Shock and Awe

by Hervey Copeland

  He stepped through the arch and abruptly stopped. Unlike the living room floor which was carpeted, the hallway had a wooden floor. He let out an inaudible sigh and bit down on his lip. Then he took a step backward, bent down and quickly removed his shoes. There was no point in alerting the target that he was on his way.

  He placed the polished, leather shoes up against the wall and stepped through the arch for the second time. The weight of his body pressed down hard on the floor, and he could just about notice that there was a slight give in it, but luckily it didn’t creak.

  He walked slowly toward the door at the end of the corridor. It had to be where the master bedroom was located. He let the hand holding the gun gently fall forward until the barrel with the ghastly looking silencer was facing straight ahead. Then he began focusing on the task at hand. He would open the door as silently as possible, walk over to the bed and shoot whoever was lying there in the head. Then he would check the other rooms and repeat the process if necessary. El Juez never left any witnesses behind, at least not when he was operating on this side of the border.

  The door kept getting bigger, and then he was finally there. He placed his left hand, which was fitted snugly inside a thin leather glove, on the doorknob. He waited for a few seconds and then he began turning it. It moved effortlessly, and it did so without making a sound. When he couldn’t turn it any further, he walked right up to the door and started pushing it forward.

  But unlike the laundry door where the hinges hadn’t made a single sound, the hinges on this one did, and El Juez automatically tensed. His plan of sneaking soundlessly up on his target had been compromised. The noise was loud enough to wake up a light sleeper, and El Juez knew he had to act fast. He threw the door open, moved forward as fast as he could, while holding the gun steady in front of him. It took him a fraction of a second to locate the bed, and slightly longer to establish that no one was sleeping in it.

  He cursed to himself under his breath and wasted no time in ensuring that the room was empty. Once that was done, he rushed over to the first door to his left in the corridor and quickly pushed it open. As he rushed inside, he noticed that the hinges on this door too let out a loud, mournful squeak. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered whether this had been done deliberately to warn the owner of any potential intruders. Intruders such as himself.

  There was no bed in there, just an open unfurnished space. El Juez threw himself around and ran over to the third door, which was directly opposite the one he had just gone through, and discovered that this room too was empty.

  El Juez didn’t miss a beat and quickly made his way over to the last door in the corridor and threw it open. It was a combined bathroom and toilet, and like all the other rooms he had entered in the last ten seconds this one too was void of any humans.

  He cursed again, and this time he was able to hear his own words. Then he walked back into the living room and opened the door leading into the garage. He found the light switch after feeling around with his hand for a second or so, and saw it was empty except for five cardboard boxes placed in the middle of the floor.

  He turned off the lights, closed the door and sat down on the old couch and placed the gun next to him. Why wasn’t the target here? It had been well past midnight when the guy had been released from police custody, and given the late hour, it wasn’t inconceivable that he’d called a friend to come and pick him up. And if he had, then it wouldn’t be all that strange if the guy had opted to spend the night there and decided to drive back home the next morning. Detective Ryan had filled him in on all the details. About how the target had been paid a hundred grand to carry out the job, and that he had intended to leave town.

  The cardboard boxes in the garage had to contain his personal belongings. And if that was the case, then it was very likely that he would return. Why leave all your personal stuff behind? It wasn’t like the guy knew that El Juez was waiting for him here.

  It also meant that the best strategy for the time being was to sit tight and wait for the target to show up. All El Juez had to do was to sit here on the couch, wait for the entrance or garage door to open up, finish his assignment and be on his way.

  He leaned back in the couch and rested his head against the wall. Then he closed his eyes and thought to himself that he probably wouldn’t return to Mexico before lunch. At least he wouldn’t have to chase after his target. The target would come to him.

  He opened his eyes again, stood up and walked over to the kitchen where he found a drinking glass in one of the cupboards and poured himself some water from the tap. Then he returned to the couch and began waiting.

  Michael Hicks had spent the previous evening and parts of last night doing research on the individual mentioned in the email he’d received the previous day, Matt Brunner. It had been almost two o’clock when he’d finally placed his head on the pillow in his bed in the tiny apartment in Scottsdale and closed his eyes. But even so, he had still managed to get up again at six. And after having sipped on a cup of coffee and forced a dry piece of toast down his throat, he had jumped back in his car and returned to his cubicle in the paper.

  And that’s where he was sitting now, going over the info he had managed to glean from the various online sources he had visited. It had been challenging, as there hadn’t been any social media accounts set up in the subject’s name. Michael interpreted this to mean that the guy didn’t have a wide circle of friends.

  But even so, he had managed to get hold of the basics, where the guy was born, where he had gone to school, his military service record and pretty much his entire work history. The subject was a qualified electrician, but had for the last seven years worked solely as a karate instructor in southern Texas and Phoenix.

  He had made a list of the various dojos the subject had taught at, along with the contact information of the owners, whom he intended to talk to later today, to get a sense of what type of a person Brunner was.

  His military record had been the easiest thing to get hold of. The guy was a veteran, who had served with the Marines in the Second Gulf War. Upon completing basic recruit camp, he had been shipped to Fort Myers in Tennessee where he had completed sniper school. And thus, he was more than capable of carrying out the hit, just as the email had suggested. And judging by all the information Michael had managed to unearth so far, the guy was definitely a person of interest.

  “So, what have you found out?” a voice behind him said.

  Michael looked up from the pieces of paper he was holding in his hand and turned around, and saw his boss resting his forearms on top of the thin partition wall that made up his little cubicle. He was wearing the same white shirt as yesterday, sleeves rolled up halfway and the glasses with the thick black plastic frames pushed up high on his forehead. There was an expectant look on his face, and it was clear that he wasn’t asking just to be polite.

  Michael turned the chair around so he was facing him.

  “Well, I have found out the basic stuff,” he said, and casually flicked his head toward the documents on his desk. “As far as I can tell, the background information in the email checks out. The guy’s a veteran and former sniper with the Marines, which means he has the skills required to carry out the job.”

  Peter nodded, lifted his hand up and started tapping his fingers gently on the back of his neck.

  “I rang one of my contacts at the station before I left home this morning, and he told me that they brought the guy in for questioning last night.”

  “They did? Do they think he’s the killer?”

  Peter lowered his hand and placed it on top of the arm resting on the partition wall.

  “They do, but they had to let him go due to insufficient evidence. But they’re working on that. My contact is convinced that it’s only a matter of time before they’ll re-arrest him and charge him with the murder.”

  “So he’s denying everything then, I take it?”

  “He sure is,” Peter said, and gave his young employee a
tired nod. “It seems to be the strategy he has chosen.” Then he cocked his head and pulled at his earlobe, and looked at Michael for a couple of seconds before he started talking again.

  “Have you heard back from the guy who sent you the email?”

  “No, nor do I think I will. He has obviously achieved what he wanted to achieve, and given that the cartels are bound to get involved, I don’t think he’s too keen on drawing attention to himself. I know I certainly wouldn’t.”

  Peter twisted his lower lip and exhaled slowly.

  “I guess you right,” he said. “But let me know if he does. Establishing a dialogue with him and trying to figure out why he has implicated this guy would be extremely helpful. We could even persuade him to do an interview with us. But for the time being, let’s focus on the things that we can actually pull off. We need to get pictures of the suspect for the evening edition, and if we can, a comment or two. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Michael felt a dose of adrenaline enter his system, and he swiftly got out of his chair.

  “You bet. I’ll head over there straight away. I should have it done within an hour or so, that is unless he wants to sit down and do a proper interview. But somehow I don’t think that is going to happen.”

  “Good,” Peter said and straightened up. “Come and see me when you’re done. We need to get everything wrapped up before ten thirty so we don’t miss the deadline.”

  It didn’t feel like Matt had been sleeping at all when he woke up. The events of the previous evening had kept him awake for most of the night. And despite his lawyer’s assurances that the police would be unable to charge him based on the evidence at their disposal, he was worried sick.

  He turned his head and looked over at the clock radio on the nightstand next to him, and saw he had managed to get four hours of sleep. He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. It certainly didn’t feel like it, he was just as tired as he’d been before drifting off to sleep last night.

  And unfortunately for him, waking up from his slumber had not put an end to the nightmare that he had managed to get himself involved in. The things that had kept him awake for the majority of the night weren’t the result of vivid dreams. They had actually happened, and the problems which they had caused, and which they would continue to cause in the foreseeable future, would not go away.

  Matt turned over onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling, thinking that the situation couldn’t get much worse than this. For Christ’s sake, the victim had been a high ranking member of the Meridional Cartel. It was the stuff that true nightmares were made of. Somewhere out there, some people in powerful positions would want to find out why Matt had decided to end the victim’s life. And when they came looking for him, what could he say?

  He still wasn’t able to wrap his head around it. The guy had been a frickin drug lord, a kingpin of one of the most violent criminal organizations in the world. And the problem was that it didn’t matter that he was innocent, and that he had absolutely nothing to do with the murder. If the cartel believed that he had done it, or that he was partially to blame, they would make mincemeat out of him, quite literally without batting an eyelid.

  He thought about what his lawyer had told him as they had said their goodbyes last night outside the station; ‘Lay low for the next couple of months, Matt, because if they find out that the police suspect that you’re responsible, they’ll come after you with all they’ve got.’

  Matt put a hand over his eyes and felt a headache starting to form in the back of his skull. He lay absolutely still and focused solely on his breathing, and tried to push aside the sinister thoughts that had kept him company since last night, but found it was easier said than done. The thoughts kept bombarding his brain with unrelenting force.

  After a couple of minutes, he realized that the thoughts wouldn’t go away, nor would he be able to get anymore sleep. So he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and wished that the ground would just open up and swallow him. It would definitely be a more benign destiny that ending up in the hands of the cartel.

  He knew he would have to take his lawyer’s advice and keep a low profile. That was priority number one. He would have to get the hell out of Phoenix and go somewhere where the cartel wouldn’t be able to find him, although he didn’t exactly know where that might be.

  The only thing that worked in his favor for the time being was the money that had somehow ended up in his bank account. The bank had confirmed that it hadn’t ended up there by accident, and thus technically it was his, and he could do with it as he pleased. He could withdraw a few more thousand, then leave his account alone after that and only pay cash. That would make it impossible for them to follow his digital trail.

  He got up and walked over to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Then he leaned his head on the glass and gazed down at the street twenty one stories below. The cars and trucks crisscrossing the wide roads that separated the tall skyscrapers seemed like little toys that were being pulled along by invisible strings.

  Maybe someone down there knew the answers to all the questions that were buzzing around inside his head. Perhaps they could inform him why he had been singled out, because the more he thought about it, the more he realized that someone wanted to create trouble for him. The kind of trouble that could see him share the same fate as the person that the police suspected he had sent to an early grave.

  Matt sighed and lifted his gaze and was able to see the freeway in the distance. Even though it was still early, it had started to fill up with cars heading into the city. Give it another hour and it will have come to an almost complete standstill, he thought.

  And soon, if everything went according to plan, he too would be on that freeway with his back turned toward the city, never to return. At least not for a couple of years, or until this mess had been sorted out. And in a strange way, he was ok with that. There wasn’t really anything holding him here. It wouldn’t be a problem for him to settle down in New York, Dallas, LA or Seattle, or any other big city for that matter. He didn’t have to live in Phoenix. And apart from James, he didn’t really have any friends here.

  I’ll be getting out of Dodge like some kind of modern day outlaw, fleeing town before the authorities change their mind and members from the cartel decide to put a bullet in my skull. He pressed his eyes shut and felt the headache start to become more pronounced.

  He stepped away from the window, got dressed and left the room. He hadn’t brought any luggage with him, so there was nothing for him to pack. It was just him and the clothes on his back.

  After he dropped his room key off at the reception, he made a beeline for the little gift shop next to the elevators, where he bought a bottle of water and some headache tablets. He squeezed three out of the blister pack and washed them down with a couple of mouthfuls from the bottle, hoping that they would stop the throbbing. Then he walked over to the automatic sliding doors and stepped into the hot morning sun that was shining down from a cloudless sky.

  The first thing he had to do was to fetch his car, which detective Morrell had assured him was still parked where the police had pulled him over last night. After that was sorted out, he would go back home and get the cardboard boxes from the garage and throw them in the car. Then he could kiss this town goodbye.

  He finished the rest of the water and threw the empty bottle in a rubbish bin where a handful of hotel guests were puffing away on their cigarettes.

  When he arrived at the taxi stand, he told the driver in the car at the head of the line to take him to Alhambra.

  8

  El Juez had been debating with himself whether he should open the door or not when someone knocked on it just after seven. He had been leaned back on the couch, and had quickly snatched the gun from the cushion next to him and stood up. The first thought that had entered his mind, other than the obvious fact that someone was at the door, was that it couldn’t be the target, as he would have had a key for the door. Nor did it
make any sense for the target to knock. He would just have opened the door and stepped inside. Thus it had to be either someone who knew the target, a delivery person or the police.

  El Juez had quickly made his way over to the bedroom at the front of the house, where he had pushed two of the horizontal blinds apart and peeked outside. But he had been unable to see who it was.

  Then there had been a second knock, and by now he had figured out that it wasn’t the police. There were no police cars parked out on the street. Nor could he see any delivery vans, which led him to suspect that it had to be an acquaintance or family member of the target.

  Another fifteen seconds passed, and instead of seeing the mysterious visitor saunter back down the driveway again, El Juez could see a man walk past the bedroom window and continue toward the corner of the house. A normal person would probably have jumped or winced in surprise, but El Juez was completely calm. He was even able to get a good look at the person, despite only seeing him for a couple of seconds.

  A few moments later, he heard the wooden gate being pushed open, and he realized that the mysterious person was on his way into the backyard.

  He let go of the blinds, turned around and hurried out into the corridor again. From there, he headed straight for the living room and the sliding door leading onto the patio. The curtains were still drawn, and the person out there would not be able to look inside the house. Subsequently he would not be able to see El Juez standing there with a loaded gun in his hand, less than a few feet away.

  The Mexican stood absolutely still and thought he could hear faint footsteps approaching. Who the hell are you, he thought, and why are you lurking around the target’s house at this time of the day?

  By this stage he had already decided what to do next, and ever so carefully he pushed the curtain away from the door and glanced outside. But still he couldn’t see the guy, so he continued waiting. Then after a few more seconds had passed, he could see the guy walk past the patio doors. And as had been the case a few moments earlier when he had seen the guy through the blinds in the bedroom window, the guy had absolutely no idea that El Juez was inside the house, ready to pounce on him.