Dead Man Walking

by David Carter

  Hampton watched on as the Jackal worked his magic before exiting the room. It was all over in a matter of minutes.

  Commissioner Marshall was not impressed when Hampton delivered the news via cell phone. “You mean you’ve effectively got nothing?” he spluttered.

  “Well, unless you’ve got x-ray vision, we can’t get a visual on the suspect,” Hampton reported.

  “What about jewellery?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Jewellery, Steve. Was he wearing a gold watch or an expensive one-of-a-kind ring? Maybe we can get a fingerprint from the keyboard?”

  “Sorry, sir. He was wearing gloves. Fingerprints are out of the question.”

  “Find me something, Steve,” he replied, and abruptly hung up.

  With the commissioner’s unimpressed sentiments ringing firmly in his ears, Hampton replayed the footage. As the Jackal was half way through the file extraction, he lifted his long shirt sleeve to scratch his arm, revealing what appeared to be an expensive wristwatch.

  Hampton zoomed in and took a screenshot. It wasn’t overly clear, but from his own personal interest and experience after recently purchasing his own luxury Rolex, he was sure he was looking at something of significant value.

  Well done, commissioner, he thought as he printed it out and left the office in a great hurry.

  *

  “Good day to you, sir. How may I be of assistance?” the jeweller asked Hampton as he entered a high-end retail store in Milton City’s CBD. It was only a short walk from the MCHU’s headquarters.

  “Good day to you, too,” Hampton replied to the slim, groomed gentleman with black, slicked-back hair and a slightly feminine voice. “My name is Detective Steve Hampton of the Milton City Homicide Unit. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to see if you can identify the watch in this photograph?” He offered the jeweller the still-frame he’d printed earlier.

  The jeweller gasped in shock. “Oh, my word, she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she?” He examined it closely. After a minute of letting out a series of fabulous ums and aghs, the jeweller said, “I’m not one-hundred percent certain, but I think you could be looking at a Patek Philippe.”

  “I beg your pardon, a—what?”

  The jeweller covered his mouth as he giggled. “A Patek Philippe; the most in-demand top-of-the-line luxury watch in men’s fashion.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Ooh, yes. Their range starts from as low as fifteen-thousand to as high as twenty-four-million dollars for the rarest pieces.”

  Hampton’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “What do you think this particular model would fetch?”

  “Well, it’s hard to say without being certain–” The jeweller called to his supervisor out the back for some assistance.

  The supervisor took one glance at the photo and instinctively said, “That’s a five-two-seventy chronograph with a perpetual calendar, in rose gold with the exclusive Goutte bracelet.”

  Hampton was most impressed at his knowledge. “And you’re certain of this?”

  “Oh, absolutely. Whoever owns this watch has impeccable taste.” He beamed. “This is one of the latest models released by Patek Philippe, and would fetch around one-hundred and forty thousand dollars in today’s market.”

  “What! I could buy half a house for the price of that!” Hampton exclaimed.

  Both the jewellers laughed. “The price of quality, sir,” the supervisor replied.

  “And would you happen to stock any of these?”

  “Oh, gosh, no. We don’t stock the top-end brands like what you’re looking at. We do however offer Rolex and Tag Heuer, if you’re interested?”

  “Er, no, thank you. But I’d be most appreciative if you could point me in the direction of someone who does stock this item?”

  The slightly-feminine jeweller replied, “No one stocks these, honey. You can only buy them overseas or through online auctions.”

  “Or the black market,” the supervisor joked.

  “Seriously? The black market?” Hampton asked tersely.

  The supervisor’s smile vanished. “Well, I was only joking, sir, but yes, items like these would be a top seller in underground black markets, assuming they exist,” he quickly added. “Jewellery always has its place among those in the know.”

  With that information in mind, Hampton bade them farewell and returned to his office at the MCHU.

  The watch must have been purchased via the black market, he thought, which makes sense if this watch, indeed, does belong to the Jackal. He wondered if Ciggy had any inside knowledge into anyone working top-of-the-line jewellery on the streets.

  He suspected not. But at this point he had nothing else to go on.

  Chapter 61

  Doyle knew his career was about to go crashing down in a ball of fire. He was on his way to his superior’s office after being summoned by a less-than-friendly phone call.

  His heart pounded rapidly. He felt sick. He slowly turned the door knob and entered the office for what he assumed was the final time. He had no idea how he was going to react.

  His superior looked up from his desk, glaring at him through his bifocals. He removed his glasses, then said, “Take a seat, Doyle.”

  “I think I’d rather stand,” he replied.

  “Suit yourself.” He cleared his throat. “Now, where do I begin, ah, yes: gross misconduct, insubordination, using FBI property to assist in the escape of a dangerous criminal, deception, disobeying a direct order, misappropriate use of FBI funds, need I go on?”

  “I believe you neglected to mention that I saved an innocent man from a life behind bars, sir.”

  “Innocent!” his superior bellowed. “Your so-called innocent asset left behind nothing but a trail of blood and destruction in Manhattan Detention Complex! And now the Aryan Brotherhood have complete control over the remaining inmates after the riot he caused. Black folks are topping themselves before going inside in fear of what the brotherhood might inflict upon them.”

  “You approved the operation and recommended where to find Blaze. You’re just as much a guilty party as I. Or has your withered, senile brain forgotten that minor detail? I’m sure the inquiry board will find it most interesting that you left an asset behind enemy lines.”

  The look on his superior’s face scared him. Doyle figured that if he was going down, he may as well go out swinging to the sound of the truth.

  “I will have your head for this!” His superior slammed his fist on the desk. “As of now you will hand over your badge and firearm. You’re suspended indefinitely without pay, pending an investigation.”

  “No! I didn’t slave my way through college and train my ass off to be ordered around by some pompous, overweight, desk-jockey with no balls! Your problem is that you can’t admit that you screwed up and that you’re shifting the blame onto someone else. You’re a disgrace to the agency!”

  “I said, hand over your goddamn badge, Doyle. Now.”

  Doyle furiously tossed his badge across the desk. His superior grunted as it slapped against his protruding stomach.

  “You’re going to regret that, Doyle,” he said. “I gave you a direct order to leave that scumbag alone. Bobby Blaise is an extremely volatile, dangerous weapon. You’ve witnessed his capabilities first-hand. I pulled the plug on the mission as I didn’t want things to go pear shaped for you. With a loose cannon like that as your asset, anything could have gone wrong. He may have turned against you if it suited him. And then I’d have your blood on my hands. I was merely looking out for you. But now my hands are tied. Because of your insubordination I must take appropriate action.”

  “And what about the brotherhood? Thanks to Blaze I have the location of their base of operations in the Adirondacks. He knows first-hand what they’re up to. All I need is your stamp of approval to send in a team and shut down an extremely cruel and violent criminal organisation.”

  “I will see to it that the brotherhood are dealt with i
n due course.”

  “In due course! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, that you will give us the necessary details and we will handle it from there, You’re officially off the case. And if you don’t tone your voice down, I’ll be calling for security to escort you underground for some alone-time to think about your actions.”

  “You won’t be getting squat from me!” Doyle shouted. “It’s been my case from the beginning, when no one else believed in my theory! And now that we’re this close to running them to ground you want to use me for my knowledge and throw me to the wolves? Guess again, asshole, that’s not going to happen!”

  “Insolence!” Doyle’s superior shouted angrily. “You will tell me everything you know or be locked up until you decide otherwise!” He reached for his desk phone, which was when Doyle had a rush of blood and did something he knew he’d regret.

  “Get your hands up.” Doyle pulled his firearm on his superior.

  “Now, Doyle, don’t do anything rash...” he stammered nervously with his hands raised. “Think about your career for a moment, and who you’re pointing that weapon at.”

  “I think we’re well beyond that, sir. Now stand up.”

  Doyle’s superior shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Doyle upped the ante. He clambered around the same side of the desk as his superior and held the barrel of the pistol to his temple. Doyle knew there was no greater feeling of fear than having the cold, hard steel of a deadly weapon held against one’s skin.

  Doyle’s superior suddenly complied with his every whim. “All right, I’m standing up, slowly. Just don’t shoot me, please,” he cowered.

  “Good. Now, you’re going to accompany me to the front door of this facility and you’re not going to say a word or raise a suspicious eyebrow to anyone. Got it? Then you’re coming with me while I drive away, before such a time I let you go. Do as you’re told, and I assure you that no harm will come to you. Comprende?”

  “How do I know you won’t shoot me?”

  “Because, unlike you, I’m a man of my word.”

  “You know I’ll send people after you.”

  “So send them. All I need is a head start.”

  “I won’t go soft on you at your trial. You’ll never see the light of day again.”

  “Right now I don’t care. There are bigger things at stake, and I can’t have you messing things up because of your pride.”

  “My pride?” he scoffed. “You may want to take a good, hard look in the mirror and re-think that statement.”

  Doyle the wedged the barrel of his pistol into his superior’s fleshy side as they walked out to the front entrance; Siamese twins joined at the hip. “No tricks,” Doyle whispered as they passed through the main foyer and out into the open air outside.

  “Get in the van,” Doyle commanded, notioning towards the armoured van he’d neglected to return.

  “It’s not too late,” his superior offered. “I’ll go easy on you, I swear.”

  “Get in the van.” Doyle reaffirmed his position.

  His superior was terrified. He felt Doyle was on the verge of losing control. “Please, where are you taking me? I have a wife and seven grandchildren.”

  Doyle kept the gun pointed at him, then ordered him to drive, giving him directions.

  Eventually Doyle told him to pull over. They were parked outside of the brotherhood’s clubhouse. Doyle took a deep breath, then said, “Inside that fence in the most brutal, cruel, and inhuman organisation I’ve ever encountered. They kill because of race, greed, and their own sadistic pleasure. And now I’m this close to tying them to one of the most disturbing cases ever to cross the FBI’s desk, you want to shut it down because I made a mistake, albeit a calculated one on my part. Blaze is the most resourceful, intelligent asset we’ve ever had. If you simply took the time to get to know him as I have, you would know his motives are genuine. Your knee-jerk reaction to leave him rotting in The Tombs was the mistake. Yes, he caused a riot and had dozens of men murdered at the hands of the brotherhood, but he warned us something like that might happen. It was his way of getting to the brotherhood’s leader.”

  “It doesn’t excuse his actions, Doyle. He’s a cold-hearted killer. He burned an inmate to death with boiled cooking oil. That’s the mark of a man with no conscience.”

  “Yes, but he did it for the right reasons, sir. Now I’m begging you to think of the women in the pile of folders on my desk: all kidnapped, raped, and brutally murdered without so much as a second thought, without family by their side. They deserve justice. It would bring their families a sense of peace knowing they have a man like Blaze fighting in their corner. And I can’t do this alone, sir. This is so much bigger than I first anticipated.”

  Doyle’s superior exhaled heavily. “While your plea breaks my heart, Doyle, your misconduct cannot be overlooked. So either shoot me now, or run and disappear. I’ll even give you a seventy-two-hour head start. Do what you can with the brotherhood using the tools you have at your disposal. Then I’m coming for you. And I’m gonna hit you so hard that you’ll wish you’d never been born. Now, I’m getting out of this van. So if you’re gonna shoot me, you’d better make it quick.”

  Doyle breathed a sigh of relief as his superior marched away in a huff. He knew what he’d done had finished his career, and that he’d have to face the consequences of his actions at a later date. But for now he at least had the freedom to finish what he’d started.

  Now all he needed was an army.

  And he knew just where he might find one.

  Chapter 62

  “Sorry, man, I don’t know of any underground black markets that deal in jewellery. I’m all about pyrotechnics,” Ciggy said to Hampton in the Brighton Penitentiary visitors’ lounge.

  Hampton knew he’d wasted a trip. “Are you sure? There’s no names of any past or present associates that come to mind?”

  “Look, man, as I said, I don’t know nothing about jewellery. I’m just keeping my head down as it is in here. I don’t wanna end up like Papa Bear and Lemon. You feel me?”

  “I understand. And don’t worry, I’m doing everything I can to get you outta here. But please understand, these things take time.”

  Ciggy got up without another word and headed back to his cell. He felt completely alone. He hated hearing that Hampton was working on getting him out. Time stood still inside.

  An hour or so later, Hampton arrived back in Milton City. He walked into his office and plonked down in his chair. No sooner had he done that than his office phone rang. “Hampton,” he answered.

  It was the commissioner. “Would you kindly join us upstairs for a moment?”

  “Us?” Hampton replied, confused.

  The commissioner clicked off.

  Hampton nervously walked into the boardroom to find Commissioner Marshall along with Assistant Commissioner of Investigations Mike Chambers and Assistant Commissioner of International and National Security Richard Tims. A tornado of anxiety blasted through Hampton as he saw their grim faces—the same faces who’d grilled Ryan about the true nature of Blaze’s whereabouts before heading to New York.

  Mike Chambers began. “Detective Hampton. I heard you caused quite the ruckus at Government House yesterday. May I ask as to the nature of your visit?”

  “I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?” He looked for a sign from Commissioner Marshall. He gave him a blank stare and the slightest shake of his head.

  “Please answer the question,” Chambers pressed him.

  “All right: I was on a public tour with my lady-friend, Elizabeth.”

  “And she would be willing to back up your story?”

  “What story? I paid my entry fee and enjoyed a positively riveting history lesson.”

  “Can you tell me what you were doing on the fourth floor before you collapsed?”

  “I was looking for a bathroom. I’m sure you gentlemen would agree that at our age, the bladder doesn’t hold t
hings in as well as it used to.” He chuckled.

  Richard Tims didn’t seem impressed. He held up a piece of paper with the words: NO ENTRY written in large bold letters. “Can you read these words, detective?”

  “Sure I can.”

  “You see, that’s interesting, because there was a sign, much larger in dimensions than this, hanging on the wall in the stairwell to prevent people wandering up to the fourth floor inside Government House. And yet, somehow you didn’t see it?”

  “I was only up there a few moments.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” His voice wavered.

  Chambers took over. He pressed the “Play” button on the small laptop screen sitting on the desk. It was footage taken from the fourth floor on the day of Hampton’s tour.

  Hampton’s face burned red with embarrassment as he viewed the footage.

  “What were you doing in the surveillance room?” Chambers asked.

  “I—er–”

  “How did you obtain the pin code to get inside?”

  “I—er–”

  “Are you aware that it’s considered an act of terrorism to steal government property?”

  “I didn’t steal anything.”

  “Then what were you doing in there?”

  “I sent him,” the commissioner intervened.

  Both Chambers and Tims sharply homed in their laser-beam-eyes on the commissioner. “You did what?” Chambers asked.

  “He was completing a task I had assigned him. I need you both to trust that it was necessary.”

  “I trust no one when it comes to national security,” Tims replied curtly. “What was the nature of this so-called task?”

  “It concerns the bombing of Sheffield Primary School, two murders in Brighton Penitentiary, and a black market dealer known as the Jackal. We think there might have been some footage of his profile on one of the surveillance cameras in Government House while stealing the footage of the murders in Brighton Penitentiary. But it was to no avail. The footage was useless.”