by G. K. Parks
“It’s my cover,” he explained after I shut and locked the door. “I was going to ask if you had any laundry detergent, or how to use the washing machine, or something.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied, amused. “Have you heard anything?”
“The last I heard, the guy’s barricaded himself inside the room. Emergency services are on the way.”
“It’s definitely him?”
“It looks that way. We’re operating off the description the motel clerk provided. We haven’t gotten eyes on him. No cameras. No surveillance. It’s a run-down motel, the kind you pay for by the hour.”
My leg bounced up and down with nervous energy. Something wasn’t right. The familiar twinge nagged at the recesses of my mind. “Why would he use a credit card? He used a fake passport to enter the country. He changed tickets with another passenger on a different flight. He knows we’re gunning for him. He left us a freaking gift wrapped body for god’s sake. Why would he suddenly get so sloppy?”
“Maybe he figured with a fleabag motel like that it wouldn’t matter,” O’Connell reasoned. “These guys always screw up. It’s just a matter of when.”
“No, not this guy. Not like this.” There had to be an explanation. I quickly ran through the limited amount of information I had on Abelard. “Shit.” The random items found in the warehouse weren’t left by squatters. They were bomb building materials, and Abelard was clearly a fan of fireworks. I picked up the phone and dialed Mark, hoping it wasn’t too late.
“Parker?” he asked, confused by my call.
“Don’t breach. It’s a trap.”
Mark yelled something to the team assembled. “I’ll call you back.”
O’Connell raised a questioning eyebrow, and I shrugged. Now we had to wait.
Ten minutes later, Mark phoned. “I’ve never seen anyone with instincts like yours.”
“What happened?” I put Mark on speakerphone as I paced.
“The door was booby-trapped with a tripwire hooked to some homemade C-4. There was a remote detonator attached and wires on the windows. No one was inside. The shared connecting door was jimmied open. It looks like Abelard set everything up and escaped before we arrived. We’re canvassing the area, but my guess is he’s long gone.”
Abelard couldn’t have had more than a few minutes to set the bomb and get away. Who was this guy and how did he keep eluding us?
“He wants to draw me out,” I said. “But I’m right here. Why doesn’t he just come and get me?”
“Maybe he wants to make sure you’re unprotected,” O’Connell offered. “If he thinks you have Interpol or the Bureau watching your back, he might want to distract them, so you’ll be left unguarded.”
It was a good theory. I had to give O’Connell credit for coming up with it. The problem was it was just a theory.
* * *
The next morning, Mark came by my apartment to check on things. There wasn’t much to report. We still had no leads. Maybe I should stand in the middle of the street with a giant neon sign above my head, saying come and get me, but the electrical bill for that little stunt would be astronomical. Maybe it was part of Abelard’s sadistic nature to make me wait. It was torture knowing he was out there, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
Traffic cam footage from near the hotel had been compiled from the night before. Even though the motel didn’t have surveillance cameras, there was still a chance one of the nearby DOT cameras caught Abelard going or coming. Mark brought a copy, and I inserted the disk into my computer and watched a plethora of cars drive past. Only a few made the appropriate turn which would lead to the motel.
“Dammit,” I swore. “The son of a bitch was following me.” The silver sedan from last night turned and disappeared out of sight. Suppressing the chill that traveled up my spine, I rewound and pointed to the vehicle.
“Parker, it’s a silver sedan. It’s the most popular type and color of vehicle. How can you be positive it’s the same one you thought was following you?” As the footage continued to play, another five or six silver sedans passed the camera. “I understand you’re scared, but jumping to conclusions will only make finding him that much more difficult.”
I rubbed my eyes. Was I paranoid and hiding from shadows? Probably.
“Plus, if he found you, he would have known you were alone and made his move instead of trying to lure you into a trap,” Mark said.
“True.” My paranoia wasn’t helping the situation. “Did you get the motel’s check-in records? Maybe he was there earlier to plant the bomb. That way, he would have time to swipe his credit card and get away before any of us were the wiser.”
“You really think a place like that keeps records? They don’t even have security cameras. The clerk stays behind a barred, bullet-resistant window.”
“Classy joint,” I sighed. “Something’s got to give. We can’t stay three steps behind.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to move to a secure location?” Mark asked.
“One way or another, this will end. I need to be more proactive since playing defense isn’t cutting it.”
“We don’t know where he is.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t look for him. I accidentally stumbled upon him in a foreign country. Here, I have the home court advantage.”
“You got lucky in Paris. That’s the only reason you found him.”
“I’m calling O’Connell and taking another look around the warehouse. Do you want to join us?” I asked, ignoring Mark’s pessimistic attitude.
“Might as well, since you’re going regardless of what I say.”
I gave Nick a call. He was presently at the precinct, and Thompson was in the apartment. Since I was leaving, Thompson could go home. It seemed like an all-around win. O’Connell agreed to meet us where the body had been discovered in twenty minutes.
* * *
Walking the interior perimeter of the building, I noted its dissimilarities to the warehouse in France, but for Abelard’s purposes, I’m sure it sufficed. There were a lot of broken windows and plenty of light filtering in from outside. Aside from the one large door for trucks to enter and exit and a smaller door, there were no other openings. I crouched on the ground and stared at the hook where Ski Mask had been left dangling until the coroner retrieved the body.
“The techs have gone through this place with a fine-tooth comb, but they didn’t find anything else,” O’Connell said.
There were no separate rooms for Abelard to use as a staging or prep area. Did he take his toys with him when he finished? Or could he have a setup in one of the other empty buildings nearby?
“Did you check the surrounding buildings?” I asked, doing a quick three-sixty before heading for the door.
“Some officers canvassed the area, but they didn’t come up with anything.”
There had to be more than this. Determined to find something concrete, I went outside with Mark at my heels. Mark pointed to some dilapidated cargo containers.
“Did you have your guys check those out?” Mark asked O’Connell once he joined us after re-securing the crime scene and replacing the police tape.
“Yeah, nothing turned up. They were empty.”
Our outing was a bust. I circled the area. This was my last ditch effort before admitting defeat and giving up. “Sorry, I dragged you here,” I muttered, annoyed with myself. “We can leave. It doesn’t look like this will lead to anything.”
“I have a few calls in to a couple of guys I know in the gangs unit,” O’Connell offered. “I thought if Abelard follows his previous pattern, they might hear some chatter.”
“Thanks.” I rubbed my eyes. I was tired of this. “Would either of you care to stop by my office for a couple of minutes, I just want to double-check some things.”
O’Connell glanced at his watch. “If you buy me a cup of coffee, you’ve got a deal.”
“Well, if we’re talking free coffee, I’m in.” Mark grinned.
“Coffee’s on me.
”
Thirty
I gave Mark a ten dollar bill and sent him to get the coffees while I read my mail.
O’Connell surveyed my small office space. “Glad to see the private sector is booming,” he joked. “What do you call this? Pressed wood chic?”
“I call it all I can afford. I swear, you and Martin both have issues with my office décor.” The stack of mail went into the recycle bin, and I pressed the message button on the answering machine to make sure there were no missed calls.
“If you want to get business, you have to look like a legitimate company,” he chided.
I was preparing a proper comeback when his radio went off. Dispatch received word of a 911 call regarding a gunman. I ignored the radio chatter until I heard the address.
“That’s here.” I unholstered my weapon and flipped off the safety. O’Connell’s piece was already out, and we approached the front door. Abelard stood in the middle of the parking lot, a cell phone in one hand and a gun at his side. “It’s him,” I hissed.
O’Connell radioed for backup and relayed the pertinent information. Abelard smiled menacingly and tossed the phone away before giving a slight wave.
“You son of a bitch.” I was confident I could put a bullet through his skull from this distance. I reached for the door, but O’Connell stopped me.
“We need a plan,” he insisted.
“Fine,” my eyes didn’t leave Abelard, “go out the back and around the building to head him off. I’ll keep him occupied until then.” Or I’d shoot him. Whichever came first.
O’Connell went out the back without another word, and I carefully exited my office. A bulletproof vest would have been a nice accessory to have on today, I thought wistfully. I kept my nine millimeter down by my side so as not to panic civilians as I made my way toward Abelard.
“Madame,” he bellowed from his spot in the middle of the parking lot, “it seems we never got to finish our little tête-à-tête.”
I turned sideways and leveled my gun at him. “Drop your weapon.”
“Tut tut.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t want to risk hurting one of these innocent people.”
O’Connell approached from the left, and Abelard raised his gun in the air and fired. The resulting gunshot sent everyone in the vicinity running and screaming.
“Dammit,” I cursed as a herd of people blocked my view.
“Parker,” O’Connell yelled, and we ran through the crowd in pursuit of Abelard.
Abelard didn’t have much of a head start. I ran across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a taxi. O’Connell was ahead of me, weaving around the pedestrians on the sidewalk, as we chased Abelard another block. Turning the corner a couple of steps behind O’Connell, I caught a glimpse of Abelard descending the stairs to the subway.
Running down steps was my least favorite thing. Pushing past commuters, I was almost to the turnstiles when I caught sight of Abelard’s back, heading up the other set of steps.
“Nick,” I screamed, reversing direction and running up the escalator. At least going up the stairs was less of an ordeal than going down. At street level, he disappeared down an alleyway, and I followed, hoping for a dead end. Nick was three steps behind me as the narrow alley opened onto another street. Crossing once more Frogger-style and narrowly missing getting hit by a bike messenger, Abelard made it into the park. Nick was at my heels, and as we went past a street vendor, we were confronted with a hostage situation.
Abelard grabbed a teenage boy and used him as a shield, the muzzle of his gun pressed against the boy’s temple. “I said I wasn’t done with you yet,” Abelard taunted.
O’Connell and I trained our weapons on the target, but I didn’t have a clear shot.
“Police,” O’Connell identified himself, holding his badge in his free hand. “Let the boy go.” He sidestepped closer to me. “If you have a shot, take it,” he whispered.
“Non, non, non,” Abelard responded, his French accent thickening his words. “This is because of her, and I’m not through having my fun.” Abelard was less stable than I realized. He might have suffered a recent psychotic break since the man I met in the Parisian bar was less of a lunatic than the man before me now. “Our playtime is only beginning, Madame. Now Monsieur Policeman, I would suggest you put down your pistol.” Abelard gave O’Connell a wicked smile.
Mark had followed us and appeared behind Abelard. He edged closer, hoping to keep his presence hidden. I had no idea how he managed to get around, but I was thankful he did.
“Okay, let’s just calm down.” O’Connell attempted to de-escalate the situation. He made a show of removing his finger from the trigger and holding his gun in the air before carefully sliding it onto his hip. “No one needs to get hurt.”
My weapon remained trained on Abelard. If the kid would just move another inch to the right, I would have a clean shot.
“Is that right, Alex?” Abelard asked. “You don’t want to hurt me after everything I’ve done to you and everything I promise I’ll do to you?”
“Seems your issue is with me and only me,” I said. “Why don’t we work out our differences by ourselves?”
“Oh, we will Madame. I’m just not ready for the grand finale yet. Until then, I hope you’re enjoying the foreplay,” his voice dripped maniacal pleasure.
Before I could say or do anything, Mark grabbed Abelard’s gun arm and attempted to wrestle the weapon from him. O’Connell yelled at the kid to move, and I was about to take the shot when Abelard’s gun discharged. Mark hit the ground. Abelard turned and gave a two-fingered salute before fleeing into the crowd. O’Connell checked on the kid, and I rushed to Mark.
I swore loudly, frustrated as I knelt on the ground. Mark was properly accessorized with a vest under his shirt, and given the small caliber weapon Abelard had been holding, it only knocked the wind out of him.
“I don’t like your friend,” Mark said once he caught his breath.
O’Connell’s backup arrived, and we had to provide statements and go through the rigmarole of dealing with the hostage situation and letting the suspect get away. O’Connell would have to deal with the fallout. Mark and I returned to my office and locked up before going to the precinct and filling out the paperwork. When we were done, Mark drove me home.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?” I asked Mark, who was, by all accounts, absolutely fine. He barely even bruised, the lucky bastard.
“Shut up, Parker.”
“I should have shot him. Why didn’t I take the shot or continue pursuit? Hell, I should have done both.”
“You didn’t want to hit the kid. And you were worried about the old man who nearly took a bullet. I swear I’m getting too damn old for this.”
“Then you should be behind a desk, not in the field.”
He pulled to a stop in front of my apartment building. “I’ll come up.”
“No, you go home. Take some ibuprofen before bed. It’ll hurt in the morning,” I warned. Mark was reluctant to leave when there was a crazy man on the loose. “I’m sure O’Connell will be here momentarily. Plus, Abelard likes to make 911 calls informing us of his location ahead of time.” How long was Abelard waiting outside my office before he made the call identifying his location? He must have been staking it out, waiting for my appearance. Maybe he was in the silver sedan and had been keeping tabs on me all along.
“Fine, but be extremely careful.”
“You too. Circuitous routes and everything else.”
He nodded, and I got out of the car, walking swiftly inside with my hand resting against the butt of my gun. I didn’t know where Abelard escaped to today, but he planned to make good on his threat to finish having his fun with me. I forced my mind not to imagine what that might entail. Hopefully, Abelard wasn’t the creative type.
After I made my way to my apartment, I verified all my locks were secure before unlocking the door and flipping on the lights and checking the entirety of my apartment
before settling down and removing my backup from my ankle. As I heated a frozen pizza, O’Connell knocked on my door.
“The lieutenant doesn’t want any more mishaps,” O’Connell said as I offered him some pizza. “He has a team set up in the building across the street.” There was no room for argument. Today could have been disastrous.
“I’m really sorry.” I felt responsible for the flack he had to endure. “How hard did this come down on you?”
“Not too bad. The kid’s fine. Shaken up, but fine. Agent Jablonsky barely even flinched. Everyone’s still breathing, so it’s all good.”
I wished Abelard wasn’t, but I kept that thought to myself.
“How are you?” Nick asked.
“Still breathing.”
“That’s one crazy mother.”
“Strangely enough, he didn’t seem this crazy the first time around,” I took a breath, “and he was insane then, too. Now he’s completely overboard.” I cringed. It was no wonder Jean-Pierre had been afraid to cross him.
* * *
The next morning, I stared out my window, wondering if the police were watching from across the street. Mark called and said he and Farrell might be making progress on locating the supplier Abelard used to purchase the detonators for his C-4. I wished them luck. O’Connell dropped by my apartment that morning, after he relieved Thompson from the night shift, and I offered him a cup of coffee.
“Any news?” I asked. O’Connell shook his head. Abelard had vanished again. I hadn’t slept. The paranoia and anxiety were getting to me. People I cared about could have been killed yesterday. Mark had been shot, after all.
“You look like shit,” O’Connell said, and I snickered at his assessment.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what I like to hear.”
He gave me a look and refilled his cup of coffee.
“I hate that Abelard is calling the shots and running the show.”
