R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 03 - Reckoning (10 page)

“I got that with the sex thing.”

“
Sexissimo
. It’s slang, not very ‘Rican, actually. And usually it’s
sexissima
and catcalled at the ladies.”

“Still a compliment, I’ll assume,” I said and took a pull on the
Dos Equis
. It was delicious.

“She meant it nice. And she meant you could come anytime and feel safe. Adelmira has pull in the ‘hood. Daughter of a big guy, probably should stay nameless for now. Her name basically means ‘from nobility’. By the time we get back to the station everyone around here will know you’re
intangible
. Untouchable. It’s why I brought you here.”

“Where is ‘here’?”

“Mira’s Place.”

“Original name.”

“Puerto Ricans get to the point.” He took a drink.

“We’re not going back to the station,” I said. Manny nodded and signaled to Adelmira for another pair.

“This story—this,
history
—few know it.”

A nod.

“My wife. Me. Spence Grant. That’s about it. Bum Garvey I told recently.”

“Glad you threw Amanda and Bum in there. They’ll bring the story that touch of acceptability, I hope.”

“Trust me, if it were just me and Spence Grant I’d have checked
myself
in.”

“Wow. We’re definitely not going back to the house.”

“Not likely,” I said. Adelmira returned with two fresh beers and two shots of clear tequila.

“Patron Silver. You both have that look about you. So serious. Lighten up; ‘He enjoys true leisure who has time to improve his soul’s estate.’ Thoreau.”

“Gracias, Adelmira. For everything,” I said. My Spanish was bad; I tried nothing more intricate than a thank you.

“Mira to you, Bobby Mac. And you are most welcome.”

Manny picked up his shot glass, raised it toward me, and downed it. I followed suit. Mira smiled and left.

“It’s not our custom to wait. Direct. Remember that,” Manny said.

“
Excelente
,” I said, pointing to the empty shot glass. “Time for a tall tale, I’d say.”

“Speak. And hesitate not.”

I started at the beginning, which was not a cliché because I had thought long and hard about how much to tell him, which parts, what order. In the end, the truth might actually set me free. So I started at the beginning.

I told him about the MacAulay history, the Book of Ossian, Father Fic Rule, the demons—all of it. I even told him about Amber. How it
was
self-defense but that she was not herself, she was possessed of the demon Rule. Or Satan himself.

We drank as I talked. More tequila. More
Dos Equis
. And Mira never came close, never listened in, and no other patrons so much as looked in our direction. I watched Manny’s eyes the whole time. I wanted to read him, know how he was taking this absolutely insane tale, what he was thinking—mostly what his impressions would now be of me.

Finally I told him about the mountaintop, and about Jax. How he died; what Rule
did to him
before he died.

And then I was done. Two hours. Four. I really couldn’t have guessed how long the story took. We sat in silence after I finished. Manny sipped on his beer and I signaled my new favorite Puerto Rican bartender for another round of Patron.

“
Madre de Dios
,” Manny said, and crossed himself.

I had no idea he was even religious.

THE CALL came in just after the morning shift had started the next day. A female uniform had run down from the eighth floor to speak to me in person.

“Detective Macaulay,” she shouted. I stood in my cubicle and waved her over. “Officer Freitas, sir. A phone call came in, from Special Tactics. Hostage situation and the taker is asking for you personally.”

This couldn’t be happening again
. That was my first thought. Then,
why fight it
?

“Location?”

“Overpass at Evans and I-25. They’ve stopped all traffic on the freeway and on Evans in both directions. It’s a school bus, Detective. He’s driven it through the barrier and it’s hanging forty-five feet in the air. He’s threatening to drive it the rest of the way over the ledge if you aren’t there in twenty minutes.”

“Come on,” I said to Manny as I ran from the cube. “Did he give a name at least?”

“The man said to tell you his name is Rule.”

The scene was as described. The bus—a smaller version of a regular bus with a handicapped symbol on the sides and back—had indeed been driven through the concrete barrier and was teetering on the edge.

“What in fuck’s sake is up with you, Macaulay?” Len Brighton said to me for the second time in as many months. “You should join up with us.”

He handed me the cell phone and I slowly placed it against my ear.

“Bobeeeee.”

“Good Christ, Grant, what the hell are you doing now?”

“Good one with the ‘Rule’ bit, eh? Bet that got the old heart pumping.”

“Come on, Grant. Let’s talk this through—”

“Bad tactics, Detective. Negotiations one-oh-one. Befriend the taker. I’ve asked you
at least
a half dozen times to call me Spence.”

“Okay, Spence.”

“And never, ever sound defeated, Mac. You never want your own stress or emotions to transfer to the taker. Think what it might make him do.”

“Do you have any demands?” I just couldn’t take this joker any longer. It was like a bad episode of Batman. “Or are we just gaming here, Spence?”

“I never actually thought that far ahead,” he told me. “Shit. World peace, I guess. And let Charlie Manson go, too. That old fart couldn’t harm a fly he’s so bat-shit crazy.”

“This is serious, Spence. You’ve got school children on board.”

“Special needs.”

“What?” I said.

“These are all special needs kids, Mac. You know, short bus and all.”

Oh, God. I hadn’t even let the logic open up my brain.

“Shit, Spence—”

“There’s that deflated sound again,” he said. “And swearing? Never, ever swear at the taker. He might get offended.”

I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I wanted to give the phone to Brighton and go home. Retire
today
. It wasn’t a brave or courageous thought. But it was what I wanted. I couldn’t stop thinking about the tropical pictures on the computer that Amanda sent me. I happened to look over at my partner—at Manny. The look on his face was like a punch to my solar plexus. The disappointment. The pleading in his eyes for me to do something. His father figure. His hero. I went back to the phone.

“Let’s quit gaming, Spence, what do you say? Let’s figure out what you’re planning here because we both know you’re not here for demands.”

“Oh but I
am
, Mac. You know those ice cream trucks? The ones that drive around the neighborhoods playing that god-awful music that drives me nuts all summer day long?”

“Yes.”

“I want eight cones from one of those trucks. No, make it eight of the orange popsicles, what do they call ‘em? Creamsicles. Orange on the outside, vanilla cream in the center. The ones you used to beg your parents for when the truck came ‘round during Gilligan’s Island.”

“What the f—how could you know that?”

“Come on, Mac, we’re waaaaaay past those kinds of questions, now aren’t we?”

“Eight?” I said.

“Come back?”

“You said you needed eight? You have eight hostages?”

“Nine, Mac. Nine. You know this part. Eight kids and one bus driver. But just bring eight because Wanda here looks like she needs one of those Slim Fast bars. You know what? Round her up one of those while you’re getting ice cream for the retards.”

He almost got me with that one. I nearly tossed the phone and rushed the bus.

“You loved the math puzzle, didn’t you?” Spence said. “You and that aptitude test when you were, what, six? Seven?”

“Let’s talk about the kids, Spence. Okay?”

“You were high in all the areas, but off the charts in verbal and math. A real honest-to-god
genius
. And what’d your dad do with the test results?”

“The kids, Spence. Don’t hurt the kids.”

“Good old Paddy. He took one look at those outstanding scores and he crumpled them up and tossed them in the old fireplace, now didn’t he?”

“Paddy was a hero.”

“Because he was a fireman? Is that why, Mac? Or is it because of that good old Scottish temper?”

“Shut up, Grant.”

“You didn’t mind taking a beating. But when he went after Jackson, that really got to you, didn’t it?”

“Grant, I swear to Christ—”

The cops had all gathered around me by now. I was at the edge of meltdown. Red in the face. Sweat running as through a sieve. Trembling. I couldn’t imagine what my eyes must’ve been saying. I knew what I was thinking:

I didn’t care. I didn’t care what happened to any of them, as long as I got my hand around that son-of-a-bitch’s neck. It was past all rules and regulations. They didn’t make ‘em for this type of onslaught anyway. And I knew those poor children and their terrified bus driver didn’t stand a chance anyway.

“Here’s the real mathematical beauty of it,” Spence whispered into the phone. “When you do all the ages, along with this old bus driver, you’re going to come up with the same number.”

The bus engine roared to life and the back wheels started burning rubber and before any of us could think, much less react, the bus went front-first over the edge, as in slow motion, and landed on its top, its own weight and the force of gravity crushing everything and everyone inside on the freeway pavement below.

Shackleford called a meeting of the entire squad. He wanted to examine the procedures of the bus scene, identify mistakes, and learn as a team, in the open. It was his protocol but this wasn’t a homicide case, not technically. Our jobs began AFTER the victims were killed.

Which was why the bulk of his remarks and inquisition were directed at me.

“When a busload of innocent children—special needs kids, no less—goes down on our watch—and by ‘our watch’ I mean the Denver Police Department as a whole as well as members of this unit on scene—the public wants answers and they want them now.”

In the silence he looked at me, as if waiting for me to explain away what happened. I said nothing.

“When the public and the media demand answers, the Brass demands answers, and that makes the job of Lieutenant ‘answer man’—and you know what? You take the shitty parts of the sandwich right along with the good fixings; that’s what my father taught me.”

Shackleford’s dad retired as a Captain after twenty-five years. He’d also taught his son that twenty years was the MINIMUM for retirement and you never aim for the minimum unless it was a kill shot.

“May I say something,” I asked.

“I was hoping we’d hear from you on this one, Detective. Seeing how your presence was requested yet again.”

“First, it was a hostage situation. I—Detective Rodriguez and I—were there as requested but neither of us are recently trained in hostage negotiation.”

“Noted,” the boss said.

“Regardless, I think everyone in this room knows Grant intended to drive that bus over the edge no matter what was said or done.”

“We can’t know that and we certainly can’t make that my official answer to One PP.”

“No, we can’t. But this is OUR meeting and I think facts as well as gut beliefs are relevant to how we perform our jobs,” I said.

“You just might make a decent lieutenant one day, Mac,” Shackleford said, released a breath, and sat down at the head of the table.

At least he’d lightened up, which meant my statement had served its purpose.

“The little boy. He’s still alive?” the boss said.

I nodded. “He’s nowhere near ‘out of the woods’, but he’s alive,” I said.

We’d found one autistic boy, nine years old, breathing. He’d crawled beneath a seat and the extra space—just a few inches—saved his life. The only survivor. We announced officially to the press that all were believed to have perished, hoping to delay the facts a day or two at most. We did, of course, notify the family immediately and prior to any statements that their son had so far survived but to not speak to anyone about those specifics yet.

“The suspect was not found in the wreckage?”

“No, sir. We believe he was never on the bus. Our working theory is the driver was in on the plan. Or forced to do what she did.”

“To drive herself and eight handicapped children to their deaths?”

“Yes.”

It sounded preposterous, but we took apart the bus, even looking for escape hatches, hidden compartments—it was a compacted mess. I even consulted a magician whose specialty was in the area of “escape artist”. I brought him in to examine the evidence, hear the story, watch the news footage of the bus from all angles based on the fact that media helicopters were on the scene and filmed the entire incident.