The Grey Man- Changes

by JL Curtis

  The old man said, “Got it. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, we got a hit on the fingerprints. I’ll put that on RISS[27] to you. Not going to put it over an open line. That’s all I’ve got.”

  The old man finished scribbling his notes. “Okay. I’ll go check RISS.”

  “Okay,” Fong said. “I’ll copy it to RISS also. Any questions, captain? If not, I’ll get the info into an email and get it through the chop chain and out to you tomorrow.”

  The old man put his pen down. “Nope. I appreciate the call. We’re still in the dark as far as witnesses, or any possible perps. Have a good night.”

  Hanging up, the old man went over to dispatch with Yogi padding behind him. “Hey, Lisa. I’m expecting some stuff on RISS. Do you know if they got the link to LEAP[28] working yet?”

  Yogi went over to Lisa and she ruffled his fur as she said, “Feel free, captain. I’m just glad it’s quieted down from yesterday’s mess. LEAP? What’s that?”

  The old man sat down saying, “It’s a new program the University of North Texas at Denton is working on for a new state of the art analysis tool.” He typed his password into the system and checked for a link but didn’t see one. He pulled down the information from Agent Fong, whistling as he did so.

  Lisa glanced over. “Interesting data, I take it?”

  “It’s the ID on the victim of the hit and run. And it looks like Fong did some extra runs for us. Victim was a walk away from the VA hospital in Phoenix four days ago. Vietnam vet, apparently terminal with cancer from Agent Orange, from Louisiana, no wife, no kids. Sixty-four years old. Guess we’re going to have to get the VA involved. This is going to be a pain in the ass.”

  Printing out the data, he walked back to his office, thinking damn, was he trying to walk back to Louisiana? Was he just at the point that he’d had enough? Shit, was he hurting bad enough that he just stepped in front of a truck? Or was he just playing a version of Russian roulette? How in the hell am I going to write this one up?

  Sitting in front of the computer, he finally opened the file and started typing. Once he’d entered the paint chip data, he put the basic information in on the victim. Looking at his watch, he took a chance and called the VA hospital in Phoenix. Finally getting through to the security office, he asked them to confirm the victim had been hospitalized there. After a couple of back and forths with the supervisor he asked the supervisor to either confirm or deny that the victim had been a patient and then look up the Pecos County Sheriff’s Department and call him back.

  Frustrated, he hung up, then called the Terrebonne Parish Sheriff’s Department over in Louisiana and talked to the shift captain. They were much more cooperative and agreed to check and see if the victim had any surviving relatives still in the area.

  After doing a few more computer searches, he leaned back and sighed. Yogi put a paw on his leg and he looked at his watch and then down at him. “Yep, it’s about time to go home pup. You’ve got dinner but I don’t. Guess I’ll call the truck stop for a to-go burger.” Picking up the phone, he did just that and started putting everything away.

  A few minutes later he headed out, sticking his head into dispatch. “I’m done Lisa, show me out for tonight. I can’t do anything else tonight.”

  Lisa nodded. “Have a good evening, captain.”

  The old man loaded Yogi in the car and eased out of the parking lot.

  ***

  Jimmy saw the old man pull out of the parking lot and called Sanchez. “Hey, Sanch, he’s on the move. He’s headed like he does when he goes home.”

  “Okay, stay with him and call me if he stops or doesn’t keep heading home,” Sanchez said. “I’ll call you when you can break off.” Sanchez hung up and immediately dialed Roberto’s phone. “He’s on the way home. Same route as usual. Same vehicle.”

  Roberto hung up and walked calmly to his car, slipping on his gloves. He cut over to Highway 18 and started north when his phone rang again. It was Sanchez saying he’d stopped at the truck stop.

  ***

  The old man wheeled into the truck stop and parked down at the end of the row, knowing he wasn’t going to let Yogi run tonight. He got out of the car and told the whining Yogi, “No, not tonight, dog. I might see if I can get you a treat.” He headed to the restaurant entrance thinking of what he had to do tomorrow, even as he scanned the parking lot and gas pumps.

  Toni waved as he came in. “Be ready in about two minutes, captain. The fries are coming out now.” The old man sat on one of the stools and said, “No problem, Toni. It’s not like I’m hungry or anything.”

  Roberto pulled into the truck stop parking lot and saw the old man’s cruiser sitting at the end of the row. On impulse, he pulled into a slot a couple of cars over and sat there looking around. He could see that only the dog was in the cruiser and the old man must be inside. There was a lot of truck traffic, but only a few cars. He picked up movement out of the corner of his eye to see the old man step from the restaurant portion of the truck stop carrying two Styrofoam containers.

  The old man walked past the front of Roberto’s car and Roberto ducked his head as if looking at his cell phone. Following the old man with his peripheral vision, Roberto took a quick look around and saw that the gas pumps were empty. He picked up Zapata’s butcher knife off the seat and eased from the car, leaving the door open.

  ***

  The old man chuckled as he walked out of the restaurant. Toni was on one of her usual rolls, and cracking jokes about anything and everything. She’d even thrown in a T-bone from a plate that she knew Yogi would enjoy. Quickly scanning the lot, the old man walked leisurely toward the car, balancing the two containers. He wasn’t worried if Yogi’s bone hit the ground, but he sure as hell didn’t want his burger on the ground.

  As he neared the car, he saw Yogi whuffing in pleasure and figured he must have gotten a whiff of the bone. He reached down with his right hand to get the car keys and heard Yogi suddenly go into a full on attack mode bark and frantically trying to get out the window.

  It took the old man a second to process what he was seeing and he spun on his heel, sending the containers flying. He saw a man coming at him with is right arm raised, and saw a glint even as he shifted and drew his Colt, thinking to himself: Dennis Tueller was right. Seven yards is the magic number, and I’m screwed. The old man saw the knife blade as it descended and threw up his left hand to block as he rocked back and impacted the side of the car, pushing his right elbow forward.

  As the old man felt the knife penetrate his vest and then his chest, he triggered t rounds as fast as he could pull the trigger and felt his attacker recoil back from the impacts.

  Roberto screamed, “I am Chuiloloco and I have avenged Zapata! Se muere marrano!”

  The old man tried to push Roberto away as he felt Roberto trying to move the knife blade to do more damage, but the pain hit him and he knew he was done unless he could end it. He raised the Colt and put it under Roberto’s chin saying, “I killed Zapata and now I’m going to kill you, asshole!” He pulled the trigger and involuntarily closed his eyes as blood spattered him in the face. He felt Roberto starting to fall, but he still had a death grip on the butcher knife and the old man went to ground with him. He dimly heard Yogi barking and heard a scream as he faded out.

  ***

  A hysterical woman burst through the door of the restaurant screaming, “Call the police. Somebody just got shot in the parking lot! I thought I was going to be killed.”

  Toni dropped the plates she was carrying on the counter and rushed to the front, asking “Where? Where in the parking lot?”

  The woman crouched behind a rack and pointed toward the road, “Right down there at the end of the row. It was two men and a dog was barking. That’s what made me look.”

  Toni pulled the phone off the register desk and ducked behind it dialing 911, she said, “A woman just reported a shooting at the I-10 Truck Stop. Possibly two people involved. Please send somebody as soon as possible.”r />
  It was then that what the woman said connected with Toni, a barking dog. She’d just given Captain Cronin a bone for Yogi. Steeling herself, Toni dropped the phone on the desk and ran out the door. She didn’t hear any gunshots, but she heard an anguished howl coming from the end of the parking lot.

  She rushed down there and saw what she suddenly realized were two bodies on the ground. Neither was moving, and what was left of the one on the bottom’s head would haunt her for years. She heard a police radio and knew then the one face down was Captain Cronin. She said softly, “Captain? Captain?” Not hearing any answer, she lay her hand on the side of his neck and felt a faint heartbeat. She got up and ran back into the restaurant, picked up the phone and yelled, “It’s Captain Cronin, he’s on the ground and not moving. There’s blood everywhere! Hurry!”

  Touch and go

  Trooper Wilson was the first officer on scene as she’d been only a mile from the truck stop exit when the call went out. Rescue and the sheriff were the next two to roll in, and they found her lying on the parking lot shining her flashlight at the bodies. She yelled, “Don’t try to move the captain, yet. He’s on top. There’s something shiny between them and I think maybe he’s got a knife stuck in his upper chest. He’s got a pulse, but it’s weak. The one on bottom is DRT. Top of his head is missing.”

  The two medics and the sheriff crouched and tried to figure out what to do as Wilson inched closer. Through it all, Yogi had continued barking and scratching to try to get to the old man and the sheriff stepped to the side and called dispatch. “Lisa, I need you to come to the scene. You’re probably the only one that can handle Yogi. I’m afraid he’ll bite any of us.”

  “On the way, sheriff,” Lisa replied. “Beth can handle it till I get back.”

  Finally, the medic said, “What about if we pick him straight up a couple of inches? Or maybe try to roll him a little to give you a better angle?”

  Wilson studied the bodies. “That might work. Straight up. Both the captain’s arms are under him, and it looks like the left arm is blocking whatever that is.”

  The sheriff looked around and picked out two big truckers. “Can you guys give us a hand please?”

  The medic placed everyone, giving the legs to the truckers while he positioned the EMT and sheriff on the hips and shoulder. He took the head and other shoulder, saying, “On three. Up very slowly. Straight up! Trooper your call on when to stop, K?

  Wilson said, “Okay.”

  “One, two, three.”

  “Stop! It’s a knife. Captain’s arm is blocking. Lemme get the perp’s hand off the handle.” Wilson crawled closer and pried Roberto’s hand away from the handle, then said, “Okay up. Shit, stop!”

  The medic asked, “What is it?”

  Wilson reached further in, “Captain’s got his forty-five in his right hand. It’s cocked and unlocked.” She managed to reach in and pushed the safety on saying, “Okay, it’s safe. But still in his hand.”

  With a groan, the men continued lifting until the captain was clear of Roberto and they gently rolled him and placed him on the gurney. They heard him groan, and the sheriff reached over and put his hand on the pistol. “John, you got him. Let me have your pistol. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”

  The old man’s grip relaxed and the sheriff pulled it free. Wilson got up slowly, tears in her eyes. “It doesn’t look good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much blood.”

  The medic was cussing quietly as he tried to get a line started, but he finally got a vein and started an IV of saline going. He started checking for other injuries and cutting clothes away he stopped and said, “Damn, he’s got a vest on. Sheriff, we got a problem. I don’t have anything that will cut the vest, and I’m afraid to try to move it. That looks like a butcher knife it went through the vest, and it’s in pretty deep. I’m going to tape it and transport. There isn’t much else I can do here.”

  The sheriff nodded distractedly. “Do it.” Keying his radio, he said, “Dispatch, see if you can get two guys from city to the hospital for security. Officer down, unknown assailants. Get Gonzales started toward the hospital. He’s in Sector two, right?”

  Beth came back, “Got it, sheriff. I’ll have them there ASAP.” The sheriff heard the all call go out shortly followed by Beth’s announcement of officer down, security required at the hospital, and directing Deputy Gonzales to go code three to the hospital.

  The medic and EMT loaded the old man carefully into the back of the ambulance and eased out of the parking lot. As soon as the doors closed, Yogi changed from barking to howling like a lost soul, tearing at everyone’s hearts.

  He heard a car door slam and Lisa ran over. “What happened, sheriff?”

  “John was stabbed by the perp, and they fought. John’s still alive, but not by much. Go around and see if you can get Yogi out the far side. Take him back to the department, and if you can, take him home after your shift.”

  Lisa went to the passenger’s side, thankfully unlocked, and called to Yogi, who finally looked at her, then crawled across the console to her. Lisa did her best to comfort him, talking softly to him as she found the leash in the floorboard. Getting it hooked to Yogi’s collar, she finally got him out and started walking to her car. As they rounded the back of the car, Yogi snarled at Roberto’s body and almost pulled Lisa over trying to get at him. “Guess we know who started it, don’t we?” the sheriff observed as Lisa finally got Yogi into her car and left.

  Deputy Hart pulled in and parked as directed by the sheriff to block the scene as more officers arrived and people came over to try to see what was going on. The sheriff shined his light around and noted where things lay, and said to Trooper Wilson, “Uh, you might want to go try to clean up. You’re pretty much covered in blood. Thanks for being here and helping. You probably saved John’s life, if he makes it.”

  Wilson shrugged. “Uniforms are cheap. People like Captain Cronin aren’t. They’re worth their weight in gold.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Yep.” Stepping away, he pulled out his phone and dialed. “Clay, I need you up here. John Cronin’s been stabbed and on the way to the hospital. I’ve got one helluva mess of a crime scene right in front of the truck stop restaurant. I’ve got one dead here and I need help.”

  ***

  The ambulance eased into the hospital and was met by Doc Truesdale, the duty resident, Angelina, the ER staff and two very nervous Fort Stockton city officers. One of whom had a shotgun in his hands. Carefully moving the old man from the back of the ambulance, they eased him into the ER as the medic gave Doc his report. One of the officers stayed at the ER entry, the other posted himself just outside the curtain where the old man was. They immediately started a drip of O negative blood with antibiotics as nurse and the resident started slowly cutting away the rest of the blood covered clothes. Doc drew a vial and handed it off, saying, “Get this typed ASAP!”

  Looking at the vest, the resident stopped. “Uh, how do we get this off?”

  Doc said, “Based on what I’m seeing it looks like the vest is penetrated, and I don’t know where or how deep the knife is.” Turning to Angelina, he said, “Go get the portable, we need to get a couple of shots and see what we’ve got here.”

  Angelina hurried from the ER as the resident finished cutting away the old man’s pants and checking the rest of his body. Sure enough, the knife had penetrated the vest just above the chicken plate and the handle was almost buried in the vest, with only about an inch of blade showing.

  Angelina returned with the portable machine and the x-ray tech in tow, after a few minutes of set up and lining up, the x-ray tech ran everyone out and he took the shots Doc had requested. It went against Doc’s grain to not do anything, but he didn’t want to start until he had a good idea what he was up against. He busied himself with cleaning away the blood, getting a second IV started and checking blood pressure and responses. Finally, the tech brought the x-rays back and Doc threw them up on the light bar. Deputy Gonzales came
into the ER and stuck his head in the cubicle. “Doc, I need all the clothes, everything the captain was wearing. It’s evidence.”

  Doc turned. “You can have everything but the vest. Right now, I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

  His heart sank as he saw the tip of the blade was apparently sticking into the pericardium. Doc turned to Angelina, “Call Angels Flight. We need an immediate air ambulance transfer to Houston, the faster the better. This one is beyond anything I can do here without a full surgical team.”

  Handing the shears to the resident, he said quietly, “Okay, I’m going to hold the vest, you cut where I tell you when I tell you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  The resident said nervously, “Would you rather I hold and you cut?”

  Doc replied, “No, if John dies, it will be on me, not on you.” Pointing with his finger he continued, “We’re going to cut around here, leaving this portion of the vest where it is. Now the shears are going to bind, probably pretty good, but I’ll do my best to hold enough tension on the Kevlar that you can cut. Ready?”

  The resident nodded and Doc gripped the vest as carefully as he could. Twenty harrowing minutes later, they’d successfully cleared all but about three inches of the vest around the knife and wound itself. As Doc was finishing bandaging the vest remnants and the old man’s upper chest to prevent the knife from moving, Angelina came back, “Doc, there’s a Lear coming down from Midland. They should be landing in a half hour. They need to know where you want them to go.”

  Doc asked, “You still have them on the phone?”

  “No, I’ve got a call back number though. It’s on the desk.”