OUR STORY SO FAR: Everything would have gone fine if the McCarthy mob hadn’t told Oscar Rayne to kill a stripper for being pregnant with Leo McCarthy’s child. Or if that stripper hadn’t been a police informant.
For the full saga go to the February 2012 folder on this blog and start with Part One of Crime SuspenStory.Based on true events.
By the time the image disappeared on the screen Dan’s eyes had gone dry. Both he and Alex were staring into the monitor when the empty bar vanished and the screen suddenly turned a muddled black.
Dan stood and cursed, his body crying out from the shock of changing position after sitting tense for so long.
“Is it dead?” he asked the other man.
Alex didn’t answer, continueing to turn nobs and tap at the keyboard.
“Is it dead!” Dan demanded, grabbing Alex hard by the shirt.
The IT man ripped his gaze from the screen and stared up at the detective with eyes of bloody glass.
“I don’t know what happened. The signal is good,” he said.
Dan threw himself around the van until he found the walkie talkie and put it to his mouth.
“Stop,” Alex said. “What if you compromise him?”
Dan stood still with the device at his lips. He had been ashamed when Detective O’Neil had shown up, embarrassed that he had had to call in for back up. It was just a surveillance operation after all and he should have been able to handle it. It should have been him out there, stalking the bar on foot. Claudia was his partner.
He looked from the blank screen to Alex, the shame turning to a panic and spreading through his limbs as he allowed himself to wonder what Claudia had done to reveal herself, who Rollins had talked to, how this would affect his career if things imploded?
“It’s been fifteen fucking minutes,” he said.
“But what if you call and somebody hears it? You got to give him some time.”
“We’ve given him time.”
“Not long. He could still be taking position.”
The two men stared each other down before their gazes returned to the blank monitor. There was still sound coming through the speakers, white noise, the sound of ghosts.
“She might have had to stash the purse,” Alex said.
Dan shook the walky talkie violently in his hand. “Then why didn’t we hear anything?”
“Who knows.”
Alex went back to twisting nobs, changing the frequency and timber of the static coming from the speakers. Dan watched for a moment before putting down the walky talky and coming up with his SR9c Pistol. He released the clip and checked it, the sound making Alex turn around.
“What are you doing?” the tech said.
“I can’t just sit here. My partner’s in there.”
“But we don’t know what’s going on.”
“Exactly. I’m going out there and taking a look.”
“I’m calling backup.”
“You stay put,” Dan grunted as he placed the gun back in his side holster. “Keep that other walky talky on and wait for my signal. If you don’t hear anything from me or O’Neil in the next ten minutes then call the troops. And keep your eyes on the screen! If something shows up that’s definitive beep me.”
Dan slid the door open and and stepped into the night.
****
It was simple, the girl had called Leo and there really no way around that. Oscar didn’t bothered to wonder why she would have called Leo or why Leo would have wanted her dead in the first place, he just knew that he was caught in a lie and there wasn’t really anything he could say or do about it. Soon he would disappear like the Croat, and Martinez, and Joe Bailey before him.
Even with the barrel of Dick’s gun a few inches away, what kept popping into Oscar’s head was Mrs. Rodasavitch. She would never know what had become of her son and that bothered Oscar. She would come to suspect Bill was dead but there would at least be a hope that would carry on when she never knew the truth. When Oscar was gone as well no one in the world would ever really know for sure what happened to the Croat, maybe Bill’s mother deserved to know. The thought wouldn’t leave him.
Pat and O’Neil returned from the bathroom after stashing the purse they had grabbed from the side table overlooking the bar. Pat was still staggering a bit, wide eyed and sweating. He kept his eyes on Oscar and motioned towards Dick.
“That’s enough now, let’s get the gun off my boy,” he said.
“Shut your mouth Pat,” White Charlie bellowed.
The old man was posted in the corner, the beretta sitting on the table next to him. “You keep out of this and let your uncle handle it.”
Leo stood in the doorway, glaring over at the storage room where they had corralled the girls from the party.
“We need to get everybody out of here. We’ll take Oscar back to the store and see if we can work this out,” he said.
Oscar knew “work this out” probably meant torture. He had been present numerous times at the warehouse as men screamed their secrets, trying to call off the beatings and keep the icepick from their balls.
He watched Leo shift his gaze from the storage room back to him. No matter if they finally put together that Oscar had stolen the money from the Duck he was most likely dead anyway for lying. He couldn’t be trusted, and the only way out was at the bottom of the Bay. It was really too bad because a few more hours and he would have made it; a plane to Mexico or Florida or somewhere he didn’t know the name of, he hadn’t decided. He did know he shouldn’t have come to the party after dropping the girl at the bus station, he should have just headed to the Duck to collect and hit the road. It could have been simple.
Leo nodded towards the storage room again and turned towards O”Neil.
“I’m going to leave it up to you to take care of our little friend in there,” he said.
“I’ll do what I can,” the fat cop replied.
“You’ll do what needs to be done,” Leo growled. “If the situation can’t be contained then you bring her back to the store and we’ll figure out what to do with her there.”
O’Neil nodded solemnly and put a walky talky to his lips.
“Come in. Anybody there?” he muttered.
“There you are! What’s the situation?” a voice screeched back.
“Things are under control. Keep back and wait from my signal.”
“Roger,” the voice said.
O’Neil lowered the walky talky for a moment then grimaced, bringing it back to his lips.
“Where is Wheaton, over?” he said.
“He’s out there too. I’m going to to call him now, over.”
O’Neil slapped the walky talky against his leg and clenched his teeth in anger.
“Is that a cop?” Charlie asked him. “What’s he talking about?”
“We need to get everybody out of here right now,” the fat man said. Leo nodded towards Dick and Murph and then pointed towards the door.
“You got your car boyo?” Dick asked Murph. Oscar could feel the Irish man’s breath on the back of his neck.
“Yeah, one block over.”
With one on either side, Murph and Dick took Oscar by the arms, leading him towards the back door. They got into the alley and continued to the street, Dick keeping the muzzle of his gun pushed stiffly into Oscar’s ribs. If it had been anybody else in the crew Oscar might have made a move, but not with the bald Irishman. The resentful son of a bitch was just looking for a chance to shoot.
Maybe Oscar could come up with something and plead his case. He could say Vaughn had done something, said something; something that had forced Oscar to shoot him. But he had already been caught in one lie and there really wasn’t much hope. You don’t lie to your friends and you definitely don’t lie to Leo McCarthy, no matter who you are. By trying to be clever he had simply made the wrong move. Sparing that girl’s life had most likely ended his own and Oscar couldn’t help but smile.
“What in the fuck are you smiling about?” said Dick.
They were standing at the curb outside Vito’s, both men on either side of him with Oscar in the middle. Dick sunk the gun deeper into Oscar’s ribs as they watched a car glide passed and continue down the street
“You're a real fucking smart ass, you know that?” Dick whispered, his voice grinding up from a sandpaper throat.
“Don’t talk to him,” Murph said.
“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do boyo. This kid fucked us. You know that!”
“I don’t know nothing right now.”
They stepped onto the street, pulling Oscar along with them.
“You don’t know nothing?” Dick growled as they walked. “The old man wouldn’t have us jump him in there if whatn’t nothing to it now, would he?”
They stepped into the alley opposite Vito’s and Oscar could see Murph’s silver truck parked at the far end. It would be a tight squeeze in the cab, Murph driving with Oscar in the middle and Dick on his right. The Irishman would have the gun pointed the entire ride, there would be no chance to make a move or bail. Oscar had started to resign himself to his fate, excepting that he would be at the bottom of the Bay come morning. But his mind couldn’t help but keep running, searching for possibilities.
They were halfway down the alley, coming along the side of rusted old dumpster, when Oscar realized there was a man walking towards them from the street opposite. At first it was just a shadow, then the man stepped into the light and Oscar could see him clearly. He didn’t know the man, he had never seen him before in his life, but there was something about him, the clothes he wore and the way he walked. The man was a cop.
“Fuck,” he heard Murph whisper next to him.
The man slowed down and began to raise his left hand, his right reaching into his jacket.
“Hey fellas,” the man said. “Do you happen to know-”
The blast of Murph’s gun was deafening as it discharged right next to Oscar’s head. The shot missed as the man swung around, turning a full three sixty with the edge of his coat flying wild. His hand came from his jacket with a gun extended, squeezing and letting off a shot that popped the top of Murph’s skull off and spattered Oscar’s face with blood.
The roars from Dick’s three fifty seven were even louder, both shots reverberating off the walls of the alley in deafening repetition, one after the other. The first caught Dan in his shoulder, the second his chest, sending him flying back against the wall of the alley with a cloud of feathers from his down jacket following like the tail of a comet.
The shots were still ringing when Oscar pivoted and grabbed Dick by both shoulders. He pushed back, back, and could feel the Irishman’s breath burst from his lungs when they hit the metal dumpster with a clang. Oscar didn’t look to see if Dick still gripped the gun, the fear and adrenalin had him cocking back and throwing his fist hard into the Irishman’s face.
Dick flew, his back slapping against the cement. Oscar scanned the ground around the dumpster and snatched a loose board from a crushed wooden pallet. Dick was pushing himself up from pavement, almost to his knees, then Oscar caught him behind the ear with the wood. A blow across the face with the second swing, and then the back of the skull with the third and fourth. When the Irishman stopped moving Oscar dropped the wood, replaced it with the gun from the floor of the alley, and began running towards the street opposite.
When he got to the mouth of the alley he spotted a parked car with it’s lights on a half a block down. He raced towards it, tasting some of Murph’s blood in his mouth, cold and salty.
He watched a young man get out of the car, bending over and retrieving a bag from the back seat. The man didn’t notice anyone approaching, then he turned and found Oscar coming at him him full speed, blood streaked with a gun in his hand.
The man froze, unable to decide whether to run or get back into the car. At the last moment he went to flee, beginning to step backwards but Oscar came down on him, smashing the butt of the gun into the young man’s face. He yanked the keys up off the pavement, then got in the car and tore away, leaving the man sprawled out on Capp Street.
There was a sweatshirt lying among empty packs of cigarettes at the foot of the passenger seat. Oscar yanked it up, peering into the rearview, wiping the blood spray from his face. He didn’t have time to hope or celebrate or grieve for Murph, his friend of fifteen years. All he knew was that he wasn’t leaving without that money.
Part 17 of Crime SusepenStory will be posted February 21st @ 8pm.
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