The Good, The Bad and The Murderous (Sid Chance Myseries Book 2)

by Chester D. Campbell

  Nothing positive, but strongly suspicious, he thought. He returned to his office and called Jaz. She told him about Forrest McGinnis’ dropping another bombshell on her.

  “Damn, Jaz,” he said. “You hadn’t mentioned the drugstore stop to me, either.”

  “I know. It never occurred to me to say anything about it. I just happened to mention it in passing when Bart was questioning me last Saturday. Now it’s come back to haunt me.”

  “I have something even more haunting after a call from Agent Eggers.”

  He related the FBI agent’s news about locating the hit man.

  “He hasn’t turned up at his house?”

  “No. There’s a good possibility that he could be in Nashville.”

  “Why here?”

  “Eggers gave me some information that’s highly confidential, and I swore not to mention it. The upshot of it is the guy could be after me.”

  “You?” She sounded incredulous.

  He related his experience with the apparent old man who wanted to use his phone.

  “Do you think he was trying to lure you inside your office?” Jaz asked.

  “I considered that. If it’s him, he’s waiting for a better opportunity.”

  “Shouldn’t you call Bart or Wick? See if the police can do something?”

  “It would be the same as with the FBI. Without any clear threat, they’d take a dim view of allocating a lot of manpower to keep an eye on me.”

  “What about the old man?”

  “It was certainly suspicious, but I couldn’t swear he was anything but what he appeared to be.”

  “Maybe you’d better come over and stay at my place until they catch him.”

  “Get real, Jaz,” he said, turning his chair toward the window to see cars leaving the mall. “I’m not going into hiding like some illegal running from an ICE agent. I can’t hide forever. Besides, they may never find this guy. If he gets wind of his house being tossed, he’ll never go back.”

  “So you’re going to stand around and wait to be a target?”

  “When I move around, I’ll stay on alert, just like I did in Nam. But I don’t look for any trouble on the streets. This guy’s MO is up close indoors with a silenced twenty-two.”

  “So are you ready for a noctural visitor at home?”

  “You know all the whizbang lights and cameras and alarms Jerry Jackson installed.”

  “Your electronic countermeasures buddy.”

  “Right.”

  “What if the shooter cuts the wires?”

  “I have a warning beeper that goes off, plus some battery backup.”

  “Okay, Sid. I just hope your macho pride doesn’t do you in. I don’t want to see you laid out with a twenty-two caliber hole in your forehead.”

  After he put the phone back on its stand, he thought about what Jaz had said. Was he being stubborn and unrealistic? It would be nice to have someone watching his flanks, but that wasn’t going to happen. The North Precinct, which covered Madison along with the entire northern half of the county, didn’t have the manpower to keep a stakeout on his house. They concentrated their patrolling around Gallatin Road, where most of the businesses were located. It would likely be futile anyway. Sid lived in a quiet neighborhood, and this guy was smart. He would pick up on a car parked where it shouldn’t be.

  Jaz got up from her desk and walked across to the door, then turned and circled the walls lined with shelves of books. She tended to be a pacer, often walking off anger or discontent. Glancing at the packed shelves, which had been mostly stocked by her father, one title caught her eye and eased the tension that had built during the call from Sid—Men Are from Mars. Women Are from Venus. It was easy to forget that, she realized. Instead of talking about problems with friends as she did, he would hole up in his cave and try to work things out on his own.

  It didn’t mean she had to act like a Martian. She called Wick Stanley and caught him at home.

  “Our friend, Sid, has a problem,” she said, and told him about their conversation.

  “Sid mentioned Kozlov and the shooter, but I didn’t realize it might come to this.”

  “You know Sid. He thinks he can handle things by himself, but that man is extremely dangerous. He might catch Sid at home asleep in the middle of the night.”

  “Sid’s pretty crafty himself. He won’t be easily surprised.”

  “Yes, but I don’t like leaving things to chance.”

  “Is that an intentional pun?”

  Jaz frowned. She hadn’t thought of it that way. “No. I meant anything could go wrong. I hate to ask you to consider this when you probably need the sleep yourself, but is there any way you or Bart could ease by there during the night, see if anything appears out of order?”

  “I guess I could cruise down his street a couple of times after midnight, maybe get Bart to do the same later. We’d have to do it in our personal cars.”

  “Good. It won’t spook the guy if he sees you.”

  Chapter 35

  Sid picked up a sub sandwich on the way home. Before starting on it, he checked his surveillance system and found no indication that anyone had been around the place. He considered Agent Eggers’ comment about the hired gun, that with the help of the Internet, the man would know all about his target. He recalled the newspaper stories that ran after the fracas at the Dixie Seals office a few months back, where he had unmasked a triple murderer. They had provided plenty of background.

  After supper, he watched a rerun of the evening news, then one of the few cop shows realistic enough to hold his interest. He read a bit of the latest Lee Child novel, marveling at all the trouble Jack Reacher could get himself into and the deadly results of his efforts to come out on top. In contrast to the cop show, it was pure, and sometimes bizarre, fiction, but it provided a momentary escape from the stark reality of the day. He turned on the ten o’clock news and noted, happily, that nothing was said about the Earline Ivey slaying or its aftermath.

  Not a fan of late night comedians and their talkathons, Sid turned off the TV and made a final check of his security setup. Windows and doors were locked. Using his computer, he switched around the views from his eaves-mounted cameras. The cloudy sky left little ambient light, but he detected nothing out of the ordinary. He looked over the settings in the alarm system. Everything appeared at the ready.

  He angled the bedside clock so he could see it at a glance. He removed the Sig from its holster, jacked a round into the chamber, put the safety on, and set it on the table within easy reach. Satisfied that he had done everything possible to prepare for a visitor, he propped himself up, switched on the bedside lamp, and returned to Jack Reacher’s latest caper. It was around midnight when he put the book aside and switched off the lamp. He soon drifted off to sleep.

  The beep-beep-beep of the alarm woke him instantly. He looked toward the red time display on the bedside clock and saw nothing. It had a battery backup, but he couldn’t remember when he’d changed the battery. At the same time he realized the peculiar pattern of the beeps had signaled a power failure. He rolled out of bed in one swift motion. Reaching for the table, he found the phone on its charging stand. The light should have glowed. Without power, though, the phone wouldn’t work. He grabbed the Sig off the table and crossed the room to the alarm console mounted beside the door. With the system operating on battery now, the display remained lit. Everything looked normal for the moment.

  It had to be the unknown assassin. He debated the best way to handle the situation. The backup battery produced enough power to sound the high decibel alarm if a door or window were opened. That would likely scare off the intruder. But it wouldn’t discourage him from coming back at a more opportune moment. No, Sid thought, it would be better to have a showdown now on his own terms. He reached out a finger and shut off the alarm. It would still give a short beep and indicate the location if a door or window should be opened.

  He had difficulty seeing much more than shapes in the darkness. Turning
back to the table, he felt for the small LED flashlight he kept there. Pressing the on switch, he searched the floor for his loafers and slipped them on. The rubber soles would make no sound, and they would prevent a muffled groan if a toe encountered a chair leg or a wall. He also grabbed a lightweight jacket off the chair and slipped it on over his pajamas. He needed pockets. Looking across at the bed, he had an idea. The assassin would likely try to catch him asleep. He puffed up the spare pillow and stuffed it under the covers, pulling the sheet well up to hide where his head should be.

  With that done, he picked up his cell phone and flipped open the cover. A good cop always called for backup. Jaz was too far across town. He punched in Bart Masterson’s number. Before his detective friend could answer, though, the alarm console beeped.

  He had wasted too much time setting up his dummy.

  He hit the button to cancel the call as he rushed across the room. The alarm display indicated the kitchen door had been opened. He checked the safety and slipped his gun into a jacket pocket. With a frenzy of punching, he set the phone’s ring tone to zero so it wouldn’t reveal his position if Bart returned the call. He stuffed the phone and the flashlight in his pockets, pulled out the Sig and moved into the hallway.

  He crossed to his office door like a wraith in a darkened cemetery. Pausing, breathless, he listened.

  Not a sound. Nothing.

  Realizing the small red lights on his computer and a couple of other gadgets around his desk might be enough to pinpoint him, he moved across to a more obscure spot where he still had a view of the doorway to his bedroom. He reasoned that he would be able to detect movement going toward the door.

  As he stood there willing his ears to pick up the slightest scrap of sound, he lowered himself to one knee. It made him a smaller target. He flipped off the safety and held the gun at the ready.

  And waited.

  The seconds ticked away in slow motion. The man was taking his time. Taking no chances.

  Straining to catch a rustle of clothing or the squeak of a floorboard, he felt the tension build and his awareness heighten as adrenaline pumped through his body. For a moment he was transported back forty years to a night patrol in Vietnam. He could almost smell the rotting vegetation of the jungle, feel the oppressive heat and humidity.

  Then a vague movement at the doorway snapped him back to the present.

  After a moment of silence, a mocking voice broke the stillness.

  “It’s just like with that Ivey woman, Chance. I can see you, but you can’t—”

  Sid fired in the direction of the voice. He squeezed off five rounds, then lifted his finger from the trigger to save the rest. Deafened by the noise, he couldn’t hear the return fire, but muzzle flashes revealed the assassin’s position.

  Sid fired two more rounds after a sharp pain sliced through his left arm. He’d been hit. The room reeked with the smell of gunpowder.

  Something warm trickled down his arm, but his fingers still worked. With the shooting stopped, he pulled out the flashlight, switched in on, and pointed it toward the door. Seeing no one, he held out the Sig and rushed through the opening, turning his light and gun toward the kitchen. As he started to run, his toe caught on something, throwing him off balance, and he fell headlong in the hallway.

  The flashlight clattered to the floor. The pistol came out of his hand and slid across the carpet.

  That damned snag in the carpet he’d been intending to fix was all he could think of.

  He scrambled to retrieve the Sig, grabbed the flashlight and shined it toward the kitchen, fearing the killer would be attracted by the sound of his fall.

  When no one appeared, he directed the flashlight to the carpet. He saw the problem was more than just the snag. He had also tripped over a heavy set of goggles attached to a headgear. Night vision goggles. The intruder had seen him as clearly as if the lights had been on. Until he started firing.

  A row of blood droplets stained the hall carpet. He knew he’d scored a hit. The guy had lost his goggles and probably couldn’t find them in the confusion of trying to get away. Sid understood. His own head felt like he’d had his bell rung. Getting his thoughts together, he knew he needed to give chase but realized he had likely waited too long.

  He sprinted to the back door and opened it. He could make out the shapes of objects in the sparse light, but he saw no one. Then he heard a car start out front.

  Sid bolted for the front door and made it just in time to see a pair of taillights disappear down the street. A wave of fatigue swept over him, and he dropped the Sig to his side. He walked back to his bedroom and plopped down on the side of the bed, feeling the letdown that followed a high stress incident. His left arm throbbed now and sent out sharp pains when he moved it. But it still moved as before, which he took as a sign the bone was still intact. He laid the flashlight on the table beside his gun and stared at a hole in the jacket, where blood soaked through the sleeve. He wriggled out of the jacket and his pajama top. The bullet had pierced his upper arm and still oozed blood. He went into the bathroom, pulled a towel off the shelf, and wrapped it around his arm.

  Back in the bedroom, he looked for his cell phone to report the shooting before his neighbors did. Hearing a sound louder than the ringing in his ears, he realized it came from the front of the house. He picked up the Sig and started toward the living room. On the way it came to him that someone was pounding on the door.

  He unlocked the door and opened it to find a snarling Bart Masterson standing on the porch. Sid let him in.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he asked. “You called my phone and hung up. I’ve been trying to—”

  His voice cut off when he saw the towel and the bloody arm.

  “The bastard cut my electric and phone lines,” Sid said. “He just high-tailed it out of here in a car about five minutes ago.”

  “Must have been the one I passed speeding down Neelys Bend Road. Looked like a black Ford.” Bart pointed at the arm. “He did that?”

  “Yeah. I got him with at least one shot. There’s blood in the hallway.”

  Bart pulled out his phone and started making calls. Soon a patrol unit pulled up, then an ambulance, and a crime scene crew. Sgt. Wick Stanley added his car to the crowd in the street.

  The next hour was mostly a blur for Sid. He told Bart and Wick what had happened and gritted his teeth while the paramedics patched up his arm. They insisted on taking him to the Emergency Room, but Sid refused to go until the initial investigation was finished. Bart agreed to take him later. The crime scene team brought in lights, helping them find two .22 caliber shells and the seven .40 caliber cartridge cases from Sid’s gun. They took samples of the shooter’s blood and bagged the infrared goggles. They took fingerprints from the back door, but Sid said they were probably his. The hit man had no doubt worn gloves.

  Wick told Sid how Jaz had arranged for him and Bart to take turns checking out his house. The hired gun had picked a time between visits. Actually, while Bart was en route.

  The detective grinned when Sid described what happened when he started firing as the intruder was talking. “It’s a good thing you’re trigger happy,” Bart said. “I’ll bet that’s the last time he’ll try that cutesy line.”

  “I’m glad he did on two counts,” Sid said. “He gave me a chance to shoot first, and he admitted to killing Earline Ivey.”

  “Too bad he didn’t tell you who hired him.”

  “Your guy Kozlov probably put him onto me.”

  “Ram Kozlov may be a cop, but he’s not ‘our guy,’” Wick said.

  Bart had called in a description of the car he had seen, hoping that at three a.m. a patrol car might come across it. No such luck. The hospital ERs routinely notified the police when a gunshot wound appeared, but he arranged to have them all called to be on the lookout for a fresh victim. While Sid was being treated at the hospital, Bart called Jaz and told her what had happened.

  Jaz pulled into the Emergency Room parking lot just af
ter five. Inside she was directed toward Sid’s cubicle. She found him on the bed with his shirt off, his left arm bandaged. Bart stood beside him.

  “I’m glad it was your arm,” Jaz said, “and not the middle of your forehead like I warned you.”

  Sid mustered a tired grin. “I’m touched.”

  Bart leaned against the wall. “I didn’t tell you what the guy said to him.”

  She looked back at Sid, who was propped up in the bed. She spoke in a soft voice. “Say about what?”

  “You’ll have to speak a little louder,” he said. “My hearing still isn’t up to par.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “It was something like ‘it’s the same as with the Ivey woman, I can see you but you can’t see me.’ Only he didn’t need night vision goggles with her. He shot her from behind in broad daylight.”

  Jaz felt a sudden wave of relief, like a yoke had been lifted from her shoulders. “Bless you,” she said, striding over to the bed and leaning down to kiss him.

  “Hey, don’t I get one of those?” Bart asked. “I just missed him.”

  “When you catch the SOB, you’ll get yours.”

  Chapter 36

  Jaz insisted that Sid go home with her. He didn’t appear in a mood to argue and quickly agreed, but he said he needed to go by his house to get a few things. Bart followed the Lexus back to Neelys Bend and drew his weapon before leading the way inside. He used his big flashlight to illuminate the path as they followed.

  “What a mess,” Jaz said, gazing at the bullet holes in the wall and the blood on the carpet.

  Sid shook his head. “I need to call Nashville Electric Service and the telephone company to get things restored.”

  “You’ll need a repairman and maid service, too.”

  “I’ll ask North Precinct to cruise around here a few times and be sure he doesn’t come back,” Bart said.

  “I doubt he’ll show his face around here again.” Sid stuffed some clothes and his shaving kit into a small bag.