LineofDuty

by Sidney Bristol

  Jake had opted to go without a wire. His cell phone, however, was rigged to be a one-way transmission device. Everyone had cell phones these days. They were just being a bit more creative in their use. He also had direct cover from Becca Jameson, in position on top of one of the warehouses with her sniper rifle. If things went bad, it was Jake’s life, and hopefully Nicole wouldn’t pay the price for his choices.

  A sliding door rumbled open on the far side of the lot across the two-way street and a moment later an older model truck pulled out and headed toward Jake.

  He turned and watched the vehicle approach. The headlights effectively blinded him so that all he could make out was the vague shape of a person behind the wheel. He held his breath as the truck seemed to be headed straight for him. Did he run or stay?

  Nicole wouldn’t be rescued if he walked away from this.

  At the last moment the truck swerved away from him and stopped in a puff of dust and spray of gravel. A grease monkey with a few missing teeth and scraggly gray hair leaned out of the window.

  “You Jake?” he asked.

  “I am. Who are you?”

  “I’m Rex. I was paid to taxi you over to meet a fella.”

  Jake’s stomach sank. “Okay.”

  He circled the truck and got into the passenger side. The cab smelled of cigarettes and motor oil.

  “Where are we going?” Jake closed the door and debated the seatbelt. Without it he could get away faster, but it might also save his life. There was no way to know what to prepare for, so he buckled in and hoped he wouldn’t need to make a run for it.

  “Just up the road here.” Rex glanced at him, a toothpick between his lips. He had the type of old, weatherworn skin that made determining age and race difficult. “I don’t need or want to know what you fellas are doing.”

  “Understood.” Jake couldn’t fault the man. With the economy suffering, he wasn’t going to begrudge the man for making a buck.

  They passed through the heart of the warehouse district and merged onto the main drag headed toward the loop around the city, but passed under it. Jake noted the streets while keeping one eye on his driver. Rex claimed to be nothing more than a taxi, but he wouldn’t put it past him to play a role in this drama.

  Rex pulled into the parking lot of a tiny dive bar. Semi trucks idled in the field-like parking lot, their drivers tucked in for a few hours of sleep.

  “This is your stop.” Rex pointed at the bar, which appeared to be locked up tight. “He said he’d be waiting for you in there.”

  “Buzzard’s Bar. Looks as good as anyplace, I reckon. Thanks.” Jake spoke not for the benefit of his driver, but those listening in still on the cell transmitter. He got out of the truck and glanced around the lot.

  Any one of the truck drivers could be in on this. Was Nicole in one of the trucks? Was she inside? How scared was she? Had she been injured?

  He took a deep breath and pushed his emotions way down. Right now he needed a clear head.

  He approached the front door and gave it a pull. He was a little surprised when it swung out. The interior of the bar was dim, illuminated by a few bulbs. He could make out ancient beer signs and framed pictures on the walls, but it held little other adornment. This was a place for people with one purpose. Drinking.

  There was only one other person in the small building Jake could see, and he sat at the bar, a pistol across his thigh and a glass in hand.

  Jake almost didn’t recognize Diego Cruz. The scars that pockmarked his face did a hell of a job disguising him, but nothing could change the soulless darkness of his gaze or the sadistic twist of his mouth. This was a man who lived to bring death and misery to others.

  “Have a seat, Officer.”

  “Don’t mind if I do, Cruz.”

  Jake strolled to a stool a few feet away from the lowlife and perched on the edge, one heel hooked on a rung. He stared into the inky-black eyes of a man with no heart, and the names of all those people he knew had been murdered by this man scrolled through his memory. His wife would not be added to that list.

  “Where’s Nicole?”

  “A better question would be how do you get her back?” Diego set the glass on the bar and propped his elbow on the counter.

  “I’ll bite. What do you want in exchange?” Jake knew there was a price, the question was whether he could pay it.

  “Nothing much. She’s alive, just so you know.” Diego pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. He turned to show it to Jake.

  Half of Nicole’s face was in the frame. Her eyes were wide and her mouth bound with tape. A newspaper lay across her lap with that morning’s headline. It was early still to get the daily paper, which meant Diego was holed up near a drop location or the printing facilities.

  Jake dug his fingernails into his palm. He could punch the bastard in the face and get a bullet to the gut.

  “What do you want?” Jake’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth.

  “Nothing much. You’re a police officer. You have access to certain things law enforcement won’t be using. I’d like to take them off your hands.”

  “And that would be?”

  “A million in cash, unmarked bills of course, untraceable. MCPD has recently come into possession of a large quantity of narcotics. I’d like those delivered to a drop location and left for pickup. And I’d also appreciate the current files on my former associates still at large. Not much for a well-connected officer like yourself.”

  Jake’s mind reeled. There was no way he could get these pushed through. If it would even be entertained, it would take weeks of cutting through red tape.

  “When?” Jake asked.

  “I’ll give you until Monday. That should be enough time, don’t you think?” Diego tapped his empty glass and rose to his feet.

  He couldn’t leave yet. There was no way Nicole could suffer that long.

  “I’m going to need more time. Why don’t you trade me for Nicole?” Jake stood, towering over the man.

  Diego’s gaze narrowed. “Why would I do that? I’ve got what you want, your heart. That means you’ll do anything for me, and I intend to make use of that. Don’t try to follow me. If I don’t make it back in time to your precious beloved to let a little air into her prison, she’ll suffocate.”

  “Go,” Jake practically yelled.

  Diego laughed in his face and slid the pistol into the waistband of his trousers.

  Jake barely held himself back. When Nicole was safe and secure, Diego’s nightmare would be Jake. He’d take the bastard down, and if Diego was lucky, he’d go to prison again.

  Diego turned and ambled around the bar and through a set of swinging doors into the back of the building. As the doors creaked back and forth, Jake glimpsed a spreading pool of red and a dark-skinned hand.

  “Fuck.” Jake vaulted over the bar and rushed into the kitchen facilities. It stank of grease and grime. In the middle of the dingy, off-white floor, a black man in his late fifties lay on his back, eyes open but no breath stirring his lungs.

  Diego’s laugh echoed as he stepped through the emergency exit and into the dim morning light.

  Jake crouched, careful to not disturb the blood, and felt for a pulse. The body was cold and the odor of urine and feces confirmed that this poor soul had died hours ago.

  He slid the phone out of his pocket and rocked back on his heels.

  “I have a body. Diego’s gone.”

  He paused. There was a slight rustling before O’Neil’s voice came over the line. “And we can’t follow him. He knew you had eyes and ears.”

  “Yeah. Come on in. I get the feeling customers will start coming by soon and I’d prefer to not have to deal with that right now.” Jake stood and wiped his hands on a roll of paper towels sitting on a nearby counter.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m sending in a team now to take care of the scene. Someone will come and get you and we’ll meet up at the station.” O’Neil blew out a breath. “Why do these thing
s happen on the damn weekend?”

  “I don’t know.” Jake replied on autopilot, his brain wasn’t in it. He pushed out of the bar, needing to get away from the death Diego left in his wake without a thought to the lives he’d cut short or the families he’d widowed.

  Nicole could be that man in the bar.

  “We’re going to get her back,” O’Neil said.

  “Yeah. I see the cars. Be at the station soon.”

  Jake ended the call and watched two patrol cars and a dark SUV pull into the parking lot. He quickly briefed the two officers before going to the third vehicle and climbing in the passenger-side seat.

  Cole didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. They’d been doing this long enough to know the odds. Earlier that year, Cole had beaten the odds with a terrorist hostage situation where Tanya was one of the hostages. It was unlikely they would both be so lucky.

  They made the entire trip back to the station without a word said between them. In a way, it was easier to deal with Cole’s silence.

  There were so many things he wished he could take back, starting with this last year. He could have been a better husband. He could have told Nicole how much Willow’s death hurt him. Hell, he could have simply said “I love you” more. He’d give his life in a second if it meant she would be spared, if Diego would trade her for him.

  At the station he walked as if in a daze through the bustling morning shuffle and headed to O’Neil’s office. Cole peeled off and headed toward a pot of coffee.

  O’Neil and the chief of police, Charlie Manzo, were standing with their heads together inside the glass fishbowl office. Jake tapped on the door, swallowing down the knot in his throat.

  Here’s where they give me the I’m sorry speech.

  “Vant, come in.” Manzo gestured to the unoccupied chairs. “I’m sorry about this nasty business.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jake remained standing. He was exhausted, but sitting made him anxious to be moving, doing something.

  “We’re talking about Diego Cruz’s list of demands.” Manzo shook his head. “I’m not sure we can do this.”

  “I understand, sir. What are our other options?” There had to be something they could do. If Jake could think clearer, he was convinced a plan would come to him, but he was human and exhaustion weighed him down.

  “We’re putting together some leads. Was there anything he said or did that gave you any indication where he’s holding your wife?” Manzo leaned against the desk. He was aging, and the process was not graceful.

  Jake quickly related the details about the photograph. O’Neil and Manzo began tossing locations and intersections around. They knew more about the locations the paper distributed to than he did.

  He sat in one of the desk chairs and let the other two talk it out.

  They weren’t willing to front the drugs or money to Cruz. If they caved to one criminal’s demand, all the officers would become the target of every petty criminal and lowlife just to get a fix. He understood that. But this was his wife. His Nicole. If they weren’t going to trade for her he would have to do it himself.

  * * * * *

  Nicole’s head swam. It felt as if there was a hive of angry bees trapped between her ears. Her lungs felt heavy. Or maybe they were tired, it was too hard to tell. Everything hurt. The way she was all folded up to fit in the plastic barrel had her legs cramping. She’d scraped her elbows and knees raw hitting the sides.

  She’d learned very fast that no one could hear her.

  The worst part about her prison, besides the swiftly declining oxygen levels and cramped quarters, was that it was impossible to tell time.

  Her head was still foggy from the drugs. Or maybe it was a combination of drugs, sleep deprivation and lack of food. The best she could tell it was Saturday. But it could be Sunday or even Monday for all she knew.

  If it was Monday, Jake would be coming for her. Her captor had said as much, but it hurt to think about that, so she leaned her head against the side of the barrel and stared into the darkness.

  Sleep would be easier, but it was not her friend. Anytime she drifted off, the nightmares started. All the dreams the past week of shadows in her bedroom, they weren’t dreams at all. This man had been in her house. With her. The thought sent her heart pumping harder and she panted, but there wasn’t enough air in the barrel. Her lungs ached and her head swam more.

  Diego Cruz wouldn’t kill her. This barrel would.

  Nicole put her hands on either side of the barrel and pounded her fists against it, sobbing as she heard nothing except her own anguish echo back to her.

  “Somebody. Please, help.” Her voice was weak. She could barely get the words out.

  The bees roared louder and she dropped her arms, too exhausted to fight anymore. Either Jake would rescue her or she’d die here. Nicole wasn’t Tanya, she didn’t know how to MacGyver her way out of the barrel. She wasn’t even wearing panties, for Christ’s sake.

  The top of the barrel rose and fresh air rushed in. She gasped, sucking down lungfuls of air. The buzzing dissipated after several long moments. She could have wept for that one tiny bit of relief.

  “Stand up already.” Diego slapped the outside of the barrel and the thump resounded around her.

  Nicole briefly considered refusing the order, but what did it gain her? Nothing.

  She gripped the top of her prison and scooted up, having to prop herself against the side and slide up, working some of the cramps out as she stood. Air hissed past her teeth as another twinge of pain shot up her leg.

  “Hurry up. I don’t have all day.” Diego grabbed her shoulder and pulled her upright.

  Nicole winced and a cry escaped her lips, but he didn’t seem too concerned about being heard.

  “Hold this.” He shoved a fat bundle of newspaper into her hands.

  She glanced at the headline, something about the baseball team.

  It was the Saturday paper, still warm to the touch.

  “Look at me.”

  Nicole glanced up and a camera flashed several short, bright bursts. White spots danced in her vision, making the dim room appear darker.

  “If you can get out there’s food over there.” His footsteps grew fainter but she couldn’t make out more than a darker bit of darkness. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Going to go see your honey again. Just one more day.”

  Metal clanged and a door squealed.

  “Hey, don’t leave me here,” she yelled as loud as she could. “Someone, help me.”

  She dropped the paper and hoisted herself up on top of a barrel next to her prison and swung her legs out, ignoring the pain still twisting the muscles.

  “Help,” she yelled again.

  Diego laughed and slammed the door shut.

  Her feet touched the frozen metal floor of her prison and she yanked them back up. If she’d come here with shoes, they were long gone by now. She gritted her teeth and put one foot down, then the other. Needles of frigid pain shot up her ankles.

  Nicole shuffled toward the door, her hands outstretched. She’d gotten the impression of more barrels to her left, a few to her right and an open path. Her teeth chattered as she made her way to a solid metal wall. She slid her hands to one side, then to the other, but there were no levers, doorknobs or handles.

  She pounded her fists on the door.

  “Can anyone hear me? Help!”

  No answer. Not even the rumble of cars or anything. Either she was far from other people or her prison was soundproof.

  She leaned against the door, dry sobs shaking her. She sank to the floor, shivering uncontrollably now.

  “If there is a God out there,” she tipped her chin up, “I just want to tell him I’m sorry. Please.” Fat tears fell on her cheeks, leaving chilled tracks in their wake. “I love him so much. Please just let me tell him that one more time.”

  Nicole buried her face in her hands. Jake was a hero, but sometimes even a hero couldn’t save the day.

  * * * * *
r />   Jake stared at the pale face of his wife. She held a newspaper dated that morning.

  “Is it him?” Cole asked.

  Jake leaned forward and ran his thumb over her face, hating the dark circles under her eyes. What kind of hell had she been in for the last thirty-odd hours?

  “Yeah, it’s him.” Jake turned the phone off and scrubbed his face.

  The other officers in Cole’s house were silent, either watching him or staring off into the distance. Tanya had finally crawled in bed a few hours ago, and they’d leave her there for as long as she would sleep. He could still smell the brownies she’d baked while they debated alternative plans among the SWAT team.

  It wasn’t an issue to get the information Diego wanted, but the drugs and money were beyond what he could do.

  “We could rob a bank,” Becca said from where she sat cross-legged on the floor.

  “What about the drugs?” Aaron sat in the armchair across from Jake.

  “I don’t know. I’m sure Jake knows of a drug lord or two outside of the country. They wouldn’t say no to cash, would they?” Her sad smile said she knew how foolish the plan sounded. Stuff like that only worked in movies.

  Jake sighed and punched in the number for Police Chief Manzo. It rang once.

  “Vant.”

  “Yes sir. I just got a text of her and another newspaper. I can make out something blue, maybe a chemical barrel, behind her. That’s it.” He didn’t mention the line of text that read “She cries instead of sleeping”.

  “Okay. Send it over and we’ll have the techs look at it.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “It’s not official, but I think we might be able to pull enough strings and get us some front money. The drugs will need to be fabricated, but we can still do this. We won’t let him get away with it.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jake hung up the line and blew out a breath. “They might have figured out a way.”

  It was a long shot, but games had been won with Hail Marys. He just wished they weren’t gambling with his wife’s life.

  * * * * *

  Tick tock. Deadline is approaching.