The Possibilities - Desire - A Collection of Short Stories

by Stormy Adams

  In spite of her body’s instant attraction to this dazzling thug, Bridie responded fiercely. “I’d rather be anywhere that you aren’t, she said primly. She extricated herself from the warm half embrace he had managed to trap her with and started to walk away in a huff.

  “You need to leave,” he said in a whisper as she walked off. His comment took her quite by surprise, and she kept track of him out of the corner of her eye as she went to the table her friends from the magazine were gathered around.

  “Who’s the hunk?” Bella asked under her breath. Bella was Bridie’s close friend, a petite, slender woman of Italian descent who also worked the fashion desk. “I have no idea,” Bridie said heatedly, “but he’s an insufferable prick!”

  “A very hot insufferable prick,” Bella said, her dancing eyes examining him microscopically. Bridie was livid…and her body was still on fire from the brief contact.

  There was a commotion of some sort and the prick and the dealer were yelling. Quite suddenly the prick reached for the dealer’s arm and Bridie caught a glimpse of something shiny and huge just before the prick managed to shove the dealer out the door. The shockingly loud explosions of gunfire from the front of the club threw most of the clientele into a panic and they swarmed the exits. Bridie had enough sense to sit right where she was until the mad rush was over.

  When the doors cleared, and there were no longer any explosions coming from the street, Bridie hurried to the front door of the club. She might only work on the fashion desk, but a reporter was a reporter, and no responsible journalist would pass this story up. She fumbled in her purse for the small Nikon L26 she carried everywhere for ‘just in case.’ Taking it out and turning it on, she slowly moved onto the sidewalk outside.

  The ‘insufferable prick’ was lying in a pool of blood next to the obviously dead dealer, but the ‘prick’ was talking to a plain clothes police officer and the entire building was surrounded by flashing blue lights mounted on police cars. Bridie started snapping pictures. She was absolutely certain her editor would find the right desk to send these to.

  “Ma’am, we’re going to have to interview you down at headquarters,” the polite young uniformed policeman told her, taking her arm.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Bridie protested.

  “Yes ma’am that’s true,” he said again, “but the detectives are going to need to see the photos you took and question you about what you saw go down between Jimmy Spuds and Lieutenant Harcourt. “

  Bridie looked at the young cop as if he was nuts. “Who?”she asked incredulously.

  The cop pointed to the two men on the ground. The prick was being loaded onto a stretcher, an I.V. stuck in his arm, as an ambulance backed up to where he was at. Two men wearing coroner’s jackets were standing by as an Evidence technician took pictures of the dead dealer. “Him,” the cop pointed at the ‘prick.’ “Lieutenant Nick Harcourt. He just stopped a gunfight from happening in that crowded club…if he hadn’t done what he did, there would be a lot more ambulances here right now.” The young policeman shook his head in admiration. “He risked his life to keep it from going down in there, and blew a two year undercover operation doing it.” He sighed. “Guess it doesn’t matter now,” he said, “they’ll decorate him and promote him to Captain…his cover’s blown and he’s out of the undercover business from now on.” He turned to Bridie. “Come on please ma’am, we need to get to headquarters pretty quick or they’ll have you there all night.”

  “I apologize Ms. Halloran, the officer should have been more clear. We are requesting copies of your pictures, no one here has any intention of restricting your first amendment rights.”

  “Then I can send a copy to my editor before letting you see the pictures?” Bridie said defiantly.

  “Absolutely,” said Detective Bill Sterling. “We do request that you blur Lieutenant Harcourt’s face before publishing them.” Bridie glared at him but reached for the preferred laptop. She checked to make sure of the internet connection and inserted the SD card from her camera in the slot, then emailed the photos to her editor. She explained the photos and gave as much of the story as she had gleaned outside the club to her editor, and then removed the SD card from the slot.

  “I saved a copy of the pictures to your desktop,” she said with an insincere smile.

  Detective Sterling smiled at her. “Thank you. Most of the media don’t seem to appreciate that we’re dealing with some really nasty people, people who don’t mind intimidating witnesses…and worse, to keep them from testifying in court.”

  “Oh come on Detective,” Bridie retorted, “It’s not like we’re living in Miami or New York, we’re a small city of maybe a half million people. We don’t have a lot of drive by shootings and murders here, and we don’t have drug dealers on every corner. We don’t really have a great deal of crime here at all. I think you people just try to make it sound worse than it is so you can keep your budget nice and fat.”

  Bill Sterling, a veteran of twelve years police service, nine of them in Crimes Against Persons, a department of the detective division that covered all assaults, robberies, and murders, sat back in his chair and tried to assess Bridie Halloran. She didn’t look stupid. “Exactly what do you do for the paper?” he asked. “Don’t you read it? Disgusted, Bridie didn’t answer him.

  Sterling sighed and opened the pictures on his laptop. The first and second pictures showed another man, well dressed with the same tacky gold jewelry the dealer had been wearing. “Did you have any contact with this man?” Sterling asked her.

  “No,” Bridie said, “he was there when I got outside. “When I looked again, he was gone.” Sterling narrowed his eyes. She had gotten the third man on three photos. In the first two he had been going through the dealer’s pockets, and in the third he was leaving…and he seemed to be in a hell of a hurry.

  “Ms. Halloran, at the risk of offending your sense of journalistic propriety, you might want to consider accepting police protection when it’s offered to you,” Sterling said, “this gentlemen you took two pretty decent photos of is an entirely unpleasant man who works for one of the Mexican drug cartels. He is a native Colombian who went with the highest bidder after the takedown of the Colombian cartels in the late 90s. He is a very nasty individual known for his cruelty and his love of killing.”

  “I don’t know why you are trying to scare me, Detective Sterling, or what the police department is trying to hide, but I will tell you I think I need the newspaper’s lawyer and right now!” Bridie said angrily.

  “No,” Detective Sterling told her, suddenly all business again, the friendly look and calm tones gone.

  “I know my rights!” Bridie snarled, “You have to give me access to my lawyer!”

  “You need to read the law again Ms. Halloran,” Sterling said drily. “I have to provide you with a lawyer only if you’re being charged with a crime. If you wish to sign a release saying that you refused protective custody when the need for it was explained to you and when it was offered, you are free to go at any time.” He pushed the unsigned form towards her with absolutely no emotion on his face. Bridie was livid, but she signed the form and left…heading straight for the editor’s office even though it was now one a.m. She called for a cab on her cell phone.

  The plain, dark gray Ford pulled out after the cab was on the street and moving. It stayed back, barely keeping the cab in sight. He was pretty sure he had gotten away before she had taken any photographs, but not certain. In any case, she had talked with the police now. If she had seen him or taken a photo, it was not in his best interests to leave her alive to testify in court.

  A HARD SURPRISE

  “I know it’s not my regular beat Jason,” she said, “but I was right there when it happened and I’m already inside with the detective working the case.” She neglected to mention that they really disliked each other and that the wounded officer was an insufferable prick. What she also didn’t mention was that it was a quick way out of the ranks of th
e fashion editor’s office and into the excitement and opportunities of a hard news reporter.

  Jason Enders knew exactly what Bridie was about. He had started out writing fluff pieces for the ‘Community Living’ section, and he remembered the despair of ever writing hard news. He had gone straight to the Police Beat, a job he had fallen in love with. He had stayed with it until he had been promoted to editor against his will. He looked at the time on his computer screen. “All right,” he said, “you have less than an hour to get something written up so I can get it in print. I’m holding a slot on page two for three paragraphs and a photo. If you don’t do it and do it well, it goes to Tom Banks tomorrow.” Tom Banks was the current Police reporter.

  While Bridie sat at her terminal and worked on her three paragraphs from the notes she had been taking since the beginning, Jason made a call to Bill Sterling. They were old friends. “Jesus Jason,” Sterling answered, “I’m glad you called! That lady reporter of yours is in really deep shit and she won’t listen to me…”

  “Tell me all,” Jason sighed, leaning back in his chair. Sterling spoke for a few minutes, giving Jason the details as he knew them. “So she refused protective custody even after you explained who Torres is?” he asked.

  “Firmly,” Bill said, “you’d have thought we were covering up a presidential assassination.”

  “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking Bill?”

  “Come on Jason, she doesn’t have to know about it.”

  “You don’t think the name and the close resemblance will tip her off Bill?”

  “If it doesn’t click when she sees him again she doesn’t deserve to be a reporter Jason, and you know it. Besides, Nathan Harcourt quit the department when Nick made Lieutenant. They’re fraternal twins, not identical…she might not make the connection, but if she does, so what? He’s an established photographer for your paper. Just make sure he’s carrying Jason, his license is up to date, and I’ve got a copy of it in my hand. Torres is one of the bad ones Jason, a no shit, bona fide bad guy. He’s killed more than a dozen men we know for sure, and all of them were messy.”

  “Are you sure she wouldn’t be better off in protective custody Bill?”

  “She probably would, Jason, but she wouldn’t be any safer. They don’t come any better than Nathan. He was the best we ever had.” The obvious question was on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but he didn’t ask it. If Nathan was the best, why was Nick promoted and why had Nathan quit?

  “I’ll assign him to the story and give it to her…and I’ll explain to him why I’m doing it…and thanks Bill.”

  “Make sure you tell him about Torres Jason, I’m sure he’ll recognize the name and take the right steps to cover the woman. Nathan and Torres have a history, I know that much but that’s all. I gather it’s personal.”

  Bridie was thrilled with the assignment, but she was less than enthusiastic about Jason’s condition requiring that she partner up with Nathan Harcourt. “You wouldn’t do this to a man,” she raged. Her anger took a steep dip at Jason’s next words.

  “Yes, I would,” Jason said evenly, “and if you don’t agree to it the Police are going to take you into protective custody as a material witness. This is not a game Bridie. The guy in these pictures you took is a real international bad guy. He’s a wanton killer, a guy who leaves a real mess as a signature. We know he’s responsible for a dozen murders in this country alone. The Feds tell me they know about as many more overseas…some of his victims were women.” Jason’s eyes were somehow old as he spoke the next words. “And then we know about the kids. As far as anyone knows, the kids were to teach a politician in Colombia that he was not untouchable. The bodies were almost unrecognizable. Frankly, I debated just having the cops come pick you up Bridie. I’m still not sure I shouldn’t do just that…and if you don’t agree to stay with Nathan Harcourt twenty four hours a day until this is over, I’ll do it anyway.”

  “Okay Jason, I understand why you want me to have a protector…but why a photographer?”

  “Nathan is prior military, a Special Forces type, and a former cop.”

  Bridie rolled her eyes and then froze. The last name suddenly clicked. “Harcourt?” she asked, “Is he related to the guy that got shot tonight?”

  Jason nodded. “They’re brothers Bridie, fraternal twins. I called him at the hospital. Nick’s going to be just fine by the way, they’re only going to hold him overnight for observation…and then he’s going into seclusion until after the trial. This is no game Bridie; it’s dangerous as all hell. You either agree to it or you sit this one out in a safe house with Nick until after the trial. I called Nathan and he’s leaving there to go by his house to pick up his gear and some clothes. The paper’s going to pick up the tab for a double suite at a hotel…even I won’t know where you’re at. You’re going to need a disguise, a good one” He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a credit card. “You’re going to need this.”

  Bridie’s eyes widened. If the paper was willing to pay for all this, she had underestimated the danger very badly.

  Jason saw her surprise. “Try to wrap your head around this Bridie, this is real, and this is dangerous. No one can know where you are or what you are doing. Not, friends, not family, and not colleagues. This guy is seriously bad news, and any contact you make with them will put their lives in jeopardy.”

  NATHAN HARCOURT

  He came through the door of the city room with a black rucksack on his shoulders and a very large camera bag hanging in front of him. He wore a weathered chambray work shirt, faded jeans, and black cowboy boots that were worn down and the heels and scuffed. It looked as if they hadn’t seen polish in years. His height and general build were the same as his brother’s. His features were more angular, as if chiseled out of granite. His eyes were a stony gray and his wavy black hair was clipped shorter and more neatly than his brother’s. When he got close, Bridie smelled the Old Spice and smiled. It was a very simple and inexpensive scent, but it brought back familiar memories of her father and grandfather, memories of being safe and protected.

  Other than his dress and his grooming, the family resemblance was strong. The man’s one hundred eighty degree difference in sartorial choices from his brother was immediately negated by his brusque response to Jason’s introduction. Nathan looked her up and down as if she were a head of cattle and then turned to Jason for specific details, completely ignoring her. He did have that in common with his brother Bridie decided. Her body’s response to this man was instantaneous heat, but he was an insufferable prick.

  When Jason was finished talking, Nathan simply took Bridie by the arm and directed her towards the elevator. He didn’t say goodbye to Jason nor speak a word to Bridie. When they were inside the elevator, Bridie turned on him angrily. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” she spit out, “but I’m not some rag doll you can just shove around any old way you want. You can either talk to me like a human or you can kiss my ass! I won’t be treated like this!” Her face was a bright red and she was magnificent in her anger. Nathan looked at her, his serious gaze seemingly taking her in for the first time. His large, strong hand reached out and flicked a switch on the elevator control panel. The elevator stopped.

  “Ornery, aren’t you?” he asked quietly. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m not going to tell you Torres is a ‘bad man’, I’m guessing you’ve already heard that enough tonight. Let me tell you something specific so we can be clear about who we’re dealing with. Six years ago I was working undercover in Colombia. Even undercover a man has a private life. I fell in love with a dark eyed Columbian beauty. I wondered how I was going to be able to talk her into coming back to the states with me when my assignment was done, especially after she discovered that I had been lying to her about who I was. Torres suspected me, and unknown to me, he had me followed to Estrellita’s house one night. I left her, as was our custom, to go to my apartment to change the next morning.

  The next time I w
ent to visit her Bridie, I found her in the kitchen…and in the living room, and in the bathroom. There were three very select pieces of her arranged on the bed in her bedroom. It was very clear to me that being cut to pieces was not the only indignity she bore before she died. So if I turn into the same kind of asshole as my brother when I hear Torres is in my hometown, I apologize. I’m not usually like this, but for some reason, whenever I hear Torres name I become an unpleasant person.” He reached out, flicked the switch on the control panel, and they were moving down again. Bridie was nauseous.

  They had taken only a few steps from the entrance of the newspaper office towards a Ford SUV when Bridie, still sick from Nathan’s story, caught a flash of moving shadow coming at them from between two parked cars. There was a muffled grunt from Nathan as he doubled up in pain, but he managed to rise before the muscular Hispanic in dark clothing could grab her. Just as the man’s hands were about to encircle her waist, Nathan fired twice from a large semi automatic pistol in his hand. Bridie’s assailant dropped straight to the ground and didn’t move. Nathan didn’t say a word, he just handed Bridie a set of keys and pointed at the SUV. He staggered over and got into the passenger seat. “You drive,” he croaked. It was obvious to Bridie that he was in pain.

  She got in and began driving without adjusting the seat or the mirrors or fastening her seatbelt. They were moving at a high rate of speed when his rucksack tumbled to the floor and he told her to slow down. “We won’t get anywhere if you kill us getting away. Where the hell are you going, anyway?”

  “I’m taking you to the emergency room,” she retorted. She had seen the blood pooling in front of him as soon as she had closed the door of the big SUV. She stared at him in unfeigned horror. “You killed that man…was that Torres?”

  “No, that was one of his men, Jimenez. Wherever he is, you can bet Torres is nearby. Torres is probably watching your apartment.” He groaned as he turned to watch out the back window. “Slow down to about five miles an hour under the speed limit, and make a bunch of slow turns so I can see if we’re being followed.”