One Clean Shot

by Danielle Girard

An oncoming car blocked his view. By the time it passed, cops all along the street were moving to get pedestrians down to the ground.

  The black sedan jolted to a halt.

  Hal swerved across four lanes of traffic to park behind it.

  The second shot hit the sedan’s driver side window, which burst in a spray of glass.

  The next struck high on the windshield of Hal’s car.

  Sharp screams filled the street as Hal cracked his door and dropped onto the street, pressing himself to the ground.

  On the sidewalk, Cameron Cruz, a department sharpshooter, pulled two young women to the sidewalk, then drew her weapon.

  In the line of fire, Hal was forced to remain where he could use the car as a shield.

  Moving awkwardly, he dragged himself on his elbows until he was behind his car then rose slowly to survey the scene.

  Another round of bullets fired, exploding glass and chipping the brick off the building above his head when Hal spotted the shooter.

  Dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, the shooter was crouched in the middle of the narrow alley.

  Hal ducked as more shots were fired and stood when he heard the revving sound of an engine.

  A cop in uniform jumped in his line of fire.

  Hal pointed his weapon to the sky just before he took a shot. “Goddamn it,” he shouted.

  The cop turned back, mouth agape.

  The shooter took a last shot and jumped into a gray Honda Civic.

  Rounding the corner, Cameron Cruz sprinted down the alley. She stopped, took a stance and shot twice.

  Her bullets struck the Civic’s rear left tire and the back window.

  The car swerved, straightened, then took off around the corner.

  The cop he’d almost shot called in the Civic.

  Hal pushed toward the parked sedan that had picked up Dwayne Carson.

  As the door clicked open, Dwayne Carson rolled into Hal’s arms.

  “Where did the guns come from, Carson? Where did you get them?”

  Carson’s eyes rolled backwards. His shirt was dark, the cotton warm and slick with blood.

  “Come on,” Hal shouted, shaking him. “Tell me who did this to you.”

  Carson blinked. He licked his lips, spoke in a whisper. “Regal.”

  “Regal? What the hell is Regal?”

  Carson’s lips fell open and his body went limp.

  He was dead.

  Chapter 9

  Hailey double-parked her car behind the police barricade in front of the department. Dwayne Carson was dead. Shot outside the department. She’d been lying in bed with Bruce when he got the call. Hal was there. He was okay. Bruce would have to come to the scene. She needed to see Hal.

  She left before Bruce was out of the shower.

  Cameron Cruz stood on the street, talking to Roger Sampers. Shelby Tate was examining the body. It was going to be another long night for the crime scene team. Gathering evidence at an outside scene was a slow process.

  “I figured you’d be in bed by now,” Hal said, surprised to see her.

  “I ran out for a bit after the girls went down,” she said without meeting his gaze. Did she look like she’d just left Bruce’s? She ran her fingers over her hair, told herself not to fidget. “What are you doing here?”

  “Sheila left a bunch of messages at the house, so I came back to the station.”

  “What’s she done now?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”

  Hailey was relieved. Sheila was bad news. And somehow, she had a strong grip on Hal.

  “I left so I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Sorry.”

  “She is who she is.”

  Relationships were complicated. Hailey knew that better than most. She had trouble imagining how Hal had ended up married to someone so troubled. Whenever Sheila inserted herself back into his life, Hailey worried for him. She nodded to the scene. “What happened?”

  Hal rubbed his head. “I watched the whole thing. Dwayne Carson gets released. He looked nervous, edgy. He made it to the end of the block when his ride showed up. He was getting into the car when a Honda Civic comes down the alley just east of the department parking lot. Guy in a mask unloads a shitload of steel.” He rubbed his head. “Guy died right in my arms. I pushed him to tell me who did this to him.”

  “And?”

  “Regal.”

  “Regal?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “That’s like a chain of movie theaters.”

  “Right,” Hal said, his tone clipped. “And a guitar store and the second name of a scotch whiskey. First name is Chivas.”

  “Okay,” Hailey said. “How about the driver? Maybe we can talk to him.”

  “No.” Hal’s voice dropped. “He didn’t make it either.”

  Two more victims.

  “Shoulda stayed home and waited for Sheila,” he muttered.

  He didn’t mean that, did he? He couldn’t get back together with Sheila. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but sensed he didn’t want to talk about it. He needed time to process. She focused back on Carson. “It was like he knew someone was coming for him. Did he seem worried when you interviewed him?”

  “Not at all. That’s why I think it had to do with Abbott.”

  “Martin Abbott had him shot?”

  “Who knows,” Hal said. “Someone gave Carson Abbott’s business card. So maybe they’ve got some sort of system set up. Carson calls Abbott, thinking he’s calling an attorney who is paid to help him…”

  “And they send someone out to kill him? Christ,” she muttered. “That means they have to have someone in Abbott’s office.”

  “Right.”

  “Who caught the murders?”

  “Kong and O’Shea. They’re en route.” Hal studied her. “Were you out on a date?”

  Hailey shook her head. “God, no.”

  Hal’s stare felt intense. Like he didn’t believe her. It felt like that more often now. “I could use a drink.”

  Hailey didn’t want to go out with him tonight. He was wound up, in the kind of mood to push. “You think she’ll still be at the house?”

  “Nah. She’ll be gone by now.”

  “I’ll see you bright and early, okay?” She turned and walked away before he could push the issue of drinks. On the street, Shelby Tate stood with Linda James and Cameron Cruz.

  “Heard you had an exciting night,” Hailey said, stopping at the group.

  “I’ll say,” Cameron agreed.

  Shelby Tate peeled off her gloves and stretched her arms. “I need a drink.”

  “I could use a drink,” Cameron agreed.

  “Count me in,” Linda James said. “Hailey?”

  Hailey glanced back to where Hal was talking with O’Shea and Kong. The girls were asleep. She could feel the electricity of the scene coming off Cameron. Someone had equated live gunfire to being a performer and coming off stage. “Why not?”

  “Tommy’s?” Linda asked.

  “Where else?” Cameron said.

  Hailey gave Cameron a hug. “I heard about Diego.” Cameron’s boyfriend had been killed in the line of duty a couple months back. “It gets easier.” Was that true? Some days it was easier.

  Cameron wiped her eyes. “Thanks.”

  The two women had known each other as long as Cruz had been in the department. They were both members of a small group of women officers who gathered monthly for dinner at Tommy’s Mexican down in the Sunset. The Rookie Club someone had dubbed the group.

  “We’ve missed you.”

  Hailey hadn’t attended a Rookie Club dinner since John’s death but she used to make it every few months. “I know. I’ll get back, I promise.”

  “Yo
u can start tonight,” Cameron said. “See you guys there.”

  As Hailey drove through the city, she was looking forward to a drink with these women. Maybe it was the energy of the scene sinking in or just a break from talking about avoiding conversations with Bruce and Hal. These women weren’t going to ask her if they had any leads on John’s death or if Jim was involved in this gunrunning operation. Women were smarter than that.

  Despite a full house, the Rookie Club women had managed to secure a table at the back of Tommy’s when Hailey arrived. They waved her over as a waiter was taking drink orders. “Corona for me,” Hailey said as she took a seat next to Shelby and across from Linda James and Cameron.

  Next to Cameron was Ryaan Berry, an investigator in the Triggerlock group.

  Linda introduced them. “Cameron’s giving us the blow-by-blow.”

  “I took a second shot as he ducked back into his car,” Cameron said. “Hit the rear tire. Watched it blow, but he took off. Not sure how far he got on that wheel.”

  Linda glanced at her phone. “He got far enough. We surrounded the area and set up roadblocks. So far, nothing.”

  “He shot five bullets and downed two victims. That’s some good shooting,” Ryaan commented.

  “Both victims were shot in the torso,” Shelby added. “I’ll know more after the autopsy tomorrow, but from the entrance wound, I’d guess the driver’s wound was two inches from his heart.”

  Hailey remembered what it was like to be in this group of women. All these sharp minds, all this expertise. From the outside, they could have been a group of stay-at-home minds, but they were some of the best law enforcement in the city.

  “And that guy was standing at fifty yards,” Cameron said, shivering. “I couldn’t shoot any better than that.”

  The waiter returned with their drinks and a huge order of nachos. “I was ravenous,” Cameron said, passing out the small plates.

  “I’m starving, too,” Jess agreed as they all dug in.

  “Any leads on who would want him dead?” Shelby asked.

  “Someone who didn’t want him to talk,” Ryaan said.

  The table was quiet a moment. If they had kept Carson on possessing a stolen weapon, he might be alive. Maybe that would have given them the time to get more answers. There was no use second-guessing the process. It was what it was.

  “Do you know who’s at the top of the food chain? Who’s in charge?” Jess asked.

  Ryaan shook her head. “So far, we’ve identified a bunch of the guys on the street, but we aren’t having any luck tracing the guys who are running things.”

  Hailey thought about Carson’s last word. “Does Regal mean anything to you, Ryaan?”

  “Regal?” she repeated.

  “Hal said that was Carson’s last word,” Hailey explained. “As Carson was dying, Hal asked him who had done this to him. He said, ‘Regal.’ Or that’s what Hal thought Carson said.”

  Ryaan shook her head slowly.

  “Maybe a street name for someone?” Cameron suggested.

  “Maybe. I’ve never heard of Regal,” Linda commented.

  “Regal Theaters is what comes to mind for me,” Shelby said, smiling.

  “There’s a Regal Insurance Group,” Ryaan said slowly. “They have kind of a niche place in the market.”

  “What do they insure?” Hailey asked.

  “They insure against weapons loss.”

  Weapons loss. “The type of company that would ensure someone like Hank Dennig’s company?”

  “Yes,” Ryaan agreed. “Dennig Distribution would be exactly the kind of client Regal would insure,” Ryaan agreed.

  “I’ve got to call Hal.” Hailey put a twenty on the table and excused herself.

  She was dialing before she hit the street.

  Chapter 10

  Hal didn’t answer his phone, so Hailey left a message about Regal. Maybe he’d decided to go out after all. Hailey was surprised when he didn’t call back. The whole drive home, she kept her phone in her lap, waiting for it to ring. It was after ten. Maybe he’d gone to sleep?

  By the time she reached the house, the energy was gone and she was just exhausted. She climbed the stairs to the house, let herself in and stepped out of her shoes.

  A light flickered from the living room fire and Hailey stepped into the dark room.

  Jim sat in the big chair, which he’d pulled almost to the brick hearth.

  “Jim?”

  The bandage on his ear and the deep circles under his eyes made him look older. “Are you okay?”

  He hesitated then said, “Can you come in for a moment, Hailey?”

  She set her purse and jacket on top of her shoes and sat in the chair across from him, pulling her feet under her.

  Though the room was warm from the fire, the same deep chill she had felt since John’s death invaded. “What is it, Jim?”

  “I should have shared this with you sooner.” He handed her a number ten envelope. “It was wrong to keep it from you.”

  Hailey flipped it open and lifted the flap, unsealed, and drew out a white page.

  When she unfolded it, she saw it was a photocopy of a letter, the bottom signed Nick. “Fredricks?”

  “We knew each other some time ago.”

  The top was dated November 15, 2003, about five months before Nicholas’s death. Trembling, Hailey read it through twice before pausing to consider what it meant.

  Though only nine sentences long, the letter was vague and she found herself thinking another reading might uncover something new.

  After a third time, she decided Fredricks had meant to be vague, in the way of a veiled threat.

  In the first three lines, he praised Jim, commented on the specifics of his voting record, on his handle of the issues facing those “not enjoying the same economic prosperity” as they did.

  Midway through, though, the tone changed.

  Fredricks wrote, “I am concerned how recent events might change the direction of your platform. I would so mourn the loss of you as an ally, Jim, particularly, of course, in light of our shared interests.”

  Fredricks made no specific reference to what the recent events were, or what he meant by shared interests.

  It was the last three lines that made the skin on her neck and shoulders tighten with chills.

  There, Fredricks had added a quote.

  One Hailey had recently learned was Jung…

  Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.

  Then, like the other letter, Fredricks wrote: I know your darkness, Senator.

  When Hailey was done, Jim reached for the letter. She hesitated then handed it over. “Who shot you, Jim?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I honestly don’t.”

  In the last year, she’d gotten to know Jim well. She’d watched him interact with Liz and Dee, the way he glanced away at the end of an answer that wasn’t entirely truthful. The way he reassured Liz that he wasn’t worried about something but his eyes focused downward. He wasn’t lying now. “Do you know how Fredricks died?”

  Jim’s gaze flashed to hers. “He was shot.”

  “It happened just blocks from here. What I meant was—did you ever have a theory about why he was shot? You knew him.”

  Jim stared at the fire, the threads of yellow and red reflecting in his eyes, casting his skin orange. “I thought about it a lot—I still do. Nick had some trouble in his earlier years. He immigrated to the States from Germany in high school. His family moved to Brooklyn and after school, he went to work for the NYPD.”

  These were things she’d known. “Do you know what he did for the department?”

  “He worked in media relations, writing mostly. After that, he moved to Washington to get involved in policy—specifically gun policy.”
/>   “Do you know why he left the department?” she asked.

  “I don’t think it suited him, working for the police.”

  “Meaning?” Hailey prompted.

  “He was outspoken about his beliefs,” Jim said. “DC suited him better although even there he was outspoken at first.”

  “You think he might have been killed because someone didn’t like his politics?”

  Jim let out a short laugh. “Most of Washington would be dead if people killed over politics.”

  It was true.

  “The shooting never made sense to me. He’d been a pacifist for a number of years and he was a well-respected thinker. The police assume it was random violence. His wallet was stolen, and his watch.”

  “But in this neighborhood. It’s hard to imagine a holdup here.”

  “It is very disturbing,” Jim agreed.

  “What does he mean about your darkness?”

  Jim shrank then, still staring at the dying flames. “This is messy, Hailey.”

  She felt the chill dig deeper under her skin. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, it’s messy.” He stood. “I’m going to need a drink. You want one?”

  “Please.” Normally she would have said no, but it had been a long day. Jim returned with two crystal glasses, half filled with dark, amber liquid and perfect squares of ice. He set one in front of her.

  Jim and John used to sit in this room, drinking from these two glasses. She couldn’t bring herself to drink.

  “Dee and I were adopted,” he began.

  “I knew that. By your uncle and aunt.”

  “My mother’s sister and her husband,” he said. “Dad had been in the war and we were all living in a Quonset hut community, down in L.A.

  “The war really messed Dad up, wrecked him, really. Dee and I were just kids.” He closed his eyes, cupped the drink between his hands, resting them on his belt.

  “I was seven. Dee was five. Dad brought back a Luger, something he’d pulled off some dead Nazi, I guess. He never really told the story, but he loved that gun. Worshipped it.”

  Hailey didn’t touch her glass.

  “When he got really drunk and passed out,” Jim continued, “I used to take it off him, carry it around and pretend to shoot Nazis.”