Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  “And this guy just stood there while you took notes?” She was smirking. He couldn’t see it but he could hear it. “Maybe you should have just taken a picture—it might have been less obvious.”

  Mark inhaled the hot coffee and coughed uncontrollably while he held his hand over the receiver.

  “Hello? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Coffee went down the wrong pipe.” A lingering cough punctuated his reply.

  “Okay, and your name?”

  “What? My name? Why? I would prefer to give the tip anonymously.”

  “I need it for the report. I could take it anonymously, but we don’t have time to run around checking out bogus reports and anonymous reports could come from a criminal looking for a diversion. ” Any concern that might have been in her voice had evaporated and replaced with suspicion. “Is that what you’re doing? Creating a diversion?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You got something to hide?”

  If only she knew. He took a deep breath. “Mark Taylor.” Resigned, he gave her his address and other details then said, “So you guys will stop it, right?”

  “Listen, Mr. Taylor, if this information has a shred of truth to it, we’ll find out and stop the robbery, but if you’re yanking our chain, you are going to be in a world of hurt.”

  “No…I’m not…I’m not yanking your chain.” He ran a hand through his hair then bit back a curse when his knee bumped against the bottom of the breakfast bar.

  * * *

  At the time of the robbery, Mark stood on the corner outside the gas station pretending to wait for a bus, but ready to do what he could if the police didn’t show. When the bus stopped, he waved it off, ignoring the bus driver’s irritated shake of his head.

  Where were the cops? Any minute the robber would show up. Not five seconds later, a man matching the image in Mark’s photo stepped out of a car, looked around and entered the gas station.

  Mark jogged across the gas station lot, but as he reached for the door, two cop cars barreled into the lot. He halted and backed away from the door. A dark sedan followed the marked cars and he was pretty sure it was the detective. He hoped that meant they had been watching. The way the police cars were parked, the robber wouldn’t be able to get away. One officer pressed his shoulder microphone as he read the numbers off the license plate aloud, and Mark glanced through the window, catching a glimpse of the robber. So far, he was only standing in the back, holding a cooler open, a soft drink in hand, but his attention was on the police cars outside. His gaze swung towards Mark, so Mark ducked out of the way, deciding that the police had things under control and didn’t need him getting in the way. He retreated to the other side of the street where he could watch without attracting notice.

  It seemed to take forever, but the police finally exited with the guy in handcuffs. Puzzled, Mark wondered what had happened to produce that result. He was sure no shots had been fired. Still, his plan had worked. Maybe he hadn’t done it himself, but the end result was all that mattered. He took a deep breath and blew it out in relief. The robbery had been averted.

  The next day, he was at his desk preparing to send out contact sheets to some clients, when the phone rang.

  “Mark Taylor Photography.” He sealed the envelope in his hand and tossed it on the desk, then reached for another client’s contact sheet.

  “Hello. This is Detective Bishop. We spoke yesterday.”

  He stilled with his hand poised over the contact sheet, his task forgotten for the moment. After observing the arrest, he had been confident that everything had come out okay. What if he had been wrong and the clerk had been murdered anyway? “I…uh…I hope my information helped.”

  “That’s the thing. It did help, but it also means I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding how you acquired the information.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m just curious because the guy we booked swears he wasn’t in any bar on Division in the recent past. In fact, he claims he never spoke of his intentions to anyone and that the robbery was a spur of the moment thing.”

  Caught flat-footed, Mark could only stare across the office at framed photographs of a few Chicago celebrities. “Oh.” Brilliant.

  “I’d like to keep this unofficial, and if you have a satisfactory answer, we’ll drop it but if you don’t cooperate, we may have to go through official channels.”

  “Okay.” As if he had a choice.

  “I’m about to go for lunch now, so why don’t you meet me?”

  Although phrased as a suggestion or request, Mark wasn’t fooled. It was an order. “I can do that. Where should we meet?”

  “The burger place on the corner of Ohio and LaSalle. What do you look like?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I doubt we’ll be the only two people in the restaurant and I’d rather not ask every man there if he’s Mark Taylor.”

  “Right. Well, I’m about six-one, dark hair.” He glanced down. “And I’m wearing a dark blue polo shirt and jeans.” He was going to ask what she looked like, but thought better of it. She was a detective and this was her idea, so she would have to find him, not the other way around.

  “Okay, not the most detailed, but it’ll do. I’ll find you.”

  * * *

  Mark set his cup of coffee on the stainless steel counter and peeled off the lid. He was hungry, but decided to wait to eat. It wasn’t like she had actually invited him to eat with her, and it would be awkward if he already had a meal, so he ordered a coffee. He couldn’t go wrong with that. Taking a sip, he turned to find who could only be Detective Bishop a few feet away. Something about her demeanor made him think she had been watching him, but she approached as soon as he made eye contact.

  “Mr. Taylor?”

  Mark transferred the cup to his left hand and extended his right. “Detective Bishop. Yes, I’m Mark.”

  Her blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she didn’t crack a smile, so he was surprised that her hand felt soft and warm in his. For some reason, he expected it to be firm and cold, like her attitude. She wore dark slacks and a white blouse with a blazer that matched her pants, but despite the plain attire, she couldn’t hide her trim figure. Mark tried not to stare.

  “Mark,” she glanced over her shoulder at the counter, “why don’t you grab a seat while I to go order.” She started to turn, but then faced him again. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Lifting his cup, Mark said, “No, but I’m good.”

  She nodded and took a place in line. Mark found a seat facing the front of the restaurant. With her back turned, he didn’t even have to pretend he wasn’t staring. The back view was as appealing as the front, but he shook off his impure thoughts. She was a cop, for crying out loud. A cop who wanted to question him.

  She returned carrying a tray bearing her lunch of a cheeseburger, small fries and a large drink. Sitting, she shrugged out of the blazer and twisted to drape it over the back of her chair. More impure thoughts crossed his mind at her profile, but the holster strapped over her shoulder, and the butt of the gun under her left arm banished the thoughts almost immediately. The badge clipped to her belt didn’t hurt either.

  He sipped his coffee, unsure what to say, and decided to let her do all the talking. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut he could climb out of this hole of suspicion he had fallen into.

  She washed down the first bite with a sip of pop, then said, “So, what’s the deal? I can’t figure out how you knew someone was going to rob that gas station at that time. Either you had inside knowledge, maybe helped plan the heist, or you just got incredibly lucky.” It was clear by her tone which scenario she considered most likely.

  “Lucky?” He smiled, hoping she would let the subject drop. “Honestly, I swear I had nothing to do with it, but as far as how I knew, I’d rather not say. I don’t know if the guy you arrested has friends.” Would she understand the implication?

  Cocking her head to
the side, her gaze roamed over Mark as the corner of her mouth turned up. “I should push you on this, but someone like you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  “Someone like me?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You look like a freaking boy scout.”

  He grinned. “I actually was a Boy scout. Didn’t quite make it to Eagle, but the camping trips were a blast.” The grin melted away. “I swear to God I had nothing to do with the robbery.”

  She took another sip of her drink and he tried not to focus on her mouth as she did so. “So what was it? A premonition?”

  Could he reveal that much? Did people believe in premonitions? He shrugged. “Something like that.” Mark pulled his attention from her mouth and used a napkin and scratched a bit of dried up ketchup off the table.

  “Do you have them often?”

  “Lately, yeah.”

  “Did you have one about this meeting? About me?”

  His head shot up. Was she flirting with him? “Uh…”

  “It’s true I had questions about your source of information, but I never considered you a suspect.” She lifted one shoulder. “I figured the perp was lying. I actually just wanted to thank you.” Her cheeks had taken on a pink hue. “The guy we brought in had several outstanding warrants for some violent crimes. Whether he was intending to rob the gas station is irrelevant now.”

  “You’re welcome.” Mark sat back, unsure what else to say.

  The detective balled up her cheeseburger wrapper, and set her drink on the tray. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, I hope so.” He realized he did hope he would see her again. He opened his mouth to ask her out, but hesitated. Was she allowed to date someone who had given a tip? It wasn’t like there was anything unethical about it that he could see. Not like a doctor-patient relationship.

  She shrugged back into her jacket, then stood, tray in hand. Mark rose too, and touched her arm. “Wait. I wondered if…if I could see you again?”

  Her eyes met his, a glint of humor showing. “I probably shouldn’t agree to it, but sure? Why not? When?”

  It wasn’t the most enthusiastic response he had ever received, but then again, it was one of the strangest lead ups to a date that he could remember. “Great! How does Friday sound? Can I get your number?”

  Detective Bishop dumped her garbage and set the tray on top of others before she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. “That’s fine. You can call me at the precinct.”

  He took the card. “Detective Jessica Bishop.” It was strange finding out her first name after asking her out. “Jessica. Nice. I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  “How’s your steak?” Mark took another bite of his own. He had ordered medium rare, but it was more like medium well. He hoped Jessie’s had turned out better.

  “It’s…okay.” Jessie smiled, but he could see the gray hue of her steak and he was pretty sure she was just being polite.

  The beef seemed to form into a ball of lead and settled in his stomach with a thud. This date had not turned out at all like he had hoped. First, Jessie had called saying she was running late and asked if she could meet him at the restaurant. Mark almost asked for a rain-check, but worried she would think he didn’t have much interest in dating her, when in truth, he was just worried about cutting it too close. At least if they drove their own cars, he could hit the mini-mart afterward without her there to witness the event.

  He canceled his reservation at the nice steakhouse because they couldn’t change the time, and had to call Jessie back to let her know where to meet him. He was surprised she still agreed to go because it wasn’t that great of a restaurant, but his choices were limited due to needing a restaurant in close proximity to where the shooting would take place.

  On top of all that, dinner service was slow. Mark glanced at his watch. Damn, it was already pushing nine p.m. He shoveled in a mouthful of food in an attempt to eat faster but how could he rush Jessie? Was he supposed to skip an offer of dessert? He stole another look at his watch. A couple of minutes after nine. He considered blowing off the save. The kid got what he deserved for trying to rob someone, but guilt didn’t just knock on the door to his conscience, it tried to beat the door down. Chagrined at his thoughts, he remembered how young the robber was, and how it had been a fake gun. He was a heartless bastard for even considering letting the kid die just so he could have a better date.

  After a few more minutes ticked by and Jessie still had most of her meal to eat, he grew desperate. He had to leave now if he was going to make it on time. As a last resort, he clutched his stomach and grimaced.

  “Mark? Are you okay?”

  It wasn’t hard to fake his distress. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to have to cut this short. I’m…I’m on some antibiotics, and sometimes they tear up my stomach.” He wanted to choke on the lie, especially when her expression became concerned. She waved for the waiter and Mark asked for the check.

  When she reached for her purse and pulled out a credit card, Mark eased up on his act enough to wave her off. “Oh no. I have it.”

  She walked him to his car, instead of the other way around and with him being ‘sick’, he couldn’t suggest going out for a drink or anything.

  They stood awkwardly, and finally she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow. I want to know you’re okay.”

  Anger at the stupid kid who practically asked to be killed simmered in him, ready to boil over. He glanced at the clock. He didn’t have time to waste being angry. The shooting would take place in only ten minutes.

  * * *

  Mark didn’t know what to get, but he needed to purchase something, or at least look like it and do it soon, so he could be next behind the teen. He grabbed a carton of ice cream from a chest freezer near the door and got in line behind the teen. There was no gun visible. He decided to wait until the gun came out and then just make a grab for it. There was no danger since it was a fake, and he had five inches and probably thirty pounds on the teen.

  The door to the store opened, and Mark heard a gasp. He shot a glance towards the sound. Jessie?

  “Mark?” She sent a pointed look towards the ice cream in his hand. At first, he didn’t understand her glare. Then he realized that a man with a stomachache probably wouldn’t be out buying ice cream five minutes later.

  “I can explain.” In the few seconds it took him to utter the sentence, the teen moved up to the counter and yanked the gun from within his baggy sweatshirt.

  Distracted, and not ready for it to happen so quickly, he didn’t process that the robbery was in progress already.

  “Freeze!”

  Mark turned to Jessie, his jaw dropping in shock at the gun pointed at the teen. Jessie? She was the shooter? She couldn’t know it was a fake gun at that distance.

  He leaped between the teen and Jessie. “No! Don’t fire! It’s a fake gun! Don’t shoot, Jessie!”

  “What the hell are you doing, Mark? Get outta the way!”

  Mark held his hands up, palms out as he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, “Listen, it’s a fake gun. Just a water pistol or something.”

  Her glared scorched past him and landed on the boy. “Is that true?”

  Mark risked a glance over his shoulder. The teen nodded towards Jessie and dropped the gun. The unmistakable sound of plastic hitting the floor made Mark’s knees go weak with relief.

  Jessie’s posture relaxed, and her shoulders rose before they wilted and she let out a deep breath. “Dammit, Taylor. I should just shoot you and be done with it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR, July 2001

  As the novelty wore off, the camera became part of his everyday life. Mark sat at his desk and stared at his accounting records. He was losing money. Had he really canceled that many jobs? It hadn’t seemed like a lot at the time, but they added up. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t control when someone needed to be saved.

  On top of that, Chicago P.D. had
called him in for questioning in several cases. Some incidents stemmed from when he had given them tips and they became suspicious, and other times simply because he had to call in police or the fire department to help him save someone. After one fire in which he saved a family by waking them when their smoke detectors didn’t sound, the fire chief had practically accused Mark of arson.

  The cherry on top of the pile was staring back at him from his spreadsheet.

  “Damn it!” He shoved the computer mouse across the desk. Giving up the camera was out of the question, but he couldn’t go on like this either. He’d be homeless before long.

  Homelessness held no appeal to him, so he created a schedule and stuck to it as much as possible. While he couldn’t control the times of the incidents he needed to prevent, with careful planning, he could minimize the disruption they caused. Most of the time, he could work around his shoots, but occasionally he had to call the client and ask to start a little sooner or later. Most were fine with it, and some confessed to running late themselves, or wishing it was sooner because they had somewhere to go afterward. He found most people didn’t care what the excuse was. They were either going to be okay with it or they weren’t. The vast majority of his clients didn’t have a problem unless he had to be seriously late, but Mark did his best to avoid that at all costs. To make up for it, when he was with a client he gave them his full attention, pushing the camera and any save he had to do from his mind. It was the only way he could do both successfully.

  Every morning, he took a few photographs, but then set the camera aside to work with a client or attempt a save. After taking care of his office work, he had to develop the photos, study them, and go to bed to begin the cycle all over again. There was hardly a moment to eat, let alone go anywhere besides the places the camera sent him on its missions.

  His nights out with his friends dwindled to once a month. No matter how hard he tried, he just didn’t have enough hours in the day. He wanted to have time with friends and he especially missed dating, not that he had been a Casanova, but he had dated his share of women. He missed their company.