All Through the Night

by Davis Bunn

  Wayne supplied what Jerry had already realized. “They came by boat.”

  “Worked for us.”

  Wayne was very pleased he had a sudden reason to grin. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Jerry stayed trapped inside his thoughts as they drove toward Lantern Island. He had to hand it to the kid. While Jerry had remained in the truck, the kid had glad-handed his way through three churches, trading jokes with the ladies, coming out with everything he could possibly hope for. Call it fifteen minutes for each, start to finish. The kid would make a good undercover cop. Which was not why Jerry was glum. He felt let down by his own side, Mehan giving him “chain of evidence.” Jerry knew exactly what had been going down and he didn’t like it. Mehan was resisting a handover to the Naples white-collar crime unit. Maybe he was worried the white-collar crew would ridicule his lack of solid evidence. But Jerry had started case files with less to go on. He was thinking either Mehan feared losing control of the case or he was just plain lazy. And neither of these was a good response to a request from another cop.

  But that wasn’t the real reason Jerry burned inside his own skin.

  As they approached the final stoplight before the turn to Lantern Island, Julio shifted in his seat and said, “What about you, bro?”

  “Don’t call me bro.”

  “You been around Miss Victoria for years, right? How come you’re not saved?”

  Jerry stopped at the light and looked over. It was the exact sort of conversation he’d be having with a long-time partner. The two of them easy in silence until one gave voice to a thought, usually starting midway through the concept. Like they were so in tune with one another they could assume the other would understand everything that went before.

  Only this was with a barrio kid, him of the low-rider pants and the juvie sheet sixteen pages long.

  Even so, Jerry hated how Mehan had treated Julio. The sneer, the suspicion, his ready attitude to slap on the cuffs first and search out the reason after.

  Which was exactly how Jerry had acted.

  That was what burned his craw.

  Jerry said, “Who says I’m not saved?”

  The kid shrugged. “The smell of this pizza is killing me. Okay if I have some?”

  “Wait till we’re through the gate. The guard sees you chomping down and smeared with tomato sauce, he’s gonna know something ain’t kosher.”

  “What, you think I can’t eat and stay clean?”

  “Just hang on a sec, we’re almost there.”

  “I know how to eat, man. I ain’t no animal.” Julio turned glum. “I know some, though. Animals.”

  “So how come you’re not a banger? Last I checked, the Churos still had your area locked up tight.”

  “Them and the Black Hands, yeah.”

  “So you never joined?”

  “They started on me. I talked to Eilene.”

  “And?”

  “She never said. But I think she phoned my old man.”

  It made sense. “That was smart.”

  “Or my brother. One or the other. I think. They never said. All I know is, one day they were on my case, the next and I had this bubble around me—they see me coming, they cross the street.”

  Jerry made the turn. He glanced over, saw how the kid had gone morose on him. Amazing how the simplest question could rake across old wounds. “I asked for a miracle once. God said no. I got mad. End of story.”

  “You don’t believe in miracles?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He slowed for the guard station. The guard checked their day pass and opened the gate. Jerry waved his thanks and said, “But no. Matter of fact. I don’t.”

  Julio grinned. “We’re sitting here, talking like two normal people. That’s a miracle in my book, man.”

  Jerry rolled his window back up. “You got me there.”

  The first thing Jerry said when Wayne opened the truck door was, “How’d you do that?”

  “Move over.” When Julio shifted Wayne climbed in. “Did the guard call through?”

  “Checked our day pass and license number is all. Now answer the question. I was watching all the angles, I glide the street, I park a block away, then poof, up you come.”

  Julio said, “Man don’t need no cape to be super bad. But if you got one of them Bat-cars, I’m claiming shotgun.”

  “Dude don’t need a black car with fire out the back end. Man’s already got hisself a Ferrari. That ride and that lady, I’d say the combo’s good for a shiver.”

  Wayne took note of the change in the truck’s atmosphere, the easy grin the two men shared, but decided there was nothing to be gained by asking about it. “Where’s the pizza? I can smell it but I don’t see it.”

  “What Julio didn’t scarf is behind the seat.”

  “Right. Like you didn’t hose down five slices.”

  “Two. I ate two.”

  “Whatever. Man looks at me holding the box—don’t touch that, don’t touch, then whoosh. The box is empty.”

  Wayne asked, “You ate all the pizza?”

  “We got two more, don’t worry.”

  “And a Coke, you get thirsty eating yours.” Julio twisted around, came up with a pungent box and a can. “The driver there, he can talk your head off, going on ’bout how hungry you get on stakeouts. Like sitting in a hot car watching an empty street is something I need to know about.”

  Wayne ate a slice, drank, asked Julio, “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  “Man, there you go with the rocket science again. Jerry already melted my brain with all his orders. You want a blue-print, call NASA.”

  “Got to admit, the kid has a point,” Jerry said. “Julio carries the pizza boxes to the door and rings the bell. How hard is that?”

  Wayne selected another slice. “You’re taking his side now?”

  “Whatever gets this show on the road.”

  “You’ve got your gun, right?”

  Jerry lifted his shirt. A snub-nosed revolver was attached to his belt. “Haven’t taken it off since they nabbed Foster.” He watched Wayne eat, and asked, “You phone the lady and tell her what you’ve cooked up?”

  Wayne took another bite, shook his head.

  “No, best not. She’d probably go all lawyerly on you, want you to sign some release or something.”

  Wayne finished his slice and the Coke, then slid from the truck. He stood holding the door and said to Julio, “Just don’t go scouting the terrain looking for me or Jerry.”

  Jerry opened his door. “And don’t go inside the house, whatever they tell you.”

  Julio looked from one to the other. “I been thinking. Miss Victoria, I know she’d like it if we prayed first.”

  Jerry’s eye found Wayne’s across the truck. His eyebrows were high enough to dig furrows across his forehead. “That a fact.”

  Julio nodded, said to the former cop, “You want, you can say the words.”

  “I told you already. God don’t pay any attention to me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Kid.” But the heat wasn’t there. “You started this motor. You drive the car.”

  The men got back in the truck. When Julio was done praying, Jerry gave Wayne another look, as in, You believing this? He climbed out, watched Julio slide behind the wheel, and said, “Tell me you’ve driven a truck before.”

  “Man, who you talking to?” Julio fired the engine. “I been boosting cars for years.”

  “Of course. Silly me.” When the kid drove off, Jerry said, “Having a barrio kid talk to God on a cop’s behalf, this day is already beyond strange.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Wayne doubted many pizza delivery drivers bounced the curb hard enough to lift all four wheels. But as far as he could tell, no one in the house took notice.

  Wayne used the truck for cover until it was midway down the drive and passing a stand of pink oleander. He dove and rolled and crawled in a training ground sprint. By the time Julio pulled up at the front door, Wayne
was on the house’s other side between the bougainvillea and the concrete side wall. The bougainvillea had thorns like a cactus that sliced through his shirt. But he couldn’t pull away. Because right then he spotted the first shooter.

  The man was inside the house and moving fast. Wayne tracked him past three windows.

  Wayne still wasn’t sure how the game was going to play out. But he knew he had to do something. Standing there with a thorn in his rib and the heat pounding his head and shoulders, the clearest sound was of the clock ticking.

  Julio whistled his way up the walk. The chains he wore for a belt jangled with each step. His jeans flopped over his shoes. He rang the front door bell.

  Wayne waited until he was certain the man was not going to answer the door. He searched the front lawn once more. Saw nothing.

  He stepped out far enough to spot Jerry standing exactly where they had agreed, back where the road met the drive, hidden by the live oak where Wayne had crouched. Wayne waved his hand.

  Jerry nodded back. He slipped behind the tree and disappeared. Across the street from his hideaway was the telephone pole connecting the house to the island grid.

  Julio hammered on the front door. “Domino’s delivery!”

  There was a moment’s silence, then a sharp pow down at the roadside, followed by a crack. The sparks flying off the transformer were less visible in the afternoon sunlight than at midnight, but impressive just the same.

  Julio started to look back, but caught himself and pounded harder still. “I got the pizzas you ordered!”

  The shadow inside the house moved to the doorway leading to the front hall and stopped.

  Julio gave a shrug that could only be called theatrical, and started back down the stairs. He jangled and whistled his way down the walk and disappeared around the corner of the house.

  The shadow followed.

  Wayne ripped his shirt pulling free of the bushes. He sped across the front lawn, his back itching from the sniper’s scope he feared might be tracking him. But he made the distance and took the portico’s railing like a chest-high hurdle. He applied his forward momentum to the front door, punched the lock clear out of the doorframe. He stumbled slightly on the polished marble floor but kept his speed high enough to catch the shooter in the process of raising his gun.

  The shooter had one finger pressed to his earpiece and his back to the front entrance. His arm was across his chest and blocked his shooting arm. He spun around and gaped at Wayne’s charge and did his best to aim. But Wayne was faster, covering the distance in three giant strides. He hammered the shooter with an elbow to the throat and a fist to his chest. He gripped the shooting arm and wrenched the pistol free. He kept spinning around and applied the pistol butt to the same point where his elbow had struck.

  The shooter flew backwards and crashed into the stools lining the half wall separating the dining area from the kitchen. He went down hard.

  Wayne stripped the mike control box off the shooter’s belt and fitted the unit into his own left ear. Still at a full sprint, he sped past the glass doors opening onto the pool area. He saw two men seated by the pool, or part of them, because the umbrella had been moved to where their faces were blocked from the house. Wayne moved to his right, the shooter’s pistol in one hand and the communicator in the other. He heard two voices, both hissing for Paulie to reconnect. Another voice, one that crackled slightly, complained that they had lost all the leads to the house.

  The house was shaped in a stucco U surrounding the rear pool with the Gulf sparkling in the distance. The right-hand room behind the dining area held a massive flat screen TV, entertainment center, and leather cinema seats. Wayne checked the rear doors again, saw just the legs of two men seated at the pool. A second umbrella had been dragged over and positioned so they were effectively protected from all sides. The suited visitor had slung his jacket and tie over a side chair. Wayne had time for an instant’s wonder over the home’s soundproofing, that a man crashing over a trio of wooden stools wouldn’t even cause them to uncross their legs. Then he spotted the second shooter.

  Julio came around the side of the house and raised his three pizza boxes in greeting. The shooter was half hidden in the shadows of the outdoor kitchen’s roof overhang. Wayne opened the French doors and used Julio’s loud approach as the only cover he was going to have.

  This shooter was faster. He spun and got off his shot without trying to either crouch or aim. A half second more and Wayne would have been breathing through a new chest hole. But the bullet whacked as it passed him. The doors he had just passed through shattered. Wayne slapped the gun aside and chopped the guy in the throat. The shooter dropped his chin, but not fast enough. His eyes widened with the sudden effort it took to breathe and he gave a tight “Ack.” He made his mistake then, trying to bring his gun around rather than protecting himself from Wayne’s next blow, which was to hammer the shooter’s left ear with the fist holding the communicator. The shooter’s eyes fluttered. Wayne hit him again, this time with the hand holding the gun.

  The shooter collapsed.

  “Down, Julio! Get down! “ Wayne did not take aim so much as let his gut direct him, taking him back and to the side. The third shooter rounded the house at the same moment. Wayne was one giant stride away. He leapt and caught the gun that came into view and wrapped both hands around it, dropping his own gun in the process.

  The shooter got off two random blasts, blowing out something made of glass. Wayne was too busy to inspect for damage. He wrestle-danced his way across the pool deck, the guy using his free hand to land a trio of close punches. Wayne protected his head best he could with his near shoulder, kept a two-fisted clench on the gun hand, and raced for the blue.

  They took their deadly tango into the pool.

  Wayne came up for a single breath. Then he rolled and let the guy’s struggling weight take him back under. Making sure to keep himself between the shooter and the surface. Focusing his strength upon the gun in his double grip. The shooter tried for Wayne’s eyes, then his throat, missing both times. Then his roaring bubbles and his struggle slackened somewhat. Wayne pushed harder until the guy scraped against the bottom.

  The gun hand released. Wayne wrested the pistol free. He swung around behind the guy, gripped his throat from behind, and kicked off the bottom. Headed for light and air.

  The shooter came up choking and floundering for the poolside. Wayne let him dog paddle for them both. When the shooter made the side, Wayne swung onto the ladder. He shifted his grip on the pistol and came out of the water aimed for the pair still seated under the umbrellas.

  “Do us all a favor and point that thing somewhere else, won’t you.”

  Wayne stripped the water from his face. Saw Julio rise slowly to his feet.

  “Excellent. Now the gang’s all here. How convenient.”

  Wayne squinted hard, working to bring the man into focus. Try as he might, the guy seated beside Trace Neally remained Eric Stroud. Tatyana’s ex.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Wayne said, “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “By all means.” Eric Stroud was far too relaxed. “How’s this?”

  Wayne was still doing a one-handed wipe of his face and getting used to the fact that Tatyana’s ex-husband sat at the poolside when Jerry came around the side of the house. The former cop looked very glum and held his hands higher than the lawyer.

  Which was hardly a surprise, since he had a pistol jammed between his shoulder blades.

  “Who woulda thought,” Jerry said. “Thirty years’ practice and I still get blindsided by a limo guy hiding in the shrubs.”

  Wayne said to the lawyer, “This is your one and only chance.”

  He knew something was seriously awry when Eric leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Excellent line, Mr. Grusza. But it happens to belong to me.”

  Wayne motioned with the pistol at the two approaching shooters. “Call off your dogs.”

  “By all means.” Eric asked the d
river covering Jerry, “Did you show him?”

  Jerry answered for the driver. “They got Tatyana, man. In the trunk.”

  “Bind their hands.”

  Wayne knew they expected him to resist. He saw the glimmer of metal as the second shooter stepped to a firing angle, one that would let him get off a shot without risk of hitting his mate. Wayne held himself perfectly still. The man behind him dripped on his arms as he fitted the plastic tie and drew it tight enough to pretty much halt the flow of blood.

  When they tied up Julio, he yelped. “Ow, man, not so tight.”

  “Take it easy on the kid,” Jerry said.

  A voice replied, “I’ll give you easy.”

  The man turning out Wayne’s pockets used the process to get in a few quick punches. The limo driver searching Jerry said, “Hey, Mr. S., this guy’s packing a badge.”

  “Let me see that.”

  “That’s right,” Wayne said. “You’re actually ready to kidnap an Orlando police officer?”

  “Retired.” Eric slipped the leather wallet into the pocket of his jacket. “If they were the least bit interested in what this grandfather had to say, they’d have paid more attention at the gate.”

  “Who says they didn’t,” Wayne retorted, and heard how lame it sounded before the words were even formed.

  Gold fever. Wayne recognized the glitter in Eric’s eyes. He had seen it often enough before. Guys trained in every conceivable form of violence, facing the terror of a tomorrow when their only skills became outlawed. They could dump it all in a carryall and hide it under floorboards in a closet, or they could pretend it was all just over and done. Or they could turn rogue. A lot of Wayne’s former buddies had talked the dream. Joining the mercs and taking on a major score. Night-times in the desert had been good places for such tales. Wayne had seen a lot of other eyes show that same feverish gleam, as the ultimate questions were finally asked. How much would it take? And what would they do to get it?