Chapter Thirteen

Monday night, October 2000

  

The previous night, Blu found out that Jansen’s house was elevated on stilts because it stood across the street from the beach front homes, making it what the locals called “second row.” It was a way of explaining hierarchical status without coming out and saying the man was wealthy, but not “front row” mega-rich. Many of the commoners had already moved off the island, no longer able to afford the property tax.

While the location might be considered desirable from a real estate perspective, it wasn’t easy to secure. With a road in front and neighbors on the three remaining sides, one man could not easily cover it.

Crome suggested they get some help.

Blu was hesitant, if only because Crome sometimes associated with characters on the outskirts of decent society. It wasn’t who they were that bothered Blu, or being around them. The job took them all over the place and their paths intersected with all kinds of people. It was the liability of having a few more men like Crome on this job. The wrong men could get them in over their heads real fast.

As if reading his mind, Crome said, “You pick them.”

Irritating Crome wasn’t Blu’s intention when he took him up on the suggestion and hired two off-duty police officers to moonlight with them. It was just a bonus. Sort of like retribution for fornicating with Daron on the couch in the office and almost jeopardizing the job before they got the contract.

To his credit, Crome kept his tongue in check. One of the officers was Roger Powers, Blu’s good friend. He didn’t just pick anyone to work with them. The extra help was quality, not quantity.

Powers, in uniform, sat on the couch while Blu explained the job. His partner, a rookie named Les Griffith, sat beside him. Both were in their late twenties like Blu and Crome, both eager to make their mark, and both familiar with the city. Griffith was a dark-skinned African American, about five ten, and stocky. Powers was a trim but not thin six-foot white guy.

They split up into two teams, Blu and Powers and Crome and Griffith. And then by shifts. Crome and Griffith were night owls. Blu and Powers had families so they preferred the day shift.

  

It happened when Crome and Griffith were staking out the elevated house. Crome was on one side and Griffith had the opposite corner. A silver Infiniti pulled into Jansen’s drive. Crome used one of his sources to run the plate, not wanting Griffith to get in trouble because he’d done it while on a private gig.

Two men exited the car, walked up the stairs, and approached the door.

While they waited for Jansen to answer their knock, the information on the plate came back that it belonged on a Volkswagen in the system as reported stolen. That was all Crome needed. He radioed Griffith. They jumped out of their cars and approached the house from their respective sides.

Jansen answered the door as Crome rounded the porch. He yelled, “Get down.”

The men at the door turned and drew down on Crome.

Griffith approached from the opposite side and they didn’t see him. He said, “Police! Hands up!”

Instead of following the command, the men crouched low and pushed their way into the house.

Crome realized the mistake he and Griffith had made. They shouldn’t have let the men get to the house. It hadn’t felt right to him but he’d played it too safe and it had cost him, and maybe Jansen’s life.

The two men inside could defend the house. Crome decided to take the fight up a notch. He signaled for Griffith to cover the back of the house and ducked behind the Infiniti, pulling his Ka-Bar knife.

The fuel tank was made from plastic and he punctured holes in it, letting the gasoline drain onto the driveway.

Then he lit the puddle off and ran the other way.

The car blew up beautifully. An explosion replaced the darkness with illumination. In the afterglow, Crome wondered if the neighborhood had ever experienced anything like that before.

Probably not, and now the inhabitants’ safe and secure upper-middle-class lives would never be the same.

Welcome to the new world.

Gunfire erupted out of the front windows.

It would only be a matter of time before the police showed up. And the fire department. And then the reporters. This would be a hot story in the sleepy lowcountry.

Crome let the men inside expend their ammo.

The police could handle it from here. All he and Griffith had to do was make sure the men didn’t escape out some back door or side window.

The car fire in the driveway put off quite a bit of light which helped them cover the house.

His cell phone buzzed. It was Griffith. Crome answered and the guy said, “My friends are on their way. I don’t want to be here when they show up.”

Crome said, “The keys are in the Honda. Circle toward the front of the house and I’ll take your place. Get in the car but wait until you see the lights coming. We need to cover the house so the two idiots inside don’t sneak out.”

“Roger that.”

  

Blu slid a Camel out of the pack and lit up with the Pirate’s Cove matches. What he had here was a Class A screw up: an exploded car in the driveway of a home in the wealthy part of town, multiple gunshots fired, a hostage situation, and his partner sitting on the hood of their other incognito Honda grinning like a first grader.

After exhaling a lungful of mild Turkish blend, Blu asked what was an obvious question to himself, if not others. “Did you have to blow up their car?”

His business partner didn’t bother to hide his chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Blu asked.

“You,” Crome said. “Our client is inside with those two idiots who couldn’t hit water if they fell out of a boat and all you’re worried about is some torched Infiniti.”

Blu looked toward the house. The fire department was busy hosing off the rubble that was a nice car before Crome blew it up. Five police cars parked haphazard in front, their blue lights bouncing off the siding of the surrounding homes. Two officers stood behind the open doors of their cruiser, one of them with a bullhorn.

Using the bullhorn, the officer said, “Release Mr. Jansen now before anyone gets hurt.”

The response from the house was silence.

The officer tried again. “You want to consider dealing with us before the suits get here. Once that happens, we can’t help you anymore.”

Blu’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the number, didn’t recognize it, and answered.

Grietje said, “Guess who I have?”

This really wasn’t good at all.

“What do you want?” Blu asked.

“Cooperation. Keep the police busy. I’ll call you back.” She ended the call.

With a nod, Blu signaled Crome to follow him as he stepped farther away from the organized chaos that was the scene of the crime.

Once out of earshot of any of the officers, Blu said, “The woman has Jansen.”

His partner’s smile vanished as Blu watched him think about what he’d just heard.

After a few beats, Crome said, “These people are real good. They must have gone out the back door with our boy right at the start. Those shots were just decoys.”

“You mean you didn’t return fire?”

“Hell no,” Crome said. “I didn’t want to risk hitting Jansen.”

At least he’d kept his head about him.

Blu stubbed out his cigarette. “How’d they get off the island if you blew up their car?”

Crome lit a Winston, took a drag, held the cigarette between two fingers on his right hand, and used it to point it at Blu. “They had a backup plan which kicked in as soon as it exploded.”

“These guys are professionals,” Blu said.

“They got us on this one, partner.”