City of Fear

by Larry Enmon

  “Sure,” Frank said, “give me the address.”

  Frank hung up as Edna marched by. She’d spent as much time on the sixth floor in staff meetings as in her CIU office—hadn’t smiled in over a week. He hated being the one that made her day worse, but she had to know.

  “Found two more dead off Gaston,” Frank said.

  Edna stopped walking but didn’t turn around immediately. Her shoulders slumped. She looked back at him with a blank expression—that despondent battle-weary look soldiers get after too much combat. Her commanding voice had left her. Speaking just above a whisper she asked, “Civilians or gangsters?”

  “Gangsters,” Frank said.

  Edna’s forehead creased. “You’d better check it out.” Without another word she made a beeline for her office.

  Rob stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. “Ready?”

  Frank slipped on his jacket and strolled toward the door. He gazed back across the squad room into Edna’s office. Her elbows rested on the desk and her hands covered her face, hiding the thousand-yard stare.

  When Frank and Rob badged their way past the patrol officer at the entrance to the Gaston garage, Frank remarked, “Happy we finished lunch before getting this call.”

  Marked units lined both sides of the street, and uniform officers scurried in and out of the garage. Yellow evidence tape blocked the up-ramp.

  “Jesus, a double homicide,” Rob said, before ducking under the tape.

  Frank followed close behind. His energy level had dropped a little more each day. Walking up the concrete ramp to the second floor was like climbing a mountain. “A double today, a triple last week. If this keeps up, Jesse will solve Dallas’s gang problem by herself.”

  They turned right and a gaggle of uniforms and CSI techs in white Tyvek suits were taking photographs and collecting evidence. Sims noticed them and meandered over, eating a hot dog. The bun had almost dissolved in a glob of mustard and ketchup. Diced onions and relish dripping off Sims’ fingers completed the disgusting scene. One look at the mess caused Frank’s stomach to turn. Sims licked his fat fingers as he approached.

  “You guys want to take a look? Kelly’s just about finished with the photos—pretty nasty.”

  Rob’s face contorted. “Is that your lunch?”

  Sims popped the last of the hot dog into his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Just getting ready to talk to the building security guy. Want a look at what the cameras picked up.”

  Frank gazed at the upper corners of the garage. Security cameras were mounted on each side. “Should have got something.”

  As they walked to the security office, Sims said, “By the way, the kid picked Jesse out of a photo lineup. Positive it was her with the rifle at the fence the day the first gangster was killed.”

  “That’s a good break,” Rob said.

  Frank was ready to push Edna and Terry for a full news release complete with photos. If the security camera footage from the garage was what he expected, they might just go along with it.

  The building’s director of security was a man named Gerald Gold, an old guy with tufts of gray hair outlining his bald shining head. His suit probably cost a hundred bucks. He was one of those weasel men. His gestures and facial expressions reminded Frank why he never wanted a pet in the house.

  Gold slinked his skinny frame behind his cluttered desk in the basement-level office. His bright red tongue fluttered in and out, raking his equally red upper lip as he searched the computer registry for the security camera menu. He tapped a key, looked up with a satisfied expression, and spun the monitor so everyone could get a good look.

  “Here’s what we have.”

  Frank and Rob edged closer to the monitor. Sims leaned against the far wall, his eyes taking on that sleepy look you get after lunch.

  The video was in color, and Gold ran it in reverse, starting from when the bodies were discovered two hours ago by one of his patrol officers. Gold tapped the reverse key a couple of times, but nothing much happened. A dozen cars and trucks entered or departed the garage. Just before Frank got bored, Gold tapped the key again. That’s when Frank saw her.

  “Stop, that’s her,” Frank said.

  “Who?” Gold asked, tapping another key.

  “Our suspect,” Sims said. He pushed off the wall and stuck his head between Frank and Rob’s, inches from the monitor. “Keep reversing it slowly, very slowly.”

  Gold grunted and pecked a couple of keys before the video started again. “Are you saying that woman with the baby is your suspect? The one who killed those two guys?”

  No one answered as they watched the young blonde mother cuddle her infant. She made sure her head was always lowered toward the bundle she carried in her arms, never looking up to give the cameras a direct face shot, but it was Jesse. When she got to the car, she leaned down for a moment, apparently talking to the gang leaders. The camera angle was such that you couldn’t see the guys seated in the car—just Jesse standing at the driver’s window.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Sims said. “Run it forward. I want to get a better look at her car.”

  Gold grunted again and ran the video forward. As the woman buckled the child into the Toyota, Frank said, “No doubt about it.” He pointed at the monitor. “We’ll need a copy of that.”

  An hour later in CIU, Frank and Rob finished showing the video to Terry. He blew out a breath and eyed them. “She’s changed tactics. No more shooting from a half mile out. She’s right up in their faces. That takes some nerve.”

  Rob had helped himself to a cup of Terry’s special Costa Rica blend he always kept perking on his credenza. He took a sip and said, “She’s got plenty of that. A hunter with the element of surprise on her side. She’ll always get the first shot.”

  “And our problem is we’re always two moves behind her,” Frank added. “Sims talked to the kid in the tree. He ID’d Jesse as the one at the back fence that day. We have her at two crime scenes now, Terry. We don’t have to wait for the hair DNA anymore. Plaster her face all over the papers and evening news. Someone knows where she is. All we need is to show the public who we’re looking for and they’ll do the rest.”

  Terry just stared at him, but his eyes twitched. That was a sign he was considering the idea.

  “I’ll talk to Edna and push it,” Terry said, “but understand the sixth floor wants to wait for proof.” Terry motioned at the TV. “I don’t know if this will satisfy them. It doesn’t actually show her shooting anyone. The two guys aren’t even in the video. All you see is her leaning down at the car with what appears to be a baby in her arms.”

  Frank stood and raised his voice. “If millionaires in Highland Park were being whacked as fast as crooks in South Dallas, I expect it would satisfy them.”

  Terry did a waving down motion with his hand. “Relax, Frank. I’m on your side. Edna’s in another meeting. When she gets out we’ll run this up the flagpole, see if anybody wants to salute it.”

  “Thanks, Terry,” Frank said.

  Walking back to their cubicles, Rob sighed. “If they release it, we’d better have a good plan in place when the calls start rolling in.”

  “I’m not sure it really matters.” Frank plopped into his chair. He had a disgusted frown. “Anything we could think of, Jesse has probably already considered and made a counter plan.”

  36

  Jesse finished her shower and put on her makeup. She seldom dressed up—her comfort zone didn’t demand it—but she needed to look especially hot tonight. Until she had to leave, she kept on her tee shirt and shorts. No use putting on the dress until later in the evening.

  She strolled through the empty house and into the kitchen and poured two fingers of bourbon. Even walking barefoot, there was an echo in a place with no furniture. The old wooded floors creaked and the A.C. unit had a rattle.

  After moving from the hotel, she wanted a place out of the way. A place not just out of Dallas, but out of Dallas County. Somewhere she could stay for as
long as the contract lasted without drawing too much attention. She’d perused the papers and found this little house for rent just a few blocks off Main Street in the old residential area of Grapevine.

  Grapevine had everything she needed—a historic downtown that was a tourist destination with enough strangers meandering around to hide her. She’d rented the 1930’s era home for a year, using one of her false identities.

  She kept the silenced .22 where she could reach it at a moment’s notice. It used to be Clive’s. He’d given it to her their last night together.

  * * *

  November 2012

  “Here, Jess,” Clive said. “Hang onto this for me.” He handed her the pistol.

  “You won’t need it tonight?”

  “No. Taking a bigger one.”

  At two fifteen the next morning a late model silver Cadillac waited for them in the parking lot.

  Jesse tossed her gear in and she and Clive slid into the backseat.

  Clive introduced the two guys. Pauli, the passenger, and Rick, the driver. When they pulled up to the gate and chain link fence, Pauli jumped out and unlocked it. As they drove through the dark, a lighted area came into view up ahead. The warehouse had bright lights atop tall metal polls in the storage yard.

  Rick collected a briefcase from the trunk as Jesse grabbed her gear.

  She motioned toward the warehouse’s roof. “Is there a way to get up there?”

  “Yeah,” Pauli said. “I’ll go with you.”

  She and Pauli found a metal ladder affixed to the left of the office door. Jesse slung her rifle case and equipment bag over her back and scampered up the ladder. Pauli followed. They walked to the other side of the flat roof, dodging pipes, wires, and HVAC units along the way. Jesse unpacked her gear. Clive and Rick sat on a pile of pallets just below.

  A half hour later, Pauli called a number on his cell. “They’re coming,” he said.

  Jesse snapped her head in the direction of his gaze. A set of headlights followed the winding road through the woods. She slipped a piece of candy under tongue and got ready.

  The panel van stopped about ten feet from Clive and Rick. The passenger got out and strolled over to them.

  Rick handed the briefcase to the Puerto Rican guy. Jesse kept the crosshairs on the guy as he opened it. The thing was filled with hundreds, each bundle wrapped with a paper strap. He thumbed through a few bundles and smiled.

  Wait a minute. Aren’t they there to collect money? Why is Rick giving them money? They’re paying for something.

  The passenger marched back to the van. He picked up a cardboard box containing quart-sized plastic zipper bags of something. He carried it back to Rick and sat it on the ground. Looked like New Jersey beach sand. Rick unzipped one and stuck his finger into the bag. He tasted it and nodded.

  Jesse’s throat went dry—a drug deal.

  Staying close to the side of the van in the shadows, two other guys carrying shotguns had slipped out the back doors while Clive and Rick were distracted.

  “It’s a rip-off,” Pauli screamed.

  Leaning over the edge of the roof, he emptied his pistol at the two guys by the van. Clive pulled his .45 and shot the Puerto Rican standing beside him. One guy near the van fell, but the other charged and fired at Rick and Clive. Rick dropped to the ground as the guy pumped another round into the shotgun and fired again. Jesse pulled the trigger and the Puerto Rican tumbled backward.

  Clive was down and not moving. The van tried veering around the bodies, but still managed to run over a couple.

  “Get that son of a bitch!” Pauli screamed.

  Jesse dashed across the roof, jumping the wires and pipes she’d maneuvered around earlier. When she reached the opposite side, she knelt and swung her rifle over the low wall. As the van raced around the warehouse, she put the crosshairs on the driver’s head and squeezed the trigger. The van drifted to the right and crashed into a concrete barrier.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Pauli whispered over Jesse’s shoulder, “you hit him.”

  Jesse let the rifle drop from her grip and tried standing. The adrenaline rush came on so fast her knees buckled. She stumbled to the ladder, taking one rung at a time. Numbness set in as she walked toward Clive. He isn’t dead … can’t be dead.

  Blood covered every fiber of the front of Clive’s sweater. A gaping hole in his chest from the shotgun blast turned her stomach. Tears filled Jesse’s eyes. She finally lost it and dropped on Clive and wept. Time stopped. The next thing she recalled was Pauli leaning over Rick, searching his pockets. The Cadillac sat a few feet away with the trunk open and engine running. Pauli grabbed Rick’s wallet and gun and tossed them in the trunk. He heaved the box of drugs on top of the gun and wallet.

  Pauli ran to Clive and reached into his back pocket, finding his wallet. Pauli snatched it and trotted to the car, tossing the wallet and Clive’s .45 in the trunk before closing it. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Warm blood covered Jesse’s hand and cheek. She caressed Clive’s forehead and shouted. “You can’t just leave him here.”

  Pauli ran back to her, took her arms in his strong grip, and gave her a hard shake. “If you want to stick around and explain this go ahead.” Without giving her a chance to consider, he pulled her to her feet and drug her to the car. On the way out, he stopped at the crashed van and retrieved the briefcase filled with hundreds.

  A half hour later back at Clive’s, Pauli led her up the stairs to the apartment. He took her to the bathroom and said, “Get cleaned up. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

  After changing, Jesse opened the bathroom door to find Pauli searching all the drawers in the dresser.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning this place of everything that’s connected to me and my boss. Pack your stuff. You won’t be coming back. Anything with your name on it—take it.”

  Jesse packed a few clothes and Clive’s .22 in a suitcase and left with Pauli. She didn’t ask any more questions. She’d run out of energy. Pauli took her to his home, gave her a shot of whisky, and tucked her into bed.

  Over the next few days she became his lover. As trust built, Pauli filled her in. He, Rick, and Clive worked for the De Cavalcante crime family. The incident that night was a straight drug deal gone south.

  Jesse’s heart sank. Clive knew it all along … he’d lied.

  Her involvement with Pauli lasted almost a month, until she got the call from her mother. Her father had died at work from a massive stroke. The funeral would be in two days.

  After the funeral, Jesse returned to New Jersey. A couple of days later, she moved into a place of her own after Pauli gave her an envelope with $11,000—the money the organization owed Clive. Before she moved out, Pauli said to call him if she needed work. “We always need someone who shoots as well as you.”

  On her own and alone, Jesse made a decision. She wouldn’t return home or work as a waitress in some greasy spoon in New Jersey. Her heart had hardened. She had a skill only a dozen others could claim in the country, and she intended to use it.

  The memory made Jesse a little melancholy. She finished off the bourbon and gazed at the empty living room. The laughter of children playing in the neighbor’s yard put a smile on her face. This house in Grapevine might just be her first and last shot at living a life in suburbia. She checked her watch, time to finish getting ready.

  37

  Alma was tired. Thursdays always were her longest days. All she wanted was a glass of wine, a walk through her garden, and a hot lavender bath. The dark clouds smelled of rain, and the light mist that streaked her windshield on the drive home would probable nix the garden walk. She hoped not. It was relaxing for people like her.

  She swung into her driveway and parked in back. On her walk to the rear of the house, none of her favorites came out to greet her. Strange. Never missed a day before. Alma unlocked the back door and turned to disarm the alarm panel on the kitchen wall. It showed all green. Had she neglected to arm it
? A scraping sound drifted from around the corner, like something being drug across the floor. She cautiously eased through the kitchen and peaked into her herb room.

  Frank sat on a stool with a glass of wine thumbing through a book. She recognized it immediately. He must have heard her, because he looked up and matter-of-factly said, “Hi, Alma.”

  She didn’t answer, glancing in all directions to see if he was alone. Better play this cool until she knew what was going on. Frank’s snooping around her house and following her to work had caused her to wonder. She allowed a smile to cross her lips as she strolled into the room.

  After calmly setting her purse on a counter, she asked, “Frank, whatever are you doing here?”

  He stared at her with that boyish grin and took a sip of wine. “Waiting for you.” He lifted the bottle and poured an extra glass half full. “Will you join me?” He pushed the glass across the counter and smirked.

  She reached for it just as a loud clap of thunder echoed through the cottage. She jumped and almost knocked it over. Her hand shook as she brought it to her lips. “Why are you here, Frank?” She was sure she wouldn’t like his answer.

  Frank kept reading the journal, turning page after page. He didn’t look up, but said, “Just catching up on my reading.”

  “Oh, I see,” Alma said. Not getting anywhere with this. Time for a different approach. “Would you mind terribly if I changed into something more comfortable?”

  He stopped reading. “I think that would be a great idea. We have a few things to discuss. Might as well be as comfortable as possible.”

  Frank’s casual attitude disturbed her. He knew something. Something so big he had no fear of her calling for help.

  “Well, I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Don’t rush,” he said. “I’m enjoying reading your grimoire.”

  Her stomach twisted. He knew.

  Frank cast a hard stare at her. “Or do you call it your Book of Shadows?”

  Alma shivered. He’d figured it out. She’d underestimated him. Clever, very clever. She blushed and turned for the bedroom. “I won’t be long.”