The Avenged

by Charles Prandy

  “I’m listening.”

  “But you gotta promise me that if this gets out, I get protection.”

  “What kind of protection?”

  “Protection protection. Federal protection. Like the government picking me up and sending me to Nevada or to one of them Midwest states.”

  “You know I can’t make that guarantee.”

  He lowered his head a little and I could tell that my answer bothered him.

  “But if what you tell me is true and credible, I’ll do all I can to help you. But why would you need protection? And what does it have to do with Melvin Johnson?”

  Turtle hesitated for a few seconds before speaking. He looked around the park again and then leaned closer.

  “It’s about a judge.” Turtle didn’t say anything else.

  “Okay. And?”

  Turtle sat back, apparently nervous. “Jacob, man, you’ve got to promise me that you’ll protect me if this comes back to me, man.”

  “Okay, okay, you have my word. Now what’s this about a judge?”

  Eleven

  ACROSS FROM DUPONT CIRCLE, on top of a nine-story white building, a sniper put the scope on a Parker-Hale M85 rifle with a firing range of about 900 meters or half a mile. Dressed in a janitor’s uniform, he screwed on a silencer and set the rifle on a prong and aimed it at the park. Despite the warm weather, he wore a knit hat on top of his head with large dark sunglasses over his eyes, and his beard was slightly overgrown. He raised the sunglasses to his forehead and placed his right eye against the scope and carefully canvassed the park from left to right. A single bullet rested in the chamber, waiting to explode through the barrel and meet its target square between the eyes.

  Large trees surrounded the perimeter of the park, so from his angle, he’d have to wait until his target was in the clear before taking the shot. All he needed was one shot. From this distance he had a more than ninety percent first-round-hit capability, and with his experience with sniper rifles, the percentage moved to ninety-eight percent.

  The building was on Connecticut Avenue, near a crosswalk to the park, and which also provided an opening that was not covered by trees. When the target got in the clear, the shot would be taken; he’d leave the gun and nonchalantly exit the roof. Now all he had to do was wait. The target would cross through the park like he does every day to get to his office after lunch, only this time he wouldn’t make it back.

  Through the scope, the sniper watched as people casually walked back and forth without any knowledge that he held their lives in his hands. The simple pull of the trigger could kill anyone he wished, and yet they walked around without knowing the impending danger. Sometimes he wished he could be that naive and careless.

  The summer’s sun heated the top of the building, and he was beginning to feel like a sausage link frying in a skillet. He could feel sweat dripping inside the janitor’s uniform that was trapping heat like a sauna. The hat on his head was damp and sweat surrounded the eyehole of the scope. Reluctance momentarily crossed his mind and he wondered if maybe he should have picked another spot to take the shot. Just then, he saw his target enter the scope. He steadied the rifle, took a deep breath and let his heartbeat slow. He waited until he could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. Between the third and fourth thump, he squeezed the trigger.

  Twelve

  I SLOWLY WALKED WITH my hands in my front pockets as I carefully listened to Turtle dump a load of information on me. I immediately stood when Turtle laid out the allegations against one of the more prominent judges in the District. I like to walk while my brain processes complex information, so sitting on the hard park bench would have done no good. Turtle’s words had flooded my mind with questions, but I was still skeptical.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Turtle, but something doesn’t smell right. I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Jacob, you know I’d never give you bad info. My source is airtight.”

  “Who’s your source?”

  “Not this time, man. I can’t give him up right now.”

  “You haven’t done wrong by me yet, but this…I don’t know. This is even a stretch for you. I mean, how’d you come across this kind of information?”

  “I told you, my source is airtight.”

  “So all of this can be proven, I assume?”

  “Of course. Look, man, I wouldn’t have risked my neck coming to you if it couldn’t be.”

  “Sorry if I sound skeptical, Turtle, but look at it from my point of view. You don’t have a job, and the people you hang around with are wannabe thugs who’ve got no shot at life. So when you come to me and say that Judge Frank Peters, one of the more prominent judges in the city, is into money laundering and weapons smuggling, I gotta take a step back and question it.”

  Turtle stopped walking, which took me a second to notice. I turned around and saw Turtle staring at me with a blank expression.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I came to you because I knew you’d be the only person who’d take me serious. And now it sounds like you’re not.”

  I raised my hands to protest. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But look at it from my point of view.”

  Turtle shook his head with obvious disappointment.

  “Okay, let’s assume that everything you’re telling me is true. I personally know that Judge Peters and my lieutenant are good friends. He’s also good friends with the Chief of Police, the Mayor and most of the politicians on Capitol Hill.”

  “So pretty much we should just turn a blind eye to this? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Not at all. What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of loyalty in the judicial system, and trying to convince my superiors that Judge Peters is a crook won’t be easy. I mean, the guy’s been on the bench for over twenty years.”

  We started walking again and then stopped near the intersection of Connecticut Avenue. I looked to my right and saw my car parked along the curb. I dug in my pocket for the car keys and fiddled with them in my hand while giving one last thought to Turtle’s accusation.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” The tone of my voice lacked its usual confidence. “I’ll do a little digging around and see what I can come up with. I don’t want you doing anything or speaking to anyone about this until you hear back from me.”

  Turtle nodded his head in agreement.

  “You may have just opened a huge can of worms that I suspect most would rather remain sealed shut.”

  “So you see why I mentioned the protection.”

  “Yeah, I think I can take that request a little more seriously.”

  “No doubt.”

  I lost the handle of my keys and they fell to the ground. As I bent down to pick them up, a man near me suddenly dropped to the ground, and a woman screamed in a high pitch like nothing I’d ever heard before.

  Thirteen

  THE VIBRATION OF THE gun lasted for a second once the shot was taken. Blood sprayed onto a woman standing near the target as his head rocked back from the blow, causing him to fall flat on his back. The target was a tall black man who was conversing with another man. The other man moved just enough for the sniper to get a clear shot to the head. The bulls-eye from the scope couldn’t have been more centered to the forehead, so it was the perfect time to shoot.

  And just as planned, the sniper set the gun down, lowered the sunglasses over his eyes and retreated back to the door. He reached in his pocket for a key and stuck it into the padlock, which immediately clicked open. He removed the lock from the door and casually entered the hallway that led to a set of metal stairs going downward. His plan of escape was simple; he’d rehearsed it two times the night before. The building’s security system was elementary at best, only taking him thirty seconds to crack the code. He had spent just a couple of hours reviewing the building’s floor plans and making sure that the janitor’s closet on the ninth floor was the best place to make his change.

  His work boots clank
ed against the metal stairs until he reached the bottom. He opened the door which led to a hallway and entered it as if nothing had happened. In the hallway, people passed him without incident. There were no frantic screams of bloody murder, nor did anyone know that a man had just been killed across the street. Business continued as normal despite the fact that a man lay dead nearly two blocks away.

  The sniper turned the corner to a janitor’s closet near the elevator. He pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, quickly looked around before opening the door and then swiftly snuck inside. When the door closed, the room became dark as night. When the light came on, he began changing his clothes, paying no attention to the dead body propped along the back wall.

  Fourteen

  THE WOMAN’S SCREAMS RIPPED through my heart as I rushed to the man lying on the ground. No doubt that he was dead. A pool of bright red blood stained the concrete under his head and his eyes were wide open and lifeless. I knelt down and placed my fingers against the man’s neck to see if I could feel a pulse, but didn’t find one.

  I reached for the BlackBerry on my hip and punched in 9-1-1.

  “This is Detective Jacob Hayden,” I said in a loud and rushed voice. “I need an ambulance at Connecticut Avenue in the park of Dupont Circle. I also need backup as shots were fired.”

  I re-clipped the BlackBerry to my hip and reached for my sidearm. I scanned the perimeter and saw the terrified faces of the people huddled around the body. Turtle was one of them.

  “Turtle, I need you to stay here until the ambulance shows up. Make sure no one touches the body, understood?”

  Turtle nodded, but his face was void of any expression except shock.

  I jumped to my feet and faced the crosswalk. I quickly looked back at the dead man and then looked ahead again. I didn’t recall hearing a shot, so that must mean the shooter had a silencer on the gun. No one in the streets had screamed or run for cover, so the shooter was not in the streets. He was on a roof. Seconds later, sirens from police cruisers blared into the Circle and three cars skidded to a stop. I pulled out my badge and quickly approached six uniformed officers.

  “The shot came from that direction,” I pointed north on Connecticut Avenue. “One deceased man down behind me.” I looked at one of the officers and commanded him to stay with the body. “The rest, come with me.”

  We sprinted a block before stopping. I scanned the roofs of the nearby buildings and thought that the shot must have come from within the first two blocks.

  “I want these buildings locked down,” I demanded. “No one goes in or comes out until everyone is checked.”

  The five officers each took a building and entered it. Just then, more squad cars arrived and I gave the same commands to the arriving officers. I, on the other hand, took a second to gather my bearings. I looked around at the buildings again, studying the perimeter of the roofs and then looked back to where the victim had fallen. Across the street from where I was standing was the tallest building in the vicinity, a nine-story building. My gut instinct told me that the shot had come from that building. I gathered two officers and raced across the street.

  “Radio your men and tell them we need this building locked down. I’m heading to the roof.”

  I exploded through dark tinted glass doors and was immediately met by a surprised security guard sitting behind a wooden desk. I raised my detective’s shield.

  “Stairs!”

  The security guard pointed to his left.

  I rushed to the door and stepped through, aiming my handgun. I took the steps two at a time, and at each floor, I raised my gun before proceeding to the next floor to make sure the stairway was clear. Halfway to the top, my lungs burned for air and I felt the fatigue in my calf muscles, but I didn’t stop. Adrenaline drove me past the aching point that would make most quit.

  I reached the top of the stairs gasping for air. I let my body rest for a few seconds before going through a grey metal door. The door opened to another set of metal stairs that led to the door on the roof. I slowly took the steps one at a time and then carefully opened the rooftop door. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was ready for anything.

  With my handgun aimed, I swept the roof, looking at every corner until I saw a rifle resting on prongs in the direction of the park. I made my way to the rifle and looked over the roof and saw an ambulance near the dead body. The police had already begun taping off the area.

  The rooftop door opened and I swung around, aiming my Glock. Another uniformed officer stepped through the door with his handgun aimed.

  “This is it,” I said. “This is where the shot came from. Any luck downstairs?”

  “No,” the uniformed officer replied. “We’re ordering the immediate evacuation of the building. No one leaves without getting checked.”

  “Good. Just make sure everyone is double-checked. The shooter may very well be in the building.”

  Fifteen

  THE SNIPER STOOD IN a line with other businesspeople in the stairwell as police checked everyone’s identification. The elevators had been shut down, so the only way out was through the stairwell. The police had locked down the area sooner than expected, which he thought meant that a cop must have been nearby when he took the shot. He was not worried because it was only a minor setback to getting out of the building unsuspected.

  He was now dressed in a navy-blue pinstripe suit, and his fake driver’s license said that his name was Harvey Lindenberg, from Minnesota. He was wearing dark-framed glasses and his brown hair was gelled back. His beard looked comfortably manicured, with no evidence that he just came from the roof’s sweltering heat. A visitor’s pass was connected to a silver chain around his neck, which everyone was wearing who had attended the IT Conference for the NuvoFone Corporation. If the police needed to, they could check his background and find out that he had been a systems engineer for twelve years, that he had been married for fifteen years and had two daughters. His criminal record was clear and he had never had a speeding ticket. His credit score was 710 and he had more than thirteen thousand dollars in his savings account. Everything about Harvey Lindenberg screamed that he was a boring suburbanite, which was precisely what the sniper wanted the cops to believe.

  The stairwell felt stuffy. Its bleak grey walls and concrete stairs made the sniper feel like he was in a prison line waiting to go out to the yard. As the line slowly neared the bottom floor, he could hear the police telling everyone to have their IDs out, and if they were wearing jackets, to have them unbuttoned. Two lines formed at the bottom of the stairwell, one for men and the other for women. Police officers wearing white gloves searched the women’s purses, asked the men to open their briefcases or bags, and then patted everyone down.

  The sniper tapped the man in front of him, who he recognized from the conference.

  “Does anyone know what’s going on?” He disguised his voice by speaking in a lower register.

  The man shook his head, “Nothing. There’s a rumor that someone’s been shot.”

  “Oh my. I hope he’s not hurt too bad.”

  “From the looks of this, I’d say that he is.”

  “We should probably say a prayer for him, then.”

  The man strangely looked at the sniper before turning around. The line moved slowly, but he was now in the lobby and could finally see the doors leading outside. There were about fifteen people in front of him, and the pat down and search took about a minute each.

  As he waited, a team of police dressed in SWAT gear rushed through the lobby; some entered the stairs while the rest headed into the service elevator. They had found the rifle on the roof and were probably searching the building floor by floor. He knew that it wouldn’t be long until they found the body in the janitor’s closet, so time really was starting to work against him. Nevertheless, in his estimation, by the time they found the body, he should be en route to his safe house, where he’d prepare for his next kill.

  The line suddenly stopped. Something was wrong. The officer
s stopped checking people and gathered together like in a football huddle. One of the officers stepped aside and reached for his radio. He quickly spoke into it and then a voice replied, saying lock everything down.

  The sniper became uneasy but didn’t let his face show his concern. His eyes carefully looked to his right, where a nine-millimeter handgun was stashed behind a painting on the wall. He would only need a couple of steps to reach it and then he could use the man in front of him as a human shield. Patience, he thought. Patience. All he needed to do was get outside, where preparations would ensure that he’d be lost to the police. And he’d do it at all costs.

  Sixteen

  I WAS STANDING WITH a few other uniformed officers, going over details of the shooting when another uniformed officer quickly approached me with a man wearing a grey and blue cable uniform.

  “This man says that he saw the shooter.”

  My eyes lit with excitement. I turned to the short, balding man who appeared to be of Latin American descent, and directed a precise question towards him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Well, I didn’t actually see him shoot. I heard frantic screams, and then a man caught the corner of my eyes when he stood up on the roof. I thought I saw a rifle, but I’m not sure.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Manny.”

  “And, Manny, where were you when you saw the man?”

  Manny turned around and pointed to the roof of the building behind us. The building was about three stories shorter than the white building. “Up there. I was working on a satellite dish when I heard the scream.”

  “Do you think you can ID the man if you saw him again?”

  “I think so. He was wearing glasses and a hat, but I do remember that he had a beard. I think he may have been a janitor, because he was wearing a blue janitor’s uniform.”