Serenity Avenged

by Craig A. Hart

  There were no gunshots, no warning shouts. Jimmy slid into cover behind the pine as the side door opened and the guard appeared, still checking his fly. A second longer and it would have been over.

  Jimmy looked around for his next point of cover, but there was nothing until the treeline, a sprint that would take far too long. Another stand of shrubbery was much closer, but getting there would take him almost directly in front of the house. Avoiding detection from there would be nearly impossible. He burrowed under the pine so he could watch the guard by the side door. The man was not on high alert. His weapon hung on his back haphazardly as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and then retrieved a lighter from his hip pocket. He bent his head, cupping the flame against the breeze, then raised his head and leaned back as he exhaled a long smoke stream. Then he began his routine. Jimmy watched him walk, timing how long it took the guard to make each leg of the trip from his post by the door, to the corner of the house, and then around the corner, where he disappeared for a few seconds before reappearing and walking back to the door. As Jimmy watched, he realized he had no chance of making the treeline in the few seconds that the guard was around the back of the house.

  Jimmy felt around the base of the tree and found a decorative rock that fit nicely in the palm of his hand. He got to his feet, crouched, and waited until the guard walked out of sight around the corner. Then he ran for the house, flattened against the wall, and edged his way to the corner. As soon as he saw the guard’s shadow on the ground, he came around the corner rock first, planting it directly between the man’s eyes. The guard dropped fast and hard, and Jimmy ran for the trees as if escaping the fires of hell.

  12

  Shelby parked his Jeep in the parking lot of the commercial building that housed the law firm Tucker & Rank. He turned off the engine and glanced over at Helen.

  “You can stay in the Jeep, if you want.”

  “Oh, I intend to. I’ve seen enough of Robert to last me a good long while.”

  Shelby had never met Robert Tucker, and there was a twisted part of him that was looking forward to the meeting. A yet more twisted part of him hoped there might be need for fisticuffs, although he doubted it. Still, the man might try to play tough guy, since men are constantly overestimating their own physical prowess, especially those who spend their days behind a desk. They think impressing their buddies at the gym with a bench press or being able to run a few miles on the treadmill toughens them up. Most don’t understand there’s a difference between muscle gained in a simple workout and that obtained through adversity and violence. Shelby had spent countless hours in the gym training, but his body had been hardened in the ring and working back-breaking, dead-end jobs before the fight money became steady. It was the difference between someone who reads books about fighting and someone who makes it work while living on the streets. Shelby had seen several big, muscled men felled by much smaller opponents who were a hell of a lot tougher. One couldn’t rely on hitting power; you had to learn to take a punch.

  They piled out of the Jeep. Shelby reached back to make sure his pistol was still snug in the small of his back. Then he started walking quickly toward the building.

  Mack jogged to catch up. “Which of these douchebags are we after, Fucker or Spank?”

  Shelby snorted. “Fucker & Spank. Now there’s a good name for a law firm.”

  “I know, I know. I’m twelve years old. It’s one of Gloria’s pet peeves.” Mack paused, then corrected himself. “It was one of her pet peeves. I guess I can be as juvenile as I want now.”

  Shelby patted his friend on the shoulder. “With any luck, Mr. Fucker, er, Tucker will give us a hard time and you can pretend he’s Gloria’s professor friend.”

  “You always know how to cheer me up.”

  “I don’t do it on purpose.”

  They reached the revolving glass doors and pushed their way through. Once inside, Shelby came to such a sudden halt that Mack bumped into him. There before them stood a metal detector with a smiling security guard.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” the guard said. He motioned toward the detector. “Come on through.”

  Before Shelby could even begin formulating a story, Mack stepped forward and held out his hand.

  “Morning, officer! Harry Barstow, Detroit PD. My friend and I are over here investigating a lead on a drug case. We’re both armed, of course, and we’d hate to set off your machine. Mind if we step around the turnstile here?” Mack made a move to do just that.

  “You have any ID on you?” the guard asked.

  Mack paused and a look of annoyance played over his face. He took out his wallet and flashed it briefly at the guard before shoving it back into his pocket.

  “It’s a time sensitive case. Look, call Detroit if you have to, but make it quick. We’re behind the eight ball on this as it is. If I lose another one, the chief is going to lose his mind. I might even wind up with a suspension. You know how the brass is.”

  Shelby could tell the guard was conflicted and had to admire Mack’s skill in manipulation. He had first addressed the lowly guard as “officer,” then he had taken him into his confidence. Now that the guard had pushed back, Mack was laying on the guilt trip. Here he had taken the guard into his confidence, treated him like one of the guys, and now the guard was treating him like shit.

  “Well, I definitely don’t want you to catch any grief from up top,” the guard said. “Your friend a cop too?”

  “Independent security contractor.”

  Shelby pulled out his wallet, displayed his driver’s license for about a millisecond, and then stowed it safely away in his pocket.

  Mack didn’t wait for confirmation but instead pushed his way through the turnstile. Shelby followed right behind.

  As they walked down the hall, Mack turned and called back, “Thanks a lot, buddy. Feel free to mention my name if you ever apply to the academy.”

  The young guard’s face lit up and he grinned like a loon. Shelby almost felt sorry for him, imagining the nasty surprise when he tried to get into the police academy using a reference given by a non-existent Detroit PD detective.

  Ahead stood a bank of elevators and a floor directory. Shelby checked it for Tucker & Rank, found it on the fifth floor, and pressed the “up” button. An elevator opened, they stepped inside, and Shelby pressed the button for five. He saw a woman scurrying down the hall, trying to make the elevator, but he pretended not to notice and instead pressed the button to close the doors. He had enough time to see the scowl on her face before the doors slammed shut and the elevator took off.

  “That was fast thinking,” he said, watching the numbers tick. “Good thing you still carry police ID.”

  Mack grinned. “It’s even better he didn’t look too closely at it. It clearly states I’m retired.”

  “How’d you know that kid wanted to enter the academy?”

  “Every young security guard wants to be an officer. Security is made up of three types of people: young, idealistic idiots who dream of a big-time career in law enforcement, middle-aged guys who think they are police officers, and old retired guys who don’t give a shit.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of respect for security guards.”

  “I’m being overly harsh. But I can’t tell you how much trouble some of these clowns caused me during my time on the force. They wanted the same respect as the police, but none of the responsibility. And they never knew anything they ought to have known when being questioned about an incident on their turf. A lot of big egos in a small space.”

  “I think it’s something to do with the uniform. Give someone a uniform and they get a little power crazy.”

  Mack nodded. “Don’t I know it. It happened to plenty of the bona fide officers as well.”

  “Not you?”

  “I don’t think I ever cared enough.”

  A bell dinged, and the elevator door slid open. The two men walked out as a door banged and the slighted woman fro
m the first floor marched out of the stairwell. Her face was red and she gasped for breath, but managed to shoot Shelby a withering stare before stomping away down the hallway.

  Mack chuckled. “You know, I think that woman ran up several flights of stairs just to give you a dirty look.”

  Shelby nodded. “One has to admire her spirit, although this wouldn’t be the first time a woman has gone out of her way to skewer me with dagger eyes.”

  “I can’t really blame them,” Mack said. “I hate you too.”

  Shelby stopped and looked around quizzically. “Say, do you hear that? It sounds a little like a human voice, yet unbelievably whiny and obnoxious.”

  “Ass,” Mack muttered. He pointed across the hall. “I’d teach you a lesson in manners, but I think we’ve found the place.”

  Shelby followed his point to a door bearing the label “Tucker & Rank, Attorneys at Law.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go talk to this sonofabitch.”

  They walked into the office and stopped at the front desk. The receptionist, a young man with a bad case of acne, looked up with the expression of one condemned to watch paint dry. The mere sight of the kid annoyed Shelby, and he felt his hackles rising.

  “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Robert Tucker.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Like, what does that mean, though?” the young man asked, his mouth hanging open, disdain practically dripping from his pores. “How can you ‘sort of’ have an appointment? Either you, like, have one or you don’t.”

  Shelby struggled to maintain a cool demeanor. “Point us in the direction of his office. We’ll take it from there.”

  “No can do,” the young man said.

  “No can do?” Shelby ground his teeth. “I didn’t know the cool kids were still saying that these days.”

  Mack pushed forward, his retired cop’s badge on display. “We’re from Detroit PD. We need to talk to Mr. Tucker about an active investigation.”

  The young man didn’t even blink. He apparently had less respect for law enforcement than the eager beaver downstairs.

  “Do you have, like, a warrant or something?”

  Shelby moved forward, planning to choke some sense into the little shit, but Mack stepped in front of him and leaned over the desk to look the young man directly in the eyes.

  “What was your name again?” Mack said.

  The young man sighed. “Tyler.”

  “Of course it is,” Shelby muttered.

  Mack surreptitiously kicked him before continuing with the receptionist. “Listen, Tyler. You’re impeding the progress of officers involved in an active investigation. You know what they call that?”

  “I dunno. Like, obstruction of something?”

  “Obstruction of justice.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, not whatever. You could get into serious trouble for standing in our way. Is this really worth it to you?”

  Tyler sneered. “You old guys don’t scare me. I know my rights. You cops think you can do anything, but you can’t come in here and tell me—”

  The words abruptly ceased as Shelby pushed Mack aside, reached over the desk, and grabbed a fistful of Tyler’s collar. He pulled the young man’s face close to his own and ground out, “Listen, shitface. Point us in the direction of Tucker’s office or, so help me, I will pop your head off your body like a dandelion from its stem.”

  Tyler struggled in Shelby’s grasp but accomplished little more than to tighten his already straining collar. The young man’s face turned red and his eyes took on a decided bulge. With one shaky index finger, he pointed across the room to a door bearing the law firm’s logo. He opened his mouth but remained mute. Shelby relaxed his grip enough to allow the words to escape.

  “He’s in…conference room.”

  Shelby let go of Tyler’s collar and the young man dropped backward into his office chair with a dull thud. The chair let out a rush of compressed air and dropped, sinking Tyler almost out of sight behind the desk.

  Shelby and Mack left the young man to his struggle, and walked toward the conference room, ignoring the shocked and curious stares from the other employees. When they reached the door, Shelby didn’t bother to knock.

  The lawyers and paralegals around the table all looked up at once when the two men entered, looking for all the world like a colony of prairie dogs poking their heads out of burrows.

  After several seconds, a man at the far end of the table stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “What the hell is this? Who are you?”

  “I’d rather know who you are,” Shelby said.

  “Robert Tucker. Of Tucker and Rank.”

  So this was the asshole who had left Helen high and dry. Shelby regarded the man with malevolent curiosity, much like a predator sizing up his prey.

  Mack stepped forward and once again flashed his badge. “Mr. Tucker, could we have a word with you in private, please?”

  “This really isn’t a good time—”

  “It’s important.”

  Tucker sighed and then nodded to everyone around the table. “I’m terribly sorry. Apparently, these gentlemen think their work is more important than ours. I’ll make this quick.” He looked back at Shelby and Mack. “And it will be quick. I’m a busy man.”

  Tucker led them to his private office, walked inside, closed the door behind them, and immediately turned to Shelby.

  “I know who you are, Mr. Alexander. What the hell do you want?”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be. I had one of my interns do research on you when Helen and I first began dating. She couldn’t stop talking about you.”

  Shelby was surprised by how much the remark pleased him. Helen had talked about him to her future husband? He’d always assumed she was happy to have him gone and had moved on with her life, giving him little thought once the divorce was finalized.

  Tucker was still talking. “And so I repeat. What the hell do you want? I’m guessing the little police charade was just that? A charade?”

  Shelby avoided the direct question. “It’s funny you mentioned Helen. This is mostly about her.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Oh, but I do say. Do you know a man named Darkmore?”

  Tucker paused. “Should I?”

  “He was a client of yours, wasn’t he?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Helen. And this will go a lot faster if you cooperate. Enough of this clever footwork. We’re not here to trap you. We need information.”

  “I can’t give you any information about my work with Darkmore. Attorney-client privilege.”

  “Is someone’s address privileged information? Listen, Tucker. Helen is in up to her neck in trouble with this guy. And you’re partially to blame for it.”

  Tucker raised an eyebrow. “And how do you figure that?”

  “Your divorce shenanigans. Cutting her off without a cent.”

  Tucker laughed harshly. “That’s our Helen. If you don’t get your way, call it a stacked deck. I send that woman plenty, let me tell you, plenty. Every month.”

  “So why the debt?”

  “You knew her earlier, so maybe it wasn’t this way then.”

  “Maybe what wasn’t this way?”

  “The gambling.”

  Shelby decided not to share his own conversation with Helen, saying only, “Helen was a gambler?”

  Tucker sighed. “She started out having fun at the slots. Maybe a little roulette. Then things got out of hand. I have no idea how many thousands she went through. We used to go to Vegas a few times a year, but I stopped taking her because it always got ugly. She still found ways to rack up losses. I’m not saying the gambling was what killed the marriage; we might have been able to deal with that. But if she’s been taking loans from shady sources like Darkmore since the divorce, then I have no doubt gambling’s the reason.”

  Shelby
’s desire to destroy the man faded a little…but not much. “We need to find this Darkmore, and quickly. It doesn’t really matter how Helen got herself into the current shit storm. I only care about getting her out.”

  “You sound like you still have feelings for her.”

  Shelby shrugged. “No, I wouldn’t say that. But first wives always take a piece of a man with them when they go. More importantly, this mess has grown until it’s threatening to include my pregnant daughter. I won’t let anyone stand in my way of protecting her. Especially not a lawyer hiding behind the veil of attorney-client privilege.”

  “You act like it’s not a real thing.”

  “We’re only asking for an address. A few numbers and a street name.”

  Tucker hesitated.

  “You claim to know about me,” Shelby said. “If that’s true, then you must know I won’t let the niceties of polite society prevent me from getting the information I need.”

  Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s not start with the threats. I’m in pretty good shape, you know.”

  “I’m sure you have a well-worn gym membership card. The address?”

  Tucker still hesitated. Then he shook his head. “Sorry, but no. Helen made her bed, as they say, so she can lie in it.”