“Ah, that would mean the magna cum laude thug who befriends you from time to time.”
“Thug?”
“You must admit he has dubious associates and habits.”
“So do I. We’ve been known to cavort from time to time.”
“No doubt, but hardly the same league, my dear.”
“He’s trained, smart, quick on his feet….”
“And lethal.”
“It could be useful. Better them than me.”
“What would your father think?”
“’Always protect your backside,’ he would tell me.”
“It’s good to have someone you can trust.”
“None better than Rosey.”
“Or more dangerous.”
13
After Walters and I had finished our lunch at the café down by the ocean, he agreed to take Sam on his afternoon jaunt while I made some calls.
One of the calls was to the law firm of Fielder, Young, Lawson, & Associates in D.C. where Roosevelt Washington headed up their Washington Consulting company. It was one of those mysterious internal companies that did no-telling-what for the law firm. Rosey simply said it was mostly investigations. Like I believe that.
Estelle Stevens, the long time receptionist of Washington Consulting, answered my call.
“Washington Consulting. How may I direct your call?”
“Roosevelt Washington, please.”
“Clancy Evans. How are you, girl?”
“I’m good, Estelle. Hope the same for you.”
“Struggling against the grain. Uphill all the way, girl. You know how it is.”
“Some days. Rosey around?”
“Mr. Washington is around but very busy. May I have him call you?” The tone of her voice changed immediately. She became the consummate receptionist.
“Estelle, this is a life and death call. I need to have you interrupt him, if you would.”
“You always have a life and death situation, honey. Don’t you ever have normal stuff happenin’?” Estelle, the person once more, was speaking to me. Cute how she flipped flopped.
“Not often.”
“Okay, let me buzz him and see what he says.” This was another usual answer from her side of the phone. Rosey, to his credit, always answered my calls. Friends.
“Clancy, love. Nice of you to call. Social or business?” Rosey said. It was good to hear his baritone voice once more.
“Alas, business.”
“Muscle or mind?”
“Both. I need all of you this time.”
“Life and death?”
“Heading that way.”
“Local or long distance?”
“Just outside the District,” I said.
“That would be … ah… Virginia?”
“Nailed it. For the moment, come to Norfolk.”
“When?”
“As soon as you can get here.”
“I’ll use the Jag and be there late afternoon. Sufficient?”
“You’re the best.”
“Agreed. What else?”
“I’ll fill you in when you arrive. Do bring some fire power.”
“Could I have some names to play around with before I depart?”
“Michael Barnok and Guns Gilroy.”
“Must be up and coming. No bells are ringing.”
“None should. Your radar is set too high. Not much experience, these two. One of them for sure.”
“I’ll run the names and see what comes. Your apartment?”
“I’ll bake a cake.”
“I doubt that. Dinner’s on me,” Rosey said.
We were sitting in a corner of Louie’s Fine Italian Food a little after 5:30. Rosey had convinced me that dining out with Italian cuisine was the best option considering all things. Walters had some obligations, called them, and left just after 5. He did agree to return and check in on Sam while Rosey and I discussed the next move. He and Sam were buddies.
“Okay, here is what I found searching Barnok and Gilroy. First, Barnok is more like an intern with Gilroy than anything else. Maybe a First Lieutenant learning the ropes, so to speak.”
“First rate flunky, if you ask me. Slow on the uptake.”
“I’ll take your word. Gilroy is the dangerous one. It is interesting that he’s the one who approached your car and left the flunky to be the shooter. That’s probably why you are still alive. All sources say that Gilroy can shoot.”
“Lucky for me that Gilroy is no strategist. I live again to fight another day.”
“Thanks to some incompetence.”
“I’ll take what comes.”
“You usually do.”
We dined on spicy Chicken Parmesan and Ravioli stuffed with zucchini and spinach, aided by an excellent year-old Verdicchio from Northern Italy. Our tradition was usually to split the choices so that we both could enjoy a type of sampler. The Italian bread was to die for.
“I think we should pay a visit to the shooters’ apartment and see what happens,” I said while enjoying my second glass of wine.
“Your vision not tainted by all that alcohol?”
“Not enough to miss the target. Always deadly accurate.”
“If need be.”
“If need be. Prisoners first. Corpses if all else fails.”
“Should we not call in some local law?”
“They shot at me first. I have yet to raise my arms against them. I’ll give them a second chance to be nice.”
“And if their contract does not include that nicety clause?”
“They could be filled with regret.”
“Among other things.”
14
It was dusk when we parked two blocks from the apartment of our shooters. Rosey decided to take the front entrance while I came through the back. They knew me by sight so Rosey offered to be the face of our approach, allowing me to be the shadowy side.
The plan was to catch them off guard and gain information. Chiefly the info we needed was the name of their employer. My brief sniffing around in Clancyville had obviously shaken someone, but since I had learned nothing improper about any of the deaths as yet, I was puzzled.
What is it they think I know? Or maybe … what is it they think I might learn if I continue digging?
Rosey had the apartment number from his search of the DMV records. My post was the back entrance of the building which also afforded me an excellent view of the fire escapes along the right side of the apartment. A well-placed tree allowed me to lean in comfort while I waited to see if any action came my way.
Rosey headed into the front door of the apartment building. He was to be the new landlord since our shooters had never seen him. I went around to the back in case our two quasi-professionals didn’t buy Rosey’s charm and tried to leave the back way.
When I turned the corner at the back door, an old woman with a rusty shopping cart was digging through the dumpster located about seventy-five yards from the entrance. She seemed to have found some discarded treasure but was having trouble freeing it from the confines of the trash. I figured I had a few seconds to aid her cause, so I offered some assistance.
“Get away from here.” Miss Grumpy.
“I can help you get that out.”
“Don’t need no help.”
I backed away and watched her pull and tug in vain. It appeared to be some type of dirty, brown garment with which she was doing battle.
I looked at the back door. Nothing was happening.
I turned back to see if the old woman had made any progress on her retrieval. She had a cinder block now and was standing on it so she could gain some leverage with the unwilling garment. It appeared to be a coat.
Nothing at the back door.
“I’ll help you, if you let me,” I said trying to sound pleasant. It was awkward.
“Stay away from me.”
“Look, I don’t want the coat. I would just like to help you.”
“Why?” She stopped tugging and turned towa
rds me. She was still standing on the cinder block. Before I could answer, she moved her line of sight from me to something behind me. I turned to see Gilroy coming out of the back entrance of the apartment building.
“Stop!” I yelled at him as I drew the gun from my back holster.
He froze. The rifle was in his right hand hanging by his side. Our eyes engaged. I knew exactly what he was going to do next.
“Don’t do it, Guns. Drop your weapon!”
His movement was swift and purposeful. It was a no-win situation for him. As soon as the rifle barrel started to move upward, I fired three rounds dead center into his chest. I never saw him fall. I remember only darkness after I saw the rounds hit the target. And pain.
I woke up to find Rosey sitting by the bed. It took me a few moments to realize that I was in a hospital room somewhere.
“Norfolk Medical Center?” I said.
“Good guess.”
I felt my throbbing head. It was bandaged.
“Flesh wound?”
“Concussion.”
“What hit me?”
“Not sure, but we think it was a cinder block.”
“Ouch.”
“Precisely.”
“And Guns Gilroy?”
“Got away, I guess.”
“Impossible. I put three rounds dead center into him.”
“Yours was the only body lying around when I got there.”
“What about the homeless lady with the shopping cart?”
“Never saw her. What was she doing?”
“Trying to get an old coat out of the dumpster without success.”
“No such manifestation. I’ll look into it.”
“Maybe she took Gilroy.”
“If she couldn’t retrieve a coat from the dumpster, how do you think she could pick up dead weight and put it in her shopping cart?”
“Point taken.”
“And what would a homeless person do with a dead body?”
“Strip it?”
“Perhaps, but maybe do it without lifting the body.”
“My head hurts.”
“It should. They put twelve stitches into your thick skull.”
“Only twelve?”
“It was small split, but noticeable with all the blood on the cement.”
“Sounds gory.”
“Nasty business you’re in, you know.”
“And painful.”
“Since you’re feeling so chipper, I’ll go back to the apartment and check out the dumpster. The police will come by later and ask you many questions.”
“You called them?”
“Not me. I was upstairs with Barnok when I heard your shots. The patrolman also heard your shots when he just happened to be driving by the building.”
“My luck.”
“Yeah. He was trying to awaken you when I came out the back door.”
“The policeman who happened by?”
“That would be the one.”
“They didn’t arrest you?”
“Credentials. Who you know sort of thing.”
“And my gun?”
“Nowhere to be found.”
“Who’s coming by?”
“Some fellow named Anderson, Detective Anderson, I think he said to me.”
“Oh joy.”
“Know him?”
“Too well. Transferred to Norfolk a few years ago from St. Louis. Been a cop for three decades, I think. No one you want to mess with too often.”
“Have a lovely conversation. I’ll be back with news as soon as I can find some.”
“Don’t leave me here too long. Oh, where is Barnok?”
“The police have him. I lodged a complaint and apparently he did not have a permit to be carrying a weapon. They also found a rifle in the apartment, so they’re holding him for a while.”
“Think we can question him?”
“Maybe if you’re nice to Detective Anderson.”
“I’m in too much pain to be nice.”
15
“What went wrong?”
“She called in help. Some guy named Roosevelt Washington.”
“And he is…?”
“Works for some law firm in Washington. I couldn’t get a line on his function, but apparently he is smart and mean.”
“So where are the two idiots you hired?”
“One is dead. The police have the other one.”
“Dead?”
“Clancy shot him before our operative was able to help.”
“And the body?”
“Our operative has taken care of that. If the police ever find the body, they won’t be able to connect the dots.”
“They’ll know who he is and match him to Clancy’s story, or did you not think of that?”
“It’ll take weeks to do that. She’ll be dead by then.”
“You are sure of this because…?”
“Our operative is the best.”
“If this … operative … is so good, why didn’t you hire this operative first?”
“Busy in another city. Came as quickly as possible.”
“Apparently not soon enough.”
“Disposed of one body. Barnok is just a loose end that will be gone soon enough.”
“I want Clancy gone. Is that clear enough for you?”
“She’s in the hospital in Norfolk. Head injury. Our operative was almost able to take her out permanently. Except for coincidences.”
“There are no such things as coincidences. Remember that. Everything happens for a reason.”
“Yes, sir. I guess that means it was meant to be that the two gunmen I hired were not supposed to get the job done.”
“No, it does not mean that. What it means is that because you hired two inferiors who mishandled the situation, we now have to wait longer to finish our task here in Clancyville. Your incompetence with choosing the right people to take care of this is the reason it failed. That’s what it means.”
“My apologies. I thought –”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a sign of weakness. And you don’t think. I will think and plan. You simply carry out what I tell you to do. And do it better than you have thus far. Clear enough?”
“Yessir.”
“This operative you hired, where is she from?”
“Los Angeles. I was told that they call her—”
“I don’t need a name,” he held his hand up to stop her from talking.
“Well, it’s not really a name. It’s what she’s called…referred to, I guess.”
“And what is that?”
“Diamond.”
“Diamond… hmmm … She had better be as valuable as her name. Results, I want results.”
“I’m told she’s one of the best.”
“We’ll see.”
16
My head was hurting too much for me to sleep. The afternoon sun was blasting into my room and I was occupied with staring at the reflection bouncing off of the silver bars on my hospital bed when there was an intrusive knock on the door. It didn’t sound friendly.
“Come in,” I groaned out the words. I hated headaches.
“You decent?”
“Close enough.”
Detective George Anderson came into my room with minimal enthusiasm. He was short and stocky, built like a Sumo wrestler but without the neat hairdo. His clothes always looked like he dressed in a hurry without benefit of a mirror. They all matched, if you could say that gray and white matched. His disposition fitted his attire.
“So whose business are you poking your noise into this time, Evans?”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Detective Anderson. How’s life in the trenches?”
“So where’s the dead body?”
“How should I know? I blacked out after I fired three rounds.”
“Three? How do you know?”
“Because I can remember firing three shots.”
“No evidence of that.”
“Okay, then I didn’t fire my wea
pon three times and I killed no one. Is that better for you?”
“A little. I don’t have to follow up your cock and bull that way.”
“You’re a real trip, George. You know that?”
“I have my moments.”
“Many of them. So why is it you think I am making all of this up?”
“Damned if I know, Evans. You tell me.”
“Two guys were trying to shoot me. I went to their apartment to discuss it with them, and one of them ran out the back door of the building, pointed his rifle at me when I called for him to stop, and that’s when I shot him three times. I blacked out and woke up here in this bed. That’s all of the story I know at present. When I learn something else, I’ll pass it along.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Pick your verb.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“You don’t believe me, so why should I help you?”
“I’m the police here, Clancy. I can jerk your license and you’ll be out of work.”
“I told you I would let you know what I find out. In the meantime, I have given you all the information I have. You have Barnok. Run the numbers on him.”
“We did. Except for a lapsed permit on the gun he was carrying, he’s clean.”
“Except that he tried to kill me.”
“Not very good at his work, is he?”
“Not yet. Can you hold him until I get out of here?”
“No reason to. We’re cutting him loose …,” he looked at his cheap watch, “… right about now.”
“Can you loan me a gun?”
“Yeah, right. Like I would ever do that.”
“You’re so swell.”
Anderson opened the hospital door and walked out without closing it behind him. What a guy.
“Thanks for dropping by. We should do this more often.”
He waved with his right hand without looking back. Joe Casual. My enemies were circling. With Barnok released from custody and my gun missing, I felt exposed. The hospital gown didn’t help either.
The Peace Haven Murders Page 5