Caught in the Crossfire Ch. 10

For the rest of that night and all the next day, Jack repeatedly went over the plan with Brittany until she could recite all the details, and any possible contingency, flawlessly from memory. Looking over their options, Jack figured the best time to implement the plan would be Saturday, right after Santos' usual round of golf with a couple of his cronies.

Santos and his group usually tee off at ten. Jack arrived a little before that, and found Santos hitting balls on the driving range. Jack watched him from behind a row of hedges until the group started down the first fairway. After that, he waited and watched for them on the clubhouse veranda, having coffee.

About two hours later, Jack spotted Santos' group coming up the ninth fairway. Staying out of sight as they make the turn into the back nine, he called Brittany to make sure she was ready.

"He just made the turn. I figure we still have another two hours before I set things in motion. It's not too late to back out. You can always go the conventional route and get a lawyer; although, there's still no guarantee he won't come after you after the divorce."

Brittany didn't hesitate to answer, "I know him. He will. I want him out of my life, and prison is the best way."

"I want to remind you that if I push the right buttons, it will get rough for you; probably very rough."

There was only a slight hesitation on the other end of the line before Jack heard Brittany's voice, again, and this time, full of confidence, "I know. I've gone over this in my head for days, now. I'm ready. Just make sure you're not late."

At two-thirty Jack spotted Santos' group making their way up the eighteenth fairway.

"It's time," he said quietly to himself, "No turning back now."

The evening before, he gave Brittany the procedure on how to disable the car alarm on Santos' Cadillac. Using a 'Slim Jim,' Jack popped the door lock without incident. Then he laid down on the floor in the back seat of the car, and waited.

It was about fifteen minutes later when Jack heard the trunk open and Santos placing his clubs inside.

As soon as Santos put the key in the ignition, Jack pounced.

Before Santos knew what was happening, Jack took a firm hold at the back of his collar and pulled his head back, cutting off his wind as well as pressing his head firmly against the headrest.

For a moment, Santos went wide-eyed in surprise and fear when he saw Jack in the rearview mirror. His fear only lasted a few seconds before he shifted into cop-mode at Dorn's brazenness. Reaching his hand up in order to pry Jack's away from his collar, he said with barely hidden contempt, "You've got one second to get out of my fucking car, you ass..."

Santos stopped his threat when Jack placed a taser close to his neck.

"Hello Santos," Jack said, with a tone of quiet malice, "It's time you answer for Ashante and Kellen. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Fuck you, you..."

"Shut up. One more outburst and I will tase your ass, and then drive you to a place no one will ever find. For you, that would be the hard way. I prefer the easy way. With the easy way, everyone stays alive, but I'm more than capable of doing it hard if you make me. Now, you're going to want to listen to what I have to say, and I'm only going to say it once. So, are you ready to listen?" When Santos nodded his head, Jack continues, "Start your car. You know Braden's Café over on Fremont? Drive there as if it's your usual, lazy Saturday afternoon."

There were just enough people in the café to put Jack at ease. He chose a table instead of a booth, and sat so that he could watch the entrance.

Santos sat quietly, waiting for Jack to make his pitch. He would wait and bide his time. Put Jack at ease and not make any threats until he was safely away. He would let Jack have his fun. What difference did it make? Jack Dorn was a dead man. He just doesn't know it, yet. Santos stared back at the man with his hard, dark eyes, and smiled subtly at that thought.

Jack ordered them a coffee and Santos a Reuben sandwich to make their conversation look normal to the other patrons.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Santos commented, "First, heroin possession and now kidnapping a police lieutenant, you're moving up in the world, Dorn."

Jack didn't respond at first, but set a tape recorder on the table between them. "Shut up, and listen to this very carefully."

Santos recognized the voice on the tape immediately. It was Peter Fray, the former chief of forensics for Metro. The tape lasted all of fifteen minutes. When it was over, Santos' face was drained of color.

"Quite a story he had to tell," Jack began, with a touch of amusement in his voice, "I particularly liked the part where he said you were crying like a little bitch, begging him to help cover up Ashante's murder. I'm impressed you had that much cash on hand. A hundred thousand dollars isn't easy to come by, but it was money well spent given how things turned out for you."

Santos regained his composure, and scoffed, "What does this prove? That you got some kiddie-fucker to tell lies about me."

Jack ignored Santos' question, and continued, "He never did trust you, you know. Oh sure, Fray covered up your crimes and the crimes of your crew, buying your silence about what happened with Cathy Bateman, but he never trusted you. He knew it would just be a matter of time before you saw him as an untenable, loose thread, and took care of the matter." Jack pauses for effect, and then finished, "You really didn't think he destroyed the evidence, did you?"

"Bullshit! You don't have any evidence."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? Do you really think I'd be sitting here if all I had were Fray's taped confession? Fray kept all the evidence surrounding Ashante's murder. He kept it all, and now I have it. I have it all. Such as the jewelry you gave her, the ones with the little blue stones, as well as some carpet fibers that match your car. Speaking of car, after doing some digging, I even have witness statements from Ashante's friends, that it was your car she was last seen in the night of her murder. You really shouldn't have used your Jaguar that night, but, I guess you wanted to impress her."

"What? Jewelry? Fibers? Statements from some whores? That's all you got?"

"So far you're not denying it."

"I don't have to deny nothing, you prick!"

"Double negative, good English," Jack said, sarcastically, and then continues in a more serious tone, "Granted, on their own they're weak sauce. The fibers are the most damning. They do match the fibers in your trunk, although they're pretty common. However, all together they add up, particularly when you throw in the murder weapon."

Santos' face went pale.

"That's right. Fray even saved that lead pipe you used to bash her brains in with, the one having your prints and her blood. Once I got all this from Fray, I had it retested at an independent lab at my expense. The fibers, prints, and blood, now that was money well spent."

Santos' eyes grew colder as they stared back at Jack, appearing like those of a dead mackerel, totally devoid of emotion. Only the subtle trembling of his jaw muscles were the only indications he was alive, as he tightened his mouth and lips into a granite-like façade.

Jack smiled back into Santos' emotionless stare and continued, "I often wonder what she did to you that night. What did Ashante do that put you in such a rage? How else to explain you beating her face in until it was unrecognizable, you leaving her body out in the open for anyone to find, along with the murder weapon and the trinkets you gave her. You weren't even thinking at all that night, you were in such a rage."

Santos's hands and fingers twitched erratically against the table. It looked like he wanted to grab Jack by the neck and beat his face bloody until he stopped talking. Only the thought of what he would do to Jack later kept him from leaping across the table.

Jack continued baiting him, "I'm also wondering, why whores? A macho guy like you, belonging to the upper echelon at Metro with plenty of spending cash for a tasty mistress, you could probably fuck anyone you wanted. Why did you feel the need to pay for whores? What is it, a kink of yours? I couldn't figure it out. At first, I thought you needed to have it slummy. Maybe it's a way of exorcising those demons of yours. Needed penitence for being such a low-life fuck, murderer and thief, you have to have sex on the low-down. I discounted that, however. Doing penitence implies you have a conscience. So, after a while I just figure you like going in where some other guy's just been. You get off on sloppy seconds, don't you? I bet you even go down on your whores so you can taste the last guy that's been..."

Santos was about to shoot out of his chair, but jack stopped him with 'the stare,' and a few harsh words, "Don't get stupid." After a long moment, Jack continued, "Well, enough about your sex life, there's something else I wanted to tell you. You're going to love this part...ready...didn't you ever wonder about how quickly her body was found? You see, after you filled in Fray on what you had done, trying to get his help, he made an anonymous tip to the department. That's why her body was found so quickly. Seeing a way to get out from under your thumb, he took it. No honor among thieves, I guess." Jack paused for a moment as a look of realization dropped across Santos' face. Jack continued with a smile, "You didn't even have a clue, did you? I used to think the poor arrest record of Internal Affairs was due to corruption. You know, getting paid to look the other way, but now I'm thinking it's incompetence. You assholes in IA really are that stupid."

Seeing the smug look on Jack's face, Santos couldn't hold back his rage and tried to stand, but Jack stood up before him. Towering over the man, Jack said with barely concealed malice, "Sit down and shut up. I'm not through." Only when Santos lowered himself back in his seat, does Jack sit down and continue, "I only have a few more things to say. I could have ended all this back in the car, and saved myself a lot of trouble, but I'm a nice guy. Even to an evil piece of shit like you, I'm going to be a nice guy. I'm giving you the option to resign from the force. No questions answered, no reasons given. You're through being a cop as of Monday.

Santos chuckled. He couldn't believe the balls Jack had. First, making him sit and listen to him as if he were a child, and now demanding him to quite the force. It would give him great pleasure to kill this arrogant fuck. Something he should have done two years ago. Santos continued to chuckle, as he said, "What if I don't resign, 'Mr. Nice Guy?' What are you going to do then?"

"Then I'll kick all the evidence up to your father-in-law, and let him deal with you. I'm sure he doesn't want to reopen the Ashante investigation, especially since his fingerprints are all over the case. He and the department sure don't need the bad publicity. For argument's sake, though, let's say he doesn't do anything. In that case, I'll just take what I got to the DA. They still owe me a couple of favors, I'm sure they'll take a hard look at it."

Santos chuckled again, and asked, "What does any of this get you? The case is closed. Someone else did the murder. The chain of evidence has been broken. It doesn't matter what you have, the DA will never touch it."

"Maybe, but I can be pretty convincing. Besides, it's going to be difficult for them to discount that lead pipe, with your prints and her DNA all over it. They won't ignore that, and they'll get their indictment based on it. Yet, let's say you're right. Just for arguments sake, a good shyster can get some, if not all of the evidence thrown out because of lack of integrity in the chain of custody. If you go that route, then the best-case scenario for you is that you'll be acquitted but everyone will know you're guilty. Just like O.J. Simpson, free as a bird but guilty as sin, and no longer a cop, I might add. They'll have retired your ass even before you go to trial, and without your pension. Everyone, and I mean everyone, will treat you as radioactive, especially the captain. When all is said and done, you won't even be able to get a job handling security for a storage facility. All of this is hypothetical, though. The captain isn't going to let the DA get near the evidence."

"What, you think Mallory would do something to me, his son-in-law?"

"You still haven't caught up yet, have you? Why do you think I started digging into Ashante after it laid dormant for two years? Who do you think put me back on this?"

Santos asked, incredulously, "Who...Mallory?"

"No, your wife, bug wit." Seeing the look of absolute shock on his face, Jack continued, "Yeah, just by coincidence she walked into my office about a month ago, wanting me to look into your nighttime activities. She always suspected you of stepping out on her, but when I found out it was with whores, she went ballistic with fury. The woman scorned, and all that shit."

Santos' shock quickly turned into rage, but he kept silent and continued listening to Jack, "Well, once whores were mentioned, Brit remembered some minor trouble you got into a few years back, having to do with a particular whore. Seems she heard you and her father talking about a case one day. She didn't hear any of the details, except she remembered the name, Ashante. Not too long ago, she even asked her father about it, and knew he was lying to her. Well, after I filled her in on what I knew, she wanted me to go further and find out all I could. She paid me well, too, over and above what she paid me to find out about your cheating. I bet she probably got the money out of your joint account. Isn't that a kick, your own wife having me investigate you, and using your own money to do it with? You must feel like a real dumb fuck about now."

Santos visibly trembled with rage. Only the black bile of hate rising up into his throat kept him from speaking and making threats in front of witnesses.

Jack could tell Santos was dangerously close to detaching from himself and reality, and doing something totally spontaneous and very stupid like he had done with Ashante. Jack snapped him back into reality, "Santos! Listen to me! We can avoid any unpleasantness with the law if you do exactly what I say. Monday, you're going to Captain Mallory and put in for early retirement. You'll only get a part of your pension, but at least you won't spend the rest of your fucked life in general population. Then, sometime next week after hearing the humiliating news about her husband, Brit's going to file for divorce, and you're going to give it to her, uncontested. Alandra stays with her. You have no visitation rights. Brit keeps the house you paid twenty-five cents on the dollar for. You get to keep the caddie and the garage over on Mitchum, the one with the Jaguar and the safe, with who knows how much cash. You do anything else, other than what I've just told you, and I will kick this shit-storm higher and let the powers that be deal with you.

Standing, Jack said, sternly, "Just stay seated. Finish your coffee and eat your Reuben."

With their business concluded, Jack pulled out his cell phone from his suit pocket in order to call Jerome, who was waiting for him a few blocks away in his car. Unknown to Jack, a small piece of folded paper fell to the floor as he retrieved his phone.

Santos noticed the paper fall to the floor.

"I'm ready. Meet me out front," Jack said into the phone. Then looking down at Santos, he said, "Just stay here for a while. Listen to the tape again if you're having any doubts or plan on doing something stupid. It's a copy, anyway. Oh, one last thing," Jack added, while sliding a computer disk toward Santos, "Something you might want to watch that will help you make up your mind on what you should do. I'll give you the rest of the weekend to think it over, but you better put in your papers come Monday." With that, Jack threw a twenty on the table and left.

Santos watched him get into a car driven by a black man he didn't recognize. Picking up the paper Jack accidently dropped, his fingers shook with barely contained rage as he read the note:

Jack,

Be at the Blue Moon by 8:00. I hope things went well with the asshole. I'll have a warm and very wet surprise waiting for you as a reward.

I can't wait to feel you inside me, again—feel you everywhere!

XOXO

Brittany's handwriting was unmistakable. She even included her characteristic X's and O's, and a doodle of a red heart she always drew on her love notes.

Moments later, Santos was in his car, racing home.

His house is empty as anticipated. Brittany was already in the wind, but he didn't need to guess where, and Alandra was with her grandparents.

Before he did anything, before he read the note again and checked into the cryptic reference about 'Blue Moon,' before he looked at the disk, or even before he cursed the day he ever met his wife, Santos slammed back two large shots of Patrón.

Taking the bottle and glass with him, he sat down in front of his computer and started digging.

Over twenty local references to 'Blue Moon' pop up from the search, but one stuck out particularly far: the Blue Moon Motel; owned and operated by Roger Dorn.

Santos vaguely remembered Dorn had a brother or a cousin in the hotel business.

He sat back in his chair, confident that was where she was hiding. He was going to wait, though. Wait until after eight tonight when he could be sure Dorn will be there with her. Then, he would kill them both.

Downing another shot of tequila, he read her note again.

He couldn't wrap his mind around her unmitigated betrayal, his own wife using Dorn to investigate him with his own money, and then fucking his rival in the process.

Along with the humiliation of being used and deceived by someone he trusted with his life and child, unstoppable images of her, 'feeling him everywhere,' flooded his mind.

He took another shot to quiet his anger, but the continual thoughts of betrayal that invaded his consciousness counteracted the alcohol, pushing his rage even higher.

How often did they fuck? Did she suck his cock? Did she like sucking his cock? Did she let him fuck her in the ass? Images of her performing sexual acts she had always been reluctant to do continue to run, over and over, in his mind. Santos knew what she liked and disliked in bed, and her sly little, 'Feel you everywhere,' told him everything he needed to know about their relationship: she let him do everything, and she loved playing his slut.

Santos threw the shot glass, shattering it against the wall.

Checking his watch, it read straight-up four o'clock. He'd be hard pressed to wait until eight, but he needed to remain calm.

Still, uninvited images of her doing unspeakable things with Dorn continued filling him to overflowing with hate and anger.

Taking a swig directly from the bottle, he concentrated his thoughts on what Dorn could have done back in the parking lot of the golf course—a perfect opportunity blown. If Dorn had any balls, he would have killed Santos, then and there, instead of opting for his resignation.

"What a pussy," Santos muttered to himself. "If he was a man he would have killed me by now. That asshole overplayed his hand, coming off so cocky and so confident, as if I would do as told—act like a whipped puppy. 'Roll up into a little ball, bitch, and resign.'"

"Yeah, I'll resign, asshole," Santos mumbled into the bottle of tequila, "I'm resigned to killing your ass at the first opportunity, along with my cheating cunt of a wife."

Different thoughts flooded his mind. Thoughts of what he would do to Dorn. One particular notion filled him with glee: sticking the barrel of his revolver up Dorn's ass, pulling the trigger, and watching his tortured agony as he slowly bleeds to death out his asshole. It wasn't a serious thought, however. It was a murder too difficult to cover up. On the other hand, a murder-suicide was easy to explain, and wholly believable given he and his wife had fallen into a torrid and unstable romance. At least, that's what the investigation would conclude. He only regretted he'd have to shoot her, thus denying him the supreme pleasure of choking the life out of her with his bare hands.