by Leslie Wolfe
I couldn’t recall the last time I had a warm meal or a couple of hours of rest. I’d mainlined caffeine for the past two days, and the slight tremor I felt in the tips of my fingers was warning me I was about to reach the end of my wick. Whatever I was planning to do, I had to do fast.
Unfortunately, the man who knew where Meredith was being held lay dead at my feet, in a half-congealed pool of blood, his lips forever sealed in silence. But two others knew where Meredith was, they were still alive, and they would tell me if I played my cards right.
Holt’s daughter had been missing for a long time, and that thought kindled waves of anxiety unfurling in my gut. She was stashed somewhere with at least one of Snowman’s trusted lieutenants, who, if they happened to watch TV and see how the bodies were starting to pile up in familiar places, could get creative and slash the girl’s throat just to cover their tracks.
I looked at the two pieces of scum in front of me, this time critically, weighing my chances of success. Caucasian males in their late thirties or early forties, covered in prison gang tats, their forearms thicker than my thighs, the hatred in their eyes palpable, searing. No… torture wouldn’t do anything for these men; they’d been through years of prison hell and survived it unscathed.
But greed had a chance of working.
I stopped in front of them and smiled, ignoring their spiteful reactions.
“Gentlemen, we can handle this situation one of two ways.”
Burch spat near my feet, probably missing his intended target, while Huber spouted a slew of oaths in a mix of Spanish and English, then said, “Don’t care about anything you have to say, bitch. Go the fuck back to where you came from.”
I shrugged and looked each of them in the eye firmly, coldly, just as Olivia would’ve done. Well, maybe she would’ve shot both pieces of shite right where they sat, but I was still a cop, and, most of all, I needed to find Meredith before it was too late.
“I could kill you with one shot to the head, quickly, painlessly, not that you deserve any of that humane treatment,” I said, and my statement shut them up for a brief moment, right after I kicked Snowman’s foot out of the way, making a point. “Or I can make you rich.”
That got their attention. The hatred carved on their faces turned to interest, and they exchanged a quick glance between themselves.
“News flash,” I continued, “Don Cardenas is coming to Vegas to help me sort through this mess. Until he shakes hands with someone new, I’ll be running Snowman’s organization, but it won’t be forever; I have no interest in doing that. However, even if it’s for a short period of time, I can’t do this alone.”
I leaned forward and looked at them closely, first at Huber, then at Burch. No blobs of spittle or renewed oaths flew my way.
“I need someone I can trust,” I said, “and I’m willing to buy that trust right here, right now.” I straightened my back and propped my hands on my hips. “Are you in? Or out?”
“Big words,” Burch scoffed. “Show me the money.”
“How about I show you the product?” I said. “Two bricks of dope for each of you. Today. Yours to do with as you please,” I added, cringing inside as I realized where that product was going to end up. On the streets, poisoning people, killing children. I forced myself to remember the 180 kilos we recovered, that would never hit the streets, and the future shipments that we could intercept, if I played my cards right.
“Hell, I’m in,” Huber replied with a full, obnoxious grin.
I focused my intense gaze on him and said, “Be very careful. If you think you’re taking the dope today, then turning on me tomorrow, you’re sadly mistaken. Remember that offer to kill you quickly and painlessly? The moment I suspect the tiniest sliver of foul play, that offer is forgotten. You’ll beg me to kill you quickly, and I won’t. I’ll take my time and make it last.” I smiled crookedly, injecting enough arrogance into my grin to sell it well. “Ask Don Cardenas what I do to people who betray me.”
As the two thugs were voicing their versions of reassurances mixed with expletives, I heard a noise toward the door and looked up. At the far end of the dark hallway, I saw Holt approaching quickly, and behind him, SA Glover, both with their weapons drawn. I raised my hand toward them in the universal gesture to stop. The two thugs couldn’t see them yet, and, based on their behavior, had no idea they were there.
“Well, if you want to stay in this family, accept that there’s a new sheriff in town,” I said, pushing Snowman’s body out of the way with the tip of my shoe and taking a seat in his leather armchair. As I sat, the cushions released his stench and I curled my upper lip, although I felt grateful for being able to take a load off my heels.
There was a flicker of hatred still glinting in Burch’s eyes, and that could mean trouble. He wasn’t entirely sold yet; he probably needed to see the goods. But I didn’t have the coke yet, not the entire twenty kilos, only the kilo taken from Holt’s wall.
“When we walk out of here in a few minutes, I’ll give you the first installment: one kilo, top grade, uncut product.”
“You said two each,” Burch reacted. “Now it’s half a kilo a head?”
“I don’t carry a truckload in my car with me, but you’ll have it by tonight. This is just a down payment, to give you a taste of what it means to work for me.”
Huber grinned, and eventually, Burch nodded. They weren’t the sharpest plumbing tools in the store, but they understood the international language of greed.
“What do you need from us?” Burch asked.
“We’re going to run this as a real business, not some shady, street-corner scam of all trades. Manage your people effectively and keep risk down. Don’t do stupid shite for a buck or two more. Want to make more money? Come to me, and we’ll discuss it. There’s always more business to be had, other markets to penetrate, other cities to conquer. When you have the supply that I bring to the table, everything is possible. But we have a serious problem,” I added, looking at them as if they were to blame.
Huber shifted in place, while Burch scowled.
“Your former boss put this organization at war with the police, and we can’t afford this war,” I said, adding so much contempt for Snowman, I almost expected him to rise from the dead and start calling me names. “We need to make peace with this city’s law enforcement. To do that, we’re going to offer them a head, dead or alive, on a silver platter.” I smiled calmly as if I were talking about cookies for Thanksgiving dinner. “Would you like that head to be yours?”
They shook their heads, but Burch’s forehead wrinkled, deep ridges running across it. He was not as easy to manipulate as Huber; he was a dangerous piece of human refuse. My threatening question had refueled his hate.
I looked briefly toward Holt; he gestured his impatience with a roll of his hand, telling me to make it faster.
“There’s a pervert among you who’s done nothing but jeopardize your lives, this family, our business. And his life ends today. You know who he is, don’t you?”
They looked at each other, then both started talking at the same time.
“Homeboy,” Huber said. “It’s that sadistic son of a bitch—”
“Ernie Marsh, he’s a sick perv. He and I did time together back in the day. He’s got something unscrewed up here,” Burch said, waggling his head.
“Good. He won’t live to see the light of tomorrow; I’ll take care of it,” I said with a tinge of deep hatred in my voice. I didn’t have to fake that; the thought of Alyssa and his other victims fueled my rage to levels I could barely contain.
I crossed my legs and started bouncing my left foot up and down impatiently.
“I’ve taken the first step to make peace with the cop whose daughter you wiseasses kidnapped. He’s willing to put everything behind him, if we return his daughter safely and give him half a million dollars in cash. I took care of the money,” I added, looking at them with an unspoken question.
Burch fidgeted. “I think it’s time you cut us
loose.”
“Make me believe you’re worthy of that, and not a bullet in your head.”
I picked up the gun I’d left on the wide armrest of Snowman’s throne, and played with it casually, checked the mag, made sure it had a slug on the spout.
Burch mumbled another oath, then said, “She’s two blocks from here, on Wigwam Parkway, by the ballpark.”
Satisfied, I stood and holstered my weapon under my belt, then rushed to catch up with Holt and Glover, who’d run out the moment Burch had spoken the address.
“Hey,” Burch shouted, “what about us? Hey! Cut us loose!”
“I’ll be back with your dope, if your story checks out,” I shouted from the hallway. “I better find you where I left you.”
I meant that; I still had plans for the two pieces of scum.
42
Meredith
Fifty-six hours missing
“SWAT will be here in ten minutes,” Glover insisted from the back seat of Holt’s SUV. “Just wait for them, Holt. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”
He’d argued that point for the last few minutes of screeching tires and turns taken at sixty miles per hour, and Holt hadn’t budged a single bit. He wasn’t going to wait. Baxter seemed to agree with her partner; after all, ten minutes could mean the difference between life and death.
Holt reduced speed as he approached the address, while Baxter rummaged through the glove box looking for spare ammo. She found a couple of Glock mags and handed them to him the moment he pulled up at the curb in front of the neighboring house. He grabbed the spare he had tucked under his seat, and said, “You take the back, I’ll take the front.”
“Let me take the front,” Glover said. “No one knows my face, but they might know either of you.”
He had a point; Holt let him take the lead on approaching the main door and hid from view behind the corner of the garage, while Baxter tiptoed alongside the six-foot tall masonry wall, careful not to clack her heels and give the perps a warning.
Glover rang the doorbell and waited a moment. They heard heavy footfalls approaching, then a man’s hoarse voice said, “Yeah?” as he opened the door.
“Hi,” Glover said, smiling and speaking in a friendly voice. “I’m your neighbor across the street,” he added, making a gesture toward one of the houses behind him. “I found a wallet with a lot of cash in it, right here, on the sidewalk in front of your house. Is it yours?”
The man stepped outside on the porch, his face lit with interest. He wore a dirty, sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts that had seen better days. He seemed to have come from the same place that had forged Burch and Huber; same tribal tats, same muscle, same attitude, even the same shaved scalp.
“Where is it?”
“Right there, at the curb,” Glover replied, pointing toward the gutter.
He barely took two steps toward the curb, when Holt jumped him from behind and grabbed him in a chokehold, while Glover stuck the muzzle of his gun against the man’s cheek.
“Don’t breathe; don’t make a sound,” Holt said, then cuffed his hands behind his back. “How many more inside?”
“Go fuck yourself, asshole,” he hissed, and then tried to headbutt Holt. He was quick to react and got out of the way, then hauled the perp to the SUV and locked him in the back.
Glover entered the house first, followed by Holt, while Baxter kept an eye on the outside perimeter, in case anyone wanted to take the back exit, jump the fence, and run. They checked the living room and the kitchen, but found no one, no sign that Meredith was there.
Holt noticed something on the small table by the door and pointed it out to Glover. Five playing cards, fanned out face down, as if the player had left them there after being interrupted during a game.
Somewhere inside the house, the man’s card-playing partners were waiting for him to come back.
They looked at each other, agreeing without words to change their strategy. From that moment, they’d both enter a room, training two guns on the potential targets waiting behind closed doors.
They took positions left and right of the first room, guns in hand, their nerves taut, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of danger. Holt turned the knob gently, quietly, then pushed the door open when it had cleared the latch bolt. No one was there; it was a bedroom that stank of sweat and dirty feet, the bed slept in and the sheets dirty. They pulled out, closing the door quietly, and approached the next room.
That’s when Holt heard her scream. He recognized Meredith’s voice, and it gutted him. He wanted to bolt toward the source of the sound, but Glover had already grabbed his hand. “No,” he mouthed. “Do this right, one room at a time.”
They took positions left and right of the next door, Holt’s face scrunched with rage. Glover opened the door, then cleared the room in one quick sweep. That left only one other room on that floor, then the three upstairs, where Meredith’s screams were coming from.
They quickly cleared the remaining room and headed upstairs, carefully climbing the carpeted steps, aware that a squeak might give them away. Holt had a few more steps to go, when another shriek came from the farthest bedroom, followed by the sound of a slap that ended her wails. A roar of laughter erupted from the second bedroom, and a man’s lewd voice, commenting, “That cop’s little bitch is getting it good.” Then he joined the others in their roaring cackles.
“Three voices,” Holt mouthed toward Glover. The fed raised his thumb, then took position in front of the door.
Holt was about to turn the knob when the door opened, and a black man came out yelling, “Yo, Jimmy!” Then he froze when he found himself staring at two guns, but only for a moment. “Cops,” he yelled before Holt could shove him against the wall and silence him.
Then all hell broke loose.
The two other men who’d been drinking beer and playing cards had their pieces within reach and went for them lightning fast. Glover shot one in the leg as he lunged toward the door, but then had to withdraw to avoid the spewing bullets coming from the other one. The perp he’d shot in the leg started firing too, and Holt couldn’t do much other than take the occasional blind shot, keeping his body shielded behind the wall and sneaking his armed hand in the door opening, then quickly pulling back.
Holt pistol-whipped the first man who’d come out of the room; the massive individual fell to the ground as if someone had cut his knees, completely inert. He rushed to the last bedroom, where he’d heard Meredith’s screams coming from. He kicked the door open, then froze.
He recognized the Latino man holding a gun to Meredith’s head; he’d put him in jail a few years back, for a felony assault charge against a minor. He was a rough, cruel brute who hadn’t been charged with aggravated sexual assault because the victim had recanted, afraid she’d be forced to testify in open court. His belt was loose and his zipper halfway down. The man, standing close behind her, had one hand around Meredith’s shoulders, and the other held a gun against her temple.
“Daddy,” Meredith whimpered, “I knew you’d find me.”
“Yeah, Daddy, remember me?” the man said, grinning widely and licking his lips nervously.
“Sure, I remember you, Marco,” he replied. “I’d never forget a piece of scum like you. Now let my kid go, and we’ll talk this through.”
He tightened his grip on Meredith, who yelped. “Put your gun down, or I’ll paint these walls with your daughter’s brains,” he replied, his grin now a snarl, showing a few missing teeth.
“Shoot him, Daddy,” Meredith cried, “shoot him!”
Marco laughed. “Yeah, shoot me, but it will be too damn late. What’s it going to be, Daddy?” Then his snarly grin disappeared, turning suddenly to a scowl. “Drop that fucking gun, or I’ll shoot her, I swear.”
Holt listened to the gunfire still carrying on behind him and understood Glover wasn’t going to help him anytime soon. The rash of firing bullets had thinned, but there was at least one active shooter down the hall, keeping Glo
ver busy.
He looked at Meredith’s tearful eyes and saw a fierce determination. Whatever they’d done to his little girl since she’d been taken, her spirit had not been broken.
“Yeah, I’ll drop the gun, but what guarantees do I have that you won’t shoot my kid anyway?” he asked Marco, stalling for time. Marco mumbled something, but Holt didn’t pay any attention. He looked at Meredith again and said gently, “Everything will be all right, Mer. Remember what I taught you?”
She nodded vigorously, then started mouthing words he could lip-read, but Marco couldn’t see from his vantage point.
“One, two, three,” she mouthed, then let herself fall inert, as if she’d fainted, a trick her dad had taught her a few years back. Her unexpectedly limp body created enough confusion and put enough distance between her head and Marco’s gun for Holt to take the shot.
He squeezed the trigger once but heard two shots, two bullets ripping through Marco’s skull. With her smoking gun still reeling from the recoil, Baxter stood by his side, like she’d been there for him every moment since he’d met her.
Holt rushed and picked Meredith up in his arms, “Mer, baby, it’s over now,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “The other shooters?” he asked Baxter.
“All down, permanently,” she replied. “Glover’s been shot in the shoulder, but he’ll live.” She dug through the closet and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it around Meredith’s shivering body. “Glover called it in already, it won’t be much longer until EMS gets here.”
Holt carried his daughter in his arms, afraid to ask how badly she’d been hurt, afraid to know. The street had been filled with law enforcement vehicles’ flashing lights, and two ambulances were pulling in. The medics pulled out their medical kits and a gurney.
He set her down gently on the gurney, still holding on to her hand, thankful he’d arrived in time, grateful she was still alive. She refused to lie down and remained sitting, tightening the blanket around her body and looking straight at him through a thinning veil of tears. He didn’t see anything but courage in her eyes, a courage he never knew she had in her.
