Big City Heat

by David Burnsworth

  Brack revved the Mazda’s engine, dropped the clutch, and spun the front tires, whipping around in a tight hundred-and-eighty-degree spin. Knowing the Expedition could not outrun him, his only concern was being outgunned.

  The black SUV weaved through the congested Atlanta traffic as if carting a pregnant woman to the hospital. Although it could not outrun him, Brack realized it might be able to out-maneuver him. And given the self-absorbed driving style of the locals, out-maneuvering was a given. Brack did his best to read the plate number of his target before it ran a red light directly in front of him, cut across five lanes to make a very shaky right turn, and disappeared down a side street.

  Brack was stuck.

  With the plate number fresh in his memory, he called Detective Nichols.

  Back at Cassie’s restaurant, Brack parked in his original spot and walked inside. The bartender, a medium-skin-toned African-American woman about thirty with flowing black hair, bright eyes, and a small nose, gave him a cautious smile and said they would not be serving for another hour.

  Mutt came through the kitchen doors and said, “Nina, this here’s Opie. He’s welcome anytime. Opie, this is Nina.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Brack offered a hand, which she shook. He said, “My name’s Brack.”

  Nina went back to stocking the bar.

  He said, “Darcy gave me a few addresses to run down. Can you get away? If not, I can always see if Nina wants to come.”

  The woman smiled but showed no interest.

  Mutt said, “Don’t be botherin’ the staff, Opie. Especially when they’re my relations.”

  “By marriage,” Nina said. “And you aren’t married anymore.”

  Brack laughed.

  Mutt didn’t seem to know how to reply.

  Cassie came into the room, rescuing them all. “Hey, Brack.”

  He said, “Can Mutt come out and play?”

  “If you don’t let him go,” Nina said, “this one will try to get me to come with him.” She gave Brack a wink. “It might be better not to find out how that would end.”

  Brack was speechless. He’d never before been rejected and accepted at the same time, or with such panache.

  Cassie rubbed her chin. “What do you have to do an hour before we open?”

  Before either man could respond, Nina told Cassie, “Opie, or Brack, whichever it is, said he’s got some addresses that someone named Darcy gave him.”

  Cassie put a chubby hand on a thick hip. “Sounds like a lot of trouble.”

  It probably was.

  “It ain’t gonna be no trouble now, baby.”

  From the sound of Mutt’s words, Brack wasn’t sure if his friend was kidding Cassie or himself.

  Brack said, “I’m not making any promises.”

  Cassie nodded. “I figured. That’s why I already added two extra staff each night until this gets settled.”

  “Then why ask me to work tonight, sweet pea?”

  “Maybe,” Cassie said, “I wanted to spend time with my man.”

  For Mutt’s sake, Brack hoped he kept his mouth shut.

  Nina walked around the bar, stood between the men, and put her arms across their shoulders. “You boys better go before my ‘relative’ here gets himself in more trouble.”

  Mutt turned and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, honey. I owe you.”

  “Yes, you do,” Nina said. “Take Hugh and the boys to a ball game some time.”

  “You got it.”

  Mutt and Brack walked out.

  Brack asked, “Hugh’s her husband?”

  “Yeah. And my ex-brother-in-law. Sorry, Opie.”

  “Story of my life,” Brack said.

  They got in the Mazda. Brack finished telling Mutt about the Expedition moments before Detective Nichols called back with its plate number. Its registration was in the name of a Jack Townsend. The name didn’t mean much to Mutt. But the interesting thing Brack discovered was that Townsend’s address matched one of the addresses Darcy asked them to check out. They went there first.

  After an hour spent in busy traffic, they’d almost reached Townsend’s house when Mutt answered a phone call.

  Things went south fast.

  He yelled, “What?”

  Brack, alarmed, pulled to a stop at an empty meter.

  Eyes wide, Mutt said, “Cassie’s headin’ to the hospital.” Into the cell phone he asked, “Which one?”

  When Mutt named the hospital, Brack wasn’t sure where he needed to go, so he punched its name into the Mazda’s navigation system.

  Mutt hung up. Brack wanted to ask what happened but figured his friend needed to sort out what he’d learned before he spoke.

  The GPS found the location and mapped the route.

  Brack waited for a break in traffic, then sped away, redlining the engine through three shifts.

  When they reached speed, Mutt sighed deeply and said, “They got her.”

  “Who?” Brack asked, although he knew who. The same ones they’d been tracking.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where? At the restaurant?”

  He sighed. “Yeah. She in critical condition. They beat her up good. The Fire Department is there now. Someone tried to torch it.”

  Blue lights flickered in the rearview mirror. Brack looked at the dash and saw he was doing seventy. The last speed-limit sign he remembered said thirty-five.

  “Hold on,” he said. “We gotta make a detour.” Or else have to do a lot of explaining. Especially if the cops decided to search the car. And, Brack thought, given the appearance of himself and Mutt, they’d want to search the car—where they’d find Mutt’s two unregistered pistols.

  Mutt looked back.

  With a flick of the wrist, Brack slid the Mazda onto an empty side street and gunned it.

  The cruiser, an older Crown Victoria, barely made the turn.

  Two more high-speed corners and they lost the tail. Five minutes later, they stormed into the hospital drive. Brack slowed in time to ease over several speed bumps. He dropped Mutt off at the emergency entrance and found a corner spot hidden by a tree on one side and a large van on the other.

  The plate on the hatchback was a fake, a temporary tag that Elmer had provided. Not only could it not be traced back to Brack, but Elmer’s name would not come up in the system either. A legit tag sat in the glovebox that Elmer registered the car under so he wouldn’t get in any trouble. If stopped, Brack would look like he’d swapped the fake one on himself. Elmer apparently had some experience dealing with folks a shade or two outside of normal convention. Brack figured Elmer’s brother, Reverend Cleophus, didn’t know about the fake plates since he’d asked Brack to not say anything about them to anyone.

  At the reception area, Brack asked about Cassie and realized he’d forgotten her last name. It took a few minutes for the young woman behind the desk to find the latest emergency admission and explain where he needed to go.

  Brack found Mutt leaning against a wall, his face downcast.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  Mutt looked up at him. “Not good.” His eyes teared up. “They tortured her.”

  Mutt did not need Brack to overreact at this point so he emptied his mind of thoughts.

  “And,” Mutt said, “they killed Nina.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wednesday, six p.m.

  They sat in the hospital waiting room, a wait measured by never-ceasing clicks of the old-fashioned clock on the wall. Long enough for Darcy to have finished her segment. She walked in still wearing her work clothes, a snazzy skirt and blouse ensemble that might have been silk and surely was expensive.

  Brack barely noticed that she ignored his presence and went directly to Mutt, giving him a hug. He needed her comfort more than Brack craved her attention. They spoke s
oftly, then she came over and sat next to Brack.

  He said, “It was good of you to come.”

  “I know what these places are like.”

  And she did, having spent time in one after her own gunshot wound. Also his fault. He said, “Townsend, one of the names on your list, was at the restaurant before this happened. At least his SUV was. What do we know about him?”

  “He runs Trinity Security and has one client. Guess who that is.”

  “Vito.”

  She nodded and pulled up a photo on her phone. “And apparently Townsend’s a hands-on type.”

  “This is the big guy who attempted to intimidate Tara and me at the charity event.” The blond-haired blue-eyed monster was unmistakable. “Who are the bikers he’s with?”

  “Local toughs. Vito’s street thugs.”

  Shifting in his molded plastic seat, Brack said, “Any word as to which of them did this?”

  “No, but I’d put money on the wannabe road hogs.”

  It made sense that they would be in on it. If Townsend had any kind of sense as a businessman, he’d do his best to keep his hands clean. He’d probably been scouting out the restaurant when Brack chased him earlier. What didn’t make sense was why Cassie was the target. To Brack, it should be himself or Mutt. He said, “Any thoughts as to what’s next?”

  Her response was to stare at him.

  “What?”

  “Well,” she replied, “ordinarily you’d be running out the door, armed and dangerous and ready to destroy everything in your path. Which is exactly what you’d end up doing. Right or wrong.”

  “True. I want to get them. All of them. But I think we need to be smart about it.”

  “We?”

  “You can walk away any time you want,” he said. “I’m going all the way with this one.”

  After a moment, Darcy nodded. “I figured you’d say that.”

  Brack stood and leaned against the wall—which Mutt had been doing every few minutes—and put his hands in his pockets. He asked Darcy, “So, you in or out?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure. You might want to run this by your better half.”

  She watched him as if to see whether he was serious or joking. He wasn’t joking. She got up to leave. “You’re right. I’ll let you know.”

  Realizing his stupid emotions had gotten in the way, he said to her retreating back, “In the meantime, I’ll sit on Townsend.”

  As she exited the room, he heard her say, “You do that, sport.”

  Brack walked out to his car alone. Mutt had chosen to stay by Cassie’s side. Darcy was gone. And probably irritated by his jealous comment. The tall buildings of the Atlanta skyline stood over him like impersonal giants observing a mouse in a maze.

  Leaning against the Mazda, he pulled out a cigar and his Uncle Reggie’s Zippo. He stared at both for a moment, but decided not to indulge. Within a few minutes his jumbled thoughts dissipated. If he was honest with himself at this moment, he’d say he didn’t want to be alone.

  A bizarre notion came to mind. He needed to be like the deaf, dumb, and blind kid in The Who’s “Pinball Wizard:” no distractions. And at this moment, solitude—him with himself for company—was distracting.

  To free up his hands, he put the cigar and lighter back in his pocket, got out his iPhone, and unlocked the screen. Scrolling through recent calls, he found the one he wanted and tapped it.

  After a moment, Tara answered.

  “This is Brack.”

  “I heard about Cassie and Nina.”

  “I just left Mutt at the hospital. I’m still in the parking lot.”

  “How’s Cassie?”

  “I think she’ll pull through, but she’s in a bad spot right now.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I’m going after the ones who did this. Remember the big blond guy from the ball? He’s tonight’s target.”

  No response.

  He continued. “Care to join me in a little surveillance?” He pushed the thought of involving another innocent in this mess out of his mind because at this moment he was being a selfish jackass.

  More silence.

  He added, “It’ll be dangerous...maybe even life-threatening.”

  She said, “I’m in.”

  “You sure?”

  Letting out a long breath, she said, “Yes. I’m doing this for Cassie and Nina.”

  “Good reason,” Brack said. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”

  As usual, he was on the opposite side of town from where he wanted to go. Thirty minutes turned into forty-five, thanks to the late rush-hour traffic. Tara was ready when he finally arrived. She opened the door on his first knock, a medium-sized purse hanging from her shoulder. She turned off the light.

  They walked down the one flight of stairs to his car.

  “How’s Mr. Grumpy?” he asked.

  “Fine. I think he liked meeting you. The next day he looked around as if to see if I’d brought anyone with me for him to play with.”

  “I really like my dog and everything about him, but Grumpy is, like, on a whole other level. His personality is magnified by his size.”

  “He’s my baby.”

  “If anything that weighs five tons could be considered a baby.”

  Brack held the door of the Mazda open for her and she got in. He noticed she wore flat shoes, Capris, and a tank top to battle the night heat.

  When he slid into the driver’s seat, she asked, “So what do we know?”

  He told her about the list of addresses Darcy had given him. As he narrated the link to Vito and the Expedition he’d tried to follow earlier, he realized how easily he’d been allowed to tail that SUV. Those gangsters had intentionally waited for him to arrive at Cassie’s to then lure him away from the restaurant.

  But why wouldn’t they simply get rid of him after they’d warned him with the Porsche? Now they knew what his latest ride looked like.

  As he started the car, Tara said, “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Mostly, it’s slow, tedious waiting,” he said, locating Townsend’s address already entered in the navigation system. “Hope you don’t mind peeing in the bushes.”

  She laughed. “I’ve done worse.”

  Cutting his eyes to hers, he asked, “What’s worse than peeing in the bushes?”

  “A whole bunch of things.”

  The banter helped him think about something other than Darcy marrying her fiancé, his battered friend in the hospital, and, most tragically, Nina’s family mourning the loss of a wife and mother.

  The GPS let them know with a beep it had homed in on their destination and was ready to show them where to go.

  He said, “You can share only the PG version with me if you want. It could be a long night.”

  “Some things are meant to be remembered, not shared.”

  Having his own file of memories he never disclosed, he understood the concept. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

  She said, “I’ll share a few if you will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wednesday, ten p.m.

  Atlanta’s Midtown. Artsy. Yuppie. Alternative. Expensive. All good for Brack and Tara, because he could think of more than a few circumstances in which an attractive black woman sporting inked-up arms sitting together with an unkempt white man might raise suspicion. This location would not be one of them.

  The neighborhood was gentrified in the late seventies and lit up by streetlights that showed trees lining the sidewalks and nice cars parked on the street.

  Brack did a slow roll-by on the lookout for the black SUV. It wasn’t parked in Townsend’s driveway.

  One spot was close enough to provide a decent view.

  Before he picked up Tara, he’d stopped at a co
nvenience store and purchased stakeout food—peanut M&Ms and bottles of water. Now he took the bag from the backseat and offered her water and candy. She took the water and resisted the sugar. That was okay. After an hour of sitting, all refusals would go out the window.

  A hundred and thirty-five minutes later, the pound bag of candy was gone. So was half of the water. They’d each adopted a strict regimen so as to reduce the need to relieve themselves and possibly give their position away, bushes or not.

  At a hundred and thirty-six minutes, the SUV drove up to the house and parked in the drive.

  A man got out and entered the brownstone.

  “Showtime,” Brack said.

  Tara said, “Are we in a movie?”

  “Nah. Reality is so much more interesting.”

  Saying excuse me, he reached over and popped the glovebox. Mutt’s thirty-eight felt cold to the touch.

  “This is serious, isn’t it?”

  Sensing the change in mood, he recognized that a new reality had set in for her. “This guy is not to be taken lightly.”

  “What’s our plan?”

  He sucked in some air and exhaled a long breath. “Recon the house. See if we can get in there. I’d like to grab Townsend and see what he knows, but he is dangerous. We shouldn’t forget that.” And, Brack thought, try not to kill him before he talked. Tara didn’t need to know the kill part. If things went south, she’d have an out on premeditation.

  He stuck the gun down the front waistband of his cargo shorts. “Let’s circle the house first.”

  They got out and he placed the car’s key fob on top of the front tire. Pointing to it, he said, “If this doesn’t end well, you need to split. Immediately.”

  In situations like this, direct routes made the most sense. Also best not to give the impression of anything other than visiting a friend.

  Townsend’s place had a decent front porch. The light was off. In fact, all the lights in the house were off, even though the SUV had arrived ten minutes earlier. They walked past the front of the house and cut down the darkened left side, away from the streetlamps.