Big Gene Clark was sitting in an old chair in front of the long-abandoned wreck of the building, when Lani and Leo drove up. “I’ve had it,” the huge cop told them. “I’ve never felt so murderous in all my years on the force.”
“We do know the feeling, Gene,” Lani said.
“I think that’s Paula Darling. I coach one of her kids in Little League. Who the hell is going to tell her kids? Her husband split several years ago. I hate this goddamn fuckin’ job. I’m gonna pull the pin after this is over. I’m gonna go live in the mountains. I mean it. I’m gonna make friends with the bears and the birds and all the other animals. Animals don’t do things like this. Only man does things like this.”
They left Gene sitting in the chair, muttering to himself. It was getting to them all.
It was about to get worse.
Chapter 33
Stacy Ryan came wide awake. But she had the presence of mind not to open her eyes more than a crack, and to control her breathing. She could do nothing about the racing of her heart.
The police had insisted upon moving her to a safe location. It hadn’t taken her brothers long to find out where that was; and she was certain it was Jack and Jim, or Jackie and June, whatever.
A strong odor assailed her nostrils. She couldn’t figure out what it was. Smelled sort of like . . . copper, she thought. Then it came to her. Blood. It was the smell of blood. So the cops guarding her were dead. Had to be. All three of them. Dear God! she thought. I’m next!
She watched as shadowy forms slipped into her bedroom. Three of them. Three of them! Three of them? That third shape looked very familiar to her. Then it dawned on her who it was. One of the cops assigned to guard her. Her darling brothers really got around.
She watched through slitted eyes as the renegade cop unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall. He stepped out of his trousers and then his underwear shorts hit the floor. She could see that he had a huge erection. The thought crossed her mind that the guy must be related to a horse.
Then Stacy got mad, the anger quickly overriding her fear. The turncoat son of a bitch might rape her, but it would be after a fight.
She was dressed in PJ’s, lying on top of the covers. There was faint light seeping in from down the hall, and she could see that one of her brothers was now most definitely a female, and a rather shapely female at that. Dear Lord, what kind of a family tree lay behind her?
The trio moved closer, close enough for Stacy to smell the musky odor of maleness at full erection. She tensed and spun on the bed, grabbing the cop’s dick with one strong hand and giving it a brutal twist and yank. With her other hand, she grabbed his balls and squeezed with every ounce of strength in her.
The cop screamed in pain, and Stacy shoved the man hard against Jim and Jack, knocking them to one side. Stacy was off and running up the hallway before her brothers could react. She reached the den and paused at the side of a dead policeman, jerking up his pistol, a 9 mm autoloader. Stacy knew something about firearms, and she thumbed the pistol off safety and sent a wall of lead howling down the hall. She quickly ejected the clip and slammed home another one. She crouched behind a couch and waited. She heard the sounds of breaking glass and a groan of pain that probably came from the renegade cop.
Stacy jerked up the dead cop’s walkie-talkie and keyed it. “This is Stacy Ryan. Two of your cops are dead, and the third one is with Jack and Jim Longwood. He’s helping them. Get over here!”
“Units are on the way,” dispatch said. “Are you hurt, Stacy?”
“No.”
“Stay calm.”
“Calm’s ass! I’ve got one of your officer’s pistols, and I’m going to blow someone’s shit away if I can get a shot at him or her.”
“Her?”
“Yeah. One of my brothers is now my sister.”
“Ah . . . 10–9 on that. No. 10–22 that. I understand. I think.”
In the distance, Stacy could hear the sounds of sirens getting louder. The house was filled with both city cops and county deputies. Leo and Lani arrived about five minutes after the first unit.
After making sure that Stacy was all right, Leo phoned Brownie and told him what had taken place.
“Starting tomorrow, we polygraph every field deputy and every employee,” Brownie said. “Since that isn’t worth a shit in court, Leo, why don’t you let slip tonight that we plan on doing that. Let’s see how many run.”
Leo’s smile was hard. “And if we spot them taking off?”
“I think you know what to do. First share our plan with Bill Bourne, Gene Clark, and a few others you know are clean.”
Leo chuckled. “I’ll do that, Brownie. Good night.”
He pulled Lani to one side and told her of the Sheriff’s plan. Big Gene Clark was just walking in the door, dressed in street clothes. Leo told him of the Sheriff’s plan, and the huge Black cop smiled, his eyes hard as flint. “Bill’s outside talking with a civilian. I’ll pull him away and tell him. Then I’ll get my shotgun.”
* * *
The press praised the courage of Stacy Ryan in the face of rape and death, and blamed the shotgun deaths—which occurred the same night—of six La Barca city patrolmen and two deputies on the remaining members of the killing club. Spokespersons for the two departments blandly stated that it was a real tragedy, and had no more to say on the matter.
Cops, like many of the military’s elite special operations groups, prefer to take care of their own. Oftentimes in a very final way. It’s just neater.
Cops began working double shifts, voluntarily and without pay. Both departments were smarting from a comment made by the governor when he thought the press weren’t listening. Dumb move, for the press is always listening. The governor had said to an aide that perhaps the entire hierarchy of the Hancock County Sheriff’s Department and the La Barca City Police Department should be replaced—and a lot of the detectives, too—since they seemed to be unable to bring this case to an end.
The gov lost a lot of votes with that remark.
The citizens of La Barca and Hancock County grew very cautious. At dusk, the city took on all the excitement of a ghost town. A few frat boys from the local university thought it would be fun to prowl the streets and see if they could scare some people. Stupid move, but then, frat boys are famous for doing some extremely stupid things.
One frat boy got his head blown off by an elderly lady with a twelve-gauge shotgun, and another took a. 357 mag slug in the guts from a homeowner. The three other frat boys were tossed in jail and told by Sheriff Brownwood, “Stay there, goddamnit, until you get some sense.” One street-hardened deputy drily commented that it would bankrupt the county waiting for that to happen. No charges were filed against either citizen.
A few of the local rednecks thought that, by God, since the cops seemed unable to catch the killers, they would. They loaded up their rifles and single-action. 44’s and .45’s, put a case of iced-down beer in their high-tired pickup trucks, made sure they had plenty of country music tapes to listen to, and set out to catch the killers.
About an hour later, Jim Bob shot Harry Lee in the knee, Billy Joe blasted a road sign, and Linda Lou, who was riding with Virginia Mae, blew a hole in a California Highway Patrolman’s car; he had driven out to see what all the shooting was about. The rednecks were put in the same holding tank with the frat boys. One deputy was heard to mutter that perhaps they would all kill each other, and thereby do the world a great favor.
If there could be found some way to isolate and lobotomize a certain segment of smart-assed college kids (usually referred to as frat crap) and dumb-assed rednecks (usually referred to as white trash), and a certain segment of minorities (put whatever fits here), a cop’s life would be immeasurably simplified.
The final hours of the long nightmare came the afternoon after the killing of Stacy’s guards. A young-sounding person, who said he’d been bicycling, called in to say that he’d seen three people, two men and a woman, one of the men walking in a strange manner, enter the
rear of that big warehouse on Indian Drive.
The phone tip was put with hundreds of others in a huge overflowing basket. Lani just happened to walk through that area and paused for a moment to go through some of the called-in tips. She felt a tremendous surge of adrenaline flow through her. The man seen “walking in a strange manner” just might be the man that Stacy had put the pressure on the night before.
Lani called Brenda and Ted. They were out of pocket. She called Connie and Frank. They were working the other end of the county, chasing down tips. She caught Leo just as he was preparing to leave for the day. Leo noted the time the phone tip was logged in, and stared at Lani.
“What do you think?”
“I think we should check it out.”
“Let’s go.”
In the car, Leo called in according to routine, and told dispatch where they were going. Dispatch logged it in and asked, “Are you requesting back up?”
“Ten-fifty. Not at this time.”
“That’s 10–4.” But due to the heavy air traffic, dispatch had logged it in as Indiana Drive. By the time the tape was replayed and checked, Leo and Lani would be involved in a situation unlike any they had ever faced.
Or ever would again.
Chapter 34
The sign stated that the huge warehouse was being remodeled by the Woodson Company. The company was very real, making a profit, and owned by the Longwood boys.
Leo and Lani sat for a time in their unit. Lani called in and said they were 10–8 at the location. Dispatch acknowledged and again logged them in as being on Indiana Drive.
Both Lani and Leo checked their guns. They each carried their personal choice of pistols. Leo a .45, Lani a 9 mm. Lani had a Ladysmith .38 snub in an ankle holster, and Leo carried a two-shot 410 derringer in an ankle holster. Lani had a .38 Chiefs Special in her purse, and Leo had a Beretta .25 in his right back pocket. Cops very quickly become not the most trusting folks in the world. In many instances they are outgunned, and nearly always hampered by laws that work against law enforcement.
“Shotguns?” Lani asked.
“You bet.”
They each shucked a round into their riot guns and stuffed extra shells into pockets. They stood looking at the warehouse. It was huge, thousands of square feet. They had no idea what might be stored inside the building, if anything.
“Do we call for a search warrant?” Lani asked.
Leo smiled and pulled several sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed them to Lani. They were search warrants, presigned by a judge. Lani put them in her purse.
“Let’s do it, Lani.”
The cops walked to the rear of the building. Leo tried the door. It was unlocked.
“This is supposed to be a high-security building, I don’t like this,” Lani muttered.
“Me, neither. But as long as we’re here . . .” He let that trail off, shoved the door wide open, and stepped in, quickly moving to his right.
Lani followed, stepping into the dusty gloom of the building and moved to her left, her sawed-off pump shotgun held in a combat stance.
The heavy steel door swung closed behind them on well-oiled hinges and locked with a very audible click.
“Shit!” Leo whispered hoarsely. “We’ve been had, Lani. It’s a goddamn setup.”
“How right you are, Leo pig,” the voice came out of the gloom.
Both Lani and Leo had instinctively and very quietly changed locations and were in a crouch. Neither one of them spoke, not wanting to give away their position.
“Pig bastard!” a distinctly female voice called.
“How do you like the game now, you cunt!” a heavy male voice called.
Lani cut her eyes to Leo. The turncoat city cop, Greg Stern.
“I’ve always wanted to butt-fuck you, Lani,” Stern called. “Now I’m going to do it. I want to hear you scream.”
The female voice called out what she was going to do with Leo’s butt, and Leo’s asshole tightened.
“No way out, little pigs,” the first voice shouted. “Steel doors all the way around. Those high-security windows are very nearly soundproof. The nearest building is a quarter of a mile away, and there are no residents living out here. Didn’t we pick a perfect place to butcher pigs?”
Both Lani and Leo had to silently and reluctantly agree with that.
“For a couple of hick-town California pigs, you’re both pretty smart,” the female voice sprang out of the gloom. “I always felt it would be the Feds who would finally catch on to our little game. Not a couple of local yokels. By the way, I’m Jimmi Lee now.” A giggle followed that.
When neither Lani nor Leo would reply, Jimmi Lee screamed, “Answer me, you pig bastard and bitch!”
Leo smiled grimly and then jumped to his feet, pumping off five rounds of double-ought buckshot pushed by magnum loads just as fast as he could pump and pull. Then he dropped to the dirty floor and rolled to a new position. The booming was enormous in the cavernous warehouse.
“You ruined Sunflower, you rotten son of a bitch!” Jack yelled. “Oh, God, she was so pretty. I hate you, hate you, hate you for that!”
Lani and Leo heard the smacking sounds of heavy kissing, then, “Goodbye, my darling. Go kiss a pig’s snout!”
Something pale and dark and wet came sailing through the hot still air of the warehouse. The thing landed at Lani’s feet. It was a human face. A female human face, with long, dark, wet hair. Lani almost lost what remained of her lunch.
“Sunflower was a redneck chick from North Louisiana,” Jack explained, calling from somewhere in the warehouse. “But she had the tightest pussy I ever fucked.”
“You filthy beast!” Jimmi Lee shrieked.
“With the exception of yours, my dear,” Jack pacified his brother/sister.
Lani caught Leo’s eye in the gloom, and both of them grimaced in disgust and revulsion.
Lani picked up a short wooden stake and showed it to Leo. He nodded his approval. She hurled the stake in the general direction of the voices. The stake smashed into something, the sounds of broken glass loud as it tinkled to the floor.
“Oh, you evil, evil destroyer of lovely things!” Jimmi wailed. “That was Butch. A surfer boy from down at Malibu.” Kissing sounds drifted to Lani and Leo, followed by sucking sounds.
“I hate to think what’s coming our way next,” Lani whispered.
“I have a pretty good idea,” Leo returned the whisper. “I just hope it doesn’t land on me!”
It didn’t. The penis landed between the cops, and they both glanced at it in the dim light.
“Ol’ boy was heavy hung, wasn’t he?” Leo whispered. “That’s what we used to call a corncob dick back on the farm.”
“I just can’t wait to have you explain that to me.” She looked at him. “Farm? You? The closest you ever came to a farm was when we had to help round up all those cows on the Interstate.”
“They were bulls, Lani.”
Then there was no more time for whispers, for Jack and Jimmi Lee and Greg started hurling heavy nuts and bolts and washers at them, laughing as they pelted the two detectives.
Lani and Leo separated on signal. They could not use their walkie-talkies to call for assistance because of all the steel in the building. They were on their own.
* * *
“Have Leo and Lani checked in?” Sheriff Brownwood radioed to dispatch.
“That’s 10–50, Sheriff. They went 10–97 at the warehouse on Indiana Drive. Haven’t heard from them since.”
Brownie thought about that for a moment. He keyed his mike. “There is no warehouse on Indiana Drive. That’s all residential.”
“That’s where they said they were, Sheriff.”
“I’m heading that way. Have a unit back me up.”
“That’s 10–4.” There was a short pause. “HC–17 will join you at Madison and 67th.”
La Barca city police were monitoring all the calls, and Gene Clark bumped the sheriff. “There is no wa
rehouse out there, HC-1. I live on Indiana Drive.”
“That’s 10–4, Gene. Dispatch, why did Leo and Lani roll on this call?”
“Anonymous phone-in tip, HC-1.”
“They’ve been suckered!” Brenda broke in. “It was a setup.”
Brownie said, “Dispatch, unless they are working a life-threatening situation, I want all available units out looking for Lani and Leo. I want this as a silent code three. Do you copy?”
“That’s 10–4, Sheriff.”
“HC–17.”
“Go, Sheriff.”
“Check out Indiana Drive.”
“Ten-four.”
“Gene?”
“Go, Sheriff.”
“What is your 20?”
“Park and 27th.”
“I’m at Elm and Diamond Drive. I’ll wait for you.”
“Ten-four.”
Gene pulled up behind Brownie and both men got out. “Where the hell could they be, Gene?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking. I don’t know those streets in all those subdivisions just outside of town, because we don’t work them. Hell, they could be anywhere.”
“Wherever they are, they’re in trouble,” Brownie said, a numbness to his voice.
“They’re inside someplace,” Gene said. “A place with lots of steel that’s preventing the use of their handsets.”
“Or they’re dead,” Brownie spoke the words softly. “Or if the Longwood boys have them, wishing they were dead.”
* * *
New voices had been added. Lani and Leo now knew they were up against at least six people, and both believed there were more who had yet to be heard from.
Leo and Lani were both in good defensive positions—their backs to a wall and plenty of cover in front. But none of those things offered them a way out. Neither could understand why no backup had rolled to assist them. It was department policy that if a unit who answered a trouble call didn’t check in fifteen minutes after going 10–97, backup would roll.
“It’s over, boys,” Leo called into the gloom. “You’re trapped in here. There are cops all around this place.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Jimmi Lee yelled. “If there were pigs outside, they’d be trying to break down the doors.” Truth was, she/he/it and his/her/its cohorts couldn’t understand why the cops hadn’t shown up. Contrary to what the city and county cops believed, this had not been a setup, just a screwup. The teenager who called had seen three people entering the warehouse. The cyclist just did not want to get involved.
Night Mask Page 25