Rob Thy Neighbor Page 3

  “In a way,” Sam said, nodding. “I know from the news and talking with Nancy and Gina that you two have been involved in helping solve some criminal investigations, even though you’re private citizens and business owners, not law enforcement. I also hear that you’ve both had extensive military experience and can take care of yourselves. Special forces, right?”

  “Not the Special Forces, but yes, we’ve been involved in classified operations while in the Army,” Charlie said. He didn’t like talking about the special ops work he and Gordon had done in Iraq, then Afghanistan. Besides, it was all classified and often involved the snatching of high-value targets for CIA intelligence-gathering operations.

  “Is someone connected to your business behind what happened today?” Gordon asked flat out. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Sam shrugged. “I can’t rule that out. I do know that Detective DuPree and APD are anxious to track down the individuals who are carrying out these home invasions. The crimes really seem to make the news, particularly because they usually strike retired people alone, widows or widowers who live in wealthy neighborhoods. The fact that these crimes have been going on for several months now without any arrests makes it even worse. Law enforcement officers have been taking a lot of bad press, and they need a win.”

  “But you want us to find out if the three that broke in today and tried to kidnap you had other motives?” Charlie prodded. “Motives that don’t fit the pattern.”

  “More than just robbing us and maybe stealing the vehicles, yes. I’d like you two to look into that, below the radar, I think is the proper wording here. I need you to protect Margaret, and me, and the best way of doing that is by being proactive—find the threat and take it out.”

  “Whoa, we’re not hit men, and we’re not going to do anything that breaks the law,” Charlie responded, “even if we do take on this job.”

  Sam paused for a moment before answering. “No, no, I’m not asking for anything like that, not at all. But from what Nancy and Gina say, you two have excellent investigative and defensive skills that any law enforcement agency would welcome, and if attacked can defend yourself very effectively. Money is not an issue. I can pay you more than you’d ever get working for the police. Cash, even, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

  Charlie looked over at Gordon. His expression was completely neutral, and to Charlie, that meant no. They’d worked together for so many years that much of their communication came in subtle expressions. “We have a business of our own to run, Sam.”

  “I also know how to run a business, and if I understand the situation, you have two very competent employees who can take up the slack if you have to be away for an hour or two at a time.”

  “We’ll think about it,” Gordon offered, looking over at the empty pizza box with sad eyes. “For now, though, didn’t you want to visit your wife?”

  “You’re right. But I’m a little sore from getting roughed up by those punks. Would one of you drive me over? We’ll take the Camry.”

  Charlie looked at Gordon, thinking that what Sam wanted was a protective escort, not a chauffeur. “You drive, and I’ll follow in my car. That way nobody will be stranded.”

  Sam nodded. “That’ll work. If you guys don’t mind. I’d really like to spend the night there with Margaret, but I’ll need a way back home eventually, and if they let her come home tomorrow we’ll be all set.”

  “Okay with me. Gordon?”

  “Yeah, assuming you’ll bring me back to Nancy and Gina’s. My pickup’s here, remember?”

  “Then let’s go. Okay if I make a quick change first?” Sam asked, heading for the bedroom.

  Five minutes later, Charlie was in his Charger, sticking within the speed limit and following several car lengths behind the white Camry, heading west, retracing his earlier drive with Gina. Gordon, like Charlie, usually knew the quickest route anywhere in the urban area.

  They’d arrived in Albuquerque fresh out of the service less than three years ago and had shared an apartment until going into a business partnership. They’d snatched up the north valley pawnshop, getting a bargain after the dirtbag owner had stopped paying the mortgage and dropped out of sight. By now they both knew their way around the city as if they’d grown up there.

  Gordon was, after all, a child of the city. He’d been raised, roughly, in Denver, by a dysfunctional family in a run-down, violent neighborhood. By comparison, Charlie was the exception rather than the norm among Navajos—he’d grown up in Shiprock, on the Navajo Nation, but with professional parents and in a tribal-supplied house with all the modern conveniences, including running water, air-conditioning, and even a carport. His father was a retired judge with a law degree from UNM, and his mom had been a public school teacher for nearly three decades. Both lived their golden years—Mom called them silver—in their own home just off the Rez, east of Shiprock.

  Still several blocks from the hospital, which stood lit up and imposing in the evening sky at this hour, Charlie was brought back down to earth when he was forced to stop as the traffic light suddenly turned from a quick yellow to red. Brakes squealed right behind him, and he clinched his grip on the steering wheel, hoping he wasn’t about to be rear-ended.

  The glare of headlights was harsh, and he reached up for the tab that would change the angle of the mirror and show a mere reflection rather than direct beams. The driver of the big SUV behind him was flipping him off. On a Friday or Saturday, this all too common gesture often resulted in angry words, a fistfight, or even gunplay. But this was Sunday, for God’s sake, and he’d pretend he hadn’t noticed.

  Road rage was something to watch out for. Alert to the driver behind him, Charlie quickly realized the man behind the wheel wasn’t alone—he was with two passengers. All three had on knit caps, and it was probably eighty degrees outside right now.

  Somehow, these must be the home invaders again. But why? “Gotta warn Gordon!” Charlie mumbled as he groped for his cell phone. At least his pal and Sam were armed. Charlie had seen a handgun beneath the man’s windbreaker after he’d changed clothes.

  Suddenly the SUV whipped around him and raced through the intersection, barely missing a pickup entering from the right. The driver swerved and braked hard, almost T-boning the SUV.

  A phone call would be a distraction at just the wrong time, Charlie realized, if a drive-by was about to go down. He checked to see if he could run the light and saw the opportunity. Flooring the Dodge, he cleared the intersection and followed the SUV down the four-lane street, burning rubber and honking the horn in annoying cadence, knowing that would get everyone’s attention.

  Gordon had good instincts. He whipped the Camry to the right onto a two-lane side street just east of the hospital, trying to get out of the way. The SUV braked hard, following the Camry into the turn.

  Charlie made up lost ground quickly, sliding through the corner with ease. Then he remembered this was a dead-end street with parking lots on either side. Gordon knew it too.

  The Camry ahead slid around in a one-eighty, taking the width of the street for the maneuver, now facing the onrushing SUV head-on. The vehicle skidded to a stop, and the doors flew open on both sides of the big Chevy. Three masked men jumped out, guns in hand, and stood behind the opened doors, aiming at the Camry. Two were on the passenger side.

  Charlie flipped on the emergency lights and hit the horn in one long, loud tone, then yanked the wheel to the left, going into a sideways slide that blocked the center of the street, trapping the SUV in the middle. He and Gordon were armed now; it was going to go down a little different this time. Hopefully Sam knew how to use his weapon, or at least how to stay behind cover.

  Charlie reached for his Beretta, which was resting in a holster attached to the right side of the steering column below the dash, then swung open the door and crouched down beside the outside curve of the windshield, the engine block between him and the SUV. At the same time, as he’d done dozens of times over the past decade, he used his t
humb to release the safety as he brought the weapon up, aiming automatically toward the closest target, two men by the passenger side door.

  All three of the perps turned their heads at pretty much the same instant. There was a four-second pause as they pondered their situation.

  “Lower your weapons!” he yelled. Too late. One of the men whirled around, a curse on his lips, and fired two quick shots. Charlie squeezed the trigger and put a 9 mm slug in the center of the idiot’s chest.

  Bullets began flying in his direction, and Charlie dropped below the engine block, moving quickly to the front bumper.

  “They’re getting away!” Gordon yelled as Charlie looked up, pistol first. The driver was racing toward the hospital about fifty yards to his left, and the second perp toward the big parking lot across the street.

  “Call for help and stay with Sam,” Charlie yelled. “I’ve got the driver.” As he raced toward the fleeing figure, who’d already swerved away from the hospital’s side entrance, Charlie heard his pal yell, “Copy.”

  A well-groomed lawn surrounded the front and sides of the big building, but the driver was now running toward the rear of the structure, where there was a basement-level emergency entrance and ambulance port. Next to it was a small parking lot Charlie knew was reserved for doctors and administrators. If the punk planned on taking a hostage, that was a good place to catch a member of the staff coming outside. Hopefully the gunshots would scare everybody off and they’d stay in the building.

  The layout of the grounds forced the running man to move more to the right, and he reached the edge of the lawn, where there was a four-foot drop from a concrete retaining wall to the asphalt below. He came to a stop, turned to look back, then jumped down and dropped out of sight.

  Suspecting an ambush, Charlie decided to hug the building and slip down to where the retaining wall connected with the structure. He came to the end, took a quick look, and saw the driver crouched low, running along the wall back toward the street. If he continued in that direction, he’d come out behind Gordon and the Camry.

  “He’s heading your way!” Charlie yelled, then flipped on the safety and jammed the Beretta in his belt before jumping down onto the driveway.

  Hearing Charlie, the fleeing man cut to his left and moved away from the wall and among the high-end vehicles in the restricted lot. Again he dropped out of sight for a moment. Charlie stopped, watching for movement. The area was well lit and only about half full. After a few seconds Charlie saw a moving shadow. The man had made it through the lot and was now running up the alley north of the main building.

  Charlie raced to cut him off but suddenly heard a voice to his left near the ambulance port. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  A bad guy wouldn’t have given him a warning, so Charlie complied. He turned toward the security guard, a man in his late forties crouched in a Weaver stance, revolver aimed right at him.

  “I’m working with the police,” Charlie offered the white lie, “and the man I’m chasing is one of the home invaders who shot a woman this afternoon.”

  “Or maybe you’re the shooter,” the guard responded. “Let me see your hands.” His voice was a bit shaky.

  “Okay. Just stay calm. Here are my hands,” Charlie replied, working to keep his voice calm and unemotional despite the flow of adrenaline. He turned at the sound of sirens and saw the flashing lights of a police car coming up the main artery in front of the hospital. Facing the amped-up rent-a-cop, he was glad that the man didn’t know he had the Beretta tucked into his belt at the middle of his back. Innocents had been shot for less.

  Charlie’s cell phone rang, and he suspected it was Gordon.

  “Don’t answer that,” the man with the gun advised. “Keep your hands where they are.”

  “No problem,” Charlie responded. “But as soon as you feel comfortable doing so, would you please use your radio and have security check on a patient, Margaret Randal, to make sure she’s being protected. Once I lost sight of the man I was chasing, I have no idea where he went.”

  There were shouts over by the ambulance port, and the lights came on on one of the emergency vehicles as it pulled away from the unloading dock. The security guard turned his head only slightly, looking out of the corner of his eye—a sign of good instincts—and watched as the unit raced to the end of the driveway and onto the street beside the three vehicles still clustered there. It stopped, and there was the sound of voices.

  “What the hell did you do?” the security guard asked, his voice now low and threatening. He took a step forward, then changed his mind. “Down on the ground! Face down!” he ordered. “And keep your hands away from your body!”

  “Yes, sir,” Charlie replied, then lowered himself to the ground. He wasn’t saying any more. Once the guy saw the Beretta tucked into his belt, the tension was going to increase exponentially. No reason to freak the guy out by asking him to stay calm. Even some of the real cops nowadays had a tendency to start shooting once they saw a weapon.

  Chapter Three

  Charlie looked up as the steel door to the hospital’s ten-by-ten “detention” room opened and Detective DuPree walked in. Windbreaker over one arm, the detective looked tired, from his matted, thinning hair down to his day-old beard. He smelled of coffee breath and cold sweat, but he didn’t look pissed, at least not yet.

  “According to Mr. Randal and your evil twin Sweeney, you broke up a carjacking and/or kidnapping attempt and only returned fire in self-defense. Now I want to hear it from your lips, Charlie,” DuPree said, his voice low and clear. He held up a small recorder, and Charlie nodded.

  “First of all, before I tell you what went down from my POV, I have a couple of questions,” Charlie said, trying to suppress a yawn. It was almost 10:00 PM, and it had been a very long day.

  “Is the person I shot, after he fired twice at me, the same man I saw during the home invasion at the Randals’?”

  “He doesn’t match the description you gave or the sketch Sweeney made from your feedback. And, unfortunately, the Randals’ neighbor’s camera caught the perps already masked, so that won’t help. So, no, it’s almost certainly not the same guy. The man you shot died in the emergency room. The doctors weren’t able to save him. He didn’t have an injured trigger finger either, by the way. And let me guess what your other question might be. The answer is no, neither of the two men wearing ski masks who tried to hijack your pal and Mr. Randal have been located. Not yet. There are fifty officers out on the streets right now, searching. That it?”

  “One more thing. Has the man I shot been identified? He have a family?”

  “No, and we don’t know. I have officers working on that right now. His fingerprints and photo are on their way to the crime lab. He wasn’t carrying any ID.”

  “I feel for his loved ones, but I didn’t have any options, Detective. It was self-defense.”

  “That’s what Randal and Sweeney said,” DuPree affirmed. “But let’s go through this step by step and make it official. And hurry, this room smells like disinfectant. Unless, of course, you want to take this interview downtown to APD headquarters.”

  “No, let’s get it done now. Downtown smells like jail.”

  * * *

  A half hour later, still minus the Beretta taken by the crime unit, Charlie met Gordon, who was seated in a visitor waiting area at the end of the hall. Gordon looked up from his phone, touched the screen one more time, then slipped it into his pocket and stood. “Ready to go?”

  Charlie nodded. “Definitely. DuPree reminded me not to leave the metro area, talk to the press, or shoot anyone else without checking with him first.”

  “Sounds like DuPree. It was self-defense, and the physical evidence will back that up. Think the DA is going to press any charges?” Gordon asked, walking side by side with Charlie down the hall.

  “Probably not. I just hope the dead guy didn’t have a wife and kids. Regardless of what kind of person he was…” Charlie shook his head in disgust, knowing he’d hav
e to get over this one as well.

  “His family is probably better off without him.”

  Charlie shrugged. Gordon had lost his own father, and had never mentioned any of the details of the death during the years they’d known each other.

  Nearly a minute went by as they waited at the elevators. Finally one stopped at their floor, and an older man in scrubs stepped out, pushing a stainless steel cart containing some electronic gear, then hurried away toward the nurses’ station. Charlie and Gordon stepped into the elevator together. Now that they were alone again, Charlie spoke. “It seems trivial, but I have to ask. Did either of the bullets hit the Charger?” He pressed the button.

  “You ready for this?” Gordon asked.

  “You’re shitting me. Really?”

  “No, fortunately you’re lucky. The shots were high and the slugs took off like wild geese, crossed Elfego Baca Avenue, then shattered a stained-glass window on the old Saint Mark’s church,” Gordon said, shaking his head. “The priest is mad as hell, and God is probably pissed.”

  Charlie laughed out loud, and Gordon joined in. Several seconds later, they stepped out of the elevator at the ground floor. “Thanks. I needed that,” Charlie said. “Is Sam with Margaret right now?”

  Gordon nodded. “He’s up there now on the third floor. Gonna spend the night. And here are your keys.”

  “My car’s been moved out of the street?”

  “Yeah, one of the crime scene people moved it into the hospital lot after the parking areas had been searched for the third suspect. I should have gone after the passenger, you think?”

  “Naw, protecting Sam was the right thing to do. If one of those two had circled back to the vehicles, Randal would have been a sitting duck.”

  “Sam was carrying, so he would have had a chance, at least. You know what, Charlie? I think this whole thing has been about Sam.”

  “Kidnapping, you mean, not robbery? It would explain their watching his house after the first attempt, then following the Camry and cutting you off. Yeah, it makes sense. It looks like the girls’ neighbors are going to need some protection after all. I’m just not going to become someone’s hit man. Like tonight, it’ll only be in self-defense.”