Shooting Star

by Bradley Wright

  “How could I not be?”

  “I know . . . Bad shit follows you around like a hungry puppy. You noticed that? You ever thought about saging yourself? Clear the bad juju?”

  “You don’t think Sloan came after you and Lexi because of my connection to De Luca, do you?”

  Cassie took a deep breath and walked over to the window that overlooked the street. She lifted one of the blinds and squinted into the sunshine. “Why would the guy trying to hold me here use handcuffs?”

  The question caught Lawson off guard, but it sparked something in his subconsciousness. He couldn’t put his finger on it, so he let Cassie talk.

  “The guy holding me, when I woke up, he didn’t seem like a criminal. He seemed like a guy almost uncomfortable to be holding me there. I got him talking, he didn’t give anything away, but he was too quick to want to help me. When I asked to go to the bathroom, it was easy to turn the tables on him and cuff him to the safe. Too easy. And right when I locked him to it, I remember thinking even then that it was weird that he used handcuffs. Not a zip tie, not a rope, not duct tape—handcuffs.”

  The third time she said it brought up the image of the man’s gun on the playground that Lawson confiscated. He remembered having a similar split second like Cassie just described when he realized what kind of gun the man was carrying. A Glock 22. A popular gun, but also the standard issue of the LAPD. The only reason he knew that fact was from a discussion he had with a fellow agent in Vegas who used to be LAPD. They had an entire conversation about Beretta versus Glock, and the agent’s argument was that if the Glock was good enough for the LAPD, it was good enough for him.

  “You think they were cops, don’t you?” Lawson blurted.

  Cassie let go of the shade and turned toward him. “Why? You too?”

  “The man in the park trying to get Lexi had a standard issue Glock 22. Didn’t really register to me until what you said about the handcuffs.”

  “So, what does this mean?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Lawson said. “Maybe everything. Sloan has cops on the payroll, you heard Clint. Maybe we should ask him?”

  Cassie obviously agreed because she walked right by him, out the door, and back to Clint’s office. Lawson walked in just in time to hear her question.

  “How often does Sloan use cops to do some of his dirty work?”

  Clint smiled. “The handcuffs, right? Jenny and I were just talking about the same thing. He uses cops all the time. Has them all over the city. But listen . . .” Clint’s tone changed and he eyed Lawson. “I ain’t telling you shit else until you apologize for the parking lot.”

  Lawson actually laughed. It was an involuntary reflex.

  Cassie put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been trying to get this guy to apologize to me for something, anything, for over thirteen years. Guess we’ll just say our good-byes right now.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” Clint didn’t find it funny at all.

  Lawson stepped forward. He didn’t like the tone Clint took with Cassie. Cassie stopped Lawson by putting the palm of her hand to his chest. She came right back at him. “I don’t really give a slippery shit if you were talking to me or not. You came to Lawson for help, not the other way around. So unless you look out that window and see pigs flying through the Los Angeles smog, swallow your pride and tell us what you know. Otherwise, deal with Sloan yourself. We’ll make do on our own.”

  “This how it works, Raines? She does all the talking for you? You just heel like a trained puppy?”

  Lawson moved Cassie’s hand from his chest. “It is how it works. She keeps me from breaking your neck.”

  “Seriously?” Jenny spoke up. “You guys don’t see that you’re basically the same person?”

  “Sure,” Cassie said. “Except for the whole Clint is a lifelong criminal and Lawson is a lifelong law man. Honestly, are you serious?”

  Clint scoffed, “I’m the criminal? Excuse me, but I’m not the one who murdered my wife.”

  There are a lot of things that set Lawson off. A lot of things a man could say to provoke him. He’s a hothead, so it wasn’t hard. But those words, saying that about the love of his life, that will get you killed. Lawson stepped around Cassie; she already knew that would trigger him. He flipped the desk over that separated him from Clint like it was made of paper. Two steps later he buried his fist in Clint’s stomach so hard that the air from Clint’s lungs would have blown that same desk over.

  Lawson went to bring his knee up to meet Clint’s forehead as he bent over, but Jenny managed to put a shoulder in him hard enough to knock him off balance. Clint used it as his chance to strike. He lowered his head, rushed forward, wrapped his arms around Lawson’s waist, and tackled him to the ground. Clint was stronger than he looked. Even off balance, Lawson would be able to keep most men from taking him down. There must have been a wrestling background somewhere in his past.

  Lawson got his hands up just in time to block the elbow that Clint threw from on top of him. Another came right after that. Lawson was no expert in jiujitsu, but he had picked up enough from some men in prison that he knew to buck his hips to get Clint off balance. This was enough, and he was able to push Clint off with a shove. They both came to their feet at the same time, Clint throwing a quick jab that caught Lawson on the left cheek. Clint went to follow it with a right cross, but Lawson parried it and delivered a left elbow that hit Clint in the left shoulder, knocking him clean off his feet.

  Lawson advanced to finish the fight, but Cassie stepped in, wrapping him in a bear hug and pushing back with all she had. Jenny did the same when Clint got back up to his feet.

  “I should let him kill you for that comment, asshole!” Cassie shouted.

  “This isn’t doing anyone any good!” Jenny shouted. “This is what they wanted, whoever tried to set Clint up by taking Cassie here. They want you to fight each other instead of fighting them. Now stop it! It has to be Sloan! He’s the only one who knows you two even know about each other!”

  Both men pushed toward each other one last time, but the women held their ground.

  “She’s right, Lawson,” Cassie struggled to push him backward.

  Lawson didn’t say anything, but he stopped pushing forward. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Lawson tried to calm himself but he was seething. Rational thought dies when blind rage is induced. An ill word about Lauren would always have that effect.

  Clint had finally cooled. “Look, for God’s sake, all I want is for Sloan to go down. I don’t know you or what happened to your wife, and you don’t know me or why I do what I do. But saying things about a man’s late wife is wrong and I’m sorry.”

  That was good enough for Lawson, but he wasn’t sticking around to hug it out. He turned his body toward the door, and his mind toward Marty Sloan.

  23

  Lawson was walking quickly down the hall toward the exit of Clint’s office building. Cassie was taking two steps to his one to keep up.

  Cassie said, “So is this the part where you do your Lawson thing and just bust in someone’s house, or office, without any plan whatsoever? The thing that gets me shot at and almost killed just for being with you?”

  Lawson just kept walking. Man on a mission.

  “Lawson. I—”

  Cassie ran into the back of Lawson. He had stopped abruptly at the exit without warning.

  “No,” he said. “It looks like this is the part where I become a fugitive.”

  Lawson felt Cassie step out beside him. She watched with him as two police cars—full lights, full sirens—came screaming into the parking lot.

  “They here for you or for me?” Lawson heard Clint say from the other end of the hallway behind him.

  “Me. And there’s no way I’m talking myself out of this one. After being the last to see Victoria Marshall, and now I’m sure I fit the description of the big guy fleeing the vehicle that just got shot up. I have to get out of here.”

  Cassie’s face was blank. “You can’t run
from the cops. It will only make things worse.”

  “Worse than being in jail while Sloan is trying to kidnap Lexi?”

  Cassie made a “hmm” face. “Good point.” Cassie turned to face Clint. “Got a car we can borrow?”

  Clint waved them both toward him. “Only car we have here is mine, in the parking lot with the cops. But there is a door on the other side of the building. I’ll try to distract them while you make a run for it.”

  Any worry that Clint was responsible for Lexi and Cassie’s kidnapping was just erased. Lawson began walking toward Clint; then he stopped and turned to Cassie. “You can’t come with me.”

  “Bullshit. Sloan kidnapped me and tried to get Lexi. We’re doing this together, whatever that means.”

  “Cassie, this could ruin your career.”

  “Lawson, yours and Lexi’s lives are on the line, and you think I give a damn about my career? Do we even know each other?”

  Lawson turned back toward Clint. Clint started a fast walk to the opposite side of the building. “I’ll call you after they leave and let you know how bad it is. Meanwhile, if you’re feeling frisky, Sloan always has a lunch meeting on Saturdays at the Library Bar over at the Roosevelt Hotel.”

  Lawson didn’t respond. His mind was busy being thankful that Cassie was coming along and calculating how to get out of there without getting caught. When they reached the exit, they heard police pounding on the door at the other end of the building.

  “I locked it,” Clint said, smiling. “You can never be too careful.”

  Lawson pushed open the door and stepped out into the sunshine. Instead of running, he opted for walking, as if he was supposed to be there.

  “You know the detective is probably watching in an unmarked car, don’t you?” Cassie caught up, hooked his arm with hers, and walked beside him onto the sidewalk.

  “Probably.”

  “Plus, you’re six foot three, two hundred and forty pounds. Pretty easy to spot.”

  “So you’re saying we should run?”

  “I’m saying we should run.”

  Just as the last word left her lips, across the street an unmarked car emerged from an alley, a blue light flashing on the dash. It was forced to settle in momentarily behind a string of traffic. The only time Lawson would ever think LA traffic was spectacular. Cassie got the jump on Lawson, tearing across the street, forcing cars to react to her instead of the opposite. She was fearless. A few steps and a couple dodged cars later, Lawson had caught up to her and they were running down an alley, dodging hipsters with e-cigs and dumpsters jutting from both sides. Lawson felt good about the move to run across the street, until another police cruiser screeched to a halt about fifty yards in front of them, blocking their western exit from the alley.

  Even without knowing exactly what the surrounding streets looked like, he knew they were trapped. You don’t send three cruisers and an unmarked car for questioning. They were there to arrest him again. Maybe for Victoria’s disappearance, maybe for the shooting on the street earlier, but probably for both. An old Ford Crown Victoria came out of the side street and almost ran them over; the front end just missed clipping Cassie’s right leg. Lawson grabbed Cassie’s shirt and yanked her to the right, but another cruiser stopped sideways in front of them, blocking them in. Lawson prepared himself to be taken in. At least this way Cassie would probably go free.

  The window of the Crown Victoria rolled down, and a familiar face came into view. Lawson was frozen, unsure if this was good or bad.

  “Well, don’t just stand there . . . I suggest you get in.” It was Frank Shaw. His smirk was a mix of pride and braggadocio. The face of a man who knew he’d won.

  Lawson had no choice but to get in. Even if Frank meant to turn right toward the police station and turn him in, it would be no different than if Lawson refused: he was dead to rights either way. Getting in the car at least gave him a chance. The whoop whoop of the police cruiser’s siren at the edge of the alley drove that notion home. Cassie looked at him in a way you look at a man who was just told by his wife that she was leaving him: with absolute pity. She knew how much it would sting getting in the car with Frank.

  Cassie opened the door and they both climbed in the back. As soon as the door shut, Lawson’s world was flipped upside down. The fact that Frank Shaw had been the one to bail him out again completely faded from his mind when he saw who was sitting in the passenger seat on the other side of the safety cage.

  Victoria Marshall.

  24

  Lawson’s first instinct was to try the car door handle. He knew it wouldn’t open but tried anyway. There was a reason Frank and Victoria were driving this car; it had been modified to keep criminals in.

  Frank picked up the mike on the radio. “This is Special Agent Frank Shaw. Stand down, I’ve got him. Good work, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll bring them in.”

  The car was silent for a moment as Frank drove away. The police cruiser let him pass, and Frank turned out of the alley. Lawson didn’t know where they were going, but he knew it wasn’t to any police station. Not with Victoria Marshall riding shotgun. He knew as soon as he saw her sitting there that whatever story had been pushed to the media about the big movie and all of its partners—the story Taylor had told him—was probably all wrong. It wasn’t Sloan who wanted Nero De Luca in on the production of the high-profile film; it was Victoria.

  Lawson couldn’t hold his tongue. “So, how long had you been seeing Nero De Luca before I jammed a knife through his throat?”

  Cassie’s head swung in Lawson’s direction, and Lawson could see Frank’s eyes jump to his in the rearview mirror, but Victoria just sat in silence, staring at the busy street in front of them.

  “I always knew you were dumb,” Frank said. “But I didn’t know you were clueless. You’re here, nowhere to run, and you’re smarting off? Provoking the woman who holds your fate in her hands? If nothing else, you’ve got balls.”

  “And what about you, Frank? How much did she have to pay you for your help?”

  “Shit, I’d pay her to see you go down. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be back at home in Vegas where I should be.”

  Lawson was quiet. A thousand things were churning in his mind. The only question mark he had left about what went down in Vegas was who tipped De Luca off more than eleven years ago that Lawson was coming for his father. All this time he thought it must have been the head of the Vegas FBI division who’d been responsible. Now it seemed it could very well have been Frank. But how in the hell did Frank become connected to Victoria?

  Lawson was still baffled by the fact that this tragedy in his life was still haunting him. After all he’d been through, after all the time that had passed, his ghosts were still trying to drag him to hell. He wasn’t going anywhere without a fight. No matter how high the odds were stacked against him.

  “All right,” Lawson said. His thoughts had come together. He switched off the part of his brain that felt like the victim and tapped into the skills that made him one of the best detectives and FBI agents in the country. “You tried to kidnap my daughter. You kept me out of jail twice. And I’m still alive. Let’s skip all the runaround and get right to the part where you tell me what I need to do to keep you from killing me, shall we?”

  That got Victoria’s attention. She shifted in her seat and faced sideways so she could get a look at Lawson in the back seat. The car stank of smoke; this was apparently Frank’s car. The sun was coming in heavy through the windshield, spotlighting the frozen skin on Victoria’s face. Lawson knew she was in her fifties, but her Botoxed skin, long and straight dyed dark-brown hair, and supple injected lips made her look no more than forty-nine. “So there are some brains inside that brawny exterior.”

  Lawson made no response. He had only known Victoria for a short time, had only had a couple conversations with her, but as she looked at him, something was different about the way she was acting. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, so he chalked it up to the fa
ct that she just wasn’t the woman he thought she was. Still, it was very odd.

  “Too bad those brains didn’t kick in before you got yourself stuck in this situation.”

  “What situation am I in exactly?” Lawson leaned forward.

  “If you can keep your wits,” she continued, “one that you can walk away from free and clear. Just make the decision now to save the hero shit for another day and you should be all right.”

  “You mean the kind of hero shit that led me to staring into your old boyfriend’s eyes as he gagged on a steel blade? It was fun seeing him leave this world and head straight to hell. Wish I had it on video.”

  Lawson felt a pinch on the outside of his right thigh. He looked over at Cassie, and her face was begging him to stop provoking Victoria. But Lawson knew what Cassie didn’t—that Victoria wanted something from him or both of them would already be dead.

  “I have a feeling you already know what situation you’re in,” Victoria said.

  Lawson did know, but he wanted her to say it. “Pretend I don’t.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get the rights to my movie out of litigation, and keep it out of Marty Sloan’s hands. I’m sure you already came to this conclusion.”

  Yes, Lawson had realized it, in fact right when he sat down in the backseat and saw her in front of him. He nodded.

  “But I have no shot in the courts. Sloan has too many people on the payroll. Though I was intimate with De Luca, a very powerful man, a while back, the day he died so did my connection to people like Clint Hues or anyone in De Luca’s organization. So I had no way to fight Sloan. If I didn’t act fast, I was going to lose the movie. I’ve had my lawyers prolonging the court battle as long as possible until I could find another way. Then one day I called to check on Johnny, and he accidentally gave me a wonderful idea.”

  Johnny was Nero De Luca’s son. Lawson had used Johnny’s naiveté to get to his father. They left on good terms, in spite of the way things ended. Johnny was all but being held hostage by Nero, so Johnny was happy to be free of that existence.