by M. L. Harris
It was self-defense, or so he claimed.
Right.
Life on the outside had never been good to either of them. Both had spent more than half of their adult lives in prison. Pearce had recently been chummy with the tattooed Ivan, until he brutally raped Pearce’s girlfriend, that is.
Anyway, Caleb phoned Boone who agreed to go with Pearce back to his apartment. He put on a pot of coffee in the hope of sobering him up. Then Boone called us.
“I’m with him now, Maggie. His name’s Archie Pearce.”
Boone hands him the phone.
“Hello.”
I set my cell on speaker so Jack and I can both hear him.
“Hi, my name’s Maggie. I’m sorry for keeping you up.”
“Ain’t no bother. Haven’t slept through the night in years.”
“I’m having a hard time locating a man named Ivan. Can you help?”
“Could be. Whatta ya wanna know?”
Boone brings Pearce another cup of coffee, his fourth so far.
“He’s in the city, but exactly where I can’t pin down.”
He gives a hearty laugh.
“That’s an easy one.”
Jack and I close our eyes in anticipation of his answer.
“Little Saigon.”
Jack smiles.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Grew up there. Got an attachment to the neighborhood. He’s a rough character, you know.”
Yes, I do know.
“I’ve seen a surveillance video of him. He’s with a girl.”
“I ain’t surprised.”
“Are you familiar with his tastes?”
“You talkin’ ‘bout dames?”
“Yes.”
“Asian, petite, dark hair, big tits.”
Jack chuckles.
“And if he’s with someone now?”
“She’d be in her late teens or early twenties. He likes young ones.”
Jack looks over at me and nods.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I say.
“Glad to be of help,” he replies.
Boone is back on the phone.
“Well?”
“It’s all good, dude. Stay close.”
“Right.”
I turn to Jack and he gives me a high five.
“Let’s get to work.”
A single phone call has narrowed the hunt.
We dive in.
Streets, alleys, food stores, bars, cafés, massage parlors, all of them are staked out.
I stare nervously out the window.
“What if he knows?”
Jack turns and looks at me. Huh?
“What if he knows we’re hunting him?”
“He probably does.”
“Okay, what would you do?”
“I’d lay low and stay inside. Bolting now would be risky and stupid.”
“How would you eat?”
He pauses.
“Takeout.”
I frown. “That would get old after a while.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“So… somebody else might be buying the food for both of them.”
“It would give him good cover.”
“Exactly.”
“And we have a good description of the type of girl he likes.”
I think for a moment.
“Very young. And sleazy enough to be hanging out with a degenerate like Ivan.”
Jack is getting excited.
“The Berkeley Boys will stake out every joint in Little Saigon that sells food. Any girl who answers to the description is to be followed, and when she arrives at her destination the place is scoped out.”
“Then they call us.”
“Right.”
Chapter
35
Detective Emily Gower threw the report on the floor and shouted at the guy who delivered the bad news. When she kicked her desk she sent a violent shudder throughout the room.
Moments later the Chief of Police entered.
“Three people have been murdered in a hotel,” he told Emily. “And what have we got?”
“A big fat nothing. They were professionals. And how they got themselves killed is anyone’s guess.”
“What about the girl who fell out the window?”
“Checkered past. We still don’t know if she had any connection to the killers.”
The Chief felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.
“I have to take this,” he said and disappeared.
Emily continued to stew for another half-hour.
Then an assistant came into her office holding a file.
She dropped it on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“Just came in,” the assistant replied. “Thought you’d want to see it.”
Emily flipped the file open.
Staring back at her was a sketch… of me. As I suspected, it was drawn by a police artist from witnesses who saw me in the hotel bar with Amber, just before her body was fished out of the swimming pool.
Holy shit! Maggie Croft? First she and Jack Fisher blew off their protection details. And now she’s mixed up in a triple murder? The killers must’ve found them and Maggie and Jack got away.
Emily tossed the file on her desk and shook her head.
I’ll be damned.
A few minutes later the Chief reappeared in the doorway.
Emily handed him the file and the Chief looked at the sketch.
“That’s Maggie Croft,” Emily told him.
The Chief glanced at my driver’s license photo in the file and compared it to the sketch. They were nearly identical.
“Hmm…”
“We find the Croft girl and we find the killer.”
“Anything on the parkway crash?”
Emily shook her head. No.
“The man driving the limo, what’s his name?”
“Jack Fisher.”
“Where is he?”
“Escaped from the hospital. We think he’s with Maggie Croft. By the way, she’s ditched her protection detail.”
The Chief rolled his eyes.
“What about Gupta and Ross?”
“Still investigating.”
“What else do you have?”
“You already know that Jack Fisher called the Croft girl on her cell five minutes before the crash.”
“And?”
“I think he gave her some sort of evidence, and the two of them have been trying to hunt down the killer themselves.”
“That’s intelligent,” the Chief quipped.
“Or incredibly brave, depending on the way you look at it,” added Emily.
A call from the Chief’s personal assistant started ringing on his cell and he answered it as he turned and began to walk out.
Then he glanced back at Emily.
“I suggest you find the Croft girl and Jack Fisher before they get themselves killed.”
Exactly what I was thinking, thought Emily.
Chapter
36
Ever since Archie Pearce narrowed the search for Ivan with his big mouth, Little Saigon has been a beehive of activity. The Berkeley Boys are swarming in. Just in the last four hours we’ve already gotten two bogus leads. Suspects fitting the description of the girl who was with Ivan were followed, but the boys came up empty-handed.
I fix my gaze in the direction of Little Saigon.
“That creep is hiding there.”
“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “It’s only a matter of time.”
The phone in his pocket begins to ring and a couple of minutes later he comes into the kitchen.
“That was Brody Weston. His people have come across something and they think it could lead to Ivan.”
I turn from the sink.
“That’s great news.”
“Brody wants me to come out to his house and discuss it.”
“Okay,” I reply and kiss him. “I’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”
>
As he heads for the door I call to him.
“Good luck.”
“Thanks sweetheart, we could use some.”
For Jack the rolling hills of the suburbs are a nice break from the stress of the city.
Twenty minutes later he arrived at the gate of Brody’s estate.
“You can proceed,” the guard said. “He’s expecting you.”
The gate opened and the cabbie advanced up the driveway and into the motor court.
Jack rang the doorbell and waited.
A moment later Aiden came to the door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fisher.”
“Hi.”
“Mr. Weston is in the living room. Follow me, please.”
Aiden led the way through the spacious interior and into a room crowned by a beamed ceiling and elaborate cornices.
Then Aiden turned and disappeared.
A short time later Jack heard a voice.
“Hey buddy, how’s it going?” Brody asked as he came in from the terrace.
“Okay, I guess. And you?”
Brody put his hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“I’m holding things together. But it’s a struggle. Considering the circumstances.”
“I know what you mean.”
“How about shooting a few games of pool?”
“You have a billiard room?”
How stupid of me, Jack thought. A house this big must have a billiard room.
“Come on, we’ll discuss this over a couple of beers.”
Jack followed him along a corridor and into a rear wing.
In the billiard room they selected cues from a rack on the wall.
“Nine-ball?” Brody asked.
“Okay with me.”
Brody blasted the cue ball into the pack, making the six-ball in a side pocket. He then made the one and two balls.
Aiden appeared in the doorway.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
“A couple of Heinekens, in chilled mugs,” Brody replied.
“Yes sir.”
Jack rallied after Brody missed, but Brody won the first game. The conversation then shifted to a serious tone.
Running three balls in a row, Brody pocketed the six-ball.
“This killer everybody’s after, my investigators are telling me he’s hiding in Little Saigon,” Brody announced.
He missed the seven-ball and Jack took aim.
“Maggie and I have come up with the same thing,” Jack replied, sinking the ball. “But we don’t know exactly where.”
Jack made the eight-ball and tried a bank shot on the nine to win the game, but he missed by a hair.
Brody then pocketed the ball.
“Nice shot.”
“Thanks,” Brody replied as he turned to Jack. “What I do know is this psychopath has to be stopped.”
Jack racked the balls for another game.
Aiden returned carrying a tray with two freshly chilled mugs of Heineken. He put them on a table and disappeared.
Breaking the neatly racked balls, Brody sank the two-ball and made the three, four and five.
“By the way, Jack, Detective Gower came by to see me. She wants you and Maggie to come in so she can protect you.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that.”
Aiden reappeared and informed Brody, “There’s an important call for you, sir.”
“Thanks,” he replied and turned to Jack. “You don’t mind hanging out for a while, do you?”
“Not at all. I need the practice.”
As Brody walked out, Jack turned his attention to the pool table.
This won’t be the first time I’ve had to wait around for somebody.
Chapter
37
Just minutes after Jack left the apartment to go see Brody Weston I got a call from Caleb, a super aggressive guy among the Berkeley Boys who’s been pursuing Ivan the killer.
Caleb was roaming the isles of a grocery store in Little Saigon, and he saw a girl who fit the description of Ivan’s girlfriend. He followed her. Then, he noticed as she placed three quarts of whiskey into her shopping cart.
He figured there could be only three reasons for this: The girl was preparing for a big party; she was a raging alcoholic; or she was buying the whiskey for somebody else.
As she continued with her shopping, Caleb lingered nearby.
His hunch proved correct when he saw her put a bottle of men’s aftershave in her cart. She then moved through the checkout line, leaving the store and walking about four blocks, a grocery bag under each arm.
Reaching an intersection, she glanced over her shoulder, continuing around a corner. Three blocks down she stopped at the entrance to an apartment building, glancing back again.
Ducking out of sight, Caleb slipped into a storefront alcove.
Apparently satisfied that nobody was following her, she went inside.
Running to the entrance, Caleb eased inside, hearing the shuffling of feet on the stairs above. He slowly inched up, careful not to make noise.
As he reached the third floor, he peered over the railing, seeing her unlocking the door to an apartment.
Caleb scrambled back down the stairs and into the street, talking into his cell phone.
Then, he waited.
Moments later Boone rode up on his motorcycle.
“Hey Caleb,” he said and looked up at the building. “What’s up?”
“She went into an apartment. Fourth floor, at the rear.”
“And she matches the description?”
“Damn right, dude. And she bought whiskey by the quart.”
Boone grinned, checking his 9mm, a weapon he could fire with precision.
“Let’s have a look.”
They went inside, climbing the stairs.
“Fourth floor, right?” Boone asked.
“Yeah,” Caleb whispered back.
“When we get to the third floor, keep your eyes open, and let me know if anybody is coming.”
Caleb nodded. Right.
On the third floor landing, Boone removed a video camera from his shoulder bag, a fancy one with a thin cable and lens attached to the end.
He slowly fed the cable under the door, peering into the screen: A guy, sitting on the sofa, and a girl.
Sharpening the focus, he zoomed closer, a wide grin sweeping across his face.
Boone had studied photos of Ivan.
How’s it hangin’, creep?
Taking photos in close-up mode, he packed up his gear and headed back down the stairs.
“We’ve got the bastard,” he informed Caleb, smiling.
He emerged in the street, climbing on his motorcycle and taking off like a bat out of hell. Caleb stayed behind to keep an eye on the building.
A few minutes later, I heard a knock on my door.
I opened it. Boone is standing there, a grin on his face.
“What’s goin’ on?” I ask.
As he comes inside, I see the camera in his hand and he turns it on, holding the viewer at eye level.
In the tiny screen, a picture of Ivan.
“Oh my God,” I say, hands covering my mouth.
I’m having difficulty processing it.
“It’s him! It’s actually him.”
All of the angst, the ceaseless anxiety, the manhunt. Now, at last, we’ve found him.
Unbelievable!
“Caleb’s keeping a watch on the building. We need to move on this Mag, and quick.”
“Just let me get my gun.”
Chapter
38
I sit in the backseat of a taxi, Boone beside me as the driver heads for Ivan’s hideout.
“You might be crazier than me,” Boone says.
“Yeah, sure thing Wildman. And how exactly did you come by your nickname?”
“I still think this is insane,” he shoots back at me, his eyes on my cell.
I dial a number.
“That’s why I’m calling Detective Gower.”
“You’re talking sense now,” he tells me. “I’ve done some crazy shit, but walking into a gunfight?”
“Emily!” I say excitedly after she answers.
“Where the hell are you, Maggie?”
“In a taxi, heading for the killer’s hideout.”
“What?”
“We found him, for real Emily, we’ve got him.”
“Give me the address.”
I comply, hearing her repeat it as she’s writing it down.
“Listen to me, Maggie. Do not go inside. Do you hear me?”
“But what if he gets away?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, tops.”
“Alright then, but hurry, Emily, please hurry!”
I end the call, punching in Jack’s speed dial number, but it goes into his voicemail.
“Still nothing from Jack,” I say, turning to Boone.
“There’s probably a good explanation.”
Actually, there was. Unknown to Jack, some of the rooms at Brody Weston’s house were fitted with wire mesh, behind the sheetrock on the walls. And inside the window panes were tiny wire strands, blocking out wireless communications. The billiard room was among these rooms.
I wish Jack were here, I can’t help thinking. Where is he?
Once we reach Ivan’s apartment building, the cab pulls to the curb, two blocks away. I hand the driver a hundred bucks, asking him to wait.
Boone and I climb from the taxi, walking the two blocks to the building. Then, we see Caleb, running around the corner of the building, toward us.
“It’s a damn good thing you’re here,” he says, out of breath, eyes wide.
“What’s goin’ on?” I ask.
“They’re loading stuff onto the fire escape, in the rear.”
Boone turns to me and says, “He’s gonna bolt. Somebody must’ve tipped our hand.”
“But who?” Caleb says.
“Who gives a shit? Does it matter?” I reply.
“Not at this point.”
I turn to Boone, meeting his eyes. “I say we take him now.”
“Weren’t we supposed to wait…”
“Damn it, Boone, news flash: we’re running out of options here real fast.”
Jack’s not getting back to me, what the hell? And this creep is gonna fly the coup? I am totally freaking out.
