His Song Silenced

by Michael Arches

  -o-o-o-

  Because of Carlos’s warning, I paid a lot more attention to my surroundings on the way back to the hotel. It was logical for local hoodlums to monitor the Gang Bureau’s office, but I didn’t spot anyone on my tail on the way back to the Brown Palace. Unfortunately, the traffic was terrible, and it would’ve been easy for someone to hide behind me and bide their time.

  At the hotel, I asked the concierge for the name of the best steak restaurant downtown. It was sure to be crowded. He suggested a name and called to arrange a reservation.

  I found Willow in our room, and suggested dinner.

  “I’m happy to eat steak in Denver,” she said. “Where could it be better?”

  Lots of cities out West bragged about their steak places, but I didn’t tell her that. “Have you ever seen a baseball game, at a ballpark?”

  She shook her head. “Someone tried to explain the rules once, but I became confused. Would you like to go?”

  “You might like it. It’s big and rowdy, like America. If you aren’t having fun, we can always leave early. I still remember seeing my first baseball game with my dad. That was great fun, and he turned me into a diehard Rockies fan.”

  It was also a bittersweet memory because we didn’t speak anymore. Our personalities had never meshed, and when I began to rebel as a teenager, he tried harder to dominate me. His way was the only way—for everything.

  And it hit me. He was still running my life. One of the main reasons I was busting my ass so hard to solve the murders was to show him a lesbian could do what had always been a man’s job. But it didn’t matter why I solved the case. It was my job, and that was reason enough. If I had other motives, they only made me work harder.

  -o-o-o-

  Dinner was terrific, and the restaurant even had bison. She tried a bite of mine but shrugged.

  At Coors Field, the Rockies beat the Cubs. We cheered, and I bought her a purple hat, even though I doubted she’d wear it again. Willow asked me dozens of questions about baseball, some of which I couldn’t answer, like what the infield fly rule meant. Luckily, we sat next to a couple of rabid former Chicagoans rooting for the Cubs, and they explained what I couldn’t.

  All the while, I kept an eye out for anyone who might look like a member of a street gang, but nobody fit the bill. And we walked back to the hotel with a huge crowd of folks. I’d hoped I was being too cautious, but there was no harm in being extra-careful with Willow.

  Chapter 16

  On Friday the thirteenth, everything started out smoothly. Willow and I made it to DIA with enough time for a long, tender goodbye. The one thing I knew for sure was I wanted a future with her.

  Maybe I wanted that more than I wanted to be sheriff. That surprised me. This was the first time in a long time that I’d wanted to put a relationship in front of the job.

  After I escorted her to the security check and waved goodbye, I headed back to the city. Both of my eyes remained wide open, looking for trouble. While several large black SUVs did pass me, nobody opened a window and started shooting. I’m probably worrying about nothing. At least, Willow is safely away.

  Tyrone had given me the address for his hotel near what used to be Stapleton Airport. I found the right place easily. When I pulled up, one of the rappers, Michelle, was climbing onto a full-sized bus. Other folks were stowing suitcases and equipment in the bus’s belly.

  Tyrone spotted me and waved. I shook his hand and asked about the funeral. He summarized it, but I didn’t hear anything useful to my investigation.

  Promptly at eight, he and his group took off. I followed at a distance. The traffic was heavy on Interstate 70 for a while, thanks to the morning commute. After we passed downtown, the traffic thinned out. No unwelcome tails that I noticed.

  We soon left the metro area behind, and the bus began climbing the first steep grade into the foothills. We ended up in the right lane with the big trucks, barely creeping along.

  Denver drivers loved to speed, and they zoomed by like we were standing still. I stayed a couple of hundred yards behind Tyrone and the gang. Every so often, I thought I could see a black van or SUV far behind me. I ignored the tingling feeling under my tongue and settled in for the long drive home.

  Interstate 70 climbed and dropped until the freeway began to follow Clear Creek. Then we consistently snaked higher and higher, heading toward the Continental Divide. We passed Idaho Springs, and I noticed two black SUVs hanging back for no obvious reason. The road was relatively flat, and most vehicles drove the speed limit. But the bus was slower. My entire lower jaw began to tingle as adrenaline surged through me.

  I wasn’t going to drive for hours like this, so I called the Clear Creek County Sheriff’s Office. After identifying myself, the receptionist put me through to their patrol captain.

  After I gave him a five-minute summary of my trouble with street gangsters, he said, “Yeah, Hank, we heard about the murder of that Chinese guy and your run-in with the fucking Russian. Lots going on in Pitkin County lately. I feel for ya, sister.”

  His support made me feel better. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this developing situation,” I said. “If you have a couple of patrol cars available, I’d like to find out who these bastards are behind me.”

  “Can’t be too careful these days,” he said. “We’re always happy to help fellow law enforcement. Tell me how you’d like to work this.”

  I was damned tired of constantly looking over my shoulder. “Maybe you could put a couple of cars on the side of the freeway just west of Georgetown. Up on that hillside, they’ll be visible for miles away. If bad guys are behind me, I’m hoping they’ll use the Georgetown exit to turn around and go home. Or maybe those two SUVs are filled with nuns heading out for a hike on Grays Peak and Torreys.”

  He snickered. “I’m doubting that. We’ll do exactly like you said. I’ll contact Georgetown PD to let them know what’s going on.”

  It must’ve been a slow day for law enforcement in the county because within a few minutes, three patrol cars blew by me and waved. The black SUVs behind me had slowed down but kept coming.

  The captain called me. “Okay, we got a little more info. Our officers passed the suspect vehicles, two late-model Escalades. The deputies tried to look at the occupants. Unfortunately, heavily tinted windows. They did confirm that each vehicle is being driven by a large, African-American male. I just ran the vehicle plates and found essentially nothing. Both SUVs are owned by a Denver company with a downtown address.”

  “So much for the possibility that I was being chased by nuns.”

  “Sorry. Listen, Hank, we could set up a roadblock almost anywhere west of Georgetown and stop them, but I’m guessing they’re heavily armed. That could get nasty quick.”

  I cringed at the thought of a shootout in the middle of the interstate. “I’d much prefer we give them an easy way to back off. They’re a long way from Denver and have to be nervous. If we show overwhelming force up ahead but give them a chance to turn back, they should take it, wouldn’t you think?”

  “It’s the best option to try first. Otherwise, we’re going to have to coordinate with Summit County and the State Patrol to intercept. I can get two other units west of Georgetown quickly, including me.”

  Tyrone’s bus passed the turnoff for Winter Park, a popular recreation area, but the two black SUVs kept on following us. The moment of truth was fast approaching.

  Interstate 70 crested a general rise. From there, it was easy to see Georgetown up on the left. And just beyond it, the freeway tilted upwards. Five county patrol cars sat on the right shoulder with flashing lights.

  All the traffic in front of me slowed down to see what the hell was going on. My gaze kept darting to my main mirror. The two SUVs behind backed off even more. That was a hopeful sign that they were antsy.

  The heavy traffic ahead forced everyone driving west to slow dramatically.

  Finally, the bus and I crawled past the Cl
ear Creek deputies. I pulled over, hit my lights, too, and jumped out of my SUV. Several of the officers standing by waved me over. I joined them, and we all watched the freeway to the east.

  The two black Escalades inched forward and exited the interstate at Georgetown. A huge wave of relief washed over me.

  The other cops looked at me and grinned. The SUVs turned back onto the freeway heading east.

  Everyone around me laughed and clapped their hands. A gunfight avoided was a gunfight won, particularly on Friday the thirteenth.

  Tyrone’s bus disappeared up the mountainside. I quickly shook each of the officers’ hands, and thanked them all for dropping everything to help me. They teased me about being worried for no reason and waved as I took off.

  My mind was much more at ease as I hit the gas to catch up to the bus.

  Actually, it didn’t take me more than a few seconds because the grade was so steep. I held back a hundred yards and kept looking in the rearview mirror. No more black SUVs showed up.

  We reached the Eisenhower Tunnels at eleven thousand feet high. They’d been bored underneath the Continental Divide, which happened to be the border of Summit County. The bus quickly picked up speed on the steep descent to Silverthorne.

  I’d almost convinced myself I’d inconvenienced a half-dozen Clear Creek deputies for nothing, but the patrol captain called me again. “Hey, Hank, your instincts were damned good. We didn’t waste our time putting on a show of force.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. “Glad to hear we did something right. What was it?”

  He laughed. “Georgetown PD parked an officer below the underpass at the Georgetown exit. He got good photos of each driver. Big black men—look like real hard asses. One has gang tattoos on his face.”

  A chill ran through me. “What the hell were they planning to do?”

  “No idea,” the captain said, “but you can bet they wanted to cause considerable trouble. I’ll email you the photos and vehicle info. Watch your back the rest of the way home.”

  He followed through, and the two bastards did look like monsters. I forwarded his email to Carlos at Denver PD and asked whether he recognized either man.

  A few minutes later, the detective called me. “What the hell were those desperados doing in Georgetown?”

  I explained what’d happened. “Were we worried about nothing?”

  “I doubt it,” Carlos said. “First off, the SUVs are owned by a company with tight ties to the local Crips. Second, the two drivers are bad news. One is Jazz Booker, did six years for aggravated battery. The other, Travis Irving, is suspected as the gunman in a recent drive-by shooting. He’s the guy with the tats on his face. Both are midway up the gang’s leadership.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “Definitely glad I didn’t ignore that situation. I’ll let you know if I see either again.”

  “Stay in touch, and drive safe,” he said.

  -o-o-o-

  When I digested what he said, it occurred to me that I’d better report what’d happened to my bosses. Otherwise, they’d hear about it through the sheriff’s grapevine. I called Randy and told him everything. He didn’t say much but asked several questions. Then he, too, warned me to stay safe. As if I needed more reminders.

  We passed Vail, and the traffic thinned out dramatically. No more suspicious tails. I finally relaxed. The Eagle Valley was picturesque and peaceful.

  Then I remembered my new assistant, Willow. I needed to bring her up to date, so I tapped the Contact button on the app she’d installed on my phone.

  Her sweet voice rang out. “Miss me already? My plane is delayed out of Chicago. How’re you?”

  “Eventful trip, so far.” I filled her in. She gasped several times, which was strangely satisfying.

  “You really need to be more careful, Hank.”

  I fought to keep from sounding defensive. “What? I’m the one who spotted those guys, and I didn’t try to handle them by myself.” I didn’t say that I usually operated as a lone wolf, and it was hard to ask for help. “Dealing with assholes comes with the job.”

  “Maybe you should’ve expected the Crips to cause trouble and asked Denver PD to come along. The gangsters are their problem, aren’t they?”

  Not true, but I wasn’t going to try and explain law enforcement jurisdictional issues to a non-cop—and a Frenchie to boot. “I got help when I needed it, and that’s what counts. Make sure you stay safe, too. We have to assume the bratva are still looking for you.”

  “For both of us. I’ll keep a low profile. That’ll give me time to check the rappers’ communications. I’m particularly curious about how those two thugs in LA managed to find you on the freeway.”

  “I’d love to know that, too.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes about her plans for Montréal, then her flight was called.

  Hearing her voice had settled me down more than I’d expected. I hoped that by the time I reached Aspen, she’d be comfortable in her new hiding place.

  -o-o-o-

  It took four more hours to get home. During a bathroom break in Glenwood Canyon, I pulled Tyrone aside and explained what’d happened with the Crips.

  He threw up his hands in frustration. “We’re incredibly grateful you’re following us.”

  The traffic in Aspen was terrible, as usual on a Friday afternoon. The bus crept along the main route through town until it reached First Street and turned left. Tyrone had rented a large B&B.

  A century ago, the two-story building was a boardinghouse for miners. Back then, the town was known for its high-grade silver ore rather than the fluffy white gold making folks rich these days.

  I’d never been inside, but I’d often admired the exterior. The brick walls were covered with ivy, and the surrounding grounds were filled with tall maples, dozens of rose bushes, and other fragrant shrubs like viburnums. Many of them were beginning to show their fall colors.

  While Tyrone’s crew was unloading their stuff, I checked in with Alex Rivera, one of their guards. After a little small talk, I asked, “Have you talked to Jenkins to coordinate protection for these rappers? They attract trouble like honey lures bears.”

  Alex sighed. “We sat down with Jenkins and we worked out a plan. Someone from your office’s going to be on site at all times, and we’ll have three more armed guards here twenty-four seven. The main thing is to keep everyone together. We don’t have the staff to follow individuals off on their own.”

  I nodded. “I’ll be sure to let Tyrone know.”

  Then I summarized what I’d learned about the Crips and showed Alex the pictures of the two drivers Carlos had identified for me.

  He frowned. “These rappers hang with some scary dudes, don’t they?”

  “I’ve never seen trouble like this. Glad to have your help in keeping these folks safe.”

  Alex wandered into the B&B, and a moment later, I spotted Tyrone stepping off the bus. He held a phone to his ear with one hand and carried a duffel bag in the other. I stepped toward him and waved. He approached.

  Chapter 17

  After he ended his call, he grinned at me. “We finally made it. Be happy you weren’t cooped up with fifteen lunatics for five hours.”

  In addition to the boss, the bus had contained twelve contestants and Tyrone’s three flunkies. I was sorry that Sharlene had stayed in LA, but somebody apparently had to keep the office there running.

  I mentioned the need for everyone to stay together so we could protect them. Tyrone’s face got longer. “No problem, but can’t understand what the hell is going on. Never had any trouble with street gangs, and I grew up in fucking Camden. It’s crawling with lowlifes, but they always left me alone. No problems in LA, neither. Hell, I wouldn’t recognize a Crip or a Blood if you planted one in front of me with a sign around his neck.”

  I was skeptical about his innocence, and I’d given the issue quite a bit of thought during the drive. “Have you ever tried to put on a
reality show before?”

  He shook his head. “But lots of friends have. They say no magic to it. And just to be sure we got it all covered, I hired an assistant from The Voice. She worked there for three years. Another one of my helpers worked for the crazy Kardashians for five years.”

  “How many times have you been shot at?”

  Tyrone frowned. “Never. Don’t like guns neither. I’m all about the love.”

  I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell’s going on either, but I’m pretty damn sure somebody who rode with you on the bus does.”

  He looked at it like it was contaminated with Ebola. “Do what you have to do to find the bastard,” he said. “Break heads. This bullshit’s costing me ten thousand bucks a day in security costs.”

  The mention of money sent my mind off in a different direction. “Who invests in your production company?”

  “No mob connections. I own the whole damned company, always have. Mama helped me get started, gave me a twenty-grand loan. I paid her off years ago. When I hit it big, I bought her a nice place in Philly, she spends half her time at my house in Bel Air.”

  “Somebody connected to this deal has gang ties,” I said. “No other possible explanation. My best guess is some Crips boss expects to make a ton of money when his guy or gal wins your competition. Splendid was eliminated back in June because he was obviously unbeatable.”

  Tyrone rubbed his brow for a moment. “Then, why’d they do Dinah? If I had to guess, she wouldn’t have been Wang’s main competition.”

  He’d know better than anyone. “Haven’t figured that out yet. It’s possible she helped get rid of Splendid. If so, the Crips might’ve worried that she wouldn’t stay quiet.”

  “Who knows?” he asked. “It’s as good a guess as any.”

  And I still needed to prove it. “Anyway, at some point, I need a room where I can interview all of your contestants except Michelle and Katrina.”