Moratorium

by Chuck Sampson

  Bernie frowned and then he scrunched up his face like he’d just drank sour milk. “I can’t talk to those people,” he said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  Cyrus made a wry grin and then walked over beside him. Putting his arm on his shoulder he said, “Don’t worry Bernie, they’ll do most of the talking. Just say ‘no comment’ to everything except when they ask you something technical. Then you can do your best to turn them to solid stone, brother. Tell them all about EMI- that’ll teach’em.”

  Bernie smiled and then he said, “O.K. I can do that.”

  “I’ll introduce you and then go.”

  As they waited for the onslaught of reporters, Cyrus took note of one particular reporter who stood out, literally, among the rest of the journalists. She was taller than anyone around her. She had light blue-grey, narrow slits for eyes. “That must be Deidre Jones, he said.

  “Yes…I mean, who?” Bernie said.

  “Deidra Jones, Dana Mathers’s ex-girlfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  She carried a portable recorder and microphone.

  “I’ve never seen her do hard news before, that’s odd,” Cyrus said.

  The reporters formed a semi-circle around them and the camera men started taking photos. Cyrus raised his hands to signal them to be quiet. He waited a moment until the noise subsided and then he said, “This is Bernie Frizell, Chief Officer of Forensics Science. He is leading this ongoing investigation and will only answer questions which do not compromise it. I have to get going, excuse me.”

  Before Cyrus stepped away, Deidre Jones raised her hand to put her microphone to her lips. A large, clear, diamond ring flashed a bright glint of sunlight into his eyes.

  “I can’t believe she’s actually wearing a diamond ring like that in public,” he muttered quietly to Bernie, “It looks as big as a robin’s egg.” Bernie nodded in agreement.

  “Detective Fleming, like, what’s your hurry?” Deidre asked.

  “Confidential police business, sorry.” Then he turned to Frizell and whispered, “Bernie, what’s the name of the jeweler in Ventura? The one in the skyscraper near the Hilton.”

  “That’s Vernon’s, why?”

  “When you get finished here, go over to Vernon’s and see if they’ve sold a stone that large recently, real or zirconium. And find out who they sold it to.”

  “Cyrus that’s really not-”Bernie paused, scratched the side of his head, and then he said, “No problem, Cyrus.”

  Cyrus jogged quickly past the reporters and headed directly towards his vehicle. Once he reached the cruiser and got in, he jammed the keys into the ignition and gunned the engine several times. He put the portable emergency light on the hood and sped off, heading south on the 101 freeway. Picking up the microphone to the VHF radio he said, “Bailey, you there?”

  “Go ahead, Cyrus.”

  “Get a unit out to Packages R Us and have them find out if anyone is missing. I got a feeling their truck was hijacked and there is a truck driver stranded somewhere off the side of the freeway who is either in trouble or his body needs collecting.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, I need you to patch me through to the ambulance that just left CMC.”

  “Give me a couple minutes. Do you have the ID?”

  Cyrus gave Bailey the vehicle number of the ambulance and she patched him through to the driver.

  “What’s going on?” the driver asked.

  “Maybe nothing, I just need a little help.”

  “What can we do for you?”

  “Check in your rear view mirror and see if you can spot a black, Ford 350 pickup truck. The license plate says GREEN.”

  “I don’t need to; I can tell you he’s there. He’s been following us since we pulled out of the gate at CMC.”

  “Good, I am only a couple of minutes away. How far are you from the morgue?”

  “Fifty miles or so.”

  “Go slow, I am trying to catch up with you. Are you carrying?”

  A few moments of silence followed, and then Cyrus said again, “The men in the truck following you are dangerous. They are trying to see if they killed the target they were after. Don’t try to play cop with these guys if they get to you before I get there. Don’t try to stop them. Just pull over and do whatever they tell you to do. They won’t harm you as long as you don’t panic. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Understood,” the truck driver said, “Just pray they don’t make a wrong move.”

  Cyrus put up the mike and pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the car. When he reached the outskirts of Goleta, he could hear the steady and repeated blasts coming from a convoy of fire trucks, ambulances, and cop cars. Several helicopters passed over head. On the horizon he could see what there were heading towards. A large white and grey funnel of smoke extended from the earth skyward like a tornado. That’s a big fire, Cyrus said to himself.

  After two hours of high speed driving he reached the Santa Barbara city limit. He took the State St. off ramp and after a couple of blocks, turned down a one way street that led to the city morgue. When he rounded the corner he saw the truck right behind the ambulance, so close you could barely pass a piece a paper with one side through the gap. He thought he might trap them by having the driver slam on the brakes while he ran up along side them. Before Cyrus could signal him, the pickup took a sharp left turn and peeled out going up the street toward Foothill.

  Cyrus sped up and passed the ambulance, made the same left and caught up to the truck just as it hooked right. Cyrus grabbed the mike of the VHF radio and said, “Bailey, I am in pursuit going south on Foothill. I need as much back up as you have available. These guys are dangerous and we are in a heavily populated area. I can’t risk taking a shot at them while I am in the city.”

  As soon as he finished, he heard the muffled pop pop of rounds hitting the front windshield on the passenger side and shattering it. Shielding his face with one hand from the spray of glass shards, he swerved into the far right lane and slowed down to get out of range.

  “You there?” Bailey said with a voice an octave higher than usual.

  “Yeah, how about some backup?”

  “Sorry Cyrus, everybody is out helping out with a big fire near Goleta.”

  “What’s wrong with the fire department?”

  “They need the choppers and all available officers to help with the evacuation. It’s a major blaze.”

  Cyrus held the mike down and bit his lip. He raised it back up again and said, “Make sure they look for arson, that fire is more than likely the handiwork of the two perps I am chasing.”

  “O.K., as soon as anyone shakes free, I’ll send them out.”

  “These guys murdered a prison employee and he was my friend.”

  “Sorry Cyrus.”

  “I’ll need one of the choppers. Once they get to Casitas Springs Road I am going to have a hard time pulling them over.” He put the mike up. But at least then I can shoot back at the bastards, he muttered to himself.

  Casitas Springs Road was about two minutes further south. Foothill road ended at the city line. Casitas and Foothill were physically the same, all that changed was the name. Running south and then turning sharply to the west, toward the Santa Barbara back country, it was a narrow, two-lane, snake that wrapped itself around the base of Red Mountain. Several hair pin turns and steep cliffs dropped for several hundred feet only inches from the side of the road. One careless move and a pleasant Sunday drive could become an uncomfortable stay in the hospital or even the county morgue. Cyrus never drove on Casitas, even when he was off duty. Too many traffic cops he knew had warned him off.

  His short barreled chief’s special had too short of a range to knock down this perp. He holstered his small revolver and then retrieved his magnum from the glove box. Moon had knowledge about Dana’s case that was valuable, therefore hitting Moon with a round that could penetrate the body armor wouldn’t be wise. With his knees on the steering wheel to keep the
car on the road, he opened the cylinder and inserted a speed load of 38 special cartridges.

  He set a couple more speed loads on the passenger seat so he could get to them easily. Pushing down on the accelerator, he kept his eye on the truck and the man on the passenger side.

  He’s wearing that stupid Al Gore mask, Cyrus said to himself, I want to kill him just for that.

  The second his cruiser crossed over the city limit and into the back country, Cyrus took aim for the pony tailed man’s left shoulder and popped off a single shot. Mr. Pony Tail slumped over and the truck squealed tires as it swerved momentarily into the oncoming lane and then back into the right lane just in time to miss an oncoming SUV with it’s horn blaring.

  Damn! That was close! Cyrus said to himself.

  Unimpeded from his wound, Mr. Pony Tail continued on at high speed. Moon climbed out the passenger side window and leaned his body over and into the bed of the truck. As Cyrus fired an errant round at the rear tires, he spotted Moon aiming his weapon at him. At the same instant the truck hit a pot hole. The masked perpetrator’s shot went awry, and his nine-mike fell onto the road.

  Cyrus raised his weapon to aim at Moon. It was late afternoon and he couldn’t risk steering with his knee on a road with this many tight curves and blind corners. He had no free hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun shining from the east into his rearview. He put the mirror down and raised his revolver to fire again. Just when he had the sight lined up on his target’s shoulder, Moon raised up his own large mirror, as wide as the truck’s bed and as high as the cab. The mirror sent blinding rays of bright California sunshine into his eyes. Cyrus dropped the magnum, and then he backed his cruiser further off until he could see again.

  Snatching up his weapon from the floor of the car, he tried for another shot. Before he could fire, Moon got up again. What now, he said to himself, as he lowered his weapon. Moon’s next move amazed Cyrus. He propped up a large, translucent, and parabolic shaped, lens in front of the mirror and then he lowered the tailgate of the truck. He got out a joystick control and started maneuvering the frost colored lens so that it magnified the sunlight reflected from the mirror.

  As Cyrus raised his magnum again and aimed, he smelled burning rubber. Damn, it’s the tire. That crazy freak is frying my tires with the big magnifying glass.

  Cyrus fired off a shot that hit the masked perp near the hand and caused him to drop his joystick. Cyrus observed that Mr. Pony Tail had slumped over again into the steering wheel and the truck was heading for the edge of the road beside the cliff. He must of bled out, Cyrus said to himself. Moon scurried quickly back toward the cab of the truck and then back into the passenger seat. He grabbed the steering wheel and pulled the truck back onto the road. Opening the driver’s side door, he pushed Mr. Pony Tail out onto the asphalt. The limp body bounced and then rolled towards his squad car. To avoid it, Cyrus swerved off the pavement onto the narrow strip of dirt that lay between the pavement and a three hundred foot drop to the valley below. Cyrus watched in the rear view as a ball of dirt powder engulfed the limp body until it stopped just off the edge of the road. Cyrus picked up the mike to the VHF, “Bailey?”

  “Go ahead, Cyrus.”

  “I got a perp down on Casitas Springs Road, about six miles from the city line, just before the big u-turn. You need to get an ambulance out here as soon as possible.”

  “O.K., but I think it will be a while.”

  “Don’t worry, I am pretty sure he’s dead anyway. Any word on that chopper?”

  “Rudy says they will be committed to that fire most of the day and possibly all night. Sorry Cyrus.”

  Cyrus hung up. The truck slowed down so that the squad car tapped it in the rear. The impact caused the light from the big lens to line back up onto the cruiser’s front tire. Smoke poured up over the cruiser’s hood and blocked his view. Cyrus slowed down the cruiser to get some distance from the truck. But before he could, the right front tire popped and he lost control of the car, spinning off the road at one of the turn offs. When his car came to a stop, and the smoke cleared, Cyrus could see only clear sky and the vegetation on the other side of the valley below.

  The two front tires of the cruiser were hanging over a cliff. He looked out of the side window and to his relief, the car, up to where he sat, was still on solid ground. However, when he tried to open the door to get out, it moved. He sat back and sighed. Carefully, he reached for the radio mike, but before he could get to it, the cruiser moved again. He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up his magnum and the car shook a little.

  As he checked pistol’s cylinder to see how many cartridges were left, the rear window burst into pieces and at the same time his right ear felt like it was burning. Cyrus reached up with other hand and felt the side of his face. Warm blood covered his fingers. Glancing up into the rear view, Cyrus spotted Moon standing in front of his pickup parked about a hundred feet or so behind him, holding a nine mike.

  He kept still for a moment to stop the car from moving, and then, using the rear view for eyes, he turned the gun so that its barrel pointed behind him over his shoulder. He aimed the magnum and squeezed off a round. The thunderous blast from the long barreled pistol echoed through the chasm below, and Moon went down into a cloud of dirt. Cyrus cocked the magnum and got ready to fire another shot. He figured he was wearing a vest and he hoped he had only knocked the breath out of him and bruised a rib at most.

  But what Cyrus had not predicted was how long the masked man would stay down. He got up too soon. As he raised his nine mike to fire back, Cyrus took aim again. This time he had to aim for his head. But before he, or Moon, could fire, Cyrus heard the sound of gunshots a ways behind him. Moon lowered his gun, ducked down, and scrambled back into his truck. As Moon’s black Ford sped off, another pickup pulled into its place. It was Max’s Silverado.

  “Over here, Max!” Cyrus called out and then he waved his hand out of the side window. The car jerked forward.

  “Stay still Cyrus, I’m getting the winch,” Max said as he stepped down rapidly from his driver’s side running board. He lifted the lever on the wench and strung out the cable to the rear bumper of the squad car. Within a minute Max had the Dodge back on firm ground.

  Cyrus got out of the car and ran over to Max. He shook his hand and said, “How’d you know where I was?”

  “Easy,” Max replied, “Bailey told me, and I followed the trail of corpses. I was really scared one of them was going to be yours.”

  “If you hadn’t got here when you did, it would have. So I guess Mr. Pony Tail is dead and so is the truck driver for Packages R Us.”

  “That’s right. And I talked to Rudy about the fire.”

  “Arson?”

  “Yep, you’re bleeding pretty bad. I’ll get a bandage for that ear.”

  Cyrus followed him to his truck. He was sweating so much he looked like he’d been swimming with his clothes on. While Max taped up his ear, Cyrus said, “Well I put a round in his vest from about a hundred feet. I am glad I took out my hollow points and loaded my magnum with thirty eight ammo. I didn’t want to kill him.”

  “You should have killed him Cyrus and I know you could have. I’ve seen you shoot. You never miss.”

  “I can’t kill him. If he didn’t kill Mike Tanner, he more than likely knows who did. I can’t question him when he’s dead and he’s Dana’s only hope.”

  Max nodded his head in agreement and started toward the squad car. Cyrus followed him. Max popped open the trunk and fished out the spare and the lug nut wrench. He walked around to the right front tire that was flattened and charred. The smell of burnt rubber choked them. Max turned his head to the side and knelt down beside the nearly melted tire. Glancing up to Cyrus he said, “It’s too bad your driving skills don’t match your shooting ability. What happened to this tire?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I didn’t believe it myself.”

  “Try me.”

  “Moon melted it wit
h a mirror and a big, curvy magnifying glass.”

  “A Fresnel lens, Cyrus, they work pretty well. I’ve seen a guy use one to power a small quarter scale train.”

  “How?”

  “He made the steam for the engine from the sun shining through the big curvy magnifying glass,” Max said and then scratched the side of his head. “How close did you get to him?”

  “Pretty close, I was trying to catch them, remember?”

  “I mean was it a car length or more? Usually a Fresnel lens is only good for a couple of feet.”

  “I was all over the place. I don’t remember. I probably got too close.”

  “Somehow Moon’s figured out a way to extend the focal length, it appears. He certainly knows his physics.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said Moon, or whoever that masked man was, certainly had a good working knowledge of physics, especially light.”

  “It was Moon.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s on the FBI alert. You should try reading those from time to time. Moon disappeared about ten years ago. He was a physics teacher at Stanford.”

  Max put the wrench on one of the tire’s lug nuts and started to turn it, “He’s gone now. He can hide out in the back country forever.”

  “When Rudy gets a look at what I did to our new cruiser I might have to join him.” Cyrus said as he leaned against the squad car, “As soon as we’re done we have to get Dana.”

  “How are you going to do that? Get him a pardon?”

  “I can’t. At least not now. If the murderer is not Moon, he might figure we know something and find a hole to crawl into. I’ll get Dana put under our protective custody.”

  “We definitely need to protect him. When are we going to track down Duncan?”

  “I think there’s an easier way to get to Mr. Duncan.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Let’s give Briana a call tomorrow and find out what she knows. I’ve got a good feeling Duncan will show up on his own. And even if he doesn’t, Briana’s sure to know where to find him. They have the same boss, remember?”