by Joe Nobody
Again, the maelstrom of lead rained down from above, the shooter exposing more of himself to get a better angle on the rangers. The shots were getting closer. Zach found himself pinned, wishing the man trying to kill them had slept through geometry.
“Officer down! Officer down on the stairway!” he remembered to broadcast over the radio.
Chey was a country girl, raised on a ranch and no stranger to physical labor. Yet, despite her excellent athletic conditioning, she found herself helplessly sandwiched between two granite-like walls of muscle. She tried to struggle, kick, and even bite one of her captors, all to no avail. “You scum sucking polecats.… I’m going to kick your sorry asses,” she growled during the struggle.
The security men ignored her.
She was herded through the restaurant, Vincent’s men hustling to get their boss clear of the now-constant roar of gunfire streaming from the restaurant’s lobby.
Just as Chey and her two handlers burst through the back door, a strong voice yelled, “Freeze! Police! Drop your weapons!”
Chey was thrust against the side of a van, and then the roaring clap of a gunshot exploded by her ear. Another shot followed, the narrow, high brick walls serving to amplify the deafening assault. The alley erupted in chaos.
The man next to her went down, both of his hands flying to his face as a red cloud of mist filled the air behind the henchman’s skull. Another weapon roared nearby, its sound reminding Chey of her father’s chainsaw when it needed oil.
She watched another of Vincent’s men fall, the fellow screaming in pain as he rolled on the ground. Voices were shouting in English and Spanish. People were moving in confusing blurs of color. Bullets whizzed and pinged off metal and brick.
Then rough hands were shoving her toward the van’s open door. Instinct told Chey she didn’t want to be inside. With a desperate grasp, she clutched the side of the opening and held on with an adrenaline-powered grip.
The van started moving, the noise of its revving engine now competing with the firefight all around her. Chey was being dragged, her feet bouncing along the pavement as her arms refused to let go of the door.
Then, out of nowhere, she spied Gus’s face and arm reaching for her. Some portion of her brain identified the detective as a friend. He was running hard, trying to keep up. She let go with one hand, reaching for the safety of his outstretched arm.
She realized she was falling then, feeling suspended in midair as her forward momentum bled off. It was okay. She was calm. She was nearly in Gus’s friendly arms.
Her finger touched his; then his strong grip was closing around her hand. She saw a smile form behind his eyes … and then his head snapped back as his ball cap flew into the air.
Chey hit the ground hard, rolling like a rag doll as the rear wheels of the van passed right in front of her face. Then there was something else in her floundering arms. Something softer than the painful pavement and blacktop of the alley. Some cushion to diminish the beating her body was taking as she tumbled along the concrete and asphalt.
Finally, she stopped moving. Her brain raced to check her limbs and torso, trying to sort out the multitude of pain impulses that threatened to overwhelm rational thought.
Chey finally opened her eyes. Gus laid next to her, his eyes devoid of light, his skin the color of a white bedsheet. A pool of blood puddled where his dark hair should have been. The top of the detective’s head had been disintegrated.
Cheyenne’s very soul ached as she struggled to fill her lungs with air and shrieked in horror.
After making sure Sam’s leg wasn’t going to bleed out, Zach ascended to the top of the stairs when he heard Chey’s distant scream.
A quick flash of satisfaction passed through the ranger’s mind when he stepped over one of the Glock-shooters lying on a crimson-stained patch behind the splintered door. Obviously, the ranger’s slugs had penetrated more than the thick wood.
It seemed to be taking him forever to clear the restaurant and its five small dining rooms. Then he was in the kitchen, scanning the frightened, huddled cooks and waiters who seemed in shock.
Zach could see bodies lying in the alley through the still-open back door.
There was one of the thugs. Another security man. Gus.
“Oh my God … Gus … no! Oh, Lord … no,” Zach was mumbling as he forced his eyes away from the detective and back to sweeping the alley. He spotted Chey’s blue dress, a look of sheer terror on his girl’s face as she scooted and crawled away from the dead cop.
Seeing no threat in the narrow lane, Zach rushed to Cheyenne’s side. “Are you hurt?”
She seemed unable to take her saucer-like eyes off of Gus. Her mouth moved, but no sound came from her throat.
Zach scanned her torn and soiled dress. He saw scrapes, minor cuts, and a couple of red welts. No bullet holes. “Chey!” he barked, “Look at me!”
Finally, his voice made it through the haze that controlled her mind. She looked at Zach, back at Gus, and then her eyes began watering. “Oh, Zach.… Oh, God…. He’s … he’s … Zach, he’s dead.”
Zach holstered his weapon and gently took her head between his hands. “You’re okay, baby. It’s okay. Help is coming.”
Sirens were now echoing through the concrete canyons of downtown San Antonio, no doubt due to the hundreds of cells phones dialing 9-1-1 from the area surrounding the firefight.
It then dawned on the ranger that he didn’t know the whereabouts of the remaining suspects. He pulled himself away from the distraught woman and said, “I’ll be back in a second. Stay right here.”
Again drawing his weapon, Zach sprinted toward the street where BB had been stationed. As he rounded the corner, he observed several people surrounding a man lying on the sidewalk. It was BB. He was trying to stand … alive … breathing.
Zach, scanned right and left, but couldn’t see any other suspicious vehicle. He knew he was looking for a van, but had no idea of the color, make, model or year.
Holstering his weapon and flashing his badge, Zach scurried up to BB’s side, finding the old ranger nursing a couple of serious-looking cuts on his head and arm. “You okay?”
“Yeah, damn it, I’m fine. They are in a white service van. I didn’t get the plates. I think it was a Dodge. They tried to run over me.”
Two San Antonio squad cars came to a squealing stop just then, both officers exiting with weapons drawn. Zach held his badge up high and informed the arriving reinforcements, “Texas Ranger! Texas Ranger! I need an APB right now … white van … damaged front end. Multiple armed and dangerous. Extreme caution.”
One of the officers nodded while reaching for his radio.
“What the fuck is going on here?” questioned the other cop as another SAPD cruiser arrived.
Zach didn’t answer. Instead, he waved the uniformed officer toward the alley. “Multiple causalities back here. All active shooters are in that van. We’re going to need at least five meat wagons and two teams of EMTs. Direct the first ambulance to the steps on the River Walk side. There is an officer down at that location.”
For Zach, the next two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
He watched Sam being loaded into an ambulance, thankful his partner’s life was in no danger. Shortly thereafter, He repeated a similar scene with BB. The retired ranger didn’t want medical attention, but the EMTs couldn’t get the deep lacerations on his head to stop bleeding.
“At least, the scar from the staples will give me a good story to tell at the cantina,” the old man told Zach as they were lifting him into the back of an emergency vehicle.
Chey was okay, surrounded by a virtual sea of uniformed SAPD. Zach had to grunt at the amount of attention his girlfriend was receiving, convinced the torn blue dress had something to do with the adoring, protective throng.
The worst part … the chapter that he dreaded most was the removal of Gus’s body. As Zach watched the sheet-covered corpse being loaded, a million thoughts rushed through the ranger’s tro
ubled mind. He remembered the episode with Buck and the horrible experience of his friend’s funeral.
The next hour was spent in a whirlwind of reports, investigation, interviews, and basically repeating his story over and over and over again.
Throughout it all, Zach kept asking the local cops about the van. After 15 minutes had passed without the suspects’ vehicle being found, the ranger was frustrated. At 30, he was pissed. When one hour had elapsed, he was grumbling about the incompetence of the local authorities.
Zach’s temper was beginning to simmer. He wanted to find that van, track down the men inside, and put an end to the entire affair. He was convinced Vincent was the man being escorted when the Marines were massacred. He was also confident that the suspect was up to something far more involved than just buying a few truckloads of automatic rifles and sneaking them back across the border.
Just then, Zach glanced up and observed Major Putnam walking his way. Alongside was a very unhappy looking SAPD officer wearing a uniform covered in medals, gold rank insignias, and more stripes than the ranger could count.
“Now, I’m in some serious shit,” the ranger whispered, not really caring. “When the local boys bring out the dress blues, you know someone wants to chew ass all the way to the tailbone.”
Putnam wasted no time getting down to business, “Report, Ranger Bass.”
Zach did as ordered, recapping the events prior to the shootout. It was clear from both of the senior cops’ faces that they were expecting more detail. The local honcho expressed his displeasure first, “Why wasn’t my department informed of this operation, Ranger?”
“We did, sir. I ordered Detective Monroe to inform a local contact of his about our presence and location.”
The comeback didn’t work. “Yes … yes, I’ve already heard about that half-hearted attempt to cover your ass. You and your little band of misfits just shot up this city’s primary economic engine. Every businessman along the River Walk is raising hell about the negative impact this event will produce once it hits the press. They are afraid it will discourage tourism and hurt the city’s image. The mayor is pissing venom and calling President Simmons as we speak.”
Zach was at the end of his rope. He stepped toward the older officer and growled, “I am a sworn, active-duty Texas Ranger. That little band of misfits as you call them included two other rangers, plus a highly respected detective associated with the case. One of those officers lost his life in the line of duty. I suggest you show a little respect, sir.”
The old cop wasn’t used to anyone talking back to him. His jowls turning red, he pointed a finger at Zach and barked, “Respect? Why should I respect a bunch of cowboys coming in and shooting up my city? You had no authorization to do that. Even your boss here didn’t know what you were doing in my town. If you want respect, son, you should learn to show a little. I think you wandered off the reservation. I think you are a loose and dangerous cannon.”
Zach boiled over. He moved in close, almost touching noses with the local bigwig. “I don’t care about tourism, or your mayor, or your public relations problem! That’s not my job. I am trying to catch international criminals and potential terrorists. So pin that fucking ego on your chest with the rest of that junk and get the fuck out of my face!”
Putnam noticed that the confrontation had drawn the attention of several local officers, as well as the two rangers the major had brought from Austin. Wise and experienced, the senior officer decided it was best for all involved to de-escalate the situation. “Ranger Bass,” he said, his controlled voice firm but calm as he stepped between the two irate men. “A word please.… Over there.”
Zach was a good trooper and broke eye contact with his antagonist. When the two rangers were some distance away, Putnam said, “I know you didn’t end up in this situation without good reason. Now would be a good time for you to explain that to me.”
Nodding, Zach decided to play his ace. “Vincent … the man in the restaurant was the man who crossed at Eagle’s Nest. It was his men that shot up the Marines. I’m convinced of that, sir.”
Putnam was stunned, and that wasn’t an easy place to take the grizzled, old lawman. “Why?” was all the senior ranger managed to utter.
Zach recounted the haphazard investigation quickly, starting with Cheyenne’s call a few days ago and ending with Vincent’s limp. “These guys weren’t some mid-level cartel thugs, sir. They were about the best I’ve ever seen, and that fits with the shooters that shot up the Marines. I think we’re dealing with something a lot more serious than even Chico could have known.”
“You played one hell of a hunch, Ranger,” Putnam said after his man had finished.
For a moment, Zach thought he was in serious trouble, but then his boss nodded. “I’ve played worse hands and solved a case or two.”
“We need to find that van, sir, and I’m not convinced the locals are giving it an all-out effort.”
Again, Putnam contemplated his subordinate’s words. “Let me work on that.” Then the major turned to look at the red-faced cop behind them. “In the meantime, I suggest you finish your report and continue with the investigation … elsewhere.”
The San Antonio police found the van 20 minutes later. It had been abandoned only three blocks away.
Zach rushed to the site, a public parking garage under a mid-rise office building. While the ranger was anxious to inspect the getaway vehicle, the search would have to wait until it was deemed free of any booby-traps.
The parade of frustration continued, the van identified as having been stolen from Houston the day before the Marines had been gunned down.
The license plates were another sign of the criminals’ sophistication. Three sets of tags were found inside the stolen unit, each equipped with rare-earth magnets so they could be switched at a moment’s notice. All of the numbers were registered to white vans of various makes and years. Zach assumed the trail would lead to junkyards or the owners of legitimate vans who hadn’t noticed their plates being switched in the middle of the night.
The ranger was pissed, frustrated, and embarrassed. He’d underestimated his opponent, and now BB, Sam, and Gus had paid the price. About the only thing he’d salvaged out of the entire operation was keeping Chey out of the clutches of some clearly dangerous men. Even at that, the event had left the woman rattled and shaken. Zach didn’t blame her.
Yet the investigation was progressing. The encounter along the River Walk had shaken loose dozens of leads. Already, Putnam was assigning ballistics experts to process the shell casings and recovered weapons. Zach had heard his boss order other rangers and troopers to begin running down a plethora of clues and possibilities.
Search warrants were being sworn out all over the republic. It was to be a dragnet of immense proportions – a massive undertaking all across the territory. Everything was subject to review – from the restaurant’s phone records to dozens of video security camera recordings in the area.
Zach suddenly changed his mind. Rather than stand and watch the CSI techs pour over the van, the ranger decided to point his horse in a new direction. He wanted to talk to Mr. Carson. The banker knew something about Vincent, and Zach planned on “extracting” whatever information that was. Besides, given the level of professionalism the crooks had shown so far, it was doubtful any DNA samples, hotel room keys, or matchbook covers were forgotten inside the stolen vehicle.
Putnam was handling the public relations with the SAPD, which made Zach respect his superior even more. The gruff, old bastard was hardheaded, narrow-minded, and often lacking the slightest pinch of mercy, but the major did protect “his people.”
“I’m going to find Mr. Carson and have a little chat with that banker,” Zach informed his boss.
“I’ve already called the Chief of Police in Abilene and asked him to send a car out to detain the man. We don’t want him disappearing on us,” the major offered.
“That’s a good idea, sir. Our escaped suspects might call and warn him, an
d now’s not the time to let him drop off the radar,” Zach stated.
“Be careful, Ranger Bass. And please, don’t shoot up Abilene. I can only clean up one disaster at a time.”
It was a relief to leave the mess in San Antonio. Zach hadn’t wanted any trouble. He hadn’t started it, but he would damn well finish it. He owed Gus Monroe that much.
It was just over 250 miles to Abilene, normally a four-hour drive through the Texas Hill Country and numerous small towns.
The ranger was pushing it however, eager to get back on Vincent’s trail before it grew cold. That meant piloting the pickup at speeds well beyond the posted limits.
Zach had covered half the distance in just under 90 minutes when his cell phone chirped. The caller-ID informed the ranger that it was his superior. “Abilene PD can’t locate your banker friend. He’s not at home. They’re keeping an eye on his place and will call you if he shows up.”
The ranger drove another 20 minutes, various scenarios playing out in his head. Had Carson somehow gotten the word and gone on the dodge? Was Vincent helping with the escape? Could the banker just be out shopping or having dinner? Did Vincent decide to wrap up a loose end and kill the man?
There wasn’t anything Zach could do at the moment but drive … or was there?
He dialed Cheyenne. “How are you managing?” he asked.
“I’m still a little shaken up. How do you go through life living like this?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Having people shooting at you all the time … always being around the black hats that don’t give a fresh cow pie about anybody or anything other than themselves. Oh, God, Zach. I couldn’t do your job. It would drive me into the bottom of a bottle or put me at the business end of a gun,” she stated.
“That happens to a lot of cops,” Zach sighed. “A lot more than anyone wants to admit. As for me, I do the job because a lot of women find a man with a badge sexy as hell, and I need that to counteract my natural lack of self-confidence. It backfires some days, like today. Other times, there is a high level of gratification … like last Saturday when you stopped by the apartment.”