Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel

by Miller, Randall H

Luci was taken by surprise when Mark lunged forward and slashed at her with the knife. When she hesitated, he pulled her in close with one arm and pushed the blade up and under her body armor with the other.

  “Hey! You said on three, and you attacked me after one! Not fair, Landry,” she exclaimed, huffing and puffing.

  He let go and backed up so that she could catch her breath.

  “Sorry, I’ve never been any good at counting. Besides, didn’t your training officer teach you that everybody lies?” he asked with a sarcastic smile. “Take a quick break and drink some water. A few close-quarters pistol drills and we’ll be done.”

  When Luci explained that she normally carried her pistol without a round in the chamber and with the safety on, Mark nodded.

  “That doesn’t make any sense. If you ever need your gun, you need to be able to draw with one hand and squeeze the trigger. You don’t want to be messing around with a safety, and the chances that you’ll have time to chamber a round are slim to none—less if you have to do it all one-handed while someone is attacking you.”

  “I know that, Mark.”

  “Then why would you carry like that?”

  “If you must know, I had an accidental discharge once and it scared the hell out of me. Nobody was hurt, but just thinking about what could have happened freaks me out. I chamber a round when I do my annual qualification. Other than that, I prefer to err on the side of extreme caution. I’m constantly surrounded by kids.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “In the academy. It almost cost me my slot.”

  “Luci, that was like fifteen years ago. It’s all in your head. You need to get over it. It’s dangerous to carry your weapon in any status other than ready to fire. Bad things happen quickly, and you may only have a split second to protect yourself and the kids you spend time with.”

  Luci nodded. “I know. You’re right.”

  “First, show me how fast you can draw, disengage the safety, chamber a round, and fire your first shot. After that, I want to show you something.”

  She oriented herself toward a target taped to the far wall of the garage, breathed deeply, executed the drill, and reholstered.

  “Not bad. Honestly, I was not expecting you to be that fast. Two things, though. First, don’t get in the habit of immediately reholstering your weapon. If you do that in training, you’ll do it in the field and it’ll get you killed. Keep it out and scan the area for additional threats before you reholster. Second, come over here and stand against the wall, facing me.”

  When she was in place, he closed the distance between them so that they stood belly to belly.

  “Now do it again, using me as your target.”

  “Sounds like a bad idea, Mark.”

  “We’ve both checked that weapon multiple times as well as each of the magazines. They are unloaded and there is no live ammunition in the dungeon at all. Do it.”

  As she inhaled and prepared for the drill, he unexpectedly pinned her against the wall, with one hand on her throat and the other on her left elbow. She was surprised but drew the handgun with her right hand, much more quickly than he had expected. Then came the lesson.

  “What’s wrong, Officer Alvarez? Someone is trying to kill you. Why aren’t you shooting to protect yourself?”

  She had the gun in her hand with the muzzle pressed up against his midsection, but with her left arm pinned she was unable to rack the slide of her Smith and Wesson M&P Shield 9mm and chamber a round.

  “See how hard it would be to rack the slide off your belt or something with one hand to chamber a round when someone is attacking you? Looks like you were barely able to flip off the safety,” he said as he released his grip and stepped back.

  “Okay, I get it. The weapon needs to be ready to go at all times.”

  “Why?”

  “There may not be time to undo the safety and chamber a round. And if I lose the use of my left arm, I’m screwed. I get it. You’re right.”

  “Exactly. If it’s not ready to go, it might as well be a paperweight. So, no safety—ever—and always have a round in the chamber. Also, don’t ever press the gun up against anything or anybody like you did to me—you run the risk of knocking it out of battery, and then it’s useless. Now let’s do some retention and disarming drills with handguns and edged weapons. Are you having fun yet?” he asked.

  “Actually, yes. I’ve been thinking about this stuff a lot lately and I appreciate the help.”

  For the grand finale, Mark took her handgun, magazines, and the training knives over to the sink. She followed and watched as he ran warm water over the equipment and added a few squeezes from a bottle of liquid soap to the mix.

  “Germophobe?” she asked.

  “Nope. Just making them warm, slippery, and a little bit sticky—just like blood.”

  He told her to face the wall so that she couldn’t see. Then, after scattering the weapons at the far end of the mat, he turned out the lights and returned to her side.

  “When I say turn around, do it, locate the nearest weapon, and kill me before I kill you. I know you have all kinds of rules of engagement in your job, but for our purposes, let’s operate under the assumption that you’re fighting for your life. So don’t bother pulling out your pepper spray or threatening me with a citation. Understand?”

  “Understood. Kill Landry. Got it,” she answered.

  He leaned in close and whispered softly in her ear.

  “I’d better not get to a weapon before you do.”

  Sixty-seven

  “You want a beer or something, Mark?”

  “Not right this second. I want to finish cleaning your gun first,” he replied.

  Luci was cooking a Colombian dish and the smell was driving him wild.

  “Man, what is that? That smells incredible.”

  “That’s all me, Landry. Or did you mean the food?”

  He stood up from the table and approached the stove.

  “Mind if I try it?” he asked, gently grasping the large wooden spoon in her hand.

  “Go for it.”

  Mark took a small bite and chewed it slowly, savoring the flavor.

  “Not bad at all. Nicely done. On a side note, we should go to the range some time soon and do some live fire. I’ve seen cops at ranges before, and a lot of the time they make me cringe. You’ve got solid fundamentals and will be a great shooter with a little coaching.”

  He sat back down and finished assembling Luci’s 9mm.

  “Can I ask you a question? And I need a straight answer,” said Luci as she finished her wine.

  “Those are the only kinds of answers I give. What’s the question?”

  “Why are you doing all this, Mark?” she asked in a solemn voice that he had not heard since his return.

  “Why am I doing what?”

  “This. Everything. Why are you so concerned with my training? Why are you home? Why are you trying so hard to win me over? When are you leaving? All that stuff. I don’t want to play any games. I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

  Landry stood, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and looked out the glass door onto the deck.

  “That was a lot of questions, Luci. Which one should I answer first?”

  “Your call.”

  “Okay, I’m home because I had some leave time and needed to make a major decision whether or not to retire. I came here because this is the only home I’ve ever had. I’m training you because you need it. I’m never leaving. And you already know why I’ve been trying so hard to impress you.”

  “You need to elaborate on those last two, Landry.”

  Mark approached her from behind, wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, and watched her gently stir the food.

  “I’m not leaving you, Luci. I’m retiring. Already told my boss.”

  Her pulse quickened as she turned her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

  “Is that right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, tha
t’s right.”

  “Then why am I having such a hard time believing you?”

  “You want some proof?” he asked.

  Then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his freshly minted Massachusetts driver’s license, and placed it on the counter in front of her.

  “I waited six hours at the registry to get that—and I was in the express lane,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her neck gently. “How’s that for commitment?”

  “And why have you been working so hard to impress me?”

  He pulled her closer than they had been in years.

  “You already know why, Officer Alvarez—because I love you. I always have and I always will. I’m home now and I’m not leaving, Luci. And if you’ll have me, I want to spend my life with you.”

  They stood silently for several moments. He maintained his embrace and she continued to stir. “You know, I’m not an expert at this, Luci,” he said finally. “But I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to talk next.”

  When she turned around to return the embrace, her mouth was smiling but her eyes were staid. He started to speak but she cut him off.

  “Mark, you already know how I feel too. And I’m thrilled to hear you’re here for good and want to be with me. And I can’t believe you actually got a driver’s license,” she joked. “I love you too, but I have to tell you right now that there’s a part of me that thinks I could wake up one day and you’ll be gone. You have to promise me you’ll never leave me again. I have to hear you say it.”

  He pulled her tighter and spoke softly into her ear.

  “Luci, you’re never getting rid of me. I promise you I will never leave you again.”

  “And I need you to promise me one more thing,” she said in deep breaths as he kissed her neck and nibbled on her ear lobe.

  “Anything,” he whispered.

  “No more secrets, Mark. I understand the past and I get that. But from this moment forward—no more secrets.”

  “Done. No more secrets. I promise,” he murmured as he gently turned her around, lifted her shirt, and started kissing the small of her back working his way down.

  Luci turned off the stove, arched her back, and breathed heavily.

  “One more thing … let’s take this to the Jacuzzi.”

  Mark stopped and looked up.

  “You have a Jacuzzi?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it’s upstairs,” she said, pulling him up by his hair with both hands to whisper in his ear. “And I’d better not get there before you do.”

  Sixty-eight

  Mr. Harrington had refused to eat all day and started crying hysterically just moments after Kenny strapped him to his bed for the night. There was no consoling him, so Kenny escaped to the family-room sofa and covered his head with pillows. He couldn’t bear the sound of his father suffering and wanted to hide his own cries of pain from the world. The part-time caretaker was scheduled to start after the Fourth of July holiday, but that couldn’t come soon enough.

  When the old man finally drifted off to sleep, Kenny poured his nightly cognac and settled down in front of his computers. A secure message was waiting for him.

  TO: Hobbit

  FROM: OrcSlayer

  MESSAGE: got info on your target … it’s juicy

  Kenny leaned back in his chair and sipped his drink.

  Hobbit: spill it

  OrcSlayer: had to go off-net for some of it

  Going “off-net” indicated that he did not complete the task entirely digitally. OrcSlayer had investigated and collected some of the information the old-fashioned way—by physically interacting with other humans. Kenny knew that type of work required time, sharp investigative skills, and maybe even a payoff or two. OrcSlayer would not have done so without good reason and probably wouldn’t be mentioning his effort unless he wanted to be compensated.

  Hobbit: better not be messing with me

  OrcSlayer: nobody messes with you

  Hobbit: money or favor?

  OrcSlayer: more money … same as last time

  Hobbit: gimme the gist first

  OrcSlayer: major harassment issues in Queens … almost kicked off force … sealed records … I have everything

  Hobbit: transferring money now … want docs in my box within the hour … good work

  OrcSlayer: anything for Hobbit

  Transferring money anonymously had become very difficult in recent years, but Kenny had the funds delivered in just a few keystrokes.

  He swirled his cognac and scrolled through a list of real-time freelance gigs available through an online clearinghouse buried deep in the Web—a place where anonymous customers paid top dollar for the cyber services of anonymous providers. These included some extreme jobs: advanced skip traces, cyber espionage, critical infrastructure attacks, bank crashing, disruptive operations, sabotage, identity wipe and destruction. The capabilities required to perform these jobs shrank the pool of potential contractors drastically. Conversely, the fees skyrocketed once one got beyond garden-variety tasks like causing denials of service (DOSs) and introducing simple viruses. There was big money to be made, but big money always came with substantial risk that most freelancers couldn’t stomach, like walking into a sting operation. This made the pool even smaller and the fees even higher.

  Who were the clients? Most of the time he had no idea. Other times he probably could have pieced it together if he cared; he just didn’t. On at least one occasion Kenny suspected that he was doing a freelance gig for the Office of Tailored Access Operations (TAO), a clandestine group within the National Security Agency. Call it intuition.

  Nothing interested him. Nothing got his blood pumping. Kenny had done it all and had plenty of money. Yet he stayed in the game, like a drug addict futilely chasing the first hit. He had done risky jobs that brought him small fortunes and notoriety in underground circles, but the inimitable rush he craved was elusive, like a blissful lightning that refused to strike twice.

  He contemplated going to bed but looked at his watch and decided that he could put in an hour or two of work before turning in. More than enough time to cause trouble for a bank in Cyprus. Besides, he was curious to see what Officer Charlie Worth had been up to in Queens.

  Sixty-nine

  “Seriously, this is fantastic,” said Mark, his mouth full of the Colombian dish Luci had made. “I’m impressed. You’ve always been a good cook, but this is a new level.”

  She smiled and leaned over to place her empty plate on the night table next to her bed and took a long sip of ice water.

  “Thanks. I’ve been practicing and experimenting with different things for years. It distracts me from work and helps me relax. I’m glad you like it.”

  Mark finished his plate, leaned back against the headboard, and wrapped his arms around her. They lay there silently, their minds racing with excitement and curiosity about their future together. Both wanted to get married and have kids, but they had yet to talk about the timing or even where they would eventually live. Luci’s house? New house? Those details would all be worked out eventually. The important thing was that they were finally together.

  “I know you miss Agnes, Mark. And you’ve told me how much Father Peck meant to you. And I know you’d never change that for the world. But do you ever wonder about your real parents? Who they were? Why they gave you up for adoption?”

  He thought for a moment while caressing her bare shoulder.

  “No. Not really,” he answered.

  “It would bother me. I would have to know. What about Agnes? Did she ever bring it up or offer any information?”

  “Nope. I guess she either never knew or had her own reasons for never bringing it up. I don’t ever think about it, and at this point it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got you and that’s all that matters.”

  He leaned over, turned off the light, and rolled on top of her.

  “Let me guess, you have an early morning tomorrow?” Mark asked.

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him ti
ghtly and bit down firmly on his ear lobe. “Actually, I’m taking a personal day,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  “No curfew?” he asked.

  “No curfew,” she said, gently tapping a soft hand on top of his head a few times before tenderly pushing downward. “So why don’t you get back to work.”

  Seventy

  McDermott and Meghan stood in the kitchen of the Senator’s fifth-floor apartment and stared at the television in awe.

  “What the hell happened? This is surreal,” stated Meghan.

  “Look at the fear in his eyes. He’s petrified. And now I’m petrified,” answered McDermott.

  When screening her mother’s mail a few days earlier, Meghan had opened an anonymous envelope with several typed pages inside. After she had picked her jaw up from the floor, she immediately interrupted McDermott’s security briefing to share the new information.

  Both agreed that the information must be shared with the public but were fearful of the fallout. So far, McDermott’s attempted ventures into the black-ops world had been met with overt hostility. Leaking this information might go a bridge too far and make matters even worse for them. As they contemplated their options, a light bulb lit up over Meghan’s head.

  “Why don’t we just give it to someone with more political clout—someone established and better at this, maybe even someone a bit narcissistic, up for reelection with eyes on the presidency one day?”

  “The minority leader?” asked McDermott.

  “Why not? He’ll receive it the same way we did but will make a beeline for the cameras. The information gets out, but we don’t have to look for plastic on the floor of every room we walk into for the rest of our lives. What do you say?”

  “Are you sure we’re not being cowardly? This is some of the stuff I’ve been digging for, and now that I might have something I immediately hand it off?”

  “It’s not cowardly. Remember what you said about the cause and having nothing to prove? As long as we stay true to the cause, we can sleep at night. Someone else can take the credit, right? It’s not cowardly, Mom. It’s altruistic. You can get the information to the American people without jeopardizing your position. And they have a right to know.”