by Chris Culver
“You want a shotgun while you’re at it? Gave one to my Mom for Christmas, and she says she sleeps a lot better at night. I’ll make you a deal for the whole thing.”
I looked at the rack behind him, considering. A good shotgun has a lot of merits, but subtlety isn’t one of them. If I went in with one of those, Hannah and Megan would be dead before I got a shot off. I shook my head no, so Frank began to search for my ammunition.
“I’m going to need to see three forms of ID for these,” he said, reaching into boxes beneath the counters. He found what he needed quickly and dropped two cases of Remington ammunition on the counter beside the aluminum case housing the Beretta. “You can hunt for a holster that’ll fit you on the shelves, and while you do that, I’ll get the paperwork started.”
“I hoped we could do this one between the two of us. Joey told me you might be willing to help a guy out.”
Frank squinted at me and crossed his arms.
“We can do a private sale, but it’s gonna cost you. You buy from my business, and you get the price on the tag. You buy from me personally, and then we’ve got to talk. Nine–hundred for the Beretta and ammo, and I’ll give you whatever holster you want.”
“Seven for everything.”
“This ain’t a negotiation. You want this firearm, you’ll pay my price. Nine–hundred.”
I thought about taking out my badge and laying it on the counter, but decided against it. That’d hurt my old CI more than anything else. I took my credit card out of my wallet and paid the guy. I was out of the store in under an hour and back in my house twenty minutes after that. Karen hadn’t called yet, which didn’t surprise me. If she were smart, she wouldn’t call until the last minute so I wouldn’t have time to set up an ambush. I had an idea about getting around that, but I had more pressing things to do for the moment.
I microwaved three egg and cheese English muffins from a box in the back of our freezer. They were probably older than my daughter, but at least they kept my stomach from rumbling. When I finished those, I went to my car and grabbed Robbie’s revolver from the evidence kit in my trunk. I held it straight in front of me and checked the alignment of the chamber and barrel. It was a good bit out of whack, but it was serviceable.
I took the gun to my workbench in the garage. When I worked a beat, my backup weapon was always a revolver. It could only hold six rounds, but it was as reliable as any firearm could be. I disassembled Robbie’s firearm; thankfully, it came apart just like my old revolver. I spent the next twenty minutes cleaning its chamber and barrel of residual gunk before oiling the moving parts heavily and putting it back together straight and true. It wasn’t the best weapon I had ever possessed, but the parts were free of rust, and it was in fair shape mechanically. It’d fire, I hoped.
I went back inside and strapped the revolver to my ankle and the Beretta to my waist. Physically, I was as ready to go as I’d ever be. Now I needed some intel.
Chapter 25
The roads in central Indiana take a beating every winter, so it’s not uncommon to find potholes six inches deep and several feet across. Generally, the city does a good job of patching them up, but there are neighborhoods where even the toughest road crews won’t venture. That was going to come in handy. After twenty–five minutes of driving, I pulled to the curb beside Three Little Pigs Ammo and Supply and reversed so my left, rear wheel dipped into a pothole bigger than the inflatable kiddie pool I bought for my daughter a few months earlier. The rear of my car dipped about six inches, hopefully making it look like the tire was flat. With the front end smashed, it fit into the neighborhood well.
I got out of the car and leaned against it while I searched through my cell–phone’s memory for Olivia’s number. She answered quickly, but I spoke before she could say anything.
“It’s Ash. I need to see you. Can you meet me in The Park?”
“Uhm–”
“It’s an emergency,” I said, interrupting. “Please.”
She was silent for a moment.
“Okay. Give me forty–five minutes.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up before she could respond. It was late afternoon, so the stores were still open, and I could hear conversations through windows and doors propped open by rocks and sticks. A group of little girls drew flowers on the sidewalk in front of a barbershop. I said their drawings were pretty as I walked by, so they smiled and waved.
The Park itself wasn’t as busy as the surrounding neighborhood. Two kids played on a swing set, while four teenagers stood near the picnic tables in the center, passing something around. I didn’t see any hookers, but I didn’t look very hard, either. The teenagers scattered as soon as I came close, probably thinking I was a cop. One tossed a rainbow–colored glass pipe onto the ground while another threw a Ziploc bag into the bushes. Those kids could probably get another bong or crack pipe as easily as I could fill up my gas tank, but I picked up their pipe anyway and threw it into an open garbage can, breaking it against a bottle of Boones Farm strawberry wine. The bag was empty except for a few seeds. Cheap marijuana; at least it wasn’t heroin. I threw it in the same garbage can I had thrown the pipe and then sat on the picnic tables to wait.
Olivia had said forty–five minutes, but it only took her twenty. She drove by twice, presumably looking for a parking spot. I pulled my Beretta from its holster and held it behind me as she approached. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a navy blue top that was ruffled around the chest. I wasn’t pleased with her at the moment, but there was no denying she looked good. She nodded at me when she got close enough. I couldn’t see a weapon on her, so if she had one, it was in her purse.
“Hey, Ash. What’s your emergency?”
I took my arm from behind my back and leaned forward with my firearm resting on my knees. Olivia’s back went straight and she breathed in.
“We need to talk, Olivia.”
“Okay,” she said, putting her hands in front of her and shrugging her purse off her shoulder. “Let me get something from my purse first.”
I shifted so the muzzle of my firearm pointed at her midsection. My thumb slipped from the grip to the barrel, disengaging the safety with an audible click.
“I’d drop that if I were you.”
Olivia stayed still and looked around, assessing the situation. Her posture was rigid.
“What do you want, Ash?”
“I want you to drop the purse.”
She looked around for a moment, but the teenagers and kids were gone. We were alone. She dropped her purse and tilted her head to the side.
“What now?” she asked.
“I want to talk about why you sold out my family and how you can help me get them back.”
Olivia’s eyes never left mine. She shook her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” I asked, leaning back. I reached into my jacket’s inside pocket with my free hand and pulled out my cell phone. I threw it at her. “Check the last text message.”
“I don’t know–”
“Do it.”
Olivia was quicker with the phone than I was. After about a minute, the color ran from her face, and her shoulders dropped. She looked up and swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“Bullshit. Maybe ten people know my cell number, and fewer than that knew where Hannah and Megan were. You’re the only person on both lists.”
Olivia put her hands up in front of her and stepped towards me.
“Put the gun down,” she said. “We’ll talk about this and figure it out together.”
I pulled my Beretta’s slide back, chambering a round. Olivia stopped moving.
“You’re not going to shoot me with people watching.”
“You think witnesses matter in this neighborhood?”
Olivia took a step back. Her lower lip trembled.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Where
is my family being held?”
“I never would have said anything if I thought she was going to hurt your family,” said Olivia, shaking her head. Her face was white. “She told me she was going to scare them to get you off the case. That’s all.”
“Where are they?”
Olivia licked her lips and swallowed.
“Karen owns a refrigerated warehouse north of town. Your family’s probably there.”
“How do I get there?”
The directions were complicated, so I had her repeat them twice so I could memorize them.
“How many men will she have with her?”
“She trusts three. If this is important to her, they’ll be there. There are too many for you to take on your own. I’ll go with you if you want.”
“I’ve had enough of your help on this case,” I said. “What’d she put in me last night?”
“Ketamine and GHB. It’s clean. They don’t put anything extra in it. That’s why it sells so well.”
“What else?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her for a few moments, but Olivia didn’t blink.
“If I see you at this warehouse, I’ll shoot you on sight.”
Olivia nodded and knelt in front of me, almost pleading.
“I tried to keep you out of this. I really did. I even asked Karen not to kill you. That’s why you’re still alive. I’m sorry.”
The textured grip of my firearm bit into my hand as I squeezed. I shook my head.
“You came to Megan’s birthday parties,” I said. “We had you over for Thanksgiving. I hope whatever Karen paid you was worth it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t think it would come to this.”
“You have until ten tomorrow morning to turn yourself over to the police,” I said, holstering my firearm. I kept the safety disengaged in case I had to pull it quickly. “If you don’t, I’ll give your name to Konstantin Bukoholov and tell him you know where Karen Rea keeps her main stash.”
“He’ll kill me. You know that.”
“Eventually. He’ll torture you to get the location first. And if my family is hurt tonight, start running. Consider this your head start.”
I stood and walked away. Olivia called after me and asked me to stay so we could talk things through, but I had already said everything I had to say.
When I got back to the car, I called IMPD’s dispatcher. I didn’t know Bowers well enough to have his personal cell phone number, so I had the dispatcher send him a message for me. I told him I had plugged one of the department’s leaks and asked him to give me a call if he wanted to hear more. Evidently he did because he called me back right away. I repeated what Olivia had said, and we spent the next ten minutes working out a plan. I gave it fifty–fifty odds; Bowers thought that was generous.
He was probably right.
Chapter 26
My eyes popped open and I jumped as my cell phone rang. The world was dark and blurry. I blinked and rubbed my eyes as the dream world faded and reality came into focus. I was in my living room, and it was dark except for my television. The evening news was on, so it was sometime after ten. I coughed to clear my throat and snatched the phone from the coffee table.
“I’m here,” I said, rubbing my face to get the blood flowing. The drugs must have been wearing off because I wasn’t dizzy as I sat up.
“I thought you weren’t going to pick up,” said Karen. “That would have been disappointing.”
“I’m sure it would have been. Where’s my family?”
Karen’s directions were nearly identical to the ones Olivia had given me earlier. Her warehouse was about a forty–five–minute drive from my house, which meant Mike Bowers and his crew could probably make it from their station in thirty–five with their lights and sirens blaring. Ten minutes wasn’t a big enough gap for them to get set up.
“I’ll be there when I can.”
“You’ll be there at eleven, which means you need to leave now.”
My heartbeat ticked up a few notches, so I coughed to keep my trepidation from showing in my voice.
“I’ll be there when I’m able. It’s late, and I’m hungry. I’m going to stop by a drive through to get something to eat, and I’ll be over right after that.”
Karen chuckled, but her voice sounded harsh, almost strained.
“This isn’t a social call. If you don’t come by eleven, I’ll kill your wife.”
My fingers trembled. I closed my eyes. The picture Karen had sent earlier popped into my imagination unbidden. Visceral, raw anger spread through me, crowding out everything else I felt. I spoke clearly and slowly, much as I would have done when talking to Megan after she misbehaved.
“You’re going to do whatever you want no matter what I do. We both know that, so I’m going to get a hamburger while I can, and then I’ll come see you. Okay?”
Karen didn’t answer for a second, so all I could hear was her breath.
“You just killed your wife, Detective Rashid. Now you’re working on your daughter. I’d suggest you come on time.”
The line went dead after that. I stared at the phone, my stomach knotting and my breath coming in short gasps. Intellectually, I knew that the threat had been bluster and bravado to scare me into compliance. As long as Karen needed leverage over me, Hannah would be fine. At the same time, knowing that was true and believing it were two different things. I shivered. My mouth felt dry as I dialed Bowers’ number. He answered with a grunt.
“It’s a go,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t crack. “Same address. Eleven o’clock.”
“We’ll be there. It’s going to be fine, Rashid. We’ll get them back.”
“I know.”
He hung up before I could wish him luck. I didn’t like our plan, even if it was the best we had. My job was to go in and secure my family. Ten minutes after I went in, Mike and his crew would cut the building’s power and subdue Karen’s men in the dark. It sounded simple, but there was a lot that could go wrong. We didn’t know the building’s layout or even how many men would be inside, so we were going in blind; I guess that was better than not going in at all, though.
I grabbed a sports coat from my closet and headed to the car. My head hurt and my chest felt constricted, but I couldn’t let that bother me. I focused on the situation. In total, I had thirty–six rounds of ammunition on me. Thirty were for the Beretta in my belt holster, which Bowers and I figured Karen would confiscate. Our hope was that by giving her something to stare at, she’d miss the revolver strapped to my ankle. Six shots wouldn’t amount to much, but it was better than nothing.
As I anticipated, it took me roughly forty–five minutes to drive to Karen’s address. She seemed to have an affinity for warehouses in the middle of nowhere. Unlike the one Bukoholov’s men had burned, though, this one was in a nice complex. The grass around it looked relatively green, and most of the surrounding buildings had signs, indicating they held legitimate businesses. Karen’s warehouse had a solid block foundation with extruded, white metal siding above. There were windows evenly spaced around the exterior and a rock–lined drainage ditch in front. I could see a thicket of woods behind and to one side of the building.
I parked a block away and got out of my car. I couldn’t see Bowers or his team, and for a moment, I was tempted to give him a call. I couldn’t risk it, though, not with the possibility that someone was watching. I was going to have to trust him. The night air was crisp and clean, but it did little to still my nerves. My muscles felt tight, and I jumped every time a moth buzzed my head or something scurried across the ground. I reached behind me for my Beretta and squeezed the weapon’s grip. I felt better with it there even if I were going to lose it.
I pulled a Swiss Army knife out of my pocket and, as per Mike Bowers’ request, stabbed the rear tires of each car in the lot, including a gray BMW with a broken taillight and dented trunk. If my Cruiser had feelings, I’m sure it would have felt vindicated. Once the tire
s were flat, I straightened, adjusted my shirt, and glanced at my watch. It was five after eleven, right on time.
I collapsed the knife, stuck it in my pocket, and walked to the building’s only door. No one came to greet me, so I took out my cell phone and dialed Karen’s number.
“I’m here.”
I hung up before she could respond and sat on the folding chair propping open the door. I couldn’t see far into the building. Just a long hallway that led left and right. I took a deep breath, calming my nerves. My family was in there somewhere.
I heard Karen’s men before I saw them. At least one had keys or change in his pocket, and the other wheezed as he walked. I had seen them in the club the night before wearing all black, but this time they wore matching khaki pants, black polo shirts, and name tags. It looked as if they had come right after work. Tony and Byron. Tony had deep tract marks on his neck as if he had been scratched by an animal, and Byron had a raspberry–shaped bruise on his cheek. Byron pulled a gun from a hip holster, so I started to put my hands on top of my head.
“I think I saw photos of some work you boys did on a girl in Eagle Creek Park,” I said, standing. “As a father, I hope to kill you both before the night’s over. I thought I’d give you fair warning.”
The two of them snickered.
“Sometimes work has its rewards,” said Byron. He nodded to his partner. “Search him.”
Tony was as gentle as a rabid pit bull. He pounded my chest looking for weapons and then moved down my body until he found the Beretta strapped to my waist. He pulled it from my holster, showed it to his partner, and raised his eyebrows.
“You got anything else?” he asked. He flipped his hand around, grabbed the barrel of my gun, and used the grip to hit me in the crotch before I could move. A wrenching pain exploded across my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, and I doubled over without thinking. Tony laughed. “Whatever you had, it’s gone now.”
I tuned the two of them out. Since I was bent over, my revolver was a few inches from my hands. I probably could have grabbed it before they even noticed. My fingers trembled, and I looked up. The jackasses were still laughing, so I put my hands on my knees, pretending to catch my breath. It would have been nice to take them out of the game before seeing Karen, but my job wasn’t to play hero. They’d get theirs. The laughter died to periodic chuckles and then that even stopped.
