Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 05 - Till Death Do Us Part

by Peggy Dulle

  “Santana?” I asked.

  Art frowned.

  “Tom told me all about Carlos and his brother.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize he’d told you. Yes, Carlos and Santana usually do jobs together. Every time one was arrested, so was the other. It was unusual that he was by himself the other day.”

  “We were parked in a strip mall. Maybe he had gone in one of the stores or restaurants when Carlos spotted me.”

  “That’s a good possibility.”

  “If you’d told me you actually thought someone was out here looking for me, I might have stayed home.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I do much better if people tell me things.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Kenny came back, handed us our tickets, and settled in next to us. The ferry left a few minutes later. Art was reading something on his phone, he kept flicking the pages.

  “What kind of books do you like to read?” I asked Art.

  “Historical with lots of guns and action.”

  “You don’t get enough of that in your job?”

  “Most of my job is doing exactly what I’ve been doing for the last day, watching people. It gets boring, so I read when I can.”

  “Let’s go up and outside, Stretch,” Kenny said, never one to sit still very long.

  “Good idea,” I looked over at Art, “You coming?”

  “I’m your shadow,” he said, putting his phone in his pocket and rising.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about us on the ferry. It’s practically empty.”

  “Worrying is my job.”

  I shrugged and we went up the stairs, through the cabin and out to the front of the boat. It was windy and cold, but felt great. I looked over the railing at the waves. Art sat on one of the bench seats in the front of the boat, phone out and engrossed in his book. Kenny put his arm around me and we stared out, both lost in our own thoughts. Going under the bridge was cool and around ten, we arrived at Pier 41.

  Art put his phone away when the ferry stopped. The three of us walked off the ferry, on to the pier and toward Pier 39.

  “What’s first?’ Art asked.

  Together we said, “Frequent Flyers!”

  “What?” Art asked.

  “You’re going to love it,” I told him. “And it’s my treat for letting us go to the city today.”

  “And best done on an empty stomach,” Kenny added.

  Art looked skeptical. “I’ll reserve my decision until I know what Frequent Flyers are.”

  Then, I took Art’s right hand and Kenny took the left and we dragged him to Pier 39. When he saw the huge bungee trampoline he shook his head.

  “It’s so much fun, you’re going to be begging to do it again,” Kenny told him.

  Art rolled his eyes.

  “Come on, Art. Give it a try,” I prodded.

  Art pulled out his phone, pushed several buttons and said, “Close in the ranks. I want you within grabbing distance of Liza.”

  Silence.

  “Because I’m going to try this stupid Frequent Flyer contraption.”

  Another agent stepped up.

  “Where’d he come from?” Kenny asked.

  Art just stared at him and said, “You don’t think we came here all alone, did you?”

  “Guess not,” I said.

  The other agent took Art’s jacket, quickly hiding his shoulder holster so that no one in the crowd would see it. I guess it could be bad to bounce upside down with a gun. It would probably fall out, go off, and cause an incident that would mean hours in a San Francisco police station.

  They hooked up Art to the belt harness which held him in the middle of two long rubber-band-like contraption suspended on two polls. I saw the agent who took Art’s jacket close in behind me. I smiled and turned my attention back to Art.

  Art started by just jumping a few feet off the ground.

  “Come on, Art. You are a big strong FBI agent; you can do better than that,” Kenny yelled.

  “Who is Art?” the agent behind me asked.

  I turned and said, “Long story, it’s what we call Tony.”

  He nodded and went back to scanning the crowd.

  Art finally got into the ride. He would push himself off, do a flip, and laugh – a true belly laugh. Kenny went next and then I did it. It’s an amazing feeling of flying.

  “Now what?” Art said as they were unbuckling me from the harness.

  “I’m starving,” Kenny and I said at the same time.

  “It’s only eleven o’clock. You two are always hungry,” Art commented.

  “Wow,” I said, “He’s spent so little time with us and he knows us so well.”

  Kenny and I laughed, but Art didn’t crack a smile.

  “There is a Hard Rock Café right on Pier 39, how about that?” Art suggested.

  “You’re a great tour guide.” Kenny patted him on the back.

  “And I’m paying,” Art said.

  “No, we can pay for our own,” I told him. We were eating enough on the government’s money.

  Art looked at Kenny and said, “I feel bad for almost shooting you last night, this will help ease my conscience.”

  “Okay, by me. If it makes you feel better you can buy me dessert later, too.”

  “Don’t push it,” Art said, but he was smiling.

  We walked the few blocks to the Hard Rock Café, a great place with lots of music memorabilia.

  The young hostess looked barely old enough to serve drinks. “You want to eat inside or out on the patio?” she asked, looking directly at Kenny and practically batting her eyes.

  “Stretch?”

  “Inside, it’s not that warm outside.”

  “The lady wants inside,” Kenny told the hostess.

  “Is she your lady?” she asked.

  Kenny chuckled, low and sultry, “She is for this moment.”

  “Moments pass,” she bantered back.

  “That is so true.” Kenny baited her.

  She handed him a napkin. “When the moment passes, give me a call.”

  Kenny tucked the napkin into his jeans back pocket and when the hostess tried to seat us in the front, Art said, “We’d like to sit further inside the restaurant.” It didn’t sound like a request at all.

  The hostess looked at him as if he had lost his mind, I’m sure she wondered why he cared so much about where we sat. I knew better after eating in restaurants with Tom. Finally she said, “I have to balance the wait staff’s tables. I have to put you in the middle, by the railing.”

  Art shook his head, pulled out a black wallet and flipped it open. It was his FBI badge and the hostess took a step back. Art said, “I want the back.”

  “Okay,” she stuttered and pointed toward the back where there was a table and said, “Is that table okay?”

  Art scanned the arrangement of the restaurant, then narrowed his eyes on the table. It was set in a corner with walls on two sides of it. Finally he nodded and said, “That’s fine.”

  Art put me in the corner – literally in the corner. I felt as if I was in a time-out chair. He sat next to me and put Kenny across the table. Art scanned the room one more time, then picked up the menu but continued to glance from the menu to the front doors and across the room. Twice he glanced at the electrical box for the restaurant that was on the back wall next to our table and then scanned the room looking for other exposed circuit breaker systems. Always a cop – looking for an exposed weakness in his security protocol. I was starting to feel like the president and his secret service detail.

  Our food arrived and it was very good. Our waitress kept my tea and Kenny’s and Art’s soda glasses full. She was overly friendly, which meant she was hitting on Kenny. It always amazed me how brazen some women can be, but I was used to it. We always got the best service if we got a female waitress and even sometimes some male waiters.

  When Art finished his lunch, he polished off the rest of my fries. For such a little guy,
he could sure pack away the food. But then he paid the bill, so I didn’t begrudge him the fries I shouldn’t be eating anyway. Besides, I needed room for dessert later.

  Afterwards we bought tickets for the Aquarium and wandered through it. Kenny took my arm, read all the cards and plagues to me in the first room, describing every fish in detail.

  “I wish you could see this Stretch,” Kenny cooed. “The fish are so beautiful. They are red and gold and purple and huge.”

  I could see he was pointing to a school of sardines rotating round and round a circular tank. They are all small and totally silver. I watched the people around us react to him – some of the people, especially the kids, were looking at him like he was nuts.

  Kenny leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Weave him in, Stretch.”

  I glanced from Kenny to Art, patted Kenny’s hand then grabbed for Art.

  He startled when I gripped his arm.

  “I am so happy, Art. Are the fish as beautiful as Kenny says they are?”

  Art glanced from me to Kenny, then said, “Yes, Liza, they are beautiful.” He was having a lot of trouble not laughing. For a man who didn’t laugh or even smile last night, he sure found Kenny and me quite amusing now.

  We walked through this tunnel surrounded by starfish, sharks, and some huge other fish. It was really cool and I wondered if they did class field trips and, if they did, how much they would cost.

  After the tunnel section there was a Touch the Bay section, featuring touch pools with sharks, rays and sea stars, and an interactive Bay Lab station. The room was filled with kids. Some were leaning over too far and would probably end up in with the bat rays. Others were climbing on rocks, that were clearly marked with a sign that said Do Not Climb on Rocks, and banging on the hedgehog glass enclosure. The rest were running from one place to another.

  Kenny took my arm and led me quickly from the room before I went into teacher-mode and started rounding up the kids. Where were their parents?

  “Why didn’t we stay and look around in the Touch the Bay section?” Art asked.

  “Didn’t you see it in her eyes?” Kenny asked.

  Art looked at me and said, “What?”

  “She was just about to use her fingers to blow a whistle, get the kids to go back to their parents and give a lecture about watching your children when you take them to a public place.”

  I nodded.

  “What was all that silliness about the sardines?” Art asked.

  “Kenny brings out the adolescent in me,” I chuckled.

  Art frowned.

  Kenny patted him on the shoulder and said, “Stretch and I loved drama in high school. We were in all the productions. Our favorite class was the Improvisation Class. We were great at it. Give us any topic and we could make up lines and sell it.”

  I thought about my previous adventures and how I had often pretended to be something I wasn’t. Maybe my high school drama classes had finally come in handy.

  “And grabbing my arm?” Art asked.

  “Stretch was the best at weaving in another person. She could get them to play along, even if they had no idea what we were talking about. What do we want to do next?” Kenny asked as we left the aquarium.

  “If we go down to the end of Pier 39, there are a bunch of sea lions,” Art said. He really was a great tour guide.

  “Great idea,” I said. Maybe I could combine the aquarium and a trip to see the sea lions. It would make a great field trip.

  We walked down the pier where there were over thirty people watching eighty or so sea lions fight for their spots on their docks, bite each other, throw each other off, and generally be rude to each other. It’s an etiquette nightmare, but so much fun to watch.

  Several teenage boys were barking at the sea lions, who barked back. The crowd cheered. Again, there were children running around without their parents’ supervision.

  “Just watch the sea lions, Stretch,” Kenny said as we leaned on the railing to the left of the wooden benches set up for people to sit and watch the sea lions. Most people stood on the benches. It was enough to give a teacher nightmares.

  Art leaned on the railing next to me and smiled as a large sea lions sat by himself in the middle of a dock and stared at the other sea lions, as if to dare them to try and get on. When they tried, he slid toward them and shoved them off and then he went back to the middle and lay down again.

  What seemed like a busload of people came walking down the pier and joined the people on the benches. The overflow came and stood by us at the railing. Another sea lion jumped onto the dock with the large sea lion and they started fighting over who would keep the dock. The crowd was cheering, each rooting for one or the other sea lion.

  “Get him off Big Daddy,” someone yelled.

  “You can take that big guy, push him off,” another tourist yelled.

  “If I was a betting man, I’d start collecting money about this time,” Kenny said.

  “I’ve got five on Little Guy,” Art said.

  Kenny reached over, shook his hand and said, “You’re on.”

  Both men began to lean over the railing and yell for their sea lion. Big Daddy versus Little Guy. It was hilarious and I laughed so hard I didn’t feel the two hands until they pulled me away from the railing.

  When I tried to yell, someone clapped a hand over my mouth and whispered in my ear. “Say one little word and I’ll put a bullet in back of your bodyguard and anyone else who gets in my way.”

  Chapter 19

  I turned my head and saw Carlos; no, it must be his twin brother, Santana. He continued to back me away from Kenny and Art, pulled out a gun and said, “There isn’t a safety on this gun.”

  He yanked me back further putting thirty or so tourists between me and the railing.

  Art was the first to notice I was gone. I saw him whip his head around quickly and scan the crowd. Kenny’s head snapped up and our eyes locked. I’m sure mine showed the panic I felt.

  Santana saw it too and he turned me around so that his back was to the railing and he was hiding me from Art.

  “My bodyguard saw you,” I said.

  “No, he didn’t. The idiot was too busy urging on his little sea lion than to keep his eye on you.”

  “Walk forward, up those stairs and through that archway,” Santana said, pulling me closer to his body.

  “Now, that would be stupid. I might as well scream and have you kill me, right here and now.”

  “I’m not supposed to kill you, just take you and have someone contact your dad.”

  “Well, Dad and I don’t get along. In fact, we hate each other. He won’t care what you do to me.”

  “Really?” Santana’s eyebrows shot up; clearly this information didn’t work into his plan.

  I nodded. “It’s Jordan that he likes, not me. That’s the other sister.”

  “The one in New York?”

  “Yes,” I told him. I hoped I hadn’t just thrown my sister under a bus, but it was the only thing I could think of to do.

  “According to the boss, she’s got three FBI bodyguards.”

  She got three and I only got one? I guess an assistant district attorney in New York is more important than a teacher. More likely, the FBI thought that it would be easier for them to get to her in New York than in San Ramon, so they assigned more bodyguards. Boy, am I proving them wrong.

  “Who is your boss?”

  Santana stared at me. “Do I look stupid?”

  I didn’t answer his question.

  “I’m not some idiot, like in the movies, where they tell you everything thinking you’ll not get away and tell anyone.”

  I shrugged but didn’t move.

  He pushed on my back. “Come on, lady. I’m not supposed to kill you, but I can hurt you.”

  Kenny staggered through the archway with a beer in one hand and a stuffed sea lion in the other. He was yelling, “I won! My big guy one!”

  Santana laughed.

  Kenny tripped on the step
s and plowed into Santana, spilling his entire beer on his shirt, saying, “Oh, so sorry man.”

  “What the hell?” Santana pushed Kenny. “Go sober up someplace.”

  That’s when Art came up behind me and I felt Santana stiffen.

  “Give the gun to Liza and don’t move. There are four other FBI agents on this pier and we won’t hesitate to kill you.”

  Santana didn’t hand over the gun but stiffened again. I assume Art had his gun in Santana’s back. Finally, he sighed and handed me the gun.

  Four other agents came up quickly, one grabbed the gun from my hand and the others threw Santana down on the ground, cuffed him and took him away. It took only about a minute.

  Kenny came up, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in close, just as the panic attack began. My body started to shake, as my heart rate and breathing accelerated. Why is it that during the event I am fine, but as soon as it is over, I fall apart?

  Kenny whispered into my ear, “Count and breathe, Stretch. Count and breathe.”

  We had never done the calming procedure with Kenny’s arms wrapped tightly around me. I had to start over counting three times but eventually I was calm.

  “Is she okay?” I heard Art asking.

  I turned my head and said, “Where did all those other agents come from? I didn’t see them on the ferry and there was only one when you went on the Frequent Flyer.”

  “They met us here. I thought this would be the perfect place for Santana to make his move.”

  I hit Art on the shoulder and Kenny hit him on his other one.

  “What?” Art rubbed both of his shoulders

  “You made us bait and,” I began.

  “You could have told us,” Kenny finished, his voice elevating with each word. A clear indication of how he was feeling – and it matched my own.

  Art shrugged. “Then you both wouldn’t have acted spontaneously the way you did. If this trip had looked orchestrated then Santana would have backed away and tried again. He’s the smarter of the two brothers and the more dangerous one. I couldn’t risk either of you actually getting hurt. It was perfect when we rode the Frequent Flyers, it totally made this trip just look like a fun outing.”

  “It is a fun outing and I haven’t got to play a drunk in a long time,” Kenny insisted.