Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  She was impressed Mitchelli had trusted her enough to confide in her. However, she knew that Mitchelli was smart enough not to tell her he could have killed O’Shid and everyone else in the room. Unless they saw it, no one would have believed Mitchelli went through four highly trained FBI men as if they were practice dummies. Buckala had him pegged, cool as a jewel, a destroyer, the vendetta man. She would tell no one of this conversation. O’Shid pushed him to extremes, and he seemed to be very in control now. She had to fight her feelings for Mitchelli. She was a professional and she had to keep a clear mind.

  CHAPTER 12

  The assets of Task Force E gathered in the lower garage of the FBI building and loaded into a black Chevrolet suburban. The dark tinted windows made it impossible to see the six investigators inside, some of which were acting as though they were on a kindergarten field trip. Moss drove because no one else wanted to. Mitchelli rode shotgun, an honor that should have gone to Freed, the leader of the Task Force, but he did not want to see Mitchelli cramped in the back seat. Buckala sat in the second row passenger window, Freed was in the second row driver’s window, and MacJames, the highest ranking agent, got stuck in the middle second row, otherwise known as the hump.

  The occupants’ sense of smell and sound was tested, not to mention their patience. Buckala’s paralyzing coffee and cigar breath almost forced MacJames to sit in the third row with Coarseni, who was driving everyone crazy complaining that he was stuck in the third row.

  “Gigantor gets shotgun front row,” he whined, “and the little guy gets humiliated sitting in the third row, kiddy section. This operation is discriminatory towards small right-sized people. I am not frickin going to put up with this. Next time I’m driving and Pat can sit in the frickin’ kiddy row.”

  The odor in the vehicle worsened when they picked up Thai food instead of Chinese. Half the team ordered garlic sauce, the other half curry.

  Coarseni’s complaints continued. “This is bullshit,” he said. “I ordered pork, not chicken! Does someone have my eggplant and pork? Peter, what the hell do you have? Sal, you frickin’ stink, I’m not riding with you on surveillance, what the hell are you smoking, frickin’ cow shit? Sal, do you have my frickin’ pork? Bob, next time you recruit a Buffalo cop, get one that showers, doesn’t gargle with coffee grinds, or smoke stinky root. I’m serious, I’m getting sick!”

  Buckala yelled back, “If you don’t shut up I’m going to stinky root a toot you up the ass!”

  “Oh, big talk from the second row. Sal, Angela is going to dress more casual tomorrow because your stink is stuck to her Wal-Mart suit.”

  “That’s enough for Christ sake!” Freed shouted. “Dom, remember our objective; we’re professionals.”

  Suddenly there was a loud intimidating fart, then silence. Mitchelli broke out laughing, hitting his hand on the dashboard. Then the laughter erupted in the van, Moss pulled over because he was laughing so hard he began to gag. Freed spilled his soda on MacJames’s cheap suit, and Buckala spit a piece of pork at Coarseni.

  Coarseni hooted, “Bob, which professional dealt that blast, or was it the semi pro, Gigantor? I think it actually makes Sal smell better!”

  The suburban did not move. Moss could not drive he was crying from laughter. Coarseni picked the piece of pork off his shirt that Buckala had spit on him, “Sal you frickin’ stinky lying bastard, I knew you had my pork!”

  “Ok, ok,” Freed pleaded. “Lets settle down, enough fun, Dom back off!” A louder, longer fart interrupted him; it seemed to last for minutes. All erupted with laughter, the suburban actually began rocking slightly side to side. MacJames spilled her drink on Freed and across her blouse over her right breast. Mitchelli and Moss looked at her, and then at each other, laughing hysterically.

  Coarseni gasped, “Sal, you shit pants, the air-conditioning is blowing that stink back to the third row kiddy section.”

  Freed could not help staring at MacJames’s wet breast, the lace trim on her bra showed through her blouse. MacJames was laughing too hard to notice or care. Buckala stopped laughing when he looked out the front window at the setting sun over the lake. Coarseni stared at the beach activities outside the SUV.

  Coarseni yelled, “Bob, take your eyes off Angela’s boob, and let me out of this frickin’ stink box. I want to look at those boats.”

  Freed, MacJames, and Moss, looked out the window, surprised and fascinated by the California beach they never knew existed just outside of Buffalo. The suburban had stopped at what the locals dubbed Ghetto Beach, a beach along Furhmann Boulevard, situated between recreational boat harbors, commercial slips and a thirteen-story abandoned grain elevator that towered above the shoreline. The grain tower was located on a narrow manmade peninsula that jutted out from the shore. The ghostly grey structure hauntingly obscured the view south of the beach. In the center of the beach, a two-hundred-foot-long pier extended out into the lake, twenty feet above the water’s surface. Several fisherman were patiently fishing, others sat on benches reading. Several hundred people were enjoying the beach, eating, drinking, or working on their laptops. Occasionally someone would pass by running, walking, or rollerblading on the bike path. The one-mile strip of water between the beach and the break wall was teaming with boat traffic. Sailboats raced on Wednesday nights.

  Beyond the break wall was Lake Erie. Her water was deep blue with gentle two-foot waves sculpting its surface. There were hundreds of sailboats beyond the break wall with an occasional powerboat. The sky was light blue, dotted by small puffy clouds. Beyond the break wall picturesque boats with red, blue, and yellow sails danced over the dark blue water set against the light blue sky. Their gleaming white hulls brilliantly reflected the setting sun. The waltz of boats was visible for miles as they raced in formation, heading towards a racecourse buoy. Within the break wall, the Miss Buffalo could be seen, a one-hundred-and-twenty-foot tour boat, with her passengers standing on her deck, drinks in hand. A small red speedboat sped by her with three men, two of which dropped their pants and mooned the party barge.

  “Let’s get the hell out of this truck,” Coarseni proclaimed. “I want to eat outside; it’s beautiful.”

  Mitchelli told Moss to park the truck. Mitchelli carefully studied the passersby before he opened his door leaving his dinner in the truck. He walked directly towards the beach crossing the bike path. Several male runners changed course around him; they knew the big guy dressed in black cloths, work boots, and army issue sunglasses was not going to alter his course MacJames stared at him from inside the SUV; she noticed he was starting to look thinner. She looked at her white arm, it was spring, and Mitchelli was already tan.

  MacJames said, “Bob, let’s get out of here, I want to check out the pier.” Freed got out of the truck, staring at the boats by the grain elevator, several small boats were fishing in the shallow water by its break wall. MacJames took off her suit coat as she got out of the truck. Her right breast still wet from her drink, she walked on the beach, forgetting she was wearing high heels. Her shoes sunk in the sand, her ankles awkwardly bending, and she nearly fell. She removed her shoes and walked towards Mitchelli, standing at his side close enough to smell his cologne.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ve lived here for two years and have never been here on a race night. There must be five hundred boats on the lake.”

  “It’s another world down here; you’d never know you were in Buffalo. Man the lake is calm; I should be on my boat with my family.” I loved being on the water with Ann, we were drawn to the water. Those summer days, anchoring off the beaches in Canada, we were thin and fit, just lounging in the sun, the water lapping against the hull. We didn’t have a care in the world; lying on the sun pad staring at the sand dunes. Cape Cod, the Caribbean? No, beautiful Lake Erie, we acted as though it was our secret. Ann, what have I done?

  MacJames murmured, “Would we get a better view from the pier?” Mitchelli did not answer; he stared out into the open water. “Do you want to walk to the
pier?” Somehow, she knew he was thinking of his wife. He was transfixed, his eyes focused on the water, as if searching for his wife, waiting for her to splash to the surface and run towards him. She put her arm around his back and gently nudged his torso. She could feel the pistol he wore in a shoulder holster under his shirt. His thoughts were broken when he felt MacJames’s arm wrapped around the small of his back. Her hand on his waist was awkward but comforting.

  Mitchelli broke his silence. “The pier would work. Should we wait for the others?”

  When MacJames moved her arm from his back, she grabbed his hand, their forearms wrapped around each other’s. Mitchelli had his answer.

  They began walking towards the pier, a middle-aged couple watching the sunset. She said softly, “No, it’s fine, they’ll be ok. Remember, we need to blend with our surroundings. We’re two friends who met after work at the beach.”

  “Boss, are you manipulating our setting to take advantage of me?”

  “Absolutely not; this is part of my job.”

  “I’ve been manipulated before and I think I’m being manipulated now.”

  “Don’t think so much, and don’t call me boss.”

  ***

  Freed sat with Coarseni at his side, watching Mitchelli and MacJames holding hands walking to the pier. Coarseni ate his dinner from its plastic container. Freed had gotten to know MacJames over the last several years. She had told him her marital history, everything that had gone wrong. She had earned his respect as a highly competent agent. She was a trained professional who became his friend. He noticed the sadness in her eyes watching his wife and children when she came over for dinner. She would usually leave shortly after dessert; it was painful for her to be close to a happy family, something she could never have of her own. Freed wanted her to be happy, she was his friend. He also knew it was a good idea to have her stay close to Mitchelli. Mitchelli remained a huge question in his mind. Although he had complimented him in the conference room, he still felt Mitchelli was an encumbrance, a liability slowing the investigation.

  Coarseni raised his head from his food, looking at MacJames and Mitchelli walking towards the pier. “What the hell, are they on date night? Bob, did you recruit Peter just so Angela could get a piece of ass?”

  Freed shot back, “Dom, back off, I don’t want you to say a word to her. They have both been through a lot and you know it. I’m telling you as your commander, and asking you as friend: please don’t tease her over her personal relationships, especially with Peter.”

  “Ok, ok! I’ll keep my mouth shut. He’s not a bad guy, he may be on to something with this location, I don’t know about you but that grain elevator freaks the shit out of me.”

  Freed looked down at his food. “Dom, let’s finish eating. When the sun sets we’ll walk along the bike path and checkout a surveillance location.”

  Freed and Coarseni joined Moss and Buckala, who were eating their dinners on a picnic table near the edge of the beach. They tried in earnest not to stare at Mitchelli and MacJames who had reached the end of the pier. They focused on the ghostly grain elevator and its surrounding dock.

  The sun’s edge appeared to touch the lake as it set. In the foreground, a vast array of small sailboats charted towards the racing buoys. The hum of the occasional powerboat skipping by could be heard.

  MacJames removed her hair clip, letting her auburn hair fall around her face, gently moving in the breeze. She unbuttoned the top of her blouse revealing a glimpse of her cleavage. She wore no sunglasses, which would hide her most attractive assets, her green eyes. Her white blouse was semi-shear in the setting sun, exposing her chest and small waist. Her short dark skirt revealed her firm shapely calves, developed from torturous workouts at the gym. Her hair fell just above her shoulders; her vivid green eyes energized from the sun. Her nails perfectly manicured, painted dark red, she wore almost no makeup. Agent Angela MacJames was middle-aged, no spring chicken. Stress from her failed marriages had added wrinkles to her face, but there was no doubt she was a naturally beautiful woman.

  She knew Mitchelli’s mind was somewhere else, most likely thinking about his deceased wife. It was no good for MacJames and the investigation to have Mitchelli focused in the past. She had to get him back to the present and out of his lamenting.

  “I’m sorry I took you away from your family tonight,” she said, hoping he would turn and look at her.

  “It was my decision.”

  “You’re thinking of your wife, how long has it been?”

  Mitchelli stared out at the lake, “It seems like a lifetime. I’m hoping I’ll wake up, and it will have been a bad dream. I’m losing a little bit of her every day.” With the passing of each day, his memories of Ann faded.

  MacJames spoke softly, “You’re fortunate you had someone, someone to love enough to have children with. I’ve never found that person. I can tell when you’re thinking about her. The pain--it’s all over your face. That night in Quantico, you called for her while you were looking at me. I felt like a fool, I thought you were saying my name, but then I realized you were calling Ann.” My God, Angela you sound like a jealous dippy girl in high school.

  Mitchelli finally turned and looked at MacJames as she stared towards the open water beyond the break wall. She turned and looked at him, then embarrassed, she looked down at the deck of the pier. He gently put his hand on her chin, slowly raising her head. He looked into her dazzling green eyes.

  My god she’s beautiful! “Angela, what are we doing here? I’m a grieving, out of shape highly stressed contractor, and you’re a gorgeous woman. Let it go, you don’t know what a liability I am.”

  “Not yet, Peter. I think I’ll hang on a little longer it should be an interesting ride. There’s nothing wrong with us being together. You’re too hard on yourself.” She paused for a moment. “Mitchelli, did you say I was beautiful?”

  “I may have implied it.”

  “No, you said I was beautiful--that’s a statement.”

  “I said gorgeous, I believe it implies that you’re beautiful.”

  MacJames smiled. “Ok, I’ll concede you implied I am beautiful, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll use beautiful from now on. That popping J Coarseni is right, it’s like you’re trying to hide your good looks behind your clothes and glasses. God, your eyes shimmer like emeralds in the sun. You’re too attractive for a train wreck like me. I called for Ann in Baltimore because you’re beautiful like my wife, I did think you were her, maybe wishing. That shouldn’t make you feel like a fool. I confused your beauty, your thoughtfulness, your caring touch with someone I love and miss very much. I thought I was dreaming. If I wasn’t crazy . . . well a normal guy would be all over you.”

  MacJames leaned in. “You’re not crazy.”

  “Don’t be easily fooled. You don’t know me.”

  “I’m telling you this whole case is getting to me, maybe all of us. Sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming. I took advantage of you that night after the fight in Baltimore. I knew you were emotionally weak. I could see it in your face the first time we asked you to join the team. I was looking for something, someone to pour my life into, to take care of and there you were in bed, broken, helpless, I wanted to take care of you. I couldn’t let your kids see you like that. You’re my responsibility and I won’t have you hurt, I can’t live with that. I’m a tough bitch.” Her voice cracked. I must be going through a midlife crises, I’ve . . . we barely know each other, and I think I’m . . . “Damn it, Peter how many more buttons do I have to undo before you look at me! You say I’m beautiful but you act like you don’t even see me.” She paused, seizing control of her emotions. “I’m sorry, you don’t need this. We both need to focus on this case, the sooner we get it solved the sooner you can return to your kids; your real life, not this bureaucratic nightmare.”

  She turned to walk away and he grabbed her. “It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I’m trying not to hurt you. Angela, since I’ve been alone I�
�ve had women dropping food off at my house, invitations to parties, relatives and friends offering to arrange blind dates. I don’t think I’m ready to date. Besides what do women see in me? I’m a balding, grey haired, out of shape and middle aged man.”

  “You are mixed up. Do you think all women are superficial?”

  “Well...”

  “You’re wrong. Most women want a man for his body, good looks, and money. I admit, a long time ago, I was one of those women. I had three great looking husbands, drop dead gorgeous. But our relationships were nightmares. You’re different, your personality makes you attractive. What’s with you? You’re afraid of dating, but not afraid of admitting you were wrong in front of a group of peers you’ve known for less than two weeks. They want to see you fail. Peter, your third day on the job, you lay out your theory; according to you the best federal agents in the country have been focusing their efforts in the wrong locations for almost two years, and they buy into your theory. You’re worried about looking at me, touching me. Christ, I’ve watched the video of your Baltimore fight over and over again. You calmly beat the hell out of four combat instructors, no worries, no fear. I don’t get it: You don’t want to hurt me, but you almost killed four men in Baltimore!”