Neighbors and Other Strangers

by Gordon Parker

  He awoke in a hebetudinous state. Even more lethargic than usual.

  He needed a drink. But there was nothing in the apartment to drink. Nothing to eat. He would have to go out for groceries and booze. He thought it best if John Hudson stayed out of sight for a few days.

  But first he wanted to see what he had taken from the bumbling hit men. Opening his duffel bag he found a lever action rifle. Working the action he popped out a shell. A Winchester .44-40 caliber. Like something he would expect to see in a western movie.

  A revolver that looked like a 50 year old French police handgun and a 19th century-style rifle. Their choice of weapons was puzzling. But at least he was armed. He would hide the rifle in the apartment. The hotel offered no maid service so it wouldn’t be found. The revolver he would carry concealed. He remembered he had taken 12 extra bullets for the revolver from Horatio’s pockets.

  Opening the saddle bags he was pleasantly surprised to find a thick stack of bills. He counted $2,000. That was probably what they were paid to take him out. It was what his life was worth.

  There was also a box of cartridges for the rifle. Nothing else.

  He had enough money to live for a few weeks at the hotel he was in with some left over for food and booze if he was careful. At least the two bikers had bought him some time with their lives.

  Jordan Baron called from New Orleans in the afternoon. He had the results of the tests on the DNA samples Nancy had sent him.

  “She went by the name of Piper Hodgins down here, Trent. She was arrested more than a dozen times for prostitution, drugs. Nothing big. I was the last one to arrest her. She solicited me in front of the casino with witnesses. I don’t work vice but given the situation I didn’t have a choice. I helped her get into a rehab program run by a friend of mine. The last I heard she had cleaned up and left the city.”

  “She was working here in our building and doing well, Jordan,” Trent said. “Everyone liked her. And she was staying clean. I have no doubt about that. Folks out here think it was a coincidence that she and I both came from New Orleans, and that she wound up working in this building. That was no coincidence. Darcey told me she mentioned the opening on the concierge staff to you.”

  “Yeah, and here’s something else some might try to explain away as coincidence. Nine of her arrests were made by an old friend of yours. Steve Burgess. Charges were dismissed each time because the arresting officer failed to follow up.”

  “Where’s Burgess now?”

  “Not sure. He disappeared not long after his ill-fated attempt to shoot you.”

  “Something tells me he’s in San Francisco. If I’m right he found Alexis. That means he was staking out our building. Can you get Burgess’ fingerprints up to Sergeant Patrick?”

  “I’ll get’em to her right away. In fact, I’ll get her a full report on him.”

  “Thanks, Jordan.”

  “So how’s married life?” the New Orleans detective asked.

  “Great most of the time,” Trent said. “But she makes me watch rom-coms with her.”

  “What’s a rom-com?”

  “You don’t want to know.” He laughed as Darcey slugged him on the shoulder.

  Scott Douglas felt the dread flow through him when the phone rang. It was a blocked number. He knew who blocked it.

  He never should have become involved with Rossi and his allies. It started with a few favors that weren’t exactly illegal but Scott knew were marginal. It didn’t take long before he was deeply involved in Rossi’s elaborate money laundering scheme. It became easier to look the other way as he facilitated many off the books transactions. He became a criminal.

  Scott answered the call on the third ring. It wasn’t smart to keep Rossi waiting. He wasn’t a patient man.

  “Yes, Mr. Rossi. How can I help you?”

  Rossi said it was necessary to make a large transfer of cash. He wanted Scott to take care of it immediately. The funds were to be delivered to an organization called Al Dawla al-Islamyia fil Iraq wa’al Sham, which was headquartered in Iraq. Scott didn’t recall ever being ordered to transfer funds to this organization. Anything to do with the Middle Eastern group in the alliance went directly to offices of the Scourge.

  Something about this transaction didn’t seem right. As he listened to Rossi’s instructions, he opened his laptop and googled the organization. He felt a chill go through him when he read that the acronym for this organization was Daish. This was ISIS. The Islamic State of Iraq and Sham. Sham being the Arabic name for Syria.

  Scott knew what he had become. He had not refused his own share of the profits for what he had done. He could live with stepping over the line in financial transactions. He would not become a traitor to his country. He told Rossi he wouldn’t do it.

  There was silence. Long seconds passed. Finally, Rossi spoke.

  “You are refusing to do as I ask? Do I understand you correctly?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rossi.”

  “Do you understand what this means?”

  “Do what you have to do, Mr. Rossi. I am many things. I’m not proud of what I have become. But I will not betray my country and that’s what you’re asking me to do.”

  “I see. The consequences will be serious.”

  That was the last thing Scott heard before the line went dead. He could only assume he would also soon be dead.

  Rossi was thinking differently. He needed Douglas. It wouldn’t do to lose him now. He had become integral to Rossi’s organization. He had to think of a way to keep Douglas alive, even healthy, yet convince him to follow orders.

  Trent and Christopher decided it was no longer necessary to avoid letting their adversaries see them together. They were savvy enough to know they weren’t hiding anything from the bad guys. Having decided that, they determined to enjoy a pleasant evening together.

  The four of them were sitting on the terrace of the Nob Hill condo enjoying an excellent Prosecco, the Italian equivalent of Champagne. Trent had briefed them on what Jordan reported and the likelihood that Steve Burgess was the man Nancy was looking for. He told her Jordan was sending her Burgess’ prints and anything else he thought might be helpful.

  They had dined on ribeyes that Trent and Christopher grilled accompanied by a delicious sweet and spicy dish of sautéed beets, fennel and radishes that Darcey had prepared. Nancy was a novice cook but anxious to learn. Darcey thought they would become friends.

  They sipped the Prosecco and looked out over the city. So beautiful. From where they sat it seemed so peaceful.

  All four of them knew the peace was deceiving.

  Sunday, July 31st

  Darcey awoke to find Trent lying very still beside her. His body was motionless. His eyes darted around the room.

  “Are you all right?”

  He motioned for her to be silent. He spoke to her in a whisper. “There’s something you need to know, Darcey.”

  “What?” she questioned.

  “Not until I’m sure we’re alone.” He got out of bed, reaching for the Desert Eagle lying on the nightstand. Noiselessly he left the bedroom, methodically searching each room.

  “There’s no one here but us, Trent,” she assured him.

  “There were people here earlier. I had to be sure they’re gone.”

  “What is it you have to tell me, Trent? It must be serious.”

  “It’s very serious, Darcey,” he said, looking around. “We’re in the Witness Protection Program.”

  Darcey was tempted to believe him. He seemed so sincere. But she remembered hallucinations were among the symptoms they might expect to see. The doctors said they were rare with this sort of thing but it could happen.

  She took his hand and guided him back into bed with her. He let her take the Desert Eagle, which she placed on her nightstand for the moment.

  “Why, Trent?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are we in the Witness Protection Program? What did we do?” she asked, speaking very softly, gently. Reaching
slowly to take his hand.

  He looked confused. She waited.

  “I…I uh….” he stammered.

  Darcey held his hand in hers. She leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.

  “I can’t remember,” he finally managed to say.

  “It’s OK, sweetheart,” she said. “Lie down now. Rest.”

  He let his head relax into his pillow. His eyes closed.

  Darcey held his hand until his breathing became steady. She let him sleep as she carefully got out of bed. She would call Doctor Slim Monday morning to let him know about the pain in his knees and now this hallucination.

  She smiled as she walked down the hall. Knowing Trent there was always the possibility that it wasn’t a hallucination. Meanwhile, she carried the Desert Eagle with her to the kitchen.

  After starting a pot of coffee, she began to prep for one of Trent’s favorite breakfasts. Migas. The Tex-Mex scrambled eggs that had been the first meal he prepared for her when they were thrown together in New Orleans. She chopped an onion, a poblano pepper, a tomato, some garlic. She had tortillas for heating and eggs ready for scrambling.

  She was optimistic he would be back to normal when he awoke. She wanted to have his breakfast ready.

  Rossi awoke on Sunday morning with the solution to his Douglas problem. He actually felt admiration for the man who had the courage to stand up to the don. Douglas knew Rossi wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He knew Rossi could make his death slow and painful. Yet he stood up to him.

  Rossi admired that. It didn’t change what he intended to do.

  In his office he picked up another burner, the prepaid cell phones of which he had a plentiful supply, and dialed Scott Douglas’ number. When Douglas answered, Rossi’s message was short. Directly to the point.

  “I am taking Mrs. Rossi and our children to the theater on Tuesday evening. Not my favorite way to spend an evening but one does things to please one’s spouse and to instill culture in one’s children. You should think about Miles.”

  He paused and listened to the silence.

  “Think about Miles tonight. Think about him again tomorrow. And get the job done by the close of business.”

  Rossi ended the call. Scott had not said a word

  For long minutes Scott sat staring out the window. He, and the room, were unaccompanied by sound. Only his thoughts.

  He and Miles lived in a top floor condo in a small building on Capra Way in the Marina district. They had an enviable view of San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, and, Scott shuddered to consider the symbolism, Alcatraz Island.

  He heard Rossi’s message. There was no mistaking it. He was glad Miles was upstairs in their bedroom. He liked to sleep in on Sundays. Scott needed to be alone. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t know if he would be able to do it with Miles watching him.

  With a sigh Scott turned away from the view he and Miles enjoyed so often. He crossed the room to the small desk on which sat his laptop.

  Trent seemed himself when he awoke and joined Darcey in the kitchen. He had only one question.

  “Where’s the Desert Eagle?”

  “Right here,” Darcey said, taking it from the drawer in which she had put it earlier and laying it on the kitchen island. “But first, tell me something. Are we in any trouble?”

  “Of course,” Trent said. “We’re always in trouble.”

  Darcey laughed. “But are we involved in anything like…oh say…the Witness Protection Program?”

  “The Witness Protection Program? Where would you get that idea?”

  “Welcome back, my happy little amnesiac,” she said as she slid the Desert Eagle over to him.

  The remainder of the morning was pleasant. Trent was delighted with the migas Darcey prepared. He thought the hallucination he experienced earlier was worrisome but not unexpected.

  Darcey told him she had to go into the office in the afternoon. She was meeting Miles. They had a presentation scheduled for Monday and needed to rehearse. It had to be professional to give their potential new client complete confidence in their team. There was too much money involved in this project for anything less than a perfect presentation.

  Meanwhile, she wanted him to take it easy while she was gone. It was going to be a nice day. Maybe he might want to think about surprising her with a nice dinner when she got home.

  Fortunately, Miles waited until Scott had finished what he had to do before tumbling downstairs in his usual striking manner. He had to meet Darcey at the office, he told Scott. They had to finish up a very important presentation scheduled for Monday.

  Blessing his mate with a quick kiss, he rushed out the door. Scott watched him go. There was sadness in his eyes.

  He waited fifteen minutes. Then he, too, left the condo. He saw the two men in the dark sedan parked across the street from his building. They didn’t try to be discreet as they pulled out to follow slowly behind him. They didn’t care that he saw them.

  Scott walked the few blocks to the Walgreen’s on Chestnut Street. He bought a pack of Marlboro Lights. Scott had quit smoking years ago. But like many former smokers he sometimes still had the craving.

  He thought his future looked sufficiently dim today that it didn’t really matter if he had a cigarette. He might as well enjoy the once beloved vice a last time.

  He opened the pack, tossing the torn bits of cellophane and foil into the trash can stationed just outside the door. Doing his best to make it appear the same motion, he dropped a small, padded envelope into the large mail box anchored permanently in the concrete near the trash can.

  Having accomplished his task, he allowed himself to enjoy the cigarette. Scott always loved to smoke. When he was younger he would smoke anything. Cigarettes. Cigars. Marijuana. He even remembered as a boy smoking muscadine grapevine with some kids he met when he was visiting his grandparents in Florida.

  He enjoyed the cigarette he was smoking now. But he had no intention of taking up the habit again. It was a diversion for what he had to do. He tossed the remainder of the pack into another trash can he passed on his walk home.

  “Does the name Jonathan Rossi mean anything to you,” Scott asked when Trent answered his call.

  Trent was immediately on full alert.

  “Yes, it’s very important. How would you know that name?”

  “Because I was foolish enough to become involved with his business. I have broken the law and I’m not proud of it. But I’m being asked to do things now that I will not do. I will not betray my country, Trent.”

  “We need to talk, Scott. Do you want to come over here? Want me to come to you? Meet somewhere?”

  “I’m sure I’m being watched. I’ll be followed if I leave home.”

  “Then I’ll come to you. I’ll think of a way to get into your building without attracting attention. Hopefully whoever is watching you doesn’t know me.”

  “I’ll leave it up to you to get in.”

  “There’s someone else who should be in on this conversation, Scott. I’m sorry to tell you that I’m working with the San Francisco Police Department on matters involving Rossi. If you’re ready to give him up I have to get my police contact involved,” Trent warned.

  “Bring him with you, Trent. At this point whatever happens is whatever happens.”

  It wasn’t hard to find Christopher. He and Nancy were having a leisurely late Sunday breakfast at one of their favorite restaurants on the waterfront. Trent called down to the concierge to send them directly to the 15th floor.

  It didn’t take long to brief Nancy on the work Christopher and Trent were doing. Christopher immediately understood that the phone call from Scott could be the thread they were seeking to begin the unraveling of Rossi’s alliance.

  They decided Christopher and Trent would go to the Marina district and just walk into Scott’s building. If they were lucky the men Rossi had watching Scott wouldn’t recognize them.

  Nancy, and her Ruger, would go to Darcey’s office. She would tell Miles the
truth. She would tell him what could be the truth. With Christopher and Trent busy, Nancy was bored. She wanted to hang out. She would let Darcey know something big was happening. They would tell her the rest of the story when she got home. They would let Scott decide how best to tell Miles and when.

  But first it was necessary to rid themselves of the two men still watching their building. Christopher made a phone call and got a black and white on the way. He asked for another uniform car to be posted a block away. He didn’t think the two men out front would cause any real trouble but if they did he wanted the officers to have back up standing by.

  Trent called down to Bat at the parking lot security booth. Bat normally worked during the week but was filling in for the weekend guy to make a few extra bucks. He was enthusiastic when Trent told him what he had in mind.

  Trent, Christopher, and Nancy went down to the lobby but stayed by the elevators. It would be difficult to see them from outside but they had a clear view of the street. They would be Bat’s back up if he needed help before the black and whites showed up. Trent didn’t think the young man would need help.

  Bat walked across the street, his baton in hand. The two men inside were also watching the young man as he approached them. He stopped by the driver’s side. The men tried to ignore him.

  He rapped lightly on the driver’s window, asking him politely to roll it down. The driver didn’t like it but he complied.

  “Good afternoon,” Bat said. “I’ve noticed you guys have been parked here for several days now. More importantly the building management has noticed it. I’ve been directed to ask why you’re here.”

  “None of your business, junior,” was the reply.

  Bat remained calm. He even smiled.

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s none of my business. But my boss wants to know. And we all gotta follow the boss’ orders, right?”