by Tom Schreck
“What bombing?”
“It was foiled-it had to do with some extremist group.”
“Charming,” I said.
“That’s not all, Duff. He killed a guy in prison. They ruled it self-defense. The guy’s throat was slit from ear to ear.”
“Oh good. Anything on the black guy?”
“Duff-all I know is that he’s a black guy with the name Tyrone,” Jerry sipped his Cosmo. “Most search engines don’t turn up a lot of good information with that query,” Jerry said.
He was right, of course, but after working with Jerry on computer stuff, I think I kind of believed he could find out anything.
“Jerry, one more thing. Can you find out as much as you can about a Rhonda Bowerman, the director of the Jewish Unified Services in Eagle Heights?” I gave Jerry the address.
“You got a social security number?”
“No.”
“All right, but it will take a bit of time.”
“As fast as possible, if you could. Anything on exactly when the webcast is going down?”
“No, just the same sick shit advertising.”
I thanked Jerry and sat for a moment with my Schlitz. I had to go ask Kelley questions that he wouldn’t like, and though I wasn’t looking forward to it, I copied the information down Jerry gave me. Kelley was watching ESPN Classic’s ABA feature. The Kentucky Colonels were up against the Virginia Squires and even though Ticky Burden had thirty-six points, his Squires were still down by eighteen. I sat next to Kelley, but if he saw me, he didn’t acknowledge my presence.
“Kel?”
“Hey Duff.”
“Anything about the website and the child porn stuff?”
“The sergeant told me to stop trying to be a hero and just do my job. He said he’d turn it over to the sex crime task force.”
“Here’s some information Jerry got on the pickup and the bald guy.”
“Oh great, now you got Jerry working for you, illegally obtaining information. What’s next? You going to have the whole Fearsome Foursome form a SWAT team? They can talk all the villains to death.”
I filled Kelley in on everything as fast as I could, just in case, and then I left him alone. I finished off my Schlitz and headed home.
34
The next morning I went to see Rudy and borrowed his new Lincoln Navigator. I wanted Jerry to be able to reach me the very second he found something out about Bowerman and when he figured out when the webcast was going to go down. I thought the best use of my time was to find out for certain if Dunston and Baldy were one in the same and if he lived at the address Jerry gave me.
In New York State, when someone lives on a street that has a road number instead of a name, it’s a pretty good bet that they live in a very remote spot. Dunston probably lived off a series of dirt roads in a cabin, a trailer, or some sort of prefab. Pulling down a dirt road in my Eldorado and not being noticed was not going to be easy. I guess if I’m going to pursue the life of a private eye, I’m going to have to consider a new set of wheels. Until I go full time, I am going to have to borrow Rudy’s rig.
The foolish SUV weighed about ten tons, and it was hard to get used to being twenty feet in the air, driving. Rudy had power everything, a CD and cassette player, but no eight-track. Through the years, I have made a handful of Elvis cassettes for just such circumstances so I would have something to listen to. Al was happy that there were power windows because it would give him something to do.
I figured I had a couple of choices. I could stake out Bowerman and Stephanie, but there was no guarantee that they would be associated with the webcast. Stephanie had been on the website in porn poses, but there was a chance that she wouldn’t have anything to do with this event. There was still a chance that Bowerman had taken her to her house for some quasi-legitimate social work reason. I doubted that, but there was a chance.
My other option was to track down the address that Jerry had got me for Dunston. So far, it seemed to me that he was always on the scene. If there was something that needed security or enforcement, I’m guessing he was their guy. There was a chance that the bald guy wasn’t Dunston or that the address was bogus, but I decided checking in on him would be the first thing I would do. If I could determine that he really did live at the address Jerry gave me earlier, then I could decide what to do from there.
The Rd. #2 address was another seven miles east of Eagle Heights. I hoisted Al into his copilot seat, which, with the height of the Navigator, was no easy trick. Al really liked Rudy’s SUV. He sat right up and looked out over the dashboard while hitting all the power switches, making the doors lock, the windows go up and down, and the moonroof slide back.
At ten, I made the turn off Route 44 and started to head down the dirt roads. I got to the end of County Road #2 and decided to walk in the rest of the way. The Navigator wasn’t as conspicuous as the orange Eldorado, but out in these boonies another breathing human being was noticed.
I left Al in the SUV and headed in. There were worn-looking houses with appliances on the front lawns, old rusted car chassis, and dogs tied on chains. There were houses about every five hundred yards. Most of them looked like two-bedroom deals laid on slabs. At least half of them had a motorcycle or snowmobile or both on the front lawn.
About a mile and a half in, I came upon Dunston’s house and sure enough, the white pickup truck was parked outside his dirty white house. He had a homemade carport with three motorcycles in various states of disrepair underneath it. His lawn was overgrown, and there was a rusted refrigerator that the grass had grown around.
I stayed back a couple hundred yards and tried to take in as much as I could. I wasn’t exactly sure what to look for, but I felt compelled to study his house, make a clear mental image, and store it in my brain. When I felt I had it, I went back to the Navigator.
Al was sleeping as the soundtrack to Blue Hawaii played on. Over the last three weeks, Al seemed to mellow out when Elvis went into “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” I wasn’t sure what to do next, but I felt like it was time to check in on the Eagle Heights clinic. I figured Bowerman might have taken Stephanie back there. I hit the McDonald’s drive-through on the way there, and Al and I split two quarter-pounders with cheese and an order of fries that was big enough to feed a family of six.
I parked a block and a half away from the clinic. My new wheels made hanging out without being noticed easier. Sure enough, Bowerman’s blue BMW was parked outside. Staring at the front door of the clinic for the next four hours wasn’t easy, and I was going out of my mind with boredom. My lower back was starting to ache and I had to take a leak.
It was almost four o’clock, and just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Bowerman left through the front door of the clinic. I watched her head to the parking lot, but instead of getting in the BMW, she went for the clinic van. She was alone.
She took off in the same direction that she did last night when she went home. I followed her from a safe distance and she took the exact same route.
I was a quarter mile behind her when she turned into her development. I didn’t follow her, I kept going straight. There was only one way out of the development and there was no point in risking getting spotted. I did a U-turn and parked off the side of the country road, a half-mile down from the entrance to the development.
I waited. I had already spent about eight hours in the car today, most of it doing absolutely nothing. I don’t know how guys make a career doing this sort of shit because it was making me crazy.
I killed time devising strategies for beating some of the all-time best fighters. I figured to beat Robinson I would crowd him and make him move to his left. That would make me vulnerable to his hook, but it was worth the chance. Against Joe Louis-easy, I would give him a lot of side-to-side movement. With Ali, I’d be all over him with elbows, forearms, and cuffs. He hated the rough stuff. I was just about to beat Marvelous Marvin Hagler when the phone rang.
“Duff-it’s going down tonight, at
eight thirty,” Jerry said.
“Shit. What else can you tell me?”
“Duff,” Jerry was speaking fast. “They’re saying all sorts of sick shit about what’s going to happen to Shony. She’s the feature and there’s three other girls about the same age.”
“It’s a little after four. That gives me four hours.”
I hung up and watched Bowerman pull out of her development.
35
Bowerman headed back the same way she came. My mind was racing and my stomach flipped. I had a heart-pounding desire to do something, I just didn’t know what.
Bowerman went straight back to the clinic and went inside. She stayed in there for about forty-five minutes while I waited down the block for her. She came out alone, but with several duffel bags and headed back out. Al must’ve picked up on my nervous energy because he was sitting up, looking over the dashboard, rocking back and forth like he was trying to see what I was getting excited about.
It was now five thirty and Bowerman was headed out on another county route to God knows where. I had a horrible fear that I was following the wrong person and that I wasn’t even going to be near a place where I could help Shony. The phone rang again.
“Duff,” it was Jerry. “I found some shit out on Bowerman.”
“What is it?”
“First of all, Bowerman is her maiden name. Her married name is something else.”
“What?”
“Dunston. She’s married to the bald guy.”
“Holy shit-anything else?’
“I can’t find any record of her social worker certification. She’s listed as one in several employment references, but when you go to the Department of State website she’s not listed. I’m betting a lot of nonprofits never actually check certifications. There are also gaps on jobs and residences.”
“Jerry, the second you find anything else, call me.”
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.
I followed Bowerman as she headed south for about fifteen minutes. She then turned off the main road on to another series of dirt roads. I laid back and gave her a good mile head start because I didn’t want to get caught following her. I made two left-hand turns and wound up at a fork. It was hard to see, but when I pulled up close enough to read the street sign everything started to come together. I was outside County Road #2, exactly where I was this morning. Bowerman had just gone a different way to get here. She had come to meet her husband.
I drove the SUV down the road and parked it on the side in the tall grass. If I was going to go to Dunston’s house, I was going to have to do so without being noticed. I was also concerned about being able to maneuver Rudy’s car on these narrow dirt roads. If I played it wrong, it wouldn’t be hard to be cornered or run off the road.
I went in on foot and I didn’t waste any time. I left Al in the SUV, which he wasn’t pleased about, but I didn’t want anything else to think about.
I ran, trying to make up for the time I lost trailing Bowerman. I got within a hundred yards of Dunston’s house in about six or seven minutes. The van was parked behind the white truck and there were lights on in the house. I thought I heard some conversation, and I could see the silhouettes of several heads through the living room shade.
After about five minutes, Bowerman came out the front door with four young girls behind her in single file followed by Dunston and Tyrone. From where I stood, it looked like Shony was last in line, closest to Dunston. They loaded the kids into the van, Tyrone got in the driver’s seat and Bowerman rode shotgun. Dunston drove the pickup truck. They pulled out together and headed up the dirt road.
I gave them just a minute to get out of sight and I sprinted up the road behind them. I didn’t want to be seen, but I was more afraid of losing them. It was about five o’clock and the webcast was due to start in a matter of hours.
They must have been going pretty fast, despite the dirt roads, because before I knew it, I had no sight of them. I had misjudged how fast they’d be moving, and now I was scared I had blown it.
I sprinted the mile back to the SUV. When I got within a couple hundred feet of the Navigator, I could hear Al and he was going off in a big way. He must have caught sight of Dunston’s truck and remembered his visit. When I got closer to the SUV, it obviously was something else.
Parked in front of the Navigator was the silver Crown Vic, and as I got to it my two old friends banged open the doors and headed straight toward me.
“Dombrowski, what did I tell you?” Pockmark said without breaking his angry stride. “I tried to warn you.”
That was it.
I had had it with this asshole. It was clear that he thought he was some sort of badass, probably because of his badge, but I’ve learned that when someone thinks he’s a badass, he picks up bad habits. Pockmark stormed at me, all full of piss and vinegar like I was supposed to shit my pants in fear. During his strut he got lazy reaching for his gun.
I rushed him hard and fast and he wasn’t ready. His eyes went wide and he went back on his heels, and that was just what I wanted. I faked a right by just cocking my shoulder and drilled him with a straight left. That was all it took and he went down and out.
“Hands in the air!” Blondie yelled. I had forgotten that he was even there. I looked him straight in the eye and he was trembling. Even though he was in a textbook shooter’s crouch like you see on TV, something in his body language told me there was no way he could pull the trigger.
There was too much adrenaline in my system to feel fear. Al was barking and I was focused on Shony.
“Hands in the air!” Blondie said with even less conviction.
I ran to the Navigator and took off. In the rearview mirror, Blondie went to check on his partner, and at that moment I’m sure he felt he had made a poor career choice. Lucky for me that I had come across a fresh academy grad with no stomach for the job.
Al was beside himself with a bad case of sensory overload. There was the sight of Dunston, the Crown Vic boys, and me belting Pockmark. That was a lot of stress in his world, but I didn’t have time to be real nurturing and I floored the SUV, barely keeping control on the dirt roads.
I came out on Route 44 and took a guess and went left. I had the SUV up to ninety-five, which on a country route is pretty frightening. After a few minutes, I saw some tail lights up ahead and I slowed. I didn’t want to kill any innocent bystanders, but also I didn’t want Dunston and his gang knowing it was me. I followed the taillights from a quarter-mile distance for another fifteen minutes until they went around a bend very close to the entrance to the town.
I was just a few hundred feet before the stoplight that marked the beginning of Kingsville and there was no one at the light. They were nowhere in sight and a shot of panic raced through me. I went another block through town, trying to keep the vehicle at a speed that would get me somewhere fast but allow me to keep looking for things.
I was coming up on the new halfway house, and what I saw made the little hairs on my neck stand up.
There, in the small halfway house parking lot, was Bowerman’s van and Dunston’s truck.
36
I parked the Navigator three blocks away from the parking lot and killed the engine. Al recognized the pickup truck and started whining and shifting his weight back and forth again. I called Jerry to see if he had any new information. He said he was still working on it, but I let him know that I was outside the halfway house and I was getting ready to go in.
When I shut off the cell phone, I saw Dunston come out to the van and get the duffel bags that Bowerman had loaded. Then he went to the back of his pickup and got three tripods and a couple of brackets that held lighting. This was it; this was where the webcast was going down.
I sat in the Navigator trying to think things through. Chances were that there was going to be more than just a few people in there. Shit, Dunston was enough to worry about, let alone if he had any friends with him. I had ejected my Elvis tape and had the radio tuned in to
the Yankees pre-game show. It was September 11 and the Yankees were playing the Mariners. They were doing a special moment of silence before the game. It was ironic-this was the game Gabbibb had offered me tickets to. Funny what a difference a couple of weeks made. Up until a little while ago, I was convinced the guy was about to set off a dirty bomb and ruin my hometown and maybe a good stretch of New York with it. Then, I thought of Clogger’s routine and how much it had changed his life around for him. I don’t know if he was the poster child for recovery, but he did seem to be happy with the slight changes he had made in his life. He had his wings back, he got to be involved with the Yankees, and was even making a decent buck flying Gabbibb’s electronic shit.
Hold it-
Clogger’s been delivering packages of electronic stuff for Gabbibb
… He flies over Yankee Stadium, circling in front of sixty-thousand fans, before he delivers the packages to Staten Island…
I called Jerry.
“Yo, Sesame Street, this is Bert.”
“Jerry-how do you set off a dirty bomb?”
“You do it like you would a conventional device.”
“How?”
“Uh… let’s see, a remote device, an electronic transmitter… anything really… the new trend in the Mid-East is cell phones.”
“Oh no…”
“What’s the matter?”
“Clogger is delivering a box for Gabbibb. Gabbibb has given him a cell phone. Gabbibb may be setting off a dirty bomb in Clog’s plane with Clog in it over Yankee Stadium.”
“Holy shit… That would kill thousands and make the area around the stadium uninhabitable for years. But I thought they got the guys with the explosives and the radioactive shit,” Jerry said.
“Gabbibb has all that shit at his disposal through the hospital and the medical college. It’s got to be what’s happening.”
I signed off with Jerry and started to dial the FBI number. I stopped before I finished. If they knew Clogger was carrying a bomb they’d blow him out of the sky. I had to call Clogger.
