“Look Simmons, I don’t want to have to do the whole job, but seriously? If your lab pulled specimens, I'd guess you've got some blood evidence that matches my friend here. Granted, you might need some creativity in telling how you found him. Is a citizen's arrest still viable? If that's a problem, I can figure out another way. And yes, I’ve detained him."
"I don't know how he found me, but I'm exploring that. Really, the important thing here is to see if he's connected to your crime scene. If he is, I'd think you'd proceed with a primary suspect in custody on a murder investigation. Please don't take offense. I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job.”
◆◆◆
Simmons acquiesced silently that Mr. Smith had been providing silver platter materials, but it was getting under his skin too. Maybe this whole thing was some sort of set up… but who was being set up? And was Smith setting the table? Was he working for someone else? The Senator was a big, mysterious void in this drama. Is he dead, 'cause he could be. Still alive, maybe. For all Simmons knew, the Senator might have some juicy life insurance scam working. If all but a few scattered splatters of blood belonged to the Senator, it'd be a miracle for him to be alive!
“Okay, Mr. Smith. What time are you bringing him in?”
“As much as I’d like to, Simmons, I don’t know when that's happening. I'm working on it and will get back to you soon. How’s that?”
Alex couldn't help but like Smith, but not having his own hands on the wheel was frustrating as hell.
“Mr. Smith, I probably don’t need to tell you, but it can get pretty serious when someone faces false imprisonment or kidnapping charges. I'm sure you're aware of that. It also has the potential to really fuck up related criminal prosecutions.”
“I understand that. There are still a couple pieces missing, but one way or another, with or without me, it'll come together. Your patience will pay off."
"Would you be willing to give me your direct phone number? It'd make getting in touch with you much easier.”
Simmons would typically never give this consideration, but this was a unique situation. If it got out, he might catch hell from his captain, but it was worth the risk.
“Okay. If this number gets away from you, we’re going to have a totally new issue to hammer out. You understand me?”
“I won't give it to anyone. You have my word.”
Simmons gave him his private cell number. Dan was about to end the call when Simmons tossed a small grenade his way.
“Mr. Smith, are you connected with any government agencies?”
“What do you mean?”
“We received an interesting call a little bit ago. The caller didn't identify himself, and no caller I.D. He suggested that someone involved in the Senator’s murder might be associated with the government. I wondered what you might think about that.”
“Hmmm... Someone who believed the Senator was murdered. I think that's very interesting, Detective. We'll talk soon.”
◆◆◆
Dan disconnected the call, turned, walked back inside to check on his new, best friend. As he did, he thought about justice, and whether it would be served best by handing him over. Would he get bailed out? Disappear? Would evidence be considered only circumstantial, lead to exoneration? Where was justice in all of this?
Dan wanted to apply some of his own justice, put thumb screws to this guy. He was rotten to the core, an abscess needing to be lanced–bringing the pustulence of his guilt oozing to the surface.
These days, the popular action was positive water pressure, very effective in freeing up a tongue. He knew that the process did not exactly align with civil rights. He'd been raised to believe that civil rights were the critical component of a free society. There was no question that the murder victim had been denied his civil rights.
Torn between was never a more apt description. His strong impulse and desire to lay some shit on this guy pushed hard. It raged in a battle with a deeply set moral compass that said he wasn’t the man’s judge. In the end, he mostly acquiesced to the notion that his country had a system in place. Both for judgment as well as for punishment. It wasn't his call to make. He knew the system had flaws and needed overhauling, but there again, not his job.
Judgement and punishment for murder was one thing. There was nothing telling Dan however, that he couldn’t apply a little close, personal attention to his uninvited guest. He broke into my home. Sometimes those types of activities don’t go so well. Maybe just a painful reminder to be respectful of others was in order.
87. BURNING QUESTIONS
There were answers somewhere to the questions in Dan’s head. Was it the Senator’s body he saw dumped? He presumed so. Was 'Scarface' here the killer? The other on the boat, that Dan had capped? There was a truth out there. Why was the Senator killed? Robbery? More likely would take place at home.
Did this murder happen with the approval of the CIA or NSA? That certainly seemed plausible, considering his home visit the other day. How else could they have gotten my address?
Possible they were acting as observers of the boat... did they think I was involved in the killing? Could that be why they suddenly appeared at his door, followed him, with guns drawn? How did this asshole find me? The answer to this was the most chilling, if Dan’s suspicion proved true.
These burning questions were on spin cycle. He suffered his own torture, wanting to know how the pieces fit together. He might not get all the answers. He was damned sure he wasn't going to wait for some legal process to drag this out for months, years or perhaps never be resolved at all.
Another check found that his guest remained secured. Dan went out to the carport and gathered some tools and hardware. He'd seen enough inducements to cooperation (had participated in some as well, during classified activities). He felt confident that at least some of his questions would have answers soon.
When he came back into the living room, he set the items on the floor. He set about twisting four large eye-screws into the flooring, creating four corner points to a large rectangle. I'll patch these holes later, fuck it!...
Next, he spent a few minutes re-arranging bindings to each wrist, each ankle. When he finished, the man was supine and spread eagle on the living room floor. There was little slack in the bindings. The towel was still in place, so while there were a few grunts, most of what was said was in the expressions cast about from this jerk’s eyes. Dan thought he looked nervous.
He crossed the room, dialed the stereo tuner to a hard rock station, turned the volume to medium, allowing Lynyrd Skynyrd to join them. He moved the closest floor speaker over, about a foot from his captive's head. He reached out to pull the towel from his mouth and the man turned his head away. Dan grabbed his forehead, turned it forcefully back, so that the man was looking at him.
“Now listen up. We’re gonna have a chat. You'll cooperate. You'll have a chance to do that willingly, but that choice will be fleeting. If you want to continue without too much discomfort, make the right choice.”
He received a steeled glare in response. Dan let go of his head, snatched the towel, pulled it clear.
“What's your name?” No reply. “I don’t need your name. I can call you asshole or fuckface, or whatever. Why did you and your partner kill the Senator?” The glare continued to reflect back at Dan.
“I'm going to guess that you were given a job to do. I'm also guessing that this is about the only kind of job you do. That tells me you don’t give a fuck about other people. How am I doing so far?” The only thing he got back was more hatred-filled eyes.
“Okay. I believe that we have exhausted the opportunity for your willing cooperation. Don’t go away now.” Dan picked up the towel to replace into his pal’s mouth and the guy tried to bite him.
“Oh. Now see, I've been trying to be polite and you're acting like a rabid dog. I like dogs. I don’t like rabies.” As Dan said this, he reached over by his right hip and picked up locking pliers that had assisted with the eye screw placem
ent. As he finished the sentence, he brought the pliers around quickly, connected to the man's jaw. It had the desired effect of stunning him, creating a split in the skin, and possibly loosening a tooth or two. Dan succeeded in shoving the towel into place.
"Don't try to talk. Just listen to the music."
He got up, returned to the carport, and from a box housing to-do projects, he picked up an electrical extension cord. He snipped off the socket end and quickly stripped insulation away from the cut wires. Coming back into the kitchen, he wetted a towel at the sink, then returned to the living room.
His visitor’s eyes were closed, but Dan could tell that he was conscious. Most likely trying to get past the pain that he was unable to rub away. Dan dampened the man's left hand with the towel, and his eyes opened, returned to his glaring. Reaching over to an outlet, Dan plugged the cord in, being careful to keep the bare wires separate. He touched one end to the man's wrist, briefly touched the other to the thumb just above the wrist, and an arc sparked.
Dan made eye contact, jiggled his eyebrows. The eyes looking back were wide, somewhere between hard and uneasy. Dan repeated the action, watching the man's face, which had turned to look at his hand. He bore down, holding his breath, tensing. That arc sent a wisp of steam into the air, and an uncontrolled arm spasm and grunt emanated from below.
“How was that? Pretty easy?” He touched the base of the palm, near the wrist and produced another arc, another spasm, and similar grunt. This time, following the grunt, Dan heard a muffled sound, something along the lines of “muher fuher!”
“Well..., that sounded like talking. Let’s try another area.”
Dan pulled the cord from the wall. He pulled a small pocketknife, cut into the man’s shirt sleeve on the upper arm. Tearing the shirt open, up toward the shoulder, he exposed a dressing and bandage.
“What'd we got here? Looks painful.” He ripped the dressing away, exposing the front and bottom edges of a ragged scoop doing its best to heal. He tore the shirt further up until the entire front of the shoulder was visible.
“Let’s clean that up a bit.” He dabbed at the wound with the damp towel, then dropped it and reached over to plug the cord back into the wall outlet. Dan repeated the electrical act, at two points near the bottom of the wound, and this time, the man strained at the bindings, his body twisting to break free, groan transitioned to growl. The smell of copper wafted into the air.
A new song came on the radio. The kitchen towel that acted as a gag did a good job. The muffled growl accompanied Bad Company's greatest hit... "I was born, six-gun in my hand. Behind a gun, I'll make a final stand!"
"I hear you singing," Dan stared down at him. "Good attitude!"
He applied the two wires again briefly, just enough to cause another arc, another wisp of the coppery stench of burnt blood. As he turned back, he could see beads of sweat and a wild look in the intruder's eyes.
“You ready?” This time, one wire touched the bottom of the mess and the other touched at the top. The arc brought a sizzle for the ride. Moisture allowed voltage to cross the wound, complete the circuit. Still muffled, the sound of pain competed more effectively now. "Bad company, 'til the day I die."
Maybe he's ready... Dan pulled the gag from his mouth.
◆◆◆
As the towel came out of his mouth, Lyle sucked in a big breath.
“I'll, I’ll tell you what you want. Please don’t do that anymore…” He tried to sound ready, at least a little. He hoped he might persuade Hardesty to back off, stop this pressure, maybe drop his guard.
“Who are you, and why did you kill the Senator?”
“My name's Lyle. His wife found out he was cheating. She paid me to kill him.”
◆◆◆
As creative and quickly as this story spilled out, Dan knew that it was bullshit, or at least, not the whole story.
“So, what? She saw your ad in the paper? Sent you a card?”
This drew silence, the man unprepared to embellish on this created fiction. After a few moments, he added, “I don’t know how she found me, but she offered me a lot of money.”
“How'd you find me?” Dan fired off the question, hoping to catch him off guard with an answer.
Lyle stared at him.
Dan had hit a wall. He could keep going and apply more pressure, but that was promising to be more punitive. He was afraid it'd veer quickly away from his resolution to allow the system to function.
“Has she paid you yet? Maybe a nice deposit?” Dan planted a little seed of hope.
“Uh, yeah, I got ten grand and she owes me ten. I could give you the ten I have…” Lyle trailed off.
“I think that'd be a good idea, Lyle. Why don’t we make that happen? Need to hit a bank?” Dan asked as he formulated the next step in his head.
“Yeah, I got it in the bank. Let’s do that. I could have it transferred to your account, or maybe you want cash?”
“Oh, I like cash, Lyle. Don't you? Cash is definitely the way to go. I’ll let you free but I am not taking any chances with you. You're gonna be tied up 'til we get to the bank.”
“No problem. Let’s do it.”
◆◆◆
Dan stood, walked out, into the carport. He made a walkie-talkie request, then a phone call.
88. RETURN CALL TO SIMMONS
“Simmons, I've been thinking about the situation. It will be best to get this guy to you today. Does that still work?”
“Of course,” replied Simmons. “What time will you be here?”
"I'm still working out the details. I'll call you in a couple hours. I should have your package all wrapped up by then. Later.” He disconnected.
Dan picked up more nylon cord and returned to the living room, where he turned the stereo down low, came back to kneel by the trussed-up man.
"I'm going to cut your hands free. Do what I tell you and don't struggle, or we'll be going back to science class."
Lyle nodded, didn't say anything. Dan cut the right arm's wrist tie loose from the steel anchor.
"Other hand now. No sudden moves." He cut the cord, ready for anything. "Now turn on your right side, arm behind you!"
Lyle grunted, heaved up, twisting his upper body enough so that he was partially on his right side, as far as hips allowed. Dan grabbed the right limb, secured the wrist with a clove hitch.
"Left arm back!"
He tied the wrists together. "When I cut your legs loose, roll onto your belly."
After he rolled over, Dan kneeled on top of him. He ran the excess rope up around his neck, then back to the wrists. There'd be no slipping hands under ass this time.
Dan heard a car door shut outside of the kitchen. Joe just brought the Subaru over as Dan had requested over the radio. He waited a few minutes for Joe to leave, while in the kitchen, checking cell phone status and his pistol. He extracted the ammo from Lyle’s gun magazine and breech, reinserted the magazine and tucked it into his waistband. When he had everything he thought he'd need, he returned to the living room.
"Were going on that ride now. Might be bumpy. Say ahh."
Lyle glared, opened his mouth, and Dan shoved the towel into place, then directed him to roll to his side, pulled him up to his feet.. He walked him into the kitchen, shoved him down onto the chair.
"Stay there."
Dan opened the door, looked out into the carport and down the driveway. All clear. Joe'd backed the car in, parking close to the van. Dan picked up his duffel, perched it on the counter by the carport door.
He pulled Lyle to his feet, walked him out to the car, pushed him into the passenger seat. With his forearm against Lyle's throat, he buckled him in with the shoulder belt. Pulling a knitted cap from his bag, he yanked it down over Lyle's head as far as it would go, to the chin.
"Stay still, don't be wiggling around." He slammed the door shut with a smile.
Dan went back in, stuck Lyle's pistol into the bag, secured the house, then grabbed a towel, blanket and roll of tape, tossed t
hem into the back.
"Okie dokie, Lyle. We're off to town. When we get there, I'll let you stretch your legs before we hit the bank!" He smiled again, wondering if Lyle believed him.
89. TWO PLUS TWO PLUS TWO
Dan mentally re-entered the data of how the last couple days had come about as he drove south.
—One, coincidental stumbling with his drone, on the MV Mantis activity, of a murder clean-up. Enough excitement for one day. Fired on, way worse, and the flood gate opened.
—Two, was it possible that Lyle talked to someone onshore? His two visitors? Did they follow him home? Seemed like a stretch, but possible. The hitters came at him with deadly force, didn't waste any time in getting there. An interesting side note—no local news reports of dead bodies found at the dump. What happened to them?
—Dan had lucked out, figured where the Mantis should be... adding two plus two led him to Santa Barbara. From there, into the lap of the Mantis operators. One tango down, and somehow, after being wounded, number two showed up in his living room.
Whatever team was playing here, they had a good network. That, more than anything, convinced Dan this wasn't any spousal contract killing. It brought him to a painful conclusion. Colonel Faulkner, or someone in his office had pulled back a curtain, was pulling strings.
PART SIX
90. CLEAN-UP WORK
How the hell did I not see this coming? Gerald Moore faced the window, a vast landscape before him, from this high-rise office. His eyes might have been facing that direction, but they didn't see the view. Engaged brain trumped visual input. Thoughts about initiating janitorial services for this fiasco also triggered a nagging, whispered suggestion about a disappearing act, which he tried to ignore.
It'd become clear in recent weeks that the whole pie that was JCT had become rotten apples. Temptation dangled in front of Turner’s eyes must have started it. A chance to share JCT technologies, for what was undoubtedly significant amounts of money. Maybe threats were involved, but so fucking what? We deal with those things all the time! Now, a tangled mess and bungled with witnesses. The requisite clean-up had become even more entangled. How far would this screw-up go?
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