[JC Bannister 01.0] The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  “Twelve years in this country and you still sound like the idiot you are. Haven’t even learned to speak English,” she said in Laotian, looking at the older man.

  Duke was late in suppressing his laugh. Half a snort escaped. Nobody else noticed. Except the girl holding the butcher knife. Her eyes snapped towards Duke, nostrils flaring.

  JC stepped forward. “What do you want?” he said to the older Thai man as he moved more to the side, further out of the range of the AK-47.

  “What I want?” the Thai man said, swinging the rifle to point at JC. “I want to know who in the trunk.”

  The girl continued to stare at Duke. Duke’s eyes were darting between her and the two gunmen from the restaurant. He wasn’t even looking at his team anymore.

  “Do you understand what I say?” the girl asked him directly. Quietly. Using the most formal version of Laotian.

  Duke’s eyes locked with hers. He nodded slightly. Looked at the two men then back to her.

  “Are you a member of the police?” she asked, looking him up and down, still dressed in the LAPD uniform he had gotten from Lisa Hannigan. Still wearing the dirty apron from downstairs.

  Duke’s head moved almost imperceptibly from side to side as he closed his eyes briefly, indicating “No.”

  JC spread his hands to the Thai man. “The man in the trunk is our business. He is a bad man who needs justice.”

  “How I know you not bad man?” the older man said. “How I know you not need justice?” He snugged the stock of the assault rifle against his shoulder. Not a good sign.

  The girl glanced at him, then back to Duke. “Do you speak Thai?” she said. After Duke nodded slightly, she continued in Laotian. “You know they’re going to kill you? Doesn’t matter what you say or give them. They’ve already decided to kill you and take whomever is in the trunk. Sell what they can from whatever they take off your bodies,” she said, continuing in her formal Laotian. Her tone, however was one of anger, barking the words at Duke. Duke realized she was trying to hide their conversation.

  “Shut up!” the younger man yelled at her in Thai.

  “This pervert keeps staring at my tits!” she yelled back in Thai.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. They’ll all be dead soon,” he answered.

  The girl looked at Duke, frowned and raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m sorry for my niece, sometimes she think she princess,” the man said to JC. “She only dishwasher. She a little soft in head.” Then to the woman he said in Thai, “If you don’t shut your mouth I’m going to beat you like I’ve never beaten you before you stupid bitch. If I have to bury you with these idiots, I will!”

  “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?” JC said to the Thai man pointing the gun at him. His attention, however was beginning to focus on the exchange between Duke and the girl.

  “Can you help us?” Duke said in good but imperfect Laotian.

  “If you help me,” the girl replied.

  Duke nodded. “You save our lives…”

  “And you save mine,” she said, finishing the sentiment.

  The older Thai man’s attention began to shift as well. JC began to talk to him in a barrage of English, offering money, cars, and trips to Las Vegas. Anything to keep his attention focused away from Duke and the girl.

  “Tell your uncle to demand our guns,” Duke whispered hurriedly. “I’ll give you my shotgun. It’s ready to fire. You know how to use it?”

  “Yes, I’ve watched plenty of TV. And he’s my kidnapper, not my uncle,” she said. Then to the older Thai man, she said in Thai, “Tell them to give up their guns.”

  “What?” he replied, confusion on his face, glancing back and forth between JC’s stream of numbers and promises to Duke and the girl.

  “Simple sonofabitch,” she swore in Laotian. Then to Duke, “Follow my lead.”

  Before Duke had a chance to answer, the girl was pointing the butcher knife straight at Duke’s face, screaming obscenities in Thai. Then, in nearly perfect English, she said, “Give me your gun you dirty perverted bastard!”

  The older Thai man turned to JC. Extended the AK-47 towards him. “Yeah! Give us your guns.”

  Duke’s left hand went up in surrender while his right hand moved forward to hand over his pistol-grip shotgun, barrel pointed as best he could at the older Thai man.

  JC and Joan yelled in unison, “Duke!”

  Duke looked over his shoulder to JC. “It’s alright. Trust me, brother.”

  *****

  JC realized three things in the space of about half of a second. First, Duke had never called him brother before. Boss, of course. Buddy often. Old man and variations of age-related nicknames in jest. The fraternal bond between soldiers and their brothers-in-arms was strong. JC often thought of Duke as a younger brother, someone he hoped he could guide and lead towards a better life. Saving Duke’s life in Iraq had made an unspoken connection between them. But up until this day, at this moment, Duke had never once called him brother.

  The second thing he realized was the conversation between himself and the old man was going nowhere fast. The man seemed to alternate between determined and confused. JC had the sneaking suspicion the man’s determination sprang from a decision he had made before confronting the group. With his confusion at JC’s offers of money and luxury items, JC guessed the man’s planned course of action was likely to kill him and his team and salvage what they could from the carnage; guns, cars, person in the trunk sold to the highest bidder. Hell, the restaurant people might even be able to get some money from the undamaged body parts. In other words, JC and his team were dead within a matter of minutes, if not seconds.

  The third thing he noticed was the Thai woman, now holding Duke’s shotgun, was no longer holding the butcher knife. It was in Duke’s left hand, hidden from the view of the two men who had guns trained on JC and his team. People with little experience or training often had distracted and confused reactions in situations such as these. JC guessed the two restaurant workers were such men. At the close distance Duke was from the two armed men, combined with their likely sluggish reactions, Duke was almost as deadly with a knife as he was with a shotgun.

  The balance of power had shifted decidedly in their favor.

  JC took the other half of a second to make his decision. He opened his right palm toward the older Thai man, showing it was empty, nodded his head, locked eyes with him and slowly moved his hand to the Glock 23 pistol in the holster on his duty belt. He withdrew it with his thumb and forefinger, holding it like a dirty diaper, extending it to the older man who had lowered the muzzle of the AK-47 and stepped forward to retrieve the proffered weapon. A flash of doubt ran through JC’s mind. Dear Lord God in Heaven above, I hope the kid knows what the hell he’s doing. A silent, profane prayer.

  *****

  JC’s answer came in the form of a shotgun blast. The nine pellets of the first shell tore through the older Thai man’s back and exited his chest almost instantly after the shotgun roared. The Thai woman had a vice-like hold on the pistol grip, her hand locked into her right hip. She racked the slide and touched off another round. The older man’s back had arched from the pain, shock and force of the first shot. His legs were in the first stages of collapse. The second group of nine pellets hit the man slightly higher. One of the pellets went through his neck, nicking his left carotid artery on its way out. The arterial spray was not strong as his body was already shutting down.

  Duke pivoted around the woman, crouched down and running towards the younger Thai man. The man’s eyes were wide at the sight of the older man collapsing in a pile of blood and dying muscle. He pulled the trigger of his TEC-9. It had been converted into a fully automatic machine pistol. As long as he kept his finger on the trigger, it would continue to pump out bullets. He did, swinging it wildly towards the girl. Two shots hit the young Thai man in the upper chest and shoulder. Duke couldn’t tell who the shooter was. Joan, he guessed. Didn’t matter. The bullets didn’t
stop him. He was too full of adrenaline and fear. The man kept turning and firing, searching for his target. Duke reached him, grabbing the gun with his left hand and driving the butcher knife almost vertically, into the man’s stomach and upward into the area behind the rib cage. Duke was looking for the man’s heart. He stabbed him again and again. The restaurant worker was not tall and with Duke’s height advantage and the adrenaline pumping through his system, each plunge of the knife lifted the man into the air a bit. Duke’s knife found its target. The Thai man stopped firing the gun and dropped it as his heart was pierced again and again with the tip of the knife. Duke withdrew the knife, held the man upright, turned slightly and cut his throat before letting go of him. No malice or anger in the action. Just surety. The younger man dropped to the ground, already dead as his blood flowed out on the broken pavement.

  Duke turned. JC was crouched down, his pistol held firmly in his hand and pointed at the Thai woman. Joan’s gun was in her hand but it was pointed at the old man lying face down on the ground. He was still moving. Not twitching, but moving, futilely trying to do something with the last remnants of his strength. The Thai woman walked forward. Rolled him over onto his back with her left foot. Bent over, spat in his eye, stood up and fired the shotgun twice into his face. Point blank range. His moving stopped.

  Nobody said anything. JC continued pointing his gun at the last living person from the restaurant. Joan walked up behind him. Put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said, “I think she’s with us.” JC lowered his gun after a beat. Stood.

  The woman let go of the shotgun’s pistol grip. Pointed the barrel up in the air. Walked to Duke and handed back his weapon. Placed her hands together in front of her, palms together in almost a praying position and bowed slightly.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” she said in her extremely formal Laotian.

  Duke tucked his shotgun under his arm, barrel pointing behind him and downwards. Returned the gesture. “And thank you for saving my life and the lives of my friends,” he said in his imperfect Laotian.

  JC cleared his throat. “Uh, buddy?”

  Duke turned. “Oh, right,” he said, turning back to the young woman. In English, he said, “My name is Duke. Please allow me to introduce my colleague Joan and our boss JC Bannister.”

  The woman stepped forward, shaking their hands. “Thank you as well, both for helping me and for trusting your friend Duke. My name is difficult to pronounce in English so please call me Lorraine.”

  Duke was unfazed by her language ability. As she turned back to Duke, JC and Joan exchanged surprised glances. Duke extended his hand to her. “Thank you again for helping us. I cannot begin to express the debt I, and we, owe you.”

  The woman smiled, bowed her head slightly. “Thank you again for saving me from my kidnappers,” she said. “I’ve been living in captivity for fourteen years now. I literally owe you my life.”

  “Listen, Lorraine,” JC said, “I apologize for this because I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, however we really need to be going. Is there a place you can go? Someone you can call or stay with?” JC said.

  Lorraine stared at him blankly. “Wasn’t I clear? Allow me to repeat myself. I’ve been living in captivity for fourteen years.” She was speaking slowly, enunciating “fourteen’ and “years” very clearly. “If there was a place to go or someone who could help me, why wouldn’t I have gone to them already?”

  Duke, although listening and ready to defuse the tension building between Lorraine and JC, started looking around. “Hey, where’s Theo?”

  Chapter 56

  Messy

  “About damn time,” Theo yelled. He was sitting down to the right of doors to the restaurant and the storage area they had questioned Campbell in. Leaning against a garbage can, he was holding his stomach. There was blood on the front of his shirt behind his hands.

  Everyone ran over, including Lorraine. Joan stopped, turned towards the alley, gun drawn, watching for any possible threat. JC bent down. Inspected the wound.

  “That guy with the TEC-9 plugged me, boss,” Theo said. JC tried to move Theo’s hands away but the man groaned in pain, so he stopped. Looked at his friend.

  “Never is a good time to get shot, is there?” JC said. A slight grin hid his concern.

  “Dude, you going to be okay?” Duke asked.

  Theo groaned again in answer. Lorraine was standing behind JC and Duke. She stepped forward, placing her hand on JC’s shoulder and pushed him gently aside.

  “Allow me,” she said as she squatted down in front of Theo. The wounded man’s groans increased. Lorraine firmly removed his hands from his wound.

  “Whoa, there, lady,” Theo said. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing. This isn’t something they teach you in Thai cooking school.” Turned to Duke. “Come on, man, can you stop her?”

  Duke glanced between the woman he saved and the man who had saved his life. Hesitated. JC didn’t. “She’ll take a look at you, but inside the restaurant.”

  Duke helped his friend to his feet with the assistance of Lorraine. They took him in and sat him down inside the restaurant. JC nodded to Joan. He took the feet of the now virtually headless older Thai man while Joan did the same to the shot, stabbed and incredibly bloody younger man. They dragged both of the corpses inside the restaurant. Dropped their legs when the torsos were just inside the door. Joan grabbed some bleach from under the big stainless steel sink. Went back outside and dumped it all over any blood she could see. Including that from Theo’s wounds. Especially that blood. Went back inside with the empty bottle, closing the screen door behind her.

  Lorraine was examining Theo who was sitting in a chair, groaning and protesting as much as he could.

  “I am sorry, Theo is it?” she asked. Petrosian nodded. “Theo, I am sorry, but I am Laotian, not Thai. A small difference to some, but to a Laotian, it is the world. I am sorry that I have no formal medical training. However, I have been kept locked up in one place or another by the man I killed for the past fourteen years.” She had pulled Theo’s shirt up and was inspecting the gunshot entry point. Blood seeped from it. “His name was Pong. He beat me, if not daily than every other day. Bloody noses, knocked out teeth, concussions, broken ribs. He broke my arm twice. Never was I allowed to go to a hospital. I have managed to figure out how to treat myself. I think I can take care of you.” She inserted the tip of her index finger slightly into the wound. Probed, not deeply, but directionally.

  Theo’s protestations mixed with the real pain from her examination. “Quiet down, fat man,” Joan hissed. JC knew Joan was right. The neighborhood looked like it was accustomed to the sound of gunfire. Theo’s father’s business presence in the area meant that it likely was used to a wide manner of violence. But there had already been enough noise and gunshots. They needed this wrapped up fast.

  JC watched Lorraine work on Theo. Her skin was rather light. He was unsure if it was due to heritage or being locked inside for the better part of fourteen years. Her face was small. Fine features, petite nose. JC knew that in most parts of Asia she would be considered quite attractive. He imagined that in most of the rest of the world, she would be considered equally beautiful.

  From inside the trunk of Campbell’s Charger, the detective began screaming and kicking. Although muted, it was one more thing the team didn’t need. Joan opened the screen door. Walked out to the car. Avoided the puddles of bleach and blood. Bent down. Said something in a low voice. Campbell went silent again. Joan walked back. JC looked at her. She shrugged. “Tone of voice,” she said.

  Lorraine had finished her probing of the gunshot wound. Theo stopped his cries of pain but continued his pleadings with JC to make the small Laotian woman stop. She was pushing on his belly, following the path that produced the greatest sounds of pain.

  “For the love of all that’s holy, man, make her stop, JC,” Theo cried.

  JC’s smile was grim. “Let her work,” he said. They didn’t have time to
go to a hospital. If Lorraine could help with a rough prognosis, then all the better. JC had enough field medical training to do what Lorraine was doing. They all did. But he wanted to see what she was willing to do. Besides, JC didn’t have the benefit of Duke’s kitchen apron to protect his uniform. A motorcycle cop riding around covered in blood would raise more questions than the costume was supposed to.

  Lorraine’s left hand was relatively blood free. She wiped it on a dishrag she had grabbed on the way in, then wiped the sweat from Theo’s face and brow with her relatively clean hand. “You’ve been brave enough for one day, Theo. I’ll be finished soon.” Joan glanced back at Duke. Eyebrows raised. “Once,” Lorraine said as her examination continued, “once I got pregnant. I don’t know who was responsible, Pong or the other man, Nakka. Pong discovered it when I was three months along. He took me to the place you were in, the basement filled with chairs. He beat me.” Her voice grew softer. “He punched me in the stomach over and over until I had a miscarriage. Took me back upstairs and made me work the rest of the night.” She shifted her body position. Raising Theo’s shirt, fingers probing for the exit wound. “Again, I am sorry for my lack of medical training. But I know about blood and pain.”

  The team was quiet. Even Theo.

  “Aha!” Lorraine exclaimed as Theo groaned aloud again. Lorraine stood. Wiped her bloody hands on the dishrag again. “I have found the exit point. I believe it is merely a flesh wound. The bullet passed through him. No permanent damage.”

  “Hell, lady, I know that,” Theo said. Voice raised but not angry. Stood slowly. “Can’t you let a man milk a little bit of sympathy from a work related injury?”

  “A flesh wound?” Duke said, the disbelief clear on his face.

  “A flesh and fat wound, more likely,” Joan said, shaking her head.

  Lorraine turned to Joan. Looked up at her. “Were you injured today? Were you shot?” Paused while Joan’s mouth hung open ever so slightly. “No? Then perhaps a little compassion for your comrade who was might be in order.” Lorraine turned her back on Joan and looked at Theo. “You’ll be okay soon. But, then, I guess you already knew that, didn’t you?” She smiled. Looked at the ground.