by Mary Keeley
While Cosmo’s guard dogs yelped and ran to the scent, the guards followed, calling out to the dogs and each other, cussing and wondering why the main gate didn’t open electronically. At Rinder’s quiet command, the rest of the squad moved quickly, their night vision goggles giving them a clear view of the action. On cue, Cosmo’s guards manually pushed opened the large gate to let the dogs investigate. As they walked out, the deputies pulled the rope. The guards fell, and wisely stayed down when they felt the hot breath of the sheriff’s dogs on their faces and the cold muzzles of their owners’ guns on their necks.
Brewskie and another deputy put muffling loops along with leashes around Cosmo’s guard dogs and secured them into one of the waiting SUV’s. They hurried back to the gate, got their own dogs and waited for Rinder’s next order. It came quickly and quietly over the hand-helds strapped to their shoulders.
“On my order, Brewskie, take Sloan and Morales and cover the back, see anybody, loose your pups. Lopez, you and Fletcher, take the east side; Dawson, you and I will take the front; Lee and Saunders, take the west side. Same drill; take down who and what you can. But this is a hostage situation, people, take all precautions. Do you copy? All precautions. We’re gonna move on my regular command. Remember, there may be fireworks. Uncle Cosmo may have other hostages in the attic, so watch yourselves. We want ZERO collateral damage. We need everybody alive, copy that?” There were affirmative answers all around. Scarlett grabbed Rinder’s sleeve and spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“What about me? My mother’s in there! You gotta let me go with you.” “Oh, hell, no, Scarlett, you’re a civilian on this one. No more civilians
allowed, we got this, now you stay back or I’ll cuff you to the car.” Dawson said emphatically and Rinder nodded agreement. She turned on the Deputy. “Listen, you mutt jockey, I’m the one who got you this far. Let me in, or I’ll go on my own!” She started to push forward, but in a swift, practiced motion, Dawson grabbed her and pushed her back against a big oak tree, his hands on her shoulders. The rough bark scratched her back as she struggled against him. Rinder moved in close to the two of them. When he spoke, his voice was soft but there was no mistaking his resolve.
“Scar, you know I know how good you are, but, shit, Dawson’s not even supposed to be here. Now the CHP will be rolling up soon to close the road, so you stay put and wait for them and let us do OUR jobs.”
“Like hell, I will!” Scarlett looked from him to Dawson, her eyes wide with anger and disbelief.
“He’s right, Scarlett.” Dawson eased up on his grip and nodded at Rinder. Within seconds, the two big men hoisted her up and before she knew it her right hand was cuffed to the handle of Dawson’s car. Her indignant cries were stifled by Dawson’s sweaty palm clapped on her mouth.
“Stay here and be quiet, goddammit, or I’ll gag you, too!” She shook his hand off and spat her words at both of them. “Both of you are selfish asses! This is MY MOTHER and MY CASE!! Screw this up, and I promise, if you think these dogs are rough and vicious they will be cuddly toothless, clawless puppies compared to this bitch!”
Rinder and Dawson let out their collectively held breath. They looked at each other and saw the same frightened look mirrored in their eyes. Rinder shook it off. Bear felt it and woofed quietly.
Before he left her, Dawson crouched down and rolled his flashlight towards Scarlett. “Just in case,” he murmured lamely, got up quickly and began to walk away.
“Just in case, what, Cliffie? Think I’m afraid of the dark, you piece of …”
Rinder saw Dawson looking back after Scarlett and said, “O.K. Big fella, ready to roll?”
“Ready, let’s do it.” Dawson responded and turned away from the heat of Scarlett’s glare. Rinder spoke into his hand-held: “All right boys and dogs, let’s go. ‘Round up the usual suspects.’ Now!”
As they all moved out on a quick trot, guns and dogs ready, a surprised Dawson muttered: “Hey, know that movie !”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was getting colder by the minute. Scarlett’s breath came out in explosive puffs with every cussword. When Rinder and Dawson were out of sight, she strained and reached into the inside pocket of her jacket with her left hand. It took her several minutes, but she retrieved the small tool, and clumsily unlocked the handcuffs.
“Ha!” she muttered. “Pays to be smart and well-prepared, boys.” Once free, she walked a few feet, ducked down low behind a thick Manzanita bush, and waited. She took a minute to catch her breath, then ripped off the tape used to dim the flashlight lamp and made her way through the brush to the Fortress. Bent in a low crouch, she shone the now-broadened light on the ground in front of her, taking care to not raise it above her knees. Breathing hard from exertion and anger, Scarlett stayed close to the west wall of the fortress. Lee and Saunders were already inside the gate. She saw them crouching deeply, making their way towards the house. She slipped by them through the thick brush and circled around to the back. Brewskie, Sloan, and Morales were just up ahead. She held back out of sight, straining to hear their chatter on the hand-helds. Brewskie calmed the dogs while Sloan spoke.
“Sarge, we’re in position, near probably a basement door, one step down to it. No security personnel visible. No light coming from this entrance. Advise next move. Over.”
Rinder’s deep voice cracked a response. “Roger that. We are secured near the front entrance. Got a visual on the front window. Hostages in sight. We count three suspects, three collateral personnel. Suspects are armed, repeat, armed. Do not move until I give the order, repeat, no movement. Keep your pups quiet, stay covered and no chatter, on my order. Over.”
Scarlett heard all the affirmative answers and watched as the deputies knelt in the dirt, one arm around their dogs’ necks whispering to calm them. Only Brewskie wasn’t talking to his dog, Foster. He was singing softly in the big dog’s fuzzy ear. She watched in astonishment, then smiled as she recognized the old Patsy Cline song, “Crazy”. Whatever works, she thought, as she heard Foster heave a big, drool-y sigh and lay down at his master’s feet.
She figured Rinder had everybody in sight in his night vision binoculars, Bear at quiet attention at his side. He’d never get so close as to endanger civilians. So it was either time to wait or time to move, and she was never good at waiting.
The basement door was behind and to the left of the deputies and dogs. How could she get there without being seen or heard? She looked around for another entrance—there had to be one—but, if she moved, she stood the risk of alerting Brewskie and the others.
Her dad’s favorite saying came to mind suddenly: God hates a coward, kiddo, gotta go for what you want. Saying a silent prayer to Dad, she began a slow belly crawl away from the waiting squad to the extreme rear of the house. Gritting her teeth, Scarlett tried not to think of what was crawling around in the damp underbrush with her. She inched her way through the brambles and knobby, above ground roots of the low manzanitas, praying there was no poison oak around. The smell of smoke from the fireplace in the house mingled with the loamy smell of the dark earth, making her wrinkle her nose. She couldn’t risk a sneeze, not now. Then, just to her right about four feet in front of her, the light she held close to her body glinted off something. It was a casement window. Her heart raced as she crept towards it. Another entrance to the basement! Holding her breath for an instant, she pulled herself out of the bushes forward. Looking behind her she listened hard. All was quiet; she could make her move now, quickly. On all fours, she moved to the window as fast as she could, set down the flashlight and tried the pull-up handle. It was unlocked! She gave it a yank. It didn’t budge. She pulled harder, grunting softly with the effort. This time it opened, but with a squeak so loud she rolled back into the darkness, looking behind her to see if Brewskie or the dogs had heard. Nothing. Pulling the window open as far as she could, Scarlett grabbed the light and pulled her gun out of her pocket. Shining the light into the musty darkness, she saw no signs of life. It was a slight d
rop to the floor, so she slid in feet first, gun in hand.
“Oooff!” Her sneakered feet hit the tile floor and slipped out from under her. She landed hard on her bottom and sat very still for a minute. No sounds. That was good. Standing up, she thought she saw something large and round in front of her. The flashlight revealed several massive wine barrels and tall racks filled with dusty bottles.
“That little old winemaker, you, huh, Cosmo?” she whispered to herself. What else you got in here? Too bad I don’t have more time to explore. Gotta find the staircase.
Just then, she heard a thumping sound. Stopping and shining her light carefully around, she strained her ears. Hearing nothing she figured it was just spooky old basement sounds and walked around the barrels towards an opening in the racks. There it was again, the thumping. Turning back towards the barrels, she listened again. It started again, a little louder. Gun in hand, Scarlett cocked her head to one side.
“Oh no, Cosmo, you shithead, not even you would do that!” she said quietly in disbelief. But the thumping was there, in front of her, and it was coming from the wine barrel. Inching around, coming closer to the sound, she reached out and tapped the nearest barrel with the butt of her flashlight. The thumping became frantic, but not from inside the barrel as she first thought. She looked down and shone the light to her left and saw the source of the noise.
Hands and feet bound, bleeding from a raw gash in his shaved head, desperate screams muffled by duct tape across his mouth, Monroe’s partner, Detective Jamal Patrick O’Sullivan looked up at Scarlett, his eyes huge with both terror and relief.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scarlett stared in shock at O’Sullivan for a few seconds, took a deep breath, then crouched down and grinned at him. “Hey, Irish, what’s new?” she said softly. Jamal growled at her and shook his head violently.
“Oh, yeah, here you go.” She ripped the tape off his mouth in one quick movement.
“Ahhh! Shit, Salerno. That hurt!”
“Quiet! Want me to put it back? Don’t want the goons upstairs to hear us.”
“How the hell did you get here, Scarlett? Anybody else with you?” Jamal’s voice was harsh and low from disuse.
“Tell you what, Irish, how about you tell me first?” She smiled a little as he pulled back from the Glock pointed at his forehead. Eyes wide, Jamal spoke in a whispered rush.
“Hold it! I’m on your side, remember? I’m the one who told you about the mole and he’s here. He’s the one got your mama and Lizette and that Blake kid out here. He figures he can use them for some kinda leverage. For what, I don’t know.” He tilted his head to one side as if waiting for her reaction. She didn’t move, and neither did the gun. He sighed and tried again, slower and intense. “Scar, it’s Monroe. He’s here. He stole your mother’s address off Dawson’s notepad and gave the information to Cosmo.”
“Believable, but still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Irish. Go ahead, but make it fast and quiet, I’ve got a hot date upstairs.”
“Not unless you’ve got a small army with you. They don’t call this place the Fortress for nothin’. Now untie me, and you can be my backup.”
Scarlett snorted a short laugh. “YOUR backup? Not a chance. So if you’re not gonna tell me the how and why of your lovely presence here …” She held up the duct tape again.
“O.K. O.K.. Give me a break here.” Jamal squirmed, chaffing at his bonds.
“You and me, we had a deal, remember? I’ve helped you, right? Monroe’s such a weird guy. I thought he couldn’t be smart enough to be the mole. But he kept up this thing like he wanted to be in on the Di Stefano case and I got suspicious. I mean, why this case? So I go along with him. He shows me the snitched address and says he wants to check it out. What I don’t know is he already did, called Cosmo and set it all up. We get there, get out of the car, he comes behind me, sticks his gun in my back and tells me he needs me. Yeah, he needs my dead body to save his own pasty skin! His plan: he delivers Lizette, gets his cut for taking care of Yano and some other bad business. At the same time he makes like he and I are the hot shits following Cosmo. There’s a fake shoot-out, Lizette ends up dead, and I end up dead while supposedly trying to help him. Monroe’s a little roughed up. Cosmo gets away, of course, but Marilyn’s still the big He-ro! Me, his pitiful partner, is now conveniently deceased, while he gets all the credit and a big promotion for solving the case. So he cracks me hard over the head. He and Cosmo’s creeps truss me up like a damned pig and pile me into the back of their vehicle; I wake up down here wondering where the hell I am and smelling sour wine. So untie me, dammit, so we can get the son-of-a-bitch!”
Jamal was breathing hard, staring at Scarlett. She looked at him for a few moments, then reached into her pocket for her dad’s old pocket knife. Opening it, she said quietly, “O.K. I guess I don’t have bunches of choices here, but …” She curled her index finger behind her thumb and thwacked Jamal hard on the temple with it.
“OW! What the hell is that for?” Jamal glared at her.
“That, my fairly incompetent friend, is for not calling me right away when you suspected your poufy partner. Now my mama is collateral, when she could be home watching her soaps. Jerk!” With a swift movement of the knife, she freed his feet. Just as quickly she cut the rope binding his hands. He rubbed his wrists for a second and tried to stand. Scarlett was already shining her flashlight around looking for the stairwell as Jamal struggled to his feet. “Come on, Irish, haven’t got all night.”
“Give me a second, my legs kinda fell asleep here.” He was bent double flexing his knees.
“Yeah, poor, pitiful you. ‘Excuses are like assholes, everybody got one.’” Jamal looked up at her as if to say, “Huh?”
“God, Jamal, you never saw that movie? Thought all supposed to be tough guys loved it. Here’s the stairs. I don’t suppose you have a gun anymore.” His nasty look was her answer. “So look around, see if you can find something to hit somebody with, at least. Jeeze, San Diego’s Finest, my ass.”
Jamal stumbled around, grumbling. He emerged from the back of one of the tall wine racks with a huge pipe wrench and a crowbar. “Think this’ll do?”
Scarlett grinned at him. “Locked and loaded. Let’s go but keep your big feet quiet.” Jamal grunted softly at her and started to follow her towards the steep basement stairs. Before they reached the first step, the door opened a crack and Frankie’s voice drifted down. Scarlett motioned for them both to duck out of the way of Frankie’s line of sight.
“Yeah, I know, I was outside, that’s why I wasn’t here holding your hand. I’ll get a couple of bottles and check on him and be back up in a second. Keep your shirt on, Blondie.” Frankie flicked on the light switch above the stairs, closed the door behind him and came down muttering about stupid damned cop traitors. He walked over to the farthest wine rack, pulled out a dusty bottle, mumbling as he wiped off the label. He pulled out another bottle, and seemed satisfied it matched the first.
“Don’t drop those, now,” came the soft whisper behind him.
Frankie whirled around and found himself face to face with Scarlett and her gun. His eyes widened as he saw Jamal grinning manically behind her.
“How the hell …” Frankie began, but stopped as Scarlett pushed the muzzle of the Glock into his nose. She put her finger to her lips.
“Shhh. Let’s be real quiet, shall we? Now, just stand still for a minute, right? Jamal, would you like to relieve our friend here of his weapon, please? Now, I seem to remember your name is Frankie? Am I correct? Just nod, kiddo.”
Frankie nodded with difficulty, the gun still pushed against his left nostril. Jamal put down the crowbar and reached around the trembling young man. He pulled the 9 millimeter out of the back of Frankie’s belt, checked the clip and smiled. “Don’t move now. That’s a good boy. Shall we tie our little buddy up, Scar?”
“Nah, I figure it might be nice if he helps us first. You’ll give us a hand, won’t you, Frankie?”
&n
bsp; Frankie started to shake his head, but thought better of it when he saw the cold look in Scarlett’s eyes. He stood stock still while she spoke, her voice a harsh whisper.
“Now listen, you little creeplet, that’s MY MAMA you have upstairs, so this is how we’re gonna play nice. You go upstairs with us, help us get Monroe, then we go and get Mama and Lizette. Oh? You look skeptical. Not a good look for you.” She pushed the gun farther up his nose, causing him to push his head backward at a painful angle. She continued. “Frankie, I’m gonna make contact with some friends as soon as we get our friend Monroe secured. And then all the cops and mad doggies in the world are gonna come down on you, Cosmo and your little house party. Just so you know, before I do that, if you don’t cooperate with us, well, you’ll see that I love my mama so much, I’d have no problem taking you out. Capice?” From the way Frankie’s eyes bulged, she knew she’d made her point and nodded to Jamal.
Being as still as he could, Frankie looked warily as Jamal came around and took the wine from him. Scarlett backed off. Before Frankie could reach up to rub his nose, Jamal, gun in hand, landed a painful right cross on his jaw, sending the young man to his knees.
“That’s just for the hell of it. Oh, and maybe for tying me up. Now let’s get up the stairs and find my lovely partner.” He grabbed Frankie by the hair and hauled him roughly to his feet. With no amount of persuasion at all, Frankie told Scarlett and Jamal not only that Monroe was in the kitchen drinking but in a few short minutes gave them a rough floor plan description of the first floor of the Fortress. Armed with the information they needed, the trio made their way cautiously up the stairs. Jamal pushed Frankie up ahead of him, Scarlett followed close behind. As soon as Frankie pushed the door open, Monroe called out. His voice carried down the hallway from the kitchen.