by Rick Polad
Mike was on the tape machine. He watched me every time I walked through the room. Midafternoon he said, “You seem nervous, and you look tired.”
“I am tired. And I’m just frustrated. I like doing things. Just sitting and waiting isn’t something I handle well.”
“Yeah, I understand that. At least you get to leave. I have to sit here and wait for the phone to ring.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s worse. Must be pretty boring.”
“It is. But when the call comes I can make a big difference.”
“Good for you, Mike.”
I spent the evening watching mindless TV with Mike’s relief, but that didn’t help either. As time went by, I just got more and more excited and wished I could make the hours disappear.
Chapter 42
Friday morning. I had a little less than five hours. Rain was forecast for later in the day. I got to Tony’s apartment at seven just to make sure I wasn’t late. I was also here yesterday at seven and had to wait an hour before he walked out of the front of his apartment building and got into his car about a half block away. It was now five after eight. It was 86 when I left the house, and I was warm with a light jacket on. I wore the jacket to cover my shoulder holster. I was parked in between the apartment and his car.
Traffic was light on the side street where Tony lived. Most people had already left for work so foot traffic was also light.
Ten minutes later, Tony walked down his steps and turned in my direction. Dressed in a beige suit and carrying a briefcase, he looked happy. That was about to end.
When he was two car lengths away, I got out and walked around the front of the Mustang. He glanced at me, looked away, and then glanced back. By the second glance he had lost the happy look. I stood in his path.
“What are you doing here?” he asked with a sneer.
“Came to take you for a little ride,” I said calmly.
He laughed in my face. “What makes you think I’d get in a car with you?”
I pulled back the left side of my jacket. “This does.”
His expression changed. He lost the swagger and froze. His eyes looked worried. But he had enough guts left to stand up to me.
“Come on, Manning. How dumb do I look? You’re not going to shoot me out in the street with people just behind those windows. So why don’t you just move on and I’ll be getting to work.”
“Vitale, I’d just as soon shoot you right here as anywhere else, and I don’t care who sees or hears. I’ll call the chief of police and have him watch. You killed two people. One of them was a friend of mine, just a kind soul painting and minding her own business until she got involved with you.”
“Are you crazy?” His words were defensive and there was fear in his eyes. His hands trembled. “You’ve got no proof of that. I had nothing to do with her except to work with her paintings. Why would I kill her?” He bit his lower lip and his eyes were wide open.
“I don’t know, but I don’t need to know. I just need to see you dead.”
“Who made you judge and jury?”
“Me.” I patted my shoulder. “And I can back it up.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m offering you a chance to show me you didn’t do it. But I’d just as soon shoot you without a chance.”
“And that chance is?”
“Get in.”
He straightened and stuck out his chin. “I’m not getting in without knowing where I’m going.”
I shrugged and pulled my jacket apart. “Have it your way. I told you what your options are. You only have two, and they don’t include any more discussion. Put your briefcase in the back seat.”
He swallowed hard and slumped.
I motioned toward the passenger door and he got in as I stood on the walk. When he was in, I moved back around the car and got in.
“Okay, put on the seatbelt and slide both your arms under the belt. If your arms start to move, it’ll be the last time.”
He slid his arms under the belt and stared straight ahead.
I pulled away from the curb and headed north.
***
We said nothing as I drove. I’m sure he was trying to think of a way out, but he evidently found none.
Twenty minutes later I parked one address away from 4167 N. Pulaski, a five-story, brick apartment building. I handed him a key and told him to get out and walk into the building. I followed him. As we entered the vestibule, I stuck my gun in his back. He flinched.
“Open the door and start up the stairs.”
When we got to the third floor, I told him to open up apartment C.
The door squeaked as it swung open and I pushed him in.
“Sit.”
I holstered my .38 and looked around. There was the main room we were in, a small kitchen, and one bedroom with a small bath. The double hung window in the bedroom looked out over the rear alley and opened onto an iron fire escape.
He was still sitting in the chair when I got back to the living room. I stopped ten feet from him.
“We’ve got the girl, Vitale.”
He looked shocked and almost jumped out of the chair.
“But she doesn’t know who grabbed her. I’m expecting a visitor who should be able to clear this up. He saw the guy who kidnapped her. If he says it’s you, you’re dead. Take a look around—this may be the last place you ever see. When he gets here I need to talk to him first, so until he gets here, you stay in the bedroom. Get up.”
I motioned him toward the bedroom, closed the door behind him, and waited. Ten minutes later, I went in to try and push him a little. He had to be in this with someone. I thought maybe I could get him to talk with an offer to go easy on him and blame the other guy.
The room was empty but the bathroom door was closed. I knocked. There was no answer. I tried the knob, but it was locked. I put my shoulder into the door and broke the lock. The bathroom was empty, too. I looked around the room and my eye stopped on the partially open window. I was sure it was closed when I walked through the room the first time. I looked out and saw an old man looking into garbage cans.
***
Sitting in the red chair in the front room of the apartment, I thought about the possibilities and tried not to worry.
At ten-fifteen the phone rang. A deep voice gave me an address—1140 W. Adams, just west of the loop off the Kennedy Expressway. I ran down the stairs and headed for the Kennedy.
***
Twenty-five minutes later I turned onto Adams and drove west. My palms were sweaty and I was sure my shirt was soaked. I pulled in behind a blue Chevy and stopped. I walked up to the passenger door of the Chevy, opened it, and slid in next to Ronny Steele.
“He went in a side door off the alley.”
We were parked in front of an old brick building that looked like it was part warehouse and part offices. With broken windows and graffiti on the walls, it looked deserted.
“He’s got her in the basement. The entrance is about halfway down the hall on the left. Her hands and feet are tied and there’s tape on her mouth. There was another fellow who disappeared at the end of the first floor as I came in the door.”
“You saw her?”
“Yup. I followed him. He was moving fast—never looked back. He’s got her in a corner on a dirty mattress. Light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Lots of junk down there so it was easy to not be seen. And he wasn’t looking—just in a big hurry to get to Pitcher.”
“What did he do?”
“When he saw her he was furious. Told her she was dead. Then he went up to the second floor, into an office, and made a phone call.”
“Could you hear?”
“Nope.”
“Probably to one of his gang. That makes three that we know of.”
“I agree.”
“You didn’t approach Pitcher?”
“No. I want to find out where the other guy is. I don’t want to tip our hand.”
“I don’t want Pitcher dead, either.”
> “We have eyes on Pitcher. If someone threatens her, it’ll be the last thing they do.”
I didn’t ask who.
“You sure she’s okay? Cuz I’d just as soon kill everyone I see and worry about it later.”
“Calm down, Spencer. She’s as okay as she can be with tape on her mouth and all tied up. She’ll last another hour.”
I took a deep breath—and then another. “You’ve been in there. What do you suggest?”
“We make our way to the basement. As soon as we get in the side door keep your eyes open for the other guy. Vitale’s had enough time to get back to the basement. One of us should stay at the stairs in case someone comes down, while the other moves over to Pitcher. Which do you want?”
“I want this bastard. I want to see the look on his face when he sees me.”
“Okay. But we’re not here for the look on his face—we’re here for Pitcher.”
“Understood.”
We started out of the car.
“Spencer.”
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t the movies. If you need to shoot, shoot. No warnings. This isn’t a negotiation—it’s a rescue. These guys are bastards. And there are a hundred things we haven’t thought of. This could go bad real fast. Always think.”
“Got it.” He cocked his head and gave me a look like he wasn’t quite convinced. We walked down an alley strewn with trash, broken glass, and a paper bag in the shape of a bottle and drew our guns as we neared the door.
Chapter 43
Steele went through the door first and pointed to the left. I followed as he crept along the wall. About thirty feet farther he pointed to a door across the hallway. I nodded.
He opened the door and peered into the dark. He held his hand up. “Let’s wait a few minutes to let our eyes dark adapt,” he whispered.
It seemed like an hour, but a few minutes later he motioned to me to follow him. We slowly made our way down wooden steps. I could gradually make out detail in the room. It was about the size of half a football field and full of shelves and piles of various items, like old furniture.
When we got to the bottom, Steele pointed down one of the aisles and whispered, “All the way to the end.”
I nodded and walked down the side of the aisle with my .38 at my side. I could faintly hear a voice which grew louder as I got closer. It was Vitale.
“Time to pee, bitch. I’m taking you in case I need you to get out of here, and I don’t need you with a full bladder. Your boyfriend tried to trick me. I don’t like being tricked. He obviously doesn’t care much about you. I wonder how he’ll like you dead.”
I was about fifty feet away and I could see the corner where he had Pitcher through the shelving. One bulb hung from the ceiling. She was still lying on a filthy mattress, tied and taped. Her eyes were open but they looked dead. There was no emotion there, not even fear. I couldn’t imagine how this had affected her. I wondered where he was taking her to pee, or if he was. If they were going up the stairs, this would get complicated.
Vitale pulled a six inch knife off of a shelf and told Pitcher he was going to cut the rope on her feet so she could walk. He bent and cut the rope. She barely moved her legs.
“On your feet, bitch.”
She tried, but after lying down for days, there wasn’t much strength in her legs.
He kicked her in the side. “Come on, bitch. I don’t have all day.”
I didn’t just want to kill him—I wanted to kill him slowly and laugh while he screamed.
I knew we were at a disadvantage not knowing where the other guy was, but if he kicked her again I was going to shoot him and get it over with.
She finally got on her feet. Vitale stuck the knife in his belt. He pushed her, but not in the direction of the stairs. I was wondering whether to let him take her when I heard a shot from behind me. It sounded like a cannon as it echoed in the basement.
I turned in time to see a man’s body fall in the aisle ten feet behind me. He was clutching a knife in his right hand. I had found the other man. He wasn’t moving. I silently thanked Steele, but then realized he couldn’t have made that shot from the bottom of the stairs. He must have moved.
It took two seconds to turn back to Vitale. He had turned in the direction of the shot, which was toward me, and pulled Pitcher in front of him. His eyes were wide open and his head jerked in different directions trying to find out what had happened. He called out to his friend, but, obviously, got no answer.
He was holding Pitcher with his left arm across her chest. When he brought the knife up with his right hand, I decided I had to do something.
I moved past the shelves and stood where Vitale could see me with my gun raised. He looked shocked.
“You! How the hell did you get here? Where’s Crawford?”
I shrugged.
“You bastard!”
I thought I heard something behind me and wanted to make sure it was Steele. But I didn’t want to let Vitale know there was someone besides me, and I didn’t want to take my eyes off of him. I could easily put a bullet into him from this distance, but that knife in front of Pitcher changed the game.
I aimed at Pitcher’s chest. The hammer was cocked and my finger was pressed forward against the guard. I knew my gun, and the slightest touch of the trigger was all it needed.
“Look at me!” I yelled sternly. Vitale did, but I didn’t care about him. I wanted Pitcher looking at me. She was. Her eyes looked scared but alert.
I started talking. I told him we could work this out—that we had no proof of the murders and he didn’t need to add a murder charge to kidnapping. He didn’t listen to reason, but I didn’t think he would.
I thought back to a part of my academy training and hoped Pitcher had the same training and had been paying attention.
While I was talking, I sent her a message by blinking three times about two seconds apart. She blinked once, slowly, telling me she understood. I kept talking to distract Vitale. A few seconds later, she looked hard to the left and then back at me. Then she started blinking about a second apart. The third blink would be the trigger. Once. I took a deep breath. Twice. I was still talking. On the third blink, she twisted quickly to her left, pulling out of Vitale’s hold. A split second later, I got off a shot before he could even think of stabbing Pitcher. He dropped to the floor with a hole in his chest.
I ran to her with Steele right behind me and took her in my arms. Steele bent over Vitale and said he was still alive but his breathing was gurgled. I didn’t care.
I held Pitcher by the shoulders and pushed her away. She was crying. I was pretty close to doing the same. I holstered the gun and told her I would take the tape off her mouth. Apologizing, I told her I was going to do it fast and it was going to hurt. She nodded and screamed when I ripped it off.
She was sobbing as I went to pick up the knife to cut the rope that bound her hands.
“Hey,” yelled Steele. “Don’t touch that. Untie it.”
I did. And then I pulled out my gun and walked over to Vitale. I stood over him and told him I was going to put him out of his misery for what he did to Kathleen. I told him I had five bullets left and I was going to use them all. The first four would cause pain. The last would kill him. I told him I wanted to be there when he died and raised my arm.
Steele’s stern, controlled voice came from behind me.
“Spencer, you don’t want to do that.”
I aimed at Vitale’s left knee. Fear was all over his face.
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Spencer. We’ve got Pitcher and we’ve got this scum. If you do this, I guarantee you’ll wake up one of these nights and feel guilty as hell. And, by the way, that will be in a prison cell.”
I took a deep breath. All of me was trembling except for my gun hand.
“You got ten seconds, Vitale.”
“Spencer.”
I started counting down from ten and when I got to zero I pulled the trigger. The bullet tore a hole
in the wood floor just below his crotch. I lowered my gun as his head rolled to the side and he took one last gasp.
I holstered the gun again and stood silently.
From behind me, Steele said, “Looks like you still may be going to prison.”
I turned around, surprised. “How do you figure?”
“Looks to me like you scared him to death. And somebody is going to wonder how he got slivers in his ass.”
Neither of us smiled.
Pitcher came over and put her hand on my arm. “Thank you, Spencer.”
I put my arm around her. “Nice move, Pitcher.”
“Yeah, I always wondered if that would work,” she said with a smile.
“Good to see you smile.”
“I didn’t think I ever would again.”
I turned to Steele. “And thanks to you for getting the guy in the aisle.”
“Wasn’t me, Manning.”
I raised my eyebrows and remembered there was someone else in the basement.
Steele nodded behind me with his chin.
Leaning against one of the shelves was Chief Iverson.
“Well I’ll be damned.” A big smile spread across my face and I laughed.
I walked over to him and held out my hand. “Thanks—Chief.”
He took off a glove and shook my hand. He nodded with a tiny smirk on his lips and said, “By the way, the guy in the aisle is dead, too.”
I nodded.
Iverson put the glove back on and handed the gun to Steele who took it in his right hand to put his prints on it.
Steele took over. “Iverson, get the hell out of here. Manning, let’s get back to the car and get some help here and an ambulance.”
I turned to Pitcher. “Think you can make it up the stairs?”
“I think so, as long as we go slow. But…”
“What?”
She laughed. “I really do have to pee.”
“Do you know where the head is?”
She nodded to her left. “Over there about halfway down the wall.”
“Okay. I’ll walk you to the door. Steele, why don’t you go make the calls.”
