by Bill Craig
Lucy French pulled into the police station parking lot, amazed at the number of news vans parked out front. She spotted a few familiar faces watching the doors, including Keith Montero, a reporter she had met on the job and kind of liked. She turned away hoping he wouldn’t notice her as she made her way into the building.
The atmosphere inside was tense, as if the building were under siege. Which in a way, she supposed, it was even if it was only by the press at the moment. The protestors would be there soon enough, and that was not something that she was looking forward to. All this attention was taking their focus off the case, and she had a nagging suspicion that everything that had happened was all part of a plan. But a plan for what? That was what she and Moseby had to figure out.
Casey Rawlings, the FBI Special Agent was already in the conference room when Lucy arrived. Lucy stood in the doorway a moment to observe and evaluate the diminutive FBI Agent. Most people would underestimate her because of her tiny size, but not Lucy. She could tell by the graceful way she moved that Rawlings was well-versed in some sort of martial arts discipline. She was pretty sure that the agent was a top-notch shooter when the chips were down. She appeared to have a keen mind, also. And there was the fact that Garrett Moseby was somewhat infatuated with her, even if he would never admit it.
Rawlings had taped each murdered officer’s picture up on a white board, as well as some pictures from the crime scenes. She finally entered the room. “It looks like you’ve been busy already,” Lucy said, to announce her presence.
“What can I say? I’m an early riser,” Casey shrugged.
“Not a bad thing. Hear any more about last night?”
“It turned into a real clusterfuck from what I hear.”
“You could say that. It was bad. I’m sure you saw the National Guard trucks all around the city?”
“They were kind of hard to miss. You and Moseby were at the scene of the latest killing, right?” Casey asked.
“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” Lucy replied,
“Was BLM really painted on the corpse?”
“It was. But it didn’t feel right. I can’t explain why.”
“I think somebody is using the BLM movement to start trouble here in Tampa, but I can’t figure out why,” Rawlings told her.
“That does seem to be the question, doesn’t it?” Lucy asked. Garrett Moseby entered the room with a bag from McDonald’s in his hand.
“I brought breakfast for us all,” he said, as he put the bag on the table and sat his coffee mug down.
“Thanks, I could stand some food. I’ve been running on coffee alone for the past couple of hours,” Casey offered him a smile. Moseby’s face flushed red and he quickly left the room.
Lucy hid her smile at her partner’s reaction, but Casey looked confused. “It takes him a while to warm up to new people,” Lucy told her.
*****
Evan Cristo looked at his men. He had worked with them all for more than a decade before they had all discharged out of the service at the same time. They had stayed together as a unit, hiring out for mercenary and contract work for various governments. This job was different though. This job was one that should set them up for life so that they would never have to work again.
Hitting a Federal Reserve Bank was tricky business, but it would be easier if the police were afraid to respond to the call. Especially if there was rioting in the streets and the city was in flames. Deke had done a fine job the night before of egging on the first of what would be many riots over the next few days.
His men would be helping to stir the pot today, as well. Helping fan the flames that would disorient the police and keep them from effectively doing their jobs. Cristo had total faith in his men and their ability and capacity to stay on mission until they fled the city on a boat to Mexico. They could live like kings there on the proceeds from the bank robbery.
*****
Garrett Moseby had gone to the restroom when he had fled the conference room. He splashed water on his face. He didn’t know what it was about Casey Rawlings that shook him up so much. Sure, she was a very attractive young woman, but he had worked with attractive women before. Lucy was a damn good example of that. But Casey Rawlings was different. He was drawn to her in a way that he could not fathom.
Things were getting fucking strange. First the killings, and then his reaction to the FBI Agent. Moseby shook his head. He didn’t like things going sideways, but it certainly felt like that it was.
*****
Captain Stanley caught him just as Moseby was walking out of the restrooms. “You guys did good, last night, Gar,” Stanley told him.
“Just doing our jobs. Any word on when the autopsies are going to be done?”
“Not yet, but I’ll check with the medical examiner and find out.”
“They were our brothers, seems only right I should be there,” Moseby said.
“Agreed. Is Lucy going with you?” Stanley asked.
“I thought I’d have her work with the feds and see what they can turn up on our guys,” Moseby replied.
“Do you really think any of those three were actually dirty?” Captain Stanley asked.
“Not a chance,” Moseby shook his head.
“So, what about the Black Lives Matter slogan being found at each of the scenes?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out, Cap. It seems like somebody is trying really hard to set this city on fire. The question is why?”
“Let me know when you find out.”
“Sure thing, Captain. Hey, is Ramirez still on suspension?”
“No, he was cleared.”
“We could use him.”
“He’s involved in a stalker case right now, but as soon as he’s free of that, he’s yours,” Stanley replied stiffly before walking off.
Moseby watched him go. The captain was still pissed about Mario Ramirez and Rebekah McCabe, but something had happened to get Mario off the hook. Moseby was glad to know that. Ramirez was a good cop and a damned smart detective. Moseby took in a deep breath and let it out slowly and then headed back towards the conference room.
*****
Lucy and Rawlings were seated at the table, eating their breakfast biscuits as they poured over the personnel files of the three dead cops. Neither of them was particularly happy about the task they were doing. It felt too much like rat squad work of the type that internal affairs excelled at. Sure, each of the men had an IA jacket, too, but every good cop did. Most of them were caused by unfounded complaints but they still had to be investigated.
Moseby entered and took the remaining file. As luck would have it, it belonged to Charlie Mendez. Moseby let out another sigh and opened the folder. One of the women had put a breakfast sandwich next to the file and his travel coffee mug. Moseby unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite, chasing it with a drink of coffee. He turned his attention to the file folder.
Garrett Moseby already knew most of what he was reading. He and Charlie had worked patrol together back when Moseby was a wet behind the ears rookie. Charlie had taught him a lot. Moseby still remembered every lesson to this day.
“Hey, Mose,” called a voice from the doorway. It was Eric Strong from the Robbery Division.
“What, Eric?”
“Captain said to tell you that they are doing the cut at noon. Said you wanted to be there,” Strong said.
“Thanks for letting me know,” Moseby told him. He looked at his watch. It would take him about forty-five minutes. “I need to talk to you when I get back to the morgue.”
“You want me to come with you?” Lucy asked him.
“No, I got this. You guys keep digging and see what you can find,” Moseby told her.
“You sure?” Lucy asked again.
“Yeah. I’ll let you know what I find out.” With that, Moseby was out the door.
“He’s kind of flighty, isn’t he?” Rawlings asked, as she watched him go.
“You have no idea, Casey.”
*****
His boss, Fast Eddie, paid him to make his deliveries. The riot the night before was bad for business because it had got the cops looking at everybody. Fast Eddie hated anything that interfered with his business. The BLM and Antifa people pouring into Tampa was nothing but bad news.
Deshawn turned off the main road and took a dirt bike trail that led into the woods bypassing the car. He rode through the park and into the trees. Then, something hit him in the throat and knocked him off his bike. The bike crashed next to a tree. A white face hovered above him and a gloved fist slammed into his face until he could no longer see or breathe.
*****
Keith Montero took the call in the newsroom. The caller refused to give their name but said that they had seen a couple of white cops beating up a black kid in Joseph Robels Park. Montero wrote down the location, grabbed a staff photographer and headed for the door. Thirty minutes later, they had found the body of the young black man. The word ‘payback’ had been painted across his chest in blue spray paint.
The story hit the six o’clock news, and the results were predictable as thousands of black citizens of Tampa filled the streets. Molotov cocktails began raining down on cop cars in black neighborhoods. Citizens were gunned down by frightened cops worried for their lives. All of it added to fan the flames of chaos that were sweeping through the city.
*****
Casey Rawlings had left the police station before the second wave of riots had started. She was on her way to see an old informant that still lived in the area. Nick Robbins might be able to tell her something, but truth be told, she really didn’t expect much.
Casey knew that a lot of people underestimated her because of her small size. They were the ones that didn’t know that she had earned the highest rankings in Krav Magna, the Israeli Martial Art. Very few, if any, men could hold their own with her.
But Casey knew, and she had no problem with it. She had entered the FBI with a chip on her shoulder, and that chip had never been removed. She headed back to her apartment.
Chapter Seven
At five o’clock people were starting to get off work and fill the streets, most heading as rapidly as possible for home. Most had no desire to be out on the streets this night. All day long, the media had been reporting on the violence of the night before. National Guard troops were visible on every downtown street corner. The city was a bomb just waiting to blow.
Lilly Nunez was walking quickly from the building where she worked to the parking garage where her car was parked. She lived in Oldsmar and hoped that it was far enough away from the downtown to escape the violence.
The sun was creating steep shadows inside the concrete canyons of downtown Tampa. The air was hot and thick with humidity as she kept her eyes down, walking quickly towards the garage. The National Guard troops didn’t appear to pay her any notice as she passed them. She was still about a block away from the parking garage when her luck ran out.
Three young black men walked out of a neighborhood bar just as she passed. All three of them took her in with a look at her long shapely legs, the high heels, the knee-length skirt and pale green top that seemed to accentuate her pale brown skin. The leader looked at the other two and nodded in her direction. The three men began to follow her down the street.
Lilly heard them as she walked, could hear the crude comments that they were making about her. She started walking faster, but they kept pace behind her, never letting the distance grow. Lilly was Cuban American. Her parents had come to America with the immigrants called Marielitos. But she was not a fool. She knew what to expect if those been behind her were to overtake her and could isolate her and get her alone. Rape would be the least of it.
Then she saw the uniformed cop next to the front of the parking garage and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, he would be enough to send them off looking for easier prey. She saw him notice her and the men following her. He almost appeared to smile as she hurried past him, heading up two levels to her car. The men behind her slowed down when they saw the cop. Lilly ran up the ramp, putting all the distance she could between her and them.
*****
Lala Caine pulled up short when he saw the cop. Lucas and DJ hadn’t noticed him yet. Lala put a hand on their arms to slow them down. Sure, they had plans for the quaff they had been after, but the fact that a cop was in there was made him think twice. Was it worth it for a slice of Cuban gash? He stepped forward. “Hey, officer, how y’all doin’ tonight?” he asked with a wide smile.
“I’m fine as frog hair split three ways,” the cop replied, as he drew his gun and killed the three men. He reholstered his weapon and disappeared into the parking garage. Fifteen seconds later a white panel van drove out. Thirty seconds later, Lilly Nunez drove out. She spotted the three bodies on the sidewalk. She thanked God as she stepped on the gas and sped off towards home.
*****
Patrolman Ronnie Corchran was driving through the downtown when he spotted the dead bodies in front of the parking garage. He pulled up to the curb and called it in. Eddie had no idea that the press was monitoring all police band calls, so that when he called for a bus and detectives, the press was alerted and on the way.
The TV crews arrived before his back up did and the images of a white cop standing over three dead black men was broadcast all over the city and across the nation. Soon, the streets were filling with protestors. Most of them coming from outside Tampa to fill the streets with a raging mob.
The National Guard troops did what they could, but even that wasn’t enough as they were overrun by BLM and Antifa protestors. Eventually, the guard troops fled, overwhelmed by superior numbers. Cop cars were having things thrown at them, bottles, bricks, trash cans.
Store windows were broken, and looters went in, smashing displays and stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down. Many started fires to cover their tracks. Only once they had been reinforced by the Florida State Police and additional National Guardsmen and Tampa Police Officers did they return back to retake the streets. This time, they were armed with real ammunition, water cannons, and tear gas grenades. It was after midnight before the streets were cleared again.
There were multiple injuries on both sides. The governor declared martial law and a curfew was imposed. It did little to stop what had already taken place, and small groups still roamed the streets defying the curfew. Moseby and French had stayed at the police station, only venturing out when called to reinforce the National Guard.
“This is what I was talking about, Lucy. Right now, everyone in the department is spread so thin or is almost afraid to go out on the street. Something is going down, but I have no idea what it might be,” Moseby told her.
“I think you are right, Gar. Have you seen Rawlings? She took off early this afternoon,” Lucy asked.
“I have no idea, Luce,” Moseby shook his head.
“What it is about her, Garrett? She really seems to have knocked you off your game,” Lucy observed.
“Is it really that obvious?”
“It is to me.”
“I like her. I’m attracted to her.”
“So? Ask her out on a date. It’s not like she’s wearing a ring.”
“I know that. It just seems . . . wrong with her being so young and a U.S.Federal Agent to boot,” Moseby admitted, sheepishly.
“A loving heart doesn’t recognize age, Garrett. Even an old goat like you should realize that,” Lucy rolled her eyes.
“Who are you calling old, kid?”
“Look in a mirror, Garrett.”
“You wound me.”
“Not yet but give me time and I’ll see if I can make it happen,” Lucy told him, keeping up the banter between them. It seemed to hel
p Moseby relax. The telephone on the desk started to ring and Lucy scooped it up. “Homicide, French speaking.” She listened for a minute and grabbed a pen and started scribbling furiously on a scratch pad. She hung up the phone and looked across at Moseby.
“That was Casey. She wants us to meet her at this address,” She told him, thrusting the piece of paper into his hands. Moseby read the address and nodded, pushing to his feet and following her towards the door.
*****
Casey Rawlings kneeled and checked the body for a pulse. There wasn’t one. Her informant had sent her to this address. He hadn’t told her that the guy he sent her to talk to was dead. He had taken two rounds to the chest so close that you could cover the holes with a quarter. That was some kind of precision shooting. Just like the cops that had been killed. Something that Garrett Moseby had pointed out and it had stuck with her. Her gut was telling her that the people behind it were ex-military, maybe even mercenaries. They were also going to great lengths to cover up whatever they were up to. That had to mean something. The question was what? That was why she had called Moseby and French and asked for them to come and meet her. She had seen the rioting in the streets earlier and done her best to stay out of it.
Casey had taken an awful chance driving to this apartment by herself with no backup. Especially given the climate of the city. A lone white woman in a predominately black neighborhood. Carter Hill had been assassinated by somebody he knew. That much was evident. Casey stood and took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Her right hand never strayed far from the butt of her service issued weapon, the Sig Saur hand gun. The killer hadn’t left anything behind that she could find, but she hoped that the sharp-eyed homicide investigators might see something that she had missed.
*****
The streets were eerily quiet in the wee hours of the early morning. It was like the city had turned into a ghost town after the riots. Garrett drove fast, not worrying about traffic or speeding. They were answering a call from a fellow officer, even if that officer was a U.S. Federal Agent. He pulled up to the curb behind Rawlings FOUO car.