by Bill Craig
“These people are getting more aggressive, which means that they may move up their time table for whatever it is that they have planned,” Rawlings was saying, as Moseby reached the two women.
“I agree,” Lucy said, as Moseby joined them.
“We think they were watching Hill’s place to see who came looking,” Moseby added.
“Which means we were right, and they were connected to Hill,” Rawlings said.
“I’m not sure how that helps.”
“It gives us a starting point. Something we didn’t have before,” Lucy replied.
“I’m on it. I’ll get Mills to download all of us the security footage in the area for the day up until Lucy was attacked,” Moseby said, picking up his phone. “With luck, maybe we’ll see Carter Hill’s killer.”
“Maybe the guys that attacked me, as well,” Lucy added.
“The bureau is sending over a couple of more agents to help,” Casey told them.
“I hope they’re sharp ones.”
“Kendal Royce and Matt Fabian are two of the best,” Rawlings assured them.
*****
Dahmer looked up as Cristo and Fonesco walked in. Deke Wilson was already present. Dahmer picked up his water bottle and took a long drink.
He noticed that they were down two men already. That meant that things were not going as planned. He was curious about how Cristo would deal with that issue. As well as, how they could successfully pull off the job down two men.
“Gentlemen, our mission has not changed. We’ve suffered a couple of minor setbacks, but our mission is still viable. I have two replacements coming in tonight to take up the slack for the two men we lost. The cops in this town are a little smarter than we thought, but we still have them outgunned, and we still have the BLM agitator activists helping keep the city in turmoil. The cops are afraid to hit the streets for fear of a racial incident. In other words, we have them right where we want them,” Cristo explained.
“Who are the new guys?” Dahmer asked, curious.
“Kelly Shea and Zydecco Brown. I worked with both of them before in both Iraq and Afghanistan. They are excellent in their jobs. So, there will be no problems once we hit zero hour.”
“Are you sure that the cops aren’t onto us?” Dahmer asked. He had been against this job from the get go, finding the risk factor to be too high.
“There is no way that they could be. Are you getting cold feet, Claude?’ Cristo asked him, his eyes flashing menacingly.
“Nope. I’m just wondering how two new guys can arrive and be up to speed in less than twenty-four hours when the rest of us spent three months drilling on the mission,” Dahmer replied slowly. His body looked at ease, but inside he was coiled and ready for action, already having figured how he would take out Cristo and then the rest of the men in the room.
“I like to cover my bases, Mr. Dahmer. I had another team practicing as well, just in case we encountered problems,” Cristo replied.
“So, when do we hit the bank?”
“Tomorrow night,” Cristo replied, turning and walking away.
“You got any idea how close you just came to dying?” Fonesco asked.
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t let it bother me. You’d do well to do the same.”
“Always gotta be a hard ass, don’t you?”
“It is the only way I know,” Dahmer told him.
*****
“I think we’ve been looking at this wrong,” Moseby said.
“What do you mean?” French asked him, titling her head slightly.
“I think our theory of victimology is off. We’ve been looking at it as if each of the murdered officers were specifically targeted. What if they weren’t? What if they were just targets of opportunity that happened to drive into the ambusher’s kill zones?”
“That is a pretty interesting thought,” Casey Rawlings agreed.
“It might even make it easier to track these guys, too.”
“How so?”
“These guys are professionals. They have good tactics and superior fire power. But they are centering most of their attacks in one area on one particular side of town. Why would they do that?” Moseby asked, looking at the two women expectantly.
“Because, when they finally go for their target, all the cops will be on the other side of the city dealing with rioters and protestors. There won’t be anybody to answer any robbery calls on the other side of town,” Lucy French replied, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“Exactly! I think we need to talk to the captain about this,” Moseby said.
“What the hell, it’s the best theory that I’ve heard since I’ve been here,” Rawlings added.
“You got very lucky this morning, Casey. I hope you know that?” Lucy asked her.
“Yeah, I know it. I wish I had gotten lucky enough to nail the shooter or his driver though.”
“You can’t win them all.”
*****
“That is some story,” Captain Luke Stanley said, as he looked at his two homicide detectives and the FBI Special Agent.
“It makes perfect sense, Captain,” Moseby said.
“It does to me, too, Garrett. I’m just not sure I can sell it to the mayor. He’s on his high horse about the protestors and how many of them are streaming into the city and how they are already handicapping us from doing our jobs the right way. To go and tell him that all of that might be to cover up a robbery at an undisclosed location? That seems a bit harder to sell,” Stanley told them.
“I can see that, but I’m absolutely certain that I’m right,” Moseby said.
“Based on what, Garrett? A gut hunch?”
“You’ve trusted my gut plenty of other times, Captain.”
“Yes, but those weren’t political nightmares either. This case is.”
“Because of the BLM protestors?”
“Partially. The dead cops play into it too. This case is tougher than most. I understand that, but it has to be handled one hundred percent by the book. Which means actual evidence and not just a gut hunch or speculation. Bring me evidence, and then I’ll go talk to the chief and then he and I will go to the mayor,” Stanley said, effectively ending the meeting. Moseby, French, and Rawlings filed out of his office and headed back to the conference room that served as the task force headquarters. Another woman was waiting there for them when they arrived. She was taller and beefier than Rawlings, with short dark hair and blue eyes. Her name badge read Kendall Royce and identified her as another FBI Special Agent out of the Tampa office.
“Kendall, good to see you,” Casey Rawlings greeted the woman.
“It’s been a while, Casey. I was busy on the Jed Reinhold case and it went out of state,” Royce replied.
“Did you get him?” Casey asked.
“Marshal Hunter did. I was there for the mop-up,” Royce shrugged. “So, what have you got on these cop killings, so far?”
“I’ll let Detective Moseby explain it, since the theory is his,” Casey told her.
“Detective?” Royce looked at him questioningly. Moseby began to explain at length his take on the case and that the murders were part of an elaborate plan to draw all cops to the wrong side of town so that they could commit a major robbery without police interference.
“So, why didn’t your captain go for it?” Royce asked.
“Politics,” Moseby spat the word as if it were poison.
“You mean the race thing, white cops shooting black kids, etc.”
“Yeah, that. Except, some of the so-called cops aren’t really cops at all. They are just dressed like cops,” Moseby explained.
“So, how are you going to find these shooters and robbers?” Royce looked at him, expectantly.
“By doing whatever we gotta do,” Moseby shrugged, knowing that was not what the agent wanted to hear.
“I hope you plan on doing it legally,” Royce eyed him.
“Of course, totally above board.”
“I’m having a tough time be
lieving you, detective,” Royce observed.
“Believe him or not, if you don’t want to help us, go back to your field office and leave us to do our jobs,” Lucy snarled. She hadn’t said much in the presence of the second FBI Agent but now she was making her play.
“Ah, you do have a voice. I was beginning to wonder,” Royce told her.
“You’re damn right I have a voice. If you disrespect my partner again, you’ll find out I have a bite, as well,” French told her.
Chapter Ten
“Cool your jets, honey. I’m here to do a job just like you. I just like to get a measure of the people I’m working with,” Royce replied, popping her gum. Her chewing gum was somehow incongruous given how she was dressed.
“Call me honey again, bitch, and I’ll give a measure all right,” Lucy French’s voice had gone soft and sweet, like a marshmallow coated with honey. Garrett Moseby got between the two women to head off any further confrontation. While he was sure that French could take Royce, it wouldn’t help them working together.
“Break it up, ladies and I mean right now. We don’t have the luxury of time for you to have a catfight,” Moseby told them.
“You’re right, detective,” Royce said. “And I apologize to you as well, Detective French. I hope we are good now?”
“For now,” Lucy growled, turning on her heel and walking away.
‘I’ll go talk to her,” Casey said, heading after Lucy.”
“Let me guess, they sent you here because of your scintillating wit and charm?” Moseby asked Royce.
“Something like that. I get the job done,” Kendall Royce replied with a shrug,
Don’t try to start a pissing match with my partner again. She will take you apart.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“I am.”
“Maybe I’m tougher than I look.”
“And maybe you’re not. But is a catfight in the middle of a highly charged and very political case the stage you want to find out on?”
“No. I guess not.”
“I didn’t think so.”
*****
“Kendall maybe something of a bitch, but she is good at her job,” Casey said when she caught up to Lucy.
“Be that as it may, she throws shade on me or Garrett again and I’m gonna lay her ass out flat on the floor,” Lucy replied, angrily.
“I’ve come close to doing just that more than a few times.”
“What stopped you?”
“I like my job.”
“Yes, I guess that would give you pause.”
“It sure did. Maybe when I’m ready to quit, I may do it yet,” Casey said.
“Call me first because I want to be there to see it,” Lucy said.
“Deal,” Casey smiled at her and was relieved to see Lucy smile back. She liked the woman cop, even if she was a few years older.
“So, I guess we should go back and see if she is going to behave herself. Just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t work for the FBI,” French said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Casey chuckled as they headed down the hallway.
*****
Ashiri Mohammad looked around the hotel room at his brothers in the Islamic Nation. They had been invited in by the local head of the Black Lives Matter chapter in Tampa. Loretta Blossom entered the room to speak to them about the protest scheduled for after sundown. She moved to the center of the room and turned, looking each man there in the eye.
“I know you all ain’t fond of taking orders from a woman and I’m okay with that. I asked Ashiri to bring you here, so you could march beside us and take our city back from the fascist white ‘po-lice’. They been shooting down our kids for too long! And they been getting away with it. I say, no more! I know you say that, too. It’s time we took this city from the whites and elevate ourselves into positions of power! I know you boys have guns. Well, tonight it is time to use them! Let’s take the fight for freedom to them!” Loretta said.
“Tonight, we take the fight to the white oppressors!” Ashiri yelled, and his men cheered. He took Loretta’s hand and gazed into her eyes for a long moment, and then she slipped out of the room. Ashiri’s top assistant began breaking open crates and handing out weapons and ammunition. Tonight, they would not only stand for Islam, but for black people everywhere.
*****
The meeting broke up, Royce and Rawlings went one way, while Moseby and French went another. They had compiled a list of known associates for Carter Hill and were going separately to question them.
“I hate this, hunting down Vets,” Moseby said, as he put their car in gear and pulled out onto the street.
“I’m not happy about it either, Gar. But it is the only lead we have right now,” Lucy told him.
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“I know that.”
“I have been with the department for nearly twenty years. Maybe, it’s time to put in my papers.”
“And do what, Garrett? You are a cop, and a damn good one. The job is your life. What would you do if you didn’t have it?” Lucy asked him.
“I don’t know,” Moseby admitted.
“Then, you better think about it before you do it,” Lucy told him.
“I know that, kid.”
“I know you do. So, where are we heading first?”
“Ybor City. Lala Hernandez lives there. He was in Carter Hill’s unit in Iraq.”
“Were they close?” Lucy asked.
“They were. Hernandez stood up with Hill as his best man at his wedding. Sadly, the marriage didn’t survive his three tours in Iraq,” Moseby told her.
“That happened to a lot of Vets,” Lucy admitted.
“It did. Myself included,” Moseby told her.
“I thought your wife left because of the job?”
“The job was a big part of it. But when I came home, I was different. Lara couldn’t deal with that. She wanted things to go back to the way they were. Except, I was no longer that guy, no longer the man that she had married. I don’t blame her for that. I blame the war.”
“I can see that.”
“So, how do I get it out of my head?” he asked.
“You don’t, not entirely. The war was a part of you, a part that you can’t deny. What you have to do is accept that it is a part of you, and that you were not just a participant, but a major part of it,” French explained.
“I wish it were that easy, Lucy.”
“It is, if you’ll let it be,” she told him.
They rode in silence after that. Hernandez lived in a small apartment on Seventh Street near the museum. It felt good to actually be doing something other than just reacting.
*****
Wilson Brown had gone with Miss Loretta to meet with the Islamic Nation group. He had never seen any of those boys before and he sure didn’t know what Miss Loretta had been thinking by bring those fanatics in. Wilson was a good Southern Baptist and had been raised in the church. While he didn’t always toe the line, he considered himself a good Christian boy. His mama had made sure of that. It worried him that all the outsiders coming into town that had nothing to do but cause trouble during what was supposed to be a peaceful protest and had instead turned into two nights of rage and violence.
Wilson shook his head after Miss Loretta had dropped him off. Things were moving too fast. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Wilson headed for the church. He needed to talk to the preacher. Reverend Hal might now what he should do.
*****
“This looks like the place,” Lucy said, an instant before Moseby swung the car to the curb to park.
“It doesn’t look like much, does it?” Moseby asked, as he climbed out of the car.
“Not really, no.”
“Probably all that he could afford after getting out.”
“If so, that’s a pretty sad commentary on Veterans Affairs.”
“A lot of guys come out with only one marketab
le skill, and the only place they can use it is either been a cop or a crook. And then, there are the guys like Carter Hill who barely hold it together until they die or get killed,” Moseby sighed, morosely.
“Never a pretty picture is there? Not like it used to be when Vets were welcomed home as heroes. Now, they are just considered damaged goods by the very people that they fought and died for.”
“Maybe this one we can help.”
“Let’s hope so,” Lucy said, as they reached the front door of the apartment building. Moseby opened it and they stepped through together. They were immediately hit with the smell of stale urine and smoke, maybe a little bit of vomit for good measure. Roaches scattered out of their way as they moved deeper into the hallway.
“Stairs to the left,” Lucy said, trying to breathe through her mouth so she didn’t inhale as much of the foul odors. How could people even stand to live like this? Probably they wouldn’t, not if they had choice. She couldn’t even imagine trying to raise a family in a place like this. She knew that some were though, because she could hear both a mixture of children’s laughter and crying infants coming from behind some of the doors. It broke her heart.
Together they started up the stairs, except now, both had drawn their service weapons. Hernandez’s apartment was the fourth door down the hallway on the right, which put it on Lucy’s side of the hallway.
They reached the door and Moseby moved past it to the other side of the door. He used his left hand to knock. They heard a noise from inside. Moseby knocked louder, pounding on the door harder this time.
“Hold your goddam horses! I’m on the way,” called a muffled voice from the inside. They heard a dead bolt turn and unlock and then the door swung open and inch. Moseby swung out and kicked the door hard, driving it inside the apartment and slamming it into Hernandez. Then, he and Lucy were inside the apartment and Lucy shut the door and relocked it.
Tony Hernandez looked up at both of them from the floor. His nose was bleeding from where the door had mashed it against his face. His short dark hair was cut close, skin on the sides about an eighth of an inch on top. He had a mustache and a soul patch on his chin. “What the fuck?” He asked, glaring at them.