Driven Be Jack_A Jack Nolan Novel

by Robert Tarrant

Waving the pistol, that was still cocked, he indicated for Moe to kneel. "Get down on your knees you bastard, I don't like you towering over me. Get the feeling you think you're as good as me, but we're gunna fix that right here and now."

  Moe took another step toward the waving pistol and slowly lowered himself to a kneeling position. He was now three feet from the gunman and, even on his knees, nearly as tall. With a snarl the gunman said, "Now that's the proper position for you, boy."

  Moe was motionless, with the exception of his right hand slowly moving along his side toward his back. From my position I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew they were glowing embers about now. Finally he calmly spoke, his low baritone making no attempt to hide his contempt, "So you think that gun makes us equals, huh?"

  The gunman took a short step forward and jabbed the gun at Moe, "No, we're not equals you big monkey." They were no more that two feet apart as Moe's hand reached for the cleaver in his belt. At that instant one of the sobbing women screamed and fainted to the floor. The gunman took two steps back from Moe and looked toward the group of us. Moe relaxed his hand, there was no way the cleaver could reach the gunman before he fired at that distance. Two of the men crouched next to the unconscious woman and tried to revive her.

  The gunman sneered, "Shit, she's gunna miss the best part." With that he returned his focus to Moe and said "Goodbye, Nig. . . ."

  The next seconds played out in front of my eyes in horrifying slow motion. Behind the gunman I glimpsed a flash of black and gold identical to the Pittsburgh Steelers jersey that Dana was wearing today. I saw the gunman tighten his finger on the trigger just as he turned his head in response to the motion behind him. The gun roared with a deafening sound. Moe's head jerked. A flash of red appeared behind the gunman and he suddenly pitched to the floor like a sack of potatoes dropped off a truck. The gun went skittering across the floor. The conscious woman and two of the guys screamed like they had been the ones shot.

  Behind the motionless gunman stood Dana holding the fire extinguisher she had just hit him with baseball bat style. She glared down at him as if daring him to move. He was at least unconscious and maybe worse. Moe, still motionless on his knees, turned his head toward us and said, "That's about as close as I want a bullet to get to my head." A laceration ran across the corner of his forehead and blood streamed down the side of his face.

  The front and back doors flew open and we were suddenly surrounded by uniformed police officers brandishing an assortment of weapons. They were screaming, "Police! Down on the floor! Everybody down on the floor!" I'm not certain if we were all just being compliant to the order, or if we all just wilted from the adrenaline crash, but in unison we all found a prone position on the floor. I was just thankful to be laying on the floor and not dead.

  A few tense seconds followed as one of the officers removed the cleaver from Moe's belt while several others pointed their weapons at him.

  A sergeant asked, "Who's Dana?"

  Dana raised her hand a few inches off the floor and said, "I'm Dana." An officer stood over her, gave her a quick pat down for weapons, and then helped her up to her feet."

  The sergeant pointed at the gunman unconscious on the floor, "That the assailant?"

  Dana replied, "That's the guy that tried to kill Moe, if that's what you mean."

  Another officer patted down the gunman and handcuffed his hands behind his back. For the first time the sergeant noticed the pool of blood in front of Moe, "Get those EMTs in here. This man's injured."

  Within a couple of minutes EMT's were attending to Moe, the woman who had fainted, and the gunman." One of them looked up from the gunman and asked, "What happened to this man?"

  Dana replied sheepishly, "I hit him with that," pointing at the fire extinguisher laying on the floor. Then she asked, "I didn't kill him did I?"

  I heard one of the uniform officers say to another, "Guy's holding a .45 and she beans him with a fire extinguisher. Ballsy."

  The second officer replied, "Pittsburgh girl."

  The EMT replied to Dana, "No, he's breathing." With that he spoke into his shoulder microphone and said, "We will be in route with one white male, approximate age 40, with blunt force head trauma." Minutes later the gunman was gone, Moe's head was bandaged, and we were all giving statements to various police officers.

  I overheard one of the regulars who had been sitting at the bar telling the young police officer he was talking to that he believed Moe had been the victim of a racial hate crime. Given the statements we all heard from the gunman it would be difficult to argue with that position. The officer replied that with the number of charges the prosecutor would be lodging, including first degree attempted murder which can garner a sentence of life in prison, it was probably not necessary to include the hate crime aspect, but it would be clearly noted in the reports.

  Moe, overhearing the same conversation, looked over at me and said, "How could anybody hate a lovable teddy bear like me?" He pointed at Dana being interviewed on the other side of the room and said, "Now that woman, she's dangerous."

  I replied, "You got that right. I'm going to treat her with a little more respect from here on out. I don't want to get on the wrong side of her fire extinguisher."

  Moe started to laugh, but immediately put his hand up to his head and grimaced. The last EMT was walking by on his way to the door. He stopped and looked Moe directly in the eyes and said, "I know you don't want to go in to be checked out, but if you experience any of the symptoms listed on the sheet we gave you please get to the emergency room. And please don't stay alone tonight."

  I spoke up and said, "No worries, he'll be staying with me tonight. I'll keep an eye on him." The EMT nodded and continued toward the door.

  Moe said, "I don't need to stay here tonight, Boss. I'm fine."

  "It's not you, it's me. I don't want to be alone tonight."

  Moe smiled and said, "Well, if you put it that way."

  The sergeant, an obvious weightlifter whose biceps were nearly bursting the sleeves of his uniform shirt, walked up and asked Moe, "Tell me sir, what did you think you could do with that meat cleaver against a guy with a .45 caliber pistol?"

  An embarrassed smirk crossed his broad face and Moe replied, "I planned to disarm him. Literally."

  The sergeant shook his head and said, "That's what I figured," as he turned and headed for the door.

  An hour later it was Moe, Dana, and I sitting around one corner of the bar. The doors were locked and the outside lights were off. Everyone else was long gone. Dana said, "You guys can sit here and get sloshed if you want to, but I'm going home. Couple people I want to hug tonight." I leaned back, spread my arms, and started to say something in response, but she cut me off, "And it's not you two."

  As she headed for the door, Moe said, "Hey, thanks Dana."

  She waved over her shoulder and said, "Nothing to it. Any good bartender has to lend a hand to the bouncer once in a while."

  After she left Moe said, "Let's have another drink before we call it a night."

  I replied, "I thought that sheet said no alcohol. We've already had two."

  He scowled, "I'll bet the guy who wrote that sheet has never been shot in the head."

  I said, "Can't argue with that logic."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Moe insisted a couple of more times that he was fine to go home, but I wouldn't hear of it and he finally agreed to stay in my guest room upstairs. I tossed and turned in a fitful sleep for a couple of hours before getting back up, grabbing another beer from my kitchen refrigerator and going out onto the balcony. I was sitting in the dark gazing across the boats in the marina toward the inky black Atlantic when the sliding door behind me opened and Moe came out.

  As he slumped heavily into a chair he said, "You couldn't sleep either, huh Boss?"

  "Nope. I don't know if it's because I'm still too keyed up or because I'm afraid of the nightmare I might have if I do fall asleep."

  In the faint light I could see Moe nod. "Y
eah, funny how a near death experience can screw with a man's mind."

  I turned and asked him, "Tell me Moe, why didn't you go out the back door of the kitchen? You had plenty of opportunity to get out."

  "I guess the same reason you didn't dart out the back door when you came around from behind the bar."

  I said, "Oh, you didn't think of it."

  He shook his head vigorously. "Bullshit. You thought of darting out the back door, but you stayed because you felt responsible for those people in your bar." He rubbed the back of his neck and continued, "I guess I felt doubly responsible because the guy was there as a result of my actions."

  "Now it's my turn to call bullshit. You didn't do anything that warranted his actions. This isn't the wild west." I reflected for a minute and added, "No, you felt responsible for those people, just like I did."

  We fell into silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in our thoughts while staring out into the nothingness that is the ocean at night. Finally, I asked, "How's your head feeling?"

  Moe lightly touched the bandage. "It hurts, the gash hurts, but I don't have a headache or any dizziness like those guys were concerned about. The gash hurts like any other deep cut would. Nothing serious."

  I looked directly at him, "Damn Moe, that was close. If Dana hadn't come out when she did . . . I don't even want to think about it."

  "Geez Boss, don't go getting all sentimental on me. My hard old head, bullet would probably have bounced right off."

  "I'm not so sure about that considering the fact that the cops found it lodged in one of the racks in the storeroom after passing completely through the wall."

  Moe shrugged and said, "My head's a lot harder than some old sheetrock wall." He drew a deep breath and added, "I am glad Dana acted when she did though, even if it was a dangerously stupid thing to do. She could have easily gotten herself killed."

  Again, the black ocean absorbed our thoughts as the whole terrifying event replayed in our minds for the hundredth time. I finished my beer and said, "Hey, Moe there's rum in there if you want a drink. I'm sure there are at least a couple of Coke's in the refrigerator."

  He replied, "No thanks Boss. I'm fine, but while I've got your attention let me ask you something." He hesitated and then asked, "What are you going to do about Elena? I know it's not my place to say anything, but I think she's coming unhinged or something. Lately, she's been calling here looking for you ten times a day. It's like she needs to know where you are and what you're doing every minute of the day."

  Leave it to Moe to call it like he sees it. "Unhinged? I thought she had become a little possessive, but I hadn't thought of her as unhinged."

  He said, "Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. Still, she's changing. I feel it when she calls. Something isn't quite right, Boss."

  "Does she really call that often?"

  "Yeah, Boss. I swear she called at least ten times yesterday when you were gone with PJ. Just ask Dana, she was on the phone with her for ten minutes one time. Elena was interrogating her about where you were and what you were doing. Dana had no idea where you were, but Elena wouldn't accept that answer. I knew, but I wasn't about to tell her. I figure if you want Elena to know how close you're working with PJ you'll tell her yourself. Marge and I've talked about it and we've told everyone that they're not to give out any information about where you are or what you're doing."

  Wow, my private life has evolved to a point warranting an internal meeting and establishment of a policy. Although, I couldn't argue with the policy they had established. "Gosh Moe, I had no idea the situation was that bad. How long has this been going on?"

  "I don't know Boss, a while. It wasn't so bad before because you were here most of the time, so you must have been talking to her regularly, or at least enough to ease whatever concerns are prompting her keeping tabs on you. It's just gotten bad since you've been gone long periods with PJ lately."

  I stared out at the ocean as if the answer was out there somewhere. Of course, it wasn't, because I already knew the answer. I told Moe I would address the situation with Elena. We talked a few more minutes and then Moe yawned deeply and said he was going to go back to bed and see if he could salvage some of the night's sleep. I told him I would do the same shortly.

  I sat in the stillness and thought about Elena. When we first started seeing each other it had been casual and lighthearted. Somehow the relationship had become more complex. Maybe this is the way it always is with relationships. I don't know, I haven't really attempted to maintain a real relationship since Katherine. As I reflected on it, I couldn't remember making a conscious decision to establish a long term relationship with Elena. I guessed it had just evolved, and like so much else in my life, without my notice.

  All of this introspection was exhausting me, so I decided I should attempt to get some sleep, too. I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the time, but it was dead again. The battery just doesn't hold a charge these days. I need to put that on my list of things to address sometime in the near future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  It was just after 8:00 a.m. when I awoke Sunday morning. I stumbled out into the kitchen to make coffee and noticed that Moe was gone from the guest room. The sheets had been pulled from the bed and neatly folded in a pile at the foot. I don't know why, but Moe's consideration for others never ceases to surprise me.

  I took my coffee into the bathroom and attempted to clear the cobwebs with a long hot shower. By the time I'd shaved and dressed it was nearly 9:00 a.m. Of course we don't open until noon on Sunday and I don't really have any responsibility in opening, so I guess the time really didn't matter. When I got downstairs I found Moe sitting at the bar reading the newspaper. The tables and chairs were all pushed back from the area of the floor where we had the encounter with the gun toting drunk last night.

  I hopped up on a stool next to Moe and refilled the mug I had carried from upstairs from the pot sitting in front of him. Pointing toward the floor I said, "You're at it early this morning."

  He replied, "Yeah, with all the excitement last night I forgot to clean up the blood from the floor."

  "Oh, you mean your blood. The blood that spurted from your head after you barely avoided having it blown off. How negligent of you, Moe. You're really getting slipshod about your duties around here."

  "Hard to get good help these days, Boss. You know that." He pointed toward the area on the floor, "Most of it came up. Should have done it last night, but I still got most of it out. When it dries, it won't look any worse than any of the other stains on the floor."

  Looking at the assortment of things on the table nearest the stain I asked, "What did you use to get it up anyway?"

  "Oh, it's a concoction my mama taught me about when I was a kid."

  "Really, your mama have a lot of experience cleaning blood up?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. Moe grew up in inner city Detroit and, unfortunately, his mother may have had all too much experience cleaning up blood stains.

  A solemn expression enveloped his face and he replied simply, "Yeah, something like that."

  Trying to recover, I switched to a less intense topic . . . sports. We bantered about the sports news in the paper for a few minutes. Moe suddenly said, "Oh Boss, I nearly forgot to tell you. A detective from Hollywood PD is going to stop by later and get a copy of the video from our incident last night. He called the bar phone a little after eight and said he was reading the reports the officers had submitted last night and he didn't see any mention of anyone making a copy of the video. He wasn't very happy about that and said he would be here sometime this morning to get a copy. I told him one of us would be here."

  "Oh sure. In fact after I finish my coffee I can go back and make a copy for him."

  Moe said, "I told him that we would make him a copy, but he said he would rather look at the raw footage and decide himself how much to copy. He said he might even want to copy the portion where I ejected the guy earlier." A look of concern crossed his
face as he added, "I hope he doesn't think I did something wrong."

  "Yeah, something that would justify a nut coming in here with a gun, threatening everyone, and attempting to kill you. Come on Moe, the police aren't always accusing you of doing something wrong. I'm sure it's just the opposite, he wants to be able to show the prosecutor that there are no mitigating circumstances that would warrant anything except throwing the book at that guy."

  Moe exhaled sharply and said, "You're probably right, Boss. It's just hard to break with a lifetime of experience."

  I couldn't argue with that. I've never walked where Moe has.

  It was late morning when the Hollywood detective arrived. Moe had gone home to change his clothes, so I was the only one at Cap's. He was friendly, but all business. I had the distinct impression that he had a full plate of investigations to follow-up on from the night before. He made copies of the entire time the gunman was on the premise in both instances. He said he would be meeting with the prosecutor sometime Monday and he was confident that several felony charges would be authorized. I asked if he knew the condition of the assailant. He chuckled and said that it seemed that the guy shot in the head was in much better condition than the guy hit with the fire extinguisher. He has a concussion and will probably be arraigned from his hospital bed.

  After the detective left I checked the work schedule. Dana had the next two days off. That's probably a good thing. I think she was more shook up than she wanted to let on to us last night, and rightfully so. A few minutes later Juan arrived to fire up the kitchen and Renee arrived to tend bar. Dana has been teaching Renee bartending and Sundays are fairly slow until late afternoon so Renee was going to open. Renee and Juan had both gone home just before our excitement last night. I decided I should tell them about it before some customer came in talking about whatever rumor was circulating and they were caught unaware.

  They were the only ones I had to tell the story to because as soon as Moe came in wearing the bandage on his forehead everyone asked him what happened. I'm pretty sure that by the end of the day he was more than tired of retelling the story. Mid-afternoon I did think to call Marge at home and tell her about the whole incident. I knew if she came in Monday morning and found out about it and I hadn't called her, there would be hell to pay. She wouldn't take my word that Moe was fine and made me put him on the phone. I know that Moe's mother died before he came to Florida, but she may have been reincarnated in Marge. The list of instructions she gave him and promises she extracted from him would make any mother proud.