Mystere

by Carolina Mac

“Get your aprons on,” said Travis. “Blacky will kill us if we end up dead.”

  Luke chuckled as he struggled into his Kevlar.

  Rocky jogged down the road with his partner and stood by the open door of Travis’ F-450. “Need some help?”

  “Sure,” said Travis. “How many did you nab?”

  “Only two so far. With so many in holding, I don’t know how many are on the outside.”

  “Must be a couple dozen on the loose at least,” said Carlos. “Let’s see how many are hunkered down inside.”

  Roof of Saint Mike’s Medical Building. Austin.

  BLAINE and Farrell left the scene in the hands of the Medical Examiner and the crime scene team and walked across the roof to the door with the access ladder inside. Farrell’s hand was on the knob when Blaine’s cell rang.

  He grabbed the phone off his belt, looked at Farrell and said, “Unknown caller.” He hated those—it was never good. He shrugged and pressed talk. “Blackmore.”

  “Hey, Blackmore, you asshole.” Lots of laughing in the background. “We’ve got your bitch witness so you better let Andreas out of jail. You’ve got two hours to deliver the boss to us before I slit her throat.”

  “Fuck that,” Blaine hollered at the top of his lungs and Farrell let go of the door handle.

  “What happened?”

  “Those goddam pricks have our witness.”

  “The girl that did the lineup for Jesse?” asked Farrell.

  Blaine didn’t answer because he was already at the bottom of the steep ladder and running towards the stairs to the lobby.

  “Travis,” he hollered into his cell as he tore down the steps two at a time, “Don’t touch the clubhouse. They’ve got Regan… I forget her name. Surround them and wait. I’ve got to talk to the Chief.”

  “Jesus Christ, we were just going in.”

  “We need eyes or ears inside. They gave us two hours to let Andreas out of jail.”

  “Fuck that,” said Travis.

  “Leave your truck,” hollered Farrell to Blaine as they ran across the parking lot. “Mine’s closer. Get yours later.” He jumped into his red Silverado and started the engine.

  Blaine jumped in still on the phone and they were gone. “Chief, the George Street assholes have our witness, at least they say they do. I’ll get Lily on that end to confirm with the school or the parents. I’m headed to the clubhouse.”

  “Jesus, no. What do they want?”

  “Andreas out of jail. We’ve got two hours.” He checked the Cartier. “Nope. One hour and forty-three minutes.”

  “I’m sending more squads to the site,” said the Chief. “The media will be all over you.”

  “Do they know about it already?” He asked as he called Lil’s cell.

  “I don’t think so, but they will any second. They all have scanners.”

  “If I’m lucky I’ve got about five more minutes before the assholes swarm me,” said Blaine. To Farrell: “Where’s Hilder?”

  “Doing that job for Cat. You sent him to her office.”

  “Right. I forgot. Call him.” To Lil: “Check around and see if you can confirm Regan… the witness… her whereabouts. The George Street fuckers say they have her.”

  “Regan Middleton. Aw, no. I’ll check parents, school, friends. Let you know.”

  “Yep.”

  George Street Clubhouse. Austin.

  UNIFORMS manning the barricades at the end of George Street pulled two saw horses out of the way to let the big red truck through. Farrell zoomed down the street and parked at the dead end behind Travis’ truck.

  “Got your vest on?” asked Blaine.

  “No. You?”

  “We both better get them on right now. Ears too.”

  They joined Travis in front of the clubhouse. He had the trailer surrounded. “We’re not even sure the girl is in there, boss. What if they’ve got her someplace else?”

  “One door. It ain’t gonna be easy to find out,” said Farrell.

  “I’ve been thinking about alternate access the whole time I’ve been waiting,” said Travis. “If the crime scene people removed the lock box from under the tub, is the hole still there?”

  “Good thought,” said Blaine. “I’ll check it.”

  “You can’t check it, boss,” said Carlos, “One of us will do it.”

  “Fuck that,” said Blaine. “I’m not letting any of y’all get killed.”

  “You doing it is a shit idea,” said Farrell. “Let me do it.”

  “You’re too big,” said Blaine. “I’m doing it.” To Travis: “Got a couple of your toys handy?”

  “Yep. In my pocket.” He grinned. “Can’t wait to toss them.”

  “As soon as I’ve got the girl. Do it. Scare the fuckin bejesus out of them.” Blaine removed his jacket and his harness, tossed both to Farrell and stuck his Beretta in his waistband.

  “Good luck, boss,” said Luke.

  Blaine strode around to the side of the trailer that had the decrepit add-on and dropped to his knees. He crawled underneath shining his pen-light up at the underside of the trailer looking for the bathroom plumbing. He crawled to his left and saw the rough-sawn hole in the subfloor under the tub.

  Up on his knees, he stretched his right arm up and felt whatever was over the hole. Felt like a piece of wood but too flimsy, maybe heavy cardboard. He pushed it out of the way and stood up, poking his head up in the middle of the bathtub. The ripped and filthy shower curtain was half closed and the stink of the bathroom made him want to puke. Without touching the plastic curtain, he could see denim-covered legs sitting on the toilet.

  Thank God they locked her in the bathroom.

  “Regan,” he whispered, “It’s me Ranger Blackmore. I’m here to help you.”

  She didn’t answer, and Blaine figured she was gagged. He boosted himself out of the hole and the rough edges caught his jeans where they were torn and ripped a bigger hole.

  He pulled back the curtain and startled her a little.

  She jumped, then Blaine saw her visibly relax a little when she recognized him. Regan was secured, wrists and ankles with plastic ties and gagged with a dirty rag in her mouth. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  I hope they haven’t raped her.

  Blaine held a finger to his lips as he removed the gag, then pulled the knife out of his boot and cut the ties.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re getting out of here.” Blaine spoke into the earwig. “I’m lowering Regan down the hole in the tub. Come help her.”

  “Luke is crawling under,” said Travis. “Put her in the hole.”

  Blaine helped the girl into the tub and stood beside her. “Watch the edges of the hole. They’re rough and you’ll get scratched.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to hold your weight and let you down slowly,” said Blaine. “When you feel your feet hit the dirt, duck your head and crawl out. There’s a deputy under the trailer to help you. His name is Luke. Okay?”

  She nodded and followed instructions.

  Luke’s voice sounded in Blaine’s ear. “Got her, boss. Taking her to the truck.”

  The second Regan was out of danger Blaine gave the order. “Do it, Travis. Take the trailer.”

  TRAVIS heaved the big rock he had in his hand through the window in the side of the trailer. Glass smashed, and he tossed in a flash bang.

  Bang.

  BLAINE blasted out of the bathroom as soon as he heard the canister explode. The gangers were yelling and firing automatic weapons in the direction of the explosion. It had landed in the middle of the kitchen and started a fire. Gas seeped out and fogged the air.

  “Drop your weapons, kneel down and put your hands on your heads,” hollered Blaine.

  Two kids spun around and fired wildly. He shot them both in the head. Blood and brains splattered over the kids close to them and two gangers dropped their guns and surrendered. Blaine cuffed them. “Don’t move.”

  A
huge crash sounded when the front door was bashed in and the rest of the gangers turned and ran the other way. First impulse, but there was no exit at the back unless they could escape through a bedroom window. The trailer was surrounded.

  “Drop your guns and walk forward with your hands on your heads,” hollered Travis. “If you don’t surrender, you will be shot dead. Do it now.”

  Three or four guns clattered to the floor and as many kids showed themselves. Farrell, Carlos and Hilder cuffed them and escorted them plus the two in the kitchen to the bus outside.

  Two wouldn’t come out of the back room. They screamed out curses and fired several rounds through the bedroom door.

  Blaine walked quietly down the short hallway and stood to one side of the opening, trying to get a locate on where they were standing.

  Farrell returned from outside and joined him on the other side of the doorframe. “On three,” he whispered.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  They both jumped into the room at the same time and dropped the kids with knee shots.

  Ten of them all told. Two dead. Two wounded. Six arrested in the clubhouse and two more that Rocky had. An even dozen all together.

  Sirens sounded on the street signaling the arrival of more help. Paramedics burst through the front door with a stretcher and Farrell hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Back bedroom. Two wounded.”

  Blaine’s phone rang as he stood next to Farrell’s truck. “Cat, did Hilder fix that problem for you?”

  “He did and he’s so nice, but that’s not why I called. What’s going on? The TV says there’s a hostage situation.”

  “Past tense. It’s over now. Just cleaning up. If you hang on for five, I’ll walk down to the end of the street and you can hear about it live.”

  Cat giggled. “I’m watching.”

  THERE WAS A MEDIA circus at the end of George Street. The noise was deafening as the reporters saw Blaine jogging down the street towards them and they flung a hundred questions at him.

  “We’re all done, people. Just mopping up. If you quiet down for a minute and let me talk, I’ll tell y’all what happened.”

  “How many did Dead-eye shoot?” hollered one reporter.

  “Why don’t you ever ask how many of them tried to kill us?” asked Blaine. Sometimes the questions pissed him off.

  “Was there a hostage involved?”

  “Yes, there was, and the situation has been resolved.”

  “Who was the hostage?”

  “I’m not telling you that. What else do you want to know?”

  “What did the gang want in exchange for the hostage?”

  “They wanted their leader released from jail,” said Blaine.

  “Were you considering it, Ranger B?”

  Blaine shook his head. “Not for one second.”

  “Will there be more charges added when Andreas goes to trial?” asked a woman near the back of the pack.

  “I guarantee there will be.”

  “Was the shooting at Saint Michael’s this morning related to the hostage taking incident?”

  “I believe it was a diversionary tactic. So, yes. It was.”

  “Who was the target at the hospital?”

  Blaine grinned. “Me. They were waiting for me, but Deputy Donovan took care of it before I came out of the hospital.”

  “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Ranger Blackmore.”

  “Thank you.”

  Middleton Residence. West Austin.

  BLAINE and Farrell drove Regan Middleton to her parents’ home and escorted her inside. Her father was at work and her mother knew nothing of her daughter’s plight until Lily called with questions she had no answers to. As far as the mother knew, Regan was at school studying for exams.

  From that point on, the Middleton’s were frantic, but Chief Calhoun had kept in constant touch and advised them the instant Regan had been rescued.

  Mrs. Middleton hugged her daughter in the foyer and they both shed a few tears. Then her father hugged her and held her close.

  He shook hands with Farrell and Blaine and thanked them for their efforts. “Is it over now?” he asked. “Will there be any more trouble for Regan?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Blaine, “Extra precautions have been put in place.” He offered Mr. Middleton a card. “If your daughter needs to talk to someone about her ordeal, set up an appointment with one of these people. They can be helpful.”

  The phone rang, and Mrs. Middleton shook her head. “Reporters have been calling. They want to interview Regan.”

  Blaine shook his head. “Ignore them. Keep her out of the public eye until after the trial. She’ll be a lot safer.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that. We might take a little family vacation.”

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  CLOSE TO exhaustion when he got home, Blaine still had calls to make.

  Farrell fetched them beer from the Sub-Zero and sat down at the table across from his brother. “Tough day.”

  Blaine nodded and started his list.

  “I can call some for you, bro,” said Farrell. “You look whipped.”

  Blaine grinned. “Get an update from Fletch and give him and Peyton the names of the two guys Annie nailed in the robbery. Have them question anybody living at the home addresses of those two and they might turn up something on McLaughlin.”

  “Have the notifications been done?”

  “Yep. Done.”

  “Should they get a room?” asked Farrell.

  “Two rooms. I can’t see Peyton and Fletch getting it on.”

  Farrell chuckled. “Me neither. But on that note, I’ve seen her looking at you. I think she’s got a thing for you.”

  “Fuck off.” Blaine called Jesse and brought him up to speed, informing him there were more punks to interview. Then he checked in with Rick and Andy to see if there had been any Matthias Rush sightings.

  “Nothing yet,” said Rick. “He may wait until dark.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tuesday, April 14th.

  Misty’s Bungalow. Austin.

  THREE A.M. Rick thought he heard footsteps in the hallway and sat bolt upright in bed. He was sleeping in the guest room at the back of the house and Andy was on the sofa in the front sitting room.

  Rick picked up his gun from the nightstand and crept to the bedroom door. He stuck his head into the hall and saw nothing in the pitch dark. No sound, the house was deathly still. As quietly as possible, he made his way to the sitting room where Andy was sleeping and touched his partner’s arm. “Andy, wake up. Somebody’s in the house.”

  Andy didn’t move and didn’t open his eyes. Rick shook Andy’s arm and got no reaction.

  Is he dead?

  Rick touched Andy’s neck and felt the pulse. His partner was breathing, but something was wrong. Andy was a light sleeper. “Andy, wake up.” Rick gave his shoulder a good shake and nothing.

  “Jesus, he’s drugged or something,” he mumbled to himself and pressed Blaine’s number.

  The Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE heard the ringing in his dream. He was in the back seat of his father’s car and he heard the phone ring. He almost remembered something, and he didn’t want to wake up. “No. No. I can’t wake up now.” He was yelling out loud when he opened his eyes and Farrell was bursting through the door of his room. Blaine grabbed the phone. “Blackmore.”

  Rick was whispering. “He’s in the house. He did something to Andy.”

  “Five minutes.” Blaine jumped out of bed. “Somebody’s in Misty’s house.”

  “I’m getting dressed.” Farrell ran next door to his room.

  Misty’s Bungalow. Austin.

  BLAINE slammed on the brakes in the driveway, shut off the engine and flew in the side door. Farrell ran around the back. No sign of Rush’s old truck he was supposed to be driving. Maybe he stole something else.

  “You beat the ambulance,” said Rick. Lights were on in the front sitting ro
om that Misty used for customers and Rick hovered over his partner. Andy looked like he was sleeping.

  “He won’t wake up?” Blaine stared down at Andy. “Have you searched the house?”

  “I glanced around and didn’t see anything out of place. Maybe I scared him off when I woke up.”

  “I didn’t see an old Ford clunker on the street,” said Blaine.

  Farrell came in from the back with a shiny tarot card in his hand. “I found this on the patio out back.”

  “He could have dropped it,” said Blaine, “or it could be from Misty’s deck.”

  The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics tried to revive Andy with no success. “He has no symptoms,” said the short girl with Breanne on her name tag. “But he’s definitely unconscious.” They started an IV and wheeled him to the ambulance. “Taking him to Saint Mike’s.”

  “I’ll follow in my truck,” said Rick. “I want to find out what the bastard did to him.”

  “Yep,” said Blaine. “You go and call as soon as you know anything.”

  The ambulance roared out the drive and into the street. Farrell lit up a smoke and asked, “Do you think it was some kind of a magic spell on Andy?”

  “Hell no,” said Blaine. “More like a syringe stuck in his fuckin arm. He’s out cold.”

  “We going home to bed or camping here?”

  “You can go home if you want,” said Blaine. “I’ll stay here in case this is exactly what he wants—everybody out of the house so he can search for the book.”

  Blaine laid on the sofa where Andy had been sleeping and pulled the blanket over him. He closed his eyes and opened them again when his cell rang. Had he been asleep? How long?

  “Shit, it’s Rick.”

  “Hey, boss, they can’t find a single thing on Andy. No needle marks, no drugs, no poison, nothing, but they can’t rouse him. They’re keeping him for observation and hoping whatever it is will right itself.”

  “Like just go away?” Blaine couldn’t believe it. “What the fuck are they thinking? That he lost consciousness for no apparent reason?”

  “It happens,” said Rick. “Rarely, they said, but it happens.”