Behind the Closed Door: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 2)

by Charles Prandy

  They were first given the detective’s name two weeks ago. Because of his role in the police department, they were instructed to only observe. The detective caused a substantial decrease in cash flow when he killed Judge Frank Peters and that didn’t go to well with the big boss. The detective was going to have to pay, but they wanted to do it the right way. So Antonio and Brows were sent to spy until further instructions were given.

  “I’m getting tired of following this guy around,” Antonio said.

  “I know what you mean,” Brows responded. “But we’ve been given instructions and we’re going to stick with it.”

  “Fuck instructions. I say we ram this guy’s head into the ground.”

  “Do you remember who you work for? Talking like that could likely get you killed.”

  “Ain’t nobody gonna put a hand on me.”

  Brows peered over at Antonio with a smirk on his face.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Brows,” Antonio said.

  “Ideas would only limit my reaction.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that before you could even raise your hand, my knife would be three inches inside your temple. You’d be dead before you could scream.”

  Antonio was about to respond, but he knew better not to. He’d known Brows for most of his life and, if anybody could ever put a scare in him, it’d be Brows.

  “I’m just sayin’. I’m tired of sitting around. I want some action.”

  “Patience my friend. You may get some soon enough.”

  The detective’s car turned left onto New York Avenue and parked. There was a McDonald’s across the street. Brows found a spot a block away. Lucky to find one this time of day. From where they parked, they had a good view of the McDonald’s. They could see who was going in and coming out. The detective got out of his car and went inside. It was an awkward time of morning where it was too late for breakfast but too early for lunch. Antonio knew that McDonald’s stopped serving breakfast at 10:30 a.m. He always wondered why fast food chains chose 10:30 as the cutoff point. Why not make it 11:30, closer to lunchtime?

  He remembered a time when it was 10:38 and he was standing in line at a McDonald’s. The guy in front of him ordered a sausage and egg sandwich. He asked that it have no cheese. The girl behind the register apologized and said they stopped serving breakfast. The man said that it was McDonald’s and that surely they still had sausage and egg sandwiches in the back. They only just stopped serving breakfast for Christ’s sake. The girl smiled and asked her manager if they still had sausage and egg sandwiches. The manager came to the register and apologized. He said they didn’t have any left and that they were serving lunch now. The man flipped out and cursed at the manager, saying it was only 10:38 a.m. How the fuck can you not have any sausage and egg sandwiches? Standing there, Antonio kept thinking, if you just continued breakfast until 11:30, you wouldn’t be bothered by assholes like this.

  Fifteen minutes passed and the detective was still inside the McDonald’s.

  “Jesus, this asshole must be ordering from the whole damn menu,” Antonio said.

  “Yeah, doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. Why don’t you go check it out.”

  Antonio nodded.

  “And Antonio, keep your hands to yourself.”

  “What, are you my mother?”

  “I’m just trying to keep you alive. Don’t interact with this guy.”

  Antonio got out of the car and crossed the street. He stepped inside the McDonald’s. There were four short lines in front of four registers. The McDonald’s looked like any other Mickey D’s across the country. Antonio nonchalantly walked to the nearest line. He looked around the dining area and didn’t see the detective. This McDonald’s had two levels. Maybe he’s upstairs eating. Antonio found the stairs and saw that the detective wasn’t eating up there either.

  His pulse quickened. He thought for a second and wondered if he had spotted them tailing him. Had the detective somehow gave them the slip? Maybe he left through a rear door. He pondered for a second and dismissed the thought. The detective had no reason to think he was being followed, so he wouldn’t have been looking for a tail. Then he saw the sign for the restrooms. Duh, he thought. He’s probably relieving himself. Antonio pushed open the restroom door. There was a sink, two urinals and a toilet. No one was using the urinals. He took a couple of steps inside and realized that no one was inside the toilet either. Damn, where could he have gone?

  The bathroom door opened. Antonio turned around and the barrel of a nine-millimeter was staring him in the face.

  “Why are you following me?” the detective said.

  Forty

  I wasn’t sure who they were. But I knew who they weren’t. They weren’t upset cops from another district trying to harass me. When I went into the McDonald’s, I looked out the window to see if they were parking as well. I saw them park across the street. I knew that if I didn’t come out in a reasonable amount of time, that one of them would come in to check on me. I had Pat on the phone and gave her the tag numbers to run. They were D.C. plates but they weren’t government issued, so I at least knew they weren’t in a cop car. Pat told me that the plates were reported stolen four days ago.

  So the obvious question was: who would steel plates and put them on their car just to follow a cop? The obvious answer was someone who didn’t want to be identified.

  I’d been to this McDonald’s before so I knew the layout pretty well. I went to the second floor and waited. There wasn’t anyone else up there. From where I sat I saw the passenger door open and a big man got out. He looked to be about my height but he had me by about twenty-five pounds. He had a boxer’s face, you know the kind, they always look like they just came from a fight. His nose was a little crooked, probably from being broken several times and never being professionally set. His face was stern and he looked committed to doing something. He had light brown skin and slick wavy hair. He looked like he could have been Puerto Rican. When he finally reached the front door, I waited a minute and then went into the ladies bathroom. I knew he would eventually check the men’s room.

  I had my Glock in my right hand and my ear pressed against the door. Normally I wouldn’t pull out my gun so fast, but judging by the man’s face, he didn’t look like he was coming in just to chat. The ladies’ room was adjacent to the men’s room. When I heard the men’s room door open, I came out with my gun aimed. When I entered the men’s room, the big man had his back to me. When he turned around his eyes grew big and he made the kind of facial expression people make when their hand gets caught in the cookie jar.

  “Why are you following me?” I said.

  He raised his hands. I could tell that he was quickly trying to think of something to say. “Whoa, whoa, buddy. What’s with the gun? I’m not following you. I came in to take a piss.”

  “Bullshit. I caught your tail. You’ve got a partner in a dark blue sedan across the street. Now I ask you again, why are you following me?”

  “You must have me mistaken with somebody else. I haven’t been following you.”

  “Turn around.”

  “What?”

  “Turn around I said.”

  “Listen buddy, look, I just want to take my piss and get outta here. I ain’t lookin’ for no trouble.”

  I was wearing my detective’s badge around my neck. I grabbed it with my left hand and showed it to him.

  “See this? You’ve been following a cop. But I’m sure you already know that. So I’m going to ask you one more time. Turn around and put your hands on that wall.”

  I motioned with my eyes for him to put his hands on the wall to our left.

  He made a “whatever” face and turned around with his hands still raised. I slowly moved closer to him. Then the bathroom door opened and I took my eyes off him for a second, but that was a second too long.

  A Caucasian man wearing a business suit said, “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  I shifted my e
yes to look at the man in the suit and that’s when the big man made a move. He twisted his shoulders and swung his left elbow round and caught me in the temple. I staggered back, my gun nearly fell from my grasp. The man was strong. He maneuvered his shoulders again and swung his right elbow back, but this time I saw it coming and moved just enough that he barely grazed my nose. I was a little dizzy from the first blow and thought, for a second, that I was seeing two of him.

  Then he thrust his back into me and we crashed against the other wall. My back hit the mirror above the sink. I dropped my gun and gasped for air. I fell to one knee, coughing and trying to suck wind.

  “Fuck what Brows said. I’m gonna hurt this motherfucker.”

  I looked up and at the same time a large fist crashed into my jaw. My head wobbled and I fell onto my side. Sharp pains flashed though my jaw.

  “Mr. Fox don’t like when people fuck with his money,” the big man said.

  I spit out blood from my mouth. I wasn’t sure, but I think a tooth was loose.

  “And you fucked with his money.”

  I heard him suck in air as though he was about to unleash a massive swing. I turned my head just enough to see his arm raise, almost as if a massive crane was picking it up, and once it reached its peak, the crane would let go and the fist would fall with tremendous force. And that’s exactly what happened. The big man put his body into the swing. His face was tight and contorted with tension. His fist charged down upon my face like it had been catapulted from the heavens. I didn’t have time to think. I just simply moved my head back two inches and that was enough. The big man’s fist crashed into the tiled floor. I heard a crunch and then a scream.

  I staggered up and grabbed my Glock. I felt dizzy and I was a bit off balance, but I managed to swing my foot as hard as I could between the guy’s legs. He toppled over, screaming in pain. I wasn’t sure what made him scream louder, the crushed hand or the foot to the balls. Seconds later the bathroom door burst open and Pat had her weapon aimed.

  I stumbled against the wall. My head was spinning and my jaw hurt like hell.

  “We’ve got the driver in handcuffs,” Pat said.

  I nodded.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m okay.”

  “Who is this guy?”

  “Not sure. But he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

  A uniformed officer came into the bathroom and placed the big man in custody. He kept saying that his hand was broken as he was being taken downstairs.

  Outside of the bathroom, I sat at one of the tables. Pat brought a bag of ice for me to put on my jaw. I thought about what the big man said. “Mr. Fox don’t like when people fuck with his money.”

  I had no clue who this Mr. Fox was, but if he sent two goons after me once, I’d bet my salary he’ll do it again.

  Forty-one

  Wow. What a morning. As a cop, we always know in the back of our minds that from the moment we wake up to the time we go to sleep, our lives could be in constant danger. It’s just the nature of the job. Yet we still sign up for it. Take this morning for instance. When my alarm clock woke me up, I actually felt good. I haven’t been having those crazy dreams as much about me not being able to save my wife. I haven’t woken up in a pool of sweat screaming her name. So I felt good. The operative word here is “woke”, meaning I was fast asleep, not already awake because I couldn’t sleep.

  I had a good breakfast at home with Henry. And Henry even pooped right away outside without me having to walk him for twenty minutes. So I actually got to work a little early. Nothing about my early morning raised red flags that the rest of the morning was going to tank in the worst way.

  We quickly learned through the fingerprint database that the man who attacked me was Anthony Fuentes from East Orange, New Jersey. He’d been arrested quite a few times for assault and battery and spent two years in jail for decking a New Jersey State Trooper who pulled him over for traffic violations. Talk about anger management.

  His partner is Jorge Escobar also from East Orange, who apparently goes by the alias, “Brows”. After taking one look at him, I could see why. Like Anthony Fuentes, he’d been arrested quite a few times. His most recent arrest was nine months ago for attempted murder. However, due to a technicality, the D.A. in the case had to drop all charges and Mr. Escobar was released. Apparently both men are tied to organized crime. I contacted the East Orange P.D. and talked to a Detective Rowen who’s a part of their gang taskforce and told him of my encounter with Mr. Fuentes.

  “You’re a lucky man, Detective Hayden,” Rowen said. “These guys usually don’t make these kinds of mistakes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if they were sent to tail you, it means you must have pissed off the wrong person. Fuentes is known as the bruiser. He’s the one who puts the hurtin’ on people. Brows, although we haven’t been able to prove anything yet, is believed to be the executioner. If Brows had caught you in the bathroom, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now.”

  “What do you know about a Mr. Fox? Anthony Fuentes said that name?”

  There was a slight pause before Detective Rowen responded. “He actually said Mr. Fox?”

  “Yeah. Who is he?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.”

  It sounded as if Detective Rowen blew out smoke from his mouth. “He’s a ghost for all we know. No one’s ever seen him. Some people call him the white death. His name has been tied to numerous homicides but we can never seem to get a leg up on him. He’s supposed to be connected, but none of my sources can verify that.”

  “Connected as in”

  “Mob connected. You’ve stepped into the big league Detective Hayden.”

  Mob connected, I thought. What would the mob want with me?

  “How long can you hold them?” Rowen asked.

  “We’ve got Fuentes on assaulting a cop and Brows was carrying a concealed weapon on his person. Plus the tags on the car were stolen, so we should be able to keep them for a while.”

  “Keep an eye on them. If Fuentes said Mr. Fox’s name, this may be our one lead to actually finding out who he really is.”

  We talked for a few minutes longer. Before I let him go he said to me, “A piece of advice.”

  “Shoot.”

  “How many service revolvers do you carry?”

  “One. Standard issue.”

  He paused for a second and exhaled. “Get another one and keep them on you at all times. I don’t care if you’re at home and you’ve got to take a dump. These guys don’t play. They’ve already come after you once. They’ll do it again.”

  I thanked him and hung up.

  What a way to start the morning.

  Forty-two

  By two-thirty in the afternoon, I felt as though I’d never been in a fight. My jaw wasn’t hurting thanks to left over prescription pain pills from my facial surgery earlier in the year. Docs were careful to only give me a few weeks’ worth so that I wouldn’t become addicted to them. If anyone’s ever had major surgery, you know what I mean. But I was still mourning my wife’s death at the time and honestly didn’t feel the pain the same way I would have if I wasn’t in mourning.

  I took a look at myself in the rearview mirror before stepping out of my car. My jaw wasn’t hurting at the moment, but it was swollen enough to get a few stares when I entered the FBI’s Hoover building on Pennsylvania Avenue. I showed the security guard my badge and told him that I was there to see Agent Jayden Davis. He called upstairs and said a few words into the phone.

  “She’ll be down in a minute,” he said. “You’ll have to step through metal detector.”

  Metal detectors were set up with security guards scanning each person who wanted access into the building. Once through, I was told to wait until Agent Davis came downstairs. Two minutes later, she appeared in the lobby. When I saw her earlier in the morning at the crime scene, I was caught off guard by how stunning she looked. Like
Pat, there’s nothing wrong with a stunning woman being a cop, I guess I just don’t see if too often. She looked to be about five-ten, with big brown eyes, long dark hair, full lips and skin the color of rich caramel. She extended her hand and smiled with that same warm smile I saw a few hours earlier. Throughout my ten-year career with the police department, I’d only worked with the FBI a couple of times, and let me just say for the record, I never received a warm smile from any of their agents. When she got closer to me her eyes immediately fell onto my swollen left jaw.

  “Looks like you could use some ice on that.”

  “Already did.”

  “Maybe you could use some more?”

  “Does it look that bad?”

  She squinted at me and moved her face a little closer as if she were a doctor inspecting my jaw. “If the lights were dimmed and I had my eyes closed, then yeah, it doesn’t look that bad.”

  She smiled which made me smile.

  “May I ask what happened? Because I’m pretty sure when I met you this morning that thing wasn’t protruding from your face.”

  Wow, blunt and to the point. She must have seen the surprised expression on my face because she quickly apologized.

  “I’m sorry. I sometimes say exactly what I’m thinking which isn’t always a good thing.”

  I waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a new look I’m trying out called swollen cheek. I’m trying to start a trend.”

  That made her laugh which warmed my heart a little. I hadn’t made a woman laugh in a while.

  “Seriously though,” I said, “I just happened to be on the wrong end of fist swung by an angry dude this morning.”

  She nodded as if she understood.

  “I used to be a cop in Chicago so I’ve seen my fair share of angry swings. But I learned something early that kept me from having jaws like that.”

  “What’d you learn?”

  “How to duck.”

  That made me laugh out loud again. I liked Agent Davis from the get go. She motioned with her head for me to follow her. I gladly did with a smile on my face still thinking about her comment.