Duke City Desperado

by Max Austin

  “That’s the initial information from the FBI, outlining the charges against you.”

  “Lot of paper,” Doc said.

  “You know why? They lay out all the evidence against you in those papers.”

  “Lots of evidence, huh?”

  “There’s so much, they added an appendix.”

  “I don’t know what that means, junior.”

  “It means they’ve got video. They’ve got audio. They’ve got eyewitnesses. They’ve got fingerprints.”

  Doc nodded. None of that surprised him.

  “The only thing they didn’t have was the name of your accomplice. And you readily gave that up before you’d even consulted an attorney.”

  “Yeah, I feel bad about that. The arrest came at a bad time for me. I was what you might call ‘impaired’ at the time.”

  The kid pulled a yellow legal pad from his briefcase and started jotting notes on it with a cheap plastic pen. “Were you impaired at the time of the crime as well? Impaired how?”

  “I’d been taking a lot of speed, round the clock,” Doc said. “Hadn’t been sleeping. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  “A speed binge isn’t much of a defense, Mr. Burnett. How long had you been at it?”

  “Four, five days, something like that.”

  Moorcock rolled his eyes.

  “I had a lot of stuff going on,” Doc said. “I needed to stay alert. On the ball. Clearly, I overdid it. None of this shit would’ve happened if I’d been in a normal state of mind.”

  “Is that what you plan to tell the court?”

  “I’m not telling the court a damned thing,” Doc said. “That’s your job.”

  “That’s right, it is. Best thing you can do at this point is keep your mouth shut.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No proof of it so far.”

  The kid wrote on the pad some more, then he looked up at Doc. “I presume you want to cut any kind of deal you can get.”

  “What? Oh, hell, no. It’s too late for that. I’m pleading innocent.”

  Moorcock blinked twice.

  “Really?”

  “Take it all the way to a jury trial,” Doc said.

  Moorcock sighed. He tapped the folder on the table with a skinny forefinger.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said about the evidence? They’ve got you dead to rights. I’ve never seen such solid evidence in a case before.”

  “I don’t care. We deny everything.”

  “They’ve got video of you actually committing the crime!”

  “How do we know they didn’t doctor that film?”

  The kid’s mouth hung open for a few seconds, then he pulled himself together and said, “Do you have any evidence to indicate they tampered with the video?”

  “No,” Doc said. “But I made you stop and wonder, didn’t I? That there, little buddy, is what we call reasonable doubt.”

  “Nothing reasonable about it—”

  “What if I was at that bank against my will?”

  “What?”

  “I told you I was impaired. My accomplice took advantage of my condition and made me do it.”

  Moorcock put a hand to the back of his neck, as if suffering from whiplash.

  “Is that what happened?” he asked.

  “Think it’ll fly with a jury?”

  “I can’t imagine that it would, but let’s leave the strategizing for later. Today, all we have to do is say, ‘Not guilty.’ ”

  “Any chance I can get bail?”

  “We’ll ask, of course,” Moorcock said. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  “Will they take me back out to MDC?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. Is that a problem?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle. When’s this hearing?”

  Moorcock checked his watch. “We’ve got a few minutes. The guard will knock when it’s time.”

  “And I’ve got to appear in court like this? In cuffs and shower shoes?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Doesn’t that prejudice the court?”

  “The court’s used to it.”

  “You wearing that suit to the hearing?”

  The kid looked down at his clothes.

  “Where did you get that suit?” Doc said. “Sears Throwback?”

  Moorcock flushed. “It’s vintage.”

  “You mean it’s old.”

  “It’s Pierre Cardin!”

  “It’s too big for you.”

  “I like my suits roomy.”

  “There’s room enough in there for both of us. You could smuggle me out of here inside that suit.”

  Exasperated, Moorcock blew out a long breath that smelled of coffee.

  “I’m not the one in the orange jumpsuit,” he said.

  “Touché, Lesscock.”

  The young lawyer sat quietly for a minute, tapping his fingers on the thick file of evidence.

  “You sure you don’t want to cut a deal?”

  “Nope,” Doc said. “Take it to a jury.”

  “You could get a much longer sentence that way.”

  “I know that. Roll the fuckin’ dice.”

  Chapter 34

  Oscar Pacheco squinted through a haze of marijuana smoke as he battled the killer robots on the wide video screen. First time he’d reached Level Fourteen of this particular game, and he was on full alert as his husky avatar crept along the dank hallways of the robot fortress.

  Someone knocked sharply on the apartment door. It startled Oscar, but he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

  “Dylan?” he called. “Is that you?”

  He couldn’t hear a reply over the pshew, pshew! of blasters as two robots hemmed him in. Jabbing furiously at the trigger of his laser, Oscar yelled, “It’s open. Come on in!”

  One of the robot sentries burst into a hundred flaming pieces. Oscar turned all his firepower on the other robot.

  As the door opened, he said, “Did you bring me a burrito, man?”

  “Afraid not.”

  A woman’s voice. What the hell?

  Oscar paused the game, making sure the action on the screen froze completely before he looked away.

  Two cops stood just inside the door. They weren’t in uniform, but there was no question they were cops. Man and a woman, both with black hair, both wearing black suits. They were about the same size. The man wore a striped necktie. The woman had her hands on her hips, coat open so he could see the holstered Glock on her hip.

  “What the hell, man?” Oscar said. “Who are you people?”

  “FBI,” the woman said.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “You invited us inside.”

  “I did?”

  Her partner waved his hand in front of his face and coughed.

  “Hey, Oscar. Why don’t you open a window or something? We’re not supposed to inhale while we’re on duty.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Oscar glanced at the coffee table. Sure enough, two bongs and a plastic bag full of green buds sat right out in the open. He set the game controller next to them, keeping his hands in plain sight.

  The male agent went over to the nearest window and tried to open it. As he heaved, Oscar said, “That’s been painted shut for like, a century, man. Use the one in the kitchen.”

  “Never mind,” the woman said as she opened the front door. She stood hip-cocked, one foot keeping the door from closing. “There. A little fresh air will do you good, Oscar. When’s the last time you went outdoors?”

  “Um.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “We’ve got a few questions for you, Oscar,” the man said. “You mind if we record the conversation?”

  Oscar tried to pull his shit together. One second he’s completely stoned, blasting robots, the next he’s got the FBI in his living room, complaining about the pot smoke.

  “Am I in some kind of trouble?” he managed.

  The man said, “You might want to give up
this cannabis addiction before it ruins your health, but we’re not here about that.”

  He held up a little chrome tape recorder. Made it clear he was waiting for an answer. Oscar told him to go ahead and the agent turned on the machine. Then he said for the record that he was interviewing Oscar Pacheco. He said his name was Hector Aragon and his partner was Agent Pam Willis. He said the date and the address and even the city. By the time he was done, Oscar felt ready to burst into tears.

  “An hour ago,” Aragon said, “someone called 911 from your cell phone, Oscar. Said he had information about a bank robbery suspect named Dylan James. But he hung up before he gave it to us. Was that you, Oscar?”

  Oscar shook his head, but his mouth said, “Yes, sir.”

  “So do you know the whereabouts of Dylan James?”

  “I, um.”

  The look-alike agents both tilted their heads to the left, waiting for his answer. Oscar felt like he was seeing double. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes while he cleaned the lenses on his T-shirt.

  “Is there a way I can get a piece of that reward?”

  “We’ll have to see about that,” the woman said. “Depends on whether your information is helpful.”

  Oscar put his glasses on again, bringing the unsmiling agents back into focus. They both stood with hands on hips, black jackets pushed back, as if braced to quick-draw their guns.

  “You two give off a very menacing vibe.”

  “We do?”

  The agents looked each other up and down. When they turned back to him, the woman said, “Good.”

  Oscar sighed.

  “I don’t know where Dylan is, and that’s the truth. He spent the night here. He said the cops were looking for him, but I didn’t know he was in real trouble until this morning, when we saw him on the TV news.”

  “When did he leave here?”

  “Like, an hour ago. More.”

  “Where was he going?”

  “To get something to eat. He didn’t say where.”

  “If you had to guess?”

  “The Frontier, probably.”

  “Good guess, Oscar,” Aragon said. “APD got a report nearly an hour ago, some woman saying she’d spotted your friend Dylan at the Frontier. Guess he spotted her right back because he took off running before the police arrived. Any idea where he was headed?”

  “I told you, man. I don’t know where he went.”

  “He got friends around here?”

  “We don’t really run in the same circles. I’ve known Dylan since grade school. He’s a good guy, but I don’t see him very often.”

  “He’s a good guy, huh?” the woman said. “Is he the kind of guy who’d try to rob a bank?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. Now, I don’t know.”

  “Could he force someone else to rob a bank?”

  “Dylan? He’s not like that. He’s cool. A no-pressure kind of guy.”

  “A stoner?”

  “Sure, but who’s not?”

  The agents exchanged a look, then Aragon said, “You know his partner, Doc Burnett?”

  “Sure, I know Doc. Not well, but I see him around.”

  “Did you know he and Dylan were working together?”

  “No, man. I hadn’t seen Dylan in, like, weeks before last night. He just showed up, late, and asked if he could crash on my couch. I went to bed. This morning, he left. That’s it.”

  “He didn’t tell you he was in trouble?”

  “Yeah, but mainly he was broke and had no place to sleep.”

  “Broke? He had money for food at the Frontier.”

  “I gave him ten bucks this morning. It was all I had.”

  “Why did you do that, Oscar?”

  “Just being a friend, man. He said some guys rolled him last night and took his wallet.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Emptied all his pockets.”

  “So he didn’t have a weapon on him?”

  “You mean like a gun? Naw, man. Dylan’s not the type to carry a gun.”

  “Would he know how to make a bomb?”

  “There was a bomb?”

  The agents looked at each other. The woman pointed at her wristwatch. Aragon clicked off the recorder.

  “Is that it?” Oscar asked.

  “For now,” Aragon said. “Any reason to believe Dylan will come back here?”

  “No, man. He was trying to get out of town.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “He said he needed to make some calls, but then he didn’t make any. He just took my ten bucks and went to get breakfast.”

  “Not going to get very far on ten dollars,” the woman said.

  As the agents turned to leave, her partner said, “Behave yourself, Oscar. We’ll be in touch.”

  After the door slammed behind them, Oscar let his head fall back on the sofa. Whew. He’d thought he was busted for sure.

  What a dumbass move, impulsively dialing 911 like that. The cops probably trace every call.

  He looked at the explosions frozen on the TV screen, the shadowy fortress of the robot army, but he didn’t pick up the controller. He didn’t need the sensory stimuli of the game right now.

  The real world was scary enough.

  Chapter 35

  Antony Rocca hadn’t slept at all—too busy brooding. Weary and irritable, he slumped against the passenger door of the Escalade as Jasper drove them westward on Central Avenue.

  They were headed to a place near UNM called Mannies Family Restaurant. Antony had developed a breakfast habit since he moved to Albuquerque. In New York, he rarely ate breakfast. Maybe a bagel when he was planning a late lunch. But in Albuquerque, he needed eggs and bacon and coffee every morning. His body still hadn’t adjusted to the new time zone, so he woke up too early and was sleepy before midnight.

  Jasper, too, was groggy and grumpy after their fruitless night of searching for Dylan James. Antony figured a big stack of pancakes would fix Jasper’s mood. Usually did.

  They were passing through Nob Hill, a stylish shopping zone with trendy cafes where you can spend fifteen bucks on a hamburger. Antony ate down here sometimes—one Italian place got it nearly right—but yuppie affectation gave him a pain. That’s why he went for a restaurant like Mannies, loud and crowded and totally without pretension. Felt like home.

  This early in the morning, the Nob Hill sidewalks were empty, which made the lone man sitting at a bus stop all the more obvious. Gray hoodie, baggy jeans, black-and-white sneakers.

  “Son of a bitch!” Antony shouted. “Stop the car!”

  Jolted out of his daze, Jasper stood on the brakes, looking all around for traffic hazards. He yanked the big SUV to the curb.

  Antony’s seat belt jerked him back, but he pulled it loose and sat forward again, struggling to reach the glove compartment.

  “Back up!”

  “What? We’re on Central—”

  “Back the fuck up! That’s Dylan James!”

  Antony pulled his nickel-plated .45 from the glove compartment. He racked the slide as Jasper turned around in his seat to look behind them. The Escalade roared backward along the curb of the broad avenue.

  “You sure about this, boss?”

  Antony didn’t answer. His window glided down and he twisted in the seat so he could lean out, holding the heavy gun in two hands.

  Dylan James spotted them coming his way. He jumped up from the bench and ran for the cover of a four-story apartment building on the corner.

  Antony opened fire, the big pistol bucking in his hands. The back of the bus stop bench was a sign advertising Planned Parenthood, featuring a color photo of a young Hispanic woman cooing at a plump baby. The bullets blasted holes in their faces, but missed Dylan.

  Antony tried to aim, but Jasper hit the brakes, jostling him as he blasted away. Horns screamed all around them. Not a lot of traffic at this hour, but the other drivers apparently objected to a big black SUV suddenly backing up on Central Avenue, gun blazing
.

  The booming shots chipped chunks of stone from the corner of the apartment building, but the bullets were too late for Dylan, who’d disappeared down the side street.

  “Make the block!” Antony shouted at Jasper. “Go around!”

  Jaw set grimly, Jasper threw the Escalade into “drive” and they zoomed forward, drawing another chorus of baying horns. Antony reloaded as they went downhill past shops and offices and parked cars. Right again at the bottom of the hill, where the commercial zone gave over to tree-shaded houses.

  Dylan ran across the street in front of them, less than a block away, his head down and his arms pumping.

  “There!” Antony cried as Dylan disappeared behind a white house on the corner. “Turn there!”

  “I saw him,” Jasper said.

  He twisted the steering wheel in his hands as if trying to wring water from it. The Escalade’s fat tires chirped as the heavy vehicle danced sideways, then Jasper hit the gas and they zoomed up the side street.

  Empty.

  Jasper stomped the brakes, then let the Escalade creep forward as they looked in parked vehicles and up a service alley that divided the block. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.

  “He’s here somewhere,” Antony said. “He’s hiding in one of these yards.”

  “Maybe so, boss. But we ain’t got time to look for him now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Listen.”

  Sirens howled in the distance. Sounded like every cop in town was coming their way.

  Chapter 36

  Dylan cut across two blocks on the diagonal, racing through backyards and leaping over fences, trying to put lots of sturdy buildings between himself and Antony’s pistol. Sirens screamed in the distance.

  Dylan still could barely believe it. The little prick empties a gun at him in broad daylight? He wanted to feel himself all over for holes. But he couldn’t afford to stop running.

  As he reached the next sidewalk, he looked both ways, but there was no sign of the black Escalade. He crossed the street, then veered to the right, where an alley ran between houses in the middle of the block. The alley was a rutted dirt track lined by utility poles and carports and trash bins. Lots of places to hide, if necessary.

  He slowed to a gasping jog. He wanted so badly to stop, to succumb to the breathlessness and the stitch in his side, but he kept putting one sore foot in front of the other. Movement remained his best chance of escape. He’d dodged these guys before; he could do it again. Soon, the cops would swarm the area and Antony would have no choice but to—