Kill the Heroes

by David Thurlo

  “Can we go sit on those stools, Mom? There are three with nobody on them.”

  Ruth laughed. “I don’t think you’re old enough, not yet anyway.”

  “They serve alcohol in there, Rene,” Charlie explained, “like wine and beer. You’d have to show them your ID.”

  “I brought mine,” he responded, bringing out the lanyard holding his elementary school photo ID. “Just kidding.”

  They all laughed, and Charlie finally relaxed.

  * * *

  Around 3:00 AM the next morning, on Ruth’s sofa again, Charlie woke up with an idea, entered it as a text message, then set it to send to Gordon at 7:00 AM. It took a while to get back to sleep after that, as his mind was racing.

  Chapter Eight

  “So you’re not convinced there’s a terrorist out there, Charlie?” Ruth asked, sitting beside him in Gordon’s pickup as they waited at the stoplight. It was 9:00 AM, and they’d left Jake and Gordon behind to run the shop. Charlie still didn’t want to leave Ruth or Jake unprotected, not that Jake couldn’t take care of himself. He was an ex-pro wrestler, smart, fit, and healthy even in his mid-sixties.

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m not completely sold on the theory, though the evidence so far is hard to dispute. But there are also so many contradictions to the typical terrorist attacks that I want to rule out the other possibilities. There are hundreds of cops and agents working that angle, and not so many looking elsewhere. Maybe I was the intended target, or you, or the both of us, and your ex is responsible. Or maybe the helicopter pilot, but for a totally different reason.”

  “Which means those ‘kill the heroes’ messages are the killer’s way of misleading the investigation. I get that. So we’re going to find out whoever else might have wanted to kill Captain … the guy who died,” she said, remembering the taboo.

  “There are also plenty of Feds and state agencies back east looking for Lawrence, especially now that they’ve caught three of his crew. Here, we’ve got Gordon and other friends to protect us from another attack. I’ve got to help out where I can do the most good,” Charlie answered. “I don’t think we’re going to be in any danger today, at least not until it gets dark. But stay very close, okay?”

  “That’s easy; besides, I feel safe when you’re around, Charlie. I trust you with my life, and so does Rene. I’ll stay alert. I was also wondering why the person doing all this hasn’t attacked during daytime. I don’t think it’s just because they don’t want to be identified.”

  “Okay, Ruth, what’s your theory?”

  “Well, if the attacker is a local, then maybe they can’t get away during the daytime simply because they’re at work. Taking time off to shoot at someone, assuming they don’t want to get caught, takes away their alibi. Just a thought,” Ruth added.

  “That also suggests they’re not die-hard fanatics on a suicide path,” Charlie nodded, continuing down the street, and glancing over at the GPS. “You’re making some good points.”

  “Which leads back to a personal motive, Charlie. Otherwise, why attack a soldier unless they blame someone in the military for the death of a loved one? Or maybe they blame the military for the suicide of a former soldier, or they have a grievance against the Army. I find it hard to believe that you and the man who was killed at Recognition Park have anything in common except having served overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “I also have to consider the possibility that it’s my enemy, someone who wants me dead, but is just a lousy shot. I hate to think of the captain as collateral damage, but there it is,” Charlie said.

  “In the meantime we’re going to the Back Up office to see if the owner had any enemies closer to home.”

  Charlie nodded. “The person running day-to-day operations right now is Max Mitchell. He’s an Army vet, and from his voice I think he’s probably in his sixties. Mitchell said we can talk to him and the bookkeeper, if she’s willing,” Charlie said.

  “There’s the place,” Ruth said, pointing to a small, olive drab one-story block building behind a warehouse along Second Street. “Not much bigger than a two-car garage.”

  “From what I gather, this is where the boss, his assistant, and the full-time bookkeeper work. Their clients, all vets—check the website, call in, or stop by to find out whatever temporary jobs are available or have been assigned to them. Everything from construction, clerical, delivery, warehouse work, and apprentice or job-training opportunities, I guess,” Charlie answered, making the turn off Second Street into a small parking lot. Three vehicles were parked next to the building, and a red pickup was across the street, the driver with a phone to his ear.

  Charlie glanced at the driver, who looked familiar for some reason, then took the keys out of the ignition and grabbed his own phone from the center console.

  This time when he came around, Ruth waited for Charlie to give her a hand stepping down out of the oversized truck. “Is that a plainclothes officer parked over there?” she asked, looking across the street.

  “Maybe. I’ve seen the guy before, but can’t recall where or when.”

  There was a wide, low concrete pad that served as a porch to the building, and Charlie could hear voices as he reached for the doorknob. As they stepped into what was the front office, Charlie recognized Patricia Azok, the woman sitting at one of two desks positioned side by side. At the second desk stood a bright-eyed, silver-haired, husky man. This was Max Mitchell, undoubtedly, who was wearing a worn leather vest over a long-sleeved, black T-shirt with stars and stripes running diagonally across a sagging chest. The air had the strong scent of cigars.

  Patricia Azok looked a little bit better than the last time he’d seen her—at the hospital—just after her ex-husband had died. Charlie thought it appropriate to greet her first, though he was a bit uncertain regarding what to say.

  “Good morning, ma’am. We met at the hospital. I want to offer my condolences once more for the loss of … Captain Whitaker,” he added.

  “Sergeant Henry, yes, I remember, and I want to thank you again for all you tried to do to help my … Nathan,” Patricia replied softly, a hitch in her voice. “Call me Patricia, I still haven’t gotten rid of Azok.”

  “I wish I’d been able to do more, Patricia. I’d like you to meet my very good friend Ruth,” Charlie said.

  “Ruth! Janice said that you helped her hold it together, and did everything you could to help the other wounded,” she said, stepping over and giving Ruth a big hug. “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry. His loss is being deeply felt in this community, and all over the country as well,” Ruth responded, joining in the embrace.

  Patricia stepped back, managing a smile. “I guess you should meet Mr. Mitchell. Max has been Nathan’s right-hand man here at Back Up. He’s conducting the daily operations for as long as he’s willing to stay on.”

  Max, who’d stood immediately when they came through the door, held out his hand and gave Charlie a hardy handshake. “Sergeant Henry. Glad to meet you, soldier, despite the situation. Thank you for your service to your country and to your tribe.”

  “And thank you for yours as well,” Charlie responded, noting a ball cap on a coat hook with the distinctive yellow shield, black diagonal stripe, and horse head of the 1st Calvary Division. “Vietnam, before I was born?”

  Max nodded. “I was airborne infantry, in-country from ’65 to ’67. Hate the jungle and the forever rain, which is probably why I moved to New Mexico.”

  “Smart. I’ll take the desert every time,” Charlie observed.

  “For sure.” Max nodded. “Now, let’s get down to business and see if we have any idea who might have killed Nathan, then ambushed you at your pawn shop.”

  Charlie looked up as an attractive blond woman in a striped shirt and jeans appeared in the open doorway leading into the interior of the building. Her eyebrows were raised in curiosity, but her face drooped slightly from obvious fatigue. She must be the bookkeeper, he thought.

  “Excuse me, people,
I don’t mean to interrupt, but it gets lonely back in my office sometimes and I heard voices. You’re looking for part-time help at your business, Mr.…” She held out her hand to Charlie.

  “Charlie Henry, ma’am,” he answered, “and no, I’m just here with my friend Ruth to learn more about Captain Whitaker’s associates and contacts, and maybe his enemies.”

  “Ah, you’re one of the vets who was at the ceremony. Sorry I didn’t recognize you right away, Sergeant Henry. I’m Anna Brown, the bookkeeper. I understand you’ve also become a target for this terrorist. Stay careful and stay safe, soldier.

  “And hello, Ruth, pleased to meet you as well,” Anna added, shaking Ruth’s hand.

  Patricia spoke. “You said enemies, Charlie. Do you think there is more than one terrorist in our community?”

  Charlie explained his ruling-out strategy, and the reason why he and Ruth were here—to get to know more about Nathan, his activities, contacts, and friends, the business, and to determine if the shooter could have been someone with a personal motive for killing him.

  “Then why would someone who came to kill Nathan want to shoot at you, Charlie? They’d already done what they came for,” Anna asked, leaning against the doorframe. “Did you know Nathan, or have dealings with him?”

  “No, but here’s my reasoning. If everyone is led to believe the shooter is a terrorist, then the true motive for killing Captain Whitaker might never be discovered. Fake a few more attacks on what the press has labeled heroes, egged on by some fake messages from the shooter claiming his politics, and the shooter misdirects the entire investigation,” Charlie explained. “It becomes a terrorist witch hunt, not a criminal investigation.”

  “And it might take years, maybe never, for law enforcement to realize they’d been led down the garden path,” Max concluded. “There is some logic to your theory, Charlie. All of us here knew Nathan quite well. Can you guys think of any local idiot who might have wanted to kill him?”

  Both Max and Anna looked at Patricia, and Charlie suddenly caught on. The guy in the red pickup across the street was Steven Azok! He was clearly a control freak, and must have been extremely jealous of Nathan. Azok blamed Nathan for breaking up his marriage. And right now, the guy was outside, stalking his soon-to-be ex-wife.

  “What is it, Charlie?” Ruth asked, reading his expression.

  “Tell you later. Um, Patricia, have you had any more problems with Steven since the incident at the hospital?” he decided to ask. It was apparent to him that the other people must also know something about her domestic problems.

  “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him directly, except at the hospital. My lawyer is handling any required contact with Steven. A few weeks ago, before Nathan died, I was able to get a court order that required Steven to keep his distance and stop trying to communicate with me,” she answered. “Anna and Max know about my situation, and how Nathan and I had planned to get together again after … after my divorce.” Tears came to her eyes.

  Charlie doubted that the woman knew her husband was outside watching; either that, or she was afraid of a confrontation.

  Everyone waited silently for Patricia to regain her composure, and Charlie quickly texted Gordon as unobtrusively as possible.

  After a few awkward moments Patricia was able to speak again. “I’d like to think that the bastard had nothing to do with Nathan’s murder, but he’s so jealous and possessive I had to tell the detectives. Steven had threatened Nathan once I told him I wanted a divorce. Not that it matters, I suppose, Steven never followed up on that. He just got abusive. Nathan’s killer is a terrorist, and even though Steven has a terrible temper, he’s very much a patriot. At least he respected Nathan’s military service. Steven said so more than once.”

  He also called Nathan a bastard, Charlie thought as he recalled overhearing Azok at the hospital, and he was apparently quick to arrive after the shooting. Had Azok been watching Patricia, who was at her apartment that night, or did he follow the ambulance to the hospital from the park after taking the shot? A shooter might have done that to make sure his victim was dead.

  “We’ll still want to speak to Mr. Azok about this, however—just to cross him off the list of possible suspects,” Charlie said.

  “Do that,” Max responded. “The guy—pardon me, Patricia—is a hot-headed whiner who doesn’t have the guts to stand up to a man. He’s definitely the kind of half-human who’d shoot an unarmed man from ambush.”

  “I’d have to agree with that,” Anna said, nodding her head. “Everyone around here had great respect for Nathan. He returned home with issues—like a lot of us—but managed to get himself together again by starting up this company. Helping vets was his mission, and he stuck with it, operating on a shoestring and putting almost every dollar back into finding jobs and training for those who’d served.”

  “What she said,” Max confirmed. “Nathan was tough and demanding, and not the best businessman, hence the need for Anna, but his heart was in this mission. Thanks to Patricia, we’re going to continue his work as long as we can.”

  “Patricia, you’re the owner now?” Ruth asked.

  “Good question,” Charlie added. “Were you and Nathan still partners, even after the divorce?”

  Patricia nodded. “I was a silent partner. This was Nathan’s baby, really, something he began while we were still married. Late yesterday I discovered that he’d left his half of the business to me in his trust. That’s why I’m here now, hoping to find out exactly where the company stands at the moment.”

  Charlie took a quick glance at his phone, feeling the vibration of an incoming text. It was Gordon. He’s gone was the message.

  “Excuse me, something from the shop,” Charlie hedged, turning his back for a second to tell Gordon to wait outside.

  “Back Up serves as a temp service—an employment agency—that gets work for the clients in exchange for a percentage of the pay they receive from outside employers, is that correct?” Ruth asked.

  “Yes, the vets who are paid in cash turn over Back Up’s percentages directly to Anna, but most of the time the employers send us the paychecks, then we pay our clients their salaries after deducting that percentage. If the job becomes permanent, our percentage is phased out. Often we also arrange for job training, and that cost is shared with the vet trainee, paid back without interest over time. We make just enough money to cover our three-person staff and the office expenses,” Max explained.

  Anna nodded. “We don’t make much, and money is especially tight right now, but that isn’t why we’re here. I was in the Air Force and served two tours in the Middle East, and if it hadn’t been for community college and this place, I might be living on the street right now.”

  “How about the clients, the vets? Did Back Up—Nathan—ever have any trouble with someone who’d come here looking for work?” Charlie asked, thinking of PTSD and coping with being a civilian again.

  “A few, from time to time, but it was usually connected with their employer as well. Some of our clients, well, more than a few, have issues with drinking, drugs, violence, finding housing, family issues,” Max said. “That’s why they came to us. But I’ve never seen anything more dramatic than an argument, or Nathan having to tell them he couldn’t place them anywhere until they got some help from the VA.”

  Charlie looked at Anna, who simply nodded. “Same here.”

  “Okay, then, thanks to you, Patricia, Max, and Anna. If you think of anyone who might have considered Captain Whitaker an enemy, please let me or detectives Medina and DuPree know. Here’s my business card.” He handed one to each of them.

  Charlie and Ruth thanked the three, then said good-bye and stepped outside, closing the door behind them.

  As they stepped off the low porch Ruth took hold of Charlie’s forearm. ‘What was that business with the phone, texting during a conversation? You’d never do that around a client in the shop.”

  Then she noticed Gordon sitting in Charlie’s car, parked ju
st past Gordon’s truck. “Oh. So what’s going on?”

  “Once Steven Azok’s name came up, I realized that it was him sitting in that red pickup across the street when we arrived. He’s been stalking Patricia, which means he’s violating a restraining order.”

  She looked across the street. “You were hoping Gordon might catch him sitting there watching, but you didn’t want to go after him then and alarm Patricia.”

  “Right,” Charlie answered as they walked over to Gordon.

  “Sorry, bro,” Gordon said as they approached the purple Charger. “By the time I got here, he was gone.”

  “It’s okay. He’d seen me before as well, and might have been concerned that I’d recognize him and go postal,” Charlie said.

  “Like I did?” Gordon grinned, looking up at Ruth. “Hi!”

  “Don’t try and slide past that, Gordon. When did you get rough with Steven Azok?”

  Charlie shrugged. “We didn’t tell you about meeting the guy at the hospital the night of the shooting. He was manhandling Patricia, so Gordon showed him the door.”

  “Gordon threw him out?” Ruth replied.

  “Wish I had, but no, eventually he ended up leaving under his own power,” Gordon said.

  “Okay, then we go back to the shop?” Ruth asked Charlie.

  Charlie looked up and down the street for several seconds. “How about we circle the block and see if he’s just gone out of sight, waiting for us to leave?”

  “And if we find him?” Ruth asked.

  “He’ll get the same level of respect we show all men who abuse women,” Gordon said, sliding over into the passenger seat. “You drive, it’s your car,” he told Charlie.

  Charlie opened the backseat door for Ruth. “Buckle up.”

  She climbed inside, grumbling something that could have been a curse.

  He looked back, trying to read her expression in the rearview mirror, and she managed a weak smile. “Be careful,” she urged.