Justifiable Homicide

by Waggoner, Robert C.

  To Brian it was hard enough to understand broken English, but these guys who were higher than the space shuttle jabbered on and on in a language he never once understood a word. Brian said, “Hey let me have a look here,” and stuck his head under the hood while reaching for his silenced 9mm. All three of them stuck their heads under the hood to see what Brian might think, when Brian raised his gun from the freeway side of the car while the other three, one in front of the car and the other two on the opposite side never knew what hit them. Slowly Brian pulled the front guy off to the side where the other two were staring opened eyed at the Florida night, leaving all in a pile. He left the hood up and drove off signally like a law abiding citizen.

  The next morning Brian woke early to see what the news was about, if anything on the freeway killing last night. From the newsstand he picked up the Miami Herald and went back to his basement office. There was nothing on the front page, but second page opened his eyes. Scanning the article it told him the drug lord and his two body guards were shot along the freeway. A Jorge Micklego, a notorious king pin of the drug world was shot to death by unknown, but thought to be gang and drug related executions. Brian closed the paper and after he left the freeway last night he thought this kill was just a low level dealer and his side kicks. He realized now he knocked of a major player in the drug scene in Florida which made his day.

  Number One through Eight all was cognizance by mid-week of the three kills which would be impossible for someone to tie together. Each one of the VO group felt satisfied in his or her way.

  12.

  Toni Tether drove south to Georgia where it was warmer. Nothing made her feel better than to outwit the establishment and circumvent the law like the old time west where if a guy was caught stealing a horse, he was hung from the nearest tree. Not one dollar cost of public money, nor lined pockets of dip shit lawyers, she thought, while herding her motor home down the freeway. On her computer a red light flashed if a message came in. Now it flashed red while she looked for a rest stop or exit to check her mail. Some small town exit came up and she dove off the freeway to find a Burger King waiting for her to obtain indigestion, when she finished her flame broiled burger and greasy fries.

  The mail was from Dallas Texas. What followed was a vita on a firm of lawyer’s experts at getting drunk drivers off without as much as a fine. The most recent one involved a rich rancher who ran a stop light taking a car full of little leaguers to a soccer match killing two and the driver who was the coach from a church school. The rancher got three years' probation and three hundred hours of community service. The instructions were for Joy to take out both the wealthy rancher and the lawyer.

  Toni frowned when thought about the possibility of a connection if Joy used the same weapon as she used in Seattle. She mailed Joy with the instructions and the caution she added about changing modus. A half hour later a mail came back saying understood.

  13.

  Back in LA Robin Eggar read the news the next day in the LA Times. It was stated the terrorists destruction of multi-million dollar home in Ventura Canyon. He read where the initial investigation determined that explosives were used while a gathering of prominent Spanish music stars was in progress. Also among the dead were the house owner and agent for all the stars. A spoke person said, “We stand here with heavy heart that someone or some group would do such a thing. All were entertainers and upright citizens.” Only the police and FBI knew bags of cocaine were scattered up and down the canyon along with hard cash with a total as yet unknown.

  Robin put down the paper and although he felt some pity that maybe one or two were innocent, most had it coming. He made ready for some tire changing at work with a stop at a fast food joint for an egg muffin.

  ***

  Back up in Seattle at the police station in the homicide division detective Edward [Eddie] Barnes sat behind his desk going over the report of the hit on the insurance guy and his lawyer. Eddie was a quiet spoken man in his early fifties with a body going to seed. His wife always nagging to him to lose weight, but his complaint was the cleaners and her wash shrunk his clothes. Now his fat fingers turned a page and with his other hand picked up cold coffee that he didn’t seem to care if it was cold or not. To him coffee was coffee no matter the temperature. His partner heard his slurp the beverage and she knew the louder he slurped, the more he became perplex with what he read. She too had a copy of the report and remembered when they were called to the scene. The body lay on the sidewalk covered with a tarp. A few neighbors stood across the street in total shock that someone had been killed in their exclusive neighbor hood. The coroners wagon sat just outside the police tape along with a half dozen local Bellevue police cars lights still flashing blue. Eddie pulled their dark brown unmarked car behind the coroners van and she with an umbrella and he with a beat up looking fedora, and a rain coat that reached almost to his ankles, ducked under the tape for a look see. Eddie’s partner was relatively new in the homicide division but had years of tenure on the streets. After a short conversation and a look at the head wound, Eddie looked across the street up and down. Gail Swift wondered what he was looking for when he started walking in the slight drizzle across and down the street. Apparently he found what he was looking for when he stared at the street where a faint dryer than the rest of the street spot where a car had been parked, but gone now.

  He lumbered back and asked a very nervous Bellevue policeman who had rank from their department. He was introduced to a tall man in an expensive Burberry overcoat with Gucci shoes to match. Eddie shook his hand and asked who and what he thought happened here. The man with a slow silky voice said, “The victim is a Mr. Chesterfield an insurance executive. What happened is obvious as he was shot in the head. Why is unknown at this time. Better yet, why are you here?”

  Eddie responded saying his boss sent him here at the request of the Bellevue Police Department. “I understand there is another homicide at a law office downtown Bellevue. My boss thinks maybe there is a connection. What can you tell me about that?”

  “Well, initially we’ve discovered the lawyer was the legal representative of the dead man laying there.”

  “How was he killed,” as Eddie tried to cover his large belly with a too small off the rack rain coat. Eddie knew this guy was way out of his league here. His boss told him before he left that this was something a bit out of the ordinary and go easy on the Bellevue police.

  “The victim was shot multiple times with a hand gun in the underground parking garage of his office. Nothing has been touched and the coroners team from Seattle is on the scene as we speak.”

  “We’ll go there now and,” as he handed the over dressed guy his card, “call me when the autopsy is complete.” With that he nodded to Gail and they left for the next crime scene. Upon arrival it seemed to Gail that enough yellow crime tape was around the area to reach back across the bridge to Seattle. She hung close to Eddie as they passed under the tape down the ramp into the garage area. The cars parked looked like a showroom advertising SUV’s at a discount with so many people hanging around the area. Lawyers think the tape or a crime scene doesn’t apply to them. Almost going unnoticed was the covered body of the victim with only the medical examiner doing his job.

  The medical examiner, when he saw Eddie, stood up to take his questions. Gail heard him tell Eddie that the guy had at least four slugs in him from close range. It didn’t take much of a brain to figure out someone waited or drove up at the same time he was parking. After closing his door someone nailed him where he stood; now his brief case lying next to him as quiet as the owner.

  Gail came back from her thoughts as Eddie said, “What do you make of this partner?” She looked at him while he sat back in his desk chair that sounded badly in need of oil. She saw his grey eyes of looking straight at her which demanded an intelligent answer.

  She answered, “A hired revenge killing is what it looks like to me.” She noticed he didn’t flinch or comment so she went on saying, “However it is so
obvious that like a red herring we would find nothing with the family’s prints on the murders. Has to be outside, but that doesn’t make any sense either; or does it. Okay I give, tell me what I don’t know.”

  “Gail, I’ve been in this business for almost thirty years. I thought I’ve seen it all and what I haven’t seen I’ve heard about. But this is something entirely new,” while he rocked back up to the desk leaning his arms on the desk top. “This has all the earmarks of a vigilante crime and if I’m not mistaken, there are more to come.” Gail thought of the implications and when the media got wind, what would the public do? She felt dark days coming like the outside as it began to rain in earnest.

  14.

  In Washington DC, at the J. Edgar Hoover building, inside the FBI’s home office, special agent Peter Holmes sat at his desk reading about crime in different major cities. His job was to look for terrorist’s activity or any anomalies that waved a flag as unusual. Presently he was reading about the destruction of the home in LA that smacked of terrorist activity. He pulled up the name of Jorge something or other and found him listed as major drug dealer, but without any connection to a terrorists group. Strange he thought. Peter tucked that one away in his brain and the Seattle killing of an insurance executive and a lawyer caught his eye. After reading the particulars, he picked up the phone and called upstairs to his boss. Fifteen minutes later he sat in his boss’s office talking to a thirty year veteran of the agency. Peter was only thirty one, but as sharp as a mountain peak and with the same kind of foundation of intelligence at the base.

  Peter said, “These Seattle murders,” he passed over a copy of the report, “are most unusual. Bellevue is a suburb of Seattle where wealthy people live and Microsoft is just up the freeway from there. Murder is almost unheard of in Bellevue. I ran a check on the victims and one was an insurance guy who just got off on a vehicular homicide charge by the lawyer who also was found dead the same morning.” His boss looked gravely at the report and told Peter to continue. “Sir, this has the making or earmarks of a vigilante revenge killing.” He left it there and waiting for his boss to respond.

  “Peter it says here a Russian slug was found noting the caliber as 12.7. That’s a sniper rifle if memory serves me. And the lawyer died of 9mm slugs. I would have to agree with you as to the revenge angle, but vigilante?”

  “Sir, I doubt a revenge killing by a relative or friend, might be possible, but the use of a very special sniper rifle seems out of place.” His boss let that go and Peter could tell he was thinking about it.

  “What else you got Peter?”

  “Well, in LA a major drug dealer lost his house in one of those steep canyons when someone used plastic explosives to take out the supports underneath sending it a thousand feet down the mountain killing all inside. There was lots of cocaine residue and money scattered down the mountain.” Peter watched his boss stare at the walls where pictures of him and other public figures hung like symbols of accomplishments. For himself, Peter wanted only one thing: to be the best there was in his field. He continued, “It looks like terrorists but I can’t find any connection in his past to justify the incident.”

  “Peter, dig into both of these and look back to see if there has been something else related to these acts.” That was Peters cue to leave and he rose while his boss returned to reading the files Peter brought up.

  * * *

  Toni Tether pulled in Atlanta, found a RV park and sat down at her computer. It was catch up time and sent out eight e-mails to the VO group and then she hacked into the FBI main computer. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. A query to LA requesting more information on the Ventura Canyon incident and more information on the owner and a full background from childbirth to death, special agent Peter Holmes requested ASAP. Also a query went out to Seattle for more details. Well, it started and now where will it end she thought. She shut down the computer and went to bed.

  * * *

  Down in Miami, a group of homicide detectives sat around a local bar discussing the recent murder of a drug dealer and his body guards. One of the younger rookies just making detective grade, asked the table, “How could this happen right on a freeway. It was likely they knew the killer or killers as they were all lying in a pile with their hand guns still in pockets or in their holsters. My guess is was a gang related thing and or a member or their own gang wanting to move up in the organization.”

  “Well, life is full of mysteries and who the hell cares about some drug dealer’s dead on a freeway or anywhere else for that matter.” Voices around the table were ‘Here Here’ and some clinks of glasses heard.

  15.

  In LA Robin Eggar got a new assignment. This was the Big Boss of drugs and his instructions were to put him out of business for good.

  Tucked in a different canyon, a house not likely to slip down the mountain, a horse ranch located on top of the mountain, it nestled down a road lined with trees. Outward appearances with a horse stable sign, gave the impression it was a horse stables of the rich, but in fact it was just a cover for the Big Boss who controlled the supply of cocaine and now manufactured methamphetamine manufactured in Mexico and shipped to California, Arizona and Texas.

  A meeting was taking place with the Big Boss and some of his lieutenants discussing last night's attack on Jorge’s house. Boss said, “Along with losing Jorge, we lost God knows,” as he crossed him, “how many kilos of coke along with too much money.” Then boss raised his voice and said, “Who the hell did this. Who would dare take on our organization and expect to live. Boys I want answers and I want them quick,” as he looked around seeing hangdog faces that had not a clue who blasted Jorge’s house on a high that ended his life. “We have a load coming in a week or so and now who is going to replace Jorge. Cash flow boys, cash flow. The cash flow went down the fucking hill along with our product. Now I’m going to have to accept the shipment on mostly an arm and lord helps us all if we don’t make good on the front.”

  One of the braver men looked up and said, “Boss we will hit the streets and put an ear out. Someone must know something and we will not rest until we get a line on whoever did this.” The boss was running his hands through his greasy hair and nodded his head.

  After wiping the grease off on his white pants he said, “Boys we are in deep shit here. We’ve no product and if we had product, where do we sell it? All of Jorge’s dealers went down the hill with him. I’ll see if I can move this next shipment to the southwest, but already they are sitting on more product than they can move without a price cut. Shit, what a fucking disaster.”

  16

  Joy Lister was enjoying the train ride to Texas after a successful dual hit in Seattle. She’d dumped the sniper rifle, but kept the hand guns. Now as the train moved east from California the desert began bringing back memories of sorts from Asia and particularly the dry mountains of Afghanistan.

  Unlike the warm train but like the outside desert with blowing drifts of light snow, on an unnamed mountain near the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan her group of mercenaries huddled around a small fire in a cave leaving no room to move around in. Along the trail they picked up some animal scat and used it for a fire to heat some packages of soup and to warm their hands. Their target was a small village where a training camp for terrorist lie tucked into an area where air strikes were useless. Now eight of them under cover of a darkness and weather, would take out the make shift barracks along with the shack alongside it where the leader stayed.

  Joy looked at her watch and it was two hours till time to move out and down the trail to the village. Through the dim light of the small fire she saw eyes of killers and not one of them would you take home to grandmothers house for Christmas, she thought.

  As time drew near she double checked her weapons and explosives as did the other seven. Joy was the leader and this was her team she’d put together a year ago. They were paid by the Americans through a bank in Macau and needless to say, paid very well indeed. It was two
hours later moving slowly when they were within two hundred yards of the first house in the village. Dogs were always a problem, but for the time being they were downwind of the village where crawling on their bellies made their way to the target. Young Billy, as she fondly remembered was a crack pistol shot was on point. The wind was howling down the gorge much to their liking as one by one they peeled off and silenced the habitants of each shack, including the leader

  Later the news reported fifty innocent villagers killed along with ten children. Nothing was further from the truth as the villages only contained adults directly connected to Al Qaida. The dogs were never a problem as charges were set and the group retreated just outside of the village to watch the fireworks show on a cold January night.

  A smile crossed her weathered skin as she saw some big black mountains of what she guessed was Arizona from the train window. Then her thoughts returned to the job at hand. She thought that the system if you killed someone whether by accident or intentional one must pay the piper. Although it was a very long time ago, she remembered the case of O.J. and that disgusted her no end. Maybe she ought to take a trip to Florida and visit Mr. Simpson? She came full circle back to a rich rancher who had ties to a president who also lives in Texas. Joy laid her head back and thought of the ways to take this dude out. In this case she would like to see the look in his eyes seeing her for the last vision of his life; and knowing why he was being put out to pasture.