Field of Fire

by James O. Born

  Duarte turned and decided to wait until they were outside before he tried anything. He didn’t want his cousin to get hurt.

  As if reading his mind, Salez said, “If this cabron gets away, we’ll kill Cousin Tony here.”

  Duarte stepped through the door first, with Salez and Ralph behind him, both with their guns pointed down in an attempt to hide them from any cars rolling down Dixie Highway.

  Salez said, “Around the corner. The Nissan.”

  Duarte walked slowly, hoping to think of something, then turned the side of the building right into a familiar face.

  Mike Garretti had the nice Browning in his hand, as he heard them tromping around the side of the building. He had wanted to cap Salez right away, but knew he needed to find out about the file and its location.

  The ATF man was first; Garretti waved him down out of the way. When he dropped quickly, it was so fast it took both Garretti and Salez by surprise. But now, Garretti had his former partner plainly in his sights. The big man behind him was also caught by surprise and couldn’t move.

  Garretti said in a calm voice, “Keep coming, gentlemen. And drop the guns.”

  The shotgun and Glock both clunked to the ground with the litter that was strewn across the small parking lot.

  “All right, Agent Duarte. You come too.”

  Duarte stood up, brushed a little dirt from his pants and fell in next to Salez and Ralph. “I appreciate the help.”

  Garretti let out a smile. “And everyone says you don’t have a sense of humor. I think that’s funny.”

  “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Which is the only reason you’re still alive.”

  Salez said, “I’ll introduce you two.”

  “You might find that uncomfortable.” He stepped over to Salez, well away from Duarte, and handed him a small package. “Put this in your front pocket.”

  Salez just stared at him.

  Garretti raised the pistol to his forehead and Salez complied without hesitation. Then he asked, “What is it?”

  Garretti held up a palm-sized electrical device and said, “A small compliance measure. You act up and I hit this switch. Then your legs and dick get blown off. Got it?”

  Salez went pale.

  Garretti looked at Duarte and said, “Any prepared federal agent has cuffs.”

  Duarte nodded.

  “Cuff him.”

  Duarte turned and pulled Salez’s arms roughly down, then behind him. He clicked the arm of the cuffs into place, securing Salez’s hands behind him. Duarte looked up at Garretti and said, “Anything else?”

  “You know you could thank me.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving you now, to start with. Then the other times I coulda killed you. I don’t want to kill a cop. You don’t deserve it.” He paused, and said, “Especially you. I read your recommendation for award. The Form 638 in your jacket. You should’ve gotten that Silver Star. That bridge you blew on the Drina River was heads-up play.” He watched Duarte as he stared at him. Garretti wasn’t sure if he was surprised he had access to his army records or that he thought the ATF agent should’ve received a commendation. Garretti finally added, “You did some good work in Bosnia.”

  Duarte muttered, “About as good as yours.”

  “And I feel just as shitty.” He looked at Salez and said, “Get in the car, asshole. Front seat.” He backed around to the driver’s door and said, “We still have issues, but I’ll work them out later.” He paused, and pointed the pistol at Duarte. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll order you at gunpoint to knock that big son of a bitch out.”

  Duarte didn’t hesitate; he spun, using his hips, shoulders and arms, to propel a perfect right cross directly onto Ralph’s big chin. The big man stumbled back against the wall and then crumpled to the ground.

  Garretti smiled and said, “Glad I never tried to tangle with you. Good luck.” He slipped behind the wheel, looked at his terrified passenger, threw the car into reverse and was away from the sharp ATF man in a matter of seconds.

  Duarte recovered his Glock and Ralph’s shotgun as he decided on the best way to get back into the pawnshop. He had to rescue his cousin, even if it was only to kill him himself. He paused at the corner of the building, then froze as he saw Chuck Stoddard pull up in his new SUV with Caren Larson in the front seat. How in the hell did they know to come here? He leaned away from the wall and waved, immediately catching Chuck’s eye. They pulled past the shop and into the lot in the back, away from any window where they could be spotted from inside.

  Chuck eased out of the Expedition and said, “What are you doing out here? Where’d the shotgun come from? Why…” He noticed the unmoving body on the ground.

  “Hang on, Chuck. We gotta get my cousin out of there.”

  “What’s going on?” He pointed at the large, unconscious man. “Is he dead?”

  Duarte turned and looked at the unconscious Ralph. “Him? No. I just popped him on the chin.” He looked up at the corner of the store. “Some of Salez’s buddies are inside with Tony.”

  Caren cut in. “Did Salez show too?”

  “He showed, but he’s gone now.”

  Chuck got back to the tactical situation. “Are the guys inside armed?”

  “They probably are now. But we have surprise on our side. The door has a buzzer, but they broke it in earlier. I think we could force it again.”

  Caren said, “What if I act like a customer and they buzz me in?”

  He looked up at her, impressed with the lawyer’s courage. “It won’t work. They know you. It’s the crowd from the sports club in Belle Glade.” He looked at his partner. “Might work for you, Chuck. If it doesn’t, you could knock it open like they did.”

  “You gonna explain exactly what’s happening?”

  “First, we get Tony. Then we need to talk.” Duarte froze as he noticed something he had not before. There was a door in the rear of the pawnshop and Tony’s little Nissan sports car was parked next to it. “We may have an alternative.” Duarte raced to the door, tried the handle and was surprised to find it open. It opened out. He peeked inside to see a second interior door that opened into the shop.

  Duarte turned to his big partner and said, “Give me a minute and then try the front door.” He looked at Ralph, still on the ground. “Secure him too.”

  Chuck just nodded and stood up to go back to Caren.

  Duarte added, “And make sure she stays in the car.”

  Garretti didn’t like distractions when he was dealing with someone like Salez. The target of his frustration was cuffed and sitting at an angle in the front seat next to him as they headed west on Blue Heron Boulevard. He had driven due north, away from the pawnshop, in case Duarte had been able to follow them. The ATF man had proven to be very determined. Maybe he had learned that in Operation Determined Effort in Bosnia. Garretti smiled at the name of the operation. There was always some cute name attached to those kind of things. Determined Effort, Just Cause, Desert Shield and the other Bosnian one: Operation Joint Endeavor. He had been deployed to Desert Shield as a new sergeant. It wasn’t as if a clerk in personnel saw a lot of action. He was first housed in a comfortable base in Israel, then a big-ass tent in Saudi Arabia, helping the flow of men and women find their place in the building conflict. It didn’t really matter what he did because when he got home he was still a Gulf War veteran. It still got him laid, and eventually, through chance and a lot of beer prompting a lot of boasting, it got him the first gig outside the army. It was a lot of money. Fifty grand. Then all the work since. But he was relieved it would end here. Now that he had Salez, the last one. Once he found out where the file was, he’d do what he had to do.

  Now he juggled driving, keeping an eye on Salez and trying his cell phone. Finally he got through to one of his contacts, who told him to use a pay phone in five minutes.

  It took a little longer because, as he drove out on the main highway, even past the Riviera Beach City Hall and po
lice department, he realized that this place was a dive. There was no place he wanted to stop. He didn’t want to have to shoot someone here and have people looking for him. So he kept driving until he crossed under I-95 and found a phone near a gas station just past a bunch of cheap hotels like the Knight’s Inn and Motel 6.

  He parked so he could see Salez clearly and shoot him in the head if he had to, but still have a private conversation on the phone.

  He stepped out of the small car and then leaned back and said, “No bullshit.” He held up the electric button he had shown Salez at the pawnshop. “Remember, boom, and then no dick.”

  Salez just nodded as he looked at the pocket the device was in.

  Garretti turned his attention back to his call. The phone rang once, and he heard, “Go ahead.”

  “I have the principal.”

  “Good. Any problems?”

  “The ATF man saw me.”

  “We’ll work it out. Find out about the file.”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Your backup just arrived. One of them will find you soon.”

  “Don’t need backup.”

  “Everyone needs backup. Good work.”

  The line went dead.

  Garretti got back in the car, and Salez said, “Mike, we could drive off right now and go our separate ways.”

  “No can do, amigo. I got a job to do. Besides, I let you go you might kill another woman, like the one in the Honda.”

  Salez leaned back. “I didn’t kill her, bro. She was in the car when I took it.”

  “Oh, please. After all we been through, don’t even try that bullshit.”

  Salez didn’t try, instead he said, “What makes you think they’ll let you walk away from all this any more than they let the rest of us?”

  Garretti didn’t answer, but did think about his backup coming down to meet him.

  34

  ALEX DUARTE’S BLOOD WAS UP. THAT’S WHAT HIS COMMANDING officer used to say when they were about to do something to the advancing Serbs. They’d plant booby traps, occasionally take potshots, but whatever they did there was a real emotional charge surrounding it. Duarte had fed off it during his stint in Bosnia. He loved the excitement, and missed it here in civilian life. Occasionally something happened, an arrest or chase, but not very often. Now, in this one odd situation, his blood was definitely up as he prepared to rescue his lowlife cousin from these lowlife idiots.

  Duarte turned the knob to the newly discovered rear door and slipped in through a back storeroom. The next-door room was empty, and then he saw the inward-opening door. That was the one with the giant bolt and crossbar you could see from inside the store.

  He tried the door and it didn’t budge.

  “Shit,” he said quietly to himself.

  He put his ear to it, but it was so thick he didn’t hear a sound. He was about to back out and race to meet up with Chuck as the big man assaulted the front door when he saw something else that might work.

  Chuck Stoddard had been a cop in Tampa for three years before joining the ATF. He had been a dynamo for a few years, jumping in on any case that came along, then, with the birth of his son, and two years later his daughter, he started to realize that there was more to life than work. He wasn’t lazy, as many thought, he just had other priorities. He worked hard, just not hard for long.

  But on something like this—a chance at some action—he had never lost his enthusiasm. He secured the big, unconscious guy by sitting him up then cuffing him behind his back to a light pole. By then, the guy was coming around. The large Hispanic man vomited once, which was common for someone who had just been unconscious, then offered no resistance as Chuck hooked him up.

  Caren said, “What’s our next move?”

  “My next move is through the front door.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Sorry, baby. You gotta sit this one out.”

  Caren surprised him with a forceful, “Bullshit. I’m coming.”

  Chuck settled the matter by using his backup cuffs to secure her to the big Ford’s armrest. He didn’t have time to argue.

  He waited a minute after cuffing the DoJ attorney, then took up a good position by the door. He figured that if Alex hadn’t returned to the front of the pawnshop, he must be ready to get in through the back. That was something he was quite sure of; no matter what he did, or how he did it, his partner, Alex Duarte, would not let you down.

  Chuck stepped up and tried the door as he looked in through it. It was locked but loose. Inside, a small Latin man, not Tony, said, “We closed. Come back later.”

  Chuck didn’t hesitate and burst through the shaky door, pulling much of the frame with him. Immediately he saw Tony in a chair against the back wall and three men near the counter. Chuck brought up his Glock, as he noticed the back door was still bolted. Just as he thought he was in this alone he heard a crash and the ceiling panels seemed to vaporize. Duarte dropped through the ceiling onto the man closest to his cousin Tony. He dropped straight down, knocking the man unconscious on impact.

  Chuck swung his gun onto the remaining two men, who were completely frozen by the shock of Duarte’s entrance.

  Tony said, “My ceiling. You ruined my ceiling.”

  Chuck resisted the urge to point the gun at the ungrateful store owner. He didn’t know the whole story yet. Then, behind him, he heard, “Thank God.” He turned to see Caren Larson, with a handcuff on her left hand and the armrest to his Expedition stuck in the other cuff.

  35

  MIKE GARRETTI HAD ALBERTO SALEZ SECURELY TIED TO the lone chair in his cheap motel room. Salez wasn’t going anywhere, and Garretti needed a few minutes to figure out what he was going to do next. He had his stuff together if he needed to leave. He was parked directly in front of the room, so in the evening, if he needed to dispose of Salez, it would be easy to just walk him outside and drop him in the waiting car. There were so many canals in Florida that getting rid of him wouldn’t be an issue. By the time the body was found, Garretti would be back at Fort Hood and his life would be back to normal. He’d never come back in Florida. Too many bad memories. The chances of Duarte seeing him again and identifying him were nil. A rough drawing—that’s all he’d be able to come up with. His employers would also help hide his identity. And he didn’t have to live with the death of a federal agent on his hands. Now, looking at his prisoner and thinking of how he had resolved so many of the recent complications, Garretti started to relax. This might work out after all.

  For his part, Salez had been suitably sniveling since Garretti had brought him to the room.

  Garretti finally said, “What’ll shut you up?”

  “Get this bomb out of my pocket, for one thing.”

  Garretti picked up the electronic detonator and put his thumb over the red button. “This would get rid of it.”

  Salez squirmed in the wooden chair. “Quit it.”

  Garretti smiled and couldn’t resist mashing the bright red button.

  Salez cringed and cried out, “No!” His eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the blast that was supposed to rip him in half. Then, when nothing happened, he opened his eyes and looked up at Garretti, shouting, “What the fuck? If that thing worked, it woulda killed me.”

  Garretti stepped over to the bound man and dug into his pocket, retrieving the little device he had given Salez earlier. He held it up. “Why does a garage door opener in my hand and a circuit board from a radio with a light glued on it make you so nervous?”

  Salez just stared at his captor.

  It was a ploy that worked. It being hilarious was just a perk. Garretti chuckled at Salez.

  The phone in the motel room rang.

  “Hello.”

  A male’s voice with a slight New England accent said, “I’m your backup. Where can we meet?”

  Garretti didn’t want the guy here at the motel, and he didn’t want to lug Salez with him to go out. He said into the phone, “Hang on a sec.” Then drew his Glock and w
hacked the seated Salez in the head.

  “Ow! Fuck, what was that for?”

  “Sorry. It works in the movies,” said Garretti, hoping the blow would have knocked his captive unconscious. Into the phone he said, “Meet me in the parking lot of my motel.” He proceeded to give the man directions. Sometimes you had to compromise.

  Alex Duarte had the three men from inside the pawnshop and the still-groggy Ralph lined up on stools in the back storeroom of his cousin’s shop. Tony had already clearly expressed how he didn’t want to press charges and he wanted the whole situation to just disappear. He was also sorry he had set up his own cousin.

  With his doubts about the motives of his partners, Duarte no longer cared what was or was not within the boundaries of the Department of Justice. He paced back and forth in front of the four men.

  “I won our first fight. Now I’ve done it again. What will keep you from bothering me again?”

  Ralph shook his head. “It wasn’t us; it was Salez.”

  “Where was he staying?”

  “Don’t know. He met us at the sports club.”

  “What did he want with me?”

  “He say you ruined his ear and might know something that would help him.”

  “Like what?”

  They all shrugged and shook their heads.

  Duarte looked over at Caren. “What do you think? They telling the truth?”

  Caren looked shaken. He didn’t know if it was the current situation or something more. He started to think of ways to figure out who was on the level and who had another agenda. He thought of how the killer had appeared at the same place as him when Lawson was killed. What about Chuck? He had called him from the airport. He shook his head, realizing how it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Who had he told other than Caren or Chuck? But he never told Caren he was going back to Los Angeles.

  He had to focus. Right now, his main problem was that he had to make sure he was done with these guys forever.

  He looked up at Chuck and said, “I think we should kill them so we never have to deal with an ambush like this again.”