Last Call
Samantha Gordon
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Samantha Gordon – All rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter One
The man with the gun told Hannah to lift her skirt.
She resented that. The criminal would see her legs and Rich, the man who hadn’t asked her out, was too distracted to pay attention. He seemed intent on getting them both killed. She hesitated.
The man gestured with the barrel of the gun. “Let’s see what’s underneath, babe.” His voice was amused.
Hannah raised her tight skirt half way up her legs. She looked down at her legs then up at the man.
He shook his head. “Come on, babe. Let me see something. Higher.”
Hannah looked at Rich, and her heart froze. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the man and leaning forward. Hannah did two things at once. She jerked her skirt all the way up, and told Rich, “No.”
The man swiveled his gun toward Rich and said, “Don’t even think about it, sport.” He paused until Rich stopped moving, and then gestured to Hannah to turn around.
He studied Hannah’s body as she stepped around in a circle. His eyes filled with mean hunger. Without looking away from Hannah, he said, “Sport, I’m not going to touch her. I got orders, and I got something better waiting for me so don’t get yourself killed over something that’s not going to happen.” He shook his head. “Damn, I’d like to though. Damn, I’d like to.”
Rich took a step. The man pointed the gun between Rich’s green eyes and clicked off the safety.
“Rich,” Hannah pleaded. “Don’t do anything. You can’t stop him. He’s got a gun.”
Rich hadn’t taken his eyes off the man. “That’s his problem.”
That surprised the man. “Having a gun is a problem, sport?”
“Yeah, it is. Listen. Just listen.” Rich paused for a moment. “The windows are open. The shop is in the middle of twenty offices full of people. You pull the trigger; a hundred people will hear the shot.”
“You won’t hear anything. You’ll be dead.”
“I don’t care. I won’t let you hurt Hannah.”
The man with the gun was patient. “Listen sport, I won't miss. And what's to stop me from killing you, throwing the broad over my shoulder and taking off before anyone can call the cops?”
“Listen to him, Rich.”
He looked at her. His eyes were dreadfully committed. “I won't let him hurt you.”
“I won't hurt her, sport. I got orders not to. Now, sit on the chair.”
Hannah pushed Rich, gently, toward the straight wooden chair. “It's alright. We can both get out of this alive.”
Rich sat in the chair, stiffly.
The man with the gun threw a rope to Hannah. “Tie his legs to the chair. Tight.”
Hannah knelt down and started to tie each ankle to the leg of the chair. She touched Rich's leg. It was stone hard, every muscle clenched, and ready to get him killed.
She finished both legs and stood up.
“OK, babe. Lift the skirt again and squat down on his lap.”
Hannah raised her skirt to the top of her legs and walked toward Rich until her legs were on either side of him. She sat down, facing him. Her skirt stayed up and rose further when she scooted closer to Rich. His legs were still made of iron. She felt like she was sitting on two logs.
Rich was built tall and stocky. Hannah admired his hard forearms and broad chest and his nice brown eyes. She could tell he was leading up to asking her out. He rarely talked, especially to the women in the shop.
Hannah had been a ballet dancer until she grew too tall and developed too many curves. She moved with the effortless control that dancers have. She saw that Rich watched her more often when she wore a skirt or a soft, cotton dress so that was all she wore to work.
Rich Haskell and Hannah were closing the small fabric store when the man stepped into the shop with a gun, a need for cash and a misplaced sense of humor. He got the money out of the cash register then turned the gun toward Rich. He told him to get the wooden chair from the office behind him, put it in the middle of the floor and sit on it. Rich opened the door to the office where he worked as the bookkeeper and had a momentary urge to pick up the chair and smash it down on the man’s head.
The man was back to being amused. He saw Rich’s shoulders tense. “I wouldn’t. Not unless you can travel more than 500 miles an hour. That’s how fast my bullet goes.”
Rich had picked up the chair and walked slowly back into the room. Now, he sat on the hard wooden chair and glowered at the man with the gun and felt Hannah sitting on his lap.
The man tapped his pistol against Rich’s head. “Put your arms around the girl, sport. Get real close.”
Hannah's nose and Rich's nose were an inch apart. Rich held his hands away from Hannah's side, not touching her.
The man with the gun used the rope to tie Rich's hands together. He moved in back of Rich. He told Hannah, “Put your arms around his neck.” He tied her hands. “Put your feet on the back of the chair.”
Hannah had to squirm against Rich to get her feet all the way around. She saw him blush and turn his face away.
The man tied her feet to the rung in back of the wooden chair. They heard noises at the entrance and turned to see who it was. The man outside held a phone in his ear. It looked like he was calling the police.
The man said, “Lucky bastards” and walked away and out the door.
Chapter Two
About thirty minutes later, a dark blue sedan pulled up behind the fire trucks, ambulance and police cars. It was another Sunday morning rollout for William Murphy. He was the new rookie assigned to work with detective Sally Thompson. Buffalo Grove was a suburb of Chicago. It was a nice suburb with mostly middle class and working families; far enough from the city to be quiet but large enough to have a life of its own. The population had been fluctuating since the recession, but normally hovered around three hundred thousand. The area had its share of problems with drugs, theft, and a few gangs, but murders were few, assaults were down, and generally people felt safe at nighttime. In fact, life had been kind of dull for Sally, and honestly she really didn't mind. With thirty years combined experience, she had enough of the drama, and enjoyed the times that people chose to behave themselves.
William came out to the end of the drive to meet them. "Hey, rookie," said Sally. "What brings you out on a Sunday morning?"
"Ah, I was coming in to see the boys anyway," William smiled, "Thought I would avoid the desk and paperwork waiting for me a little longer."
“I thought I made it clear when I said I didn’t need a partner. They had to send me a rookie,” Her voice was sarcastic as always.
William nodded and sipped from his coffee cup. He had stayed up all night and was not enjoying his early morning wake-up. He ha
d only gone to bed four hours ago, for crying out loud. Stupid Netflix marathons. Sally closed her eyes tightly as they entered the store.
Hannah and Rich were still tied to the chair. They scanned the place before they untied them.
“Can you tell us what happened?” William asked. Sally’s eyes widened and she stared fixedly at William. She was the one to do the talking and not him. William nodded sadly and avoided any more questioning. She cleared her throat and Hannah started narrating the incident as William untied them.
“Are you alright?” Sally looked at them both, her voice dripping with concern.
“I’m doing okay,” Hannah said as William finished drawing the sketch of the man in question. Sally handed Hannah her card.
****
"Hey, look. I live at 8642 Cherry Bloom Rd in Buffalo Grove. It's my neighbor. I think something is wrong?"
"What's wrong with your neighbor, sir?" the 911 Operator asked.
"I don't know. I'm just worried. I went out to get the paper, right? And I can hear his car running. But the garage door is closed. I banged on the door and no one answered. And he didn’t pick up his phone when I called."
"Ok, sir, the fire department and police have been dispatched to your location. They will be there in just a few minutes. Is the garage door still closed?"
"Yes, yes it is. And I hear the car running. Oh God! Please, I know something is wrong."
"Sir, listen to me, OK," the operator was well trained and she knew how to maintain a kind but firm voice. "Do not go near the garage door, OK? Stay in your yard. Do you understand? Help is on the way."
"Yes, yes…" the neighbor stammered, "It's just I know something is wrong. Please tell them to hurry. Please."
“As I said before, we have dispatched police officers to your location sir,” the operator said.
****
What... Again? Seal the place and I’ll be there ASAP,” Sally snapped her cell phone and rubbed the sweat drops from her forehead. She took a deep breath “William! Start the car and pull it around; we’re going to Cherry Bloom Rd.”
With siren blaring, the police car arrived at the scene. Sally met up with her team and walked to the scene.
"So basically, it looks cut and dry," said the Chief and they started walking towards the garage. Two paramedics sat on the back of their ambulance bumper, and a couple of patrolman directed traffic and kept it moving around the emergency vehicles. A few nosy neighbors were standing out on their patios, and a couple more were keeping an eye on the commotion while pretending to walk their dogs. This was a lot of excitement for 7am on Sunday morning in this community. Something was up, and people wanted to know if any of the wild ideas and guesses running through their heads were true.
"Neighbor called 911 about 0615. He was an early riser, I guess, and went out to get the paper. About halfway up his driveway, he realized he heard a car running, looked around, doesn't see anyone and figured out it was coming from his neighbor's garage. He banged and yelled on the garage door and front door. No answer. Ran back to his house and called the neighbor ...a…" he pulled out an old black pocket book, "Leo Harris, thirtyish, again no answer. Panicked and called 911. My boys got here, accessed the garage, and sure enough, car running, and garden hose running from exhaust to cracked window. Guy had been sitting there for hours. Doc is still on his way, but we weren't even close. It was obvious. Very little touched considering."
"Ok, well," said Sally covering her boots with the crime scene paper and putting on gloves, "Sounds textbook."
William got his gloves on too as Sally gave him the eye, he ignored her this time and the chief waited while they walked into the garage. Even with it being kind of obvious, protocol always came first, and the fewer people that tracked around a scene the better.
Inside the garage was a charcoal grey mercury cougar. The car looked to be a few years old, but in good condition. The garage was neat and had shelves for everything, and it seemed like everything had its own place. William noticed a triathlon bike in the corner, and pointed it out to Sally.
"Yeah, there's some barbells over there too in the corner. Looks like he liked to stay in shape."
"I thought exercise was supposed to make you happier," grumbled William chugging more coffee.
Sally laughed at her grumpy rookie. Even if he got nine hours sleep, she could tell that he was still a cynic. They just started working together and never considered him her partner. They were not the best of friends. No lines had been crossed yet. There was no temptation. She was his boss, if anything else; they were grumpy older brother and naïve, going to save the world, little sister.
They split around the car and William went to the driver side. He peered in and saw a rather good-looking but very deceased thirtyish white male, just like the chief had said. He was sitting in the passenger seat and it looked like he had just sat there and gone to sleep. Longest nap ever thought William bitterly. He hated suicide. He hated having to tell families and loved ones that their son or husband or daughter or whomever was gone. The implication being that somehow they had failed or had not been enough. Suicide tore families apart, and the ones that caused it never saw the pieces left behind that had to somehow be cleaned up and put back together again.
Sally peered in from the passenger side. She looked at the victim, but then down at the passenger seat. There sat a teddy bear. The bear was a medium sized stuffed toy, dark brown fluffy hair, and a blue bow around its neck. With a sudden realization of complete panic she yelled to the chief, "Did you check the trunk?"
"All clear, Sally." And he gave her a thumbs up. She dropped her head and took a deep breath.
"You good?" said William. Ever since the last miscarriage four months ago, Sally had been jumpier when calls involved kids. He knew she'd be all right, even though she hadn’t told him about it. He was good at doing research. Some things just take time.
"Yeah, I'm good. This bear meant something to him."
William nodded. Zero years of experience in the police force were telling him the story in his head. Divorced dad, screwed up somehow and lost his wife, lost living with his kid, they probably moved away, maybe he even lost his job and that was it. Dad has had enough, and life just isn't worth it anymore. He looked at the well-dressed young man and then noticed the dash. Sitting on the dash, perfectly centered, was a three by five index card. On the card in terrible scrawled handwriting was "I am sorry. I deserve this." He pointed it out to Sally.
"Ok. Well. We got the note and the bear. Obviously, there's a sad story coming. Let's see if we can find out more about him."
William and Sally walked out of the garage taking off their gloves. Crime scene would come and photograph everything and collect evidence. Then the medical examiner would come out and collect the body. Everything suggested suicide. They just needed to find out the "who?" and the "why?"
Chapter Three
Sally stood in the bathroom of her office, water dripping from her face as she stared into the oval mirror hanging above the sink. Even with the AC blasting throughout the entire building, she needed something to cool her down and clear her mind. She was one of the few detectives in the precinct with her own bathroom. It got even better. Her office was larger than any of the apartments she had lived in throughout police academy.
This is what she told herself whenever she regretted moving to Chicago all the way from New Jersey. She’d moved for a guy—the biggest mistake of her life. He’d swept her off her feet with his tall, blond good looks and sweet words, but the relationship had been wrong for so many reasons. First, she’d broken her rule about dating a military man. She knew better. Sally had dedicated her life protecting civilians, so she understood better than most what Zackary had been dealing with…and how much baggage he fought on a daily basis. She knew how unstable vets with PTSD could be. Not only had she broken her biggest rule, but her second rule had been shattered too: she’d moved across the country for Zack. And of course—of course!—things didn’t work out du
e to his ongoing issues and need for space. He bailed when she needed him most, when he was supposed to be committed to their future.
Enough of that. She dried her face and glanced down at her watch: 2:22 p.m. She had eight minutes until Petty Officer William knocked on her door. That promptness was one thing she appreciated about her rookies. Regardless of rank, they would be on time, exactly on time. Sally knew that at 2:30 p.m. on the dot she would hear William talking to Mendoza, and then would come the soft knock on the wood of her door frame. Even when the petty officer found the door open, he would knock before entering. He would be holding his hat in his hand, and his uniform would be perfectly free of wrinkles. He was a young man, this William. Like many enlisted men in the police force.
She gave her face a final pat and carefully folded the towel before hanging it up. Her bathroom smelled of citrus and coconut, a mix of the hand soap and the tropical air freshener plugged into the outlet. Even with a private office, this was her private escape where she could recharge and calm her nerves. The citrus reminded her of home, although she wasn’t sure she’d ever go back. Her family was long gone. But the smell calmed her, and she could relax here and cool off from the muggy humidity.
Her long dark hair was starting to slide downward from its anchoring clip, so she shook it all free, re-braided it, and clipped it back up. Okay, honestly, if she let her thick, long hair down around the men, she saw them staring, fantasizing. Things could get complicated quickly with these men, so she wanted to keep everything as straightforward as possible while focusing on their issues and concerns.
She took a long breath and exhaled, preparing herself for the coming emotional strain. A pang of sharpness hit her temple as a headache began. She knew what was happening but didn’t want to admit it.
Like clockwork, the soft knock struck the wooden frame of her office doorway. She checked her reflection again, this time to ensure she looked presentable, then opened the door from her bathroom and stepped into the office.
Last Call Page 1