by Sharon Sala
For most of the working citizens of Oklahoma City, it was almost quitting time, all except the investigators who worked for the Oklahoma County District Attorney’s Office. Their hours coincided with the necessities of the courts, rather than convenience.
Don Lacey, the county D.A. and Brett’s boss, was a power to reckon with, and while he was doing more than his part to convict the criminals the police arrested, he also had to deal with the laws as they were written. Sometimes, no matter how hard everyone worked, justice was not served. It was those disappointments that kept investigators like Brett on the streets, checking and rechecking everything the D.A. needed to make a case. And in this instance, that included finding a man named Harold Tribbey.
In March of 1995, Harold Tribbey had been working in a shop in downtown Oklahoma City. He’d been sitting on the loading dock behind the machine shop during his lunch break, savoring the last bite of a chicken-salad sandwich, when two men had come out of the building across the alley. Before he could swallow, one man suddenly pulled a gun and shot the other man point-blank.
Frozen by the horror of what he’d just witnessed, Harold had stared long enough to watch the shooter disappear, taken one look at the other man’s blood and brains splattered upon the street, and proceeded to throw up what he’d just eaten. In the blink of an eye, Harold had become a witness to a crime.
Sometime later, he had picked a suspect out of a lineup, not knowing that the suspect was a hatchet man for one Romeo Leeds, late of Chicago and now making his home—and a bad name for himself—in Oklahoma City.
The identification of one of his men put Romeo Leeds in a precarious position. If his man went to trial, Leeds could very well go down with him. So he’d set his attorneys to the task, filing motion after motion to further impede the pending case from ever reaching trial. And while the wheels of justice were slowly grinding, the world as the people of downtown Oklahoma City knew it was suddenly changed forever.
On April 19th, the Alfred P. Murrah Building, and every building within a multiblock radius, including the machine shop in which Harold was working, was destroyed by a bomb. A few weeks later the owner went bankrupt, and Harold was out of a job.
And he, along with several hundred other people who’d survived the explosion, began suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. But Harold’s problem was exacerbated by a condition most of the other survivors did not have. As a Vietnam vet, he’d had flashbacks for years. Now he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and his personality underwent a drastic change. He became angry and distrustful of everyone around him and found himself unable to hold a job.
After that, Harold Tribbey lost his wife, his house and his car. He was sick, both in body and in spirit, and nearly a year ago had taken to living in the streets. And while the crime Harold had witnessed so long ago might have faded in significance to him, it had not faded from the Oklahoma County court docket. Romeo Leeds’ lawyers had run out of options and time. Luckily for them, the only witness to the crime had disappeared.
While Harold Tribbey had been coming apart, Leeds had not been wasting his time. He’d grown, both in power and in wealth, to the point of becoming nearly untouchable. There was nothing the D.A. would have liked better than to put away the shooter and put Leeds out of business, but unless Harold Tribbey could be located, the case would be thrown out of court.
Both the police department and the D.A.’s men were determined not to let that happen. Brett’s assignment had been to help locate Tribbey, and he’d been combing the downtown area of Oklahoma City for days. About an hour ago, someone had tipped him off to the fact that Harold was partial to the Santa Fe Warehouse, especially when the weather was bad. Brett peered through the driving rain pounding on his windshield.
He glanced up at the building, taking careful note of the number of boarded up windows and doors, then picked up his cell phone. It was a personal thing, but he hated like hell to walk into a place like this not knowing if there was another way out. When the dispatcher at the country sheriff’s office answered his call, he didn’t waste words.
“This is Hooker. I’m at the Santa Fe Warehouse on Reno Street. I’m going in now. If you don’t hear from me by five-fifteen, send someone to check on me.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket as he exited the car, then ran a hand down the side of his jacket, making sure the gun and holster were secure beneath it.
Rain peppered his face as he ran toward the building. His jacket was waterproof, but his jeans were not. Within seconds, his pants and his boots were soaked. A swift gust of wind sent a blast of rain into his eyes, and he winced and turned away. When he looked back, he caught a glimpse of a man silhouetted in the doorway. Before he could react, the man disappeared.
Instinctively, Brett reached for his gun. Even though the man he was looking for was not in trouble, there could be others taking shelter from the rain who had more than a guilty conscience to contend with.
The Glock rested easily in his hands as he took a stance at the side of the doorway. But the rain was coming down too hard for him to distinguish one sound from another, and he got tired of waiting. He took a deep breath and slipped into the warehouse, then flattened himself against the wall while letting his eyesight adjust to the murky interior.
Somewhere beyond the doorway, a piece of metal fell onto the concrete floor, clattering loudly and shattering the rain-soaked silence. Brett jerked in reflex and turned just as three men came out from behind a stack of pallets and began running toward the back of the building. But when one of them suddenly stopped and spun around, the hair stood up on the back of Brett’s neck, and without taking time to think, he hit the floor.
The impulse saved his life. Bullets splattered off the wall where he’d been standing, and then another half dozen passed through the barrels behind which he was lying, bouncing off the concrete near his feet.
“Hey,” Brett muttered, then grabbed his phone and dialed 911. “This is Hooker with the D.A.’s office. I’m at the old Santa Fe Warehouse down on east Reno. Shots have been fired. I need backup.”
Before he could move, there was a commotion at the far end of the warehouse and then silence. He shifted, getting to his knees and then his feet, moving in a crouched position along the wall with his finger on the trigger. Even before he heard the approaching sirens, he knew the trio was gone. When he found the boards kicked off of a window, he cursed.
After making a careful sweep of the area, he started back toward the front of the building. Moments later, he came upon a stack of wooden pallets and then the body of a woman lying facedown in a pool of her own blood. Brett cursed silently. Now he knew why they’d been running.
Careful not to disturb the crime scene, he backed away and then headed for the door. Two police cruisers slammed to a halt beside his car just as he stepped outside. As both officers exited with their guns drawn, he held up his hands and shouted his name. They eased off and ran toward him.
“You got a dead woman inside, but the shooters got out a back window. Call it in for me, will you?”
One of the officers nodded and headed back to his car, while the other holstered his gun.
“Hey, Hooker, don’t you know it’s time to go home?”
Brett squinted through the downpour, recognizing the officer as someone he’d known since their days in the academy.
“Come on, Ernie, you know Lacey, and you know me. We don’t quit till it’s over.”
Like all police officers, when the call had come out that there were shots being fired at one of their own, their adrenaline had surged, but when it became obvious the danger had passed, they began to laugh and joke to relieve some of the tension.
“How did you get mixed up with what was happening in there?” Reynolds asked.
“Came looking for a witness and walked in on a murder in progress. They fired a couple of rounds off at me and then ran like hell. By the time I got down to that end of the building, all I could see out the window was rain.”
“I ducked.”
“Shit, Hooker, you always were a little bit crazy.”
Brett’s laughter echoed as they walked back inside the warehouse. At least he had a dry place to wait for the coroner to arrive.
***
After they’d gone out the window at the Santa Fe Warehouse, Gus Huffman and his partners, Tony and Raul Gomez, had taken refuge in nearby Bricktown, the renovated area of old downtown Oklahoma City that was now the “happening” place to be. In spite of their sprint through the rain, they were no wetter than the rest of the dinner crowd at Spaghetti Warehouse who were waiting in line for a table.
Gus hated screwups, but today, thanks to the unexpected arrival of a stranger, what had started off as a simple hit had turned into a great big deal. The scent of marinara sauce and pasta drifted past his nose, and his stomach grumbled.
“Damn, Gus, this line isn’t moving at all. Let’s go somewhere else,” Raul complained.
Gus shook his head. “It’s after seven. There will be lines anywhere we go, and I’m not in the mood to get any wetter before I fill my belly.”
Tony Gomez nodded in agreement and popped another stick of gum in his mouth. “Yeah, Raul, it’s wet outside, bro, or haven’t you noticed?” Then he snickered at his own joke and winked at the hostess.
Gus ignored the pair. They were shallow-minded men with little on their minds except getting paid and getting laid, and not necessarily in that order. He shifted nervously as a waiter sailed past them with a tray full of pasta. After this fiasco, he wasn’t sure if they would ever get paid. Romeo wasn’t going to be happy about this. The fact that they’d tied up one loose end of his life was unimportant considering the fact that they’d unraveled another. Although, to be fair, there was no way they could have known anyone would show up at that warehouse, and especially on a day like today.
Outside, the rain continued to pour, and Gus stared through the windows without seeing. His mind was stuck in a playback of the hit and of the man who’d walked in before they had a chance to get away. There was one thing for sure, he would know the bastard again if he saw him.
Gus glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be at least another fifteen minutes before we get a table. I’m going to go call the boss.”
He slipped out of line and headed for the men’s room. There were two men inside, and he waited until they were gone before he took out his cell phone and made the call. The phone rang once. When he heard Romeo Leeds’ voice, he took a deep breath.
“It’s me, Gus.”
“Is it done?”
“Yeah, no sweat.”
“Good, come by the office tomorrow, we’ll settle up then.”
“Uh, yeah… okay, boss, but—”
Romeo Leeds had been in business too long not to hear trouble in Gus’s voice.
“But what?”
Gus shuddered. The drawl in Leeds’ voice was deceptive, and he knew it. Romeo Leeds was not a laid-back kind of man.
“Someone came in before we had a chance to get away.”
“Son of a—” Leeds’ voice lowered. “Did he see you?”
“Yeah, but it was pretty dark. I don’t think he got a good look at our faces.”
Leeds’ drawl deepened. “You don’t think… You aren’t sure… You don’t know….” Then he exploded. “That’s the kind of crap that can get you in deep shit, and you know it. Find out who he was and take care of it, do you hear me?”
Gus nodded, and then realized Leeds couldn’t see him. “Yeah, boss, I hear you, loud and clear.”
“Oh, and Gus…”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Don’t bother coming after your pay until the job is finished. I don’t pay for half-assed, understood?”
The Gomez brothers were going to be pissed, but there wasn’t a thing Gus could do about it.
“Yes, boss, I understand, and I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Romeo Leeds hung up in Gus’s ear. Gus didn’t take that as a good sign. He got back to the front of the restaurant just as they were about to be seated.
“Damn, Gus, you got good timing,” Raul said, grinning as he slapped him on the back. “Come on, let’s go celebrate.”
“We’ll eat, but it’s not going to be a celebration,” Gus said. “We don’t get paid until we clean up the mess we made today.”
Raul frowned. After the hostess left, he leaned forward with menace in his voice. “Listen, Huffman, you promised us dough. I want mine now.”
Gus’s voice lowered, and the glitter in his eyes was all the warning Raul was going to get.
“You get paid when I get paid,” he said softly. “Now remember where you are and shut the fuck up. We came to eat. We’re going to eat. When we’re through, I want you out of my sight. Do we understand each other?”
Gomez nodded. In his neighborhood, he was a tough man. But compared to Gus Huffman, he was a beginner, and he knew it.
“No sweat, man,” Raul said. “I was just talking. You know how it is. No hard feelings, okay?”
Gus shoved a menu toward him. “Shut up and order.”
Raul did as he was told.
Four
A bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. It was raining again. Earlier this year Oklahoma had suffered one of the driest springs on record, and now that it was nearing fall, which was normally dry, they couldn’t seem to get two good days of sunshine in succession.
When the thunder rattled the windows, Tory flinched and then glanced at the clock. It was after eight, and Brett still wasn’t home. He’d called while she was out buying supplies, and from the short, distracted message he’d left, she could tell something unexpected had happened. All she could hope was that he wasn’t directly involved.
When they’d first met, Brett had still been on the Oklahoma City police force, but after his partner was killed during a high-speed chase with some armed robbers, it seemed that he’d just lost the heart to continue. To make things worse, when the case came to trial, the perps were let go on a technicality. For Brett, it was the last straw. He’d turned in his badge, taken an early retirement and gone to work for the law from the other side of the court bench. As an investigator for the district attorney’s office, he felt as if he had some control in bringing justice to those who’d been wronged. It wasn’t much, but in Brett’s mind, it was enough to keep going.
The fact that Brett seemed to take each case personally worried Tory. He put his heart and soul into every one, and sometimes, when he pushed too hard, he got in the way of trouble. All she could do was say a prayer and hope that he made it home in one piece.
Outside, the storm raged, belching one grumble of thunder after another while she tried unsuccessfully to focus on her work. Her mind kept jumping from Brett to the storm, to the hazards of his job, to the pictures in her lap, to the notes she was making.
The enlargement she’d made of the crowd photo lay near her elbow. Periodically she would pick it up and look at the man’s face, as if willing him to talk. Despite the intensity with which she kept staring, no revelation came—no magic occurred to answer a question she didn’t know how to voice. Disgusted, she finally tossed it aside and was about to resume her work when a key rattled in the lock. Relief washed over her in waves as she jumped to her feet and headed for the door. Brett was home!
***
Brett was tired and hungry and couldn’t remember ever being this miserably wet. All the way home he’d been thinking about a hot shower, dry clothes and Tory, and not necessarily in that order. Yet when he opened the door, he forgot about everything but her. The growl in his belly and the water in his boots became unimportant as she flew into his arms. He kicked the door shut behind him and just held her, lifting her feet off the floor as her arms slid around his neck.
“For a welcome like this, I’d almost be willing to go out and come back in all over again.”
> She sighed as the tension inside her began to unwind. “I was worried about you.”
Although she would have denied it, Brett heard a hint of panic in her voice. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of the dead woman he’d found. Her hair had been blond, just like Tory’s. On impulse, he hugged her a little bit tighter.
“I’m okay, but I’m getting you wet.”
She pressed a kiss against the pulse in his neck. “I could care less. Why don’t you go shower and then get into something warm and dry?”
Brett cupped her hips and then pulled her close to him, gently grinding himself against her until they were both more than a little bit achy.
“To hell with the shower,” he said. “I can’t be all that dirty. I’ve been wet all day.”
“I made lasagna,” Tory said.
His belly growled, and he groaned. “That’s cheating. How can I concentrate on making love when you do things like that?”
Tory ran a fingernail down the front of his shirt, lightly tapping his belt buckle before letting it rasp along the zipper below.
“First things first, mister. Your food will be ready when you are.”
Brett caught her hand and pressed it to the bulge behind his zipper. “I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
She grinned. “Hold that thought,” she said, and headed for the kitchen.
He began stripping as he went, and by the time he got to the bathroom, he was naked. A short time later he was dry and dressed, and digging into a steaming helping of Tory’s lasagna.
“Sit with me while I eat,” Brett said. “Tell me how your work’s going.”
Tory smiled. “How about if I show you, instead?”
He nodded and took a mouthful of pasta, savoring the joy of food in his belly and his woman in his life. Right now, he would be hard-pressed to find something about which to complain.
Tory spread the photographs out on the table in front of him. “These are the shots I’m going to use.”
“What’s with this?” Brett asked, pointing at the enlargement she’d made of the crowd shot, then frowning at the face she had circled in red.