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Larry Charles and Peggy Brandt are on the run from the law and from the Syndicate |
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Joe in Jefferson City At the beginning of the investigation, the police had run Claude’s vitals through the system. Actually, the information they used didn’t include a picture or fingerprints or any other individual characteristics. What they had was his name, social security number and address. It was done as a formality. They had their suspect; nevertheless, they wanted to be thorough in their investigation, so they did a surface background check on Claude, Henry Coin and Jennifer Lattice. Claude Bremmer was born in Spokane Washington, lived in Freeport, Louisiana, and his last address was 121 Eastside Avenue. This meant he probably stayed in Jefferson City, Missouri only for family visits, such as the family reunion. Joe chose to start his search here because the reunion indicated this was a seat of family members. He could probably learn more about Claude from his family than from friends and acquaintances in Freeport. If there is any dirt, a family member will be the first to tell all. A friend is more apt to try and protect your reputation, or not get involved. The process was the same one used to find a missing person. Follow the trail of information. The most important pieces of information required are: their birth name, date of birth, Social Security number, and last known address. He was killed at his last known address, which left three pieces of information for Joe to work with. Claude obviously kept his past hidden, which meant: he may have changed his name, is using someone else’s Social Security number, and his date of birth probably wasn’t 7/17/68 as indicated on his driver's license. Joe guessed it to be sometime in 1963. No matter how well a person goes into hiding, they have a family. Almost everyone keeps a tie to their family. Claude kept a picture of about ninety of them. This was the one solid piece of information Joe had. Whether the detective is a public servant or a private investigator, the greatest amount of information gathered is most often from third parties. When the private investigator is seeking information concerning a third party, the weight of the courts isn’t there to back him up. The detective’s most important asset is a positive attitude. A confident, friendly attitude works in the detective’s favor. Even when someone goes out of their way to give the detective a hard time, or talk about everything other than what is asked of them, a positive attitude will most often pay off. The detective may have to go back to see them, or reintroduce questions by rewording them. It is a means of coming in the back door, so to speak. A smile and persistence usually pay off. A good detective is a good salesperson. Like a good salesperson, a detective sells himself. If the person being questioned buys the salesperson, they will ultimately buy what is being sold. Joe was a good salesman. He knew how to come in the back door, and get his information if the front door was closed in his face. His first stop, in Jefferson City, was a hotel. He needed a base of operation. He called his answering machine and left his room number for Lisa. Then he picked up the phone book. He only found three Bremmers listed. Which was good, he hoped. It should make his quest short and productive. It was eleven a.m. His next task was to get a map. The first and third Bremmer households had no idea who the people in the photograph were. They had no suggestions to offer concerning other Bremmer families. The couple that comprised the second Bremmer family had no idea who the families in the photograph were either. They had both came to the door, and stood outside on the steps in front of their house. They were both in their later years, and seemed to enjoy talking with Joe. They held hands like any couple in love, and smiled warmly. The husband, 82 year old Carl said, “I remember being told about a second or third cousin that lived somewhere in Louisiana. The name was Halbert, or Halstead, or Stadtler, something like that, I’m not sure. That picture looks old enough. See, I remember some thirty years or more ago, there was a family reunion. They put them in the papers sometimes, the reunions. There was one back then I remember. My father said we was related. He met one, from Louisiana, when he was traveling. He sold bibles, all through the south, in his younger days.” “The relative sold bibles?” Joe asked. “Don’t know, if he did or not. Maybe that’s how my father come to meet him, both in the same line of business. He never said.” Joe smiled. “So you think that this might be the same family?” “Oh, I don’t know about that. That picture looks like it might have been taken back then. Then again, there are many pictures of a lot of reunions. People like to have them in a park ‘cause there’s lots of room for all them people, Washington Park” Carl went on to explain. “Yes, I agree. My family always had their reunions in a park, for the same reason.” “It’s cheaper. Cost too much to rent a hall,” Carl added. “Their name might be Halbert, or Halstead, you think?” Joe asked. “If it’s my relatives through marriage. I ain’t never met none of them, so I couldn’t say.” “It isn’t Halbert. It is more like Halstead or Hapstead, or Hapstadt, or maybe Halstadt,” Mrs. Bremmer said, shaking her head in assurance. “I think you’re right Ella,” Carl said to his wife. “That picture looks like it was taken in Lincoln Park,” she added. “Thank you. I appreciate your help. Do you know if any of them live around here?” Joe queried. “Washington Park. You can’t see the Capital from Lincoln.” Carl explained. “You certainly can. You can’t see the river from Washington Park,” Ella said pointing at the picture. “Look up there in the corner, there’s the river through the trees.” “That does look like it might be the river,” Joe agreed shaking his head in agreement. “Are any of these relatives living here?” “They must, or, at least, did. Why hold a family reunion in a town nobody lives in?” Carl said, stating what should be obvious to even a child. “We never met any of them,” Mrs. Bremmer explained, “they are only relatives from a distance.” “I see. Well, thank you for your help. Here is my name and number, should you think of anything else.” Joe smiled and left the Bremmers standing on their doorstep. A nice thing about capital cities, they have state archives and state libraries. A wealth of information at your finger tips: old directories, newspapers, military service records and birth indexes of those born in the state. That is where Joe went next, after grabbing something for lunch. Claude was only six or seven when the picture was taken, if that indeed was Claude. Joe was looking for conformation. Even material evidence proving it wasn’t Claude would be a step forward. There were Halstead’s and Halstadt’s in the directories from 1960 to 1970. There was a birth record for a Claude Halstadt, born 3/8/62, and a Peter Halstead, born 6/12/63. Joe grabbed a recent directory and wrote down the addresses of four Halstadt’s. He was sure he had found Claude’s family, and his real name. It was 4 p.m. He hoped he could wrap up this part of the investigation, and catch a flight home that evening. Joe went to the county clerk’s office and requested a criminal records check on Claude Halstadt, born 3/8/62. Unfortunately, a Social Security number wasn’t required for children at that time. Joe spoke with the Clerk of Records, Sheila Stern. He identified himself and explained his situation. Her eyes studied his face as he talked and would dart from time to time over his body. She was obviously fascinated by his account of what brought him there. She was obviously fascinated with Detective Farnum, as well. Joe wasn’t sure what bothered him most, her beauty, the way she looked him over, or the way he enjoyed it. His reaction to her beauty bothered him because it almost made him feel like he was cheating on Lisa. “I see, Detective Farnum. Hmm . . .maybe I can help,” Sheila said. “Lieutenant Lowri is a little sweet on me. Let me give him a call at the precinct.” She was almost as tall as Joe in her high heels. She was a redhead with very fair, and very delicate looking skin, almost like porcelain. Her eyes were like emeralds, and her smile inviting. She was thirty-eight; Joe guessed, as anyone would, that she was thirty-two. “I appreciate all you’re doing for me. The “Show Me” state is a lot friendlier than I had suspected.” “And I thought, you were a good detective, or am I too subtle? This is going to cost you dinner,” Sheila said, looking coy. She ran her finger up and down a couple of times under his lapel as she spoke. “I’m not familiar with this City. You will have to say where,” Joe smiled. “Bone’s,” she answered. “Bone’s?” “Yes, Bone’s Lounge and Restaurant. They have a jazz band there, tonight. Jazz turns me on.” “Seven. I’ll meet you there,” Joe said. Someone poked their head in the door, “Sheila, could I have a moment?” Joe stuck out his hand, “Thank you Ms. Stern, I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, here is my number. If you receive the information before then, you can call me at the hotel.” He was happy to leave. He didn’t like being put into that kind of position. He didn’t intend on having a long dinner with Sheila. He was going to get his report from her and excuse himself. Working outside the confines of the department was a new experience. He was trying to adjust. He turned his attention to searching for Claude Halstadt’s parents, Claude and Eva Halstadt, maiden name, Hüber. They weren’t listed in the recent directory. He found that the husband had passed away and the mother was no longer listed as a resident of Jefferson City. Joe mapped out his route to the Halstadt homes. The first one was Everett Halstadt. No one was home. None of them were home. He found out from neighbors that Everett Halstadt was being honored at a church banquet. He had been named Citizen of the Month because of his work with youth organizations. It would probably be ten p.m. before they would return home. Joe resigned himself to the certainty of spending the night in Jefferson City. He didn’t like leaving Lisa alone in the same city as Dicky Boxer. He felt a little anxious and a little foolish at the same time. He would just have to learn to trust her instincts. She was intelligent and had a good grasp on the reality of the world in which she had involved herself. He would be back there by noon tomorrow. He was twenty-six, and a professional. He had to let go of his unconfirmed worries and deal with the moment. *** It was six o’clock when he returned to his room. He had just stepped out of the shower when his phone rang. “Yes?” “Joe, it’s Sheila, I have the police report you asked for. I’m in the hotel, do you want me to bring it up?” “Ah, okay, I just stepped out of the shower, give me a minute to get dressed.” “Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight . . .” she counted as she hung up. Joe smiled shaking his head. He had just put on his boxers when there was a knock on the door. He looked out the peep hole and saw Sheila standing there holding a manila folder, wearing a smile and a knee length windbreaker. The windbreaker was done in a Dali print. Joe grabbed his pants, holding them in front of himself, and opened the door four inches. “Three, two, one,” she continued smiling. “I’m not dressed.” “Can I come in? I waited a minute.” Joe stepped back, let her enter, and closed the door behind her. When he turned around, the only thing Sheila was wearing was her smile. The windbreaker was lying on the floor. If there were such a thing as a perfect body, Sheila was definitely in the running. Joe’s eyes traveled from the perfectly molded form of her face to her long graceful neck, and down to her almost perfect breasts. There were two little red blemishes on her left breast and one on her right breast. He was greeted by her rose-pink nipples with their perfectly formed and slightly darker areolas pointing up toward his face. He swallowed. He felt like a schoolboy viewing a naked woman for the first time as his eye flowed downward to her almost perfectly flat stomach. There was a small oval area that arose just below her naval and flattened again just above her pubic hair. She had a full and luxurious strawberry-blond bush that had been brushed and combed, just for him. Joe could see her perfectly rounded buns reflected in the mirror behind her. They weren’t bunched together. They were two separate entities, a clef between them. Her beautiful long legs ran all the way up to meet them. If he were capable of the thought, he would have concluded she was a gymnast or a dancer. His lips parted. His mouth stood slightly open. He was unaware of having dropped his pants onto the floor. He was totally taken in by her beauty. His emotional and physical response were self-evident the instant his pants slipped from his fingers. He could see her heart beating in her throat as she stepped forward, tilting her head so that their lips would meet. Joe sensed a little quiver in her lips and again in her abdomen, as their bodies met. He became overwhelmed with desire. He had known passion, but not with the fire she brought with it. Forty-five minutes later, they lay gasping in each others arms, their sweat intermingling as it tried to escape between them. After a few moments, Joe said, “We need to shower.” They left the bed and walked to the shower together. They washed each other’s bodies, the cleansing turned to caressing, and they were soon in bed again. When they once again collapsed, Joe gasped, “I think we need another shower.” “No. No more showers.” She laid the back of her hand against his chest, her hand cupped into a loose fist. “I need to rest, at least for an hour. My legs are like rubber, and my stomach muscles ache. Not that I’m an expert, however, I don’t think there are many men can do that to a woman,” she sighed. “I guess, if you have to be good at something . . .” “Cute.” Sheila raised her hand enough to caress the side of his face. Her eyes smiled and she mouthed a kiss at him. “Why don’t we eat in?” He suggested. “I won’t make any bones about that,” she punned. He reached for the phone smiling. He really liked her. She wasn’t just an excellent lover, she was quick and witty. This made the guilt he felt even worse, as Lisa crept into his mind. While they waited for room service, he went over the police report on Claude Halstadt. Since she wasn’t permitted an official report, there wasn’t a picture, nevertheless, the physical description fit Claude Bremmer. “He was a bad boy, wasn’t he?” Sheila noted. “Yes, he certainly was.” “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Lieutenant Lowri wants you to give him a call about this Halstadt fellow,” Sheila said as an after thought. Joe nodded his head, “I can see why.” Claude Halstadt had been in trouble since he was fourteen. His first offense put him in juvenile detention. It was for breaking and entering, voyeurism and resisting arrest. Then he served two years for armed robbery, six months for hanging paper and another year for breaking and entering. He was wanted in connection with a disappearance of two local hoodlums. A witness had seen the hoodlums being forced into a car, Claude was the driver. Claude disappeared shortly thereafter. Six-thirty the next morning, Sheila left to go home and prepare herself for work. Joe took a shower, dressed and ordered breakfast. There wasn’t anything he could do at this hour. He wanted to call Lisa, but he didn’t want to chance the connection being made between her and a police officer. He knew how The Company operated. They check on everyone they deal with. Her phone could be tapped, or her place broken into and checked, including her phone messages. He would see her in the afternoon anyway. He also had to get back with Marini. He needed the wedge to lever the mob, as Lisa called them, out of business in his jurisdiction. *** Everett Halstadt was sixty-one. He had a full head of hair. It was pure white and combed straight back. It had been shoulder length and black, in the sixties, ear length in the seventies and early eighties. By the time the nineties came along it had been incrementally shortened and was now above the ears and followed the natural shape of his head and hairline. It was the fifties look. He was comfortable with that era. It had been a comfortable era. He stood about five-ten and had a smooth complexion and just slightly more belly than chest. He looked quite distinguished in his jogging suit. He could have been an independent and highly successful Silicone Valley entrepreneur holding a staff meeting. He owned and operated an auto garage. He had for thirty-six years. He would retire in four years when his IRA, and an annuity that his parents started for him, kicked in. He stood just outside, with the door ajar. “A police detective, huh. If this is about my nephew Claude, I haven’t seen him in God knows how many years. Now, if this is about the break-in and theft at my garage, I’ve dropped the complaint, and have all ready dealt with the boys that did it. Now, I don’t want to hear anything about once a crime has been committed it is out of my hands. Time in jail, won’t do these youngsters any good. I got the tools back and they are working off their offense without being subjected to the social atmosphere of hardened jailbirds, and that’s the end of it.” “I commend you on your social conscience along with all those that honored you last night, Mr. Halstadt,” Joe said with sincerity. He pulled out the picture of the family gathering. “This is what I came here to ask you about, Mr. Halstadt.” “Oh my, yes. That was sometime ago. Let’s see, thirty years, I’d say,” Everett replied. “Where’d you get this from?” “What is it?” Elsa Halstadt asked. She had hurried to the door, having heard part of Everett’s little speech concerning the teenagers. He tilted the picture toward her. She was a tall slender woman with a grainy complexion and auburn, died hair. “Why, that’s the reunion at Lincoln Park. My God, I’m glad men don’t wear their hair like that any longer. They all tried to look like the Beatles, and most of them wound up looking more like Moe from The Three Stooges.” “This is my wife, Elsa. Elsa, this is Detective Farnum.” They exchanged greetings, and Everett asked, “Where did you get this from, Detective?” “Joe, you can call me Joe if you like,” Joe offered. He pointed to the kid with the big ears. “I believe I got it from him.” “Claude. That’s my nephew, Claude. He was about eight then, a year older than my son, Peter. As I said, I don’t know where he is. All I can tell you is, he has been nothing but trouble all his life.” “There’s something about that boy, always in trouble. He had good parents; unfortunately, they both died of cancer. He didn’t even come to their funerals,” Elsa lamented. “Nobody knows where he is. Nobody decent anyway.” “I’m really not looking for him,” Joe said. “I’m looking for information about him. Do you know of a relative in Louisiana by the name of Claude Bremmer?” “Yes, That’s him right there,” Everett said, pointing at another little boy in the photograph. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to find him either. He was killed. Hit by a train when he was fourteen. He was my sister Mary’s child. She married Charles Bremmer, a Geologist. He worked for one of them big oil companies in Louisiana. The bottom fell out of the oil business in the eighties and he became a consultant of some kind. His whole family is from down there. My sister met him in college.” “You know, that wasn’t just the Halstadt reunion,” Elsa said brightly, “that was the Halstadt - Scott reunion.” “Ah, you must be a Scott,” Joe guessed, with a big smile. “Not just me,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Joe could tell there was a story coming. He put his arms behind himself and leaned slightly forward. His posture said, “I’m open and attentive.” He knew some of the best information came to you when the other person or persons feel at ease and you just let them open up to you. You can garner more pertinent information from the free-flowing thoughts of the individual than you can by demanding just the facts. By demanding just the facts you are saying, “No, think my way.” Generally you get very little, if anything from a stifled mind. Especially when you aren’t sure what it is you’re looking for. “Back then, it was in all the newspapers. You see The Halstadt’s, that is Everett’s parents had six children, Claude, the oldest, then Everett, then Irwin, and Mary, who married Claude Bremmer. Then there was Agnes, and Bonnie, who is the youngest. Now, in my family, there were four of us. I had two older brothers and an older sister. I was the baby of the family. My brothers, John and David, married Everett’s two youngest sisters, Agnes and Bonnie. Claude married Eva Hüber and Irwin married my sister, Genevieve. Four couples, two families, all married at the same time, in the same ceremony.” She put her hand to the side of her head. She was reliving the event as she spoke. “It was the most wonderful wedding, and the largest ever held at the Presbyterian First Assembly Hall.” “I imagine a union of bliss on such a large scale must have brought your families close together,” Joe prompted. “Oh yes,” Elsa exclaimed. “To this day we do everything together. Instead of two families, it is like having one very large family.” “There wouldn’t be an Anthony Scott in your family, would there? About fifty-eight? Like your husband, a distinguished looking gentleman?” “Yes, as a matter of fact. That would be Tony,” Elsa said looking at Everett and patting him on the arm. “He’s doing some kind of consulting.” Everett said. “You almost never hear from him, Elsa’s cousin. He was at the wedding and showed up for the reunion.” Everett looked at the photograph. “You can’t see him very well.” He pointed at a figure in the assembly. The figure had his head slightly turned and half-hidden behind the man next to him. The rest of his face was in the shadows. “We talked about that once, remember Everett?” Elsa said. “He’s like the family mystery. No one seems to know just what he does, and nobody can ever get his picture. He’s one of those people who just don’t like havin’ his picture taken, I guess. Do you know him, Joe?” “Oh, I don’t know, I met a man named Anthony Scott. His name came to mind, so I mentioned it. As you said, there isn’t a picture of him, so I don’t know if it is the same man. He does bear a resemblance to the rest of your family, though.” Elsa pointed to a baby in the picture. She was being held by a very striking looking woman sitting down in the front with the other moms holding babies. “That is Cynthia, Tony’s wife, holding their daughter, Jennifer. Cynthia died about twenty years ago, a hit and run. They were living in Spokane at the time. I haven’t seen Jennifer since. We couldn’t afford to go to the funeral at that time,” she explained. “Jennifer must have been about two, don’t you think, Everett?” she continued, turning to Everett. “Yes, that sounds about right. They never were close to the rest of the family,” Everett went on, “We were surprised they came to the reunion. Nice fellow though. Cynthia kind of kept to herself.” “Joe, if I may,” Elsa said, “how is it you came to have this picture, and why are you so interested in our family?” Joe crossed his hands in front of himself and let his shoulders droop a little, and lowered his head. “I’m sorry to say, I found it among the possessions of the late Mr. Claude Halstadt. He was going by the name Claude Bremmer, of Louisiana. He was using Mr. Bremmer’s Social Security Number.” “How did he die?” Everett asked. “He was shot. I’m trying to prove who the murderer is. At any rate, I have to be sure who the victim is. Can you think of anything that might be helpful?” Joe asked. They looked at each other, and shrugged and shook their heads. “No,” Everett said, “like I explained earlier, he had disappeared some time back. Of course, the family knew he was a wanted man. The police had made that clear enough.” Joe gave them his hotel number and his home number. “I appreciate your help, and I’m sorry for the bad news. If you think of anything that can help, please give me a call.” “The boy was bad news,” Everett said. “Live by the sword . . .” He grimaced and shrugged. “If anything comes to mind, we’ll give you a call. Maybe after we pass the news on to the rest of the family, someone will know something we forgot about.” Joe thanked them again and went to see Lieutenant Lowri. Lowri was able to close the file on Halstadt. Joe had filled him in and verified that the Claude Halstadt in the police photo was indeed the same person killed in apartment 101 at 121 Eastside Avenue, under the alias, Claude Bremmer. “Do you know if Claude had any connections with The Company?” Joe asked. “You mean organized crime?” Lowry asked. “The warrant for driving the vehicle in which the two perps disappeared was believed to be a mob hit. The Feds will be disappointed to have lost him. The hope was to put the finger on Carducci. He has been expanding his little empire. He’s branching out in your domain, as we speak.” “I know. I was looking for a tie.” Joe had a plane to catch. He thanked the Lieutenant, and headed back to his hotel. The Lieutenant was all ready on the phone, requesting the information that Captain Edwards had on Claude. Joe had packed before leaving the hotel after breakfast. It was ten-thirty. It would take him fifteen minutes to get to his hotel, thirty minutes to get to the airport and another five minutes to turn his rental car in. He had to hurry. Joe went to the front desk to inform them he was checking out and to check his messages. He had two messages. The first one was from Sheila. “If I don’t hear from you, I will understand. If I hear from you, I will be elated.” The second message was from Lisa. It was sent at 9 a.m. His worst fear was coming true. He had to get home, three hours ago. Joe began to feel an emotion he had never experienced before, a sense of helplessness. His sense of guilt had plagued him since the previous evening, a twinge in the back of his mind. Now he felt it churning in his stomach. He didn’t notice the man hurrying after him to the elevator. Lisa and the Safe House When Lisa arrived home from her date with Boxer, her phone was ringing. She hoped it was Joe. “Hello.” “Lisa?” “Yes, hi Janet, I just stepped in the door,” she smiled into the phone. “I, that is, we, have been trying to call you all evening,” Janet chided. “Who’s we, what’s going on? Don’t tell me you miss me all ready?” Lisa laughed. “Of course we do, although, that’s only part of why we called. We have the phone records and we have already sorted them and discussed them among ourselves. We also checked them to find out where the calls came from. Twelve aren’t from when the police inquired about Peggy. Nine are from various media groups, one from World Wide Conduit, and two from a pay phone in Raphael’s Restaurant. Interesting huh?” Janet said excitedly. “What is the number of the call from World Wide Conduit?” Lisa asked. She was sure what the number would be, and she was right. It was Boxer’s private line. She thanked her friends from the Perriard Building for their help, and promised to take them all out to lunch on a day to be decided by all of them. Tomorrow she would start to look for evidence against Richard Boxer. A chill went up her spine. What if the Syndicate has a tap on my phone? she thought. She shook her head feeling foolish. If they had a tap on my phone, they would know who I am. If they know who I am, Boxer would have laughed me out of his office instead of hiring me. Still, she went to a pay phone to call Joe’s apartment. She left a message concerning the phone call information she had just received. Lisa hoped today would be more profitable. She was sure she had put any reservations Boxer might have had concerning her, to rest. She needed some time alone in the office and possibly a chance to look around in the warehouse. On her first day, she had stopped and chatted with a young man named Billy. He seemed amiable enough. Amiable enough to think a little flirting might get her a tour and possibly a little insightful information. She wore a short skirt and a shear, cream-colored blouse over a lacy brassiere. She didn’t plan on getting a tour on her second day on the job. However, she did want to prime the pump so her time wouldn’t be wasted at the well. Her office didn’t have a window into the warehouse, as Boxer’s did. It would be tricky. She would have to catch Billy, looking into Boxer’s office, while she was in there. If she dared venture into the warehouse to catch Billy’s eye, she would have to make certain Boxer wasn’t around. It was a loosely constructed strategy, however, it was the best plan she could devise at the moment. “Good morning Mr. Boxer,” she said, sticking her head in his office. Thanks again for last night. I enjoyed myself. I hope you did as well.” “Yes, it was quite pleasant. We should do it again,” he replied. He sounded lighthearted and open. On the previous day, he presented a more business oriented demeanor. Lisa busied herself in her office, quite pleased with how well she handled Boxer. She was sure she had disarmed his internal warning system. She knew she had to be careful in spite of her success. One mistake and she would end up like Moe. Forty-five minutes later, Boxer stepped into her office and gave her some work to be accomplished by the end of the day. When he exited her office, he left her door ajar. A minute later, two thugs burst in to his office. As soon as they entered, one said in an excited voice, “We found out where those two are hiding out!” “Keep it down,” Boxer said in a low voice. Lisa froze at her desk. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She furtively slunk around her desk and stood next to the door to Boxer’s office. She was thankful for the blinds being closed on the window between the two offices. Yesterday, he had left them open. The three men were speaking in low voices. “Are you sure that’s where they are?” Boxer asked. “Yes, I’m telling you, that Charles guy and his girlfriend are both there.” The first thug said. “We should have whacked Charles, when he came nosing around down here,” the second thug said. “Get the boys together on the other side of the warehouse,” Boxer said. “We will leave here by ten and finish the job.” “Okay, Mr. Boxer.” Lisa could hear the men exiting Boxer’s office. She went back to her desk. She was sitting there staring at the work in front of her, trying to decide what to do. She had to call Joe and tell him what was happening. He had to warn Peggy and Larry. Boxer stuck his head into her office. “Lisa, I’m going out for a while, do you mind holding down the fort?” “No.” Her voice sounded strained, and she cleared her throat. “Excuse me, no, not at all. You do what you have to, and I’ll do what needs to be done. You can count on it,” she said, leveling her gaze to meet his. She smiled weakly. As soon as Boxer left her office, Lisa grabbed the phone to call Joe. He could call them from Jefferson City and warn them. His room didn’t answer. She started to panic. She left an urgent message for him, telling him what happened. She told him not to worry, because she had overheard the directions to their safe house and knew the approximate location. She would go there, immediately, and warn them. Her heart raced as she sped toward Pracktorsville. It was an hour-long drive from Boxer’s. It was only nine o’clock, and Boxer wasn’t leaving until ten. That left them an hour to get out of there before Boxer and his men would arrive. The county hadn’t cut the weeds along side the road and Lisa didn’t see the turn-off until she was passing it. She went about another five hundred feet, then turned around at a gate that led into a field. As she made her turn onto Barters Road, she saw three cars heading toward her. As she turned into the drive leading up to the safe house, she saw the cars turning onto Barters road. Lisa slid the car to a halt in front of the house and jumped out. Peggy and Larry were grabbing her by the arms and pulling her toward the house. “They tricked me. I think I’ve gotten us all killed I’m sorry.” They started throwing furniture along the wall in front if the windows. They did it as though it were well rehearsed. Neither of them talked. Lisa watched, feeling helpless. “What do I do?” she yelled. Peggy threw her the 357 snubbed-nose. She watched the cars fan out in front of the house about two hundred feet away. Boxer and his men knew what had happened to Carl and Kyle at the restaurant. They didn’t want to run into an ambush or get close enough to be picked off, while still inside their vehicles. “Go upstairs, Lisa, and shoot anyone who tries to come in from above,” Larry yelled. He had grabbed a hammer and started pounding in nails, he had preset in various doors. He did this to the front door and the doors leading to the cellar, dining room and the kitchen to dining room door, as well as the kitchen exit door. There wasn’t an internal door between the living room and kitchen, like there was on all the other rooms. The kitchen also afforded them a means of guarding the back of the house. “There are eleven of them!” Lisa yelled. Larry was still nailing the doors shut. “They’re just standing on the far side of the cars!” Peggy yelled toward the kitchen. Larry was driving in the last nail. “Larry.” Peggy yelled, “Three of them jumped back into their car and are driving around to the back. Two more are running for the far end of the house.” Peggy opened up the street sweeper, letting go with four rapid rounds. The window in front of her exploded outward in a horizontal rain of glass and wood shards. In that same instant, the two men went down. Immediately, hundreds of lead and steel-jacketed slugs ripped indiscriminately through the walls, door and windows. Boxer’s men were using Glocks, Cobray M11’s and a couple AR-15’s. Peggy dropped to the floor, daring to peek out every ten or twelve seconds. The intervals seemed like minutes. She didn’t want Boxer’s men to have a chance to rush the house. The three men had stopped their car behind the shed where Larry had hid Joe’s car. While the rain of bullets continued in the front, the men charged toward the back of the house, fanning out. One headed toward the kitchen window, the second one toward the kitchen door and the third one toward the dining room window. They raised their weapons to fire and Larry shot the one coming up to the kitchen window. He pumped another round into the chamber and opened fire on the second man, aiming at him through the shattered window. The man dropped to one knee and opened up on Larry’s position. Larry’s shot went wide as he dodged the onslaught of bullets. He dove to the floor behind the overturned wooden table. The gunman continued to spray the kitchen. Larry laid flat on the floor and waited for a target. After a few seconds the shooting stopped. Larry could see movement through the holes in the door. The holes grew dark as the sunlight became obstructed. Larry pumped two quick rounds through the door. Light poured in through the massive hole, he had created. It was quiet outside. He tilted the heavy wooden table up on its long end, and peered around it, moving it toward the door. When he got close enough he could see the still figure, lying in a pool of blood. Larry pushed the table up against what was left of the door. He looked out the shattered window. He could see the first man lying on the ground. He couldn't see the third man. It had grown quiet in the front of the house. Larry ran into the living room hoping for the best and preparing himself for the worst. He saw Peggy leap toward a window letting off three shots. He ran to the other window and fired a couple more in the direction of the men still holding their position behind the vehicles. He sat down on the floor pulling, shells out of his pocket and reloaded. "I got three of them." Peggy said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I killed two of the three that went around back. I don't know where the third one went. He was heading in that direction," he said pointing. "He might be in the living room." Just then the wall between the living room and dining room exploded. Plaster and lath board followed by nine millimeter bullets flew across the room. Larry was cut in several places by the flying debris, as he and Peggy returned fire. They tried to determine from where the Cobra M11 was shooting. They had some familiarity with the weapon, as victims of its firepower. They discharged all their rounds through the wall and were in the process of reloading when they heard moaning and indistinguishable words being yelled from the dining room. "That's six down," Larry yelled. The thunderous attack continued as boxer’s men relentlessly riddled the house. Every so often there would be a break in the rhythm of the attack when one of the men would pause to reload. "Only five to go," Peggy yelled back, directing her voice up the stairwell to her sister. She turned to Larry giving him a smile and a kiss. The onslaught from outside subsided and they heard a report from Lisa's snubbed-nose upstairs. Then they heard another shot, a slight pause and Lisa fired three more. They dove for the windows. Peggy was still reloading. Larry exchanged fire with two of the men. Larry didn't seem to care that they were firing at him. He knelt on one knee and aimed, pumping off three shots. They didn't stand a chance– they were in the open. The third one made it to the porch. Peggy rolled up against the wall under the window, returned the drum to its home, and locked a round into the chamber as the assailant sprayed the room through the window with his deadly Glock. As the slugs tore through the floor and walls, the killer saw movement right in front of him, an instant too late. Peggy caught him under the chin with the first round, firing twice. His face disappeared and his body heaved upward and fell back, sitting upright against the splintered porch rail. She continued firing toward the two men who were still behind the vehicles. Larry was reloading. He wanted to be able to give cover fire while Peggy reloaded. They were almost out of shotgun shells. They looked at each other. If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s vigilant guard upstairs, the three men could have crept up on them and they wouldn't have been able to stop them. A feeling of horror began to engulf them. They had the same thought and both yelled at the same time, “Lisa!” They heard her running toward the stairs. “It isn’t fair! Why do I have to use this gun? Don’t you have a good one I can use?” Larry and Peggy burst into laughter. As their predicament came back to them, they quelled their joyous relief at her safety. “Are you two all right?" Lisa asked "We’re fine," Peggy said. "I'm sorry about the gun. We only have one other, but it is empty. Carl used up all of the ammunition." "Carl?" Lisa said, “Do you mean Larry's Carl?" They burst out laughing again, "Yes,” Larry said, “my Carl.” They could hear her rapid steps moving toward her lookout post, then back to the stairs. “They’re talking, arguing I think." Lisa reported Peggy and Larry wiped the tears from their eyes and looked out the window. She was right. The two men, each holding a weapon, had both hands going, pointing toward the house and toward each other. It sounded as though they were fighting over whether they should stay and finish the job or leave while they were still alive. Larry and Peggy could only catch bits and pieces. Finally, one of the men got into the car and slammed the door. The other man stood there with his gun pointed at the man in the car. It was Boxer. Lisa had come down stairs. "Why did they stop shooting?" she asked. She held the snubbed-nose in one hand and her purse in the other, waving them about as she spoke. Her eyes were wide, her face and voice full of excitement. "What a rush. I want to kick some ass." "I think they are the only two left," Peggy said. The two women watched Larry as he pointed his gun out the window taking aim at one of them. "It’s Boxer!" The name sounded like a curse coming from his lips. He wanted to shoot him, but couldn't. He couldn't just shoot him when he wasn't being threatened by him. Boxer walked around the car to the passenger's side, putting himself between the car and the house. They heard, "Son - Bitch - can't - kill - janitor! Carducci is going -- my ass!" Larry lowered his shotgun and moved toward the women. “I think there're leaving." Like a board being rapidly scraped across corrugated tin, the Cobra M1I shouted its deadly moan as the slugs tore once more through the house. All three hit the floor. The explosive outburst emptying the weapon’s clip only lasted four seconds. Then they heard the car speeding away. Peggy and Larry looked out the window and watched the car tearing out of the drive and sliding around the corner as it turned onto Barters Road. "It's over!" They shouted to Lisa. Lisa was still lying on the floor. They fell to her side and lifted her. She was covered with blood. Her heart pumped a couple more times, spurting blood from the wound in her chest, before stopping. They frantically checked her pulse and performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Oh for Christ’s sake, Lisa don’t do this!” Peggy screamed, while trying to revive her sister. Lisa stared blankly at the ceiling, her mouth gapped open from the resuscitation attempt. She pushed Larry out of the way, taking over pumping on her sister’s chest. “You’ve got to help me Lisa, breath, breath! You can’t–! You can’t–!” Larry gently put his hands on Peggy’s arms and firmly moved her away from Lisa, sitting her on the floor and holding her against his chest. “We can’t save her, it’s too late. She’s gone, we can’t bring her back,” he said. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was crying for the both of them. Tears streamed down Peggy's face as she took the gun from Lisa's hand and reloaded it. She stuck it into Lisa's purse that lay next to her and picked up the street sweeper. She stood up and went out the broken window. Larry went after her. "Peggy?" Larry asked. “You drive,” she said. She walked pass Lisa’s car. It had been destroyed in the crossfire. She was about halfway to the car that was still in the yard, when she stopped. One tire was flat and the body was riddled with holes. She turned and headed toward the car that was behind the shed. Larry had to quicken his pace to keep up with her. "What do you think you are doing?" "I'm going to kill Boxer," she said flatly. Her head and shoulders were bent forward. It was as though she were fighting her way through an invisible crowd. "I should have. He was right there;" Larry said sorrowfully. "He wasn't even looking toward the house." He grabbed her arm to stop her momentum, and turned her toward him. "He wasn't threatening us, I couldn't just shoot him in cold blood." Peggy looked hard into his eyes. "I would have done the same. It's what decent people do. Now we know better. You don't have to go with me." She placed her hand gently against his face. "Do what you can for Lisa." She turned and marched toward the car. Larry stood there and watched her determined progression toward committing murder. As the distance grew between them he sensed that their relationship was dwindling as well. "HE HAD NO RIGHT! BOXER HAD NO RIGHT! “His mind screamed at him He ran to catch up with Peggy. "When you take a life for any reason other than saving your life or someone else’s, you have given up your right to life. YOU CAN 'T DENY SOMEONE A RIGHT AND CLAIM IT FOR YOURSELF! YOU LOSE THAT RIGHT FOR YOURSELF!" He had found justification. He had caught up with her at the car. Neither of them spoke. The keys weren't in the ignition. Larry ran over to the first man, he had shot, and searched his pockets. Peggy stood at the corner of the shed giving Larry cover with her street sweeper. Suddenly an arm and a head popped out of the living room window. Peggy swung her weapon toward the blood-splattered torso. She stopped a half-second short of firing a couple rounds into him. "Help me." The thug moaned. "You've got to help me, Christ, I'm bleeding to death." Larry found the keys in the second killer’s pocket. He snatched them up along with the first dead man’s Cobray M11, and ran toward the car. Peggy turned and disappeared from the thug’s view. "I’ll drive," Larry said. "I saw a general store on the other end of town. We'll have to stop and get some more shotgun shells," Peggy said. They didn't speak until they reached Boxers warehouse. Joe Returns Lisa's message read, “Joe, they know were Peggy and Larry are hiding. I'm going to try and get there ahead of them.” He shoved the notes into his pocket as he ran to the elevator. “How does she know where they are I didn't let her know where they were, or their phone number. She must have overheard me giving them directions. The good little detective she is. Damn. How could The Company know? This could be a trap. They may have been onto her from the start. I should have insisted. Tied her up.” His mind raced over the possibilities and courses of action open to him. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. The other man stepped into the elevator just as the door started to close. The man reached for the floor button and withdrew his hand, seeing the floor he wanted had been selected. When the elevator door opened the man waited for Joe to exit first. Joe practically ran to his room and looked into the peephole. It was like looking into a tunnel. The lights were off and the drapes were drawn. He detected shadowed movement in the room, as someone crossed in front of the slit of light that cut through the tiny breach in the drapery. The man from the elevator was quickly moving toward him. Joe made a rapid circular motion with his arm, beckoning the man to hurry faster. The man picked up his pace while Joe kept glancing between him and the peephole. Once the man was close enough, Joe lunged sideways, arm outstretched, fingers bent at the first knuckle. He struck him in the throat, silencing him. Then quickly stepped around the falling figure grabbed him from behind, and struck him on the back of the neck. Joe eased the man’s body to the floor. He had recognized him as the man with the binoculars watching Marini's Office. Once Lisa called and left a message for Joe, they knew where he was. He, too, had to be eliminated. It definitely was a trap, and Lisa was rushing into it. Joe returned to the lobby carrying the man, from the elevator, over his shoulder. He had hotel security handcuff the wiseguy and hold him. Joe called the safe house, there wasn’t an answer. Joe searched the wiseguy, and gave security the thug’s pistol with silencer, and the butterfly knife the wiseguy had in his pocket. Joe called Lieutenant Lowri, and filled him in on what was transpiring in his room. He was looking at the hotel security supervisor, filling him in at the same time. The police would arrive soon and take care of the thugs waiting for Joe in his room. Hotel security would turn over the thug Joe had subdued as well. Joe had a plane to catch. He said he would return for his belongings or have them shipped to him later. When Joe's plane landed, he knew that the safe house was an hour and fifteen minutes from the airport. He retrieved his pistol and holster from the trunk of his car. As he drove off, he didn't allow himself to think what might have happened in his absence. Joe made it to the safe house in fifty-five minutes. When he pulled into the driveway, he put his gun on the seat. He stopped the car just short of the front porch. He had grabbed his weapon and exited the vehicle before it had come to a complete stop. He knew whatever had happened was all over. It was before 9 a.m. when Lisa had sent him the message at the hotel. It was 2 in the afternoon now. His vehicle was next to Lisa’s bullet riddled car. He hoped that she had made it into the house before the gunfire had started. He was afraid of what he would find in the house. None of the bodies in front of the house were Larry's, not even the one without a face. The stature of that one was too small. He couldn't budge the door and had to enter through the window. Every wall was riddled with bullet holes. He couldn't imagine anyone surviving the obvious onslaught that had occurred. He didn't want to believe what he saw. She was lying there in a pool of her blood, her face ashen and cold to the touch. She didn't look peaceful. She looked angry. She looked as though at any moment her eyes would open and she would jump up and say, "Where in the hell have you been?" Joe sat there on the floor holding her in his arms. He cried. He hadn't cried since he was twelve. Now he wailed. He wailed over his loss, lamenting over his guilt for leaving her to deal with theses criminals without his protection. He cried because he had enjoyed the passion of another woman while the woman he loved was going to her death. He anguished over the fact that he could do nothing to change what had happened. He agonized over his inability to keep her safe. He hated himself for not keeping his promise to her, to her sister, and to himself. At the time it had seemed so simple, to keep her safe. There were moments when he would recover, gaining control of his emotions. He would look down at the still form in his arms and cry again. Finally, he was able to let her go. Finally, he convinced himself he could do her no good sitting there feeling inept. He had to vindicate her murder. He had to save himself. Joe eased her body to the floor, laying her so she looked somehow natural. He went through the house, then checked the bodies outside. They were mostly small time hoodlums. Two were heavy hitters, the kind of deadly artist one would take along on a job like this. One was Sammy Colone, a local hoodlum believed to have killed for hire. Joe recognized him as soon as he saw his head and arm hanging out the window in the rear of the house. There wasn't anyone here who could have been in charge of the hit. Boxer was the most likely candidate. No one was in the barn. It was unscathed. He grimaced when he saw his car in the shed. Joe stood off from the shed and took in the scene. From his position, he could see toward the front and rear of the house, as well as the side. He replayed the assault as best as he could in his mind. Nine goons wouldn't have traveled in two cars, he reasoned. Someone got away. Larry and Peggy are missing. Their killers would have left their bodies here. Why would they have taken them prisoner? They left my car here. The hit squad had to have at least three cars, there was only one. Either they had been taken for some reason, or they had run off the rest of the hit squad, and had left in one of the cars that had brought death to their door. The killers weren't worried about leaving the mess they had created behind. Why take them hostage? Why not just kill them here? He thought. They ran them off; they ran off Boxer and one or two more. Peggy and Larry ran them off. Then they went after Boxer. They want to avenge Lisa's murder. They went to kill Boxer. In the back of his mind, he knew it was too late, nevertheless, he couldn't accept such an outcome. He had to stop them. He had to save them. He wasn't worried about them getting killed by Boxer. Boxer had to worry about them killing him. Joe was worried about the state executing them for murder. The circumstances on how it happens would make no difference. A sharp D. A. would prove they hunted him down and killed him. It would be premeditated. A self-defense plea would be an uphill battle at best. His rental threw dirt and stone as it turned 180 degrees and sped out of the driveway. When he arrived at Boxer's main warehouse there were police cars all over the place. He went up to an officer he knew. The officer scowled, but let him into the crime scene. The place looked worse than the safe house. Boxer’s office was blown apart. There was a gaping hole in the outer wall of the office and another in the inner wall leading to the warehouse. A minor fire had started, and had been extinguished. There wasn't anything that didn't have a round in it or through it. There were at least a half dozen bodies in view. The scene looked as though it had been choreographed for a movie set. One body was spread eagle in the middle of the warehouse floor, face up. Another victim's corpse was crumpled face down, a few feet away. A third was slumped across a crate, and a fourth was sitting down between two crates. The fifth one was hanging precariously on the edge of the catwalk, and the sixth was lying headfirst halfway down the stairs. Everyone claimed jurisdiction. The DEA had been working on a bust for months. ATF laid claims to the automatic weapons angle. They have been working on busting Marini since last fall. The FBI were sure The Company was in the middle of it. They had been watching their activities for years. The local police, of course, claimed that what ever happened, happened in their city. "What in the hell are you doing here?" Captain Edwards asked. "Just wanted to see what all the excitement was," Joe answered. "Get this man out of here. Who in the hell let an unauthorized civilian in here?" Edwards shouted. Two officers headed toward Joe. He stuck his hands into his pockets and lowered his head shaking it. Edwards had the right to make him leave, but he was stalling for time. He was looking for something to throw out there for Edwards to bite on, something that would allow him to maneuver Edwards into filling him in on what had happened. He hadn't moved from his position when Edwards said, "Wait a minute Farnum. What in the hell is this all about? You didn't happen to be driving by or listening in on your police scanner. Your Bonnie and Clyde friends are mixed up in this aren't they?" "Bonnie and Clyde friends?" Joe looked puzzled. "You know dammed well who I'm talking about, Charles and his moll." "Charles and ... who’s Molly?" "Moll, as in gun toting female killer, moll, as in ... shit, you know dammed well who I mean!" Edwards said, spraying spittle in Joe's direction. "Despite everything you hate me for, you know I'm a good cop, and an honest cop. You know you can believe me when I tell you that I don't have the slightest clue as to what took place here. But, I want to know." "I believe you, Farnum." Edwards turned to the two officers. "Throw his ass out of here." Joe turned to leave, then turned back to face Edwards. "I do know that the perp lying there in the middle of the floor is one of Marini's men, and that the locked file cabinet that the DEA is loading on a dolly probably contains enough information on Boxer's operation to nail down all the crime in this district." "What the hell?" Edwards yelled. "They can't do that, this is a dammed crime scene." He motioned to the two officers, "You two come with me." Edwards headed off toward what was left of Boxer's office. "This is a dammed crime scene. Don't you know anything about procedure?" No one in the office was paying attention to him. Joe caught sight of someone he knew from the FBI, and headed toward him, giving him a wave and a smile. "Wyler, how did you wind up back here?" "I caught all the bad guys in the Midwest, so they sent me here to do the same," Wyler said taking Joe’s hand. "It looks like a take over attempt, or a revenge hit. I see one of Marini's men in the mix." Joe told his friend, pointing to the same corpse he had identified for Edwards. "Yes, you seem to be familiar with Marini's boys," Wyler said. "So that was your van across the street from his office." "Is there anything you care to share with me, Joe?" "Did you know that Carducci's men have a stakeout upstairs above your position?" "Christ. You’re serious, aren't you?" Wyler rubbed the side of his face, as though he were trying to rub the egg off. "Well? Talk to me, Joe." "Marini has been refusing to play ball with Carducci's people. I was trying to get Marini to roll over on The Company's operation. I guess Marini tried a different tack," Joe offered. "How many bodies in all?" Joe asked, indicating the milieu. "Eight in here, and four outside. As far as we can tell, no bystanders were hit. It looks like they were all Boxer's, Marini’s and Carducci’s men. "How did it go down?" "It seems that Boxer and one of his associates pulled into his parking spot in front of his office just after the shooting spree. Someone let loose with a L. A. W. They tried to whack him while he was in his car. The rocket missed and demolished his office." “How many family ties among the body count?" Joe prompted. "Most of them. Seems odd, doesn’t it?” Joe didn’t want to get into where Boxer’s men were, during the obvious hit, perpetrated by Marini. "You know, as we speak, the city is fighting with the DEA over possession of Boxer’s file cabinet. This was obviously an Organized Crime generated hit that went bad for The Family,” he lied. "Parkins," Wyler said to one his men, tag that file cabinet over there as ours, and get a seal on it." "How about a look at the other bodies?" Joe asked. "Sure," Wyler said. "Who’s in charge for the city?" Joe pointed at Captain Edwards. "That would be Captain Edwards, the one arguing with the DEA." "Give me a minute. I have to make sure they keep the area from becoming contaminated, while we conduct the investigation." Joe stood there smiling as he watched Wyler approach Edwards. A member of the DEA was arguing with Wyler's man, Parkins, over the file cabinet. One of Edwards’ men went running from the file cabinet scene toward Edwards to report that the file cabinet and jurisdiction of the crime scene was first lost to the DEA and now to the FBI. Edwards had taken a step back from Wyler, pointing a finger at him. The finger was making a jabbing motion in the direction of Wyler, in concert with the staccato barrage that issued forth from Edwards’ mouth. "Ah yes," Joe mused aloud, "the foremost legal organizations of our time, all working together for the common good of the people." He spied the van that the FBI was using as the crime scene command post. He went there to scrounge a cup of coffee and wait for Wyler to finish instructing Captain Edwards on how to proceed on behalf of the Bureau. Not having to be a part of the conflict gave him pause to be contented with his suspension. He thought it ironic that he could feel contentment at not being part of the two organizations that he loved. The thought was taking him somewhere, and it wasn't something he wanted to think about just now. He turned to the agent in the van and struck up a conversation. The agent couldn't tell him much, or didn't want to. He didn't know Joe, but was content to let him remain at the van since he was a friend of Wyler’s and an ex-agent of the Bureau. When Wyler returned, they viewed the remaining corpses. "I take it whoever you’re looking for wasn't among the body count?" Wyler asked. Joe didn't say anything. He smiled his devil incarnate smile and shook his head. "Does this have anything to do with the body count at the safe house?" Wyler asked. Joe's smile disappeared. He didn’t expect Wyler to know about the safe house as of yet, let alone make the connection. It caught him off guard. “When an ex-fed uses his connections, I keep my ear to the ground,” Wyler explained. “Then there’s the call we received about a lot of automatic weapon fire out there. I guess you were on your way back here when our helicopter went out to investigate.” Wyler pried. Joe didn’t respond, but Wyler knew he had guessed right. “Let’s see your weapon, Joe,” Wyler said, holding out his hand. Joe handed him his weapon, for Wyler to examine. “I got there after the fact,” Joe said, not wanting to give away more than he could get away with. He needed time to sort things out. He had to find out just what had happened. He didn’t want to get tied up in long interviews, answering questions that would look bad for Larry and Peggy, as well as for himself. “There was something odd about the concluding rally of this spectacle. A woman with a street sweeper and a man sporting an automatic were seen fleeing from the scene on Boxer’s tail. It seems this woman and man pulled in behind him, blocking his car. Boxer and one of his punks jumped out of their car, and these two unknowns, come out of their vehicle like they’re coming down on Boxer and company when the L.A.W. smacks the building, just feet from them. Boxer and punk jumped back into their car, jumped the sidewalk curb, drove around to the warehouse side, and took off out the side gate. The couple, if you will, tore out after Boxer. A lot of that is my take on it. The witness wasn't sure if they were leaving with him or going after him. What do you think Joe?" "Can I meet with you, say ten a.m. tomorrow and fill you in? I have to find somebody, and find them fast." "My office, ten in the morning. Don't make me get a warrant, Joe." "Thanks, Wyler." *** Joe monitored his scanner. There weren't any reports of violence that he could relate to Larry and Peggy. He checked around town, trying to get a line on them through street talk and various informants. As he worked, he kept pushing Lisa out of his mind. Finally, late in the night she crept into his conscious thoughts. He gave up the battle as he entered his apartment. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his loss. He felt desperately lonely. He was overcome with guilt for not having protected her like he had promised. He felt inept because he couldn’t keep Larry and Peggy safe. He felt responsible for possibly turning them into cold-blooded killers. He had misused his authority and the trust placed in him by the Bureau. In so doing he created a secluded killing zone for the criminals. Joe would meet with Wyler in the morning. It would be the end of his career in law enforcement. If he could find an out for Peggy and Larry, he would have some sense of justification. In any event, he couldn't see that happening. He stood there in the dark, in the middle of his living room and couldn’t decide what to do next. He collapsed onto the couch. The bedroom was too far away. Her scent would be there on her pillow. He had to put it out of his mind. Joe buried his face in his hands. The light exploded in the room. "Joe. We weren't sure if it was you or not.” Larry exclaimed. Joe bolted off the sofa, reaching for his forty-five. "How in the hell? You picked my lock?" "Your key was in Lisa's purse," Peggy said. Peggy looked scared, but compassionate. "Joe... Lisa.. ." "I know. I went out there to stop her." Peggy threw her arms around him and broke into a loud tormented wail. It was the first time she cried since her sister's murder. Joe eased her down onto the sofa, stroking her hair and patting her shoulders, tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't speak. Larry's eyes welled up with tears of compassion for both of them. Tears rolled down his cheeks at the loss of his friend. It was daylight before each had resolved their feelings of unearned guilt and decided on a plan of action. They still didn't know who was responsible for Barbara Coin's murder, however, they had to resolve the mobster problem first. The Coin killing was only a simple murder. It paled in comparison to being hunted by the authorities and organized crime. Joe explained the Carducci connection to Larry and Peggy. Boxer and Carducci were going to pay. They realized that it would be impossible to avoid capture by the various law enforcement agencies, and bring down Carducci and Boxer at the same time. They needed an edge. They needed help. They had to get to Marini before he was killed by Carducci, or arrested by the authorities. The real possibility of Peggy and Larry being killed by Carducci was on their minds, nonetheless, no one voiced that concern. Joe looked at his watch; it was 5:3o in the morning. He collapsed on the couch. "We need to have our heads on straight before we do anything. We had better get some rest. The two of you take the bedroom." Joe closed his eyes and turned on to his side. Larry and Peggy looked at him for a few seconds. Larry nodded in silent agreement. "Yes, I guess you’re right," Peggy said. Peggy took Larry's hand and they walked off toward the bedroom. It was almost 1 p.m. when Larry awoke with a start. The sudden jerk of his body brought Peggy to consciousness. “What is it?” she asked. Larry was listening intently. "Nothing, I guess it's just Joe. He must be up. I heard movement in the other room." They had slept in their clothes. Like battle weary solders, they were ready for action and couldn't afford to put down their guard. They had learned that relaxing your vigil could mean certain death. Larry cautiously peeked into the living room, and slipped out the door. He crept out toward the center of the room peering toward the kitchen. Peggy was two paces behind him. She had Joe’s 357 in her hand, holding it against her leg. The feel of cold steel moving against her body gave her a sense of security. Larry had left his shotgun and the automatic along with Peggy’s street sweeper behind the sofa. He was working his way toward the weapons, while trying to see whom he heard in the kitchen. "I see you went shopping. How long have you been up" Larry asked. Joe had several bags of groceries on the table and was in the process of putting things away. He looked at his two guests. "By the time you two finish showering, breakfast will be ready," Joe said. He thought they looked worse now than they did when they went to bed. Larry had lacerations on his face and torso from the flying shards of wood, plaster and splattered lead that had impaled him at the safe house. There was a mixture of blood and dirt congealed here and there on their clothing. "Peggy, there are some of Lisa’s things in the bedroom. Maybe her pajamas or robe would fit, if you want.” He said softly. Peggy's face tightened and she blinked back the tears. ''Sure, thanks," she replied. She turned quickly, and went off toward the bedroom. Joe's eyes were fixed on the weapon in her hand as she walked off. As he addressed Larry he continued his gaze until she was out of sight. “Larry, feel free to use my things. I’m sure my clothes will fit you well enough. In the mean time, how about putting on some coffee?" Joe said heartily, trying to lighten the mood. By the time all three were refreshed and fed, a sense of normalcy once more prevailed in their world. At least, it was as normal as it could get. They talked lightly about the need for ammunition for their weapons. Joe knew where to obtain automatic weapon ammunition without raising suspicion. He discussed manhunt tactics with them that might help keep them from being captured. He wanted them to aid him in finding Marini first, then Boxer. Finding Carducci wouldn't be a problem. He didn't know he had reason to go into hiding. "Okay," Joe said, “you two are going to do like we discussed, right?" Larry and Peggy glanced at each other and nodded their heads. “Good. Stay here. Stay quiet. Don't answer the phone. I'll nose around, check my sources, find Marini, and then we will all go into play. You have my small arms and my rifle cleaning kits. I’ll be back with the ammunition, be ready,” he ordered. “Aye, Captain,” Peggy said. It is good to see her smile again, Larry thought. "We’ll monitor your scanner. Maybe, we'll pick up on something that isn't out on the street," Larry said. “I’m going to wash what is left of our clothes,” Peggy said. I see Mr. Domestic has a washer and a dryer,” she added cheerfully. The Setup Joe spent two and a half hours talking to, cajoling and roughing up snitches and various perps, he had known in the past. Finally, he got a lead where he might find Marini. Now that he had a lead, he was worried about finding Marini alive. Carducci's people were looking for him as well. If it took Joe this long to find him, Carducci could have found him last night or early this morning. One of Marini's men, Marny Lovelli, used a house in the hills in the suburbs from time to time. The house belonged to Lovelli’s uncle, Bernardo Lovelli, a semi-retired businessman. When his uncle was in Florida, Lovelli would use it to impress the women. It was like a miniature estate with an electric gate at the entrance, a lot of ceramic tile, marble, and tall windows that overlooked the gardens and a kidney shaped pool. Carducci's family wouldn't want his people to bring attention to themselves. They didn’t want the family to become a news worthy item. They had spent years cultivating the businessmen’s image. They had made billions in drugs, prostitution, extortion, and through all the other illegal means of generating income. They did it all without invoking the wrath of the public. It only takes one Gotti to create an image of being an evil force destroying society. Even with the aide of some Hollywood notables touting the mob as some icon to be revered, the Gotti fiasco cost the Syndicate countless millions. They weren't about to allow an OK Corral shoot-out in an affluent neighborhood. They would have to draw Marini out, or stealthily work their way in passed Marini's manpower, and eliminate him as quietly as possible. One thing was for certain: they had to stop him now. He was making noise, drawing unwanted attention, and giving the local hoodlums the impression that The Company didn’t have to be in their pockets. It was The Company's sensitivity to exposure that Joe hoped would act as a double edged sword, keeping Marini alive long enough to start a war and thus put Carducci in full view of the public. After getting the ammunition, Joe stopped at a county library annex that was close by. He pulled the city directory and got a phone number for the Lovelli house. Then he drove passed the place. He saw two cars facing down the hill, two blocks away at the base of the hill. The drivers were in them, a dead giveaway. They were two wiseguys, waiting to make a fast escape if necessary. Joe drove around the curve to the top of the hill and pulled into the yard of a house that had a For Sale sign in front. It looked as though it might be vacant. He took his binoculars and went around to the side of the house. He was in luck. A tree blocked part of the Lovelli property, still, he could see most of the house and yard. He couldn't find the hit-men, however, he saw Marini through an upstairs window, in a game room. He was playing pool with one of his men. A good man with a scope could pick him off without any trouble. He was glad the hitmen weren't that smart. He saw one of Marini's men by the pool and another one near the tree line at the edge of the gardens. He knew they were Marini's men because they were somewhat relaxed and waiting, not actually expecting something to happen. Joe could see the back of a truck sticking out from a tree blocking part of his view. The rear of the truck was open and he could see the end of a crate. He could make out, U. and below that A. W. "Excuse me, can I help you?" a voice behind him asked, rather authoritatively. Joe turned his head and saw an elderly man standing there. "Oh, excuse me," Joe said, “I saw the for sale sign and for some reason presumed the property was vacant." "You seemed to be looking for something," the man prodded. “Yes, when I saw the house I immediately thought, what a spectacular view. On a clear day you must be able to see forever.” “You can look forever, but you can’t see forever. Forever refers to time, not distance. You can only see to the horizon. Now what are you doing here?” The man took another step toward Joe. “I was trying to see if I could see as far as the Federal Building, downtown," he lied. "Light doesn't bend to that extent," the man said in a terse tone of voice. “What?” Joe asked. “The Federal Building would be in the other direction,” the man said pointedly. "Oh, and please don't bother. I assure you it cannot be seen from there either.” “Then I certainly don’t have an interest in this house. Good day, sir.” Joe walked back to his car. It’s a good thing I came here and not one of Carducci's men. They would have shot that miserable old bird just for the pleasure of putting him out of his misery, he thought. Now, to bring my. . . my two partners into play, and wreak havoc onto the underworld. He was spoiling for a fight. He wanted to bring Carducci to his knees. It didn’t matter what happened to Marini. Boxer was another story. That was pure revenge, and he didn't try to kid himself about it. He would have to wait and take care of him later. He called Larry and Peggy with his cell phone. He was filling them in on his progress when it hit him. "Light Anti-armor Weapon." he blurted out. “What are you talking about?” Larry asked. “The truck with the crates in the back. The U., it must be U. S. Army, or Military whatever, and then A.W., I couldn’t see the L. in front of it. It was Marini who tried to take Boxer out.” Joe realized the gang war at Boxer’s was to eliminate Carducci’s men and draw public attention to The Company. Marini also saw a chance to eliminate Boxer. It was Marini who fired the L. A. W. that almost killed Boxer. Joe saw a chance to kill all three birds with one call. “The two of you get over here as fast as you can. Marini’s going to move, and we’re going to follow him. Look in my hallway closet. Grab the three walkie-talkies and your weapons. Meet me at the rental place on the corner of Welsh and Seabreeze.” He hung up and dialed the Lovelli number. “Tell Marini there are two wiseguys sitting in their cars at the bottom of the hill. He better find the others before they get into the house." Joe hung up. Marini will have to move, now that he’s been made. When Larry and Peggy arrived, Joe had another rental vehicle. He explained the fine art of tailing a suspect. “Larry, after we tail them to there knew location, would you be willing to call Carducci and tell him Marini whacked his men in their bungled attempt to whack Marini? What if you told him, you know Marini’s new location and you would trade Marini and the military weapons for Boxer?” Joe was smiling. Something about the malevolence, in that smile, appealed to Larry. Despite everything she had been through, it scared Peggy. "This is cold blooded, we can’t,” Peggy said. In spite of the fact, Marini is a criminal, he hasn’t done anything to us. Gentlemen, think about this. We are setting people up to kill each other” “We’d better get moving. We have to be in position to tail them. The walkie-talkies are FCC rated. They have a five-mile range. Let’s move before Marini does.” Joe said, as he headed to his car. Peggy understood why they ignored her. She knew they would not blame her if she refused to go. She got in her car, and waited for instructions. Marini would have to go through this intersection. After a few final pointers from Joe, they sat and waited for him to show. It was only a couple of minutes. They took turns tailing the truck and two vehicles as Marini moved to a new location. Joe told them when to switch places, pull up, back off and pass the little convoy. Like a Maestro, he conducted the tail with precision. Marini never knew they were there. Finally Marini separated from the truck and other vehicle. Joe followed him while Larry and Peggy followed the other two vehicles. They were in the waterfront district. Two blocks later the two vehicles that turned into a warehouse and closed the doors behind them. "Joe, are you there?” Larry said into the walkie-talkie. “I'm here.” "They've pulled into a warehouse just a couple of blocks from where Marini parted company. It's warehouse number 1014 on Prey Street," Larry announced. "Isn't this the place that was in the news? Isn't this the address where a big raid took place and an undercover officer was killed?" Larry asked. "Yes, and you can bet it belongs to World Wide Conduit, Boxer's front company. I tailed Marini to Boxer's place on Ivy,” Joe informed him. “The one we followed Boxer to yesterday?” Peggy asked. “Exactly, and he walked in there as if he owned it." Joe said. "What in he hell is going on?" Larry said, sounding confused. Joe watched with his binoculars as Boxer walked passed the window of Lisa’s office, heading for his own office to greet Marini. Two men blocked his view by putting a piece of plywood over the broken window. Boxer’s window had already been boarded over. A plywood sheet was covering the hole in the outer wall. “I can see exactly what is going on, a double-cross," Joe said. He sounded excited, "This is better than we could have hoped for. We couldn't have set them up this well if we had a year's time to plan it." Peggy grabbed the walkie-talkie. "Are you saying they are working together, double-crossing Carducci?” "That is exactly what I'm saying, Peggy. The Company tried to move in on their operations. Marini and Boxer concoct this scheme to get Syndicate financing, and then run them off with bad publicity and seemingly inept local talent running the operations, namely Boxer and Marini. They’re betting on the same concept I was. The Company doesn't want the publicity, because it costs them money." "What about the shoot-out at Boxer's?” Peggy asked. "Remember, there were only two of Marini's men and one of Boxer's killed. The rest of them had company ties. Meet me at Filo’s Diner. It’s time to make the call,” Joe said. “I know where it is.” Larry remembered eating there when he was investigating on his own. “That' s why Boxer went along on the raid at our farm house and took most of his men with him. He knew Marini was going to hit the warehouse,” Peggy said. “I'm not trying to justify what we're doing. We're setting them up, and people are going to die. Just the same, you try to find some good in everybody, even Marini and his thugs; when in fact, they are a bunch of scheming murderers like all the rest, no different from the Syndicate or Boxer and his gang. Still, I have this uneasy feeling, for lack of a better descriptive. . .” “Somebody has to stop them,” Larry said. “Look, I like to keep things simple and understandable. When you were bent on avenging Lisa’s death, I understood how you felt. I couldn't just shoot Boxer in cold blood. Now Boxer is off in the distance again, not presenting a direct threat to us. None of them are. You are having the same problem I was having,. We both realized in that moment when Boxer opened fire, what a powerful evil was out there. I don't believe anyone has the right to take someone else's life, unless it happens in the process of saving your own or someone else's life. I think stopping these people falls under both categories." "You mean for instance, if you try to stop a drug dealer from selling crack to a kid, and in the process there is a fight between the two of you, and you kill the drug dealer?" Peggy asked. “Like Steppinwolf says in that song, 'Goddamn The Pusher Man',” Larry replied, tossing the walkie-talkie down on the passenger seat next to him. They remained quiet until they met Joe at Filo's Diner. “I want you to make a phone call, Larry,” Joe said, leading the way into the diner. Joe took a slip of paper out of his pocket. It was the phone number he had found in Claude Bremmer's chair. Using the pay phone at the diner, he dialed the number. “This will put you in contact with one of Carducci's people. Just tell it to him in your own words. Be sure to let him know, Boxer is using him.” "This is Larry Charles, tell Carducci, Marini has whacked the punks he sent to whack Marini. I know where Marini is, and I know where the weapons are. I'I1 trade both for Boxer. Which you won't mind doing, because Boxer is double-crossing you. I’ll call back at this number in fifteen minutes, and Carducci better answer the phone." Larry hung up. Then Joe called Wyler, and got his voice mail. “Sorry for missing you at ten. I dug up some new information. Carducci has some dead thugs at 306 Outlook Terrace. A gang war killing. They were a death squad sent to eliminate Marini.” He hung up. They got a booth and ordered coffee. There was little conversation while they sat there. A few attempts were made however, the subject being avoided drowned out all other topics. At each booth there was an old-fashioned jukebox menu mounted on the wall. Peggy flipped the metal tabs that turned the pages, but never made a selection. Larry looked at his watch. It was time to call. "This is Charles again." "What is it you want to say?" the voice on the other end asked. “I’ll tell it to Carducci, and nobody else,” Larry said definitively. “I don't think I know the gentleman you are referring to,” the voice said. “He's got five seconds, then I hang up and he can kiss everything good by. Five, four, three, two, one, good by.” “Wait! Wait! Here is the gentleman you referred to.” "What ever it is you want to say to me, I don't care to hear over the phone. I don't respond to people whom I can't look in the eye. I'm sure, you understand what I’m saying," Carducci said. “I can prove Boxer is screwing you, and___” "I don't know any boxers, or wrestlers, personally. I'm going to hang up. I told you I don't talk to strangers on the phone. When someone wants to tell me something, they tell it to my face." Carducci sounded irritated. “What do you suggest?" Larry asked. "Why don't you and your lovely fiancée join me for dinner?" "Where?" Carducci gave Larry directions on how to enter through the alley behind Raphael's, then hung up. "I guess you two should keep an eye on Boxer's and the warehouse, in case there is a location change," Larry said, as he hung up the receiver. "What did he say?" Joe asked "He invited me to dinner at Raphael's" "Are you crazy? You are not walking in there alone." Peggy almost yelled. "She's right Larry," Joe said, "call him back and__" "No, it will be all right. He won't want me, not after he knows Boxer is a traitor.” "Larry has a point," Joe said, looking at Peggy. “They only want Larry because of Boxer's foul-up, spilling the beans to him. Larry can only indict Boxer.” "I see, remove Boxer, and the threat Larry presents is removed." Peggy responded. *** After OSCR made sure Larry was clean, he was ushered into the next room. Carducci was sitting at his table. He ran his finger around the rim of his glass of Merlot. "Where is your fiancée, Mr. Charles? I did hope to meet her," Carducci said softly. “She had a previous engagement. She hoped you would understand,” Larry said, just as softly. “Ah, too bad. Please have a seat,” Carducci offered, waving his hand to indicate the chair opposite him. Larry sat down. The two wiseguys who had frisked him, and ushered him in, now followed him and stood behind his chair. Larry began to feel a little nervous. The atmosphere Carducci created was too serene, while the two wiseguys seemed a little edgy. He was glad, he had left Peggy with Joe. Carducci glanced at the waiter, who immediately began serving them from the cart next to where he was standing. It was deadly quiet until the waiter left the room. "Please, don't wait on ceremony. Enjoy," Carducci prompted, beckoning with his hand. He then proceeded to pour wine into Larry's glass. "Do you like wine, Mr. Charles?" "Yes, especially Merlot, though I'm sure this one is out of my class," Larry answered. “Then you will love this one, I guarantee it,” Carducci smiled. Larry took a sip. The wine floated over his tongue. Like an aphrodisiac for his taste buds, the molecules of wine caressed and pleased them, sending delightful signals through his synapses to his pleasure sensors, as well as to his taste center. “I don't care what it costs, I will, from now on, have a bottle in my house,” Larry said, delighted. Carducci smiled broadly. “You have a very discerning palate. Now, what is it you want to talk to me about?” Carducci began eating his dinner. “Boxer and Marini are working together to scam you. They know if they can create enough public outcries resulting from mob killings, there will be enough political pressure to run you out of town. Remember when they stole your weapons? Well, think about what happened. Boxer was, conveniently, out of town and only lost one man. Marini only lost two men. You lost nine. That's because Boxer's men and Marini's were shooting your hoodlums. Marini has stashed your weapons in Boxers warehouse, number 1014 on Prey Street. Yes, the same one where the Feds upset your apple cart. Marini is cozying up with Boxer, in Boxer's office on Ivy, right now.” “Why are you telling me this?” “Boxer killed my fiancée's sister.” “And?” "And you give him to me. Why do you care who kills him?" “Yes, I see. If what you say is true then you figure with Mr. Boxer out of the picture, no one has reason to bother with you, correct?” Carducci pointed his nose toward Larry's plate. “Eat, Mr. Charles, enjoy.” “Yes, that's about it,” Larry said, taking a taste of a beef medallion. It was as delightful as the wine. “You have arrived at a hypothesis that is more true than hypothetical. That being said, a bird in the hand is more useful than a hypothetical one. So if you don't mind, you will accompany my men to Boxer's office. If what you say is so, then I will let you put a bullet between Mr. Boxer’s eyes. If it isn't so.. .why then, the reverse will happen." Larry couldn't think of anything to say that would change his situation. He now had to rely on Peggy and Joe. "I'm looking forward to it." He pointed at his plate with his fork. "This is great, what kind of sauce is this?" *** “What are you going to do with Boxer when Carducci hands him over to us?” Peggy asked, staring into her coffee. “Carducci won't hand him over,” Joe said. “What do you mean? It is what we asked for, that was the deal.” Peggy sounded confused. “What happens when he doesn’t hand him over? What are we supposed to do? Wait until they are done killing each other, then finish what they started. Boxer, Marini, and Carducci can't be left standing.” “Carducci won't be there,” Joe informed her. “He won't? How do we get him?” Peggy asked. “We don't. Mr. Mark White won’t be there either, nor will the man they call The Organizer, Anthony Scott. It’s like in any organization, the higher you are on the chain of command, the more you distance yourself from the dirty deeds you dictate others to do,” Joe explained. “How do we bring them down?" Peggy wanted to know. Peggy half rose out or her seat. "My God, you aren't suggesting we seek them out one by one and murder them, are you? I mean as much as they deserve it___” "No, Peggy, I'm not," Joe smiled. “The only chance of getting them, is for Boxer or Marini to survive and turn on White to save his own ass, and for White to turn on Carducci and the Organizer, to save himself" "I hope it's Marini. I don't want Boxer to survive," Peggy said. Joe looked at her knowingly. They felt the same way. “Do you remember the big explosion that interrupted you when you were about to kill Boxer?” Peggy looked embarrassed. “Yes?” “That was Marini or one of his men trying to take Boxer out. Boxer showed up unexpectedly and Marini thought he could get rid of him as a bonus. I guarantee, one of them won’t survive the coming onslaught.” "I suppose it's like demanding a good steak but not wanting to be the one that has to kill the cow, nevertheless . . . I can't help wanting the bastard dead." Joe reached over and took her hand. “You’re going to have to let go Peggy, all of us are.” Joe looked at his watch. "We better do as Larry suggested, and keep an eye on them, just in case." "Then we let murder and mayhem reign?" "No, not quite," Joe said. "It will take Larry twenty to twenty-five minutes to get there, and they have to get organized first. It will be a good hour before they arrive at Boxer's. I'm going to call my friend at the Bureau, and let him know what is going to go down." "Then?" "Then it is up to the authorities," Joe answered. Joe called Wyler and filled him in on what was happening. He cautioned him on involving the local authorities because he was sure there was someone on the take who would warn Carducci. When he was done talking to Wyler, he returned to the booth. "Okay, Peggy, let's stake out the suspects." She took his cue, and got up to leave. Once outside, Joe gave Peggy some final instructions. "Park your car on a corner opposite the warehouse so you have a catty-corner view of the place. That will give you the widest perspective. It will be easier to see anyone entering or leaving. Tilt your seat back until you can just see over the horizon of the dashboard. You want to look like an empty vehicle. When you start seeing traffic move into the area, move out. That will be the Bureau. Remember, you and Larry are still wanted. We'll meet at the diner. Until then, sit as motionless as you can and watch for movement. Oh, and be sure to keep your windows up, and the doors locked, and maintain radio silence." "Okay, Joe. I hope we hear from Larry soon. I'm starting to worry." "Don't. They don't need him anymore. They will let him go as soon as they confirm Boxer's double-cross," Joe assured her. He hoped he was right. "And if they don't?" she asked. A little anxiety had crept into her voice. "Then we will go and get him." From the tone of his voice she was sure the mob was in more trouble than Larry. They each took up their vigils. The quiet was deafening. Forty minutes had passed from the time Larry left. Things were happening in the vicinity of Boxer’s warehouse. The authorities were getting into position. Peggy felt threatened by their presence. She didn’t like being sandwiched between them and Boxer. She broke radio silence. “I’m going to the diner.” After a long pause Joe replied, “Okay, I’ll call if I need you.” *** "Something's queer, Mr. Carducci, I found this laying on the front seat of this bird's car." One of Carducci's wiseguys walked in holding Joe's walkie-talkie. "Who are you working with, Larry? You don't mind if I call you Larry, do you?" Carducci asked. He had a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Peggy and I were looking for Boxer. We split up to maximize our effort, so we used the walkie-talkies to keep each other informed," Larry said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Larry is fine, Mr. Carducci. Please, call me Larry." “I see,” Carducci said. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “Mark, we have a problem. I want you to handle it personally. I have my friend Larry here, Larry Charles. Yes. Larry informs me Mr. Boxer is conspiring against us. It seems Mr. Boxer has joined forces with Mr. Marini, and they may have been working together from the very beginning. My associates will bring Larry to join you at Boxer's office. He will have the personal honor of taking care of Mr. Boxer. Yes, I think that can be arranged, though she isn't presently in his company. She will be joining him shortly. Yes, the two of them. No. Use your head. At Boxer's. Now you’re thinking." Carducci hung up. He flicked an eyebrow at his thugs and one of the wiseguys tapped Larry on the shoulder, while another opened the door. "Let's go," the wiseguy said to Larry. Larry got up, swallowing hard. This wasn't going the way he’d planned, or hoped. Carducci and his men took Larry outside. "Your girlfriend's name is Peggy, isn't it Larry?" Carducci asked. "Yes, Peggy," Larry responded. He handed Larry the walkie-talkie. "Call Peggy, Larry. Tell Peggy to meet you in front of your old apartment building," Carducci commanded. "Why? Why do you want to bring her into this? You don't need us after Boxer is dealt with, I can't think of any reason why you would need to bring her into this," Larry said, adamantly. "Over the years, I've learned to trust my instincts. You could be putting me in a very precarious position. I just want a little insurance, that's all. If you are being up front with me, you don't have anything to worry about." Carducci made a brief gesture as though he were using a walkie-talkie. "Call her." "She probably doesn't have it on, she may not even have it with her," Larry rationalized. "Give it a try." "These things only have a five mile range. We must be at least that far from where she is, if not farther," Larry remonstrated. "I am really not a patient man. You’re pushing all the wrong buttons, Larry. Don't test me any further." The bite in Carducci's voice told Larry to push the intercom button on the walkie-talkie. He had wanted to from the moment the thug brought it in to Carducci, however, he had a plan. He wanted to convince Carducci he didn't have any help. He wanted Carducci to believe it was just him and Peggy, and his only motive was to protect her. He had succeeded. "Peggy ... Peggy, It's Larry, can you hear me? Peggy, can you hear me?" He was out of range. "I think we are too far away, Mr. Carducci," Larry said, cautiously. “Get in the car, you drive,'' Carducci told Larry. Al, sit in the back. Manny, you and Phil take the lead. Frank, follow us. We’re going to Graystone Park.” When they arrived at the park, Carducci said, “All right Larry, it’s time.” Larry picked up the walkie-talkie. "Peggy are you on, can you here me?" "What's taking you so long? Where are you, Larry?" "With Carducci___” Carducci knocked the walkie-talkie out of his hand and grabbed Larry by the face. "You tell her what I tell you to tell her." "Larry? Are you all right? Larry, what happened?" "No names, understand?" Carducci demanded. Larry nodded. Carducci handed him the walkie-talkie. "What’s wrong? Talk to me Larry." Peggy was starting to panic. "Everything is okay. I dropped the walkie-talkie, that's all," Larry lied. "Tell her to meet you here in the park," Carducci ordered. “Peggy, He wants us___” Carducci grabbed him by the throat. "Listen to me you simpleton. No references to another being, living, dead, or of some mystical realm. First and second person, I, you, me, no they, just I, you, me, nod your head if you understand." Larry nodded his head. He was also still holding down the talk button. Carducci let go of his throat. "Peggy," Larry said, “call a cab and meet me at Graystone park, it's important.” Carducci pulled the walkie-talkie out of his hand. "Are you telling me she doesn't have a car?" "Well, okay. It will probably take me an hour, hour and a half to get there." "I have the car," Larry said, as though he were stating what should be an obvious fact. "This is a BMW, I'm sure this isn't your car," Carducci said, not believing a word. "Larry? What is going on? Why do you want me to meet you way across town?" She ad-libbed. "No, we stole this one from Boxer's men," he said, stating the truth. "Boxer's men? When?" Carducci asked. "After we killed them, out at the farm. "Larry, you’re scaring me, say something,” Peggy pleaded. Carducci handed him the walkie-talkie "Hold a minute, sweetheart," Larry said. "Boxer came out to where we were hiding with a dozen of his men, to kill us. He went with his men, so he wouldn't be there when Marini raided his place, and stole your weapons. We killed all of them except for Boxer and one other punk. As they were running off with their tails between their legs, Boxer killed Peggy's sister. That's why we came to you. That's why we want to kill Boxer.” “I can’t hold any longer, Larry, what’s going on?" "Just a minute, Peggy," Larry said, into the walkie-talkie. "Where is she?" Carducci asked. Watching Boxer's place, waiting for me." "Tell her to stay put.” Carducci turned to Al in the back seat. “Tell the others we’re going to pay a visit to Boxer at his Ivy Street location.” “Stay put, sweetheart, we’re coming there.” Carducci never blinked at the “we’re” reference. He called Mark White again. “Mark, our goods are well guarded in 1014. That is your responsibility. I’m personally paying a visit to the property manager.” He put the phone in his pocket. As they neared Ivy Street, Carducci said, "She isn't standing on the corner holding an M-60, is she?" Larry shook his head negatively, "A Street Sweeper." Carducci shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands. "You know, I can actually remember when they were housewives." Larry noted Carducci's frustrated state of mind, it could help. As they approached the corner of Ivy and Pier Front, the three-car cavalcade slowed. Larry saw both Joe's and Peggy's cars. They were parked to the rear of a dumpster in the parking lot, catty-cornered to Boxer’s warehouse. Larry pulled over to the curb. "What are you doing?" Carducci asked. Peggy stepped out from behind the dumpster, her Street Sweeper pointing toward the ground. She took in the scene before her, noting the car that stopped short ahead of Larry and the car that pulled over behind Larry. "There are six, counting Carducci,” she noted aloud. Carducci lowered his window. "I take it, we’re doing this as a family?" Peggy said. She stayed back near the dumpster. "Get in the car," Carducci ordered. "They have three men watching the streets and yard. Do you have a plan?" Peggy asked. "Let me worry about that," Carducci said, “get in the car. I’ll deal with Boxer and Marini." "You, Mr. Carducci, as well as the police, have made life a living hell for Larry and I. While you were sitting on your duff, stuffing your face at Raphael's, we were out there getting on the job training. We've learned how to deal with these kind of situations. You couldn't get within ten feet of that building without getting your well groomed head blown off." Carducci looked annoyed. "What do you suggest?" "Leave Larry's car here. They would recognize it as one of theirs. Drive in and park in front of what is left of Boxer's office as though you were an invited guest. Bring Larry and I in as though we are your prisoners, complaining all the time about how you had to personally handle what should have been a simple task for bumbling idiots like Boxer and his people. Once we’re inside, and we have assessed the location of Boxer, Marini, and their people, then you can enact your plan. Which is?" Peggy concluded. "Joe must have worked this out." Larry hoped. They would be going in unarmed. He felt naked. Carducci was smiling. "My plan is simply to eliminate, Boxer and Marini, if there are survivors, they will be given an opportunity to work for The Company. You, young lady, have a future ahead of you. We are always looking for talent. Your cue to eliminate Boxer and Marini will be when we hand you two your weapons." “Then?” Peggy asked “Like I said, we will eliminate as many of their followers as we can. Oh, you mean afterward. As I also have said, we are always looking for associates of quality. That will be up to the two of you.” Carducci was half-serious. He believed it was waste of talent, though a necessary one. They were, after all, the perfect scapegoats. Instead of The Company being blamed for the massacre, it would be the now infamous, modern day Bonnie and Clyde team of Peggy and Larry. Of course, their bodies would be among those they had massacred, having fought savagely to the very last. "Where is your weapon, Larry?" "In the trunk.” "Get it and hand it to Al," Carducci said lightly. *** "What in the hell are you doing? You have what you need, move in and take them." Joe said into his head set. "We can't," Wyler responded, “one of the lookouts has walked up to the corner of the lot. I can almost spit on him. He can see everything except for what the dumpster blocks. He's damned curious about the cars up there." Larry popped the trunk and retrieved his weapon. Carducci stuck his hand out the window. "Hand me your street sweeper Peggy, and get into the back seat of the first car with Manny and Tony. You will need to fill them in on our plan. Al, make sure Frank and Phil know how we are going to proceed." Peggy took a step toward the rear of the car and tried to say something with her eyes. She knew this was where the Feds were supposed to step in. Maybe there was something wrong with the wire they had put on her, maybe she couldn't trust the Feds anymore than she could trust the criminals. She was sure Carducci was telling the truth when he said he would hand them their weapons. He didn't have any idea how many men Boxer and Marini had in there, and he could trust their fire power. Larry looked like a teenager on his first deer hunt, very excited, a little green, and desperately wanting the first kill, or not. They had both learned they could trust Joe and their weapons. They would go with what they had. Al got out of the car and took the automatic from the trunk. Peggy took one more glance around for help, then extended her weapon to Carducci. Al put the automatic in the front seat of Frank’s car and told Larry to get in the back. He then escorted Peggy to the first car and put her in the back. Carducci got in the front seat with Manny, and Al climbed into the front with Frank. The lookout couldn't see Larry's BMW because of the dumpster, still, he could see people getting into the other two cars. He left his post to walk to the office to report the strange procedure taking place across the street. It was too late. Carducci was at the office before the lookout. "You can't put them in harms way, Wyler!" Joe yelled. “Father Time, this is Team B Leader.” “Go ahead Team B,” Wyler said “Father Time we have to hold. Two cars pulled up in front of the warehouse. One if the men is Mark White.” “We have to move on Boxer’s position now,” Joe insisted. “Circumstances dictate we wait. We can't afford to blow this whole operation because a couple of felons are at possible risk. We have to wait until the situation is contained," Wyler said. "Contained! What in the hell are you calling contained?" Joe was furious. "If you weren't so personally involved, you would do the same thing.” *** Wyler needed more manpower than he could muster on such short notice. It had to end quickly. He needed live bodies to indict, not a body count. He called upon the ATF for help. After a brief argument they agreed Wyler would be in charge of the operation. His men, the A contingent, would take the office and warehouse where Boxer and Marini were hiding out. The ATF, B contingent, would take care of the weapons and Marini's men at warehouse 1014. “This is Father Time, Team One and Team Two, report.” Wyler ordered. "Team One, still clear on this end, Father Time." “Damn it. Wyler, you can't." Joe appealed. "Team Two, reporting, we have to take out the gun in the upper window before we can move in, Father Time." “A Contingent, when I move, you move. Team Two, take him out on my signal.” “B Contingent leader?” "This is B Contingent leader. White and eight of his heavily armed men are about to enter Warehouse 1014." “When I give Team Two the signal, that is your signal to proceed." "Understood, Father Time. B Contingent leader out." “Team one, go!" Carducci and the others exited their vehicles as the thug who was on guard approached. He had his hand on his weapon. "Is there something I can do for you?" It sounded like a challenge. There was a noise. It sounded like a baseball bat hitting a soft pillow. In the same instant the thug sank to his knees. Manny and another of Carducci's men grabbed the thug by the arms and dragged him out of view, behind the cars. Smoke was trailing out of the silencer on Manny's pistol. Carducci said, "Everyone in there is dead on sight, except Boxer." He turned to Peggy and Larry, “You kill Boxer when I say so, or you’re both dead." When Carducci and the others entered the building, Wyler gave the second order, and started to move in on the warehouse. "Team Two, Father Time says take him out." Boxer was sitting at his desk, when Larry and Peggy entered with Carducci. The corner and one leg was blown off his desk. A small crate was used to support that end. Sheets of plywood were nailed over each hole, one on the outer wall and two on the wall leading out into the warehouse. He was alone in the office. Carducci's men drew their weapons and entered the warehouse. Al stayed with Carducci. "Mr. Carducci? You caught them. Great! But why bring them here?" Boxer asked. He looked a little perplexed, and more than a little nervous, eyeing the weapons in everybody's hands. "Mr. Boxer, I am so disappointed in you," Carducci said, in a calm voice. "Here we have a simple janitor and your average secretary. All you had to do was eliminate them, and you were home free," then shouting at Boxer, “But what happened, Mr. Boxer? Are you capable of handling such a simple task? No. Oh, no. They wipe out two-thirds of your men," he said, with a quick sweep of the hand, as though they were clearing away an entire forest. "Then they track you and your accomplices here. Yes, your accomplices, Mr. Boxer." He lowered his voice. He spoke in a calculating tone. "Did you really think you and that nit-wit Marini and his little band of merry men could screw with us. Didn't you have any idea who you were dealing with? Not only are you going to be made an example of, Dicky boy, moreover, everybody in the damn country will know it was some simpleminded Bonnie and Clyde team that took you out; and they are going to know that they did it with a nod from The Company." Carducci looked at Al, and they simultaneously handed the weapons to Peggy and Larry. "Get rid of the double-crossing bastard.” Al was pointing his automatic at Larry and Peggy. Carducci took a step back to witness the killing. He was unarmed. Pieces of the boarded-over office window that once looked out into the warehouse, flew toward them, in concert with the automatic weapons fire emanating from the warehouse. Everyone dropped to the floor. Peggy rolled to her right, aiming her street sweeper at Carducci, while Larry leveled his weapon on Al. Boxer dove under his desk, grabbing the pistol from where it was concealed. Al fired at Larry, grazing his shoulder. Larry opened Al up from just above his left hip to his chest bone with a burst from his Cobray M-11. The two-stage silencer made the Cobray M11 sound like a motor boat propeller, chopping its way through ice. Suddenly there were Federal Agents all around them, yelling commands at everyone. Larry had a boot pressing down on the side of his jaw and neck. Another agent had his knee pressed into his left kidney, while his hands were abruptly pulled up behind him and secured. A sawed-off pump shotgun was shoved in front of Peggy's face as she was being ordered to lay down her weapon. Then she was secured in the same fashion as Larry. Boxer knew the score. He had returned the pistol to its home and laid face down on the floor with his hands behind his head, before anyone got to him. In minutes everyone alive was in handcuffs, face down on the floor. Carducci in the same moment was secured and practically carried away. Jail transports pulled into the yard and the prisoners were hauled off. Out of the twenty-two criminals caught up in the raid, at both locations, Federal Agents wounded three, one was rushed to the hospital in critical condition. Only eight paid the ultimate price: Manny had capped the guard before they entered, three of Marini's thugs were cut down by Carducci's wiseguys, the Bureau took out the lookout in the window, ATF had to kill two of the wiseguys, and Al, he was taken out by a janitor. Not withstanding the fact that indictments had not been handed down as of the sixth day since the celebrated raid, the media had been in a state of jubilation: “The modern day Bonnie and Clyde, Larry Charles and Peggy Brandt were captured in the mobsters’ nest.” “A major underworld figure, Giorgio Carducci, was captured along with one of his Lieutenants and several of his hitmen when the FBI raided a local mobsters’ warehouse.” “Several underworld hitmen were slaughtered at a local mobster's house.” “Stolen military weapons were recovered during the raid on a local gang lord’s warehouse.” “A St. Valentine’s Day-style massacre was underway when Federal Agents raided the warehouse.” The shoot out at the safe house came to light. The press reported on the death of “the Charles’ gang member, Lisa Thompkins, who was none other than the sister of Peggy Grant, Charles’ gun moll mistress.” One TV station had an exclusive on the Godfather’s private dining room in the basement of the now famous Brandenbaum Antique Emporium. Business boomed for both enterprises. The restaurant set up tables in the “Godfather’s basement,” tables only affordable to the créme de la créme of the affluent. Then, there were the functionaries for the media to quote, ridicule and praise. The Mayor was making speeches on the city’s tireless efforts to thwart the cancer, known as the Syndicate. They were, according to the Mayor, "working hand and hand with the FBI and ATF, to keep organized crime from entrenching itself in their city." The Governor said, “This is a blow to organized crime, greater than the Gotti affair.” The Attorney General applauded the combined effort of the ATF and the FBI. She said, "It was only one of the steps, planned by the Justice Department. to be taken in ending the hold Organized Crime has had on America since the beginning of the twentieth century." Behind closed doors the Police commissioner complained to the mayor about being excluded from the raid. The Mayor rebutted with not understanding how his Police Commissioner would not have gained inside information on an undertaking of such enormity. Captain Edwards complained to the Commissioner for not having been notified. It was, after all, his case. His men had been working on it for over a month. The Governor complained to the FBI, on behalf of the Mayor. There was obviously more reaming to be done, once the FBI informed the Governor it was believed there was a leak in Captain Edwards’ department. It was rumored IAD had their own investigation going. Edwards knew where the problem lay. He ordered a round the clock stakeout on Farnum. Larry and Peggy were mentioned, in the news, every time there wasn't enough to say about local mobsters or Organized Crime. They were up on murder charges and flight to avoid prosecution; so there wasn't bail. Then the whole gangster and Organized Crime Empire started to crumble. Marini wasn't talking. He claimed self defense in the Lovelli house massacre. The weapons were in Boxer's warehouse. He had just stopped in to say hello and was caught up in the raid. Boxer sold out Marini, Mark White and Carducci, in exchange for no charges being brought against him and getting a new identity. He had secret accounts. He was ready to retire. After Marini's lawyer talked to the DA and the Federal Prosecutor's Office, Marini turned state's evidence against Mark White and Carducci in exchange for a lighter sentence. The Feds told White they had him and Carducci. What could he offer that Marini and Boxer couldn't? "Cindy East," he replied. “Someone who knows all of the connections the Company has made in the last two decades." No one was interested in Peggy or Larry, except Captain Edwards. They were charged with the murder of Paul Greer and Claude Bremmer. They were charged with nine counts of murder resulting from the shoot-out at the farmhouse, however, that was a Federal matter. The Bureau agreed to let the local authorities prosecute first. The farmhouse massacre and the killings at the out of state dinner would be looked at later. All their lawyer, Earl Stromb could get in return for their help in bringing down Carducci and the others was, "what choice did they have? It was get killed by Carducci or one of the local gangsters, or turn on them and play ball with us." Larry and Peggy had nothing to offer. The Bureau had Carducci, on tape, ordering the kill of everyone in the warehouse. Manny was on tape, killing the guard outside Boxer's office, and there was an agent as witness to Manny’s killing one of Marini's thugs. Manny was one of Carducci's men who had been wounded. He was a good catch for the Bureau, a Lieutenant in The Company. Manny offered to give up three police officers who had sold out, in exchange for a walk. The Bureau wasn't interested, Joe was. "You've got him for whacking a couple goons. You should have given him a pat on the back instead of a murder charge," Joe complained to Wyler. "I don't know how you do it at the city level Joe, whereas, at the federal level, we prosecute killers no matter who they've killed," Wyler said. “That's not the way it looks when you see the deal Boxer made, or Marini's deal, or___" “Joe, don't play that on me. You know how it works. Manny is a Lieutenant, he doesn't walk away free." Joe didn't know who was dirty, besides his partner, Paul Greer; in any event, he had to take a chance on Captain Edwards. He walked into Edwards’ office, unannounced, uninvited. "The Feds have one of Carducci's men, his name is Martin Minnelli, AKA Manny. "Get the hell out of my office. Who in the hell do you think you are?" Edwards said, completely disconcerted by Farnum's appearance in front of his desk. He had risen from his chair and was about to come around his desk. “He has the names of three of our people who sold out to The Company, Greer and two others. He will give them up in exchange for immunity from prosecution," Joe said, not missing a beat. Edwards picked up a pen off his desk. He jerked his arm up over his head, then in slow motion threw it back down on the desk. He went back to his chair and sat down. He was looking at the picture of his family. "Who are the other two?" He asked. His voice held a hint of anger and anxiety. Joe couldn't tell if it was a remnant of Edwards’ reaction to his bursting into his office or something else. "He won't say without immunity." "What do they have him on?" "He killed a couple of goons, on orders from Carducci." Joe was trying to read Edwards. He watched his body posture, movements, facial expressions, and listened to his voice. That is why he had burst in. He didn't want to give Edwards time to prepare. He had to catch him off guard. "Manny is a Lieutenant, so the Feds think he is worth more than that," Joe explained. "Do you think one of the others could be in IAD?" "It's possible, however, I can't say one way or the other," Joe offered. “Of course, it's possible, damn it.” Edwards was annoyed most because he had to deal with Joe. Joe wasn’t one of the old boys, who knew how to play ball. He was partly annoyed because Joe was right about Greer. When an officer dies, he should be clean. He should die in the line of duty, just as it said in the papers. He was praised as a hero. Now the press will smear their pages with his dirt. “There’s a chance he knows who killed Barbara Coin,” Joe added. “The DA will work him. He will give us more than cops who turned, if he wants to keep off death row.” Edwards picked up the phone and hit speed dial. "This is Captain Edwards, put me through to the Commissioner. This is a matter of great urgency. He will want to speak to me right now." After a brief conversation, Edwards hung up. "The Commissioner and the mayor will apply the appropriate pressure." He sat there looking at Joe for a few seconds. "Anything else?" "No," Joe replied. "Then get the hell out of my office, and the next time knock." Edwards opened up a file, he was finished with, and started going over it. Joe took his cue and exited. Joe was relieved. He was sure Edwards wasn't selling out. He had been premature to say his partner was one of the officers being fingered by Manny, even though, he knew Greer was dirty. He had to prove it to clear Peggy and Larry of murdering him and Claude Bremmer. Three days later, a deal was struck. Wyler stopped by Joe’s apartment to give him the news. The greetings were affable, still, Wyler wasn’t convinced that Peggy and Charles were entirely innocent victims, and he didn’t like losing Manny. He stood near the entrance and gave what sounded like a report to the troops. “Joe, I stopped by to let you know you got what you asked for. Manny is going to be a free man.” Wyler stuck his hands in his pockets. “Manny’s testimony will support your friends’ story concerning your partner Paul Greer and Claude Bremmer. He’s willing to testify, Greer killed Claude in a botched attempt to kill Charles and Brandt. He also gave up Greer as the one who murdered a snitch by the name of Wiltman. Manny not only gave up the officers who were dirty, he even rolled over on Carducci. He said he was an eyewitness to Carducci’s beating a small time punk to death with a nine iron. It seems the punk stuck his hand in the till. Manny’s testimony along with our tape of Carducci ordering everyone in the warehouse killed will earn Carducci the needle. That little bit of testimony put the smile back on my face. I’ll take Carducci sitting on death row, instead of Manny, without a fight.” “Who were the dirty officers?” Joe asked. “There were three of them: your partner, Paul Greer, Fittzwater in IAD, which didn't make IAD happy and another from your detective division, Joe; an officer by the name of McKeegan.” “McKeegan?” “He was helping Greer and I out with the Coin murder. Carducci had the damned case in his pocket. Damn! It must have been Fittzwater who told Carducci about Lisa. I gave him the information when he interrogated me.” Joe grabbed a lamp, jerking the cord out of the wall as he threw it across the room, smashing it against the opposite wall. “You had no way of knowing, Joe. If you want to blame somebody, blame the system. If it wasn’t for your insistence in nailing Manny, we still wouldn’t know.” Wyler walked passed Joe and into the kitchen. “You need a beer.” Wyler took two beers out of Joe’s refrigerator and opened them. He extended one to Joe while taking a sip from his own. The two men sat down. Joe sat there looking at his beer. “Do we know who killed Barbara Coin?” Wyler seemed to relax a little. Joe was tense. “The heavies your two friends sent to the morgue, Carl Sweat and Kyle Pucci were supposed to take out Coin, but somebody beat them to it. Naming Coin’s killer is worth a free pass for most crimes these lowlifes commit, while to the contrary, no one’s raised their hand.” A terse smile crossed Joe’s lips. “At least Peggy and Larry have reason to celebrate. This thing is unraveling quickly. As the truth unfolds their innocence becomes more and more evident.” Wyler scowled. "There’s still the little matter of ten bodies out at the safe house, and the two hit men they whacked in another state; Carl Sweat and Kyle Pucci– plus crossing state lines to avoid prosecution." Until now, no one outside the press mentioned Lisa. Wyler was the first to include her. She was body number ten at the safe house. Joe could feel the anger welling up inside him once more. He knew Wyler didn’t know of his relationship with Lisa. He tried not to show how Wyler’s reference to body number ten affected him. Joe spoke in an even tone. “They were running to avoid being murdered, not to avoid prosecution. And killing the hitmen sent to murder them was obviously, self-defense. You know it and the D. A. knows it. Brandt and Charles are witnesses to Boxer’s murdering Lisa Thompkins, a secretary.” Joe’s voice raised in pitch and became harder. “Thompkins overheard Boxer planning to go out to the safe house and kill Brandt and Charles. Thompkins went out there to warn them. I gave the department the damned message she sent me, stating this.” Joe looked, uncompromisingly, at Wyler. “That tenth body, Lisa Thompkins, was murdered by Richard Boxer; the same Richard Boxer you sent free for ratting on other murderers like himself. I want your assurance, Wyler. I want you to help me put Boxer down for killing Lisa.” “You know I can’t promise anything,” Wyler said, unsure of why Joe was so personally attached to this case. “You know Boxer has immunity. Joe, you also know better than to let yourself become so personally involved.” “I’m sure you know Lisa was Peggy’s sister . . . Lisa and I were living together,” Joe said quietly. “I see.” Wyler said, forcing a breath out his of his nose. “Sorry Joe, I didn’t know.” “I know the game as well as you, Wyler. We both know when a deal is made the immunity applies to specific stated crimes.” “The shoot-out at the safe house is part of the deal. We can’t touch him on that score,” Wyler explained, sounding disgruntled. He stood up, put his beer on the table, and walked toward the door. He reached for the knob, then turned back to face Farnum. “Joe, there’s another matter being considered; your involvement in all of this.” Joe knew what Wyler was referring to. He didn’t flinch. “What’s the word going around?” “Aiding and abetting, withholding information, interfering with an investigation. You haven’t won any new friends at any government level.” “And my old ones?” “They’re still there, granting, the relationships are going to be strained until this fiasco comes to a conclusion. If your friends Charles and Brandt don’t come out of this squeaky clean, you’re going to have some dirt on you. Either way, I know you wouldn’t have gotten involved with them, if you didn’t believe they were innocent.” “Charles, Brandt and I ___” “Joe, aren’t you listening? The authorities have all the perps locked up or under protection. You want to avenge your girlfriend’s death. It isn’t going to happen. Stay the hell out of it. You’re on suspension. You have no legal authority. You think you’re digging a Goddamned tunnel to get to the light at the other end. You’re not. You’re digging your friggin’ grave.” Joe stood with his body at an angle to Wyler. His feet were planted squarely beneath him. He looked as though Wyler had just challenged him to step outside and settle a score. “As I started to say, Charles, Brandt and I are going to solve the Coin murder. We will need your help; just the same, we will do it without you.” The door closed hard behind Wyler, although, not hard enough to be considered having been slammed. The tension was still in the room after Wyler left. There wouldn’t be a celebration. Not yet. Farnum, Charles & Thompkins Earl Stromb argued before a federal judge that his clients weren't running from the police. They were running from the local gangsters and from organized crime. When they trusted Detective Sergeant Greer, they were almost killed. They couldn't trust the police. They were out there on their own. Only when they had something to offer to the FBI, did they receive help from the authorities; and the authorities jumped at the chance because without the help offered by Larry Charles and Peggy Brandt, the authorities would have spent years of investigation and millions of dollars without achieving the overwhelming results brought about by Charles and Brandt. Stromb also pointed out that it was while under the protection of the authorities that Charles had to shoot Al, one oh Carducci’s henchmen, in self-defense. A week later, they were out on bail. The Bureau still hadn’t brought up specific charges against them. Peggy and Larry sat around the small table in Joe's kitchen. They had been on the run for so long, they had forgotten about Peggy's apartment having been burnt out. They had no other place to go. Everything else they owned had been left at the safe house. They were both unemployed, and had spent almost all of their savings. There was a possibility they might not be cleared of all charges stemming from the killing of Sergeant Greer. Despite their lawyer’s efforts, and the court allowing them bail, the DA’s office was pursuing the matter of fleeing to avoid prosecution, crossing state lines, withholding evidence and the list went on. In spite of everything, they still had confidence in the system. With the help of Joe and their lawyer, the possibility of not being cleared seemed too remote to give it a second thought. Peggy and Larry had three immediate concerns: making Boxer pay the price for killing Lisa, imposing on Joe and finding out who killed Barbara Coin. The latter should have been a moot point, when in fact, they couldn’t let it go. This is where it all had started. They couldn’t explain it, but they knew they wouldn’t have peace of mind, and fully accept Lisa’s death until Barbara’s murder was solved. Part of it was knowing Lisa wouldn't have rested until the crime was solved. Another part of it was how much it had cost them. They demanded payment. As far as Boxer was concerned, they couldn’t do anything as long as he was under the Bureau’s protection. The three of them had an implicit oath to make him pay, one way or the other. "Let me bring you up to date," Joe said. He filled them in on the progress he and Lisa had made while they were at the safe house. He told them about his search of Claude’s and Barbara’s apartments, everything he learned in Jefferson City and his interviews with Henry Coin and Jennifer Lattice. “We need to check further into Jennifer Lattice's background. I think we will find her real name is Jennifer Scott, the daughter of Anthony Scott. Everything we know points to the murderer being either Jennifer Lattice or Henry Coin, not a professional." "Why frame me if it wasn't Carducci or one of the other's who had it done?" Larry asked. “Possibly to protect Jennifer Lattice. If she is Scott’s daughter, he would use his position in the family to protect her. The killer is someone who knew Barbara, someone who was able to get close enough without her first putting up a struggle or screaming for help. There are three people, we know of, who fit that category, Jennifer Lattice, Henry Coin and Claude Bremmer," Joe said. “Claude?” Peggy asked. “He was Scott’s nephew and had access to Barbara’s apartment. Remember the broken circuit breaker?” “Yes,” Larry said, thoughtfully, “you told us about that. He probably threw it, to flash the lights on and off, to warn whoever was in Barbara’s apartment of her arrival, and it failed. So, what do we do now?” “We start with our hypothesis and see if it holds up under scrutiny. We look for a motive and physical evidence, corroborating testimony, and holes in Jennifer and, or Coin’s stories.” “This sounds awfully familiar,” Larry said. “If it weren’t for your partner’s brutality, I’d probably be sitting on death row right now. You built a case against me. You had a hypothesis that held up under scrutiny, you had physical evidence; you blew holes in what was the truth of my innocence. Now you tell us, we are going to build a case against someone else for the very same murder, I would have been convicted of committing. And, you tell us we will do it in the very same way a case was built against me? No! Oh no! Not this time! This time we need hard evidence, not just build a case against someone. This time we aren’t going to just take physical evidence and make it fit a hypothesis to convict a possible suspect.” Larry was staring hard into -Joe’s eyes. “Larry’s right,” Peggy added, “we won’t just create a scenario - a good prosecutor might be able to sell to a jury. We have to have hard proof, proof beyond a shadow of a doubt.” She bristled with moral indignation at the thought of anything less. Suddenly Joe felt like he was in an enemy camp. The tone of their voices said they were talking to Police Detective Joseph Farnum. He leaned back in his chair, moving his arms away from his torso. A posture that one who felt comfortable and safe would assume, still, the tension in his body was noticeable. He was exposing himself to whatever blows may follow. “I understand how you feel and why you feel that way. What happened to the two of you was an injustice. It never should have happened. I can’t and wouldn’t try to justify it. What I can do is explain why it happened. Maybe we can all learn from it, and justice will profit by it.” “Look,” Larry said, glancing quickly at Peggy, “we owe you our lives, and we don’t blame you for everything that happened. If I had been on a jury, I would have convicted me of Barbara Coin’s murder. Joe, that scares the hell out of us. I would rather fight a thousand Carducci’s and all of their hoodlums than have to fight the murky fog of circumstantial evidence.” Joe nodded his head. The concern in Larry’s voice when he said, “Joe”, was reassuring. Joe seemed to be looking somewhere within the molecular structure at the center of the table. “Earl Stepplebottom killed Barbara Coin,” he announced. “Who?” Larry exclaimed. “What in the hell?” “What are you saying?” Peggy gasped. Joe looked back and forth at his two dumfounded friends as he explained it to them. “Earl Stepplebottom, a transient, and a user. He needed a fix. He broke into her apartment, she came in and surprised him. He killed her, and having taken everything he could stuff into his bag, got the hell out of there. In that neighborhood, he was as common as the flies flitting around the garbage cans. Nobody paid any particular attention to him. He hopped freight, and is now in a drunk tank in South Florida.” “Now, the problem is, we don’t know that. Unless something he hocked to get cash turns up, we may never know that. More than half the crimes committed in this country go unsolved because we never find out about Earl Stepplebottom. To catch all the bad people, they would have to give the police notice, and wait at least twenty minutes for a crowd to form, before committing the crime. And you know what? The eye witnesses wouldn’t agree on what they saw.” “With our human imperfections, with our lack of omniscience, we have to rely on what we know. We conceptualize from what we know, and form a hypothesis. It is our duty as detectives to prove or disprove our hypothesis. Once we have sufficiently proven it, we present it to a jury, and it is up to them to decide the truth of the case.” “If you have a better system, I am all for it. Let’s throw out some ideas and see where it leads us.” Joe’s body relaxed. He had circumvented the attack and opened up a channel of communication. Once more he was a friend, once more he was trusted. Peggy leaned forward smiling. She reached her hand out to Joe. She looked a little uncomfortable, but became more comfortable as she spoke. “Unlike the police,” she paused, “detectives Farnum, Charles and Thompkins will attack each hypothesis from both perspectives. If neither of you mind, I will play the devil’s advocate and work to disprove the hypotheses.” Joe took Peggy’s hand. “Good idea, Peggy. You will save us time by keeping us from going down the wrong path.” “Why don’t the police do this?” Larry asked. “They do, Larry, to some extent,” Joe explained. “I guess part of the problem is pay raises and promotions are based on merit, for the most part. Solving cases moves you ahead, not disproving hypotheses. Then there are the time and money factors. How much time do you put into one case when there are so many others? Manpower is limited. How much taxpayers’ money do you spend on a given case? A vagrant is stabbed to death the same day a celebrity’s son is stabbed to death; where does the press tell the public the time and money should be spent? Public and political outcries on spending are heard louder inside the department. Public and political outcries for solving crimes are heard the loudest outside the department. It’s really a complicated issue.” Joe smiled his unique smile. Peggy and Larry had come to be heartened by it. They smiled back, waiting to hear what was behind it. “You know what? I think we just formed the partnership and Detective Agency of Farnum, Charles, and Thompkins.” They raised their glasses of orange juice. “To Lisa,” Joe said. “To Lisa,” the three of them toasted, their voices cracking a little. Joe was smiling inwardly. “Is that why you said Thompkins instead of Brandt, Peggy?” A tear trickled done her cheek. “Yes.” She didn’t dare say more and spoil the mood. “Peggy and I certainly have gained some practical experience in being detectives. What are the legal requirements?” Larry asked. “Three thousand hours of practical experience is the basic requirement. You each have about what, maybe three hundred hours? Until then, you are my associates.” Peggy was both excited and apprehensive at the reality of the commitment to become an officially recognized detective. She could feel a few butterflies as she spoke. “Okay, I’ll do research, interviews, and be the devil’s advocate, right?” She asked, looking at her senior partner. “Yes,” Joe responded, “and I will direct our operations as well as perform field work and research. I’ll also handle the press and authorities when necessary. Larry, you, of course, will not only be invaluable in carrying out the general duties and responsibilities of a detective; fieldwork, research, etceteras. You will of course be expected to carry on in your present capacity, because of your experience at it.” “Which is?” Larry queried. “Larry, there is always the partner that gets hit over the head, beat up, shot__” The three of them burst into tears of laughter. When they had regained their composure to some extent, Joe said, shaking his head, and in a half serious tone of voice, “Don’t do that anymore, Larry.” The laughter exploded in the room once more. A lifetime bond had been formed. “Enough about Larry getting beat up and shot,” Peggy said, wiping the joyful tears from her eyes. “I think we should go on to a more important subject.” Their laughter ignited once more, though, it extinguished quickly. She blew a kiss across the table to him. “First thing tomorrow, I will do a little research and find out if Jennifer’s last name is Scott.” “I would like to have a talk with Jennifer,” Larry said. “She came into my room in the hospital. She left as soon as I awoke, still, I think she wants to tell me something.” Joe wrote her address on a piece of paper. “This is where she lives. I have a feeling you will do better if you don’t make a reference to my conversation with her. Just a feeling I have. I’m going to do a little digging into Henry Coin’s background, and then have another talk with him.” *** Larry was unsuccessful at catching up with Jennifer. He either just missed her or no one knew where she was. According to the door attendant, she’d been gone all day. He returned to Joe’s apartment to see how the others made out. Joe and Peggy were al ready there. “I didn’t get to talk with Coin,” Joe said. I did find out his present project is funded by Leveler Corporation, which is a front for another company, which is a front for another company, and the list goes on and on. I had a friend at the Bureau run the names of these companies through the system and guess what, two of them are known to be fronts for organized crime operations.” “I thought front companies were just names on paper and didn’t really exist. You know, with each scam, they make up new names, and the old ones just disappear from use?” Larry queried. Joe nodded his head in agreement. “Many companies used for illegitimate purposes are only on paper and do disappear, even though, they have to be registered with the Federal Trade Commission, so there is a record of their paper existence. The Company changes corporate names like changing socks; in any case, these two are legitimate companies owned and operated by known crime figures.” “So it looks like Coin is working for the mob,” Larry said, sounding delighted at the news. “At the least he’s building something for them,” Joe said. “When I went by his construction site in the pier district, the site struck me as odd. Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of construction sites in this city. Coin has some equipment at his site that isn’t typical, and he has some heavy duty dirt hauling vehicles. You would think he was cutting a pass through the mountains. Tomorrow, I’m having an engineer. I know, go down there and see if he can discern what kind of project Coin is involved in on behalf of The Company.” Peggy took the momentary silence as her cue to fill them in on what she had discovered. “Jennifer Scott, I learned, married Paul Lattice, while in her last year of college. The marriage lasted six months. Paul Lattice lives in Omaha, Nebraska. He said he hadn’t heard from Jennifer since they divorced during their last year in school.” *** “There’s a Mr. Charles requesting to see you, Ms. Lattice,” the door attendant said. He was about to address her again because of the long silence, when she replied. “You can send him up, Perry.” Jennifer was wearing lounging pajamas and a peignoir. She must have put the peignoir on after agreeing to see Larry. She moved like a cat, her body brushing the coffee table as she slinked around it. She settled into the end of the sofa, curling her bare feet up under her. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Charles.” Her beauty and innate sensuality stirred something within him. The grim photographs of her ex-lover's body, and her own stern and angered expressions in recent photos didn’t prepare him for the enchanting creature who purred before him. Her bewitching charm ended at her eyes. He saw the same thing in them when he awoke to see her in his hospital room. It was a haunting mien of anguish or remorse. It was as though she were trying to keep it buried, nevertheless, it was breaking through her defenses. It allowed him to regain his footing. “You wanted to tell me something,” he said. It was almost a question. Jennifer was well aware of his first reaction to her. With one graceful movement of her arm she stroked the armchair next to her. “Yes, sit here and we’ll talk.” Larry sat down. He could feel his heart beating. She sounded as though she were about to make a confession. “How can I help you?” he asked. He couldn’t read what had just flashed for an instant in her eyes. It was too quick a change, too well controlled, and he was too inexperienced. Helping her, wasn’t what she had expected to hear. Not after what he had been through. “Mr. Charles, I’m sorry for all you have suffered. I know you didn’t kill Barbara. I was sure of it when they first arrested you.” “Thank you, Ms. Lattice. I appreciate that. If you are now certain I didn’t do it, do you know who did kill her?” “According to what I’ve read and heard in the news, you are quite close to Detective Farnum, are you not?” she prompted. “Yes. You might say we are now working together to discover who did kill Barbara.” Larry felt a little off center, discussing this with her. It isn’t the way he had expected the conversation to go. He didn’t want his relationship with Joe to prevent her from talking with him. “When I talked with Detective Farnum, he asked me about Barbara’s camera. I think I know where you may find it. I think Henry Coin, Barbara’s ex-husband has it.” She looked sincerely into his eyes. “I can’t prove it, whereas, I think with a little work, you can prove he murdered Barbara. I went to see him at his work site, under the pretense of wanting to find out if he was interested in having some of Barbara’s things. He had to leave his office for a few moments, and I rifled through his desk. I found some negatives in an envelope in his lower right desk drawer. They were from her camera.” “How could you know what camera they were from?” Larry asked. “She used a Minox LX. You know, one of those little compact, spy cameras. I have seen the negatives many times. I’m sure of it. I’m sure Henry doesn’t have one of those cameras.” “What kind of pictures were on the negatives?” “I was a little nervous, I didn’t want to get caught. I didn’t study them. I think one was a picture of Henry and Giorgio Carducci.” “Are you saying that you know for certain Henry Coin is in bed with the mob?” Larry’s interest was piqued. “I know he has built several buildings for them.” Jennifer leaned toward Larry. The scent of her perfume wafted about him. She smelled delicious. “I’m an awful hostess. Can I get you something to drink, Larry?” She arose, her body leaning toward him, then moving away as she centered her footing. Larry watched her glide toward the bar. “A soda and cranberry juice would be nice.” “You were convinced he killed Barbara before you found the pictures. Why?” “Barbara was working on The Company takeover of the pier district. Everybody knows they control the Unions, however, what they didn’t control was the gun running and dope smuggling businesses. There were rumors that Henry was going under. He needed a sizable loan to keep afloat. The Company more than likely, is financing him. If you dig deep enough I’ll bet that you’ll find The Company owns the project Henry is working on. If Barbara’s story broke, they would bail, and it would bankrupt him.” Jennifer prepared their drink and walked back to resume her position at the end of the sofa. She handed him his drink. Her peignoir opened and rippled across his legs as she passed by him. She twirled her body ninety degrees and settled into the sofa. Jennifer placed her hand on Larry’s arm. “Barbara always worked to bring justice into the world. It wasn’t just a matter of getting the big story with her. Neither she, nor I, will rest until Henry pays for what he’s done. Larry, I’m telling you this because next to Barbara, you have suffered the most at the hands of Henry Coin. You’ve proven yourself to be a man of action. Like Barbara, you fight to bring justice to light. Your friend Detective Farnum is good at what he does, regardless; he has a police officer’s mentality. To catch someone like Henry, you have to be more open minded.” Jennifer ran her hand along the length of Larry’s upper arm and gently squeezed his biceps. “Larry, I need you to help me catch Henry. I think you need to make him pay for what he did, as much as Barbara and I do.” *** Trucks were hauling rock from Coin’s construction site. Several diesel engines were running, supplying power to operate equipment, generators and air compressors. A conveyor noisily carried rock fragments from the excavation and deposited them into the back of a dump truck. It went unheard, amongst the pounding rhythm of the diesels. Dust whirled here and there as a gust of wind swept through the channels created by the buildings and equipment. Men in hard hats and steel-toed boots moved quickly, some giving directions, others moving materials and equipment. As with any construction site, the workers who stood out were the ones not moving. One member of this group stood out in particular. It wasn’t only the way he dressed–a quality of clothing more suitable for a trek through the woods– it was also his demeanor. He exuded a nervous energy. It was as though he had to force himself to stand and watch the operation. Joe headed toward him. As he neared his quarry, he noted something else: the man’s eyes were hard, uncaring and unforgiving. His face was a well-practiced mask, allowing nothing within to reach the surface. “Louie, Louie the Fixer,” Joe yelled over the din, “am I right?” Joe walked to within inches of him, his eyes riveted on the perps. He had no idea who the perp was, nonetheless, he knew what he was. The perp moved his head, looking around Joe. “You’re wrong. Now get the hell out of my way, I’m trying to get a job done here,” he said authoritatively. He seemed unperturbed by Joe’s action. “You are connected. The Company is paying you. Would you like to come down town with me and answer a few questions?” Joe bluffed. It was obvious to Joe that the perp recognized him as being “the man.” “About what?” the man asked, still ignoring Joe’s presence as much as possible. “Permits, excavating below the water table within twelve hundred feet of the pier, noise hazards, other environmental issues.” Joe took him by the arm as though he were about to lead him away. The man looked at him for the first time. If looks could kill, Joe could have brought him up on attempted murder charges. “This is the Coin construction company. You need to talk to him, not me. I just work here,” the man yelled back. Joe let go of the man’s arm, took a step back, and looked him over. He pulled his suit coat open, exposing his pistol. “Turn around and place your hands behind your head,” Joe ordered. For three long seconds the man stared at Joe before complying. Joe patted him down. The man was unarmed. Joe pulled the wallet out of the man’s pocket and went through it. The man turned slightly and watched Joe out of the corner of his eye. Anything-uninteresting Joe tossed on the ground. “What the fuck?” “Shut up or I’ll bury you in that pit,” Joe ordered. He found two different sets of identification in the wallet. He put both in his pocket and tossed the wallet into the pit. “You’re done here, Frank, or whatever your name is. I don’t want to see you here, again,” Joe ordered. “There’s going to be hell to pay for this, you pig bastard!” Joe pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Or do I have to move you?” Joe turned, watching Frank make his exit. As he completed the half circle turn he saw three roughnecks glaring at him, unsure of what to do. “Who’s next?” Joe yelled. They glanced at each other and followed Frank. Now, it was time to talk to Henry. When he entered Coin’s trailer, one of Coin’s foremen was talking with him. They stood, leaning over the plans on his desk. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Detective, if you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a moment,” Coin said. “Get out of here,” Joe said to the foreman. One look at Joe and the foreman left. He had seen too many men with hard questioning eyes on this project to challenge his authority. “Carducci, Boxer, Marini, White and the others have all been brought down. I just ran Frank and three goons out of here. He’s going to report to his boss. You have just become expendable.” “I heard about those people on the news. What do they have to do with me?” Henry looked shocked. “You have tunneling equipment, two blocks from the pier. You have all ready violated several ordinances by digging too deep into the rock bed, below the water table. You would need permits and licenses only given to city and higher government organizations. You are working for a company that is owned by Organized Crime. You have known organized crime members on your payroll. You will be brought before a Congressional Committee on organized crime to testify. You and your lawyer will want to work a deal. Your employer can’t allow that.” Joe smiled his incarnate smile. Henry felt a cold pall fall over him as his stomach tied into a knot and he broke out into a sweat. He sank into his chair. He looked small, shriveled by the certainty of his own tenuous mortality. “She didn’t know. She trusted me. That’s why she sent it to me.” He was looking at Joe. He was looking for understanding. “Who are you talking about?” “Barbara. She sent it to me, the Concept Award. She sent it to me, not knowing about my connection. She had them, had them cold. I thought I could warn her off, when in fact, it was too late. I thought I could use it to protect myself.” “So you killed her__” Joe started. “No!” Henry blurted dolefully. “No, I wanted to warn her. I wanted to let her know, they were on to her, so she would have to give up her pursuit.” “What went wrong?” Henry shrugged, “They killed her. She would have brought them all down. They were supposed to tell me where she was staying; instead, they went there and killed her. Now it’s my turn. The CD is meaningless now. It was my protection. Now it’s all out in the open. I’m a dead man, Detective.” “Let’s start from the beginning.” A half an hour later, Joe took Henry and Carducci’s blueprints to his friend Wyler. Henry had explained to Joe how he had seen Barbara working undercover and had passed it on to Galvani. When the Concept Award arrived in the mail, he knew there had to be a significant reason for her sending it to him. He had found a miniature CD under the emblem. It contained all the information she had gathered on the pier district’s crime organizations, and The Company’s attempts to take over. Henry held on to the CD as leverage against The Company. He saw it as a means of remaining indispensable and alive. Everything was out in the open now, and his own testimony would be more damaging than the CD. When Larry told Joe about his talk with Jennifer, Joe passed the information on to Wyler. The FBI obtained warrants and went through Henry Coin’s Office and his house. *** The three of them were conferencing in the kitchen again. “I don’t buy it.” Larry was saying, “It’s too pat. She just happened to find photos in Coin’s desk, condemning him? She was too alluring. And where are all of the rest of Barbara’s things?” “You were, allured?” Peggy asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m saying she was very feminine, sultry in voice and movement.” Peggy raised herself up by straightening her shoulders and spinal column. “Do you mean to say that a lesbian can’t be feminine and alluring?” “No, that isn’t what I mean. I had the definite impression that she was trying to win me over as a man.” Joe took a sip of coffee. “Did she make you feel uncomfortable, and did it show?” Larry shook his head no. “This is something I thought about after leaving her apartment. At the time, when I was, allured, I was very comfortable,” he added smiling. Peggy smiled and poked her tongue out at him. “Good,” Joe said, “maybe we can use your budding relationship to our advantage.” “What do you mean?” “As we have already discussed, Barbara’s murder was too messy to have been committed by a professional. The clean up was a professional job, for the most part,” Joe said. “The flashlight in the wall, and the murder weapon in the sink,” Peggy qualified. “Exactly,” Joe said. “I see Jennifer written all over it. Her father’s people cleaning up after her.” “Except for the knife in the sink, that was Claude,” Larry added. “Yes, it must have been Claude that removed it,” Joe agreed, “still, it was Jennifer that panicked and hid it in the sink. Claude was helping his cousin and uncle by marriage, under Company orders. Larry, you said when Claude was telling you about Greer being trapped in the bathroom; Claude made a reference to him being roped into things.” Larry nodded his head in concordance. “No one, except Greer, the perp and I knew exactly what had happened,” Joe continued. Jennifer had borrowed a utility knife from Claude. If we find the missing suitcase and briefcase, and probably some clothing items, we will find the linings have been cut open. She was looking for something like the diskette you found and the CD Henry Coin found hidden in the trophy. She knew Barbara’s habits. She had looked behind the medicine cabinet. That means Barbara knew about Jennifer’s connection to The Company, via her father. She didn’t use her usual hiding places. She used her Ex. When Barbara found someone in her apartment, she hid the diskette as best she could. Peggy leaned forward, the excitement of discovery in her voice. “It’s possible Barbara tried to lock herself in the bathroom and was knocked to the floor. “There weren’t any traces, epidermal or fabric fibers under her fingernails, and no defensive wounds.” Joe reminded her. “My God!” Peggy exclaimed. “She had more concern for protecting her story than for protecting her life. She died hiding the diskette.” “A fatal mistake,” Joe said, nodding his head. “The lights went out when Claude’s and Jennifer’s arraigned signal of flashing the lights on and off left Jennifer in the dark. The breaker failed.” “Wait a minute,” Peggy said, “why would she take time to gather everything up and take it with her, and leave the murder weapon behind?” “She didn’t. The mob cleaned up her mess,” Joe said, supporting his theory. “I think she went there to protect her father, not necessarily to kill Barbara. She knew what Barbara was working on. I think there was a struggle in the dark and Barbara’s throat was sliced open, possibly unintentionally.” “Except, the police were there five minutes after I called. I heard them moving around upstairs. No one else had time to gather up the evidence and take it out of there,” Larry countered. Joe looked surprised. “Five minutes? It wasn’t us, Larry. It took us fifteen minutes to get there after you called.” “Barbara’s ex, Henry Coin can fit the same scenario,” Peggy said. “He has access to utility knives, and he has a motive. He cleans up his own mess, or he uses his cell phone to call his mob connection, and they clean up his mess to protect their investment.” “If he were that cool and collected, he wouldn’t have put the murder weapon in the sink,” Larry pointed out. “How about this,” Joe offered, “Henry calls the Syndicate like he said, and they send someone over there to kill Barbara. Jennifer kills Barbara. She panics and leaves. When the Syndicate arrives, Barbara is dead, they gather up her stuff, not knowing Jennifer is the murderer, or that the murder weapon is in the sink. They’re just glad she’s dead, and they have an opportunity to get rid of everything and anything that could be incriminating.” “The flashlight and pictures are incriminating evidence against Henry, who admits wanting to get his ex out of the picture,” Peggy said. “Yes,” Joe said, and I think Jennifer planted the photos in Coins desk and dropped Coin’s flashlight in the wall.” The phone rang. It was Wyler. Joe shook his head no, “I think you’re wrong. I think Jennifer Lattice killed her. If I come up with something definite, I’ll give you a call. Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Wyler.” He hung up. “They found Barbara’s camera in Coin’s house and the negatives, of course, in his desk. That diver’s flashlight, they found a receipt for it. It’s his.” “Let’s not lose sight of the fact, we still have three suspects,” Peggy said. “Three?” Larry asked. “Yes, three,” Peggy said, Henry Coin, Jennifer Lattice, and Earl Stepplebottom. I realize we can only work with what we have. I’m going to pursue the Henry Coin angle, because I know you two are going to pursue the Jennifer Lattice angle. Oh, and please, if something doesn’t fit our neat little scenarios, let’s see if it fits Earl’s profile, Okay?” They all agreed, and started to plan their next course of action. “You said when you interviewed Jennifer, she told you Coin wanted to lay claim to all of Barbara’s property,” Larry submitted. “I’ll go back to see Jennifer, and thank her for her help in proving Coin killed Barbara. I’ll see if I can get her to talk a little more about what she had of Barbara’s to offer Henry, so he wouldn’t be suspicious of her motives. “Yes, and see if you can get her to elaborate on Coin’s motives, and why she refused to talk about the trophy when I interviewed her,” Joe suggested. “There was something about that trophy. When I saw the one on display in the Today’s Journalist showcase, I knew there was something different about the one Coin had. I think it was the emblem. Maybe he didn’t get it glued on right. Anyway, I’m going to look at the pictures they found in his desk and see if Wyler will let me talk with Coin. Let’s see if we can find some common links in their stories, and filter out the fiction.” “I’m going to chart out what we have and look for inconsistencies,” Peggy said. *** Larry had to wait a few minutes before Jennifer let him in. When he entered, she was wearing a one-piece designer suit. It was made of a translucent, white, Chinese silk, with a floral pattern. She wore nothing under it. Larry kept his eyes on hers, and off the areolas surrounding her hard nipples. “You’re back so soon? I hope it’s good news, or should I feel flattered?” Jennifer said, smiling warmly. “I’m the one who’s flattered. I’m sure you realize, you are as beautiful as you are intelligent. Admitting that, it is only half of the reason why I’m here. They’re charging Henry Coin with Barbara’s murder. I thought I owed it to you to tell you in person,” Larry said. His right hand fumbled with the edge of his pants pocket, while giving her a sheepish grin. “Let me get us a drink to celebrate. A real drink this time,” she entreated. As she walked away from him, he could see all the way down the separation between the well-toned cheeks of her buttocks. As Jennifer walked toward Larry, there was no denying her attempt at seducing him. To ignore it or act as though he had no interest in her beauty would have been insulting at the least and comical at best. He realized he had to use it to his advantage. He took his time in enjoying the beauty of her erogenous zones, caressing them with his eyes. She took her time bringing him his drink, allowing him the advantage. She handed him the cocktail. It was ten in the morning. “You can have more if you so desire,” she said softly. Larry stared into her eyes. He could see hers searching his. “I was going to ask you something, although, I can’t remember what.” Jennifer led him to a sofa and sat down next to him. She raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to our success and the downfall of Henry Coin. May he lose everything he stole and burn in hell for Barbara’s death.” Larry leaned away from her. “That is what I wondered about,” he said. “You said he wanted to get everything Barbara owned. What specifically did you entice him with when you used his greed as an excuse to see him? You know, when you searched his office.” “I told him since Barbara was an important part of both of our lives, we should share in her memories. I asked him to make a list of the things he would cherish in her memory and we could discuss it. You see, there may be some things the both of us want.” Larry leaned toward her, putting his arm along the back of the sofa. “So it wasn’t just a ploy. You did want to share some things with him?” Jennifer responded by caressing his lips with hers. “In a sense.” Larry kissed her on the neck. She continued while he nibbled on her ear and kissed her neck some more. “You see, the Concept Award is something Barbara and I worked on together. The initial concept was mine. The unmasking of legal business enterprises investing in criminal activities. Mark White is the only one caught; in any event, he was the biggest fish. Of course, Barbara, being Barbara, ran with it. Everyone thinks she cut me out of the picture when it came time to do the article. She didn’t, I cut myself out . . . for my own reasons. I did want some credit for the initial concept. It’s not like they say she didn’t really steal it. The point is, we both earned the award and the police have released it to him. Since someone had mailed it to him, the authorities see it as his property. Now that he is in jail . . .” She placed his hand on her breast. “I thought you might be able to, you know, kind of pick it up and bring it to me. You can get access to his place.” Larry was feeling guilty for using her, and enjoying it. She had given him the answer to her motives and at the same time, had given him his way out of a wonderfully embarrassing situation. He moved his hand away from her breast. “Oh, Jennifer, it’s too late. The FBI has taken the award as evidence,” he said, a hint of surprise at her not knowing about it. “What kind of evidence?” she asked. “Coin told them about a miniature CD that had been hidden in it. All of her work, everything she had uncovered was on it.” Jennifer sat up straight. Larry did the same. Jennifer’s mouth dropped open for an instant, then she smiled. “How very clever,” she almost whispered. Then she said in a serious tone, “That’s more proof of his guilt. He had the physical evidence, and murdered her so she couldn’t tell anyone about his involvement.” “The CD never mentioned him. It seems she didn’t know about his connection to the mob. There was also a floppy diskette. She must have hidden it under the tub, while she was being murdered.” “Oh God,” she breathed. “Its filename was ‘Cindy East.’ Henry Coin wasn’t mentioned on the CD. However, Cindy East, or Anthony Scott, your father, and others were mentioned in great detail. The mob won’t be able to operate in this section of the coast for some time.” Larry explained. “I. . . this is all so, disturbing.” She looked lost for a moment. Then she smiled, biting back the tears. “She never lost her nerve. Nothing ever rattled her. That’s why she did the fieldwork, and I did the research. I get too emotional. Family and the ones I love . . . You can be so torn. She loved her work. . . .” “How did you know about the CD?” he asked. “I didn’t. You don’t understand, the award was ours, not his. I knew he wouldn’t give it to me so I called . . . Would you mind . . .?” She pleaded. “No, of course not.” He brushed a few stray hairs away from her face and kissed her on the forehead. He felt sorry for her. He got up from the sofa, and turned to leave. “You never got an erection.” Larry turned to face her. “You got what you came for, even if you don’t realize it. The Award was the only place . . .” Her eyes were wet. “Funny, It’s the symbol of what brought us together, intellectually.” She arose from the sofa. Her body shook as though one instantaneous shiver went through her body. Tears streamed down her face. Her voice remained even. “I’m sorry for all that this has cost you.” Jennifer immediately left the room. Larry stood there looking at the door through which she had disappeared. He wasn’t sure if he should go after her. If he did, what could he say, or do? He swallowed the lump in his throat and left. When Larry arrived at Joe’s house, no one was there. He couldn’t just sit there and wait. He called Wyler’s office and asked if Joe Farnum was there. After a few moments, Joe answered the phone. “This is Farnum.” “Joe, it’s Larry. I just came from Jennifer’s. I think she confessed to killing Barbara.” “What do you mean, you think she confessed?” Joe asked. “She didn’t come out and say I killed Barbara, on the other hand, she became very emotional. She wanted me to steal the Concept Award and bring it to her. She didn’t know about the CD hidden in it, I don’t think. I’m sure she didn’t know about the floppy. Joe, she was shocked. I think she was trying to protect her father.” “You know the pictures she said she found? No prints on them. One picture was Coin’s contact, Galvani, shaking hands with Coin at his construction site. And there was one with Carducci and another with Mark White. At least one, the one with Galvani, was taken after Barbara was murdered. Coin has receipts to show when the equipment in the background of the picture arrived. The others probably were taken after Barbara’s murder as well. I think her intent was to incriminate and hang the murder on him. It sounds like she gave you her motive. All we need to do is thread it together. The Feds are going on the basis she acted to cover up for The Company. It’s being treated as a Federal matter. They're on their way there now to bring her in for questioning. She’s only one step away from a murder charge.” Peggy had spent the day in the library, making a trip to the county clerk’s office and one to the Federal Building. She was on her way home when she heard the news on the radio. The three of them sat in Joe’s living room. Peggy and Larry held on to each other on the sofa. Joe sat in his armchair. There were mixed emotions. The case had been solved, but the murderer had escaped the law. Peggy had a death grip on Larry’s arm and hand. He wouldn’t realize it until later. Joe cleared his throat. “The note she left read, ‘I only wanted to protect the two people I loved. Instead I murdered one, and destroyed the other. I could have paid my way to hell with sleeping pills. Instead, I chose to pay for my sins by committing the gruesome act of strangulation. It sounds slow and horrible. I can’t wait. It will be the only act of bravery I have ever committed in my life.” *** She stood on the arm of a chair, and tied the silk cord from her robe to the chandelier. To insure there wouldn’t be any slack in the cord, Jennifer stretched her body and stood on her tip toes while tying the other end around her neck. She didn’t want to chance snapping her neck. She didn’t want to become paralyzed, thus robbing her of the pain she hoped to endure. Resting her weight on the cord she slowly let her feet slip off the chair. Her body jerked spasmodically on the cord as she involuntarily gasped for air. She twisted counter clockwise, then clockwise, convulsing, fighting to survive. The force applied to the chandelier pulled it loose from it’s mounting. The wires held her fast to the ceiling, her toes touching the floor. While the cord cut off the flow of blood though her veins, arterial flow continued to pump blood to her brain. The pressure caused bleeding through the soft membrane of her lips, inside her mouth and through her eyelids. Her face became congested and dark red. Not once did she think of regaining her footing. She was free. *** “I shouldn’t have left her. I could have prevented it. The Feds must have arrived only moments after I left,” Larry felt hollow inside. He tried to maintain that feeling so the sickening feeling that accompanies guilt wouldn’t return. While shaking his arm for emphasis, Peggy said, “Larry, maybe she would still be alive if you had stayed. You’d have been unwanted, uninvited, probably fighting with a crying, screaming woman. The Authorities would have come in and taken the both of you into custody. She would have regained her balance and blamed you and Coin for the murder.” “I think she’s right Larry,” Joe said, looking amused at Peggy’s abuse of Larry’s arm. “I’ve seen it happen more than once. The sickening pale of guilt that engulfs many criminals turns into treachery, blaming their actions on anyone they can think of. Once they leave that sphere of looking at themselves in the light of their own evil, they fight for their own survival. If we presented video tapes of confessions at all trials, the conviction rate would be one hundred percent. She, Larry, not you, is responsible for her actions.” “I charted out everything we know about this case,” Peggy said. “I researched the things that my queries led to. There is strong physical evidence and a mountain of circumstantial evidence to charge you or Henry Coin for Barbara’s murder. Without a confession, there is only a theory to connect Jennifer with the murder. There isn’t any proof she took the pictures found in Coins’ desk, or that she knew about them beforehand. With Claude dead, there isn’t anyone to put her at the murder scene. Her father certainly wouldn’t turn on her. With a good lawyer, and she has good lawyers, she would never see the inside of a courtroom. Oh, and Joe, I can find no conceivable way to connect Earl Stepplebottom to the murder.” Joe smiled. His two partners became attentive. “Instead of moaning over the things we can’t control, we should be celebrating the combined genius of our team. Larry, despite Jennifer not being able to bear the burden of her crime, you got her to open up and admit it. The rest of your history, as a crime fighter, is legendary. Peggy, your logic, analyses, research capabilities, not to mention your ability to get out of tight situations, are qualities other detectives can only strive to acquire. The two of you, coupled with my experience and connections, can only mean success for the Agency known as Farnum, Charles and Thompkins.” “Look, Joe,” Peggy said, “I know I’ve expressed certain desires and may have made certain commitments to you and Larry. At any rate, I just don’t see it happening now.” She realized what she was doing to Larry and released her grip on his arm and leaned forward. “Joe, now that the frenzy and excitement have passed, I want a more sedate life. All I see now is the terror, and gloom and sadness of police work. I’m not just talking about Lisa. Look what Jennifer did, not only to herself, but to Larry. The three of us constantly worried about the life of the other. And Joe, research is drudgery and backbreaking unending drudgery.” Larry leaned forward, twisting his arm one way then the other while opening and closing his hand. “It seems like it was such a long time ago; before this mess started I was dissatisfied with my life.” He turned to face Peggy. “If you want something different, I understand and accept your decision. Nevertheless, darling, I’ve found a home. I know how horrible it has been for you. Still, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life, and I hope you will support me.” It was a statement in tone; on the other hand, it was a question in the way he looked at her. The doorbell rang and Joe got up to see who it was. He was all ready thinking of their future. They would make a good team, and the three of them needed an income. “Wyler come on in,” he beamed. “You’ve met Peggy and Larry. In a more strained environment of course, nevertheless, introductions, I’m sure, aren’t necessary.” “I wanted to stop by to let you know all charges against the two of you have been dropped. Of course, there will be a hearing and the two of you will have a chance to explain how you had to defend yourselves against organized crime and local gangsters, in and out of the state. You, Joe, of course, will have to explain your part in this, as well. I’ve talked to Captain Edwards. We will both be character witnesses for you, Joe. Anyway, I think it will be more of a formality than anything.” Joe knew the conversation with Edwards must have cost Wyler. This was Wyler’s apology. “Thanks Wyler. I appreciate your stopping over and telling us yourself.” They shook hands; it lasted a second longer than required. “I have a couple more items you will be interested in,” Wyler said. “First, Captain Edwards inadvertently got a confession from a local hoodlum by the name of Billy Reigns. It seems, he worked for Boxer and needed an alibi for the massacre at Boxer’s warehouse. You know, when Carducci’s men got hit? His alibi was, get this, he was shooting up our safe house, trying to kill the two of you. When it was pointed out to him that all the perps out there were killed, except for Boxer and his driver, he says, “Yes, I was Boxer’s driver.” Now, here is the good part, he says Boxer gets in the car, and before leaving, he, Billy Reign, jumps half-way out of the car and empties his clip into the house. He has been booked for the slaying of your sister, Mrs. Brandt.” “Oh my God. I hunted down Boxer and almost killed him.” Peggy blurted out. Wyler threw his hands up in self-defense. “I didn’t hear you say that. I suggest you get with your attorney and go over everything before the hearing. Everything. One more thing before I leave,” Wyler added. A cousin on my wife’s side came to me yesterday wanting my help. It seems her husband disappeared a week ago. His name is Joseph Knoels. He’s ex-special forces. He hasn’t turned up just the same, his prints have. They turned up on a weapon found in the city landfill. It was used in the killing of a DEA Agent. I can’t get involved, because she is family, and because it isn’t my jurisdiction. I told her, her husband must turn himself in and get a good lawyer. She said he wouldn’t turn himself in until he’s sure he won’t be blamed for the murder. She has money and needs a good detective agency. Here’s her number.” Wyler handed a piece of paper to Joe. “I’ll appreciate you keeping me informed.” “I’ll call her in the morning.” Joe assured. “Thanks Wyler.” “Okay, I’m out of here,” Wyler said. “Good luck at the hearing.” He nodded to Peggy and Larry, and shook Joe’s hand before leaving. “I’ll do some research when necessary,” Peggy said, “nevertheless, that’s all. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” Joe and Larry smiled at each other. “I appreciate it, Peggy,” Joe said. Larry stood up. He was moving his arm up and down, while opening and closing his hand. “My hand and arm ache for some reason. I hope I’m not having a heart attack or something.” Peggy looked embarrassed. Joe had that devil incarnate grin. “Definitely an attack, Larry. Don’t you agree, Peggy?” The End |
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