The Avenged

by Charles Prandy

  After hanging up with Jacob, he made a call to Nathan Hunt, who was just as surprised. The two quickly devised a plan that they believed would work.

  Three minutes later, the sound of tires splashing through water caused the lieutenant to look to his right. When the vehicle stopped in front of him, he saw Stephen Carter sitting in the front passenger seat. He quickly opened the rear passenger door, shook his umbrella and got in.

  The vehicle made a right onto 14th Street and pulled away. However, not far behind, a black sedan with its lights off also made a right onto 14th Street. The car kept its distance, far enough behind so as not to be noticed, but close enough that it didn’t lose sight of its target.

  Forty-five

  THE WINDSHIELD WIPERS SWAYED back and forth on the fastest speed, yet visibility through the front windshield was near zero. I kept the pace of my car at twenty-five miles per hour, sometimes needing to drive slower when I was unable see in front of me. Despite the fact that there was an eyewitness to Charlie’s murder in the car and a lieutenant who had arranged for witness protection, the drive to the safe house was somber and no one had said a word since the initial greeting.

  Maybe it was the heavy rain. Rain has a way of keeping people quiet, especially this early in the morning. In my rearview mirror, I saw Lieutenant Polenski staring out of his passenger door window, not appearing to be looking at anything in particular. Stephen Carter rested his head against the headrest with his eyes closed. Something about the silence in the car made me feel uneasy. Also, the fact that I didn’t know where I was going bothered me as well.

  Hours before I called Lieutenant Polenski, I had tossed and turned in my bed, debating whether to call my commander or not. Stephen's accusation of dirty cops bothered me more than I thought, but I believed in my heart that if there were dirty cops, Polenski was not one of them. I’d known him for as long as I’d been on the force, and the lieutenant had always been a stand-up guy. I had to trust someone, and with Charlie dead, the lieutenant was the only other person I trusted.

  Thomas Circle on 14th Street began to approach when Lieutenant Polenski finally spoke. “Go around the circle and continue on 14th Street.”

  I nodded and then continued around the circle to 14th Street.

  I looked in the rearview mirror again and saw that Polenski was still looking out the window, expressionless. What could he be thinking about? Is he leading us to a safe house or a trap? I couldn’t shake Stephen’s comments and I was starting to wonder if calling Polenski had been the right thing to do. It was 4 a.m. and Stephen still hadn’t talked. Calling my lieutenant was the logical thing to do, especially since Stephen knew who had killed Charlie.

  The lieutenant didn’t appear to be himself. He had never been much of a conversationalist, but I’d never seen him that distant and distracted. As I looked through the rearview mirror, I caught the sight of a car I had noticed behind us when we picked up Lieutenant Polenski. The car had been behind us ever since, and was keeping its distance.

  The longer we drove, the more tense I became. The car continued to keep its distance, even when I took my foot off the gas and allowed the vehicle to slow.

  “Sir, I think we've got a tail.”

  Lieutenant Polenski turned around. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure. A dark sedan has been behind us ever since we picked you up.”

  Stephen finally opened his eyes and looked to his side-door mirror. After seeing the dark sedan, he turned to me. “Remember what I said yesterday.”

  I quickly gave him a look that told him not to say another word.

  “Sir,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror, “what do you think?”

  “Besides me, does anyone else know that he's with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s be patient with this. It could be nothing. Just keep driving a little longer.”

  I switched to the driver's-side mirror and saw the car continue its pace. Something hadn't felt right the entire ride, and the way the car cautiously trailed behind almost confirmed my suspicions.

  “Sorry, sir,” I said. I didn’t take my eyes away from the driver's-side mirror. “But it's best that we take care of this now.”

  Forty-six

  THE VEHICLE THAT HE was following stopped in the middle of the road. The sudden stop surprised the sniper, who thought he'd done a good job trailing at a distance that wouldn't be alarming. What surprised him even more was that the driver's door opened and Detective Hayden stepped out into the pouring rain, staring him down. The sniper didn’t look the same as when the detective had first seen him, so he wasn’t worried that he’d be recognized. His beard was gone, his hair was lighter, his nose was longer and he was wearing glasses.

  The sniper didn’t stop his car, but slowed down. He quickly placed his free hand on the Beretta attached to the holster inside his jacket and made a quick and precise decision. The rain fell harder, which made visibility much more difficult. He slowly changed lanes and decided to drive past the vehicle without looking at the detective and bringing any more unwanted attention to himself. As he passed, he felt the cold stare of the detective on him, and fought the urge to stop the car and go out in a gunfight. That wouldn't solve the ensuing problem.

  Stephen Carter was the target, not the detective. And within the hour, Stephen Carter would be dead.

  The sniper wouldn’t be able to follow the cruiser any longer, but he would still be able to find its location with the tracking device he had attached hours earlier. When he was a safe distance from the detective’s vehicle, he released his hand from the Beretta and reached for a cell phone on the passenger seat. He pushed the “on” button and the GPS tracking system loaded. Instantly, he saw the police cruiser on the screen. He turned right off of 14th Street and then to another side street before he pulled over. The detective’s vehicle hadn’t moved yet, and he wondered how far he would have to travel before he would be able to kill Stephen Carter.

  Forty-seven

  MY HEARTBEAT SLOWED A little when the car passed. The move was bold, but it was something I felt that I needed to do to be safe. The car drove by without incident, but that didn’t mean that it hadn't been following us; just that the driver could have decided to wait until another time to make his move. Still, I breathed easier knowing that the possible threat was over.

  I waited to get back in the car until I couldn’t see the rear lights of the vehicle any longer. Now drenched from head to toe, I eased back into the driver's seat, closed the door and shifted the gear into drive. I pulled to a side road and placed the gear in park, turned around and faced my lieutenant and unapologetically directed a bold question to him.

  “Sir, I'm going to ask you to be straight with me. Are you on the take?”

  Lieutenant Polenski, apparently surprised by the question, rapidly blinked his eyes and hesitated before answering.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Let me remind you, Jacob, that I was there when you went through your rehab for alcohol.” His face reddened a little. “I was the one who spoke up for you when the chief recommended that I suspend you.” His voice escalated the longer he spoke. “Remember that when Theresa almost left you, it was me who talked her into staying.”

  Suddenly I felt embarrassed and I wished I had never asked the question. My lieutenant had been by my side for many years and never showed any signs of being corrupt. He’d been my mentor ever since I came into the detective’s squad, so why would I even have considered accusing him of this?

  “So just remember who you're talking to before you ask a stupid question like that,” Lieutenant Polenski sharply responded.

  I turned around like a defeated puppy with my tail between my legs.

  “Sorry, sir. I just got carried away.”

  “Why would you even ask me a question like that?”

  My eyes shifted to Stephen Carter and then back to the front windshield. I exhaled before responding.

&nb
sp; “Doesn't matter. We should probably get moving.”

  “Look,” Lieutenant Polenski said, his voice had calmed, “sorry about the reaction, but you caught me off guard. I've never been accused of being dirty.”

  I nodded but didn't respond. The silence that had engulfed the drive earlier returned, and this time I invited it to stay.

  “Just so you know, we're heading to a church,” Lieutenant Polenski said. “That'll be the safest place for him for now.”

  Forty-eight

  I PULLED TO THE left side of the road on 10th Street, a one-way road where Saint Patrick’s Catholic Church was located at the corner of 10th and G Streets. The large, historic stone church founded in 1794 sat between modern office buildings and took up half of the block. Large brown doors ten feet in height were at the front of the church. I parked the car directly in front of the steps leading to the church. There were only a couple of other cars parked on the street, but that would change within the hour as the early birds begin arriving for work.

  “Father Jefferson will be expecting us,” Lieutenant Polenski said.

  “And you didn’t tell him the nature of why we’re here?” I asked, trying not to sound too untrusting.

  “Of course not. He and I go way back and I’ve done some favors for him in the past. All he knows is that he’ll be taking in a boarder for a day or two until we get clearance from the government. Trust me, this is the safest place for him in the city right now.”

  Lieutenant Polenski grabbed his umbrella and then reached for the door. Before opening it, he tapped me on the shoulder with an approving nod.

  “Listen, you did good by calling me.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, turning my head and acknowledging the compliment.

  “I’ll give Father Jefferson the heads up that we’re here.”

  Lieutenant Polenski quickly opened the door and raised the umbrella over his head. The sound of the thundering rain loudly entered the car for a few seconds until the door closed. Lieutenant Polenski rushed up the steps and entered the church.

  “I never would have tapped you for being an alcoholic,” Stephen said.

  “That was a long time ago,” I said, still looking out the window.

  “Once you’re an alcoholic you’re always an alcoholic.”

  I sharply turned my head, “You’ve got some nerve.”

  “I’m not throwing stones. I’m one too. I was sober for three years. All the way up until Faraji’s death.”

  “Well, I’m not an alcoholic.” I turned around and faced the window again. “Not anymore, at least.”

  “How’d you become one in the first place?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I suspect it was the job.”

  I didn’t answer. The car became silent and I found that I was no longer looking at the church’s door, but at the blur of rain that was fiercely falling around us. Stephen’s questions annoyed me, but only because I had started thinking about drinking again. And Stephen was right, it was the job. Before a few years ago, I could count on my hand the amount of times I’d actually had a drink. But everything changed after that one evening I was heading home.

  My mind drifted back to the countless hours I’d spent plastered on a barstool, drinking as if my life depended on it. My mouth watered a little as if I could taste the vodka dancing on my tongue before it gently slid down my throat. I thought of the intoxicating feeling I’d get when my face started to tingle a little before the buzz kicked in. The addiction kept this recurring pattern night after night until there came a time when all I wanted to do was live to drink.

  The question that Stephen had asked was how’d I become one in the first place? The thing about addiction is that it makes you forget what actually brought you to it.

  My mind would have kept me looking into that open door if it weren’t for Stephen’s voice in the background.

  “Detective Hayden,” Stephen said as he tapped me on the shoulder.

  I blinked my eyes and looked at Stephen.

  Stephen pointed out the window and up at the church. “Your lieutenant’s been trying to get your attention.”

  I looked over and saw Lieutenant Polenski waving me on.

  “Let’s go.”

  Forty-nine

  A BLOCK AWAY ON 10th Street, the sniper sat in his car and watched Detective Hayden and Stephen Carter quickly enter the church. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned and the sniper sensed that his chances of killing Stephen Carter were becoming slimmer by the minute. He believed that if he were to kill Stephen Carter, he’d have to do it inside the church. How ironic. The church was supposed to be a symbol of forgiveness, yet killing Stephen Carter would be anything but forgiving. It’d be restitution.

  Now, how to get inside?

  The simple approach would be to go through the front door, but that almost guaranteed that he’d be seen. The detective had seen his new face and would recognize him within an instant. The back and side doors likely would be locked this early in the morning and there was no way to scale any of the windows without bringing attention to himself.

  As the sniper pondered his options, he saw a black hearse in his rearview mirror slowly approach and pass his car, turn left onto G Street and pull to the side of the church. Two men in black suits stepped out of either side of the hearse, opened large umbrellas and walked to the back where they lifted open the hatch. Suddenly an ingenious thought popped into his head.

  The sniper opened his door, stepped out and found close to a half of an inch of water under his feet as he quickly walked towards the hearse. He was wearing a black raincoat, black slacks and shoes that added about two inches to his height.

  The two men appeared to struggle with holding their umbrellas while also trying to maneuver a dark brown casket onto a metal gurney.

  “Looks like you gentlemen could use a hand,” the sniper said as he leaned forward and assisted with the casket.

  “That would be great,” one of the men said.

  The casket slid onto the metal legs and the men locked it in place.

  “Thanks, friend.”

  “Why don’t you let me hold your umbrella while you push? I’ll hold it over your head to keep you dry.”

  The two men smiled and one of them handed over the umbrella. They pushed the casket onto the sidewalk and made their way to the side of the church.

  “What a day for a funeral,” one of the men said.

  “Yes,” replied the sniper, “what a day indeed.”

  Fifty

  FATHER JEFFERSON STIFFLY STOOD in the foyer as he waited for us on the other side of the front door. He was dressed in a black priestly suit with a white collar around his neck. His greying hair was neatly brushed back and a lightly grown beard covered his face. His jawline was rigid and his eyes were set back in his head. Behind Father Jefferson were a glass wall and doors that led to the sanctuary

  Lieutenant Polenski ushered us through the front door and greeted Father Jefferson with a firm handshake.

  “Alex,” Lieutenant Polenski said, “I’d like you to meet one of my detectives, Jacob Hayden, and the man you’ll be keeping for a couple of days, Stephen Carter.”

  We exchanged pleasant handshakes, but there was an absence of personality that I found odd in a man whose job it was to serve the people.

  “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show Mr. Carter to his quarters,” Father Jefferson said in a displeasing tone.

  As he turned around, I tapped Lieutenant Polenski on the shoulder and eyed him with a look of concern. The lieutenant shook it off and then turned to follow Father Jefferson.

  Before we got too far inside the church, Stephen cleared his throat and asked a question.

  “Do you think we can go to the sanctuary first?”

  The three of us turned around and looked at Stephen inquisitively.

  “I just feel the need to say a prayer.”

  “I didn’t know you were a praying man,” I said.

&n
bsp; “I’m not, but something tells me that I should start.”

  Father Jefferson and Lieutenant Polenski shared an exchange before Father Jefferson addressed Stephen.

  “They’re setting up for a 10 a.m. funeral this morning.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Stephen replied.

  “I don’t see any problem with it. Matter of fact, I should probably say a few prayers myself,” I said with a touch of humor, although no one smiled at the comment.

  “If it’s only for a minute,” Father Jefferson responded. “We really shouldn’t interrupt those men when they’re setting up.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen replied. “I’ll be quick.”

  Father Jefferson turned around and led us through the glass doors. He made the sign of the cross in the air before entering the sanctuary.

  The sanctuary was grand, with high, arching ceilings and rows upon rows of wooden pews. Stained glass décor of Biblical characters filled the ceiling-high windows above the pulpit in the back of the church.

  Bouquets of flowers lay on the marble floor in front of the pulpit, with a large picture stand nearby holding a black-and-white picture of an elderly Caucasian man.

  Stephen and I sat in the front pew while Lieutenant Polenski and Father Jefferson sat a few rows behind us. Stephen leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs and lowered his head as if deep in thought.

  “Detective Hayden,” he whispered.

  I leaned forward, “Yeah.”