by Carolina Mac
All the locked glass cabinets were smashed—all the shelves bare—shards of glass everywhere. The safe containing the harder drugs was blown open and everything was gone. A bomb couldn’t have done any more damage to that area of the store.
Blaine opened the door marked ‘office’ and found the girl sitting behind the desk sobbing into a handful of tissues. “I’m Blaine Blackmore, Miss. Are you all right?”
The witness was young, mid-twenties. Long, curly brown hair and big brown eyes. She was wearing jeans and a navy blue hoodie. Her purse sat in front of her on the desk.
She shook her head. “No, I’ll never be all right ever again. I saw that man kill Mr. Campos, the pharmacist, and instead of doing something about it, I hid behind the cosmetic counter.”
“There was little you could have done about it, Miss, without putting yourself in extreme danger.” Blaine perched on the corner of the desk and turned the recorder on. “Could you give me your name before we start?”
“Sure, I’m Mae Jermaine.” She spelled it.
“Thank you, Miss Jermaine. Tell me what you saw just like you remember it. Were you already in the store when the gang came in?”
“Uh huh. I was looking at the makeup.” She pointed at the office wall. “That’s on the right side of the store. They came running in—like running and hollering—a big bunch of them—and went straight back to the prescription counter like they knew where they were going.”
“How many altogether?”
“The big leader guy, and the rest were kids. You know, like high school or junior high. Seven or eight of them. Not very old.”
Blaine turned to Farrell who stood in the doorway. “See if there are cameras. If there are, we need the tapes.” He turned back to Mae, “Sorry, go ahead. What happened when they got to the pharmacy counter?”
“I heard two shots and turned to look and the tall bald guy—he was a man—like thirty something, not a kid—he was holding the gun and shouting out orders to the kids. They were smashing the cupboards, grabbing all the bottles and boxes and tossing everything into plastic garbage bags. I was shaking so bad, I couldn’t think what to do. They’d see me if I tried to run out the door, so I got down on my knees and hid behind the makeup counter until they left.”
Blaine nodded. “That was probably the best thing you could have done. Did you happen to notice what they were driving?”
Mae nodded her head. “I saw it when they arrived. Where I was standing, looking at the wall of makeup, it gave me a clear view of the parking spaces, but only if I turned my head to the right.”
“Did you turn your head to the right?” asked Blaine.
“I did, but only because of the headlights reflecting off the makeup mirrors I was looking at. I was almost blinded by the reflection, so I turned to see where the light was coming from and saw the van.”
“A van?”
“Long white van, like a worker or somebody you call to fix your house. Like that. Words on the side in red or blue.”
“Could you read the words?”
She shook her head. “Not from where I was standing.”
“Thank you, Mae. You’ve been very helpful. Could I send you home in a squad car?”
“Yes please. I’m still a little too shaky to walk.”
“Take my card, and if you think of anything, call me right away.” He gave her another card from his wallet. “If you feel upset, and you want to talk to someone about seeing the shooting, call this number and make an appointment.”
“Thank you. I think I’ve seen you on TV. Are you the super cop?”
Blaine grinned. “Nothing super about me.”
FARRELL GOT THE tapes from the camera outside and the one in the store near the cash and brought them into the office along with Blacky’s laptop after the witness left for home with Rocky.
“She said a work van, white with red or blue writing on the side,” said Blaine. “Hope we can read the writing or get a tag number.” He cued it up and started at ten o’clock.
The picture from the outdoor camera wasn’t great, but they could see the cars from a certain angle. Depending where the van parked, it might prove to be the wrong angle.
“There,” said Farrell, “Eleven ten. A white van. Can’t see the writing because the engine is facing the camera, but the tag is clear.” Farrell wrote it down and was on the phone in seconds.
Blaine cued up the film from inside the store and it showed what went on at the cash at the front of the store and not much else.
They left the scene in the hands of the techs and went out to Blaine’s truck for a smoke. “Did DPS have a record of the stolen van?”
“Not yet, but the tag was registered to Hawkins Plumbing and Drain,” said Farrell. “I got the address.”
“Let’s cruise the address and see what it’s close to.”
“When they lost the tan van, they’d have to go on foot to get another ride. They’d grab something close.”
East Riverside. Austin.
BLAINE FOLLOWED the nav system and it took him to a residential neighborhood north of seventy-one near the river.
“Quiet street,” said Farrell. “Everybody’s sleeping. That’s the house.” Farrell pointed. “Let’s wake them up.”
“Yep.” Blaine parked in the drive of the two-storey brick and they both went to the door. Blaine rang the bell three times before they got a response.
A short Hispanic man in wrinkled jeans opened the door. He looked half asleep, his black wavy hair uncombed. He stood and stared.
“Police, sir. Can we talk to you for a minute?”
“Why you here in the middle of the night?”
“Your van was used in an armed robbery, sir,” said Blaine. “A man was murdered.”
“What? My van?” He grabbed for his black hair and tugged on it. “No, can’t be true.”
“Where do you park your van, sir?” asked Blaine. “In your driveway?”
“No. Not here. Behind my shop. I don’t bring it home unless I have an early morning call. I lock it up and leave it behind the building.”
“Could I have the address of your shop?” asked Blaine.
“Follow me over there. I want to see if I was robbed or if the building was broken into. Could you give me five minutes to get dressed?”
“Sure, no problem,” said Blaine. “We’ll wait in the truck for you.”
“Makes sense they weren’t around a nice neighborhood like this,” said Farrell. “They must be holed up somewhere near his business.”
Hawkins Plumbing and Drain. East Austin.
THE PLUMBING SHOP was housed in a cinderblock building on a narrow street along with a dozen other commercial enterprises. Mr. Hawkins drove in the narrow drive, drove past the building and parked his car around behind. Blaine followed, parked the diesel and hopped out.
Mr. Hawkins stood staring at the empty spot and pointing. “That’s where I left it. It was right here last night when I closed up.”
“You have the keys?” asked Farrell.
“I hang the keys inside in case my helper needs the van before I get here in the morning.”
“Let’s check your door,” said Blaine.
Farrell grabbed a flashlight out of Blaine’s truck and shone it on the side door of the building. “Looks okay. No broken glass.”
“Should we check inside?” asked Mr. Hawkins.
“If you like,” said Blaine. “Give it a look.”
Hawkins unlocked the door, stepped in, turned on the lights and looked around. Turned off the light and locked up. “I don’t think they were inside.”
“No, I don’t think so either,” said Blaine. “They grabbed the van, hot wired it and took off.”
“Will I get my van back soon?”
“I can’t say for sure, sir, but I can tell you there’s a BOLO out on it already. We should get something soon.”
“I don’t understand why anybody would take my van to rob a store.”
“Sometimes, the cr
iminal mind is hard to figure out,” said Farrell. “You go on home, Mr. Hawkins. We’ll call you if we have an update.”
He shook both their hands. “Thank you so much for helping me sort this out.”
It ain’t sorted out yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sunday, February 15th.
Abandoned Trailer Park. East Austin.
BART’S TRUCK was hidden in the woods, while he watched the abandoned park closest to where the tan van had been pulled over by highway patrol. He’d spent a couple hours dozing and waiting and thinking he might be in the wrong spot when two Harley’s zoomed past him and disappeared into the trees. “Those guys are here for a reason, Biscuit. Either they’re part of the gang, or they’re buying drugs. Which one do you think it is?”
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
DOUGIE WOKE in a panic and didn’t know why he could barely breathe. Shit like that happened to other people—never happened to him. He’d spent years learning how to keep his cool when the adrenaline was pumping.
He felt for Annie. Her side of the bed was empty, and the sheets were cool. Where was she? He grabbed onto the corner of the nightstand and tried to sit up. His leg was killing him even if he moved it a fraction of an inch. He cursed up down and sideways as he hauled his heavy body onto the side of the bed. All that muscle building and bulking up, turning himself into the Dog. The dirty Dog the other clubs feared and ran from, and now he weighed a fucking ton. Too much weight for his leg.
“Jesus Christ,” he hollered out loud and Declan came bursting through the door of the master suite.
“Hey, there’s my man already sitting up. No grass growing under your feet, lad.”
“Fuck, Dec, Annie’s gone. Has she gone to the barn or gone to Vegas to do whatever?”
“She’s working. That’s all I know. Mr. Magnuson is in the kitchen on the Dog watch.”
“Who’s he?”
“Head of security. Formerly a homicide detective.”
“Shit, I hate cops.”
Declan chuckled. “You’re in the wrong place, lad. You’re living in a nest of them.”
“Don’t I know it. And I need to talk to the kid right now. Can I use a phone?”
“Let me get your bodyguard for ye.”
“Oh, fuck, a bodyguard? What have you done to me, girl?”
The bedroom door opened, and a tall, blond guy strode in. Looked like one of those Norway guys you saw with a helmet and a shield. The expression on the cop’s face said he wasn’t any happier about the arrangement Annie had made than the Dog was.
“Magnuson, Mr. Dog. I’m watching your ass while my lady is out of town.” He offered a huge hand and Dougie shook it.
“I know I’m not to use the phone, and I told Jesse, the Ranger, that I wouldn’t—nobody to phone anymore—but I have to talk to the kid for a minute about Annie. Have you got one I can use?”
Magnuson pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed Blaine’s number. “Blacky, its Mag, the Dog wants to speak to you.” He handed the phone to Dougie.
“Hey, kid, it’s me. Annie has taken off and we both know where she went after yesterday. I can’t get up or I’d fuckin well do it myself, but I want you to send somebody for her. She hasn’t got a bodyguard with her.”
“How do you know she doesn’t?” asked the kid.
“I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think she has.”
“I’ll check,” said Blaine, “and if she’s alone I’ll send Jack.”
“Fuck,” said the Dog. “She won’t like that. She’s pissed at Jack. I heard her say she likes working with somebody else a lot more than Jack.”
“Who?”
“A guy named Travis. Know him?”
“Yep, he’s one of mine.”
“Can you send him?”
“I’ll do it this morning.”
“And, would you let me know if you hear anything?”
“Sure can. Who’s she got on you?”
“A big guy named Magnuson.” He grinned at the tall guy.
“You’re good,” said Blaine.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE and Farrell were back home from the pharmacy crime scene in time for breakfast. Travis and Fletcher came through the front door ready to work and helped themselves to coffee.
“Travis, when you finish your coffee, go back home and pack a bag. Be at Austin-Bergstrom by ten. This is your ticket.”
Travis looked at the destination and nodded. “Okay, boss.”
After Travis left, Blaine and Farrell filled Fletcher in on the robbery at the pharmacy and the stolen plumbing van.
They’d almost finished their second coffee when the Governor called. “Morning, Cat, what’s the scoop from the Capitol?”
“Pressure, sweetie. I’m getting pressure about the gang situation after last night’s murder at the drug store.”
“How in hell could the media hounds know about the murder? We never released that information yet.”
“Penny is swamped with calls, and most of them are about the gang running wild.”
“Who’s Penny?”
“Mrs. Warburton.”
Penny?
“People are afraid, Blaine. I have to say something positive and reassure them.”
“Order lunch in your office around twelve-thirty and I’ll have something written up by then. Tell your press person—I forget her name—to arrange something for two o’clock and you can soothe the citizenry.”
“I love the sound of that.”
Blaine ended the call to Cat and sent Farrell and Fletcher out to search the area where the plumbing van was stolen. “Start on the street where the van was parked at Hawkins Plumbing and work your way out in a grid from there. Search everything empty, boarded up, for sale—anything that looks like a possibility.”
I have to find them.
He pressed another contact number on his cell. “Bart, where are you?”
“Hey, Ranger, me and Biscuit are out looking for the kids. Haven’t got much yet.”
“I want to make a deal, Bart.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of a deal?”
“If I give you some information I have, you have to call me when you see them.”
“What kind of information are we talking about?” asked Bart. “Like a clue?”
“Yeah, like a clue, but I want your word first, Bart. You have to call and let me help you when you find Teckford and his gang.”
Bart let out a sigh. “Okay, I agree. I wanted to do it on my own, and I thought I’d have them by now, but I don’t. We have to catch them.”
“We do, before more people get hurt.”
“What’s the information, Ranger?”
“They stole another van. It’s a white van and it says Hawkins Plumbing on the side. This is the tag.”
“Okay, thanks, Ranger. I wrote it down. I’ll help y’all find it and call, soon as I can.”
“Make sure you call me, Bart. You gave your word.”
“Uh huh. I will.”
Jeeze. Is there anybody out there I can trust?
Las Vegas.
ANNIE landed at McCarran around nine a.m. She retrieved her luggage and rented a Jeep, then drove out towards the Red Rock Canyon and looked for a motel that wouldn’t be too far from the B team’s headquarters. She checked into the Canyon Motel on route one fifty-nine, close to the city limits, and not far from the Red Rock Casino. The motel wasn’t run down, but it had seen better days. Well before the check-in time of three p.m. the clerk at the front desk welcomed her because she had no one else to welcome.
Annie settled in, unpacked and planned to scout out the B team’s clubhouse as soon as she checked out her guns and loaded them in case she ran into a problem. Better to be prepared. The boy scouts knew it and made it their motto.
Her cell rang, and she checked the screen. Nobody knew where she was except Mag. The Dog could probably guess. “Travis?”
“Boss sent me, and I just landed. Do w
e want two vehicles, or do you want to pick me up?”
“I’ve got a Jeep,” said Annie. “One vehicle should be good enough. See if you can get in to see Detective Vargas at LVPD. I can’t go there, and it would speed things up if you found out the new top three and got mugs of them. Also see if you can get the latest report from the man the gang squad has inside.”
Travis chuckled. “That it?”
“Yep, for now. I’ll cruise by the clubhouse out the canyon road, then drive into the city and lurk around the station and wait for you.”
“Roger that, and happy to be here with you.”
“Ditto.”
The Capitol. Austin.
BLAINE ARRIVED late for his twelve-thirty lunch with the Governor. He’d been making an effort to ease away from babysitting her as much as he’d done when she was first elected, partially because of what Lil had observed, and partly because Cat was a strong woman and she didn’t need him as much as she thought she did. She was smart, she’d achieved a lot already, and she’d be a damned good Governor if she put her mind to it. Any way he looked at it, she took up a lot of his time. And time was something he didn’t have a lot of. A lot of facets of his life were going for a shit because of neglect and he had to gain more control.
He stepped out of the corridor into the Governor’s outer office and greeted Mrs. Warburton. “I heard you were receiving a lot of phone inquiries about the gang investigation.”
“It’s been busy,” she said, “but Catherine is going to make a statement this afternoon and after the public calms down the calls will ease up.”
Ease up or double up. You can’t predict the public’s reaction. I’ve learned that much.
Blaine smiled, tapped twice on the Governor’s door and walked in. “Is my lunch ready?”
Cat looked up from the document she was reading at her desk and smiled at him. “All ready over there on the table.” She tilted her red head in that direction. She was dressed in red today, a color that didn’t suit her with the dark red hair.