Gunning For Angels (Fallen Angels Book 1) (25 page)

How did Eve get here? Drive? Chauffeur?

He sucked hard on the oxygen and felt his head clearing.

Nic
k said, “I called 9-1-1 – I saw a woman leave.” 

Relief flooded through Jack. He gripped Nick’s hand in thanks.

Nick said, “Thank God I was up late cleaning my guns.”

Jack was too weak to smile.

The terrible sound of collapsing wood came from the house and they stared in awe as the fire devoured what was left of it. 

Jack looked away, overwhelmed at the sight of what used to be his home.

His eyes caught the glowing tip of a cigarette in the silver sports car.

With Nick’s help, Jack stood. He walked unsteadily toward the car. He winced as he stepped on a sharp pebble, recognizing it to be one of the demons that had tortured him as Nick dragged him across the ground from his burning home. 

Pretending he could see the person in the car, he locked eyes with the darkness within and quickened his pace.

The headlights came on. He shielded his eyes from the glare, still moving forward.

The engine roared to life and sped at him.

He hurled himself backwards, throwing himself over the hood of a parked car, escaping by a hair’s breadth as the sports car slammed into the parked car with a screeching sound of metal on metal.

He landed on the sidewalk, a sharp pain shooting from his shoulder – the sick sensation of the wind knocked out of him.

Jack struggled to his feet and staggered forward.

Driving up the street from the other direction was Annie in her Mustang. Her astonished face, mouth agape, was hanging out the window as she drove toward him, her eyes transfixed by the fire.

Jack yanked her door open and pulled Annie out. She stumbled backwards and Jack caught a flash of her shirt, inside out, as he hopped into her still-rolling car.

He hit the accelerator and felt the Mustang jump forward. Jack whipped around the corner and saw the silver car back up and speed away.

Jack slowed only a fraction as he gave chase.

Jack found himself in a nerve-wracking game of chicken with oncoming cars and trucks as the two cars careened through light after light.

The silver car skidded to a stop to avoid hitting an SUV and Jack saw his chance. He slammed his brakes, thinking he could box in the car – between a truck, himself and the pavement. The silver car burned rubber in a spin that left it facing in the opposite direction.

Cursing, Jack reversed out of his position and raced after the car, which was on the verge of losing him. Gripping the wheel, Jack floored it, trying to get close enough to cut it off.

A half a block ahead of them, a minivan stopped in the intersection, making a left turn. Jack realized there was no way they would miss the minivan, which he was probably full of rug rats.

He stomped the accelerator and pulled to the left of the silver car. A violent jerk of the wheel sent the Mustang into the silver car, forcing them both off the road.

Jack caught a flash of the woman’s horrified face as they narrowly missed T-boning her minivan.

In slow motion, Jack watched as he and the silver car careened toward a glass-plated storefront.

Every bone in his body jolted and it felt like his teeth would shake out of his head. Glass rained down as they came to a sickening stop.

Jack tasted iron. Reaching up, he touched his head, which was throbbing. His fingertips were red with blood.

A neon sign in the shape of a human palm lay across his windshield, blinking the message at him: Know Your Future, Change Your Destiny.

Someone groaned.

The silver car sat like a panting dog to his forward right.

He tried his door but it wouldn’t budge. Climbing over the console, he forced open the passenger door. He got out, wincing as he felt the sharp reminder that he was barefoot and the space between him and the silver car was a minefield of glass shards.

Cautiously, he picked his way forward.

He saw a woman slumped over the wheel, long brown hair hiding her face. The glass was shattered and he reached in, touched her shoulder. The hair moved unnaturally under his hand and he pulled his hand away, her wig coming off.

She was bleeding from a gash above her eyebrow and Jack felt a flood of relief when he saw it wasn’t Eve.

The relief was short-lived.

He felt a jolt of shock when he recognized the driver.

A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon this world.

–Albert Camus

“Dennie Dutter,” Bud said as he paid the cashier for his coffee. The hospital’s cafeteria was at a low ebb as he, Jenson and Chip found a table where they could wait for Dr. Nells to finish her autopsy of the duct-taped canal corpse. Bud took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “I have a wheelchair-bound Aunt stronger than this coffee.”

“Dutter,” Jenson said, “That’s feasible.”

“Who’s Dennie Dutter?” Chip said.

“The corpse,” Bud said.
“
Degenerate specializing in human trafficking.”

Chip said, “Human trafficking? In Phoenix?”

Bud said, “Flourishing underbelly industry. Fifteen thousand child prostitutes in Phoenix alone.” 

Chip said, “I thought that kind of stuff only happened in Thailand or, like, Eastern Europe.”

“Ten percent of
all
kids in the U.S. are victims of human sex trafficking,” Bud said. “Mostly runaway and homeless – lured in with the promise of food, money, safety – some ‘opportunity’ – they get trapped in a network of anything from prostitution, massage parlors, strip clubs, to pornography.”

“How do you know all this?” Chip said.

“Murder.”

Chip raised his eyebrows.

Bud said, “Collateral damage. Human sex trafficking pays well, but it’s messy.”

Chip hesitated, “So, do you –
not
try as hard – to solve Dennie Dutter’s murder – because he’s a scumbag?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Bud said. 

“What’s wrong with chalking it up to saying ‘thank you very much’ to the universe for killing off a scumbag – and move to the next?” Chip said.

Bud said, “It doesn’t matter. Murder is murder.”

“Most foul,” Jenson said as he stirred more honey into his hot tea. 

Bud said, “Any person who kills another human being in cold blood – no matter who – Mother Teresa, Charles Manson – deserves getting exposed and being shown for what they are – a cold-blooded killer who deserves to rot in jail.”

Chip said, “Mother Teresa versus Manson? You’re talking apples and oranges.”

Bud said, “Who decides which murder to solve and which to let go? Are you going to make that decision?”

“In this case, yeah,” Chip said. “Let the scumbag’s case go. Who cares?”

Bud said, “My job is to get to the truth. I don’t judge. I reveal.”

“I know you, Pops. Don’t tell me you’re going to work this guy’s case the same as some innocent mother of three who got gunned down by some scum-bucket who peddles kids for sex.”

“I work them the same,” Bud said.

“Why?” Chip said.

“Nobody is innocent,” Bud said. 

Chip shook his head. “There are good people in the world.”

“I didn’t say there weren’t,” Bud said. “One thing I learned in this business is nobody is all good and nobody is all bad. We’re all just a messy grab bag of angel and devil.”

Jenson said, “It’s which side you land heaviest on that counts.”

Bud said to Chip, “When you write books, feel free to have everything come out happily ever after. Punish the bad guys, save the innocents. That’s not the way it is in real life.” 

Jenson said, “It is rather buggered out here.”

“No black and white,” Bud said. “The truth is in the grey. We give each case equal shoe leather.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Chip said. “Don’t you ever get mad?”

Bud said, “I harness that energy – put it into finding the killer.”

Chip said, “What happens if a good person kills a bad person and makes the world a better place? What then?”

“I find the killer,” Bud said.

Chip shook his head. “You’re using that as a way to evade the real question.”

“An evil baby. Ever come across one?”

Chip made a face. 

Bud hooked his thumb over his shoulder, “That thing
they dragged out of the canal was once a baby. My job is to find the killer of that baby.”

Chip said, “That guy isn’t a baby. The baby grew up to be a scumbag who peddles babies for sex.”

“That’s not my business,” Bud shrugged.

“You’re talking in circles,” Chip said.

Bud said, “I’ll concede that this one particular baby grew up to be a human-trafficking dirt bag – but he was once a tiny baby full of big potential. What if solving his case leads to something good? There’s no telling what the outcome to anything will be. You do something good and it causes bad, you do something bad and good will come of it. It’s useless speculation. All I know is I wake up every morning and do my best to find the killers and let them have their day in court.”

“Bring them to justice?” Chip said.

Bud laughed. “Justice? That’s none of my business. That’s for the legal system to scrape through.”  

Bud’s cell vibrated and he stood, walking away.

Jenson said, “Your father is a good man.”

“I guess you feel the same way?” Chip said.

“Goodness, no. Whoever wrapped Dennie Dutter up tighter than a tick did this city a favor.”

“Why’d you say it made sense?” Chip said.

“What?”

“About it being Dennie Dutter?”

“Enid is underage,” Jenson said.

“She’s not homeless or a runaway.”

Bud returned to the table, overhearing the last remark. “How do we know that?”

Chip said, “Because – ”

Bud said, “Instead of assuming – how ‘bout we go ask her?”

“But she has a dad. She’s not a runaway,” Chip said.

“Facts,” Bud said. “Let’s go see if we can get some.”

Chip sighed, following them out.

In less than an hour, Bud and Chip were at Enid’s hospital and Jenson was back at the station house.

The male nurse who looked like he could crack walnuts with his biceps told him that a woman and a boy had paid a visit and they hadn’t seen Enid since. They’d been trying to reach her father all morning with no success.

“Did you file a report?” Bud said.

The nurse eyed Bud tiredly, “It was documented in her chart. If we filed a report on every patient who left AMA, we’d spend all day filing reports.”

Bud left a message on Jack’s cell and, as soon as he hung up, it vibrated that he had an incoming call from Jenson.

“Surprises abound, my friend,” Jenson said. “You might want to mosey down to the station and see what the cat dragged in – before he gets bailed out.”

Within a short time of Bud arriving at the station, Jenson had filled Bud in on the facts, and they made their way to the area where Sam was finishing the paperwork for bailing out Jack.

Sam looked up as they entered, “Here to get my theories on the Kennedy assassination?”

Bud said, “Stolen car, reckless driving, destruction of private property – possibly arson…?”

“Jack didn’t burn down his own house,” Sam said.

Bud said, “What I’m interested in – the woman in the other car.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Sam said.

“You were his one phone call?” Bud said.

“To bail him out. Other than that – you have to talk to him.”

“Does he know that his daughter disappeared from the hospital?”

Sam looked at him, startled.

Bud said, “Any idea where she might be?”

“My wife went to visit her – Enid was there,” Sam said.

“When?”

A buzzer sounded and a correction
s officer entered, followed by Jack.

“All yours, Sam,” the officer said as he turned to leave.

Jack’s forehead was bandaged and had the remains of dried blood. Wearing jeans, a jail-issued shirt and flip-flops, he looked bedraggled. His eyes hardened at the sight of Bud and he homed in on Chip scribbling notes.

Jack hooked his thumb at Chip, “What’s up with Nancy Drew?”

Chip frowned, pocketing the notebook.

Sam said, “Good news is the neighbor’s not filing charges – the girl had weed in the car.”

Jack eyed Bud, “What do you want?” 

Bud said, “Why would Laura Hargrove want to torch your house?”

Jack said, “She confessed?”

Bud said, “I’m working under the assumption you didn’t run Laura Hargrove off the road to ask the time of day.”

Jack turned to Sam, “I need to borrow your car.”

Sam hooked his thumb at Bud, “Detective Orlean tells me Enid is missing.”

Jack’s neck snapped in Bud’s direction, “What? Are you sure?”

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” Bud said.

Jack followed Bud to an interview room, where they sat on opposite sides of the table. Jack stared at Bud with poorly concealed hostility.

Bud said, “We pulled a known human trafficker out of the canal this morning.”

Jack shrugged. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Bud said, “The cause of death – strangulation.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

Bud said, “With a man-made fiber – perhaps an article of clothing.”

“Like a bra,” Jack said wryly.

Bud leaned forward, elbows on the table, “Did Enid run away?”

Jack’s cheeks flushed red.

“She did,” Bud said, leaning back as he watched Jack, who looked guiltier than a hooker in the front pew.

“I can find her,” Jack said, running his hands through his hair. “I need time.”

“Why? What do you know?” Bud said.

Jack jumped up. “You can’t be serious – are you seriously accusing Enid of strangling that – ?”

“How would Enid come into contact with a human-trafficking pedophile who preys on runaway kids – unless she ran away?”

Jack sat down, dropped his head into his hands.

Bud said, “Tell me what you know. Enid could be in danger.”

Jack wavered, unsure. He shook his head. “Go to hell.”

Jack strode out, the door closing behind him.

Bud sat back, pissed. Jack was hiding something and Bud decided that he was going to dig it out of him if it was the last thing he did.