Authors: Timothy Allan Pipes
Kumico's rules flashed through his mind now as the blue Mercedes rolled closer to Jenny. Only the thought of some tourist with an identical car held him back. He saw Jenny, her face a shocked mask of confusion and it was then that the Mercedes sped up, driver side window down with something metallic glinting from it. More out of instinct, Oliver let loose, firing one shot into the front tire and two more into the windshield.
Exploding glass rained outward as the Mercedes veered right, then struck a parked Mustang and sent Oliver toward the now steaming vehicle. His weapon trained on the car, Oliver moved closer, praying he wasn’t about to find a tourist covered in blood. He stepped forward, peered carefully into the car and for the first time in his life, felt relief at the sight of two sawed-off shotguns. Both driver and passenger appeared to be dead as blood poured from each man’s chest. Making sure neither of the killers was breathing, her turned back to check on Jenny.
He found her sitting against the far side of a Ford Fusion, arms hugging both legs against her chest. After checking to make sure she was okay, Oliver realized she was suffering mostly from shock and a few scrapes. Just then a Monterey Police car roared into Mr. Sushi’s parking lot and found him leaning over a crumpled woman, gun in hand.
“Shit!” Oliver said, just as both officers, each shielded behind a car door commanded him to freeze, drop his weapon and place both hands behind his head. He sighed, did as he was told and waited for the cops to calm down enough to let him talk.
Two hours later Oliver sat in the all too familiar interrogation room within the Monterey Police Station. With him were three detective, plus a third guy in the corner and he'd spent the entire time explaining his actions. Specifically, what had brought him to shoot two very nice thugs from L.A. and judging from their responses, he wasn’t doing so well.
“Piedmont..."
A detective named Kaufman was saying as he sat across the conference room table. "Ya gotta help us here." The older detective held up a notepad, then slipped on a pair of smudged reading glasses.
"In the last two days, you’ve been involved in a drive-by shooting in Pacific Grove, discovered a partially decomposed body in Monterey and just a couple of hours ago, you killed two, admittedly suspicious individuals visiting historic Cannery Row." Kaufman lowered the notepad and removed the glasses.
"Any explanations beyond not liking badly dressed tourists?”
Oliver returned Kaufman's stare, then at the other three detectives seated around the table.
“I’m a little surprised myself guys, but you all know how much I
love
publicity.”
Kaufman and another detective he’d met that afternoon chuckled at the reference to his trial.
“Look, I just know what I’ve told you so far. Somehow, Mrs. McKenny has some kind of contract out on her, but I haven’t been able to find out why.”
“You took quite a chance plugging those guys, Piedmont."
The speaker was Burt Chriswell, an older cop he'd run up against in the past. Dressed in what Oliver thought of as Dragnet Blue, the man sported a razor sharp crew cut and as usual, a permanent scowl. He'd never shaken the feeling that Chriswell disliked him immensely, even before his trial.
"Suppose they’d been real tourists," Chriswell went on. "Or a local, driving with his spare tire left on...what then?”
“If I hadn’t, Burt," he responded. "Mrs. McKenny would be dead right now, along with a few of those tourists you're so fond of!” Oliver surprised himself as he spat this at Chriswell and enjoyed watching the man’s face redden.
“All right you two,” Kaufman, the senior detective said. “That’s water under the bridge now. The standard inquiry will take place regarding Piedmont’s actions and to argue about it now is pointless.” Kaufman looked from Oliver to Chriswell, then let out a sigh as he sat back in his chair.
“I think we’ve covered what we needed to on this, so unless the rest of you have something else, I say we leave anything further for the inquest.” Chriswell clearly wanted to add a few more pithy comments, but kept his mouth shut along with the others.
“Okay,” Kaufman said as he gathered up his papers, notebook and then stood. “Let’s call it a night.” He started toward the door, then stopped, turning back toward Piedmont. “I know I don't have to say this, Piedmont, but I will for the record. Don’t leave the area until the inquest is over.”
Oliver nodded, understanding the politics of it and watched all but one of his interrogators leave. The straggler, a new man introduced as Agent Benson, stayed leaning against the wall until Kaufman and company were gone, then seated himself across from Oliver. Clean-cut, and in his 40's with a muscular frame, the man had a angular face with salt and pepper hair. Right away, Oliver didn’t like him.
“You’ve had some interesting days recently, Detective Piedmont,” Benson chuckled as he said this. “Any more and they’re going to retire the others in your department.”
Oliver didn’t return the smile but sat forward, staring evenly at the man.
“What can I do for you, Agent Benson, assuming that
is
your name.”
Benson sighed. “For starters, you can tell me the whole story, why someone’s trying to kill Mrs. McKenny.”
“You’ve heard it already, Agent. No matter how many times I tell it, the facts of what happened are not going to change.”
“Detective Piedmont, perhaps you're not aware of what is involved.”
“Well,
educate
me, Agent Benson, then we’ll both be
aware
."
The FBI agent shifted uneasily in his chair, staring at Oliver as if he’d just asked for his checkbook. “I’m not authorized to reveal the issues at hand, but you could do your country a great deal of good if you would tell me what you know.”
Oliver chuckled and rose to his feet.
“So what you’re saying is: you want me to help
you
, but you won’t return the favor.”
Benson returned Oliver's stare but remained silent until he was near the door.
“Piedmont, don’t get caught up in something larger than yourself. Withholding vital information from a federal agent will do just that.”
Oliver waved his middle finger at the still talking agent and kept walking. He found Collinson pacing out by his car in the station parking lot.
“Hi, John,” Oliver greeted him. “Glad to see a friendly face...even yours.” Collinson smiled, his wan face sheepish under the lights, causing Oliver to stare at his partner warily.
“What’s up?” He asked uneasily, aware that humility was not Collinson's strong point.
After a slight hesitation, Collinson spoke. “She’s gone again, Ollie.”
Collinson stared at him, his face screwed in embarrassment.
“it's, um, Mrs. McKenny, Ollie. She...slipped out of the hospital while they were treating her, asked to go to the bathroom and hasn’t been seen since.”
“Didn’t we have a cop on duty, watching her?” Oliver asked, his anger surging at this last ineptitude, feeling it was somehow the proverbial ‘last straw.’
“He was outside in the emergency waiting room, Ollie. Didn’t even know she was gone for at least a half hour.”
“Shit! Shit and more shit!” Oliver slammed his hand atop the car’s hood.
“I’m sorry, Oliver, I know this one keeps getting away from you.” Collinson stood waiting, looking more embarrassed by the minute. Then after gently patting Oliver’s shoulder, walked to his own car and drove off.
Oliver watched his partner leave, then climbed into his own vehicle and sat there, wondering why this case kept going nowhere; why he kept saving Jenny only to lose her. He started the engine, shifted the car into gear and headed home. His mind raced but ended nowhere during the short drive, leaving him with nothing but two dead men from Los Angeles to keep his investigation going as a distinct wave of depression slid over him. He parked, walked slowly to the door and didn’t bother with the lights once inside as he made a bee-line toward bed. Halfway there, they came on anyway, sending his heart to his throat and hand toward his holster.
“About time you made it home, Oliver,” Jenny’s laughing voice sent his heart skyward. “A girl can get tired of sitting in the dark, waiting for her hero to come home.”
He turned and found her in his easy chair, a blanket tucked over her lap and for a minute, he didn’t know what to do or say. He settled on falling toward the nearby sofa.
“My God!” was all he managed before she was in his arms, kissing him fiercely.
She pulled back after a scorching minute of this and gave him a dazzling smile.
“Expect plenty more of those Mister Detective, but right now I’ve got a very interesting story to tell you that hopefully, will keep me alive.”
Numbness spread throughout Collin’s chest as he sat and watched the small town cop talk with the local police. The broken heap of the blue Mercedes lay nearby and from the distinct lack of concern over the car’s occupants, Collin knew both were dead.
Good riddance
, he thought bitterly.
By the time the ambulance had left with Jenny, Collin’s breath had grown ragged and he'd been forced him to roll the window down to release the trapped stale air. Even when the Police escorted the cop away, Collin could take little pleasure in it, knowing they would release him after questioning him for a couple of hours. His wife was still alive and Jenel would blame him for the missing documents. In Collin's experience, his boss
never
failed to repay such a mistake.
With more people outside the restaurant than in it, he resealed the window, started the Porsche and slowly drove by the swamped diner. Once past it, Collin shifted into a higher gear and just drove. The fact that Jenel had driven himself to King City had plagued him all day and the fear which he’d kept at bay now threatened to throw him into a panic. In a frenzy, he struck the steering wheel repeatedly, wishing for the thousandth time he’d just smothered the bitch during one of their fights. It could have been so easily blamed on Jenny's childhood asthma.
All that morning and late into the afternoon he’d searched for her; visiting friends, acquaintances and anybody
they
thought she might be staying with. It had turned Collin’s stomach to play the concerned husband and only once did he have to threaten someone for information: a workout trainer who’d coached Jenny at the Sports Center. It didn’t take much to get him spitting out names but like all his leads, it had led nowhere.
At six o’clock, skipping town was sounding wise when his hired hands called to say they’d found his wife and he’d raced to the Sushi place, ready to play the grieving husband. Instead, Collin had found a very alive Jenny being taken to the local hospital for what appeared to be nothing more than scrapes and bruises and this meant the job had fallen to him. Assuming he lived long enough to do it.
He turned onto Munras, traveling up the hill toward the hospital, located atop skyline forest. Anticipation pushed at him and like a eager child, he shifted the Porsche past fifty mph as he moved onto Hwy 1, and saw too late, the cop parked beyond Soledad Ave. He cursed at the siren’s wail behind him and momentarily considered running for it. But the mental image of Jenel bailing him out a second time sent a cold sweat over him anew and he coasted to the road’s edge.
He turned off his engine, waited and a minute later looked up to find an attractive lady cop beside his car.
“Good evening, Officer,” he said, rolling down his window, then handed her his license and registration.
“You were going pretty fast up this hill...” the cop stated, her partially hidden face in shadow as she read his name. "Mr. McKenny?"
“Yes, mam," he responded, inserting a thick layer of worry. "I just got news my...sister was hurt in an accident earlier and was taken to Community Hospital.” He caught a glimpse of the cop’s eyes, liking what he saw.
As if trying to gauge just how much bullshit was being fed to her, the cop looked from his license to his face and back again before speaking.
“Please wait in your vehicle, Mr. McKenny. I’ll check on your sister's condition.”
“Thank you, officer," he said. "I would appreciate that.”
She returned several minutes holding his license and registration.
“Your sister's doing fine, Mr. McKenny," she said, handing his documents back. "Just some cuts and bruises. You're free to go, but please keep it to the limit. We wouldn’t want
both
of you in the hospital.”
He thanked her, waiting till she was in her police cruiser before pulling back onto Munras, the entire episode lasting perhaps ten minutes. Not long, really, but long enough for Jenny to disappear from the emergency room, he discovered upon arrival.
Once again his wife was loose with information which could prove devastating to JenelCo and bring prison onto the heads of some very powerful people.
Oliver eased himself onto his left side and focused on Jenny, who lay relaxed and naked beside him. She smiled and pulled herself to him, then began drawing her small fingers along the length of his back in some unknown pattern.
Closing his eyes, he sighed happily. “So what happened to that story you just had to tell me?”
“My mother once told me there’s a time and place for everything, Oliver, and it's been too long since I made love to someone I care about.” Jenny’s fingers brushed his chest and his heart skipped as they slid over one of his small dark nipples.
“Ahh, Jenny, you keep that up and I won’t hear that story till morning.
”
“Story?” She replied with a smirk. “What story?” Her hand continued downward and for a time, neither cared much for the telling of anything.
Collin left the hospital terrified. He drove aimlessly through Monterey and then Seaside, knowing better than to go home. Only after an hour of going nowhere, did he accept that he was alone in the night. He thought again of how Jenel had
personally
driven the ninety minutes to King City, simply to bail him out. Something one of his assistants could have done before breakfast and so the message had been crystal clear: find your wife and silence her... today! It was Jenel’s style to make such a statement. Collin knew he’d been a good partner at JenelCo, but because of that bitch of a wife and her friend, Carol, he’d been screwed. Surprisingly, Jenel had allowed him some time to straighten things out. As night descended, he could sense his time was almost up and the paralysis of cold fear had begun to take hold of him.
Jenny placed the mug in his hands, its steam rich with the aroma of coffee and chocolate instilled in Oliver that warm afterglow which comes from sitting in bed with a hot drink. He watched Jenny cross the room in his dark blue Terrycloth robe and retrieve her own matching mug beside the residue of dinner. He sipped gingerly, the liquid trickling a heated path within and allowed him to savor the complimentary flavors.
“Comfortable?” she asked, coming up beside him and taking a sip.
Oliver wrapped both hands about his mug. "Comfortable? I was less content in the womb!”
Jenny laughed, nearly spilling her drink, then carefully rounded the bed and sat beside him. “I think I should tell you what I think is really going on.”
Taking another sip, Oliver held his mug with one hand and squeezed her arm.
“You have my undivided attention.”
Frustration mingled with anger boiled within him and focused to a tight beam of hatred on the dead hit-men from Los Angeles. Their inability to kill a simple housewife had left him stunned and possibly dead. He considered calling Courtney, but knew she wouldn’t be dragged into anything truly dangerous, much as she liked the illusion of it.
She had, in fact, warned him away from those hired buffoons and yet he’d dismissed her concerns as so much high-nosing. Courtney had been right again and it stung. Suddenly it occurred to him that as inept as they'd proven at killing her, they’d always managed to
find
Jenny. Like a balloon swelling within him, an idea expanded and took shape, promising a way out of his deadly predicament.
“I’m not sure where to start, really,” Jenny said, resting the mug onto her lap. “But I suppose it would help to see what you know about Fort Ord.”
Oliver thought for moment before answering.
“Only what’s been in the local papers for the last couple years: they officially closed the base way back in ‘93 and the government discovered a huge build-up of toxic waste and buried munitions from a half a century of use and abuse. At the start, I believe a hundred million dollars and change was allotted by Congress to make the base squeaky clean. Since then I think it's more than tripled and after a long drawn out bidding process, JenelCo was the company which came out on top.”
Jenny nodded, then took a slow sip from her drink.
“And what do you know about JenelCo itself?”
“Local company makes good,” Oliver stated flatly. “Starts with three employees about fifteen years ago and now has over two hundred thanks to the Fort Ord contract. JenelCo is now one of the largest employers in the area outside of local government.”
“Where’d you read that, Oliver, the business section of The Herald?”
“Actually,” he replied a bit sheepishly. "That’s a close guess. I’ve got a friend who does a weekly column on local events and when JenelCo won the contract, there was a lot of celebrating in the community. He did the write-up on it.”
“Well, your friend must have gotten the golden tour, since he wrote what they want everyone to believe.”
“Okay then," he said, taking another sip. "What’s the real story behind JenelCo: drugs, money laundering, prostitution, gambling?”
Jenny shook her head, then took a long drink before answering. “Nothing so dramatic as that, Oliver. You’ve seen the JenelCo building and the people who work there, it’s all topnotch. In fact, everything about JenelCo speaks of class and polish.”
“We’re really going to play twenty questions with this, aren’t we?” He made a half-hearted attempt at suppressing a grin but failed.
“You’re a detective,” Jenny said taking a sip of her drink. “That means you only get five.”
“I usually have a few more clues than what you’ve doled out, care to be more generous?”
“Ok," she said, shifting to face him. "You know JenelCo pretty much won the contract for Fort Ord because they were a local company, right?”
“Because the legislation passed in Congress gives local enterprises a leg up on outside bidders and the local affected economy is able to keep the money.”
“Very good, Mr. Detective. Now imagine if JenelCo didn’t actually meet those legislation requirements and was, in fact, a subsidiary of a much larger organization.”
“But they were a local company," he replied with a shake of his head. "With fifteen years of business records to prove it.”
“Not according to Carol, and I’m thinking that’s why she was killed.”
Desperate thoughts of quietly leaving town tempted Collin as he watched the Monterey Police station entrance, his heart thumping each time a figure exited. Sweat was now a part of him, his clothes nearly sopping with the night’s torment and forcing the car’s window to remain rolled down despite the cold. Nearly an hour into his wait Collin’s man finally walked out, looking angry and tired. He met up with what appeared to be another cop and after a quick chat they parted. From the cop’s reaction, Collin guessed he’d just been told of his Jenny's disappearance from the hospital and now looked more frustrated than anything.
After a few minutes of just sitting in his car, Collin watched the cop leave the station parking lot and slowly drive away. He fired up his Porsche and followed at a distance which was difficult, since the cop never exceeded thirty miles per hour.
Ten minutes later, they reached the cop’s house and without so much as looking in Collin’s direction, the man disappeared into an average looking home on David Avenue.
This was where his balloon of an idea lost a lot of air and Collin knew it. Whenever his crazy wife turned up, the cop in the house seemed to be there too. He’d tried to think of something else but all he could muster was that somehow, the cop would stumble on her again or she would seek him out and Collin would be there to finish this. It wasn’t much of a plan but the only other alternative was running for the rest of his life. He moved the car closer to keep a better eye on things, then settled back into the seat for what he feared might be a long night.
“You’re saying Carol was killed because she found out JenelCo won the Fort Ord bid illegally?”
"No, Oliver," Jenny said with a shake of her head. “I think she was killed for a lot more than that.”
She slipped from beneath the bed’s covers and disappeared from the bedroom, reappearing a few seconds later with her purse.
“There were some papers Carol had told me about before she died, Oliver and I made a promise to get hold of them if something happened to her. I read through them yesterday and there’s enough about bids in other cities throughout the country to make me think some kind of hybrid organized crime is involved.”
Oliver shifted where he sat, the bed suddenly uncomfortable beneath him.
“That’s a big claim you’re making, Jenny. Organized Crime in Monterey?”
“Here,” she said, pulling the papers from her purse and placed them in his lap. “You can read what the paper's outline if you want, but I doubt you'll come up with anything different.”
Oliver picked up the papers and read them for several minutes, silence filling his small bedroom as Jenny sat waiting