by Mimi Barbour
Chapter Five
Carolina took off like a shot, running into the apartment. First she headed for the poor bastard writhing in a pool of blood near the door. At a glance, she knew his superficial shoulder wound wouldn’t end his life.
Ignoring the pungent coppery smell that threatened to bring her to her knees, she pulled a sweater off the back of a chair, bundled it and settled it over the injury. “The police are coming, sir. Hold onto this like a bandage and put pressure on it.”
“That’s m-my wife’s favorite sweater. She’ll be m-mad if I get blood on it.”
“She’ll get over it. You need it more than she does now.”
“Oh? Did he shoot her?”
Did he sound wishful?
Sorry to dampen his optimistic contemplation, she answered, “No, she’s in the corridor stairway, sir. She’s upset, but fine.”
“Oh, good.” Yep, now there was a distinct sound of sorrow. She’d have to share this one with her gramps. He’d love the irony.
Back on the chase, she ran through the living room to the balcony to see if the assassin lay injured at the bottom after his crazy jump or if he’d made it safely and completely disappeared.
Within seconds, she knew he’d survived the leap and had left the scene. Being that they were on the side of the building, nowhere near the front where the police might have stopped him from escaping, she had no choice. Sighing, she leapt over the railing and prayed he wasn’t waiting to put a bullet in her for her trouble.
Landing like a cat on the ground, perched low, she listened carefully. She heard groans and stumbling footsteps. It sounded as if he might have hurt himself when he landed. Figuring she’d have a chance to catch up with him, she gave chase.
In her mind, debating his choices, she decided he’d use the bushes for cover rather than stay in the open. Carolina followed. By the time she cleared the path and hit the front sidewalk, there wasn’t another person nearby.
Most likely, he’d parked his vehicle closer to the opposite building where his first kill took place. He’d have made his way in that direction. Or at least, it’s what she would have done. Damn, she should have thought of that instead of circling to the right.
“Stop right there. Drop your weapon and put your hands up where I can see them.” The squeaky, shaky voice of a young cop came through loud and clear. She heard the fearful belligerence behind the order. Aware that nowadays cops shot first and asked questions later, especially untrained younger guys who didn’t have the proper experience to deal with a perp holding a gun, she followed his instructions.
She dropped to her knees and laid the gun on the ground, then put both hands over her head where they would be seen. “I’m Special Agent Carolina Madison. Don’t shoot.”
Chapter Six
After the police were able to confirm that a hit had taken place in the exact apartment that Alicia had pointed out, they got serious.
While officers taped off certain areas in this living room where bullets had been fired, others began photographing the scene, bagging and tagging the evidence. The rest of them settled in the kitchen. Uniforms had been sent earlier to pick up the Whites and their friends, explain the circumstances and force them to return home.
It took hours for all the hullaballoo to settle down, the questions asked and answered.
Two couples who collected their babies left, but not before making a fuss, asking too many questions and getting close to ruining the crime scene. One of the inebriated women kept shooting photos with her phone and even tried taking a selfie with Alicia until the officer in charge put a stop to the nonsense.
All liquored up and still flying high, Carolina could see Bud and Margo weren’t taking the news of what had occurred well at all. Margo’s face turned beet red when she found out that because Alicia had used binoculars she’d been forbidden to touch, she’d inadvertently witnessed a murder.
“Let me get this straight,” Margo, her beer-soiled dress wrinkled and sliding off one shoulder, hovered over Alicia’s chair. Her face mottled with fury, eyes bulging and bloodshot from booze, she ranted, “You used Bud’s stuff without permission, saw some broad getting whacked and called the police before you called me? Is that what you’re saying here?”
Alicia cowered in her chair, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders slipped, exposing her trembling. “I didn’t know what to do, Margo. He saw me. I knew he’d come. I remembered you told me that Miss Madison was FBI, so I asked her to help.”
“And you left the children. You weren’t too worried about their safety, were you? Just about saving your own ass.”
Carolina felt the urge to check out the bitch’s neck size, which prompted her to put a stop to the twit’s badgering. “Unless you’ve been in a similar situation, you have no idea what you’d do, Mrs. White. Alicia was smart. She asked me to help her and the babies, knowing it would take much longer for the police to get here.”
Margo turned on her, vicious in her condemnation. “And what the hell did you do? Shooting bullets in my place like some crazy TV cop, kids sleeping in the other room, I’m thinking to sue your ass. What would have happened if they’d woken up?”
“They didn’t. I was there to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. Why do you think I went to the apartment rather than let Alicia return? Make no mistake, she wanted to. I made her stay at my place and call for help.”
A small whiny voice broke into their heated altercation. “Licia. Me ‘ant potty.”
The young, sleepy-faced boy, his thin hair standing straight up, stood in the doorway, took one look at the mass of people in the room and ran straight for Alicia, his pudgy arms out to be picked up.
“Hi Buddy. Sure, Alicia’ll take you to the bathroom, but then you need to go back to bed, honey, okay?” Alicia shrugged off her blanket and stumbled from the room, sheltering the clinging, droopy-diapered, heavy child.
The three cops stopped what they were doing to watch the youngster being carried from the room. Their silence spoke more than any words could say. Disgust filtered over the lead detective’s face for a few seconds before he hid it behind professional courtesy.
Carolina, who’d caught his eye, acknowledged his slight nod, showing her agreement with his assessment. The Whites were scum.
From the moment Bud White had arrived home, he’d ranted over and over, “Where were you guys while killers were shooting innocent people? Huh? Nobody’s safe in their own homes now. Crazy bastards! Running around with guns and breaking into apartments.”
“Shut up, Bud. No one wants to hear your bullshit.” Margo erupted, using her husband as her kicking post. “So, what are you going to do about our safety? He’s out there, free as a bird, and he knows where Alicia lives.”
Detective Crawly, the lead on the case – a solid man of mid-fifties with a full head of gray hair, a face decorated with pot marks and a keen intelligence – maintained a demeanor perfect for an officer of the law. “We’ll have an officer stay here for the rest of the night, ma’am. I’ll have my men escort you and your family to a hotel nearby while we finish our investigation. Don’t worry, Mrs. White, we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.”
“Oh yes you will, Detective. I’ll see to that.”
Showing a complete lack of empathy for the teen in her care, Margo White dropped her bombshell. She exploded at Alicia, who’d just returned to her place by the table. Before the teen could lift the blanket to replace it around her, Margo attacked. “And you, Miss Can’t-keep-your-stupid-nose-to-yourself, you’re outta here. Tonight! Pack up and get out. You hear me? We’re not safe as long as he thinks you’re still around.”
Chapter Seven
Watching the youngster begging Margo to reconsider, Carolina felt her stomach juices swirl. Fervently wishing Margo would suffer, visions of her fat butt being kicked repeatedly began to form. Carolina hated small-minded, mean people, and she kept her hands away from her weapon in case she couldn’t control sudden wild urges.
“P
lease, Margo. Don’t do this. It wasn’t my fault a killer broke into that lady’s place.”
“Who cares? You watched him kill her, and now you’re too dangerous to be around. Bud and me’ll have to move in with my folks for a while until he realizes you don’t live here anymore. And my mom’s a real pain in the ass, nutbar.” She gestured rudely. “This is your stupid fault. Get out of my sight. Leave! Now! Let the cops take you back to the dump where we picked you up.”
Alicia fled to her room. Unable to leave the poor kid alone with her misery, Carolina made eye contact with a disgusted Detective Crawly and got a nod of permission. She followed the girl.
Disgust flooded. How anyone could call this tiny closet a room was beyond her. Seeing the rack of hooks for the girl’s clothes and cloth linen baskets stacked against the wall rather than a dresser, Carolina took one of the black plastic bags a tearful Alicia had fetched and started to fill it.
Sneaking a peek at the teen had her guts roiling. Alicia needed sympathy and a feeling of security right now, not to be condemned and thrust out like she had no value. Carolina could hear her Gramps’s voice in her head. He’d have been livid at the circumstances forced on this young girl.
Gathering as much as she could, Carolina bypassed a stained night table by the neatly-made twin-sized bed that held Alicia’s precious items. She left them for Alicia to deal with.
An older model cell phone with a cracked screen was slipped into Alicia’s newly donned jeans, and she carefully rolled her books and small personal items into a fuzzy purple cover that sat at the end of her bed.
Alicia trailed her hands over the plushness and her words offered insight to Carolina that told a story. “I won this blanket in a raffle at the mall. It’s soft and pretty.”
Sarcastic and not caring, Carolina said, “I’m surprised the white witch let you keep it.”
Giggling at Carolina’s pun, Alicia nodded. “She wanted me to give it to Buddy.”
Shocked, Carolina replied, “To Mr. White?”
“No. The baby. Buddy Junior. But he gave it back to me. He’s a pretty cool kid for only being two and a half years old. Acts like a spoiled brat when he’s with his parents, but when we’re alone, he’s a sweetie.”
“Seriously? He’s a baby? That kid has to weigh over fifty pounds.”
“They feed him junk food all the time, especially Bud. Buddy’s the only one he shares his potato chips and cokes with.”
Disgust obvious, Carolina changed the subject back to a safer topic and reached for the soft bundle before adding it to her bag. “I have a few of those cuddle-type throws around my place too. They come in handy on cold, rainy nights when watching TV.”
“Yeah, well Margo took my TV. Who cares? It’s tiny, the color kept fading and the picture was always blanking out.”
Feeling her mounting anger ignite, Carolina wished she could use Margo for kick-boxing practice. Shrugging, keeping it cool, she did as her Poppa John told her to do as a kid. Fix what you can and leave the rest to the karma Gods. In the end, they’ll even things out. Drawing in a large breath, she started a new line of questioning. “What did Margo mean about the dump?”
“Her and Bud took me in as a foster kid about a year ago, May fourteenth to be exact. She calls where I’d been living The Dump, but it’s more like an institution where kids like me get shoved when no one wants them.”
“Not to get personal but why did they foster you? It’s obvious they have no affection for you.”
“They needed a live-in free babysitter and housekeeper.”
“Seriously?”
“Bud’s okay sometimes, but creepy too, if you know what I mean.” Alicia stared at Carolina, letting her eyes tell the story. Her meaning sent shivers spreading over Carolina. Incensed for the girl, she said nothing. But she’d sure as hell be looking into stopping the Whites from ever getting another girl from The Dump.
Not pussy-footing around anymore, Carolina asked point blank, “Did he ever force himself on you?”
“Not really. He started touching inappropriate places, but I warned him that Margo wouldn’t like it, and I’d tell her if he didn’t quit. So, he stopped. He lives under Margo’s rules and only speaks up when she refuses him money for beer or forgets to buy his chips. Then the fight is on. Since she loves the stuff almost as much as he does, they don’t fight very often.”
“The place must cost a pretty penny. How do they make their living?”
“Margo works downtown as a bank accountant, and Bud is a divorce lawyer. His clients are all men, and he continuously complains about how the bitches take advantage of their poor husbands nowadays.” Her finger gestures exaggerated the word as much as her voice.
“Alicia, how old are you? I saw your face when Margo mentioned The Dump. You don’t intend to go back there, do you?”
“I’m fourteen, almost fifteen. The cops will drop me off, but if Jean Sowdon’s still there, I’ll leave. That cow knows exactly how to make life a living hell for those of us who… ahh, don’t want her type of affection. She makes me sick. I can’t go back to living like that again.”
“Is she an employee?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll check into it, okay? You can’t roam the streets right now, kid. That lunatic is out there. From what you’ve told me about the murder, it sounds like the work of a professional. One who gets paid to do his job cleanly and efficiently. He’s not going to rest until he takes care of loose ends. For a man like that, finding you will be simple.”
“And I’m a loose end.”
“Yep.”
“He saw me, maybe not my features because I’d turned the lights low, but he’d have seen enough to be able to identify me as the girl who lives here. Margo and Bud are both too fat for them to be mistaken as me.”
“The question is, can you identify him? You refused to answer that when the detectives were questioning you, but I remember what you said earlier when you came to fetch me. You watched his evil expression were the words you used – and he knew it. Therefore, he wasn’t wearing his mask like he was when he broke in here and I confronted him, right?”
Alicia’s face paled, and she dropped onto the bed, black plastic deflating around her feet.
“Oh God, what am I going to do?”
Chapter Eight
Later that night at the unfamiliar police station, separated from the clingy teen, Carolina was grilled again for every tidbit of information she could share. Precise, with no unnecessary words, Carolina gave her statement.
Soon, Detective Crawly, along with his boss, Deputy Chief Eric Prowler, had her isolated in his office where Carolina felt ambushed. “Understand this, sir. The identity of the killer doesn’t concern me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re trying to coerce me into taking on an assignment.” Carolina rubbed her hands on her jean-covered knees, glad she’d taken the time to change. “As interesting as this case is, my plans have been made. I’ve just finished a brutal undercover mission, and I’m heading out for a well-earned vacation.”
Visions suddenly appeared reminding her of the last few weeks. They were getting close to D-day and the many combined forces involved in the take-down of the gang she’d penetrated meant loose tongues could get them all killed. Understanding this, she’d lived on her nerves and bad dreams for too long, and the consequences were the rioting emotions she suddenly had to deal with when she faced danger or hard choices. Like earlier in the apartment, facing a killer – my knees shook so bad, I almost lost it.
Shuddering, stress signals began vibrating. She felt a tightening in her chest, the stifling feeling that she’d stop breathing if she didn’t concentrate ramped up.
When everything had started to unravel those brutal days before the final showdown, these same disgusting emotions had first reared their ugly heads. She hated not being in control, weak, shaky and close to tears. Frailty had never concerned her in the past, and it sucked.
If she ever intended to get past this brea
kdown and back to doing her job efficiently, this shit had to be dealt with – doctor’s orders. Time she considered her own health, he’d said. You desperately need some peace of mind. In fact, he’d warned her just that morning in no uncertain terms… no stress.
“Agent Madison, please don’t misunderstand. Earlier, you revealed your competence in the way you handled the situation. We were impressed and very glad you were there.”
Thing is – I was shitting myself every minute, metaphorically mind you.
“If there was anyone else we could turn to, it would be done. But these are the facts.” The too-slender, pale-faced, frustrated man wiped his hand over his bushy, gray mustache for the third time in as many minutes. He looked over at the detective who’d so far kept his mouth shut.
A frown from the boss who’d begun to pace around the office got him talking. “The kid’s smart, Carolina. Knows her rights and has a mind of her own. If we take her back to the previous institute, she’d be a sitting duck. Plus, her body language screamed she wouldn’t be kosher with that proposal.”
Remembering her earlier conversation with Alicia, Carolina grinned without humor and added, “You’re right.”
Again, smoothing his mustache, the pacing man came to a stop next to his detective and leaned back against his desk. “So, we promised to set her up with a female officer in a safe place. But… and get this straight… you’re the only person she’s willing to trust in that capacity.”
What? “You’re kidding me. She’s a nice kid. I feel sorry for her, but right now, I’m not the protection she needs.” Carolina shot to her feet, moved behind her chair and gripped the back, leaning her rebellious stomach hard against it.
Prowler lowered his voice to a level not so demanding, less confrontational. “I wouldn’t even approach you if I hadn’t cleared it with your boss, Carolina. He agrees with me that there’s no time to waste. We need to move on this case.”
