Deadly Force sts-18

by Keith Douglass

  “Afraid I’m not quite finished yet. Do you know the name of the hooker who Joisette was with that night?”

  “No. I never saw her that night or before or after that night.”

  Petroff rubbed his chin. “A definitive answer.”

  “Have you talked to her about what Joisette did in that alley? Did she see Joisette take a hit with a needle?”

  “That’s police business. I can tell you we have talked to her. She wasn’t what you would call a solid witness. She’d been on drugs that night as well.”

  “Didn’t you pick up any drug paraphernalia at the scene?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did any of it have the dead girl’s prints on it?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “In other words what you found didn’t have her prints, or you would have closed this case out a week ago. Sorry, I wasn’t out at the death scene, I didn’t see Joisette and Shortchops shooting up in the hall or outside. If Shortchops knew who Joisette was, I’m almost positive that he wouldn’t provide her with any drugs.”

  “She lived with him for almost six months on and off.”

  “So you’ve got a simple OD self-inflicted.”

  “Not without that syringe.”

  “Wish I could help you. Anything else?”

  The cop shook his head. “Thanks for stopping by. If you think of anything that might clear Shortchops, give me a call.” He held out a white card.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Senior chief Sadler sat in his car thinking about it. Did he know where Shortchops lived? He did take him home one night. It was raining and the man didn’t have a car. Yeah. Where did they go? Like he had told the cop, he didn’t know where Shortchops lived. But could he piece it together now? Exactly where had Shortchops directed him? Could he find the place again?”

  Not the best part of town. Where? Grant Hill. Yeah, right beside Logan Heights. They had driven straight out Broadway to 28th Street. Turned right, but how far?

  He gunned the engine, pulled out of the parking spot, and found Broadway and turned east. It took him a few minutes to get to 28th. He turned right and watched the houses and small apartments. Mostly large houses turned into four or five units. But he had driven here six months ago, just after Shortchops had joined them. He could have moved two or three times since then. Or maybe moved back. Sadler drove under Freeway 94 on 28th and kept watching.

  At K Street he hung a right and slowed. Yes, it felt familiar. But was it right? The first cross street was Langley. It only went to the right. Halfway up he stopped again. The house he was hunting had been purple and green. He had seen the unusual paint job even in the rain at night. They had laughed about it. Shortchops had said the owner was drunk when he bought the paint, then couldn’t afford to buy any more. It had been mixed to order so he couldn’t take it back. He used it.

  Sadler stopped in the street in front of a house painted purple with green trim. Four units. He remembered he had waited until Shortchops dashed through the rain and went in a door on the left. Hell, why not? The area was predominately black. He felt out of place as he passed four black kids playing on the sidewalk and moved up the concrete to the door, then around to the left to the next entrance. He knocked.

  A black woman about forty-five opened the door a foot. She scowled. “What you’all want?”

  “Looking for a friend. Shortchops Jackson used to live here.” She started to close the door, but his big Navy shoe wedged in and stopped it.

  “Hey, I’m not the cops, I play jazz with the man every week. I want to help him.”

  The woman frowned. “You got a name?” He told her. She turned and shouted something, then waited. After what seemed to Sadler to be five minutes, she slowly eased away from the door. It swung open, and Sadler stared at the man he had known as Shortchops Jackson. He looked twenty years older, ancient. He had a week’s growth of beard showing white on his black skin. His cheeks had sunk in and his eyes seemed to bulge.

  “Be damned, the horn.” He stepped back and waved for Sadler to come in. Shortchops grabbed a chair at once and sat down. His knees gave way and he barely made it.

  “What’n hell you doing here?” he asked.

  “Looking for you. Hey, the cops are hunting you. They need some answers.”

  “Can’t. They’ll throw me in jail and I’ll never get out.”

  “Not if you had nothing to do with Joisette’s OD.”

  Shortchops closed his eyes and tears seeped out around his lids and wound across wrinkles down his cheeks.

  “Oh, yeah, my baby, my wonderful little adopted daughter. Tried to keep her off that shit. Did for a while. She went back. Said she was gonna be a porn queen soon as she got a wardrobe and met the right producer. She even went to Hollywood twice. Got stoned and called me.”

  “Tell me what happened that night.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed, and for a minute Sadler thought he had gone to sleep or died. He snorted and sat up straighter. “That night. Yeah. Showed her off to you guys, then we went back outside. She gave me a small hit, a quickie, so I could still play, then she wanted one herself. I saw her fill the damn syringe. Way too much. Way too much. I tried to stop her, but I was too late. Then she smiled and told me how great she felt, and almost at once she fell down. I found the syringe and picked it up with my handkerchief and put it in my pocket. The cops would never believe me.”

  He opened his eyes and stared at Sadler. “I ain’t exactly been a church choirboy. Got me a record. Done good lately. Just too much shit for my own body. Got me a woman helps me. Gonna get some money if I ever kick this damn murder rap.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “Nobody can help but Joisette or that hooker, Nancy. Who was so stoned she didn’t even know if it was day or night.”

  “You still have that syringe wrapped in your handkerchief.”

  “Oh, yeah. Didn’t want the cops to find it.”

  “You have it now, here?”

  Shortchops frowned. “Have it?”

  “Do you still have the syringe that Joisette used to shoot up that night she died?”

  “Oh, hell, yes. In my drawer.” He motioned to the woman, who had hovered in the background holding an iron frying pan. Sadler figured she wasn’t doing the dishes.

  “Get the handkerchief and the syringe,” Shortchops said, sounding more straight than he had all night. The woman frowned, looked at Sadler.

  “Sure you ain’t a cop?”

  “I’m in the Navy, and I play horn with Shortchops.”

  She nodded after staring hard at him, then went into another room. She came back a few moments later holding a white handkerchief. She started to hand it to Shortchops, but his hands shook so much she gave it to Sadler. He pushed back the edges of the white cloth to see the syringe. Carefully he folded the cloth over it again.

  “Shortchops. I’m going to take this downtown to the police. If it has Joisette’s fingerprints on it, you’ll be in the clear. It will be a simple self-inflicted OD.”

  “No,” he said. “No cops.”

  The woman walked in front of him and slapped him gently on the cheek. He looked up in surprise.

  “Yes. The police. This man can help. You can stop hiding. You can get your money and we can live in a respectable house.”

  His eyes went wide, his head sagged, and the woman caught him before he fell off the chair. Sadler helped her carry him to the sofa and stretch him out.

  “No more heroin for Shortchops,” he told her. “This should clear him. You get him dried out and we’ll be playing jazz again in two weeks.”

  Sadler left the room and hurried down to his car. He had put the handkerchief in his civilian jacket pocket and reached for his keys. Three teenage boys sat on the hood of his car. He stopped and stared at them. Two stood and walked toward him.

  “Your car, mister?” the one just over six feet asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You did shit by not paying us to
protect it. Man, this is our turf. Don’t nobody park here without protection.” They moved up within three feet of him.

  The third boy came up beside the other two. “I have protection,” Sadler said. “It’s right over there, that unmarked police car.” Two of the boys turned to look. He kicked viciously out with his right foot at the boy in the middle who didn’t look away. He felt his hard shoe skid off the youth’s thigh and land hard into his crotch, smashing penis and testicles upward against his pelvic bones and bringing a wail of agony. The kid slumped to the ground and rolled into a ball.

  One of the kids looked back quickly. Sadler slammed a hard right fist into the boy’s jaw, and at the same time spun and caught the third boy with a back-kick in the kidney putting him on the ground. The only one standing backed up and lifted his fists, then thought better of it and turned and ran.

  “See, I told you guys I had all the protection I need.” He walked around them, stepped into his car, and drove away.

  * * *

  Detective Petroff was not in the Central Station when Sadler arrived. The dispatcher put in a call to him, and a half hour later he came in the door and spotted Sadler.

  “So, you remembered something?”

  Sadler told him the story that Shortchops had told him. The detective held out his hand. “Give,” he said.

  Sadler frowned. “Shortchops is a friend. I’d hate to see this evidence get lost and you continue to hound him. I’ll give you the syringe, but I go with it to your lab and see if they can find prints on it and then find out whose prints they are.”

  Petroff nodded. “No problem. Right this way.”

  * * *

  It only took fifteen minutes. There were plenty of good prints. Detective Petroff had a copy of a full set of prints of the dead girl.

  “Match a hundred percent,” the print technician said. “No doubt those prints on the syringe are those and only those of Joisette Brown.”

  * * *

  Senior Chief Sadler came into the Third Platoon’s office just as the SEALs marched back from the afternoon swim. He dropped into the chair beside Murdock’s desk and told him the whole story.

  “So, Shortchops is free and clear. His woman promised me that she’ll dry him out and get the probate under way. There should be no problem with him collecting his three and a half million dollars or whatever it is.”

  “And you and the other members of the band will each get your fifty thousand?”

  “Who knows, Skipper? I’ll believe that much money when I see the check. Until then, what’s on the Bunsen for tomorrow?”

  * * *

  Murdock checked out across the Quarterdeck at five and headed home. Next week he would have something to come home to every night. Ardith would be there. She had quit her job in Washington, D.C., and was in the process of closing up her apartment and moving to San Diego. Some of her things had already arrived by truck, and he had stuffed them into the apartment. They would have to find something larger.

  She had taken the job there in San Diego’s own Silicone Valley. She would be working on problem-solving and client applications for a whole range of computer problems. Nothing had been said about marriage, not yet. He had been considering it for the past month since she had agreed to take the new job in San Diego.

  He parked in front of his apartment and took the steps two at a time. Only then did he notice that the front door was open and the security screen door was in place. Had he left it open?

  A moment later he charged into the living room and heard a familiar voice from the kitchen.

  “Dinner won’t be ready for another half hour,” Ardith Manchester said. “I figured I’d fly in and surprise you.” She came around the door into the living room, where he stood staring.

  “Hey, did I get the wrong apartment?” she asked with a grin.

  He saw her lovely slender body, her sweeping froth of blonde hair down around her shoulders framing her beautiful face. Soft blue eyes drew him closer, and he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.

  “I like these kind of surprises, young lady. I really do. Are you here for good, and if so, when are the rest of your household things due to arrive?”

  She reached up and kissed him tenderly, then with more ardor, before she eased away. “Those special stuffed pork chops have to be watched.” She pulled him into the kitchen. “Yes, I’m here to stay. My roommate took over the lease in D.C. All my things are on a truck that will be here within a week. I go to work on Monday morning, and until then we can play house, make love, and house-hunt.”

  “Sounds good,” Murdock said. “Which first?”

  Ardith grinned. “Pork chops first, and this special dinner I’ve been slaving over for two hours. Then we’ll see what develops.” For a moment panic hit her face. “Oh, dear, this isn’t football season yet, is it?”

  “Not nearly. Now where are those pork chops? I’m starved.” As Murdock worked on the dinner he watched the woman he would marry someday. But even with that kind of distraction, he couldn’t help but wonder what was next for the SEALs. Where would they fly off to? What job would they be given to do, either in the open or covertly? What dirty little project would they get next? He took a bite of pork chop, watched Ardith, and grinned. He couldn’t wait for the SEALs’ next assignment.

  SEAL TALK

  MILITARY GLOSSARY

  Aalvin: Small U.S. two-man submarine.

  Admin: Short for administration.

  Aegis: Advanced Naval air defense radar system.

  AH-1W Super Cobra: Has M179 undernose turret with 20mm Gatling gun.

  AK-47: 7.63-round Russian Kalashnikov automatic rifle. Most widely used assault rifle in the world.

  AK-74: New, improved version of the Kalashnikov. Fires the 5 .45mm round. Has 30-round magazine. Rate of fire: 600 rounds per minute. Many slight variations made for many different nations.

  AN/PRC-117D: Radio, also called SATCOM. Works with Milstar satellite in 22,300-mile equatorial orbit for instant worldwide radio, voice, or video communications. Size: 15 inches high, 3 inches wide, 3 inches deep. Weighs 15 pounds. Microphone and voice output. Has encrypter, capable of burst transmissions of less than a second.

  AN/PUS-7: Night-vision goggles. Weighs 1.5 pounds.

  ANVIS-6: Night-vision goggles on air crewmen’s helmets.

  APC: Armored Personnel Carrier.

  ASROC: Nuclear-tipped antisubmarine rocket torpedoes launched by Navy ships.

  Assault Vest: Combat vest with full loadouts of ammo, gear.

  ASW: Anti-Submarine Warfare.

  Attack Board: Molded plastic with two handgrips with bubble compass on it. Also depth gauge and Cyalume chemical lights with twist knob to regulate amount of light. Used for underwater guidance on long swim.

  Aurora: Air Force recon plane. Can circle at 90,000 feet. Can’t be seen or heard from ground. Used for thermal imaging.

  AWACS: Airborne Warning And Control System. Radar units in high-flying aircraft to scan for planes at any altitude out 200 miles. Controls air-to-air engagements with enemy forces. Planes have a mass of communication and electronic equipment.

  Balaclavas: Headgear worn by some SEALs.

  Bent Spear: Less serious nuclear violation of safety.

  BKA, Bundeskriminant: Germany’s federal investigation unit.

  Black Talon: Lethal hollow-point ammunition made by Winchester. Outlawed some places.

  Blivet: A collapsible fuel container. SEALs sometimes use it.

  BLU-43B: Antipersonnel mine used by SEALs.

  BLU-96: A fuel-air explosive bomb. It disperses a fuel oil into the air, then explodes the cloud. Many times more powerful than conventional bombs because it doesn’t carry its own chemical oxidizers.

  BMP-1: Soviet armored fighting vehicle (AFV), low, boxy, crew of 3 and 8 combat troops. Has tracks and a 73mm cannon. Also an AT-3 Sagger antitank missile and coaxial machine gun.

  Body Armor: Far too heavy for SEAL use in the water.

  Bogey: Pilo
ts’ word for an unidentified aircraft.

  Boghammar Boat: Long, narrow, low dagger boat; high-speed patrol craft. Swedish make. Iran had 40 of them in 1993.

  Boomer: A nuclear-powered missile submarine.

  Bought It: A man has been killed. Also “bought the farm.”

  Bow Cat: The bow catapult on a carrier to launch jets.

  Broken Arrow: Any accident with nuclear weapons, or any incident of nuclear material lost, shot down, crashed, stolen, hijacked.

  Browning 9mm High Power: A Belgium 9mm pistol, 13 rounds in magazine. First made 1935.

  Buddy Line: 6 feet long, ties 2 SEALs together in the water for control and help if needed.

  BUD/S: Coronado, California, nickname for SEAL training facility for six months’ course.

  Bull Pup. Still in testing; new soldier’s rifle. SEALs have a dozen of them for regular use. Army gets them in 2005. Has a 5.56 kinetic round, 30-shot clip. Also 20mm high-explosive round and 5-shot magazine. Twenties can be fused for proximity airbursts with use of video camera, laser range finder, and laser targeting. Fuses by number of turns the round needs to reach laser spot. Max range: 1200 yards. Twenty round can also detonate on contact, and has delay fuse. Weapon weighs 14 pounds. SEALs love it. Can in effect “shoot around corners” with the airburst feature.

  BUPERS: BUreau of PERSonnel.

  C-2A Greyhound: 2-engine turboprop cargo plane that lands on carriers. Also called COD, Carrier Onboard Delivery. Two pilots and engineer. Rear fuselage loading ramp. Cruise speed 300 mph, range 1,000 miles. Will hold 39 combat troops. Lands on CVN carriers at sea.

  C-4: Plastic explosive. A claylike explosive that can be molded and shaped. It will burn. Fairly stable.

  C-6 Plastique: Plastic explosive. Developed from C-4 and C-5. Is often used in bombs with radio detonator or digital timer.

  C-9 Nightingale: Douglas DC-9 fitted as a medical-evacuation transport plane.

  C-130 Hercules: Air Force transporter for long haul. 4 engines.

  C-141 Starlifter: Airlift transport for cargo, paratroops, evac for long distances. Top speed 566 mph. Range with payload 2,935 miles. Ceiling 41,600 feet.