Desperate Souls (8 page)

We definitely need stricter gun laws in this country,
Jake thought as he depressed his Glock’s trigger and held it in the firing position. The close muzzle fire caused him to lean back in his seat as the reports struck the Escalade and its passengers. Their bodies rocked from side to side, but this did not prevent them from aiming their weapons at Jake with calm detachment.

The muzzle fire stopped, and Jake realized he had spent his ammunition. There was no way for him to reload while steering his car at eighty-five miles per hour with one hand, so he accelerated to ninety-five as heavy gunfire erupted from the Escalade, blowing out the window behind him. Jamming the hot metal gun back into its shoulder holster, he continued to increase his speed until it reached one hundred. He whipped around the cars ahead of him, switching lanes like a NASCAR driver.

Drivers honked their frustration at him, then slowed down or moved out of the way as the Escalade passed them with guns blazing.

Behind him, he heard a siren.

RMP,
he thought.
About time and way too late.

Looking over his shoulder, he spotted red and blue strobe lights streaking toward the Escalade.

They’ll never be in time to settle this situation.

A thousand lights from Chinatown and the Lower East Side illuminated Jake’s path as he neared the end of the bridge. Most of the other traffic had either stopped or moved aside, giving the Escalade ample space to catch up to him. Jake sped onto the street, praying nothing would cause him to slow down before he reached his target.

Come on! Come on!

Turning onto Park Row, he saw the thirteen-floor building in the distance across the street from City Hall, the Malibu’s headlights illuminating wooden police barricades. Only one entrance and one exit existed, both protected by giant steel plates and a tollbooth manned by uniformed officers, making an assault by vehicle impossible. The street had been closed to civilian traffic since 9/11, causing calamity with the traffic around Chinatown. Beyond the barricades and before the security booth, concrete barriers blocked the way.

Jake plowed through the barricade, splintering wood flying around his vehicle. The Escalade stayed on his tail, gunfire issuing from its interior. The RMP appeared behind the Escalade.

Damn it,
Jake thought as concrete barriers came into view ahead of him.
This security is going to kill me!
If he stopped or slowed down, the Escalade’s occupants would kill him for sure; if he struck the concrete barrier head-on, he’d be crushed.

With no time left to spare, he stomped on the brake and jerked the steering wheel left. The Malibu spun sideways, its right side smashing into the barrier. The impact rolled the car
over
the barrier, and the Malibu spun side over side through the air. Gripping the steering wheel in both hands, Jake extended his arms, pressing his back into his seat.

The spinning car struck the asphalt on its passenger side. It rolled yet again, and Jake feared his body would absorb the impact through the gaping hole beside him. Instead, the car landed on its passenger side again, sparks flying from its metal skin. Then it rolled onto its roof, and as the passenger side caved in, Jake glimpsed the giant steel plate that protected the security booth speeding toward him.

An instant later, the expanding air bag obscured his vision and hurled him into darkness.

Jake heard liquid sloshing onto the ground as hands eased him from the car, his back sliding over the sidewalk. Gasoline fumes filled his nostrils, and his eyes snapped open, taking in the panicked expressions of two men towering above him. The younger of the two men wore a police uniform, the older one a sports jacket and a tie.

Detective,
Jake thought. He heard a car door slam somewhere beyond his field of vision, followed by footsteps.

“Is he okay?” a woman shouted.

“He’ll live.” The detective sounded displeased by Jake’s survival chances.

“I’ve got to pursue that Escalade! Will you call it in?”

The male policeman said, “Get going. I’ll take care of it!”

Raising his head, Jake saw the PW running from behind. Short but fast. She ducked into her waiting unit and took off, siren wailing.

The PO stepped out of Jake’s sight and spoke into his hand radio, calling for backup.

Jake stared at the mangled wreckage of his Malibu. The vehicle lay upside down on the asphalt, roof partially caved in, right side flattened, riddled with bullet holes. Gasoline poured out of the car’s ruptured tank.

So much for my second office.

“Can you stand?” the detective said in a gravelly voice.

Jake nodded. “I think so.”

“So impress me.”

Hard ass.
Jake climbed to his feet. His left knee burned with pain, and his shoulder on that side ached. His head tingled and he felt nauseous. White powder from the deflated air bag covered his clothes.

“You need medical treatment?” said the broad-shouldered detective, who wore his hair in a military cut and looked about fifty.

Jake shook his head. He just wanted this night to end.

“You sure? It’s no big deal to have an ambulance check you out. Probably a good idea in case there’s a lawsuit down the line.”

“Don’t want one.”

“Suit yourself. Lieutenant Geoghegan, Major Crimes Unit. You just crashed your car into One Police Plaza.”

That was the idea,
Jake thought. “Jake Helman.” He knew Teddy Geoghegan by his reputation: pure by-the-book NYPD.

“Who were those guys?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“Really? Huh. Well, the officer over here is technically first officer on the scene, which makes me the investigating detective. If I don’t sound too happy about that, it’s because I was on my way out of here after pulling a twelve-hour shift. This sounds good for at least three hours’ worth of grief.”

Great…

Geoghegan gestured to the gate next to the security booth. “Since you’re refusing medical treatment and you wanted to drop in so badly, shall we get on with this?”

Sighing, Jake accompanied the detective past the booth and into Park Row. They walked to the center of police power together. A dozen men and women had already gathered outside the building, half of them in uniforms.

Sitting in the bull pen on the fifth floor, Jake fed his story to a civilian typist who helped him fill out his police report.

Good practice for my car insurance company,
he thought.

Then he cooled his heels for half an hour before Geoghegan took him into his office. The detective sat behind his desk, his back to the window, and Jake sat opposite him.

“Enlighten me.”

Pompous ass,
Jake thought. “I’m a PI—”

“I know who you are,” he said, making little effort to mask his contempt.

I
bet you do. You knew who I was the minute you laid eyes on me.

“Big hero homicide cop drops two skells in a bar, then resigns the next day. Go figure.”

“I had enough of killing,” Jake said.

“You wanted a piece of the quiet life, eh?”

“I want to make an honest living without dealing with any bureaucratic bullshit or departmental politics.”

Geoghegan smiled. “The red tape was too much for you, huh?”

“Some people like that shit, like pigs in swill. It wasn’t for me.”

“So you think you’re better than the rest of us because you won’t eat shit?”

Jake shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“The way I hear it, you aren’t better than anybody.”

Here it comes.
“I never said I was.”

But Geoghegan didn’t bring up the controversy that surrounded Jake’s resignation from the force. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened out there?”

Jake took a breath before speaking.
Don’t let him throw you off.
“A client hired me to track down her grandson, who she thinks might be slinging over on Flatbush Avenue. I went looking for the kid but didn’t find him. I must have stumbled into the wrong neighborhood or something, because this black Escalade came out of nowhere, guns blazing. I got the hell out of there as fast as I could, but they followed me over the bridge.”

“So you led them here?”

“It seemed like the safest place I could reach.”

“When you say you must have stumbled into the wrong neighborhood, did you get out of your vehicle?”

Jake held the detective’s gaze. “Yes.”

“How come?”

Careful.
He had to cop to getting out of the Malibu to explain its missing door. “Like I said, I was looking for the kid, but I didn’t see him. Then the Escalade came ripping around the corner and tried to mow me down. I dove into my car, and the Escalade took off my door.”

“You fire your weapon?”

Jake saw no point in lying. Ballistics would only screw him up. “Wouldn’t you? It was self-defense.”

“You hit anyone?”

“No. We were going too fast.”

Geoghegan tore a sheet of paper from a pad and handed it to Jake with a pen. “Client’s name and the name of her grandson, with any relevant contact info.”

Jake wrote down Carmen and Louis Rodriguez’s names, then took out his cell phone and located Carmen’s telephone number.

Geoghegan looked at the information on the paper when Jake handed it back to him. “How do I know you didn’t just go over there looking to score some dope?”

Jake stared at the detective. “I’m clean.”

“I hear maybe you had a habit.”

“That’s one story.”

“And everyone knows how cocaine cops pay for their stash.”

“That’s another story.”

“Way I remember it, you were after the Cipher, and the Cipher killed your wife after you resigned. And what happened to the Cipher?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right—some
unidentified vigilante
managed to whack him without leaving any evidence. A real pro, who never had reason to strike again. We could use a guy like that now, what with all these layoffs.”

Jake felt his jaw tightening. “My wife’s got nothing to do with what happened to me tonight.”

“Now if the wife of a straight-up cop had been murdered and the scumbag who did it turned up dead, I’d say, ‘Good riddance’ and sleep well at night. But when I think about the Cipher buying it in his own apartment, for some reason I don’t feel so good. Something just doesn’t feel right about that.”

Major Crimes Unit,
Jake reminded himself. “Forgive me if I sound unconcerned about your feelings, but three men tried to kill me tonight, and I don’t know why.”

The shit-eating grin on Geoghegan’s face widened. “How do you know there were three of them? PW Cassidy reports the vehicle had tinted windows.”

Jake’s pulse quickened.
Damn it! Why did I have to be such a wiseass? He’s right.
“Because they pulled up beside me and lowered their windows to shoot, and I got a good look inside before they opened fire. What happened to them, anyway?”

Geoghegan sat back in his chair. “They got away.”

Jake actually felt relieved by the news. The last thing he wanted was to be connected to living dead hit men. “They circled the area and went back to Brooklyn.”

“You seem to know their moves pretty well for an innocent bystander.”

“I led those gangbangers to your doorstep. They’d have been crazy to stay in Manhattan.”

“One could say the same thing about you, if you’re lying and they know who you are.”

“They don’t.”

“Good thing for you.” Geoghegan stood.

“Am I free to go?”

“Not just yet. Someone else wants to talk to you.”