Authors: Timothy Allan Pipes
“I hope it’s not another cop,” McKenny stated loudly. “You’re just asking for trouble if another of your buddies comes to our little party here.”
“Ssshhhhh!” Willy hissed at him, “You’ll wake my family.”
“Okay, okay,” McKenny shot back sullenly though quieter.
Oliver stood up, eyed his empty mug, then pushed his chair into the table. “We’d better be going, Willy.” Oliver turned toward the sleepy, though still chiseled looking officer.
“I sure appreciate your help in all this. I’ll call or stop by when I can to check on your progress at Ms. Montoya’s house. I doubt her phone’s been shut off yet.”
Willy stifled a yawn as he nodded, then let Peidmont and McKenny out into the early morning darkness before getting himself dressed. He would need to leave his wife, Julie a note and Chief Williams would likely shit a few bricks when he learned he'd called in to help Peidmont on this case. Quietly slipping into a pair of jeans, Willy sighed, knowing he could do little more than hope all would be approved, after the fact.
After pulling on his street-worn Reeboks, Willy donned his coat before inserting his service revolver into its waiting shoulder holster. Checking the gun’s safety, Willy pulled at the coat’s zipper until both weapon and holster were hidden. With both hands embedded in the coat pockets, he looked just like any other early riser out for a walk. It was going to be a long day.
Oliver, with McKenny tagging along like some giant puppy, climbed into his cruiser. Heading toward Monterey he took the back streets, careful to keep just under the speed limit lest a fellow cop pull up to say hello and then identify McKenny. Enough had happened in the last two days to convince Oliver that some kind of warrant may have been issued for the brute. If McKenny were pulled in, such questioning would eat up the lion’s share of the ten plus hours he had left. Though it rankled him, Oliver knew he needed some kind of quiet, unofficial assistance.
Very quiet
.
Cruising into the parking lot now, Oliver recalled having been at this park only the night before, yet so much had transpired in that short time. Slowing to a stop, he shifted the car into neutral before shutting the ignition off.
“What?" McKenny looked at him, puzzled. "We’re gonna play at the park at five o’clock in the morning!”
Oliver waited a moment before answering, craning his neck as he did so.
“No, just want to talk to a friend. He stops here every couple of hours.” Oliver scanned the park, it's entrance, along with the few scattered cars parked on the surrounding side streets were visible under the white neon lamps.
“You’re looking for another one of your cop friends, aren’t you?” McKenny whacked Oliver's right shoulder, shaking him with its impact.
Oliver turned toward McKenny and saw the growing look of terror. He decided to play this down.
“McKen...Collin, look. We just need to make sure you and I aren’t pulled over. There’s probably a warrant out for you by this point and if we get pulled over...”
“What do you mean, there’s a warrant out for me?” McKenny interrupted him, panic in his voice. “Jenel said I would be free and clear, said I had nothing to worry about after spending the night in that shitty jail?”
Oliver realized then that McKenny was losing it. He reached towards the keys to start the car; hoping to calm him down at the very least. But as often is the case, timing is everything. Paul Rodriguez’s patrol car turned into the parking just at that moment, his front lights settling on Collin McKenny like a net.
“Collin...” Oliver began, but in a blur which defied the man’s size, McKenny opened his door, leaped out almost directly into the path of Rodriguez’s vehicle and ran off into the silent darkness. Rodriguez leaped from his patrol car, drawing his weapon but soon realized there was little use for it in the almost complete darkness. He stopped, then reached toward his radio just as Oliver opened his door. Rodriguez' jumped, redrawing his weapon as Oliver emerged into the cold night air.
“God damn it, Ollie,” Rodriguez barked after a tense moment. Slowly he re-holstered his weapon. “When I recognized your car, then saw McKenny run off, I thought he’d killed you!”
Oliver leaned against the car behind him, expelling every inch of breath in him.
“He did worse than that, Paul. For all intents and purposes, he likely just killed his wife.”
Too fast! It had all happened too fast. The rules of this game seemed to change moment to moment and each time, it left him with fewer pieces to work with. He ran his fingers through his hair, slowly stroking the growing headache which seethed just below his head wound. It all struck him as surreal somehow; standing there in the El Estero park parking lot with Paul Rodriguez at almost five-thirty in the morning. Oliver struggled to pull his thoughts together.
“I warned you about those guys at JenelCo,” Rodriguez spoke before Oliver gathered much of anything. “I’m just sorry you didn’t listen to me.”
Perhaps it was the idea of having a choice in all this which struck Oliver funny or simply the frustration of all he’d been through in the last seventy-two hours. His hollow sounding laugh went on for several seconds and brought a concerned look from Rodriguez.
“Paul,” Oliver caught his breath, “personal choice has been the least of my options in the last few days.” He felt another wave of laughter rising, but fought it down till only a hollow ache remained.
With a look of growing concern, Rodriguez turned and leaned against his car.
“How long since you got some sleep, Ollie?”
“A bit.” Oliver pushed himself upright and stretched.
“Then tell me what’s going on. What were you doing with a creep like Collin McKenny?”
He was about to tell Rodriguez he had no time for explanations, that what he needed was a new plan now that McKenny was gone when Rodriguez’s radio came alive and he walked around to the driver’s side to report in. Oliver’s thoughts drifted to Jenny sitting a few miles away, her life hanging by a very thin thread.
“Ollie, Get in!” Rodriguez shouted as he slammed his door excitedly.
Oliver bent down, staring through the passenger window as Rodriguez turned the engine over.
“What?” he shouted over the engine’s roar, but Rodriguez leaned over and shoved the passenger door wide. Reluctantly Oliver climbed into the car which roared backward before he could shut his door. “Paul, what the hell are you doing?”
Rodriguez failed to answer until he’d turned the car in the opposite direction.
“Got a report of a Peeping Tom, said somebody was looking into some windows over on Scott street, about nine blocks from here.”
Oliver tried to stay calm as the car raced toward the park’s entrance.
“I’d like to bag a Peeping Tom as much as any cop, but...”
“Ollie. Rodriguez steered the wheel with one had while whacking Oliver on the shoulder. ”The caller said it was a very
big
Peeping Tom.”
It took a moment for Oliver to understand, then they were tearing through the heart of Monterey, viciously bouncing over and through the dips which separated the city’s streets. The dispatcher reported that two other patrol cars had positioned themselves on Casa Verde, a block away from Scott and were only waiting for him and Rodriguez to get into position. Oliver reached for the microphone as they pulled up to the edge of Scott street, then handed it to Rodriguez.
“What?” Rodriguez stared at the microphone.
“Tell your buddies to not harass him, Paul,” Oliver said quickly. Just have him picked up.”
Rodriguez stared at Oliver, his face a mixture of resentment and thwarted anticipation.
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Ollie. Cops all over Monterey hate this guy. When they find out it’s him, it’s not going to be pretty.”
Oliver leaned back against the seat, struggling with what to reveal.
“I need him conscious, Paul, and if they hurt him even a little, he’s not going be very cooperative.” Unblinking, he stared into Rodriguez’s stony face. “Without him, I can’t save his wife.”
After several tense seconds, Rodriguez slowly released a single long breath as his face settled into resignation.
“I'm not their supervisor, Ollie. I’ll ask, but I can’t order.”
Oliver nodded grimly.
“Tell them someone’s life depends on McKenny being able to stand under his own power.” Rodriguez's deep set eyes narrowed, then stayed that way as he took the microphone.
Running through the park had left Collin winded, his breath coming in short, ragged puffs of steam which hung briefly before dissipating in the near-darkness. Standing next to the trunk of a large tree, the last bit of panic slipped free of his mind and he saw what a dumb-ass move it'd been to run from Peidmont. With the cop, he’d at least had a kind of protection, someone with connections that might help him in this suddenly unfriendly world. A dumb-shit like Peidmont would never suit him as a friend, but he had to admit that having a cop on his side just then could only help. And now, he’d gone and thrown that away.
Courtney, his twisted girlfriend came to mind and though Collin doubted her willingness to help, but he needed money right now and this she never lacked. He tried to recall this neighborhood in his mind but could only remember a liquor store about eight blocks away, one which he hoped had a phone nearby. His breath coming even now, Collin walked to the park’s edge and crossed to a street lined with apartment buildings. He decided to go up another block in case a cop simply drove by and stopped him for the hell of it. He’d probably have to hurt the cop just to get away and that wouldn’t help his situation.
With the small store in sight, Collin heard the sound of a car turning the corner behind him and as a precaution, climbed some stairs leading into a group of apartments. The vehicle passed, revealing itself to be an ordinary Nissan Sentra and it was at this moment the door in front of him swung open. Collin found himself face to face with somebody’s sleepy-eyed grandmother, who simply shut the door before a word passed between them. He resisted the sudden urge to bang on the closed door and, shaking his head, walked down the street toward his destination, laughing at what the old biddy would tell her friends.
Five minutes later he dialed Courtney’s number and waited as the rings mounted, knowing at least a hundred would have to sound before she might even consider pulling herself out of bed.
True to form, a slurred, weary voice mumbled into his ear several minutes later, “What the hell do you want?”
“Courtney...” Collin managed to get out just as the patrol car appeared beside his phone booth. “Oh shit!”
The drive over to 410 Sunset left Willy Johnson feeling very much alone, especially after kissing his sleeping wife and kids good-bye. He’d scribbled a note for Julie, explaining briefly his undercover assignment and that he’d call when able, and this disconnection was perhaps what set him to feeling as he did. Only once before had Willy worked undercover, but Julie knew he could be gone for days on such of case and would worry till he was home. He’d also made the call into the station, saying his wife had a fever and one of his kids a long standing dentist appointment.
The city of Seaside seemed to wake as he drove through its streets. House lights flared in the morning darkness as its citizens awoke to another day of work. Willy turned onto Del Monte Avenue from Broadway, then cruised along its length through Monterey. Computerized sensors in the road detected the sparse morning traffic and provided him a string of green lights clear to Pacific Grove. As he eased into Carol Montoya’s driveway, Willy saw that the entire trip had taken less than eight minutes and somehow, this unnerved him a bit. Leaving a house so full of life, only to arrive not even ten minutes later at the door of the recently dead, and someone murdered at that, was enough to make him wish he'd run into a few more red lights.
The signal for Oliver and Rodriguez to move came a few minutes after a promise had been extracted from the other officers: McKenny wouldn’t be harmed, unless an officer was threatened. They’d listened for several minutes as one of the officers reported him headed for an all night liquor store and once there, had him placing a call at its pay phone. Only after he had seemed occupied did they decide to move in.
A testament to timing, all three patrol cars converged on McKenny from different directions, literally surrounding the phone booth, leaving little time or room for their subject to react. Rodriguez and the other two officers were out of their vehicles with weapons drawn before McKenny could replace the phone into its cradle. Though clearly visible in the gray early morning light, Oliver stayed in Rodriguez’s cruiser as his Monterey brothers approached the 6 foot, 9 inch suspect.
“All right, you sick asshole,” Oliver heard a strangely familiar voice call out. “Place your hands above your head and turn around.”
Oliver’s stomach began a corkscrew motion as he recognized officer Schwartz’s voice from Jesse Beeler's apartment complex: a jerk of unique proportions in Oliver’s opinion and whose talents lay mainly in the arena of bad timing.
“Oh shit...” Oliver said under his breath, then hastily searched the car for some kind of non-lethal weapon, aware of what was about to happen as Schwartz marched toward McKenny. He heard scuffling and some shouting but by the time he'd found something and looked up, McKenny had Schwartz in what appeared to be a painful wrestling hold, his massive forearm encircling his neck. This had the unfortunate effect of turning the officer into a dangling puppet, as well as a human shield.
“Okay, boys,” McKenny grinned as if he’d won a playground game of kickball. “Drop your guns and kick ‘em my way.” Oliver pushed open the car door quietly, then slowly climbed out. His movement was not lost on McKenny who now turned toward Oliver, swinging the hapless Schwartz like so much decoration.
“Peidmont, you asshole! Glad you decided to join us...now get over here where I can see you.” Oliver obeyed, stopping just a few feet from McKenny. None of the officers had complied with McKenny’s demands, but had secured better firing positions and yet each knew that unless Schwartz’s life was in imminent danger, none were allowed to fire.
Apparently, so did McKenny.
“Let’s not waste time, boys, so either drop your guns or use 'em.” McKenny turned toward Rodriguez. “Knowing when you’ve lost is an important thing, right, Wetback?”
If he’d expected anger from Rodriguez, McKenny was sorely disappointed as Rodriguez burst out in honest laughter. .
“Don’t even talk to me," Rodriguez grinned menacingly. "
You pathetic 'roided bag of shit
!”
Rage flared in McKenny’s eyes and his response was quick and brutal, twisting Schwartz’s neck until the cop went limp, then casually tossed him away as so much refuse. All hell broke loose as the unconscious officer fell toward the cement and only later did they wonder at their choreography. Rodriguez leaped toward the falling officer as Oliver pulled forth the Taser tucked between his pants and the crook of his back, aiming squarely at the man’s huge chest.
For an instant their eyes met, then McKenny’s grin died as Oliver released the three thin darts, their wires trailing behind. The darts pierced the giant’s left pectoral muscle, stunning him briefly. When no shock followed, McKenny’s grin sprang back to life and reached up to pull out the metal darts. Oliver released the trigger, sending 50,000 volts into McKenny, who shook from head to toe for several seconds before toppling against a third officer, who promptly wilted under his massive frame.
It wasn’t that Willy had never been in the house of the recently deceased. Far from it, in fact. His time on the force had provided several situations with just such an occurrence. It was being alone in such a house which set him on edge, as if its complete emptiness spoke loudly of recent violence and that, yes, he was trespassing to a degree. He was, however, a cop and part of being one meant he sometimes
had
to trespass, if there was need. Restless spirits or morning edginess aside, this definitely qualified.
Willy walked from room to room, more relaxed after a few minutes now that the cop side of himself had taken over. His detective persona slipped into place and he fell into investigative mode, dispassionately appraising the job the detectives had done on the initial search. Though not a detective, Willy planned to apply for the next open position. Peidmont, more than the other detectives seemed to appreciate his skills in this area and this morning’s little excursion wasn’t the first time he’d asked Willy for help and this gave him hope of passing the state exam.
After taking a preliminary walk through the house, Willy started his search in what appeared to be the master bedroom, taking his time as he sifted through the victim’s clothes, drawers and books. ‘The Victim’ is what he now called Carol Montoya and this seemed to settle his feelings even more as he searched through her most private effects. The master bedroom took over an hour before he was sure no hidden papers were there. Had he known what they looked like, Willy suspected it might have taken less time, but he wasn’t sure, since people can hide things quite well if they give proper thought to it. He closed the door behind him, then stepped to the next room which appeared to be more storage area then bedroom. Greatly longing for a cup of coffee this early in the morning, Willy sighed at the room piled high with boxes and set to work.