I shot a glance at Frankie. Had I heard him correctly? Had he actually just paid me a compliment?! My head bobbed. “Well, it took you a while to come to that conclusion, but I accept your apology.”
Sergeant Gibson’s mouth opened to say something and then promptly snapped shut. He nodded. “Well. I’ve got Ames and Jones headed over here now. We’ll assemble a team and come up with a plan and we’ll go get those other two girls. Don’t you worry about it.”
Frankie smiled. “Can I be a part of the team that brings them in, Sergeant?”
He sat back in his seat and seemed to mull it over in his head. Then he nodded. “I tell you what. You’ve had a long night. Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. Come in first thing in the morning, and I’ll add you to the team.”
Frankie’s face brightened as she glanced over at me. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Without your work, this case wouldn’t even be on our radar.”
Frankie’s head bobbed. “Well, thank you, Sergeant. I promise, you will not regret that decision.”
“I hope not. Now, I hope that I can count on the two of you to keep this whole situation between the three of us until we can get it resolved appropriately?”
“Yes, of course,” said Frankie, nodding somberly.
I didn’t really feel like sharing that we’d already involved Al, Artie, and Val. I was too tired. So, I pushed myself into a standing position.
“Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about there. My lips are sealed. Now if you don’t mind, since Frankie’s going home, I think I will too. This has been a very stressful week, and I’m incredibly thankful to get this all off my shoulders and onto the professional’s shoulders.”
Sergeant Gibson stood up and offered me a handshake. “Absolutely, Drunk. You’ve done an outstanding job on this case, but you’re right. I think it’s best to let the professionals take it from here.”
36
“I can’t believe how easy it was to persuade Gibson to help,” said Frankie as she crawled into her Suzuki Samurai only minutes after walking out of the station.
I slammed her door shut and leaned in through the window. “I’m a little shocked too. It was way easier than I expected. But I’m certainly not gonna complain. I am literally beat. Today—this week—it all wore me out. I’m gonna go home and sleep until next Tuesday.”
Frankie smiled at me. “Well, you can’t exactly go home. Markovitz and his guys could easily find you there.”
“Yeah, I know. I think I’m gonna see if Artie’ll let me sleep on his penthouse sofa.”
“Seriously, Danny? You wanna get in the middle of Artie’s alone time with Val?”
I leaned back and laughed. “Says you, the one who’s so not a fan of Val?”
Frankie shrugged. “Artie’s different.”
“Different,” I said with a puff of air. “How’s he different?”
Frankie looked at me and then looked away. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t like her when she was flirting with you.” She couldn’t look me in the face then, but beneath the dim glow of the streetlamps above us, I thought I could see Frankie blushing.
Though she wasn’t looking at me, I smiled. “Yeah,” I said quietly. Still hanging on to the side of her car, I looked down at my feet. “Well, I suppose you’re right. Artie needs his privacy tonight. I really don’t want to go over to Al’s. My vehicle’s like a flashing neon light for the bad guys. I’ll just bring them to his place, and that’s the last thing I want.”
Frankie turned to look at me then. “You could stay at my place tonight. We’ll park your vehicle around back.”
The blood in my body immediately began to run faster. “Your place, huh?”
She gave me a little smile. “I mean, you know—only if you want to.”
Our eyes locked. “I suppose I might sleep better knowing you’re safe and sound with me there,” I said quietly. “You sure you don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of space.”
My head bobbed gently. “Yeah, alright. Your place sounds good. I’ll meet you over there.”
“Okay. I’m gonna run through a drive-thru on my way,” said Frankie. “I’m starved. You want something?”
“Yeah. Just get me two of whatever you’re having.”
“Okay. If you get there before me, I’ve got a key hidden in the fire extinguisher box between my door and the apartment door next to mine.”
“Oh, that sounds totally safe,” I said with a grin.
She laughed. “It is. Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
I stuck my head into her window then and brushed my lips against her cheekbone. With one hand cupping the side of her head, I moved my mouth to her ear.
“Don’t be long, I’m starving,” I whispered before pulling my head out of the vehicle. Our eyes met one last time before I turned around and strode across the parking lot to my vehicle.
I almost couldn’t get to Frankie’s house fast enough. When AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” came on the radio, I cranked the volume. It started innocently enough with my thumbs drumming on the steering wheel, and the next thing I knew, my whole body was into it, jamming out behind the steering wheel. Whether it was the fact that Frankie and I had handed Jordan Lambert’s killer to the cops on a silver platter or if it was the look in Frankie’s eyes that had me floating on top of the world, I wasn’t sure, but I was so busy testing out the springs in my Rubicon’s driver’s seat that I almost didn’t notice the red-and-blue lights behind me.
When I finally did notice them, my first instinct was to glance down at my speedometer. I was going under the speed limit. My eyes flicked back and forth between my rearview mirror and my side mirrors. Was that Gibson again? Had he thought of additional questions he needed answered about Markovitz’s operation? I assumed he could find my phone number if he didn’t already have it, but I wasn’t entirely sure.
I sighed. I really didn’t want to have to stop and waste time dealing with more questions when I could be on my way to Frankie’s place. I’d planned to use the couple of minutes before she got there to sort through her wax melt collection and find the perfect fragrance to set the mood for the evening. That and get reacquainted with Hugo, her Shetland-pony-sized Great Dane.
But now the red and blues were in my rearview, seemingly impatient that I’d yet to pull over.
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
I put on my blinker and pulled to the side of the road, then sat back, watching my side mirror and waiting to see Sergeant Gibson’s stocky form emerge. Instead, both sides of the car opened and two dark, shadowy figures got out. Neither of them were built anything like Sergeant Gibson. The one on the driver’s side was slender, with narrow shoulders and a stiff gait. The one on the passenger’s side was much larger in comparison. His thickness borderlined on obesity, and from the way the moonlight shone off his scalp, it looked as if he was bald.
I tipped my head to the side as I watched them stalk their way towards my vehicle with their hands resting on their weapons as if in quick-draw mode. A gnawing in the pit of my stomach told me that something about the situation wasn’t right. If they were there simply to ask a few more questions about Jordan Lambert’s case, why did they seem like they were being cautious about approaching my vehicle? I held my breath as I waited for them to get a little closer. In retrospect, I suppose I should’ve just pressed on the gas and made them eat my road raisins. But sitting there, watching them approach, I couldn’t help but wonder what they wanted.
You know what they say.
Curiosity killed the cat.
It was when the fellow on the driver’s side of the vehicle was just a half a step away from my door that I noticed the light of the moon reflect off a knife blade in his left hand. I realized the gnawing in my stomach was warranted and shit was about to hit the fan.
Adrenaline raced through my body. I shoved the door open just as he raised the knife and began to pivot towards my open window. The door
swung in front of his body, slamming into his arm, sending the knife flying out of his hand and clattering out onto the darkened road.
I jumped out of my vehicle, and the man shot a weak left hook at my head. I ducked down and came back quickly, drilling a hybrid left hook/uppercut into his liver. I heard his breath leave his body in an involuntary groan just before he crumpled to the ground in a fetal position.
Slender man was going to need a minute.
I spun around to find that the other officer had come around the front of my vehicle. I drop-stepped towards him for a takedown just as a shot rang out in the darkness. It missed, but by its sound, I was sure it had come precariously close to hitting me. Burying my shoulder into the officer’s stomach, I ran through him, driving him into the ground. We landed with a thud.
I grabbed his wrist and pinned it down with my knee, making it easier to wrench the gun from his hand. With one hand on his throat, my other hand aimed the gun at his head. “Who sent you, you fuck twat?” I hollered. “Markovitz?”
The cop held his free hand against the back of his head, making a face like it’d hurt when his skull had slammed into the concrete. “You were speeding, you asshole. Are you some kind of psychopath?” He lowered his hand to his side.
I tightened my grip on this throat and gave him a shake. “Bullshit. I wasn’t even going the speed limit. Who sent you?” I shook him again. “Who sent you?”
“We—we—”
“Spit it out. Who sent you?”
He glanced behind me. Concerned that the other guy had managed to get to his feet and was creeping up on me, I cast a backwards glance over my shoulder to see that the driver was still locked in the fetal position. That was when I felt a sharp, stinging punch to the ribs. I dropped my elbow towards the pain. My fist involuntarily clenched, engaging my trigger finger and accidentally causing me to fire a shot into the night. The officer beneath me grabbed my wrist and shoved the gun away from him, and it went flying into the ditch.
As he rolled me off him, I felt an intense tingling, burning sensation in my side. That was when I realized I’d taken a knife to the ribs. Warmth oozed down my side.
Then he was on top of me.
He rained blow after blow down on me. I did my best to deflect the punches and swing from the bottom, but he landed a clean shot that drove my head into the concrete. Stars burst in my periphery and tunnel vision set in.
I took several more clean blows.
Two loud pops filled the air.
The man on top of me flinched. He hollered out something unintelligible, jumped off me, and disappeared.
When he was gone, I struggled to get up. My head throbbed, my limbs didn’t seem to function properly, and I felt faint. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The lights faded out, and darkness settled around me like a heavy blanket lulling me to sleep.
37
Beep beep beep beep…
Where in the hell is that noise coming from? I wondered with my eyes closed. Did Earnestine learn to mimic a new sound?
I smacked my mouth. It was so dry, like I was sucking on dried grass, or worse, one of those little wheat squares someone put in a box and called cereal. I gagged a little.
“Danny? Oh my God, you’re awake!”
Was that Frankie’s voice I heard? Had she stayed over at my place last night? Had I gotten lucky? Why didn’t I remember getting lucky? My eyelids fluttered. A narrow sliver of light made it past my locked lashes.
Fuck!
I flinched. Why was it so bright in my bedroom?
“Danny? Can you hear me?”
“Frankie?” I mumbled. My words were slurred. We must’ve been drinking. My brain was foggy. I didn’t remember sitting at a bar. In fact, I didn’t remember drinking at all.
“Yeah, Danny, it’s me. Oh, thank God, you’re alright!”
I smacked my mouth again. “Need water,” I whispered.
“Water. Yes. Coming up.”
The next thing I knew, a straw was in my mouth. I gave it a little tug, and cool refreshing water poured into my mouth. I took several long draws and then relaxed. My eyelids fluttered again as I tried to get my eyes to open. Finally, my lids parted and I saw Frankie staring down over me. Her eyes were full of something. Concern, maybe. Fear?
I looked around. I wasn’t in my bedroom.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. You were attacked,” she whispered. “They stabbed you.”
“What? Stabbed?” The words jarred my memory into action, causing the events of the night to come flooding back. I’d been pulled over by a pair of cops. “They tried to kill me,” I whispered.
“I know. I know. I saw them attacking you,” she agreed. “I was on my way home and I saw your Jeep on the side of the road with a cop car behind it. So I got out to see what was going on, and I saw Jones on top of you. He stabbed you.”
And then I remembered feeling a warm substance seeping out of my side. My hands slid across the bedsheets to the spot on my ribs where I’d felt the knife plunge in. My ribs felt tender, and I felt a thick layer of gauze covering the site. I looked up at Frankie. “Why’d he stab me?”
“I don’t know. I have some ideas, but I don’t want to say just yet. First I want to make sure you’re okay. How do you feel?”
“Everything hurts,” I whispered. “Head hurts.”
“Yeah. You got pretty beat up. The doctor said you’ve got a concussion. I’ll see if they can give you something for the pain.”
“Stab wound?” I whispered.
“It was superficial,” she said. “You were lucky. It was just a pocket knife; the blade glanced off a rib. You got a few stitches, but you’re gonna be okay.”
I looked up at Frankie. Her head was right in front of my face. The bright hospital lights shone behind her, casting a halo of light around her head, making her look like an angel. My angel. “You saved me.”
“I did. I’m thankful I was passing by when I did. If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know,” said Frankie with a sigh. “I had a choice. I could chase after them, or I could save you. I chose to save you.”
“Good choice,” I whispered weakly.
“I thought so.” She shot me one of her dimpled smiles.
And then the memory that I’d been rushing over to Frankie’s house came back to me. I hated the fact that our evening had been interrupted. “When can I go home?”
“Tomorrow. They want to keep you overnight for observations. Because of the concussion.”
“I think I’m okay to go home,” I said, trying to sit up. The shooting pain in my head made me wince, and I stopped moving.
“No. You’re staying here tonight. I’ll stay here with you, though.” She sighed. “Danny, I’m so sorry you’re hurt. As soon as you’re out of here, I’m going after those two.”
“They did it on Gibson’s command, didn’t they?” I whispered knowingly.
Frankie leaned over me on my bed. “Maybe. I’ll find out.”
“They did,” I whispered. I was sure of it. As sure as I was that Gibson was out to get me. I’d never felt good about the Paradise Isle Royal Police Force sergeant. He’d always rubbed me the wrong way. Whether it was because he didn’t treat Frankie right or because he seemed to think I was a piece of shit based solely on the fact that I was an American, I wasn’t sure. But I’d always had my suspicions about the man.
Always trust your gut, T. My old buddy Mikey had consistently imparted that nugget to me when I’d gone through the academy. I should’ve known. But truth be told, I think I did know. I’d just chosen to believe Gibson could change.
And then that picture of the PGC came to me in my foggy, hazed mind. Dillon, Ayala, Ziggy, Markovitz, Dalton, Vito, and that black man that had his back to the camera. My body went rigid and my breath caught in my throat. Had that been Gibson?
I heard a phone ringing then.
“I think that’s your phone, Dann
y.” Frankie got up and strode over to a plastic bag sitting on a counter in my room. She dug through the bag filled with my clothes to pull my phone out of my pants. She looked down at it. “It’s Al.”
“Have you spoken to him? Does he know what happened?” I asked, suddenly worried about my partner.
“No. I didn’t have his number, and I didn’t want to worry him until I knew more.”
“Answer it.”
Frankie nodded and put the phone on speaker. “Hi, Al. It’s Francesca.”
“Francesca? Put Drunk on the phone, I’ve got some big news.”
“Danny’s kind of tied up at the moment,” she said, glancing over at me.
Once again I tried to pull myself into more of an upright position. My side burned and my head throbbed. Wincing, I fought through the severe discomfort and managed to pull myself into more of an upright position. Giving Frankie a flick of two fingers, I whispered, “Lemme talk to him.”
“Okay. He’s here. Hang on a second.”
She handed me the phone. “Hey, Al,” I croaked.
“Drunk? Whatsamatter? You sound like hell.”
“Oh, well, I had a little run-in with Gibson’s guys,” I admitted.
“Gibson? Hey, kid, listen to me. Don’t trust that Gibson character. He’s in on all of this,” said Al.
I ran a hand through my hair, letting it settle on top of my head. “Yeah. I sorta figured that out on my own.”
“You alright?”
“I will be.”
“Where are you?” asked Al.
“Just in town. I’m gonna stay over at Frankie’s tonight,” I lied. Al didn’t need to worry about me.
“Look, kid. There’s a lot I gotta tell you about what Big Eddie and Ralph found on that computer stick of yours.”
“More than just Gibson being on Markovitz’s payroll?”
“That’s just it. Gibson isn’t on Markovitz’s payroll, because Markovitz isn’t the one running the show.”
Frankie looked down at my phone curiously. “So what are you saying? Gibson’s the one in charge?”
Drunk Driving Page 23
