by Terry Keys
“No. This isn’t something a husband needs to see,” I said.
“But it’s the man’s wife. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”
“The man’s wife and any other family are probably dead. The man deserves a little break. I wouldn’t want to see this,” I said. “Take that face and run it through facial recognition. Hers too.” I pointed to the young girl.
“Okay. I’m running the numbers to see what turns up. And I’m running a background on the burner phone. That will be the easiest—finding out where it was sold,” Fingers said.
So Rael’s family was presumably dead. And who was the man in this video? Was this Hasan? Or El Printo himself?
“You going to fill in our FBI friends?” Paul asked.
“I’ll start with the Rokan find and see how it goes,” I said.
Fingers laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing. I just want to be you when I grow up.”
Fingers and I watched the video several more times, but nothing of note stood out, at least not at first.
“Play the video again. And pause it when I tell you to.”
Fingers looked confused. “Okay.”
I grimaced again as the video started playing. “Right there. Stop it. Zoom in if you can. I want you to screen-grab that tattoo and enhance it.”
“It’s only a piece of a tattoo.”
“A piece more than we noticed the first five times we watched this.”
The rapist had what appeared to be a family crest tattooed on his neck. About fifty percent of it was visible.
“You don’t happen to speak—”
Fingers just glared at me. “Don’t ask. There are limitations to my greatness.”
“Fair,” I said.
“I’ll see what I can find out about it.”
There was so much we’d learned over the last twenty-four hours but still so much more we didn’t know. What exactly was Rokan’s role? Who was the man in the video? Was the woman Rael’s wife, or could it have been a sister? Or an aunt?
More importantly, what were they planning next?
I took out my phone to dial Mullinski.
“’Bout time I heard from you,” he said, skipping the standard greeting.
“Been busy trying to find some bad guys. Listen, I need to fill you in on a few things.”
“Listening.”
This should be fun, I thought.
“So, what’s your next move? Going after this Rokan character?”
“Yes, here in a few hours. Trying to do some recon on him now.”
“Let me know the time and place and we will meet you.”
“10-4.”
Chapter 27
I left Fingers and charged him with the task of finding me something I could use from Hasan’s phone. I was headed to meet Paul, Mullinski, and Khalid.
I plugged my phone into my truck and hit dial.
“DeLuca, how’s that case coming along?”
“And a fine good afternoon to you.”
“Sorry. Yes, good afternoon.”
“It’s going. May have it wrapped up in a day or so. Eyewitnesses everywhere. Pretty open-and-shut case.”
“So in other words, it won’t be like Tupac and Biggies murder cases, unsolved twenty years later?”
“No. Theirs wouldn’t have gone unsolved either, had I been on those cases.”
“Never one to lack confidence,” I said.
“Would you want me on your team if I did?”
She was right; I wouldn’t have. I disconnected with her and shot a text to Fingers. I hadn’t heard from him in a few hours, and I wanted to keep the pressure on him.
Then a text came through from the last person on Earth I thought I’d ever get a text from, the president herself. What the hell was this all about?
“This is President Wilson. I haven’t gotten any good news in a few days. Tell me you’ve found my bad guys?”
I wished I could text her back with affirmative but I couldn’t.
I simply replied, “Getting close, ma’am.”
“Make it closer. I got more people on my ass than Nixon did during Watergate. This will end badly if it doesn’t end soon, Detective.”
As if I wasn’t already under enough stress.
It was nearing dark, which would add a little cover for us. I pulled up across the street from the restaurant Rokan was in and killed my truck.
I walked over to the van where Paul and two other officers were waiting and rapped on the back window.
“What do we have?” I asked.
Paul pointed. “Well, if you look there, you can see Rokan. There’s another man eating dinner with him, but we can’t get a good shot of his face.”
“When this goes down, we take them both. I want to know who he is.”
“Could just be a business client,” Paul said. “But we’re working on his identity.”
“Or it could be another piece to this puzzle. But I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
“Your FBI friends coming?” Paul asked.
“Expecting them any minute now,” I said.
“You got a plan on how this goes down?”
“We wait for him to leave and follow them to their cars. If we have to split up since there are two of them, so be it. But I want them both.”
Just then I heard a knock on the door. I went back to open it, assuming correctly that it was Mullinski and Khalid.
“Welcome to the party,” I said.
“David, look. We got some movement,” Paul said anxiously.
I turned back to the monitor and saw Rokan and his guest shaking hands. Clearly this dinner meeting was coming to an end.
“Mullinski, you and Khalid follow our mystery man. Let’s see where he goes next. If he goes to a residence, which we’ll presume is home, detain him when he gets out.”
“Okay. And what are we arresting him for?” Mullinski asked.
“Detaining, not arresting. And for now, just as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation. Paul and I will do the same with Mr. Rokan.”
The two men in the restaurant exited the front of the building. They exchanged another handshake and started walking toward their cars. Mullinski and Khalid headed for their car to tail our mystery man.
“So, we going to tail him in this?” Paul asked, making reference to the van.
“Well, it’s not a chase. He doesn’t even know we’re watching him.”
“True, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better in her,” he said, pointing at his car.
It wasn’t worth debating any longer, and Rokan was already making his move. We switched over to Paul’s car and began following about five car lengths behind.
We jumped on Loop 610 West and kept our five-car-length distance. Rokan’s BMW M3, which could do zero to sixty in a shade over four seconds, was weaving in and out of traffic.
“The guy’s driving like a bat out of hell,” Paul said.
“Well, you guys with fast cars usually drive them fast, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Only problem is keeping up without getting busted.”
Paul was right. Rokan was doing right at ninety miles an hour when the speed limit was seventy. We darted in and out of a few more cars, trying to keep pace.
“This isn’t good, Knuckles,” Paul added.
“Well, glad we didn’t bring the van,” I said, smiling, which garnered me quite the look from Paul.
All of a sudden, Rokan stepped on the gas. I looked over at Paul with a speed-it-up look.
We were now easily going over one hundred miles an hour.
“He’s made us,” Paul said.
“Looks that way. Or he thinks you’re challenging him with your car.”
“Maybe. If so, what’s our play?”
“Back off. Let’s let him think he’s won.”
“We put a tracking device on the car,” Paul said.
“Even so, we need to bring him in tonight. Who knows what they’ll have him doi
ng next or what he’s working on.”
We were going to follow the tracker now, probably to his apartment suite.
Paul and I were quite a distance behind—a few miles according to GPS.
“Look,” Paul said. “The car stopped. It’s been sitting for a few minutes now.
“Maybe he’s meeting with someone. Not sure what anyone would be doing there alone.”
I looked up the address where his car was parked.
“It’s a warehouse of some sort. Let’s get there and see what the hell is going on.”
According to the coordinates we were at the right place. And by now Rokan would be deep in the warehouse bays, meaning we could drive in without being made.
As we approached the address, we found a gate. Someone had latched it back after Rokan entered. It wasn’t set up for a quick exit, which told me Rokan planned on being here awhile. Paul killed the lights, and we decided to get closer on foot.
Both of us checked our service weapons and climbed out of the car. We walked up to the chain-link fence and climbed over. I pointed ahead to the warehouses’ and we started moving forward. I looked around and didn’t see much outside of the structures.
I was expecting another car. Whoever he was meeting had to be driving something. It was extremely dark and there wasn’t a single light inside these walls.
I tapped Paul on the shoulder.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said.
“Me either. We have no idea how many others he’s meeting here. And we have two guns.”
“Yeah, I know. I want to be extremely careful here. We have the tracker on Rokan’s car. If we have to sit and wait, that’s the play. But I at least want to get eyes on this meeting and see who the players are.”
We tiptoed along a wall to one of the buildings. I gripped my gun even tighter than I usually held it. We were blind here and following someone I suspected to be an international terrorist. He’d die in a heartbeat for his cause and take me and Paul and anyone else with him.
Up ahead, I finally made out another vehicle, which I pointed out to Paul. I knew we couldn’t use any sort of flashlight, because we’d be made. But it was so God-awful dark that I could barely see in front of me. And if I moved the right way—or the wrong way—it’d be over. As I moved along, closer to where I suspected Rokan might be, I started picking up faint voices.
Then suddenly, I heard something metal roll past me like it had been kicked.
I looked back at Paul who whispered, “my bad.”
Then, I heard the first gunshot.
Chapter 28
My heart hammered in my chest. The gunfire had smashed no further than five feet away from me. We’d been made. Or they’d heard Paul’s misstep. Either way, we’d turned from predator to prey.
I ran back in the direction I came from. The gunfire picked up, and shots pinged off the concrete around me. There was no way they could see us, so they were shooting blind hoping to get lucky.
Now I wondered if Rokan had lured us into a trap. Either way, all I wanted was for the two of us to make it out of this unscathed.
“Paul!” I cried out, trying to see where he was. He didn’t respond. Maybe he’d already made it to the fence where we’d come in and back to his car.
I was in a full sprint now, hoping a stray bullet wouldn’t find its way into my back. About fifteen yards ahead of me, the fence finally came into view.
I bolted through it and ran toward Paul’s car. But where was Paul? I tried to think back to when I was running. Did I hear two sets of feet scurrying away? I couldn’t be sure. The only thing I knew for a fact was I was here and Paul wasn’t.
I dropped down to my stomach and scooted back to the fence. The shots had stopped, but now voices were heading in my direction. It sounded like they were about a football field away and closing fast.
“Paul!” I yelled. “Paul! Goddamnit, where are you?”
I took my Mini Mag from my pocket and flashed it through the fence and out into the parking lot I’d just dashed across. I scanned from left to right, trying to catch a glimpse of Paul. The light’s beam wasn’t strong enough to make it to the men who were headed my way, but I had no doubt they could see it.
The gunshots started again. And then I saw him—them. Four men stood over Paul’s body, one of them shining a flashlight onto his body. He lay sprawled out on the ground. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. But if I couldn’t figure out a way to take out the four men and get to him, he’d be dead for sure.
One of the men stayed behind with Paul, and the other three headed for me and my telltale flashlight. Off in the distance I could hear another set of voices heading my way too.
For a second I froze. I knew what I needed to do, but my legs wouldn’t move. I still hadn’t even turned off the flashlight. I knew what Paul would tell me to do. Better yet, I knew what Paul would demand me to do if he could get to me. Run. Turn off the flashlight—and run!
So I did.
I crawled back behind Paul’s car and kneeled there for a second. Tears formed in my eyes. Anger pumped through me.
I leapt to my feet and let out a barrage of gunfire in the direction of the men heading my way. I heard a scream; I’d hit one of them.
The second group of men got closer, and I could hear the stamper of their feet as well. My time was up.
I took off around the building in a full sprint. All kinds of thoughts raced through my mind. This was a shitty part of town to be running away from armed gunmen. A more affluent neighborhood would have afforded me a better chance of finding a safe place to hide. But not in this hood. No way. I’d just as soon be shot by someone thinking I was an intruder.
A half dozen shots rang out behind me. Up ahead I could see what appeared to be a semi-major intersection. I left the side streets I’d been running down and ran right out into the middle of the street.
Maybe someone would call about a crazy man running in the streets and another cop would come by. I stopped for a second, still standing in the middle of the almost-empty street. It was silent. The men who’d been chasing me were nowhere to be found.
Were they hiding? Waiting to ambush me? Or had they run me off as far as they wanted and headed back? Paul! Oh God, what were those savages going to do with him? For an instant I thought about going back, guns blazing, but I didn’t move.
I reached down to see if I still had my cell phone. I didn’t. Hopefully the maniacs wouldn’t find it.
Then a half block away from me, a cop car lit up and headed my direction. I still had my weapon in my hand. The officer stopped about fifteen yards from me and shouted at me to get down using the car’s megaphone.
I tossed my gun ten feet away and lay down on the street. I kept both hands raised.
The officer flung his door open and drew his weapon. Another officer pulled up as well, and then a third screeched to a halt behind me. It was dark, and with my face buried into the road it’d be difficult if not impossible to ID me. All they had was a six-foot-three-inch black man who was standing in the middle of the street waiving a gun.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the first officer yelled at me.
“Listen, my name is detective David Porter, HPD.”
“Okay, pal. You just don’t move,” he barked.
I decided I would overload them with data and maybe quickly convince them that I was who I said I was.
“I’m not moving. My badge is in my pocket. My badge number is 55346. I am the lead detective for the Major Crimes Division. I used to work for Captain Wilcrest, who died last year. My partner, Paul Lafitte, is down. He was shot by the men who were chasing me a few blocks from here. You should have gotten calls about several shots fired. We need to get to him now.”
The first officer put a knee right into my face. Pain surged through me. He yanked my right arm behind my back and slammed a cuff on it.
“Listen, I’m a cop, godammnit!” I yelled.
The second officer yank
ed my other arm behind my back.
“Guy says he’s a cop,” one of the officers said.
“Well, hell. Is he?”
None of them could see my face, as Officer One still had his knee dug into it. I could feel glass or something sharp cutting into my face.
They yanked me to my feet. The third officer shined a flashlight into my eyes.
“It’s Porter, damn it. Take those cuffs off of him. Now!”
“My partner and I were chasing a suspect. He was shot. We have to go back now!”
I ran over, grabbed my weapon, and leapt into the third officer’s car. I pointed down the alley I’d come from. “This way!”
In the side mirror I could see both of the other squad cars following.
Officer Mendez called it in. “We have an officer down at MLK and Scott street. Please send all available units. I repeat, we have an officer down.”
Chapter 29
We made it back to the warehouse in less than two minutes. I was cautiously hopeful that Paul would still be lying on the ground where I’d left him. I hated to hear those words—left him—even playing in my head.
“Right there,” I said. “That’s Paul’s car.”
Mendez slammed on his brakes and shined the car’s lights onto Paul’s vehicle. The animals had riddled it with gunshots. I watched as the other two officers pulled up, drew their weapons, and joined us as we huddled behind Paul’s car.
“I don’t know how many there were. At least five, maybe even closer to ten. They came from inside those buildings about a hundred yards behind us. Not sure how they spotted us, especially in the dark, but they did. We tried to run but . . .”
I pointed in the direction where Paul went down. One of the men took out a flashlight and handed it to me. I shined it in the direction where I’d last seen Paul.
Nothing. He was gone.
I shook my head. “He’s not there.”
“Are you certain that’s where you saw him go down?”
I glared at the officer. “That’s where he was.”
With flashlights in hand, we busted through the fence where Paul and I had entered only fifteen minutes before.
The vehicle I’d spotted when Paul and I came in was gone. I bet Rokan’s car was gone too. And the rest of the goons who’d been here. I felt like I was going to throw up. I leaned over, my hands on my knees.