by M. L. Harris
“… and looking in places where a killer might hang out.”
“Right.”
“Cool. There must be a lot of surveillance cameras there.”
“He just sent the video over.”
“Keep going.”
“I compared the videos to the ones from Wells Fargo in San Jose. Hold on a second,” I tell him as my fingers zip across the keyboard. “I’m just finishing this up.”
He puts his feet up on a chair.
A few moments later I say, “Got it.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“I’ve opened the videos. Here they are in split-screen beside the ones from the bank. See this guy walking out of the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you notice the slight limp?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I wrote a nifty little software program to calculate his height. It compares him to objects with known dimensions. His shoes are the same in both locations so this is accurate.”
“Go on.”
“He’s six feet tall.”
“Are you positive the results are the same in both videos?”
“Absolutely, same guy. It’s Ivan.”
Jack smiles.
“Damn. So this is what a real-life hit man looks like.”
“There’s more,” I reply excitedly.
I replay the video. There’s a girl walking beside Ivan: mid-twenties, tattoos and a lot of mileage on her. Judging by their body language they’ve likely seen each other naked.
“She’s his squeeze, at least for now,” I say as I point at the laptop. “I took the best footage and converted it to photos.”
I hesitate for effect.
“Come on Maggie, what happened next?”
“After I sent the photos to Connor he and a couple of the Berkeley Boys ventured into the Hood. They went into this bar and showed the photos around. It wasn’t long before somebody recognized her.”
“Who is she?”
“Some crack head I guess. Turns tricks to support her habit. Connor got her address.”
Jack kisses me.
“Nice work, sweetheart.”
I close the laptop. “Thanks.”
“We have to move on this… fast.”
Chapter
22
The location would not be in public because Ivan wanted them to meet behind closed doors. Against her instincts she gave in and agreed to meet at her place.
She heard the buzzer from the lobby door and pressed a button on her phone to let him in.
Inside the lobby Ivan stood near the elevators and waited. An elderly woman emerged from the street door and began walking toward him.
He just stared at her as she took in the sight of him—jailhouse tats and all. She turned on her heels and scurried out as quickly as she had come in.
Moments later Amber heard the doorbell ringing. She went to the door and saw his face filling the peephole. When she opened the door Ivan walked by her and let himself in.
He stepped over to the window before turning to face her.
Not one for small talk he asked, “Whatta ya got for me?”
“Well, I have him tied around my little finger,” she replied, referring to her lover, Zachary Ross.
“Slip ups ain’t gonna be tolerated,” he told her. “Ross has to be controlled till we done with him.”
“Why am I not hearing this directly? Instead he sends an errand boy.”
Ivan sneered at her with a fierce expression.
“You do what we tell ya.”
“I want more money,” she demanded. “I’d have to be a fool to take what I’ve been offered.”
A rage was beginning to well up inside of Ivan. He reached in his pocket and activated a device that switched off the surveillance equipment in the apartment.
“You ain’t in no position for makin’ demands,” he replied.
Slowly he came a step closer.
“I’m not taking any damn sucker’s share,” she said with a sassy mouth. “If I don’t see some real cash I’ll expose the fact that I’m being used to manipulate Ross.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed and his pulse raced. He inched forward and closed the distance by another step.
This bitch is really askin’ for it.
He feasted on her flesh with greedy eyes: the breasts, the smooth legs, and her clothes were much too revealing, as usual.
An inferno boiled inside him.
“I ain’t got no authority for that.”
“Like I said, an errand boy.”
He exploded.
She didn’t even see it coming. His movements swift and precise, his hand connected hard against the side of her face.
The vicious blow spun her around, and with a crashing thud she collided against a wall.
In seconds he was on her.
He squeezed her throat like a vice, his eyes dark pools of rage.
Filled with terror, she could only think of saving her life.
He jerked her limp body up by the neck.
“You like tyin’ people up, don’t ya? It’s my turn bitch.”
He dragged her by the hair into the bedroom, tossing her on the bed as he held lengths of nylon rope. He lashed her hands and feet to the bedposts.
Then he began to violate her.
Defiantly she spit in his eye, begging for more, just to piss him off.
Now that he was finished with her Ivan pointed his finger in Amber’s face.
“You listen good bitch. If you talk ‘bout this I’m gonna kill ya. Make it real ugly too. You understandin’ me?”
She managed a nod as streams of mascara ran along her cheeks. He removed a knife from his pocket and lingered as she stared up at him, squirming.
His face broke into a twisted grin.
But he cut the ropes.
And before leaving he whispered in her ear.
“You’s a real alley cat.”
Now alone, Amber huddled in the corner of her bedroom, knees clutched to her chest. Head throbbing, she sat there for a long time.
But eventually the fog started to clear, and she remembered her value.
It’s worth it, she told herself.
She repeated the mantra until, finally, she convinced herself.
For in her mind, the words began to take on a ring of truth.
Chapter
23
Jack and I decide to sneak out of the townhouse with our gear, catching a taxi and heading back across the bridge into San Francisco’s Tenderloin district.
When the driver pulls away from the curb, we stand there in the street, looking around and feeling uneasy. Carrying our lightweight backpacks we try to blend in, covering a few blocks on foot, then ducking into the stairwell of a five-story apartment building.
I chew nervously on a fingernail as I follow Jack up to the landing on the fourth floor. Looking down the hallway we see the door to 4B: the studio apartment of the girl with Ivan in the video.
“This is absolutely nuts, you know,” Jack says.
“You don’t hear me arguing, do you?” I reply as I hand him one of two handguns I brought along.
I move cautiously down the hallway and reaching the end I climb over a railing that is exposed to the outdoors. There’s a narrow ledge and I scale out onto it and peek around the corner. I can see the girl at the sink in the kitchen and it looks like a guy is lying on the bed.
Each of our guns has an extra clip (fifteen rounds) which I feel is enough firepower because the last thing I want is to shoot up the neighborhood.
I spend five minutes picking the front door lock and dead bolt.
Apparently, nobody has detected our presence.
We take a few deep breaths.
“Ready?” I ask.
“No,” Jack says.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I just wanted to say I love you.”
“And you tell me this now?” I whisper.
“We’re gonna get killed, Mag.”
“I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“And like, I have?”
“What if she comes at me with a knife?”
“Damn it, Jack.”
“I hear crack can give a person superhuman strength.”
“Stop talking like that.”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, on my count, three… two… one…”
I swing the door wide and moving swiftly to the bed I point my gun at the guy’s head.
Fortunately the girl isn’t armed.
The guy’s in his late-forties and he is definitely not Ivan Riktor.
“Shit,” I yell to Jack. “It’s not him.”
We put the guy in the bathroom and zip-tie his hands and cover his mouth with duct tape.
Jack confronts the girl.
“What’s going on here… who’s that guy?”
“He’s a trick, man. Who the hell are you, the pigs?”
“Where’s Ivan?”
She seems totally disoriented and says, “Hey dude, I ain’t his keeper.”
“When did you last see him?”
When she hesitates I lower my voice and point at the window.
“If we don’t get some answers you’re going skydiving.”
“Uh… yesterday,” she mumbles.
“Where is he now?”
“Still in the Hood probably. Why are y’all harrassin’ me?”
Her hands shake as she lights a cigarette and takes a drag.
“Do you have a way of contacting him?”
Slowly her head moves back and forth. No.
“You don’t have his cell number?”
“Hey, I was just tryin’ to help out. But he don’t listen.”
Jack is obviously bummed like I am. He’s already out in the hallway. I start for the door and then I turn back to her. She is really a sad sight.
“Keep your chin up, girl,” I tell her as I close the door.
Down at the curb Jack and I grab a taxi and head for a night club in the Hood that’s described by locals as a revolving door for criminals.
We hit the floor carrying photos of Ivan and show them around with the hope that somebody will recognize him. Eventually I come across a girl who does. She’s pierced in more places than I can count and after talking with her for less than a minute I can tell she’s been around the block a few hundred times.
“He’s a real sadistic bastard,” she tells me.
“How do you mean?”
“Met him at a club last week. This guy likes to get rough. When I fought back he raped me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
I shrug.
“Did he talk about stuff? I mean, before…”
“He raped me?”
I nod.
“I think he feels safest in the Hood.”
“Here in the Tenderloin?”
“Yeah… said he grew up here. Must have had it messed up when he was young cause he’s twisted real bad.”
I offer a weak smile.
“Thanks. I enjoyed our little talk.”
“See you around the Hood.”
Jack has called for a cab and when the driver pulls to the curb outside we eagerly jump in the backseat. As he takes off down the street I explain to Jack what the girl told me.
“Ivan the psycho,” he says as he shakes his head. “Rapist and cold blooded killer.”
“Do you think it was worth the trip?”
“Sure. This is where he’s most comfortable.”
“Terrific,” I reply. “All we have to do now is find a guy in a city of…”
“Hundreds of thousands of people.”
“But half are female which cuts the odds in half.”
He leans in and plants a tender kiss on my cheek.
“Spoken by a true optimist.”
Chapter
24
At the townhouse in Berkeley, we are already feeling closed in. I suggest a stroll down the street to our favorite café. On the front steps Jack slips his hand in mine, and we start along the sidewalk, a police officer trailing behind. We pass rows of quaint shops and storefronts, then enter the cafe and head for a table nestled beside a brick wall.
As we settle in, an uneasy feeling comes over me.
The urgency of locating Ivan before he makes a move on us intensifies and grows more relentless as the hours pass. I look up and see a server, coming over. She fills our water glasses, asking if we’d like to see menus. Jack tells her not to bother and orders for both of us. Then he says something else to her, but I don’t hear it.
After she disappears into the kitchen Jack says, “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
“I was just thinking about the Berkeley Boys and how we might ramp up the effort to find this creep.”
“Off hand, I can think of a lot of guys.”
“What about the photos?”
“They’re good quality. We can make copies for them.”
The server returns with our drinks and places them on the table.
“Thanks,” Jack says.
“We really should decide on how to allocate our resources.”
“Like who’ll cover the clubs, brothels and strip joints.”
“Right.”
This cozy little café, directly across from the campus, is the place where Jack and I met. He must’ve been tuned out because he barged right into the women’s bathroom, just as I was coming out, and we literally ran into each other. I’ll never forget it: looking up into those beautiful blue eyes and feeling the quickening of my pulse as his body was pressed against me. Then, as we both looked at the sign on the door, and when he realized his mistake, he wasn’t even embarrassed. He just smiled, a confident smile, and looked into my eyes. The chemistry was potent, and immediate. The two of us lingered there, until a girl emerged from the bathroom, squeezing between us as she left and breaking the spell (temporarily).
When Jack returned to the dining area, I was seated with a couple of girlfriends, and I’d already informed them of the encounter. So, as they saw him approaching, they quickly bolted, leaving me there, alone. Amused, he came directly over, sat beside me and started talking. We hit it off right away. I felt like I’d known Jack all my life. That night we went on our first date, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.
I’m purposely not going to say anything to him, because I want to see if he brings it up.
A few minutes later, the server appears, holding a cupcake with a lit candle at the center. As she sets it on the table, Jack smiles widely.
“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” he says.
Tears pool in my eyes.
Gently squeezing my hand, he says, “From the moment we met, right here, I knew that you were the one for me.”
“It’s been six months already, I can hardly believe it,” I reply, tears of joy now coming forth.
“Go ahead, honey, make a wish.”
In this moment, everything’s fading into the background, and I am left in total bliss. I make a wish and blow out the candle.
Then, the server brings our meals, and we start in on them.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Jack says, “Could you ever imagine, back then, that we’d be in a situation like this?”
The stark contrast between our loving relationship and our present circumstances hits me like a ton of bricks. I begin thinking about Ivan: bursting wildly into the café, gunning down the police officer, and finishing us off.
“Why can’t everything just be normal, like before?”
Jack laces his fingers in mine. He tells me, “Listen honey, if we survive this, I’m ready to make a commitment to you… a permanent commitment.”
Well, I’ll be darned. Did that sound like a marriage proposal? Sure did to me. But, I’m not pushing for anything more. What more is needed? We are in love, and that’s enough, for now.
“I’m totally on board with t
hat,” I say, eyes moist.
Finishing our meals, we leave the café and the evening is gorgeous as we stroll through the neighborhood on our way back. I must say, knowing there’s a police officer watching our backs is comforting, especially after our experience in the Tenderloin.
Once inside, Jack and I begin working the phones and coordinating the guys who’ve joined the manhunt. Several hours later a band of recruits are in hot pursuit, eager to avenge the deaths of DynaTech’s founders and track down the elusive Ivan Riktor.
A clock on the kitchen wall catches my eye, and the feeling of racing against time overwhelms me.
Chapter
25
The morning sun was an hour away from peering over the horizon in the San Jose suburb of Mountain View when Zachary Ross started the engine of his Ferrari.
His wife was fast asleep as he left for the Redwoods State Park, a daily ritual he began a few years ago. He drove into the Visitor Center and the Ferrari swung into the parking lot.
Pulling on a pair of hiking boots he braced his hands against the trunk of the car and stretched his legs.
With his muscles now loose he headed for the Ocean View Trail, a long hiking path through the mountains. Ross enjoyed the convenience of the trail, only ten minutes from the hurried pace of Silicon Valley. These hikes at daybreak helped to keep his physique trim and his mind sharp.
At this early hour the park was nearly empty as he advanced along a narrow path, taking deep breaths and slowly increasing his heart rate. The dirt path stretched around a bend and the terrain steepened as he scrambled over layers of angle-faced rocks.
With his head clearing he looked out toward the ocean and thought about the grisly car wreck that claimed the life of Dylan Hunter, and Kumar Gupta’s heart attack.
Ross tried to push away thoughts of a connection and shook off feelings of dread as he climbed higher along a rock outcropping.
The events of the past few days have a chilling effect on him, even as the sun’s warming rays tingle on his arms. As he climbed the rough terrain his legs pumped forcefully.
Suddenly he had the feeling of eyes upon him.
Is my imagination playing tricks on me?
He then spun on his heels and scanned the narrow path and the surrounding area.
Not a soul in sight.
Returning his attention to the trail he moved along the path and traversed an outcrop of boulders. He paused for a moment and stood there watching the sun rising on the horizon.
