by Mark Nolan
Chapter 55
Jake was sound asleep in his bed on the Far Niente. His dreams were interrupted when his phone vibrated with a text message. Cody opened one eye and gave Jake a tired look. Jake groaned in protest, but then he thought it might be Kelli or a friend in need. That got him to look at the phone. Surprisingly, the text message was coming from his favorite taco truck. It was the same number he often called or texted when placing an order of food to go.
“I was not expecting a text at this hour from my taco and burrito connection, but let’s see what Luis has to say,” Jake said.
He hoped his friend Luis had simply rolled over on his phone in bed and pocket-texted some gibberish. If that was the case, Jake could just go back to sleep.
The text said, I think I just saw the murder suspect from your news story.
Jake texted back: Is he there now?
No, he parked a car and walked away on foot.
Did he see you?
No, should I call 911?
No, stay out of sight. I’ll bring the police.
Gracias.
De nada.
Jake made a call and got Terrell on the phone.
Terrell was smoking a cigarette in the parking lot of the Heroin Hotel when he took the call. “You’re up late,” Terrell said.
“My friend Luis at the taco truck sent me a text,” Jake said. “He thinks the attorney assassin parked a vehicle in the lot and walked away. I told him I’d bring the police to him, and that’s you, super-cop.”
“I’m sure he just imagined he saw the guy, the same as so many of the false sightings we get at work,” Terrell said. “But let’s go check it out, there isn’t anything happening here at the Heroin Hotel except for folks pissing their life away. It’s pretty sad. I’m outside right now because my room is what could be more accurately described as a condemned outhouse. I took a taxi here and walked the last several blocks, so you’ll have to drive by and pick me up.”
“I’ve heard of the Heroin Hotel, it sounds like some fancy accommodations for sure. I’ll get my shoes on and head in your direction.”
Jake was tired from a long day, some good champagne, and a great amount of physical and emotional exertion with Kelli on his couch and again in his bed. He felt like he could barely walk, but he’d made a promise, so he and Cody got into the Jeep and drove off toward the Heroin Hotel. Once Jake was on the road, he called Terrell again.
“Okay I’m in the Jeep and getting closer to your location,” Jake said. “What is the exact address?”
Terrell recited the street name and number.
“So you don’t like your sweet room, or roomy suite, or whatever it is?” Jake said.
“It sucks, big time,” Terrell said. “I went back inside and I’m sitting on the disgustingly filthy bed spread right now. Get me out of here, and hurry up, I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry, especially after a few beers.”
“I’m a stud, I need fuel, end of story.”
“What are you doing there anyway? Did Alicia kick you out of the house for smoking cigarettes?”
“No fool, I’m on a stakeout, trying to get evidence for a homicide investigation. I’ve spent hours drinking and gambling with drug dealers and pimps and ho’s.”
“Drinking forties with shorties, huh player?” Jake said.
“Chillin’ like a villain, someone has to do the tough jobs,” Terrell said.
“The taxpayers thank you for partying for the public good.”
“These druggies sleep all day, make more money in a month than I do in a year, and they don’t pay any taxes, it’s just wrong.”
“Until they get killed or get sent to prison.”
“I’m not cut out for the gangsta life, I just want to go home and get some sleep.”
“You sound drunk if you ask me,” Jake said.
“Well, I didn’t ask you, did I?” Terrell said. “But of course, I have been drinking and smoking quite a bit. You have to play the part here, or you’re a dead man.”
“Good thing you have lots of practice at that drinking thing, you’ll fit right in.”
“I knew it would come in handy someday. You were always a big help with all of my practice drinking too, so thanks for the assist with the near endless homework.”
“Happy to help; plan ahead, that’s what my Mom always told me.”
“You should have listened more to your Mom. Maybe then you could be here, living the dream at the Heroin Hotel.”
“I’m always missing out on opportunities,” Jake said. “Like if only I had gotten that college degree where I would have majored in weather prediction in the Mohave Desert.”
“It’s too late now, some other weatherman got the easy job you could’ve had in the Mohave,” Terrell said. “Every day the same forecast; dry and hot as hell. You could just phone it in, actually be living someplace nice like Colorado.”
“I love Colorado; just thinking of that awesome lost career makes my balls hurt.”
“Try buying a larger size of boxer shorts; maybe that might help.”
“Maybe that’s what my balls have been trying to tell me.”
“Have talkative balls do you?”
“Yes, in fact, they never shut up.”
“Kind of like you,” Terrell said. “But speaking of balls, that reminds me, I’ve got to piss a river after drinking that forty of malt liquor, or was it two forties?”
“My bet is on two forty-ouncers, and double strength alcohol malt liquor hits you kinda like… twice as much,” Jake said.
“But double-strength beer means half as many trips to the bathroom.”
“There you go with the mathematics again. Ok go make a river and I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Five minutes is cutting it close.”
There was the sound of water splashing, and Terrell said, “I’m hanging up now so I don’t drop my phone in the toilet… again.”
The phone call ended, and Jake smiled. Terrell Hayes was a great friend to joke around with, especially when he’d been drinking a few beers and his headaches went away for a while. Their shared sense of humor had kept them both sane when they were in the insane situation known as combat duty, back in the day.
Chapter 56
Jake drove up to the rundown hotel-apartment building, stopped the vehicle and looked around. Terrell should have been ready and waiting, out in front. That was the plan, and Terrell usually stuck to the plan. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. Jake sent a text message to Terrell’s phone. No reply. He tried calling him, but the call went to voicemail.
Maybe Terrell was still in the bathroom. Jake gave the horn one good toot and waited. No response from Terrell. Someone looked out a window and seemed to wave something, maybe a pistol. Jake ignored him. He’d seen way worse things pointed at him out of windows. Such as AK-47’s and shoulder launched rockets. He told Cody to stay put, and Cody growled but he obeyed. After locking the Jeep, Jake walked over to the room that Terrell had mentioned.
It was a good thing the room was on the ground floor, and not up on one of the higher floors. Climbing those flights of stairs was not on Jake’s list of fun stuff to do right now. Jake quietly knocked on Terrell’s door. No answer. He knocked louder, trying not to wake up the entire building while he was at it. Not that everyone was sleeping anyway. There were many rooms with lights on in the windows, and he could hear music and laughter coming from up on the roof. He called Terrell’s phone again; still no answer.
This situation was highly unusual. You could say what you want about Terrell, but he was as reliable as a Swiss Rolex watch while doing his job. When he and Jake had been a team, they’d worked together like a well-oiled machine.
Jake wiped the layer of dust and grime off a small section of the window and peeked in through a slim opening between the drapes. There was Terrell, sitting on the couch, his chin down on his chest. He’d actually nodded off like sleeping beauty. Terrell was only in his late twenties, but he was getting c
ivilized and couldn’t hold all of that booze like these younger gang bangers who did speedy drugs half the night and then slept until noon.
Jake tried the door knob. No good, it was locked. He banged on the door, hard. Terrell just snored away. Jake called and texted his friend on his cell phone again. No answer, no movement. He tried to open the door with a credit card. No luck. He wrenched the doorknob back and forth and up and down. It didn’t release. Terrell must have a long bar lock jammed up against the door knob and braced against the floor. Smart man, good for him, but now what?
Jake tried pressing on the sliding window and getting it to jump the track. It didn’t work. Someone had stuck a wooden dowel on the track, and it was holding the window very tight against the frame. Note to self, Jake thought. Never try to break into the hotel room of a police officer. It’s not going to happen. Jake had to get Terrell to wake up pronto, or the shooter might be long gone when they got to the taco truck’s parking lot.
Jake went to the Jeep and got his trusty aluminum baseball bat out of the back cargo area. He always carried it, along with a first baseman’s glove, a softball and an SF Giants hat. The equipment wasn’t there for playing amateur softball games, although he did love to play, especially first base if he had a great shortstop on his team to work with. The equipment was just a cover story for him to carry the metal bat, in case the time came when he needed to hit something hard, really hard. Right now was one of those times.
Jake thought that this might be a mistake, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He swung the bat down in a controlled arc onto the door knob and broke it clean off on the first try, making a loud pinging sound. Then he hit the knob area of the door again with a horizontal home run swing, and the door burst open and slammed against the near wall.
Jake was feeling impatient right about then, and without thinking things through he yelled at his best friend, “Wake up and get your tired ass out here fool!”
Terrell had already awakened with a start when the bat had first hit the doorknob. He’d pulled his pistol and taken cover behind the bed. Now he yelled, “Hands where I can see them, or I’ll shoot!”
Jake had quickly stepped back behind the wall next to the door. He said, “Grinds, its Jukebox, hold your fire.”
“Dammit, Jukebox, I almost shot you.”
“That’s why I’m not standing in the doorway.”
Meanwhile, other doors in the building began to open. Angry residents stepped out onto the balcony walkways. One man spoke in a drunken voice and said, “You better have a good reason for yelling at me to get my tired ass out here.”
It occurred to Jake that perhaps yelling in the middle of the night in front of the “Heroin Hotel” was not the best idea he’d had in a while. It was time to beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the Jeep. As Jake walked briskly in that direction, more doors opened, and additional men stepped out. Some of them were holding bats, golf clubs, pool cues, tire irons and similar types of blunt implements meant to batter his body with.
These understandably angry residents started walking down the stairs. People of all races, colors and creeds were coming toward Jake. They all had one thing in common; they were high on heroin or meth or cocaine, or various pills and alcohol… or a combination of several.
Other residents looked out of windows and laughed at the spectacle unfolding below. This was going to be an entertaining show.
“Not good,” Jake said. “When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut?”
Jake would have liked to have stayed a while and cheerfully apologized for the unwanted wake-up call, but he was almost to the Jeep, and he decided it would be a wiser course of action to simply leave, immediately. How did he always seem to get himself into situations like this?
He got into the Jeep, locked the doors, revved the engine and put it into reverse, then backed up next to the door of Terrell’s room. Terrell recognized the vehicle and he came outside. Jake saw him appear next to the front passenger door, waving a cheap looking pistol around. Terrell pointed the gun at Jake and yelled at him loudly enough so everybody could hear. “Fool, open the door to my ride before I pop a cap in you. You’re the worst driver I’ve ever had working for me.”
Jake played along, and he unlocked the passenger door so Terrell could open it. Then Jake put his hands up and said loudly, “Okay, boss. I apologize for yelling. Just don’t shoot me, boss.”
Jake heard shouts from the building’s tenants, saying such things as, “Shoot him anyway,” and “Let me whack him with this golf club.”
Fun stuff like that.
As Terrell climbed into the front passenger seat, he called out again.
“I’d shoot him but he’s my only dumb ass driver at the moment. Not worth a damn but you can’t find good help these days.”
There was more yelling from the balconies, nice comments like, “Let me bust open the fool’s head, and then my nephew Darren can be your driver. That way he can have a job and pay me back that money he owes me.”
One gang member with a shaved white head who had taken some money from Terrell in a card game said, “You’re leaving before you try to win back some of your losses?”
“I’ve got to go collect some cash from my bitches, and then I’ll be back to win everybody’s money,” Terrell said.
Jake hit the gas pedal and pulled away before Terrell even had his door all the way closed.
“Your dumb ass driver?” Jake said.
“Home, James,” Terrell said and snapped his fingers twice.
“Collect some cash from your bitches?”
“Don’t tell Alicia I said that. I was playing the part of some strange pimp guy I supposedly resemble.”
“Okay but I don’t give rides to strangers.”
“You are mighty strange, but we’re not strangers,” Terrell said.
“Oh really, have we met before?” Jake said.
“No, but I took a dump once that looked kind of like you,” Terrell said.
“That must have been a really good looking dump.”
“I gotta tell you, Dale Carnegie, you really know how to win criminal friends and influence criminal people.”
“Yeah well you were a lot of help there, passed out like a college frat boy at his first beer pong party.”
“Thanks for blowing my cover too.”
“No, you are well known but not blown.”
“Kind of like your love life?”
“Now they just think you’re a pimp.”
“I hate pimps,” Terrell said.
“Me too, let’s go find a pimp and beat his pimp ass until he stops his pimpin’ ways,” Jake said.
“I stayed up late soaking up cheap malt liquor like a sponge, and now my head is splitting,” Terrell said. “This career path I’m on sucks.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself? You could have shot me by accident back there, waving that cheapo pistol at me.”
“What gratitude, after I saved your worthless self from those rudely interrupted drug addicts. If you had half a ball, you wouldn’t have needed my help anyway.”
“And if you hadn’t passed out, it never would have happened in the first place.”
“Why do white people have to be so dramatic? You’re a friggin’ drama queen. Besides, there wasn’t even a round loaded in the chamber of this pistol, see?”
Terrell pointed the handgun out the open window in the direction of a trash dumpster they were driving past, and he pulled the trigger.
Instead of a quiet click from the pistol of Terrell “it’s not loaded” Hayes, it boomed as it fired a round of ammo. When the bullet hit the big square metal trash dumpster, it caused an incredibly loud clang. It made Jake imagine what the biggest gong in Asia must sound like—at two in the morning.
Car alarms began to wail in vehicles parked nearby. Dogs started barking. Lights went on. People shouted. Somebody shrieked. A man pointed a shotgun out of an apartment window. A homeless man who had been asleep in the empty tras
h bin lifted the lid and looked out in a daze. He was wearing a red and black checkered flannel shirt, and he had unwashed long hair. His mouth formed the words, “What the hell?”
“Nice shootin’ cowboy,” Jake said as he broke the speed limit in the empty streets. He ran a red light and said, “I’ll stop there next time.”
Jake thought it was probably a good thing he didn’t share any of his exploding nitro bullets with Terrell. He had a few of those that he’d been given by some guys he knew in the Kidon Unit of the Israeli Special Forces, when he’d done them a favor during a deployment. The hollow rounds weren’t actually filled with nitroglycerin, it was too volatile. But they’d been nicknamed “nitro rounds.” They were similar to the Mk 211 high-explosive incendiary/armor-piercing ammunition (HEIAP), used by Navy SEALs in their XM107 .50-caliber sniper rifles. Except that this particular ammunition contained a new and secret explosive compound, only known to the intelligence community and a few of their black ops friends. It was highly illegal for Jake to have them, and that was ‘nuff said about that.
Terrell stared at the smoking gun, and frowned at it like somebody had played a trick on him. “Apparently the loaded chamber indicator on this junky pistol is not indicating squat.”
Terrell then carefully clicked on the safety and placed the gun on the dashboard.
“Shooting a dumpster is going to look real good on your resume,” Jake said. “What have you been smoking?”
“I suppose I may be just a bit sobriety deprived at the moment,” Terrell said. “And you have to smoke too, or you won’t fit in with the pushers and party people.”
“You just need to sober up with some bad coffee from a drive up window that serves death on a plate.”
Jake pulled up to a 24-hour junk food drive-through and bought a coffee. When the young man working at the window saw the smoking pistol on the dashboard and the fake gang tats on Terrell’s arms, his eyes got big and round.
“Don’t worry, my friend was in a gang, but he quit,” Jake said. “Now he’s looking for an honest job. Are you guys hiring?”
The guy at the window didn’t say anything, so Jake paid for the coffee and gave him a generous tip. While Jake was driving off, the frightened young man got on the phone, no doubt calling the police.
