Hair of the Dog

by Gordon Carroll

  None of this here made much sense to old Ziggy. No, sir it did not. The balance of power had shifted so strongly to one side that it just didn’t seem possible.

  The stairways were much darker now that the sun had disappeared behind the giant buildings of the city proper, and these welfare structures were nowhere near tall enough to reach the fading rays of racing light. By the third floor, Ziggy took notice of the lack of people in the hallways. Stairways like this always had passed-out junkies or bums or groups of dangerous teens looking to hit up anyone they could for a few bucks, food stamps, or EBT cards. But there was no one.

  In the old days, Ziggy’s radar would having been pinging at full strength and he would have hightailed it out fast as he could, but those days were long gone and his fine-tuned antenna had been blunted by decades of drugs and age itself. So instead of seeing the trap for exactly what it was, he passed it off to the time of day and the differences between the old and new, forgetting his guiding principle that people never really changed.

  Ziggy knocked on the door, thinking he should probably have waited in the stairwell long enough to shoot up one last time before going to her room, but he let that go, deciding he’d share the last of his stash if he had to, figuring she would be able to hook him up with the right people to get more.

  The door opened right away and Ziggy’s eyes hardly stretched at all when he saw Clyde standing there in his suit and tie, almost as if Ziggy knew all along he would be there. But he couldn’t quite get his brain to put the pieces together like it used too. And then the mountain of a man grabbed him by the throat and dragged him into the room.

  Sarah made good time and grabbed up everything she could get from Jared Darling at Aurora PD. She raced to her lab and went instantly to work on the samples. Normally, DNA testing had an average turnaround time of about six months on major felonies. But Sarah was in charge of the lab and what was the old saying? It’s not what you know, but who you know. And Gil knew Sarah.

  In order to sequence DNA, there are four main steps; extraction, quantitation, amplification, and capillary electrophoresis. The first, extraction, is basically breaking open the nucleus of the cell and releasing the DNA molecules into solution. It’s also the step where DNA molecules are separated from other cellular material and debris, like say in this case, beer or Oreo cookies. Contaminants like this can be inhibitors in later steps, so it’s best to bleed them off at the beginning. Saves work later and Sarah was all about saving work and stopping bad results before they could get a foothold.

  Sarah submitted the two samples into the Maxwell 16 DNA Tissue Purification Kit, a breadbox-sized piece of equipment that cost about four hundred bucks and saved up to three hours from the older, manual, Phenol-Chloroform Organic Extraction method.

  Now came the waiting. She hated this part, but dissolving agents had to have time to do their stuff. Once it was done, she would move on to the quantitation step, basically assuring that the matter you were testing was human rather than from something else, like bacteria. It also assessed the quantity of DNA present in the submitted samples. Two different machines are used in this phase; the Quantifiler DNA Human Quantification Kit and the ABI PRISM 7500 Sequence Detection System.

  The setup alone took an hour for most people, but Sarah had it down to a cool twenty minutes. Unfortunately, another two hours of waiting were required to get the results. After that, she would move on to the amplification step, which is accomplished through the use of a technique known as Polymerase Chain Reaction or PCR. A process in which millions of copies of a specific sequence of DNA can be made in a matter of only a few hours. This would be essential here, due to the small amount of actual DNA material she had to work with.

  And then, last but not least, came Capillary Electrophoresis. Here, the mixture of amplified DNA molecules are separated in order to distinguish the various molecules from one another. DNA molecules carry a negative charge, and when an electric current is applied to the sample, the molecules enter a very thin capillary, filled with a gel-like polymer. They then migrate towards the positive anode at the other end of the capillary. The PCR products are separated by size, because the smaller DNA molecules have an easier time migrating through the polymer than larger DNA molecules. The information from this process is collected, and then using sophisticated computer software, a DNA profile is made. In other words, another forty or so minutes of twiddling her thumbs.

  But for Gil, she would wait forever.

  I parked three blocks away, which was a gamble since it meant that’s how far we would have to travel if flight became a necessity, which was very possible. I’d brought my Zeiss binoculars, two pair of night-vision goggles, three bullet-resistant vests, an SBR (short- barreled rifle), two ARs, five hand guns (with suppressors), two flash bangs (no suppressors for those bad boys), assorted knives, and bullets… lots of bullets. I’d also stopped at a local hardware store and picked up a few items we’d need along, with a backpack to stow it all in. Jerome wore the backpack.

  Before we left our motel, I made a last call to Ziggy. The call went straight to voicemail, like I’d expected, so I left a message telling him we found his note and that we’d meet him at the apartment at 2000 hrs. (8:00 pm).

  Being white in this part of town was a definite disadvantage to moving about unnoticed. If it had been winter, I could have gotten by wearing a full ski mask, but since the temp hovered at a mean ninety-two degrees, that wouldn’t cut it. The only thing saving me in this neighborhood, was having Bigfoot and the Werewolf acting as a deterrent. Even so, we had a group of five utes (ala Joe Pesci from My Cousin Vinny) approach us in a classic attack pattern. It was just dark enough for them to think they might have a chance, until Max forged ahead, sensing blood and liking it. He didn’t bark, but his tail was straight and his eyes locked in hard. All five stopped dead still, which gave them time to note the giant of a man standing next to me and the arsenal of guns strapped to us. They scattered pretty quick then.

  Jerome, for as slow as he could seem in most things, had an incredible mind for battle. He laid out a near perfect blueprint of the project building and surrounding areas. Now that we were close, I saw he’d been dead-on about every outlying aspect, which gave me confidence in his layout of the interior. This would be vital once the shooting started. We had no way of knowing how many there would be, or if they would be Bloods, mercenaries, Secret Service Agents or all three. Being an optimist, I figured all three.

  Scouting the perimeter, we marked two cars of Bloods on guard duty; one on the northwest side of the building, the other on the southeast. Between the two, they had the building locked down. Checking closer with the binoculars, I made out at least two guards at each entrance on the visible sides of the building. The cars were far enough down the blocks so as to be invisible to the guards inside the building. We decided to approach from the northwest. We would have to work quiet and fast. The one thing in our favor was the noise of the city that seemed to push in from every possible angle. Compared to Colorado, it sounded like a war zone, with echoing gunfire and sirens and yells and honking and crashes erupting every few seconds and often overlapping. The suppressors should help out here since what they were really capable of was more of a blunting of the exploding gasses rather than a silencing, like you see in the movies. Still, we were a block or so from the actual building, so the hope was that their lessened report would blend with the other killing going on in the gun-free zone of the city with America’s strictest gun laws.

  The plan for this phase was simple and it worked nicely.

  Jerome walked toward the guard car with Max by his side, like he was out for a stroll. Just a boy and his dog. While their attention was diverted on the giant with the pup, I snuck up from behind.

  The Blood from the passenger front seat opened his door and stepped out, maybe taking note of Jerome’s size or maybe sensing something not quite right. Either way, his hand slipped down the front of his pants and Max launched, catching him by the thr
oat and chin and taking him to the asphalt where his head hit with a loud crack. He didn’t get off a scream, let alone a shot. The two other Bloods, the driver and the one backseat passenger, both pulled out guns. Jerome took the driver out with two shots to the chest through the windshield and I put one round through the temple of the guy in the backseat, through the open rear window, as he was sighting in on Jerome. Blood sprayed back on me, freckling my cheek and forehead. I scanned the area around and behind me before wiping as much of it away as I could with a forearm. I called Max off and saw that he had destroyed the man’s throat. Blood pumped from the guy’s carotid in spraying arcs and the pool under his head didn’t leave much chance for him making it without immediate medical attention. And this wasn’t the time for that. We grabbed hold of his body and shoved him in the car with the other two, then ran for the cover of the building next to the one where we hoped Ziggy was waiting as bait. Once there, we did another scan, but no one seemed to have noticed the commotion. The area was strangely devoid of people. In fact, other than the guard cars, we hadn’t seen anyone since the five by my SUV. The word of the trap must have gotten out. That was both good and bad. Good in decreasing the chances for collateral damage, bad in the fact that we would stand out as targets.

  Jerome said the woman was on the eighth floor… eight out of ten… that was a lot of floors. Too many floors to make it unnoticed. But of course, we had a plan.

  38

  Clyde threw the skinny little man across the room. Ziggy smashed against a dresser and bounced into an old tattered love seat that sat in the middle of the room.

  “Sit,” said the Secret Service Agent. Two other SS Agents stood in the room, their faces straight and hard.

  Ziggy righted himself and sat in the chair. Rockeeta and her pimp sat across from him on a sunken, broken-looking couch that rested against a wall. She smoked a cigarette, a little smile curving her still attractive lips.

  “You should have let me give you that freebie, old man.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Ziggy says it sure do look that way.”

  “How many of you are there?” asked Clyde. His voice was even and calm. Almost gentle. That scared Ziggy a little.

  “Ziggy says it’s just him, that he surely do.”

  Clyde cocked his head, like a dog hearing something far off. He pulled out a black semiautomatic pistol with a silencer and shot Rockeeta’s husband-pimp through the forehead. The man’s head snapped back and forward and he fell to the side, leaning against Rockeeta who shoved him away. She started to scream and Clyde pointed the gun at her and she stopped, covering her mouth with her hands. The cigarette still poked between the index and middle finger of her left hand, sending tendrils of smoke toward the ceiling.

  “How many?” repeated Clyde, as if he were asking for directions to the corner store.

  Ziggy didn’t want to see Rockeeta’s brains on the wall, oh no that he did not want to see, so he nodded once and then spoke. “Ziggy says there’s me, a private investigator from Colorado and that girl you stoles, father.”

  “Where?”

  “Ziggy say we staying at The Chester Motel, down on…”

  “I know where it is,” said Clyde. “Why are you here?”

  “To get the little girl,” said Ziggy looking surprised.

  “Any other reason?”

  “What other reason would there be?” asked Ziggy, perplexed.

  Clyde shot Rockeeta through the upper nose. What came out the back of her head made Ziggy recoil.

  “Oh man,” said Ziggy. “You didn’t have no call to do that. Old Ziggy was telling you everything he done know. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Any other reason?” repeated the giant man.

  Ziggy just stared at him..

  Clyde held out his hand.

  “Phone.”

  “No, sir. Ziggy say he ain’t helping you no more. You gonna kill him anyhows, and you already killed the girl. So no, sir.”

  Clyde put his gun away. He retrieved the phone from Ziggy’s pocket. He tapped the screen once and it opened up. Ziggy had never been able to remember codes very well, so he had no lock on it. One message appeared. It was from Gil Masson. Clyde listened to the message and nodded to himself as he clicked it off. He dropped the phone onto Ziggy’s lap.

  Turning to the lead Blood’s member, an OG called Bad Blood, he said, “Zip tie him to the chair and gag him. You know what to do after that. They’ll be here by eight. Be ready.” Bad Blood nodded and started getting his boys in place.

  Clyde turned to his second in command. “Start setting up the C4”. He pointed to several spots around the room. “There, there and there. Also both stairwells. And put the heavy loads in the apartment directly below here.” Clyde thought for a moment and then smiled. “And a good chunk under our friend here’s chair. I want this whole room to drop down into the fire.” He looked the man in the eye. “No screw ups.”

  The man nodded and started setting things in motion.

  Clyde’s phone vibrated. “Go,” he said.

  “They here,” said the Blood on the other end.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. They done kilt three of our boys already. I seen it all from up here. I woulda warned ‘em, but you said to just keep quiet and watch and let you know if they showed up, so that’s what I did.”

  “How many?”

  “Three. A white boy, a brother near as big as you, and a big bad dog that done took out Shiny Grill all by his own self.”

  “You did good. Where are they now?”

  “They going into the building to the north. I can’t see them anymore.”

  “Stay put. I’ll call you when I’m ready. You have the gun?”

  “Yes, sir. I have the gun.”

  Clyde clicked off, allowing himself a smile. Everything was going according to plan.

  “I want all my men out of here in ten minutes. No exceptions. Only Bloods stay.” Clyde gave a last look to the bound, gagged old man and left the room.

  At twenty minutes to seven, we cautiously entered the building and made our way to the tenth floor via the elevator which amazingly worked. We located the roof access stairs and made our way up to the metal door, secured from the inside with a big padlock. I snapped the lock with a pair of small bolt cutters from the backpack. I sent Max through first to scout the rooftop and he padded silently along the perimeter until I gave him the down command. He downed and waited.

  Looking across, we had a clear view of the building next door. We took turns peaking over the five foot retaining wall that bracketed the roof, scanning for the best place to make entry.

  Night fully descended, leaving the area dark and humid and hot, with the Chicago evening sounds of misery and death echoing around us like some kind of vampire or zombie movie.

  No one showed on the roof next door, which meant I might not need the short commando rifle with the collapsible stock and scope I’d brought for just that reason. Still, better to have and not need than to need and not have. Noting where Jerome had seen the men and woman earlier, we pegged them for being on the eighth floor, about midpoint to the northwest end. We duck-walked to the farthest southern point and I took out the grappling hooks, ropes, carabiners, and harnesses.

  “What’s all that?” asked Jerome.

  I spoke as I worked, setting up the gear. “This is how we get across.”

  He looked from the building to the ropes to me and back to the other building, his usual blank expression stamped to his face. “No,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be easy.”

  “No,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s perfectly safe… well… as perfectly safe as swinging through the air, ten floors up, with guys who want to kill you, armed with lots of guns, can be safe.”

  I looked up at him, grinning.

  He didn’t grin back.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “
Do you want to save Keisha?”

  He stayed quiet long enough for me to finish rigging the equipment and harnesses.

  “Wait here,” I said. I pointed toward the target building. “Make sure they don’t shoot me.”

  Each building had a fifteen-foot sheet metal structure that housed the elevator gears and motors and pulleys and electrical stuff. I climbed to the top of ours, and using a battery-powered drill, attached the linkage for the ropes which would be connected by carabiners. I attached the mountain climbing ropes, both lines, hopped back down and waddled in a crouch back to Jerome.

  “I can’t do it,” he said. “I don’t like heights.”

  “I don’t either, but it’s the job and the job has got to be done, so… yes.” I held a harness for him to step into.

  Jerome looked at me, blank… but not completely blank now. I saw a twitch in his lower eye lids that I hadn’t seen before. Pretty tame for fear, but that’s what it was. Good to know he could feel fear, because I sure could. Jerome stepped into the harness and I hooked him up. I called Max over and strapped his K9 harness, which I always keep with me in the car, around him; making sure the Velcro straps were snug around his chest and under his legs. He would be riding with me, just like my days in the Corps when I’d parachute in, holding my dog.

  We walked back a good five feet and I pointed to where the rain squares were located on our wall at the bottom edge. There were five, evenly spaced the length of the barrier.

  “If you look across, you’ll see they’re in about the same location over there. You don’t have to hit right on, just get close then we can drag the hooks over till they’ll lock in.”

  I hooked the looped climbing rope through the carabiner, and rope attached to the top of the elevator shaft, and ran them through our harnesses.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” said Jerome.