Delta Stevens 2: Storm Shelter (2 page)

It was the personal enjoyment industry that Megan had been a part of. Her life had consisted of lying on her back and collecting money from men who paid for a service most men got for free. Only recently had Megan quit her “night” job for a position in the bookstore, at the university, where she was finishing up her business degree. For that, Delta was very grateful. The thought of Megan turning tricks nauseated her, not to mention the dangers of being a prostitute. But Megan had left that life, and the night people with it, far behind.

“How was Mark’s game yesterday?” Delta asked, changing the subject.

“He had two hits and stole a base. . .”

Delta waited for the “but.” Mark was one of those little boys who possessed more heart than talent.

“But he made two errors at second.”

Delta nodded thoughtfully. Right from the start, she had liked Jan’s kids. They were well-behaved, respectful, and loved sports. Delta even had gone to a few Little League games and actually enjoyed herself. It was at the first game that Delta’s understanding of and respect for Jan, the mother, grew.

They were sitting in the stands with the other mothers, while Jan’s husband Dennis was coaching first and her oldest boy, Mark, was playing second. Mariah, who was eight, was climbing one of the larger trees overhanging the creek, and Justin stood in front of them, his two little arms covered to the elbows in mud, showing his mother the frogs he had caught.

Jan didn’t miss a thing; she somehow managed to admire the frogs, tell Mariah to stop acting like a monkey, and clap when Mark fielded a ground ball cleanly—while ignoring what some other mother was saying about her son never getting a chance to play. Delta was surprised that being a good mother and being a good cop took many of the same skills

“I’m afraid Mark’s a little too preoccupied to be an infielder, but Dennis won’t see it,” Jan explained, driving down one of the more well-lit areas of their beat.

“I told you. His glove is too big, that’s all. Dennis should get him a smaller glove if he wants him to be an infielder. Second basemen always have smaller gloves.”

Jan nodded. “Think Dennis would know if I slipped Mark a new one?”

Delta laughed. Jan was always playing games with her husband. Fooling each other seemed to keep their twelve-year marriage fresh and lively. Once, when Dennis made Jan’s lunch, he included a trick hardboiled egg that couldn’t be peeled. Delta laughed until her sides ached when Jan cut the egg open, only to find the damn thing was made of rubber.

The radio suddenly jumped to life. “S1012, what’s your 20?”

Delta picked up the mike and cleared her throat before answering. “This is S1012. we’re heading south on Steinbeck.”

“S1012, 10-25 to 1515 Stein Way. The Leather and Lace bar.”

The call was a back-up to a popular biker bar well-known for its violent patrons and “accidental” stabbings. Delta requested information about the conditions at the scene. “Could you 10-13 us on that one?” she asked calmly, as Jan drove them up Steinbeck.

“S1012, we have a 418 with a possible 10-31 involved. Be advised, T1418 and S1020 are at the scene.”

Switching on the lights, Delta jotted the info on her notepad. They would be arriving as the third back-up unit at a bar where some customers were fighting; and one possibly had an arrest record. It was vital to know as much about a scene as possible prior to becoming a party of it. If one of the fighters had an arrest record, the police would need to approach the situation more cautiously.

Someone with an arrest record was often more desperate than someone who had drunk a little too much and was just acting up. An ex-con not wanting to go back to jail could become extremely hostile in an instant. After all, they
knew
where they would be going and would do what it took not to be sent back.

As they pulled into the jammed parking lot, Delta picked up the mike and notified dispatch that they had arrived. Before she could hang up the mike, Jan was out the door and standing with four other patrolmen. Standing next to the men made Jan appear like a midget, as her five-foot-three frame was overshadowed by their bulkiness. Jan’s petite build often made people underestimate her. But Delta had seen Jan in action and knew she was every bit as capable of tossing a large man to the ground as were those four male cops. The thought made Delta proud.

Striding up to the officers, Delta’s own five-nine build was a match for all but one of the men, who towered well over six-four. “Whatcha got?” Delta asked, eyeing a biker who had just slunk from the bar.

“Buncha fuckin’ dirtbags can’t even drink in peace,” one of the cops answered.

“They oughtta shut this dive down,” came Officer Johnson’s baritone voice. “We bust our humps on this place a couple of times a week. I’m sick of it.”

Delta glanced over at Hank “Downtown” Brown, one of the meanest cops she’d ever met. He had a reputation for fast hands, swift batons, and a quick temper. He was so nicknamed because he was always threatening to take suspects downtown if they weren’t cooperative. Although she had never worked with him as a partner, she’d seen him in action more times than she cared to count.

“Let’s just kick some ass and get the hell out of here,” came Brown’s infamous line. He settled everything as if he were some outlaw sheriff in the wild west.

“Bartender says there are about twenty of them inside, all spoiling for a fight.”

Brown looked around the group. “That evens up the odds.”

Delta and Jan exchanged glances that did not go unnoticed by Brown’s partner, Highbaugh. Delta had gone to the Academy with Highbaugh and he turned out to be a good cop. She couldn’t imagine how he could stand to be Brown’s partner.

“You two can stay outside if you’d like,” Highbaugh offered.

Delta resisted the urge to crack him over the head. Even with her incredible arrest record, she was amazed at how many of “the guys” still treated her like a woman first, a colleague second. While she used to get angry, now Delta only shook her head at their profound ignorance and wondered if things would ever really change.

“No thanks,” she answered, shaking her head. “Someone has to go in there and make sure you guys remember which side you’re on.”

Delta glanced at the front door as the four male cops donned black leather gloves. Because of the A.I.D.S. scare, most cops wore black leather gloves as part of their uniform. But these cops wore gloves for one reason: so there would be no marks on their knuckles should they be investigated for misuse of authority. Since the Rodney King beating, cops everywhere were sensitive to the cry of police brutality. These four were sensitive only about getting caught. Delta had no use for cops with the “bust their heads open” mentality, but clearly, the city was still hiring them. A year and a half ago, when Delta had hunted down the murderous cops who had killed her first partner, Delta wore her own reputation like a badge. Relentlessly, she had pursued the cops responsible for the death of Miles Brookman, the only man she had ever truly trusted. Maybe the only man she had ever loved. This fact was known by most of the law enforcement personnel within a hundred miles of River Valley—and the fact that Delta Stevens was one cop you didn’t mess with. Her loyalties and her integrity ran deep enough for her to take on more than most people could ever dream of handling.

“Let’s do it,” Downtown Brown said.

Jan looked at Delta and shrugged. “You ever get the feeling they forget the protect part of the `protect and serve’ motto?”

Grinning, Delta hiked up her utility belt and followed the men into the bar. Once inside, Delta realized that the entire fracas, if there was one, had ended. The only residue from the fight, if there had been one, was two heavy-set, bearded bikers arm wrestling with great vigor surrounded by an enthusiastic crowd.

“Damn. we’re too late,” Brown cursed, eyeing the crowd.

Delta walked up beside him and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Hank. I’m sure you’ll get another call tonight that will give you a reason to bash someone’s head in.”

“Funny, Stevens. Just ’cause you like everything nice and tidy on that snoozer of a beat of yours doesn’t mean the rest of us want to die of boredom, too. I go where the action is.”

Delta’s right eyebrow shot up in a cynical curve. “And if there isn’t any, you make some of your own?”

Brown huffed at her and started to turn away, when something caught his eye.

“Hey, Glen,” he called, motioning to his partner. “Is that what I think it is?”

Delta looked where Brown was pointing and saw what had caught his attention. Underneath the huge arm of one of the arm wrestlers was a butterfly knife, so named because it looks like a butterfly when it is properly opened. They were popular knives among the biker crowd because they were easy to conceal. They were also as illegal as hell. She knew more cops who had been cut by butterflies than by any other blade.

“Come on, Hank, don’t make a big issue of it. Just confiscate it and leave him alone,” Delta said, hoping to divert an unnecessary confrontation. “We don’t need to start what we came here to prevent.”

Hank turned and smiled at Delta. He was a towering monster of a man and used every inch of his stature to intimidate others. Delta, however, didn’t intimidate easily. Brown sneered, “Watch a real pro, Stevens.”

Before Delta could stop him, Downtown sauntered over to the two large men, pulled out his baton and slammed it down hard on the table. Everyone in the bar stared at Brown and the two arm wrestlers. Glancing over at Jan, Delta shrugged. He had initiated contact with the men; there was no turning back now.

Slowly, the two arm wrestlers released each other’s hand. “You ain’t got no beef with us,” the wrestler with the ZZ Top beard growled. Delta took a step closer to the scene and wondered why Highbaugh wasn’t joining him.

“Del?” came Jan’s small voice from behind her.

Turning back to Jan, Delta shook her head. “We can’t just walk away, Jan. Someone needs to save him from himself.” Delta spotted Highbaugh across the room, but he only shrugged.

“Then,” Jan replied, “End it here, so we don’t wind up carting half these people to the hospital.”

Nodding, Delta turned from Jan and moved slowly toward the table. If she moved in too quickly, the arm wrestlers might feel outnumbered and become aggressive. She cursed Brown for putting her and everyone else in this precarious position. With the knife still on the table, and everyone waiting for someone to make a move, Delta’s muscles tensed.

“You guys know you’re not supposed to be carrying these knives,” Brown said, as he placed his foot on the chair and leaned on his knee. “Says so right in the parole booklet.” Brown touched the knife with the tip of his baton and grinned.

Maneuvering to the opposite side of the gathering crowd, Delta did not take her eyes from the knife. Why in the hell was he just letting it sit there? Pick the damn thing up!

As if reading her mind, the hairier biker lunged for the knife just as Brown sent his baton crashing onto the biker’s knuckles. As the bear of a man let out a cry of pain, he swiped the knife off the table with his other hand, while pushing Brown’s baton out of the way with the damaged hand.

One second faster, three beers earlier, and he might have reached Downtown’s throat. Instead, the biker pitched forward, surprised by the baton blow Jan had struck against his back and kidney area. Still clutching the knife, the biker went down on one knee and grabbed his lower back with his free hand. Still huffing and puffing, he rose to his feet and reeled around, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Delta’s .357 magnum.

“Drop it!” Delta ordered, pressing her finger lightly on the trigger.

Dropping the knife with a clatter on the hardwood floor, the biker fell back to one knee and grabbed his back again, finally experiencing the full force of Jan’s blow through his beer-soaked nervous system.

Suddenly, the instigator of this commotion found his voice again. “I oughtta bust open your stupid skull, you fucking dumbshit!” Brown yelled, raising his baton.

With very little movement, but enough so everyone in the bar could see it, Delta turned her revolver at Brown, who stopped his baton in mid-air.

“Don’t,” Delta threatened, glaring at him.

The bar was now ten degrees warmer and filled with emotional electricity.

“Put your baton away and go back to work,” Delta ordered, keeping an eye on the downed biker. “There’s nothing more for us to do here, Brown, so leave it be.”

Highbaugh stood next to Brown, who lowered his baton to his side. Brown’s expression was a cross between disbelief and profound anger. “You’re making a big mistake, Stevens.”

Lowering her weapon, Delta shrugged. “Why don’t you boys move along now. Jan and I will handle these guys.”

Highbaugh grabbed Brown’s arm and helped move his reluctant body toward the front door. “Someday, Stevens,” Brown yelled when he reached the front door, “you’re gonna have to learn to lighten up and be one of us!”

Delta shook her head as she bent down to pick up the knife. “Brown, if being one of you means acting the way you just did, then I’d rather be a meter maid.” Watching them walk out of the door, Delta holstered her weapon and motioned for the biker to stand up.

“You pack a mean punch, little lady,” the biker said, grinning a toothless smile at Jan as he rubbed his bleeding hand.