Trevar's Team 3

by Kieran York

  Summer warned, “Don’t make a sound.” She zip-tied his hands behind him, and then connected it to a center pole. Cuffed, he wiggled as far away from us as he could. Wobbly lips said nothing. To be safe, I pulled his dirty handkerchief and stuffed it in his bleeding mouth.

  We scrambled up steps, two and three at a time. Vaulting forward until when we reached the top floor. There was a hallway with two wooden doors on one side of the hall. On the other was heavy, steel, decorative door. Quietly we approached. The sturdy, protected door was where they would keep their latest hostage. It was confirmed when we glanced up at the security camera. “Whistle when ready,” I spoke. I heard Summer’s shrill whistle. While she shot out the camera, my fire blasted the door’s lock. We both rammed our bodies against it.

  Inside, I saw that Clarissa was bounded and gagged. She was leaning in the corner. Her eyes were blinking, and she was terrified. Mickey Coleman swung his AK-15 around, spraying a hail of bullets toward us. Both Summer and I dived down. I discharged the first bullet, aiming for his head. It was an on-target shot. Summer opened fire, shooting a direct hit to Mickey’s chest as he was falling.

  Dimitri had exited down the outside fire escape.

  “Take care of Clarissa, I’m going after him,” I instructed Summer. When I leaned out the window, I heard two bullets from an automatic fly by my shoulder. That zing of a bullet is deafening when it passes near your body.

  I gripped my Berretta, aiming it downward toward his scurrying body. A shot or two later, he arrived at the final portion of the fire escape. We had been playing dodge the bullet for two floors. Dimitri jumped eight feet to the ground. He lifted himself up. He was limping away. Carefully, I followed. I was thankful that my acrobatic landing was much more graceful and accurate than his. The chase was short. He was running on a depleted ankle. And he was also running out of steam.

  We ended with a standoff. Dimitri Zhenya was attempting to hid himself behind a trash dumpster. I was poised at the corner of the building. I screamed out, “Nowhere to go, you useless human garbage. Give it up.”

  Clarissa filled my thoughts, and those mental visuals were difficult to repress. I was attempting not to allow my concern for Clarissa to enter my mind. Not now, when each moment, each move, meant possible death.

  Leaning out from the building’s corner, to get a shot at Dimitri, I heard his bullet. I felt the flying pieces of stucco as the bullet became embedded in the wall. More bullets gnawed into the stucco beside me.

  I saw Dimitri’s shadow. I fired twice when that shadow moved. I saw him slump to the ground, crumpling.

  As I neared him, I heard the sirens. The cavalry had arrived, I mused. Dimitri shifted slightly. His head moved, and he pleaded, “Spare me. I have a bad time in my country. I was a child poor.”

  “Your privation or mental condition are not an excuse. Don’t give me that tangled childhood crap. Think what you’ve done to those women.”

  “But I don’t harm men.”

  “What?” I incredulously questioned.

  “I say to you, I only hurt women.”

  I’d thought that was what I heard. I was on this mission for women. He probably assumed I was a lesbian, hence I possessed a slight amount of male superiority. My choice. I could have immediately called in my location. If he didn’t bleed out, his wounds would probably be patched. He’d be back in business in ten years. Back on the streets.

  I came out from my cover. He was on the ground, legs splayed, but his hand still gripped his gun. “Don’t move. If I see you lift that gun, I’ll shoot you again.”

  I saw his hand twitch. I wasn’t sure if he had bled out, and it was a death grip on the gun, or if he would squeeze the trigger. He could have his gun aimed and fired at me by the time I got a round off. I considered it a survival shot. Better safe than sorry. I grasped my gun handle tightly. My index finger was steady. My aim was fixed.

  I muttered, “If the villains don’t want their name on a tombstone, they shouldn’t mess with strong women.” I thought I saw his hand twitch in my direction. I fired a shot purposely and well-aimed.

  One of the policemen had rounded the corner just as I shot. He staunchly spoke, “I saw him aim his firearm at you.”

  Glancing up, I wondered how vigilante I would become. I spoke serenely, yet assuredly. “He twitched. I’m wearing my body cam. That will show he jerked, aiming at me.”

  The officer gasping for breath from his run. With disgust, he said, “I had to run through the building to get back here. I saw some of the women they were bringing, herding out into the halls. Missing kids. Young, early teens. Preteens. Kids.” His eyes were wet. With anger covering his face, he added, “My niece was fourteen when she was abducted. Janey. I wanted to stop and search for her just now. But her body was found ten months ago in Texas. Sex trade. The killer was never caught. It could have been this guy. Or some other dirtball,” he declared, still pointing toward Dimitri. “Maybe this moment is the best I can do for Janey.” He bent down on one knee and leaned over Dimitri. His touch to the neck to feel a pulse was more of a slap. “He’s gone.”

  Leaning over his lifeless body, I concurred, “Yes. He is spent. And if he weren’t, I haven’t brushed up on my CPR for years.” I gave a shrug that both the officer and I recognized. “He’ll never hurt anyone again.” I continued my thought, not that he would ever have harmed a man. But he didn’t mind torturing women. Raping and killing women.

  “I’m being transferred to Vice next year. There’s more that needs to be done.”

  “I read about that case.” Janey Ellis.

  He neared me. His hand touched my shoulder, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Officer.” I hadn’t realized that I was leaning precariously against the corner of the trash dumpster. “I’m fine. I’m better. All women are better, now.”

  After holstering my weapon, I returned to where the police were interrogating each victim, each witness, and the workers. Those employees of Treasure Lust were going to be charged for their implication. Some had already been cuffed and carted.

  I immediately went up to the penthouse living room where Mickey had perished. Clarissa walked across the large room. She walked into my embrace. My eyes were damp, drizzling.

  She whispered, “I’m fine. Just frightened. But fine. They didn’t harm me. You got here just in time. They were talking about killing me. Dumping my body in the ocean. They didn’t want to be caught with me, their captive.”

  I wondered how many women these men dumped in the ocean. Just as they dumped the body of Simon Wagoner.

  I held Clarissa tightly. It occurred to me that if I’d gone by the book of law, that I so revered, I would not have had the information I needed to find her. She would have been murdered. And I would be arrested for breaking into the gym and seizing a file that led us to the woman I love. As well as other innocent women victims. I felt a smile inside. There was always the necessity. It certainly was an emergency.

  The thought that Mickey Coleman and Dimitri Zhenya would still be roaming the world brought a chill. They would still have women in their crosshair. Capturing, debasing, torturing, raping, and murdering women. Young women were Dimitri’s trademark. Brutalizing rape. Sealing Dimitri’s fate. The tipping point – that flash moment, for me, were the words, But I don’t harm men. Evil, delusional, rapist, sadist, name it what it is, I considered. By his standard, harming women is permissible, he felt justified. Women didn’t count with him and his sick male egotism.

  This time it was women stopping him. Women had made it possible for tucking two depraved predators in their graves.

  No apologizes need. And none given.

  Our Team didn’t ask specific questions of ourselves, or of one another. We didn’t high five, and we didn’t boast. We were all glad it was over. A place called Treasure Lust was shut down. The building and property would be confiscated. Eighteen workers were arrested and would serve what prosecuting attorneys called ‘sweet nothing’ time. But they w
ere now and forever on the record as sexual criminals.

  As Summer and I were breaking into the Penthouse, Jill was simultaneously bursting into one of the apartments housing half a dozen women. As she’d sprinted through the hall, she’d see an armed guard threatening the women. Jill entered, subdued the sex trafficker, and saved the young women and girls. She said she would never forget that moment. One of the enslaved women had hugged her, refusing to let go. With tears in her eyes, Jill stated that she’d never had a better hug.

  When we finally arrived back at the yacht, everyone was exhausted. It had taken us the entire afternoon to give statements, we’d briefly talked about the events. A tradition after solving a case was opening a bottle of bubbly. Just to keep up our tradition we held our glasses high. I rattled off our toast. Nunc est Bibendum. Break out the champagne. Horace’s call to merrymaking, literally, “Now it’s time to drink.” It was from the Odes. The excellent bottle of wine had no taste for me. The words were unceremonious.

  Clarissa understood the Team’s need to process the day. Killing was a dichotomous and painful incident. Surrendering my gun to the investigation was likewise an agony. It would be returned to me immediately upon the investigation’s completion.

  The entire aftermath was the most tortuous of all. It was attempting to realize the suffering of women and girls stolen from their lives. Captured and kidnapped from their friends and families. It was inhumanity to an entire group. Women.

  I’d recalled the faces of the women sex slaves. The women/girls waiting to talk with authorities, and members of the National Center for Exploited Children. They would try to see that the women’s family would be found. Authorities would check the circumstances and reunite some of the victims. Some would be housed at a rescue home. It was my hope that they would all be able to go on with their lives. Hope seemed a flimsy word when wishing for young women to overcome the disturbing memories they had endured.

  After a dinner was hastily put together, and also tasteless, I needed some cool night air. I climbed to the flybridge. I’d looked on the deck. I finally spotted Jill. She had escaped to the ocean loft. Seated, she had pulled her legs up, and her arms wrapped her knees. In the deck chair, her head was down, resting on her arms.

  “I saw you and Summer hugging this evening. Does that mean you’re feeling better about one another?” I questioned.

  “We’re friends now. At any time, any one of us could have ended up dead. We really need to be a strong unit. We don’t have a SWAT team backing us up. Or half a dozen enforcers. It’s just us. Now we’ve been through the war together. That drives it home. We must be a true Team. A Team of sisters.”

  “Does that mean you’ve reconsider staying with the Team?” When she hadn’t answered. I nonchalantly continued. “We don’t always go by the book. You said you wanted to help people. Look what we’ve just accomplished.”

  “We had a good week,” she agreed. Her partial smile was beautiful because both lips and eyes smiled.

  “One case – a rapist, a killer with disregard to his military sisters, and other women. Gary Dodge will be incarcerated for the rest of his life. Two conspirators, Mona Ogden and Johnny Groversen, will probably be going to jail. A young malcontented terrorist, Mark Novak, had his death weapons of bombs and artillery taken from him. And he will most probably spend his youth and into is middle years in jail. Innocent people will be saved. Novak will be sent off for a long time.”

  “Not a bad collar,” she said with a smile.

  “And the sex trade has taken a hit. The seamy, ugly part of it. Mickey Coleman and Dimitri Zhenya aren’t ever going to hurt anyone again. Two or three dozen women have been rescued from lives as sex slaves. Jurg Laski was picked up when he drifted out of international waters, into our coastal waters. They are examining the gun they found on Sea Fortune. Maybe if Laski has got dual citizenship, he can be tried for murdering Simon. His boat has been confiscated, any property or financial funds will be seized. Tom told me that the prosecutors are going to empty his pockets.”

  Jill shook her head. “The very least, he’ll be booted out of the country. But I hope charges are brought against him.”

  “We are making a difference, Jill.” My words were steadfast, and sturdy.

  Pensively, Jill spoke, “We’ve accomplished more than I ever thought we could, a lifetime of accomplishments.” She looked out at the ocean. “I’m wondering why I’ve still got reservations.”

  “The way I look at it is that we have the slow, tedious cases. The cases of hatred and revenge. Somehow greed usually enters the picture of crime. Lodged inside those it owns, greed taints all that it touches. These cases were examples of that.” I took her hand in mine. “Jill, look at the good we can do. I’ll ask again. Are you still considering going back on the force?”

  “Does the Team need me?”

  “Jill, you know we do. With four, we’re still understaffed. We did an army’s worth of fighting today.”

  Jill’s head went up. “Cleaning up the world and making it safe is exactly what I want to do.”

  “We can do a lot more of that.”

  Her hand reached out to meet mine. Then we hugged.

  “I’m glad Clarissa wasn’t harmed,” Jill spoke softly.

  “Me, too.” I paused. “She would have been killed if we hadn’t arrived in time.”

  “You do realize that your emotions concerning her are way off the chart. You’re in love with her, Beryl.”

  “Let me tell her first,” I said with my grin growing wider each second. I wanted to hold Clarissa and tell her that almost losing her today made me realize the depth of my love.

  I went to my stateroom and I crawled into bed. I was beside the woman of my dreams. She was intently reading a book “I suppose you’re going to read books every night?” I playfully chastised.

  “I suppose you’re going kick criminal tails all day?”

  “Did you bring that detective mystery book that Rachel recommended?” I inquired.

  She pointed to the bed stand. “Let me know if you like it, darling.”

  I flapped open the cover. After a few pages, I glanced up. Chuckling, I asked, “Who believes all this crime? All these shoot ‘em up’ sections? And they’re even in the first few pages?” I’d only read to page six.

  “Thankfully for my bookshop, most everyone believes.”

  Of course, she was correct. She turned off the nightlamp. Then she snuggled into the cove of my arm. Believers are good people, I thought as we tucked nearer. It felt wonderful to finally believe. I didn’t need to say the words. She knew I’d fallen in love with her.

  Adventures in my life certainly were drama, song, a glimpse at words on a page, a dance across a lovely landscape, and canceling out some of life’s meanness. Holding Clarissa was a dream in which I was willing to invest. Without belief in one another, I pondered, we are stranded. I thought about the day’s occurrences, and how I never wanted to be stranded from Clarissa again.

  That must be one of love’s definition. And I know knew it by heart.

  Epilogue

  Breakfast had been a lingering, restful space in the day. Clarissa left for the book shop. The Team sped through a lackluster meeting in the conference room. Rachel reported that Tom had called. “He said he’d taken our recommendation to go lightly on Raven, Rhoda Reed. He talked with the D.A.’s office and suggested she be released on to a member of the community. He also said that this was a dilly of a case.”

  Summer rolled her eyes. “A dilly of a case?”

  We laughed.

  I took a guess. “Mandy bailed her out and offered to help?”

  Rachel added, “Yes. I also spoke with Mandy. She’s going to give Ravyn a job working at the women’s shelter. Mandy is a huge contributor.”

  “Raven tried to help me. Us.” I then hesitated. “She made a difference in the outcome of our case. I’m glad for her. Mandy will help her get her life in order. Mandy is great at getting lives in order.”

&n
bsp; I heard someone in the office, so I got up to see who was there. In the hall, I spotted Boyd coming out of the office. “Just looking for you, Cuz. I’m going to be traveling back to California to tie up some loose ends. But I’ll be back in a month or two.”

  “We’ll miss you.” We all congregated in the galley around the table.

  “I’ll miss all of you. Beryl, thank you for taking my case. I profoundly thank you all for saving me. I didn’t steal that treasure. And I surely wouldn’t have killed Simon. It’s been fun meeting you all.”

  “You said you’ll be returning?” Rachel quizzed.

  “Yes. The apartment across from Mandy went up for sale. I bought it. I’ve felt as though I belong here. You’re all made me feel welcome. I feel a part of this family. Beryl, it’s a part that neither of us had growing up.”

  “I figured you just called on me because you were in trouble.”

  “I had been wanting to look you up for years. But I thought you’d blow me off for being from such a stodgy, hypocritical, branch of the family.”

  “And I thought you believed you were too good to associate with my side of the family.”

  “That isn’t true. I carried that photo of us as kids for years,” he defended.

  Laughing, I clasped his hand. “We’ve finally found one another.”

  “When I get back, I’ve been considering purchasing Sea Fortune. I asked about it, and since the boat will be seized, I’ll bid on it.”

  “That’s costly,” Rachel commented.

  “As I said, I’ve got funds. And your bill has been paid,” he said with a smile.

  “Will you work the treasure search?” Jill asked.

  “I was thinking that if I ended up with the treasure ship, and ultimately, the treasure, I would donate the artifacts to museums.” He looked down. “I know that money isn’t the real coverlet of euphoria. Gold bullion can’t keep you happy or warm. I’ve seen enough shallow and apathetic people. And while seeing those murderous people, I’ve also seen the good in Mandy, and you four. Anyway, I’ll be returning.”