The Murder Run

by Michael P. King

  Missy sat down on the sofa. “Nice-looking place. Whose is it?”

  “Old girlfriend.”

  “So what happened?”

  “What do you know?” Tony asked.

  “I hooked you up. Chen reached out to me, I reached out to you. I’ve done work with him before. What did he have to say?”

  “When I got to his house, he was dead. His wife as well. A Fed was waiting for the envelope.”

  “Jesus Christ. So a federal guy takes the blackmail envelope, and your guys are dead when you go to meet them?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “No disrespect. I’m sorry about your guys. But why can’t we walk away?” Missy asked.

  “How deep is this problem? Between the cash and the diamonds, I earned—what? Twenty K that nobody cares about? So that envelope must be worth at least ten times that. That isn’t some run-of-the-mill blackmail info.”

  “But that doesn’t matter. The Fed has the envelope, right? So we just need to lie low for a few days.”

  “But do the bad guys know that? They’re going to keep coming ’til they have the envelope or know we don’t have it. Or maybe they’re just tying up all the loose ends,” Tony said.

  “So you want to hit them first?”

  “They got it coming. Nobody gets away with killing my partners. A few minutes earlier, I could have been with them in the motel room when those assholes showed up.”

  “But you weren’t. You’ve got twenty grand. All the rest is just speculation.”

  He gestured toward the door. “You think you’re safe, you can walk away. No hard feelings.”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying we don’t know very many actual facts.”

  “You’re right. We need a computer jockey. Somebody we can trust.”

  “Don’t you know somebody?” she asked.

  “I’m not getting any of my people involved until I know the lay of the land.”

  “You’re just talking about a researcher, not a scammer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know a woman. She dabbles in the game, but she’s not on anyone’s radar. Let me give her a call.”

  Shortly after 11:30 p.m., Tony and Missy were sitting in office chairs around a small round table in the home office of Missy’s friend Joan, a middle-aged woman with short dark hair whose T-shirt and camp pants were wrinkled from bed. A desktop computer sat on a height-adjustable desk against one wall. Family pictures hung above it. They all had coffee cups in their hands.

  “Okay,” Joan said, “you got me up. What can I do for you?”

  Tony leaned forward. “We need to know everything you can find out about a lawyer, a federal agent, and an apartment, particularly anything that links them.”

  “So we’re talking phone records, work records, property records, and anywhere they lead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you couldn’t call tomorrow?”

  “I assume you don’t want to know what you don’t want to know.”

  “So it’s that kind of job.” She looked down at the table and ran her finger around in a puddle of spilled coffee. “I’m done with all that. I don’t need the extra money anymore.” She looked up at Tony. “But I can do this favor for you if you can do a favor for me.”

  “I’d rather just pay you,” Tony said.

  She shook her head. “Favor for favor.”

  “Maybe we find someone else.”

  She glanced from Tony to Missy and back. “Good luck. Sorry you wasted your time. I was just thinking since you’re under time pressure we might help each other.”

  “Let’s just hear what she wants,” Missy said.

  “Okay. What have you got in mind?”

  “My step-daughter—she’s a grown woman now—she got on drugs and fell down the rabbit hole. It took her a while, but she lost everything. Couldn’t keep a job. We did the tough-love thing. Just made things worse. Now she’s being whored out of a drug house.”

  “Selling herself?” Tony asked.

  “Being sold. I went there to get her back, take her to rehab, but this big guy just laughed at me.”

  “Why don’t you call the cops?”

  “Because I don’t want her in jail, and I don’t want those thugs after me.”

  “So you want us to get her out of there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t care how we do it?”

  “No.”

  Tony set his coffee cup on the table. “Won’t make any difference. She’ll run back as soon as she gets loose.”

  “I have to try.”

  “You have to try. Okay, we’ll help you out. Get this info for us, and as soon as we’re squared up, we’ll get your daughter out.”

  Joan shook her head. “You get my daughter first. If I help you first, you could just walk away.”

  “So could you.”

  “No, I know your kind. You’d kill me if I welshed.”

  “So we work at the same time. You get started on our problem while we get started on yours.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Have you got a recent picture of your daughter?”

  Joan took a picture off the wall and took it out of its frame. “She’s the one in the middle.”

  Three young women sat on the steps of somebody’s house. The middle one was a skinny blonde whose face already had the innocence worn out of it. “What’s her name?”

  “Sylvia.”

  “What’s the address of this drug house?”

  Joan wrote an address on a scrap of paper.

  “You sure she’s still there?”

  “Yeah. She’s there.” She pushed a legal pad across the table. “I really appreciate this. Write down all the information on the targets, and I’ll get started.”

  At 2:00 a.m., Tony and Missy sat in a stolen Toyota Corolla hidden in the on-street parking across an intersection from a row of three-story houses in the dilapidated neighborhood just south of downtown. Two large white guys sat on lawn chairs on the porch of one of the houses. Cars drove up, men got out and talked to the guys on the porch, then bought drugs and drove away, or were admitted into the house.

  “Just like Joan said,” Missy said.

  “And they’re not worried about a thing.”

  “How many guys do you think are inside?”

  “Two or three. The crew leader and the dope guy, maybe another gun. I bet the women are on the second or third floor,” Tony said.

  “So we’re screwed.”

  “We’re not going in the front. We can’t win a straight-up gunfight.”

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  “The houses on either side are boarded up. How wide do you think those alleys are?”

  “You might be able to squeeze a smart car down them.”

  “Let’s have a look at the back.”

  Missy turned left at the intersection and drove around the block. She pulled to the curb between two broken-down single-story houses. There was a car parked in the driveway of the left house, but both houses were dark. “Can you see the back of the drug house?”

  “Yeah. It’s all boarded up.”

  “So no way in,” Missy said. “Look, I’m armed. I’ve shot people when I had to, but running and gunning? This is out of my league. How about if we sneak back there and set the house on fire?”

  “They’ll pull the drugs and money. They won’t care about any women.” He rubbed his chin. “But the alleys—drive up around the corner.”

  They parked on the street half a block south. “We’ve been thinking about this wrong,” Tony said. “We don’t have the muscle for a rescue. But maybe we can pull off a burglary.”

  “A burglary?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to steal a woman out of that building. Let’s see if we can get in through the roof.”

  They crept down the sidewalk, staying in the shadows, until they came to the abandoned house to the right of the drug house. The plywood was hanging loose on a side wi
ndow, and a bucket sat upside down underneath the window as if someone had used it for a step. They pulled the plywood aside and climbed in. Tony held a small flashlight down toward the floor as they moved along. The first floor of the house was broken plaster, filthy carpet, and food trash. A stained mattress lay in the dining room. Bits of foil, squares of paper, and broken syringes were scattered about. Up on the second floor, the bedrooms were nests. Old sleeping bags and blankets were piled into the corners. The third floor was the same.

  “Nobody,” Missy said.

  “Drug crew must have run off the squatters.”

  They found the roof access stairs. Tony pushed the door open and peeked across the flat roof. No one was up there. He crawled out. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles littered the roof. He gazed over at the drug house’s roof. It looked like a party spot. There were a circle of lawn chairs, a gas grill, and a couple of coolers. He motioned to Missy. They walked over to the edge of the roof.

  “So close,” he said.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to her right. “They’ve got an extension ladder.”

  “Insurance policy so they don’t get trapped up there.”

  “Think we could jump?”

  “Too much noise.”

  He glanced about the roof. An old TV antenna lay on the far side. The pole was ten feet long easy. He carried it back to Missy. “Okay. I’m going to lay this pole across the alley. You’re going to hold this end while I shimmy over. After I collect Sylvia, we’ll use the extension ladder to get back.”

  “That’s crazy. You think a stoned addict is going to crawl across that gap on a ladder?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  She sighed. “No. But instead of you crossing over on the pole, I’ll get in the car. Drive by. Fire some shots at the front of the house. You jump over while I’m firing.”

  “You sure you want to do that?”

  “I’m not running up the steps; I’m driving by. It’ll catch them off guard. By the time they’re shooting, I’ll be gone.”

  “Okay. It’s your neck.”

  He walked across the roof to the street side and waited. When he saw the Corolla turn the corner, he jogged down to his starting spot. She started firing. The guys on the porch fired back. He ran, jumped the alley, and rolled across the roof of the drug house, barely missing the gas grill. The gunfire stopped. He crept over to the roof access door and tried the handle. It was locked. He picked it. He eased the door open and listened. He could hear voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He tiptoed down the steps to the third floor. The voices were louder, but he still couldn’t make out the conversation He pulled his Glock. He eased open the closest door. The room was empty. So were the other two. He stood at the top of the stairwell. Someone was talking. He sat on the steps and slinked down step by step. Finally, about halfway down to the second floor, he could make out what was being said.

  “Fucking john bitching,” one voice said.

  “Lucky we didn’t cap him just to be sure,” another voice said.

  “Boss said to move in case the cops show,” a third voice said. “Who’s got the back?”

  “Jimmy’s back there. It’s clear. Red has the front. We’re good to go,” the second voice said.

  “Start the car,” the third voice said.

  “What about the girls?” the first voice asked.

  “Are you kidding? They’ll find us,” the third voice said.

  He heard footsteps and the front door open and close. He crept down to the second floor. The nearest bedroom was empty, except for a bare mattress, a box of condoms, and some used syringes. Out the window, he saw the drug crew pile into a Suburban and drive away. This rescue had become a lot easier than he thought it was going to be. In the next bedroom, a skinny dark-haired woman lay passed out on a mattress, naked, her underwear bunched up by the pillow. He looked at the photo of Sylvia. It wasn’t her.

  He opened the door to the third bedroom. There she was, her dress twisted up around her waist, glassy-eyed, drool running down her chin. She was supposed to be twenty-three. She looked like she was forty and that she’d gotten there the hard way. He jerked her dress down. He couldn’t find her panties.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Her head began to move.

  “Wake up.”

  She looked at him, but her eyes couldn’t seem to focus.

  He pulled her to her feet. Her legs started to buckle, but she found her footing. He put his arm around her waist. “Sylvia. Walk.”

  She stumbled along as he helped her down the stairs and out the front door. Missy was parked at the curb. Tony laid Sylvia on the back seat and then climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Good job,” he said.

  “I didn’t expect them to run.”

  Missy put the car in gear, sped down to the first corner, and took a right. “She’s a mess. Should we get some Narcan?”

  “Why? So she can be sober and angry? She’s a lot easier to deal with right now. And there’s no risk of her running away to find a fix.”

  “I was just thinking of Joan.”

  “She needs to see what she’s got.”

  “So long as her daughter doesn’t die on us.”

  Missy took a left at the next intersection, drove two blocks, and doubled back into the downtown. Then she drove out to the freeway, sped past two exits, and dropped onto a boulevard by a Walmart. “Nobody’s following us.”

  “Excellent.”

  The sky was tinged red in the east. They drove back to Joan’s house, taking it easy, pulled up in the driveway behind Joan’s Prius, and walked Sylvia up the steps to the front door. “My God,” Joan said.

  “This is the way we found her,” Missy said.

  Tony let Joan take his side. Joan and Missy led Sylvia down the hall. Tony wandered into the kitchen, rummaged through the cabinets until he found a bottle of vodka and a glass. He didn’t really care for vodka, but what the hell. He poured two fingers. Then he went back into the living room and glanced out the windows. The day seemed fragile. But there was no one suspicious on the street. They were safe for now. At least they hadn’t added to their problems.

  Joan stood in the doorway. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

  He shrugged.

  “You can sleep on the sofa. I’m making progress, but I’ve still got a ways to go.”

  “Okay,” he said. She turned away. He got out his cell phone and called a number he knew.

  “What?”

  “It’s the Traveling Man.”

  “New phone.”

  “It’s been one of those days, or I wouldn’t be calling now. I’m going to need an insurance policy.”

  “Got you covered.”

  “I’ll be in touch later today.”

  4

  Next Steps

  In the early morning in San Francisco, Nicole woke to birdsong and city traffic. She slipped out of Denison’s arms in the dark and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. When she got back, his eyes were open.

  “Hey, honey.” She slipped back into bed and cuddled up against him. “How was your sleep?”

  “Didn’t wake up at all. You?”

  “Fine.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “What’s on your agenda today?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I’m at the office most of the day. We need to find more space for the after-school program. Jill has some meetings lined up. How about you?”

  “I don’t know. Lily will probably call.”

  “You’re spending a lot of time with her.”

  “You jealous?”

  “I just don’t know what to make of it. She’s the first friend you’ve made since you’ve come here—if she is a friend.”

  “You’re a peculiar boy.” She propped herself on her elbow to look him in the eye. “I never know what’s going to get your Spidey senses tingling. I’ve got a confession to make. This straight life is harder than I thought it would be. Cricket Bay was like a long vacation, and then
I had to win over Bell, which was sort of like running a con, and then everything went crazy. But now, in your real life, I don’t have a place here. I’m just hiding out.”

  “I know you’re struggling. You need to find something to do that gives your life meaning.”

  “That’s what you keep telling me, but it’s easier said than done. I’ve got my old patterns. And that’s where Lily comes in. We’ve been going out to night spots, flirting free drinks. Anonymous and innocent enough. No chance of getting into trouble. But then on Sunday, we crashed a wedding, and…” She paused for a moment. “Took a car for a joy ride.”

  “Took a car?”

  “I couldn’t help myself. I knew it was too much risk, that if I got caught there’d be real repercussions, for me as well as for you, but rolling down the highway, the wind in my hair, I felt so alive. Even putting the car back was a real thrill.”

  “So you stole a car, drove it around, and then took it back?”

  “The ultimate grab and drop.”

  “And you didn’t get caught?”

  “No.”

  “After all the times you told me that you had to be careful. That you couldn’t risk being seen.”

  “I know it was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” Denison sat up against the headboard. “I’m an honest guy. I believe in ethics, morals. What do you and Tony call people like me?”

  “Civilians.”

  “Yeah. I’m a civilian, and I’m proud of it. In Cricket Bay, with everything on the line, I let my morals go relativistic. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sorry I did it. You got Bell back. But I can’t live like that. For normal life, there’s a right and a wrong. And I want to do what’s right.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? I know I agreed that you could go help Tony when he needed you, but you’re going to have to find a way to leave that life behind when you’re here with me.”

  “I know. I’ll find a way to make it work. I’ll find something to do. I promise.”

  “We could go away somewhere. Be on vacation until you find your way.”

  “But then you’d have to give up your work. You couldn’t do that long term. Besides, what would your kids say?”