Kill the Heroes

by David Thurlo

  “We think he might be in the red pickup, unless he switched back to the Camry his brother was driving this morning.”

  Nancy sighed. “Explain to me how you came up with that theory.”

  She wasn’t surprised at what had gone down, except for the outcome. “It’s probably a good thing, though, not meeting face-to-face with Steven Azok. You’re not cops, and he didn’t have to talk with you at all. But I do have some good news. If we can track down Azok, he can be hauled before a judge for violating the restraining order.”

  “An officer saw him stalking her?”

  “Not directly, but one of our people managed to find surveillance recordings that show him parked across the street from the Back Up office.”

  “I didn’t notice any cameras.”

  “They came from the bail bonds office on the next block east. New cameras, apparently, and really good, color images. It was possible to read his vehicle plates from over a hundred yards away. There’s a warrant out now for his arrest, so his residence is under random surveillance. There’s also an ATL that’s been issued county-wide,” Nancy affirmed.

  “Go get him,” Charlie urged. “Can I ask a related/unrelated question?”

  “Yes and no. Okay, what is it?” Nancy sighed.

  “Have there been any incidents concerning fires since the last threat?” Charlie asked.

  “Only a bosque fire across the river from Tingley Beach,” she replied, indicating a location southwest of Albuquerque’s Old Town. “I heard it was set by some transients who’d walked away from a cooking fire.”

  “Not exactly a terrorist attack,” Charlie said. “Have all the people from the Recognition Park ceremony been notified?”

  “Either by email or phone,” Nancy replied. “You get anything from the people at Back Up, like their enemies or problems? Issues that could create conflict?”

  “Not really, though the bookkeeper said that finances were really tight,” Charlie recalled.

  “I got the impression that they all wanted to keep the company operating.”

  “Just how tight are we talking about? Are they broke?”

  Charlie explained, the best he could recall, how the money passed through hands in the operation, according to Max and Anna. “It sounded to me that there’s a lot of trust involved between the owner and the vets they placed at the various jobs, especially when the vets are paid in cash by their employers. Anna suggested that her boss wasn’t very savvy when it came to running a business, at least on the money side.”

  “We’ll see if there were any loans or transactions that might have gone south,” Nancy said.

  “Maybe a significant number of the vets were underreporting their pay? If the captain found out and said something, that could have created bad blood,” Charlie responded.

  “Or worse. PTSD added to drinking, drugs, and money problems is a bad situation. It’s worth looking into, if only to rule out. Maybe you can see what Patricia Azok knows about that. She’s the new owner, right?” Nancy suggested.

  He nodded. “If I’m the one who asks instead of a cop, it doesn’t come across as part of the investigation so much?”

  “Correct. But ease into it. I doubt anyone would have killed their benefactor over this, but who knows? If the deceased had threatened to press charges it could have backfired on him.”

  “I was going to talk to some of the vets now working via Back Up anyway,” Charlie decided.

  “Okay, then. I’ll see what I can do without raising any suspicion. If there’s nothing else right now, we’ve got to get to work. Will you call me if there’s any news to share?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course. One more thing. Any news about Ruth’s ex-husband fugitive?” Charlie asked.

  “Only that they have no leads on his location since he parted company with those now under arrest. The marshal’s service will get that information first, and they should notify Ruth, so let me know when you have something to pass along,” Nancy said, then ended the call.

  “Copy,” Charlie said to the phone a few seconds too late.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was very busy at the pawn shop, mostly catching up on the records and bookkeeping that Jake had been forced to set aside while taking care of customers. Though he offered to stay a little longer, Charlie and Gordon insisted that Jake leave at closing because he’d had such a heavy load. Ruth’s sitter had brought Rene by the shop, and the seven-year-old was helping Gordon sweep floors and dust while Ruth and Charlie finished up in the office.

  “Everything is backed up on the hard drives and in the cloud,” Ruth said, leaning back in her chair.

  “Good. Shutting down my computer,” Charlie said, left clicking the mouse on the power-down message. As the monitor image switched to blue screen, something in his peripheral vision moved and he glanced up at the surveillance monitor, which maintained images from the six cameras. Someone was standing in the alley at the north end, holding something in their hand that looked like a big wine bottle.

  “Is that a drunk?” he said, pointing to the image just as the person looked up at the camera.

  “Wearing a mask and hoodie?” Ruth replied. “I don’t think so.”

  Charlie stood as the person approached the vehicles parked along the back wall, then reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small object. There was a sudden flash.

  “He’s got a lighter. Oh, crap!” he yelled, racing for the back door.

  Chapter Ten

  He opened the back door just as the person cocked his arm, aiming the bottle, which was now flaming at the mouth.

  “Stop!” Charlie yelled just as the guy hurled the firebomb right at him.

  Charlie yanked the door shut just as the bottle broke against the outside metal. There was a loud whoosh and the instant, acrid scent of burning fuel from the Molotov cocktail. Charlie jumped back and looked to the bottom of the door. Fortunately the flaming liquid didn’t penetrate into the hall.

  “Firebomb struck the back door,” Charlie yelled, grabbing the CO2 fire extinguisher from the wall hook. “Gordon, we’ll have to go out the front and around. Ruth, call 911 and keep Rene hidden below the front counter. Lock the door behind us.”

  By the time Charlie reached the front door, Gordon already had his keys in the lock. He stepped back, pulling the door open for Charlie, who stepped outside onto the sidewalk, aware that the fire might just be a diversion. He looked for a shooter, but saw nothing more than two cars passing by.

  He raced to the corner, then around and down the north side of the building, which faced the side street. In the dark he could make out a figure, running away to the east down the road. Should he attack the fire before it reached the vehicles or chase the arsonist?

  He stopped at the alley and looked toward the loading dock. The burning fuel, probably kerosene from the smell, was concentrated on the metal door, the brick walls, and splashed across the raised concrete dock.

  Gordon came up beside him and jammed some keys in Charlie’s jacket pocket. “I’m going for the punk,” he said. “Work on the fire and save the vehicles.”

  Charlie had encountered fires several times while in the Army, and knew how to put out a fuel fire despite the difference in available suppression equipment. He raced up close enough to see that the burning liquid hadn’t splashed back on his car or Gordon’s truck, so he could attack the fire first.

  He pulled the pin on the handle of the extinguisher, directed the big plastic cone at the base of the flame, and then quickly rotated the dense white cloud of carbon dioxide over the flames. The fire was out almost instantly on the door and wall, and when the cloud descended on the porch, the flames went out as well. The entire process took less than ten seconds.

  He stood back, surveying the scene and looking for anything he’d missed. The scent of kerosene and something else, maybe motor oil, was still very strong and he had to watch for any potential reignition from a hot surface. The air was thick with smoke and floating black ten
drils, and there was a second, intense odor with a metallic bite to it, probably from the paint that had burned off the heavy sheet-steel door. He discovered a disgusting residue, dark goo on the door, maybe from plastic packing peanuts that had been added to thicken the solution and make the fuel stick to the surface like napalm.

  The good news was that the outdoor light fixture above the door was mounted high enough and at the right angle to avoid getting splashed with the fuel mixture.

  He looked down the alley, wondering if he should back up Gordon. If this was the same attacker, he might be armed. But then again, Gordon carried a 9mm on his hip, and his pal had serious tactical skills. Hearing a siren in the distance, Charlie decided to move his and Gordon’s vehicles. He’d park them down the alley far enough so a fire engine could get in and maybe hose down and cool off the door, walls, and loading dock.

  A few minutes later, he hurried around to the front and knocked. “It’s me, Charlie,” he called out loudly. The sirens were getting close and he wanted to check on Ruth and Rene.

  The door came open immediately, and she leaned out and gave him an impulsive kiss on the lips. “You’re okay! Where’s Gordon?”

  “He went after the arsonist. How is Rene?” Charlie asked, looking over her shoulder.

  The boy rose up from behind the counter and waved. “A-okay, Charlie.”

  “Good! You two stay inside, away from the back door. It’s gonna be hot, and we want to keep any fumes out of the shop. Right now I’ve got to check on Gordon.”

  He reached down and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before closing the door.

  Charlie circled back around to the alley and found Gordon standing by his pickup, looking at the damage as he caught his breath. “The bastard got away again,” Gordon said, shaking his head. “I lost him in the dark somewhere, and so did our friend.”

  “Our spook?” Charlie asked, thinking of Russell Turner.

  “Yeah. Russell says he was shadowing us today, backed off on our slow-speed pursuit of Azok’s brother, then decided to hang out at the far end of the alley and do some laundry at Melissa’s at the same time.”

  “Did he manage to get a look at whoever threw the Molotov?” Charlie asked.

  “Just shapes. He’d grabbed his phone to call us when he saw the dude light the top. Once it hit the door and exploded all he saw was the figure head east down the street. Russ decided to try to flank the guy by circling the block. When we met up—nothing. We figured the flamethrower had turned to the north, or hid out somewhere in between. There are several buildings where he could be hiding. Russell suggested I head back here in case there was a second attacker, or the guy planned to take you out with his rifle while you were dealing with the fire.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t run the guy down. If I’d have had my M-4 and night-vision optics I could have nailed the bastard.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Yeah, well, next time we’ll be ready.”

  “Looks like the damage is limited to a smoky wall and the steel door. Are the cameras okay?” Gordon added, pointing to the two mounted up high, close to the roof.

  “Don’t know,” Charlie said. “No matter. We got lucky. The guy threw the bottle at the door, not our vehicles. If one had caught, we might have lost both of them.”

  “He threw it just when you looked outside, right?” Gordon asked.

  Charlie nodded. “If I hadn’t shut the door in time, the shop could have been toast.”

  Gordon thought about it a moment. “And so would have you. Charles, the guy knew the cameras were there, and he was waiting for someone to take a look. He planned to take one of us out in a very painful, agonizing way.”

  Charlie started to say something, but the siren of the approaching fire truck and the honking air horn made the effort pointless, so he just stood back to give the big vehicle clearance when it came around the corner.

  * * *

  It was close to midnight when Charlie finally pulled up into the driveway of his house. He was alone now. Detective DuPree had one of his officers drive Ruth and Rene to their apartment hours ago. Ruth had insisted she was in much less danger than Charlie, who’d been the clear target of the last two attacks. With no news of her missing ex, the threat to her was still unknown and speculative. Besides, Charlie needed some rest, and her sofa was no substitute for a bed. Still, he had asked that patrols in her neighborhood be increased.

  He pulled the Charger into the garage, closed the overhead door with the remote before he got out of the car, and then quickly went into the house. He was weary, but too pumped to sleep at the moment. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he turned out the light and walked into the darkened living room, finding the couch by memory and the faint streetlight shining through the curtains. Pulling off his boots, he eased into the cushions and leaned back, stretching out his long legs.

  The events of the past few hours played over again in his head, keeping him awake. He’d spoken to several federal agents, from FBI to Homeland and another agency he couldn’t remember, then with DuPree, Nancy, and two firemen. One of them was an arson investigator, the other some kind of deputy chief. The FBI had taken the physical evidence with them—all the glass they could gather from the broken bottle—plus scrapings of residue from the wall, steps, and asphalt pavement. As a TV crew recorded the action, law enforcement had also hauled away the back door. Now there was just an improvised barrier of plywood, wired shut and blocking the entrance.

  After everyone else was gone, they’d flipped a coin. Gordon had lost and was now sleeping just outside their office upon a cot and wool blankets from the for-sale merchandise.

  Looking at his watch, Charlie realized that he needed to get up at four and go relieve his pal. One of them had to guard the shop until businesses opened and they could arrange for a new door—and locks. He stood, took a quick look outside through the curtains, and walked into the bedroom. He dropped onto the bed and grabbed a pillow. Sleep came within a few minutes.

  * * *

  Charlie arrived at the shop well before dawn, parking in the alley beside Gordon’s pickup. He walked up the sidewalk on the north end of the building and quietly let himself in the front. Quickly he placed the two bags he was carrying on the counter beside the cash register and turned off the alarm, which had a short delay. He relocked the door, then saw Gordon across the room, seated on the cot and buttoning up his shirt.

  “You’re right on time, Chuck,” Gordon said. “Nothing to report. Nobody got inside last night except a cricket, and I was too wiped to hunt the noisy beast down.”

  “Good. I passed by the truck stop over at University and Candelaria and ordered a couple of their breakfast burritos. Thought you might want to take one with you,” Charlie said, holding up the bags.

  “Naw, I’m ready to eat right now. You had breakfast?”

  “Not yet. Let’s eat.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * *

  The business day started out quickly, with their first calls to warehouse stores in the search for a replacement door, then a locksmith to provide the level of security they required. Fortunately, Jake showed up early, as did Ruth—once she’d taken Rene to school—and that left Charlie and Gordon available to install the door once it was delivered.

  They kept getting calls from local news outlets, asking for interviews, and Charlie learned that a local mosque now had a small group of protestors gathered on the sidewalks outside. Clearly news of the firebombing had quickly spread throughout the metro area. Twice, reporters came inside, trolling for sound bites to air on the evening news, but Charlie and Gordon were brief and factual, disappointing the news people, who were obviously hoping for something more sensational.

  A few minutes after five, however, Charlie got a call from Dawud on his cell while finishing up the paperwork on a turquoise and silver bracelet that had just been pawned. He glanced around the room, noting that Gordon was talking to a customer over near the gun safes.<
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  “Greetings, my friend,” Dawud began, his tone revealing some hesitation in the words. “I hope your day is progressing well, or at least better than your previous one. I heard that someone tried to burn down your shop last night. Are you all okay?”

  “Hello, Dawud. We’re safe, there was no damage that can’t be fixed, and business is back to normal, maybe even better than normal. Has someone been bothering you or your family? How’s Caleb?” Charlie replied, stepping away from the counter as Gordon came over with the customer, a purchase tag in hand.

  “There is some hostility at my business, but no one has interfered. My son hasn’t mentioned any more problems at school since you spoke to his classmates, but I just received a call from my daughter, Justine. She and Caleb came home from school and there were people waiting outside our home carrying signs and shouting … the usual insults.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, and they have an officer outside my produce market. There have also been shouts and insults, but nobody has brought their anger inside our shop. This time they are insulting my customers. The police say they are stretched too thin, and can’t protect both my business and my home,” Dawud explained. “I can’t leave my wife here alone. Would you or my friend Gordon stand with my children for a while this afternoon until we can join them? Caleb tells me he will protect Justine. But who will protect him?”

  “At least one of us will be there in twenty minutes,” Charlie assured. “Let Caleb know we’re on our way. I doubt that these protestors will do anything stupid.”

  “They are cowards, they will likely wait until dark, friend. That’s when I worry. Thank you very much. My wife and I will close our shop early. We just need some extra help at the moment.”

  “Give Caleb my cell number. Tell him and his sister to say nothing and remain inside the house, away from the windows. They also need to keep the doors locked. Have them call me if anything looks wrong.” Charlie put down his phone and looked over at Gordon, who was loading the gun safe locker onto a dolly.