Street Justice: Book 2 of the Justice Series

by Trevor Shand

  Kicking the tire, Russ hurled every obscenity he knew at the wheel, not bothering to make sense or form a sentence. He shouted, spat and screwed up his face. He beat the bed of the truck then returned to shaking it. He pulled at his clothes and swung his massive arms. Growling and grunting he exhaled sharply through clinched teeth.

  Then, nearly instantly, Russ went calm. He took a deep breath and straightened his suit. Russ learned a while ago, in higher stake situations, that while releasing anger was helpful, once finished, it needed to be released and gone. He did not check himself when he released his anger but he truly released it. He was not putting on a mask of calm. He was calm.

  Russ rubbed the crack on his driver’s side window. He knew he would eventually need to get it fixed and was disappointed with the crack, but not with his actions. If he let the emotions, especially frustration and anger, build up inside himself, he knew he would crack, usually at the wrong time. While cracking his window was not ideal, he knew things would have been a lot worse had he snapped and dragged Mike across the desk. Solving problems with brute force was more acceptable the farther one got from US soil.

  Hopping in his truck, Russ fired up the engine and rolled down the window. The brisk wind whipped through the cab. The sound of cars, people and the city poured through the window. He put the truck in drive and headed for I-5 south, Bruce Springsteen’s “Reason to Believe” playing on the radio. Bruce warbled “Seen a man standin’ over dead dog, lyin’ by the highway in a ditch, He’s lookin’ down kind of puzzled, pokin’ that dog with a stick…” Russ smiled let his left hand drift in the rushing air.

  Adrian was up at 5:30AM the next morning. His small but efficient apartment smelled like coffee, which he had set on a timer the night before. Slipping out of bed, he made a quick detour to the bathroom attached to the bedroom to relieve himself then out to the large kitchen/living room combo that made up most of the unit. Heading to the kitchen he dropped a bagel into the toaster.

  Ten minutes later he had eaten the bagel, smeared with almond butter and locally sourced apple butter, and had drank two cups of coffee. He headed back to his room and put on his lycra running gear. Adrian took the stairs down to street level as a warm up and headed out on a 10k route around Lake Union he frequently ran.

  Adrian’s listened to his squishy footsteps as the foam in his running shoes compressed. The route followed a sidewalk which boarded the lake and the floating homes that had been featured in the movie “Sleepless in Seattle.” The smell of the brackish water drifted into his nose as his breathing picked up.

  Adrian’s mind started drifting to the plans he had thought through last night after dropping Steve off at the bar. But he forced them out of his mind. There was plenty of time to think about the plans, right now he needed to think about something other than work and be present in his own world. The thoughts drifted back and he said to himself, “So that’s how you want it.”

  Adrian picked up speed. If his mind would not be present voluntarily, he would force it into submission. He pushed his pace, the whoosh-squish of his footsteps accelerated. His breathing quickened and his lungs heaved. Having run for years, he figured his pace moved from about eight minutes a mile to about six and a half minutes a mile.

  The sidewalk tipped up as he headed toward the Fremont Bridge. Breathing became a bit more difficult as he fought to maintain his new pace on the incline. His legs started to feel a bit thicker as blood rushed to deliver oxygen. A small voice in the back of his head suggested this pace was too aggressive. Adrian smiled to himself. His mind was present now.

  He focused his brain on helping him run smoothly. Adrian knew smooth was fast and efficient and since he was only about twenty percent done with his route, he knew he needed efficient. Crossing the metal lattice of the Fremont Bridge, the path leveled and Adrian worked on recovering his heart rate back to a maintainable level. Forcing his body to take deep breaths he exhaled in a controlled manner. The bridge ended and the path headed slightly downhill along the Burke Gilman trail. Rather than continuing to try and recover, Adrian stretched his stride, making sure to keep his ankle landing behind his knee, trying to allow gravity to pull him down the hill as best he could.

  Thirty two minutes later, he wrapped up his run. Panting and sweating, Adrian walked back toward his apartment building, stopping twice to complete short stretching routines. As he entered the lobby, he looked over at the door leading to the stairs but allowed himself the indulgence of taking the stairs. He pushed the button and waited. Shortly the doors opened and Adrian got on. Just as the doors started to close, a voice shouted, “Hold the elevator please.” Adrian stuck his hand in the narrowing gap and the doors sprung back open. A young woman, who looked to be in her early twenties, scurried on, holding a small fluffy dog of some sort.

  Adrian had positioned himself in the middle of the elevator and when the young lady saw him she pressed herself to the far wall, holding her dog a bit tighter. Initially Adrian thought she was afraid or offended by him. Then he realized, as he noticed she was dressed nicely and her make-up was done, that she simply did not want to be near him because he was pretty disgusting. He smiled to himself and moved toward the other wall. Adrian was rewarded with a slight movement from the young lady, moving herself off the wall, so she was not touching it, but still hovering close.

  A few floors later Adrian got off and headed for his apartment. He may not look great, but he felt good and the intense run had done a great job of taking his mind off the case and what to do. He doubted they could simply show up and find enough evidence to convict anyone of anything meaningful at the tire and rim shop, if they could get a warrant at all. But they did know the route and had a meeting place, meaning they could track the traffic in and out of the shop to start a list of those involved.

  Adrian showered, made a quick egg on bagel sandwich and headed into the office. There, sitting on his desk even though Adrian had asked him several times not to, bright and cheery, was Steve. Steve’s ability to always look happy, no matter how hungover he should have been or what was happening in the case, was a source of wonder for Adrian. It was a blessing and a curse to working with Steve. When he needed a pick-me-up, Steve’s attitude was just what he needed. But when things were getting tough with a case, Steve’s relaxed, positive attitude made it seem as if he was not taking it seriously. Of course, maybe he did not take it seriously.

  “How are you this fine morning?” Steve asked.

  “I’m well,” Adrian said.

  “You still mad at me about last night?”

  “Nah, I’m over it. Now, let’s get down to business. I’m not getting this case taken away from us. We need to move quickly and show some progress. Since we’re not worried about the street teams, we should focus on the Audi, the Impala and the wheel shop.”

  Interrupting Steve said, “To that end, I’ve traced the Audi and Impala back to two names. One is a nice old lady, lives in Kent. Her name is Angela Lloyd. The second is a twenty three year old girl living in Shoreline.”

  “Wow,” said Adrian, seriously stunned, “When did you get that?”

  “Well I gotta do something while I sit on my barstool and drink, right?” Steve offered with a grin.

  “No but seriously, how?”

  “You know I have a few friends in the SPD, I had one of them run then plates. They got in early and sent over the names of the people the cars are registered to and a picture of their licenses. Fronts I’m guessing since I didn’t see a little old lady at the wheel of the Audi.”

  “Thank you for doing this, you saved me a step. I figured they’d be a front, but often the person who owns the car is related, grandma, aunt, cousin, something to the drivers. So we’ll start there. I also want to get someone to watch the wheel shop. Not sure who Sam will authorize but hopefully there will be someone available,” Adrian said looking toward Sam’s office.

  “Already on that too. We have two officers from SPD watching it. Technically they are off duty, but
I’m sure we can get them clocked in real quick if we need them.”

  “OK, now you’re freakin’ me out. How and what have you done with the real Steve?”

  “I’m trying to learn this FBI thing from you since I’m here,” Steve gave a real smile, one that seemed to indicate he was proud of himself. “I was talking with my friend Sarah at the SPD about the case, she’s the one who ran the plates, and she said she knew a couple of beat cops who wanted some notoriety, start the move to detective. So she gave them the job unofficially. The only down side is, they get the collars when the time comes.”

  “And since we don’t care about the street level, that is fine with us,” Adrian finished the thought.

  “Exactly, we paid the tab with arrests that had no value to us. Seems like a win-win.”

  “Steve, I am impressed,” Adrian said, “So I guess that means we can move to the next step, which is to track down the car owners and see if they know anything.” Adrian turned and headed back toward his car without even touching his desk. Steve dropped in behind him.

  “Dude, man, that sucks,” Mario said to Russ. They were sitting in Russ' house again, drinking again. “Screw them. They have no idea what it’s like, sitting behind their stupid desks all day while we're out there with our lives on the line. They don't know the half of it.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to sit behind their stupid desks, Mario,” Russ replied, with a defeated tone, “Getting shot at is easier. There, we knew the good guys, the bad guys and that if we worked harder and smarter we'd get ahead. Here, there are politics, games, unwritten rules and traps we aren't ready for and can't find out about.” Russ took a long pull from his bottle, finishing it. He set it on the coffee table which was already littered with about a dozen others he and Mario had already polished off.

  “Yeah. I hear ya'. I haven't even gotten to the interview stage yet,” Mario lamented. He too finished off his beer. Setting the empty on the table with the others, he headed to the fridge. The door of the mustard yellow, ‘70s era fridge opened to a bread wrapper with just the heels, a bottle of mustard, a bottle of ketchup and a jar of dill pickles. “Dude, we're out of beer,” Mario said as he returned to the living room.

  “Well, I guess we'd better go get some,” Russ said. Russ got up and headed for the door. Mario fell in behind him. Russ grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall and tossed them up over his shoulder without looking, “You drive, I have a call I want to make.”

  Smoothly, as part of a routine they had obviously done many times, Mario caught the keys without breaking stride. He thought quickly about the beers they had drank but then he gauged himself to be fine, no matter what his BAC may actually be. “Roger,” Mario replied instinctually.

  The two men clamored into Russ' truck. As Mario backed out of the driveway, Russ pulled out his cell phone and pulled up Bryon's number.

  “Hey, Russ, how's life?” Bryon's voice came through the cell.

  “Not bad, I was just wondering if you might want to come drink with us.” Russ did not mention the coke, but knew it was implied.

  “I'd love to, but if we want party favors, I'm going to need to make a stop,” Bryon replied.

  “No problem, want us to come get you?” Russ offered.

  “Sounds good.”

  “We'll see you in few,” Russ hung up and said to Mario, “A little detour; head up to Lacey. We're going to pick up Bryon, take him to meet a friend, then the real fun begins.” Russ nodded his head as he said this.

  “Roger that,” Mario said and aimed the nose of the truck toward Lacy. He was not sure how he felt about partying with Bryon again but knew he needed to support his buddy, to have his six as they would say in the army, and if Russ needed to blow off more steam after his interview, Mario was there for him.

  Ten minutes later, Mario pulled Russ' truck into the driveway of a townhouse obviously built in the seventies. It was angular, made of brink and siding, but what gave it away was the four decades of wear. The lawn matched the structure, with yellow and green clumps of grass erratically growing from the dirt. The windows were covered with enough dust and film to nearly appear frosted.

  Mario parked but before either man could exit the vehicle, the front door opened and Bryon came running out. He jogged over to the truck and opened the back door. As he slid in he said, “Hey guys, what's new?”

  “Not much,” Russ said and pivoted to slap hands with Bryon. Russ turned forward again.

  Bryon pulled the door closed and Mario said, “Where to?”

  “Head up toward Saint Martin's park,” Bryon said, “So what have you guys been getting into?”

  “Not much man,” Russ offered.

  “You sounded a little off when we spoke,” Bryon replied.

  “Nah, man, nothing. I'm cool.”

  “Come on, tell the man,” Mario prompted. Russ looked over at Mario then back t Bryon. Bryon remained silent. Russ sighed and turned to Bryon.

  “I went on a job interview. I thought I had everything they needed, as it turns out my military experience doesn't mean jack to them and the guy thought he was being nice by just bringing me in, even though he knew he wasn't going to give me the job before I came,” Russ exhaled in one long breath.

  Bryon sat still for a moment while Mario continued to steer the car north. Then reflectively said, “Man..., that sucks.”

  “I know,” Russ agreed.

  “No really, I mean it. Shoot, I know the feeling. I got my associates from South Puget Sound Community and headed out into the real world,” Bryon made air quotes when he said 'real,' “But I ended up in the old trap of not being able to get a job without experience and can't get experience without a job.

  “But I know why no one would give me a break. I'm a hood rat no matter my piece of paper. So now I do what I do. But you man, you went off and fought for our country. They totally ought to give you more than the benefit of the doubt. They ought to be kissing your ass.”

  “I'm not saying I didn't want to tell that guy to kiss my ass,” Russ smiled, “But at the end of the day I don't need that. I just want a shot to prove I can be a leader here as much as over there.”

  “Yeah,” chimed in Mario.

  “I hear ya',” Bryon espoused.

  Russ' grin grew and he said, “But tonight, I just want to have a little fun.”

  Five minutes later they rolled up to a small single family, split level home fronted in brick and white siding. Bryon said, “Let me lead” as he hopped out of the car. Russ and Mario fell in behind him. The backyard to the house was enclosed in a four foot high chain link fence. Suddenly, from nowhere, a large dog like a cross between a Rottweiler and German Shepherd, slammed into the fence, snarling and snapping. Bryon jumped, both Mario and Russ simply pivoted and adopted a defensive stance.

  Bryon took a breath once he realized the dog was contained. He looked at Mario and Russ and said, “You two are the real deal, aren’t you. Nothing fazes you two does it?” Mario and Russ looked at each other.

  Mario said, “Oh we can be phased, but it will take much more than a dog to do it.” Looking over at Russ he gave him a small nod and relaxed. Russ also resumed his easy going demeanor.

  Bryon laughed to himself and led the way up to the door. He knocked with a shave-and-a-haircut cadence. Rustling could be heard from inside. Russ maintain a practiced vigil, looking like he was casually waiting for the door while scanning the area for any possible threat. He noticed a quick parting of the blinds in one of the upper bedrooms. Two eyes glanced down on the entry, then the blinds snapped close again.

  Russ took a deep breath and set his body. To say he was tense was not accurate. Tense was tight and tight was slow. His body was fluid and relaxed, but ready to spring. Tense was nervous and nervous was stressed. Breath quickened, heart rate went up. But Russ’ breathing slowed, his heart rate dropped, getting for a smooth aim and trigger pull. Tense was scared and scared was sloppy. Russ’ mind started inventorying his surrounding, running the equations for
attack points, escape routes, flanking paths and where the environment dictated force and where it dictated speed.

  He glanced at Mario who picked up on his readiness. Russ could see Mario spinning his body up to the same level, not because he had seen anything, but because he knew Russ was and if Russ was there, he to needed to be too. They had spent too much time together, knowing they could always wind down, but not being ready, even for a moment could mean death. Instinctually they pivoted slightly to move back-to-back and each took to viewing half the full circle around them.

  The front door finally clicked and cracked open slightly. Russ’ head swung toward the opening while Mario’s eyes swept behind them without being told. The yard was clear. A moment later the front door swung wide and a large, tattooed man, who had once been fit but was letting the edges soften stepped into the gap. He was bald but had a light brown goatee. A smile shot across his face and said, “Bryon, how are you?”

  Bryon returned his grin and said, “I am great. How about you?”

  Ignoring the question, the goateed man stepped out of the door and grasped Bryon's hand. They stepped to each other, then each man patted the other on the back before stepping back and releasing the hand shake. Looking Russ and Mario up and down, he said, “And who are these two?” Russ saw the man's hand drift toward his waistband. Internally Russ smiled, knowing if the man attempted to draw, Russ would have time to decide if he wanted to kill or incapacitate the man, then execute his move before the man moved the long hanging tee shirt.

  “This is Russ, and this is Mario,” Bryon said, “They are the guys I'm partying with. They've been over in Afghanistan, just got back. Some douche bag rejected Russ here for a job today so we thought we'd go blow off some steam. Russ, Mario, this is Jeff Bloch.”

  “That's cool,” Jeff said as he gave Mario and Russ a brief hello by nodding his chin slightly upward, “You guys want to come in and split or do you have room for one more? I know the good places to party here.”