He was sitting on the steps with two of his henchmen. When he saw our car stop in front of the house, he jumped to his feet, ran down the steps and away up the street. I went after him, gun in hand; Kate followed. He didn’t get far.
“Hey, Shady, you stupid son of a bitch,” I yelled. “Stop, or I’ll drop you.”
He must have believed me because he slowed: the run became a jog, then a fast walk and then he stopped and slowly turned around to face me, walking backward, smiling.
“Hello, Harry,” Shady Tree said. “I guess you figured it out, huh?”
I held the gun steady in both hands, my head cocked to one side. He shrugged, raised both hands to shoulder level. I lowered my weapon, took a step forward, and as I did, his right hand went for the gun on his hip.
You’ve got to be kidding me! The thought flashed through my head as I brought my own weapon to bear. Not twice in one day.
It happened in slow motion… at least that’s what it seemed like. His gun came up, and I pulled the trigger. The nine-millimeter copper-coated slug hit the meaty part of his right forearm, just below the elbow. His arm snapped backward, and the gun flew out of his hand and across the street. He looked at me, wide-eyed, unbelieving, shocked, looked down at his arm, then dropped to his knees, grabbed the wound and looked at me, pleading. Then it hit him, his head went back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as the nerves registered the wound and the pain coursed through him.
I holstered my weapon and ran to him.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” I said in his ear as I dragged his jacket off, and then tore off his shirt sleeve. “I could have killed you.”
He was lucky. I could tell the bullet had missed the bone; what it might have done to tendons, muscles, and nerves, I had no idea.
“If it had been anybody else but me,” I said, “you’d be dead right now. And if I was still a cop, I thought, I’d be disciplined for not taking the kill shot.
“Where is she, Shady?” I asked as I used the shirt sleeve to tie off his wound.
“Where’s who?” he ground out through gritted teeth.
“You know who.”
He howled as I gently squeezed the wound.
“Where’s Phoebe Marsh?”
He looked up at me. I don’t know if it was pain or hate I saw in his eyes. “Screw you, Starke.”
“No, screw you, you piece of garbage.” I squeezed the wound and Shady cried out as the pain intensified.
“Stop it, Harry,” Kate said.
“Not until he tells me where she is,” I said, looking him right in the eye. It was at that point Shady Tree became a believer.
“She’s in the basement,” he whispered, his eyes shut tight. “Under the floor, north corner. There’s a section, looks like concrete, only it’s made of something called vermiculite. It weighs nothing, comes up easy. Now, will you get me to the hospital?”
“She’d better be good and healthy, Shady,” I said. “If not…” I didn’t bother to finish. He knew. I could see it in his eyes.
“Kate,” I said. “I’ll go look. Keep an eye on him. Call an ambulance, if you like.”
I ran back to the house. The gangbangers were gone. I guess they’d seen what had happened to their boss and decided to get going, fast. I ran up the steps, into the house, found the basement door next to the kitchen, opened it, and ran down the steps into the basement.
It was dark down there, even with the light on. I walked slowly through the garbage to the north corner and looked around the floor. At first, I didn’t see anything and was about to go screw Shady’s arm some more when I spotted the false concrete slab. It was about three feet square, dirty, stained, almost identical to the rest of the concrete floor. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have found it.
I knelt down, ran my fingers over the smooth surface and edges, trying to find a way to get it up; nothing. I reached into my pants pocket, took out my tactical pocket knife, flipped it open, and inserted the tip of the blade into the crack that separated the slab from the rest of the floor. Then gently, I began to lever the slab, hoping to hell I wouldn’t snap the blade.
But Shady was right. It took very little effort to raise the edge of the slab enough to get my fingers under it. I swear that slab didn’t weigh five pounds.
I lifted it out and set it to one side, revealing a large square opening with steps leading down into the darkness.
I turned on my iPhone and used the flashlight to tentatively make my way down the first few steps, feeling my way as I went. Five steps down, on the side of a joist, I found a light switch. I flipped it on and descended the rest of the way into hell… at least that’s what it must have felt like to Phoebe.
The room was small, no more than eight feet by eight. Phoebe was in a small cage set against the far wall… and when I say small, I mean tiny. She couldn’t stand upright, she was on her butt, her knees pulled up to her chest, and she was filthy, and it also looked like she’d lost weight.
“What the hell took you so long?” she asked wearily.
“And hello to you too,” I said, wondering how the hell I was going to get her out of the cage.
“There’s a key,” she said. “Hanging on the top step, to the right.”
“Are you okay?” I asked as I pulled the cage door open. “They didn’t…” Because if they did, Shady is going to pay for it, like he’s never known.
“Yes, I’m okay, and no, they didn’t. They didn’t touch me.”
“What took you so long?” she asked again. “You got my note, right? You talked to Penny, right? You must have because you’re here.”
“Penny? You mean Penelope, from the Rose Café?”
“Yes. She’s my friend.”
Oh shit.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I said, changing the subject and helping her out of the cage and to her feet. She was so stiff she could barely stand.
I guided her up the steps into the basement proper, and then up into the main house, where we found Kate coming in through the front door.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “You found her. That’s fantastic. Are you okay?”
Phoebe smiled at her as she limped into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Yes, I’m fine. Where is he, that SOB with the dreads? I wanna remove his… I wanna bust his balls.”
“He’s outside,” Kate said, “with two uniforms watching him, waiting for the paramedics. Harry shot him.”
“He’s dying, right?” she asked gleefully.
“Not hardly,” Kate said. “He should be, but Harry only winged him. We need to get you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
“Not until I’ve talked to Penny. Where is she? Can we go see her?”
I looked at Kate, then back at Phoebe. I didn’t know what to say.
“Harry,” Kate said quietly. “Why don’t you go and finish up with Shady?”
I nodded, got up, and left them alone together.