Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1

by Larry A Winters

  “If my face looked anything like yours, I’d never come out of my house.” Reggie figured one comeback wouldn’t hurt.

  Garrett looked at his watch. “Small talk’s over. Now that we’re all back together again, it’s time to get moving.”

  Jessie eyed the jury deliberation room doorway, hoping to see the hallway beyond flood with cops at any moment. She had not expected Reggie to turn himself over to Garrett. She had assumed he was smart enough to see through Garrett’s promise to let her go, and to understand that his keeping his distance was the best leverage they had right now. But maybe his hero play would pay off. They had managed to stall Garrett for at least ten minutes. The cavalry had to be coming soon.

  “Let’s move,” Garrett said. He gestured toward the hallway with his gun. “Fun as it’s been, it’s time to leave the CJC.”

  “This place is surrounded by cops!” Reggie said. “You just gonna zap us out of here? You’re a deputy sheriff, a kidnapper, and a magician? Man, you’re like a jack of all trades.”

  “I’m not a magician, but the term is apt, even if you are being sarcastic. Magic is about making your audience focus on the wrong thing. And that’s how we’re getting out of here.”

  Jessie walked toward the open doorway, half of her attention on the banter between the men, the other half looking for a way to turn the tables on Garrett. She was curious about his plan, but she’d gladly live a long life never knowing how he intended to get them out of here if it meant escaping from him now. She passed him and stepped into the corridor, disappointed to see that it was still deserted. Reggie came next, saying, “You gonna release some doves? Or are you more of a rabbit-out-of-the-hat magician? I hope there aren’t any tigers.”

  “I’m sure a lot of your marks were disarmed by your wit,” Garrett said. “But they were stupid, gullible. I’m not.” He closed the door behind them, and to Jessie’s ear, there was something ominous in the sound of the clicking latch. Wherever they were going, there was no turning back now.

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re much of anything,” Reggie said, “other than a douche bag.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “I’m a convict. I don’t have a—”

  “Her phone,” Garrett said. Jessie winced at the edge in his tone. Reggie must have picked up on it, too, because he handed Jessie’s phone to him without another word. As they passed a trashcan, Garrett dropped Jessie’s phone and his own phone into the bin. “In case anyone’s keeping tabs on us via GPS, I don’t want them to think we’re anywhere but right here.”

  “We’re not anywhere but right here,” Reggie said.

  They reached the fire stairs. Jessie took a step down, but Garrett grabbed her arm and shook his head. With his gun, he pointed up. “That way.”

  “That’s not the way out,” she said. “And besides, we’ll just run into the barricade your men jammed into the stairwell.” Even as she said the words, her mind caught up and she suddenly understood.

  Garrett must have read the look on her face. He nodded, pleased, his smug smile on full display. “Figured it out, huh? I had a feeling you were almost as smart as me.”

  33

  Jessie hurried up the stairwell, propelled not just by the gun in Kurt Garrett’s hand, but by curiosity as well. The JusticeGuard came into view as she reached the landing between the sixth and seventh floors, its plastic surface gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She stopped short, staring at it. Huge and shaped more like a refrigerator than a lectern, its smooth, grayish-blue surface seemed to radiate menace rather than safety. She’d gotten a good look at the thing this morning, but that had been from the other side, and she had been looking for a way around it. Now that she thought she understood Garrett’s plan, she scrutinized the oversized podium with fresh eyes, looking for a way into it instead. It only took a few seconds before she found the seam, so thin it was almost imperceptible, tracing the shape of a hatch. “A Trojan horse,” she said, running her finger along the crease.

  Garrett grinned at her. “Exactly.”

  She pulled her finger away from the cold plastic. “If you think we’re all going to fit inside this thing, I’d say your Greek history is a lot better than your spatial reasoning.”

  “It’ll be tight,” Garrett said. “When I had it made, I was only planning for me and Tuck. But don’t worry. We can squeeze you between us, nice and tight.” He reached past her and moved his hand along the underside of the JusticeGuard. His fingers triggered a hidden latch or button, and the compartment’s door popped open. She peered into the hollow, dark space it revealed.

  “Oh, hell no,” Reggie said. “You think I’m crawling in there? I’m claustrophobic, man!”

  “Are you also bullet phobic?” Garrett said. He raised his gun. “Because if you don’t get your ass in there, I’m going to put another hole in you. Maybe in your arm this time.”

  Reggie’s gaze found Jessie’s. He gritted his teeth, then squatted in front of the opening and pushed his head into the hole. His voice echoed back at them. “First I’m hanging off the side of a building, now I’m squeezing into a tiny box. You been talking to my shrink or something? What’s next? Fucking spiders?”

  “Next is you shut the fuck up.” Garrett kicked the seat of Reggie’s pants, forcing him the rest of the way into the compartment. “Now listen. This thing is designed to dampen sound, but I’m not taking any chances. Either of you says a word, Jessie dies.” He looked at her, and the expression on his face—devoid of empathy—left her with no doubt that he would carry out his threat. “What are you waiting for? Get the fuck in there.”

  She had to kneel on the cold stairs to see further into the hole. She had never thought of herself as claustrophobic, but looking into the tiny space, already half-filled by Reggie’s curled-up body, she felt a wave of dread.

  “Why the hesitation? I already looked up your skirt when you were hanging from a ledge, remember? Move.”

  She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but that wouldn’t do her much good at this point—not with a gun to her back. She climbed into the hole. The walls pressed against her shoulders. The bulletproof material had the same smooth, plasticky texture on the inside as it did on the outside, which made it easier to wriggle her way through the narrow opening and into the slightly wider interior. She pressed her back against Reggie’s front, feeling his rapid heartbeat against her back and the warm dampness of his blood-soaked thigh against her legs. She twisted her head until she could just see his face at the edge of her vision. A quip about spooning died on her lips when she saw the terror in his eyes. “Do you really have a plan?” she whispered.

  “Fuck no.”

  A second later, Kurt Garrett wormed his way in beside them, clawing his body forward with one hand while leading with the gun.

  “Hope you’re not going to tell me you’re afraid of the dark, too,” he said. Then he pulled the hatch closed behind him, sealing them in blackness.

  Leary rushed from Vital Fitness to the Criminal Justice Center, and arrived just in time. Late afternoon sunlight slanted sharply into his eyes as he exited his car and headed for Chancey’s van. He had tried to reach the lieutenant to report his call with Kurt Garrett, but had been unable to get through. Now he saw why. The long day was coming to an end, and apparently so was the patience of the Philadelphia Police Department. SWAT teams advanced on the building’s main entrance. Chancey was going to breach.

  He found Chancey in his van, planted in front of a set of video monitors with a headset clamped to his face, surrounded by so many anxious-looking advisors that Leary could barely fit inside the vehicle with them. Chancey was smoking, but even in the close confines of the van, no one seemed to be objecting. When Chancey saw him, the man’s displeasure was evident on his face. “Not now, Leary.”

  “Listen to me. You can’t send SWAT teams in there. I talked to Garrett. He’s got Jessie and Tuck. They’re hostages.”

  “What difference does that make?” one of Chancey�
�s advisors said. “The whole building is full of hostages.” The man had a gruff voice to match his weathered face and spiky gray crew cut. Leary didn’t know the guy, but recognized a SWAT man when he saw one.

  Leary ignored the man, keeping his focus on Chancey, whom he knew had at least a modicum of reasonableness, even if it was buried deep inside his cop-bureaucrat’s soul. “Lieutenant, please—”

  “What do you propose we do?” Chancey snapped. “Let the man and his goons take up permanent residence in there? You really think that will keep your girlfriend safe?”

  Leary had spent the whole ride over here thinking about that very question. “We should wait. At least a few hours longer. There are a lot of facts here that you don’t know. For one thing, this does involve Carlo Vitale—or at least his money, which Tuck stole. Garrett’s doing this because he needs Tuck. But to have any chance at accomplishing that, he’ll need to get himself and Tuck out of the building. Eventually, he’ll try to trade his other hostages to us. That will give us an opportunity—a chance to take him into custody, minimize collateral damage, and get everyone out of the building safely, including Jessie and Tuck.”

  Chancey stabbed his cigarette out in an upturned bottlecap, then chucked the cigarette and the makeshift ashtray into a trash bag. “Look, you’re a homicide detective, Leary—and not a particularly decorated one. Frankly, the more I watch you work, the more inclined I am to believe the reports that you’re a loose cannon. My best crisis experts and SWAT team leaders are telling me that now is the time. You’ll forgive me if I listen to them, rather than you.”

  “I won’t forgive you if anything happens to her,” he said under his breath.

  “What was that, Detective?” Chancey’s stare was so angry, he felt an almost physical force pushing him from the van.

  “Nothing, Lieutenant.”

  “Good. Now get out of here. You’re in the way.”

  Leary backed out of the van, setting his feet on the pavement. He turned away from Chancey and his advisors and looked at the squads of armored men getting into position at the entrance points of the building. There was no stopping them now. All he could do was watch.

  A tow-truck roared past him and cut sharply around at the building’s main entrance, turning itself so that its back faced the building. There was something attached to the hook and chain hanging from its boom. Leary jogged closer to get a better look, moving among the SWAT members. What looked like a giant metal vise hung from the tow-truck’s hook.

  “What’s that for?” Leary said to one of the SWAT guys.

  “After we nail Garrett, we need to get upstairs to clean up the rest of his assholes, but they have the stairwell between the sixth and seventh floors jammed up with some kind of bulletproof podium. Tow truck’s going to rip it out so we can get through.”

  “Not very high tech.”

  The SWAT guy shrugged. “The bulletproof material is tough. Can’t blow it up, can’t cut it down. But our tech guys think we can yank it out.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” Leary said.

  “We’ll be inside before the bad guys know what hit them.”

  Somehow, after his call with Garrett, Leary found that hard to believe.

  Jessie had been crammed inside the JusticeGuard for no more than five minutes, but already her knees throbbed with pain. She couldn’t stretch her legs to their full length, and the restriction was agony. She could only imagine how Reggie felt, with a bullet wound in his thigh. Judging by the uneven breathing in her right ear, he wasn’t doing well.

  The weight of Reggie’s body against her back felt like a wall closing in on her, but Garrett was worse. He had crushed his body against hers, face-to-face, and although she couldn’t see him in the pitch blackness, she could practically taste his sour breath each time he exhaled. The barrel of his gun dug into the underside of her chin. The skin there was already chafed, probably bleeding. She thought she could smell blood—hers or Reggie’s—along with the stink of three bodies closely packed in an airless cavity.

  I’m going to need some serious therapy after this—assuming I live through it.

  She still wasn’t entirely clear about the specifics of Garrett’s plan, and she wasn’t going to break his rule by speaking. Apparently he believed the police would remove the bulletproof judge’s bench from the stairwell and transport it somewhere else, where he could escape with her and Reggie. The plan seemed ludicrous, but at this point, she was willing to accept that anything was possible.

  Her hands, wedged between her chest and Garrett’s arms, itched to make a grab for his weapon. But she knew it was too dangerous. Even assuming the man would hesitate to shoot her in this confined place—a big assumption—the gun could easily go off by accident if she tried to take it from him. It was a risk she couldn’t take.

  The compartment rocked, a sudden motion that jarred her roughly between Reggie’s and Garrett’s bodies. She could hear a mechanical whining through the sound-dampening material—the whir of a motor? Then the bulletproof judge’s bench lurched as something powerful hauled it from where it was lodged.

  Jessie’s stomach swam with nausea, but she squeezed her eyes closed and braced herself. Their compartment slammed downward. The stairs, she realized. One step, then another, hammering her back and shoulders before suddenly halting as it got stuck again in the stairwell. One of her teeth punctured her tongue and blood poured over her lip. Tears filled her eyes.

  The whining, whirring sound increased in volume and the compartment vibrated. Then they were airborne again as the judge’s bench heaved back into motion. It struck the ground with a bone-jarring slam and leveled out. Jessie had time for one breath before she felt them rushing forward. The process repeated itself. They were going to do this for six flights of stairs, she realized. She wasn’t sure her body could handle it.

  “The best kind of plan,” Garrett said as they jarred down another step, “is the kind where your enemy does all of the work for you.”

  “What makes you think they’ll take us away from the scene?” Flecks of blood launched from her tongue into Garrett’s face, but as far as she could tell, he didn’t even flinch.

  “You should know the answer to that.” His voice was maddeningly calm. “It’s a legal issue. This JusticeGuard is evidence, and the police always need to preserve the chain of evidence, to make sure some defense attorney doesn’t get it excluded. My guess, they’ll take us straight to a police loading dock.”

  He was probably right, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of conceding the fact. Instead, she sneered. “And what do you think is going to happen there?”

  She could sense his smile in the darkness. “Ever seen a Jack-in-the-box?”

  34

  Leary paced outside. The day was darkening toward dusk, the sun beginning to set behind the Philly skyline. After pissing off Chancey, Leary wasn’t exactly in the loop any longer, but it was hard to miss the reports as they came in from the SWAT teams. Almost immediately, everything started to go sideways. First, the methodical search and clearing of the first through sixth floors failed to locate Jessie Black, Reginald Tuck, or Kurt Garrett. Cheering over the successful removal of the barricades from the stairwells was also short-lived, when the subsequent breach of the seventh floor resulted in a three-way gunfight between the police, the remnants of Garrett’s crew, and a group of escaped convicts. A police victory came at the cost of casualties, both civilian and police.

  Leary felt like a dog straining at a leash, even though he knew it would be pointless for him to go inside. There was nothing he could do to help. If they hadn’t found Jessie, then she wasn’t there.

  And that could only mean one thing—that Garrett had somehow gotten out of the building with her and Tuck.

  The idea was crazy, of course. The CJC was surrounded by cops, with eyes and cameras on every conceivable entrance and exit. But Leary couldn’t get the deputy’s smug voice out of his head. His total lack of concern, the absence of even a trac
e of panic, pointed to a man with an escape plan.

  But how could he get past the SWAT teams? Especially with two resistant hostages? It didn’t seem possible. No one had come out of that building since the police had locked it down this morning following the discovery of Reed Estrada on the sixth floor.

  Something teased the edges of Leary’s mind, floating just beyond his conscious thought. He knew the sensation—years as a detective had taught him not to confront it head-on. You couldn’t brute-force a thought out of your subconscious. You had to give it time, even if time was in painfully short supply.

  So he let it go, and turned his attention back to Estrada. The man’s death seemed pointless. He could have escaped easily simply by leaving the courthouse after allowing the five armed men to pass through the metal detector. What the hell had he been doing on the sixth floor hours into the incident?

  The sixth floor. The same floor on which Garrett, with Jessie and Tuck, had somehow disappeared.

  Maybe Estrada’s plan had been to escape the same way? Or, if the deputy had suffered a last-minute bout of conscience, maybe he’d gone up there to try to sabotage Garrett’s escape plan, to try to undo the damage he’d caused?

  What the hell was special about the sixth floor?

  All of a sudden, the submerged thought that had bumped at the edges of his consciousness crashed through, and Leary knew exactly how Garrett had smuggled Jessie and Tuck out of the building.

  He ran for Chancey’s van.

  “Again?” Chancey said, looking up from his screens with a beleaguered look as Leary clambered into the open door of his van. The cloud of cigarette smoke almost gagged him, but he pressed through, coughing into his elbow.

  “I know where they are.”

  “You’re just not going to give me a break, are you?” Chancey sighed, then climbed out of his chair and jumped down from the van to the street, pulling Leary along with him. “Come on. I need some air.”