Random Victim

by Michael A. Black

  Crouching in the alley Leal heard the scuffling sound of footsteps coming down the sidewalk toward him. The garage between him and whoever it was gave him cover, but it also made it impossible to see.

  “Ollie,” Leal whispered into the radio. “Move up in front and cover the motorcycle. He might be trying to book outta here.”

  Hart clicked a reply.

  Leal heard the squealing of hinges on the side door of the garage. No lights came on inside. A car door opened. He listened intently, leaning sideways against the telephone pole to keep out of sight. A starter ground and an engine came to life. The overhead door of the garage swung upward.

  It’s now or never, Leal thought. If he does have evidence, then it’ll be totally lost if he leaves now. Twisting on his Minimag flashlight, Leal ran forward. Goddamn that fucking Murphy. If he’d been there they could have blocked the asshole in.

  Leal was suddenly illuminated by the twin headlights of a van. The vehicle began to pull out of the garage, the driver’s door still cracked open. It was Willard, all right. He’s getting out to shut the overhead door, Leal thought, running now, reaching for the driver’s door, and wrenching it all the way open. “Ollie, get back here!” he yelled into his radio. Then to Willard, “Police, don’t move.”

  The van lurched forward. The flashlight fell from Leal’s hand as he made a frantic grab through the open window at the driver. His fingers managed to snare a handful of shirt, but the van began to accelerate. Leal had a sudden fear of being crushed against the telephone pole. He twisted and pulled the shirt, trying to pull Willard out of the car. Leal’s side slammed hard against the door, closing it.

  “Lemme go, motherfucker!” Snake grunted. He clawed at Leal’s face and arm.

  Leal felt his feet leave the ground and knew he was dead if the van got moving or bumped against something. He pulled the shirt again, feeling the slender body lift up from the seat. Snake’s head banged against the door frame. It was enough to cause a lull in the acceleration. Gaining purchase with his feet momentarily, Leal shoved the Beretta at Snake’s face, the butt of the weapon glancing off his head. The van slowed, impelled only by the automatic transmission. Leal pulled him almost completely out the window. The van rolled forward and Snake cried out, then gurgled, as Leal’s fingers curled around the skinny neck. Suddenly the vehicle smacked into the adjacent telephone pole, coming to such an abrupt stop that Leal was thrown to the ground. He got up immediately, reaching forward and grabbing at Snake, who was frantically scrambling to get back in the driver’s seat.

  “Police, hold it, motherfucker!” Leal shouted again, managing this time to reach through and grab for the keys with his left hand. Their fingers fought for a moment, then Leal grasped the gearshift lever and pulled it back and up, shoving the van into park. His hand caught Snake’s neck and he brought the Berretta up to the other man’s left eye, letting the extended barrel loom in front of him.

  “Give it up or die,” Leal said.

  Hart suddenly was on the passenger side, pointing her gun at Snake also.

  “Police, don’t move,” she said.

  Snake’s eyes worked over toward her, and he tensed for a moment before going limp.

  “Move again and I’ll blow your fucking head off, ass-hole,” Leal said.

  Hart came around and they pulled Snake’s arms up and tugged him through the window. He didn’t resist and fell to the alley with a resounding plop. When his body hit, he made a few attempts to squirm away, but Leal brought his knee and the full weight of his body down on Snake’s lower back. They twisted his arms behind him, and Hart ratcheted her cuffs over the thin wrists and he was secured.

  “What’s the matter, man?” he said. “I didn’t do nothing. What you hassling me for?”

  “I dropped my flashlight,” Leal said, afraid to look in the van for fear of what he might not find.

  Hart stood and swung her flashlight into the van’s interior. A DVD/VCR player was perpendicular on the floor between the seat and the dash. She stepped in and shone the beam directly on the back.

  Smiling, she turned and smiled at Leal, holding a thumb’s-up.

  “I’ll buy you a new Minimag if we can’t find yours,” she said.

  Leal felt a surge of relief wash over him.

  Suddenly they both heard the roar of an engine and saw the headlights coming toward them. The car screeched to a halt, and Murphy lumbered toward them, his gun drawn.

  “What’s going down?” he asked.

  “Everything,” Leal said, still trying to get his breathing under control.

  “This him?” Murphy asked, giving the handcuffed man a swift kick in the side. Snake gasped and curled over. “You piece of shit.”

  “Knock it off, Murphy,” Leal said. “The man’s cuffed.”

  Murphy glowered at Snake.

  “Where the fuck were you?” Leal said. “I needed some help back here.”

  “I had to leave,” Murphy said.

  “What?”

  “I had to take a shit, Sarge,” the big man said. “Real bad. Couldn’t wait. Besides, somebody beeped me and I thought it might be about the warrant. My cell was out, remember?”

  “Why didn’t you call me on the radio?” Leal asked.

  “The fucking thing wasn’t working,” Murphy said. “I tried and nobody answered. I was afraid of going around to the front for fear of blowing the stakeout.”

  “Give me that,” Leal said, reaching for Murphy’s radio. He keyed the transmit button and heard the slight crackle of a radio wave on his own radio. “Seems to be working fine.”

  “Well it wasn’t then, Sarge. Honest.” Murphy’s portly face was wet with sweat. “As soon as I seen what was going down back here I beat feet.”

  Leal was about to suspend him on the spot when Ryan’s voice came over the radio.

  “Anybody out there?”

  Leal answered him.

  “Ah, I’ve got the warrant,” Ryan said. “I’m a few blocks away. I’ll stop by Joliet PD and get some big guys with sledgehammers and axes.”

  Leal stared over at Murphy, realizing that he still needed another body for containment and searching. I’ll deal with this fat fuck tomorrow, he thought.

  “Just come directly to the scene,” he said. “You won’t need the axes. We’re in the alley.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Wild Cards

  After making arrangements to have Snake’s van towed to Maywood, they took their time searching the apartment. The place was a pigsty, with stacks of pornographic and drug-oriented magazines, video tapes, and old pizza boxes scattered everywhere. They’d found what they’d expected initially: a cache of drugs, assorted syringes, and two handguns. In contrast to the coolness of the night, the inside was hot, and Leal found himself covered with sweat. Be lucky if I don’t catch cold, he thought. But the search began to get interesting as he found a pillowcase with some rings inside. One of them, a class ring, had the initials MHW on the inside band. Martin H. Walker? Leal wondered. He’d also noticed that Snake had been wearing a very expensive-looking watch when they’d cuffed him. A Rolex.

  “Looks like it was the maid’s day off,” Ryan said, chuckling. He looked at Leal. “Like I said, Frankie, sorry it took me so long, but everything that could go wrong, did.” He began holding up fingers as he ticked off each point. “First, the damn complaint for the warrant was like nine fucking pages. Brice didn’t make it into HQ till almost two, and then I had to play twenty questions with him. By that time it was getting late, and I still had to get the thing typed. Then there weren’t any judges left in Four, so I had to run down to Twenty-sixth Street and find a night judge.” He heaved a theatric sigh. “Naturally, the State’s Attorney there wanted to go over every fucking detail before we presented it to the judge. Then we had to wait for hizzoner to finish his call.”

  “Okay, okay, I get the idea,” said Leal, but his gaze was on something else. He walked to a small table in the living room and looked at an ornate bronze sta
tue on the floor next to the TV. It was a satyr playing a flute.

  “Ollie, does this look familiar?”

  She went over and stood beside him. As she studied it, Leal noticed her blond hair was plastered to her head with sweat.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Didn’t we see a statue like that at Walker’s?”

  Leal grinned. “Let’s bag this, too,” he said to Ryan. Then to Hart, “Are you hot? Want me to help you out of that vest?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ve got it,” she said as she carefully slipped out of the windbreaker and protective vest. Leal saw a crimson stain on the back of her blue T-shirt.

  “Ollie,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “Must have torn something open.”

  “Dammit,” Leal said. “You want me to call the paramedics?”

  “I’ll be okay,” she said.

  Leal nodded, thinking, Man, she’s tough.

  They watched Stanley “Snake” Willard through the panel of one-way glass as he sat in the interview room, his arms crossed, his legs thrust sullenly under the table.

  “How do you want to handle this?” Ryan asked.

  Leal stood beside him. They’d sent Murphy on a coffee run and Hart to the emergency room to get her wound checked.

  “Let’s go over what we know,” Leal said. He held up the plastic bags containing the recovered ring and watch. “These most likely belong to Martin Walker. The same with the credit card, the DVD/VCR, and the drug statue. Question is, how did this asshole get them?”

  “Maybe Walker gave them to him?” Ryan said.

  “Yeah, but why?” Leal asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “In exchange for taking him to the airport, maybe? Or maybe in exchange for some dope?”

  Leal shook his head, frowning. “No, I can’t see Walker giving him the credit card.”

  “Maybe he stole it?” Ryan said. “Or maybe he’s one of Walker’s fag boys.” He’d lit up a cigarette.

  “We got to be very careful how we approach this,” Leal said. “He obviously knows more than we do. We gotta convince him he doesn’t.”

  “Good cop/bad cop?” Ryan asked, grinning.

  Before Leal could reply, Murphy came strolling in holding a cardboard tray of coffees.

  “I got the brews,” he said. “Here you go.”

  Murphy passed over the other cups and then took his own and collapsed heavily into a nearby chair.

  “And, I talked to the boss,” the big man said. “He told me to tell you to shut it down till he gets here.”

  “What?” Leal said. “Now’s the best time. He’s still shook up from the arrest. If we wait he might lawyer up.”

  Murphy shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

  “Let’s give him one more shot,” Leal said.

  He saw Murphy stare at him. Leal looked at Ryan.

  “You ready?”

  Ryan blew smoke out of both nostrils, then nodded. “Murph, do me a favor, will ya? Forget you told us what you told us.”

  As they went in the interview room Willard looked up.

  “Hiya, Stanley,” Ryan said. “Need a smoke?”

  “Yeah,” Willard said, sitting up.

  Ryan took one out of his pack, passed it to Willard, and lit it.

  “We gotta advise you of your rights,” Ryan said, holding up the pre-printed Miranda warning. He read it verbatim, then passed it to Willard. “Just sign here, my man, to show we read it to you.”

  Willard placed the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and accepted the pen.

  Initial cooperation, Leal thought. This is going better than I figured it would.

  “So you ever hear of a guy named Martin Walker?” Leal asked.

  “Who?”

  Leal blew out a slow breath. “Don’t fuck with us, Stanley. You had his stuff. You were using his credit card.”

  “Well, yeah. Maybe.”

  “No maybes about it,” Ryan said. “You’re in deep, my man. In fact, you’re in shit up to your knees. Pretty soon it’ll be over your head.”

  “This is your last chance to help yourself,” Leal said. “Cooperate at this point and we’ll mention it to the state’s attorney.”

  “Maybe I should talk to a lawyer,” Willard said. Leal detected a hesitancy in his voice.

  “Maybe you should,” Ryan said, smiling.

  “And maybe we should tell Nuke that you flipped for us, Stanley,” Leal said.

  The reaction was visible.

  “No, you guys can’t do that,” Willard said. “Please. He’d kill me if he knew.”

  “If he knew what?” Leal asked.

  Willard swallowed hard and took a last drag on the cigarette.

  “Can I have another square, sir?” he asked.

  Ryan sighed, but took his pack out of his pocket. “You know,” he said, leaning forward to light it for Willard. “It’s getting pretty late, and I’m getting pretty tired of playing fucking games. You want to talk, or what?”

  Willard nodded a “thanks,” and drew deeply on the new cigarette.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell me this. If I play ball with you guys, what’s it gonna get me?”

  “That depends on what you got to offer,” Leal said. Willard looked at him, and Leal added, “Look, we got all the pieces. We just haven’t put them all together yet. But we will.”

  Willard looked at the floor, obviously considering his options.

  “I think you want to tell us,” Ryan said. “Don’t cha?”

  “Like, could I get immunity, or something?” Willard asked.

  “Immunity?” Leal said. “What do you think this is? TV?”

  Ryan leaned forward, smiling like he was consoling his little brother after striking out at the ballpark. He placed his hand on Willard’s shoulder.

  “At this point we’re all you got going for you, kid,” he said.

  Leal was remembering Detective Brown mentioning the fancy lawyers that Nuke and Willard had before. But he seemed scared of Nuke.

  “I just gotta think about it, is all,” Willard said.

  Suddenly Leal began to worry that it could all come apart. Willard could refuse to talk, and lawyer up. Brice’s order that they wait for him meant they’d lose all the momentum they’d gained. And he wasn’t about to let that go down the drain.

  “Well, think fast,” he said, letting a hint of anger and menace creep into his voice. “Like my partner told you, it’s late, and you’re out of second chances.”

  “It’s either shit, or get off the pot,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair.

  “Okay, suppose I told you I took the DVD/VCR and other stuff from his house?”

  “Cut the shit,” Leal said. “We all know the DVD/VCR is just a small part of this.”

  “Don’t insult our intelligence,” Ryan said.

  Willard buried his face in his hands for a moment, then drew his fingers back through his greasy hair. He sat up straighter and said, “All right, just tell me this. If I show you where the body is, can you guarantee you’ll protect me from Nuke?”

  They continued talking to him over a parade of soft drinks and cigarettes. In forty-five minutes they had the whole story outlined and down in a preliminary statement. The initial murder of Miriam Walker, the disposal of her body, the subsequent drug deals, and the eventual murder of Martin Walker. Once the dam broke, Willard was like a faucet they couldn’t shut off. Not that they wanted to. The body, he told them, was buried in a forest preserve off Route 83. He’d slipped the Rolex off Walker’s limp wrist while Nuke and Moose were digging the grave.

  “What’s Moose’s real name?” Ryan asked.

  Willard shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Take a guess.”

  He shrugged again. “I just know him by Moose, is all.”

  “All you motorcycle guys have nicknames, huh?” Leal said.

  Willard nodded.

  “What about Nuke?” Leal asked. “Where’d you hook up with him?”
>
  “Will County jail. He protected me from the niggers.”

  “And got you a lawyer,” Leal said.

  “Yeah, well, the boss did that. Nuke’s connected,” Willard said. “Me, him, and Moose go for pickups down in Mexico and Texas for his boss.”

  Ah, Leal thought. So there’s a wild card in the deck.

  “Who’s his boss?”

  Willard shrugged. “Don’t know his name. Nuke just calls him ‘boss.’ But, man, he’s a cool guy, though. Owns a gym and a truck rental place and all kinds of stuff. The trucks is what we use to bring the shit up in.”

  “What’s he look like?” Ryan asked, offering Willard another cigarette.

  “White guy. Brown hair. Maybe about your age. Always dresses cool and has some awesome-looking bitch with him in his car.”

  “What kind of car?” Leal asked.

  “Shit, man, he’s got lots of ’em.” He drew on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “A Bimmer, a Mercedes, an XJ6.”

  “An XJ6?” Leal asked. “What color?”

  Willard rolled his shoulders and sucked on the cigarette again. “White, I think.”

  A white Jaguar tripped something in Leal’s mind. Of course, he thought. The first night we went to Walker’s, one passed us.

  “Can you think of anything else you want to tell us, Stanley?” Ryan asked.

  Willard took a final drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out.

  “Shit, man,” he said. “To tell you guys the truth, if I wasn’t afraid Nuke would kill me for taking the stuff outta the house that night, I probably wouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  “One other thing I’d like to ask you,” Leal said. “Why’d you try to split tonight? You see us out there?”

  Willard shook his head. “Moose called me. Told me to ditch the stuff right away. Said Nuke was suspicious and coming over to check.”

  When they came out of the interview room Leal saw Brice standing by the window with a haggard look on his face.