Gnosis

by Tom Wallace

  “He lives with a woman named Consuela Lopez. She has her own business-cleans houses, office buildings, condos… that sort of thing. Has three full-time employees and a legion of part-timers. Her financial records indicate she makes pretty good money, more than two-hundred K per year, which is sufficient enough to support Stone and her two kids. Stone may be an ex-con and a brain-dead former boxer, but he’s no dummy. He was smart enough to reel in a fish with money.”

  “Nice setup. Wouldn’t mind landing a deal like that myself.”

  “Bring it up with Dunn,” Milt said. “She’ll support you.”

  “Right. And I’ll win Wimbledon this year.”

  “How’s that working out for you guys, anyway? Everything cool?”

  “Jury’s still out.”

  “Is Rich the problem?”

  “One of them.”

  “Tell you what, Ace. I wouldn’t worry too much about what Rich thinks. If things do work out between you and Dunn, Rich will have to accept it and deal with it. In the final analysis, it’s really none of his business.”

  “I doubt he would agree with you.”

  “What’s he going to do? He’s not going to fire you, the best homicide investigator the department has ever had. And Dunn’s a rising star. He’s doesn’t want to lose her. I say go for it and let the chips fall where they may.”

  Dantzler was in no mood to discuss his private life. “Let’s worry about Stone today. Okay? We need to stay focused on him, not on my relationship with Laurie. That can wait.”

  “How do you want to handle it?” Milt asked.

  “Straightforward. We’ll go up on the porch, announce our presence, and tell Stone we only want to talk. Eric and Scott will cover the back, in case he decides to rabbit. Did his PO say whether or not Stone has any weapons?”

  “He didn’t say, but, hell, he wouldn’t know if Stone is armed or not. Stone’s an ex-con, he’s not supposed to own weapons, but… we all know about ninety-nine percent probably do. If he has one gun or ten he’s not about to tell his parole officer. We definitely need to be cautious.”

  *****

  “Which house is it?” Dantzler said, slowing the car to a crawl.

  “That one,” Milt said, pointing to his left.

  The red brick house, which sat on the corner of Alexandria and Palms Drive, was virtually identical to other houses along the street. It was small and neat, probably three bedrooms and two baths, with a two-car garage and a perfectly manicured front lawn. A flowerbed consisting of a rose bush and azaleas surrounded by Creeping phlox ran parallel beneath a front window. Two wicker chairs and a swing sat idly on the concrete porch, adding to the cozy quotient.

  Dantzler studied the house while waiting for Eric and Scott to join them. Although the layout seemed simple enough, one aspect troubled him-a five-foot high wooden fence that enclosed the back yard. Not being able to see what might be happening behind the house was cause for concern. If the fence was locked from the inside it could spell trouble. His plan was to have Eric and Scott cover the back, and if Stone did decide to bolt, and if he did come out firing a weapon, the two detectives might not know what was happening until it was too late. They would definitely need to be alert.

  “That damn fence could pose a problem,” Milt pointed out.

  “Precisely what I was thinking,” Dantzler said. He turned to Eric. “Eric, you and Scott circle around to the back of the house. Check out the fence, see if it has a door or gate. Make sure you know if it’s locked, or if it opens from the inside or outside. Either way, stay on your toes. Don’t get caught by surprise.”

  While Eric and Scott were making their way around back, Dantzler and Milt walked up the sidewalk toward the house. Halfway there, they noticed a man peeking out from behind a curtain. He watched the detectives for several seconds, let the curtain drop, and disappeared.

  “Was that Stone?” Dantzler asked.

  “Couldn’t tell.”

  As they stepped onto the porch, the front door opened just enough for them to see the side of a man’s beefy face. He had a patchy beard, a deep scar above his upper lip, and dark blue eyes.

  “I know you guys are cops,” the man said, his voice gruff and scratchy. “I’ve been told you were coming, and I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you.”

  “Are you Kevin Stone?” Dantzler said.

  “Rocky Stone.”

  “Rocky, I’m Detective Jack Dantzler and this is Detective Milt Brewer. We’re with Homicide. We would like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

  “You can’t come charging in here like this,” Stone said, angrily. “This ain’t Russia.”

  “We’re not charging in, Rocky. We only want to talk, that’s all.”

  “I don’t have anything to talk about, ’cause I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’ve been clean ever since I left the joint. Ask my parole officer.”

  “We did, and he had positive things to say about you. But, still, we need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Questions about what?”

  “It would be a lot better if we could talk inside. Why-”

  “I’m not talking to you, I don’t have to talk to you, and that’s that. So, amscra.”

  “Come on, Rocky. Don’t make this difficult. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to talk to us. Let’s do it now and get things cleared up. Then we’ll be out of here.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Colt Rogers, for starters.”

  “Colt Rogers? That sniveling weasel? I ain’t got nothin’ to say about him, except that I’m glad he’s dead.”

  “We need to talk about that, Rocky.”

  “Wait a minute. Homicide? You’re tryin’ to pin his murder on me, aren’t you? No way. I’m happy he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then here’s your chance to clear it up, once and for all.”

  “Yeah, right, like you guys are gonna believe me.”

  “You tell the truth, we’ll believe you.”

  “That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

  “It’s not bullshit, Rocky. We’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  “You bastards ain’t nothin’ but bullshit artists.”

  “Tell you what, Rocky. You let us in and agree to talk, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll call ahead and line up an attorney to sit in with us. You won’t even have to ask for legal representation. That’s a deal I’ve never made before. What do you say?”

  “Same thing I said before… you’re a bullshit artist.”

  “No, I’m not. You don’t have to say a thing until the attorney gets here. You have my word on it.”

  “Yeah, well, how much do you think your word means to me? Less than nothing, that’s how much. And if I did believe you, what kind of lawyer would you call? Another money-grubbin’ loser like Colt Rogers? No, thanks.”

  “Open up, Rocky,” Dantzler said, forcefully.

  “Go away. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

  “We’re not leaving, Rocky, so you might as well let us in.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Open the door, Rocky.”

  “Sure. Let me unhook this chain.”

  Seconds after Stone closed the door, Dantzler and Milt heard two familiar sounds-the dead bolt closing and a bullet being jacked into the chamber of a weapon.

  “Gun,” Milt said, ducking to the side of the door. “The dumb bastard’s gonna make this difficult.”

  Dantzler, Glock in his right hand, leaned across and banged on the door with his left fist. “Don’t be crazy, Rocky. Nobody is accusing you of anything. All we want to do is get some facts straight.”

  Silence.

  “Rocky, open up,” Dantzler yelled. “Let’s talk.”

  Dantzler pressed an ear against the door, listened, and heard the sounds of movement coming from inside the house. A chair scraping the wooden floor, Stone laughing out loud, footsteps, a door slamming shut.

  “He’s bolting,” Dantzler said,
turning the doorknob. “Godammit, he’s jammed the door shut.”

  “This is gonna get ugly,” Milt said. “Knew I should’ve put in those damn retirement papers.”

  From behind the house a sudden burst of gunfire shattered the quiet. After a few moments of silence, more gunfire erupted, another staccato burst, followed by silence. Dantzler could tell from the sounds that Stone was exchanging fire with Eric and Scott. He also knew Stone had far more firepower than the two detectives.

  “That’s an automatic,” Milt said, reading Dantzler’s mind. “I guess that answers our question about whether or not he’s armed.”

  Staying in a crouch, Dantzler and Milt moved quickly toward the back, hugging the fence like a pair of rats. Ten feet from the end, they saw Stone send a hail of bullets toward Eric and Scott. Stone turned and ran past a big oak tree, pausing long enough to insert a new clip into his rifle, then headed for the street, stopping every few yards to spray more bullets at the detectives.

  Dantzler reached the end of the fence and immediately looked to his left. Eric, partially hidden behind a girl’s bicycle, was on one knee, gun in his right hand firing at Stone while keeping his left hand pressed against Scott’s chest.

  “Oh, shit, Scott’s been hit,” Dantzler yelled to Milt. “Call for backup and go help Eric. Keep that damn kid alive, Milt. I’m going after Stone.”

  Milt went left toward Eric and Scott, cell phone at his ear, screaming orders for backup and an ambulance. Cramming the phone into his pocket, he knelt next to Eric, who now had both hands on Scott’s wound. Scott was alive-barely. His eyes were open, he was white as a snowman, but he was breathing.

  “You hang in there, Rookie,” Milt said, putting his hands over the wound. “Medics will be here in seconds. Keep those eyes open, hear me? That’s an order.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Dantzler was about to cross Palms Drive when he saw Stone dart between two houses, veer to his right, and disappear behind a large storage shed. Dantzler crossed the street, took cover behind a black Honda Accord, and checked the clip in his Glock. As sirens wailed in the distance, Dantzler duckwalked past the Honda, using a row of cars for cover, until he was even with the opening Stone had taken. He raised his head in an effort to see Stone, but had to duck down quickly when a new burst of gunfire shattered the car’s front windshield and blew out the right front tire.

  Dantzler returned fire, waited for a second assault from Stone, and was surprised when nothing happened. Briefly, he entertained the thought that one of his bullets had wounded or killed Stone. But that was, he knew, only wishful thinking. Stone was too well protected by the shed to have been hit. Seconds later, Stone made it official that he was alive and well by rattling off another dozen shots, all of which did further damage to the car protecting Dantzler.

  When the shooting stopped, Dantzler peered over the car’s hood and saw Stone running hard between the houses. Dantzler gulped in fresh air to refill his burning lungs, stood up, and began to give chase. As he reached the opening between houses, he heard noise coming from behind. Turning, he saw Eric moving at blinding speed, gun in his bloody right hand, a hard look of hate on his face. Before Dantzler could say a word, Eric raced past, quickly closing in on Stone, who had made the crucial mistake of running into an alley with no exit.

  Realizing he was trapped, Stone, now desperate and panicked, swung around, steadied himself, and prepared for what he had to know would be his last stand. Screaming like a mortally wounded animal, Stone lifted his rifle and took dead aim at Eric.

  Then in a flash Stone’s head came apart. Blood, bone, and brain matter painted a grotesque mural on the side of the house Stone was standing in front of. The rifle fired skyward as it flew from his hands. Stone tumbled to the ground, right leg twitching for several seconds, his shattered head at the center of an expanding pool of blood. After several more seconds, the twitching stopped and his breathing ceased.

  Eric had ended the rampage with a single shot.

  Dantzler got to Stone’s body first. Out of habit, he kicked the weapon, a.223 assault rifle, away from Stone’s right hand. He thought about checking for a pulse, but knew it wasn’t necessary. Kevin “Rocky” Stone was a goner.

  “You okay?” Dantzler said to Eric.

  “Never felt better.”

  “That was some serious cowboy shit you pulled, Eric. You should be thankful you aren’t the one lying on the ground.”

  “He shot my partner. I had to go after him.”

  “Is Scott still alive?”

  “Yeah. But he’s hurt bad.”

  “You know, Eric, if I wasn’t so damn relieved, I’d be pretty pissed at you.”

  Eric nodded, started to say something, but didn’t.

  Dantzler put an arm on Eric’s shoulder and said, “But eventually I would get over it.”

  *****

  The man watched with delight as the deadly scene unfolded in front of him like a wild big screen cops-and-robbers shootout. And damn it had all happened so fast, like a lightning bolt from the sky. First nothing, now this. Amazing. Less than twenty minutes ago, this had been a quiet, peaceful suburban neighborhood; now it was a war zone. He had anticipated drama, even as he followed Dantzler to Stone’s house, but he had never expected action of this magnitude. This far exceeded his wildest expectations.

  Keeping his head low, baseball cap shadowing his blue eyes, he watched as two police cruisers and an ambulance zoomed down Alexandria and turned onto Palms Drive. Sirens wailed, detectives and uniformed cops arrived like storm troopers, intent on getting in on the action. Medics showed up, hoping to save the wounded. All part of a scene that had dissolved into chaos and bedlam and pandemonium, fueled by the combined energies of death and madness and fear. Curious neighbors stepped out of their houses, all eagle eyes, desperate to get a closer look at what had just happened. Frightened mothers ran screaming and crying, grabbing up young children and herding them to safety. Above, a helicopter from one of the TV stations hovered like a mechanical raven waiting to swoop down and photograph the chaos. A live, real-time video game for the viewing audience. Tonight’s ratings would be sky high.

  Beautiful, the man said to himself, just peachy. He smiled and shook his head. Leave it to a worthless nobody like Rocky Stone to cause this kind of madness. Like the TV ad says, shit like this is priceless.

  What the man didn’t know, and wouldn’t be able to find out until later, was the outcome of all the gunfire. Somebody had been killed, that much was a given. He’d been in similar situations, where bullets were flying in all directions, and it was rare when there wasn’t at least one casualty. But who? Was Rocky dead? Dantzler? One of the other detectives? Maybe, he thought, they were all dead. Now, that would be peachy.

  Regardless of the outcome, whether Dantzler was alive or dead, the man realized his course of action had been altered. Thanks to today’s events, a heavy and dangerous burden had been lifted. After today, there was no longer a pressing need to eliminate Dantzler, even if the famous detective had been lucky enough to survive the gun battle. Given what happened today, and given the facts that would be uncovered in the next few days, Dantzler would have no choice but to close the file on Rocky Stone.

  And Eli Whitehouse.

  The man’s smile widened.

  He was now free and clear.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Dantzler remained at the scene until well after dark, overseeing the removal of Stone’s body, the collection of evidence-early estimates had it at more than a hundred rounds fired during the skirmish-and rehashing the series of events for Don Andrews, the new guy in IAB. He also made a point to be on hand when Eric had his initial debriefing with Andrews. Dantzler wanted to make certain Andrews understood it was a good shoot. After hearing the evidence and walking through the crime scene with Dantzler and Eric, Andrews’s preliminary assessment was that Eric had acted within the proper guidelines.

  At nine-fifteen, with little left to do except stand around and watch
the capable crime scene techs do their thing, Dantzler hopped in his car and headed for the hospital. Turning onto Alexandria, he saw Eric standing on the sidewalk in front of the Lopez house, talking with three uniformed officers. Some of Scott’s old buddies, no doubt bent on hearing all the gory details of the bloody gunfight, each one expressing disappointment at having not been involved while secretly thankful they weren’t.

  Dantzler pulled up next to the sidewalk and motioned for Eric. “Go home, Eric. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. You’ll need to be sharp.”

  “I will,” Eric said. “But first I need to check on Scott.”

  “No, you need to go home. That’s an order.”

  “But… he’s my partner.”

  “Go home.”

  “Shit,” Eric said, walking away.

  Arriving at the hospital, Dantzler couldn’t find an empty space so he reluctantly parked in a handicapped spot. Hurrying from his vehicle, he entered the hospital through the emergency room, badge out, fully prepared to bulldoze any media person foolish enough to stick a microphone or camera in his face. It had already been a long, strenuous day, and it was still a long way from over. He wasn’t about to rest until he knew Scott’s status. Given the seriousness of Scott’s wound, it could be hours before anyone knew anything for certain.

  In the emergency room, Dantzler spied Kathy Ramsey, a nurse he recognized from the Tennis Center. Pulling her aside, he asked where Scott would have been taken. Kathy said Scott was in surgery on the second floor. Dantzler didn’t ask for further details, and she volunteered no additional information. He thanked her and headed for the elevator.

  Predictably, the waiting area was standing room only, the visitors evenly divided among family, friends, and police personnel. Dantzler eased to the right, where Laurie was talking to Richard Bird and Bruce Rawlinson. She waved and forced a smile when she saw Dantzler coming her way. Dantzler nodded, and then turned his attention to Scott’s family.