Someone Bad and Something Blue (18 page)

 

T
he only good thing about being here this long was that Garden Ridge had cushy pillows and nice tables to use as a sort of lounge/work station underneath the canopy. I sat on a bench next to a sketchpad artist and a technician with an electronic tablet that housed current and past felons in a database. We were hidden from plain view by outdoor canopies. Apparently, the crowd made it hard for us to leave.

“When the shootings were happening I ran inside to stop the shooter, but bumped into this guy wearing a Garden Ridge Security Uniform,” I repeated to a CSI technician, who now videotaped my interview.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked.

“Yes, ma'am. It'll keep us from asking you to come down to headquarters for more questioning.” Detective Page smiled at Maxim instead of me. “Also, these tech toys will help us track down the shooter faster. Is that okay with you?”

“Very.” I bit my lip and leaned over to get a better glance of the tablet. “I need to get one of those.”

“You should.” Detective Page smiled again. “Angel, by any chance, do you remember what the shooter looked like?”

“Yes.” I checked my watch.

We had been sitting here for at least an hour and I had been on this scene for maybe three. I'd called Mom and told her what was going on and spoke to Bella. It had calmed me down for a little while, but this was going on way too long.

Because of the economy, low staff numbers, and higher crime rate it took longer to process crime scenes. Murder scenes, of course, took longer: twelve to fifteen hours long. This was worse than staking out a rap artist carrying a duffle bag full of ones into a strip club. Maybe being a bail recovery agent had more perks than I realized.

“Now would be a good time to share his description with us.” Maxim nudged. “It'll help us, too, and we have to get a move on.”

“Well, he wasn't as pretty as you, Maxim.” I gave him the side eye.

He didn't smile, but continued walking toward me. He wore blue jeans well, too.

“Was he black?”

I shook my head. “White.”

He coughed. “Was he my build? My height?”

“Your height, but you have a better build. I mean, you have larger muscles. Oh, I'm exhausted.” I covered my eyes with my hands. I sounded like an idiot.

Ty had arrived a few minutes earlier. He sat on the other side of me and patted my back. “You're doing good, kid.”

I peeked at him. “No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are,” Maxim said. “Clear your mind and use what Uncle Deke and I have taught you. Tell me about the Knocker.”

He now stood in front of me, yet I saw him in a different way. This was his show. It was his arena and he looked good in it. I gulped. Either the turkey sandwich he gave me a few hours ago hadn't hit the spot or I was missing Justus. Whatever it was it definitely wasn't a growing attraction to Maxim. I was sleep deprived.

I looked to Ty and Detective Page in confusion. “Knocker? What is that?”

This time Detective Page wasn't smiling or nodding. There was a tremble in her fingers. “The Knocker is a person, Angel. A very, very bad person.”

“He's back.” Ty cursed. “This guy is crazy. He uses a captive bolt pistol on his marks.”

“That's why I thought about a horse ranch when I saw Sean,” I said. “My family uses that to put their horses and cattle down.”

Ty grinned. “You're a country girl?”

“Not really. Ava and I are from South Georgia, but Mom moved us here to Atlanta when she remarried. We were kids then. We only returned during the summers to help out until I was sixteen.” A chill ran up my spine.

Maxim pulled a folding chair from the other side of the table, placed it in front of me, and sat down on it. “Is this too much for you?”

“Yeah.” I chuckled nervously. “I need to use who I am to get what I want. I can do this.”

“We're going to leave in a few minutes and get you out of this space,” he said. His arms were on my leg, but I knew he wasn't being flirty, just concerned.

“Angel, your description of him, the large bolt that popped Sean's eye out of his socket, looks textbook Knocker,” Ty said.

“So who is this guy?” I asked.

“His real name is Biloxi James. He's a hitman by trade. Has roots in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Tennessee, but word on the street is that he's been living in Georgia for a while now near Kingsland and St. Mary's.”

“Bootleggers?” I turned to Maxim. “They have hitmen?”

Maxim touched my shoulder. “Not like what we think. Not like the movies. They're not the mafia.”

“Not too far from it, either.” Ty smirked. “Moonshine, even in GA, is a multimillion dollar business. Outside of Atlanta, package stores aren't a dime a dozen. Everyone doesn't care for champagne, wine, and wine coolers like you can get in the grocery store. They want whiskey. They want white lightning and they don't want the federal regulated kind.”

“So people are hired to protect the illegal kind, the people who make it, and the moonshine way of life.”

I gasped.

“What's wrong?” Maxim frowned.

I turned to Maxim. “Sounds like something Rosary would say. Is this a coincidence or a sick joke? Why would he come up here if she's down there?”

Maxim sat back. “I don't think he was coming for Rosary. Someone tipped him off about Sean's involvement. This was a hit to shut his mouth.”

Ty huffed. “Do you think Rosary told?”

“No. She's a snitch, for sure, but I have a gut feeling she's devoted to Sean.” I sighed, then looked at Maxim. “And if The Knocker saw what
we
saw, then she's definitely next.”

“Right. If he's returning to the swamps, then it's made our mission to retrieve Rosary even more difficult,” Maxim said. “He'll be even harder to find, if he's down there.”

Ty chimed in. “He's probably getting help from the moonshine community, too.”

“Uncle Pete . . .” I sucked my teeth and shook my head. “If there are people helping him hide, then it's harder for you to find him. We have skips who've been on the run for years. I'm sure it's because these people make sure they don't hurt for anything.”

Ty shook his head. “This reminds me of the Centennial Olympic Park bombing.”

Maxim nodded. “It sure does.”

In 1996 Eric Rudolph, a terrorist under contract with a mysterious anti-abortion collective, bombed Centennial Olympic Park the night of the Atlanta Olympics opening ceremony using a military-made weapon that contained three pipe-bombs nailed under the base of a concert sound tower. Two people died and one hundred eleven were injured. The bomb was the largest pipe bomb in U.S. history.

“Covering this bombing helped me move up at
The Sentinel
,” I said.

“The Rudolph search got me interested in law enforcement.” Detective Page rejoined the conversation. “The FBI searched for him around my childhood home.”

I lingered on Detective Page's words. I knew she was from up in those North Georgia woods
.
As I watched the three law enforcement officers reminisce over a sad and scary time in Atlanta history, I realized that, in a sick way, tragedy had advanced all our careers, including Elaine's, who was a part of the prosecution team of Rudolph's case.

“If we're dealing with another psycho like Rudolph, then how are we going to get him? That guy hung in the Appalachian mountains for months.”

“It's okay. We know where he's heading. We'll get him with your help,” Maxim reassured me.

“We'll see.” My stomach began to churn in knots.

I wasn't skilled like these people. I was just a bail recovery agent who could use some of my old journalism skills to find someone who was very easy to find. Finding a needle in a haystack was what I was hoping to learn from Maxim and Deacon. But I wasn't expecting this kind of in the field training. I don't know what this man was thinking.

Then I remembered that I'd given this Knocker person my card when I ran further inside to find Elaine.

“Oh my God!” I jumped up, almost knocking Gwinnett PD's laptop off the bench.

“What's wrong?” Maxim shouted.

“My baby.” I panted and hopped up. “I gave that man my business card. He knows who I am! He knows how to find me and my family, if he wants to. I have to get out of here.”

“Hold on, Angel. We'll get protection to your family, but you can't go. Definitely not now.”

“But I want to go home. I need to go home.” I could hear my voice shaking.

“Darling, I need you to come with me.” Maxim placed his hand around my waist. “Please. I promise I won't let anything happen to Bella and your family.”

 

 

 

I was escorted to the Gwinnett Police Department Norcross precinct to get away from the scene and to regroup the team. Distraught. Detective Page continued her work at Garden Ridge. Ty had gone to ATF headquarters to talk with his crew. According to a text from Whitney, Lana's fiancé, Kenny, was with her and Elaine. Stacy and Lark were fine, but concerned for me. Weird. Mom had taken Whitney and Bella with her to her new home with El Capitan, and Justus was holding a prayer vigil at church. Expected. Everyone seemed to be taken care of, as best as could be. I thought about Sean again and wondered what family members would be coming to take care of his final arrangements.

I tried to relax, but I couldn't get Sean's death out of my head.

“I remember reading a story about the meatpacking industry a few years back
.
They called the guy who shot the cattle with a captive bolt stunner the Knocker. Not because the stunner knocked the cattle brain dead, but because of the sound it made. It sounded like a pinch. A knock.”

“Imagine that done to humans,” Maxim said.

A chill ran down my spine. Almost every week for five years I've listened to Tiger talk about the skips we had to locate, but they were never this chilling. The people we hunted had issues, but this guy was an issue.

“If you brought me here to calm my nerves, don't. I work best when afraid. Let's go.”

 

I
called Mom and Justus again on the drive downtown. I told them I wasn't coming home for a few days and to kiss Bella for me. I wanted to hear my daughter's voice, but if I did that, I knew I would have backed out of this thing. Detective Page said she would plant a marked car in my driveway while I was away. However, I knew that wouldn't scare someone like The Knocker from my doorstep. Most criminals spot an empty squad car a mile away. I needed to call Tiger.

There was a brunette marshal in the room with me. Her name was Lieutenant Sanchez. She had tawny skin, so I couldn't tell whether she was South American, Welsh, black, or just tan. She wore dark jeans, a matching jean jacket, and a blue tank. She used her badge as a belt buckle similar to Maxim's. I liked her style better.

“Welcome, guys. We've been waiting for you in the boardroom to my right,” she said.

“Cool, but I need to make a call and there's no service in this room,” I said to her.

“It's out in the entire building. GSA has been working on restoring cell phone coverage since this morning. It'll be up before court begins Monday, so in the meantime, you have to use the landline.” She pointed at a black IP digital phone that sat in a cubicle across from the boardroom she'd referred to previously.

She and Maxim went into the boardroom; I went to make my call.

There was a swivel chair inside the cubicle. I sat on it and took a quick visual sweep of the floor before I made my call. It was busy, but bare, not like the sleek offices I saw in movies. It wasn't as high tech either. The only area that looked highline was the receptionist desk and the lobby area. I had spotted a polished red rotary phone in the lobby when we passed it and thought of Elaine. She had a similar phone in her office. Sean had used it often. I pulled my phone out and saw the picture of Sean's wallet contents again. What had he and Rosary gotten themselves into?

As soon as I dialed Tiger, I knew he wouldn't pick up. He didn't fear law enforcement, but the Fed, especially the IRS, gave him the heebie-jeebies. I left a message instead.

“Angel, we need you in the boardroom,” Sanchez said.

There were five people in the room: Sanchez, me, Maxim, and two people I didn't know. They smiled at me and waited for me to sit down. Then their faces turned harder than guerrilla-snot hair gel. The night had just doubled in length.

“Have a seat,” Maxim said.

I shook my head. “If everyone else is standing, then so should I.”

He grinned. “Have a seat, darlin'. You'll need your legs later.”

“What does that mean?”

He picked up a letter off the table and waved it in the air. “We've received a warrant for Biloxi's arrest and a confirmation from an informant that he's hiding in Charlton County.”

My heart raced. “Do you think Rosary's there, too?”

“I hope not—well, not with him anyway—but this does close the gap on finding the both of them. We could kill two birds with one stone,” Ty said.

Kill?
I hoped The Knocker hadn't killed Lucia and Rosary and had just come up here to finish the job with Sean.

“She looks pale, West,” Ty said.

“Angel, are you okay?”

“I'm all right.” I looked up. “I'm going to be hunting him in the swamps?”

He nodded. “Don't worry. You can rest up on the drive down.”

“Are we going to Folkston now?”

He shook his head and paused. “No, we're stopping in Lake Park first. Remember?”

“Uncle Pete?” I felt my lip quiver and then I said a quick prayer. “I need to say good-bye to my family first.”

 

 

 

We arrived at Ava's McMansion just short of midnight. Mom had rounded everyone up and had them say good-bye to me there. As tired as I was, I was pumped to see my little baby. If it wasn't dangerous and Sanchez wasn't hanging on my every move closer than my shadow, I would've smuggled Bella in a U.S. marshal's duffle bag and brought her with me. I didn't want to leave and I definitely didn't want to leave her here another night without me. I just wasn't a fan of the place.

While Sanchez parked the Trailblazer I unbuckled my seat belt and noted the grounds. Since Devon's death much of it hadn't changed. However, the Mission Possible gate was gone and replaced with a dude in uniform, a large stone gate, and security cameras everywhere but where they should be. I stared at the new gate and asked God to place protective angels over it and the guard.

We made our way up the front walk. The magnolia trees still lined the front facade, although the flowers hadn't bloomed yet, because it was still too early. The marble, cherub water fountain still illuminated the path toward the front doors the same way it did when I had dropped Bella off yesterday morning. Yet even the light drip of water lapping the fountain pool and the soft chirps of the nocturnal whippoorwills that sang all night around the gazebo—none of it ever stopped me from dreading my walk to those brick red double doors. Devon was murdered here and although I didn't see the difference of his absence, I felt it. I felt the guilt.

And I was also haunted by it. Why was I spared?

When we stepped into Ava's pristine house I heard my Bella screaming my name. She raced toward me as fast as her little legs could carry her. I bent down, scooped her up, and changed my mind about what I'd just thought. I regretted agreeing to go on the manhunt with Maxim and Sanchez.

Ava, Mama, and Whitney weren't too far behind Bella. I introduced Officer Sanchez to them and, after Bella returned upstairs with her cousins, I shared my plan to join the manhunt, but didn't give them any particulars, and surely didn't mention my visit with Uncle Pete. We moved into Ava's sitting room to get more comfortable.

“I don't have a good feeling about this.” Mom held a teacup in her hand. She couldn't carry a conversation without holding something indulgent.

“I agree.” Ava paced between us. “This manhunt idea doesn't sit well with me either.”

“Do you think I raised my hand and asked to join? Maxim—”

“Maxim?” Ava stopped pacing. “I'm getting tired of hearing his name. I think he's going to be a problem if you don't check that, Evangeline.”

“He's the U.S. marshal in charge of the fugitive recovery of Biloxi James,” Sanchez said.

“He's cute?” Whitney finally spoke.

She had been holding my hand since we sat down. I squeezed it when she made that joke. We hadn't talked much since after the Garden Ridge incident. I could tell she was out of sorts: I could tell she needed Big Sister love.

Unfortunately, Ava wasn't her source for that. She was just as shaken. Elaine had been her poli-sci adviser in undergrad. We'd both thought the worst when I went inside after the shooting. I'm thankful Elaine is alive, but terrified about how close she came to death.

“He's all right.” I leaned closer to her and winked at Sanchez. “How are you feeling? How's Lana?”

Whitney looked at me. Her eyes were both sunken and swollen. The sprite spirit that had once glowed from those eyes was buried behind a darkness that I had met six years ago. I had seen so much violence in the past six years I knew how to compartmentalize my life, prioritize my actions, and tuck my feelings away. But as I watched Whitney still shaken from Sean's killing, I wasn't sure if I could continue to keep it together.

She lowered her head onto my shoulder, then clutched my shirt and cried. I held her until she released me; she needed to get it out.

Sanchez checked her watch, cleared her throat, and tapped the watch with her fingers. I knew what she meant. We didn't have much time.

I kissed Whitney's head. “Hon, I have to go.”

Whit sat up. “I want to come with you. I want to hunt that fool down.”

“I know you do, but you can't come. I need you here.” I eyed Mama and Ava, who had worried looks on their faces.

I turned to Sanchez. “I'm ready.”

We stood up.

Whitney grabbed my shirt. “No!” she shouted.

I caught her arm and tried to remove it. Her grasp on my shirt was strong.

“You're taking me with you,” she said.

“No.” I shook my head. “I'm not.”

She jerked. “Yes, you are!”

“Look. I don't have time for this. Important people are expecting me back. I can't.” I looked for Mom.

She nodded and hopped up to comfort Whitney.

“Stop treating me like a child!” Whitney scooted away from Mom. “I'm grown and I'm going. You don't understand.”

“Sit down.” I stepped in front of Whitney. “Don't make me stain Ava's white carpet and couch. Don't make me.”

Whitney's lower lip quivered. She glared at me as if she were a wild bobcat ready to pounce.

I looked down at her, then sat back down beside her. “I know what you're doing and you don't want it to stick.”

“I want my happiness back.” She puffed, as tears brought some light back to her eyes.

Mom whimpered. Ava prayed. I asked them both to go upstairs. Sanchez sat on the other side of Whitney. I was beginning to like this woman.

I pulled a hankie out of my bag and made a note to myself that I might need to pay another visit to the antique shops to find more, then handed it to Whitney. “Honey, I need you here. I can't concentrate on what I have to do, if I don't know you are all safe.”

“But if I'm with you, you would know that I was safe, because I would be with you.”

I looked past Whitney to Officer Sanchez. She held the same blank stare as I thought in my head. Whit was exhausted, needed sleep, and some understanding, but I didn't have that kind of time to give it to her.

“I hear what you're saying, but I'm not the chief inspector of this task force. He'd already made up his mind about who he wanted on the team before he asked me. And you're not licensed to walk a dog, let alone go with us. Study for the bar. Okay?”

“I have to do something.” Her voice shook. “I can't look Lana in the eye unless I do something.”

I remembered Sean's missing right eye and shuddered. “At least you can still talk with your friend.”

“Sorry. I wasn't thinking.” She whimpered.

“No, that's totally fine. I know you're hurt.” I stood up. “But you're staying with Ava and Mama and that's final.”

She jerked her hand away from me. Whitney wiped tears from her eyes, stood up, and ran upstairs. I watched her and wondered if I should run after her. Maybe I should call Tiger and ask him to check in on her, too.

 

 

 

Uncle Pete, unlike the many men in my life, was actually family, except for times like these I wished that he wasn't. He lived in the backwoods between Ocean Pond and Lake Park Cemetery in an all-brick, coffee stain–looking ranch on the corner set back far from the road, hidden behind mossy oak trees and old auto parts rusting in the front yard.

We were four hours south of Atlanta.

I knew the property well, because I'd taken him into custody at least twelve times since I began as a bail recovery agent. Uncle Pete went to jail for mostly petty crimes: DUI, driving without a license, bootlegging, driving without insurance, beating Aunt Mary, and some other things I cringed to admit, else I might go down for accessory after the fact. Nevertheless I worked for free for every bondsman Aunt Mary had a bond with. She never knew it, but I made sure Uncle Pete knew.

He kept a few chacha brandy stills in Waycross and Statenville, near the edge of the Okefenokee Swamp. Chacha or “Georgia vodka” was a clear fruit distillate made out of either grapes, mulberries, figs, or whatever fruit a Georgia farmer had on his property. Uncle Pete's favorite was muscadine chacha. He was infamous for it.

If there was anyone who could write the book on moonshine living it was Uncle Pete. Most days I wanted to beat him with said book, but not tonight—unless he had hurt my aunt again.

Sanchez and I pulled into his driveway while the guys hung back in a Navigator parked across the street near Roadway Trucking Company. There was an empty space in his carport. Aunt Mary's car was missing. I didn't know what to assume. I hoped for his sake she was at midnight prayer meeting.

He cracked his screen door with hesitation, but let us in after he saw me mouth
“Open the dayum door.”
Once inside he welcomed us into his man cave, a back room behind the kitchen, hidden from normal view by the water heater and a tacky, bone-stringed-beads curtain Ava and I had made for them at Girl Scout camp way back when.

The tar-stained, wood-paneled walls were covered in maps and multicolored markers, to pin the places he could pull in on his CB radio transistor. I noticed marijuana plants growing in a closet by the CB. Sanchez gave me a look that I could only return with a shamed pout.

To make matters worse, he wouldn't take his eyes off Sanchez. If he licked his lips at her one more time, I would have to stun him with my taser. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't mind if she shot the pervert, but I needed his help before we left for Kingsland.

I kicked him in the leg. He jumped. “What the—”

“Uncle Pete, if I wanted to disappear in South Georgia tonight, how could I? Make it quick.”