A Fine Balance

by Susan Johnson

  Or maybe Sam’s extraordinary facility for understanding took notice.

  Slowly unclamping his jaws, the pup stood, head down, panting. Then with a small shudder, he roused himself, and looked up. Is it all right?

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Dropping to his knees, Jack took Sam’s great head in his hands, looked into his half-dazed eyes and recognized the aftermath of trauma--shock, exhaustion, despair. “You protected me. Thank you,” he added, softly.

  His earpiece buzzed.

  “I’m looking at the servants’ door to the suite and one dead dude,” Chuck said.

  “Three here. I’m ready.” Jack patted Sam. “Stay here and wait, not you, Chuck. I’m talking to Sam.” The pup blinked, then twitched his tail in a show of readiness. “Sam and I are coming in.”

  “Remember I’m wearing a red carnation. Don’t shoot. ”

  Jack smiled. “I’m bleeding all over the floor so let’s get this done.”

  Entering the apartment, they found it deserted, with the exception of Tweedy who was in his bedroom holding a thin, ashen-faced young girl in a choke hold, a handgun to her head.

  She was his ticket out.

  “Let me go,” he snarled, “or she dies.”

  Jesus, the fat creep was wearing a goddamn red silk bathrobe like some fucking matinee idol from the golden age of movies. If that didn’t make your skin crawl, the fact that he had a terror-stricken girl young enough to be his granddaughter in his bedroom, sure the fuck would. And he was threatening her life. Were those reasons enough for murder? Maybe. There might be a couple holdouts on a jury.

  But he’d promised Luis he’d make the bad guys pay.

  So maybe didn’t matter.

  Punching the ticket on this murderous asshole, who pretended to be a man of God when he was trading drugs and victimizing young girls, was an investment in a better world. “You really should let her go.” Curtailing Sam’s low, threatening growl with a whispered, “No”, Jack added in a normal tone, “It’s not very Christian to frighten a nice young lady.” He gave Chuck a sidelong glance. “She’s about your daughter’s age, right. I’m guessing a gun to the young girl’s head pisses you off.”

  Chuck didn’t have any children, but he answered in a hard, flat drawl. “Pisses me off big time. How old are you, dude--seventy, eighty? What the fuck you doin’ with a sweet young thing? You should be praying for absolution from your sins.”

  Tweedy’s nostrils flared, his beady eyes narrowed. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Ohhh, a godly man swearing. Ah do declare,” Jack murmured, his voice rich with sarcasm, taking note of Tweedy’s indignation, the slight tremble in the hand gripping the pistol. “You sure now? We can’t negotiate this? You let the lady go and we make a deal?”

  “Get out,” the evangelist snapped, zeal glowing in his eyes. “I’ll count to three and if you’re not gone, she dies.”

  “Come on, take it easy.” Troubled by the fervor in Tweedy’s eyes, knowing his crazy was true wacko, Jack kept his voice deliberately soft. “No one has to get hurt. You want something. We want something. Simple trade.”

  “You’re not listening!” Tweedy screamed, grinding the pistol muzzle into the girl’s temple. “No deal! No trade! I’ll count to three! Get out or she dies! One! Two!”

  The terrified girl fainted.

  Tweedy struggled to maintain his hold on her, his pistol, tried to keep the girl from slipping from his grasp--his fancy silk robe adding to his difficulties.

  Both men watched as the evangelist slowly lost his grip on the girl and when she finally crumpled to the floor, two short 10mm bursts rang out.

  Tweedy’s head disappeared in a spray of red mist.

  Jack had hoped, at most, for a small flinch or squeak from the young lady to momentarily distract Tweedy.

  He’d never thought they’d be lucky enough for a full head shot.

  God worked in mysterious ways.

  Chapter 48

  Chuck picked up the girl and with Jack’s help, they wrapped her limp form in a couple-sizes-too-big woman’s coat they’d found in the closet. She looked very small in Chuck’s arms as he carried her downstairs, but any woman would. He’d been in the NFL too until his father had been diagnosed with early onset dementia from his pro days with the Colts. Chuck had figured there were better ways to die.

  Both men understood the ephemeral nature of life.

  “We should put her somewhere the cops will see her but not shoot first and ask questions later,” Chuck suggested.

  “There’s a small sitting room off the front hall. She won’t be visible when they rush the door. That’ll give the entry team a little time to ease off their triggers.”

  The unconscious girl was deposited on a sofa in the room downstairs a few moments later.

  Jack pulled out his phone. “Keep an eye on her for a sec.” He hit a call icon. “I have to give Morrie a head’s up.”

  Chuck tapped the face of his wristwatch.

  Jack nodded, his phone to his ear, then pointed to the hallway. “Hey, Morrie,” he said, walking from the room, “I found the guy with the missing finger. Yeah, really. One of Tweedy’s losers. He’s dead so you can’t question him, but I have a good feeling about a DNA match.”

  “That’s great--except for the dead part,” Morrie grumbled. “Where are you?”

  “San Francisco. I’m not sure of the address. Ray knows. Call him.” Jack knew but he didn’t want to get tangled up in a crime scene investigation when he had places to go. “The meat wagon will find a couple more bodies here too.”

  “Jesus, Jack, don’t go vigilante on me. We’ll have inquiries up the ass, maybe even ethics complaints from some legal eagle looking for headlines, or interested in starting a pissing contest. You know how many”--

  “Relax. Everyone of Tweedy’s bozos were AK’d up. It was self-defense. Just listen now. There’s a young girl here who Tweedy was using as a shield, no, she’s fine, oh you mean Tweedy? He’s not in as good shape. But a righteous man like him, sure as shit he’s on a fast track to a fitting Judgment Day. Come on, Morrie, chill. Seriously, there’s an explanation for everything. And keep in mind Tweedy was going to kill this young lady. I’m sure she’ll be happy to testify.”

  “While I admire your confidence,” Morrie muttered, “if you leave too many bodies behind, no one can clean it up. So why don’t you call it a day, come home, let law enforcement handle Jillian’s kidnapping.”

  “You gotta be joking. They’ll fuck it up. But tell’em you tried. My contract with you is non-existent. Tell’em that too. I’ll be home in the morning. See you then.”

  “Jack, goddammit, wait a”—

  Ending the call, Jack slid his phone in his jean’s pocket and walked back into the room where Chuck was babysitting the girl. “Do you think we can wake her up?” Jack glanced at his watch. “We have maybe three minutes before the fucking swat teams surround the place.”

  “Let’s just leave a note.” Chuck grabbed a for-show Bible from a nearby table and tore out an end cap page. “Your phone number or mine?”

  “Give her mine. You like anonymity. I’ll talk to Morrie later. He can find out where the cops placed her.”

  Chuck wrote down one of Jack’s phone numbers, added, Call for help and relocation if you want a fresh start, folded the paper several times and put the small square in her coat pocket.

  As Chuck slipped the note in her pocket, the girl came awake with a start, her eyes flashing around the room, looking for an escape route.

  “You’re safe.” Chuck spoke softly to ease her panic. “I just put a phone number in your coat pocket. If you need help, call it, that’s all.”

  “Or if you have family waiting for you somewhere,” Jack said, “we could see that you get home.”

  Her eyes went wild-eyed, like some trapped animal.

  “If that’s a no go,” he added, softly, “you could tell the police when they get here that you need to talk to a social worker. You’re
under age. My brother runs a small foundation for at-risk kids. He could get you settled in a new life. Interested?”

  She shrugged one thin shoulder.

  Jack guessed she might have heard that line before. So he started over. “Tell the cops whatever you want when they arrive. But if they don’t believe you, they’re gonna send you to a foster home, yeah,” he said, as she sat bolt upright, shaking her head vehemently. “I’m guessing you’ve seen some not so good ones.” Picking up the Bible, he tore out another page, held out his hand for Chuck’s gold, bullet-sized pen and jotted down Wade’s phone number. His brother had helped a young boy in juvenile court, found him a place to stay, got him back in school. The boy had a friend who had a friend who had a friend, et cetera; Wade’s foundation was filling a real need. “I’ll tell my brother you might call. Strictly up to you, but we gotta go.” Jack dropped the piece of paper on the sofa. “And it would be a big help if you never saw us here. Wait til you see a social worker before you call my brother. You okay with that?”

  She nodded.

  Chuck smiled. “Take care now.”

  “Thanks.” Her voice was reed-thin and shaky.

  “No problem. Glad to help.”

  “Call Wade,” Jack said with a small nod. “He’s a good guy. Sorry, we have to split, but it’ll save a lot of questions.”

  The men were halfway to the hall when she said, “I’m from Texas.” She’d spoken so softly they didn’t hear her. “He has a program for runaways.”

  That they heard. Both knew who he was.

  They turned around. “Do you have any friends there you’d like to contact?” Jack asked. “I’d be happy to get you a plane ticket back to Texas.”

  She shook her head.

  Chuck glanced at his watch.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jack said, “but we do have to leave. Wade will take care of whatever obstacles come up and he’ll get you to Mendo. Just go for a few days,” he added with a smile. “Give yourself a little time to decide what you want to be when you grow up.”

  “A dancer.”

  “Perfect. You already know. Call Wade. He’ll get you enrolled in school and signed up for dance lessons.”

  She almost smiled. Then she did. “Okay.”

  Sam was in the lead as Jack and Chuck ran across the park, the sound of sirens faintly audible in the distance.

  After reaching the SUV, they waited for the first police cars to arrive, wanting to make sure the girl was safe.

  In the interim, Jack pulled out the first-aid kit from the back seat and with Chuck’s help, his wound was swiftly cleaned and field dressed—the ragged flesh pulled together, then sprayed with liquid bandage.

  “I did the best I could but a doctor should look at it,” Chuck said, smoothing a sizeable band-aid over the wound.

  “Tomorrow. Press it tighter.” Jack grunted at the sudden stabbing pain.

  Chuck raised one brow. “Need a pill?”

  “Fucking A. But later. Right now, I need a clear head. Remington’s not stupid and Morrie’s not going to be able to keep the due process advocates off our asses for long. We have to stay ahead of them.”

  “Bingo.” Chuck nodded at the house as the first police car screeched to a halt in front of the house.

  “She has help,” Jack said, sliding on his jacket to cover his bandaged arm. “Let’s go.”

  Settling back behind the wheel, Chuck dropped the gear into drive and pulled the SUV away from the curb.

  Jack had to talk to Ray.

  “I told Morrie to call you,” Jack said when Ray answered on the team audio transmission rely. “He did? Fine. I told him you had Tweedy’s address, although the cops are here already so someone in the neighborhood must have called it in. We’re on our way to Remington’s. Anything new I should know?”

  “I managed to get some long-distance audio pickup on the house,” Ray replied. “But so far no sign of Jillian. She’s not on the main floor. If she’s in the basement I may not be able to get a signal. Also, considering the nature of Remington’s business partners, he might have a safe room in that house. If he does, no way I’m getting through lead walls.”

  “He received my message?”

  “Yeah and he’s freaking as much as a man without a conscience can freak. On a scale of one to ten, maybe a five.”

  “Ava has the wife under surveillance?”

  Ray chuckled. “Ava’s streaming some hot and heavy video between the wife and a bartender. Once Remington’s wife gets the dude alone, it’s gonna be slam, bang, over in two seconds flat. You can practically hear them panting. Ava thinks the wife’s paying for his time so he’s workin’ it hard.”

  “Maybe Remington and his wife are a perfect match. He doesn’t know what it’s like to get it for free either.”

  “The wife’s pretty fine. I think she’s just a big spender.”

  Jack grunted. “Like who cares. Has anyone come or gone since Jillian disappeared inside?”

  “Nope. Quiet. The two bodyguards who arrived on the chopper are there, along with Hayes and Remington’s on-site team—four of them--so six plus Hayes. I doubt Remington’s going to pick up a weapon.”

  “Are all the bodyguards visible?”

  “They’re patrolling outside in pairs.”

  Jack felt the tension in his shoulders ease. “Then no one’s bothering Jillian wherever she is.”

  “Affirmative. Both Hayes and Remington are busy on their phones.”

  “Remington’s 6800 number?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so far, we have a nominal concern for Remington’s wife and kids going for us. But I’m guessing an army of cops will be on their way to Remington’s once they figure out there might be a score in the win column for them along with some sensational TV coverage. Stay on top of that will you? Monitor the police frequencies. If they light up like a Christmas tree, give me a call. It won’t change my plans, but I want to know if I have five minutes or fifty minutes to negotiate Jillian’s release.”

  “Speaking of police frequencies, they’re going ape at Tweedy’s. You leave a big body count?”

  “We didn’t add it up. Now make sure you red light me if company’s on the way to Remington’s.”

  “He’s out in the middle of nowhere. If they come, you’ll have plenty of lead time. I have intercepts on Morrie’s phone too. He’s trying to stall the attack dogs.”

  “You can always count on him to be reasonable. But once Jillian’s free I don’t give a shit how many cops show up. I just don’t want them there before I get her out. They’re too fucking trigger happy.”

  “Chrissy says Jillian might be really pissed--what with her son left behind and everything.”

  “Yeah, I know. Plan for the worst, hope for the best. Just between you and me though, I’m not above begging.”

  Ray chuckled. “Told you. Greatest feeling in the world--caring that much.”

  “Talk to you later,” Jack said, because he was a pilgrim in a foreign land when it came to caring too much. And even if he was disposed to parse his feelings, this sure as hell wasn’t the time.

  This was the time to give away the fucking store.

  Chapter 49

  They were within minutes of Remington’s house when Ray’s warning came through their audio transmission.

  “Bad news. Morrie got outvoted, outshouted, threatened by the suits. Everyone’s already visualizing the headlines. CARTEL DRUG BUST, STREET VALUE--they’re arguing about how many billions, dreaming of their promotions and on the move. Feds, city, state; the fucking freeways look like Nascar. Two DEA choppers are about to lift off. You don’t have much time.”

  “The choppers will get here first. Any idea when?”

  “Wade’s crunching the numbers. They’re north of the city, okay, he estimates twenty minutes. That’s top cruising speed.”

  “They’re still on the ground?”

  “Yup.”

  “Give us a shout-out when they take off. Keep us updated on
the progress on the freeways. Twenty minutes should be fine.”

  As they approached the gates blocking the entrance to the estate, Jack was punching Remington’s number on his phone. “Floor it. My brush grill will take the hit.”

  Two seconds later they smashed through the gates just as Jack’s call went through. “I’m coming in unarmed. Call off your goons. I’m here to deal.”

  “I’m not interested,” Remington said, his voice flat and controlled.

  “You should be. An alphabet soup of law enforcement agencies are on the way, the freeways bumper to bumper squad cars, two choppers in the sky. Armageddon, dude.”

  “I don’t care if the US Army’s on the way.” Remington gave Hayes a quick smile, mouthed, Morgan’s here, and pointed to the front door. “They don’t have anything on me. I’m clean.”

  “Then you’re as delusional as Tweedy. By the way, he and his crew are dust,” Jack added as Chuck pulled up to the front door. “I’m here to save your ass not argue. I’m comin’ in.” He had his hand on the door latch when Ray said softly in his ear, “They’re in the sky. Twenty minutes.” Shoving the car door open, Jack said a quiet, “Thanks,” then stepped out and walked up to the front door, his hands up.

  Hayes opened the door.

  “You two need a fucking escape plan,” Jack said, dropping his hands and stepping over the threshold. “I can give it to you. Where’s your boss?”

  Hayes lifted his chin. “You know the drill.”

  Jack took the position without comment. Time was precious.

  After a quick pat down, Hayes pulled out Jack’s earpiece, stripped off his mic and pointed down a hall.

  Remington was waiting in an elaborate office that would have done justice to a prince of the blood. Enough gilt to blind the eye, plush carpets so thick every step left footprints, opulent furniture reminiscent of the glory of Versailles--everything screaming overweening vanity.

  Leaning back in his desk chair, Remington gave Jack an unblinking stare. “I don’t need you to save my ass.”

  Jack had heard that smug tone before, the day he’d visited Remington’s office. “Sure you do.”