by Jeff Siebold
Chet had cleaned up nicely. He was wearing a pressed, blue, long-sleeved pinpoint oxford shirt with button down collars, tails out, over a pair of khaki pants and brown leather driving moccasins.
Zeke stepped away from Chet and toward Catrin, who was still sitting on the kitchen floor. He chose an angle in the small space that included Catrin in the arc of any shotgun blast.
Just inside the doorway Chet stopped and pointed the gun at Zeke’s stomach. To Zeke the barrel looked about as wide across as a teacup but not nearly as fragile.
“Shoot him,” said Catrin from the floor. She suddenly sounded crazed. Zeke glanced at her and saw a small drop of spittle foam at the corner of her mouth. “Shoot him, damn it!”
Chet was standing with his back to the kitchen door, gun aimed slightly to his left, past the counter and into the kitchen area. Catrin was sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back against the island about six feet away. Zeke was positioned directly between them, closer to Catrin than to Chet. He was looking at Chet, watching his index finger.
Chet hesitated.
“Shoot him!” Catrin screamed again.
“I’d hit you,” Chet said. “If I shoot him, I’d kill you, too.”
Catrin paused suddenly and was quiet.
“She killed your wife, Chet,” said Zeke. “And Will. She had them killed. You know that.”
Chet thought for a minute. “I know, but I love her,” he said, mostly to himself. He collected himself. Then he shook his head.
“OK, we’re going out the back door now,” Chet said. “I’m going to move to my right, and you’re going out the door in front of me. Then we’ll walk across the lawn to the garage, OK?”
Zeke said, “Sure, Chet. Then what?”
Chet faltered for a moment, not certain of the plan.
“Then we all go for a ride,” said Catrin. Her voice was sing-song, a little girl’s voice. “Then we kill you. We kill you,” she repeated.
Chet, apparently satisfied that the plan had been finalized, said, “You heard her.” He moved to his right with shuffling steps.
Catrin stood up, still partially behind Zeke from Chet’s viewpoint. She said, “Give me back my gun.”
Chet looked confused. He said, “This gun?” and lowered the nose of the shotgun a couple inches.
Zeke watched his eyes.
He won’t shoot at me if Catrin’s behind me, thought Zeke. He’s already made that decision.
“Don’t shoot, Chet, wait,” said Zeke as he pulled the MKII target pistol from the small of his back and in one fluid motion leveled it and shot Chet Burns in the right eye. The shotgun clattered on the tile floor twice before Zeke snatched it up left handed and turned to Catrin.
Catrin held a ceramic butcher knife taken from a stand on the counter and was wielding it, slashing the air as she walked toward Zeke. Her face was contorted. “You’ve ruined everything,” she said. “I’m not going to jail because of you.”
Zeke moved to the back door and opened it. Kimmy stepped into the kitchen.
“Hey,” she said. “You didn’t wait for me!”
Kimmy glanced around the room, sized up the situation and moved directly between Zeke and Catrin. A moment later she was vertical, her left shin slamming against the back of Catrin Davies’ right elbow, dislodging the knife from her hand and sending it skittering across the room. In a flurry of movement, Kimmy landed quick, repetitive blows to the woman’s throat, face, groin and eyes, knocking her to the ground, pummeling her, and quickly incapacitating her.
In less than fifteen seconds, Catrin Davies lay on the kitchen floor, semiconscious and moaning.
“Krav Maga,” said Zeke, mostly to himself. “Nicely done.”
Krav Maga is the Israeli military self-defense system. The philosophy is simple. If you must fight, finish the fight as quickly and aggressively as possible. The attacks taught are aimed at the most vulnerable parts of the body, and the countermeasures can cause permanent injury or even death to an opponent.
Kimmy smiled at Zeke and shrugged. “Might as well get it over with,” she said. “No sense drawing it out, right?”
* * *
“Go figure,” said Detective Harrison. “She tried to kill you?”
“She thought about it,” said Zeke.
“Yeah,” said Kimmy, “she tried, but Zeke’s hard to kill.” She was standing with them in a circle on the front lawn of Catrin Davies’ home, the green brick muted by the setting sun. Clive stood next to Harrison, who was making notes on a small pad in cursive lettering.
“We were here,” said Clive, “in case anything went wrong.”
Zeke looked at him.
“Kimmy was around back, and I was parked in the street.” Clive pointed to a parked car. It was a dark blue Jaguar XJ. “Just in case it got dicey.”
“I saw Chet Burns with the shotgun and I knew I’d better get in there,” said Kimmy.
The Lower Merion Police had arrived a few minutes after Kimmy called them, and they took Catrin Davies away in an ambulance, accompanied by two officers. Chet Burns’ body still lay on the kitchen floor.
“Anything else?” asked Harrison. He looked at his notes. “We’ve got a prescription drug ring operating here and in Philly; we’ve got a guy stealing controlled substances from the Johnson-Matthey chemical plant; we’ve got his brother who was going to skip the country, but ended up on the short end of a baseball bat; we’ve got a sister who was the brains of the operation; and we’ve got two – no, three—murders that we know of, attributable to that gang.” He leaned forward a bit, looking at them as if he were waiting for the answer to a serious question, his eyes squinting.
Zeke nodded.
“You’ll stop by the precinct tomorrow, I expect,” said Harrison.
“We surely will, Detective,” said Clive. “We’ll come see you in the morning.”
Zeke nodded again.
* * *
“You guys all OK?” asked Oscar when they arrived at his house in Ardmore. He met them on the front porch and backed his wheelchair into the home, clearing the way for Clive, Zeke and Kimmy to follow him into the house.
“George is in the kitchen,” said Oscar, his voice flat. “He’s not doing well at all,” he added, quietly.
They sat at the kitchen table. George was already there, sitting in a straight chair, his face leaning heavily on his cupped hands, his elbows propping everything up.
Kimmy circled the table and sat next to George. Zeke sat next to Oscar. Clive waited until everyone was seated, and then took the remaining empty chair.
“It sounded like you solved it, from what you said on your call,” said Oscar. “Is it wrapped up?”
Zeke nodded. “It is,” he said.
“A teacher at the school,” said George. “Go figure.”
“She was the brains behind it all,” said Zeke. “Her brothers were the muscle, but Catrin Davies was in charge.”
“And they killed my little Susie over this?” wheezed George.
“And others,” said Clive. “Will found out about the drug sales from his dad, Chet, who was the chemist for the gang. Chet tested the opiates and lactose mix, and capsulized the drugs for the gang. Then they’d send them via UPS to their dealers. They included a new burner phone number, untraceable, in each package they sent. That’s how they communicated without revealing their identities. Everyone thought they were dealing with Kevin McCarthy, when in fact it was the Jones boys.”
“Aw, geez,” said George Lopper. He looked around the table.
Oscar said, “So they killed Susie and Will Burns because they knew too much?”
“Will wanted to travel, to get away with Susie. They had plans to run off this summer,” said Kimmy. “According to Catrin, Will was putting pressure on her to fund their travels. It seems that his dad had been trying to get away from the Joneses for some time, to quit working for them. That’s why his wife was killed...to keep him in line. Somehow Chet Burns told his son too much, and Will decided
to exploit the situation. He went to Catrin Davies to blackmail her. She killed him.”
“It was a sticky wicket,” said Clive.
“But the police have the Jones brothers and Catrin in custody. Luc Jones is up for Federal charges for stealing the drugs, and they’re all looking at murder or conspiracy to commit murder. As well as Federal controlled substance charges and a number of others,” said Zeke. “It won’t be long before the cops flip someone in return for leniency.”
* * *
“So what’s playing on ‘Tracy Johnson radio’ right now?” asked Zeke.
“How did you know?” asked Tracy.
He smiled. “It’s pretty much a sure thing when you’re happy. And you look pretty happy right now.”
She pursed her lips, hiding the smile, but Zeke saw her eyes gleam.
“You really can’t hide it. You smile with your whole soul,” he said.
“You got me,” she said. “I was listening to Leonard Cohen in my head.”
“‘Suzanne’?” he asked.
“No, ‘Hallelujah.’”
“That’s a bit haunting for a romantic dinner, isn’t it?” asked Zeke.
“I like it. It’s catchy and clever, and it gets inside your head and stays there,” she said. “The major key is perfect for the whole tone of the song.”
“You studied music?” asked Zeke.
They were eating at a small steakhouse named Bonz, located in Buckhead about ten minutes from Tracy’s midtown Atlanta condo. Zeke’s plate was filled with a bone-in rib-eye steak and truffle butter mashed potatoes, and Tracy was working on a seared tuna loin with cilantro and lime. The atmosphere was clubby and comfortable, and the service was excellent.
“I did. It was an early major. I changed to Legal Studies in my second year.”
“At Wharton,” Zeke remembered.
“The Legal Studies were at Wharton. But I spent my first year at Bard College. Then I switched.”
“What do you play?” Zeke asked, curious.
“Piano and violin, mostly,” said Tracy. “But not enough to be very good.”
They each took a bite from their plates. Tracy blotted her lips and took a sip of the New Zealand Merlot. They were sharing a bottle. “Mmm,” she said, and smiled at Zeke.
She is something special, thought Zeke.
“Glad you had another ‘layover,’” Tracy said with innocent, wide eyes. “It seems like you’re passing through Atlanta a lot more these days.”
Now she’s teasing me, thought Zeke.
“Actually, the layover was a weak excuse,” said Zeke. “I came to Atlanta to see you.”
She chewed slowly for a moment, thinking about that.
“And I’m planning to stay for the weekend,” he added.
“How do you know I don’t have plans already?” she asked, suddenly serious.
“It was worth the gamble,” he said. “I think I can bribe you to change those plans.”
“How?” she asked.
“Remember how good we feel together, naked in each other’s arms? Warm and safe and loved? That, and, I cook a great breakfast.”
“Hmm. You had me at ‘naked,’” she purred.
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About the Author
Jeff Siebold loves a good mystery. A life long reader, he has embarked on a personal journey in creativity designed to contribute to the delight of mystery readers everywhere.
Jeff and his wife Karin live on a barrier island in North Carolina, not far from the Cape Fear River (made famous by one of his favorite authors, John D. MacDonald). They have three college-aged children and two unruly dogs.