Reaper (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

June 24
th

Max lay naked, face down on the blow-up mattress.  Myra, also nude, sat astride the small of his back, a knee and thigh squeezed tight on either side, her toes pointed, her full weight pinning him down.  The heat and moisture from her body seeped through his skin, inside, deep, radiating out, kindling his desire for her once more.

But more than just that passed from her to him.  He got
her
, all of her, not just the part that brought him to satisfaction, but every bit of
who she was; serious and demanding and pushy.  But she was also playful, and needy, and flexible, and incredibly passionate.  He felt these things about her and knew them as sure as he knew the softness of her breasts and the smell of her body at love.

The night before, they made love, slow, easy, him on top because of his injury.  And afterward they talked a bit, kissed, touched, and fell into a deep sleep.  He awoke, though, having rolled onto his back.  And before he drifted off again, he lay there staring at her, studying the lines of her face and body, listening to the steady cadence of her breathing, and trying to imagine what future they might have together.

Max reached down with both hands and stroked her lower legs, thinking how unpredictable life was.  Here, their city, their country, the entire western world, was going through something that seemed to threaten their very way of life and, despite all that, or more accurately, because of all that, he’d found Myra.  Amazing.

She slid off his back, slapped him on the ass, threw the tape and gauze across the room onto her medical bag, and said, “There, now try not to move around so much today.  Give things a chance to heal up.”

He rolled over onto his good shoulder so he could see her.  He liked seeing her, especially like this.  “That’s it?  I mean, you know ….”  He reached out and stroked her inner thigh, running the blade of his hand all the way up.

She smiled, arched her eyebrows, “Hmm.  Depends.  How hard do you want to work for it?”  She moved to the head of the bed, sat, threw one leg over his head and shoulders, laid back against the wall, and scooted down flat so her hips were even with his head.

Afterward, he was back on his side, running his fingers lightly over her body, still moist from their lovemaking.  “I say we just stay in bed the rest of the day.”

“No can do, buster.”  She picked up her watch from the cardboard box nightstand.  “I have a delivery scheduled in about an hour and after that, office hours in the infirmary.  I have just enough time to shower, grab something to eat, and get out to the front gate.”

“Delivery?  What kind of delivery?”

“Supplies.  Amisha got us some free goodies.  That kid Ben, the one you and Steve call Blogger; well your friends at Homeland Security not only beat the holy crap out of him, they denied him adequate fluids.  When we got him, he was way dehydrated.  That’s part of the reason he sounded so confused about things.  So anyway, we had to run an IV to get him back to where he should be.  That got us to talking about what would happen if we had, say, a bout of food poisoning or a bad case of the flu went around.”

“I wouldn’t mention food poisoning around Frank if I were you.”

She laughed.  “I mean we’ve been operating with just what I have from work and a few things Amisha borrowed.  So she came across this notice of bunches of stuff the Army is just giving away because of our pulling out of Afghanistan and other places, and she jumped on it.  Sooo …” she leaned over and kissed him, “As much as I’d love to spend the day in bed with you, I can’t.  Tonight, though, tonight will be
my
turn to work for it.”

“Oh, I like that deal.”

Max spent most the rest of the day, despite the wound to his back and Myra’s admonition to take it easy, helping to string razor wire along the top of the chain link fence surrounding the ten-acre compound.  He also took a couple of one-hour tours on the security detail so those assigned could have a lunch break.  They were running thin because Steve was putting several people through a firearms class.  Additionally, he handled a couple of minor disputes between residents, and gave Will the go-ahead to offer shelter to a Public Works employee who was a skilled welder and not so bad of a machinist either, in exchange for his home machinery and a promise to armor a front loader when they got one.

About 4 PM, Fran, who was still on crutches from her injuries at Oakridge Mall, but filling a slot in the communications room, let Max know the computers were down, and it appeared to not just affect the city system, but all systems.  This was followed two hours later by another power outage of unknown size or cause.

At about 7 PM, Max was having a cup of coffee and imagining just exactly what Myra was going to do to him as part of
her turn
, when Jessica approached at a march.

“Max, we got a problem,” she said.

Ah crap.  “What kind of a problem?” he asked.

“We’ve got some missing residents.  They left to pick up some things at their house and never came back.”

“How do we know they aren’t just getting something to eat or maybe had car trouble?”

He really didn’t want to do this.  He just wanted to finish his coffee, shower, and enjoy some nice, not so quiet time with Myra.

“Well, for one thing, they left their fourteen year-old daughter behind, promising to return.  She’s tried them on their cell phones and no answer.  For another thing, the mom missed her turn in the day care center, and the father was supposed to do clean-up after dinner, but didn’t show for that either.”

“Ah, they probably just lost track of time.  Let’s go have a talk with their daughter.”

As they were walking, he asked, “How’d the class go today?”

“I out-shot the men,” she whispered with a big grin on her face.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Max, Myra, Steve, and Rich Martinez, Jessica’s police officer husband, took Rich’s Chevy Blazer in search of the missing Briones family.

In speaking with their daughter, Max learned her parents had promised to return before noon.  They were only going to check on their house, water the lawn and garden, and retrieve a few items for their dog.  After that, they’d return.  They left about 9 AM.

Max checked the log at the front gate and sure enough, the Briones signed out at 0908 hours and hadn’t returned.  It briefly crossed Max’s mind that it wasn’t his responsibility to go look for them.  They made a decision to leave, and if something bad happened, well, that was on them.  His job was to protect the people
behind
the gate.  But on the other hand, they had put themselves in his care and their daughter was still in-residence.  Wasn’t it reasonable to expect people to leave for a few hours to get personal items and check on their property?  Besides, if he didn’t have a responsibility to the parents, he certainly had a responsibility to the daughter.  And who else was going to look for them?

So he got their vehicle description and photos from the form they filled out when they moved in.  Good old Jessica and her thoroughness, Max thought.

This time out, all three men were armed with either a carbine or shotgun, in addition to their side arms.  It was also closing in on dusk, so they equipped themselves with flashlights as well.

On the short drive to the freeway on-ramp, Steve, who was in the front passenger seat, shot his arm out the window and said, “You don’t see that every day.”

Everyone looked to where he was pointing and saw a man carrying groceries from his car to his house.  He was also carrying a revolver in a belt holster, a sight Max had never, ever seen before in San Jose.  A couple of weeks ago, if you were to do something like that, you’d have ten people calling the cops on your ass. 
In the old days
was a phrase that came to Max’s mind.  Were those the old days?  It was sure starting to look that way.

They took highway 85, transitioned to highway 87, and exited at San Carlos/Auzerais.  From there, they made their way to Bird Avenue, and drove south to Riverside Drive.

The Briones home was half a block down on the left.  The door had been kicked in.  The good news was their car wasn’t out front.  Maybe they were okay after all, Max thought.

Max sent Rich around back and gave him a couple of minutes to get set up.

Rich was a few years older than Jessica, so maybe in his late thirties, had thick curly hair, a bushy moustache, and a black ink Marine Corps tattoo on his left forearm.

Just as Max and Steve were about to make entry through the front, he heard Rich shout, “One down inside!”

“Shit!” Max said.  “Okay, okay, let’s do it.  San Jose Police, we’re coming in!”

Except for the far corner of the front wall, the floor in front of the couch, and the area behind an upholstered chair, they could see the living room was unoccupied.  Max, with his carbine slung, Glock in hand, rolled in and cleared the corner, while Steve entered and kept his shotgun pointed toward the other blind spots.  Max then pied his way, a slice at a time, until the other places of possible concealment were revealed enough to know they were clear, too.  And so it went, from the living room, to the hallway, to the first bedroom, the hallway bath, the second bedroom, and the master bedroom and bath.  They next went on to the kitchen and dining area, which is where they found Mr. Briones.  He had been shot twice; once in the back and once in the head.  The house had been thoroughly ransacked.

Max shouted to Rich, letting him know they were coming out the back door.

Once they were out there, Rich and Steve checked the detached garage, finding it empty, while Max went out front to make sure Myra was safe.  They then all gathered back inside.

“Awe, no,” Myra said, when she entered the kitchen.  “His poor daughter.”

“Think the mom is still alive?” Rich asked.

“I don’t know, man.  It sure doesn’t look good,” Max said.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asked.

“Well he’s not going anywhere, that’s for sure, so let’s take a few cell phone photos, make a couple of notes, and call it in.  It may take a couple of hours, but on-duty people can take it from here.”  As an afterthought he added, “Before we leave, maybe we can also knock on a few doors.”

Rich called it in to dispatch while Steve and Max checked the houses next door and across the street.  People were home in at least three of them but apparently refused to come to the door.  Maybe uniformed officers would have better luck, Max thought.

They climbed back into Rich’s Blazer and started on their way back to the substation.  They followed Riverside back around until it connected with Bird Avenue again and turned north.  Rich’s intention was to pick up Highway 680 to Highway 101 south.

As they passed Fuller, Max looked to his right and shouted, “Stop, stop, pullover!  There’s the car!”

As Rich pulled to the curb, Max added, “Swing it around and drive down Fuller.  I think it’s parked two or three houses down.”

Rich did as directed, driving past a small, single-story, wood-sided home, with a three-foot chain link fence surrounding a front yard of mostly dirt and weeds.  There was a junked refrigerator next to the driveway, as well as a rusty car transmission, also with weeds growing around it.  In the driveway was a blue Sonata bearing a license plate matching the car belonging to the Briones.  In front of it was parked a faded red Honda Accord.

Rich continued down the street, made a U-turn at the end of the block, returned toward the house, and parked three addresses away.

Want me to call it in?” Rich asked.

“I suppose we ought to try.  See if you can get an ETA from the dispatcher,” Max said.

When Rich disconnected, he said, “They couldn’t give me an ETA.  The nearest unit in service is on the far west side.  Everyone else is out on calls.  I don’t think we ought to wait.  What if she’s in there being hurt or worse, while we’re out here sitting on our asses?”

Max looked at Steve, who tilted his head slightly to one side, “He’s got a point.”

His eyes shifted to Myra.  He couldn’t take her into the house, it was just too dangerous.  He also didn’t want to leave her outside alone; that had its own set of risks.

“You looking for my vote?” she asked.

“No, I’m trying to decide what to do with you.”

“Do with me?  I’ll be fine right here.”

“Don’t like it.”  At that he drew his Glock and handed it to her.  “All you do is keep both hands on the grip, hold on tight, point, and pull the trigger.”

They left Myra one house away on the street-side of a car parked at the curb.  As before, Rich went to the back corner of the house where he could see two sides, and Max and Steve went to the front door.

Max stood to the side of the door with his carbine at the low ready position, while Steve covered the front windows with his Remington 12 gauge pump.  Max quietly tried the knob and found it unlocked, pushed the door open an inch, re-gripped his rifle with both hands, switched on the mounted light, faced the door, and toed it hard.

The door swung open and impacted the wall, bouncing part way back, stopping against Max’s shoulder as he stepped through and brought his weapon up.  The timing couldn’t have been any better.  A twenty something Hispanic male was just entering the front room from the kitchen with a beer in one hand, a bag of chips in the other, and an expression of total shock plastered across his face.

“Police!  Down on the floor!”

The man put his hands out in front of him and complied, setting the beer and chips on the floor as he proned-out.

Max advanced into the room, and Steve came in behind just as a second man came out of the hallway pointing a chrome-plated, semi-automatic pistol.  Will cut loose with the Remington. At the same moment, the second man fired his pistol.  The buckshot from Steve’s shotgun hit the man in the chest, stepping him back and dropping him to the floor.  The bullet fired toward Steve and Max hit the floor near their feet.

Almost immediately, Max and Steve heard some shouting in the backyard, followed by several shots being fired from a carbine, Rich’s carbine.

Max took a step back toward the front door without taking his eyes off the hallway or kitchen and said, “Go check on Rich.  I’ll hold here until you come back.”  And then to the suspect still lying on the floor, “You just stay right where you are.”

“Okay, okay, just be cool, man.”

As Steve went out, Max retreated to the partial protection of the front door jamb, where he could cover both the kitchen and hallway entrances.  He heard Steve shout to Myra that Max was okay, and she should remain where she was.

Steve returned within a couple of minutes.  “All’s good out back.  Rich just smoked some asshole coming out the back with a gun.  We’re good to go.”

Addressing the man still on the floor, Max asked, “How many are there in the house?”

“Just three of us, man.”

“You better not be lying.  I’ve got no problem killing you.”

“There’s just me, him,” he pointed his finger at his dead companion, “and the one who must of run out the back.  I swear.”

“Where’s the woman who owns the car parked in the driveway?” Steve asked.

The guy on the floor didn’t answer.

“Hey, asshole, I asked you a question.  Where is she?”

“Look, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.  They called me to come get the car.  That’s all I did.”

“Answer the question.”

“She’s in the tub, man.”

“She alive?”

“I don’t know.  I heard her earlier.  They were in there with her.  I didn’t hear her after that.”

“Okay, up on your feet.  Hands behind your head,” Max said.

“Why? What’re you going to do?”

“Shut-up and do it now.”

The man stood up.

“Now turn around.”

“Okay, but I’m cooperating, man.  I’m not resisting.”

To Steve, Max said, “Myra has my pistol.  Can you sling your shotgun and march him down the hall in front of us?”

Steve slung the Remington, grabbed the man’s hands, pinning them together behind his head, completed the handcuffing procedure, drew his pistol, and used him as a shield to first clear the kitchen and then marched him to the hallway.  As they stepped over the body of his friend, Steve said, “Last chance.  That’s you if there’s someone else hiding in here.”

“I tol’ you the truth, man.  There was just three of us.”

They found Mrs. Briones naked in the tub.  Max checked her; no pulse, body cool to the touch.  The bruising on her neck indicated she’d been strangled.

“I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that, man,” the remaining suspect said.

Max shouted for Rich to get Myra and come on in.  Returning his attention to their arrestee, “If you didn’t have anything to do with it, how’d you know she was in the tub?  You rape her?  Huh?  She going to have your DNA in her?”

The suspect didn’t respond, which was a response in itself.

After taking more photos, notes, and calling it in, they decided to take the remaining suspect to the police department, which wasn’t that far away, and get him booked into jail.