“I thought they came on to me because I’m irresistible to women.”
“Sorry to break your bubble, Chuck. It’s their job to flirt with the customers and book dates for sex after their shift is over.”
“I’m crushed and heartbroken.”
Al sipped his coffee. “I thought it strange that she didn’t pick up on my ‘haven’t we met’ line and try to make a date with me. But she didn’t. When I went back the next night, that’s when I recognized her.”
“When did she recognize you?”
“When she came to my table after her show. I said, ‘I remember where we met. It was at Carver High. Hello, Janice.’ She just stared at me. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said and walked away real fast. But I know she knew it was me. The next night after her show, she walked past my table without stopping. I followed her and told her I still loved her. She was frightened. ‘I don’t know you,’ she said. ‘Leave me alone, Al.’ You get that? She called me ‘Al.’ She knew who I was.”
“Why do you think she denied it?” I asked.
Al shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she felt bad asking me for money after we’d been so close. But I notice she didn’t proposition any other customers either.”
“Maybe she belongs to the boss,” I offered.
“Oh, God, I hope not,” said Al. “That’s when I borrowed that extra money from Monster. I needed to make a pile of money on the drug deal. With money, maybe Janice would come back to me.”
Tank said, “And we know how well that worked out.”
“I’ll get more coffee,” I offered. Tank nodded.
When I came back, I continued. “So you lost Janice sixteen years ago; that was strike one. I’ll come back to that in a little while. Let’s talk about your father. You lost your father at the happiest time in your life, right as you won the Sugar Bowl. You have the biggest smile in the world on your face when you and Tank come out of the locker room after the game. Then you see Tank’s father standing there with the worst news you could imagine.”
Tears welled in Al’s eyes. “No, you’re wrong there. It wasn’t the worst news I could imagine. I could never, ever imagine news that bad.”
Tank’s eyes were wet too.
Al smiled a rueful smile. Tears ran into the creases around his mouth. “Shoulda, woulda, coulda, that’s the story of my life, bro.”
“So your Dad passes away unexpectedly and unfairly. That’s strike two. Then Bettina Becker comes along…”
“She accused Bullet and Wally and me of rape.”
I noticed he didn’t mention Tank.
“And you got thrown off the team even though you were innocent.”
Al smiled a rueful smile. “That’s just it, Chuck. I wasn’t innocent.”
Chapter 51
Tank picked up his coffee and stared into the cup. He didn’t look at either one of us.
“That’s not what Wally Wellington told me. He said the whole gang-bang thing was Bettina’s idea.”
“Oh, it was her idea all right.”
Tank nodded his head unconsciously.
“If it was her idea, why do you say you’re not innocent?”
Al lifted his coffee and stared at his hand. It didn’t shake. He set the cup down. “When Bullet and Wally screwed their brains out with Bettina, she was already bombed. Today, we’d say she was incapable of consent.” He clasped his hands in his lap. “And I fucked her anyway.” More tears ran down his cheeks. “So I am definitely not innocent, even if a jury might say I’m not guilty.”
“And you’ve dragged that guilt around with you like an anchor for the last sixteen years.”
Al regarded me through tears. He shrugged, said nothing.
“Strike three,” Tank said softly.
Tank put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Al, I never knew…” He halted for a second then tried again. “I never figured… No, I never thought that way. I thought that whatever hits you, you shake it off. You man up and carry on. That’s what a man’s supposed to do.”
“Not all men, Tank. I’m not strong like you. I never was. You looked up to me because I was a year ahead of you, but you shouldn’t have. I was never as strong emotionally as you. I never had my shit together like you.”
I drank my coffee and waited for something to happen. When neither of the other men spoke, I said. “That’s not all Wally told me.” I watched Tank.
He picked up his coffee again and stared into the cup.
“He said there was a fourth football player in the room that night.” I waited. No one spoke. The denial hung like a thick fog in the air, so thick I could almost squeeze it between my fingers.
I drank my coffee and watched Tank without expression.
Finally, he spoke. “What am I supposed to say, Chuck?”
“I want the truth,” I answered.
“For crissakes, why? What does it matter now?”
I set my coffee cup down with a clatter. “‘What difference, at this point, does it make?’ You remember who said that, Tank? Who the hell do you think you are, Hillary Clinton? It matters because people were harmed. It matters because the truth always matters. It matters because you’re carrying around a terrible secret about Bettina Becker like Al is. That secret turned you both into victims.”
Tank glared at me. “Those were self-inflicted wounds.”
“A self-inflicted wound is still a wound,” I said. “Bettina wasn’t the only victim that night. You and Al and Wally and Bullet were victims too. Tank, you remember the cliché the truth hurts? Well, that’s not true. The truth only hurts if it should. I want the truth, and I won’t leave until I get it.”
Chapter 52
Tank leaned back. “The truth. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson: Maybe I can’t handle the truth. God knows I’ve been avoiding it for sixteen years.” Al has known the truth for sixteen years and he can’t handle it. It ruined his life. That secret is the deceitful glue that has held our dubious relationship together all these years.
Tank knew that Chuck could handle the truth. Hell, Chuck handled Taliban and Al Qaida fighters in battles to the death.
The question was could he, Tank, handle the truth he had pushed aside and refused to think about for sixteen years? He closed his eyes and thought back…
###
He could see Bettina Becker stripping off her wet clothes. Sixteen years ago, but it was like it was happening now. Omigod, she was beautiful. And stacked. And hot. And available. She called him her black hero and promised to thank him for saving her life. He didn’t do anything but admire her tits through a wet tee-shirt, and she kissed him like he was the last man on earth. Then she led the four of them into the bedroom and promised to have sex with them all.
Bettina said something to Wally and Bullet that Tank didn’t even hear. They started taking their clothes off. She laughed and clapped and danced up and down and her breasts bounced and jiggled like a child’s toy.
Tank had trouble standing while Wally, then Bullet, then Al took their turns on the bed with Bettina. He stared, entranced, enthralled, and enraptured by her body.
Al finished and rolled off the woman, dragging himself to his feet. He struggled to put on his wet clothes.
Bettina rose from the bed and teetered to keep her balance. She stumbled over and wrapped her arms around Tank’s neck. She was almost six feet tall. “You, handsome black giant, I saved the biggest for last.”
Tank stared at her, not moving. He wanted her so bad he would have died right then to have sex with her one time.
She kissed him warmly, and he tasted the beer from her tongue. He smelled the swimming pool chlorine in her damp hair. It made him queasy.
Bettina fell backwards onto the bed, laughing and chanting, “I want German beer. I want German beer,” over and over.
“Have fun, dude,” said Al. He closed the door behind him.
Bettina and Tank were alone in the bedroom.
Bettina giggled. “There he is, my beau… my beautiful black giant. My
big… my big black hero. Take off your clothes, and I will thank you properly.” She hiccupped once and passed out.
Tank stood near the door until she began to snore. She didn’t look sexy now. She looked pitiful. Suddenly, like turning off a light, he didn’t want to have sex with her. It would have been sex with a body, not with a woman. He shuddered at the thought.
He turned toward the door, then stopped. He couldn’t abandon her while she lay naked and unconscious on the bed. He considered trying to dress her, but her clothes were still wet. There was no way to put that tee-shirt on her. She was as limp as a rag doll. And the tight blue jeans? Forget it. But if he left her unconscious, another man could stumble into the room and do what he refused to do.
He checked around the room, grabbed the bedspread off the floor, and covered the girl. That would keep her warm while she slept it off. He put a pillow under her head. He took one last look around the room and tried to think what else he should do.
Tank locked the bedroom door from the inside, turned off the light, and went into the hall. He pulled the door closed behind him and checked to make sure it locked.
###
I hardly believed what I was hearing. “So after all that, you didn’t have sex with her?” I asked.
“When it came down to it and she passed out, I couldn’t do it.”
Al set down his coffee cup. “So you didn’t fuck her?”
“Nope.”
“Why the hell not?” he asked. “You knew she wanted us both. She told the whole goddamn world what she wanted, called us her black heroes, begged us for it.”
Tank shrugged. “She passed out, man. It didn’t feel right.”
“She wasn’t passed out when I fucked her,” Al said.
“Al, I’m not pointing fingers. If she hadn’t passed out when I was in the room, God knows what I might’ve done. Maybe it was dumb luck that I didn’t screw her. That rape kit she did the next morning would’ve found my DNA as well as yours and the other guys. I might have been kicked off the team too.”
“So that’s the guilty secret you held onto for sixteen years—that you didn’t take advantage of a girl who couldn’t consent?”
“No, no, Chuck. That’s not why I feel guilty.”
“Explain it to me, big guy, because I don’t get it.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t take advantage of her when she passed out,” Tank said. “That was the only honorable thing I did that whole goddamn night. Everything else I did was dishonorable.”
“Such as?” Al asked.
“I knew Bettina was snockered the minute she led four horny football players into a bedroom and said she wanted all of us.” Tank closed his eyes. “My crime is that I let you three have sex with a woman who was in no condition to consent. I stood by, literally, while you three raped her.”
Chapter 53
Ngombo checked the tracker app for Rice’s phone. “Monster, his phone is still off.”
“I don’t give a crap; call it. I’ll leave the loser a voicemail.”
Ngombo punched the number for Rice’s phone. “It went to voicemail.” He handed the phone to Moffett.
Moffett waited for the beep. “Listen to me, you lousy loser rat bastard. We have something precious to you, and it’s not your stupid cat. This is the collateral for your loan. I want my money by tomorrow at five o’clock. Your buddy Tank Tyler can’t hide you out west in the boondocks forever. Have my money by five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, or else I want your sorry, no-good ass in exchange. I’ll swap you for this, uh, other item. Your choice. Five o’clock tomorrow. I’ll call you at four-thirty with instructions, dumbass. You’d better answer, if you know what’s good for you—or her.” He disconnected.
###
“Did you get it, Gene?” I asked.
The FBI had put a tap on all the phones involved: Al Rice’s, his mother’s, mine, even Tank’s in case they called him. The warrant covered Moffett and his known associates like Scarface, but that was worthless when they used burner phones. I’d given Lopez Scarface’s number from Yvet’s contact list, but Scarface was too smart to use that phone for anything criminal.
Lopez answered, “He called from Doraleen Rice’s phone, then he turned it off and removed the battery so we can’t trace it. Voiceprint analysis will prove Moffett made the call.” He studied the screen. “He called from a moving vehicle on I-95. There’s no way for us to tell where they’re holding Mrs. Rice.”
“Maybe there’s another way,” I suggested. “He’s trying to lure Al to him. Maybe we can lure him to come to Al.”
Lopez raised a hand. “Al Rice is a civilian, and he’s a victim too. The FBI doesn’t put civilians at risk.”
I didn’t argue. Instead I stood to leave. “Okay, Gene. I’m sure you know best.”
“Okay, smart guy, I know you don’t give up on anything that easy. I’m warning you: Don’t put Al Rice at risk. We use Al Rice’s phone to return Moffett’s call. When he answers, we trace the location.”
“Won’t work. You said he turned Doraleen’s phone off and removed the battery. He won’t know if Al’s phone returned the call. Moffett won’t use Doraleen’s phone to call Rice tomorrow. I wouldn’t use it if I were him, since we’re primed to trace it the instant he turns it on. He’ll call with another burner phone from another moving vehicle.”
Lopez frowned. He’d lost the argument. “When Moffett calls to gives Rice his instructions, we can catch him that way.”
“Sure you will.” I left.
###
I called Tank from my car and brought him up to date. “I considered your offer to be my backup. You still want to put your life on the line?”
“I thought about it a lot, Chuck. I could have prevented this whole thing with Al if I had stopped them from gang-banging that girl. If Al hadn’t been kicked off the team, he might have recovered from those other two losses. If I’d come forward and done the right thing then, his life would be different. So would Wally’s and Bullet’s. So, yeah, I’ll step up even though I’m sixteen years late.”
“Don’t cry over spilt milk, Tank. But you’re right about one thing: It’s never too late to do the right thing. Meet me in the Sunny Place parking lot tomorrow at nine a.m.”
“Okay. I cleared my calendar for this.”
“Bring two Glocks and four or five extra magazines for each. You’ll need a shoulder holster for one and a belt clip holster for the other. You own a Browning .380 don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Bring it. We’ll strap it into an ankle holster.”
“I don’t own an ankle holster.”
“I’ll bring an extra one.”
“Okay, Chuck.”
“And, Tank,” I added. “Don’t tell Al we’re coming.”
Chapter 54
I parked near the entrance to Sunny Place and called Tank. “I’m parked in the second spot to the right as you pass the entrance. Park beside me. We’ll take my van.”
“Where we going?” asked Tank.
“You’ll see.”
Three minutes later, Tank slid his Mercedes into the space two slots over from mine and got in my passenger seat. “I feel twenty pounds heavier carrying this arsenal. If we need this much firepower, we’re gonna be in a shitload of trouble.”
“Unh-uh. Carrying this much firepower may keep us out of trouble in the first place. Remember Rule Nine: You can never carry too much firepower.”
“Rule Nine? What’s that?” Tank fastened his seatbelt.
“I made a couple dozen rules on how to be the world’s best Private Eye. Rule Nine is You can never carry too much firepower. By the way, you already broke Rule Three: Never get personally involved in a case.” I saw the look on Tank’s face. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. I break that rule a lot.”
“Are these rules written down anywhere?”
“Nope. Stick around long enough, and you’ll learn them.” I put the van in gear and drove out to the boulevard.
“Where
we going?”
“To my private shooting range.”
###
The last time I’d driven this far out Atlantic County Road 888a, I had led a hit squad into an ambush at the abandoned phosphate mine in the Everglades. Four mobsters against Snoop and me. We won; they lost. That gunfight was at sunset. This time it was morning when we arrived at the end of the sandy road.
The old mine didn’t look like the O.K. Corral. The abandoned machinery looked like the aftermath of a battle of alien war machines from a Star Wars movie. Vines climbed from the sandy ground to claim their green empire on the rusty steel, overwhelming the creepy behemoths. I could still see the tracks churned up by Snoop’s rented Jeep where it had shredded the wild grasses and vines that Mother Nature used to reclaim her domain.
I parked between the three sand hills. My van’s dust trail followed us, drifting on the ocean breeze, and enveloping the van. “Don’t open the door. Wait for our dust cloud to dissipate.” It did and we popped our doors. The silence was broken by a distant bird call I didn’t recognize. I knew it wasn’t a Sandhill Crane, since that was the one bird call I did recognize. No outdoorsperson, I.
“See that?” I pointed. “The perfect berm to catch our bullets. Our own shooting range, miles from any habitation.”
“Where are the targets?” Tank asked.
“Don’t need ’em. Pick a tuft of grass. Fire off ten or twelve rounds to get a feel for shooting in the real world.”
“I didn’t bring my earmuffs.”
“You ever fired a gun without ear protection?”
“Nope. Every shooting range I’ve used requires earmuffs or earplugs or they don’t let you shoot.”
“That’s what I thought. If we get into a gunfight, we won’t have time to put on earmuffs, even if we carried any. Gunfire is noisier than you think. When you don’t expect them, loud noises can disorient the hell out of you. That’s why assault teams use flashbang grenades. Your life—and more importantly, my life—might depend on you not getting surprised by gunfire.”
Day of the Tiger (A Carlos McCrary Mystery Thriller Book 5) Page 18