by B. A. Savage
“His name is Mister French, Alice,” she corrected.
“No, Mother, it’s easier for me to remember if I call him Fry. You know, like French fry.”
“Isn't she adorable?’ We’ll talk about this later. Eat, get dressed, we have a busy day ahead of us.” He turned toward Alice and started dancing around doing her cheers. The neighbors were watching, but French didn’t care. He was making Alice laugh, and that filled his heart with joy.
Chapter 4
Karen had been waiting for over an hour, when her sister showed up. She carried her raven-black hair up in a bun with the meter maid hat over her eyes.
“Good afternoon, girl, how’s it going?”
Susan smiled. “I’m all right, I guess. So, tell me about your new job, Miss Hot Shot Investigator! And what do you know about Alex French?”
“Susan, he is wonderful. Mister French is good-hearted and very well-mannered."
“He's gentle and polite; he must be gay,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “If he isn't he’s trying to charm the pants right off you.”
"He isn't like most other men; he's different. I think he's a good person.”
Susan shakes her head. “That's nonsense; men aren't like that. They’re all dogs. You’ll understand what I'm saying. You'll wake up early one morning, and he'll be on top of you of you doing the two-headed monsters. Why would you move in with him so fast? I can't believe you moved Alice with you too. He must have laid it on.”
Karen rolled her eyes. “Did you get what I asked for?”
Susan pulled a brown folder from under her arm. “Here, this is a list of all the officers who responded to the Dalton crime scene.”
“What about SWAT team? Were they called in?”
“Yes, SWAT teams usually answers gunfire reports, to protect the officers.”
Suddenly, a loud ‘BOOM’ cracked through the air, and a car window erupted next to Karen’s head. She drops pulling her sister with her.
“What was that, girl?” Susan screamed.
“I think someone is shooting at us,” Karen replied. “Where’s the folder?”
Another bullet slams into the car, followed by the scream of tires approaching fast.
“Karen we got to get out of here,” Susan said, grabbing her sister’s hand and pulling her toward the shelter of an open doorway.
Karen turned just in time to see a hand reach out of a black car and pick up the folder, and the car sped away.
“Wow, what a rush,” Susan said, smiling from ear to ear. “The last time I had that much excitement was when I slept with my doctor.”
“You’re such a whore,” Karen said.
“There must have been something very important in those pictures.”
“Damn, girl, Mister French is going to be pissed. My preliminary assignment and I blew it; I hope Mister French isn't mad."
“I’m Sorry, girl. I need to play like a ghost and vanish. As soon as the department hears about the shooting, this area will be a wall of cops. Call me.”
Susan said, throwing a kiss to her sister.
Karen looked around to see a woman standing in a doorway a few feet away. "I call Mister French before Detective Emerson shows up."
Chapter 5
French took the news with a smile and asked Karen to meet him at the location of the shooting.
Moments later, French pulled up in his red pickup with Alice sitting on the passage side. “Mommy, Mister Fry got me a puppy! His name is Tony, and he is my friend. Can I keep him? I'll take care of him; I promise I will.”
Karen looks at French and frowned. “You got her a puppy?”
“Well, I like puppies, and Alice needs a little friend because there no kids on my street.”
“But I think you should have asked me before you got a puppy.”
“Mom, please don't be mad at Mister Fry. I ask him for a puppy. Dad never got me a puppy, and you promised me one day I could have one.”
“Alice, would you take Tony over there in the grass? I think he has to use the bathroom.”
“Sure, Mister Fry,” Alice jumped out of the truck with the little puppy under her arm and ran across the street to the park.
“You’re right, Alice. I should have talked to you first. You are her mother.” French looked at the area. "Karen is this where the bullet hit the car?”
“Yes and the bullet broke out this window.”
“Were you standing here?” He asked.
Karen walked over to the car. “Right here, facing east.”
French walk over next to her, and looked up at the sun. “Karen what time was it when it happened?"
“I think twenty, perhaps thirty minutes or more." She replied.
“You said it was a loud boom?”
“Yes!”
French smiled. “Watch this,” he muttered to her. “Hello! My friend is nude, come see,” he called
Doors opened and people and a few looked out their windows.
“Where’s the cops,” he said, looking up and down the street. “If there was a gunshot as loud as you say, don’t you think someone would have called the cops?”
“I called them, Mister,” a voice said. French turned to seeing a couple walking toward him. “I don’t understand why no one has shown up.”
“My name is Alex French, and this is Karen Day, my friend,” said French. They nodded a welcome but don’t give their names. “Did you see what happened?”
The two were an older couple, 60+. The man was wearing a house coat with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. His wife was wearing gray sweats and chewing on a biscuit and clinging to his arm with her other hand.
“I saw was a dark-colored SUV pulls up next to this car. It stops, and somebody picked up something from the road, and its speeds off.” The man replied.
“You see anything, ma’am?” Karen asked. “This is important because they were shooting at me.”
“Why, child, who would want to hurt a tiny thing like you?” she asked.
“It might have been my ex-boyfriend. The police are looking for him, and he’s trying to hurt me.”
"Bless your heart. Let me think,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “The guy had red hair, a thin man, like you.” She pointed a finger at Karen.
“Helen, how'd you have seen that? You can’t read the newspaper because your eyes are bad,” her husband added.
French looked at the distance from the front door and turned to seeing Alice playing with the dog. “Miss, do you see that little girl playing in the park?”
“Yes.”
“What is she wearing?”
“A rose colored dress, a little too short, if you ask me and a red ribbon on her hair,” She turned to looking at Karen. “And she must be your daughter because she looks just like you.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” French said. “Do you remember anything else, perhaps a piece of jewelry?”
Karen raised her hand like a school girl. “Mister French, I remember seeing a ring.” A smile crossed her beautiful face, and the sun made her green eyes sparkle.
French removed a picture from his pocket and gave it to Karen. “I want you to look at the picture and tell me if this was the ring that you saw in the hand from the car?”
She studied the picture for several moments in silence, “Sir, where did you find this picture?”
“It was on the left hand of the tall, red-haired man at the police department yesterday. The same man who fired you.” French walked over to the car, pulled a string from his pocket, and stuck it through the bullet hole in the window. He walked around the other side to the car and asked Karen to pull the string tight.
“What’s Mister Fry doing, Mom?” Alice asked.
The neighbor noticed, and big man in action stepped out of their homes.
“This was a sniper who shot at you, Karen, but he wasn’t trying to kill you. He's a trained sharpshooter trained by the best, the United States Marine Corps. These men go through a course at Camp Pendleton, w
here they shoot over 30,000 rounds a month for eight weeks. These specials highly trained Marines are an elite killing force and once discharged; they end up being professional killers or police officers. No, Karen, he wasn’t trying to kill you because if he were, you’d be dead.”
“So, it was Paul Emerson, who shot at me, that bastard.” She cursed. “Did he kill Dalton?”
“I don’t think so; Emerson was right handed, and Dalton’s murderer was left-handed.”
“How do you know?”
“When he approached the desk, he was holding a cup of coffee in his right hand. He set it down and signed something on the desk with his right hand.”
French smiled, walking back to the car, this time, lowering his voice to a whisper. “On his left hand was this ring, the same ring carried by members of the first division sniper unit, called The Walking Dead.”
“How do you know the shooter was right handed? He shot at me, and I couldn’t tell you, which hand he used, and you weren’t even here.”
“Karen, where were you standing when it happened?” French pulled the string tight. “The bullet went to the left-hand side of your head. When you’re training to shoot, right-hand people always squeeze the trigger to the left-hand side the target and left-handed people, to the right.”
“I hate that guy. He’s been on my ass from the week I moved to Fayette County. He tried to date my sister and when she turned him down; he came after me. He’s a real jerk, but he’s harmless.” Karen said, rolling her eyes.
"I understand. He's the CEO, of the SWAT Team a sniper and ex-military.”
“Yes, you’re right. He did two terms in the Marine Corps Forces Recon.” Karen looked puzzled. “If he didn’t kill Dalton, why was he shooting at me?”
“It's something in those files; he did want us to see.”
“Mister Fry, can we go? Tony wants a hamburger, and I need an ice cream cone?”
“Karen let's go. I think an ice cream cone is a wonderful idea.”
“I don’t think that’s funny, Alex. I was talking about me and you.”
The doors hissed and snapped shut as the three entered the dimly lit hallway. Susan had adjusted the camera over the chief’s door so that it covered the left side of the wall, giving girls and French about sixteen inches of dead space on the right side against the wall.
“Come on, Alex, stick it in,” Eleanor said, poking his stomach with her finger.
“I’m sorry. I completely forgot about this mission when McCray brought that third burger to the table for lunch.”
They stopped in front of the chief’s door. French, went down to one knee, removed the stainless steel six-piece professional lock pick set from inside his breast pocket, and began to work at the lock.
Eleanor looked nervously up and down the hall. "Alex, please hurry. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this crap. If I'm caught, my job, my life is over.”
The lock popped, and a small desk lamp cast a ghostly shadow the wall. Eleanor's legs bucked as she walks on the carpet to the Lenovo 21.5” Touch-Screen All in One Computer. As she slides into the seat behind the chief’s desk, her hands worked like magic over the keyboard, as Karen called her sister.
The crowd was light in Al’s Bar as Susan tried to give Martin the impression that she was interested in what he was saying. Some country-western singer was bellowing over the jukebox about his losing his wife and lover in the same weekend, and the two drunks singing along were giving Karen a headache.
“I’m going to walk right into Chief Green office Monday and demand he promoted you to a detective. I still have a little power in that office; I’ll get you in as long as you’re my girl, Susan.”
Susan bends over the table, displaying just enough on her breasts to keep the officer interested. “What do you mean by saying that? You’re a married man.” She used her finger to make a figure in his palm. “And I don’t take seconds from any woman.”
“Susan, if you were my woman, I would drop my wife in a second.”
“Why don’t you drop her now?” The ringing of the cell phone interrupted the two. “Excuse me, it’s my mother.”
Susan walked towards the bathroom; Tom Cutter coming through the front door. Martin tried to shield his face, but he was too late.
“Martin, aren’t you supposed to be on call tonight?”
“Yes, Detective, but this girl…..."
“What girl? Are you trying to tell me a piece of ass means more to you than your job?” Cutter’s eyes burned with anger. “Give me your keys, you’re fired.”
Martin started to protest but decided to remain silence. The Martin family had a long history with the police department. Ben Green and his father were partners at the police academy. Chief Green was the only person that could fire him; Cutter was nothing but Green’s lap dog. He checked his pockets for the keys, front pockets and back pockets, and looked at Cutter, puzzled. “My keys are gone.”
“What are you trying to say? You lost the keys to the office?”
Martin jumped up and ran into the lady's bathroom. He goes inside and returns with a frown.
“She’s gone, boss! I think it was her sister, Karen, dressed like the old woman in the police department. She must have stolen my keys.”
“What?” Cutter snapped.
“Lieutenant if you promise not to tell the chief about tonight, I’ll deliver that fat investigator’s head to you on a platter.”
Cutter nods.
The two men raced out of the bar, back toward police headquarters.
"Eleanor is you having any luck?”
“I’m trying my best, Alex. He has some crisped code that’s a little hard to break. Give me a few more minutes.”
“We don’t have a few more minutes,” Karen said. Cutter showed up, and Martin noticed the keys were missing. They’re on the way back now.”
“I’m in,” Eleanor said, sliding the flash drives into the USB port. “We should have it in 30 seconds.”
French looked out the window to see several police cruisers pull up in front of the building. He looked across the street to see a garbage truck turning onto Vine Street. “I can block the hallway door, that should give us more time,” Karen said.
“They’re going to catch us, and we’re all going to jail,” Eleanor screamed.
French smiled. “Don’t give up yet, I have a plan.”
“I got it! Let’s get the hell out of here.” Eleanor said, jumping to her feet.
Susan opened the door, hearing unexpected voices approaching rapidly towards the second floor.
"Let's move guys,” French ordered, pulling Eleanor by the sleeve toward the stairs.
"I see them; they're on the second floor,” a voice yelled.”
“Alex, I hope you know what you're doing?” Eleanor asked quietly
French didn’t reply, pushing his oversize body to move faster up to the stairs. The fire escape to the roof held a massive door with a padlock on it.
“What are we going to do now?” Eleanor said.
French didn’t stop, slamming his massive shoulder into the door and the lock broke free, onto the roof.
French rubbed his palm across his blow cleaning sweat and dirt from his eyes.
“Sherlock, what are we going to do now?” Eleanor asked.
“You trust me?” French asked, smiling broadly.
Eleanor turns sharp looking at Karen, and she nodded her head quick in agreement. The sounds of the officers’ feet were drawing closer.
“Come on, guys, no one wants to live forever,” French said. Grabbing Eleanor’s hand in his right hand and Karen’s hand in his left hand, he raced toward the north side of the rooftop. As they got to the edge, Eleanor realized what French was going to do.
“Alex you idiot,” was the last thing she said as they when over the edge of a two-story drop into the darkness.
“Alex, when we jumped did you know the garbage truck would catch us?” Eleanor demanded.
“I looked out the window i
n the captain’s office and saw the garbage truck turning down Upper Street onto Vine Street. They have two pick-ups on Vine Street, the library, and the police department, both with two trash cans. The driver and two trash guys walking behind the truck, I guessed it would take two minutes to across the north side of that building and heard it moving below when we stepped onto the roof.”
"Are you saying we jumped off the building, into the darkness, on a guess?”
French grinned broadly as they climbed out of the truck. “Girls, it was close,” he said.
"Are you kidding me? I thought it was incredible,” Susan added.
“It was kind awesome, wasn’t it?” Eleanor agreed.
They run down an alley to get back to French’s red truck parked on Broadway, picked up Susan and drove home.
Chapter Eight
“So, he broke into your office, sir?” Cutter asked.
Green looked over his files. Cutter called him at 3 o’clock in the morning on his day off, talking about someone breaking in the police department. It didn’t make any sense. When Martin was out front smoking, someone broke in the back door, avoided the camera, made their way up to the stairs but left the building without touching anything. “You've questioned the cleaning service?”
“Detective Emerson is questioning them now.”
Green glared at Cutter with his cold blue eyes. “What can you tell me about Detective Emerson?”
Cutter shrugged. “He finished top in his class in the academy, sharp shooter in the United States Marine Corps. The mayor’s kid, he can be a prick but one hell of a SWAT, team commander. Why are you asking, sir?”