A Matter of Vengeance

by Kevin Sivils

  “It’s him, I know it is, Heat.”

  “Get back inside. You don’t know if they have anyone watching the place.”

  Blondie paled at Heat’s words and scurried back inside with Heat close behind.

  “Did Amy seem alarmed in any way?”

  "No, Heat. Amy was looking forward to her date. She took a long time getting ready and was all dolled up. We talked about stuff, and when he got here, I hid in the spare bedroom because I looked like a mess and didn't have anything to put on but my green dress."

  “Describe him to me. Right down to the last detail.”

  Ten minutes later, Heat had a written description detailed enough a police sketch artist could produce a drawing of the suspect. He took a picture of it and emailed to Boucher and Garcia both before calling the pair.

  “Boucher.”

  “Check your email.”

  “Nice to talk to you, too, Heat.”

  "Just check your email."

  Heat waited impatiently while Boucher did as instructed.

  “Thanks, man. Will get this to our artist as soon as I’m off the phone.”

  “This guy has Amy.”

  “I get it, Heat.”

  “What did that Alfonso guy have to say?”

  “Lied to us, straight up, Heat. He recognized the photo of Wolf we showed him.”

  “One more thing, Boucher.”

  "If something happens to Amy or me, kill this guy."

  Boucher stared at his phone.

  His partner looked up from the description on his cell phone. “Heat?”

  "Yeah. Miguel, we better find this guy, or we're gonna have to lock Heat away.”

  THINGS THAT WERE SUBTLE interested Amy. She liked flavors and scents that were subtle and not overpowering. The same was true of colors. Bright colors were fine in moderation but worked best as a contrast to more muted tones, at least to her way of thinking.

  Ben’s cologne was subtle. She liked that about him. He knew how to flirt and tease in subtle ways. His compliments were obvious but never over the top. Amy watched his face as he drove, not paying attention to where they were going.

  Until a car cut them off, causing Ben to slam on the brakes to avoid running a red light at an intersection. One look at his face, and Amy was alarmed. His ordinarily, gentle eyes had narrowed in a focused rage. If looks could kill, the driver of the car in front of them was already dead.

  “I don’t recognize where we are,” Amy commented, feeling ill at ease. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ben snapped.

  Fearful of any angry man she didn’t really know, Amy leaned away from her date, resting her shoulder against the car door, clutching her purse with both hands.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” Amy heard herself saying to her surprise.

  “Shut up,” Ben roared, backhanding Amy with his right hand. “Give me your cell phone,” he demanded, shoving his hand down in her purse and extracting the device. He threw it on the floor between his feet.

  “What was this Wolf working on?”

  Surprised and more than a little confused by the question, Amy barely managed to stammer out a strained “what” by the time the light turned green.

  “You heard me! What was your boss working on?”

  Amy managed to whisper a reply. "Heat or Wolf? I have, I had two bosses."

  “This Wolf character.”

  “He was working on a lot of stuff. Divorce cases mainly. Women wanting dirt on their husbands so they could clean them out, get custody of the kids, that sort of thing.”

  “Did he gamble?”

  “Gamble,” Amy mumbled, unsure of what to say.

  “Gamble. Did he gamble?”

  "I don't know. He never talked about gambling with Heat or me. At least not at the office."

  “Then why did he owe money to my boss?”

  Amy had been in tight situations before with clients who could turn violent if they were drunk or on drugs. It was why she carried an old-fashioned razor blade with her in the past. She found herself wishing it was still part of her kit she took every day in her purse.

  Ben scared her. He was sober. His pleasant demeanor was gone, replaced by what had to be his real personality.

  “Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

  "I'd prefer not to," was his terse reply. "But you're going to have to answer my questions, or I am going to hurt you." Ben looked over at Amy, his eyes black and soulless. "Then there is the little matter of you being property. You have to pay for the lost revenue your owner experienced while you were a fugitive."

  Careful to not make a sound, Amy unzipped the side pocket of her purse and carefully inserted her hand to the burner phone Heat required she carry with her at all times. With the skill that came from endless texting, Amy entered in Heat's number without looking down. In less than a minute, she had described Ben's car, named the street and direction they were heading, and sent the text to Heat.

  She never saw the second backhand coming. But she felt it when it impacted directly on her nose and already bruised cheek. The shakes came as warm blood ran down the front of her blouse. Like so many times in the past, Amy mentally went somewhere else, to the Catholic church of her childhood in south Louisiana. She began to pray first the Rosary and then the Our Father, hoping God would hear her prayers and send Heat.

  THE THIRD KEY WORKED. Heat pushed the door open and entered the most recent alarm code Wolf had been using. Ignoring the mess in the living room, Heat hurried to the back bedroom Wolf used as an office at home. The large desk had files piled high.

  Sitting down, Heat paused to consider how his dead partner worked. A quick examination of the desk proved all the drawers had locks, only one of which was engaged. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the big mug holding pens and pencils, Heat pried the lock over far enough to force the drawer open.

  Inside was a single, thick legal-sized folder.

  Fifteen minutes later, Heat was back in his car, mentally kicking himself for not searching Wolf's home office earlier.

  He dialed Boucher’s number.

  “Boucher.”

  “Heat again.”

  “Look, Heat...”

  “Can it. I found out what Wolf was working on. Why he was bleeding money from the firm.”

  Boucher waved at Garcia, who was sitting with the sketch artist, mouthing silently Heat was on the phone.

  “Yeah. What was it?”

  "He was looking for this girl. Wolf was pretty certain she and a bunch of other girls had been kidnapped from the Corpus Christi area for the sex trade. He was spreading around a lot of money and gambling, trying to get close."

  “You think he found something?”

  "Yeah. On the last page of notes, he had the amount $25k written down with the word cash next to it. Then the time 1:00 am next to it and the address to the machine shop where he got killed. He was going to buy her back."

  “What else, Heat?”

  Heat had already broken the connection.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A VIBRATING SOUND CAME from the passenger seat of the Honda Pilot. It took several times before Heat was aware of the sound and began feeling for his phone in the seat while attempting to navigate his way through the Houston traffic.

  Glancing at his phone, he noted the text was from an unfamiliar number. He tossed it back into the seat and changed lanes, accelerating to beat a traffic light. Midway through the intersection, Heat slammed on his brakes to prevent a rear-end collision. Ahead of him was a long line of cars that had stopped for the next traffic light, which was still red.

  Frustrated and annoyed with the other drivers, Heat stared at the buzzing cell phone with equal anger, considering possible ways of inflicting pain on the inanimate object. He decided throwing it was the best option to bring about its demise and grabbed the phone. A final glance at the offending number though, caused Heat to pause.

  Lacking the dexterity younger people possessed in holding
the phone in one hand while entering the passcode to unlock it with the same hand, it took him three tries to get the password correct. On the third final and successful attempt, drivers behind Heat began to honk as the traffic was moving again.

  Exasperated and ready to lash out at the next driver who touched their horn, Heat tried to maintain control of his Pilot, steer the vehicle in a straight line, all while attempting to read the text message from the unknown sender.

  Providence intervened as the traffic had once again come to a sudden and complete halt, requiring Heat to slam on his brakes, bringing the Pilot to screeching halt inches from the rear bumper of the car in front of him. His attention again directed at the phone and the nine text messages, displayed neatly in the order they had been sent, lined up in descending order from first to last. Distracted by his phone, Heat didn't notice the expensively dressed man driving the dark blue Lexus in front of him emerge from the driver's side.

  "Watch it!" the man shouted, spittle flying from his lips and spraying all over the Pilot's window. "That's twice you've almost hit me with that piece of junk. I'll have you know this Lexus is less than two weeks old!"

  Something in the man's demeanor penetrated Heat's focus causing him to look up from his phone. "Did you hear me, you idiot!"

  Ignoring the man, Heat looked down at the phone again and read the last message a second and then a third time, making sure he got the details.

  Enraged at being ignored, the man pounded the driver’s window of the Pilot. “Do you know who I am?”

  This time, Heat looked directly at the man then at the red traffic light holding things up. He needed to hit something, and this arrogant piece of work standing before him would do just fine. Heat put the Pilot in park and unfastened his seat belt. Staring at the man, whose face was now a dark red from rage with both eyes distended from their sockets, Heat worked the door handle, and disengaged the lock enough for the door to open an inch or so.

  "I heard you the first time," Heat growled. He slammed the door with all the force he could muster into the man, making contact with the man's right kneecap. The impact sent the blustery individual flying backward.

  Heat stepped out of the Pilot and stepped towards the now terrified individual lying on the dirty, cracked sidewalk. Standing over the source of his irritation, Heat straddled the man and leaned over.

  "You're a rude individual. I didn't hit you. Now, I am in a hurry." Heat glared hatefully at the man whose arrogance was gone, replaced by fear and a sheen of sweat covering his face. "And because someone's life is at stake, it's your lucky day." Heat got back into the Pilot. Before shutting the driver's door, he looked at his foe, who had crawled onto the wispy, water-starved grass between the sidewalk and the concrete curb. "Otherwise, I'd be administering a much-needed attitude adjustment.”

  Slamming the transmission into drive, Heat blindly whipped the Pilot around the blue Lexus and accelerated.

  The last two texts were from Amy. The first confirmed what Heat already knew, she had been kidnapped by the unknown-to-him Ben. It also told him what make, model, and color of car to look for. The following text was a location.

  "YOU'RE SUCH A PRETTY little thing," Alfonso informed Amy in a voice so gentle it unsettled her. Kindness and gentleness did not go with the look of pure hate and evil in her tormentor's eyes. "Now, if you tell me the truth, all of the truth, then it will save you a lot of pain." He leaned closer to Amy, who was duct-taped to a chair in a bedroom of an older wood-framed house. "Don't answer my questions, and, well, I don't need to explain things to you, now do I?" His hand shot out and grasped Amy's chin with a rough grip. Through clenched teeth, Alfonso snarled, "now do I?"

  Without warning, the big man slapped Amy, adding to the collection of bruises on her face. The metallic, coppery taste of blood filtered through her mouth as she breathed in the heavy cologne of the trafficker.

  “Now, just what was this Wolf character looking for?”

  "I don't know," Amy whispered with closed eyes, knowing the answer would result in immediate pain. She didn't see the blow coming but instead heard the resounding smack as Alfonso's big, meaty hand slammed into her cheek.

  With her eyes still closed, Amy listened to the heavy footsteps as Alfonso repositioned himself. "I answer the phone. I handle the billing. I harass the deadbeats who don't pay." Amy opened her eyes enough to see that Alfonso had assumed a slightly crouched stance, no doubt to slam his fist into her face again. "I get them lunch, make the coffee, and sometimes I type stuff. Private investigator work is pretty boring," she blurted out. "A lot of it is serving papers, looking up stuff at the courthouse. I do that stuff, so Wolf and Heat don't have to."

  "You know what they're up to," Alfonso stated as if by his doing so, it made the statement true.

  “No, I don’t,” Amy whimpered. “Wolf and Heat have been fighting lately, over money and stuff Wolf’s been doing. They stopped talking about their cases with each other.” Despite the duct tape holding her arms down, Amy still managed to shrug her shoulders. “So, I could never hear what they were really working on, other than the boring stuff I was assigned to do.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Ben said. “Lord knows, she complained about it enough when we’d go out.”

  "You shut up," Alfonso ordered, pointing a meaty finger at Ben without looking at the younger, smaller man. "You had two jobs, and you screwed the pooch on the first one."

  Alfonso turned and faced Amy. "I have a temper in case you haven't noticed. Sometimes, I can't control it." Alfonso leaned over, his face close enough so Amy could smell his cologne. She could see the lone, tobacco-stained tooth where the man placed his cigarette to take a drag. "It's never a good thing when I do, either." He stood up and slapped Amy. "Ask your boss, Wolf."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “GARCIA.”

  “Heat. Where’s Boucher?”

  “Oh, I see how it is. You only talk to your homeboy from Cajunland?”

  “Forget it,” Heat snarled. “Get this address down. It’s where that guy is holding Amy.”

  Heat could hear Garcia hurriedly scratching down the address he’d given him down. He didn’t feel like hearing what Garcia would have to say, so Heat headed him off. “You got the address? Good. Send units. I ain’t waiting.”

  Garcia jumped to his feet and waved at Boucher, who was talking to Captain Browning. "Heat's found where they took his receptionist."

  Boucher hurried to catch up with Garcia, who was shouting the address to the desk sergeant. Captain Browning sighed and shook his head. He sat down at his desk and opened the middle drawer. After fiddling with the contents for a moment, Browning produced a plastic spoon and a bottle of antacid. With care not to spill a drop, he poured out a full tablespoon, took the medicine and then licked the spoon.

  He picked up his cell phone and called his wife, Wilma. She listened patiently as he explained he would be late. He'd have to go to a crime scene and sort out the dead bodies. Browning winced when the inevitable question came, the one asking why his detectives couldn't handle it. Once he mentioned Heat's name, his wife's attitude changed completely. For some reason Browning never understood, his wife had a soft spot for Heat.

  The phone call over, Browning looked at his antacid thoughtfully. Since it would be a while before he actually had to be at the crime scene and had just been given a pass by Wilma to be out late, a nice, hot pepperoni pizza seemed like a good idea. Having made his decision, Browning administered a proactive dose and then returned the items to their home in his desk.

  A quick check reminded Browning he had too much paperwork still to finish. He put on his jacket, patted his pockets to make sure he had everything, pocketed his phone, turned the lights out in his office, locked the door, and left.

  FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT, Heat could see the front and side of the house. It was located in an old neighborhood that had seen better days, housing built for the many blue-collar workers following WW II. It needed a coat of paint and some work
on the landscaping but otherwise looked sound. Parked in the narrow driveway was the car Amy described. In front of the house was a black BMW. Neither of the vehicles belonged to a home like the one he was watching. There was no doubt in his mind it was a safe house of sorts, and Amy was being held inside.

  Heat also had no intention of waiting for the police to arrive. Each minute his receptionist and friend was held captive was another minute of abuse she likely would have to suffer. He checked the arsenal he'd brought. His .357 with extra loads along was safely ensconced in his shoulder holster. To go with the .357, Heat had a Glock 30SF, which he tucked into his pants' waistband. Spare clips for the .45 went into his pants pockets.

  A final visual survey of the area revealed no lookouts, and the residents were inside or at work. Heat eased from his Pilot and, after listening for a few seconds, carefully shut the door, leaving the keys in the ignition in case he needed to make a fast getaway. Not the smartest thing to do, but worth the risk in Heat's mind. Despite the 98-degree temperature, Heat slipped on a light windbreaker to hide the .357 in his shoulder holster and the Glock in his belt. A quick pat of the right pocket of the jacket indicated his lock blade was there.

  After looking both ways, Heat crossed the street and ambled along the sidewalk until he reached the driveway next to the house. It consisted of a pair of narrow strips of concrete, stained and broken, grass and weeds growing around and in between the pavement, an old design meant to save materials on construction costs.

  He paused to listen and hearing nothing, continued along the side of the house towards the back yard. A neighbor’s dog began to bark, causing Heat to flinch and stop in his tracks. There, behind the chainlink fence acting as a divider between the two houses' driveways, was a black pit bull. Heat frowned at the four-legged dual security and alarm system and began to slowly approach the dog.

  Reaching into the left pocket of his jacket, Heat fumbled for one of the dog treats he kept for precisely this purpose. Finding several, Heat extracted them and tossed one over the fence where it landed by the pit bull's feet. The dog glanced at the treat and then resumed his duties as an alarm system with more vigor, charging the fence. Heat smiled and squatted down, careful not to make eye contact with the excited dog.