by Richard Wren
“You alive?”
Peterson groaned. “I think I lost at least two teeth from that sonuvabitchin’ cue ball. Yeah, I’m alive, so what?”
“Get off your ass and get us some beers. Then clean yourself up and Shirl here too. When you two are presentable, get her to fix us some lunch.” He turned to his buddy, “Hey Gene, sandwiches okay?”
He sat facing both Smitty and Casey. Now Smitty had two names. Peterson and Gene. He wondered what Squinty’s name was as he retreated to his bar stool and the gunman seemed to relax a little.
Letting the gun dangle from his finger on the trigger guard, he nonchalantly put his shiny cowboy boots up on the table and directed his attention to Smitty. “You don’t mind if we get comfortable do you? The way I figger it, we got all afternoon to get everything Shirl knows outa her. Nobody knows we’re here, and Shirl’s gone home sick.” He laughed at his own joke. “Then I’ll have to decide what the hell to do with the three of you.”
Smitty took a shot in the dark. “You’ll probably do what your bosses told you to do, that’s my guess.”
The gunman instantly replied. “Well, of course I’ll do what I’m paid to do, but it’s the parameters that’re interesting. They don’t give a shit how I get the info they want, just get it.” He nudged Gene on his butt and gave a short laugh, “That’s right ain’t it, Gene.”
“That include running down and killing old ladies?” asked Smitty.
“Now what the hell’re you talking about?” Squinty appeared totally mystified by the question.
Smitty instantly thought his statement vindicated his theory. There had to be an organization of some sort behind this. The killing in Denver was obviously related to what was going on here, but Squinty didn’t seem to know anything about it. Someone higher up’s pulling the strings, he thought to himself as he looked with concern at Casey.
Peterson came out from behind the bar carrying three drawn beers. “Might as well have the best,” he said as he set them down. Then in what looked like sheer vindictiveness he walked over to Casey, tested his bonds, and kicked him twice in the ribs.
CHAPTER 20
Casey didn’t move. He had a rope tied around his ankles, his knees doubled up, and the other end of the rope was a noose around his neck. If he tried to straighten out, he would choke himself. Blood was dripping from a cut on his face. So far, he seemed to be out cold completely.
Squinty addressed Smitty. “You didn’t like it when I clobbered old Shirl did you? Maybe that’s the key.” He deliberated for a moment while rubbing the barrel of his gun along his jaw line. “Would you tell me who you work for if I threatened to chop off her fingers one by one ‘til you came clean? I wonder?”
Smitty had no doubts now that the guy was a psychopath of some sort. His casual cruelty to Shirl and Casey made that plain. He just stared back at the gunman without blinking, not knowing the best attitude to take.
“Another beer,” The gunman ordered. Peterson jumped to get the order. Smitty narrowed his eyes. He suddenly realized that Peterson was afraid of the gunman, but putting up a front of bravado. Can I use that?
Suddenly, Peterson stopped in midstride and said, “What was that?”
“What?” the gunman asked suddenly tense.
“Thought I heard a car door slam.”
The gunman relaxed. “Probably just a disgruntled customer. He’ll leave when he sees the closed sign. Take a look.”
Peterson walked over to a window and carefully peeked out between the blinds.
“Shit. It’s a cop car.”
“What’re they doing?”
“Nothing, just sitting there, two of ‘em.”
“Two cars?”
“No, two cops. One of ‘em’s getting out. He’s coming over here. Oh shit, the other’s out too, and he’s got his gun out standing on the other side of the car.”
“What the fuck?” Squinty quietly exclaimed as he rose to his feet.
Peterson stumbled as he tried to retreat from the front window. The gunman showed his nerves when he almost snapped off a shot at the noise. “He’s looking at the closed sign.”
“Stay calm,” the gunman ordered. “I’m gonna check the rear to see if there’s another cop out back.” He ran quietly behind the bar and through the swinging doors to the kitchen knocking, Shirl off her feet as he went.
A loud pounding on the front door riveted everyone’s attention.
“Shirl! Answer up!”
Peterson turned toward the rear of the bar and in a loud stage whisper tried to reach the gunman. “Earl, Earl.” No answer. He tried again, “Hey Earl, what’ll we do?”
Shirl spoke up from where she was lying on the floor with a view of the kitchen area from under the swinging doors. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Peterson said. “What d’ya mean gone?”
“He opened the door a little and peeked outside, then he quietly slipped through it and disappeared. The door’s still open,” she said suggestively.
At the same time the cop outside shouted to his partner. “Something’s fishy here. Take a look out back, but be careful”
Gene spoke up. “That prick split on us, screw him,” and tossed his gun onto the table. At the same time, he opened up a long pocket knife and headed toward Casey.
Smitty sprang to his feet, but before he could get there the guy started cutting the bonds off of Casey and issuing orders to Peterson.
“We didn’t do nothin’, Earl did it all, got it? Answer him,” he ordered Shirl.
“That you George?” Shirl shrilly yelled.
“Shirl? Let us in.”
Peterson said, “What’s goin’ on?”
Gene said, “Peterson, shut the fuck up and sit down.” They both sat down at an empty table, carefully avoiding the table where Gene had tossed his gun.
Shirl said, “Smitty, answer the door.”
Smitty yelled, “We’re coming,” and walked to the door. “I’m unlocking it,” he continued, and turned the key. Before he could turn the knob it twisted in his hand and he was thrust backward by the force of the policeman ramming the door and entering with gun drawn and shouting, “Everyone on the floor, hands where I can see them.” He swept the room with his gun as Gene and Peterson fell to the floor as directed. “You too, buster” he shouted as his gun ended up pointing at Smitty standing beside the door.
“Shirl. Where are you,” he called. Shirl crawled out from behind the bar. “Jesus H. Christ,” the cop mouthed and immediately called for backup.
“Any more around?” he questioned Shirl. The second cop answered as he came in from the back door. “Empty back here; looks like one of ‘em got away.”
“Upstairs?” he asked Shirl.
“All clear,” she answered. “There were only three of them.” She pointed at Smitty on his knees, hands in the air. “George, that’s Smitty. He’s a friend, but I think we need an EMT team for Casey there.” She pointed to Casey who was just beginning to writhe around, “Another friend of mine,” she vouched.
George took a closer look at Shirl’s face. “I think you better go with him to the hospital. What the hell happened here?”
She countered with a question. “How come you guys came by?”
“We didn’t just come by. We were told you were in trouble.”
Shirl was mystified. “Who?
“You’re old Mr. Regular, that’s who. He says they kicked him out.”
“Yeah they did. After they realized he was damn near totally deaf. They thought he was harmless and hadn’t seen anything anyway.”
“Well, you owe him a big thank you. They were right, he hadn’t noticed anything, but the guy that kicked him out made a big mistake. It took him a half hour or so to pick up on it, but when he did he called us right away, and we hustled on down.”
Slowly, Shirl ran the scene at the front door through her mind once more. “I sure didn’t see any mistake the guy made.”
“Something he said. Turns out Mr. Davis’s go
t some smarts and he sure as hell used them. The guy said you were in a hurry to close up and go home. Davis just kinda accepted that statement for a while, until he remembered that you lived upstairs. You wouldn’t go home; you’re already home! So he called us--pretty smart, huh?”
Smitty had hustled over to Casey and was trying to staunch the bleeding and gently bring him back around to consciousness. He called over to the officer, “Yeah, he needs an ambulance, and so does she.”
The second cop said, “It’s on the way.”
Shirl’s cop friend, George, asked her, “You up to telling me what went on here?” She proceeded to describe the morning’s happenings lucidly and clearly until they heard sirens in the distance, and she began to wilt.
“I’m beginning to feel sickish,” She told George.
“Could be a slight concussion.” Smitty volunteered. “The guy that got away really smacked her.”
Shirl was feeling well enough to explain Smitty and Casey’s presence there and add, “He can fill you in on the rest of the story. I’ve known him for years.”
The cop looked at Smitty and grinned, “Yeah I know who you are, and I remember what happened last year. No worries.”
Smitty told him what the missing gunman had done to Casey and how he had fallen on his unprotected head as he’d clutched at his throat with both hands. “Wish to hell they’d get here with the ambulance.”
The second cop broke in. “They’re just now turning into the driveway.”
“Was there any sign out back of the guy that got away?” George asked him.
“I didn’t see nobody. The door was standing open, and I was looking more inside than outside.”
George turned to Smitty. “I need a description I can call in for an APB.”
Smitty pointed to a coat hanger fastened to a post behind the tables. “See the bottom of that hanger? That’s exactly how tall he was when he stood next to it.” George stood next to it. “That’d make him about five three or so. What else?”
“Real lean, I’d say about one thirty or so. Dark black, slicked back hair, sharp dresser, shiny new looking cowboy boots, and a kind of screwy look to his eyes, sorta squinty like. I thought maybe the light was bothering him, but it’s pretty dark in here. Oh yeah, his name’s Earl, and I would guess him to be about sixty.”
He said all this as he was watching the paramedics examine Casey carefully and then load him on to a stretcher. The paramedic saw his concern. “He’s gonna be okay, no broken bones, lots of bruises.” He hesitated. “Are you his dad?”
“Father-in-law,” Smitty responded. “Why?”
He moved away from Casey’s hearing range. “His throat’s something else. I’ve seen that kind of injury before on martial arts students. Nothing’s broke, but a lotta damage’s been done. Sometimes it takes weeks before you can talk again. What somebody did to him was just short of a killing blow.”
“Shit,” was all Smitty could muster in response.
After looking around carefully, the paramedic added, “Up to me, with my experience, I’d call a karate school and get them to recommend an oriental doc who’s familiar with karate injuries. Gotta go.” He moved back to Casey’s side and finished strapping him in, and then wheeled him out on the gurney. Casey grabbed Smitty’s hand in passing and squeezed it hard. He tried to speak, but could only muster a croak.
Smitty said, “You’re gonna be okay, nothing broken, and the throat’ll heal itself in a day or two. I’ll call Josie and see you at the hospital.”
CHAPTER 21
“What’s this?” Josie asked.
Smitty and Josie were totally unprepared for what they saw as they entered Casey’s hospital room. Casey was fully clothed, sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling and waving a piece of paper at them.
Josie rushed over and hugged him. “You look great. Are you okay?”
Casey pushed her away to arm’s length and pointing at his throat, nodded his head back and forth.
“You can’t talk?”
He smiled and pushed the paper into her hands, pointing at her and Smitty simultaneously.
She crumpled the paper up and started to throw it on the bed. Casey grabbed it from her hands, smoothed it out, and handed it to Smitty.
Smitty glanced at it and said “Peterson? What about Peterson?”
Casey grabbed the paper back and scribbled. Peterson phoned, guys came.
Smitty thought for a minute, then, obviously puzzled by the succinct message, said, “So?”
Josie read the note also and grabbed the note away from Smitty, handing it back to Casey. “Take your time, you’re not making sense.”
Casey started scribbling. Couldn’t figure how gunmen got there so fast. Someone called them? Remember seeing Peterson making a call when we were talking Shirl. Means he knows phone number of guy sent gunmen. Need talk Peterson.
Josie glanced at the note, and then quickly handed it to Smitty with a terse, “Does this make sense to you?”
Smitty had outlined the entire happening to Josie on the way to the hospital. “Sure does, but I didn’t see him making a phone call.” He paused, “You sure?” to Casey.
Casey nodded his head up and down vehemently, then beckoned for the paper back and scribbled furiously.
He kind of turned his back but mirror behind him was clear.
Smitty sat down in a chair and put his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes, and was silent for a long moment. Finally, “Problem is, we can’t get to the bastard; he’s in jail.”
Casey clapped his hands together to get their attention and repeatedly pointed at Josie. When they looked at him perplexedly, he grabbed the paper again and scribbled two words followed by two large exclamation points.
Attorney privilege!! And again, he vigorously pointed at Josie.
Josie got it. “You’re saying if I represent him, we could get the information?”
Casey nodded his head up and down, then finished with the classic upturned hands and questioning look on his face as if saying, “Could that work?”
Josie mulled the question over a second or so. “Probably. I’d really have to represent him, and he’d have to agree to it.” She paused, “Could work, but he’s going to be real suspicious of us being his defenders.”
Smitty, more familiar with jail procedures than either Josie or Casey said, “Maybe not. I bet that whoever he phoned has dropped him like a hot potato. The other guy, Earl? Nobody’s going to hear from him in the near future, and the cops have a barrel full of charges against him. I think he just might be ripe for picking.”
Josie mused over the idea. “If he accepts me, he can tell me everything, and it’ll be privileged, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use anything he tells me in his defense.” She paused for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “I can use it to negotiate with the S.O.B. district attorney; that’ll be a hoot.”
Smitty clapped his hand together. “Hey, we got a plan!” As he said it, he noticed that Casey’s eyes were fixed over his shoulder, a look of consternation on his face. He quickly swung around, anticipating some sort of danger, only to be faced by a stern-faced, middle-aged nurse glaring at Casey.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Back in bed this instant.” She added. Turning to Josie, she said, “Did he tell you what we’re concerned about?”
Before Josie could answer, she bustled past her, bent over, and picking up Casey’s feet, swung him around so that he was suddenly lying flat on his back in bed.
“He’s scheduled for a CT scan in a few minutes. The doctors are worried that he may have an internal hematoma.” She glared at the two of them. “And that, if you’re not aware of it, could be damn dangerous. He was ordered to lie still. Not sit up and waive his arms around wildly. Got that?” She pierced them with her eyes.
Properly chastised, the two took their leave, assuring Casey they would be waiting with him for the results.
“Cafeteria?” Smitty asked.
“Good idea, we need to talk.�
�
Neither said anything in the elevator on the way down to the cafeteria. Once seated with their trays before, them they both started talking at the same time. Josie won.
“I need to get to the jail ASAP. Soon as we get the results from the scan, I gotta go.”
Smitty was a little surprised about Josie’s apparent lack of concern about the upcoming scan. “You’re not worried about the CT scan?”
“Not a bit. I’ve had a lot of experience with them. First place, there was no sign of outside swelling and there would be with a hematoma. Plus the doc’s always do a CAT scan in a head injury, just to protect their own asses. I’m damn sure it’s routine in spite of what the nurse said. I think they’ll release him by tonight.”
“Okay. But why the hurry to see Peterson?”
“Simple. Right now, he’s probably being charged with aggravated assault or maybe even kidnapping or more. They’ll probably list a bunch of charges just to make sure.”
“So he’s not going anywhere, right?”
“Not the point. I have to get to him before Gordon hears that you’re connected to Peterson. That means like right now.”
“How long does it take to get the results of a CAT scan?”
“I don’t know, but we’ve been here almost an hour, and I’m getting antsy. I feel that I should be doing something, and I’m doing nothing.”
“Josie you gotta relax. Go with the flow.”
Josie drummed her fingers on the table, then stood up. “I’m going now. This may be a real important development for Gus, and I’m sure my husband would say go.”
Smitty could see the hard-nosed, tough assistant district attorney in action that she had become. Capable of making major decisions based on facts and need that overcame personal desires.
“Go!” he agreed. “Keep your cell phone open.”
As she walked out the cafeteria door, Smitty saw Casey’s nurse walk by carrying a bouquet of flowers. He hurried after her.
“Nurse,” he called out. Apparently, she didn’t hear him as she punched an elevator button. Smitty barely was able to catch the doors with his fingertips before they slammed shut.