An Element of Risk Page 5

  “Probably on her knees blowin’ him the whole way. That’s why she can’t remember much.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Pratt twirled the Glock 19 pistol on his finger. “It’s gotta be around here somewhere. His truck’ll stand out.”

  They were quiet as they drove down two more blocks, before Kondrat decided to break the silence. “That fuckin’ Borman. I still can’t believe what we heard.”

  “Yeah, actin’ like he was their bitch. Lettin’ ’em get away with slappin’ him around. What a pussy.”

  “All over that fuckin’ bitch of a prosecutor.” Kondrat glanced at Pratt. “Like it ain’t none of their business. It’s our guy who’s lookin’ at doin’ time.”

  “Bor’s a fuckin’ embarrassment,” Pratt stated. “We should all tell ’im to take a hike. You’d be a lot better at runnin’ things than him.”

  “Anyone would be better than him,” Kondrat muttered.

  “All you need is the balls to stand up to anyone who tries to fuck with us.” Pratt paused and moved the laser dot from the pistol around on the dash. “Bam! Bam! Bam!”

  “How much support do you think I’d get over ­Borman?” Kondrat asked.

  Pratt looked at him intently. “A lot, man. A lot. Nobody wants to take orders from somebody who lets themselves gets bitch-slapped around. I bet you’d —”

  “Fuck! There it is!” Kondrat exclaimed. “Red Chevy Silverado pickup! Parked in the driveway third house down on the left!”

  Pratt eyed the truck. “That’s his all right.”

  “Fuckin’ Smolak,” Kondrat said under his breath. “You’re ours now, you motherfucker.”

  * * *

  Stan Irving first kissed Rhonda goodbye and then kissed Hannah on her forehead before putting on his raincoat and heading out the front door. He fished the keys from his pocket as he approached his truck in the driveway.

  Two shots were fired within a second of each other. One bullet tore through his lower jaw and out through his upper teeth before exiting out the side of his nose. The other shot missed him entirely.

  He stumbled and it took a moment for his brain to comprehend. He automatically put his hand up to his mouth and looked back. When he saw two figures running toward him his brain kicked into gear and he flung his keys at them, then fled in terror around the side of his house. Take my truck. I’d have given it to you. You didn’t need to shoot.

  “You think you can get away from us, muthafucker?” one of his attackers yelled as they rounded the corner after him.

  They’re after me! Why? He heard Rhonda screaming from inside the house. Oh, God! Lock the door! Lock the door!

  The sound of two more shots echoed between the houses. A bullet entered his back and lodged in his chest cavity near his heart, then he lurched around the corner into his backyard. He looked around in panic, then collapsed to his knees and crawled under some California lilac bushes.

  Once there he lay on his side, hoping one lung would still work as the other filled with blood. Up until now, the shock to his nervous system had blocked the pain. That relief abruptly ended and he put his hand up to his jaw again.

  “Think you can hide from us?” a voice said, startling him at how close it was.

  He glimpsed the bottom of someone’s jeans as they stopped, apparently looking around.

  “It’s gonna take more than growin’ a puny beard to do that!” another voice said.

  A branch was shoved aside and he stared up at their faces. Then they laughed and grabbed him by an ankle.

  Stan gasped and then vomited as he was dragged out into the open.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack and Laura sat at their desks updating files and trying to discover which people linked to organized crime groups like Satans Wrath were working in areas where they could gain access to sensitive information.

  Their search was routine in nature, often triggered as a result of police investigations from other sections or departments that had been compromised for unknown reasons. Sometimes it involved undercover operatives whose identity had unexpectedly aroused suspicion without explanation. Most of the investigations that had been compromised were drug-related. Hence, any investigations they examined that turned up possible links to Satans Wrath were of the utmost interest.

  Jack and Laura looked at photos of people along with licence plates recorded at parties or bars primarily frequented by criminals and tried to find matches with those who worked in sensitive areas. Some of these included police departments, the Motor Vehicle Branch, court houses, or other areas where criminals could gather intelligence which they could then use to identify and locate their enemies, police included.

  Identifying them wasn’t always an easy task. Some people had no idea that the persons they’d met were criminals. For some, it may have been a chance meeting and the person had not been corrupted. Others were unaware that they were slowly being groomed — or put in more compromising situations to gain control over them in the future. A common method used by criminal organizations like Satans Wrath was to send in women to work in areas to gain intelligence or use sex as a means to compromise certain individuals.

  Then there were those who discovered that a family member or someone they loved was involved in a police investigation and either warned them or did so after being asked by that person to find out.

  Sometimes computer records indicated when an undercover operative’s identity or a licence plate had been queried by the police, but often that only identified the office the query was made from because the person who made the query may have obtained someone else’s password. Many times it was a legitimate query, made when an officer didn’t realize they were dealing with an undercover operative and thought they were checking on a real criminal. Due to potential corruption, undercover operatives usually maintained their cover even when dealing with the police.

  Laura eventually sat back in her chair to take a break. “Hey, tomorrow’s Good Friday. We’ve got four days off. Any plans?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Will you be hiding Easter eggs and candy for the boys? Or are they too old for that?”

  Jack gave a lopsided smile. “I don’t even think ­Natasha is too old for that — at least when it comes to chocolate.” He paused. “You’re right about the boys, though. They’re getting older. Maybe I should hide ones filled with liqueur.”

  “Oh? I’m surprised. Being your kids, I’d have thought you’d be looking for ones filled with martinis,” Laura said jokingly.

  “I’ve looked for those, but I don’t think they make them,” Jack replied, keeping a straight face.

  “That wouldn’t surprise me.” Laura pretended to give him a dirty look.

  Jack grinned. “How about you? Any plans?”

  “Staying home and saving our money. In a month I’ll be on a beach in Hawaii and drinking Mai Tais.”

  “You should’ve gone over Easter break and saved some holiday time.”

  “No, that’s when families go. I’m looking for peace and quiet. We rented a condo for two weeks. It’s expensive, but not as bad as it is at Easter. Then when we come back it’ll be the middle of May and we’ll be into spring weather.”

  Jack nodded.

  Laura stared at him for a moment and her face became serious. “Think you can stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”

  “It’s been pretty quiet.” He faked giving a perturbed look. “I think I can manage to keep my nose clean. But thanks, Mom, for your concern.”

  * * *

  Corporal Connie Crane from the Integrated Homicide Investigation Unit arrived at the Irving home and parked on the street. A colleague, Corporal George Hobbs, greeted her when she stepped from her car. Although he was the same rank as Connie, she was senior and in charge of the investigation.

  “I’ve only been here twenty minutes, but something doesn’t seem right,” Hobbs said. “The victim’s name is Stanley Irving and his wife’s name is Rhonda. Neither of ’em have had as much as a speeding ticket i
n their whole lives. He was holding down two jobs. Paramedic and doing house renos on the side.”

  “House renos for who?” Connie asked. “He could’ve set up a grow-op or lab for someone. Maybe whoever it was got busted and suspected him?”

  “I’ll look into it, but I have my doubts.” He gestured toward the house. “I’ll give you the quick run-through. Irving left out the front door to go to work. His wife was nursing their baby when she heard two shots and jumped up to look. She saw her husband run around the corner of their house clutching his bloody face and two guys charging across the lawn after him. She called Emergency and while still on the phone clutching their baby went to the kitchen and looked out the window. She saw him being killed, then got scared and ducked back out of sight.”

  “Can she identify them?”

  “No, they were wearing hoodies and had ball caps with the peaks pulled low over their faces. Come on, I’ll take you through the front door and then out the back so we don’t contaminate the scene.”

  “And she doesn’t know who wanted him dead?” Connie asked.

  “She says she doesn’t have a clue as to why anyone would want to kill him. According to her, everyone liked him.”

  “It seems that someone didn’t,” Connie replied. “Where’s Forensics?” she asked as they entered the house.

  “On their way.”

  Connie trailed Hobbs into the house and walked past the living room, automatically taking in what she saw.

  House is clean. Family photos — some not posed … everyone looks happy. Toddler smiling up from her dollhouse.… Doesn’t appear like the normal dysfunctional family or type of shit-rats I usually deal with.

  As they passed by the kitchen to the rear door, Connie caught a glimpse of Rhonda sitting with an officer at the kitchen table.

  Bawling and holding an infant. Tears accompanied by mucous shows her grief is genuine. She probably had nothing to do with it.

  She glanced at Hobbs. You’re right … there’s something wrong.

  “Here we are,” Hobbs said, directing Connie out the back door where the victim lay on the lawn covered with a sheet.

  Connie pulled back the sheet. Sprawled on his back and shot multiple times in the face. She eyed the drag marks smeared with blood and vomit. “Probably took one or two in the back as he was running. Looks like an entry wound through the lower jaw and out through the face, as well. Could’ve happened before he tried to hide.”

  Hobbs gestured to a kitchen window. “That’s where his wife was watching from. She said they dragged him out of the bushes by the ankles, then each one shot him in the head.”

  Connie looked up at the kitchen window from where she remained crouched over Irving’s body. “She had a front row seat, that’s for sure. My guess is the perps were too busy to notice her, otherwise if they’d looked up, she may’ve had a better look at their faces. Probably lucky for her they didn’t look up.”

  “She was on the phone to Emergency at the time,” Hobbs continued, “but ran out as soon as the perps left. Her memory is hazy at that point. When uniform arrived she was sitting on the kitchen floor, rocking back and forth holding her baby.”

  “Try to get her to calm down and see if she remembers anything else,” Connie said as she turned her attention back to Irving’s face. “We’ll need a statement.”

  Hobbs’ face darkened. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?” Connie replied, not bothering to look up.

  “His wife says they were laughing when they did it.”

  Connie looked abruptly at Hobbs. “Laughing?”

  “Yeah, like it was all a big joke.”

  Connie felt her stomach knot.

  Unbelievable. Just when I think I’ve seen and heard it all.… She shook her head in disgust. Boy, was I wrong.

  “What’re you thinking,” Hobbs asked.

  Connie pulled the sheet back over Irving’s head, then stood up. “Gotta be gangbangers. They’re the only ones that fucking stupid and callous.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sergeant Roger Morris was in court watching the trial when he felt his phone vibrate. He knew Connie well and recognized her number on the call display. I-HIT … Son-of-a-bitch, we got another gang shooting. As he left the courtroom he glanced at the representatives from the two gangs. Who shot who this time?

  Connie was unusually terse. “Rog, I think I could use your help. I’m at a homicide.”

  “I figured that. What ganger bit the dust this time?”

  “I don’t think the victim was associated with any gangs, but thought I’d call you to double check. His name is Stan Irving.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He was married, had two kids, and was holding down two jobs. I think he was murdered by gangbangers. At least their behaviour and what they were wearing points to that. It happened in his backyard and his wife saw the whole thing from her kitchen window.”

  “Things are tense between the Death Heads and the United Front,” Roger replied. “I’m at a trial now where one of them killed one from the other gang, but the name Irving isn’t known to me.”

  “I know about the trial,” Connie replied. “Some from my unit are testifying on that one. Let me tell you what I’ve got. Maybe the perps are from some other gang.”

  Roger listened as Connie spoke. When she finished he said, “It does sound like something the gangs would do, particularly the two gangs involved in this trial. That being said, I’ve never heard of the victim.”

  “My gut tells me that Irving was innocent, but maybe he was involved in drugs with your guys? He did home renovations. I’m wondering if he could’ve built something for them? Or maybe he was supplying them with dope. If he was higher up the chain, not having a record would be an asset.”

  “That’s true,” Roger noted. “Satans Wrath funnels drugs down to both these gangs. Some of the dealers don’t have records.”

  “So it’s possible he’s dirty,” Connie replied, glancing down at the corpse at her feet.

  “Sure it’s possible,” Roger replied. “When it comes to Satans Wrath, Jack would be the guy to talk to. We don’t have the manpower to go after the dealers. Too busy with the shooters.”

  “Taggart,” Connie muttered. “I hate the thought of calling him.”

  “How come?”

  Connie paused. “His methods aren’t all that kosher in my mind.”

  “Maybe, but he sure helped us out earlier in the week,” Roger replied. “Two guys from the Death Heads threatened our prosecutor on the trial I’m at. They had guns in their hands and kicked in the back door to her mother’s house after she’d dropped her two-year-old daughter off for babysitting. One of them was heard yelling at the other to hurry and grab the kid. Luckily the mother was able to escape with the tot out the front door.”

  “Jesus!” Connie exclaimed. “I never even heard about it.”

  “Our prosecutor doesn’t want word of it to get out for fear it will affect the trial.”

  “You said Jack helped. What’d he do? Find ’em and kill them?”

  Roger chuckled. “No … and I’m only telling you because I know he trusts you.”

  “Which is funny, because I don’t trust him. Not the way he operates.”

  “His job is different than yours. More proactive and less reactive.” Roger paused. “In regards to our prosecutor, we never did find out who the two guys were, but Jack had enough clout to get Satans Wrath to put word out to the leader of the Death Heads to cease and desist.”

  “And did they?”

  “It seems to have worked. The gangbangers who show up periodically to watch the trial used to enjoy glaring at the prosecutor and acting belligerent around her by trying to stand in her way when she came and went. That doesn’t happen now.”

  “Maybe Jack did something right for a change,” Connie said.

  “My advice would be to call him and ask about Irving. If he’s connected to Satans Wrath
in any way, I’m sure that Jack will either know him or could find out if he’s dirty.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call him,” Connie grumbled. “Any description of the two guys who kicked in the door to the prosecutor’s mom’s house?”

  “Not really,” Roger replied. “They wore hoodies tight to their faces along with ball caps pulled low.”

  “Exact same description as the two who did this murder,” Connie stated.

  “For these guys that’s common attire,” Roger replied. “We have a lot of them wired up, so if we hear anything I’ll call you.”

  “That’s good news. Maybe there’ll be some chatter on the lines over what they did.”

  “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. These punks are dumb but generally not dumb enough to talk on their phones.”

  Well, I can always hope. “They also tossed a couple of Glocks in the bushes. Both with laser-grip sights.”

  “That’s new. Up to now they’ve only had Saturday night specials. Even those they sometimes hang on to after using them because they have trouble finding replacements.”

  “A sign of the times, I guess.” Connie then thanked him and ended the call and told Hobbs what Roger had said.

  “So what’s wrong?” Hobbs asked. “You seem pretty morose.”

  “Morose? How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

  Hobbs feigned surprise, then smiled.

  “The truth is, I’m not happy and you know why,” Connie continued. “You know his rep.”

  Hobbs gave a nod toward the body. “How bad do you want the guys who did this?”

  “What do you mean, how bad? Look at this guy! In front of his wife and kid … then laughing about it? What kind of question is that?”

  Hobbs stared at her in response.

  “Yeah, I see what you’re getting at,” Connie grumbled, then tapped Jack’s number into her phone.

  “Hey, Connie,” Jack answered cheerfully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Believe me, calling you is no pleasure. “I’m at a homicide. The victim’s name is Stanley Irving and he was gunned down in his backyard. Do you know him?”