging his right leg around in a roundhouse move. His foot struck its mark at the solar plexus. There was a loud grunt from the young man’s diaphragm as the force of the blow sent him reeling onto his back with a thud. The sawed-off shotgun fell to the side, causing a loud noise as the metal hit the sidew
alk. Tomczyk swung back around to his right and thrust his left fist into the upper chest area of the second man with such a powerful force that it caused the unprepared subject to be sent back about five feet, flailing onto his back. In the same lightning motion, he delivered a straight left-leg kick into the lower stomach area of the third person, buckling him over. His finishing touch was a “tomahawk chop,” a right arm to the back of the neck, causing a now extremely sore body to be thrust straight onto the sidewalk. Tomczyk instinctively moved into a fighting stance to take on the last subject.

  “Police, freeze!”

  He looked over and saw Anne with both arms outstretched, with her FBI-issued Glock 22, .40 caliber pistol pointed directly at the young male. The subject’s mouth was wide open as he stared in horror at Tomczyk, immediately laying down on the sidewalk and stretching his trembling arms out to the side.

  “Please don’t hit me, Officer, I told ’em not to.”

  Anne surveyed the scene. The first guy Tomczyk hit was gasping for air. She saw the short-barreled shotgun on the sidewalk next to him and watched as Tomczyk picked it up and told the suspect to calm down and slowly breathe. The other two subjects were out cold. Tomczyk did a quick pat down and recovered a blue steel-barreled .357 revolver from the waistband of the third suspect. From one of the pants pockets of the second suspect, he seized a large folding knife.

  By this time, Tyrone, the security officer, approached and handed his friend two sets of handcuffs. “Here, in case you don’t have any. Damn, brotha.’ I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before! Sure am glad you’re my friend.”

  “Thanks, Ty. You mind calling the police so we can get some help over here?”

  “Already called 9-1-1. They’s on the way. Hate to break this to ya, Ski, but I don’t think you need any help.”

  Tomczyk winked at Ty as he handcuffed the unharmed male. “Don’t do anything foolish, young man. Just chill until the police get here and nothing will happen to you.” He checked the pulse of the two unconscious subjects and used the second set of handcuffs to cuff them together. “They’ll be sore tomorrow, but they’re both still breathing.”

  They heard several sets of sirens blaring and saw the red and blue lights of the marked squads as they screamed up to the scene. Tomczyk pulled out his badge and identification, showing it to the first-responding officers. He also pointed out the weapons he obtained from the subjects and the circumstances regarding their recovery.

  “You may want to have the EMTs take a look at the three I hit, just to make sure. I didn’t go 100 percent.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring, Detective.”

  A second police officer approached. “Some detectives and a lieutenant are on the way since it’s a significant incident.”

  “Copy that. Thanks for making the call. By the way, my beautiful date tonight is an FBI agent who was Top Gun at her academy class. I was never worried.”

  All four suspects were taken to the city jail in separate squads after assessment by ambulance personnel. The EMTs were impressed with the precision of the strikes to the more vulnerable areas of the body and more impressed the person who delivered the blows didn’t permanently debilitate them.

  One of the officers walked over to Tomczyk. “Detective, we did record checks on all four guys. The three you took out all had extensive juvenile records. The two with guns are convicted felons. Surprise, surprise!”

  “Good news for us, bad news for them.”

  Tomczyk and Dvorak were released about an hour later after their statements were taken. He walked over to the uniformed security guard and shook hands.

  “Thanks for being around tonight, Ty. I appreciate the help.”

  “You know ya coulda’ shot those fools, and I’d a backed you up on it. Dang kids. They messed with the wrong guy tonight.”

  They both smiled. “I know, man, but that local paper of ours would’ve been calling me racist, shooting innocent kids who just happened to be carrying weapons but were trying to turn their lives around.” He put his arm around Tyrone’s right shoulder.

  “I owe you one, Ty. You have my cell number. Give me a call, and we’ll go out, my treat. Just don’t feed me all that Blue Label like last time. I still feel that hangover.”

  Tyrone Jackson shook his head at the activities of the night and went back to guarding the parking lot with a little more bounce in his step. “And don’t forget to bring that pretty lady with you so I can make some time with her.”

  “Then it’s a date. Later.”

  Tomczyk walked back over to Anne, who was still conversing with several of the police officers.

  “Ma’am, your chariot awaits.” They walked the short distance over to his car and climbed in.

  Anne looked at her watch and saw it was coming up on eleven o’clock. “Now that was a wonderful dinner, but what a finish! I can’t believe this whole thing happened. I’m still a little shaky.”

  “Sorry this had to happen. I guess you never expect to get robbed when going out for dinner. You did a great job out there.”

  “Unbelievable how fast you moved to take those guys out. Scary.”

  “Uncle Sam spent tens of thousands of dollars over the years to train me. Let’s just say it paid off, and no one had to be killed. These guys can sit in their prison cells for a while and think about it.”

  “Ya know, Declan, on second thought, I know my Dad is really going to like you. They’re flying out here in a couple weeks to visit us. I’d really love for you to meet them.”

  “As long as he doesn’t hold grudges. I already have a couple strikes against me.”

  “Very true, but you picked up a couple points tonight showing what you can do.”

  Tomczyk drove through the streets he swore to protect and thought of the old Prince of the City theme song. He loved being a detective, almost as much as he loved being a marine. Different missions, different lifestyles, but both about serving his country. He drove into the driveway of the Juneau Towers. Just as he unbuckled his seat belt, Anne reached across the seat, placed her right arm around his neck, and planted a three-second kiss on his lips. He melted in the seat. It had been a while.

  She looked squarely into his eyes. He could smell the exotic perfume and the cinnamon of a long-ago-dissolved breath mint.

  “Declan, I had a remarkable time, and you are a remarkable person. Thank you very much. I’d really enjoy seeing you again off duty.”

  “There’s nothing I’d like more.” He gave her a kiss back.

  “Don’t bother walking me to my door. You know I’m packin’ heat and can take care of myself.”

  “Boy, do I ever! Don’t mess with the feds, that’s what I always say.” He watched as she entered the lobby. Through the large plate glass windows, he could see her get into one of the elevators.

  Tomczyk was on cloud nine as he drove away. What a woman. He drove through the downtown streets and onto the entrance ramp of the expressway for the twenty-minute drive home.

  Chapter 10

  MPD HEADQUARTERS

  How’d the search warrant go, Ski?” Detective Cary Jones asked, looking up from his computer.

  “Great day, C.J. Two arrests, three kilos of cocaine, $53,000 and change in cash, and three handguns. Looks like Snake Eye Sammy is going back to prison. Bad career move to be on parole for selling cocaine after spending five years in prison and then get popped for having that much dope and guns in your house when you’re a felon. Another condition of parole was to not associate with current biker members. Maybe Snake Eye didn’t think being in the illegal pharmaceutical business with a current outlaw motorcycle gang member was the same as hangin’ with them. Oops! The drug task force has him in a really big crack—no pun intended. Now that was definitely worth the oh-dark-thirty wake-up call to hit that house at six. Even though I was in the rear with the gear guarding the back door, it’s still fun to be part of the team.”

  “I hear ya, man. Then they pay you. Can’t get better than that.”
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  Samuel “Snake Eye Sammy” Howard had been a member of the Milwaukee biker club for the past fifteen years. He was vice president of the chapter until about seven years ago when he was arrested by Milwaukee Police for possession of five ounces of cocaine, some meth, and a large .45 caliber handgun. Because of several prior arrests, he was sentenced to eight years in the Wisconsin prison system. Howard served just over five years and was paroled with a number of conditions; no illegal drugs or guns and no associating with current members were two of them.

  The Milwaukee chapter had one of the largest in the country. Its clubhouse at the end of a dead-end street had been there for over thirty years. The unmistakable black background and white artwork logo was painted on the front of the old building. For several years, they were able to boast about having the national presidency in Milwaukee. Unfortunately for them, the president was convicted on federal charges and sentenced to prison, and the national chapter honor was moved. The Milwaukee High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area task force reached out and requested Tomczyk assist them on the search and arrest warrant because of his familiarity with outlaw motorcycle gangs. He also had a related investigation on another member. During the search warrant, a number of records and other evidence were confiscated having to do with Howard’s continued association with the club and some of its members.

  Tomczyk also had great familiarity with the black street gangs that plagued Milwaukee and had a number of current investigations on members. Vice Lords, Black Gangster Disciples and the Murder Mob were some of the main ones. There were also a number of offshoots from the five- and six-pointed star nations that he enjoyed staying on top of. Gangs, guns, and drugs have been going hand-in-hand for multiple decades, even though Milwaukee started having its main gang problems starting in the early 1980s.

  Tomczyk removed a nutrition bar from his desk drawer and grabbed a manila folder with his name on it sitting in the center of his desk. “TMB” was marked in bold letters. He opened it and looked at the stack of papers inside. Andrew Reed, the new police aide assigned to the intelligence division, was a whiz on the computer and had copied different websites and articles related to TMB and The Mad Bomber. Reed had typed a note that was placed inside the folder.