by Rich Foster
“You drive,” she said, sliding over in the seat.
There was more weekend traffic then weeks past. With Memorial Day nearing more and more cabin owners arrived to prepare for summer. The streets were lined with parked cars and the sidewalks busy with foot traffic.
Harry took his time. Impatience never helped. It was a lesson he learned while on patrol. Change what you can, accept what you can't.
They got past the downtown and traffic thinned. He was picking up speed as the car ahead pulled away. Coming toward him a car slowed as they approached. Harry caught a glimpse of a face staring at him as it passed. Glancing in his rear view mirror he saw the car brake, swing wide on the shoulder, pull a hard U-turn and fall in two cars back.
The car was unfamiliar and the face a blur in passing but the maneuver made him nervous. Harry held his speed steady. One car turned off, but on a straightaway when opportunity presented itself the car hung back and did not close the gap. It wasn't the aggressive driving executed on the u-turn.
Harry reached under this seat and pulled down the nine millimeter he kept in clips attached to the springs.
“What's up, Harry?” Paula asked.
“I don't know, a car is following us.”
“Harry!” Paula sounded amused and riled by his seeming paranoia. “This is the only road on this side of the lake.”
Harry considered bypassing his house but if the car was in fact following him they must know where he lived in that they recognized his car and were coming from that direction. He reminded himself of an older officer's advice when he arrived in the war zone, "Carelessness ends in a body bag!"
The car trailing held steady. Then the intervening vehicle turned onto a dirt lane that led into the hills above the lake. The car closed the gap only slightly and was still too far distant to make out the driver. The passenger side appeared empty.
“Listen, Paula. When we get to the house I want you slide out of the car and take off for the woods when I tell you to.”
“Harry!” Exasperation rose in her voice until he glared at her.
“Just do it and run for cover. Don't stop when the shooting ends unless I yell for you to stop.”
“You're scaring me, Harry. I don't need this sort of crap!” It was these sort of moments that caused her to wonder if she really knew what was under Harry's skin.
“Just do it,” he snapped.
He slowed as they neared the house. If the car stopped he was ready, if it continued on, he would check the house for trip wires before they went in.
“Get ready.”
Paula almost protested but an intensity in Harry's face made her comply.
He took the turn slowly, letting the gap narrow. As he rolled to a stop the other car swung into the driveway. Harry held the gun in his right hand, his left one on the door release. He kept his foot on the brake to keep the man behind him thinking they were busy. When he saw the other car's door begin to move he yelled, “Go!”
Paula plunged out. She stumbled, went down to her knees but was instantly up and burning dirt. The man was out of the car, his eyes following Paula. Harry did not see the rest because he rolled out of the car onto the gravel, his eyes seeking their target. The man held a pistol and was swinging it toward the woods. Harry popped off two quick shots. The driver's window shattered and the man with the gun twitched as each slug hit him. As he fell to his knees, Harry balanced himself and popped of a third round. The slug snapped the head back and the shooter crumpled against the car door. His hand dangled in the gravel still clutching the gun.
“Paula!” Harry yelled, “All is clear!”
He cautiously approached the stalker but their was no danger. Blood drained from his chest pooling on the ground, but it no longer spurted. Harry knew a lot about dead people and almost as much about gunshot wounds, all three shots were fatal. The guy was meat.
Paula came hesitantly from out of the woods.
“What happened?”
“Call the Sheriff. I just killed a man.”
*
Patrol cars lined the shoulder of the shore road. Crime scene tape blocked Harry's gravel drive. A deputy directed traffic as a backup formed and gawkers gawked.
Richard Langston the county's medical examiner studied the body in situ, then rolled it over with gloved hands unto a heavy plastic sheet.
The man was dark skinned, no more so than most tourist become by August, but this was May. He wore a dark jacket, white shirt, and jeans.
Langston spoke into the recorder his assistant held. Latin male, 170 or so, approximately 5' 9.” The deceased has a small scar on the right cheek otherwise no distinguishing features.”
Langston stood up and peeled off his gloves. He considered the body. “Nice grouping Harry, I bet you hit two chambers of the heart and the bullet in the forehead is nicely centered, if the guy was a Hindu girl it'd be a perfect bindi!"
It took an experienced eye to see the holes amid the bloodied shirt.
He added, “First shot was a little low.”
Harry shrugged, “Glass deflection.”
Langston looked over to Pat Egan “He's all yours detective. I'll send the postmortem over as soon as I'm done but it is definitely acute lead poisoning.”
Langston walked away toward the man waiting beside the coroner's wagon.
“He loves that joke. I hear it every time, Harry.”
Pat was young for a detective, but Canaan County was not a large force. And Gaines promoted those who showed intelligence.
Egan pulled on latex gloves and ran through the man's pockets. He found a Mexican passport, but it had a pair of bullet holes and the edges were colored by blood. A wallet was stuffed with pesos and dollars, and from the side jacket pocket Egan pulled a telephoto shot of Harry beside his office outside the Edison Building.
Pat dropped the items into evidence bags.
“Did you know him?”
“Nope.”
“You shoot every guy that pulls into your drive?”
“Only the ones that aim their piece at Paula.”
Egan bent down and picked up the pistol.
“Twenty-two,” he murmured, “the bullet bounces around inside the victim's head instead of exiting. Tears things up good.”
“I'll stick with my nine mill or my Glock.”
“This guy was a professional shooter, Harry. You have any enemies in Mexico?”
“Evidently.”
“Know anyone who might want you dead?”
“That could take some time.”
“Time I've got. You're going to have to come in to make a statement. Is now okay? By the time you get back we'll have this cleared out.”
“Let me check on Paula, she's in the house.”
As he walked away Harry turned back, nodding to the body being loaded in the coroner's van, he asked Egan, “What was his name?”
“Miguel Flores. Ring any bells?”
Harry shook his head. "No."
He turned and went in to Paula.
She was fine, or at least as fine as one can be after seeing a man killed. It was not the first time Harry's work brought danger near, nor did she feel much sorrow for a stranger who wanted to kill her.
Someone knocked on the screen door.
“Harry.” Sheriff Gaines said with a nod.
Harry stepped back and gestured, “Come in.”
“Are you sure you wouldn't be happier in a big city where murder and mayhem is acceptable, Grim? You play hell with my budget, money is tight without you creating more work for my guys.”
“Same amount of work if I'm dead instead of the other guy.”
“You have a point.”
Gaines sat down on a chair. “We got a match on the prints and they are identified as Harvey Stockman.”
"When were they entered?"
"Fourteen years ago."
“Then the file was manufactured.”
“Maybe your guy is wrong, Harry.”
“No he is positive that a sw
itch took place. And we both know that is exactly the type of cover Witness Protection would come up with.”
Let's say you are right? Where does that leave you?”
“I don't know but Stockman is missing, and I'm not sure his widow expects him back; her grief seems a bit thin.”
“Maybe she gave him a push?”
“I'd say it's possible.”
Gaines arched his eyebrows at this. “As I recall, she was rather attractive.”
“Coffee or tea, Sheriff?” Paula broke in.
“Tea would be nice if you have a little milk.”
“Sure.”
“If Stockman is in Witness Protection how come his brother-in-law is in organized crime? Isn't that odd? Why not place him elsewhere?" Harry asked.
"Could he have been working undercover for another agency?”
“Fourteen years is a long time to be undercover.”
“Yeah you're right.” the sheriff agreed as he stroked his mustache.
“Okay, let's assume my source is right and Harvey's whole life is a sham, then he has enemies out there. Maybe he came across his past.”
“Or the past was catching up to him and the Justice Department decided to move him?”
“Without his wife?”
“Maybe he wanted an easy divorce?”
“But if Justice was worried about his past why not stage his death more convincingly, have a body, identify it, case closed?”
A lull fell on the conversation until their musings were broken by Paula bringing tea.
“If someone killed him wouldn't the Justice Department be looking into it?”
“I doubt they care very much about a snitch once he is dead.”
“No Harry, you're just cynical, she has a point, the guys at Justice would worry there might be a leak. If Stockman was in the Witness Program and they don't know how he disappeared, someone should be snooping around.”
“The only guy I spotted in town worked for Donatello.”
“Of course the feds would only come here if they thought Stockman's exposure came out of Beaumont or Red Lake,” mused the Sheriff.
“They would start with the passenger manifest for the ship and I know one person who may have it.”
“Are you thinking of the insurance investigator”
“Yes,” Harry said, “At the time I assumed she was legit but I wonder if that was only a cover?”
“That shouldn't be hard to resolve. And if she is legit, she might be a useful contact. Maybe she can find out if anyone else asked for the manifest?”
Harry did not tell Gaines he already possessed the list.
Chapter Nine
In his Las Vegas office Rico Marcelli was feeling irritated, and when that happened someone usually suffered, not that he showed much, he was pokerfaced doing business. However, Vincent had noticed Rico tended to stroke his thumb against his first finger when in a foul mood. Vincent never spoke of this tell, rather he tucked the knowledge away for when it was needed.
"What are we supposed to do about Donatello?" Marcelli asked with a peevishness he seldom let into his voice. "Someone took out Salvador Motoya's wife two days ago in Juarez. It's probably another cartel, or some stupid slob who didn't know who he was mugging but he is blaming Donatello. In fact he has sent a formal complaint to our organization that is a thinly veiled threat."
"Does he have any proof? Or the name of the shooter?"
"No, but I imagine he is turning Juarez upside down tying to find a name."
"So, no problem. If he can't link this to Donatello then we forget it. And if he does we take care of Vito as a goodwill gesture." Vincent pulled a small bit of lint off his cuff and flicked it into the trash. "Like that!"
"No!" Marcelli was emphatic. "I won't give up anyone because of an outside demand. If it becomes necessary we'll transfer or business to another cartel. If we yield ground to Montoya over this incident his demands will only grow."
"So what about Donatello?"
"We wait. If he proves to be an on going problem it will be taken care of quietly and without being linked to us. Give some thought as to how."
Marcelli lightly waved his hand in dismissal. Vincent nodded. He also notice that his boss was no longer rubbing his finger.
*
Monday morning Harry phoned the east coast. He called the number on the internet for the head office of UBI Insurance, rather than the number on Crystal Rosen's business card. The operator confirmed she was an employee. The operator transferred his call..
“Crystal Rosen.”
“It's Harry Grim. I wondered if you could ask the shipping line who if anyone has requested the ship's passenger manifest.”
“Why?”
“I'm looking for suspects.”
“What have you learned?”
A hint of worry edged her voice, perhaps a fear he knew more than she.
“Nothing definite. Did you get the passenger list?” He simply to see how open she would be.
“No. I figure Stockman absconded or the wife did him in. I don't need to complicate things with twelve hundred and six other names!”
I wonder how she knew that number? Everybody lies!
“Will you ask?”
“Sure, Harry. Let me know what you come up with.”
Harry shook his head sadly as he silently thought, She would hate to give me my ten percent.
He switched on his computer and printed out the passenger list. He found he missed fewer details when he was reading paper rather than an electronic screen. He scanned the addresses next to the names. He noted those that lived in the area of Washington D. C., Las Vegas, and Chicago. If someone was after Stockman or working to move him those cities seemed likely. The nearest passenger's residence to Beaumont was in Denver, too far away to seem a likely link back to Harvey.
Harry called Ziggy.
“I have a short list to check out. These people could be criminal or legal. On those who come from the D.C. area look for employment tied to the Justice Department, in Las Vegas look for ties to organized crime. In Chicago look for people on our list with criminal records and see what they were charged with and for whom.”
“Stockman may never have set foot in Illinois, Harry.”
“True, but I need a place to start. If I was putting someone undercover I would find an identity my client would be familiar with. So I am assuming Stockman started out in northern Illinois.”
“There is one other thing Harry, someone is working hard to backtrack my inquires. I know because I left a bug that alerts me if someone starts probing. They will never succeed but I thought you should know that someone is looking.”
“I think it is the Justice Department searching for signs of a leak. I'm positive Harvey was in the program.”
“I don't need them breathing down my neck!”
“I'll see what I can do.”
Harry looked up the number for the United States Marshals Service and dialed 202 307-9150.
“Witness Security.”
“Yes I would like to speak to the handler for Harvey Stockman. He went missing a few weeks ago.”
“I'm sorry sir we can not discuss persons in our program.”
“So he was in your program?”
“I did not say that, sir. I can neither confirm or deny any aspect of our work.”
“Fine it is your sieve that is leaking, not mine! Good luck!” Harry slammed down the phone. The operator could not see his self-satisfied smile. He figured someone would take his bait.
It happened sooner than he thought. Two hours later someone kicked the office door open. David Hurst and Rolf Anderson of the DEA barged in. A bandage covered the shaved spot on the side of Hurst's head where the doctor stitched the laceration Harry gave him with the gun butt.
“Were going to talk asshole!”
Harry brought his hand up quickly from below the desk, the gun it held took them by surprise.
“Sit!” he ordered.
“Listen pal...”
“We're DEA and you damn well know it!”
“Why should I know that? You failed to identify yourself! And if you don't have a warrant you are presently common burglars and guilty of breaking and entering. Now sit down and pull your guns out very slowly and I won't have to kill you.”
“You would wouldn't you?” Hurst said bitterly. “You're a sick son-of-a-bitch!”
Despite their protests the men obeyed.
“Kick your guns this way.”
Harry moved from behind his desk and picked them up. Then he lifted the phone.
“I would like to report a break in at my office by armed intruders. It is in the Edison Building, on Boyden Street, I'm Harry Grim.”
Harry wore a self-satisfied smile when he sat down.
“Tough being arrested twice in one week. Can't be good for your careers. Soon you will be working out of Nome, Alaska.”
The agents seethed but strove to contain their anger. Anderson tried to needle back, he said, “If we don't get you maybe the Mexicans will. You boys have a falling out?”
“Can't say I know many Mexicans in Red Lake.”
“Sure, so why did Miguel Flores try to whack you yesterday?”
“That is an excellent question. Do you have any ideas?”
“Smart ass!” Hurst snarled
“I thought you feds practiced cool professionalism?”
“That's the FBI, we kick scumbag, dope dealing ass!”
“Popular word you have there, used it three times in three minutes.” Harry shook his head in mild disapproval. “So here is my word, I have your ass in a sling. So if you don't want to end up on ice patrol in Nome or in a body bag, stop hassling me.”