by Luke Murphy
Dale shook his head. “We’re almost ready. Just going over our strategy.”
Jimmy looked at Dale, but didn’t say anything. They hadn’t spoken two words to each other since they’d entered the room.
“Well, it’s lunch time. We should send him back so he can eat then. You can talk with him after lunch.”
Dale wondered why the warden was so quick to protect the Russians. Why did he pamper Alexandrov and Burkov? What did they have on him?
“Keep him where he is,” Dale snapped. “Let him sweat it out a bit. There’s nowhere Burkov needs to be for the next thirty years or so.” Dale kept his eyes on the video feed from Alexandrov’s cell.
He quickly looked at Jimmy who refused to make eye contact with him. Jimmy was sweating and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. In the rental car from the helicopter landing pad, they’d argued the whole way to the prison, and they hadn’t spoken since entering the premises.
“What’s going on?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the screen.
On the video, a uniformed guard entered Alexandrov’s cell with a tray.
“Lunch time,” the warden replied, uninterested.
Dale and Jimmy watched the guard gently set the tray of food down on the table beside the chess board and furtively glance at the camera, before turning and leaving. Dale could have sworn that the guard tossed them a smile.
Alexandrov slowly rose from his bed and moved gingerly to the table, where he pulled out a chair and sat down. He opened up a napkin and placed it in his lap, cleaning off the spoon in his hand. He was apparently in no hurry.
Dale started bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet and his toes.
When Alexandrov took the first bite, Dale closed his eyes hard. They watched for eighteen minutes as Alexandrov ate everything on the plate, licked the spoon, and set it down. He chased it all with his tall glass of ice water, folded the napkin neatly and lay it on top of the tray.
A meal fit for a king, if that king was Richard the Third.
Alexandrov got up and moved back to the bed, sitting down on the edge, a satisfied smile spread across his face.
“I’m sure this is all very exciting for you,” the warden said. “But are you here to interrogate Burkov, or watch Alexandrov’s eating habits?”
Dale nodded. “Burkov should be ready by now.”
“Ready?” said the warden. “He’ll be downright pissed, and hungry.”
Dale slapped the warden on the back playfully. “Lead the way, sir.”
The warden grabbed the knob of the door to head to the interrogation room when one of the security guys yelled, “Looks like something didn’t agree with Alexandrov.”
They turned to see Alexandrov on the screen, holding his stomach. The old man got up off the bed, turned away from the camera, and proceeded to bring up most of his lunch.
“Gross,” one of the guards said. “We’ll need someone to clean that up.”
Alexandrov wiped away the excess vomit and spit from his mouth with his shirt sleeve and took one step when he stopped. He seemed to lean over, falling slightly into the corner of the bed. He clutched his chest with his right hand, now fully bent over the cot. His face was wet, mottled blue and white. His eyes stared at nothing.
“Holy shit! He’s having a heart attack.” The warden raced over to the control panel and slammed his fist down on a large red buzzer, sounding the emergency alarm that echoed throughout the prison. He called to his guards on the radio.
Dale checked his watch and the video screen at the same time. It took almost four minutes before multiple guards and paramedic crews crammed inside the cell, attempting valiantly to resuscitate the old Russian. Dale could hear Alexandrov make gurgling sounds over the guard’s walkie-talkie.
On the other screen, at the sound of the sirens, Burkov stood up and started pounding hard on the outside of the door with his giant, hammerhead fists.
Dale looked at the warden. “Maybe now’s not the best time to talk to Burkov. You better let him go back to say goodbye to his boss.”
♣
It was solemn in the rental car on the drive back to the helicopter launch pad. Dale knew that Jimmy was angry. He was quiet, but he could see his large partner vibrating in his seat.
“It’s over,” Dale said.
“Jesus, Dale, we need to talk about this. We just killed a man. We’re cops, damnit!”
“Are you going to mourn that scumbag’s death? Really? Alexandrov was a killer. He tortured and murdered people for the fun of it. You know how many people he killed, how many families he hurt. Mine could have been next. Maybe yours after that. As long as that son of a bitch had a breath of air left in his body, he could order whoever he wanted killed.”
“Dale, we’re cops.”
“You already said that. Don’t you think I know that? I’ve been a cop my whole adult life. It’s what I love and I can’t see myself doing anything different. Hell, I’ve lost my family over it, so don’t talk any righteous bullshit to me about being the law. Sometimes we need to take the law into our own hands. Sometimes the legal system just doesn’t do the people justice. Sometimes justice is better served swiftly.”
“What if it’s investigated?”
Dale shook his head. “An eighty-two-year-old man having a cardiac arrest in prison. Hardly uncommon.”
“An eighty-two-year-old in perfect health.”
“It won’t be looked at. Why do you think I asked Ben Kasper, Steve Sullivan’s colleague and best friend in the prison? Once I told Kasper what Alexandrov did to Sullivan’s family, he practically begged me to make him a part of this. The digoxin Kasper dripped onto Alexandrov’s food to enhance the cardiac arrest can’t be linked back to us. I made sure there’s no way.”
“What if the warden gets suspicious about us pulling Burkov out during lunch time, the man who tests Alexandrov’s food?”
“Jimmy, relax. Nothing can be connected to us. Normally it takes about ten milligrams of digoxin to do the job, but with Alexandrov’s bad kidneys it took a lot less. And it won’t be detected.”
“You’ve done your research.”
“Damn right.”
Jimmy blew air out of his cheeks. “Don’t ever ask me to do anything like that again. It’s not right.”
“The end justifies the means, Jimmy.”
Epilogue
Calvin lay on his bed, his head propped up on a pillow, an ice pack wrapped around his knee and a wide smile on his face. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches, but floated on air—and it wasn’t the prescription drugs. Well, not totally.
Baxter was dead, officially, and he and Rachel could go back to living their lives, without looking over their shoulders every corner they turned. They could return to the life that he’d imagined for the both of them when he’d decided to leave the “collecting” business, and get on with building a future, together.
“Is everything okay?” Rachel stuck her head inside the bedroom and smiled.
Calvin smiled back. “Perfect.”
Rachel entered, twisted the lid off a bottle of pills and handed one to Calvin, along with a glass of water. “It’s eight o’clock.”
Calvin took the pill and downed it with the water. “Rach, you don’t have to treat me like a hospital patient.”
She fluffed up his pillow and checked the bandages on his face. “I like taking care of you. Besides, wait until you see the nurse’s uniform I bought today.” She smiled, winked and left the room.
Rachel had just returned from the drug store. Calvin’s doctor had prescribed a slew of new medication for his injuries from South America and his confrontation with Baxter. It seemed like the last five years, all he’d done was try to recover from pain and setback, relying on pills and today’s technological surgeries.
Calvin knew that Rachel had missed him and would be happy to see him, but he had no idea that she would be this doting and hands-on. He knew she loved him, and it felt good to be taken care of for a change. Growing up in foster h
omes, Calvin was more accustomed to protecting himself and being on his own.
He hadn’t told Rachel about Livia, not that there was anything to tell. Nothing had happened. Yes, he’d been tempted, but what man wouldn’t have been? Livia was beautiful, sexy, and certainly she’d been attracted to Calvin. But he’d never crossed the line, and could look Rachel in the eye without feeling guilty or remorseful.
He was weary. He’d traveled through multiple cities, time zones, two continents, flown over nine thousand miles in total. He’d taken on two separate drug cartel groups, Russians, wild and deadly Amazon creatures, and a trained, ex-marine assassin. And he’d survived to tell about it.
Thinking back, the trip to Brazil and then Colombia was a whirlwind—a bad dream that he one day woke from. The things he’d seen, the obstacles he’d overcome had been an Amazonian jungle nightmare.
But as bad as that trip had been, and it was horrible, Calvin was still amazed that they’d been victorious against a pro, someone as lethal as Derek Baxter, again. Calvin had overcome the professional assassin not once, not twice, but on three separate occasions.
It was kind of ironic. In the end, Baxter had been taken down by his own foolish pride. If Baxter had left Calvin alone, escaped military custody and just disappeared, he’d still be alive. But as it was, the rogue marine couldn’t let it go, and his pride was too much to let him just sit back. He had to have Calvin, had to have his revenge.
Just as Calvin had let his foolish pride lead him to failure on the football field, Baxter was taken down by the same, selfish acts.
Calvin was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the front door to the apartment closing. Then he heard voices, Rachel speaking with a man. Footsteps coming towards the bedroom, and then Dale’s head popped in through the doorway.
“Bad time?”
Calvin smiled. “Never. Come in.” Calvin eased up into a sitting position.
“I won’t stay long. Just wanted to check up on you.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Dale smiled and blew out his breath. “What a crazy few days!”
Calvin smiled. “I’d say. I guess the tables have turned.”
“What do you mean?”
“Now it’s my turn to say, Dale Dayton…the man with the plan.”
Dale grinned. “I owed you. It was my turn to be the bait.”
“How did you know Baxter would be there?”
“It started to form when Baxter killed that cop, protecting Rachel and me. Baxter needed me to get to you. But after Baxter took out Shawn Grant, it clicked and really hit home. When the Major General told us that we lived only because Baxter had allowed us to, it was in that moment that I realized Baxter followed us there, hoping we’d lead him to you. I suspected that he would then follow us to the Major General’s house, as he had to Shawn Grant’s.”
“Crazy.” Calvin shook his head.
“Habits have comforting power. Baxter returned to his old stomping grounds to eliminate anyone who knew about him and had done him wrong. The hardest part was sneaking you onto the base grounds—not the easiest thing to hide a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man in the back seat. I held my breath until the gate guards only glanced momentarily back there. I think the fact that we used the cancer foundation pretense completely through them off, since Kennedy was a major part of that organization. They showed no signs of concern or worry, hence the brief security check.”
“The tinted windows helped, and wearing black clothes blended me in with the bullet proof vests and other gear you had thrown in. I can’t say I wasn’t nervous until the car moved again. When I heard that first gunshot, I had to wait until the guard at the front of the house left before I could sneak out. I followed the sound and the rest, as they say, is history. You’re lucky Baxter didn’t take you out, too.”
Dale shook his head. “Baxter wanted you more than me. But I knew he’d be following me, and that would give you your chance. I just had to get him out in the open, which meant I had to expose myself to give him that opportunity.”
“You could have been killed if you were wrong. No one was safe with him free. He saw you as a means to an end.”
“It was a chance I was willing to take. How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good, considering.”
There was a moment of silence before Calvin said, “So Alexandrov is dead.”
Dale had called Calvin after Alexandrov’s death, and they’d had a lengthy conversation over the phone about the whole Alexandrov/Sullivan/Sanders connection and little bits on the case itself.
The detective nodded. “Yeah. Poor bastard keeled over from a cardiac arrest.” He didn’t look sorry.
“Odd, one minute he’s a poster child for health, and the next minute he’s dead from a heart attack.”
Dale shrugged his slender shoulders. “I guess Alexandrov’s life finally caught up with him. He was an old man.”
Calvin let some time pass in silence, waiting for Dale to say more, but it didn’t look as if he would. Calvin suspected that Dale knew more, but if he didn’t want to tell Calvin, so be it.
Dale patted Calvin on the leg. “Take care of yourself, man.”
“Talk again soon, Dale.”
As the detective left the room, Calvin said, “Hey, Dale.” Dayton turned back. “Thanks for taking care of Rachel.”
The detective winked, turned and left the apartment.
Calvin lay back down and closed his eyes when a noise at the bedroom door snapped them open.
Rachel stood in the doorway. She had indeed purchased a new nursing uniform, and it left little to the imagination. He started to feel better, stronger. But maybe he’d milk these injuries just a little longer.
♣
“Okay, Betty. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” Dale hung up, a smile wide on his face.
It was well past midnight, and he and Betty had been talking for hours. Betty had called to tell him that Sammie wanted to see him, and Betty admitted that she also looked forward to Dale’s visits. Those words warmed his heart.
They’d spoken about many things, just like old times. Dale felt good about the direction the relationship was heading and confident that he, Betty and Sammie would be a family again someday. Months ago, he thought that the possibility of him and Betty rekindling their relationship and her taking him back would be impossible.
Dale felt like a high-schooler, lying on his bed still fully dressed, talking on the phone to a girl for hours. But this time, he was actually listening.
He shut off the bedside lamp and lay his head down on the pillow, staring at the coffered ceiling. So much had been happening in his life. The last two weeks alone had been hard to track, but so goes the life of a cop.
Between the separation with his family, Sanders’ escape, Calvin’s pursuit, the way the Alexandrov investigation went down, and Baxter’s whereabouts, Dale hadn’t had a moment to sit back and think about the chaos that was the life of a Las Vegas Metropolitan Police detective. Now that he thought about it, it was all kinds of crazy.
He’d spent the day sending case-clearing emails, texts, and phone calls. The Doug Grant investigation, in Dale’s mind, was finally closed. Maybe not the way he’d hoped or anticipated, but everyone connected to that case last year had been accounted for. And the Baxter problem had been solved. He was dead, and never coming back.
After having multiple investigations running at the same time, Dale could now finally take a breath and relax. He was on constant call, with no time to relish a victorious closed-case, because another file always waited on his desk.
But Baxter’s death was a special one, and allowed Dale a small smile. That case had dogged the detective for a year: five needless deaths, including one of Dale’s officers. All for greed, power and reputation.
The only good that came from that case was meeting Calvin, and developing a friendship with him. A friendship that would last a lifetime.
Dale had just closed his eyes wh
en his cellphone rang.
Without turning on the lamp, he reached over and picked up the phone, looking at the caller ID.
“Detective Dayton.”
“You have a list. I need it back.” A raspy, smoker’s voice. Dale didn’t recognize it. “Turn your light back on.”
Now Dale sat up. Someone was watching him. He rolled out of bed and crawled towards the window. He slithered up into a standing position and planted himself at the side, covered by the curtain. He looked out, a thousand Vegas lights winked in the dark night. He put the phone to his mouth.
“What list?” Dale asked.
“The one you took from Major General Howard Kennedy when he was killed.”
Dale froze. He’d forgotten about the paper he’d taken from the Major’s dying hand. With everything that had happened after Kennedy’s death, including watching Calvin cut down Baxter, Dale had totally forgotten about the piece of paper in his jacket pocket.
Dale hung up. He wasn’t about to blindly follow a strange voice on the phone.
He crept over to the chair that his jacket had been flung over. He reached inside the pocket and pulled out the crumpled, partially torn paper. He flipped on the flashlight application on his iPhone, set it on the chair, and rested the paper beside it.
He snapped a picture of the paper with his phone.
It was definitely a list. Seven names, handwritten in pen. Four of the names were circled, one was crossed out, and two had been left untouched. Derek Baxter was one of the names untouched. There was a different symbol drawn beside each name, with a word scratched out underneath.
The words were: anger, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony. The Seven Deadly Sins that the Major had mentioned in their brief conversation. A chill scorched through Dale when he saw the image that had been carved into the tree outside Shawn Grant’s house, the snake with the blade through it, drawn at the top of the paper over all of the names. But he didn’t recognize the other symbols drawn beside each of the seven names.
Derek Baxter (anger), Marcus Silver (greed), Gerald Benjamin (sloth), Jackson North (pride), Max Harding (lust), Colton Seabrook (envy) and Stewart Felton (gluttony).