Suddenly, a young man’s voice crackled through the radio. “I saw that vehicle leaving the scene.”
“Unit calling?” the dispatcher came on the air.
“P.C. Reynolds. Advising that I have seen the suspect vehicle.”
“P.C. Reynolds has the suspect vehicle…”
“No. I saw it. But I didn’t stop it…”
“Are you in pursuit, officer?” the dispatcher asked.
“No. I saw the vehicle earlier, but I didn’t stop it because…”
“Officer does not have suspect vehicle in view.”
“It wasn’t the right plate…”
“All units be advised: homicide vehicle still not located. Licence plate has four letters and three numbers. First letter is C-Charlie. Repeat: first letter is C-Charlie. Please use extreme caution. when approaching the suspect vehicle.”
“Officer who saw the vehicle: did you get the full plate?” Mike asked.
“Um… Y-yes, sir. I did,” the rookie stuttered.
The dispatcher confirmed the plate number before running it, her voice steady despite her excitement. “Comes back to a four-door Audi, Blue, Q4. Registered to Divine Catering & Events, address in Niagara Falls.”
“Fuck! Where’s your cell phone?” Mike snapped at Ron.
“I don’t have one.”
“What?”
“I don’t have one of my own, but I have a police phone—”
“Give me the fucking phone!”
Mike punched in some numbers and held his breath as he waited for the phone at the other end to ring.
“Yeah,” a hoarse voice said.
“Jimmy. It’s Mike O’Shea.”
There was a silence.
“Hey, man,” Jimmy coughed dryly. “How you doing?”
“I need your help. Number 10 Unwin. What do you know about it?”
“You still at the hospital?”
“Doesn’t matter. What do you know about Unwin?”
“Old button factory bought out and reno’d for fancy-ass parties. Owners dropped a ton of dough into it, but I never heard of any bookings.”
“Do you or your guys know anything about this Burning Schoolhouse event supposedly happening there tonight?”
“Yeah. VIP squad checked into it. Supposed to be some pretty hot chicks there with their old-man husbands in attendance. Planning called the other team in to run some scenarios by them, but our numbers didn’t jive so we’re standing down on it.”
“What do you mean?” Mike had known Jimmy for a long time. He had never been one to stand down on anything, which was one of the reasons why Mike stopped drinking with him. It was also one of the reasons why Sergeant James Gallant was a highly effective team lead in the Emergency Task Force.
“You know…” Jimmy coughed again. Mike could hear him take a sip of what he assumed was water. “Just some bullshit white shirt wants to make a name for himself by having us babysit a bunch of millionaires. Big Guns watching Big Bucks have a few cocktails so that White Shirt can call in some favours later is how it looked to our guys. No threats to monitor worth our time.”
“Who’s running the event?”
“Same fuck-nuts who are losing their shirt on the property: a no-name catering company called Divine—”
“You’re working now, right?”
“Why else would I be answering the phone? Yeah.”
“I need you and your team to back us up on an entry there.”
Ron’s thick eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline.
“No can do, buddy,” Jimmy said. “Got dozens of outstanding calls on the board already for shots fired. Fucking Halloween bullshit, but we gotta stay clear just in case, and we’ve already run a threat assessment on the venue, so—”
“I wouldn’t fuck with you, Jimmy. There is something else going on there tonight.” Mike looked down at the radio installed under the dash, avoiding Ron’s eyes as he did. No point explaining it to him. Fucking traffic cop wouldn’t understand, anyway. “Besides, if all you’re doing is cruising around downtown looking at half-naked babes, then you can pop by Unwin.”
“I dunno, man—” Jimmy hesitated.
“Jimmy, what the fuck? This is serious shit, man. My partner’s dead, the duty inspector’s looking for me, half the fucking city has been looking for the wrong car, and some little girls are going to die. Trust me, man,” Mike looked over at Ron, as if to convince him as well, “there’s a serious play going down on Unwin tonight, and I need your help.”
“Yeah. About Sal,” Jimmy’s voice lowered. “I’m really sorry. Hasn’t even sunk in yet. We’re all kinda still in shock, you know. So that’s what this is all about?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that, Jimmy? Of course, it is! The fucker who shot my partner has some girls he’s selling holed up somewhere in that building and we gotta get them out tonight. You fucking in or what?”
“Holy fuck, man!” Jimmy said loud enough for Ron to hear. “Why didn’t you just say this guy’s the cop killer? Of course, we’re in. Give me a sec to dial over and let my boss know—"
“No. This is on the down low,” Mike cautioned.
“Say what?”
Mike could feel Jimmy hesitating. He also knew that there was a possibility that he was wrong about Unwin. But there was also a possibility—no, a probability—that he wasn’t. This was Go Time. Think fast.
“If anyone knew that we were going to nab a cop killer, don’t you think it would be all over the city? It would be a clusterfuck,”
“Yeah…” Jimmy paused, reconsidering. “Okay. So this is what I’m going to do. Me and my guys will make our way there. Give me a ring when you’re on scene and we’ll help you with the entry. That work?”
“You are the best, man. You’ll hear from me in ten.”
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, October 31st, 2005 - 11:30 p.m.
“I’m not doing any clandestine policing,” Ron warned, tugging at the starched left cuff of his uniform shirt before straightening the clip-on tie that hung from his equally well-starched collar.
“This is hardly clandestine, Ron, and you’re in too deep now, anyway,” Mike pointed out.
“I’m not in, as you put it, at all. I’m just driving you to an address. After that, I’m out unless we get proper backup,” Ron protested, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, avoiding anything that could be construed as eye contact with Mike.
“Which we have. An entire ETF team not enough for you?”
“I never said that,” Ron muttered, feeling the regulation-cut hair on the back of his neck beginning to bristle as he realized that he was, in fact, in.
“What more do you want?” “Well, to begin with…” Without waiting for Ron’s answer, Mike punched in another phone number.
“Julia? Mike. You and Hoagie gotta meet us at 10 Unwin. Me and Ronnie, over here— ”
“It’s Ron,” Ron corrected.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mike continued, rolling his eyes. “Got ETF coming on the QT. Got a hunch that Malcolm and his boys are holding the girls there. Gotta go. Just pulling up. Call me back when you get here.”
What had once been a small abandoned warehouse had been haphazardly renovated into a quirky venue-for-hire, which tonight looked like Vegas when Sinatra was in town. The parking lot was packed with Lamborghinis, Hummers, and rented limos. The impressive front entrance was in stark contrast to the crumbling foundation walls and broken windows covered by a few rotting boards that made up the rest of the building. The bass from the live band had the new front windows vibrating, and there was more than a strong smell of drugs, booze, and something else in the air.
“Don’t get so close!” Mike said. “We’re in a fucking marked car!”
“And I’m in uniform,” Ron pointed out, continuing to drive through the lot, swerving around the high-end cars. “Routine check to ensure the vehicles are secure. That’s what we do.”
After a few minutes of routine checking, Ron drove away from the warehouse to an empty parking lot down the street.
“You are one odd fucking duck, you know. Yeah?” Mike answered the cell phone as it started to ring. “No, I haven’t gotten hold of him, so can you give him a call and maybe get him to meet us here? … Yeah. I know. There are a million caterers in the city, but I also know that this one is hosting the thing at Unwin. … Don’t ask. … Okay, so my mother told me… Well, her priest, actually… I know. But listen: Shooter’s car comes back to Divine, party is hosted by Divine, place is big enough to stash the girls, and if they’re going to torch it… Okay, so that’s unlikely, but still. Just get here. We’re parked near that equipment rental place just north of the location.”
*****
“This whole thing sounds like quite the long shot,” Ron advised, frowning so that his eyebrows formed a uni-brow across his forehead.
“Welcome to my world,” Mike said.
“It’s certainly not like Traffic at all.”
“No, thank Christ, it’s not. So here’s the plan— ”
“I’m still not sure that this is a good idea.”
Mike turned to face Ron, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Do you have a better one?”
“Well, we could notify— ”
“Who? The duty inspector? Go ahead. I believe he’s at St. Mike’s looking for us.”
“For you.”
“I don’t have time to get into it with you, but if I’m right, and I am, there are at least five girls in that factory who are either going to be driven down to Niagara Falls tonight or blown up when the building gets torched.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What’s this about the building being burned down?”
“There’s supposed to be a big fireworks show tonight and—”
“That’s a lot different from burning a building down,” Ron corrected, looking into the darkness for any vehicle that might be Julia and Hoagie’s.
“The event is called Burning Schoolhouse,” Mike said, trying his best to quell the impatience in his voice.
“Have you ever been to those haunted houses at a fair? Just so you know, Mike, they’re not really haunted.”
“Tell you what, Traffic Man: Why don’t you do what you do best and leave the investigative work to me?”
“Ever investigate a quadruple homicide with thirty wounded?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Bus rollover thirteen months ago. Four people killed. Thirty wounded. Who do you think investigated it? Didn’t see any squad guys there.”
“We are so fucked,” Mike muttered.
*****
The minutes crept by as the two cops sat in silence in the darkness of the scout car, staring through the windshield at the poorly lit road, waiting for Julia and Hoagie to show.
“You know, it wasn’t your fault,” Ron said suddenly.
“What wasn’t?”
“Sal’s death. A lot of fingers are going to be pointed over the next few days—heck, years—but it wasn’t your fault.”
“How do you know?” Mike pushed the words out past the lump in his throat.
“I trained Sal. I wouldn’t say this to just anybody, and certainly not now, but he was a bit of a hothead back then, never thinking before doing. I don’t suppose he would have changed much since then.”
The words hung in the air, the truth in them almost suffocating Mike.
“No,” Mike replied, rolling down his window. “I don’t suppose he would have.”
*****
“What is this? Officer Efficient meets Doctor Kildare?” Julia couldn’t help mocking as she looked Ron up and down, his crisp uniform a stark contrast to Mike’s hospital scrubs. “You don’t seriously think we’ll be able to get inside with the two of you, do you?”
“No,” Mike had to concede, looking down at himself, “but nobody has to get inside yet. How about Ronnie—”
“Ron.”
“—and me find a side door or something and locate the girls. Maybe you and Hoagie could try to figure out where the firecracker is and stop the light show. I’ve got ETF standing by—”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” Hoagie interrupted.
“Well, they’re not here yet, but they will be standing by,” Mike fudged.
“I’m not liking the sounds of this, Mikey,” Julia said, wincing. “Maybe we should just get you back to the hospital?”
“Fuck that. Ronnie—”
“Ron.”
“—and I are going in. Did you call Robby?”
“Yeah,” Hoagie said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “He’s super pissed. Said you’ve probably lost your mind.”
“Is he coming, though?” Mike pressed.
“Yep. Should be here in a couple of minutes.”
“Great. So Ronnie—”
“Ron.”
“—and I go inside and find the girls and try to get them out. You two let Robby know the plan and call me when you’ve taken out the pyro guy. Sound good?”
“This is messed up, Mikey,” Julia said.
“I was holding Sal’s brains in my hands a couple of hours ago. That’s messed up. Okay, Ronnie, let’s go.”
With a move that he had developed over the years, Mike pulled the door handle up with his left hand while grabbing the outside of the door with his right, and launched himself out of the car.
“It’s Ron,” his reluctant partner sighed, stepping out of the car with the prudent caution of a true Traffic man.
*****
The volume of what the live band was passing off as music got even louder as Mike and Ron closed in on the former warehouse, leaving them dependent on hand signals to communicate. When they stepped through the unlocked service entrance door, the noise became almost painful.
Expecting to find a fully renovated interior, they were surprised to see that only the front of the building had been remodelled. The room they found themselves in might one day be the kitchen, but right now it was just a large, mostly empty, filthy room with a couple of upright freezers and an electric stove along one wall and a six-foot table that looked as if it had been retrieved from a dumpster but that was now covered with rental plates and glassware along another. The whole place stunk of mold. Cracks between the floorboards would have leaked light from the second floor down into the roughed-in hallway leading to the more austere events room if such light had existed.
And to think people with money were paying big bucks to be here tonight, Mike thought. His mind wandered back to the shift parties where a few pints and some wings in the back room of one of the local pubs seemed like a big deal.
Ron, meanwhile, was feeling increasingly antsy. How had he let himself get pulled into a world whose occupants were totally unfamiliar to him? And why on earth did he do it?
Focusing on what was around them, the unlikely duo moved on, taking advantage of the shadows to stealthily make their way towards the front of the building, hoping to locate a staircase to the second floor.
*****
“Where the hell is O’Shea?” Robby demanded as his banged-up car skidded to a stop parallel to Hoagie and Julia’s in the vacant parking lot. His face was only a few inches away from Hoagie’s through the cars’ open windows.
“He and some traffic cop—”
“Stop right there,” Robby groaned. Leaning back, he took his right hand off the wheel and started to massage his temples, hoping that a brief massage would make a difference. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Julia leaned forward from the passenger seat and spoke across Hoagie, filling Robby in as quickly as she could. Hoagie, meanwhile, stared straight ahead, letting her carry the conversation, offering an occasional insight into the darkness in front of him.
“And,” Julia concluded, “if Mike’s hunch is right, then we’ve got Sal’s killer.”
“That easy, eh?” Robby could f
eel his neck muscles tensing up. He rotated his head side to side and back to front several times before looking at his officers. “I have no fucking clue why I should believe O’Shea, but I’m in. What do you need?”
Julia quickly told him the plan. She and Hoagie were going to find and arrest the special effects guy for conspiracy to commit an indictable offence—the anticipated torching of the building—before the fireworks began. They would need someone to pass him off to and then they would start directing the guests out of the building, just in case some of the effects were timed. By then, Julia assured Robby, Mike and Ron, the traffic cop, would have found the girls and hopefully, their handlers. All things being equal, the trigger man in Sal’s murder would be among them. They’d need transportation to get the guys under arrest to the station, a few cars to get the girls in for statements, and maybe an ambulance or two on standby.
“That was easy,” Robby muttered. “What about the media? Does Corp Comm know anything about this? Or the duty inspector or…?”
Robby’s question hung there as Julia and Hoagie both stared out into the night. The silence was deafening.
“Of course not. Fuck!” Robby shouted. “Even if things go smoothly, which they won’t, this is going to turn into a first-class shitshow. We all know this, right?”
Julia looked over and smiled sympathetically at Robby while Hoagie just nodded, his eyes fixed on one of the few streetlights ahead of him.
“Does anyone even know that we’re here?” Robby asked.
“Uh…not really…” Julia began.
“Okay. I draw the line—”
“But we do have the ETF en route,” Hoagie offered, clearing his throat as he looked at his watch.
“What the fu—” Robby began.
“When they get here,” Hoagie interrupted, “they know that they’re supposed to stand down unless things go south. It’s almost midnight. If we’re going to do this, Julia, let’s go.”
10-33 Assist PC Page 17