by Joseph Lewis
“Can you get down on the floor?”
Rowell got out of bed and went to the side of the bed and was able to lie down awkwardly with his arm up against the bed frame. Albrecht got him a pillow and a blanket to wrap around him, and as he did so, told Kaupert what to do with his boy, Sean Jarvis, next door.
“Cory, stay wrapped up and on the floor. One of us will be back to get you. I promise.”
Rowell, who hadn’t said anything, nodded.
Albrecht met Kaupert outside the next rooms and signaled to Earl Coffey and Paul Gates to watch the guard’s doors. Then on a three count, Albrecht and Kaupert opened the next two rooms; the ones right next to the rooms where the guards were.
* * *
“How many guards?” Jamie asked quietly.
The fat man said nothing, so Jamie squatted down in front of the man and loosened the duct tape covering his mouth.
“I asked a question, and I want an answer.”
The fat man spit at Jamie who answered by slamming his gun into the side of his head and wiping his face off with his sleeve. Then he replaced the duct tape.
“Seven,” the boy said from the bed.
“Seven?” Jamie was shocked.
He and Pete had figured three or four. The boy didn’t answer or move. Jamie grimaced and then spoke into his collar.
“Pete, we have at least seven guards, probably all with weapons.”
“Christ! Nothing’s easy,” Pete answered. “Fitz . . . Skip, you copy?”
He received almost simultaneous answers to the affirmative.
“Jamie, we need to get in there and secure the kids,” Pete said.
“Working on it.”
Jamie turned to the brown-haired boy sitting on the bed.
“You’re Brett, right?’
“Who’s askin’?”
“I’m Jamie Graff, a policeman working with the FBI.”
“There’s a cop two doors down fucking Tim. Is he workin’ with the FBI too?”
Jamie opened his mouth to answer, but shut it without saying anything. The boy glared at Jamie daring him to say something.
“Look, you don’t have to trust me, but I want to get all of you home today, so I’m going to need your help.”
The boy continued glaring at Jamie. It was a silent standoff, Jamie hoping for the boy’s help, and the boy, not sure if he could trust Jamie.
“I’m Brett . . . McGovern,” the boy finally said. He pointed at the fat man groaning on the floor and said, “That fat piece of shit is Butch. Right now, he’s the only one awake. What time is it?”
Jamie looked at his watch and said, “About twenty to six.”
“We have about thirty . . . maybe forty-five minutes tops, and the others will wake up. The cop should be finished with Tim about the same time. We better hurry.”
Naked, he jumped off the bed, and stepped over to the fat man so that he knelt in front of him.
“Hey, Fuckhead,” he whispered. He grabbed the fat man by his ears, lifted his head up as far as the fat man’s neck would allow and slammed his face into the floor twice in rapid succession. “That should keep you quiet . . . Fuckhead!”
He stood and smiled at Jamie.
“Um, do you have anything you can wear?”
He shook his head.
“None of us do. They don’t want us to wear anything at night. We don’t get clean boxers until after we shower each morning. Problem is, we’re not in ‘em all that much.”
Jamie was disgusted, angry and sickened at the way the boys were treated, but frankly, he hadn’t known what to expect. It was more than horrible and more than a crime. It was beyond anything he had ever worked on or would ever want to work on.
Ever.
Nothing, absolutely nothing could take this memory away. He longed to hold his wife, Kelly, and to hold his son, Garrett. Once he had them in his arms, he vowed to himself right then and there he’d never let go.
“You okay?” Brett asked.
Jamie wiped his eyes and said, “We have to get my men into the building, and we have to get the rest of the kids safe.”
“Come on,” the boy said he went to the doorway.
He looked both ways and then sprinted quietly to the room with the windows. Jamie caught up with him, and together, searched for the control to the door on the street.
Not finding any, Jamie said, “Go back to your room and wait. I’ll go down and open the door.”
“No,” Brett said. “You stay here and protect the guys. I’ll open the door, but you’ll have to open it for us because they lock it from the inside.”
“Move quickly and silently,” Jamie said, not liking the plan at all. “You’ve got to be careful.”
Brett nodded, stuck his head out the doorway, looked both ways and then ran silently to the door, opening it and then shutting it quietly without making any noise.
“Pete, get to the door. Now!”
* * *
Albrecht and Kaupert went into their respective rooms and did the same thing with the second set of boys as they had done with the first set. Albrecht helped Greg Montgomery to the floor just as he had with Corey Rowell next door. Kaupert helped Mike Faustino in the last room. The four officers huddled quietly outside of Rowell’s room.
“We don’t use the key because it’ll tip them off,” Albrecht said.
“We’ll have to smash the door on the first try, or we’re toast,” Coffey said.
Albrecht was a bit smaller than Coffey who was broad, strong and compact. Kaupert was bigger than Gates, who was tall and slender. It would be Coffey on one door and Kaupert on the other. Albrecht teamed with Earl Coffey, while Kaupert teamed with Paul Gates.
“On my count,” Albrecht said.
They moved to their respective doors with Albrecht and Gates standing just off to the side, crouched, on first positive safety: gun safety off, with trigger finger on the side of the barrel. Albrecht nodded, one . . . two . . . and both men broke through their doors at the same time, splintering the doors as if they were made of plywood. Albrecht and Gates were on the guards before they had a chance to move out of bed. Handguns were in reach on the nightstands, but neither had a chance.
“FBI! On the floor, Asshole!” Gates said.
Albrecht echoed it in his room.
Both guards were on the floor, hands bound behind their back, feet bound together, duct tape over their mouth.
“Nathan, any problem with your two guards?”
There wasn’t a response right away, but then Gates said, “Only one guard here. We thought you had two in your room.”
Coffey and Albrecht looked at each other and then Albrecht said, “Guys, we’re missing a guard.”
* * *
The door opened, and Pete came in, followed by Skip Dahlke who had race-walked back up the alley, so he could enter the front door. Fitz, still in the guise of a street person, took his position in the alley opposite the metal garage door. Brett put his finger to his lips to keep them quiet and motioned to the two men to follow him. Pete reached out and gently held the boy’s shoulder.
“What’s your name?”
“Brett.”
He started back up the stairs, and the two men followed closely behind.
At the second floor landing, Brett stopped and put his finger to his mouth again, then whispered to Pete and Skip, “We think the guards sleep on this floor. We don’t have much time. They’ll be awake soon.”
He ran up the next flight and Brett motioned to Pete and said, “Tell the detective we’re here.”
Pete spoke into his collar, “Jamie, we’re here. Open up.”
The door cracked open, and the three of them slipped through.
“There’s a cop with one of the boys,” Jamie said. “Brett said there are at least seven guards.”
The three men looked at Brett and Pete asked, “You sure he’s a cop?”
“Positive,” Brett said.
Pete wanted to know how he knew, but he didn’t have to
ask because deep down, he knew the answer.
“What room is he in?” Pete asked.
Brett pointed to the fifth door on the left.
“You have a key?” Pete asked Jamie.
“Yeah . . . a master, I think.”
“I’ll go in and tell him Butch is giving him me on the house,” Brett suggested.
“No,” Pete said gently. “Let us handle him.”
“The guy’s a pig. He’ll want me.”
Pete, Jamie and Skip looked at each other, then back at Brett.
Jamie took hold of Brett’s shoulder and said, “Brett, listen . . .”
“I’ll be ok. I’ve done it before with this asshole.”
“Jesus!” Pete said.
“I don’t like it, Asshole!” Brett said through clenched teeth.
Pete shook his head.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly.
“Whatever,” Brett said. “Gimme the key,” he said holding out his hand to Jamie. “You be ready to move when I get in.”
Jamie didn’t like the decision but gave the key to Brett and followed him to the door, as did Pete. Skip stood behind Pete on the other side of the door. Jamie took Brett’s shoulder and bent low to whisper into his ear.
“What side is the bed on?”
Brett poked his thumb to the right.
“When you get in, move to the right as close as you can to the wall. I’ll come in on your left. My gun will be out and pointed with the safety off.” He paused and asked, “You know what that means?”
Brett nodded and said, “You better tell these two guys to watch the hall doors. It’s getting late.”
Pete nodded and motioned Skip to move back to the front entrance. Pete moved to the other end.
“Skip, stay against the wall and stay low.”
Brett waited until Pete and Jamie were in position, then he looked back at Jamie and nodded. He inserted the key and heard a voice on the other side.
“Hey . . . what the . . . it’s not time yet.”
Brett pushed open the door, entered and said, “Butch thought you might want me.”
Jamie heard the man say, “Oh, you! Okay!”
Brett moved to the foot of the bed, close to the wall, and just like that, Jamie rushed into the room and shoved his gun into the man’s neck.
“Get off the kid . . . now!”
The man didn’t move.
“I said, NOW!”
Jamie grabbed the man by the hair, pushing his gun further into the man’s face. The man climbed off, hunched low and moved to the floor.
“You know the drill . . . hands behind your head and lace your fingers.” Then he said, “Pete, need your help.”
Pete came on a run, gun out and ready.
“Keep your gun on him,” Jamie said.
When the man turned to look at Pete, Jamie slammed the butt of his gun into the side of the man’s head.
“Keep your eyes straight ahead, Fucker!”
Quickly, just as he had done with the fat man, he cuffed the cop’s hands and feet and duct taped his mouth shut while he Mirandized him.
Pete went through the cop’s clothes, taking the wallet out of the man’s pants and opened it to find the driver’s license. He shoved the gun into his belt at the small of his back and kicked the tazer, handcuffs, and nightstick to the side away from the man.
“Robert Manville . . . Cop,” Pete said with disgust.
Tim hadn’t moved off his stomach, but watched the two men suspiciously.
“Timmy, you’re bleeding,” Brett said.
He took a handful of moist wipes and began cleaning Tim off.
“That hurts!”
“Sorry, I’ll go softer,” Brett apologized.
Brett finished wiping Tim off, threw the wipes into the waste basket and then stepped over to the man on the floor and said, “You like the nightstick, don’t you, Fuck Head?”
The cop glared at him but made no sound.
“I’m going to come back, and we’ll see how much you like it.”
He stood, looked at Pete and said, “We have to get the rest of the guys safe before the guards wake up.”
“How do you want to do this?” Jamie asked Pete.
“Skip gets the kids; you and I watch the doors.”
“I’ll get the guys because they don’t know you. You two watch the doors. That other guy looks scared,” Brett said.
“We’re all nervous, Kid,” Jamie said. “Foolish not to be.”
“Do either of you have clothes or something to put on?” Pete asked.
Brett glared at him. “Well gees . . . I guess we forgot to put on our fuckin’ tuxedos!” Tears spilled out of his eyes. “You think I like runnin’ around like this? What do you think I’ve been doing for the last two years . . . Fuck Head!” The boy angrily wiped tears out of his eyes. “You think we like this?”
“Kid, I’m sorry. I just . . .” Pete apologized.
“Shut the fuck up, Asshole, and do your job. We wanna go home.”
“Brett, they’re trying to help,” Tim said softly, wiping some tears from his own eyes.
Ignoring the two officers, Brett asked, “Timmy, can you walk?”
Tim pushed himself off the bed and stiffly moved first one leg, then the other off the bed and stood, leaning with his hands on the nightstand. Brett stepped over and took one of Tim’s arms and laid it across his shoulder, holding around the waist to help him walk.
“Bring the key and follow me,” Brett said to the two officers. “But first, lock this asshole in. Make sure Butch is locked up too,” he said already moving out of the room and down the hall with Tim leaning on him.
“Put me in Ian’s room,” Tim said. “Get all the other guys except Johnny and the new kid, Stephen. Get them last.”
“You mean the other new kid, Mike.”
“No. You’ll need Stephen to get Mike. Mike won’t know you, but he’ll recognize Stephen. That way, he’ll go with you.”
* * *
“Ronnie, we’re missing a guard,” Albrecht said.
“I heard. You want me there or here?”
“There, but be ready.”
Moving low, away from the door, Albrecht moved to the window and peered out. He tried looking as far left and right as he could.
“Paul, stay low and get to the window. What do you see?”
Just as Albrecht had done, Gates moved to the window, moved the curtain, and that’s when a gun barked, and the window shattered.
* * *
Pete stood guard at the back door, while Jamie watched the front. Skip Dahlke went into the control room and videotaped everything he could. He found recording equipment and DVDs – dozens of them. He catalogued them, gave each of them a number and placed them into paper bags and then stored them in the black duffle bag he had brought along.
After he did all he could in the control room, he went back into Tim’s room and began collecting DNA traces from the filthy sheets and the soiled wipes from the garbage can, cataloguing them as he had done with the DVDs in the control room.
Brett ran from room to room waking the other boys and escorting them to Ian’s room where they would stay until they left the building. Some sat on the bed, while others sat leaning against the wall. They were confused and scared, but hopeful. The only two boys left were Johnny Vega and Mike Erickson. Brett went to Johnny’s room and woke him up gently.
“Johnny, we’re going home. You need to get up and come with me, but we have to be quiet, and you have to come now.”
Johnny raised himself up, tried to smile and began to cough. He was pale, sweaty and very weak. In fact, he looked worse than he had in the past few days. Unless they got him out today, Brett didn’t know if he’d make it.
“Johnny, we have to move . . . now! The guards will be up soon,” Brett said.
Johnny pushed himself up off the bed, and with Brett’s help, moved slowly down the hall to Ian’s room. When they reached the room, Brett lowered him to
a position next to Tim, who took him into his arms and held him. Johnny laid his head on Tim’s shoulder, and together, they wept. Brett took a look at him and Tim and at the other boys who stared back at him. A few were crying. All were scared.
“Guys, we’re going home.” But even as he said it, he didn’t know if he believed it. “Stephen, I need your help. Let’s get Mike.”
Stephen got up, and the two boys ran on tiptoes down to the end of the hallway. Pete saw them coming and met them before they got there.
“Is Mike in the last room,” he turned and pointed, “There?”
Brett nodded suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because I don’t think he’s alone.”
* * *
“Paul’s down . . . Paul’s down,” Nathan yelled. “Head shot!”
“Fuck!” Albrecht swore. “Ronnie, the shot came from one o’clock from my position. Circle from behind, from opposite the courtyard.”
“On my way,” Desotel said breathlessly.
Albrecht pulled out his cell and dialed up Chet in Chicago.
“Get the cavalry moving . . . now! Paul Gates was shot. Head wound. Don’t know his status.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but closed the cell and went back to the window. A shot broke glass and splintered the back wall behind him. The walls were thin, the doors cheap, and for all he knew, the bullet was still traveling.
“Ronnie, what’s your twenty?” Albrecht asked.
No answer, which meant that Desotel was close to the target, looking for the shooter. To help him out, Albrecht tossed the curtain near the window without getting up. Just like that, a shot rang out throwing the curtain up in the air and piercing the back wall.
“Drop it!” Albrecht heard Desotel shout.
Two shots rang out in rapid succession.
“Shit . . . I’m hit . . . I think I got him, but I’m hit,” Ronnie said.
“How bad?” Albrecht asked.
“I spun him, and he’s down . . . can’t see him . . . I’m down.”
“Ronnie, how bad?” Kaupert asked.
“Bleeding . . . hurts like a whore!”
Coffey moved to the window opposite Albrecht and peered out. No shots were fired.