Gavin English Thrillers

by Ken Lindsey

  He was stiff and on edge as we both made our way toward her room. As I reached to take his hand, I felt him tense up like he wanted to pull away. Thankfully, he didn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, sincere.

  He lifted her from the crib and kissed her forehead before handing her over to me.

  “I get it, Jack. I really do. I know you’ll always have the need to get out there and start busting skulls. I’ve made my peace with that. But this feels too soon.”

  Samantha wriggled in the crook of my arm until she found a comfortable spot. I stared down at her, lips covered in tiny bubbles, sleep still clinging to the corners of her eyes, and knew that he was worried about me. After so much time by myself, I was still surprised by that.

  “It’s not going to be real work, Phin. The guy just needs a babysitter. I doubt I’ll get out of the car.”

  GAVIN

  S tay in the car,” I told Kara as she reached for the door handle. The place was clearly a crack house, and I had no idea what to expect.

  “Ugh, you’re so bossy.”

  “That’s because I’m your boss, Kara.”

  “He’s right,” Jack echoed from the back seat. “You don’t want to find out what goes on in places like this. There’s probably no running water, so whoever lives here will be using a closet for a toilet. Or worse.”

  “I changed my mind, Kara. You go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

  She shook her head. “Not a chance. I’m staying in the nice, clean car with Jack.”

  “Chicken,” I replied, like any grownup would.

  “We’re going to talk about you while you’re gone.”

  I got out of the car and grabbed my smokes from the inside pocket of my jacket, unfastening the strap on my shoulder holster while I was at it. The Makarov was pretty easy to conceal, but I also wanted to make sure I could draw it without any hesitation. Just in case.

  Bass thundered from somewhere down the block, and I could feel eyes on the back of my head. The vibe of this neighborhood was less than welcoming, but I lit up and kept my face forward to hide my nerves.

  The sidewalk that led to the door was cracked and the gate to the yard squealed when I pushed through. It had been years since I was a street cop, and I was tense like it was my first time knocking on a perp’s door. By the time I gathered my courage, the pill at my lips was burnt to the butt so I flicked it into the yard and lit another.

  “Ya’ll shouldn’t be doin’ that shit,” said a woman from the porch next door. “They ain’t watered that grass all summer, and if you’re gonna be flickin’ cigarettes and whatever the fuck out there, there’s gonna be a fire.”

  “Uhh… ahh… umm,” I stammered gracefully. “Sorry, I’ll get it.”

  And I did. I hopped over the rusted, janky-ass rail and picked up my butt from the grass. She was right, the grass was dead and dry and just waiting for the right spark, and there were hundreds of butts scattered through the yard. I stood there like an idiot for a good ten seconds, not sure what to do with it.

  “Just stamp on the damn thing,” she said. “I don’t give a shit what the yard looks like anymore, I just don’t want my house on fire.”

  So I did stamp on it. Then I stamped on the one that had been hanging stupidly from my mouth during this exchange.

  I looked up at the woman; she was black, probably sixty or seventy years old, and wearing a bright yellow dress and matching hat. And she happened to be puffing on Gandolf’s tobacco pipe. Seriously, it was the longest, swirliest thing I had ever seen in my life.

  “Uhh,” I started again. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but can I ask you a couple of questions?”

  She laughed like a barking dog, her voice harsh and dark, “You can ask whatever you want, darlin’. But if you’re lookin’ for a date, I’m gonna have to go shave my legs an’ put my teeth in.”

  I smiled and stepped closer to her yard, “Is there any way you’ve seen someone new, a young white guy, coming in and out of this place?”

  She laughed again, “Sorry, babydoll, but you’re the only white guy I’ve seen around here since those crackheads scared off that last lot of crackheads.”

  Shit.

  “I used to call the cops on them about once a week, you know. They didn’t do a damn thing, so I don’t waste my time with it anymore.”

  “Well, I guess that’s that then.” I leaned over the fence and held out one of my cards, “The guy I’m looking for is in his early twenties, blonde hair, and he’s pretty.”

  She took the card, “Pretty?”

  “Yep, like a little girl in pigtails.”

  She smiled, “I don’t think I’ll be seein’ no pretty white boys round here, other than you. But if I do, I’ll let you know, sweetie. Gimme your number.”

  KARA

  Y ou can’t expect your first stop to be a bull’s eye,” Jack said as Gavin pulled the car from the curb. “This was the furthest place south on your list, so I figured we could start there and work our way north.”

  Somewhere inside, in a place that she would never admit existed, Kara was glad to be leaving that neighborhood behind. When they first arrived, she wanted to face her fear, stand up and walk around with her head high. The longer she sat in the car, though, looking around at the dilapidated houses and rusted-out cars, the gang bangers collected on worn-down porches, the crackheads sleeping in the shade of empty houses, the clearer it became that she did not belong there.

  “I’m a PI,” Gavin said. “I’m used to disappointment.”

  “How do you know she wasn’t lying?” Kara asked. “I mean, she could have been somebody’s grandma or something, right?”

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t seem like she had any love for whoever lives next door. She’s worried they’re gonna burn her house down with their cigarettes.”

  “She’s probably lived here for thirty years or more,” Jack said. “Some of these older folks bought in when this was a good neighborhood. It’s kind of sad when you think of all the things they’ve seen as the place they call home turned into hell.”

  It was sad, Kara knew. But as they found their way back onto the main streets, and crack houses were swiftly replaced by convenience stores, Kara could feel the tension draining, and she was simply glad to be away from there.

  “Next, can we go somewhere that I’m allowed out of the damn car?”

  JACK

  I t was clear that Kara was uncomfortable in the urban environment, and although I had been in and out of the ghettos of Chicago for years, I understood. Sometimes I forget that there are people who haven’t really been touched by uglier parts of humanity.

  I’d been watching drugs, prostitution, violence, and everyday human darkness destroy people for better than two decades. I hated to say it, but I was numb to most of it.

  We were parked in front of that crack house for a little over ten minutes, but I watched the girl run the gamut of emotions in that time. She started with thick skin, upset that she hadn’t been allowed to go with her boss, then got nervous as a car riddled with bullet holes passed us, and finally became frightened as a group of bangers from the other side of the street started pointing at the car and slowly migrated our way.

  To be fair, I released the safety on the Colt Detective Special in my purse when they started moving as well. Even though I knew they were just checking out a couple white girls in a strange car, I also know you can never be too careful.

  Kara loosened up again when we got out of there, though.

  “You’ve got a donut shop on your list,” I said, thinking it might be a good place for Kara to stretch her legs. “That’s closest.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s where his uncle works. What was his name, Kara?”

  The young woman pulled a college-ruled notebook from the glove compartment and flipped it open. “Umm, that would be… Dimitri. I think he was the manager there.”

  I navigated the PI through the back streets to the shop on his list. I’d been there a ti
me or two with my old partner, Herb. The place was sketchy, but Herb insisted they had the best apple fritters in town. Herb considered apples part of a balanced, healthful diet, even when they were mixed with heaps of brown sugar and cinnamon and put on fried dough.

  “I hope they have decent coffee.”

  “Anymore coffee and you’re going to start sweating caffeine,” Kara said as we climbed out of the car. “Why don’t you get some milk? Or orange juice?”

  “Because I’m an American,” Gavin replied.

  I wondered what was going on between those two. There was a chemistry there, bordering on intimacy. If they weren’t sleeping together yet, it wouldn’t be long before they did.

  “Their coffee is good,” I recalled. “They also have good decaf.”

  Gavin made a face. “Decaf coffee is like chewing food and spitting it out instead of swallowing. There’s no point to it.”

  I agreed, but didn’t want to get involved in their tête-à-tête.

  As we got closer, I smelled that intoxicating baked goods aroma, and found myself hungry even though we’d eaten an hour ago. Damn hormones. If I kept eating everything in sight I’d never lose the pregnancy weight.

  I decided to start dieting. After I had a few donuts. I was thinking coconut sprinkles. Or cream filled with powdered sugar. Or both.

  But my donut fantasies abruptly vanished when we walked into the shop and someone began shooting.

  GAVIN

  W e barely had the door to the donut place open when three loud pops rang out from the kitchen area. Now, I don’t know much about cooking, and I’ve never so much as washed a dish in a restaurant setting, but I knew that sound.

  Gun shots.

  I shoved Kara behind me as Jack dropped low and yanked her piece from her purse. I shoved my phone into Kara’s hand and pulled the Makarov from my shoulder holster.

  Safety off.

  Round chambered.

  Breathe.

  “Get back in the car and call nine-one-one,” I ordered. For once, she listened without an argument.

  Jack held her finger over her mouth, but didn’t have to make the “sshh” noise before I nodded. Then she pointed to herself, and the door. She wanted to go in first.

  I shook my head. She had a new baby, she shouldn’t have been there. Why did I have to hate that goddamn navigation system so much?

  Jack nodded. Stubborn.

  I shook my head. I’m stubborn, too.

  Another gun shot.

  I pushed forward, hoping Jack wouldn’t shoot me in the ass, and slid through the glass door. Inside, I could hear shouts from the back of the building, and I took note of several people in the dining area. Two elderly black men in the corner, ducking behind their particle board table… a man and woman sitting on the floor near the display case, the woman was holding an infant… two more women behind the display case, both with their hands in the air.

  Jack stuck her foot out to prop the door open as I waved the couple with the baby over. We both held a finger over our lips, hoping to Christ that everyone would stay quiet.

  The woman held the baby tight to her chest and slid along the floor, her husband following. As they came closer, I whispered, “Get out and get past the parking lot. The police are on their way.”

  They got out. I waved the elderly men from the corner over next. They moved quick and silent. Given their age and health, I guessed one or both of them could have lived through the Great Depression. They nodded as they crawled past me and Jack gave them the same instructions I had given the couple with the baby.

  I waved to the women who had been working at the shop. Their hands were still up, and they gave each other terrified looks. The older of the pair nodded her head toward us, telling the other woman to get moving, but the girl just shook her head. Her lips were pulled tight over her teeth and her eyes were wide.

  I’d seen it before; she was paralyzed with fear.

  I took a deep, steadying breath. The yelling in the back of the shop continued, but we had yet to catch a glimpse of the gunmen. Or gunman. Or gunwoman. I looked back at Jack, she shook her head, eyes piercing me as deep as any ever had.

  “Don’t you dare,” that look said.

  I nodded and headed for the display anyway. I may have heard her growl, but it was too late to look back now.

  JACK (PISSED)

  I gritted my teeth as that stupid sonofabitch made his way across the room. It was times like these that I really missed being able to pull rank. “Because I said so, and I’m your goddamn lieutenant,” rolled off the tongue so nicely.

  I raised the barrel of my Detective Special, probably scaring the ladies behind the display even more, but I wanted to have a bead on anyone that might come out from the kitchen area. I was glad to find that my hand wasn’t shaking or sweaty, even though I hadn’t shot a gun since I’d brought Sam home.

  English moved well, keeping to the wall whenever he could and staying good and quiet. I could see the police training in his stance, the way that he carried his pistol. He knew what he was doing, thankfully, but I was still planning to kick his ass when I got the chance.

  If I got the chance.

  There was a crash in the kitchen area as something metallic went clanging across the floor. Both of the women at the display jumped, the younger one squealed, and I saw English’s eyes go wide as he raised his pistol and hugged the corner.

  The yelling from the kitchen picked up an octave, and everything in the dining room went still. I hesitated to breathe, and I could tell from the bulging of their eyes that the employees were holding their breath as well. English didn’t move, only the flicker of his eyes searching the area gave any hint that he was alive.

  Thirty seconds went by. Forty-five. One minute. No one came out from the back.

  I took a breath. English started moving again.

  I kept my eyes on the kitchen door as he ducked behind the donut filled display. I could no longer see what he was doing, but I could see the eyes of the women as they watched him. The younger woman stared down at him, her hands still high, and shook her head back and forth over and over. Tears stained her cheeks and I could see her throat clenching and unclenching in her fear.

  I saw English’s hand reach out for her arm, taking it gently. At first I thought she would resist. After a moment’s hesitation, she looked away, then back at him, then allowed him to take her hand until they were able to lock fingers.

  He led the women out from behind the display, around the first set of tables, and over to the wall where they could crouch and take cover if need be. English let go of the employee’s hand and waved both women past him. They were halfway across the dining room as sirens wailed in the distance, quickly increasing in volume.

  If we heard them, so did the bad guys.

  Shit creek just got a lot deeper.

  GAVIN (WITHOUT A PADDLE)

  T he girls were moving slower than I had hoped, but they were moving. After each step I took, I looked back over my shoulder to make sure no one had come out from the kitchen. My skin was tingling like I was covered in spiders, but I knew I would be feeling much worse if Jack weren’t holed up at the door with her pistol, watching my back.

  I counted less than twelve steps to the door when everything went to shit. Sirens screamed outside as the police arrived, and I knew our quiet escape was over.

  I took a breath.

  The younger girl stopped crouching and started to run for the door.

  Jack waved, eyes hard, trying to get her to stop and get on the ground.

  The older employee yelped, but instead of running, pressed hard against the wall at my back.

  I turned and dropped to one knee. Gun high, finger tight on the trigger, left hand bracing my right under the butt of the Makarov.

  Another breath.

  Tires squealed outside as a cruiser pulled to a hard stop in the parking lot.

  The door to the kitchen burst open, but the display case blocked me from seeing whoever was com
ing through.

  The running girl was only eight feet from the exit now.

  Jack raised up to get a bead on the person coming from the kitchen.

  Breathe, Gavin.

  Then, with no warning, a gunshot rang out from the kitchen doorway, followed by three shots from Jack’s Detective Special.

  The woman behind me grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled close. I could feel her trembling. The sound of gunfire seemed to hang in the air for an eternity.

  I pulled out of the woman’s grip and she yelped, slamming herself against the wall. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack yelling something out the door, but my pulse was hammering away in my skull and I wasn’t able to hear it.

  As I rounded the display case, I found a huge pile of a man slumped awkwardly against the sliding back door of the case. He had to be six five or better, and he probably weighed almost four hundred pounds. But his size hadn’t helped him. There were three bullet holes in his chest, all clustered in a three inch semi-circle. He wasn’t breathing, and with the way his eyes were glazed over, there was no need to check for a pulse.

  The running girl had gotten out, dashing into the parking lot toward the oncoming squad cars.

  I looked to Jack. She nodded to let me know the doorway was clear. I let myself start breathing again. With the first rush of oxygen, my head cleared and I tuned into the sounds.

  Cops chattered outside, stomping around, yelling orders. The girl I left at the wall was no longer screaming, but her breath was coming in the form of gasping sobs. And I heard whimpering; someone in the kitchen was yipping like a kicked puppy.

  I lifted my piece again and swung tightly into the doorway. Everything smelled of grease and burnt sugar.

  “The police are surrounding the building,” I said in my cop voice. “Drop any weapons you have and come out with your hands above your head.”