11. Collateral Damage Page 6

  Harry knew what was going to happen next. He had trained federal agents and cops, and the first rule they learned at their various academies was that you never gave up your weapon. Harry slowly eased the pressure on the man’s neck and slid his foot to the floor. True to form, the intruder rolled over, gasped for breath as his hands pummeled the floor. Then, like a jack-in-the-box, he was on his feet and swinging.

  In the blink of an eye the intruder was airborne. Harry winced when he heard the loud thump as the flying body hit the wall. It sprawled like a broken doll. “If my calculations are right, you now have a broken collarbone and a fractured hip. You are one sorry sack of shit, mister. But to show you my heart is in the right place, I’m going to call 911 because I don’t want you dying in my dojo.” His fingers pressed the keys on his cell phone.

  Strange sounds came from the man’s mouth. Harry rather thought he was being called a son of a bitch and that the man was a federal agent. “No shit! You’re a federal agent? Why didn’t you say so instead of breaking and entering? A man’s home and his work space are his castles. You’re supposed to announce yourself, show me your creds. I read that in the FBI manual. What do you do? You sneak in here, no warrant in hand, and you think I’m going to serve you tea and cakes? Not in this lifetime. By the way, I got it all on film. For posterity. Ah, I think I hear a siren. Your new ride…Mr. FBI Agent. To the hospital.”

  Harry walked over to the door that led to the street. He stopped long enough next to the sprawled man and looked down at him. “You really do look like a sorry sack of shit.” The agent, in obvious pain, cursed. Harry thought he said, “Fuck you.” “I refuse to tolerate profanity in my place of business,” he said virtuously. To prove his point, his clenched fist shot out and a couple of the man’s capped teeth popped out of his mouth like speeding bullets. Harry blinked, raced back to the camera, and erased the last ten seconds of activity from the tape. He offered up a jaunty salute, then sauntered to the front door.

  Both EMS workers were women. Large women. No-nonsense women. Harry knew them well. He’d trained them free of charge in return for emergency services when one or more of his clients managed to get injured. It kept his liability insurance at affordable rates. “No need to be gentle, Irma. Just dump him in the wagon and take the scenic route to the hospital. He says he’s a federal agent. I didn’t check his creds, so maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. He broke in here intent on harming me.”

  The big woman grinned as she pushed the gurney closer to the agent. Her partner, a woman named Heidi, who looked as big as an oak tree, glared down at the man, who seemed to be insisting they look at his credentials.

  “What’s he saying, Irma?” Heidi asked.

  “Beats me. Do you know what he’s saying, Harry?”

  Harry shrugged.

  Harry waved as the ambulance peeled away, siren wailing, lights flashing. He smiled when he thought of the route Irma would be driving. It wouldn’t surprise him one little bit to find out she’d have either engine trouble or a flat tire along the way.

  Harry removed the tape, walked into his office, and made three additional copies. He shoved the original tape in an envelope, stuck on sufficient postage, and addressed it to Charles’s mail drop. He’d find a mailbox on the way home. He addressed the second one to Elias Cummings at the FBI. The last two went into his pocket.

  Harry took one last look around, locked all the doors, and left by the back entrance. He fired up the Ducati, sat a moment as he thought about the past thirty minutes. Then he laughed as he pulled out his cell phone, powered up, and was speaking to Jack Emery within seconds. “Listen up, big guy, I have a story to tell you.”

  Jack cursed long and loud the moment he broke the connection with Harry. Intending to call Bert, he turned on the phone again, but then the doorbell rang. “Shit!” Well, where was it written that he had to answer the door? Nowhere, that’s where. The bell shrilled again. Confident that his evening caller couldn’t see through the door, Jack meandered back to the kitchen, where he popped a longneck Bud and sat down. He powered up his cell phone and punched in Bert’s number. The agent answered on the first ring.

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s supposed to be a roundup, strike all of you at one time. How long you planning on holding out?” Bert demanded.

  “Till hell freezes over. Give me the lowdown on Charlie Akers.”

  “Nice guy. Thorough agent, dots all his I’s and crosses all the T’s. Goes by the book. Retirement is right around the corner for him. He’s a good family man, sweet homemaker wife, two kids in college. He’s not going to get violent. He’ll try to reason with you, talk nicely to get you to go to headquarters for a chat. He’s like a dog with a bone. He’ll sit outside all night. What I’d do if I was you would be go out the back door and walk around to the front, whenever you’re ready, and pretend you just got home.

  “Word just came down a few minutes ago that Harry put Doug Parks in the hospital. Well, let’s put it this way, he’s on his way to the hospital. Seems the ambulance had a flat tire. Those two Amazons didn’t want to get their hands dirty and called AAA. Parks’s condition isn’t life-threatening. Then they got caught up in a couple of traffic bottlenecks. Life’s a bitch sometimes. Any news, Jack?”

  “At the moment, no. How’s it looking on your end?”

  “Busy. Powell is like a dog chasing her tail. She doesn’t know which way to go, so she’s going in all directions. It’s amusing to a degree. We have a six AM meeting to report our progress. It will be zip. She’s going to go nuclear when she hears about Doug Parks. One guy out of commission. If we could just figure out a way to take out Joe Landos, I’d feel a lot better. Any ideas?”

  Jack swigged from the longneck. “Not at the moment. I’ll call.”

  Jack finished his beer and opened a second. The front doorbell continued to ring. For one wild moment he thought about turning the power off but nixed the idea. This might be a good time to change the sheets on his bed and take a shower. He could pretend he’d just gotten out of the shower after a nap. Shit!

  Contemplating his dilemma, Jack continued to drink. If he kept up with his drinking, he wouldn’t have a problem. Yeah, yeah, there was nothing worse than interrogating a drunk.

  At the end of the day, he knew the fibs would haul his ass into their offices, even dragging him out of the courtroom, if necessary, which wouldn’t do his reputation one bit of good. He slammed the empty into the recycle bin and stomped his way to the front door. He yanked it open, and barked, “Yeah?”

  The man looked like someone’s father, which he was. His hair was almost gray, neatly parted and combed. Brown eyes, strong jaw. A compact kind of guy, but gravity was winning out. He was dressed neatly in a dark suit, a spit shine on his shoes. He held out his credentials as he verbally identified himself. “Take your time, Mr. Emery, make sure you’re comfortable with my credentials.” He sounded, Jack thought, like he was giving directions to a football stadium.

  “So you’re Special Agent Charles Akers. I bet your colleagues call you Charlie. What can I do for you, Special Agent Akers? I hesitate to point this out, but it is seven o’clock at night. My workday ends at five. What that means to you is you’re invading my personal space and my private time.”

  “And you think I give a good rat’s ass about that, Mr. Emery?”

  Whoa. So there was still some fire in the belly. Now Special Agent Akers’s tone sounded like he was giving parking directions at the local jail.

  “Guess not. Gotta make sure that pension stays intact. What do you want, Akers?”

  “I’d be more than pleased if you’d accompany me down to the Hoover Building.”

  Jack’s mind raced. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really,” Special Agent Akers said jovially.

  “Okay, let me get my jacket. Just so you know, I had a poker game scheduled for nine o’clock. I need to call someone to cancel. That won’t be a problem, will it, Special Agent Akers?”

  “Five minutes. If you
aren’t standing next to me, I’ll be breaking down your door.”

  “Understood.” Jack slammed the door shut. Ten seconds later he had Maddy, the office manager at Nikki’s firm, on the phone. “Listen up, Maddy, this is Jack. The FBI is here at the house to haul my ass downtown. I’m going to need a lawyer, ASAP. The best of the best. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be at the Hoover Building. Unless this guy takes the long way. And I’d like the press there when they walk me in. A picture of me being hauled in will make for a Kodak moment. Can you do it?”

  The voice on the other end of the phone made a very unladylike sound. “Consider it done.”

  Jack heaved a mighty sigh of relief as he reached for his jacket and slipped into it.

  He dropped the cell phone into the bottom of the umbrella stand and fished out a second one from his jacket. He speed dialed Harry’s number and waited for the martial arts expert to speak. “They’re here to take me downtown. If anyone asks, I called you to cancel our poker game. Be alert, Harry, the shit is starting to fly.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Jack went out the front door and locked it behind him.

  “What took you so long, Mr. Emery?”

  “I had to go to the bathroom, Special Agent Akers. I know for a fact you guardians of the law aren’t big on bathroom breaks when you drag someone in for questioning. I think that’s against my civil rights.”

  “Shut up, Mr. Emery. Get in the car.”

  Jack knew he needed to stall for time. He wasn’t sure Maddy could get her people to the Hoover Building before he arrived. “Look, Special Agent Akers, I don’t mind your coming here and asking me to accompany you downtown, but I do object to your not telling me why. Let’s cut the bullshit and tell me why you’re dragging me out of my home at this hour of the night.”

  “All in good time. Think of this as a come-to-Jesus meeting. We’d like some input from you. We’re a generous bunch, so we’ll share what we have, and perhaps we can all learn something.”

  Jack did a quick little dance. “You see, you see! That’s just it. Learn what? Share what? I’m all for both, but I need a clue. You want me to cooperate, you need to give a little, Special Agent Akers. Being the Deputy District Attorney for the District of Columbia, I’m hardly a novice at interrogations. In fact, Special Agent Akers, you might want to remember that when you work in the District you are subject to its laws, and I represent those laws. ’Nuff said?”

  “It’s not my place to enlighten you, Mr. Emery. My boss will be doing that. I’m following her orders. Think of me as a foot soldier. A messenger.”

  Jack worked up some more outrage, hoping his eyes were bulging. “Her! Did you say her? A woman? Well, no woman is going to tell me what to do. What are you, some pussy? A wuss? You take orders from a woman! Well, damn. Now I really do feel sorry for you. Nah, I don’t think I’m interested in going with you.”

  He turned around to walk back up the steps to the house. He heard the click of the agent’s gun but didn’t stop. No one was going to shoot a deputy district attorney on the steps of his house right here in Georgetown. No way, no how. He fit the key in the lock. He risked a glance down at his wrist. He’d wasted almost ten minutes. That was good. Another ten, and things should be in place.

  “Stop right there, Mr. Emery.”

  “Or what?” Jack asked, opening the door. He turned around. “So shoot me! Make the eleven o’clock news. There goes your pension, big guy! You’ll be up to your ass in political bullshit till those retirement papers are moldy. That means no monthly income. So, asshole, take your best shot!”

  “You think this is a joke, don’t you? It’s not. I asked you nicely. I’m going to ask you nicely one more time. If you refuse to accompany me, I’m going to have to call for backup.”

  “Dead or alive, is that it? Someone to lie for you when you shoot me. You guys suck, you know that? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t break any laws. I’m an officer of the court. You now, you’re a different story. You might think you’re the eight-hundred-pound gorilla, but you’re not. What are you waiting for? I thought you were going to shoot me.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Akers said as he reviewed his options, which weren’t looking too good at the moment. All he could think about were the words Emery said about his pension and the eleven o’clock news. Hell could freeze over before they’d turn over his pension money to him. He knew all about bureaucracy.

  Did he really want to call for backup? Emery was right, the Bureau would look at him as a wuss. His colleagues would whisper and snicker behind their hands that he was playing it safe till retirement. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.

  Emery was looking at him like a cat who’d just licked up a whole bowl of cream. A shudder rippled up and down Akers’s spine. The son of a bitch was up to something. He saw that Emery was about to close the door when he shouted, “Okay, okay, get back here. I’ll tell you what I know, which isn’t that much. My boss, my temporary boss, Erin Powell, has been appointed to head up a special task force created by the director himself to bring the vigilantes to justice once and for all. She asked me to bring you in for a chat. A chat, Mr. Emery. You are not under arrest. But in about five minutes if you do not accompany me quietly into this car, you will be under arrest. Obstructing a federal agent is not going to look good on your record, just as not bringing you in won’t look good on mine. We’re both reasonable people, so let’s cooperate with one another. And, no, working for a woman who is PMS-ing isn’t a fun thing for me, either. I take orders just like you do.”

  Jack pointedly looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes had elapsed. With travel time to the Bureau, Maddy should have her people in place. He turned around and locked the door for a second time. “Okay,” he said agreeably.

  Akers blinked. Just like that, the jerk was agreeing to go with him. It hit him then like a lightning bolt. Emery had been stalling. “Fuck!”

  Powell was going to crucify him.

  Akers drove like the Hounds of Hell were on his tail. Jack bellowed and snarled for him to slow down, but Akers ignored him. “You’re going eighty miles an hour. That’s against the law. This is the goddamn District. We have laws here! And as an officer of the court I may just have to file an official report on this,” Jack bellowed as he grasped the handgrip above the door.

  “Shut the fuck up. I’m wise to you. You’ve been stalling me. Well, that’s going to get you exactly nowhere.”

  Eight minutes later, the dark sedan pulled to the curb in front of the Hoover Building. The crowd of people jostling one another looked to be in the hundreds. It was all Jack could do not to laugh out loud.

  “Wow! Thanks, Akers, this is a hell of a welcome! You guys go all-out, don’t you?” Jack asked as he climbed out of the car.

  “Get back in this damn car, do you hear me?” Akers sputtered.

  There were print reporters, Ted Robinson and his partner Joe Espinosa at the head of the pack. There were anchors from all the news channels. And then there were the lawyers lined up three deep. Jack looked around as though he was a movie star. “I am Deputy District Attorney Jack Emery. E-m-e-r-y. This guy who brought me here is Special Agent Charles Akers. A-k-e-r-s. Get my good side, boys. I wish I could comment, but I have no idea why I’m here. All I know is there’s someone in there,” Jack said, pointing to the building, “who is in charge of yet another task force to bring down the vigilantes. Her name is Erin Powell. You spell that with two L’s, I think. P-o-w-e-l-l.”

  The crowd literally seemed to swell. Agents appeared with drawn guns. Jack managed to look stunned and horrified at the same time. Lights brighter than stadium floods sprang up everywhere. Microphones were being thrust into his face. He tried to back away, the lights all around him nearly blinding him.

  A slender woman appeared out of nowhere. Even with all the lights glaring in his face, Jack could make out the look of panic on the woman’s face. It had to be Akers’s temporary boss, Special Agent Powell with two L’s. A squadron of other a
gents behind her, she shouted for the crowd to disperse. No one moved. The media was on it like white on rice, and they smelled news.

  “Back off, you are on government property!” Powell shouted.

  Cameras clicked, and more microphones appeared. She angrily batted them out of the way.

  “Arrest anyone who doesn’t move!” Powell screamed to be heard over the uproar.

  Jack leaned over to the nearest reporter, and said, “You didn’t get this from me, but Powell used to know a couple of the vigilantes. Like in best friends. Nikki Quinn and Myra Rutledge. And she’s in charge of this task force. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “You shitting me, Emery?”

  “Gospel, buddy. I swear on my mother.”

  Jack moved slightly to get away from the reporter as he watched what was going on around him. He spotted Harry Wong. He reached out a long arm and yanked the reporter closer. He hissed again. “See that guy over there, the skinny one with the yellow Windbreaker? Talk to him. He’s a wealth of information. I think he has a video you might want to see.” The young reporter looked at Jack suspiciously but moved off to do his bidding. He managed a wink in Harry’s direction. Harry nodded.

  It took twenty minutes before the agents had the doorway clear except for thirteen women.

  Erin Powell looked at her agents and demanded they move the women, who looked like they were rooted to the concrete, away from the doorway. A tight huddle formed as the male and female agents snapped and snarled at one another. Jack watched as Erin Powell exploded in a verbal tirade. “I don’t care who they are, move them out of here.”