by Brown, TW
As noon approached, there was still nothing to report from either location. Just maybe someone had caught on to their scheme. Was it possible that Sherman or Pennington discovered the fact that Sherman had been trailed? Dakota doubted it, but then why hadn’t anyone returned to either the Pennington home or the rental lot?
The next afternoon, hopes mounted and plunged in one fell swoop. A car pulled up in front of the lot. A man in a nice suit emerged from the car. Derrick arose from his position at a nearby bus stop and began to shuffle down the street to get a better look. The man peered into the window of the office then glanced at his watch. As Derrick got close enough to get a good look at the man’s face, a cab arrived at the lot. The mechanic stepped out carrying a briefcase. He paid the driver of the cab, and then went to greet the man in the suit.
Derrick moved close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. He listened as the mechanic apologized for being late for the arrival of the man in the suit. He ushered the man to the office, unlocked the door, and the two disappeared inside.
Derrick continued along the street waving Dakota off. Dakota watched as his partner ducked inside a small diner that sat kitty-corner to the Pennington lot. He eased back into his alley and continued to watch the office for any activity.
A few moments later, the mechanic exited and led the man in the suit to a black Range Rover. He opened the door for the man in the suit. The two shook hands, then the man climbed in and drove off. The mechanic waved as the man drove away, then returned to the office. Three more customers came and went during the remainder of the day. At around seven that night, a cab arrived. The mechanic exited the office. He checked the door to ensure it was locked and then left.
Inside the diner, Derrick sat at a table that provided an excellent view of everything. When he had entered, he quickly identified himself to the hostess behind the counter. He asked for the manager, and waited at the counter for the hostess to return.
The manager turned out to be the owner as well. He explained that he had recently retired from Boeing and purchased the place. He ran it with his wife, also recently retired from Boeing.
Derrick briefly explained that he needed a seat by the window. The man seemed eager to help, ushering Derrick to a booth at the end of the restaurant. In addition, he personally delivered a hot cup of coffee and a stack of roast beef sandwiches. Derrick reached for his wallet, but the man waved him away.
“That’s very kind of you, mister,” Derrick said.
“Anthony Munroe is the name, but folks just call me Mo,” he introduced himself.
“Pleased to meet you, name’s Derrick.”
“I don’t know who or what you’re lookin’ for, and I reckon it ain’t none of my business. I s’pose you’d tell me if ya wanted to, but anytime I can help an officer of the law...well then, that’s my civic duty. That’s the trouble nowadays. Everybody and their cousin wants to bitch, but nobody wants to do their part to help.”
Derrick thanked him and spent the rest of the day observing the Pennington lot from the comfort of that booth. That evening, after the mechanic had come again and just as quickly gone, Derrick got up to leave. Mo met him at the front desk with two large to-go boxes. Each one contained a homemade meatloaf dinner complete with baked potato, corn on the cob, and a dinner roll. He also produced two large thermoses full of coffee.
“I imagine your partner could use some hot coffee and a home-cooked meal,” Mo said with a smile.
“I’m sure he could.” Derrick returned the smile.
“Got to be better than the junk you fellas get from the vending machines,” Mo laughed.
Derrick once again thanked the man for his generous hospitality and left. He walked up the dimly lit street, carefully balancing the two boxes and the coffee. He spotted Dakota in his alley.
“How’s the weather been?” Derrick chuckled.
“About fifty degrees, and wetter than a duck’s ass. Thanks for asking!” Dakota retorted with just a hint of his normal playful sarcasm.
“So, what do you think?” Derrick eased down next to his partner.
“I think this stakeout is a strikeout.”
“When are you going to learn?” Derrick shook his head. “Patience, young buck.”
“So how long do we keep this up?” Dakota snapped. He was cold, wet, and hungry. He was certainly in no mood for Derrick’s lessons. “I mean, sometime soon we are gonna have to face up to it. Maybe we blew it.”
“You know what you need?” Derrick ignored his younger partner’s comments. “You need one of Mo Munroe’s hot meatloaf dinners.”
Dakota looked incredulously at his much drier partner. “You brought me dinner?” Dakota clasped his hands under his chin in his best impersonation of an excited child. “Oooh, well then, that changes everything. Let’s stay here forever!”
“Not only dinner, but hot coffee as well.” Derrick offered one of the thermoses to Dakota. He then handed one of the boxes containing dinner to his still less than appreciative partner. While Dakota devoured the meatloaf, Derrick explained his afternoon in the diner to his partner.
“You slime ball!” Dakota growled through a mouthful of meatloaf.
“Hey!” Derrick protested and pointed to the open box on Dakota’s lap. “I brought you dinner didn’t I?”
“How romantic. What would Mona say?” Dakota wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smacked his lips in an overdramatic kissing gesture.
“Probably something like ‘I hope you like the couch!’” Derrick laughed.
“How about ‘you disgusting pig!’?” Dakota attempted an impersonation of Mona.
The two men laughed. After the laughing subsided, they returned to devouring their still steaming hot dinners. Once they had finished, Dakota leaned back against the cold, damp wall. He cupped the thermos in his hands and began sipping the tongue-scorching coffee. Derrick wasn’t far behind. Soon, the two were both wrapped in the silence of the night—except for the occasional passing car. Each of them drifted in and out of his own thoughts as the warmth provided by the hot liquid spread throughout their bodies.
“So?” Dakota broke the silence, “How far along is she now?”
“Four and a half months,” Derrick replied. A smile flashed across his shadowed face.
“You getting excited yet?”
“Truthfully?” Derrick sat up straight. “I think it’s finally starting to settle in...I’m gonna be a daddy.”
“Still thinking about dropping out of the task force?”
Derrick paused, looking up into the dark, wet sky as if he were searching for an answer that hid in the pattern of the falling rain. Blinking a few times, he turned to face his partner and best friend. His expression had transformed into one that Dakota had never seen in the seven years he had known Derrick.
“I can’t make that decision yet, pal. Maybe when I see my child for the first time, an answer will come. For now...I just don’t know.” Derrick looked directly into Dakota’s eyes.
“I don’t know what I would do without you, man,” Dakota swallowed the lump that began to rise in his throat.
“Same thing you do now. Fight for the good guys, and bust the bad guys.”
“Who will teach me the tricks if you leave?” Dakota protested.
“My friend,” Derrick put a hand on Dakota’s shoulder, “you ain’t got that much left to learn. At least nothing left for me to teach you.”
Once again silence fell upon the two. After finishing their coffee, they resumed their vigil. While one watched the lot, the other slept in the car parked around the corner. The remainder of the night only ended up being a continuation of their frustration.
***
Somewhere behind the dark clouds, morning came. Dakota left his spot in the alley and walked to the car. Derrick awoke from his catnap as the car door opened. He looked up at his partner hopefully.
“Still zip,” Dakota sighed. “How much longer are we gonna continue with this exercise in futility?”
By that afternoon, Derrick himself began to have his doubts. It seemed as if they had somehow been discovered. Even the mechanic hadn’t shown up yet today. He got up from his observation post next to a Dumpster and slowly trudged the familiar path to the car where Dakota lay sleeping. As Dakota wiped the sleep from his eyes, Derrick checked in with Captain Bell.
“I was beginning to wonder about you two,” Bell’s voice sounded excited. “There was some activity at the Pennington residence less than an hour ago. He came home, was there ten minutes, then left.”
“Why didn’t somebody grab him?” Derrick demanded.
There was a long pause.
“The guys were, how do I say this, um, sleeping,” Bell answered timidly.
“What in the hell do you mean sleeping?” Derrick yelled.
“I’ll deal with them,” Bell tried to console his angry detective. “You guys just stay on your toes. I think he’ll head your way.”
Derrick tossed the mike to the floor of the car. Dakota headed to his lookout post in the alley. He knew better than to talk to his partner when he was this angry. It didn’t happen often, but when Derrick went off the handle, it was better to just let him be.
The two stayed in position the remainder of the day and into the night. As the night began to give way to morning, it looked as if they were still at a deadlock. Derrick rose from his spot. Perhaps it was time to try a different avenue. He began heading towards Dakota’s position to break the news.
Dakota watched his partner, knowing that Derrick had finally given up on the stakeout. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and slouched against the alley wall. As Derrick began to cross the street, a car rounded the corner. It was the red Corvette! Dakota felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.
The car pulled into the darkened lot of the Pennington Rental Agency. The engine died as the lights flipped off…and out stepped Marty Pennington. Reaching into the car, Pennington procured a briefcase. Walking to the rear of the car, he popped the trunk and removed an additional small suitcase.
He walked to the office, looked around as if to see whether or not he was being observed, and unlocked the office door. Dakota watched as Pennington quickly entered, shutting the door behind him.
Dakota continued to watch as lights came on inside the adjoining garage. That seemed strange. What would he be doing in there? Movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look away from the garage. It was Derrick. His partner stood near the entrance to the office. He beckoned for Dakota to come over to where he was crouching.
Dakota drew his .45 caliber semi-automatic from inside his jacket. Crossing the street quickly, he joined Derrick near the office door.
“You ready for this, pal?” Derrick flipped the safety of his nine millimeter off. “It’s show time!”
“Time to make the streets safer for the citizens!” Dakota answered in their ritualistic pre-raid chant. He struggled with the eagerness that welled up inside. That familiar, dry, coppery taste of adrenaline filled his mouth.
“Let’s go bag us a bad guy,” Derrick whispered. Excitement crept through the senior partner’s voice.
“You won’t give this up.” Dakota smiled. “Baby or no baby, this is in your blood.”
Derrick flashed a smile at his friend, and then inched towards the door. He took a position on one side, while Dakota set up on the other. Derrick nodded, turning the doorknob slowly. Easing the door open, the two men slipped silently into the office.
Scanning the room quickly, they crept over to the doorway that opened to the garage. Dakota waited for the signal from his partner. Derrick held up three fingers and silently counted down... two...one. Dakota threw the door open, and they burst into the garage. Each man brought his gun to bear on a startled Marty Pennington.
Pennington looked up from the briefcase that lay open on the hood of the partially dismantled Hummer. His facial cast quickly transformed from stupefaction to exasperation. For some peculiar reason, Dakota began to get an uneasy feeling. Anxiety washed over him in an unexpected and unpleasant rush. He didn’t like this reaction from Pennington one bit, but he couldn’t understand why.
“Put your hands where I can see ‘em!” Derrick barked.
“What is the meaning of this?” Pennington demanded, apparently ignoring both the pistols pointed at him as well as the order just given by Derrick.
“Hands in the air, and step away from the briefcase, asshole!” Derrick reiterated. He stepped forward to emphasize his point.
Slowly, Marty Pennington raised his hands. He stepped backwards, a smile creeping onto his face. “I don’t want any trouble. If money is what you came for, the safe is time-locked, and I don’t carry much cash.”
“Nice try. You know damn good and well why we’re he—” Derrick began to approach Pennington. A loud crack cut him off.
Dakota spun around towards the unexpected noise. He caught sight of a man crouched behind the main desk. Another shot rang out. The bullet splintered the doorframe near Dakota’s head. He brought his arm across his face reflexively to protect it from the shards of wood that flew at him.
A dull thud shocked him back into action. Looking down, he saw Derrick sprawled on the floor at his feet. He stared in stunned fascination as a rivulet of blood trickled from the corner of Derrick’s mouth.
A sudden noise caused Dakota to wheel around towards the office. He fired twice towards the shadowy figure coming from behind the desk, then stepped out of the doorway. There was a moment of silence, followed by a large crash that sounded like a metal filing cabinet toppling over.
Realizing that he had forgotten about Pennington, Dakota whirled around to face the garage. The briefcase remained open on the hood of the car, but Pennington was nowhere to be seen. Glancing down, Dakota saw a pool of blood forming around Derrick.
“All right, Pennington,” Dakota called out, “you better show yourself. If I have to come looking for you, the next rental you’ll ride in will be a long black one!”
“How cliché.” Marty Pennington rose from behind the Hummer, hands in the air. “Riley is it?” Pennington smiled again, making no effort to veil his disdain.
“Step out from behind the car!” Dakota waved with his gun. He could feel the rage boiling within. Pennington complied, maintaining his calm demeanor.
“Alright!” Dakota called out, “Whoever’s in the office, toss out your gun!”
There was no response. Dakota backed against the wall. He felt something jutting into his back, preventing him from coming flush. Reaching behind to feel what it was, he felt a phone. Fumbling with his left hand to remove the receiver, he felt the keypad and dialed nine-one-one. After two rings, a voice answered.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“This is Detective Riley. Seattle Drug Task Force. I need an ambulance and police back-up at this location!”
“What is your authorization number?” The voice sounded unimpressed.
“Listen, you idiot!” Dakota screamed, “I don’t have time for this shit! I have an officer down and I need assistance now!”
“This is Kenneth Martell, Dispatch Supervisor,” a voice cut in on the line. “I am sending units right away, Detective.”
Dakota slammed the receiver onto the cradle. He felt something brush against his foot. Derrick was trying to crawl towards him. Dakota dropped to his knees beside his fallen friend.
“Don’t move, buddy,” he whispered. “I got help on the way. Everything is gonna be all right.”
Glancing up, he looked over to Pennington. His face showed no emotion whatsoever. Dakota struggled with the anger that surged within him.
“Get over here!” Dakota ordered.
A nervous look darkened Pennington’s face for a second giving, Dakota a rush of pleasure. Still, he was no dummy. He had no intentions of shooting Pennington, but it gave him a feeling of satisfaction to know that Pennington didn’t know that.
“Now,” Dakota rose to his feet, grabbing P
ennington by the hair, “you’re gonna lead me into the office. If you so much as scratch, I’ll put so many holes in you, people will mistake you for a window.”
Marty Pennington was a lot of things...stupid was not one of them. He walked slowly, leading Dakota into the office. A filing cabinet lay on its side. Papers were strewn across the floor. Sprawled out beside the fallen cabinet was a man. A pistol lay on the floor next to his right hand. Dakota spotted an open desk drawer, ending the mystery of where the gun came from.
“Looks like your little organization will be missing one of its lackeys.” Dakota nudged the lifeless corpse with one foot.
“How so, Detective?” Pennington asked indifferently.
“Well, unless you can raise the dead, this guy isn’t going anywhere on his own.”
“Be that as it may,” Pennington shrugged, “that man has nothing to do with anything other than the operation of this office.”
Dakota jerked Pennington around to face him. Pennington only smiled that disturbing smile of his.
“Mister Tillman, excuse me, the late Mister Tillman was indeed in my employ. However, his capacity was as shop mechanic and business manager...nothing more,” Pennington said matter-of-factly.
“You mean?” Dakota gasped. He already knew what Marty Pennington would confirm.
“Your partner was shot by a man whose only crime was that of protecting his boss from what he presumed was a robbery. In addition, you, my good friend, have killed an innocent man...relatively speaking.”
Dakota could sense a large knot forming in his stomach. It quickly transformed to a ball of ice. Fury welled from within, drying his mouth, then charging it with a bitter taste. That taste was his wrath.
He stared into the eyes of the man who now stood calmly before him, that Cheshire grin compounding his rage. The impulsive desire to empty his gun into that grinning face seemed almost irrepressible to Dakota at that moment.
He could claim that Pennington tried to escape, or that he made a grab for Derrick’s gun that lay on the floor. Nobody would know the difference. Nobody except for himself that is.