by Mike Gomes
The van struck the gate at 80mph and smashed it clean off its hinges. Falau looked in the side mirror at the destruction. The gate wasn’t reinforced like the front gate. It had probably been left more accessible for ease of use by the various delivery men.
Falau grabbed the cellphone from his pocket, wincing in pain. He flipped it open and called the predesignated number in the memory.
The phone was answered on the other end without a word.
“Done,” said Falau.
“Text,” replied a voice, and the line went dead
Moments later a text chimed through, saying Fenway Park.
Falau drove the van as casually and calmly as he could, considering the excitement raging through his body. He was close to the end but still vulnerable to anyone who may have been watching. The risk was high and all-consuming, just the way he liked it.
Pulling onto Yawkey Way next to Fenway Park, Falau saw a good-looking man walking along and slowed down. The man turned, showing himself. It was Tyler. The nightclubs were letting out in the area and the streets were filling with college kids who went out to enjoy themselves and to drink their fill of beer. They crowded the street making it impossible for the car to leave its spot along the curb.
Tyler placed his hand on the passenger side door and climbed in. “93 South.”
Falau pulled out and did as he was instructed. No need to talk until Tyler made it clear it was okay. Falau had learned in his short time with Tyler that he was always being followed and listened to by the enemy.
Falau worked the van through the city and up onto 93 South just outside of China Town. He cruised for twenty minutes before Tyler finally lifted his hand, saying, “Here. Weymouth,” and pointing to the exit.
Falau pulled off the ramp and started driving up a hill towards a set of lights. Tyler turned and smiled at Falau without saying a word. They were close. Tyler guided Falau through several rights and lefts that led them around the town along various routes. Finally they pulled into a restaurant.
“Go to the loading dock in the back. Then back the van into it. You know the drill.”
The van bumped up against the loading dock and two men came from the door and opened the back of the van. They moved in and grabbed Calvin under the shoulders and dragged him into the restaurant without saying a word.
“Let’s go,” said Tyler, soon climbing the steps to the back of the restaurant.
“Sure thing,” replied Falau, swiftly on his heels.
The dining room of the restaurant had been cleared and along the side wall sat nine judges dressed all in black and wearing black and white masks. They sat motionless and stared straight ahead.
Calvin had been placed in a chair along the opposite wall, his mouth still sewn shut.
Another man, overweight and reading through glasses that sat at the end of his large nose, moved the paper in his hand back and forth, trying to find the correct distance to make out the words.
Falau pulled in close to Tyler and leaned into his ear. “I have some evidence that could help this case out. There’s more in the kid’s room back at the house.”
Falau pulled the pictures and prizes from his pocket and handed them to Tyler. He looked over and saw Calvin watching him with a look of rage as if Falau had just robbed him.
Falau tuned to see one of the judges observing his interaction with Tyler. The judge nodded, and Falau reciprocated.
The big man turned and walked out the back door, the same one he had entered through. Tyler followed, catching up to him on the loading dock.
“Hey. You’re not going to stay for the trial?” questioned Falau.
“No. I know how this one will turn out. The evidence is overwhelming and without his daddy here to bail him out it’s a done deal.”
“You need some medical attention.”
“I know. I got a guy for that. No questions asked. Oh, by the way... Calvin killed his father. The body is at the house.”
“I know. We already have a team there taking care of things.”
“I should have known,’ said Falau, smiling. He walked down the loading dock stairs and started across the parking lot.
“Hey, Falau,” called Tyler. “Nice touch with the sewing.”
“It was the only way to shut that jerk up.”
Chapter 37
The bell chimed its familiar chime as the door of the diner opened, letting in a gust of air. The seasons were changing and spring was on the way. Overcoats were getting less use and lighter hoodies and jackets were making their way into people’s wardrobes.
Falau looked around the diner and saw Tyler’s smiling face at the far end of the room. He sat in a booth with his back to the wall, just the way he always did. That seat was the position of power, the spot where you could take everything in and see who was coming and who was going. That spot also held a great view of the street down to the front door. Little was left to chance when it came to Tyler. He raised his hand and waved, ushering his friend to come sit with him at the booth.
Falau too was in a state of constant vigilance, his mind locked on everything happening around him. He had not had enough time to relax and let his guard down. Besides, his mind being occupied was not a bad thing. It kept the flashbacks at bay.
Sliding into the seat across from Tyler a large smile crossed his face, despite the grunt that came from deep inside him. The knife wound had still not fully healed, and he was refusing painkillers for fear he could get addicted, an acknowledgment of his drinking problem.
“That didn’t sound good. You want to see my guy about that?” asked Tyler, a look of concern on his face.
“No, I’m good. Just the muscles working themselves out again. Slow going, but I’ll be back to normal in a few weeks.”
“Glad to hear it. Speaking of good news, did you get a chance to look at today’s paper?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t get the paper where I live.” The big man smiled, knowing full well how Tyler felt about where he lived.
Tyler slid a paper across the table. A banner headline extended above the fold of the paper, and just under the mast heading of the Boston Times, read;
Murder. Suicide. Evidence.
Falau read it. Beneath it was a large picture of Calvin Wise and his father from a golf outing they had years before.
Falau raised one eyebrow and looked at his friend. “Catchy headline.”
“Yes. To the point. Seems that Calvin Wise really did kill those girls. There was a ton of evidence all over his bedroom. Even pictures of the girls and things that belonged to them.”
Falau lifted his head, preferring to hear what the judges and the team had done from Tyler rather than reading it in the paper. “What a moron to leave that stuff sitting around.”
“Guess he figured that daddy got him off the first time and that it wouldn’t be a problem this time. But it was. From what the article says the father caught him and confronted him. The two got into a bloody fight and the kid killed the old man. Left his body just lying there on the bed. Then he went down and killed the guards working at the house.”
Falau flashed a knowing smile, putting together why there had been no response from the guards as he fought with Calvin and removed him from the house. The sick killer had taken them out before he even got a chance to get to Calvin.
“Guess the kid couldn’t take it,” said Tyler, shaking his head in disgust. “The twisted prick zip-tied his own arms and legs, then tied a cinderblock from the garage to his feet. Pushed himself off the diving board and drowned himself.”
“Wow. What a way to go.”
“At least the families can have some peace now. The guy who killed their daughters is dead, just as he should be. Too bad he didn’t just take himself out before all of this, and then the girls would not have died.”
“What the hell is this world coming to,’ asked Falau with a wry smile.
The big man knew that what Tyler was saying was right. They had done some good for the families of the gi
rls who died. They finally had some justice. They would not have to see Calvin Wise’s face smiling back at them from a picture in the newspaper, as he attended a swanky benefit while their daughters lay decomposing in a cold and lonely grave.
A buxom overweight waitress dressed in jeans and a t-shirt bumped up against the table. “That kid was one sick son of a bitch. Came in here once. Just had a weird look in his eyes. You want some lunch, hun?”
“Just a coffee and a corn muffin,” Falau replied with a smile.
“Good,” she replied, and turned and walked away, ending any possibility of chit-chat.
“Seems very cut and dry. No marks or other evidence in the house. What if another person was there,” asked Falau, digging gently for information but being sure not to let others understand the true course of the conversation.
“I would doubt that. These guys are very thorough. If there were anything there they would have found it.” A wink shot from Tyler’s eye, catching Falau off guard. It was unlike his friend to make such a public display that could be picked up on.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I picked up that portable disk drive you wanted. Check it and make sure it’s the right one. If not, I can bring it back,” said Tyler as he reached below the table and pulled up a small bag, handing it across to Falau.
Falau accepted the bag willingly and opened it. He saw the box to the disk drive and opened the end. A stack of bills in twenty, fifty, and one-hundred-dollar denominations stared back at him as his flipped through them with his thumb. The stack was larger than he thought it would be. Smiling, he shut the box and placed the bag beside him as the corn muffin and coffee arrived.
The waitress made no attempt at conversation, as the two men looked up at her sliding the muffin in front of Falau and spilling the coffee as it clunked on the table. She turned and walked away without making eye contact.
“This city has the best waitresses,” joked Falau, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spilled coffee.
“The guy at the computer store put an extra ten gigs on that drive for you, because you had to wait so long to get it. He wants you to know he really appreciates your business.”
Falau nodded his head, understanding that the extra $10,000 dollars on top of his fee was most likely payment for the time he’d spent in prison.
They have obviously never done time, or the number would be higher, thought Falau to himself, though he was not about to reject the money. He needed it badly. He was finally starting to get back on his feet after working with Tyler.
“If you talk to him again just let him know I love the work he does. If he stays open, I’d be happy to do business with him any time.”
Tyler smiled at his friend and reached into his coat and pulled out a thick money clip stacked with twenty-dollar bills. He pulled one out and placed it on the table as he stood up.
“Coffee and the muffin is on me today. You pick up the next one. I’ll give you a call.”
Falau reached out his hand, grabbing the sleeve of Tyler’s coat and looking up at him earnestly. “The other night in the van, you asked me if I really wanted this. Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and I do.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure we can work together.”
“You’re not hearing me. I want this to be my life. It gives me purpose. Something real to believe in. I can do some good for a lot of people,” whispered the big man without releasing his grip from his friend’s sleeve.
Tyler looked down, examining his old friend.
Falau felt Tyler was assessing things, processing what level he wanted Falau to be at, what level of action he could take. Was he worth the time and effort, or was he okay doing just the work he was doing?
A smile curled Tyler’s lips and he sat back down across the table from the big man.
“Do you realize what you’re asking? This is very big. Life changing.”
“I understand. I know there is more than what I do. I want that. I want to make a big impact.”
Tyler’s face hardened and his shoulders straightened. He leaned back and looked out the window, taking a short, audible breath. His head snapped back around to Falau and nodded up and down quickly. He leaned hard over the table, close to his friend.
“This isn’t some summer camp. No part-time job. If you’re in, you’re in. You can’t walk away from the next level. It’s for life. And that’s probably what it will cost you. Eventually, everyone gets taken out. Are you willing to take that chance?”
“Yes I am.”
Tyler leaned back in the booth and let his eyes scan the room again, taking in every detail and wondering who might be there listening. The fingers on his right hand drummed the table in a few short bursts. “This goes against all my better judgment,” he said, shaking his head. “But you always come through on the other side. You always get the job done. I will bring your application into the bosses and see what we can do.”
“Thanks, man. You won’t regret it.”
“Yes, I will,” said Tyler in a somber voice. The good-looking young man stood up from his seat, patted his friend on the shoulder, and walked out the door, the bell chiming as he left.
WHITE COLLAR
BOOK 3
Chapter 1
A SLIGHT TURN OF THE knob on the scope and the cross hairs came into focus. The man exiting the building across the street had a small boy by his side. He looked nervously around seeing who was in the area and then placed his hand around the side of the boy. The boy looked up gently and lovingly. It was clear that this was his father or someone very trusted.
As they started to walk forward the cross hair drifted from one to the other. First the man. Then the boy. Then back to the man. They were high level targets coming directly out of a building that was known to supply ISIL with many of its weapons in this part of the world.
Suicide bombers had found their hidden place in this part of the world. Martyrs who do anything for Allah including giving their own lives and the lives of their children. Tijuana, Mexico was on the United States border. A suicide bomber equipped to set off a terrorist attack on the pedestrian bridge linking the two countries would be a feather in the cap of ISIL. It would strike fear into the hearts of Americans and the Mexicans while pushing their attention to border security and off ISIL.
The scope tightened in drawing hard upon the man. He had something under his coat, something that was covered and he didn't want people to know about. He placed a hand on the boys shoulder and pulled him in front of him as a human shield for anybody that might be watching. The boy twisted and turned trying to look back at the older man wondering if what he was doing was right.
A deep breath in and the muzzle of the rifle steadied and dropped into place.
“No confirmation.” the shooter thought still holding their finger outside the trigger guard.
On the left side of the street two men stepped out from a doorway and started walking toward the man and the boy. At the sound of their feet hitting off the pavement the man's head jerked around to see them moving toward him and he started to pick up his pace. The men in the back were white. Definitely not of Mexican descent. They were dressed in suits and didn't fit the situation at all. They were out of their element.
“Show it to me.” whispered the voice behind the gun. The finger dropping down and dusting on top of the trigger. “just show me once.”
The man's jacket started to flap in the wind as he picked up his speed. His movement almost trampling the boy in front of him and causing him to stumble time after time. A hand reaching down pulling the boy up by the scruff of the neck and moving him along the way.
The boy's face showed stronger fear and tension. His eyes wandered across the street and behind him to the two men following and then back to the older man who was shuttling him along.
The boy turned to the older man reaching back up with his arms wanting to be lifted up and held. He was frightened not knowing what was going to happen next. He pulled on the jacket sliding it open and revea
ling a vest that wrapped around the man, but had been strapped with what looked like small bits of C-4 connected with wires to the top of the vest.
The man pushed the boy away knocking him to the ground and pulling the coat closed again tightly. His mouth moved yelling something at the boy but indistinguishable to the holder of the rifle at such a distance.
Looking down from above the site locked hard in on the man and the jacket that he wore that contained the explosives that were due to take out one of the local interest.
“That's what I needed.” whispered the Voice as the finger gently set down upon the trigger. The cross hairs gently moving to its target. The target wasn't just the man but one of the pieces of C4 that laid under the jacket approximately where his heart was.
The boy next to the man would definitely be a casualty. It was acceptable to the shooter. There was always some kind of collateral damage. It was something one just had to live with in this kind of work.
The finger that laid on the trigger had a perfectly polished cherry red nail to it. It matches perfectly with the other nails, all manicured and well taken care of. They fit in perfectly with the woman that held them. Her skin flawless, her hair a dark brown that cascaded down over her shoulders in a wave that other women admired and fawned over. Her eyes were a stunning green she liked to call hazel. They shone like emeralds in the sun. Her lips plump and seductive beckoning men to want to kiss them. Her body was fit and strong easily noticeable inside her tight clothing that allowed her nimble movement whenever she chose.
But none of that helped her now. The site was set locked in on the spot just above the man's heart. Only inches above the boy's head. The men that trailed were gaining fast ready to apprehend the man. Obviously not knowing that he was wired to kill and that they would be the victims.
She calmed her breath again exhaling deep and long letting her body steady. All her muscles flattening and coming to a steady rest. There was no motion in the rifle. The barrel dropped into place steady and flat. Her body in perfect alignment with the weapon in her hands and not making the slightest of movements.