by Chris Culver
Tallie wrote something on a notebook he took from his hip pocket.
“It’s not the policy of the Federal Government to discuss ongoing investigations with outsiders,” he said without looking up. “How did Bukoholov come up in your investigation?”
I paused before saying anything. I doubted the FBI were Bukoholov fans, but I didn’t think telling them I had shot the guy’s nephew would help me. I shrugged and shook my head as if I didn’t know, stalling. The two agents stared at me intently.
“I guess I met him in a bar.”
“The Lucky Bastard?” asked Tallie.
I nodded.
“That sounds right,” I said.
“How many meetings have you had with him?” asked Osbourne.
“Two.”
“The one at the Bastard and where else?” asked Osbourne again.
“Lieutenant Bowers arrested me yesterday, but he let me go pretty quick. Bukoholov’s brother–in–law picked me up from the station and took me to see him at his club downtown.”
The FBI agents looked at each other and nodded, but said nothing.
“What are you guys looking for?” I asked after a moment of silence. “If I know, it might help me give you the information you need.”
Tallie glanced at his partner before speaking. Osbourne shrugged.
“We’re part of an anticorruption task force,” said Osbourne. “We have reason to believe there are compromised individuals in some local agencies. When you met Bukoholov, were there ever other representatives from the Prosecutor’s Office present?”
I didn’t say anything for a second as that sunk in.
“You’re not here about drug trafficking?” I asked.
Osbourne shook his head no.
“Narcotics are no longer an agency priority. If you’d like–”
“Tell me you at least have Karen Rea and her crew in custody,” I said, interrupting the FBI agent. He looked to Bowers who shrugged.
“I’m sure we’ll get another shot with her,” said Bowers. “We caught three homicides last night, so we didn’t have the manpower to bring her crew in safely. You’re lucky you still had a detective watching you.”
“So what, you let everyone go?”
“We didn’t let anybody go,” said Bowers, his neck red. “As soon as Detective Doran flashed his cruiser’s lights, the bitch dropped you and took off. Doran drove you to a hospital because he thought you had been poisoned. He might have saved your life.”
I paused a moment, thinking, and then panned my gaze to the two FBI agents.
“Bukoholov has a poker game downtown at a club called Mist,” I said. “It’s in the back room. Go on a Friday or Saturday night, and you’ll probably find someone interesting.”
Tallie shifted on his feet and nodded.
“Anything else you can tell us?” he asked.
“Those homicides IMPD caught last night,” I said. “Were two of them in Military Park?”
“Yeah,” said Bowers, crossing his arms. “What do you know?”
I ran my tongue across my teeth before speaking.
“When you get ballistics, they’ll match a Glock Seventeen registered to me.”
Even the FBI guys raised their eyebrows at that. Bowers walked to stand beside my bed.
“Are you confessing something?” Bowers asked.
I shook my head no and coughed, clearing my throat.
“You confiscated the firearm when you arrested me yesterday.”
Tallie glared at Bowers.
“I thought you had your station under control,” he said.
“I thought I did,” said Bowers, his face blank. The room was silent for another second.
“Make sure Lieutenant Bowers has your current contact information,” said Tallie, tearing his glare from Bowers and directing it towards me. “We’ll talk again soon.”
The two FBI agents left, leaving me alone with Bowers. His skin sagged on his neck and jowls, and his hair was graying. He looked older than he had a week earlier if that was possible. For a moment, I thought he was going to stare at me and then leave, but eventually, he opened his mouth.
“How you doing, Ash?”
“Peachy. I didn’t know we were on a first name basis, Mike.”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, straightening up. He pulled my cell phone out of an interior pocket in his jacket and put it on the end table beside my bed. “This beeped every five minutes last night, so I turned it off to save your battery. You should check your messages more often.”
I reached over and picked up the phone. For a moment, I thought I saw something in Bowers’ face that resembled actual human emotion. It was almost a pained expression, but it was gone before I caught more than a glimmer.
“Thanks,” I said after a pause. “You look like you could use some sleep.”
“No rest for the weary. See you later, Rashid.”
Bowers left after that, and I sank into my pillows. My plan had been an abysmal failure on nearly every level. I rubbed sleep out of my eyes and sighed. Karen won. That’s what it came down to in the end. I gave the case my best shot and all I got out of it was a five–minute meeting with two FBI agents intent on arresting a politician. Hopefully somebody else would pick things up later, but I was done. I loved Rachel. She was a good girl, and she would have done good things with her life, but there wasn’t anything else I could do for her. If God wanted justice for her, He was on His own. All I had left to do was put my life back together while I still had one.
I turned on my cell phone and glanced at the screen. As Bowers had said, somebody had left me a message. It was a text from a number I hadn’t seen before. It was short, but it had a picture along with it. I stared at it for a while, my hands feeling numb. Eventually, I dropped the phone and closed my eyes.
Karen had Hannah and Megan.
Chapter 24
Call me. Tell no one. – KR
The picture accompanying Karen’s message was grainy, and the colors were off, but it clearly showed my daughter and wife. They were in a car with black leather seats. Megan slept in her car seat, while my wife sat beside her. Hannah’s back was straight, and her eyes were dull. I thought the picture was fake until I saw my wife’s hands. She held them at her waist, so the photographer probably hadn’t even seen them. Her left hand was flat, while her right was balled into a fist on top with her thumb pointing up. It looked as if she were playing paper, rock, scissors with my daughter, but the message was clear. Before Megan could talk, we had taught her some basic signs so she could communicate. Hannah was giving one of the few I remembered.
Help me.
For a moment, I couldn’t form a coherent thought, and my stomach felt as if I had stepped off a cliff. I stayed like that for a few minutes, my hands shaking and my throat dry. Eventually I managed to collect myself enough to pound the return call button. Karen picked up on the third ring.
“Mr. Rashid, I’m glad to hear from you so soon.”
I tried to speak, but my voice didn’t work at first. I licked my lips and swallowed hard.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“This and that. Before I say anything else, though, I want to tell you one thing,” said Karen. “Your daughter is adorable. She’s been telling us stories since eight this morning when she got up. And you’d better watch out because I think she has a boyfriend at day care.”
Every muscle in my body felt rigid. I gripped the phone tight.
“If you hurt her, I will kill you and everyone you’ve ever cared about.”
Karen laughed.
“I’m sure you would, but it won’t come to that. I need a favor from you. Do it and I’ll let your family go. You’ll live long and happy lives together. Refuse and I’ll slit your daughter’s throat and shoot your wife in the head. I’d rather avoid doing that, so please play along.”
I choked back a lump of anger that threatened to bubble to the surface. I bottled it in some recess of my soul for future use. My hands no l
onger trembled, but the muscles in my legs and back quivered. I ground my teeth and counted to five before I spoke.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I need you to deliver something to Hong Kong. It’ll be a quick trip. Twenty hours there, twenty hours back. Walk around the airport, do some duty free shopping if you’re interested, and come home. It’ll be a long weekend, but that’s it; I’ll even buy the ticket. As soon as you land, your family goes free, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“If it were that easy, you’d do it yourself.”
Karen chuckled.
“So suspicious, Ash. I would do it myself, but the People’s Republic of China labels my family undesirable, so neither I nor my nephew are allowed in. You, I’m sure, would have no problem.”
The door to my room was open, and I saw movement outside with my peripheral vision. An elderly man in a pair of pajamas much like mine pushed a walker down the carpeted hallway while a little girl about my daughter’s age tottered behind with a juice box in hand. She smiled at me. I smiled back and lowered my voice.
“What would I be delivering?”
“Something so small and light you will hardly know you’re carrying it.”
“Do you think you could be a little more specific?”
Karen practically purred. It was nice to know one of us was in a good mood.
“How do you feel right now, Ash?”
“Pissed off.”
I said it louder than I probably should have because one of the nurses popped her head in my room after that and pulled my door shut. At least she smiled as she did it.
“Physically, I mean. Are you achy? Does your throat hurt? Feeling sinus pressure? Anything like that?”
I wouldn’t have indulged her, but as soon as Karen stopped speaking, the tickle in the back of my throat increased so rapidly that I had to cough.
“Something like that,” I said.
“You have a very special cold. I gave it to you last night,” said Karen. “When combined with a very special vaccination, you’ll develop a very special illness. It won’t hurt you, but that’s what you’ll deliver.”
I balled my free hand into a fist.
“Is this something you developed while in South Africa?” I asked.
“You’ve done your homework,” she said. “My work in South Africa made this possible, yes. If you’re really interested, we can talk more in person tonight. I’m thinking eleven. I’ll send you the location when we’re set up.”
“I’m in the hospital. I don’t know if they’ll release me by then.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be there. If you need motivation, pretend your daughter’s life is on the line. I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Rashid.”
Karen clicked off after that, and I stayed still for the moment, feeling sick to my stomach. Outside of James Bond movies, criminals don’t kidnap and hold people who can disrupt their plans, and, no matter what they say, they never let witnesses walk out. My family was dead unless I did something. My heart and shoulders felt heavy. The tension that had built up over the past week rose and gripped my lungs in a vise. I didn’t have superpowers, I didn’t know karate, I didn’t even have a gun. My stomach clenched, and I almost vomited.
It took about ten minutes for the nausea to pass, and when it did, it left me feeling numb. No matter what I did, I needed to get out of the hospital, which meant I needed clothes. No one had checked on me since Bowers and the Feds left, so the hospital staff obviously wasn’t too worried about my condition. I’d be fine discharging myself.
I rolled over and swung my legs off the bed. The IV in my right arm was secured with two rows of soft, white tape. I unfurled both and grasped the clear plastic top of the IV and pulled parallel to my arm. It slid out easily, leaving a trickle of blood behind. No needle came with it, so I felt around my arm for anything hard but found nothing. Hopefully that was okay.
I laid the IV tube on my bed and stood. The blood rushed from my upper body, blurring my vision and almost causing me to fall backwards. I blinked and shook my head, hoping to clear the fog. It took a few seconds for the world to come back to focus, but even then, I felt like I was a couple of shots in on a raucous Friday night. It was probably the residual effects of whatever Karen had drugged me with; that was going to take some getting used to.
I put my hand on the bed for balance and opened the drawer on the end table beside it. Medical supplies. Not what I was looking for, but helpful. I grabbed a square bandage, tore it open, and pressed it onto my arm. It’d tear off hair when I had to remove it, but it beat having an open wound.
After that, I searched a dresser beside the chair Bowers had sat in earlier. I found my jeans and a white T–shirt in the first drawer and my shoes, keys, and wallet in the bottom. I would have liked some underwear, but I could settle. I changed in the room’s adjoining bathroom and put on my shoes without socks. No one would mistake me for a doctor or even a reasonably well–dressed handyman, but it’d do.
Five minutes after leaving my room, I walked out the hospital’s front door as if I were a visitor; no one even looked at me more than once. The hospital and my law school were just a few blocks apart, so I knew the area fairly well. There were restaurants, bookstores, and other services geared towards students all around. I headed south towards the University’s Campus Center. and for a moment, I got so dizzy that I had to stop and lean against a lamppost to catch my balance. Apparently I had been shot up with more drugs than I thought.
Eventually, I regained my equilibrium and continued walking, albeit at a slower pace. If I were going to survive the next twelve hours, I needed a few things, not the least of which was a firearm. I couldn’t get that on campus, but at least I could get some money. I withdrew fifty bucks from one of the ATMs in the Campus Center and called a cab to pick me up. While I waited, I glanced at the receipt that came with my cash. Hannah and I had a little less than three grand in the bank, most of which was from her most recent paycheck. She wasn’t going to like it, but I needed to use a good portion of that.
The cab pulled up about five minutes later. Rather than have him drive me home, I gave him directions to The Abbey so I could pick up my car. It was in the back lot where I had left it, but the front bumper was smashed and one of the headlights was broken. Evidently, Azrael hadn’t wanted to call a tow truck, so he rammed his way out. That was just inconsiderate. Thankfully, it started fine.
I needed a gun without too many questions, and as a former homicide detective, I knew where I could get one. I drove home, but only stayed long enough to change into a clean pair of clothes before heading to a pawn shop about ten miles from my house.
Frank’s Pawn and Gift shared a strip mall with an adult bookstore and theater on the city’s near–North side. I suppose pawn and porn made good neighbors. Both attracted customers who didn’t like questions or attention, and cleanliness wasn’t high on either places list of business needs.
I pulled into a parking lot laced with cracks, weeds, and broken bottles and parked as close to the exit as I could in case I had to run. A group of young guys in shirts with some fraternity’s logo emerged from the bookstore. Two carried grocery–sized sacks of pornography while their friends laughed hysterically. I guess their weekend was planned.
Frank’s Pawn and Gift smelled like stale cigarettes and gun oil. Ostensibly, it was a standard pawn shop, but in actuality, it was more like a gun shop specializing in pawned firearms. I skipped the aisles of cheap, Chinese–made handcuffs and throwing stars and walked to the back. There were probably two or three hundred rifles hanging from racks along the rear wall and a long counter in front prominently displaying ammunition and handguns.
A buzzer beeped when I got near the counter, and a fat guy with a graying goatee walked from behind a curtain amid the firearms. I hadn’t met him in person before, but the description I had heard from one of my old confidential informants fit. I was being helped by Frank himself.
“What can I get for you?�
� he asked.
“You’re Frank, aren’t you?” I asked, putting out my hand. He shook it and nodded. “Joey Walls tells me you’ve got a good selection.”
Frank smiled and nodded. Joey was a low–level pot dealer who worked one of the college campuses. He was more of a slacker than a hardened criminal, but he schmoozed better than any used car salesman I’ve ever seen. Because of that, he knew a lot of people and heard a lot of things, so we let him deal a little in exchange for information. I hadn’t talked to him in a few years, so I hoped his name still had some street cred.
“Joey’s a good boy. Heard he’s in school now, studying business or something. You see him, tell him we could use someone like him around here.”
I nodded.
“I’ll do that,” I said, leaning forward on the counter. “I’m here because I need a handgun. Maybe a nine–millimeter semiautomatic.”
“We can do business,” said Frank, bending down and unlocking the display. He reached in and pulled out a rack holding four firearms. Three were too small and flashy for my needs, while the fourth was a large, steel monstrosity with a Slavic–sounding manufacturer printed on the barrel.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’m looking for something for self–defense, not a rap video.”
Frank snickered.
“Most people don’t know the difference. What do you have in mind?”
“Something concealable with stopping power.”
“I’ve got what you need.”
Frank bent down again and this time picked up a slim aluminum case about twelve inches on a side. The weapon it held was flat black and small. I picked it up. It was a little heavy for its size, but it felt nice. I looked at Frank for information.
“It’s a forty–caliber Beretta 9000 with a ten–round magazine. If you want stopping power with a small footprint, that’ll do you. New in box. Six hundred.”
I nodded. That was more than I wanted to spend, but the weapon fit my hand well. It’d work.
“I’ll take it. Give me fifty jacketed hollow–point rounds for this. And while I’m here, give me fifty rounds of thirty–eight caliber jacketed hollow points and a holster that will clip on my belt.”
