Night Moves

by DJ Steele

  Hauser stepped around and broke into a conversation with the woman. Shockley was glad Hauser was fluent in Spanish.

  "She says she saw another car pull up to the victim’s car."

  "Ask her if she saw the man in the other car."

  Hauser rattled off a string of Spanish words that sounded like a series of vowels separated by RRRs. The woman replied, "Sí, sí," and nodded. As the woman communicated with Hauser, she used her hands, eyes and arms with an occasional shoulder shrug.

  Hauser interpreted as the woman spoke. "She saw a dark car parked in front of the dead man’s car. He was tall." The woman pointed to Shockley. "Tall like you. He wore a hat. He walked close to the other man." Hauser said something and she shook her head. "She did not see a gun. She had bread in the oven and left the window to check on it. A few minutes later, she heard a loud noise and ran to the window. The man had fallen to the ground. The tall man got in his car and left. She called 9-1-1 and told them to come fast. She did not leave the house to help the man because she was afraid the bad man would come back."

  He now knew who called it in.

  "Which house does she live in?"

  Hauser pointed to a house down the street. The house was not close. And there were bars on the windows.

  "Ask her if she has seen either the victim or the other man before."

  As soon as Hauser asked, she shook her head and said, "No." The woman said something to Hauser that caused the corners of his mouth to lift up into a smile.

  "What is it?" asked Shockley. "What'd she say?"

  "She wants to know if there’s a reward for helping catch the bad man."

  "Damn." Shockley shook his head. "Tell her if she sees the bad man again, give us a call."

  Hauser thanked the woman and she started to leave when Shockley thought of a question for her. "Hey wait. Ask her if the bad man walked with a limp."

  Hauser asked and the woman replied, "Sí, sí."

  Shockley had a lead. Two witnesses identified the perp as having a limp which meant the crimes were probably connected somehow. The blind woman named Minty told him she believed the perp was among the crowd across the street from the motel when it exploded. She said the man had a limp. The Hispanic woman saw a man with a limp approach the man who was now deceased. What he needed was a background check on the victim. Who was this guy? This dead man might be able to connect them to the killer.

  By the time the CSI unit arrived on site, the rookie patrolman had the area taped off with Day-Glo police tape. Shockley knew the CSI investigator, Asmita Patel. He was good, but he was no Amber Bull. The CSI crew was gathering physical evidence, taking photos of the body and making documentations in their notebooks.

  Shockley heard Hauser call him. He was standing near Shockley’s car. Shockley walked over and stood next to Hauser, "What ya got?"

  "One of our guys got a hit on Max. Somebody told our guy that a guy called Max works at Dark Alley Warehouse."

  "The strip joint? That’s not far from here. You stay here and make sure all evidence is gathered and bagged. I’ll check out the Warehouse."

  "You’re not going there alone are you? That joint doesn’t lay out a welcome mat for cops. You’re gonna need a search warrant and back-up," warned Hauser.

  "I’m not there to arrest. Just talk. If I wait for a warrant, Max could slip away."

  Shockley heard Hauser grumble as he left and headed toward his car.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dark Alley Warehouse

  * * *

  Shockley was sure the mountain of muscle guarding the door to the Warehouse club wouldn’t let him inside without causing trouble. The imposing size of the bouncer and his tatted-up face made Shockley question his decision to visit the place without back-up.

  Two women in front of him looked like they were regulars. They laughed as they sashayed toward the entrance, never looking in the direction of the bouncer. He scanned their skimpy outfits and figured they probably worked here.

  Shockley trotted up to the women. "Hello ladies. I was wondering if either of you know a guy who works here named Max?"

  The women stopped and faced him. "Is this person you call Max in some sort of trouble?" asked the older woman with the pink hair.

  "It’s important, I just wanna talk. That’s all. Don’t want any trouble."

  Pink Hair placed a hand on her small hip and studied him. "You know, you’re kinda cute, in a cowboy sorta way." She arched her eyebrows and shared a curious gaze with the other woman.

  The woman next to her was younger by a decade. She had tattoo sleeves on both arms. The tattoo woman took a drag on her cigarette, blew the smoke out the side of her mouth and nodded to Pink Hair. She looked down. "I like them boots. If you wanna find this guy, maybe you’re at the right place. But you got one big problem."

  Shockley and the two women stole a look at the beefy bouncer.

  "Yeah, Bruno don’t look too friendly," remarked Shockley. "I’d be in your debt if you could help me out here."

  The women shared a look and smiled.

  "Honey, this is your lucky day," Pink Hair said. "We’re the number one girls. Just stick with us."

  They flanked Shockley’s side, laced their arms through his and headed to the entrance of the club. At the door, the women shot Bruno a flirty smile. He nodded and let all three waltz in.

  Once inside, Shockley said, "Thank you ladies."

  "Anytime cowboy. Right now, we gotta clock in," said Tattoo Woman.

  Pink Hair chimed in, "We’ll see you later for a drink or a lap dance." She slapped his butt. "I’ve heard you never forget your first cowboy," she whispered in his ear before heading toward a back room.

  He grinned.

  Inside, the club was dark with pulsating lights and an old-fashioned disco ball. He knew there were plenty of things going on in here that were outside the law. The bartender’s hard stare told him he needed to watch his back.

  An anorexic stripper worked the pole with a small audience of three men and one woman. Sitting on a stool next to the bar was another young woman. She had long auburn hair, deep red lipstick and appeared nervous. One of her legs kept bouncing as she talked to the bartender and then to a waitress with the biggest boobs he’d ever seen.

  When he first joined the force, he’d visited strip clubs with fellow cops after their shift was over. He soon realized he didn’t care for them. Too many lonely men paying an exotic dancer to listen to their fantasies and problems at home.

  The back wall had rooms with drapes for doors and VIP signs hung above them. A topless woman wearing spiked heels, a thong and a tattoo across her backside was escorting a short male with balding brown hair to one of the rooms. At the moment he didn’t care what went on behind the drapes, he only wanted to find Max.

  As the pole dancer left the platform, another dancer walked up to replace her.

  "Howdy cowboy," the replacement said. It was Pink Hair.

  "Hi," he responded.

  "You find what you’re looking for?"

  "Not yet. I’m not sure who can help me in here."

  "Well, if I were you, I’d ask Jimmy, the bartender. Probably won’t tell you anything, but who knows. Today does seem to be your lucky day." She puckered her lips out and made a kissing sound. "See you later cowboy." The woman made her way onto the stage.

  "Thanks." He started for the bar. The young auburn-haired woman walked to a table where a man had held up a glass to welcome her over. What distracted him from going to the bar was the three men who entered. Three Hispanic men.

  The men were average height, muscular and gunned up. One of the men had a tattoo wrapped around his neck. He knew this man—Roberto Vazquez—a gang member he had arrested several years ago for drug possession and selling illegal weapons to a Mexican cartel. These guys weren’t here for a lap dance. They were here for a different reason.

  The stripper was wrong. This was not his lucky day.

  Shockley didn’t remember the names of all the pe
rps he had arrested over the years, but Vazquez stood out. He had killed one of Vazquez’s men during a raid. When he cuffed Vasquez, the man vowed the next time they met, he’d put a bullet in Shockley’s head. Shockley was sure Vazquez was a man of his word, especially when he was the one responsible for interrupting his lucrative gun running business. Vazquez did a nickel for his crimes and had been paroled for about a year.

  Shockley found a table on the far side of the stage. The stage helped obscure the view from the bar area. Vazquez and his thugs were making their way to the bar when the young auburn-haired woman shouted, "Shit".

  Vazquez and his protection stopped and all three reached inside their jackets. Shockley instinctively reached beneath his jacket and gripped his pistol. He had his back-up weapon strapped to his ankle. Guns in a place like this made him nervous. He hoped the bartender was paying attention. His eyes locked on the three Hispanic men. With their hands still resting inside their jackets, one of the men said something to Vazquez. All three men burst out laughing. Vasquez let his hand drop to his side. Shockley relaxed the grip on his pistol.

  He saw the auburn-haired woman head to the back through an entrance marked Restrooms. Vazquez and his men continued toward the bar. Vazquez slowed his stride and glanced across the room.

  This was not the place for a shoot-out. Too many innocent by-standers and at this point he had no way of knowing whose side the bartender was on. Three against one. Maybe four if the bartender went the wrong way.

  "Need a drink?" a raspy voice asked. He slid his weapon back in the holster and turned toward the voice. It was Tattoo Woman.

  "No thanks. See those guys over there?" He nodded his head in their direction.

  "Sure do. They look like trouble."

  "I need to make sure they don’t see me."

  Tattoo Woman smiled and quickly stood in the line of sight between him and the three men. She pushed him against the back of the chair and straddled her legs over his. She arched her back twisting her head toward the pink-haired woman pole dancing. A nod and the two seemed to communicate what to do next. The pole dancer ripped off her top and threw it out to a customer near the stage. He hollered in delight.

  The diversion worked. Vazquez watched the pole dancer for a few minutes before he and his men approached the bartender. With their backs to him, Tattoo Woman whispered, "Follow me." She took his hand and lead him to one of the velvet curtained rooms marked, VIP.

  Inside the room, Shockley said, "Looks like I need to thank you again for your help."

  "You’re a cop, right?"

  "That obvious, huh?" Shockley stood next to the curtain and eased it back to check on the Hispanic men at the bar. Vazquez didn’t look happy. Neither did the bartender.

  "When you asked about Max, Barbara and I knew you must be a cop. Max treats us good. But now things have changed."

  "Whatta ya mean?" He kept his focus on the men at the bar.

  "You not gonna arrest Max, are ya?"

  Shockley let go of the curtain. "Is Max here? In the building?"

  "You gotta promise me, you won’t arrest him," the woman pleaded. "This used to be the place to work when the ol’ man ran it. Now, his son Caleb has taken over. Max tries to protect us from him. Caleb gets girls hooked on drugs to keep ‘em doing what he wants."

  He moved within a few inches of the woman, looked down at her and said, "If you know where Max is then you need to tell me. Those guys out there are dangerous. Max could be in trouble. I can protect him."

  Pop. Pop.

  A woman screamed.

  Tattoo Woman pressed her body against the far wall. Her hands flew up covering her mouth. Shockley drew his weapon and shoved her to the floor. He held up a hand to signal to stay down while his gun eased the velvet curtain back.

  The bartender was sprawled across the bar, his hand still gripping a shotgun. The three Hispanic men had weapons drawn and aimed at a guy with a man bun and purple birthmark under his eye. The birthmark guy was speaking Spanish and holding up one hand. What was in his other hand?

  Without warning the front door to the bar flung open. Three uniforms stormed in. "Police, hands up."

  Vasquez jumped over the bar. His men ducked behind a table.

  The room erupted in gunfire.

  Shockley rushed out of the curtained room, dropped on one knee and fired several rounds toward the Hispanic men. He saw two officers crumple to the floor. One didn’t move, the other moaned and grabbed his thigh. Another uniform turned a table over and took cover. Bystanders scattered and screamed, ducking under tables and crawling behind the stage. A young man trying to escape ran toward the front door, clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor.

  Shockley hollered, "Everybody down."

  Vasquez rose from behind the solid wood bar and fired. Shockley returned fire. Bursts of gunfire sent splinters flying. Vasquez yelled something in Spanish to his men. A spray of bullets passed over Shockley’s head and hit the stage behind him. He dropped and belly-crawled to the back side of the stage.

  Behind the stage, he crouched and bolted to the other end where the wounded officer was lying. He reached for the downed officer. Three rounds hit nearby.

  He couldn’t get to the downed officer without exposing himself. The officer behind the table was pinned down. He was no help.

  The wounded officer moaned.

  Time was running out. He peeked around the stage and saw a target’s head raise above the overturned table.

  Shockley aimed and squeezed off a three-round burst.

  He saw the man’s head snap back.

  One down, two to go.

  Shockley crouched and maneuvered to the side of the stage closest to the bar.

  Vasquez sent a barrage of lead in the direction of the officer behind the table.

  Shockley took a deep breath, swung around and shot his pistol till he emptied the magazine trying to hit Vasquez.

  He looked at his weapon, slide locked in the back position.

  He ejected the spent magazine, reloaded a fresh one from his belt and chambered a round.

  Vasquez alternated his firepower between Shockley and the other officer.

  Again, Shockley returned heavy fire, only this time striking the mirrored glass behind the bar causing shards to rain down on Vasquez.

  He leapt to his feet and sprinted toward the bar, firing as he ran, sending more pieces of glass flying behind the bar.

  He was a stride away when it happened.

  His right foot slipped in a slick pool of blood from a patron lying face down on the floor. Before Shockley hit the floor, his hand struck against a chair knocking his pistol free. Lying on the floor without a weapon, he saw Vasquez ease around the corner of the bar.

  Vasquez positioned himself for a kill shot.

  Shockley pulled his knee to his chest, grabbed his ankle pistol, cocked it and tucked it next to him.

  He wanted Vasquez closer.

  Vasquez crouched, inching closer to him.

  The officer kept Vasquez’s man busy. Rounds whizzed through the air.

  Just a little closer.

  Vasquez had his finger on the trigger and pointed his weapon at him.

  Shockley fired two rounds.

  Vasquez staggered backwards.

  Shockley fired again.

  Vasquez’s man yelled, "Bastardo!"

  Shockley stood but before he could fire, the uniform shot Vasquez's man three times in the chest.

  The gunfight was over in less than three minutes. A thick haze of smoke hung in the air. The warehouse reeked of burnt gunpowder.

  Blood was everywhere. Two officers down. Shockley hurried to the down officer not moving and checked vitals. DRT. Dead Right There.

  Pink Hair ran to his side, squeezed his arm and asked, "You okay?"

  He felt her hand tremble as the adrenaline raged through her body. Same thing was going on with him.

  "Where does that back door lead?"

  "To an office."

  "Is th
ere a back way out of the office?"

  "Yeah."

  A gunshot echoed from the direction of the office.

  Then three more.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dulles International Airport

  * * *

  She darted past several travelers on the moving walkway when she heard one of her two cell phones ring. Rummaging through her large purse strapped on her shoulder, she tried to locate the ringing phone.

  She stumbled and lurched forward. A young man beside her quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her upright. Her fingers gripped the phone and drew it up to her ear while she thanked the man for his help. The young man shot her a quizzical look when the ringing continued inside her purse.

  She had the wrong phone.

  "Damn," she muttered as she reached back into her purse, retrieved the ringing phone and quickly swiped to answer the call. The young man’s curious face was too much for her. "Two phones. One for my husband. The other for my lover," she said curtly, her steel blue eyes staring at him.

  The young man’s face flushed. As soon as they stepped off the moving walkway, he hurried ahead. With the phone snug against her ear she heard the caller ask, "What husband. What lover?"

  She moved away from the assault of travelers, ignored the question and snapped, "This better be important. I’ve got ten minutes to get to my gate."

  "Elke, Jimi C showed up. I told her you were tied up and I would be the courier for the information you asked her to get. Jimi C said her sources tell her that Moscow isn’t doing surveillance on Julia’s home."

  "Do you believe her?"

  "She’s Russian. Still passes information to the Kremlin. But she knows what you’re capable of doing."

  "Thanks," Elke replied to the man on the phone. "I want eyes on Julia at all times."

  "Um," the caller said softly as if thinking out loud.

  "What is it?" Elke responded annoyed.

  "We found out that the FBI officially pulled Metro police off the Willow Oaks case."

  "What?" Elke said. "That means the FBI knows. It was only a matter of time. Have they paid Julia a visit?"