Johnny Revenge

by Remington Kane

  “How did the man get stabbed?”

  “They wrestled each other. When they drew near to the knives, the thief reached out and got hold of one. Angel grabbed another knife and they went at it. Angel was cut on the forearm, but he won the fight when he stabbed the man in the side. Oh, it was awful seeing all that blood.”

  “Alvarez was cut? Why isn’t he being treated?”

  “He was treated, but the other E.M.T.’s left already.”

  Erica felt like crap. She had jumped to the conclusion that Alvarez was involved in a robbery, and the man turned out to be a hero who might have saved her family from harm. When Cassie stepped out of the restroom, Erica embraced her in a hug.

  “I’m okay, Erica, we’re both okay, thanks to Angel.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Erica said.

  * * *

  By the time the police cleared out, another hour had passed. As Cassie escorted their mother home, Erica offered Alvarez a ride.

  “I’ll take the bus.”

  “It’s a long wait at this hour,” Erica said. They were standing near the restaurant. Alvarez’s left forearm had been slashed, but the cut wasn’t very deep. The arm was wrapped in a wide bandage. Erica hadn’t dressed for the drop in temperature and was chilled from standing out in the cold night air.

  “I saw the way you looked at me tonight, Agent Novac. You thought I was the one who tried to rob your mother.”

  “I admit it, and I’m sorry for that. Let me make it up to you by giving you a ride home, please?”

  Alvarez looked down the block where the bus stop was. Erica was right. The next bus wouldn’t be for almost an hour.

  “I’ll take the ride,” Alvarez said.

  * * *

  When they were in the car and on the move; the silence between them felt awkward. Earlier, Erica had thanked Alvarez for saving her mother and sister from harm and he had just grunted in response.

  “Mom gave you a few days off with pay I hear.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Expect a healthy raise too.”

  “I could use it.”

  “I really am sorry about jumping to conclusions back there.”

  Alvarez’s posture became less tense as he said, “Don’t worry about it, Agent Novac.”

  “My name is Erica, Angel.”

  Alvarez turned his head to look at her.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Erica.”

  That made her smile, and when an impulse struck her, she acted on it and pulled to the curb.

  Alvarez tensed up again. “Is something wrong?”

  Erica pointed out the window at a night spot that was still open.

  “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Really?”

  “Why not?”

  “They’ll be closing soon.”

  “Then we won’t stay long.”

  “I could go for a beer.”

  “Me too,” Erica said.

  * * *

  They settled at one of the small round tables that were set up to the left of the bar. The first beer went down quickly over small talk, but they lingered over their second drinks and Alvarez told Erica about himself.

  The man he had murdered during a fight had been out to kill his friend. Alvarez had stepped in after his buddy was down on the ground and helpless. The attacker was kicking Alvarez’s friend in the head although he was already unconscious.

  “I couldn’t just stand by and watch, so I pushed the guy away. After he reached down and removed a gun from an ankle holster, we struggled over it… and he died.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you should have been sentenced to ten years,” Erica said.

  “I was a punk when I was a teenager. It left me with a long list of petty crimes and fist fights to my name; that counted against me.”

  Erica’s face scrunched up. “Now I feel even worse about suspecting you had a hand in the robbery.”

  “Why?”

  “With your history, you must have been tempted not to get involved. The last time you helped someone it cost you your freedom.”

  Angel shook his head. “I had to help. I thought he was going to start shooting. He didn’t wear a mask, Erica. That told me that he didn’t care if your mother and sister saw his face. I… I don’t think he was planning on leaving a witness behind.”

  “Thank you again, Angel. If anything had happened to my… thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, but it was dumb luck I was there.”

  Erica pointed at the teardrop tattoo near Alvarez’s eye. It looked more faded than before and she figured that he had gone for another session to have it removed.

  “Why did you get the tattoo?”

  “Self-preservation. I was determined not to join one of the gangs inside, but that’s not how things work in there. Two weeks after I arrived, four guys beat me to the floor and gave me a choice, get the teardrop, or they would tattoo the gang’s insignia on my forehead. I got the tattoo. Once I had it, I got harassed less in prison. It also made me a member of one of the influential gangs. That kept me safer too.”

  “You speak well for someone who’s grown up on the streets. Have you gone to college?”

  “Only one year, but I always read a lot.”

  “Do you ever post negative reviews?”

  “I just move on to the next book, why do you ask?”

  Erica explained briefly about the case she’d been working on.

  “The killer must be a whack job.”

  “Maybe, or there’s more to the murders than we know.”

  Erica realized that she was enjoying Angel’s company. If this had been a date, she’d be looking forward to going out again.

  “Do you have any plans, Angel?”

  He smiled. “I’ve discovered that I like the restaurant business. Maybe someday I’ll open a place of my own.”

  “Just don’t open it across the street from my mother or she’ll kill you.”

  * * *

  They left the bar at closing time and continued to the house owned by Alvarez’s brother.

  “Thanks for the lift, and the beers. Being a hero has perks,” Alvarez said.

  The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Alvarez ended it by opening his door.

  “Goodnight, Erica.”

  “I’ll see you around, Angel.”

  Alvarez shut the door. Erica watched him until he disappeared inside the house. She had liked talking to Alvarez, and the man was not hard on the eyes. Erica drove home to her apartment. For a change, her mind was on something else other than her work.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WASHINGTON DC

  Erica and Owens arrived for work the next morning and were directed to join Chuck McVie in a small conference room. It was a Saturday and Erica had expected to have the day off. That changed when McVie texted her at seven a.m.

  McVie was in the conference room alone with a carafe of coffee and a box of donuts and croissants. Owens claimed a croissant while Erica fought temptation and only had coffee. As she poured a cup, she asked McVie what the meeting was about.

  “Grant Whitford had to fly back to Dallas, but he wants to have a video conference call with you two. He never got to finish the meeting yesterday.”

  “A video conference is encouraging,” Erica said. “Maybe he’ll allow us to help on the Wildcard case.”

  “We’ll soon find out,” McVie said. “He should be calling any minute.”

  Erica nodded distractedly. Harry Coleman had phoned her on her way into work to tell her about the man who tried to rob her mother. The thug’s name was Francis Garrett. He was now charged with having committed two other recent robberies concerning a restaurant and a bar. In both cases, the victims had been shot to death. Francis Garrett’s gun matched the ballistics in those cases. Angel’s instincts had been right. If he hadn’t risked himself to save them, Erica’s mother and sister could have been killed.

  As they waited for Grant Whitford, they sipped coffee while Erica fi
lled in Owens and McVie about what went down at her mother’s restaurant.

  “An ex-con saved them?” McVie asked.

  “Yes, and he risked himself to do so.”

  “He sounds like he’s serious about turning his life around,” Owens said.

  “I think so,” Erica agreed.

  A tone sounded as the huge wall monitor came to life. A moment later, Grant Whitford filled the screen. He was standing in a similar conference room in Dallas and could be viewed from the waist up.

  “Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry we were interrupted yesterday.”

  “Have there been any developments, Grant?” McVie asked.

  “No, the lead we had yesterday turned out to be a dead-end, but we’re still plugging away. The good news is that I’ve been authorized to form a task force to hunt down Traveler.”

  “With so many victims, why did it take so long to get authorization for a task force?” Owens asked.

  A sour look came over Whitford’s face. “I think it was because of who the victims are: prostitutes. Unfortunately, the reality is that they rate lower when it comes to the higher-ups allocating resources. It’s one reason I latched onto that recent murder in Florida. Yes, the victim was a prostitute, and yes, she was stabbed to death, but if I’m to be honest, I don’t believe Traveler killed her.”

  Erica’s mouth parted slightly as she understood what Whitford was doing.

  “You claimed her as one of your victims because by doing so you link Traveler to Wildcard’s victims.”

  “Yes,” Whitford said, “and Wildcard is murdering what are commonly thought of as good upstanding citizens. If his bizarre murders were ever linked together by the media, they would be screaming for his capture. Every avid book reviewer in the country would have reason to fear. The director wants to avoid that.”

  “Given your reasons, I don’t blame you for hijacking our case, but Brad and I want in on this task force you’re forming, Grant. We’d like to continue working the case from the Wildcard angle.”

  Whitford smiled. “You’ve been reading my mind, Erica. I want to keep at this like they’re separate cases. You two continue working your case on Wildcard while the rest of the task force concentrates on Traveler.”

  “Are you saying we’re part of the task force now?” Owens asked.

  “That’s right, and I’ll want daily reports.”

  Erica was grinning. They were not only back on the case, but it could now receive their full attention.

  “Thank you. Our first step will be to return to New Hampshire today. We want to speak to the suspect there.”

  “You’re talking about Jude Rowland?”

  “Yes, I see you’ve familiarized yourself with the Wildcard case.”

  “I have, and the man is too young to be Traveler. As thin as the evidence is, it’s possible that Traveler and Wildcard are the same man.”

  “One of our other suspects isn’t too young,” Owens said. “Jake Raines could be Traveler and Wildcard.”

  “In that case, I want you to return to Chicago and speak with Raines again. Jude Rowland can wait.”

  Erica felt a pang of disappointment. She had been looking forward to speaking with Jude again. She found the man interesting and wanted to know more about him. Her partner’s reaction was the opposite of hers. She saw Owens smile at the prospect of seeing Rhonda Wheeler again.

  “We’ll head back to Chicago,” Erica said, “but don’t discard Jude Rowland as a suspect. I also have a suggestion.”

  “I’m listening,” Whitford said.

  “Jude Rowland has a brother named John Revene. The Chief of Police of the town they grew up in suspects that Revene killed a prostitute by beating her to death. That happened on the day he left town at the age of eighteen. I’ve no doubt that the unsolved murder is in the N.C.I.C. crime data statistics. While it might not currently match Traveler’s profile and method of killing, there’s a possibility that Revene could be Traveler. We’ve run a check on him and he’s dropped off the radar.”

  Whitford had grabbed a notepad from a desk that was somewhere out of the camera’s range. He wrote on it as he spoke.

  “John Revene? Please spell that last name.”

  Erica did so, and gave Revene’s middle name as well, which was Gene.

  “And what is the name of the town he’s from?” Whitford asked.

  “Sanguine, New Hampshire, and he would be around forty now. It might be a dead-end, but I think he’s worth looking into.”

  “I’d say so, and you’ve just made me glad that I’ve added you to the team, Erica. This lead sounds promising.”

  “Thank you again for including us in the task force,” Owens said.

  “You two do good work, and I expect results. We’ll talk soon, goodbye.”

  The screen went blank and McVie turned off the monitor. “You’re in the big-time now, and catching Traveler will look great on your records.”

  Erica sent her boss a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be leaving you short-handed.”

  “The others will take up the slack, but you catch this bastard, you hear me?” McVie said.

  “We’ll do our best,” Owens said.

  Erica nodded in agreement, but her mind was on Jude Rowland.

  * * *

  SANGUINE, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  Deputy Linda Perkins put away her phone after speaking to her ten-year-old daughter, Britney. The girl was spending the weekend with her father. Linda thought her ex’s new wife, who was named Arabella of all things, was too damn young and pretty for her own good. Then again, the woman treated Britney like a princess, which made it hard for Perkins to dislike her.

  Linda had been surprised when they invited her to join them for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. It was her ex’s turn to have Britney this year, and Arabella thought it would be nice to have everyone together.

  Linda had stared at the younger woman with suspicion. Why was she being so nice to her? When she accepted the invitation, Arabella had reached out and given her hand a squeeze.

  “Good, and there’s no reason we can’t get along, right?”

  Linda was about to mention the fact that Arabella was sleeping with her husband as a reason, then realized it wasn’t true. Her ex, Jason, was no longer her husband, and he hadn’t met Arabella until after they had been divorced for months.

  Linda had returned Arabella’s smile and said that yes, she supposed they could be friends. It was still difficult being without her daughter whenever her ex had Britney for the weekend.

  At least she wouldn’t be sitting at home alone with nothing to do, since the chief had given her an easy overtime assignment. Linda was parked near the gate in front of Jude Rowland’s house.

  With the FBI showing interest in Rowland, the chief wanted to know his comings and goings. It was a waste of time in Linda’s opinion. She knew Joey, or Jude, or whatever name he called himself. The man wasn’t a murderer, she was sure of that.

  “Why are you sitting out here?”

  Linda had been drinking coffee from the lid of her thermos. The voice speaking to her from outside the car startled her so that she spilled coffee on herself. She lowered the window and stared up at Jude Rowland.

  “Damn it, Joey, you scared me. Where did you come from?”

  “My name is Jude now, and why are you parked out here, Linda?”

  “Orders from the chief. He wants to know when you leave and when you get back.”

  “Did the FBI ask him to do that?”

  “I think it was the chief’s idea; you know he doesn’t like you.”

  Rowland turned away from her to begin walking along his fence.

  “Hey, Joey, come back, we can catch up.”

  Rowland ignored her and kept walking.

  Linda watched him in her side-view mirror. He had never forgiven her for the way she had reacted when she’d seen his scars. It was a damn shame. He’d been the nicest boy she’d ever gone out with, and now he was rich too.

  You re
ally screwed that up, Linda.

  She sat there for a moment before jumping from the car and chasing after Rowland. She caught up to him as he was unlocking a small gate set into the fence. The green gate was nearly invisible as it was designed to meld in with the hedges surrounding it. The bars were covered in faux leaves and branches.

  “Can we talk, please? There’s something I need to say to you.”

  Rowland faced her but remained silent. Linda stared back at him and shrugged.

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “For what?”

  “For the way I reacted when we were in my room that time. I was a girl then and I behaved horribly. I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.”

  “You were just being honest. My scars are disgusting; I know that.”

  Linda’s shoulders drooped as her head tilted to the side.

  “Oh, Joey, they’re just scars, honey. You were a victim, Joey, but you’ve survived and gone on to have a good life. I was a fool to react the way I did.”

  Rowland’s stance became less stiff and his features softened.

  “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “How is your life going?”

  “Okay, I guess. I mean my marriage didn’t work out, but I have my little girl, and I like being a cop.”

  A smile crept over Jude’s face. “I’m glad, Linda, and call me Jude from now on, okay?”

  “I’ll try, but you’ll always be Joey Revene to me.”

  Jude opened the gate. “If it helps, I’m not planning on going anywhere today.”

  “I still have to keep watch, but I don’t believe you killed anyone; I told that FBI woman that too.”

  Jude said nothing else. Linda cleared her throat, then she began walking back toward her patrol car.

  “Goodbye, Joey.”

  “Linda?”

  She turned, “Yes?”