* * *
Nick escorted Jean with Deke on leash, past Gus holding the screen door for them.
“Did you hear what happened, Uncle Gus?”
“No. I couldn’t drag the details from closed mouth Uncle John. I knew something happened from the fact he couldn’t shut his mouth during our phone conversation. All he could say was ‘you must go to the beach this morning, Payaso’ over and over. We can’t leave your Dad alone for ten minutes without missing an adventure. Are you ready for school, or did you ignore your studies all weekend?”
Jean rolled her eyes while taking Deke’s leash. She adjusted her school pack. “Big chance of that. I had to work like a slave under El Muerto, with his minion, the Momster handling his light work.”
“Keep talking, Dagger, and tonight you’ll have a little writing exercise to perform called ‘I will write it is wrong to disrespect my parents five hundred times’. You’ll love that one. It’s really fun. Is there any other verbal treasure you’d like to share with Uncle Gus?”
“The Daughter of Darkness has point.” Jean lowered her head, and scampered with Deke down the walk.
“I see Jean is still working on her parental one liners.”
“She has the adrenaline rush from last night running through her. I’m glad she slept as much as she did.” Nick quickly went over the details, hitting all the high points in a matter of minutes while he and Gus trailed Jean and Deke.
“I’ll say one thing for you, Muerto: when your life goes into the toilet, fifty hands reach for the flush handle.”
“What? Leave it to you, Payaso – always looking at the negatives. I encounter the good fortune to uncover and end a plot to assassinate the United States CIA Director, who also happens to be a friend of ours, and you act like I walked into a wood chipper. I expect more from my sidekick, the deadly dangerous Payaso.”
“Turn that record over, Muerto. You have a billionaire murderer pay his way to your family’s front door, and you think the roses are in bloom? I don’t think so. I can read between the lines, brother. You’re wondering how many ears this guy whispered your personal info into before he went bye-bye. I bet Jerry loved your Kingpin of crime adjustment.”
“Yes, he did. Jerry is a man who sees things in a more positive vein unlike you, my insidious sidekick.”
“Insidious? Jerry only sees new limo, tools, and potential. I’m around you much more in the target zone.” Gus put his hands to his temples, looking up. “I, the all-knowing Payaso see a hurriedly advanced road trip to Washington until the hometown fires burn down.”
“Showoff.”
“Heh… heh. The thug entries at dinner didn’t sit well with the great El Muerto, huh? How close did you come to executing those two at the ‘Grotto’?”
“That is of no concern to you, Payaso. I am thinking of moving the loyal El Kabong into your hallowed position as sidekick, and reducing you in rank to minion.”
“Minions don’t sail boats out on body disposal runs, Muerto.”
“El Muerto has been contemplating the creation of a sacred thug burial ground in Carmel Valley. Muerto has all contingency plans in place to deal with disloyal minions.”
Gus couldn’t help humorous appreciation of the Muerto contingency declaration. “No way you dig potholes in your land in Carmel Valley for reformed terrorists and gangsters. Besides, you don’t own a big enough piece of land. Enough of this minion stuff. When’s Paul communicating with you on facts concerning the guy who very well might know about you: the NSA clown?”
“I know Paul. ASAP. When he knows, we’ll know. We have to keep a low profile around here for the time being, because I have no idea how soon the cops will be asking questions about Formsby’s whereabouts, or how many people he informed about his planned meeting with me.”
“Did you believe the story Formsby meant only to entertain your family while he offered you the contract on Paul?”
“He planned to hold them hostage until I finished the job. The money he offered, and steady position as lead enforcer was bullshit. With twenty-five million, he could have hired a small army of mercenaries to kill Paul. Formsby wanted Paul gone, but I’ve pissed someone off too I don’t know about. When I finished the job, I would have been killed or captured. Formsby would have then disposed of Rachel and Jean. I know you and John would have ripped the earth apart looking for us, but it would have been useless. We would simply have disappeared.”
“Do you think it was Collister?”
“I doubt it. Formsby knew all about our Nassau hit on the water. That means someone was in my old boss Frank’s confidence - someone who may have been in line to make a fortune from Stoddard and Fletcher dying, but only if Frank remained alive. We’ll have to tear into Formsby’s files Paul uncovers from the hits on Milty’s holdings. I have all the memory cards from their phones and tablets. I uploaded the contents into the computer in my safe-room with no Internet or Bluetooth capability. I didn’t want anything signaling outward during the transfer. I’ll send those on to Paul this morning.”
“Damn, Muerto, your ass is in the breeze on this one. We must have left a loose end somewhere on that damn op. It was a beauty. You knew Frank was going to nuke us from orbit. We certainly settled with him. He didn’t look the type to give out info on a lark to anyone. Your boss Frank was a blackmailer to the first degree.”
Nick kept silent, his hands clenching into fists. Gus noticed. “Uh oh. I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but it looks serious. Did you get a revelation?”
“I sure did, and I know exactly which two dodos in government to ask about the loose end I thought of. Thank you for that.”
Five minutes passed without Nick saying another word, watching Jean skip along next to Deke. It proved too much for Gus. “Muerto! Are you going to tell me or not?”
“When I confirm it, I will. I’m trying to cool off my thermostat. Something like this requires a calm voice or I will get nowhere. US Marshals Stanwick and Reinhold will sense how pissed off I am if I talk to them now. They would instinctively know that if they were in front of me, I would shoot them in the head. They know me well enough they’d pack their bags and head for Fiji.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Oh yeah. I have to talk with Jean’s teacher about time off, and I don’t want to talk to her after talking with my US Marshal buddies. The good news is I think we may have a candidate for loose end. This is what working with government agencies gets you. They seem all warm and fuzzy on the outside, but inside, they just don’t give a crap. Details can kill us in this profession Gus – wrong details and left out details. Check out the school. What is this, mob day?”
“It looks like some kind of protest,” Gus said. “Maybe I should hang back with Jean and Deke while you go in and chat with Ms. Kader. That way you can find out before we walk right into them with Jean.”
“Agreed. Jean! Stay here with Gus until I sift through the mob, and find out why you have a crowd out in front.”
“Okay, Dad. They don’t look like parents. They’re all shouting something.”
“See Gus, even private elementary schools aren’t exempt from dolts with nothing better to do. I wonder what the hell they’re protesting. How’s the lunch menu, Jean. Maybe they don’t like the food.”
Jean giggled. “The food’s okay. Maybe I should take the day off.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll be back.”
“I heard that,” Gus said. “Don’t do any ‘Terminator’ stuff over there. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
Nick waved off Gus. As he drew closer, the slogans shouted became clearer. Nick realized with confusion the crowd of about twenty people were protesting the American Flag on the pole in front of the school. He angled around the crowd with other parents dropping off their kids to see who was in front of the mob. A thin, dark skinned man, looking to be a couple inches taller than Nick’s six foot height faced the mob calmly. Nick had noticed him taking his two boys to school before. He stood wi
th his arms folded over chest in front of the flagpole, listening to the two men in front of him shouting in his face. Nick moved nearer to the flagpole exchange. The parent in front of the flagpole was blocking the crowd from cutting down the flag. The suited, olive skinned man arguing with him spoke with a distinctly Iranian accent, Nick recognized. The crowd edged nearer. Nick grinned. Sorry, Gus, he thought, I’ll have to get a piece of this. Nick walked over next to the man in front of the pole.
The man glanced at Nick, ignoring his assailants. “Mr. McCarty. How are you, Sir? I’ve read all your novels. I thought about introducing myself a bunch of times. I’m Jim Amos. My boys attend school here.”
“Just Nick.” He shook hands with the parent. Nick raised his voice to be heard over the slogan shouters in front of them. “Nice to meet you, Jim. These people want to take down the flag, huh?”
Amos smiled. “Yeah, Nick, that’s what they want to do. I read where you were in Delta. I’m still in the Marine reserves, and fought in the second Gulf War. No one tears the flag down here in front of my kids’ elementary school unless they do it over my dead body.”
“Our dead bodies, brother.” Nick turned with folded arms next to Amos. “Do you know this idiot shouting at us in front, Jim?”
“Yeah… he’s-”
“Did you just call me an idiot?!” The olive skinned man moved in front of Nick, poking his finger threateningly in Nick’s chest, as the rest of the crowd quieted. “I am Dr. Habib Rashidi. We want this nationalistic symbol of oppression removed at once! America murders innocents all over the globe under this symbol of tyranny. It offends the undocumented immigrants, and progressive thinking citizens, who want nothing to do with the genocide committed under its obscene banner.”
Nick smiled at the apoplectic Rashidi. “Gee, Doc, that’s too bad. Maybe you should either stop looking at it, or get the hell out of our country.”
A cheer went up from parents milling around the confrontational edges. Before Rashidi could speak, two women joined Nick and Jim. A slender brown haired woman walked in between Rashidi and Nick to shake hands with the two unmoving sentinels.
“Rita Gonzalez, Army, two tours Afghanistan.”
“Welcome. I’m Nick McCarty. This is Jim Amos.”
Rita continued over to stand at Amos’s side, before facing the now nearly silent crowd. “No one messes with the flag… no one!”
The other auburn haired woman stood next to Nick. “Hi guys. Can I get a piece of this? I’m Ruth Gurkovsky, Air Force retired, Iraq and Afghanistan, brothers.”
“Sure can, Sis.” Nick noticed other men and women filling in around them.
Seeing his protest ripped away moment by moment, Rashidi began another finger poking session at Nick. Gurkovsky snatched his hand out of the air, and in seconds Rashidi was on his knees, face twisted in pain. “Didn’t your mamma ever teach you it’s rude to point? I assume she didn’t. Take this lesson to heart, ass-wipe. Point again, and I rip it off, and shove it up your ass.”
Ruth released him with enough of a push off to land Rashidi on his butt to the loudly cheering backers behind her. Police cars drove next to the confrontation with revolving light show, but turned off their sirens. Nick sighed, seeing Sergeant Dickerson approaching with five other officers behind him. Dickerson shook his head as the other officers strode in between the two groups. Nick gave him a little wave.
“I might have known. Would you care to explain this elementary school standoff, Nick?”
“Certainly, Officer Dickerson,” Nick replied affably. “These people in front of us wanted to rip the American Flag down. My Marine buddy, Jim Amos, decided that could not be allowed. The rest of us agreed with his position, and joined him. Our kids actually go to this school. I have no idea who these anti-American, slogan shouting zombies are, except for the leader scrambling to his feet behind you. He told us his name was Dr. Habib Rashidi. The flag offends him.”
Dickerson glanced at the surrounding flag sentinels. “Did Nick explain it correctly?”
A murmuring assent sounded in agreement.
“That’s exactly how it happened, Sir,” Jim Amos added.
“I have been assaulted in front of witnesses!” The raging Rashidi tried to brush by Dickerson, but was restrained by another police officer. “That woman attacked me!”
“That’s a lie, Sergeant,” Jim Amos said. “Big mouth was poking Nick in the chest, and Ruth restrained him. He fell on his butt. Boo Hoo! He’s lucky I didn’t adjust him like I wanted to. We wouldn’t be listenin’ to him crying like a two year old with a scuffed knee.”
Laughter rang out, and Rashidi began shouting threats in Farsi. Nick called out tersely to him in the same language. Rashidi screamed and launched at Nick, his hands in claw form. Nick simply met him with a palm strike at diaphragm level, landing Rashidi once more on his back, but this time gasping for air in a fetal position.
Dickerson looked questioningly at Nick. “What did you say to him, Nick?”
“He was shouting threats in Farsi at Jim, and I told him that wasn’t very nice.”
Ruth Gurkovsky started laughing, patting Nick on the shoulder.
“Did you have something to add, Ma’am,” Dickerson asked, reading between the lines.
“No… huh uh… I thought Nick was very restrained.”
“Okay, I believe we’ve all had enough for one day,” Dickerson said.
“Sergeant? Isn’t it illegal to assemble in mob form for the express purpose of damaging private property? This is a private elementary school with children attending under twelve,” Nick pointed out. “I would wager not one of these rent-a-mob people have ever had a child attend school here. I believe what they tried to do here would fall under the category of reckless endangerment, wouldn’t you say. I would like to press charges.”
“Don’t do this, Nick,” Dickerson pleaded, as the other parents added their wishes to press charges.
Seeing Nick smile, but remain silent, Dickerson sighed and turned to the mob, some of whom had already slipped away. “I would like any parent of a child attending this school to step forward.”
The mob remained motionless. “In that case, you will be charged for illegal assembly and child endangerment. None of you move! My officers will write citations for appearance later.”
Dickerson then helped Rashidi to his feet, and hand cuffed the still gasping man, while reading him his rights. “Do you understand your rights as I have explained them?”
“Yes! This is not over!”
“You have the right to remain silent. Use it,” Dickerson advised, turning toward Nick. “I see Gus, Jean, and Deke on the outskirts of the crowd, Nick. Can I have a word with you after you get done with school business?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I’ll deposit the instigator in the squad car. I’ll meet you at the school entrance.”
The sentinels remained, exchanging greetings and handshakes, with Ruth staying close to Nick.
“What did you really say to that guy, Nick,” Jim Amos asked.
“Nick told him his mother sucked dicks in hell, and his father was a goat,” Ruth answered for Nick, provoking wild laughter amongst the group.
“I was sort of hoping no one else spoke Farsi,” Nick replied.
“Air Force intelligence.” Ruth smiled. “Nice meeting you all.”
The group said their goodbyes, and Nick joined Gus, Jean, and Deke.
“I’m impressed, Muerto,” Gus said. “That was a relatively peaceful ending. I take it the Sergeant would like to talk with you.”
“As soon as I get Jean into class, I’ll have a word with him. I’m pressing charges against that flake leading this mob mess. Be right back, Payaso. C’mon Jean, we still have two minutes. It’s a good thing we left early.”
“Did those people really want to tear our flag down, Dad?” Jean followed Nick toward the school once again. “That’s weird.”
“The older you get, the more you understand human nature can n
ever be fully understood. People will follow along behind something or someone for the most inane reasons imaginable, against all common sense and logic. I gave up a long time ago trying to figure it out. Aside from some of my known psychopathic tendencies, I do know right from wrong. I’ve been in enough places around the world to know this country and our flag deserve respect. If not respect, then you know me, I’ll settle for fear.”
“I’m going to join the Marines when I get out of school,” Jean stated with conviction. “I’ll need seasoning, and I can get that in the Corps.”
Nick did a double take at the words, and saw Jean stifling laughter. “Good one. If you pull that on your Mom, you’ll be in the Corps before you ever leave the house again.”
“You’d let me join the Marines, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d be forced to point out the advantages of a college degree, with which you could be anything you want, including a Marine officer, but I certainly wouldn’t talk you out of serving your country.”
“I thought you’d get a kick out of my Marine Corps seasoning piece. I put it together from a few movies. You probably think I’ll join when I’m eighteen just so I can watch Mom’s head explode, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that is exactly what I’m afraid you’ll do. As a husband who has only recently stopped putting Jello in your Mom’s slippers, it’s bad form for me to lecture you on baiting your Mom in horribly creative ways. I do believe Quinn will be quite different than you, and will keep your Mom busy in a favorable way. Kids are usually polar opposites.”
Jean waved at Nick as she walked by Dimah Kader, her teacher. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll train the little twerp to be a killer.”
Startled, Nick took a step toward the classroom, but thought better of it as Jean turned, giggling while doing a touchdown celebration dance. Ms. Kader enjoyed the show.
“Jean is rather unique, is she not, Mr. McCarty?”
Nick shook the finger of fate at Jean while answering. “I guess you could use that word. I have to quickly ask you about taking Jean on another book tour with me in Washington State. It will probably be within a week or two. I promise to stay in touch and tutor her the entire time.”
Bloody Shadows Page 8
