The Night Falconer

by Andy Straka

  “What do you make of those?” I said, pointing to them in the distance.

  “Building project?” Nicole said.

  “Doesn’t look it. I don’t see any construction equipment or the framework of any larger structure.”

  Nicole pulled her favorite camera from the bag, zoomed in with one of her telephoto lenses, and began snapping pictures. I grabbed a set of field glasses and scanned the area.

  What looked like the shadow of a child’s head moved inside the windows of one of the structures. A screen door open and a brown skinned woman pushed out through it, bearing a basket full of laundry. There was a clothes line to one side with sheets and pants and shirts hanging from it.

  “People are living there,” Nicole said.

  “I see it.”

  “Hired help to run the estate?”

  “Maybe, but you could house a pretty big workforce in all those buildings.”

  As I swept around the scene, more and more people became visible. A group of children playing on a swing set. Old men of indeterminate ethnic origin seated in the shadows, some of them smoking cigarettes or pipes.

  “Looks like some kind of refugee camp, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it. Let’s see if we can get a closer look.”

  We started to move along the base of the wall, using the rhododendron as cover. We hadn’t made it very far, however, when trouble hit. The roar of an all-terrain vehicle seemed to rise up out of nowhere and a second or two later the four-wheeler itself popped over a rise between us and the main residence. There was a solo rider atop it, brandishing an automatic weapon. He hadn’t spotted us yet—probably just patrolling—but he was about to. There was no avoiding that.

  Worse, I recognized him as he drew closer. It was none other than my old buddy, the nameless stiff who’d been working as a bodyguard and driver down at Watisi’s office in the city.

  We had the jump on him. Only one thing to do.

  “Let’s try not to put ourselves in this type of jam in the future,” I said to Nicole as I drew out my Glock and stood, pointing it directly at the approaching vehicle. Nicole followed suit.

  No sooner had the driver caught sight of us emerging from the bushes than he slammed on his brakes about twenty feet in front of us and tried to reach for a walkie-talkie also strapped around his neck. But a quick gesture with my handgun made him think twice. He slowly raised his hands as the cloud of dust that had been trailing him drifted in front of him.

  “You people are making a huge mistake,” he said.

  “Remains to be seen,” I said.

  He looked us over with the same appraising eyes he’d shown back at the office, but his cockiness seemed to evaporate in the face of a pair of gun barrels.

  “Why don’t you dismount that little pony of yours, take off that howitzer you’re wearing, and set it down gently in the grass there beside you.”

  We waited while he did as I said. Then he started to reach for the key to turn off the engine.

  “Ah, ah.” I motioned with the gun again. “Leave it running.”

  He shrugged and stood to one side of the ATV with his hands still in the air.

  “What are you people running here?” I raised my head in the direction of the distant barracks housing. “Some kind of illegal labor camp?”

  “None of my business what the boss does with his money. He helps out a lot of people.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  I thought about the situation. Nicole had taken enough pictures to provide plenty of documentary evidence of something suspicious, and who knew how many other yahoos like this Watisi had running around the place.

  “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, my good fellow,” I said. “Not that you’re going to be too happy about it.”

  * * * * *

  Ten minutes later, we were safely back out on the highway, headed south toward the city, all our gear and camera equipment stowed in the trunk. I didn’t know how long our young friend would remain gagged and tied securely to the bumper of his running vehicle, his ammunition gone and the batteries missing from his walkie-talkie. At least until someone missed him, that was for sure. Not to mention that we’d also relieved him of his fashionable dark trousers and purple jockey briefs, which Nicole had whistled at, and both of which we’d tossed in a dumpster a half a mile down the road from where we’d left him. I wasn’t too worried about Watisi calling in the Westchester County or town cops to report a break-in at the estate either. Not unless he wanted a lot more snooping investigators around besides us.

  “That was awesome,” Nicole said behind the wheel.

  “It was stupid,” I said. “We were lucky.”

  “You think Watisi is covering up some kind of huge international smuggling ring?”

  “I think we’ve got some decent pictures of some activity that is bound to raise a lot of eyebrows,” I said.

  Nicole grinned. “Maybe it was stupid, but it was worth it,” she said. “Just to see the look on that dork-head’s face.

  25

  My cell phone bleeping in the darkness startled me into a heightened state of awareness. I’d fallen half asleep, camped in a cluster of trees near the Great Hill on the north end of the park, hoping for a miracle—that our falconer friend would should up again. My watch read one a.m.

  Down the hill, out on the pond, it was nearly pitch black. Resting ducks and geese were visible in the dim glow cast by a distant street lamp. They might make tempting targets for an owl on the hunt. Not to mention a ready supply of field rats and other smaller night mammals moving through the grass and woods.

  “Pavlicek,” I said into the phone. My voice sounded hoarse, even to me.

  “This the PI looking for the dude with the owl?”

  “You got ‘em.”

  “Joe Brodsky, Midtown North. Me and my partner think we spotted your guy, running into the woods down here by the Shakespeare Garden.”

  “Across from the history museum, isn’t it?”

  “Right. Think we’ve got him cornered too. We chased him across the Seventy Ninth Street Transverse and in behind Belvedere Castle. Already have two other units on the scene. Unless he’s going to take a swim in the lake, he’s not going to get by us. The lieutenant says to give you a call, maybe you can help talk to the guy.”

  “I’ll be there as fast I can.”

  I scrambled to my feet and speed-dialed Nicole, who was cruising around the park in the rental car.

  “Nicky, where are you?”

  “On Fifth Avenue at Ninety-Sixth,” she said, her voice sounding distant and hollow through the hands-free mike.

  I was already running downhill toward the bridge and the North Meadow.

  “Take the next street to the left, go around and head back uptown. Meet me at Fifth and a hundred and fourth in front of the Conservatory Garden. The police have our guy pinned by the castle on Seventy-Ninth.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said.

  I clicked on my flashlight and sprinted through the dark.

  Four or five minutes later, Nicole was pulling to a stop in front of me on the avenue.

  “Go! Go!” I said, jumping in.

  She hit the gas and we careened down the street.

  Even running a couple of red lights, it took us another three or four minutes to reach the Transverse Road and cross the park to the castle. Four NYPD cruisers were now on the scene, their beacons strobing the night like a laser light show.

  Brodsky met us at the curb. At least I figured it must be Brodsky from the way he was standing beside his cruiser as if he were waiting for someone.

  “You Pavlicek?” he asked as we hurried out.

  “That’s me. This is my daughter, Nicole, who works with me.”

  Brodsky looked at Nicole with some interest. Sharp-looking guy with red hair, thick eyebrows. Apparently single. “Yeah, well, ah … Lt. Marbush is still en route. Like I said, we’ve got him cornered back in there.”

  He pointed
to the side of the castle across from the amphitheater where a large construction crane towered over the landscape. Half the site was ringed by chain-link fence topped with concertina wire.

  “Okay if we go in after him?” I had to be careful here. Didn’t want to compromise the cooperation and access we were being given.

  The patrolman rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess so. The lieutenant’s coming in from New Jersey and she has to make it through the tunnel. But me and my partner are going with you.”

  “Sure.”

  His partner, a wiry looking Italian named Halacini, moved in beside us carrying an oversized flashlight.

  “This dude armed?” Brodsky asked. “I mean, besides the bird.”

  “He shouldn’t be, but there’s no telling for certain.”

  “Okay.” He turned and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

  “This is Brodsky. Hal and I are going in with the two PI’s. Mag, you’re in charge here. Watch our backs and let’s not lose this idiot.”

  The air rang with mike clicks and static-filled replies.

  “Watch for a big bird in the trees,” I said. “Tell them too. An owl, not making any noise.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He pushed the button on his handpiece again. “And the PI says watch out for a big bird overhead, in a tree or something. Silent. Won’t be making no noise.”

  Another officer, not realizing he was being overheard, said, “How the hell we supposed to do that?”

  “What about night vision goggles?” Nicole asked, pulling a pair out of the backpack she was carrying.

  “You got ‘em, use ‘em,” Brodsky said. “We’ll put you in the middle.”

  Nicole moved to my left with the officers flanking us. She slipped the heavy glasses over her head. We formed a line, about five yards apart, and entered the construction site.

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. The sky above was clear. A front had moved through a few hours before and the temperature had dropped. No wind. If this guy and his owl and were hiding in here, we were in a perfect position to flush them from cover.

  Our lights swept back and forth around Nicole. She took her time, moving her head slowly from side to side, like a boxer measuring her opponent.

  We circled around the construction crane toward a hillside full of trees where the ground had been chewed up by machinery. A distant siren sounded—a fire engine on the way to some other calamity perhaps—and the rumble of an early morning garbage truck mixed with the other noises of the city. But here in our section of the park, all was quiet save the crickets.

  Nicole came to a halt. Her gaze fixed on a spot just ahead in the trees.

  “I’ve got something,” she said calmly.

  “Where?” Brodsky’s voice, sounding excited, came from a few feet beyond her, the arc of his light beginning to swing in her direction.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s okay, don’t worry. They’re coming to us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they’re walking right toward us. Not running. They see us, they’re coming out, and it looks like they’re just going to surrender.”

  “The guy with the bird?” I asked. “Is he carrying the owl?”

  “Not exactly.” Nicole kept her goggles focused on the middle distance.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Not he,” she said. “She.”

  26

  I trained my beam into the darkness of the hill, as did the two cops. Stepping calmly into the brightness came a small individual dressed in dark green pants and a blue hooded jacket.

  There was indeed an owl on her fist, a sizeable great horned. Her homemade cuff looked to be styled after a mangalah, as we’d seen on Nicole’s impromptu video. And there was no doubt she was a young woman, a girl actually.

  She was dark skinned with deep brown eyes, and her hair hung down over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen years old.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Officer Halacini.

  Nicole tore off her goggles and stared, open-mouthed like the rest of us, at the wisp of a girl. As she approached, the hollowness of her cheeks made it clear she was malnourished. She appeared outwardly composed, but her eyes betrayed her fear.

  “It’s all right,” Nicole called out. “We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”

  The girl said nothing. She kept moving. Her big bird attempted to bate momentarily, stretching its wings and lifting a giant talon, pulling against the jesses she held firmly between her fingers.

  “Whoa,” Brodsky said, his hand instinctively dropping to his sidearm, before the owl settled back to rest comfortably on her fist.

  “It’s all right,” I said softly. “She’s got hold of the bird by those straps on its ankles. The owl’s not going anywhere unless she decides to let it.”

  “Yeah? Well, what’s to stop her from flying that thing right at our heads?”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s what this bird is trained for. And I don’t think it’s her intention either. If it makes you feel any better, you’re a lot bigger than an owl and you can use your baton.”

  Brodsky’s hand dropped to his nightstick and remained there, but he didn’t withdraw the stick.

  “This is creepy,” Halacini whispered. “Look at the eyes on that thing.”

  At night the eyes of great horned owls are like vacuum lanterns gathering in the miniscule available light from the darkness. In our beams, the owl’s eyes were mesmerizing. The bird looked directly at us, and almost seemed capable of hypnotizing its prey.

  “You have a bird like this too?” Brodsky asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “But I’ve flown hawks about as big. And I’ve been around some owls. Judging by the size, I’d guess this one’s a female.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Depends. She’s bigger and more powerful than a male. But not as quick.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Would you guys mind shutting up before you scare her?” Nicole said.

  The girl was still moving toward us.

  “It’s all right,” Nicole urged, her voice soothing, coaxing. “We just want to help.”

  Owl and girl stopped about ten feet in front of us.

  “Can you tell us what you’re doing with the bird?”

  She stared at Nicole and the rest of us, uncomprehending.

  “Do you understand English?” Nicole asked.

  The girl stared straight ahead.

  “Great,” Brodsky said under his breath.

  I tried my rudimentary Spanish with no luck. Nicole tried French. No go. Then the girl began speaking in a language I didn’t recognize.

  “Any of you have any clue what she’s saying?” Brodsky asked.

  “No,” I said. “But it sounds like Arabic.”

  “Wonderful. Remind me to brush up on my Arabic when I get back to the precinct,” Brodsky said.

  “What do we do now?” Nicole asked.

  “Good question,” I said.

  “She can’t hunt in the park, or whatever it is she’s doing, I know that much at least,” Brodsky.

  “Technically, at her age, she’s not even legally supposed to be handling a bird of prey,” I said. “But right now I think that’s the least of our worries. I think this girl was a witness to the murders in the park the other night.”

  “No kidding.”

  I was checking out this mysterious young falconer’s rigging, trying to figure out how I might convince her to transfer her owl to my hand on the falconer’s glove I had stowed in my backpack, or how I might be able to jury-rig a makeshift perch out of a good sized tree branch. I also noticed there was no safety leash attached to the bird’s jesses and tied off to the girl’s glove, which meant she was intending to let the bird fly free or could do so at any moment.

  I handed my flashlight to Nicole, knelt down and pulled the glove and a cord leash from the pack. I put on the glove and showed the leash to the girl.


  She nodded and I nodded back. She adroitly plucked a leash made of braided leather from inside her jacket and began tying up the jesses and her glove with practiced skill.

  “What’s she doing?” Brodsky asked.

  “Securing her bird. We don’t want any accidents.”

  “I’m all for that.”

  I tried to signal that I wanted her to tie off her bird temporarily some place for safekeeping. But it wasn’t working.

  “Let’s see if we can get her to come back with us to the cars,” Brodsky said.

  “The owl too,” I said. “She doesn’t look like she’s ready to release it and we can’t leave it out here tied to a perch.”

  “The bird might be freaked out by all the activity and the police cruisers,” Nicole pointed out.

  “You’re right. Why don’t you give the keys to the rental car to Officer Halacini here. He can pull the car down the drive out of sight of the patrol cars. We’ll probably have better luck getting her to drive to the precinct with us. And we’re better equipped to deal with anything that might come up with the bird.”

  “Roger that,” Brodsky said. He turned to speak into his mike.

  “Brodsky again, here. We have our subject and are attempting to secure custody of the, uh, animal. Stand by.”

  “Standing by,” came the replies.

  The girl took a step back, her eyes growing alarmed at the static and the radio chatter.

  “It’s okay,” Nicole said again. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right. We’re your friends.”

  The girl looked at us warily.

  “Friends,” Nicole repeated.

  Halacini, seemingly only too happy to get away from the big owl, took the keys to the rental car from Nicole and disappeared in the direction of the Transverse.

  The girl said something in Arabic again. I was wishing Toronto were here.

  “Well, I guess I’ve seen everything now,” Brodsky said.