by Cat Connor
I looked at him and mouthed the words, “On two.” Then counted, “One. Two.” I stepped out of the shadows with my gun trained at the lone male.
In a clear voice I called, “FBI! Get on the ground.”
Lee moved beside me. The suspect stood still.
“FBI! On the ground!” Lee ordered, approaching the man, with his gun pointed at his head. Lee reached out one hand and grabbed the man’s right arm. Within a blurred second he was lying face down on the ground with Lee’s knee in the middle of his back. His face registered surprise, then confusion.
“And you are?” I said. His eyes were dull. He looked vacant.
Light flooded out as the front door opened, illuminating the area in front of the door and spilling onto the path from the driveway.
He didn’t reply.
“Conway, more mail?” Kurt asked as he stepped over the box toward the prone male. “Name?” he said, giving the man a poke in the ribs with his shoe.
No comment.
“Search him, Lee,” I said.
Sam hollered out the door. “We got him in the system. Jonah Powell.”
Jonah groaned. Lee holstered his weapon, handcuffed Jonah and searched him. He pulled a wallet from his back pocket and threw it to me. I opened it. Driver’s license. He was an organ donor. Six hundred dollars in cash. Two credit cards, neither of them bore his name. And a small plastic bag, containing small white crystals at the very bottom. I waved it in his face.
“Meth?”
He closed his eyes.
“You deliver a package to me tonight for meth or for cash?”
He smiled and revealed decaying teeth; they matched his scabby face. The overall image combined to scream ‘addict.’ Get an addict to act as courier. They’ll do anything for cash or their drug of choice. Only this one got so wasted first he didn’t know he should drop the parcel then leave.
“Doc, can you get anything out of him?”
“Doubtful. But I’ll try. Maybe detox will make him talk.”
“Rehab is for pussies,” Jonah muttered, then giggled.
“You’re not going to rehab, buddy. You’re going into a cell. We’ll do this the fast and hard way,” Doc said. “You’ll wish you could go to rehab by the time we’re an hour in.”
Lee pulled him to his feet.
“Transport?” I enquired, looking at Doc. A conversation from earlier popped up and waved a flag. “Didn’t you want to talk to me tonight?”
“Hold that thought, Conway,” he said with a lopsided grin. “It can wait until morning. I’ll deal with Jonah Powell, courier to madmen, first.”
A smile worked its way to my mouth. The edges turned up without the official nod from me.
“Are you taking him in your car or would you like me to get someone to come pick him up?”
“Can we have him picked up, please? Tell them to bring a van, one that can be hosed out.”
Lee was on his cell phone already. He spoke to Sandra, relaying instructions.
I hollered into the house, “Hey Sam, will you watch Jonah here while we check out this box?”
Sam appeared. He excused himself as he passed Noel in the doorway. Sam took Jonah by the arm and pulled him out of the glare of the lights.
Doc, Lee and I crouched by the large package. Again it wore a customs declaration and international airmail stickers. The stamps were from New Zealand. Noel hurried into the house then returned with latex gloves, flashlight, and a craft knife. A quick game of Rock-Paper-Scissors, determined that Lee would open the box.
Part of me wanted to go stand by Sam, out of harm’s way.
I stayed put.
No one breathed.
Moving with slow precision Lee cut the tape securing the lid, slipped the knife inside the front edge and ran it along the very front of the parcel. With care he lifted the lid an inch and shone the flashlight beam inside. “Don’t think it’ll go bang,” Lee said on an outward breath. Cautiously he folded the lid right back to the ground.
Inside was a large black bag. Lee grasped a loose bit of plastic and lifted it as high as was possible, and then slit the bag open. As the cut edges fell apart they revealed more clear plastic bags. Doc counted the bags.
“Six.”
I stared at the contents. It didn’t look like anything much – just lumps of meat in a butcher’s shop window. Doc picked up one bag and turned it over in his hands a few times.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Could be more rump pieces,” Doc replied.
“Rump … you mean more hunks of ass?”
“Yeah, it’s another box of ass.”
A smirk lurked close to the surface. My internal struggle began. I could hear the voice that instructed me not to laugh. The death of innocent people is not funny.
But a box of ass?
Dammit!
I felt it as a lump in my sternum, bubbling, pushing and pushing, until it exploded from my mouth in a raucous laugh. Free, the laugh bounced off the porch and sailed back toward the driveway and the road. The still night was broken wide open.
There were no take backs.
Lee chuckled. Sam snorted. Doc cracked a smile that edged ever closer to all-out laughter. Even Noel grinned. Jonah stared vacuously.
His blank stare served to heighten my lack of self-control. “If you lay off the chicken feed you might get your sense of humor back.”
He had no comment.
Doc nudged me. “You talked too fast for him. He’s fried.”
“That’s a medical term?”
“Yes, yes it is.”
“Good to know.”
With a crash we all returned to work mode. A hush enveloped us as we stared at the bags of rump.
“Are they from the same bodies?” I asked Doc. “Best guess. I understand that even you can’t possibly know for sure.”
Just because he acted a little like a superhero at times didn’t mean he was one.
“Nope. Look at this.” He picked up one of the clear packages and turned it over, skin side up. “These are all darker skin tones, deep olive, brown, and black. The first lot ranged though hues of white to pale tan.”
“This is interesting.” We have an equal opportunity killer on the loose. Or should that be ‘a politically correct killer?’
From behind me I heard a thud. I spun around. Jonah was sprawled on the ground. My eyes scanned for Sam and found him crouched by a small shrub.
He called out, “Gun!”
Ah crap!
Noel hit the light switch inside the front door plunging the area into darkness. Something whizzed by my head. I ducked and ran back around the corner. The sound of bullets hitting the house followed me.
Dammit, I’ve already done being shot at today.
Footsteps thumped down the interior hallway.
Lee exited the laundry door and came up behind me, whispering my name. Guess he didn’t want a bullet in the head.
“Noel and Doc?” I peered around the corner, trying to ascertain the direction of the shooter.
“Noel was calling it in. Doc grabbed the package and is finishing off his examination inside.”
I saw Sam move. He dropped to his belly and dragged himself forward using his arms. Hiding his profile from the shooter. Smart man. My father would put it differently. Up here for thinking, down there for dancing.
“Lee – garage! Sam needs cover.” I prepared to cover Lee’s movement. He hunched over and ran, sliding down by the front wheel of the truck. I could just make out his crouched shape.
Pfft. Wood splintered. Pfft. A house window shattered.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I tugged it free and answered.
“Night scope and rifle?” Lee asked.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? Brain freeze maybe. “Gun case under the back seat of Mac’s truck. Go in through the back passenger door. One sec.”
I shoved the phone back in my pocket, felt for my key and activated the beeper. Three buttons. One
to open the doors. One to lock the doors. One for the alarm.
Pfft.
I heard glass shower down in my living room as I pushed the button to unlock the car.
Pfft.
Shit: The interior light. Lee opened the door. The interior of the truck lit up like sunshine. Followed closely by tink-tink, as bullets punched through the side windows. Lee slithered into the back seat. Pulling the door shut. The light faded.
Bullets through the back window of the truck gave me an idea of direction. He was in a good position. The shooter wasn’t an idiot.
A harsh click came from inside the Tacoma. Lee must’ve lifted the seats to access the gun case. More tink-tinks as bullets hit metal. The shooter seemed determined to ruin the Tacoma, which did nothing for my mood.
Set back about ten feet from the edge of the driveway were several large trees with younger smaller trees grouped close by, almost a thicket but not quite; beyond them about twenty feet of lush green grass where I’d seen the red deer earlier; beyond that woods. I surmised the person was not on the grassy area but farther back in the actual woods.
The passenger door nearest me opened. I wanted to fire into the woods. But I couldn’t see anything to fire at, plus I had a handgun and that wasn’t going to do a damn thing. Lee leaped out cradling the rifle in his arms and dashed across the driveway then slid into to the shadows next to me.
I holstered my Glock and took the rifle. It took a moment to adjust to the weight. He’d changed the scope from the one I’d used at the range to the night vision scope. I looked down the scope, moving the weapon through the darkness in front of me in a slow and even sweeping motion. The cross hairs fell on trees and bushes.
“Move, you moron.”
Sirens pierced the cool air. I watched, not breathing. My finger played on and off the trigger. I searched low then heightened the search in twelve-inch increments as nothing showed in my scope.
Another shot.
I spotted the muzzle flash.
“One o’clock,” I hissed at Lee. He called Sam with a position.
Then he moved. I watched. Another movement. The shooter was lying prone beyond the grass just inside the wooded tree line
I had the shot but wanted him alive. Dead people don’t talk much. I wanted answers, not more dead ends or another dead ass.
“Lee, I’ll pin him from the left. You and Sam move in from the right for the arrest.”
“On it.”
Aiming two feet to the left, I fired one shot. Moments later I fired twelve inches to his left. He returned fire. My next round lodged in a tree just above his head. He returned fire again. A bullet lodged in the downpipe twenty-four inches from my head. I’d rattled him and had his attention.
Another two shots from me and then Sam hollered. I used my scope to find him. He stood over the shooter, the shooter’s rifle in his hands, pointing at the shooter’s head.
Police cars screeched to a halt on the street.
I called out to the team, “Police.”
With much care, I placed my rifle on the ground by my feet and grabbed my badge. I didn’t want to be confused with the shooter. With my arm outstretched and my badge clasped in my fingers I walked toward the police cars. Drawn by the flashing red and blues, like a moth to a flame. I’m a sucker for rolling lights and men in uniform. No wonder everyone thinks Rowan isn’t the one for me. The doors were open. Officers crouched behind them ready to fire.
I announced myself, “Supervisory Special Agent Ellie Conway. The shooter has been detained.”
A familiar voice called back. “Hey, Ellie. Where’s the shooter at?”
It was good to hear a friendly voice, although I could’ve done without it twice in one day. “Lee and Sam are bringing him in from the woods, Josh.”
“Just one?”
“Just one. Used a high-powered rifle and night scope, from what I could tell from here. We’ll know more when they get back.”
“Everyone else okay?” He came out from behind the car door and walked toward me.
“One dead delivery boy. Lots of broken windows.”
I can imagine how pleased my insurance company will be with that. I’m never going to get a no claims bonus.
“Twice in one day, Ellie? Don’t think that’s a coincidence do you?”
“I doubt it, Josh. Still, how the hell would anyone know I was stopping for milk on my way home?”
“Same way someone knew where you lived,” he replied.
“Let me know how you get on with that GPS unit.” I smiled, ending the conversation. “See you next weekend at Murphy’s.”
Eight
Pop Rocks And Coke
Pulling into Dad’s garage felt a bit peculiar, driving Mac’s Toyota Tacoma truck and not heading out to Quantico felt even more weird. The only time I ever drove his truck was to go out there. It bothered me that someone found my home.
Okay, to be honest, it bothered me that someone found my home again. The sooner we moved to our new secure address the better. I was troubled. My address wasn’t in the book. I didn’t go around shouting it from roof tops. How is it people keep finding it? Which led me to another thought: I didn’t want that same fucktard finding my Dad.
How did someone know I’d stop at the 7-Eleven today? Being shot at ruins my usually sunny disposition. Being shot at twice in one day downright pisses me off.
Lee and Sam waited on the street in a black Ford Expedition. About as invisible as anyone can be in a car wearing federal tags. I gave a quick wave as I zapped the garage door with the remote on the wall. The door hesitated for a moment then fired into action and began to close.
From the living area of the house, I heard the television and Carla’s voice.
Dad looked up as I walked into the kitchen from the laundry room. “Car in the garage?”
I nodded and stole a cupcake from the counter. “These are good,” I muttered after swallowing a mouthful of cake and frosting.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. Carla’s going to go stay at Rowan’s country place for a few days. He’ll pick her up tomorrow. How was Aidan? You remember to leave the cat?”
“Not okay then,” Dad said. “You think there would be enough room for her old Gramps at that fancy-sounding country house? Aidan was fine and so is the cat.”
I smiled. “You wanna go too, huh?”
I know I did.
“Sounds fun.”
“I’m sure Rowan wouldn’t mind,” I said taking another cupcake.
“Didn’t you eat tonight?”
“Yeah, I did, but it got a bit interesting after that. Guess I burned it all off.”
“Will you stay here tonight?”
“No. We’ll stay at the Marriott. Got another package tonight and another Conway was killed.”
Dad paused; he leaned on the counter. “Another Conway?” he whispered. “Male or female?”
“Female.”
“Is this a coincidence?”
Our eyes met. Neither of us believed in coincidence.
“I don’t know what this is, but I don’t like it. You and Aidan need to be extra careful.”
He nodded. “Go get Carla. I’ll box up some cupcakes for you girls to take.”
I kissed Dad’s cheek and hurried down to the living room. Carla was on the phone. I checked the time on my watch, tapped it and made eye contact in an enquiring way.
She smiled and said hurried goodbyes.
“Late for phone calls.”
“Joey.”
“I know, but it’s still late.”
“Summer holidays and you know his parents are … neglectful.”
I knew that too. That’s one of the reasons why Joey spent so much time at our place, where at least he was supervised, fed and cared for.
“Let’s get going. We have a reservation. Tomorrow night you’ll be in New Jersey with Rowan.”
She squealed and leaped to her feet. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh
my gosh. They will die!”
“Who will die?”
There’s been enough death for one night.
“Just everyone at my school!”
Good, the entire student body from Oakton High School will drop dead upon hearing this news from my daughter. I couldn’t be more proud.
I smiled, shook my head and suggested she get her shoes on so we could leave.
Carla stopped just inside the garage.
“Why are you driving Mac’s truck?”
“My car is with the mechanic,” I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back. “It needs some work.” It may have even been written off by the insurance assessor due to the multitude of large bullet holes and expense of all new panels.
My car was Swiss cheese.
She looked at me for a beat then smiled, “That’s right, Kurt brought you home tonight.”
“Yeah.” I tempered the sigh of relief that threatened and opened the passenger door for her, hoping she wouldn’t notice the bullet holes. The sooner we were out of the brightly-lit garage the better.
“Mom, there’s glass on the seat.”
Shit. Must’ve missed some of it.
“Sorry, sweetheart, brush it off. It’s windshield glass it won’t cut you.”
She screwed her head around and looked out the back. Then looked at me as I climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Where from?”
“A stone went through the window.” I shrugged. “That’s why I was so late – had to get the Apex windshield guy out.”
That part was true at least. I was just glad the weather was good and they’d fixed the windows right there and then. They couldn’t however do a damn thing about the bullet holes in the panels.
It was late. By the time we reached the hotel, Carla was fast asleep with her head resting on the car window. I felt mean waking her.
We checked in without a hitch. Memories surged forth and squeezed themselves into my consciousness despite my best efforts to lock them out. We stepped into the elevator behind the porter with our luggage. The impossibility of holding back the memories of a night best forgotten became apparent.
I remembered every second of our life together. Every second. It didn’t take much to bring the more vivid moments back. Like the night someone ran a knife across my throat, leaving me with a thin scar. That was the night Mac and I ended up staying in the Marriott at Metro. I was bootless, bloodied, and lacking in luggage when we checked in. He was an amazing mixture of amused, concerned, and tired.