by Carolina Mac
“I thought you might,” said Blaine. “You don’t mind this assignment, do you?”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t mind anything as long as I’m working.”
“I got you both on a noon flight, booked you a Jeep and got you a room at the Fairfax Inn. You have an hour to go home and pack a bag before Lil takes y’all to the airport.”
“Yes, sir. Do you have a picture of Miss Misty?”
“I have some eight by tens that MP printed.” Blaine pulled a half dozen colored pictures out of his briefcase.
“Oh, she’s a LeJeune.”
“Does that mean something?” asked Blaine.
“Old New Orleans’ family. I know the name.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
AT NINE A.M. Jesse entered interrogation room two with a Starbuck’s container in his hand. He set up the recorder and spread out his notes in front of him ready to go.
McLaughlin watched with detached interest. “I ain’t saying a word until my lawyer gets here.”
“Uh huh. That’s fine.”
The door opened a few minutes later and Barry Weiss entered the room. Well dressed in a dark gray suit, Mr. Weiss looked to be in his late fifties. Dark hair with no gray showing, and a dark moustache, he was slim and trim.
“Ranger Quantrall, nice to meet you.” He offered his hand and Jesse shook it. He sat at the end of the table and opened his briefcase. “Have you formally charged my client?”
“Not yet, but I will charge him,” said Jesse, “He’s in violation of his parole. He’s been associating with known felons, some of whom are in holding cells downstairs.”
“It seems to me, you’re nit picking, Ranger Quantrall. Why would you care if Alex violated his parole? You and the violent crime team have bigger fish to fry, don’t you? What’s the real reason you had Alex brought to headquarters?”
“We have substantive information that Mr. McLaughlin is planning a robbery for the coming weekend.”
Weiss smiled. “And who is my client going to rob?”
Jesse focused on McLaughlin’s face as he said the words. “Mark Selecky.”
At Weiss’s request, Jesse vacated the room and allowed the attorney private time with his client.
Jesse tapped on Chief Calhoun’s door and brought him up to date on the campus murder.
“At least you have a few leads on that one,” said the Chief. “On Kevin Telfer’s murder, they found a knife in Donaldson’s trailer when they tossed it, and Sue is trying to match it to Kevin Telfer or Kenny Kovaks, or possibly both.”
“Great,” said Jesse, “hope she gets a match and closes those cases for us. Donaldson is sitting downstairs waiting.”
“Would be nice to close a couple and hand them off to the DA’s office, wouldn’t it?”
“Damn right,” said Jesse. “Make my day.”
Gang Squad. Austin PD.
LIEUTENANT COOKE greeted Carlos and John as they entered the cramped space on the second floor—the home of the gang squad. Neatly dressed in a suit and tie, he smiled and pointed at the chairs in front of his desk. “Heard Blacky caught the one at the U. Uh huh. State property. Makes sense. What can we do to help y’all?”
“The boss wondered if y’all had a file on the George Street gang?”
“Might have, but they’re below tier three. I haven’t heard that they were doing much beyond petty stuff. Does Blacky think they did the deed at the U?”
“He heard a rumor and we’re following up.”
“Weird for them to do something that violent in broad daylight,” said Cooke. “Talk to Ortiz in the squad room. See if he knows what’s going on.”
“Thanks.” Carlos and John both stood and shook Cooke’s hand.
Ted Ortiz was the only detective in the squad room. Long black hair and lots of tats, Ted looked the part of an undercover gang cop. He was hunched over his keyboard writing a report.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Carlos. He introduced himself and John Hilder. “We’re looking for anything you might have on the George Street gang.”
Ted nodded and thought for a moment. “Most of our time is tied up with M-13 and the Tangos. The punks on George Street haven’t been getting much of our attention, but I think I have an old file on them.” Ted strode over to a gray metal cabinet and pulled out a beige folder. “Pretty thin, but there might be something you can use.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Copier is in the next room.”
John took the file and assumed the copying chore.
“You haven’t heard that they might be pushing for ground and trying to show strength?” asked Carlos.
“Haven’t heard, but if that were true they’ve always been at odds with the Circle,” said Ortiz. “Those guys own a dozen blocks to the east of George Street and they wouldn’t be keen on giving an inch to the George Street bandits.”
George Street. Austin.
BLAINE cruised the dead-end street, both sides lined with run down bungalows mixed with short runs of row housing in even worse repair. Paint peeled, chain link fences sagged, lawns had given way to dirt and debris—and dogshit. Many houses had a kennel out front with a dog chained to it or just a stake in the ground holding an angry beast at bay.
Travis looked for the number. “Okay, I see it. It’s one of the row houses. Second from the end.”
“Yep.” Blaine pulled over and parked at the curb. A few gang members strolled down the block staring at them, doing their best to look threatening.
Blaine hopped out and screwed up his nose. The air reeked of poverty and feces.
“No pigs allowed on our block,” hollered one of the kids who’d come out to stare at the cops.
“Any of you assholes, Antonio or Franco?” hollered Travis.
Blaine watched for a reaction as two of the punks turned and looked at a taller guy with blue bandana tied around his head.
Travis grabbed the kid and snapped a cuff on his wrist.
“Hey, you can’t touch me.” He jerked away, spit at Travis and tried to kick him. Twisting and turning, he tried to break free of the big ex-Marine’s grasp. “I ain’t done nothing.” Travis was six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. He had him.
“Lock him in the truck,” said Blaine. He pointed at the rest of the punks. “Who wants to go with him?”
Two of the kids took a step back. One walked towards the truck, peering at his buddy through the window.
“Touch my truck and you’re dead,” said Blaine. He whipped his Beretta out of the holster so fast the kid sucked in a breath and backed up.
Travis knocked on the door of the row house and Blaine ran to catch up. A dark-complexioned guy with long dark tangled hair opened the door looking half asleep. “What do you want?”
“Gus Andreas?” asked Blaine.
“Yeah, so what?”
“We’d like you to come to DPS and answer a few questions,” said Blaine.
Andreas tried to close the door and Travis lunged forward, crashing into the door and forcing it wide open with his shoulder. He held it open and Blaine stepped into the narrow front hall.
“Down on your knees. Hands on your head,” said Blaine.
Andreas dropped to the floor and assumed the position. “Why you dirty fuckers rousting me? I ain’t done nothing.”
Blaine snapped cuffs on him and Travis jerked him to his feet. “Let’s go talk about it.”
As they marched him out to the truck his pack rallied around, yelling, threatening. A big husky kid about sixteen pulled a knife and made a move towards Travis who had hold of the prisoner.
Quick as lightening, Blaine had the Beretta in his hand and he fired. The bullet took the kid just above the wrist, blood fountained out and the kid let out a bellow of pain. The knife dropped to the ground and the rest of the support team fled.
Travis shoved Andreas into the back seat of the truck and secured him while Blaine pointed his Beretta at the bleeding kid and said, “Sit on the ground and don’t move until the ambulan
ce comes. If you move one fuckin inch, you’re dead.”
Clutching his bleeding arm, the kid nodded.
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
JESSE greeted the boys as they brought Andreas and the other bandit in and secured them in two separate interview rooms. “Only two?” Jesse asked with a smirk.
“Nope, one more,” said Travis. “One for the infirmary. The kid tried to knife me, and the boss shot him. The ambulance will be dropping him off at the back door.”
“Looks like my afternoon is filling up,” said Jesse. “I’ll start with Andreas in room two.” He walked in, sat down and started the recorder. “Mr. Andreas, I’m Ranger Jesse Quantrall, and we have information that your gang was responsible for the rape and murder yesterday on campus.”
“Bullshit.”
“Uh huh, it may be bullshit, but my crew are all out there right now gathering evidence to prove it isn’t.”
Andreas stared at his cuffed hands. “I was nowhere near the U yesterday when that was going down.”
“Where were you?”
“In Mexico.”
“And can you prove that?”
Andreas stared and said nothing.
“Which of your gang members was responsible? A witness places four of your boys at the scene.”
“The witness is wrong. Weren’t my crew.”
“We’re running the security tapes right now and if one of your crew is on the tape, all of you are going down.”
“Get me a lawyer.”
“As soon as you’re booked I’ll have someone call a PD for you.” Jesse stood up and opened the door. “Rocky, book Mr. Andreas and the gentleman in room four on suspicion of rape and murder and give them separate cells. I’m arranging a lineup with the witness.”
“You got it, Jesse.”
BLAINE and Travis finished the paperwork with the help of Ranger Ruskin, the Chief’s assistant, and were on their way to the truck when Governor Campbell called Blaine’s cell. “Cat, are you feeling better?”
“I’m anxious to get back to work. Stokes is a royal fuck-up and I’m going nuts wondering what he’s messing up. Penny is phoning me every ten minutes telling me something else the asshole has done. But enough about the good times, I want to know what’s going on with the campus thing. I should say something.”
“Yeah, you should. Let me round Mary up and we’ll come over. Make me and Trav some lunch.”
“Did you miss lunch, sweetie?”
“Yep. I was busy shooting people.”
Cat giggled thinking he was kidding.
Blaine called Mary Polito, then cruised by the newspaper and picked her up in front of the building where she worked. She hopped in the back seat with her laptop and Raj Singh was with her.
“I didn’t know if we’d need Raj, or if the Governor is ready for pictures,” said Mary.
“She might be ready,” said Blaine. “She wants to get back to work and might welcome a little press.”
“Okay, good.”
Governor Campbell’s Private Residence. West Austin.
CATHERINE’S HOUSEKEEPER, Vivian, opened the door and welcomed them into the foyer. She pointed to the sitting room on the left and Mary headed that way with the photographer behind her.
Catherine appeared from the kitchen and hugged Blaine first and then Travis. “I feel like a hermit who never sees another human being.”
“I’m glad you’re better,” said Blaine. “What did the doc say about going back to work?”
“Half days for two weeks starting Monday, but I don’t know if I can stick to that.”
“Your energy level will be down. You might be ready to go home at noon or one.”
Catherine pointed down the hallway. “I made some sandwiches for you poor starving guys, and there’s coffee on the warmer. I’ll talk to Mary while you eat.”
Travis, who’d been silent up to that point said, “I want to apologize for you getting hurt, Governor. It happened on my watch and I’m not over it.”
“It was a stray bullet, Travis. Not your fault.”
Blaine steered Travis towards the kitchen. “Let’s eat, Trav, then I have to brainstorm with Mary.”
“Shit, boss, I feel terrible about her getting shot.”
“Me too, so let’s help her get back to work and get over it.”
After inhaling their roast beef sandwiches, Blaine and Travis joined the others in the sitting room. Catherine had posed for a few pictures and Raj was finished.
“What am I saying, sweetie?” Cat asked Blaine, and Mary pulled out her recorder.
“Three suspects were arrested this morning by the violent crime team. They’re being held at DPS pending a lineup tomorrow morning that is currently being arranged. Security footage taken from cameras at the University is being viewed and more arrests are pending.”
“Wow, that was fast work,” said Cat. “I didn’t know you caught them already.”
“Thanks to Farrell and his little network of street people.”
“The problem is,” said Travis, “we have to have solid evidence against these guys to make a case for Mr. Leighton.”
“That’s the part I understand,” said Cat, her green eyes looking a little sad. “I miss being on the bench.”
“Do you want to add a paragraph at the end, Governor, about exercising extra caution?” asked Mary. “At night, walk with a friend, and that type of thing?”
“Of course,” said Cat. “That always makes sense.”
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE and Travis were drinking a brew on the front steps with Carlos and John, when Fletch and Peyton arrived with the tapes.
“Got something?” asked Blaine.
“A little grainy, but I think we can ID at least two of them,” said Fletcher.
“We’ll show what we’ve got to the gang squad tomorrow,” said Blaine. “They’re more familiar with these guys than we are.”
“Some of the mug shots are in the file we copied this morning,” said John. “We might match them up.”
“Let’s try that now,” said Peyton. “Did you bring in the leader, boss?”
“Uh huh. Gus Andreas and two others we haven’t ID’d are in cells at DPS.”
“Well, one ain’t in a cell,” said Travis. “Blacky shot him and he’s in the infirmary.”
Peyton lifted an eyebrow. “You had to shoot someone?”
“Yep. It happens.”
AFTER A quiet dinner with Carm, Blaine sat on the back porch while the dogs had a run and he called Farrell. “You guys get there okay?”
“Yep, all good. Picked up the Jeep and checked into our fancy bed and breakfast. Never stayed in one before, but it sure is nice, and the lady that owns it is super friendly. She put a plate of cookies in our room.”
Blaine smiled. Farrell loved sweets. “How’s Luke?”
“He’s good. We’re going to the French Quarter for good food and some good music in about an hour. He knows a couple of bars where people hang.”
“Great. I hope y’all hear something, bro. Appreciate you doing this.”
“Hey, Misty is family. We have to find her.”
“I’m worried when we find her…” Blaine couldn’t stand to think about it.
“Don’t go there,” said Farrell. “Not yet. Give us a chance to turn over a few stones here first.”
Blaine brought him up to date on the case, then wished him luck and whistled for Lexi and Hoodoo.
New Orleans.
ABOUT NINE, Farrell and Luke took a cab to the busiest part of the city. Luke knew the streets like the back of his hand. He’d worked in Baton Rouge for a while, up until the time he’d packed up and moved to Texas, but before that he’d been a rookie cop in New Orleans. For two years he’d walked the beat downtown.
They grabbed a table at a tiny crowded eatery that specialized in Cajun food. Farrell ordered a pitcher of draft and glanced around. Posters of fish and seafood tacked up on the bare wooden walls were the extent of the
decor. The lighting was poor, and all the tables and chairs were mismatched. The two waitresses were large black women with white aprons shuffling along at snail speed. Good thing he and Luke weren’t in a hurry.
But it was all about the food. The place was noisy, packed with locals and the simmering smells saturating the air made Farrell’s stomach growl. He loved hot and spicy and that’s what the aroma promised him.
Luke drank half his first beer and leaned in close across the table. “Be best if we didn’t start off by telling her name.”
“Why, ain’t Misty a good name?”
“We can say Misty when we show her picture but be better to steer clear of LeJeune.”
“Why? Does her family have a bad rep?”
“People fear that name,” said Luke. “The LeJeune’s are known to have powers.”
“Powers, like being a psychic like Misty?”
“Uh huh. And more.”
“What else?”
“They say her father was a … powerful man and he still lives. He won’t die.”
Farrell frowned. “She told Blacky her father was dead.”
“He’s supposed to be dead,” whispered Luke.
One of the large ladies brought their food and set it on the table in front of them. “Y’all have everything y’all need?”
“I think so, for now.” Farrell picked up his fork. “Smells so good I can’t wait to taste it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thursday, April 9th.
Blackmore Agency. Austin.
LEXI WHINED and scratched at the door of Blaine’s room. He rolled over and opened his eyes. “It’s still dark. Why are you awake? Did you hear something?”
She hates the phone. Maybe it woke her up.
He reached for his cell on the nightstand and checked the screen.
Missed Call.
“Lieutenant Lopez, you were calling me?”
“Hey, Blacky, you usually answer on the first ring.”
“I was beat and didn’t hear it, I guess. Sorry. What’s up?”
“Got a body in an alley downtown and before I get started, I like to check with you. ‘Specially when they have Donovan’s card in their purse.”