by Dave Balcom
“When will he go to court?” I asked.
“Later today. It’s routine. His reaction doesn’t make sense. I mean it is way over the top. He’s going to do thirty days for contempt, and that’ll get knocked down to a week or two if he pays his fines. Way overreacted,” he was shaking his head.
I looked at Jan. “Remember?”
She started to shake her head, and then her eyes widened, “Reaction way over the top? Sounds very familiar; and I think we need to really get careful.”
Jensen looked from one of us to the other. “What’s this about?”
I started to give him a short history of the people I’d met in Michigan, but he interrupted. “I heard all about that from Lawton, remember? That’s how you got invited into this.”
I nodded. “Yes, shooting Lawton that time, trying to kill me in my home, setting fire to Jan’s house; all that behavior was way over the top compared to what we were investigating. It was the reaction, not any evidence we had that led us to ending that nightmare.”
“Well, bad guys make bad decisions all the time, but I agree you need to be very careful. I think you’re dancing around some really bad people.”
“We just want a line on Pedro Martini; somehow we have to figure out how to do that without knocking down a hornet’s nest.”
33
McPhee met us in the Red Lion again that night, about nine, and we walked over to the same club we’d met Georgia in the night before. There were three different girls sitting at the round table in the corner. We took the same table as the night before.
The waitress was the same, and the tip from last night hadn’t improved her attitude as she dealt coasters to each of us and waited for our order.
Before she left, she said, “Kitchen closes at eleven-thirty tonight.”
The combo was the same, and had been on break when we walked in. They came back to their corner and started playing with the easy grace of professionals.
There was no sign of a Wright Girl. We nursed our drinks for an hour before McPhee took a phone call.
“Sylva has found Monique. We’ll need to drive. I’ll pick you up outside in ten minutes.”
We waited for fifteen minutes, and then I paid the tab and we walked out into the night. It was muggy and soft after the artificial cool of the club. We waited for McPhee’s car, but when another fifteen minutes had passed, we started walking back to the hotel.
As we turned onto Washington, a black SUV pulled up beside us and the rear door opened. A young, blonde-haired man in a sports coat stepped out of the car just as we were passing, and he spoke to us. “Mr. and Mrs. Coldwell?” I turned to look at him again, and found him smiling in an apologetic way. Then I noticed the small automatic in his left hand. “Please, get into the car.”
I gently grabbed Jan by the elbow and steered her toward the open door. I could see there was only a driver in the vehicle. I appeared to usher Jan into back seat as I pulled my seven-shot Taurus out of my waist holster and pushed the muzzle into Blondie’s throat.
His eyes bulged in surprise as I took his gun from his hand. “Get in beside her,” I hissed.
“Come on, already,” the driver barked from behind the wheel. Blondie slid into the seat, and I followed him in one motion, pointing the revolver at the back of the driver’s head.
“Oh, shit,” the driver said as he turned his head and saw the three-fifty-seven magnum now pointing between his eyes.
My anger was a real thing, in my throat already and I could taste it, a vile acid taste. “Oh, shit, indeed,” I said. “Please make a move; I’m so ready to kill somebody.”
“No need to shoot, man. We’re not here to hurt you; some guys just wanted to talk to you, that’s all.”
“Then, by all means, let’s go visit them, but first I’d like Mrs. Coldwell dropped off at the hotel just down the street. Would that be okay?”
“Whatever you say, man.”
I flipped open my phone, and hit Sylva’s number in my contacts. He answered immediately. I filled him in fast, and just as we pulled into the Monaco, he said, “Don’t leave there until I call you back. I’m probably thirty minutes away. Where’s McPhee?”
“Don’t know. He went to get the car, and didn’t come back.”
“Hold the fort; cavalry is on the way.”
“What now?” The driver asked after Jan had entered the hotel.
“Now, we wait for another call.”
“Man, you didn’t call the cops, did you?”
“What do you think?”
Blondie moaned, “Man, we are so busted.”
“Listen,” the driver whined, “you really don’t want this hassle, man. The people we work for? They’re really not interested in you other than making sure you’re who you say you are.
“You know, you talked with Georgia last night, and then she gets wondering if she’s being played, so she makes a call to some friends of hers, and they just want to reassure her that you’re okay. Really.”
“My problem, pal, is that I don’t know who’s okay to your friends and who isn’t. Do you know Jerry McPhee of the Portland Police?”
The driver shrugged his shoulders. “I think I know of him. Looks like a kid, right?”
“Right. Know where he is right now?”
“No.”
“Too bad, ’cause if anything has happened to him, I’m not going to be okay as far as your friends are concerned, ’cause, like I said, I’m just itchin’ to kill somebody.”
“Please, mister,” Blondie whined. “We’re not muscle. The gun was just to reduce the talking. I wasn’t told to hurt you.”
“Pointing a weapon at me hurts my feelings. Pointing it at my wife, well, that gives me that itch.”
My phone chirped, and I flipped it open.
“Calvary is in place. Have them drive to where they were going, and then just sit in the car. Got it?”
“Roger that.”
I laid the connected phone in my lap, and waved the pistol at the driver. “Drive me where you wanted to go in the first place.”
“I’m not sure I dare to do that, man.”
“Makes no difference to me,” I said as I pulled the hammer back to full cock.
“You wouldn’t kill me right here, would you?”
“Sit here another five seconds and find out.”
He put the car in gear and slowly pulled out on the street. “How far or how long?” I asked.
“Not too long; about fifteen minutes this time of night.”
I spoke to my phone, “Did you get that?”
“We’re with you,” Sylva replied.
“Who’s with Jan?”
“A friend of mine; a good player.”
We took the entrance ramp on the northbound lane of the five, and we drove about ten minutes before we took an exit. We turned twice in the next five minutes and then pulled up in front of an apartment building.
“We here?”
The driver nodded, “Yeah, we’re here, but mister, you gotta know this is not a place you want to barge into.”
“Barge? Me? I think I was invited.”
“But not your friends. You need to think this over.”
“What apartment?”
“They’ll meet you at the front door, and take you to the meeting.”
“What apartment?”
“Man, they own all the apartments. I don’t know where the meeting is to be. I was told to drop you off, and wait here in case I needed to take you back.”
“Did you hear that?”
Sylva responded, “Just sit tight.”
We sat for about twenty minutes, and then I noticed a heavy set man had come out of the door and started walking toward our vehicle. “Who’s this coming?”
The driver looked and said, “A guy named Cisco. I don’t know the rest of his name. He works here.”
“Jim,” Sylva’s voice crackled in the quiet car. “Jim, have them get you out of there, right now. End of the street, turn left and stop
in the middle of the street. Move, now!”
“Awe, shit!” Blondie cried. The driver dropped the SUV into drive and pulled away from the curb, tires squealing.
I saw the guy they called Cisco, stop and watch us leave, and then he wheeled and turned toward the door only to find himself facing three members of the Portland SWAT team in full combat dress.
At the corner, we turned left and ran right into a barricade. The driver slammed on his brakes and we stopped just short of a crash. We were immediately surrounded by police officers with their weapons drawn.
“Roll down the windows,” I said.
I had pulled my weapon back and holstered it. I heard a calm voice from outside my window, “I saw that gun. Please hand it out here, butt first.”
I pulled it out with finger tips and handed it out as directed.
“Now I’m opening the doors. Nobody moves until the doors are completely open. Got it?”
All three of us nodded.
Another voice asked, “Which one of you is Jim Stanton? Please get out of the car as your door is opened.”
I waited, and the door next to me opened, and I turned my head. “I’m Stanton.”
“Come on out, the first voice said, and walk to the rear of the vehicle.”
When I reached the rear of the vehicle, Sylva walked up to me, “You were packin’?”
“I’m licensed.”
“Let me see it.”
“The gun? I don’t have it.”
“No, man, the license.”
I pulled my wallet, and fished the carry permit from behind my driver’s license. He held it up to his flashlight, turned it over and then handed it back. “Why does a writer need a gun?”
“It’s a long story, but I was glad to have it tonight.”
“Sergeant? You got Mr. Stanton’s weapon?”
“Yep.”
“Well give it back to him; he’s licensed to carry.”
An African-American officer walked over, and handed the weapon to me just the way I’d handed it to him. “Sorry about that, but when I saw you holster it I didn’t know if you were on our side or not.”
“No problem, sergeant. You can’t be too careful.”
“Roger, that,” he said with a smile splitting his face.
I turned to Sylva, “So now what happens?”
“We’ve got the whole place surrounded, and the driver there is giving us names and phone numbers of the people inside. Once we talk to them, we’ll give them a chance to come out quietly. If not, we’re going to go in and get ’em.
“As for you, you’re getting a ride back to your hotel. We’ll call you in for a statement tomorrow.”
“What about McPhee?”
“No word. I’m hopin’ he’s inside waitin’ for you.”
“Really?”
“His ride’s parked behind the place, so I’m hopin’.”
He said all this as he was leading me to a patrol car behind the barricade. “Corporal, please take Mr. Stanton to the Monaco on Washington, and beat it back here. Okay?”
The young officer nodded and opened the door to his cruiser. “Hop in, Mr. Stanton.”
I turned to Sylva, “Maybe I should stay. Maybe I can help...”
“Really? Really, Stanton?” He said waving his arm at the array of personnel and fire power assembled behind him, “You gonna help? Get outta here.”
I didn’t say anything; I just climbed into the back of the cruiser, which immediately sped off.
34
I wasn’t prepared for my reception back at the hotel. The officer released the door to the cruiser, and as I climbed out, he said a perfunctory “g’night.”
“You stay safe out there.”
He grunted, and sped out of the driveway, headed back to the action. I walked into the hotel, looked at the concierge desk, and wondered. Then I remembered that Blondie had hailed us as the Coldwells; Artie knew me as Stanton. Then I thought about the guy who followed me that morning. He’d picked me up at the hotel, and I couldn’t remember telling Georgia where we were staying... “Pondering the imponderable, Stanton, is the sign of an unstructured mind,” I thought.
I walked into the room and noticed a distinct chill in the air. Jan was sitting in a chair, watching something on television. I looked at it. The Weather Channel? I was not used to seeing television as ours only played once in a great while, and then it was sports or a movie.
She looked up at me, jumped out of the chair and came to me in a rush. “Are you okay?”
I tried to take her in my arms, but she resisted, leaning away and staring intently into my eyes. “Are you okay?” She said again, slowly.
“Of course. Not a hair out of place. Why are you acting like this?”
“Did you shoot anyone? Hit them? How did you get home?”
“I called the police, remember? I left my phone open and Sylva used some other phone to call his help. He had me sit outside the hotel until he had what he called the “cavalry” all set up, and then the kidnappers drove us to the place in North Portland where we were to be taken. Then we stalled for a few minutes outside the apartment building, and then Sylva had us drive down the block, and stop at a police barricade manned by fully armed SWAT cops.
“They put me in a cruiser and brought me home. That’s all there was to it.”
“Great!” She snapped and stomped back to her chair and gave all her attention to the TV.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. The little woman was out of harm’s way and big bad he-man saved the day, got the police involved, and just handled everything once he had rid himself of the little woman.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Not my best instinct, but there it was. “Are you kidding? Really? You’re mad because I didn’t want to take a chance with you in the car?”
“Take a chance? You were taking chances? Where is it written in the partnership agreement that one partner at risk is okay, but not for the other partner?
“What makes you think that it’s okay for me to sit here wondering if I’m ever going to see you again?”
I dug myself in deeper by starting to laugh again... “You mean you’re angry because you didn’t get a chance to risk injury or death?”
“No, you fool. I’m madder than a hornet that you put yourself in danger. You recognized you were going to take a chance and did it, but first you made me a safe bystander. That’s not partnership as I see it.”
I was speechless. I stood there feeling helpless.
“What have you got to say for yourself?”
Another long silence as I tried to come to grips with this moment.
“Well?”
I shook my head, held up my hands as if to say “they’re empty,” but nothing came out of my mouth for the longest time.
She sighed in disgust, and I finally spoke, “I only had one gun...”
“What?”
“I only had the one gun; I couldn’t see you or anyone going further unarmed, so I got you to safety...”
She stared at me for the longest time, and then spoke softly. “You really thought it through like that, or are you rewriting history here?”
I shook my head and went into the bathroom to take a shower. When I came out the lights were off and I could hear her softly sobbing in the bed.
I went over and turned back the covers on my side, and slid into the bed. She immediately turned toward me and buried her face in my chest. I held her there until her breathing changed, and she was asleep.
I turned away, assumed my regular fetal position as I tried to puzzle out just what had happened and what it meant. I felt totally inadequate to the moment.
“Night, sweetie,” I whispered as I dozed off.
She murmured and pressed herself tighter to my back.
The phone woke us up just before 10 a.m. It was Jensen. “How long before you can meet me downstairs,” he asked without preamble.
“Me or both of us.”
“Both, of course.
Why do you ask?”
“It’s a long story. Ten minutes for me, I’ll find out for Jan.”
Ten minutes later I walked into the lobby and found Jensen sitting with a cup of coffee in the lounge.
Jan walked in five minutes later, grabbed a cup for herself, and sat next to me, taking my free hand in hers. I felt a glimmer of hope.
“Well you guys stirred up a mess, didn’t you?”
“We did?” I said. “What happened?”
He handed me the newspaper with the front page dedicated to a police standoff at a north Portland apartment complex.
I scanned the story and found that a Portland Vice detective had been kidnapped at gun point and had the presence of mind to pocket dial his department and left the phone on while he talked with the kidnappers until he’d transmitted enough information to lead a department SWAT squad to effect his rescue.
“Good stuff,” I judged as I handed the paper to Jan. “How much of the whole story do they have?”
“Pretty much nothing,” Jensen answered without inflection in his voice. McPhee was tied and gagged in an otherwise unoccupied apartment. He had a pretty bad bruise on his cheek, from when he was subdued when he tried to resist being put into a car, but otherwise he was okay.
“There were forty gang members living in that complex, and they were armed to the teeth. There was no intel on these people, so PPD simply went up to the front door and asked to see the manager.
“This big guy came to lobby, said he was the building super. They showed him their search warrant, so he called upstairs and a guy who said he was the building’s lawyer reviewed the warrant and told the super to open all the doors for them.
“The first room they went to, the only ground-floor apartment, and there was McPhee.
“PPD started arresting everyone they came to, even the lawyer, and ended up with a busload of gang bangers they took to the Hall and spent the rest of the night processing.
“They found several hundred weapons, including a handheld rocket launcher, but no rockets, a lot of drugs, and computers that they impounded as evidence in the kidnapping of a police officer.”
“Any reference to The Outfit?” I asked.
“No references at all. Not one word from the entire group, including the lawyer.”
