The Darker Hours

by Sam Lee Jackson

  “She speak English?”

  “Doesn’t appear to.”

  “Maybe just afraid of cops. Being in a strange land and all.”

  “Let’s see what you think.”

  “Let’s do it. I could use a good egg roll.”

  Boyce jumped on the north bound 51. In a couple of minutes, they exited at 32nd Street. The restaurant was two blocks south. She pulled into the parking lot. It was about half full. The sign inside the door said to seat yourself, so they did.

  The booths that ran across the back were elevated a step. They selected one. It sat flush on the back wall giving them a complete view of the room. The place was half-full. A group of women were seated at a pair of tables that had been pulled together in the center of the room. There were two other couples at tables, and three other booths were occupied. One had a salesman with his briefcase open as he pitched a young guy opposite him. A young Asian girl came from the back balancing a tray full of plates and drinks. She deftly delivered the orders to the women.

  It was Mr. Huang that brought ice water and menus to Boyce and Rich. There was no eye contact. Rich ordered a Pepsi and Boyce indicated that her water was enough. Mr. Huang turned away with no sign of recognition.

  “Inscrutable,” Danny Rich said. Huang disappeared into the back. A moment later Mrs. Huang slid her head around the corner and looked across the room at Boyce. When their eyes met the woman jerked her head back.

  “You see that?” Boyce said.

  “Yeah.”

  Mr. Huang brought Rich’s Pepsi and took their order all without looking at anyone. Boyce ordered the garlic chicken and Danny Rich ordered mu goo gai pan.

  They didn’t wait long. The young Asian girl brought their plates out on a large round platter she carried on her shoulder. She carried a stand in the other hand. She snapped it open and deftly spun the large platter off her shoulder and onto the stand. She didn’t have to ask who had what.

  “Can I get you anything else,” she said in broken English. They both shook their heads. They ate in silence. Neither Huang came out into the main room again. When Boyce and Rich had finished eating, they pushed their plates to the front edge of the table to indicate they were finished. After a while the girl came to collect the dirty dishes.

  “We’ll take the check now,” Boyce said, making a writing sign in the air.

  “No thank you,” the girl said in a very heavy accent and a broad smile. “Mr. Huang say no charge.”

  “No,” Boyce said. “We will pay.”

  “No sir,” the girl said with a half bow as she backed away. “Mr. Huang no charge.” She turned and hurried away.

  Boyce looked at Danny Rich. “Why would he do that?”

  Danny’s attention was on something across the room. Boyce turned to look. A young Hispanic guy had come in and gone to the bar. He didn’t look like he was a likely customer. He wore a red bandana with a black tee. The sleeves were torn off. His arms were covered with tattoos. He slid up on the seat closest to the cash register. The young girl came out with her perpetual smile and spoke to him. He said something to her, and the smile melted away. She turned and hurried to the back.

  A moment later, both Mr. and Mrs. Huang came out and went to the man. They were too far away for Boyce to hear them. The Huangs did not look happy. Mr. Huang looked distressed as he argued with the guy. Mrs. Huang looked distraught. She looked across the room at Boyce. It was a look of pure hatred.

  Mr. Huang was shaking his head. He took his wife by the shoulders and moved her back out of sight toward the kitchen. A moment later he came back and opened the cash register. He took out what appeared to be most of the bills. He stuffed them in a manila envelope, He shoved this at the guy. The guy took it, grinning at Huang. He slid off his stool and went to the door without a care in the world.

  “You see that,” Rich said.

  “Damned straight,” Boyce said. “Let’s take him.”

  They slid out of their booth and went after him. By the time they came through the door, he was halfway across the parking lot.

  “Hold it,” Danny yelled.

  The guy looked back, startled. He took off. He cut across the lot and then across the street. Rich and Boyce burst after him. Across the street was a free-standing restaurant being remodeled. It had a driveway on either side leading to the back parking. The kid was sprinting down the nearest drive. By the time Boyce and Rich reached the drive he was already at the back. He was out of sight as he cut across the parking area. When they got him in sight he vaulted a chain-link fence and disappeared around a two-story office building. By the time Boyce and Rich reached the fence, they were both out of breath. Boyce started to climb. Rich put a hand on her arm.

  “Hold on. We’re not going to catch him.”

  “Little piss-ant,” Boyce turned and spit on the ground. “Explains why the woman was so angry.”

  “You know, right now, they think we were with him.”

  Boyce looked through the fence toward the way the kid had ran, then she turned and looked back toward the Half Moon parking area.

  “The little shit didn’t walk here,” she said.

  “You just read my mind,” Danny Rich said. They started trotting back around the restaurant toward the Half-Moon parking lot.

  “Shit, there he is,” Boyce said.

  The guy had circled the office building and was sprinting back across the street toward the Half-Moon. Danny and Boyce took after him.

  “Stop, police!” Rich yelled. The guy just ran faster. He sprinted down the opposite sidewalk, then into the restaurant parking lot.

  By the time Boyce and Rich crossed over and turned the corner of the restaurant a black Honda had ripped into the parking lot and came to a screeching halt.

  “Stop, police,” Boyce was yelling. She had her Glock out.

  The kid jumped into the Honda and it squealed out, jumped the curb and raced down 32nd street. By the time Boyce and Rich reached their vehicle the Honda was out of sight. They stood there panting.

  Finally, Rich said, “Did you get the license?”

  “Yeah, some of it,” Boyce said. “Probably stolen.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Did you see the driver?”

  “Not really.”

  “I did.”

  Rich looked at her, “Torres?”

  “Yep.”

  37

  Boyce was sitting against the wall in Captain Mendoza’s office. Bennett and Barbieri were sitting on the other side. There was an empty chair. They were waiting on Danny Rich.

  “They found the car on the top level of PCH’s parking garage.” Bennett leaned forward. Mendoza was studying a sheaf of papers on his desk. He waved a hand.

  “Wait on Detective Rich,” he said.

  Bennett leaned back against the wall. Barbieri looked half asleep. Boyce sat quietly waiting. She didn’t have to wait long. Through the plexiglass she saw Rich coming out of the stairwell. He wound his way across the desk filled open space and into the office. Mendoza didn’t look up as Rich took the empty seat. They all sat in silence, waiting for Mendoza.

  He finally moved the papers aside and looked at Bennett. “You were saying?”

  “We found the Honda on the top level of Phoenix Children’s Hospital parking garage.”

  “Good choice,” Boyce said.

  “Why’s that?” Mendoza said.

  “Free parking. Parents with kids there sometimes stay a week or even longer so a car parked there for a while doesn’t attract attention.”

  “How’d we find it?” Mendoza looked at Bennett. Bennett didn’t know. He looked at Boyce.

  “Just luck,” Boyce said. “A patrol officer on his way off shift, stopped there to visit a nephew with cancer and saw the Honda. He remembered it from his morning briefing. It was stolen from the long-term lot at the airport.”

  “Video?”

  She shook her head. “The guy had the sun visor down and the collar on his jacket up so all we
could see were his shoulders. I looked at it. It wasn’t Torres. They had someone else dump it.”

  “License plates were stolen at an assisted living facility in central Phoenix,” Barbieri said.

  “Which also was smart,” Boyce said.

  “Why so?” Mendoza said. Boyce looked at him. He knew damned well why so, but this was how he operated. Let the detectives do the talking.

  “Security pulls up while you’re changing the plates,” Danny Rich said, “you’re just helping Grandma put new plates on her car.”

  “And, those residents that have vehicles don’t use them much. They probably couldn’t tell you what their license numbers are.”

  Mendoza leaned back in his swivel chair. He looked at Danny Rich. “You find anything?”

  Rich had been going through mugshots looking for the quicksilver kid from the Half-Moon.

  “Yeah, I finally found him.” He took his notepad out of his pocket. He thumbed through it until he found what he wanted. “His name is Javier Flores. He’s a Diablo Pistolero. Picked up in the Cicero Paz drug sweep. Did three years, out in fourteen months.” He looked up. “Still has the address that his P.O. has.”

  “Okay,” Mendoza said looking at Boyce. “Get a warrant and you four go get him. Maybe Torres is still with him.”

  They stood and started to file out.

  “Armed and dangerous,” Mendoza said. “Be careful.”

  It was an hour later when all the arrangements had been made. A five-man SWAT team was to meet them at the address. Boyce and Rich were in their ride. Bennett and Barbieri followed.

  The address was south of Baseline Road. Between it and South Mountain Park. It was a lower income neighborhood. Some of the homeowners took pride in their properties and kept them neat and attractive. Some didn’t give a damn. Boyce found it interesting that sometimes the car in the driveway was worth more than the house.

  The address they wanted was in the middle of a block. It was a white concrete block house that needed a new paint job. It was a simple rectangle with roofing that needed to be replaced. There was no vehicle in the drive. A bicycle was on the porch. A porch swing was on one side of the porch. Instead of hanging from chains, it sat on concrete blocks. Idle hands had carved initials and gang signs all over it.

  Danny Rich and Boyce pulled up in front of the house. Bennett and Barbieri pulled in behind. The SWAT team pulled in behind them. Boyce stepped out to watch. The SWAT leader directed two of the team to cover the back. He directed the other two to spread out at the curb. If someone began shooting, they would have a crossfire. Once his men were in place he signaled Boyce. She turned and started up the steps to the walk that led to the house.

  Bennett stepped up beside her. “I’ll take the lead,” he said. “If they see you through a window they might start blasting.”

  “He’s right,” Barbieri said. Boyce looked from one to the other, then nodded. They all pulled their weapons.

  Bennett and Barbieri went forward. Boyce hung back, then she and Rich followed the other two up the porch stairs. Without hesitation Bennett went straight to the front door and began pounding on it.

  “Open up, police!” he shouted. He pounded again.

  The door slid open and Boyce could see the faint, pale shape of a face. She couldn’t tell who it was.

  The man inside said loudly, “What the hell are you…..”

  Bennett shoved the door open yelling “He has a gun!” He began blasting inside the house. Boyce and Rich involuntarily ducked and scrambled in behind. It was dark inside with all the windows covered. Boyce went left and Rich went right.

  There was a body on the floor. The smell of cordite filled the room. The two SWAT members kicked in the back door and boiled through the kitchen. Bennett and Barbieri rushed past the body and charged into the narrow hallway that led to small bedrooms. When they came back out Danny Rich was kneeling beside the body. Boyce leaned over and looked at the dead man. It was Javier Flores. The kid from the Half Moon. Danny Rich took the man’s hand and opened it. A vape pen rolled out onto the floor. Danny sat back on his heels and looked up at Bennett.

  “Gun?” he said.

  38

  Boyce told Jackson to go home to his houseboat. After two days of testimony and inquiry and telling the same story over and over, not only to Mendoza and Homicide but also to Internal Affairs, she was done. Her report alone was over fifteen pages that Deke Sawyer had Mendoza make her rewrite three times. She was done.

  “I need some down time. And I need some privacy.”

  So Jackson reluctantly drove out to the boat.

  It had been so long since he had been there, spiderwebs were spread across the bow and the screen to the double sliding doors on the bow were covered with the stuff. It took him an hour to get them all wiped away and to get the place opened up. It smelled stale and a little ripe. He found some old eggshells, coffee grounds and other ripe pieces of unidentifiable stuff in the overlooked garbage can under the sink. He bagged the garbage and walked it down to the large garbage bin. Across two docks Eddie was sitting in the shade of the canopy that covered his old river runner. He was putting new line on a reel. He stood up and lifted the can of beer in his hand.

  “Care for a cold one?” he called.

  “You bet your sweet bippy,” Jackson called back. He made his way over to Eddie. As he stepped aboard Eddie handed him a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was ice cold. Jackson snapped the tab and sat on the cooler it had come from. Next to the cooler old Diesel raised his gray streaked face and smiled at Jackson. Diesel was the mongrel dog that had showed up at the marina one day and had adopted Eddie. Maureen let Eddie feed him scraps out of the restaurant garbage. Eddie said Diesel ate better than most people. Jackson reached down and scratched Diesel’s ears. Best friends for life, which in Diesel’s case might not be that much longer. He would bark at the ducks and seagulls, but he didn’t chase them anymore. Maureen was happy not to have them crapping all over the docks.

  “Quite a shindig Captain Rand put on the other night,” Eddie said.

  “Yes indeed,” Jackson said.

  “Hadn’t seen Detective Boyce in a long time. Still pretty as ever. She got herself a new beau?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Hard to tell. I hope so.”

  Eddie looked up at him, “You hope so?”

  “Hell Eddie. I just want her happy. If I ain’t the guy to do it, and it sure looks like I’m not, then I want her to have someone that does.”

  “Why ain’t you the guy?”

  Jackson took a long pull on the beer. He looked at Eddie. “Let me ask you. Say you found a woman, and let’s say you were crazy about her, but she’s not about to move onto this old scow. Would you move to town and live in an apartment just to make it work?”

  Eddie smiled. “Long time since there’s been a woman like that.” He drank his beer and sat looking out across the marina to the far side of the lake. He chuckled. “I’d probably work at it as long as I could, just to have the benefits.”

  Jackson laughed.

  Eddie crushed his empty can and tossed it aside. Jackson stood so he could get another one. “But, no. Not full time,” he continued. “She’d probably break it off as soon as she found me out.”

  “But you’d hope she’d be happy?”

  “Yeah, I’d want her to be happy. They ever find who killed that cocktail cop?”

  “Cocktail cop?”

  “Yeah. That Martini guy.”

  “DiMartini. No, not yet. They think they know who he is. They found one of his buddies and shot him.”

  “Shot him, huh?”

  “Guy made the mistake of coming to the door with a vape pen in his hand. Cop thought it was a gun and shot him.”

  “That’s something I just don’t understand,” Eddie said.

  “That the cop shot him?”

  “No. That vaping thing. What the hell is that? You want to smoke, smoke. It’s stupid but your choice. It’s like if you want to drink beer, but you d
rink grape juice instead. What the hell is that?”

  Jackson didn’t have a response to that.

  Eddie continued, “I’m not one to point a finger at the cop that killed that guy. You kill a cop in Chicago, and they would come with everything they had. They’d find you too. Find you and drag you buck naked through the broken glass.”

  Jackson laughed. “That’s a hell of a visual.”

  Eddie smiled. “Probably not strong enough.” Diesel got up and stretched. He turned in a circle three times then laid back down. “Don’t strain yourself boy,” Eddie said. He looked at Jackson, “Is Detective Boyce in danger?”

  Jackson swallowed the last of his beer. He nodded, “Captain Mendoza thinks so. So, yeah, I’ll go with that. Her, Blackhawk and Elena and Boyce’s new fella, Gabe, were out, and the asshole tried to ambush her. If he’d been any kind of a marksman, he’d have hit her.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Jackson thought about that. “I’ve been staying with her. But she wanted some peace and quiet. Said she needed privacy for a couple of days. I needed a change of clothes and I wanted to open the Lily up, get the stink out of her.”

  “Then what?”

  “Head back. Keep an eye on her.”

  “She says she wants some peace and quiet.”

  “She won’t know I’m doing it.”

  “Need help?”

  “Thanks, but no. Hard enough for one to be invisible but two probably wouldn’t work.”

  “Another beer?”

  “No, but thanks. Another would just make me want to take a nap and I have to be heading back.”

  Diesel stirred as Jackson stood.

  “Need a good watch dog?” Eddie smiled.

  “More valuable here. Keep them ducks at bay.”

  39

  Jackson had walked the trailhead above Boyce’s place before. He parked the noticeable Mustang in the trailhead parking lot and hiked down. On the way back from the boat he had stopped at a Quick Trip and picked up a large cup of coffee and three sandwiches. He brought them along. He walked the HOA until he found a shaded, grassy spot where he could see the front and side of Boyce’s home. Her Miata was in the driveway. He sat in the grass and leaned against the trunk of a sycamore. If he had to, he could cover the distance to her house in less than ten seconds. He prepared to wait. He had been taught to be able to wait a long time. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. When he felt enough time had passed, he ate one of the sandwiches. He regretted he hadn’t picked up some mustard packets. The coffee was already cold.