Precipice (11 page)

“Do you think we can trust him?” Shannon wondered aloud.

Their intel on this operation would rely heavily on Krieger’s information. He’d claimed to recognize a man in the museum security video, a conman named Victor Ramirez, from a prior job.

Through some rather disreputable connections, Krieger tracked Ramirez to the intersection of Stewart and Pine, a neighborhood he was reputed to frequent. The clubs in this area were well known among the local law enforcement for their clientele, the freaks of society, but it was rare for SISA to find itself in that part of town.

Krieger volunteered to do the grunt work of searching the clubs, so the partners sat outside in their parked car as lookouts and backup. Another car patrolled the vicinity as well, but hid out of sight at the moment. No need to scare off their man before they got to him.

“Not particularly. He seems suspect to me, but we don’t really have a choice,” Dominic grunted. “He’s our best shot right now.”

“What if he’s been leading us on a wild goose chase?”

It was a good question. They’d watched their man go from establishment to establishment, finding nothing. Krieger was working on the third of four nightclubs already and he’d been in this one for nearly twenty minutes. Still no suspect. “There’s only one spot left, so we’ll find out soon enough.”

Just then, the police radio crackled to life. It was Krieger. “He’s not here either. I’m off to the last one. You fellas…er…or lady…want to take this one for me?” He chuckled. This particular club was left until last for a reason. It was one of the more…interesting spots in town. Dubbed The Second Circle after Dante’s excursion through the depths of Hell, it catered to a disturbing crowd dabbling in vampirism and other dark subcultures.

Dominic depressed the button on the radio handset. “No way, man. You got this.” He chuckled before releasing the button and replacing the device in its dashboard holster.

A few seconds of silence passed before Shannon interjected, “What’s so bad about that club? Aren’t they all seedy?”

Dominic pursed his lips. “I’ve only been inside once. You know the story of Dante’s Inferno and his Seven Circles of Hell?”

“Only the CliffsNotes version.” Shannon shook her head. “My teacher assigned it in high school English, senior year, but I never actually read it.”

“Well, basically each circle is reserved for a different sin. Those overcome with gluttony, for instance were condemned to the Third Circle.”

“Alright,” she nodded in understanding. “So what’s the Second Circle?”

“Lust.” Dominic’s voice sounded hollow and empty as he attempted to describe it. “But rather lust in the traditional sense, which encompasses more than carnal desire. It’s an overpowering desire for anything profane. Or unholy.

“The Second Circle is a nice place to have bad habits in. The nightclub and bar caters to primal desires of the nastiest kinds. Vampire wannabes, druggies, anything to do with black magic and satanic rituals, they dabble in it all.” He shuddered again before flashing a smile. “And that’s why we sent in the General.”

Shannon sat without speaking, listening to Dominic’s description. It seemed only yesterday this man beside her was a complete stranger, an assigned partner but someone she had no interest in getting to know. She took this job with the intention of staying unemotional and unattached, no connections. But he was growing on her.

It had been a long time since she experienced that sensation, or at least it seemed so. It was only five years ago that she lost Brendan. She had since dissociated herself from those memories, the lone way she could deal with her loss, yet retain some measure of sanity.

Despite her best efforts, though, she remembered that day as if it were yesterday. She saw it as if watching a film, as though she had not played a starring role. This particular movie, however, was her driving and motivating force. Ever since then, she lived according to a simple code, a quote stolen from Mary, Queen of Scots.

“No more tears now; I will think about revenge.”

Hearing that quote rattle around her head once more plunged her into the haunting memory.

“
Shannon!”

She had known Danielle since they were toddlers playing together in the sandbox at preschool. Other than a few stupid fights in high school over that super-cute foreign exchange student from South Africa, they’d been the best of friends their entire lives. “Listen, I know it’s only 24 hours until the wedding, but is there anything you can do about these bridesmaid dresses? I look awful in this color!”

A twinkle in her eye told Shannon that Dani was only joking, but she knew her best friend well enough to know it held a thread of truth. Tonight was Shannon’s final night as a single lady, so she spent the evening with her bridesmaids and a few other friends, drinking, dancing and partying. Just before three in the morning, they’d finally returned to the hotel suite they shared. Shannon, Dani and three other bridesmaids decided to try on their dresses one last time so they could make any last minute adjustments.

“Are you really trying to cause me stress the night before my wedding? What an awful friend!” Shannon put on her best pouting face, though she was too excited to hold it for long. After a few seconds of mock frustration, she countered, “Besides, I ordered them specially designed to look hideous.”

Dani planted her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and threw back her long hair. “And why is that?”

“So the bride looks better in comparison.” Shannon winked.

“Well…we don’t want to take anything away from you on your special day.” Dani faced the mirror, giving her appearance a final once-over. “I guess I can tolerate looking hideous for one night, just for you…but the next time you get married, I get a say in this.” The two friends laughed and hugged.

“Thank you, hon.”

Shannon moved on to the next bridesmaid, Brendan’s fourteen year old sister Emily, a girl Shannon had really taken a liking to over the last three years. So sweet and innocent. “You look so gorgeous in your dress, honey. So grown up. Thank you for agreeing to be my bridesmaid.”

“Of course! I’m so excited!”

Winking, Shannon replied, “Me too, hon. Me too.”

Shannon was about to move onto her other two bridesmaids when Brendan’s best man and college roommate burst into the room.

He was panting, as though he’d run all the way from downstairs where the boys were partying. “Emmy, Shannon, you need to come with me.” Something was wrong.

Glancing at each other, Shannon and Emily hurried out of the room with him. Up close, they could see his eyes were red and rimmed with tears. Shannon knew immediately. Something had happened to Brendan. The next few hours faded into a blur of crying and police questions. Brendan’s body had been discovered. It was too late. He was dead.

Evidence was minimal and security cameras had been expertly avoided. The behavioral analyst on the case suggested the killer knew Brendan. It was premeditated, not random and impetuous, but all possible suspects were eliminated early in the investigation. The detectives never found anyone with the motive, means, and opportunity. The local investigators were useless and never apprehended a single suspect.

Shannon had lost her fiancé less than 24 hours before their wedding. Nothing could have prepared her for the depths of despair she faced over the next months as the investigation sputtered, stalled, and died. The ream of casework found its place in an abandoned file cabinet labeled “Cold Cases.” To the investigators, the failure was frustrating and disappointing, but they moved on to fresher cases and Brendan was forgotten.

For Brendan’s father and sister, and for Shannon, however, the wound stayed fresh. A day rarely passed where the tears didn’t come in torrents, rarely a night without being woken by nightmares. Thoughts of revenge haunted her dreams, as she hoped to one day come face to face with her husband’s killer.

Anyone would have understood if she wanted to bury the knife herself, but in those early dreams of getting even, she never struck the killing blow. Rather, she hoped for a karmic act of justice, God justly smiting the murderer with a great wielding of power. She often imagined it happening as a freak lightning strike, a sudden burst of electrical energy streaking down from the heavens and lighting him up like those Sunday cartoons she used to watch as a child.

It wasn’t until six months later, when she cleaned out her closet and came across a container of packaged wedding odd and ends, that something within her changed. The box held a few dead flowers from her bouquet, extra wedding invitations, a book of phone numbers, and a copy of the vows she’d intended to read at the altar. They decided to forego the traditional vows and write their own. Brendan insisted it’d be more romantic. As she sat on the edge of her bed, the words began to flow off the page once again.

Dr. Seuss once said the way to know you’re in love is when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your wildest dreams. I first heard this quote a long time ago, but never truly understood what it meant until I met Brendan.

She barely got through the first lines before tears rimmed her eyes and blurred her vision. She hadn’t read these words since her attempts to memorize them leading up to the wedding. As her eyes scanned the page, something inside of her cracked and a dark veil lifted in front of her.

No amount of tears and grieving could bring Brendan back to her. She vowed to never again shed a tear for that cause. Her broken heart, filled with sorrow and grief, emptied and overflowed with anger and hatred. From this point forward, her countenance would remain steadfast and stoic, focused solely on vengeance.

The return of Krieger’s crackling voice over the radio static jolted Shannon out of her reverie. “I’ve got eyes on him.”

Dominic scrambled to grab the handset and respond. “Copy. Are you sure it’s him?”

              “It’s definitely Ramirez. I’ll move in closer.” He left his talk button depressed, so Shannon and Dominic could listen in. Despite the heavy metal “music” blaring, the radio microphone was close enough to Krieger’s mouth to capture what he was saying. “He’s at a table near the back with two scary-looking chicks. Stands out like a sore thumb.”

Both Shannon and Dominic shifted to the edge of their seats, listening as Krieger made his way across the room to the table. As he approached, they were able to hear the initial confrontation.

“Victor Ramirez?” Krieger’s voice boomed.

“Who’s asking?” Ramirez’s accent was strong and his response difficult to hear due to the noise and his distance from the radio.

“Could I ask you a few questions?”

“No, you may not.” Ramirez cackled. “Now go away, por favor. Va!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m with law enforcement. We need to take you in for a few ques—” A sudden scuffle cut off Krieger’s response. A couple thuds. Dominic and Shannon straightened. Dominic reached into the back seat, grabbing his shoulder harness and gun. Krieger’s voice sounded across the airwaves.

“Backup! Backup! He’s headed out the door to the back alley behind the club.”

Shannon and Dominic leapt out of the car and sprinted toward the club. “I’ll go around to the right. You take the left and try to cut him off at Mulgrew.” Dominic shouted instructions as they split, hoping to corner the suspect.

Speaking into his radio this time, he addressed Krieger, “Shannon and I are on it. Make sure he doesn’t double back.” As Shannon disappeared around one side of the building, he pounded down the street before turning left into an alleyway.

He decelerated as he entered the alley, alert and observant. He studied Victor’s options. He hadn’t exited this way, nor run into Shannon on far side of the building, which meant he took a side route toward the main road. Three alleys branched off of this one. Two popped out onto Mulgrew, which Shannon was covering. The only other possibility was a narrow cut-through that, after some zigs and zags, led onto Archer Street.

“I need a couple units on Archer near the market, ASAP.” Other law enforcement vehicles cruised the streets in the surrounding area. He hoped one of them was near enough to cut off Ramirez’s escape.

Dominic made a snap decision and turned the corner into the tiny side alley on his right and set off at a brisk jog.

A few seconds after making that turn, he knew he’d chosen wisely. About 100 yards ahead, Vic leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Dominic darted forward, staying close to the wall and remaining as quiet as possible. He’d cut the distance in half when Victor glanced up, spotting his pursuer.

“Freeze. Don’t move a muscle.” Dominic approached his quarry, gun drawn. He took slow, purposeful steps, moving with caution. The narrow alley, crowded with garbage cans, fire escapes and trash piles, left little room for maneuvering. Victor slowly angled to face him. He smiled.

“Or else what? You’ll shoot me? We both know you won’t. You want me alive.” The man paused, considering his options, and then began to back away down the alley. He eyed the gun with a wary eye, but disregarded Dominic’s order. A small smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. He was taunting his adversary, and a laugh danced at the edges of his lips, waiting to burst out mockingly.

BANG!

A lead bullet ricocheted off the fire escape above Victor and the perp jerked to a halt. He clearly hadn’t expected Dominic to fire his weapon, much less put the bullet that close to his head. “I’m not afraid to do what I need to, Vic.”

Victor’s expression faltered for a second, before returning to a stoic gaze. Now it was Dominic’s turn to laugh, a single bark to make sure his target knew exactly who was in charge.

“Heh. I don’t want to kill you. We do need you. But I can’t let you get away either and I’ll do what’s needed to prevent that.” Ramirez stopped backing away and waited for Dominic to approach. He didn’t say a word as the agent closed in.

“I’ve got him at gunpoint in the alley one block west of Cameron.” Leaning his head toward his shoulder, Dominic took one hand off the gun to depress the radio button. In that split second, as he was distracted, Ramirez took advantage and bolted. He darted toward the street, knocking over trash cans as he ran to slow the pursuit. If he reached the main road at the end of the alley, he might manage to escape.

BANG!

Dominic sent a bullet ripping through the man’s left leg, tearing muscle and causing the man to fall to the ground in pain. He stumbled onto the main sidewalk, nearly upending an elderly couple out for a stroll. The woman screamed and chaos ensued as people realized a man had been shot. More and more screams filled the street.

Dominic closed in to take charge of the situation. The man wasn’t going anywhere, but in a crowd, anything could happen. He didn’t want innocent bystanders getting hurt in the confusion.

Dominic hurried to Ramirez’s side, ordering everyone to step away. At the sight of the gun in his hand, however, the screams from the crowd grew in intensity. The situation was spiraling faster than he could handle alone. He fumbled for his radio. “Backup needed. Corner of Brooks and Archer.”

“Roger that. Almost there.”

The noise of the throng, now forming a perimeter around him and the injured Ramirez, was doing a number on Dominic’s psyche. His heart raced and all appeals for a calm crowd failed miserably.

He knelt and leaned over Victor, whose breathing had become shallow and rapid, his face a pasty white. He was losing a lot of blood. Squandering such a valuable asset would hamper their chances of finding Amadi. Dominic needed information now while the man still retained a modicum of control over the situation, however tenuous that hold may be. Ramirez was their best shot so far at solving this.

Gently turning Vic’s head, Dominic attempted to relax him. “Listen to me, Victor. You need to calm down. Help will be here soon. I promise you, you won’t die, but you need to help us too. We need the location of your boss, Amadi.”

Confusion filled Victor’s face. He obviously didn’t understand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. “No sé.”

“Come on, Vic. We know you know. Just tell us the location of your boss and I promise, nothing more will happen to you.” A few shouts broke through the crowd. The arriving backup.
Thank God
.

“Lee, get the EMTs and a stretcher over here with some first-aid equipment. Fisher, Williams, Ford…establish a perimeter. Get this crowd under control.”

Turning back to Victor, Dominic whispered “This is your last chance. If you don’t tell us now where your boss is, this will be out of my hands and you’ll be at the mercy of someone else, like my boss, who will not be as sympathetic.”

This wasn’t true, with Dominic as the lead agent on the case, but fear can be a powerful motivator.

Victor’s eyes, wide and frantic, turned toward Dominic. Panic was setting in.

“Where’s Amadi?!” Dominic barked. He was getting impatient.

Even with the bullet wound in his leg and the blood loss, Victor Ramirez was not going into shock. He remained conscious enough to understand the situation, yet still resisted.

Ramirez blinked a few times and struggled to sit up, braced on one arm. He winced at the pain. “I’ll tell you what I know,” he choked, “but it’s not much.” His eyes flicked side to side, checking to make sure no one else was listening, before his voice dropped to a whisper, as though terrified anyone else might hear. Dominic leaned in close to hear the rasping voice.

“Listen…I don’t….” Victor Ramirez’s voice cut off, replaced by a small gurgle. A dazed look appeared on Victor’s face as a trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. His lips moved once more, trying to speak, and a bubble formed over his mouth before he collapsed to the sidewalk, his cheek cracking against the concrete.

His lifeless body rolled to the side and into Dominic’s lap, revealing a neat bullet hole sliced into his upper back, effectively puncturing a lung and probably his heart as well.

Dominic leapt to his feet, his eyes frantically scanning the crowd. That shot ruined their chance to find any information and ended this man’s life. He shouted into the radio. “ATTENTION! All agents on alert. We have a shooter. All units, right away.”

He scrutinized the area.
The bullet’s trajectory came from the west, straight with a slight downward angle.
The shooter must be either in one of two structures across the street, or a member of the surrounding multitude. No other location provided a clear angle to make that shot.

Dominic’s instincts kicked in and he shouted instructions to the backup officers. “Lee, forget the stretcher…no need for it now. Go with Fisher, you take that building across the street. Ford and Williams…search the crowd. Lloyd, take pictures of everyone you can. And Faye and Bulloch, you two take the other building. Go!”

As his agents took off, Dominic bent down over Victor’s body. The bullet hole was small and neat, with minimal external damage. No residue stippling around the wound or on Victor’s clothes, but the amount of blood suggested extensive, internal tissue damage. He guessed it came from a high-powered handgun.

The lack of exit wound in the body likely indicated a hollow-point bullet. Such ammunition would blossom outward and expand on impact, causing extensive damage, but limiting penetration through the body. Hollow points are the bullet of choice for law enforcement to limit the risk of a bullet exiting a body and hitting an innocent bystander.

Blood pooled on the pavement beneath Victor. Rolling the body onto its back, Dominic flinched as he saw the blank, unfocused eyes staring back at him. He felt a sudden revulsion in the pit of his stomach and lurched away. Stumbling toward the alley, he quickly and messily deposited his lunch in a nearby garbage can. He’d labored in this particular line of work for a few years, but mostly as an office-based analyst. This was the first time he’d seen a man die, much less expire in his arms.

The world swam, and Dominic placed his hand against the wall to keep from tumbling to the ground. Veterans of the agency told him this might happen with his first—it did with almost every agent. But he always believed he was stronger than that.

He shook his head and fought valiantly to focus his vision and clear his head, but to no avail. The world spun faster and faster and he struggled to stay on his feet. Then he stopped fighting and slowly skidded down the wall. He closed his eyes and pressed his head to his knees to avoid passing out. The rest of the agents would be searching for the shooter for a few more minutes. He had time to recover before they returned. And he needed every second he could get.

***

The flickering glow from the television was the only light in the room, yet the sole occupant was not watching. Some ball game aired, but his mind was too far away to notice. They were closing in on the final stages of their plan and he could hardly wait for his grand entrance into the world. As he gazed out the window at the horizon, his men were tying up any final loose ends.

Over the last two weeks, they’d methodically eliminated any threats to their plots. Those that weren’t paid off or threatened into silence were hunted and executed. It was an effective solution. Only one “problem” was left. The son of a former benefactor. A visit from Lynch had flushed out the pathetic mouse and he was on the run, but the cat was closing in.

They’d tracked him to an old friend, who proved wordy with bamboo shoved beneath his nails. But the old-timer had withstood the pain enough to feed false information. By the time their mistake was realized, the man had expired, sacrificing himself to protect his friend. The blunder frustrated him.

He still had a few heavies out looking for the man, but ultimately it wouldn’t make any difference. A mouse stuck hiding in his hole is just as useless as a dead one in a trap. In the world of cats and mice, the distinction between dead or hiding won’t stop the cat from taking over the kingdom.

The last pitfalls now were those pesky agents from SISA. One of their cars had parked outside headquarters a couple times. His source assured him, however, the agency still didn’t have a clue. By the time they learned enough to act, it’d be too late. If they ever got that far. Poor incompetent souls.

If he wanted, he could eliminate them, but he didn’t want to go that far. Killing a federal agent would bring down the full might of the government on them. He wasn’t willing to risk such a high-profile murder. Not yet, anyway.

Confident to the point of cockiness, he struggled to resist the temptation to broadcast his plans to the world, daring his adversaries to stop him. But he’d seen enough Bond flicks to know the cardinal rule of villainy: don’t spill the beans on your master plan before you execute it. Every villain made that same mistake and every time, the hero made them pay for it.

He recognized an all-too-familiar impulsiveness welling up deep within, but understood the need for careful, intricate execution, especially one so long in development. This interminable waiting phase was the most difficult, but he reminded himself, as he watched the countryside change with the sun tracking across the heavens, it would all be worth it.

The rhythmic stylings and vocal strains of Aretha Franklin broke the silence. One of the greatest modern inventions, in his opinion, was that of the customizable ringtone. Though the song choice was unusual in this line of work, his men long ago discovered he didn’t take kindly to mocking. He made sure of that. Franklin’s voice soothed and relaxed him, so he stuck with it. He hesitated to answer, not wanting to break her rhythm, but he finally did after several long seconds. “Yes?”

The voice on the other end sounded frantic. “Sir, I know you told me not to bother you, but I felt this was too important not to say something.” The peaceful moment was broken.

“Lynch, focus. What is it?” His voice remained calm and emotionless.

“We’re having some problems with the logistics next weekend. The town anniversary committee has clamped down on security.”

They planned to execute during the big anniversary celebration for the city. Its celebration was drawing widespread attention. Even the President, who grew up just down the road, had publicly wished the town well earlier in the week. “So? Didn’t we embed a man on the inside there?”

“Yes, but he’s demanding more money. Says it will be more difficult to accomplish the task than he anticipated.”