by J W Becton
“Police!” I shouted, forcing my way into the fray to find Vincent and Carla. “Let me see your hands! Everybody on the ground! Hands!”
People began to raise their hands in the air or hit the deck or both, and any who refused to comply regretted it pretty quick because I wasn’t exactly conservative in my use of the pepper spray.
Soon, the sound of the crowd changed from rage and anger to coughing and sputtering, and I had to resist the urge to wipe the pepper spray blowback from my own face. I just kept moving, kept pushing forward.
Eventually, I was able to make out Vincent’s hulking form in the crowd.
“Police!” I shouted again to the people in my path. “Calm down. On your bellies.”
Finally, I forced my way back to his side and found him squatted in a defensive posture, obviously struggling to breathe. Carla was on her belly at his feet, cuffed and unhappy.
I stood over Vincent with my baton in a ready position as the police cruisers screamed into the lot.
“Nobody move!” I shouted for all the good it did.
The sirens sent people scattering and skittering away like cockroaches when a light goes on. Fortunately, they were running straight into the traps of the waiting police.
Once the crowd began to clear from around us, I leaned over Vincent.
“You okay?” I asked as I helped him to his feet and then jerked Carla up behind him.
“Damn mob mentality,” he said, coughing. “You could go easier on the pepper spray next time.”
I assessed Vincent. He was panting, and the scratches on his face were still bleeding, but he was standing and walking. I let out a breath. He would be okay.
And I was just about to feel mighty proud of myself for wading into that mass of people with a can of pepper spray and a baton, when I saw Justin, standing on the edges of the chaos and looking at his father as if he’d been punched in the gut.
“Pops?” he asked loudly. “What the hell?”
Vincent stopped cold, his face hard, but I knew enough of him now to read the hurt in his expression.
I wasn’t going to stand idly by and watch this relationship die right there on the drag strip. And I wasn’t going to let Justin get himself into more trouble while the scene was still so chaotic. I hurried to Justin.
“Don’t say anything,” I ordered him.
“But…,” he began.
“Don’t speak.”
I grabbed him by the arm and turned him roughly toward the sidewalk, where a uniformed MPD officer had begun to organize the crowd. A line of people were sitting in riot cuffs, looking mightily displeased. “Go sit over there and do not say a word until we come back and get you.”
I looked at Justin, hoping my face conveyed the seriousness of my message. “Not a word until we get back. Got it?”
Obedient but confused, he went to join the others who would spend the night in holding cells, and I informed the overseeing officer that Justin was to be left alone until Vincent or I came to collect him. Then I returned to Vincent. It was time to find Sasha.
Thirty-two
They would find the girl now, Lacarova thought as he watched the chaos from a nearby hillside where he had stowed his dirt bike earlier that day.
When word spread that cops were already on the scene, Lacarova had run like hell, his only thought to evade arrest. They arrived before he’d even called. It wasn’t the way he planned, but still, it was perfect.
They had the boss in cuffs. The girl would be discovered in her car, and he wouldn’t have to be the one to tip them off. They’d believe the boss had been the abductor. The girl was so young and confused—not to mention drugged—that she’d never be able to identify the person who’d taken her.
Lacarova was in the clear.
He could disappear and be done with the fraud ring and the boss forever.
A smile spread slowly across his face.
This was glorious. He had done it!
Couldn’t hurt to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labors.
He watched as a large plainclothes cop loomed over the boss, and he couldn’t help but hope he might witness some police brutality. The guy sure looked angry enough.
Uniformed cops were crawling all over the place like deranged ants, and they had the more malleable suspects lined up on curbs and the rebellious ones restrained in various positions.
Another plainclothes cop, a woman, joined the big guy who was interrogating the boss. As for the boss herself, she was repeatedly shaking her head and shrugging.
Yeah, the boss didn’t know anything about the girl.
He laughed aloud as the female cop waved a crowbar in the direction of the boss’s car.
Yes, Lacarova thought. Use the crowbar.
She neared the car and popped the trunk quickly.
And it was as if the whole scene was paused while everyone stared into the trunk.
Lacarova giggled again as the big guy heaved the boss onto the ground and dropped a knee into her shoulder for good measure. Meanwhile, the woman picked up the tiny girl in her arms and rushed her toward a waiting ambulance.
God, this was entertainment.
The boss was getting her due, the kid apparently managed to remain alive, and he was finally free.
The boss was totally out of his life, and her hold over him and dozens of other people was gone now that she was destined for jail.
Sure, he wouldn’t make nearly the money he had made while working for her….
Or could he?
Now that she was headed to the slammer, there would be a power void. The cops couldn’t possibly know about all aspects of the boss’s business, and she wouldn’t tell them, that’s for sure. She would try to hide as many details about her crimes as possible. And they didn’t know about him.
That’s when the idea struck him.
He could have the best of all worlds. Once the investigation ended, he could step in and keep what was left of the business running. Only now, he would be in control.
His body began to quiver at the idea of taking all that power for himself, for building his own ring out of the shreds he’d made of hers.
He would take her place.
Energy surged through him as he eyed his fallen boss. The big cop had hoisted her from the ground and was now shoving her into a waiting police car with a considerable lack of restraint, while his partner looked on.
There was something familiar about the woman, he realized now. He squinted down at her from his position on the hillside. Yes, he knew her from the shop.
She had come in for an estimate, had been sent to him by Eddie Wohl.
She was one of their marks.
And she was some kind of damn cop.
That bitch could ruin everything for him. She would connect him to Allred Racing, just like any other cop could, but she alone could also connect him to the fraud ring. After all, he had given her the estimate on her car. She would suspect that he was part of the fraud, and he’d at least be brought in for questioning if not arrested if he stayed. He could not bear closer scrutiny, especially not with Tammy Wynn tied up in the garage closet and the boss around to try to connect him to the crimes.
But still, if he worked things just right, he could do it. He could take over the power gap without the boss knowing he’d done it.
Or he could take the easy road and run now.
It all came down to the choice.
He stood overlooking the scene and made his decision. For once, he chose the difficult path.
Thirty-three
The MPD cruiser pulled away from the curb with Carla Sumler cuffed in the backseat. Once it was out of sight, I turned back toward the ambulance where the paramedics were checking over little Sasha Keller before taking her to meet her parents at the hospital, where she would also undergo a more thorough examination.
I shuddered as I recalled the slight feel of the little girl as I lifted her from the trunk of the car. I tried to forget the smell of urine and sweat that had
assailed my nostrils, even through the stench of the pepper spray, and wished I could wipe away the memories of the blank stare the poor child had given me when I told her it would be okay.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I looked for Vincent and found that he hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d stood to shove Carla into the cruiser, but his eyes were on his son.
Justin sat sullenly on a nearby curb, his legs sprawled wide as he tried to get comfortable despite the fact that his hands were bound in zip ties and he was currently in a serious predicament.
Tripp and Starnes hovered over the line of detained suspects, and I drew Tripp aside.
When we got out of earshot of the rest of the street racers, Tripp said, “Jesus, Jules, you reek.”
“Pepper spray,” I said.
And Sasha’s urine, I thought. I sniffed myself and knew Tripp was right.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the car.”
“You should definitely make use of them. And a garden hose wouldn’t hurt either.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, realizing that my eyes were still watering from the spray, and I restrained myself from wiping at my face and making them worse.
“I’d give anything for one of those pepper spray countering wipes right now,” I said.
Tripp waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, yeah? Anything?”
I laughed off his persistent flirtation.
“Almost anything,” I countered.
“I’m on it,” he said and then promptly disappeared to check with the other MPD officers.
I decided to take the opportunity to chat with Justin.
“Hey, Justin,” I said. “Apologies in advance for the way I smell. It’s been kind of a hard night.”
Justin sniffed, winced, and nodded.
“Tell me about it,” he said. Then he added more quietly, “Are you going to call my mother?”
I almost laughed at the tentative question.
“You’re legally an adult, Justin. You decide who to call to throw your bail. Not me.”
“Good, because she’d kill me. She’d kill me and then she’d cut me off for good.” He looked relieved for a moment, and then his face clouded again. “My dad’s pissed, isn’t he?”
And there it was. The first of many possible questions about Vincent that I had no business answering. I had no desire to be the middlewoman between father and son.
I sighed, searching my mind for the right explanation.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” I managed. “Look, if I were in your position, I’d call him over here and talk to him right now. See if you can’t convince him to keep your sorry butt out of jail.”
Justin finally looked in Vincent’s direction and appeared to be considering my advice. Then he looked back at me, donning a doe-eyed expression.
“There’s no way I could talk you out of the whole jail thing? You’re a LEO. You can cut me loose.”
I actually laughed at his feeble attempt at manipulation.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tripp said from over Justin’s shoulder, causing the young man to spin around and stare up at him.
“Tripp, this is Justin Montgomery, Vincent’s son,” I said. “This is Detective Tripp Carver of the Violent Crimes Unit.”
Tripp eyed me curiously before he looked at Justin, and the two exchanged masculine chin thrusts.
Then Justin squeaked, “Violent Crimes Unit? I didn’t do anything violent.”
“Good to know,” Tripp said as he handed me a plastic container of wipes. “But you’re associating with some violent people out there. And you being Vincent’s kid, well, I’m surprised.”
Justin scowled.
“I can handle myself,” he said, straightening.
I almost laughed again. The kid who was worried about me calling his mommy thought he could handle himself with a bunch of thugs. Ah, the conflicted confidence of a testosterone-laden mind not quite mature enough for adulthood.
I pulled out a wipe and mopped my face, grateful that the sting began to fade almost immediately. I swabbed my hands and all other exposed skin, but I knew I wouldn’t feel 100 percent until I changed.
“Look, boys,” I said, standing and simultaneously handing Tripp my garbage. “I’ve got to change. I can’t stand my own terrible odor.”
I headed back toward the 442 only to have Vincent intercept me en route.
“God, you smell awful,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Gee, thanks, hadn’t realized. If you really pitied me, you’d walk with me to the car so I could change and not slow me up. Besides, you have the keys.”
He nodded, fell into step beside me, and dug the keys from his pocket to hand them to me.
Once again, I was in a situation that etiquette classes, not even the time-honored Southern tradition of cotillion, could prepare me for. I was supposed to chat with Vincent when his son was sitting not 100 yards away in riot cuffs.
I decided to go with the blunt approach. After all, I was covered in pepper spray. I blamed that for the fact that I was in no mood to be sweet and subtle.
“Shouldn’t you be dealing with Justin right now?” I asked.
Vincent’s lips stretched sideways as he sighed audibly.
“He can make a first-offender plea,” I said. “He’ll get probation, a fine, and community service, and he’ll have to complete an alcohol awareness class. I mean, I think I smelled alcohol on him. Tough to tell given my own delicious aroma. But for all intents and purposes, he won’t have this on his record.”
“I don’t care about his record,” Vincent said, his voice low, soft, and sad.
I paused, unsure of what to say next.
“I’m sorry about Justin,” I finally offered.
His face remained impassive.
“Me, too,” he said, and I thought he was finished, but he surprised me by adding softly, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He was supposed to come to me, but not like this. He was supposed to have a choice. He didn’t have a choice. Not in this.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said as we arrived at the 442.
I unlocked the door, grabbed the flathead screwdriver from the glove compartment, and used it to pop the trunk where I stowed my clothes. Then I hefted my bag into the passenger seat.
“Would you turn around and guard me so I can change?”
“What?” Vincent asked, distracted. “Oh, yeah.”
Obediently, he turned as I climbed inside and rolled the window down a crack so we could talk.
“Now explain,” I said as I contorted myself to remove my stinking jeans.
“Justin doesn’t want me,” Vincent lamented. “He just knows that when his mother finds out about his drinking and racing and God knows what else, she’ll cut him off. If she cuts him off, his free ride is over. He doesn’t want me. He just wants this to go away as easily as possible.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that he thought his mother would react that way,” I acknowledged as I yanked my soiled shirt over my head and tossed it into the back seat. “But as far as not wanting you or this not going down how you wanted it to, I’m not so sure.”
He cocked his head to the side and then shook it. “Now I don’t follow.”
“Maybe it will turn out better this way,” I said, shivering as the cold air sunk into my exposed skin.
“Justin was supposed to choose to have a relationship with me. Now he doesn’t have an option. I don’t see how there’s an upside.”
“But that’s not true,” I said. “He’s an adult. He could choose neither you nor his mother. But that kid over there wants you.”
God, I hoped I was reading Justin right.
Forgetting himself, Vincent turned and looked into my eyes. His expression seemed both hopeful and fearful at once. He barely seemed to notice that I was still in the process of buttoning my jeans.
“Okay,” Vincent said, scrubbing a hand along the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. He tur
ned as if to go to Justin, paused, and turned back to me.
“I have no idea what to say to him.”
I shrugged. Hell if I knew either.
What I didn’t say was that I didn’t think it mattered what he said to Justin, just like it didn’t matter what I said to Tricia when I eventually told her the truth about my search for her rapist. She would choose her own response, just as Justin had to choose his.
I’ve decided that’s one of the hardest things to learn: that we can’t control our families and force them to make the right choices, help them avoid every bad situation. They have free will, free choice, and that means they are free to choose badly. Tricia and Justin had chosen badly. But that didn’t mean they always would.
And it didn’t mean their choices were our fault.
By the time I finished changing and transferring all my gear to my new outfit, Vincent and Justin were sitting together on the curb, both stone-faced. I didn’t interrupt, but I did look my fill, noticing once again the strong resemblance between them.
I figured their family drama was none of my concern. Of course, I had no qualms about dragging Vincent into my own private matters.
I walked back to where Tripp and Starnes were busy processing people, checking backgrounds, and handing out citations—all the fun stuff I got to skip out on now that I was no longer an MPD officer.
Tripp looked me up and down.
“You don’t stink nearly as bad as before,” he said.
“Aw, just what every woman wants to hear,” I quipped. “I don’t stink as bad.”
“Look, Jules, I got a call from the guys who took Carla downtown,” he said. “They said she’s pretty insistent that she had an alibi and that some guy called”—Tripp checked his notebook—“Michael Lacarova is responsible for Sasha’s abduction.”
“He was here tonight,” I said, looking around to see if he was tied up somewhere nearby. “We can question him. See if he was involved too.”