A Shooting at Auke Bay

by Parker, Gordon;

  “Toss it away,” the voice masked in darkness and burned black powder ordered. “Your fight is over.”

  Colombo had no remaining ability to reason. She attempted to raise the MAC 10 again, using only her right arm.

  A third time the handgun fired. The third ball struck Colombo in the neck, perforating the right carotid artery, crushing the junction where the main artery split into the external and internal vessels. Blood that should be going to her brain was gushing onto the floor as the woman collapsed. She would bleed out within minutes.

  Robert watched Colombo fall from where he lay near the front door. Christopher was tending his wound, pressing a handkerchief against it to stop the bleeding. Having ascertained that Caine was dead, Nancy was attempting to help J.B. There was little she could do to ease his agony.

  APD Chief Ben Kline rode in the ambulance transporting Monk to the closest hospital.

  “Looks like the bullet went straight through, Robert. Didn’t hit anything important. Good thing you have so much fat around your belly,” Kline joked. “Probably saved your life.”

  “It’s all the time I’ve spent with Darcey this summer. These folks eat well. I could get fatter if I spent more time with them.”

  Three of the attackers were dead. J.B. would live out what remained of his life blinded, disfigured, and wheel chair bound in an Alaska state prison hospital.

  “This wraps it up, Robert,” Kline said. “The last of Greco’s operation. Jayne Colombo was his right hand here in Anchorage. There’s no one left.”

  “That woman Colombo said some strange things before she died,” Robert said. “If you run her DNA you might find a similarity to your serial killer. Just an old cop’s instinct.”

  “Now that would be a bonus,” Kline said, “and it really would wrap things up.”

  “There’s still the matter of the attack on Darcey’s family in Louisiana,” Monk reminded him.

  “Just some local thugs from what I hear,” Kline said. “I think the sheriff and the New Orleans cop who was involved can handle them.”

  “We’ll see,” Robert said.

  When the police and EMS personnel were gone, Trent Marshall lifted himself slowly from the wheel chair and walked unsteadily but with determination to the couch in the main sitting area. Darcey joined him. For the first time in weeks, he put his arm around her.

  “This was a beautiful place, Darcey,” he said.

  “I thought you’d like it,” she responded. “It was better without the bullet holes and blood. Not to mention the stink and stain of black powder from that silly revolver you fired.”

  “It’s not silly,” he protested. “It’s a reproduction of a LeMat revolver, a very fine 19th century weapon.”

  “It’s black powder, Trent. It stinks and stains.”

  He looked back toward the doorway from which he had fired the revolver. Black smoke lingered there despite the door leading to the deck and the windows that Darcey had opened.

  “Well, yeah, I guess it does,” he admitted. “We’ll have to pay for the damages. It might be cheaper to buy this place.”

  “I already did.”

  “You what?” he asked, incredulously.

  “I already bought it,” she said calmly. “I knew you were going to live and I thought it would be nice to have a place where we could have a white Christmas.”

  “And if I didn’t make it?”

  “I never let myself consider that possibility,” she said. “But if that was to be the way of it, then it would have been nice to have a place here in Anchorage. The place where you left us, if that was what happened. A place I could come alone and remember our life together.”

  “But without even talking to me? You bought it?”

  “I told you about it,” she explained. “You didn’t say no.”

  “Darcey, I was in a coma.”

  “Dr. Shannon said it was possible you could hear things. I figured you would hear me and if you didn’t like the idea you would find a way to let me know. And you didn’t,” she continued. “So you didn’t say no.”

  “The other residents of the building might not be happy with us moving in,” Trent pointed out. “Is there an association that has to approve us?”

  “That could be a problem,” Darcey admitted.

  Trent looked at his wife. He looked around at what might be their new penthouse. He looked back at Darcey.

  “How many homes do you think we need, Darcey?” he asked.

  “I’d say three ought to do it.”

  Trent looked around again. He considered the magnificent view. He remembered how it looked without the bullet holes and blood on the floor.

  “Well, how about a white Christmas then,” he said, flashing the old wide smile Darcey knew so well.

  “I’ll call Miles first thing tomorrow and tell him he has to come to Alaska. He has work to do.”

  Miles Diaz-Douglas, chief operating officer of Darcey’s design firm with offices in San Francisco and New Orleans, had been outraged that he wasn’t allowed to come north with the others. Darcey knew he would be thrilled at the prospect of stripping the new penthouse down to the studs in the wall and rebuilding it from scratch.

  She also knew he would be clamoring to open an Anchorage office. She thought about the view of the Sleeping Lady, the Alaska Range, and Denali from their deck. An Anchorage branch of DJA Designs could work.

  “I think you should leave the hat here,” she said, looking him over. “I think white snow melting and dripping off a black Stetson would be sexy.”

  “Yeah, I like the image,” Trent said.

  August 22nd

  It was another hot day in the old town when Sheriff Jack Blake walked into the small hospital. Dr. Donald Brand met him in the lobby.

  “Where is he, Donald?” the sheriff asked.

  “Third room on the right, Jack,” the doctor said.

  “Can he talk?”

  “He can talk,” the doctor said, “but take it easy with him. It was as bad as it gets as heart attacks go. He won’t last long.”

  “It won’t be a great loss, Donald.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Jack,” the doctor replied, sadly. “But we have different jobs. I hate to lose a patient. Even a bad one.”

  “That old man in there dying and his bone breaking sons sent you a lot of patients over the years, Donald. This parish will be all the better with them gone.”

  Brand didn’t disagree.

  Sheriff Blake stood in the door of old man Garth’s room. He didn’t like to be in the same room with the man.

  Garth was over eighty years old. He was still as mean as they come. The attack on Trent and Darcey’s family at the Pines a few days ago proved that.

  Eventually the old man opened his eyes. When he spoke his voice was weak. Barely audible.

  “You come to watch me die, Sheriff?” he said, trying to laugh but the sound coming from him was more like wheezing than laughter.

  “I always thought you were too mean to die, Garth.”

  “Yeah, I know,” the old man said, his voice almost a whisper. “At least I’m cheating you out of sending me to Angola to let’em stick a needle in my arm.”

  “It’s ironic, isn’t it, Garth, that I could never pin anything on you until now,” Blake said. “I finally had you when you ordered the attack on the Pines. And that’s when your heart blew out.”

  “You might not believe this, Blake, but that thing at the Pines got way out of control,” Garth said. “It was supposed to be only a diversion. There was another plan in place but it didn’t happen.”

  “A diversion?” Blake was incredulous. “Your men attacked six of my deputies. One of my guys almost died. You call that a diversion?”

  “Yeah, well, my oldest boy, Stuart, is a little excitable,” Garth said. “He got carried away. One of your deputies sent a bullet through his voice box. He won’t ever be able to talk again. And another of your men killed my youngest boy, Mackie.”

  “A
nd Sterling surrendered,” Blake added. “He’s doing a lot of talking, Garth, trying to save his skin.”

  “Sterling never was the fighter the other two were.”

  “Who hired you, Garth?” Blake asked. “At least have the decency to tell me that before you die.”

  “Sorry, Jack,” the old man said, his eyes slowly closing. “Can’t do it. Can’t change my ways now. Got to go soon. Mackie’s waitin’ for me.”

  Trent, Darcey, Christopher, and Nancy checked into suites at the Captain Cook hotel after the attack on the penthouse. After they all got some sleep, Darcey booked flights to San Francisco for Christopher and Nancy.

  Their concern that their new neighbors might block the purchase of the penthouse was alleviated the next day as Trent and Darcey wandered through the detritus left from the fight. As they talked about the repairs Miles would oversee and Darcey described her plan for the new design of the penthouse, they were surprised to hear a voice behind them.

  “You folks sure know how to make an entrance.”

  Trent and Darcey turned to find an elderly man standing just inside the open door.

  Darcey found her voice first.

  “We’re very sorry about the disturbance, sir,” she said. “I assure you it won’t happen again.”

  “Well, if it does,” the older man said, “you just give a shout and I’ll come a’running. Me and my Paratrooper.”

  As he spoke, he revealed the vicious looking rifle he had been holding behind his back.

  “Had this baby custom made,” he said. “I was all set to come down here and lend a hand but you folks got things under control before I could get locked and loaded. I was a little disappointed. It was the most excitement I’ve had since I retired from the army.”

  He introduced himself as Clifford and his wife, who stood beside him, was Ethel. They lived in the other penthouse on the top floor of the building.

  “And you don’t have to worry about Ethel either,” Clifford continued. “She’s a soldier’s wife. She can take care of herself.”

  To demonstrate Clifford’s faith in his wife was well-placed, Ethel showed the Ruger semiautomatic she had been holding behind her back.

  Clifford told Trent and Darcey not to worry about any of the other residents of the building.

  “I did all right in real estate when I got out of the army,” he explained. “I own the land this building is on. I still have enough influence to ward off any potential complaints. And when you folks aren’t here, you needn’t worry about anything. Ethel and I will keep an eye on your place.”

  The older couple had only one request.

  “You people sure eat good,” Clifford said. “There have been some mouthwatering aromas drifting over from your direction. We wouldn’t mind being invited for dinner once in a while.”

  Christopher had to get back to work. His chief had been accommodating but he had been out of the office for far too long. It was time for him to get back to work as captain of homicide detectives.

  Nancy flew home without knowing where her next job would be. When she went to her old precinct station to collect the personal items she hadn’t bothered to take when she quit her job and stormed out, she was pleasantly surprised. Captain Terry Wooster, her old captain, the one whose men called the Rooster behind his back, had been asked to retire. He protested but quickly learned it wasn’t really a request.

  The man who was appointed to take his place asked Nancy to rescind her resignation and offered her a promotion to lieutenant as inducement to stay with the suburban police force. It was enough.

  Robert was kept in the hospital for two days for observation. His wound was more painful than dangerous. He was lucky. He would be stiff and sore for a while but nothing vital was hit.

  When he was released, he joined Trent and Darcey at the hotel. He walked with assistance from a cane but that was only temporary, the doctors assured him. His wound was on his right side so he leaned on the cane with his left hand.

  Darcey poured flutes of Prosecco for the trio when cocktail hour arrived. They ordered dinner from room service.

  Miles Diaz-Douglas was scheduled to fly in the next day. Darcey would spend a day with him going over their ideas for the penthouse. They planned to fly back to Louisiana the day after that.

  Robert said he’d like to stay around for a few days if they didn’t mind. He promised to join them for Christmas in the refurbished penthouse.

  “The next time you decide we should take a vacation, Trent, we should consider something a little less exciting,” Darcey said. “Maybe a weekend binge watching old movies with all the doors locked and the curtains drawn.”

  “You do have a knack for attracting adventure, Trent,” Robert said, as he cut another bite from the huge, rare steak on his plate. “Even when he was a kid, Darcey, it was the same. His dad and I never knew what was going to happen when we traveled with the boy. We only knew it would be something out of the ordinary, usually involving a hungry bear or an angry moose and one extraordinarily frightening adventure with a wolverine. A wolverine has a nasty disposition even on his best day.”

  “At least it’s all over now,” Darcey said.

  “Not quite,” Robert said. “There’s still one loose end we have to tie up.”

  He would say no more.

  August 26th

  Trent and Darcey spent Saturday at the Pines with their daughter, Betty, and Ivy. Kelli was so excited to see them after the long separation and the adventures of the summer. The little girl stayed by the side of at least one of them all day. Kelli’s parents were every bit as happy to be with their daughter again.

  Trent was still trying to absorb whatever it was he experienced while he was in the coma. Was it all hallucination? Were those who visited him the spirits of people in his life?

  He tended to lean toward the latter. He couldn’t explain why. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. It didn’t have to go beyond that. He remembered they said they didn’t understand either. They said it wasn’t necessary to understand.

  It was warm but not uncomfortably so when cocktail hour arrived. They were gathered on the front porch enjoying the view, watching the horses cavorting in the pasture.

  For the first time since early July, Trent did the honors. He mixed peach martinis for Darcey and himself, peach iced tea for Betty and Ivy, and peach nectar in a sippy cup for Kelli.

  At Dr. Shannon’s direction, the bandage on Trent’s head had been removed. The hair was beginning to grow back but in a different color. There was a streak of silver where the bullet had interrupted normal growth.

  “Sexy,” Darcey said when she saw it.

  They left the big Jeep at the Pines now. It was more fitting and useful for the rural parish when they visited the farm.

  Since Trent had managed to collect an arsenal in San Francisco almost as extensive as the New Orleans gun room, they were flying back and forth more than driving. He left the Bentley in the secured parking garage of the Nob Hill Condo.

  The Cadillac CTS-V was in New Orleans. It was much easier to wheel through the narrow streets of New Orleans than was the Jeep.

  Darcey had bought a black Cadillac Escalade in Anchorage. Miles would use it while he was in town working on the penthouse. He would live in the caretaker’s apartment while the work was being done.

  He was already hiring subcontractors. He wanted the penthouse stripped and rebuilt by the end of September. The subcontractors were doubtful. Miles wasn’t worried. They had never worked for anyone like him before. They would meet their deadlines. Since he hinted that DJA Designs would be opening an Anchorage office with lots of work for subcontractors, they were all anxious to impress him.

  After Betty and Ivy took Kelli upstairs to bed, Trent poured a second peach martini for Darcey and himself. They sat contented on the wide front porch of the Pines.

  “What was it like?” Darcey asked.

  Trent looked at her. He didn’t speak for long minutes.

  “The wo
rst of it was the humiliation,” he said at last. He didn’t look at her as he spoke. He stared over the pasture.

  “When you are too weak to stand and have to be lifted onto a potty chair. When you’re done and have to be held up by one nurse while another cleans you. There is nothing remaining of human dignity.”

  He sat silently again, drinking his martini. Trying unsuccessfully to forget.

  “And the coma,” she said. “What was it like being in the coma?”

  “I can’t explain it. Not even to myself. It was very confusing.”

  “You hear stories about people seeing a white light or hovering on the ceiling watching everyone in the room,” she said.

  “There was none of that. There were times when I knew you were there. I could hear you but couldn’t respond,” he said.

  He hesitated. Darcey didn’t push him.

  “People visited me,” he said, finally. “People long gone. My dad. My best friend since I was ten. Even my mother just as I was coming out of it. I couldn’t speak or open my eyes but I saw them. I could communicate with them. They were all very pleasant. Except for one terrible night when Josh Blair showed up. That was very disturbing.”

  “Dr. Shannon said you appeared to have been quite agitated one night,” she told him. “That must have been the night.”

  They were quiet for a while. He didn’t tell her about the overwhelming wave of pinpricks that consumed him as he came out of the coma. That would come later.

  “I can’t explain it, Darcey. I don’t really understand it.”

  He was silent for a while.

  “They all said it wasn’t necessary to understand. I only needed to believe. They all said that. Believe.”

  Hackett sat in the dark in the living room of his cheap duplex apartment in the rundown neighborhood. He was on his second vodka over ice and fully planned to pour a third.

  He was waiting. Night after night following his return to Anchorage. He had waited.

  It would come. Sooner or later it would come. He didn’t doubt it.

  It came tonight. The knock on the door.