[Chauncey Means 01.0] A Hard Place

by Sean Lynch

  “Thank you,” she said after a long time.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  Chapter 27

  It was after midnight when I pulled up in front of Greg’s house in the Avenues. Belicia leaned on me as I walked her to the door; the effects of fatigue and whatever mind-altering substances she’d ingested were beginning to overtake her. Amanda and Greg opened up almost before I knocked. Reyna was right behind them.

  “Belicia,” Reyna called out. She pushed her diminutive frame past Greg and his wife. Reyna and her granddaughter embraced. Belicia began to cry.

  “It’s my fault,” she sobbed. “Marisol is dead because of me. I couldn’t tell you. It’s all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” I corrected her. Amanda, Greg, and Reyna looked at me quizzically. I gestured towards the house.

  “Let’s get inside,” Greg said, taking the hint. Amanda helped Reyna usher Belicia into the house.

  “She’ll need plenty of fluids and a hot bath,” I said. “Medical attention, too. But she can’t leave, and nobody can know she’s here.”

  “What’s this all about?” Greg demanded.

  “In private,” I said. Greg let Amanda and Reyna escort Belicia into the home’s interior. Greg led me into his study. Greg’s the only guy I know who has an honest-to-god study. My friend Russ is probably as wealthy as Greg, but he has a man-cave; not the same thing. There were no boxes of fishing tackle and crates of ammunition in Greg’s house.

  “You want a drink?” Greg asked. “You look a little bushed.”

  “Does Joe Biden have hair plugs?”

  Greg actually has one of those giant, elaborate, globes which opened at the equator to reveal a liquor hoard inside. He poured himself a brandy. I pointed to a bottle of Crown Royal; I didn’t see any Jim Beam. He poured me a double over ice.

  “You found Belicia. Well done.” He raised his glass. I didn’t.

  “Nothing to toast yet,” I said. “Job’s not finished.”

  “You still don’t know who killed Marisol?”

  I sipped some Canadian whiskey before answering him. “I know exactly who killed Marisol Hernandez.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said.

  “Attorney client privilege?”

  “Of course.”

  I told him everything. Greg was an experienced enough attorney to listen to the whole saga before asking any clarifying questions. Then he asked a bunch of them. It took a while. He refilled his brandy when he was satisfied with my answers.

  “Jesus, Chance. You’ve killed six men investigating this case; four in one night. One of them was a cop, for heaven’s sakes.”

  “I prefer to think of it as six times I survived lethal attacks,” I said. I held out my empty glass.

  “You’ve been in shooting scrapes before. I should know; I represented you. But those were officer-involved shootings. You had the full weight of your status as a sworn California police officer behind you. This is different. You could be seriously exposed here.” Greg poured me another three fingers of Crown. “You want to go to prison?”

  “Don’t sweat it,” I said. “The first two are already in the books; the D.A.’s not going to file on me; you said so yourself. The two on Lake Chabot Road are going to be attributed to Drop-Dead and Bo. I left both of the weapons I used to scrag those two shitheads on Bullock and Bolson’s bodies. It’ll look like an internal feud within the gang. I left nothing at the scene which would lead back to me. All I need is an alibi; just in case.”

  “I will provide Chauncey’s alibi,” Amanda said, entering the room. Greg turned to face his wife.

  “How long have you been listening to us?” he asked his wife indignantly.

  “Long enough,” she said, looking me directly in the eye. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

  “Amanda,” Greg began, “I don’t want you getting involved. If it comes out you knew about this-”

  “Shut up and pour me a brandy,” Amanda demanded, not unkindly. “I’m the one who launched Chauncey’s crusade, remember? I believe I’m entitled to know what he’s done on our behalf.”

  Greg looked questionably at me; I nodded. He got another glass. Amanda came over and gave me a hug.

  “I’m sorry you were in danger, Chauncey,” she said. She took my face in both of her hands. “But I’m not sorry you killed those men.” She turned to face her husband. “While you two have been chatting for the past hour, I’ve been upstairs helping Reyna care for Belicia,” she said, her jaw clenching. Tears of rage welled in her eyes. “Do you know what they did to that little girl?”

  Greg looked down. “Chance was just filling me in,” he said softly.

  “Belicia’s only fourteen-years’-old,” she said, her voice trembling. “She’s just a child. She’s been repeatedly raped, diseased, beaten, addicted; they did every foul thing a man can do to a little girl. She’s covered in bruises; she’s even got cigarette burns.” Amanda looked from Greg to me. “Did you know Marisol died trying to save Belicia?”

  Greg looked as if he wanted to say something but was afraid to. All he could muster was a nod. Amanda went on.

  “I know Chauncey wouldn’t have killed those men unless he had to, to save his own life. But even if it wasn’t self-defense, those bastards deserved to die.”

  “Amanda,” Greg cooed, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “The hell I don’t,” she snapped. “We have daughters, Greg,” she said. “I look at Reyna, upstairs bathing her granddaughter, her tears falling into the bathwater like rain, and all I see are the faces of our girls…”

  Amanda’s voice trailed off into sobs.

  I took the empty brandy snifter from Greg as he walked over to hold his wife. I filled the glass with brandy while Amanda Vole cried into her husband’s chest. After a few moments her crying quieted and she stepped away from her husband. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, wiped her eyes on her robe, and straightened her hair. Then she held out her hand. I gave her the brandy and she took a respectable gulp.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” I told her.

  “Yes I do. You warned me at the beginning. You said it would be hard. You said it would be dangerous.” She lifted her chin. “I was convinced I could handle it. You knew I had no idea, didn’t you?”

  “If you want me to say, ‘I told you so,’ you’ll be disappointed,” I said. “I’m a big boy. I knew what I was doing.”

  “At least it’s over,” Greg offered, desperate to lighten the mood.

  “Not by a long shot,” I corrected him. “I still have to finish the job.”

  “That’s right,” Amanda agreed. Greg shot her an incredulous look.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Greg said. “There’s no way you’re still planning on going after him, are you Chance? Not after all this? You need to fly under the radar; let the system take care of him. It’s too risky for you to go forward now.”

  “I can’t use the system without implicating myself. You’re a lawyer; do the math. I’d be cooked along with him.”

  “Then let it go.”

  “I finish what I start. You know that. You knew that when you hired me.”

  “He’s right, Honey,” Amanda added, her voice resolute. She got it.

  “He’s a cop, Chance,” Greg retorted, ignoring his wife. “A very well-known one, apparently.”

  “He’s a pimp, Greg. A pimp with a badge.”

  “He’s got to know you’re on to him. You’re not going to be able to get near him. Give it up.”

  “I don’t give a shit if he’s the President of the United States and surrounded twenty-four/seven by the Secret Service. He turned out Belicia, and god knows how many other kids before her. He tried to kill me three separate times. And he killed Marisol Hernandez. Remember her? Marisol’s only sin was trying to rescue her little sister? She’s the reason you hired me.”

  “Chance, you
can’t go after him. They’ll nail you.”

  “I have to; for several reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  “If I don’t deal with him, Belicia’s dead.”

  “I disagree. He’s going to lay low. Like you should be doing.”

  “Wrong. He’s got to take Belicia out. He can’t let her live now; she knows too much. I’m pretty sure she was slated to be done in as soon as Drop-Dead Bullock, and the friendly and courteous Officer Bolson, were finished doing me in.”

  “That’s why you brought Belicia here, isn’t it? To hide her out?”

  “Right. Nobody knows she’s here, so she’s safe for the time being. But we can’t keep Belicia under wraps forever. Sooner or later she has to surface. And when she does-”

  “-he’ll find her,” Amanda cut in. “He has no choice. What’re the other reasons?”

  “He’s tried to kill me three times already, Greg. What makes you think he’s not going to keep trying until he finishes the job?”

  “That’s a valid point as well. Any others?”

  “Damn right there is; I gave my word to Reyna Sandoval.”

  I set my empty glass down and stood up. I reached in my pocket and handed Greg the set of police handcuffs I’d brought with me, and the key. His eyebrows lifted.

  “I have work to do. Keep Belicia here. Don’t let her use the phone. She’s addicted, so she’ll try to get out and score; she can’t help it. Get her some medical attention; discretely, and here at the house. The cuffs are in case you need them.”

  “I don’t think it will be necessary to handcuff a teenaged girl to the bedpost, Chance,” Greg snorted.

  “Then you’ve never witnessed anyone going through amphetamine withdrawal. If Belicia gets out, she’ll go directly to one of the dope sources she’s familiar with. He’ll be monitoring those. If he finds her, she’s dead.”

  “We’ll do what we have to do to keep Belicia here,” Amanda said, putting her arm on Greg’s shoulder. “I promise.”

  “Good.” I handed Greg a card from my wallet. “Call this number.”

  “B.A.W.A.R.?” Greg said, reading from the card.

  “Bay Area Women Against Rape. They specialize in providing resources for victims of sexual abuse, human trafficking, and violence against women. I worked with them a lot when I was on the job. Dedicated people, and completely confidential. Nothing Belicia has been through they haven’t dealt with. They can hook her up with medical services, substance abuse and addiction recovery, and more importantly, counseling.”

  “Counseling?”

  “Belicia is in much the same place emotionally as a hostage or P.O.W. after several months of abusive captivity,” I said. “I’ve seen it before. When she finally gets clean and sober, a lot of guilt and self-loathing are going to emerge. Those feelings can manifest themselves in self-destructive, even suicidal, behaviors. She’ll need professional help in processing those emotions. The staff at B.A.W.A.R. can provide the resources.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Call them first thing in the morning. And no matter what you do, don’t let Belicia out of your sight. Her life depends on being monitored right now by people who care.”

  “We won’t let her down,” Greg said. “We’ll take care of Belicia,” Amanda echoed. He stuck out his hand. I shook it. Amanda stepped forward.

  “Good luck, Chance. I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

  “Like I said, no apology necessary,” I said. “Besides,” I grinned, “you haven’t seen the bill yet.” Amanda rewarded me with a weak smile.

  As Greg and Amanda walked me to the door Reyna Sandoval entered the hallway.

  “Belicia’s asleep,” Reyna said. “She’s got a fever.” She looked exhausted. Amanda embraced her.

  “I’ll call Doctor Schuler in the morning,” Amanda said to Reyna. “He’s a family friend. He’ll come right over.” She looked at me. “We can trust in his confidentiality.”

  “We have to talk,” Greg said, holding up the handcuffs. Reyna’s eyebrows lifted higher than Greg’s when I first showed the cuffs to him. But then Reyna nodded, as if she understood. She stepped forward. She took my right hand in both of hers.

  “Thank you, Mister Chance, for returning my granddaughter to me. I was afraid I would never see her again. I am grateful.” There were tears in her eyes. Maybe mine too.

  “All part of the service,” I said.

  “Missus Amanda said Belicia is still in danger,” she said. “Is this true?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  “What are you going to do?”

  I looked at Greg, and then Amanda, before returning my gaze back to Reyna Sandoval’s honest eyes.

  “I gave you my word I would find the man who killed Marisol. I keep my word.”

  “And then what will you do?”

  “He’s got to answer for what he’s done,” I said.

  Greg spoke up. “Chance, we talked about this; the law can’t touch him without snaring you too.”

  “It ain’t the law he’ll be answering to.”

  Reyna Sandoval squeezed my hand very hard in both of hers. “Belicia has told me much already,” she said. “But I can tell there are things,” she suppressed a sob, “she will never speak of. This man, who murdered Marisol,” she continued, “he did these terrible things to her. What he did to Belicia brought Marisol to her death.” I could feel Reyna Sandoval’s whole body trembling through the conduit of her hands.

  Reyna’s eyes transformed from honesty and pain into something else. Something harder.

  “He must pay for what he did,” she said, her eyes blazing. I gently removed my hand from hers and opened the door.

  “I’m way ahead of you,” I told her.

  “Vaya con Dios,” Reyna said.

  “I don’t think so,” I said over my shoulder as I walked out. “God’s probably going to want to sit this one out.”

  Chapter 28

  When I got home, the first thing I did was call Dave Boyer’s work cell phone number. I was going to leave a message for Dave to call me the first thing in the morning. It was after two o’clock AM, and I didn’t expect him to answer, but he did.

  “This is Dave Boyer,” he said. He was whispering, which I assumed was to keep from waking his sleeping spouse. Cops aren’t usually too bent out of shape when they get calls in the middle of the night. It’s part of being a cop.

  “Dave, this is Chance Means. I’m sorry as hell to call at this ungodly hour, but it’s critical I speak with you.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I found Belicia. She’s safe.”

  “Where’d you find her?”

  “I can’t tell you. Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I can’t tell you that either. She’s in righteous danger. I have her tucked away in a safe place.”

  “You want me to remove her from the MUPS system?”

  “No. The person gunning for her has access to MUPS. That’ll raise a red flag.”

  “How does he have access to MUPS? Is he a cop?”

  “It’s better you don’t know. If he learns Belicia’s no longer a runaway, he’ll know she’s either been returned to her grandmother or been placed in one of the local group homes. In either case, he could find her.”

  “Why does this guy want Belicia’s scalp?”

  “Because she can bury him. Among other things, he forced her to set me up to get whacked.”

  “What?”

  “Like I said Dave; it’s better you don’t know.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Efren Campos; remember him?”

  “How could I forget that waste-of-humanity?”

  “He’s next on the hit parade. Campos is another loose end in what’s becoming an unraveling tapestry.”

  “Does this guy have the juice to whack Campos inside Santa Rita?”

  “Not sure, but we can’t take the chance.”<
br />
  “Do you want the Alameda County Sheriff’s Department to put Campos into Administrative Segregation while he’s in Santa Rita?”

  “Not unless we have to; that would have the same effect as taking Belicia out of the Missing and Unidentified Persons System. It would send a signal that somebody is on to him.”

  “Then what should I do with him?” Dave asked.

  “If you can, contact Santa Rita and find out when Campos’s court appearance is scheduled? We guessed it would be the day-after-tomorrow, on Tuesday. But it might be today if the court calendar isn’t too full. You can bet the dude who wants him will be doing the same thing.”

  “I get it; you want me to snag Campos if and when he gets released.”

  “If you can. If you can’t, get him transferred to Ad-Seg at Santa Rita and keep him isolated until he’s released. No phone calls.”

  “How long?”

  “Couple of days at most. I don’t care how you do it, but get it done. Campos’s life probably depends on it.”

  “You act like you care if he gets killed.”

  “I don’t,” I said truthfully. “But I need him breathing for the time being; he’s leverage.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Boyer.

  “I appreciate it. Any luck with the dump of Belicia and Campos’s phones?”

  “Even with the rush I put on it, it’ll still be a week or more before our computer forensics detective can dig into them. Sorry, Chance.”

  “No problem, Dave,” I said. “I already know what’s going to be on them.”

  “I’ve got to know,” Dave said. “How’re things going with Karen Pearson?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said.

  “That’s too bad,” he said. It sure as hell was.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as I know something about Campos,” Dave said.

  “Call me on the home phone number I gave you,” I told him. “The cell phone number isn’t good anymore.”

  “I’m sure glad you found Belicia. Would’ve hated to see her grandma lose another granddaughter.”

  “Me too. Thanks, Dave. I owe you.”