Total Mayhem

by John Gilstrap

  There was a reason why history books mentioned gaming commissions and organized crime in the same paragraphs.

  The three of them took a water taxi across the river from Alexandria, in part because Boxers wasn’t sure that the Batmobile would fit into the parking garages at Capital Harbor. As they disembarked, Jonathan was immediately struck by the potential value of the place as a terror target. As darkness fell and offices closed, the place began to fill with all strata of people, from lawyerly types in their tailored suits and carefully loosened ties, to construction workers in their boots and denim, to homeless folks who knew when the gravy train had arrived.

  “Talk about your target rich environment,” Gail said as they walked past the fountain that was sculpted to look like a bowsprit, complete with a fully clothed mermaid. “Casino, restaurants, Ferris wheel. And that doesn’t include the ones we haven’t thought about.”

  “It’s the wheel,” Boxers said. “There might be others, I suppose, but it’s the wheel.”

  They wandered that way. As Jonathan took in the crowds and the couples, it occurred to him that something was missing. “Where are the children?” he thought aloud.

  Gail answered, “At home watching television and doing homework, I assume.”

  “I thought parents did their kids’ homework these days,” Boxers said.

  “But our guy—this Iceman—he likes to include kids in his target packages,” Jonathan said. “Makes sense if you’re him. Nothing makes a bigger headline than kids killed by terrorists.” As he said the words, he reflexively looked around to see if he might have been overheard. People were seeing something and saying something more readily now than they had a few weeks ago.

  Gail stopped short. “Tomorrow’s Halloween,” she said. Then she pointed to a glass-enclosed advertisement kiosk ahead and to their left. “Look.”

  A three-by-four-foot poster announced in bright orange and dark black that the Capital Harbor Waterfront would be the perfect spot for trick-or-treating. Every shop would be open to provide special treats for every “witch, wizard, ghost, or goblin,” and many would be offering “special brews” for their parents or guardians.

  “Well, that will spike the number of targets,” Boxers said. “And mostly in the kiddie demographic.”

  “It’ll be a bloodbath,” Jonathan said.

  “We need to tell someone,” Gail said, yet again.

  “We still don’t have anything to tell them,” Jonathan insisted.

  “How are you going to feel after the fact if this thing happens as we think it will, yet you didn’t say anything?”

  Jonathan regarded Gail with a quizzical look. Did she really think he wasn’t worried about the next attack? Did she think for a moment that his heart wouldn’t bleed if they somehow aided something as horrible as another Black Friday attack? He chose not to respond. The three of them walked the next three blocks in silence until they were at the base of the massive Potomac Eye.

  “Look how slow it goes,” Boxers said.

  “Should we give it a ride?” Gail asked.

  “Oh, hell no,” Boxers snapped. “I mean, y’all are welcome to, but there’s no friggin’ way I would go into one of those airborne prison cells.”

  “Execution chambers,” Jonathan corrected. “And I agree. I think we’ll stay on the ground for tonight.” He turned his back to the wheel and faced the development of bars and hotels and office buildings. “Okay, Gunslinger, say I promote you to chief terrorist. How would you do it if the Eye was your target?”

  He wanted to get her out of pissed-off, hurt-feelings mode and into a more proactive, stop-the-bad-guys mode.

  “Can I tell you that first of all the Eye would not be my target, not on Halloween.”

  Now, that was interesting. “No? What would it be?”

  “I’d plant bombs where all the people would be.”

  “I don’t know,” Boxers said. “Don’t get me wrong, it would be a hell of a plan if it went well, but don’t you think under the circumstances that this place will be crawling with bomb dogs? Surely, the cops will do a sweep.”

  “I don’t know if they will or they won’t, but a good bad guy should really assume the worst,” Jonathan said.

  “Fine,” Gail said. “If the Eye is the main target, you’ve got a few hundred stranded tourists who can’t get away. If we can’t talk about explosives, then you’re pretty much left with snipers.”

  “Now your turn, Big Guy,” Jonathan said. “Where are you going to snipe from?”

  Boxers glared as if he thought Jonathan had lost his mind. “Are you going to ask me to snatch a pebble from your hand later?” A reference to the ancient student-sensei TV show Kung Fu.

  “Humor me.”

  “I’m not your friggin’ student.”

  “This once.”

  Big Guy laughed. “Yeah, this once. Humor me this once.”

  Jonathan waited.

  “From someplace high,” Boxers said. “If I was the shooter, it would be high and far away.”

  “Gail?”

  “Agreed.”

  “Times three,” Jonathan said. Then he pointed ahead. “What say we take a stroll up America Avenue?”

  The long dock from the Potomac Eye ended at Freedom Plaza, a circular white concrete disc with a fountain in the center and surrounded by a decorative wall that doubled as seating space for tired revelers. There wasn’t much of a police presence, but the cops he saw were tached out with long guns. There was nothing overly-aggressive about their presence, but clearly they were taking seriously the need for upgraded security.

  America Avenue stretched off from Freedom Plaza Drive, the road that ran perpendicular to the river, and up a slight incline where the restaurants, hotels, and office buildings created a redbrick canyon. As the sun dipped, flickering gaslights atop lampposts spaced maybe thirty feet apart along both sides of the street gave the place a certain charm, and in Jonathan’s view took some of the edge off of the nastiness of the area.

  As they walked up the hill, Jonathan kept craning his neck to see where the first likely sniper’s nest would be. When they arrived at the revolving doors to the Golden Buoy Hotel, he knew he had the right place. “Let’s go take a look at the view,” he said.

  “What are we looking for?” Gail asked as they crossed the lobby.

  “Just want to be sure this is really the best place for our guy to set up.”

  As he led his team to the elevator, he tried to remain inconspicuous, but with Boxers in tow that was always difficult in a crowd. He . . . stood out.

  They took the elevator as far as it would go, then switched to the stairs. It was Big Guy’s idea to stick a quarter in the doorjamb to keep the fire door from locking behind them.

  A minute later, Jonathan was at the door to the rooftop cupola. “Don’t they normally keep these doors locked?” he asked as he pushed the panel open.

  “Maybe we’re not the first to do recon work up here,” Gail said.

  “Interesting thought,” Jonathan said. “Maybe he’s still here and we can end it all early.”

  No such luck.

  The moment he stepped out onto the rooftop, Jonathan knew that they’d found the right place. The view of the Potomac Eye was entirely unobstructed, and as he approached the edge, Freedom Plaza opened up as a killing field. “This is where he’ll be,” he announced.

  “Look behind you, Boss,” Boxers said, pointing. “The building behind us has an extra three stories over this one.”

  “The one next door is taller, too,” Gail added. “Granted, it’s only two floors, but still.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “Nope, it’s this one. Sure, I could be wrong, but Box, the one back there adds another, what, hundred fifty yards to the shot, and I’m guessing that perch loses a lot of the plaza. Gail, see the parapet along the edge of the one next to us? Again, it makes the shots unnecessarily difficult. Plus, it’s off-line to the Eye.” He planted his fists on his hips and scanned the horizon, reasses
sing his conclusions. “Nope,” he said. “It’ll be here.”

  Boxer laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s always good to be sure on a wild-ass guess.”

  “You know,” Gail said, “if we sweet-talk the front desk staff, maybe we can scan their security footage for Kellner.”

  Jonathan grinned. “That’s why you get the big bucks, Gunslinger. Let’s do it.”

  Back on the ground floor, as they waited for the elevator doors to open, Jonathan said, “Let’s be FBI down here. As he spoke the words, he pulled himself taller and soured his expression, going for the joke.

  “That’s not Bureau, Boss,” Boxers said. “That’s constipation.”

  They shared a laugh.

  The doors opened and Jonathan led the three-person phalanx across the lobby. Jonathan strode to the front desk and presented his credentials to the teenager behind the counter. His name tag read ZEE. “Agent Bonner, FBI,” Jonathan said. “I need to speak with the manager.”

  “Um, the manager is with a couple who are planning their wedding.”

  “We only need a few minutes of his time.”

  “Do you have a business card?” Zee asked. “I can have have the call returned.”

  Jonathan leaned his arms heavily on the counter. “Contact him, please. Now.”

  “She’s a her,” Zee said, suddenly offended. “And she doesn’t like being disturbed in the middle of—”

  “What’s her name?” Jonathan asked.

  “Ms. Filipi,” Zee said. “And it’s her policy that—”

  Boxers leaned in past Jonathan and growled in his most menacing tone, “Get her on the goddamn phone, or I’m going to get pissed.”

  Zee melted. He snatched the phone from its cradle and fumbled it before he could get it to his ear.

  Boxers stood to his full height and winked at Jonathan. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Zee turned his back as he spoke hurriedly into the phone, and as he came back, he stammered, “Sh-she’s on her way.”

  “Thank you,” Jonathan said. “Now, let me show you something.” He retrieved his phone from his suit coat pocket and pulled up the ATM picture of Kellner. “Have you seen this man?”

  Zee reached for the phone, and Jonathan pulled it back. “Look, don’t touch,” he said.

  The kid put his hands behind his back this time as he leaned in closer. “No, I haven’t seen him.”

  “You said that really fast,” Jonathan said. “Take another look.”

  “Look, officer, I’m feeling aggressed here.”

  Jonathan recoiled. “You’re feeling aggressed? What the hell does that mean?”

  “I would like you to step away from me, please. I-I’ve already told you no.”

  “When did you come on today?” Jonathan asked.

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Okay, Zee. Thanks for your time.”

  Two minutes later, a fireplug of a woman approached, maybe five-three, and she looked angry. She walked quickly with short little steps, her arms pumping inordinately hard. “I am Ms. Filipi,” she said as she closed in to within a few feet. “What do you want?”

  Jonathan produced his creds again. “Good evening, ma’am, I’m Agent Bonner with the FBI, and these are my—”

  “Badges don’t impress me,” Filipi said. “I don’t like people who beat up other people just because they can.”

  Jonathan cocked his head. “When did I beat somebody up?”

  “You’re a cop, aren’t you? That’s what you do.”

  Jonathan sent up a silent prayer that Boxers wouldn’t weigh in on this.

  “Ma’am, I’m not here to engage in political discourse. I’m looking for a person of interest in a criminal matter.” He produced the photo again. “Have you seen this man?”

  She glanced. “No.”

  Jesus. “Please try again,” Jonathan said. “We have reason to believe he has been here within the last few hours.”

  “My shift didn’t start until one hour ago,” Ms. Filipi said. “What did he allegedly do?”

  “I can’t speak to that,” Jonathan said. “Do you mind if we look through your security camera footage to see—”

  “Have you got a warrant?”

  “No, ma’am, but—”

  “Then, no,” Filipi snapped. “You people do enough illegal spying on Americans. I’ll have nothing to do with it. You bring me a warrant, and we can talk. Short of that, then, no.”

  A crowd had started to form. Jonathan wanted to get out of this before the cell phones came out to take video footage. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “I appreciate your time.”

  “Can I go back to work now?”

  Jonathan leaned in close so only she could hear and said, “I don’t care what you do, you nasty little bitch.” He pivoted before she could react and led the way back toward the revolving doors.

  “Where does all that attitude go when they need a cop?” Boxers grumbled when they were back out on the sidewalk.

  “Can’t tell you how glad I am to be out of that game,” Gail said. “What now?”

  Jonathan made a phone call back to Fisherman’s Cove and told Venice to tap into the Golden Buoy’s security system and see if she could find their boy on the record there.

  It was after six now, and night had fully fallen. The bars were beginning to get active, and the streets had begun to fill with the dinner and party crowds.

  Jonathan and his team stood there on the sidewalk, as if a rock in the middle of a stream. “I think we need a plan, Boss,” Boxers said. “Got anything in mind?”

  “Sort of,” Jonathan said. “Tavern Row starts one block south of here. If he’s waiting till tomorrow to wreak his mayhem, maybe he’s drinking some courage tonight. I say we split up and show his picture to as many people as we can.”

  “I don’t like splitting up,” Boxers said. “Let’s do it as a group.”

  “The clock is ticking,” Gail said. “I don’t like spitting up, either, but it’ll let us cover way more ground.”

  “If you get a hit, give a shout on the radio,” Jonathan said. “Then we join up again and see what the next step is.”

  “I don’t like it,” Boxers said again.

  Jonathan feigned a baby voice. “Is widdle Boxie afraid?”

  Boxers’ whole body seemed to swell. Ever played with a dog too long and you get that awful feeling that the dog’s not playing anymore? That’s what it was like with Boxers when you pushed him too far. Like an angry dog. The biggest most lethal angry dog on the planet.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” Gail said. “It was a joke.”

  That did the trick. Big Guy’s anger passed.

  “Well, that was fun,” Jonathan said. “Tavern Row runs at least three blocks. Let’s each take a block and see what we find.”

  “And if you get a hit, radio it in first thing,” Boxers said.

  They headed down the hill toward the water and turned left onto Freedom Plaza Drive. Gail peeled off first onto Constitution Street, where at least two dozen bars lined both sides of the street. Jonathan had been noting that Gail’s limp was returning, a sure sign that she needed to take a break, so he figured that the less walking she had to do, the better off she’d be.

  When they were alone, Jonathan asked Boxers, “Why are you so jumpy?”

  “I don’t know,” Big Guy admitted. “I just have a bad feeling I guess. I don’t like it when the team splits up. It’s one thing when we’re moving for advantage in a firefight because we’re all still on the same targets. Going out individually is a bad idea. Sorry, Boss, but you asked me.”

  Jonathan smirked. “You don’t think I know how to fight my own fights, do you?”

  Boxers grinned. “You know I’ve seen you fight, right? Those little wounded-kitten punches.” Big Guy made little mewing noises as he punched at the air with little T-Rex arms.

  Jonathan laughed. “God, you’re an asshole.”

  Boxers said, “I complete you.”

&
nbsp; When they got to the next corner, Independence Street, Jonathan stopped. “I’ll take this one,” he said. “I’ll leave the long walk to you.”

  Boxers blew him an air kiss. Big Guy was in rare form tonight. But you know what? It wasn’t uncommon for those bad feelings to turn into bad shit.

  * * *

  Jimmy Kraut and Allen Wade shared rolled eyes as they approached the boarding line for the Potomac Eye. “Oh, God, this is going to be so lame,” Jimmy said.

  “Oh, will you two please stop?” The request came from Lauren Stark, Jimmy’s girlfriend and, he was pretty sure, his future wife. After they were both out of college, five years for him and six for her. “The view will be beautiful.”

  “It’s nighttime,” Allen said. “It’s dark. What can you see in the dark?”

  “The lights,” said his girlfriend, Ashleigh. “And the night sky. If Jimmy wasn’t here, you’d be fine with it. Just because you’re ‘Mister Tough Lacrosse Dude’ doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy pretty things.”

  Ashleigh was a bitch. Jimmy had known her since elementary school, and she’d always been a bitch. Even the spelling of her name was bitchy. L-E-I-G-H, my ass, he thought. She was going to suck the life out of Allen. Jimmy smiled at the irony. He happened to know that for now, it wasn’t Allen’s life that was being sucked dry, but something else. In confidence, Allen told him that Ashleigh had no gag reflex. And people wondered why they were still a couple!

  “It’s only forty-five minutes,” Lauren said. “You can do anything for forty-five minutes.” She pinched Jimmy’s ass. “Think of it as doing a nice thing for me.”

  “Is that an offer to return the favor?” Jimmy asked with a wink and a grin.

  “It all depends on how you behave,” Lauren said.

  “So, maybe a spanking if I’m a bad boy?”

  “Oh, my God,” Lauren groaned. “You just never grow up, do you?”

  “I hope not.” Jimmy put his arm around her and pulled her in close. God, he loved this lady.

  Finally, it was their turn to climb aboard. During his half-hour wait, he’d watched enough other people manage the step off into the moving gondola, but it felt a little weirder than he’d anticipated. Once aboard, the couples split, with Lauren and Jimmy sitting on the left-hand bench, and Allen and Ashleigh on the right. But then three generations of an Asian family flooded their gondola, so Jimmy decided to move to the other side to be with their friends.