Days of Reckoning (20 page)

Jesse wasn’t disappointed. The bouncer stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He regarded Jesse with clear distaste. “Back again, huh?” the bouncer growled.

Arnie Freed grabbed Jesse from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Jesse struggled, but the bouncer put him out with a single blow to the chin. Arnie eased the unconscious drunk to the ground and patted him down. “Well, looks like he was serious,” he said, pulling the pistol from Jesse’s waistband. The bouncer merely snorted. Arnie searched over the rest of Jesse’s pockets. “Guess Connor’ll be wanting to hear from me.”

Kevin Jones came around the corner to help take Jesse into custody. Once they had him in an unmarked cruiser, Arnie called up Sam, and was surprised to get the detective's voice-mail.

#

It was almost dawn before Sam got home and thought to check his messages. Hearing that Jesse was in custody helped ease his mind a bit. At least the man would be safe in the county drunk tank. Sam wanted to talk with him, but when he called the desk sergeant he learned that Jesse was still asleep in his cell. “Want me to wake him up?”

“Nah,” Sam replied. “I’m pretty well used up. I’m going to try and grab some sleep, then I’ll be in later in the day. How long can we hold this guy?”

“Well, we’ve got charges of public intox, carrying concealed, carrying a firearm under disability, drunk and disorderly, assault… you name it, we’ll charge him with it. He’ll be here a while; I doubt very much the judge’ll let him out on bail. Take your time, he ain’t going anywhere.”

“Great. I’ll catch up with you later.” Sam hung up and then sprawled on his bed. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. Jesse’s neighbor would live, thank God. The man had a gash across his belly. It was deep and bloody and would require a whole bunch of stitches, but it had been only a grazing shot. He was lucky. If it had penetrated, he probably would have been dead before Sam got to him.

The dog, of course, was a loss. It had been shot in the torso and the head. The forensics team that responded from the Sheriff’s department found a lot of blood in that area, but it was probably all the animal’s. It would take some time to find out if any of it was human.

A search of the neighbor’s house turned up several drops on the carpeting. With nothing to do while the medics worked on her husband, the wife had cleaned what drops were on the kitchen floor. Forensics was able to stop her before she destroyed all the other samples with spot remover. She had also thrown away the spent shell casing inside, but the team was able to recover it from the trash. So the night was perhaps not a total loss.

Sam kept his eyes closed and replayed the events of the evening in his mind. The would-be assassin had been a woman. So Damon did have help, in the form of a blonde female…. Sam bolted up in his bed. He remembered now where he had heard that description. The Sparta Retirement Center. The woman at Jesse’s place matched the description of the woman who had been there, visiting his aunt. Sam was sure of it. So Damon knew, then, that Sam was investigating. And he knew where Sam was vulnerable. And he had help in the form of a sweet, attractive young blonde female, who was all too willing to kill innocent people who got in the way. Sam reached for the phone and dialed the front desk at the home.

#

Miranda was in terrible pain by the time she made it back to her house. She hadn’t noticed before, but apparently – in addition to the nasty bite on her leg – she had also been shot in her left arm. It wasn’t a bad wound, but it had bled profusely. She was sure that she had left blood behind at the scene. Fortunately, she didn’t have any kind of criminal record to match the blood against. Still, it was one more clue that would eventually point to her. She only hoped that she could make it to Unity Day, which was almost within sight.

Miranda stripped out of her clothes and went into the bathroom. She turned on her shower and stood beneath it for several seconds, washing away the sweat, grime and blood. Still dripping, she stepped out and sat down on the toilet to inspect her wounds.

“Shit,” was all she said. The bite marks weren’t as bad as she had thought. There were four puncture wounds and a bit of tearing. She cleaned it up with peroxide and wrapped a large bandage around her leg. Then she looked at her arm.

It was easier to inspect it in the mirror, and it did not look good. Miranda noticed first of all that she was terribly pale. She made a note to drink a lot of juice. But first the wound itself needed tending to. The wound was a gaping gash, right under her shoulder and above her bicep. She dumped peroxide on it and swabbed it with a fistful of cotton balls. It still bled. She was going to need stitches, but a trip to any doctor would ensure that she was caught. Miranda fought back tears of pain and frustration. No, she was not going to go out that way. There had to be something she could do. She looked through her cabinets, wondering if dental floss and a needle would be enough to hold it together. Then she saw her curling iron.

She rarely curled her hair; she only had the instrument for the few times that she turned the ends under or something like that. But that iron got pretty damn hot. She remembered having burned herself the first time she used it. She wondered if it would be enough to cauterize the wound. The idea nearly made her sick, because she knew it was going to hurt like hell. But she couldn’t think of anything better to do. She plugged in the iron and walked out to her kitchen, where she pulled a bottle of vodka out of her freezer. She had it uncapped and was already taking a long belt of it before she even made it out of the kitchen. One way or another, that fucking wound was getting fixed.

#

An hour later her phone rang. Miranda ignored it. She lay in lukewarm water in her bathtub, trying to ignore the stench of burned flesh and vomit. The curling iron, with blood and skin cooked to it, was in the trashcan. Her toilet was up, still stained after the pain made her sick. She reached for the half-empty bottle of vodka and took a long pull. The room spun madly. Alcohol, blood loss and a now-empty stomach were not a good mix.

Miranda had her arm wrapped in gauze and held a bag of ice over the wound. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore. The dressing on her leg would need changing now that it was wet, but she didn’t give a shit at the moment. She sighed, took another swig of vodka, and let her hair dangle in the tub. The next day, she woke up in her bed, but didn’t remember moving there.

It was early afternoon by the time Sam got to interview Jesse McClintock. His nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol and body odor that permeated the interrogation room.

“Fine,” Sam said. “We’ll have a public defender here in a few minutes, if you want. But I don’t really give a shit about what you may or may not have done last night. I’m more interested as to why you called and what it was you wanted to tell me before you went on your drunken rampage.”

Jesse looked up at him sullenly. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ‘til my lawyer gets here.”

Sam spread his hands in resignation. “That’s fine with me. Maybe Eldon Marshall and Tim Butcher will be more accommodating. After all, they’re not looking at five to ten in the federal pen.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. You were gunning for a black guy. Makes this a hate crime. Throw in the firearm you were carrying illegally, and that adds up to a minimum five year sentence in some happy place like Leavenworth.”

Jesse looked skeptical. “That’s a crock of shit.”

“You don’t want to believe me, that’s fine. Ask your lawyer.” Sam rose from his chair and turned to leave the room. He stopped at the door. “By the way, your place was broken into last night.”

“You catch him?” Jesse stared at the table.

“Nope. They shot their way out. Shot your neighbor, his dog… Pretty ruthless. You know, you really should get that lock on your back door fixed. I’m half inclined to let you loose and give this person another crack at you.”

“And when we let you go,” Sam continued, “you won’t have any guns to protect yourself. They’ve been confiscated for evidence, in case this intruder handled any of them.”

“I’ve got friends I can stay with.” The waver in his voice betrayed Jesse’s confidence.

Sam gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I bet. I think our assassin would love to have you all grouped up nice and tight. Just like Wainwright and your other buddies were. This shooter’s good. But if you don’t want to help me find them, then I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do to keep them from coming for you. And Jesse, I doubt they’ll miss again.” Sam left the interrogation room and walked off to his office. “Let him sit for a bit,” he said to the guard outside. “If he wants to talk, wait a few minutes and then come get me.”

“Whatever you say, Detective.”

In his office, Sam sat at his desk and drummed his fingers for a few minutes. Then he picked up the phone and called Miranda again.

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “Looks like Damon has someone helping him out. Might explain how he was able to take out those four guys at Wainwright’s lodge.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Listen,” he continued, “I’m worried. This lady’s pretty ruthless. She shot a civilian last night. I’m worried he might have her go after my aunt.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Don’t know. I guess to scare me off if I get too close. Anyway, I’ve told the folks at the home to keep an extra eye out, but I’d really feel more comfortable if someone I knew was watching over things. I’ve got Jesse McClintock in custody right now, and I think he might be able to give me some info on Damon, maybe this woman too. While I’m working on that, would you be willing to keep an eye on Aunt Fran?”

Miranda rubbed the sleep and remaining vestiges of last night from her eyes. “Of course, Sam. I’d be happy to. Hey, why’s Jesse in jail?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sure having you act as my own personal security guard is bending the rules as far as they’ll go, but this lady’s good. And ruthless. I don’t want to take any chances.”

You don’t need to worry
, Miranda thought. “I’ll be careful, Sam. And I’ll take good care of Fran. Listen, I need to shower and stuff, so give me a half-hour or so and I’ll be there.”

“No problem.”

She really wanted to tell him to grill Jesse about her brother. But that would have tipped her hand. So she made sure to keep her interest on the case at hand. “And keep me posted on what you hear from Jesse. I want this guy too.”

“No sweat. You take it easy. I’ll be in touch.”

Miranda hung up her phone and went into her bathroom. It still reeked of vomit and burnt skin. She swore and inspected herself in the mirror. She looked awful. Her arm hurt like hell, but at least there wasn’t any fresh blood leeching through the burn-bandage she had wrapped around it. Her leg was bruised and a bit swollen, but looked okay otherwise. Nothing a shower, make-up, long sleeves and jeans wouldn’t be able to mask.

#

After sobering up a bit more and taking a much-needed shower, Jesse McClintock came to the conclusion that cooperating with Sam was the best way to keep himself alive. After all, what good was being released on bond going to do him if Damon simply showed up and shot him the same night?

“I don’t know a lot about the punk,” he said, seated in the interrogation room. He sipped on coffee and held a half-eaten doughnut in his hand. “He came in from West Virginia. Wainwright said to post him for a couple of months. Wainwright paid me in cash, so I didn’t ask too many questions.”

“So where did he stay?” Sam asked.