Terminal Justice: Mystery and Suspense Crime Thriller

by Lyle Howard

  Once in Miami, the taxi turned off Biscayne Boulevard and onto Flagler Street. “Two more blocks on the left,” Gabe instructed.

  The car slowed down to a crawl in front of Strofsky’s Late-Nite Delicatessen. “This the place?” the driver asked.

  Gabe stared at the restaurant’s red neon sign through the taxi’s window, his hand paralyzed on the door handle unable to turn it. The last time he’d been here, Joanne Hansen was still alive. He’d known nothing of August Bock or Shayla Rand, and the only threat his son ever had was from kids that were bigger than him at school.

  “Are you alright, mister?”

  Gabe tried desperately to shake off the sudden anxiety attack. “Yeah, but do you mind if I sit here for a second?”

  The driver shrugged. “The meter’s still running. Sit as long as you want.”

  The door to the deli opened, and a young black couple holding hands strolled out. The husband or boyfriend offered his wife or girlfriend his coat and she accepted it, throwing it over her shoulders for warmth. Yes, life did go on.

  “Can you wait here for me?” Gabe asked. “I’ll need a ride back.”

  “All the way back to Hollywood?” the driver asked over his shoulder.

  “Is that a problem?”

  The cabbie pointed to the meter and shrugged. “You already owe me $21.”

  Gabe reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty and a five. “Please, this is very important. Shut off the meter and wait for me.”

  The driver scratched his head and shut off the engine. “Well, it was a slow night anyway. Make it quick; I don’t like this neighborhood.”

  Gabe got out of the car and patted the driver’s door. “Hopefully this shouldn’t take long. I’ll be as fast as I can.”

  Gabe hurried across the sidewalk and into the diner.

  “Detective Gabe!” Morris Strofsky shouted as he stepped from behind the counter, drying his hands on his apron. “I’m so sorry about Detective Hansen. She was such a nice young woman,” he said apologetically as he shook Gabe’s hand. “I sent a platter of food to her house. So how are you feeling? All I heard was what they said on the television and then some gossip from the other policemen that eat here. So how are you doing … really?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle, Morris. So, what are they saying about me back at the precinct?”

  Old man Strofsky waved his hand. “Fuck what they say. You’ve always been tops on my list. I told them all about the way you talked that guy out of robbing me last week. They said that was wrong of you too. I don’t agree with them.”

  Gabe surveyed the clientele of the deli as he spoke. “They might be right, Morris. Look, I’d like to kibitz some more, but have you seen my captain tonight?”

  Strofsky pointed to a booth in the rear of the restaurant. The back of the seats were built purposely high to offer privacy. “You’re in luck; I just served him tonight’s special … meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Can I get you something? It’s on the house, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

  “How about a creme soda just for old times? Send Gladys over with one, okay?”

  The old man’s face turned dour. “Gladys doesn’t work here anymore. She hasn’t shown up in more than a week. Always rude to the customers. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Gabe looked honestly surprised. “Really? She was always nice to me.”

  Strofsky was having a difficult time dissolving the angered look from his wrinkled old mug. “Then you must have been the exception to the rule. But don’t worry: the Doctor Brown’s Soda is still on me. I’ll bring it right over.”

  Captain Leon Williams was studying the financial section of the Miami Herald when Gabe walked up to his booth startling him. “Hello, Captain.”

  Williams looked impeccable as usual in his custom tailored suit and matching silk neckwear. “Gabe? What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

  “You mind if I sit down, Captain?”

  Williams folded the newspaper and set it down on the space beside him. He pointed to the open side of the booth. “Of course you can sit down. Is everything okay?”

  Gabe slid into the booth and began to fidget nervously with the utensils in front of him. “It’s all so unreal. I don’t know where to start…”

  “Well, call the tabloids. I’ve never seen Gabe Mitchell at a loss for words before,” Williams joked, as he pushed his half-eaten dinner off to one side. “You look troubled and tired, Gabe. Lord knows what you’re going through. You wanna talk about it?”

  “This has nothing to do with my illness…” Gabe said. “Well, I guess it has something to do with the illness. I mean, if it wasn’t for my illness…”

  Williams reached across the table and took Gabe’s hand. “Slow down. You’re talking in riddles.”

  Gabe pressed his hands against the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s just so hard to believe … too much to comprehend.”

  “Start at the beginning then,” Williams said, as he peeked around the edge of the booth to see if anyone was within earshot. Luckily the restaurant was almost empty.

  Gabe let his head loll against the back of the booth. His eyes looked dreamily at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “You’re going to think I’m making this whole thing up…”

  Williams sat upright. “What thing? What is this all about?”

  Gabe took a deep breath. There was no time for small talk. He just had to tell his story and hope that his ex-captain didn’t call for the guys in the white jackets to haul him away. “There’s this guy … well no, wait a minute … let me start from the beginning…”

  Williams crossed his arms and listened intently to Gabe Mitchell’s tale of red-haired hit-women, wheel-chair bound megalomaniacs, kamikaze assassinations, post-mortem payoffs, blackmail, mysterious tropical islands, and an escape attempt that would rival any Harrison Ford movie.

  “Are you still taking your medication like you’re supposed to?” Williams asked, sincerely.

  “This isn’t some drug-induced hallucination. I’m not making this up,” Gabe growled, slamming his hand on the table and nearly knocking over the creme soda he never even noticed old man Strofsky had brought. “You’ve got to believe me! Do some research! If you connect all the dots, you’re going to find a bunch of suspicious deaths … all people that have been acquitted of major crimes!”

  Williams put his finger over his mouth. “Calm down, Gabe. You’ve been under a helluva lot of stress lately. I’m sure there’s gotta be someone who can give you the help you…”

  Gabe reached across the table and grabbed his captain by his $800 lapels. He pulled him so close that, when Gabe spoke, little beads of spittle splattered on Williams’ face. “Don’t patronize me, Captain. I’m trying to tell you that by tomorrow night at this time, Nathan Waxman is going to be dead!”

  Williams leaned back and Gabe released his grip. “The Mayor of Miami Beach?”

  Gabe nodded. “Tomorrow night on his yacht. Bock recruited me to kill him!”

  Williams pulled out a small note pad out of his pocket and jotted down the mayor’s name and the name of August Bock. “Getting rid of that son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t be the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  Gabe leaned forward, his face ashen and sour. “I know you believe Waxman killed his wife, Captain. Everyone does. But he had his day in court and justice was served.”

  Williams dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “What about this option: we forget about this conversation and you go ahead and kill him,” he said with a conniving grin.

  “Captain?”

  Williams shrugged. “I’m only kidding. And you’re supposed to murder him … how?”

  “I don’t know yet. They’re filling me in the tomorrow.”

  “And this is going to happen where?”

  “I think they said on his yacht, but I’m not sure. I got the impression it was supposed to happen when
he’s leaving town.”

  Williams closed the notepad and shook his head skeptically. “I don’t believe I’m going to do this. I swear Gabe, if I come out of this looking like an idiot…”

  Now it was Gabe’s turn to reach out for his captain’s hand. “Thanks for having my back, Leon. I feel better now that someone I can trust knows.”

  Williams looked at his wristwatch. “So where are you off to now? What are you going to do?”

  “I think I need to warn Waxman’s people.”

  Williams put out a hand to stop Gabe from leaving the booth. “Let me handle that. I’ll make a few phone calls and if anything in your story checks out, I promise I’ll contact the Mayor personally.”

  Gabe nodded. “Of course, you’re right. Now that I’ve got you working on this, I can breathe a bit easier. I need to go back then and find out what the plan is. When I learn more, I’ll figure out a way to contact you again.”

  Gabe slid out of the booth and shook his captain’s hand. “Thanks Captain. I knew I could count on you.”

  Old man Strofsky waved to Gabe as he hurried out the front door, then he walked over to the booth. The first thing he noticed was the full glass of creme soda. “He didn’t even touch his drink.”

  * * * * * *

  Captain Leon Williams flipped open his notepad and tore out the page he had just scribbled on. Shaking his head, he tore the slip of paper into tiny pieces and threw the confetti onto his scoop of uneaten mashed potatoes. “Poor bastard is crazy as they come. That tumor must really be eating away at his brain. We can only hope the end comes quickly and peacefully for him.”

  Morris Strofsky nodded sadly in agreement. “It’s so sad. He looks so normal.”

  Williams pulled out his cellular phone and smiled at the old man. “Looks can be deceiving, Morris.”

  “Sure, Captain. You want some privacy?”

  Williams nodded and waited while the old man cleared away the dirty plates. Williams then reached into his billfold and withdrew a beige business card bearing only three capital letters and a telephone number printed in raised brown lettering. He dialed the number and waited. The voice that finally answered was direct and to the point. “What?”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “He’s unavailable.”

  Williams’ voice countered hard as concrete. “Tell him we’ve got a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  Williams tipped his head downward and whispered. “Gabe Mitchell just showed up and sat down across from me.”

  Silence filled the line like a third presence.

  “Yeah, I had a feeling that would get your attention.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Strofsky’s Deli. I was eating dinner and he just waltzed in here like nothing was wrong!”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Williams leaned forward and rolled his eyes. “You wanna lay some money on that? How about I give you a million to one odds?”

  “You did right to call.”

  Williams was seething. “You’d better listen to me buster, and you can relay this to your boss.” His finger jabbed at the air like he was trying to burst invisible balloons. “What kind of Tinker Toy organization is he running over there? You wanted this guy and I handed him to you on a silver platter. You said nothing about killing his partner. You said nothing about threatening the life of a seven-year-old boy. Now I’m an accomplice to murder and kidnapping! I got you all the credentials you needed for tomorrow night. And now you people can’t even hold onto him?” Williams was squeezing the phone so hard he thought it might snap in half. “You need me to do that too?”

  Again, there was an awkward pause.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Heading back.”

  “We’ll handle it.”

  “I warned you about him. I’ve known Gabe Mitchell for 15 years. Before his wife and daughter died, he was the best man I ever had under my command. Even after his breakdown, I’d still take another ten cops just like him. Now that he’s got the scent, he’s not going to let up.”

  “I said, we’d handle it.”

  Williams fussed with the knot on his tie. “Well you’d better, because it’s my keister on the line too, and everything you promised me ain’t gonna be worth shit if I’m spending the rest of my life behind bars. You got it?”

  “We’ll deal with this.”

  Williams slapped the phone shut. “You’d better deal with it,” he snarled, storming out of the deli, “or we’ll all be eating slop off tin plates!”

  24

  “You can drop me off here.”

  “Are you sure?” the cabbie asked. “This is more than a block from where I picked up you up.”

  Gabe reached over the back seat and tossed the remainder of what money he had onto the front seat. “That should cover it and then some.”

  The taxi pulled over to the curb outside a store that rented and sold scuba equipment. A red neon dive flag sizzled in the front window of the darkened shop.

  “You want me to wait again for you?”

  Gabe leaned into the passenger side window and smiled. “No thanks, I’m good.”

  The driver counted his fare and folded the bills in half before slipping them into his shirt pocket. “Anytime you need another ride to Miami, you just call my company and ask for Nelson. I’ll give you a special discount.”

  Gabe stepped back onto the sidewalk and pulled his collar up to ward off the cold breeze blowing in off the water. “Have a good night, Nelson.”

  “Same to you, sir,” the driver replied. Then the taxi pulled away from the curb and sped off into the night.

  The smells of the beach overwhelmed Gabe’s nostrils as he hustled across the empty street. Gasoline fumes from outboard engines, salt sea air, Chinese food … no, something fried but not Chinese … the aromas all mingled together and wafted around him like angel dust on the bracing wind.

  He paused a few hundred yards from the entrance to the Tropic Garden Motel, standing in a darkened doorway of a store that sold inflatable rafts, beach towels, sea shells, and anything else someone visiting the area could buy. He leaned his head out of the shadows as a car pulled out onto the street from the motel’s driveway. It turned right onto A1A and drove right past him. Gabe recognized it as the sedan whose driver liked to smoke in the dark. He made out two figures in the car—male and female. Seeing a couple inside the car put his mind at ease a bit. Gabe realized that a lot of these motels would lodge prostitutes attracted to this section of the beach. The smoker was probably just some john who didn’t want to fork out the additional fifty bucks for a room he’d only be spending a few hours in.

  Ah, don’t you just love a free market economy.

  Gabe moved toward the motel like a cautious ninja, staying in the shadows with his back pressed up to the fronts of the buildings. When he was finally close enough to get a glimpse of the parking lot, he could see that there were only two spaces occupied. Quite strange, he thought, for a motel during the height of the winter season. Long past midnight, the parking lot should have been flooded with the cars of tired vacationers. Only two cars … Eric the goon’s expensive import, to which Gabe still held the keys, and now a slick-looking black Corvette parked right next to it.

  Past the ice and soda machines and up the stairs, Gabe stopped to catch his breath. He never remembered working this hard when he was healthy, much less now. Pausing on the landing, he once again took out the piece of broken mirror and held it out around the corner. The hallway appeared clear, and there was no sign of trouble. Home free.

  Ever so deftly, he slipped the room key into the lock and twisted the doorknob. Everything inside the room seemed as he had left it. Eric was still in the same chair sleeping off the medication. His head was still flat on the table. Gabe checked his watch. It had been three hours. His pills had performed well above their prescribed purpose. Now all he had to do was to set Eric’s keys on the floor below his torn pocket, and s
lip into bed making it look like he had been sleeping the entire time.

  The bodyguard looked like he was sleeping so peacefully. Gabe knelt down to place the key ring on the carpet when he noticed a large dark spot on the rug. He touched his fingertips to the stain … they came away dark and sticky … blood!

  Gabe moved around to examine the bodyguard’s face. There was a black hole above the bridge of Eric’s nose. A muzzle burn circled the wound which told Gabe the barrel of the assailant’s gun had been placed flush up against his skin. No mercy. A stream of syrupy brown liquid flowed from the wound and spilled onto the table. The excess drained over the edge and onto the floor, one life-depreciating drop at a time.

  “Someone’s been a bad boy. Out gallivanting when they shouldn’t have been.”

  The unmistakable Irish voice came from the bathroom doorway.

  Gabe spun around, startled, but not surprised. “Why did you have to kill him?”

  Shayla stepped into the room, her silencer-equipped pistol pointing at Gabe. “Anyone that stupid doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Gabe’s body trembled. “It was my fault. I drugged him. You didn’t need to kill him.”

  Shayla motioned with her gun for Gabe to take a seat on the foot of the bed. “Then take comfort in the fact that he was sleeping and probably never felt a thing.”

  So many things were running through Gabe’s mind. How many times had he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun? There were too many to recall, but never one belonging to such a stone-cold killer. There was no telltale twitching in her arms. Most guns weighed less than a pound but seemed to weigh a ton when it was pointed at another human being. There was no sweat on her brow—no agitated darting of her eyes. Those two lifeless green orbs never moved off Gabe’s face.

  “How did you know?”

  Shayla stepped into room, backlit in the yellow haze coming from the bathroom. She had changed clothes into a black leather miniskirt with a matching top and jacket. Her blazing red hair was held back with two small black barrettes above each ear. “Did you really think you could move a muscle without us knowing about it? We’re not running some dog and pony show here, love.”