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Wednesday, October 22, 2014, Seattle, Washington
Mac was up early enough to catch the first crowd at breakfast, including Janet, which meant it was 5 a.m. But he needed to go over something with her, Stan Warren, Angie and the Moores. And now was the best time to do it.
“Something’s bothering me,” Mac said slowly. “So, Juan, you’ve been driving your own vehicle to work without problems. No one waiting for you like Anna. No one pulls you over like they did me last night. They’re ignoring you. Which makes me wonder about that second drive-by shooting. If it was for retaliation, then wouldn’t they still be coming after you? And if it wasn’t for retaliation, why did they come back?”
Juan started to say something, then stopped. He thought about it, and then shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Angie was frowning. “The computer? Did Shorty find anything on it?”
Mac shook his head. “Stuff, but nothing serious enough to warrant that second drive by,” he said. “Maybe they didn’t know what was on it and didn’t want to take chances. But the second drive-by was a bigger risk.”
“You mentioned once, Mac, that you wondered if they came back because they heard Stan’s voice on my call to Shorty?” Angie reminded him.
Stan grimaced. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head as if he was replaying the night. “That’s true,” he said slowly. “The call broke off, right after I said to put it on speaker phone.”
“Did they not know you were there?” Mac asked puzzled. “Your car was parked out front.”
“My plates aren’t in the DMV database, Mac,” Stan pointed out. “Cop’s cars aren’t.”
“But they must have seen you standing out there watching.”
Angie shook her head. “No,” she said. “I noticed that when we pulled up. He was in the shadows. A Black man, dressed in black clothes. It wasn’t until he moved that I saw him, and we were looking for him — Janet recognized the car.”
“Last night, they backed down when they knew the FBI were involved,” Stan said slowly. “I thought then that perhaps they didn’t want to take us on. They’ve backed down each time. At the hospital. Last night. And Rand is driving his car too.”
Shorty was leaning in the doorway listening. “You’re overthinking that night,” he said finally. “They thought they had it corralled. But they didn’t have Janet’s or Angie’s numbers in their net — why would they? So, when they heard Janet call her reporter, they started to scramble. And when Angie reached me and started to ask computer questions, they broke in, because they freaked out. And they decided they had a last chance to move. They didn’t know I was on my way. Didn’t know who I was.”
Mac considered that. It made the most sense. Go with the simplest explanation.
“And they went for overkill, for just the reasons we’ve talked about. To scare people,” Shorty added. “And to plant the seeds in your neighbors’ minds, apparently, that this was drug or gang related. Because you’re two Latino families, and you keep to yourselves.”
Paulina looked angry at that. “Pendejos,” she muttered. She looked at Juan. “I know we chose that neighborhood because it has good schools for the kids, but that is not the kind of people we want for our children to go to school with. We need to rebuild the house and sell it.”
Juan gave a half-shrug of agreement. “Down the road,” he said. “So, you don’t think I’m in danger going to work?”
“I don’t know,” Mac said. “But, you’re still a risk to the safe house. If they figure out that you’re here, they could follow you back. But your shifts aren’t predictable, and that’s protected us.”
“Act as if you are in danger, mi amor,” Paulina said fiercely. “You will live longer that way.”
“Good advice,” Mac said with approval.
“I’ve finally met someone who is as paranoid as you are, Mac,” Shorty muttered, but he smiled at Paulina. She laughed.
“Joe and Tim are upstairs helping with the database triage,” Shorty added. “I suspect it has less to do with interest in computers than in Misaki and Ruri.” There were grins at that, so he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Dunbar’s interest. But Tim? That could get interesting.
Janet was heading out, and Mac caught up with her. “Riding over with you,” he said. “I’ll catch a ride back with Angie.” Janet just nodded. She had a to-go cup of coffee in her hand — she’d be more communicative after she finished it.
The guard at the gate was new. Mac rolled down his window.
“We haven’t met,” Mac said. “I’m Mac Davis. You call the house for me if there are problems, or Joe Dunbar if I’m not around.”
The man nodded. “I’m Dave Barnes,” he said. “Kevin said he tried to call you to tell you I’d be here, but your number wasn’t working.”
Mac grimaced. “Yeah, phones are a problem,” he said. “I’ll give Kevin a call.”
Janet was laughing as she pulled through the gate. “Almost makes me nostalgic for the days when all we had were landlines,” she said. “At least we weren’t worried about broadcasting in the clear, or getting hacked. And cops had to get warrants to eavesdrop.”
Mac snorted. “Now you know why I resisted for so long,” he pointed out. He was still using a pager two years ago. And unplugging his desktop computer at home from the wall when he wasn’t using it. Hell, he still did that. Couldn’t hack what wasn’t connected to the internet.
“Are you OK with me bringing Tim in?” he asked. “Actually, he volunteered. But I didn’t think to ask you.”
“He’s an adult,” Janet said. She paused, then added, “He asked me if he could call me Mom.”
Mac smiled at her. “Feel good?”
She nodded, and they drove on into the office in companionable silence.
Mac felt like he had more information than he had organization. Think like a journalist, he told himself, a question Janet had asked him repeatedly over the three years he’d worked for her. Are you a journalist or are you a former Marine? A vigilante? And it was always clear what she expected: he was to be a journalist. And mostly he was. Mostly. Turned out the pen was mightier than the sword. And he always had a Glock for backup.
But think as a journalist? He decided to assemble a ‘rogue’s gallery’ with bios. He was still at it when Angie came in and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing. She asked for a list of the people he was emphasizing and went away. Photos of them started appearing in his queue. He nodded. That helped.
Could he organize them into a hierarchy? He could. There was a big question mark on the top. And then, there was four groups: cops, techs, white supremacists, militant Christians.
He knew the cop section better than he’d thought after he organized it. Sgt. McBride, president of the police union, and his hit squad of three officers. Captain Rourke, with a big question mark. There might be others.
White supremacists? Andy Malloy. Who else? Pete Norton? And militant Christians? Valley View Church and their own Steve Whitman. Wasn’t that wild? He shook his head. But techs? He didn’t have a clue.
And where was the money? Time to go home and pose those last two questions to the tech team.
Mac stuck his head in the photo department. Angie was working on a computer. “Ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ve got some photos for you to look at when we get home,” she said.
He liked that phrase, ‘when we get home.’ Even though it referred to a safe house. Maybe it was time to get serious about finding a place to live together. A place they could make a home.
Angie dug out her keys, and headed out the back door to the parking garage, Mac following behind. When he went through the door, though, she was gone. He whirled, looking for her, terrified.
Craig Anderson stood to the right of the door. He had Angie, with his hand over her mouth.
“Let her go,” Mac ordered.
“I’m not going to hurt her, you know that,” he said. “I want to talk. She’s my guarantee you’ll listen.”
“Let her go, Craig. I’ll listen. I have before, haven’t I?” Mac glanced at the attendant booth. “What did you do to Hank?”
“That the scrawny little guy? I suggested now would be a good time for him to go get smokes,” Craig Anderson replied. “I’m doing my best not to hurt anyone here, Mac.”
“So, let Angie go back inside, and we can talk,” Mac said. He didn’t look at Angie, but kept his focus on Craig.
“This time, I need you to stay where you are,” he said. There was a slight shift of his eyes. To someone behind Mac?
Mac dropped to the ground, and the shooter missed. The shooter shot again, and Mac rolled onto his back, reaching for the pistol in his ankle holster. He shot back and rolled again.
When he looked a second time, the shooter was gone. Andy Malloy, Mac thought grimly. He got to a crouch, surveyed the garage, his pistol in his hand. Quiet.
“Mac!” Angie called softly. “He shot Craig.”
Mac backed toward her, still surveilling the parking garage. “You OK?” he asked, not looking at her, but looking at the exit where the shooter had gone out. Didn’t mean he couldn’t come back.
“Yes,” Angie said. Her voice shook a bit.
Mac backed up until he could see Craig stretched out on the garage floor. He handed Angie his Glock. “Point and shoot,” he said. “Preferably at the bad guys, and not Hank or someone from the Examiner returning to the office.”
“Not like I’d actually hit what I aimed at,” she muttered.
“You’re getting better,” Mac said, amused. And she was — at 20 feet. “I’m not afraid to stand near you at the range anymore.”
She laughed.
Mac knelt down beside Craig. “Where’d he get you?”
“Shoulder,” Craig said. “Nice drop and roll though. Been a while since I’ve seen someone do that.”
Mac felt every ache from it too. “Been awhile since I’ve done it,” he said. “And I can tell.”
Craig grinned and winced. Mac put pulled off his shirt and wadded it up into a pad. He put pressure on it. “Angie? You have a phone? Call for an ambulance, will you? And call Dunbar. They just escalated.”
Craig sighed. “Malloy is getting crazier by the moment,” he said.
“So what’s going on? All this because Nick is going to testify against that bastard that let Benjamin Ryan loose? What the hell? He didn’t even get charged with anything.”
“Lost his job,” Craig said on an exhale. He was hurting more than he let on. “He’s connected. So, he files an appeal — it’s denied. And he sues, demanding the union represent him. Got some high-priced talent for an attorney. The union says, let’s cut a deal, you get some money and move on. He’s adamant. He wants to be a cop. The union knows there’s no case. And they can’t afford to lose. They’ve got their reputation to think of, too. People don’t pay union dues for a union that loses.”
He paused and just breathed through the pain for a moment. His face was white. “Help is coming,” Mac said. “Hang in there.”
“It’s not fatal,” Craig said. “Just hurts like a son of a bitch. So this guy is connected. Remember when that used to mean the mob? Now it means white supremacists and some damn church. Can you believe that?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Mac said dryly. “So he knew Malloy?”
“Yeah, the damn bastard knows everyone. And they decide a hit on Rodriguez is a smart move. Dumb fucks. All that firepower and they didn’t get the job done. But Malloy decides he wants more than Rodriguez. He wants you. After all, it would be to a lot of people’s benefit if you couldn’t testify about what happened in the mountains.”
“OK, but they’re shooting at the neighbors, at an FBI agent, and journalists. What’s that all about?”
“Got me,” Craig said. “I keep my head down. I run my shop, and God help me, I’m running Malloy’s range for him. Mostly I’m trying not to see what’s going on, Mac. I run their errands.”
“Like this one,” Mac said. “Setting me up to be shot in the back by Malloy? Thanks.”
“Gave you a warning, didn’t I?” Craig’s eyes started to close. “Not feeling real good here, Mac.”
“I can hear the ambulance,” Angie said. “It’s almost here.”
“You got a name?” Mac asked. “Keep talking to me, man.”
Craig didn’t answer.
“Shit!” He looked at Angie. “Better put that Glock back in my holster before the ambulance gets here. And go make sure he’s telling the truth about Hank — make sure he’s not dying over there in that booth.”
Angie nodded. She crouched by Mac and slid the pistol back into its holster on his leg. And then she went to the parking attendant’s booth. “Not here,” she said. She peered out toward the street, and waved at something.
The ambulance, Mac assumed. He kept pressure on the wound until the EMTs took over.
“We were talking,” Mac said. “And someone came in the entrance there and started firing. I dropped, but Craig got hit.”
“OK,” the EMT said. “A cop will be along shortly. Give him the details.”
Mac frowned at that, but just nodded. “Going to go wash my hands,” he said, and he backed into the Examiner building. The EMT was focused on his patient. Mac gestured with his head toward Angie. She followed him into the building.
“What are you doing?” she hissed at him.
“Going to wash up,” he said, then softer he added, “We’ve got to go. Cops? Not going to stick around for them. Who knows who will show up.”
“We can’t just leave!” she protested.
“Yes, we can,” he said firmly. “We’ll talk to Dunbar when we get home, and he can call it in for us. It’s how can we leave, that’s the question. Janet’s already gone.”
Mike Brewster stuck his head out down the hallway. “Was that a gunshot I heard?” He took in Mac’s bare chest and bloody hands, and his eyes widened. “Maybe not dressed for the newsroom there, Mac.”
Angie giggled. “I think he looks fine,” she joked.
Mac grinned at her. “You hold that thought,” he said. He looked down at himself and sighed. “Mike, how would you like to work from the safe house today?”
Mike’s eyes widened. “You’d trust me with its location? I’m honored.”
“If you’ve got a car, we trust you,” Mac said sourly.
Angie snickered. Mac went to wash the blood off his hands.