I handed Helen the phone through the passenger side window. The conversation was short with a couple of uh-huh’s before she handed the phone back. I could see a relief in Helen’s face but it wouldn’t last long.
“Where to?”
“What part of town are you in?”
“Albina, do you know it?”
“Yes, let’s meet at the Multnomah County Library in Grant Park off Tillamook St. I’m at the Lloyd Center right now. It’ll take me maybe a half hour to get there.”
“We’ll be there.”
The Avenger cranked up and we started in that direction. Helen was still crying occasionally but for the most part she sat quietly. I told her I was taking her to a nice lady that would reunite her with her family. By now, Helen would be able to provide police with at least some description of Walter and my Avenger. This good deed might cost me my freedom but with some luck it wouldn’t be before I paid Pidd a visit.
We arrived before Sasins and backed into the first slot in the rear parking area. Helen was getting anxious and I wasn’t doing much better. I was concerned for her health after having been in Pidd’s custody. Whatever she had gone through, I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t need to. There was nothing further I could help her with and it didn’t change what I was planning.
I didn’t know what type car I would be looking for or for that matter what Sasins really looked like. Her photo accompanied her articles, but it could have been taken twenty years ago.
After a long ten minutes, a silver Lexus pulled up directly to my Avenger. There was something oddly familiar about this car, I couldn’t put my finger on it; my thoughts were focused on getting rid of Helen. A fortyish-looking redhead stepped out. Her newspaper photo did her a disservice. She was beautiful and generously constructed.
“Scythian?”
Without answering, I stepped from my Avenger taking Helen by the hand and assisted her across the bucket seats and out the driver’s door.
“This is Helen,” I said.
Anna immediately took Helen by the hand pulling her into an embrace as if they were mother and daughter.
“I’ll give you the address, Anna, but I want you to write it on something of yours.”
I read off the address as she copied it onto a steno pad.
“Thank you, Anna. I need to hurry. Pidd will be off work soon and I intend to finish what I’ve started. I need some time, a couple hours at least and I need you to buy it for me.”
Anna assisted Helen into the Lexus, fastened the seatbelt for her and shut the door. “How do you want me to present this to the authorities, Scythian?”
“You don’t know anything other than I called your number from the newspaper. To your knowledge it was a random selection. Take her to the hospital. When police arrive give them the address, but wait as long as you can before giving it to them. When they get to Pidd’s house, they’ll find everthing taken care of.”
I waited for Anna to drive from the lot before hitting the Avenger’s ignition. Sasins had seen my car and maybe took note of my license plate number; I needed to swap them out with another set of phony plates. My plan was simple, go to Pidd’s home, set the ambush and get out of Dodge before the cops arrive. Shoot, kill, and be gone. Nothing could be simpler.
It was a frustrating drive through congested traffic back to the target site. I could feel the strange mixture of anxiety and anticipation, nervousness, and excitement. I liked it.
Finally, behind the abandoned church again, I pulled up to the edge of Pidd’s backyard. I sat quietly for a moment checking my watch and looking at the back door. Something was amiss. I was trying to recall if I shut the door or left it ajar. I questioned myself but it was an exercise in futility, I couldn’t remember. The only thing that was clear was leaving with Helen.
I was choosing a few items from my bug-out bag needed to complete the project when the back door burst open. Pidd rushed frantically from the house toward a vehicle canopy in his driveway. I ran to the corner of the house; I knew at that distance I could make the shot if an opportunity existed. I peeked around the corner just in time to get a glimpse of Pidd’s Pinto backing from the driveway. I ran back to my car, hit the ignition, dropped it in gear and fishtailed onto the street. It was a couple blocks before I had good visual on his car. The chase was on, only Pidd didn’t know we were playing cat and mouse.
I followed at a distance as we headed south. I was comfortable behind him: it was not likely he would expect me to be there or that I existed. He drove erratically, zipping in and out of lanes but rarely passing any vehicles.
I had no doubt he was making a run for it. His flight was briefly interrupted when he pulled into his place of employment. I found a good place to observe the door Pidd had disappeared through. I knew he would not be long, he left the Pinto engine running. Fewer than five minutes passed before he reappeared with what looked like a large white bag used for “take out” family dinners. Back on the road we continued south. I didn’t know where he was going and I doubted he had friends. Nevertheless we were on our way someplace as fast as his car would roll. Obviously, it wasn’t very fast; it was a Pinto.
Deadheading south on the I-5 Corridor led straight into Mexico. It was a long haul I preferred not to make. If Mexico was his destination we would need gas, food and maybe even a catnap along the way. Best-case scenario for me would be to have him pull off the main drag onto a quiet and remote little side road to rest his eyes for a while. I would make it a long while.
If he made it to the Mexifornia border there was a 99 percent chance he’d cross without getting caught. Even if they were notified with a BOLO, Cali is lax, too lax. You would have to be stupid to get caught. A good reason I needed to get him before he got stopped at the border.
We traveled for hours reaching the Oregon–California border late in the evening. I would have preferred to take care of this project in Oregon. Killing across a state line guaranteed the FBI would be involved, something I didn’t need.
On the south side of Redding, Pidd pulled off the road into an economy motel parking lot. A few minutes after our arrival, he reentered his Ford and moved it to the end of one of the two-story complexes.
I continued to watch from my car while Pidd settled into his room. As the night wore on the realization set in, he was snug and comfortable in his motel room; TV, shower—which I doubted he would use—and bed, while I sat crunched up behind the steering wheel with nothing to do besides watch and wait.
It was after midnight and activity around the motel had slowed considerably—nothing had moved in the last half hour. The parking area was well lit; any attempt to sabotage his car was out of the question. The room access was likewise well lit; there might be little time to force entry without creating noise and being seen. Adjacent motel rooms on either side of his were occupied as well. On the back side of the building was a small sliding-glass window that appeared to be positioned in the bathroom; much too small to gain access through. As I weighed the options, it was beginning to look dismal to finish up here. He was a lucky man for now but the cat-and-mouse game was still in play.
My eyelids grew heavy and from time to time would shut for a minute or two, maybe longer. The pulse of my heart was slowing and I could hear the quietness of the night humming in my inner ears. All bad signs I was losing the battle to stay awake
It was midmorning before Pidd ventured out of his hole and loaded his car with what few belongings he had brought into his motel unit. He refueled at a large gas station providing me an opportunity to do the same. Pidd pulled out of the gas station and headed south on Interstate 5 again. I was close behind.
A few hours later we pulled into Sacramento. I figured he had probably devoured the bag of sweets he had bought at the gas station and now it was time for a full-course meal. We passed through an older neighborhood to a small dimly lit tavern. It was a shabby place on the outside with visible plywood patches on the exterior siding. The name was partially illuminated, making it difficu
lt to read, “El Diablo Club.” The parking lot was full of cheap, older-model cars; it looked like a busy place. Why was he here? He drove directly to this sleazy watering hole; my guess was, it was not his first time here. Pidd must have a connection, someone who could help him out of his predicament. The possibilities were endless.
I was amazed at the lack of people coming and going with the number of cars in the lot. Something wasn’t right. Darkness was setting in. We had gotten such a late start out of Redding I had to believe this was Pidd’s intended destination, at least for this day. More than an hour passed before he reappeared on the front porch landing. He was deeply engaged in conversation with a Hispanic male. Both men talked and pointed in the direction of the Pinto, followed by circling gestures with their hands. Pidd and his Latino buddy shook hands as they separated. Stew made a beeline for his car while the other man walked around behind the tavern. Moments later the Pinto was inching along behind El Diablo with its headlights off. I wasn’t worried about following him; it was obvious he was hiding his car from view, not sneaking away.
Fatigue was setting in; a good leg stretch was called for. Using a hedgerow I was able to stay concealed as I looked over the area behind the bar. A one-story house adjoined the old dilapidated bar along with a few more cars and a bus parked in what used to be a yard.
Hippie flophouses were all too common throughout the 1960s and ‘70s in California. The communal-living free-love generation had moved on but the flophouses remained with a new clientele. Transients and illegal aliens now dominated the old flophouse scene. I could see people, mostly young Latino males, strewn about on old couches and bench car seats near the front of the house. A fat English doughboy like Pidd didn’t fit in here. The only thing he might have in common was a felony record. He was a man on the lam; a liability, not an asset, and it was impossible for him to blend into his new ethnic environment.
Pidd unloaded the suitcase from his car and followed the cantina attendant through the front door of the house. The negatives became apparent. I would have to wade past a small army of witnesses to get my target. I could undoubtedly yell, “Police raid” and all those fine folks would scramble like cockroaches but Pidd might run as well. My luck, he’d have a heart attack and die of natural causes. That was too good for him.
I could see Stew through a bedroom window. Without drapes in the way it was an easy shot from the hedge but the muzzle blast in the dark of night would still be visible even muted by the flash suppressor. A longer shot would have to wait for daylight.
While I was busy chasing doughboy around, news headlines were starting to break. The radio carried a ghastly commentary on the recovery of Helen. A not-so-factual report seasoned by the lack of police comment made for a tasteless superficial newscast. What it did tell me was that Anna had successfully delivered Helen to the authorities. With that I was pleased.
My concerns were mounting. What kind of chain reaction had this calamity set in motion? Could Sasins be trusted with what she knew or would she reveal what she knew to one of her inside sources? Had Aloha police alerted the task force? Why should they, they were looking for Stewart Pidd, child molester, not me. Detective Ware was old-school and cunning in his own right. He had intuition and used it like a crystal ball. He would put two and two together and be involved as soon as he heard of Pidd’s death. With the kidnapping in one district and the sexual assault in another, it could work in my favor. With prosecutors and police agencies from different districts, trying to work together, it would be a time-consuming process. Time I planned to use to make this kill and get away.
I moved my car out of the parking area and onto the street just off the lot with a partial view of the back. With one eye open, I cat-napped through the night, getting as much rest as was possible in the front seat of my Avenger.
Early in the morning I caught a glimpse of Pidd climbing on board the rickety old bus with about a dozen Hispanic males. I followed the cantina crew down back alleys and side streets across Sacramento to a deserted-looking warehouse complex. The bus parked with its door emptying out to the complex’s entrance. I set up visual on the opposite side of the roadway behind an old concrete bridge abutment. As much as I would have liked to have had the bus doors open in my direction, it would have to do for now.
About ten o’clock Pidd and others were milling around the entrance to the largest facility in the complex. My target was a pasty white blimp standing next to these dark-brown smaller figures. If I had to make a long shot with my AR, it would be easy to distinguish which one to shoot.
As noon approached I retrieved my rifle from the trunk and put finishing touches on its assembly. I decided the long shot was the best idea. As I anticipated, Pidd and others walked out of the building and outside the gated entrance of the facility. They boarded the bus and took seats, but no driver. I scanned the windows with my scope but the sun’s reflection made it impossible to pick out my target. As the break finished I could see people moving at the doorway of the bus.
With bipod fixed and sights leveled I waited to squeeze the trigger. Pidd filled the doorway above the steps leading off the bus for only a second when my weapon fired. Shurrp! My sights held firm on the doorway as the first round blasted through the driver’s side window, Pidd went down. People were crouching, others made a run for the warehouse; the target was nowhere in sight. I could see heads bobbing and weaving trying to find a safe way to see what was happening. I waited but I couldn’t wait long.
Sweeping my scope left to right and back left again, I could not see Pidd. I was guessing he had taken the blunt of the bullet. I never like to leave a person with only one hole in them; they might live and defeat the whole purpose of shooting them in the first place. In this case, I might just have to hope he would bleed out. My thoughts shifted to bugging out before all the sirens and lights rolled in. I pulled my AR down and began the disassembly before slipping over to the Avenger. I glanced up as I pulled the bipod off in time to see my target running from the bus toward the gated entrance. I’d missed him completely. I pulled my AR back up but too late to make a shot. Pidd had momentarily escaped.
The direction he ran was away from his newfound friends, rounding the nearest corner of the warehouse and almost totally concealed by the bus. Quickly I tossed the AR into the trunk and strapped up my .40-caliber. I drove forward in his direction trying not to draw attention to my vehicle. Skirting the outside of the fenced area I could see the fence line end as did the parking lot. Pidd was still moving toward the back of the warehouse trying doors as he went. As of yet, no sirens were wailing in the distance.
Parking the Avenger at the end of the corner parking lot I sprinted across an arid clearing toward the facility. I crossed over the fence on a mashed down corner and proceeded toward the rear of the warehouse. Multiple outbuildings stretched across the rear of the compound; Pidd had, no doubt, made it into one of these. I opened the first storage shed, it was pitch black inside other than the light I was now shedding with a partially open door. It was clear immediately he had not chosen this first building, it was jammed full of wood pallets. One by one I entered these windowless wood structures in search of my prey. Opening the door to the fourth building a kaleidoscope of images appeared before me. They were the faces of many looking for revenge. They may not have been Pidd’s victims, past or future but violated souls of the living dead and I their weapon. The outside light now announced my presence and the sound of heavy breathing somewhere down the narrow corridor made me acutely aware the search for Pidd’s whereabouts had come to an end.
The wood floor creaked about every other step as I moved slowly down the darkened corridor. The entrance door had closed to a fraction of an inch allowing only a sliver of light to penetrate the darkness behind me. I kept an eye open for movement but my eyes had not adjusted to the darkness. I continued to advance in the direction of the labored breathing. Whap! Pain surged through my skull from being struck in the head with something. My equilibrium spun in circles a
s I crashed backwards into the hallway wall. Before I could gain my balance Pidd rammed into me loosening the Glock from my grip and collapsing me to the floor under him. I could hear my weapon bouncing off the wood floor but was unable to see it in the dark; Pidd scrambled to reach it. Our hands banged into each other as we wildly searched. My adversary crawled forward partially freeing me from underneath him as he tried to locate the gun. I reached for my Buck knife. He continued forward allowing me to thrust the six-inch blade into his lower back. He wailed like a banshee.
He was still frantically searching for my Glock when I pulled myself from underneath him. Reaching forward I found his greasy hair and yanked it backwards. “Ah, ah, ah, yaaah,” he cried out. My knife plunged into the side of his neck. Where I hit I didn’t care. His body went rigid. I thrust the knife repeatedly into his throat; blood spurted with every heartbeat. I could feel his warm blood soaking my hand. Pidd gurgled; no longer able to form words. His movement slowed, finally ceasing; silence followed.
My heart continued to pound and I shook from the adrenaline rush. It was different from anything I had experienced before. I located my Glock and kept it close to my side like a security blanket. Pulling my thoughts back together an inescapable fact occurred to me—the forensic evidence was spread out all along this crime scene. It was time for a barbecue.
These storage sheds were all wood construction. What I needed was a way to ignite it. This unit contained packing material and I was never without my Zippo. It was going to be a scorcher! I glanced back to see the boxes in flames as I made my way toward the light of day.
Once outside I began working my way back to the Avenger. I couldn’t help speculating as to why the cops had not shown up yet. I don’t know what was going on in the warehouse but whatever it was kept the others from calling the police. As I pulled out on the commercial drive, I noticed the bus was gone and the front gate closed. Odd, yes, but the world Pidd had brought me to, was a criminal world, one that I was beginning to understand and hate.
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