Field of Fire

by James O. Born

He stood, and seemed to contemplate how to treat her.

  She understood his confusion. They had slept together, should he hug her? But they were in a federal law enforcement office. She knew he would never be so impetuous as to kiss her in any form of professional setting. Even if no one else was around at the moment.

  Duarte finally regained enough focus to say, “Wow, I didn’t expect you.”

  “Ever?”

  “No, I meant today. I would’ve picked you up at the airport.”

  “Had an early flight and I didn’t want to bother you. Bob sent me to stay closer to the case and see if you had found anything new.”

  He hesitated, then just shook his head.

  “What about Maria? How is she doing?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And you. You look a little tired.”

  “I am, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Caren looked past Duarte to the supervisor of the office, a younger guy named Dale, striding with a purpose toward the tiny office they were in.

  “Alex, the boss just told me you turned down a promotion. Is that right?” Then as Duarte moved, he noticed Caren and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.” He gave Caren a professional nod and looked at Duarte, still waiting for an answer.

  Duarte mumbled, “Not the right time.”

  “Not the right time? You been waiting for this for years. Are you crazy? You should jump on it.”

  Duarte shrugged, and then skillfully waited his supervisor out in silence. That impressed even Caren.

  Once Dale had disappeared back down the hall, Duarte plopped into his partner’s empty chair. He was clearly torn by his decision.

  Caren said softly, “You wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “You told me you wanted to be a supervisor.”

  “I did. I mean, I do. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “I’d have to give up this case, and it doesn’t seem right somehow. Maria and Hector Tannza deserve justice.”

  Caren cringed at that simple truth. Could she help? Did the information she had locked in her head really mean anything? What would he think of her if she confessed her fears and how they affected the case? She realized then how much this tough, intelligent ATF agent meant to her. She wanted his approval. She didn’t want to hurt him. She wanted her damned dignity back.

  Alex Duarte used the time that Caren was in another office on the phone to call the detective bureau of the Austin Police Department. He had found the number on the PD’s Internet home page. After speaking to a secretary, he stayed on hold for three minutes until he heard a man’s voice say, “Carl Shedlock. May I help you?”

  “Detective Shedlock, my name is Alex Duarte. I’m an ATF agent here in Florida.”

  The detective seemed friendly, saying, “That’s where I want to live. I grew up in upstate New York, but I can’t handle the cold anymore.” He paused, and apparently realized Duarte wasn’t going to chat. The detective said, “What can I do for you?”

  Duarte explained about the photo and what he suspected. He had scanned the photo and e-mailed it while they were talking on the phone.

  After a minute, Detective Shedlock said, “Yeah, this looks like the sports bar in the new area. It’s kind of a yuppie place.”

  Duarte noted the detective’s disdain for yuppies. “I’m trying to ID the younger guy in the photo. The other man is Alberto Salez. Ring a bell?”

  “Nope, not at all. Neither one looks familiar. Let me show it around the Bureau and see if anyone can tell me more about the bar. Maybe I could even run the photo past the manager, if it’s important.”

  “I can’t tell you how important it is because I just don’t know. But if you have a chance, I’d appreciate anything you could find out.” Duarte gave the helpful detective his cell phone.

  Duarte had a nice lunch with Caren, and had purposely invited Chuck Stoddard along so she didn’t consider it another date, if that was what she was thinking. He recognized that he had no clue what this beautiful attorney was thinking. But, he also had to admit, he liked her being around.

  He had felt guilty earlier when he had lied about having anything new on the case. The possible capture of Alberto Salez was new. It could bust the whole thing wide open. He just thought it was prudent to wait until the wily Mr. Salez was actually in custody before he made any comment. That rationalization made him feel better until he lied to her about what he was doing that afternoon. Instead of informing her about the possible meeting with Salez, he said he had to see his cousin at his Northwood pawnshop. Technically not a lie, but by no ethical standards the truth either. He hadn’t told Chuck about the meeting or Salez. Another ethical lapse if he was wrong about a leak somewhere in the case. He wanted to face Salez alone. Especially if he had to go outside the official guidelines on questioning. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He wanted to know about Oneida Lawson, the killer and why everyone and his brother was from Texas. He was tired, and ready for some direct information for a change.

  At about two-fifteen, he left the office with a promise to Caren to return shortly and then headed the few miles north to his cousin’s little pawnshop on Dixie Highway in the Northwood section of the city. He parked his Taurus behind the shop on a residential street so no one coming to the store would notice it. It took him a couple minutes to walk around the building to the front and then wait until his cousin buzzed him inside.

  Tony looked up from the counter and said, “Where’s your partner?”

  “The office.”

  “Shouldn’t he come too?”

  “Don’t worry so much. I can handle Salez. I have before. Won’t even bust up the store.” He looked his cousin in the eye and added, “Unless I have to.” He even gave Tony a sly smile.

  “It ain’t three yet. Call him over for backup.” Then the little bald man offered his desk phone to Duarte.

  “Tony, what’s bothering you? Relax.” Duarte looked around the store crammed with pawned merchandise. It felt funny to think that most of it at one time had been someone else’s personal property. Whether they pawned it or stole it first, it still seemed to belong in someone else’s house. Personal stereos lined shelves on one wall, racks or tools and yard equipment cluttered another aisle.

  Tony said, “You never know. This asshole could have friends with him.”

  “Has he called or anything?”

  “No. Nothing since I seen him at the café.”

  “You seem awfully jumpy. I thought you were half-assed criminal. Don’t you meet up with crooks all the time?”

  “That ain’t funny, Alex. I gotta make a living.”

  “Thought loans and sales from this place made a living for you.”

  “It does now. Now that you guys cracked down on me, it’s all I got to feed the family.”

  “Tony, your kids are out of the house. Jimmy is in Hawaii. Your wife has got a good job at the hospital. What family do you have to feed?”

  “Stop breaking my balls. I done what you asked. I found Salez. Now I just want you to be careful in case he don’t want to surrender.”

  “Tony, are you trying to tell me…”

  But Duarte was interrupted by the sight of Salez at the front door and Tony hitting the buzzer instantly.

  32

  MIKE GARRETTI ARRIVED IN THE NICE LITTLE AIRPORT AT west Palm Beach, Florida, rented a Dodge Intrepid, then drove to a public storage warehouse a few miles west. He checked his note for the unit number and combination. He trudged up the outside stairway to the closet-sized storage unit that was tucked into the hallway on the second floor. It never failed to amaze him how, despite all the money his employers obviously had at their disposal, they cut costs at every opportunity. This little unit wasn’t good for much, but a slightly larger one on the first floor could be used to hide all kinds of things. He let it go.

  Once he had the door open, he found several boxes stacked in the corner, and a smaller one with his n
ame on the lid sitting on top of the others. Next to it was a sleek Browning 9mm. The single-action auto pistol was perfectly balanced and felt good in his hand. They had left two clips of ammo in addition to the one in the gun. He had one single brick of C-4. Plenty, if Salez was his only target. By now, it didn’t matter how he died—just that he did. That would put an end to this whole mess. He wouldn’t even have to use the C-4 unless he had to set a booby trap. And that seemed unlikely now.

  He had followed the directions given him and now realized that they were right on the money. His heart rate climbed as he knew everything would be resolved, and very soon.

  Mike Garretti watched as Alberto Salez entered a pawnshop around three o’clock, just like he had been told would happen. The only question was, when to do it. He’d definitely wait until the shithead had left the little pawnshop. He had parked a beat-up Nissan pickup in the small lot in front of the store. As Garretti scanned it with his little binoculars, he didn’t notice any corpses in the passenger’s seat this time. That was a nice change.

  Then, almost as soon as Salez entered the store, Garretti noticed another vehicle. An older Ford Bronco, with a bunch of Latin guys crammed inside. The car made one pass, then lingered in the street in front of the next building, out of sight of the pawnshop.

  What the hell was going on?

  Salez said “Surprise” as he walked inside. “I guess it wasn’t a surprise, because your cousin told you I’d be here.”

  Duarte turned his head toward Tony.

  “I had no choice. He woulda killed me.”

  Salez smiled and said, “You can’t pick your family.” He just had a Band-Aid over the end of the ear Duarte had ripped off during their first meeting.

  Duarte looked at him and said, “At least you were smart enough to show up. I was getting tired of chasing you.”

  “I wasn’t running from the law, bro. Now I need to know who I am running from.”

  Duarte sensed that this wasn’t a simple surrender, and scanned the crowded little store for any potential weapons Salez might use. He hoped the rows of pistols in the glass cases weren’t loaded. He needed to make sure Salez wasn’t armed now.

  “Before we go any farther,” started Duarte, “put your hands on the counter and spread your legs.”

  “No problem, Agent Duarte.” He reached to his hip and said, “Let me dispose of this first.” He tossed a long fillet knife, in a dirty leather scabbard that didn’t fit it well, onto the counter. “I’m clean.”

  Duarte edged closer and ran the palms of his hands over the fugitive’s waistline and then along the lower legs of his jeans. Then he stepped back, picking up the knife as he backed away.

  Duarte said, “Now, what are you babbling about?”

  “Who sent you after me?”

  “My boss. You had a warrant.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Who else do you work for?”

  “Look, I know someone is trying to kill you. I’ve seen him.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Dark, short hair, thirty-five, lean.”

  “And cold as ice. He blew the shit out of my sweet Mustang.”

  Duarte wanted to strike the heartless fugitive. Instead, he said, “Not to mention Hector Tannza, and the others who were killed.”

  “That’s what I said, he’s a killer.”

  “Why is he after you?”

  Salez said, “That’s all the questions I’m gonna answer, but you’re gonna have to come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I gotta make sure you really don’t know anything.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll find a use for you, and, at the very least, you can find out how much it hurts to lose an ear.”

  Now Cousin Tony cut in. “You said you wasn’t gonna hurt him.”

  Duarte said, “Don’t worry, Tony. I’ve dealt with this mope before. It’s no big deal.”

  Then the front door rattled. Salez motioned the man in but the door was still locked. He rattled the door harder, making a huge racket. Tony backed away from the counter to show he wasn’t going to use the buzzer to unlock the door.

  Then a second, larger man ran from the side and put his weight into the door and forced it to pop open, sending a couple of pieces of metal jingling onto the floor. The men rushed into the pawnshop, followed by three more. One of them with a shotgun already aimed at Duarte.

  Duarte shook his head. “You guys. Didn’t we already have this dance?”

  The man with the flat nose, now with a bandage over it, said, “This time, we’re ready.” He nodded toward the man with the shotgun. “And we got some firepower.”

  Duarte looked around the motley group. “How’re the fingers?” he asked flat-nose, his right hand still bandaged from Duarte breaking his fingers during their last encounter.

  “You better worry about your own fingers, pendejo.” He pulled out a switchblade with his left hand and popped the five-inch blade open.

  Salez eased toward Duarte, then said, “Put your gun on the counter. Slowly, or my man Ralph here will ventilate you good.”

  Duarte reached to his right hip under his loose outer shirt and carefully drew his Glock. He set it on the glass counter next to him.

  “Now slide it to me.”

  He pushed it just hard enough for it to slide almost to Salez. He cut his eyes to his cousin and instantly realized the little man was too terrified to help. Duarte stayed calm, and when Salez reached for the Glock Duarte threw out his right hand and grabbed the fugitive’s arm, then tugged him hard. Salez flew right to Duarte, like a female dance partner in a tango, as the big man with the shotgun tried to aim around his friend. Immediately Duarte wrapped his arm around Salez’s neck and moved out of the line of fire into a row of used sporting goods.

  He heard some shouts in Spanish, and saw through the racks and shelves two men start down the row next to him.

  Duarte tightened his grip around Salez’s neck. “Tell ’em to back off—now.”

  Salez tried to gurgle out a command for his comrades to stop, but it was barely audible.

  Duarte dropped Salez and his deadweight, then immediately plucked a metal tennis racket out of a bin. He had just enough time to swing it on an angle and have the frame catch the first man in the head, sending him yelping back. Duarte stepped around the shelf to the tool aisle, where the second man, flat-nose, looked confused as to what to do next with his extended switchblade. Duarte was not confused and grabbed a ball-peen hammer hanging on the rack and drove the rounded head into the man’s clavicle, shattering his shoulder and knocking him down in the process.

  There were three left, but the only one he wanted to focus on was the one with the shotgun. As he bounded around the next shelf, ready to throw the hammer if necessary, he froze. This was something he had not counted on.

  Caren Larson laughed at one of Chuck Stoddard’s corny jokes. This big, friendly man was the polar opposite of Alex Duarte. He seemed to care about people, and genuinely liked to laugh. It was the type of personality she had always been attracted to.

  She wondered how much her father played in her choice of men. He had been jovial and friendly, except to boys coming to pick her up. Then he’d grunt and nod instead of speaking, and once even poked a boy in the chest as he interrogated him about why they were home at five after eleven instead of eleven on the nose. That incident had made her a night owl in college determined to stay out late. But then she realized her father’s concerns as she met more and more men. Many of them really didn’t have any respect for a woman. That was a big factor in her attraction to Duarte. His respect for people. Not just women, but the workers out at the labor camp. He didn’t discount anyone. That was also just like her father. But her father had a new joke for every day of her life. He’d wake her with a kiss and a joke.

  How, then, had she fallen for a sullen, determined guy like Alex Duarte? She didn’t know, but, as her mother would say, these things just happen and we shouldn’t
fight them.

  Now Caren looked at Chuck’s massive head and said, “You don’t know where Alex went either?”

  “Haven’t seen him. We tend to keep different hours. He’s an early riser, and I like to go home early, so if he’s not in the office between ten and two it’s his loss.” He laughed at his own joke, and that made Caren smile too.

  She said, “He said something about his cousin.”

  “Tony? He has a pawnshop in the north end of the city.”

  “Is Alex close with his cousin?”

  “Alex and Tony?” He just laughed.

  “Why would he go see him, then?”

  “Tony was trying to find Salez for us. Maybe he had something on that.”

  “Can we go meet him?”

  “At Tony’s?”

  “Yeah. I’m just worried about him. It gets you out of the office for a few minutes.”

  Chuck shrugged and said, “Yeah, sure. It’s not far.”

  33

  DUARTE FROZE AT THE SIGHT OF THE BIG MAN WITH the shotgun to his cousin Tony’s bald head. His cousin was shaking uncontrollably, and sweat glistened on his crown under the fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling.

  The big man, standing to the side, said, “What you gonna do with that hammer, Mr. Policeman? Less you want this man’s brains all over the wall.”

  Duarte let the hammer fall harmlessly to the ground as Salez came up from the back of the shop, massaging his throat. “Yo, my man here is some kinda half-assed Bruce Lee. He’s quick.” Salez also had the Glock in his hand now. “Tell ya what, ATF. We’re goin’ for a little ride and have us a talk.” He turned to the man with the shotgun. “Ralph, you come with us.”

  “What about us?” asked one of the others.

  “Help Raul, and wait here with Cousin Tony till I get back.” He looked at his friend on the ground uselessly clutching his misshapen shoulder.

  “We don’t even got guns.”

  Salez leveled a stare at the man and said, “Look at the counter, bro. Take one of them.” He shook his head and waved Duarte toward the door.