“I was wondering why there was a light in the window,” Jim said, his triumph coloring his voice. “Now I see. You were in that Camry, weren’t you, you son of a bitch?” His eyes widened as he raised the gun.
Damn it! If he’d come in one second later I’d have been close enough to the door to swing my tool bag into him, but I was just too far away. He could easily shoot me if I tried that now. So I merely stopped where I was. I doubted he’d shoot. There was no silencer on the gun, a Ruger LC9—small but very deadly—and I had a strong suspicion he didn’t want the cops showing up five minutes after the neighbors heard a shot. He’d have too much explaining to do. Just saying he’d caught a burglar and felt threatened wouldn’t cut him much slack, and it wasn’t likely he had a permit for his gun. Most guys in his chosen profession had done at the very least some minor time, and felons weren’t able to get gun permits.
It wasn’t as if I’d never been in this sort of situation before. I wasn’t panicking. Unless Jim was incredibly good at what he did in the next few minutes, I’d get an opportunity, and that was all I’d need. I’d trained with an SAS Special Forces team, I’d been through the police academy and I’d worked with a street-fighting expert; before that, I’d played college football and wrestled. I didn’t do martial arts. I scuffled. I fought dirty. I was very big and very quick and had lots of experience. If it came down to a fight . . . well, I hoped it would come down to that.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Jim said. “I’ve got some questions for you, like where’s the boy, and I’m going to get some answers. First, though, walk to the bathroom. I’m sure you know where it is. Doing this with you in the tub will make cleanup that much easier.”
I just looked at him, no expression at all. I supposed I should have tried to look scared, but I don’t do scared well. Not enough practice.
“Turn around,” he said.
Okay, here was the first mistake he shouldn’t make if he wanted to succeed with me. There was an overhead light just above me. While turning I managed to take two steps farther into the house. The overhead light was now between us.
He didn’t notice. Mistake number one.
“Start walking,” he said.
I let my shoulders slump. “You don’t have to do this,” I said, not moving. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“You sure will,” he said, and did what I figured he’d do.
I was a lot bigger than he was. He could see that. He didn’t want to tussle with me. What was the easiest way to prevent that? Well, to shoot me, but he didn’t want the noise. So, then the next easiest way? It was to hit me over the head with the heel of his gun. If I were down for the count, or even just woozy, he could feel pretty comfortable safely securing my hands behind me. I’d be helpless after that if he stayed away from my feet. My size advantage would be gone.
I expected him to walk up behind me, softly so I’d be unprepared, and hit me in the head with his gun, a really good wallop. That’s what most guys would do. Either that or come up and jab the gun hard into my back to keep me moving. But that wasn’t as probable because of my size. No, hitting me in the head was what I expected him to try. It’s what most guys in his shoes would do.
And that was exactly what he decided to do.
Except, with the light behind both of us now, I could see his shadow. I could see him come up behind me. I could see him raise his gun to smack me.
Mistake number two.
I was quick. A lot of guys, when they work out, work on strong. I did, too, but mostly I worked on quick. And I’d learned a couple of moves for just this situation. When he was close behind me and raised his right arm to deliver the blow, I drop-stepped like a basketball center and whirled to my left. He brought the gun down in a vicious sweep, aiming for the right side of my head, but it was no longer there. I was behind him, having circled him while he was delivering the blow. He missed. His momentum caused him to stumble forward with me right behind him.
I grabbed his right wrist with my right hand and his neck with my left. I knew where to press. I squeezed to stop the flow of blood in both the right and left carotid arteries, and he was quickly on the floor.
What to do with him? If he’d been dead it would have been easier, but I didn’t kill unless I had to. He was still alive and would regain his senses soon. I could think of several scenarios, but they were complicated. Simpler was generally better when it came to spur-of-the-moment planning.
So I tied his hands behind his back. Normally for that I use wire. Rope is ten times, maybe a hundred times, easier to escape from than wire. I had both in my bag, but I didn’t need to use wire here; he wouldn't be here long. I cut a length of clothesline and simply tied his hands behind his back. I know knots. Then I left him on the floor, right where he lay. And, I stuck his gun back in his shoulder holster; I didn’t have to worry about prints. Then I picked up my bag and skedaddled, taking off my thin kid gloves after closing the door behind me.
On the way home I phoned Frank Felini.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked groggily. “Pretty late for a social call.”
“Business. How discreet can you be?”
“Dammit, Briar! Discreet? You’re always trying to get me out on a limb. Why don’t you stick to legit stuff? And stop trying to put me in the middle.”
“I just thought it wouldn’t do you any harm to get a clean bust. I don’t know everything this guy I discovered is involved in, but running ballistics on his gun might make you famous.”
“Tell me about it.” He sounded less sleepy.
“I happened to be visiting a friend and heard some noise in an apartment in the building. Sounded like someone was tearing up the floor. So, being the conscientious citizen I am, I went and listened at the door to see if there were any illegal activities going on inside. If so, then I could call the buttons. I know how policemen, you especially, hate nuisance calls, so I always make sure what’s what before disturbing you.”
“The buttons, yeah. You’ve been reading 1950 crime novels, again, haven’t you? But I’m losing sleep here. Get on with it.”
“Well, the noise stopped, and then I heard someone coming, so I moved to where he couldn’t see me, and this guy, probably the one who lived in the apartment, showed up and used his key and went in. Well, then there was some shouting and a thud, probably one of them hitting the floor. One of them, call him Thug 1—the guy who may have been tearing up the floor—said he knew the other guy, call him Thug 2 if you will, the apartment dweller, had dope there and he, Thug 1, wanted it, and while he was at it, all Thug 2’s money as well. Said he’d looked everywhere for the dope, even pulling up some floorboards, but had found nothing. So, Thug 1 told Thug 2 he was going to ace him and do it long and slow, using knives, and he was going to enjoy doing it, unless Thug 2 told him where the dope and money was.
“Well, Thug 2 said not to do that, he’d cooperate, and told him the drugs were hidden in the flour canister in the kitchen. Well, you know me. If there were controlled substances on the premises, that was shocking—and illegal—and morally wrong, too. I didn’t want Thug 1 getting them. So, I knocked on the door and yelled, “Police, open the door.” Nobody answered, strangely enough, so I yelled, “You’ve got five minutes, then I’m calling for back up, and we’ll bust in. I’m going down to my car to call it in now. Don’t run. I can see everything, except while I’m making my call because my car’s in the back.”
“You told him that?!”
“Well, yeah. See, I figured he probably had a gun, and I certainly didn’t want him coming out and shooting me with it. It seemed to me that if he ran off, you still had the dealer inside to arrest, just waiting for you, and he could give you a good description of this other guy, maybe even his name, and if you knew who he was, well, maybe you could nab him.”
I could almost see Frank shaking his head. “Uh, Briar? Why wouldn’t he just take the dope with him and we’d have nothing?”
“Oh, that. Well, you see, if he were a smart thug, he’d probably have done that, and I’d have had to change my plan. But he was dumb, like most of them are, and probably scared because he knew how efficient the cops are in this town. Maybe he didn’t like the idea of being collared with the dope in his possession. You’ll have to ask him when you get him. Anyway, I peeked around the corner and watched him come out, and he was clean. I don’t mean clean like he had no drugs, I mean he was clean. If he’d dug through that flour, in a hurry to get the goods and scram, he’d have been covered with it. But, he didn’t have any flour on him and didn’t have a canister, either, so I knew you’d get a clean bust on Thug 2. Clean, get it?”
Frank made a noise and I rushed on. “I don’t know why he left the drugs. I like my guess about him not wanting them on him if you guys were outside, waiting for him to come out. That would be a good reason, don’t you think? You know, I can’t really explain the thinking of a person like that. Who knows why they do what they do instead of finding meaningful employment that works for the betterment of society? Anyway, off he went, and now I’m calling you. It would probably be a good idea to get someone there quickly. Thug 2 might be tied up, or might need medical assistance, or might be dead, or might be just unconscious and waking up any time now. I can’t be sure; I never went inside. Way too frightening to do that, and it would have been illegal entry, that’s for sure, and, too, I certainly didn’t want to stick around. Too violent a place for me.”
Frank was quiet for a second or two, then said, “That’s the worst story you’ve ever told me, and you’ve told me some doozies. How much of that is true? Any of it? ”
“Some.”
“And what am I suppose to say when I’m asked how I knew about this guy, about the dope and where it is?”
“Tell them you got an anonymous tip.”
He was quiet again, longer this time, and then asked for the address. I gave it to him.
One minute later he was back on the phone with me. “Okay, guys are on their way. Briar, you know, I am a cop. I put up with you because we were teammates, we’re still buddies and because up till now, you’ve always been on the side of the angels. Make sure you stay that way. Now, just one last question.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. How’d you know Thug 2 had a piece that I should check ballistics on?”
“That’s easy,” I said. “Intuition.”
“Intuition? I’m supposed to believe that? Nobody will believe that!”
“Well, if he had drugs like Thug 1 suggested, it isn’t too big a stretch to think maybe he had a gun to protect himself. Anyway, I was just guessing, that’s all. I just assumed he’d be carrying. Besides which, what does it matter? If he has a gun, I’m sure your procedure would be to run a ballistics check on it. So you don’t even have to worry about that part of my story. Just forget that part. Jeez, I shouldn’t have to do all the thinking around here.”
» » »
I got back home at 3:30 AM. I was quiet as a mouse closing the door, but then saw I hadn’t needed to be. The couch was empty.
Worried, I quickly checked the kitchen and bathroom, but there was no sign of him. I hadn’t thought the kid had it in him to do a runner. I’d thought he was depressed or on Thorazine or something, but maybe I’d misjudged him. I didn’t know kids at all.
I looked into my bedroom, and Pat was in bed asleep, wearing one of my tee shirts. She was lying on her side, and, cuddled up with his back to her chest, was Dustin. Both were sound asleep.
“Hmmph,” I muttered. What the hell. She was mine. At least I was beginning to think of her that way. This kid had better have a pretty good explanation, poaching like this. She’d better, too!
I needed a shower, so snuck into the bathroom, shut the door and took one, surprising myself to realize I was glad the kid was still here and not out on the streets somewhere. Somehow, his sad and defeated look had got to me. Then I dried off and returned to the bedroom.
I’d slept naked since I was 13. If Pat were the only one here, I’d be doing so now. The boy’s presence made it different. Damn kid. See how kids can ruin everything? Adults are much better off without them around.
I pulled on some underwear, gritting my teeth doing so, and slipped into bed, spooning gently in and up behind Pat. The next thing I knew, sunlight was streaming into the room and I was the only one in bed. I could smell coffee—and hear giggles.
I don’t operate well with three hours of sleep, which is about all I’d had, and which explains why, when I staggered into the kitchen for coffee, both of them looked at me and laughed.
“Put on some pants, Briar. Jesus! Common courtesy and mindfullness Jeez! We have young children among us.”
“Did we acquire another?” I looked around, hoping we hadn’t.
“Figure of speech. We don’t need to see that. Now git!”
I looked down. While I was decently covered, I also had the problem all men do in the morning. I’d never even noticed, being half asleep as I was. Sleep deprivation—that was my excuse.
I wasn’t going to let them intimidate me. Laugh all they wanted, I got a cup of coffee before retreating.
An hour later I was shaved, brushed and fed and ready to rumble. The first order of business was to clothe Dustin. Seemed the best way was to learn his sizes and go to the mall. Even better was to let Pat go to the mall. I hated clothes shopping.
Dustin didn’t know his size. And I didn’t know how to measure him, but Pat did. “Measure how tall he is. Then around his waist, his inseam and his foot length. That should be enough.”
I did. Dustin just stood still, not saying anything. I gave Pat some money, told her to buy him one outfit, that’s all he’d need before he was someone else’s responsibility, and Pat took off.
With Pat gone, I grabbed the tool bag I’d brought in last night. I hadn’t wanted to leave it in the car. I took out the safe and laid it on some newspapers on my kitchen table.
Dustin was watching without saying a word. He seemed to talk fine once you got him started but didn’t volunteer much till then. I wondered if he’d gotten yelled at when he broke the silence at home. Maybe his crap dad was one of those old-school boys-should-speak-only-when-spoken-to sorts.
The safe appeared to me to be impregnable from the top after I tested it with a hacksaw; I could barely scratch it. Probably made from some sort of special-alloy hardened stainless steel. The rest of the box, however, was just plain carbon steel. The sharp hacksaw blade cut into it with no problem whatsoever. I decided to cut the bottom off. I began sawing and had to change blades about halfway through, but that was my only holdup. I was done cutting through the top side of the back end of the box as it lay on my table and then down the two vertical sides in fifteen minutes. After that, all I had to do was bend down the flap I’d cut and I could see into the thing.
What I could see was money. Bundles and bundles of bills. I pulled out the one closest to me and saw it was $100 bills. I started removing them, and discovered the safe was about three-quarters full of the bundles. A ginormous amount of money.
Near the safe’s door was a cloth sack. In the sack, there was jewelry. Men’s jewelry. Included was the ring Margery Bookman had described.