by Glenn Rogers
“Jake,” Jessie said, when he answered his cell. “How can I help you?”
“I need to know about the likelihood of a given scenario.”
“Okay. What’s the scenario?”
“The Dominick Ferro organization in New York and the Reggie Murphy organization in Boston.”
“What about them?”
“Seven years ago, in Afghanistan, the marines loaned me to the CIA. They had me take out a heroin producer. He was the main supplier for the Ferro and Murphy organizations.”
“And so you want to know if they are retaliating for that hit.”
“Yeah.”
“My guess would be no. But let me make a call to a guy who knows more about them than I do. I'll get back to you.”
“He's gonna get back to me,” I said to Alex as I put my cell away.
“Okay,” Alex said, “so we're waiting for Emal and for Jessie to get back to us. While we wait, shall we consider how to deal with Esposito?”
“I already have a plan,” I said.
“Technically, he hasn't done anything yet. He's just got some guys driving by.”
“Alex, we both know why they're driving by. They're going to take a run at us and you know it.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“You got your Kevlar with you?”
“In the trunk.”
“Probably ought to put it on.” I said.
He went out to his car and came back with his vest.
“What say we go to the gym for a while?” he asked. “I don't know about you, but I’m feeling kind of stressed.”
I didn't really want to go, but I couldn't come up with a good reason not to.
“Clear our heads,” he added. “Maybe we'll think of something that hasn't occurred to us yet.”
“All right. We need to drop Wilson off at home. You got your stuff with you?”
“Also in the trunk.”
“We spent and hour and a half at the gym lifting weights and doing combinations on the heavy bag. The guys in the black Tahoe took a run at us in the gym parking lot as we were putting our gym bags in the back of the Jeep. It came at us from the right. Two guys were shooting from the front and rear passenger side windows—nine millimeters. Shooting from a moving vehicle is harder than one might think. Several shots thudded into my jeep. We dropped to the ground and drew our weapons as they continued to fire at us. As the Tahoe came even with us, one round grazed my shoulder and another hit Alex squarely. He went down. As the car sped by I came up shooting. I put four into the back of the Tahoe. It went to the end of the row, swung around to the left and went past us one row over, getting in position for another pass. I had just a second or two to look at Alex. The shot had hit him center mass, but he was wearing his vest. We'd both put them on after we showered and dressed in the locker room.
“I'm okay,” he said. “Stings like a bitch, though.” He got back into a crouch just as the Tahoe came screaming up the row again. This time we were ready. I had four shots left in my .357. Alex had fired two, so he had eight left in his .40. As the Tahoe got to us, it stopped. The two shooters were firing as fast as they could. We returned fire. A slug hit me in the side, but not hard enough to knock me off balance. I put two rounds through the front passenger door just below the window, and two through the window. The shooter pitched back and was gone from view. Alex was firing into the back door and window. The second shooter collapsed, one arm and his head hanging out the window. I expected the driver to speed away, but he didn't.
We waited. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air and our ears rang from the nearly forty shots that had been fired. I had one shot left in my eight-shot cylinder. I stood slowly, my weapon pointed into the vehicle. The driver sat slumped into the steering wheel. I kept my gun on the driver as Alex approached the vehicle. He felt for a pulse in the neck of the shooter hanging out of the back window.
“No pulse,” he said.
He stepped past him and looked carefully in the front passenger window. “This one’s got two in the gut, one in the neck,” he said.
I walked around to the front of the vehicle, gun still pointed at the driver.
Looking at the driver, Alex said, “Driver took one in the side.”
I made my way around to the driver’s side and opened the door. I felt for a pulse. None.
“Driver's dead,” I said.
Alex stepped back to the rear window and lifted the head of the shooter.
“Jake,” he said.
I looked at him through the vehicle.
“Esposito.”
Chapter 38
Monday Evening
I called McGarry and explained. He said, “Esposito himself, huh? You must have really pissed him off.”
“All he had to do,” I said, “was just walk away.”
“He was too stupid to walk away. Not your fault.”
“I know. But it's still a waste.”
“I'll be there in forty-five minutes.”
The local cops arrived a few minutes later. Alex identified himself and instructed them to secure the scene and await the LAPD. The curious from the gym were milling about around the edges of the crime scene, watching and hoping for an explanation. None would be forthcoming.
It was a little before five. While we were waiting for Frank, I called Mildred.
“I wasn't really going anyway,” she said, when I explained that the danger was now past. “I'll see you in the morning,” she said.
“If you want to take the time off,” I said, “you've earned it.”
“And let the office go to pot?”
I smiled. “Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?”
“You know what would be nice, though ...”
“What's that?”
“Some more of those Krispy Kreme donuts.”
Mildred wasn't a dimwit, failing to understand the gravity of what had just happened. She understood it quite well. But she also understood the need for balance and perspective and knew how to refocus things so that stress levels went down just a little.
“The closest Krispy Kreme shop,” I said, “is five miles away in Burbank.”
“Once a week?”
I chuckled. “Okay. Once a week. How about on Friday mornings?”
“Perfect way to start a Friday,” she said.
“Done,” I said. “But if you start gaining weight, don't blame me.”
“Huh. I'm too old to gain weight. And even if I did, you're too much of a gentleman to notice.”
“Too much of a gentleman to say anything maybe ...”
She was quiet for a brief moment. Then, “You all right?”
“Yeah. I'm okay ... about Esposito, anyway. If I don't find Monica soon, though, I may explode.”
“You'll find her. Be patient. Do what you do best. Now that Esposito's out of the picture, you can focus all your energies on Monica. You'll find her.”
The woman was a rock. Kind and gentle, but tough as nails. “Thank you, Mildred. See you in the morning.”
Frank arrived with another homicide detective. He noticed my shoulder wound. The bullet had torn through my corduroy jacket and taken a layer of skin with it. Second time that had happened in the last couple of months. I’d have to get another new jacket.
“That need attention?” Frank asked, nodding toward my shoulder.
I shook my head. “Just a scratch,” I said.
Alex and I chatted with him for a moment, giving him the short version. He asked us to give our statements to the detective. The M.E. arrived just as we finished.
While we gave our statements, Frank had been going over the scene, noticing all the details—my Jeep, the Tahoe, the dead men, the bullet holes. He didn't have an eidetic memory like Alex, but when he focused on a crime scene, it was like he took mental photographs from every angle. He would file the photos away and a year later, he would be able to access the file, look at the photos, and describe the scene down to the minutest detail. It was a skill I envied.
<
br /> Only when he finished examining the crime scene did Frank rejoin Alex and me.
“Anything else that might shed some light on what happened here?” Frank asked.
“I had people on Esposito for a couple of days,” Alex said. “Evidently, he or his people spotted my people. My agent said three guys in a black Tahoe showed up at his Malibu home around nine this morning and left about ten minutes later. The agent didn't see what was happening, but evidently one of the three stayed behind and Esposito came out with the other two, dressed like the guy who stayed behind. He wanted to be personally involved in the hit.”
“Okay,” Frank said. “I think we've got what we need on this matter. How are you coming on finding Monica?”
I gave him an abbreviated update.
“Branch is still looking,” he said. “There just doesn't seem to be a trail to follow.”
“I know. That's why we haven't found her yet.”
He nodded. “Well, anything you need from me ...”
“Thanks, Frank.”
“Okay,” he said, “we're done here. You guys take care.”
We went to inspect my Jeep. It was full of bullet holes. None of the bullets had hit the tires, so technically it might have been drivable, depending on whether or not any slugs hit any vital engine parts. However, it was nosed into the gym and the Tahoe sat behind it. No way to back it out. And the Tahoe was going to be where it was for some time yet.
“I'll get someone to drive us back to your apartment,” Alex said. “Then we'll take my car to get you a rental. Tomorrow you can have this taken to a repair shop.” He surveyed the damage again. “I suspect, though, that your insurance will declare it a total loss. You'll have to buy another one.”
“Okay,” I said, regretfully. I loved my little black Wrangler. I’d just gotten it good and broken in. “You get us a ride. I'll get everything out of it.”
I retrieved my extra gun from under the seat, cleaned out the glove compartment, got our gym bags from the back, and got my CDs from the console compartment. There was also a bowl and some water bottles for Wilson in the back. I got everything and waited until a patrol car showed up with Alex riding in the passenger seat. I shoved all my stuff in and then slid into the seat.
Alex drove me to Alamo. I rented a Jeep Wrangler. They didn’t have a black one. I had to settle for silver. We went back to my apartment.
“You hungry?” I asked as we went inside.
“Starving.”
“I'll call Papa's and have them bring a pizza and some salad.”
While we waited for our dinner to be delivered, I bandaged my shoulder wound and then I called my insurance company and explained what had happened. I gave them the Jeep’s location. They said they’d have it picked up and taken to a repair shop. An adjuster would look at it tomorrow and make a determination. They’d get back with me.
We were in the middle of a pepperoni pizza and an antipasto salad when someone knocked on the door. Wilson barked and went to the door, sniffing at the bottom of it in an attempt to discern the identity of our caller. He looked at me and wagged his tail as I approached the door.
I opened the door and Heidi smiled and said, “Hi, Jake.”
Heidi was wearing a pair of small red shorts and a pink tank top that revealed quite a bit of her more than ample bosom. Her shoulder length blond hair was silky and framed a nearly perfect face: prominent cheek bones, full lips, straight teeth, a nose that fit her face, and blue eyes that made the sky jealous.
“Hi, Heidi. Come in.”
She paused to greet Wilson and then noticed Alex sitting at the table.
“Hi, Alex,” she said.
Alex stood. “Heidi,” he said, smiling.
“You two know each other?”
“We met when I came to visit you at the hospital,” Heidi said. “You were still out of it.”
“Evidently,” I said.
“Would you like to join us?” Alex asked. “We have plenty.”
“That salad looks good,” she said.
I got her a plate and she sat next to Alex.
“Any progress finding Monica?” she asked cautiously.
I explained our lack of progress. I also explained about Esposito.
“Just this evening?” she asked incredulously.
“Couple of hours ago,” I said.
“Wow,” she said, and took a bite of salad. “I can't believe you guys. Someone just tried to kill you. You killed them instead, and now you’re eating pizza like that sort of thing is a normal occurrence. That requires some level of mental and emotional toughness that I can’t even conceive of.”
Alex was trying to concentrate on his pizza and salad but wasn't having any luck. Heidi is a serious distraction.
She could sense Alex's interest. She looked at him more closely, as if inspecting him, and noticed the bullet hole in his shirt. “Is that a bullet hole?” she asked, alarmed.
Alex looked down for a second and then brought his eyes back up to Heidi’s. “Yes. But I was wearing Kevlar under my shirt, so I’m okay.”
“Kevlar,” she repeated.
Alex nodded.
She looked at me and then at Alex again. “You just got shot and it doesn’t seem to concern you.”
Alex shrugged, having just taken a bite of pizza.
“Are you as tough as Jake?” she asked.
He nearly choked on the bite of pizza in his mouth. After he managed to swallow it, he said. “No one's as tough as Jake.”
I gave a snort of derision and said, “That’s not true. And Alex is plenty tough. And smart.”
She felt his bicep. “Not bad,” she said, and smiled, somewhat seductively, I thought.
Alex made some lame comment and I zoned out, worrying about Monica.
After a few moments, I don’t know how long, I heard Heidi say, “Well, I need to go. I know you guys have work to do. Nice to see you again, Alex.” Her standing up to leave brought me back to the moment.
“Yeah, nice to see you,” he replied.
“Maybe we can go out sometime,” she said. “Get something to eat, see a movie?”
“Sure,” Alex managed without wetting himself. “That'd be great.”
“Got a pen?” she asked.
Alex gave her one.
She wrote her number on the pizza box. “That's my cell. Call me.”
Alex managed to say he would and Heidi left.
“I think she likes me,” Alex said.
“Amazing.”
“What, that she likes me?”
“No, that as soon as she's gone you can speak in an articulate manner.”
“Hey, you're no Don Juan yourself.”
“That's true. But I don't slobber all over myself when a pretty girl talks to me.”
“I didn't slobber. Did I slobber?”
“Almost.”
“Besides, she didn’t just talk to me. She felt my bicep and she asked me out.”
“Yes she did. And you said you’d call her. And since she’s my friend, you have to call her. And then you have to go out with her—the hottest woman you could ever hope to go out with.”
“Hey, I’ve been out with hot women before.”
“Hot. Not sweaty. There’s a difference.”
Chapter 39
Tuesday Morning
The rain that everyone thought we'd have on Monday finally came early Tuesday morning. Wilson and I ran anyway. I pushed myself to complete the four miles faster than I had been doing in the past week. I didn’t have my full strength, stamina, or speed back yet, and it was starting to annoy me. So we ran hard. Wilson loved it.
As I ran, I began to be aware of a feeling clawing its way into my consciousness. I realized it had to do with the Durranis. Mrs. Durrani was an angry woman. I understood her anger. Her son had embraced a radical form of their religion and had then been killed while betraying his country. She was angry about that. Angry at his betrayal, and probably angry with whoever—from her point of view—was resp
onsible for his death. She probably didn't know who killed him, so her anger was generalized, but she was still angry. And on top of that, now her husband was dying. She had a right to be angry. But there was something about the way she looked at me. And then, there was the automobile accident that cost one of their men his life and the other one a broken nose and an injury to his throat as well, which was why he croaked like a frog with a serious case of laryngitis. The accident had happened last Monday, the day Monica was taken. An angry mother, one employee dead and another injured on the same day Monica was taken. Coincidence? Possible. But how probable? I didn't know. Was I grasping at straws? There wasn’t anything else to grasp.
After making the coffee for Mildred, I hung around the office for a while, opening mail, answering email, and returning calls from prospective clients. Actually, I was waiting for Mildred. I wanted to make sure the black Tahoe hadn’t spooked her.
At eight thirty, Jessie called.
“Jessie,” I said, “got something for me?”
“I do,” he said. “Talked to one of our guys in New York who knows both families. He says they wouldn't waste their time or resources on something like that. Especially given the time that has lapsed. He said if they were going to retaliate, it would be against the CIA, not against the marine who pulled the trigger.”
“Okay,” I said. “I don't know why, but somehow I find that reassuring.”
“Yeah. If you can't have faith in the integrity of East Coast crime families, who can you have faith in?”
“Exactly. Hey, thanks, for checking for me.”
“No problem. Where does this leave you?”
I explained about Emal and the Hammer of Righteousness. I also told him about the Durranis.”
“Want my take on it?” Jessie asked.
“Absolutely.”
“If I were in your place, I'd take a closer look at Mrs. Durrani.”
“That's what I decided this morning while I was running.”
“If you decide to go in and you need help, call me.”
“Thanks, Jessie. I appreciate it.”
