Twisted: Nick Stryker Series, Book Two The Shallow End Gals

by Vicki Graybosch

  Dom had regained his composure and asked, “Did you say homicide? Who died?”

  Nick leaned forward, “Your banker’s wife for one. Seems your ‘crew’ can’t protect anyone.” Nick shook his head, “Again, very disappointing. What do you know about that murder?”

  Dom twisted his mouth to a snarl, “I don’t know anything.”

  Nick spoke to Jen, “He doesn’t know anything.” Nick looked back to Dom, “How about your attorney? James Baxter? Know anything about his murder last night?”

  Dom repeated, “I don’t know anything about that murder either.”

  Nick chuckled, “Seems you don’t know much about your own people. How about Carson? Got out of jail yesterday and got murdered. I suppose you don’t know anything about that.”

  Dom smiled, “You’re right, I don’t know anything.”

  Nick smiled back, “I’m sure you think you are coming across as clever. I don’t buy it. I believe you really don’t know. It might be time to admit that you have lost control of this ‘crew’ of yours.”

  Dom stopped smiling and leaned forward, “Do you have what you need? Have I answered all of your questions?”

  Nick stood, “Just one more. Were you aware that your attorney was a middle man for hits? We’ve documented ten this year and we’ve just begun digging.”

  Dom’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared almost instantly. “I wouldn’t know what our attorney did in his free time.”

  “Making 50 grand a pop and paying the shooter 25 grand cash each time. What would your piece of that be? Or has that been going on under your nose, too?”

  Dom lowered his chin and looked up at Nick with lasers. “If I hear anything, I’ll call you. What’s your name?”

  Nick pulled a card from his pocket, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that. The name is Stryker.”

  Dom’s nostrils flared. He lifted the card and read the name again. He looked at Nick. “I might have heard that name before somewhere.”

  Nick motioned for Jen to leave. He leaned over the table and put his weight on his fists on the table top. He was within inches of Dom’s face. Nick lowered his voice. “You have heard the name before.” Nick glared at Dom. “Now you’re going to hear it until you go to hell.”

  Nick lifted the two guns from the bar. “These are mine. Have your girls get permits.”

  Nick joined Jen in the car. Jen was talking fast in her excitement. “That was awesome! Thanks for letting me take the lead.” She smiled, “That big one will be teased about that for a while.” Jen giggled.

  Nick chuckled at her excitement and pulled the car from the curb. “What body language did you notice?”

  Jen got thoughtful. “I think when you mentioned Baxter ordering hits, he was surprised. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He also started to bounce his right foot.”

  Nick nodded in agreement. “I couldn’t see the foot from where I was, but I agree the nostril flare is his tell.” Nick glanced over, “Have you found out anything about Billow?”

  “I’ve found out that our prison system is a mess. Since the budget cuts in 2012, the state has shifted as many of the mental prisoners as possible to private facilities. That includes troublemakers they want to get rid of. They just have the prison shrink declare them crazy and away they go. The prisoners know this, too. It’s their ‘get out of jail’ card. When it comes to the criminally insane, nobody wants them. Nobody is prepared to deal with them. Did you know those prisoners have the right to refuse medication? So far I’ve tracked Billow to four different facilities. At least in our system he is still classified as dangerous.”

  Nick wasn’t convinced that Billow was crazy. He was a killer with a vendetta. He had been raised in a good family, but was an underachiever and certainly demonstrated personality disorders, but that’s not crazy.

  “I know what I saw, Jen. He’s out.”

  * * *

  Gus could only think of one guy that would pay what he wanted for the guns. Alex. Alex’s drug business was growing by leaps and bounds. He had already toppled four competing gangs. Alex was the ‘man’ if you wanted pharmaceuticals. He had everything the street wanted, including an endless supply. Gus pulled up in front of the known safe house and waited for someone to come outside. Moments later a young man walked over to his driver’s window and asked, “What you need?”

  Gus pointed to the back of the Jeep. “I’ve got some guns to sell to Alex.”

  “I’ll be back, man. You wait here.”

  Alex walked out the front door clutching a handful of raw broccoli. Gus met him at the Jeep’s back door and pulled out the long rifle.

  Alex took a huge bite of the broccoli and nodded. “Old school. Best made sniper gun ever. How much you want?”

  Gus swallowed, “I’d like five grand for all three guns.”

  Alex tossed the remaining broccoli in the street and examined the guns closer. “I ain’t even interested in these other two. What kind of history I got to worry about?”

  Gus smiled, “Belonged to an old man that be dead now. It’s been stored in an attic for at least 20 years.”

  Alex smelled the rifle. “With the numbers filed off? Been kept clean and shot recently. I was gonna offer you two grand ‘til you lied to me. Five hundred bucks. Take it or leave it.”

  Gus sighed, “I’ll take it.”

  Alex lifted the rifle and looked at his friend. “Pay the man.”

  * * *

  Jake Billow watched as Alex talked to some guy in a Jeep. He looked at his watch and moaned. He was running late. Elmhurst would be furious. He had spent hours last night on his computer researching everything he could find on Nick Stryker and had overslept.

  Finally Alex went back in the house and the guy in the Jeep drove away. Jake parked in the drive, grabbed the pillowcase and knocked on the door.

  A young man opened the door and yelled, “The man be here.”

  Jake pushed his way in and met Alex in the kitchen of the house. Jake sat the pillow case on the table and said, “I want 300 grand for these drugs, and that rifle.” Now that Jake was close enough to see the rifle he wanted it.

  Alex wasn’t going to argue. Not many people scared him, but this guy had passed crazy three miles back. Alex looked in the pillowcase and smiled. “Pay the man.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Wednesday 10:00 a.m.

  He rubbed his temples in the hope that it would stop the ringing sound in his ears. Light blasted through his fluttering eyelashes. This room was much larger than the one before. On the wall across from his cot, a door was partially open. He leaned to the left to see what was in there. It looked like the side of a shower stall. There was a pile of folded clothes on a bench, a pair of shoes sat waiting on the floor. A stack of towels had been crowned with a folded note. He fought to sit up straight. He had to get to that note. It felt as if his head had been shot with a machine gun. Wincing in pain, he lowered himself slowly back to the mattress and pulled the blanket over his head. More sleep, just a little more sleep.

  * * *

  Renee knocked a second time on Dr. Elmhurst’s door and then slowly turned the knob to enter. She was surprised it wasn’t locked and that he wasn’t at work yet. She had just spent the last hour updating patient charts. Many had not had any entries for over a month. Others had entries that didn’t make any sense. Surely Dr. Elmhurst could explain to her if they had changed systems or something.

  Renee noticed a file on the corner of the desk that had a tab that said “Budget”. She glanced at the door and used her pen to lift the cover just enough to read the top page. The report was covered in childlike cartoon drawings. A red pen had been used to make deep hash marks over many entries. Names were written in the margins with skulls drawn next to them. Obviously someone had vandalized his reports. She let the file cover drop and walked to the door. She opened it and came toe to toe with Dr. Elmhurst.

  Startled, Renee stuttered, “Dr. Elmhurst, I was going to leave you a note and decided
against it.”

  Dr. Elmhurst smiled, “Please, take a seat and we can discuss whatever your concern is.” Renee cringed when Billow followed them into the room. She had met him when she first transferred to Building D. He seemed to follow Dr. Elmhurst around the facility and do little else. He gave her the creeps more than the patients did.

  “You know our Assistant Administrator, Dr. Bates, don’t you?” Dr. Elmhurst gestured toward Billow and seated himself at his desk. He nearly chuckled at introducing Billow as a doctor. Billow nodded at Renee and took a position to lean against the wall. Renee could feel the heat of his stare on her face and travel down her body. She couldn’t imagine his bedside manner as a doctor.

  Dr. Elmhurst opened his center drawer, pulled out a file and opened it. “You’ve been with Brookfield Place for two years. RN, transferred to Building D from Building A almost a month ago. This has been quite a culture shock I would imagine.”

  Building A was for the highest functioning patients, many having been placed there by other mental health agencies and not the courts. They had the largest staff and were located the closest to the campus police.

  Renee nodded.

  Dr. Elmhurst continued, “We were fortunate that our offer to double your pay rate was attractive enough for you to transfer to us. What can I help you with today?”

  Renee didn’t appreciate the way Dr. Elmhurst pointed out her financial status. His tone clearly indicated that her pay rate should trump any complaints she might have.

  “The medical charts for the patients are incomplete. Some are missing. Half of the patients are not wearing identification bracelets. I’ve left notes for the other shifts but no one has responded.” What she wanted to say was that in three weeks she had concluded the entire place was in chaos.

  Dr. Elmhurst smiled. “Well, I believe you have discovered why Nurse Nancy is no longer with us. I found her a nice enough gal, but a procrastinator on the paperwork. Of course, you know that many of our patients don’t really require medical monitoring and many refuse medications. Dr. Bates and I have been discussing the need to get records and communications more in order, however, I appreciate your initiative in volunteering to take this project on.”

  Renee was stunned. She had not volunteered and was not remotely qualified. “Perhaps we can have a meeting of the full medical staff for assistance and input?”

  Billow chuckled from across the room.

  Dr. Elmhurst smiled, “At the moment you, Dr. Bates and I are officially the entire staff for Building D. I have been waiting for authority from the state to make the needed additions.”

  Renee was shocked. “I am the only staff nurse for Building D? Who does my duties when I’m not here?”

  “We utilize staff from Buildings B and C when needed. We also have some highly functioning patients that fill those needs. Like Ryan.”

  “Ryan is a patient?” Renee’s mind was reeling. “Did you know that Joshua killed Jane and then himself this morning? Ryan and two patients tried to intervene to stop him.”

  Dr. Elmhurst nodded. “Yes, the campus police sent me a text earlier. A most unfortunate incident. That’s what I mean about some of our patients being high functioning. Many of these people were professionals before they became prisoners. Proper medication can make all of the difference. With our budget, we need them.”

  Dr. Elmhurst interrupted Renee’s thoughts. “I believe another 30 days will show some marked improvements. Dr. Bates and I had just been discussing the extra burden that has been placed on you. We have decided to double your pay for this next 30 days. Does that satisfy your immediate concerns?”

  Renee glanced at Dr. Bates and back to Dr. Elmhurst. Something was beyond crazy at this place and it wasn’t the patients. Dr. Elmhurst had just offered her a bribe to stop asking questions. She decided to say whatever would get her out of the office. “That would go a long way in satisfying my concerns.”

  Dr. Elmhurst’s crooked smile sent a chill up her spine. She closed the office door behind her and took a deep breath. She was going to find out what was really going on at Brookfield Place.

  After Renee left the office Billow took her seat and said, “She’s a problem. It won’t take her long to figure out that I’m not a doctor.”

  Dr. Elmhurst opened the file on his desk marked ‘Budget’, grabbed his red pen and wrote Renee’s name in the margin and sketched a skull next to it.

  Billow smiled, “When?”

  * * *

  Lacey had made arrangements to take the day off from work to deal with her niece, Kamber. Nick had taken the news of Kamber’s surprise visit well. He probably was so tired he hadn’t really been listening. Lacey smiled as she made herself another cup of tea. She had practically burst with pride when the news announcer described Nick as a fearless hero for the people of Chicago. Lacey thought he was movie star handsome with his dark hair and cobalt blue eyes, yet he didn’t seem to know it. There wasn’t a vain bone in Nick’s body. He wasn’t a hero, it was his job, his duty; he was a part of a team.

  Lacey’s phone rang and the caller ID displayed her sister Joyce’s name. Lacey had called Joyce last night to let her know Kamber was okay. “Kamber is in the shower. Tell me what’s going on.” Lacey sat down and listened as Joyce explained her frustrations with Kamber this last year.

  “Lacey, I don’t know how to thank you. Maybe you can help her ‘find herself’. She’s all over the place emotionally. She doesn’t listen to me.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever I can. How long do you think she’ll want to stay?”

  “Forever is what she told me! She thinks Chicago has the answers to all her problems. All she talks about is living near you in a real city. She has my financial support if she wants an apartment of her own. Just make sure it’s in a good area.”

  Lacey was surprised by her sister’s attitude. It sounded as if she had already resolved to accept Kamber never coming back. She sounded defeated and broken.

  Kamber stood in the kitchen doorway, wrapped in a towel and dripping water on the hardwood floors. “Is that mom? Tell her I’m not a baby. She doesn’t have to call and check up on me!” Kamber turned around quickly and slammed the bathroom door.

  Lacey sighed, “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah. You know she left and didn’t even leave me a note? By the time I heard from you, I was ready to call the police.”

  Lacey remembered her own stage of independent rebellion and smiled. “Look, Joyce, let’s give this a couple of weeks and see where things go. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to her much yet. Remember how I used to be?”

  Joyce gave a short chuckle. “That’s my problem. I do remember how you used to be.”

  Lacey used the time that Kamber was in the shower to place a call to Nick’s dad, Martin. She had explained to him that Kamber had moved to Chicago to become a famous photographer and film director, but had no formal training. Martin had suggested that she take his creative film class that had just started. He said he could help her enroll under a special audit status.

  Kamber joined Lacey in the kitchen and waited silently while Lacey finished reading a legal brief. Lacey looked up and Kamber blurted, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I spout off like that. And I slammed your door. I’m acting like a child.”

  Lacey frowned, “You just took all of my fun away. Now I can’t scold you.” Lacey watched as Kamber prepared a bowl of cereal and took a seat at the small table. Kamber exploded in excitement when Lacey told her about Martin’s class.

  “Are you serious? Oh, my God! When can I start?”

  “Let’s give him a call when you finish your breakfast and find out what documents you need to register. One thing at a time, pretty girl.” Lacey smiled and Kamber lifted her bowl and drank the rest of her cereal.

  Kamber had a milk mustache across her face as she took a deep breath and then declared, “Done.”

  * * *

  Dom hung up from a troubling call with his number two investment banker.
The banker had spent last night going over Travis Cummings’ computer files. There was only one irregularity, a big one. The skim from Brookfield Place had not been posted for the month, 70 thousand dollars.

  Dom hadn’t even had five minutes to think about the implications of that call when Tommy walked in. Dom leaned forward resting his elbows on the tabletop. He was furious that Tommy would presume he could talk to him without making prior arrangements.

  Dom shouted, “Don’t you know the Feds are probably following you? You bring those problems here?”

  Tommy held his hands up in despair. “I have to tell you something urgent. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Dom couldn’t imagine any information that Tommy would have that could be so important. Tommy had been in prison for 25 years and they hadn’t even missed him.

  Tommy asked, “Can we speak alone?”

  Dom nodded for his bodyguard to frisk Tommy and then move toward the door.

  Dom exhaled, “What’s so urgent?”

  Tommy clutched the edge of the table for support. He was shaking so badly Dom held his glass to keep it from tipping over. “There is a plan to kill you, Northside boss, Milo. Anthony is supposed to deliver you to an ambush.”

  Dom reached across the table and clasped both of Tommy’s hands to steady them. “Tell me more about this plan. Your loyalty will be rewarded.” Dom listened to Tommy for 20 minutes and then told him to leave. Dom motioned for the rest of his crew to stay away.

  He had to think. He had to fit this new information into what he knew. If Milo wanted to take over the Westside crew, he would certainly kill Dom’s lawyer. He might also kill Cummings’ wife to ensure the cooperation of Cummings during the transition. Of course, he would kill Cummings after he understood Dom’s operation. Milo might have worried that Carson was too loyal to Dom to be trusted. That’s probably why Carson was shot. It all made sense.

  Maybe it had already started. Maybe Cummings had given Milo the skim from the hospital. Dom leaned back and lit his cigar. He was a crew boss. The Outfit boss would have to approve Dom’s retaliation. Dom dialed the number. He was confident his request for revenge would be granted. He was ‘The Golden Boy’ of the outfit; had been since 1975. Nobody would ever come close to accomplishing what he had done that summer. Nobody.