Abducted: A Jake Badger Mystery Thriller (8 page)

Chapter 14

Wednesday Afternoon

As we stepped out into the
hot sun, Susan didn't look good. As we got to the car, Alex let go of her and
went around to the driver's side door. I was coming up behind her when she bent
over and threw up on the ground near the back tire. Alex looked at her and
shook his head. As she straightened up, I offered her my handkerchief. She
wiped her mouth, being careful not to look at me. I gave her a mint.

When she finally looked at
me, she said, “I don't know you at all, do I?” She was still shaky.

I shook my head.

“Does Monica?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

She got in the back seat
without another word. Alex and I looked at each other across the roof of the
car. Alex shook his head again.

We were on the 10 Freeway
headed back toward L.A. when a black Escalade pulled alongside us. I just
happened to look up as the window behind the driver was coming down.

“Shooter!” I yelled.

Alex hit the breaks just as
the gunman opened up with an Uzi. I pitched over toward Alex as a dozen slugs
tore through the top of the passenger window, the windshield, and the roof of
the car as the big black SUV went roaring past. Susan was screaming. The driver
of the Escalade hit the accelerator and so did Alex, pulling into the lane
directly behind the Escalade, in hot pursuit. I sat back up and used my iPhone
to call 911. I told them we had a drive-by shooting with an FBI vehicle in
pursuit. I was able to give them the plate number on the Escalade.

The Escalade was trying to
outrun us making lane changes right and left. Alex had a lot of extra power
under the hood and was able to keep up. I let down the passenger side window,
took out my .357, leaned out the window and put five rounds in the back of the Escalade.
When the fifth round hit, the Escalade lurched to the left, cut across two
lanes, crashed into the center guardrail and scraped along for a few yards,
spraying a shower of sparks into the air. Alex was able to stop on the inside
shoulder, about twenty feet behind it. We opened our doors and crouched behind
them, guns trained on the Escalade.

The back end of the big SUV
ended up sticking a few feet out into the far inside lane, far enough away from
the guardrail so that the back door could be opened. The windows of the SUV
were tinted. We couldn't see inside the vehicle. We waited. In a moment, the
left rear door opened and a wiry young Latino jumped out, gun in hand and fired
in our direction. He missed. I didn't have a good shot. Alex did. He put three rounds
in the young man's chest.

We didn't know who else was
in the car, so we waited a few more seconds. Everything was still and calm.

“Let's approach,” Alex said.

Traffic had stopped behind
us. Four lanes of traffic on one of the busiest freeways in the country sat
still, watching the scene unfold, as Alex and I, guns in hand, approached the
Escalade.

We stopped at the back of the
black beast. The back door on Alex's side was open. He approached cautiously,
stepping over the body of the young man he'd shot, and peered inside the
vehicle. “Clear,” he said.

I went up to the front
passenger door and opened it. A dead body occupied the front passenger seat.
The driver's door was against the guardrail and wouldn't open. The man behind
the wheel was also dead. I'd gotten lucky with two of my five shots.

In a moment, we heard the
sirens. The California Highway Patrol approached the scene from both
directions. Alex took out his badge and held it high in the air so the officers
would know we were the good guys.

While he did that, I called
Frank. I explained what happened, gave him the Escalade's license plate number.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll run
it. You need anything else?”

“I think we’re good. Alex can
get some more agents out here if we need anything.”

“All right. I'll get back to
you in a few minutes.”

I went back to see how Susan
was.

She was sitting in the
backseat, trembling, crying. I got in and sat down next to her. She folded
herself into my arms, buried her face in my chest and sobbed uncontrollably. Alex
was at the back of the Escalade talking with the CHPs. He looked back in our
direction. Our eyes met. I nodded. He could see that I was attending to Susan.
He nodded and went back to his conversation.

After a few minutes, Susan
regained herself and pulled away. She shook her head. “I had no idea,” she
said.

“I know. Actually, it's not
this exciting all the time. You just happened to catch us on a good day. Most
of the time, investigative work is kind of boring.”

“Joking?” she said. “After
what just happened, you're making a joke?”

“Fear can be paralyzing,” I
said, serious now. “In the end, anger is self-destructive. Taking things in
stride is the only way to survive. Sometimes reality is so absurd that you have
to laugh to keep from crying.”

She took a deep breath. “I
just watched my brother kill a man.”

“Would you rather have
watched that man kill your brother?”

She looked at me for a moment
and then looked away. Staring into the distance, she asked, “Why does anyone
have to kill anyone?” She brought her eyes back to mine.

“They don't have to,” I said.
“But they do. It's a feature of the human condition, an aspect of reality that
exists, whether we like it or not. We are a violent species. Some of us have
jobs that bring us in contact with it. If you want to be a forensic
psychologist for the FBI, you're going to have to get used to it.”

Her eyes held mine for a
moment before she pulled them away and stared off into nothing.

The CHPs secured the scene,
closing down the two inside lanes of the 10 westbound and got traffic moving in
the other three westbound lanes. They closed only the inside lane of the
eastbound side. The whole thing caused quite a traffic snarl.

Chapter 15

Wednesday Afternoon

Alex had a couple of his
agents bring us another vehicle and had the one we had been driving towed to
the FBI forensics facility so they could go over it. All they'd find would be
bullet holes from an Uzi, probably a
nine millimeter
,
but protocol required that it be examined.

Once we were under way, Alex
said, “How about lunch? We'll feel better after we sit and relax a bit and eat.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

We waited. Susan didn't
respond.

“Susan,” Alex said, looking
at her in the rearview mirror. “That okay with you?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“You'll feel better if you
have something. Maybe a glass of wine.”

I had turned in my seat to
look at her. She gave an almost imperceptible nod and said, “Sure. Whatever you
say.” It was almost a whisper. The far away look in her eye could have been
despair or defeat.

There was a Chili's in
Montclair, just off the freeway. We stopped there. By the time we got out of
the car, Susan, surprisingly, had regained her composure. When we were seated,
she ordered a salad and a glass of wine. Alex and I each had a burger and a
Diet Coke.

After our waiter brought our
drinks, Susan asked, “What you guys are doing today, is this the kind of work
that Monica does?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “She was
an MP in the army. She's handled some very tough people in some very dangerous
situations.”

“She's killed people?”

“Yes. She killed several
people a little over a month ago. Some very bad people, one of whom had just
shot me.”

She looked at Alex. “I've lived
a pretty sheltered life, haven't I?”

“Most people have,” he said.
“Before I went to work for the FBI, I had as well. Most people have no idea
about what really goes on in the world.”

She looked at me.

“Doctors and nurses deal with
sick people,” I said. “If you want to work in health care, you have to get used
to being around sick people. Cops work with criminals. If you want a career
associated with law enforcement, you have to get used to being around criminals
and the kinds of things criminals do.”

She nodded, thoughtfully.
Then after a moment, said, “You're right. I've got a lot to learn, haven't I?”

That seemed to have been a
turning point. A dilemma had been resolved. Her mood steadied and we were able
to enjoy our lunch without the dark cloud of the recent events ruining the
meal. Susan was a survivor. She'd be all right.

Just after we got back on the
freeway, Frank got back to me.

“Escalade's registered to an
Alfredo Jimenez,” Frank said. “East L.A.
Owns
a string
of body shops. Says the vehicle was stolen early this morning. Hadn't gotten
around to reporting it yet because he had a couple of important meetings early
in the day. His businesses all appear to be legitimate, but one never really knows.”

“How long before you have
anything on the three guys?”

“Coroner's got them now.
Fingerprints are being run. Those guys may or may not be in the system. I'll get
back to you when I have something else to tell you.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

I told Alex what Frank had
said.

We got back to the FBI
offices without further incident. I thanked Alex and told him I was glad he was
with me. I told him I knew he had paperwork to do, so while he did that, I was
going to go see Hanson and see if he might have any insights on who was behind
the attempt on our lives. Neither of us said so, but I suspected we both knew
the attempt had been on me, not on him and certainly not on Susan.

It took just over twenty
minutes to make the drive to Norman Hanson's Club. The Eros Club features nude
dancers. Like the clubs we had visited earlier in the day, when on stage, the
girls were nude. While circulating among the tables and giving lap dances, they
wore high heels and a G-string. Eric, the guy that worked the entrance, buzzed
me in and one of the waitresses walked me across the dimly lit club floor to
the door that led up to Norman's personal office.

Besides being a strip club
owner, Norman also ran an enormously prosperous outsourcing business. When you
needed a thug to break someone's legs or nose, or if you wanted someone killed
and if you could afford the hefty price tag, you called Norman. He supplied the
personnel who would do the job.

Norman had decided that I was
a friend. I had decided that Norman was an acquaintance. I didn't mind the
strip club, but I drew the line at outsourcing assassins. However, Norman knew
stuff. He had sources of information that no one else had, and for some reason
I didn’t fully understand, had decided to share some of it with me from time to
time.

I climbed the stairs to
Norman's office. His large personal assistant, Melvin, opened the door when I
knocked. Given the businesses Norman operates, one might expect him to be a
lowlife. Norman is, however, an educated, sophisticated man. When I walked into
his expensively, tastefully decorated office, he was listening to Mozart and
reading Augustine's,
City of God.
Norman
Hanson is a man of complex contradictions.

He marked his place in his
book, put it down, and said, “Jake Badger. It's good to see you again. Please,
sit down.”

I sat in one of his leather
guest chairs. “Thank you, Norman. Nice to see you again.”

“To what do I owe the
pleasure of your visit?”

“Couple of things,” I said.

He nodded and waited.

“Monday morning, Monica was
abducted.”

His expression quickly
changed to one of distress and concern.

“We don't know who took her
or why.”

“I'm deeply sorry to hear
that, Jake. My impression of Ms. Nolan is that she is both pleasant and
extraordinary.”

“The FBI and the LAPD are
working with me trying to find her.”

He thought about what I had
told him, and then said, “You said there were a couple of things.”

“Earlier today, while we were
returning from talking with a person of interest in Monica’s disappearance,
someone made a run at us. Three Latino men in an Escalade opened up on our car
with an Uzi while we were on the 10 out near Fontana.

“Surely, you know those men
were not associated with me in any way.”

“I know that. But I was
wondering if you might have an idea who sent them or if it was something you
could look into without compromising yourself.”

He thought for a moment. “Do
you think the attempt on your life is connected in some way to Monica's
disappearance?”

“I don't know. Given the
events of the past couple of months, it could be someone with a grudge against
me, or Monica, or both of us. But if there is a connection, finding out who
sent the assassins might lead us to Monica.”

“I agree,” Norman said. “I shall
make some inquiries. If any of the people I know had anything to do with the
attempt today, I'll find out. I will also make inquiries as to Ms. Nolan's
disappearance. If anyone I know was involved, I'll find out. When I know,
you'll know.”

“Thank you, Norman. I
appreciate your help.”

It was after three when I
left Norman's club. I went by Mildred's house to pick up Wilson. She asked
about my day, so I told her. I knew she'd worry, but if I didn't tell her and
she found out about it, she'd be really angry with me. She had explained it to
me once. She had been a wife and was a mother. Worrying about the men in her
life was included in her job description. When I reminded her that technically
I was not one of the men in her life, she told me that I was, like it or not.
So, okay, if she wants to know what's going on and then worry about it, I'll
let her worry.

It wasn’t dinnertime yet, so
I decided to stop by the office and go through the mail. Wilson came in with
me. Most of the mail was junk. There were two checks from clients. That was
good, since I wasn't working for anyone at the moment. And there was a small, plain,
white envelope. I opened it. In it was a single piece of white paper folded in
half. I unfolded it. In all capital letters, it read:

YOU'RE
LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE

I called Alex.

“Got a letter.”

He knew what I meant.

“What's it say?”

I told him.

“Can you bring it over here?”

“On my way right now.”