Shot Down

by Steven Sheiner

  She stopped pacing and turned to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her fists were still clenched.

  “The cops showed up at the doctor’s house right before our men did. There was nothing they could do. A dozen cops led the two kids and the grandparents out of the house, into a police van and drove off.”

  Christina snapped. She lunged to her desk, yanked open the top drawer, and grabbed her gun. She leapt over the top of the desk, knocking things everywhere, and kicked Raul hard in the chest. He toppled backwards in his chair, falling hard onto his back. She stood over him, yanked the slide back on her pistol, chambering a round, and leveled it at his head.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” he pleaded, holding his hands up. “Christina, please! I have an idea!”

  Chapter 22

  Detective Lawton hung up, pocketed his cell phone, and turned to me and Sara.

  “They’re safe,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh thank god,” Sara said with tears in her eyes. She plopped down onto the hospital bed, and put her face in her hands. I sat down next to her and rubbed her back.

  “It’s okay. They’re okay,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Where are they?” I asked, looking up at the detective.

  “They’ve been taken to the district substation for now. They’ll stay there until Agent Stamper and I can figure out exactly what we’re authorized to do here.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” William asked.

  “Well, counselor,” Agent Stamper began, “as you’re well aware, witness protection is typically reserved for material witnesses in a government case. Hence the term witness protection. Your client does not fall into that category.”

  “In other words, he has nothing of value to offer you in return.”

  “Other than bait,” I said under my breath.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” Agent Stamper said.

  William said, “How about protective custody? I think we’d all agree there’s an underlying threat of violence present here.”

  “Wait,” I interjected. “Protective custody? I don’t want to spend my days sitting in a jail cell. Is that what we’re talking about?” I asked, looking around.

  “It doesn’t matter, Dr. Spero. Protective custody isn’t an option either. As of now, you haven’t actually been threatened by anyone, and no attempts have been made on your life.”

  “Yet!” William emphasized.

  “Be that as it may, we do have rules. In fact, we still have an investigation to conduct in order to exonerate your client of any wrongdoing.”

  “With all due respect, Agent Stamper, kiss my ass.”

  Stamper pointed a finger in William’s direction. “Watch it, counselor.”

  But William wasn’t backing down. “My client was well within his rights to use deadly force, and you know it! Besides, it’s not every day that someone kills one of the heads of the Cuban Mafia. There are extenuating circumstances that merit consideration here. So why don’t you get on the horn and give your boss a call before you make a decision we all regret!”

  It was plain Agent Stamper didn’t like being bossed around by William, but he’d been trained to handle just about any situation, and kept his emotions in check. He looked at me and Sara sitting on the edge of the bed and said, “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. To be honest, I’d be surprised if the agency agreed to devote substantial resources to your protection for any significant length of time. I’m sorry, but it’s not my call.”

  I nodded. So this is what a lose/lose situation felt like.

  On the one hand, if the FBI approved witness protection, my life as I’d known it would be over. We’d be forced to change our identities, move to an undisclosed location, and cut off all contact with anyone we’ve ever known or loved. My practice, gone. My house, gone. Our family and friends, gone.

  On the other hand, if the FBI denied witness protection, my life could literally be over. Christina didn’t sound like the forgive-and-forget type. I might be safe here in the hospital, surrounded by all these cops, but the moment I walked out the front door, I’d be fair game. Hell, she could’ve been out there right then, waiting for me.

  Stamper pulled out his phone and headed for the door.

  “Agent Stamper?” I said.

  He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering. Why would Carlos Escalante, a member of the Cuban Mafia, rob a bank? All the way up in Boca. By himself.”

  He turned around and looked at me with a quizzical expression that hinted he’d not yet considered the why. In fact, everyone in the room was looking at me, now wondering the same thing.

  “I mean, if what you say is true,” I went on, “the Escalante’s must have plenty of money. I imagine drug trafficking pays pretty well, no?” I looked around, my gaze landing on William, the criminal defense attorney, who nodded. “If he needed money so desperately, why not just go to the family? And if he was going to rob a bank, why do it fifty miles from home? With no apparent plan, and no help? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  All eyes were now on Agent Stamper, waiting for an answer.

  “Good question,” he admitted.

  Chapter 23

  I’m trapped, backed into a corner, and there’s nowhere to run. He moves toward me and I cower in fear. His gigantic form towers over me, his head scraping along the ceiling as he nears. His skin is gray and cracked like dried mud, flakes of it falling off with each step he takes. There’s a large hole where his right eye used to be. Blood runs down his cheek and seeps from the wound in his chest. He bends down, reaches out his massive hands, and grabs me. He lifts me up and I can see the hate on his face. He starts to crush me, and it’s as if a thousand belts are tightening around my chest. I try to scream, but no sound comes out. I can’t breathe. I writhe and struggle, but it’s no use. His grip is too tight. My vision goes dark.

  I awake with a start, waking Sara also, who’d fallen asleep next to me in my hospital bed.

  “You okay?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Nightmare.”

  “Again?”

  “This was a new one.”

  Sara stroked my hair as we lay in bed, facing each other. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but my heart was pounding. I could still see the specter of Carlos descending upon me.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to someone. I bet the hospital has a psychologist you can speak to.”

  “I’m not ready for that.”

  She gave me a weak smile. It was hard for her to understand what I was going through, but she desperately wanted to help. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “Okay. But soon. If you keep having nightmares, I want you to talk to someone. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  According to the clock on the wall, about an hour had passed since Agent Stamper had left to see what, if anything, the FBI was willing to do. Detective Lawton went to see what he could do on his end as well. He was not optimistic. Especially since the investigation into the shooting hadn’t really even begun yet. William also left. He had other clients to tend to, but said he’d check in periodically for updates.

  The nurses had managed to regain control of the floor, and cops were stationed outside the door. It had quieted down, so Sara and I had decided to take advantage of the moment and steal a little cat nap.

  So much for that idea. I feared these nightmares were just getting started.

  Before he left, Detective Lawton had arranged for us to speak to Jordan and Brock and with Sara’s parents. They were fine, but confused. They had seen the story on the news, but when they learned I was involved, they freaked out. It wasn’t easy explaining to the boys what I did, but they took it well. They thought I was a hero. I assured them I was not.


  I sat up, stretched, and took a short walk around the small room. I didn’t dare open the shades and look outside. Not after the repeated warnings from both Agent Stamper and Detective Lawton. Even William was emphatic about it.

  “You wanna watch a little TV?” Sara asked. “Maybe that will take your mind off things?”

  “Sure,” I said, and climbed back into bed with her.

  She clicked a button on the remote and the TV hanging from the ceiling popped on.

  “...recapping today’s top story, a shooting at a Wells Fargo bank in West Boca this afternoon has left one man dead and local authorities searching for answers. The victim has been identified as Carlos Escalante, a high-ranking member of what has come to be known as the Cuban Mafia.”

  Please no. No, no...

  “We can now positively identify the shooter...”

  Shit.

  “Boca Raton optometrist, Dr. Simon Spero, has been credited with shooting and killing the would-be bank robber. Details are spotty at the moment as authorities continue their investigation. It is unknown what Mr. Escalante was doing in Boca and why he decided to rob this particular bank. Any connection between Escalante and Dr. Spero is also unknown at this time.”

  “What?!” I shouted, sitting up.

  “Dr. Spero’s whereabouts are currently unknown, but he’s believed to be uninjured and cooperating with investigators as they search for answers.”

  Click. Sara turned the TV off before I threw something at it.

  I turned to look at her. “They think I’m somehow connected to that asshole?!”

  “Simon, calm down. No one thinks that.” Sara tried to reassure me, but we both heard it.

  A minute later my phone started blowing up. Calls and text messages flooded in, only adding to my frustration. My brother, my parents, my friends, my colleagues, employees, neighbors… seemingly everyone I knew wanted to know what happened. I ignored them all and tossed my phone towards the foot of the bed.

  “Bad time?” William was standing just inside the door. Neither Sara nor I had heard him come in.

  “Did you hear what they just said about me on the news?!” I asked.

  “I did. What’s the problem?”

  “What’s the problem?!” I stood up, pointing at the TV. “They think I knew him. That I’m associated with him in some way!”

  “So what? Simon, it’s the news. It’s their job to make shit up. You know that. It’s tabloid journalism, don’t worry about it. The truth will come to light. Be patient.”

  He was right. Though patience was never my strong suit.

  “Everyone knows it was me now.”

  “And? Did you really expect it to stay a secret?”

  “Hoped is more like it.”

  “Your name was bound to come out, Simon. Today, tomorrow, next week… what’s the difference?”

  “I don’t know.” I turned and walked slowly around the room. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but now that everyone knows…”

  “Simon, you’re a hero. The public is gonna eat this shit up. People will love you for it.”

  “I doubt Christina will.”

  “Is that what this is about? If it makes you feel any better, she probably knew who you were way before those idiots on the news did.”

  “Gee thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “Simon, listen to me. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. This is going to be a little bit of a process. You’re going to need to calm down and be patient.”

  There was that patience thing again.

  “Both the cops and the Feds want to question you. Once they clear you, the next priority will be protecting you, Sara, and the kids. With any luck, the FBI will step up and do the right thing.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  “The only thing we’ll be crossing is my name off the list of the living if the FBI refuses.”

  “Simon…” Sara said.

  “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s true. This Christina chick sounds crazy. And I just killed her brother. She shot some poor guy in the middle of the street over a fender bender! Imagine what she’ll do to me!”

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, Agent Stamper broke the news. “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks, what?” William asked.

  “Two weeks. That’s what the FBI is willing to do,” Agent Stamper said.

  “Are you kidding? You might as well not even bother.”

  “No, that’s great,” I said, giving a mock thumbs up. “A stay of execution. How nice.”

  Sara sat down next to me on the hospital bed, and took my hand.

  “Here’s the plan, Dr. Spero,” Agent Stamper began.

  “This should be good,” William said sarcastically.

  Stamper ignored him and looked at me and Sara.

  “You and your family will be relocated to a hotel north of here. We’re still working on the location. You will have around-the-clock protection. Your house and your office will be under constant surveillance, as will Miss Escalante. The feeling at the bureau is, if she doesn’t come after you in that time, she probably won’t come after you at all.”

  William scoffed. “That is the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard! You and I both know the Escalantes, Stamper. Have you ever known them to leave a witness alive, a grudge unresolved, or revenge not served?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But this is different.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “William!” I snapped, feeling annoyed and on edge. It came out more harshly than I wanted.

  Irritated, he tossed up his hands, walked over to the chair in the corner of the room and took a seat. He crossed his legs, folded his arms, and assumed the look of a petulant child.

  I shared his frustration, but his belligerence wasn’t helping right now.

  I took a breath.

  “Agent Stamper, how is this different?” I asked, trying to remain calm. Not as easy as it sounds once you’ve learned you only have two weeks left to live.

  “It turns out Mr. Escalante had a serious drug problem. He wasn’t just importing and selling, he was using. Cocaine. And a lot of it. According to our sources, it was bad. It was affecting his state of mind, his judgment, and the family’s business. He flew off the handle in a rage at the slightest provocation. He blew off deals, stole product, and was costing the cartel a lot of money. In fact, he owed a significant amount of money to some very serious people.”

  He held up a hand before any of us could ask what we were all thinking.

  “It’s likely he didn’t go to the family because they’d had enough of his antics. Or he didn’t want to tell them why he needed the money or who he owed. We don’t know for sure. Our guess is he thought a quick bank job would solve all his problems.”

  “But why my bank? Why come all the way up from Miami to Boca?”

  “We’re not sure about that either. Low security, maybe. It’s in an affluent area, so maybe he thought there would be a lot of cash on hand and it would be easy to take. Maybe he was just hoping he wouldn’t be recognized.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘maybes,’” William said from his seat in the corner.

  “We don’t have all the answers yet…”

  “No shit,” William replied. He couldn’t help himself.

  “...but we do know Carlos had a serious drug problem. He had angered and embarrassed the family on a number of occasions, and this bank stunt certainly wasn’t gonna help.”

  With that, William was on his feet again.

  “So let me get this straight,” he said, as he strode over and stood directly in front of Agent Stamper. “Your theory, the theory of the brain trust over at the FBI, is that Christina and the rest of the Escalante family will
be happy Carlos is dead? That he was such a burden on them all that they won’t seek revenge for his death? Is that what you’re asking us to believe?”

  William stood with his hands on his hips, barking at Stamper like he would a witness lying from the stand.

  “In a sense… yes.”

  William threw his hands up in the air and let out an exasperated laugh. “Is this a joke?! The Escalantes are crazy! They will never let this go, and you know it, Stamper.”

  “Mr. Alter, I don’t care for your tone. If you’re not able to keep your emotions in check, perhaps it would be better if you left the room.” Stamper spoke softly, but there was a chill in his tone that a cautious person would perceive as a threat.

  William was anything but cautious. “Perhaps it would be better if you go fuck yourself.”

  Agent Stamper gave him a wry smile, put his hands in his pockets, and took a step closer to William. He stood just over six feet tall, and despite his suit jacket, his well-trained muscles were apparent. It was safe to assume he knew how to defend himself.

  William wasn’t a small man, but he was no physical match for Stamper. Though equal in height, his body was more like someone who’d spent years eating badly and working out never. He had no training of the physical kind, though you’d never know it listening him talk. His mouth had gotten him into trouble plenty of times in the past. His clients eventually overlooked his attitude and his big mouth because he was good at his job. While he was skilled at talking his way out of sticky situations, sometimes he went too far. He’d caught a beating more than once, but he never backed down, and he refused to change his ways.

  If push came to shove here, however, William was in trouble. I could see Stamper beginning to lose his cool. Both men were standing too close for comfort, and I was certain they would come to blows at any moment. Before the situation got out of hand, Sara stepped in and smoothed things over as only she could.

  “Let’s all act our age, shall we?” she said coming between them and pushing them apart. It was not the first time she’d separated two boys about to go at it.

  Standing between them, she turned to face William. “You said it yourself... Christina is hot-headed, impulsive, and vindictive. What are the odds that she doesn’t come after Simon in the next two weeks?”