When Doubt Creeps In: A Harry Bronson Suspense Thriller Page 8

  The eight-by-ten glossy showed the chief and Patsy embracing. His hand squeezed her butt. That had to have been taken at least six months ago. Before he found out about his wife’s cancer. He slammed the picture down and looked at the envelope. It contained no other markings. Who had placed it on his desk? He looked up and even though the blinds were closed he knew where each detective sat. He “looked” from desk to desk, wondering.

  His phone beeped. He recognized the number. He had hoped he would never hear from him again. “Kelley here.”

  “Meet me at the normal place,” the voice over the phone said. “4:30. Not a second late.” The line went dead.

  The chief glanced at his watch. He had thirty-three minutes to get there. If he hurried, he could make it. He grabbed the picture and stuffed it back into the envelope.

  He stormed out, his shoes whispering his urgency.

  * * *

  Through his rearview mirror, Kelley spotted the black sedan pulling in. He didn’t have to look at the license plate to know this was the government car he was expecting. After all, here under the bridge, drivers seldom came. That’s what made this place ideal. It was isolated.

  Chief Kelley got out and stood by the hood of his car. He watched the sedan pull in beside him. Its driver turned off the engine and a distinguished-looking man in his early 40’s stepped out. He stood by the open door. “Chief.”

  Kelley acknowledged the nod. “Why did you send this?” He waved the manila envelope with the picture still inside.

  “First things first. Hand me your phone.”

  Sweat formed on Kelley’s upper lip. “Why?”

  “I don’t want you using it. I’ll take it and drop it off at work or your house.”

  The chief tried to keep himself under control. “You have no business near my family.” He heard the venom in his tone.

  “The phone.”

  Kelley frowned and handed it to him.

  The man placed it in his pocket. “Are you carrying?”

  The chief frowned. “Why does that matter?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Of course, I am.” The chief straightened himself so he could look taller. “Again, why does that matter?”

  “I’m a man of few words so listen carefully. I want you to put your gun on your forehead and pull the trigger.”

  Kelley gasped and took a step backward. “You’re crazy. Why would I do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” The man straightened his necktie. “I’m going to paint two pictures for you. One, you shoot yourself and your wife will have the best medical treatment. Her funeral will be an elegant Dallas event, and your daughter and the grandkids will also be well provided for.” He offered the chief a warm smile. “On the other hand, you don’t pull the trigger, and the story is out about you and Patsy. Sure, the scandal will ruin her, but imagine what it’ll do to your poor dying wife and your daughter and grandkids, forever in poverty’s home.” He shook his head. “Then imagine how they’ll feel when all the other news is released. The bribes, the times you framed innocent people so the guilty could continue to line your pockets. How about all those times you looked the other way? Oh, so many ugly truths will be revealed.”

  By this time, Kelley was violently shaking. “I … I ne-never did anything you d-didn’t order me to do. T-that will come out. You will be ruined.”

  The man shook his head. “You still don’t get it. I got lawyers that will discredit everything you say. Money speaks.”

  “I-I can kill you now.”

  The man swept his hand around the area. “There is a high-powered rifle aimed at you as we speak. You so much as touch your gun before I leave, you’re shot dead on the spot. Then the pictures and history will be revealed. Your choice.” He stepped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Choose well.” He put the engine on drive. “Goodbye, Chief Kelley. Working with you was, well, interesting.”

  He drove off.

  27

  “Tell me what you know about this man.” The giant pointed at Bronson.

  Mike leaned back on the seat. “Not much. We’re just acquaintances.”

  “I can’t accept that.” The giant pulled up the chair beside Bronson and sat down. “You both share the same interests. Surely you know something about him. Begin by telling me his name.”

  Bronson formed a fist—the symbol of the letter a in silent language. He crossed his arms and tapped his fist on his upper arm.

  Mike’s glance shifted from Bronson to the giant. “His name is …”

  Bronson held his breath.

  Mike looked directly at Bronson. “Alex. Alex Bentley.”

  “That’s what he told us,” the giant said. “So he is legit.”

  Bronson shifted in his seat and huffed. “Look, I don’t know what all of this is about. I asked to see Pedro so he can help me get those treasures out of Columbia and into the hands of U. S. collectors. So why am I meeting with Mike? Is he Pedro?”

  Mike half laughed. “No, I’m not Pedro, but that’s a good question you asked. Why did you bring me here to meet Alex?”

  “Word coming from the top says you’re the new replacement.” The giant waited a few moments. “From here on, you will be the one organizing all the drops—and you will be very well compensated. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  Mike’s facial expressions didn’t change, but his body tensed a bit. “Who am I replacing? Pedro?”

  The giant shook his head. “Higher up.”

  Mike’s forehead kneaded. “Who?”

  “El Patron.”

  “Wow.” Mike ran his fingers through his hair. “Does he know?”

  “I’m sure he suspects. For a while, there’s been talk about replacing him. I’m sure he’s heard the rumors, but right now, he doesn’t know that they’re no longer rumors, and he certainly doesn’t know it’s you.”

  Mike nodded and stared at the giant. “What’s going to happen to El Patron?”

  “You’re the boss, now.” The giant’s smile matched his nickname. “You tell me.”

  Mike intertwined his fingers, placed them behind his head, and leaned back. “Let’s leave that up to him.”

  “How’s that?” The giant’s eyes narrowed.

  “Set up a meeting between us. I will offer him a job. You know he will be a good asset. Maybe he can even train me on the fine details.”

  “Chances are he will refuse the lower position. He’s a very ambitious man. What then?”

  Mike spread his hands out. “Then we have no choice. We can’t have any loose ends.”

  The giant nodded. “I get you. Loud and clear.”

  “Good. Then set up a meeting. Somewhere discreet—just in case this goes south.” Mike turned his attention to Bronson. “In the meantime, Alex and I have a business deal to discuss.”

  “I’ve been kept prisoner for almost twenty-four hours.” Bronson forced his tone to sound indignant. “I am starved for a good meal. Right across from my motel is a good restaurant.”

  A smile slowly spread across Mike’s face. “I know the place. It’s too open. I have a better suggestion.” He stood up. “Follow me.”

  As they stepped out of the office, a black-and-white cruiser came to a stop. Its doors snapped open and a uniformed policeman stepped out of the driver’s seat. From the other side, Detective Dave de la Rosa made a mad dash toward the auto shop.

  “I’ll take care of this,” the giant said. “You two go.”

  Mike led Bronson to the side and used the backdoor to escape.

  28

  Mike pointed to a green Chevy rental. He and Bronson dashed in, and Mike pulled away without attracting any attention. Once on the road, Mike pounded his hand on the steering wheel. “What the hell are you doing here?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah? Well, it’s good to see you, too. Buddy.”

  Mike huffed and remained quiet for a while. With each deep breath he took, he seemed to relax. When he spoke, the anger in
his tone had subsided. “Actually, Bronson, it is good to see you, too.” He paused, as though considering what to say next. “It really is. There were so many times I wanted to talk to you, but this is not the time. The bottom line is you have no business here.” As he spoke, his breathing increased in pace. The light changed to red and Mike slammed on the brakes. “None.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “None whatsoever.” The green light blinked on, and Mike peeled off.

  Bronson stared outside the passenger window. Mike was speeding and one building blended in with the other. This Mike, Bronson did not know or for that matter, care to know. “You’re in trouble, Mike. I came to help.”

  “Help?” Mike flashed him a look filled with anger. “All you’ve managed to do is make a mess of things.”

  “I made a mess of things? How about you?”

  Mike slowed down as he pulled in behind Rosa’s Bar and Grill. “This is it. I use the back door and sit in the back room away from everybody.”

  “This is what your life has come to.” Bronson’s tone came out icy even to his own ears, but he didn’t care. “Runnin’ away. Hidin’.”

  “It’s all part of the job.”

  “And what’s that job?” Bronson’s voice rang with bitterness. “The one where you are in charge of all of Los Muertes?”

  Mike stopped and turned to stare at Bronson. “Los Muertos. Get it right.”

  Bronson faltered and stared back at Mike.

  Both laughed at the same time and with that, the anger, the bitterness, and the doubt flew away. “Mike.”

  “Bronson.”

  Both began speaking at the same time. “I wasn’t sure—”

  “I’m really touched—”

  Both stopped talking. “Let’s go in and order,” Mike said. “Then we can talk.”

  Bronson nodded but remained still. “I was worried. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Sorry for giving you more gray hairs.” He smiled. “Buddy.”

  They embraced, awkwardly and briefly. “Let’s eat.” Bronson headed toward the door. Mike followed him in.

  “Lupe.” Mike greeted the waitress.

  “The usual?”

  He nodded.

  She led them to the table closest to the door. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Coffee,” Bronson answered. “With lots of cream and sugar.

  Mike smiled. “It’s good to know some things don’t change. I’ll take some sweet tea.”

  Lupe handed each of her customers a menu and left. A few minutes later, she returned, took their orders, and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’m listenin’.” Bronson stirred his coffee.

  “My goal is to penetrate this organization and bring down its leaders. I suspect El Patron may only be the go-between the top of the organization and the working thugs. If I can become El Patron, I will have access to the men on top. I have no idea how high it goes, but I’m willing to follow the leads all the way.”

  “And for that, you’re willin’ to do anythin’.”

  Mike sipped his tea. “Basically, yes.”

  “Even murder.”

  Mike’s mouth slowly dropped open. “What are you talking about?”

  Bronson stared him straight in the eyes. “I know about Finch.”

  Mike leaned back in his chair as though he felt a great burden being released. “Oh, that. Yeah, sure. I pulled the trigger, but it was all part of the plan.”

  I pulled the trigger …

  The statement hit Bronson like a straight shot just below the heart. “Explain.”

  Mike rubbed his nose bridge. “Oh hell, why not? You’re already involved.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m going to swear you to secrecy. Only three people know about this—well, four with you now.”

  Bronson nodded and leaned in.

  Mike continued, “The three in the know are Chief Kelley, Herbert Finch, and me. That’s it. No one else knows. This is strictly hush hush.”

  “What exactly do the three of you know?”

  “You probably already guessed, but a very powerful smuggling organization is taking over the U.S. They’ll smuggle anything, including humans. They have become so powerful that they’re branching out to other illegal matters. They need to be stopped, but simple police procedures won’t hack it. This goes way up high. We don’t know who is involved, but with me here, we will find out. We figured that the only way to destroy them is for me to infiltrate them and destroy them from within. The chief came up with the plan and asked Herbert and me if we’d do it. Naturally, we said yes—and that’s even before the chief offered a huge bonus increase.”

  “So you’re workin’ undercover.”

  The smile faded even before it formed. “Of course. Did you ever think otherwise?”

  Bronson, unable to look at his ex-partner in the eye, looked down.

  “You did.” Mike leaned back and expelled some air. “My God, you did!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe this.”

  “What am I supposed to think? You just told me, you pulled the trigger. How can you kill an innocent man, even under the pretense of being undercover.”

  Mike’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. You don’t know.” He half-laughed. “Of course you wouldn’t know.”

  Bronson remained quiet but continued to glare at him.

  The waitress arrived with their orders, enchiladas for Mike and tacos for Bronson. “Looks good,” Bronson said.

  “It is.” Mike picked up his fork and the waitress left. He waited until he was sure she could not hear him. “Herbert is not dead. He’s in Michigan, enjoying a much-needed vacation with his wife and son. He had to die—” Mike put finger quotes around the word die. “—so that the plan would work.”

  A rush of relief rushed through Bronson’s veins.

  Finch, not dead.

  Then doubts crept in.

  Bronson’s eyebrows knit slightly in puzzlement. He had seen the autopsy reports. The pictures of the corpse. If Finch wasn’t dead, then Paul had to be in on the secret. But Mike said only three people knew, and Paul wasn’t one of them. Besides, Paul wouldn’t lie. He wanted to help Mike, even if he thought he was guilty. “Paul showed me the murder scene pictures. If that wasn’t Finch’s body, then it was somebody that looked very much like him.”

  Mike’s face took on the look of an animal corralled in an unfamiliar pen. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw the autopsy pictures. I read the reports. Paul showed them to me.”

  For a few long seconds, Mike remained still. He wet his lips. “You’re wrong. Herbert is alive, I tell you.”

  “You said that you pulled the trigger. How is that keepin’ him alive?”

  “I shot him with a blank.”

  Bronson steeped his fingers against his lower lip. “Are you sure it was a blank?”

  Mike’s face grew white. The familiar doubts slithered in. There’s something wrong. The gun. The bullets. “The chief himself handed me the gun, ready to use. So yeah, I’m sure they were blanks, and no, I didn’t check the gun. Why would I?”

  Bronson leaned forward, looking at Mike steadily, absorbing every detail, and listening to every word he said. “Why didn’t you check to make sure the gun was loaded with blanks?”

  “I … I didn’t have to.” Mike’s face turned even whiter than before, making it look milky and as translucent as a clouded glass. “Why would I? I knew it was a blank.” Mike’s throat tightened and his eyes glistened. “I was thinking of what had to be done. I was on automatic when I reached for the Glock.” He held his head on his hands, a look of utter defeat enveloped him. “Herbert’s alive. He’s got to be.”

  Bronson squeezed Mike’s upper arm. “Let me walk you through that night. Maybe we can find somethin’ that doesn’t click.”

  Mike shook his head. “I’m telling you. He’s alive.” Mike’s face brightened, and he sat up straighter. “I know how to prove it.” He fumbled for his cell. “Her
bert gave me a phone number. He said to call him only if something had gone drastically wrong. He said no matter what he was doing or what time it was, he’d answer the phone. No matter what.”

  From memory, Mike punched in the numbers. The phone rang once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  “Pick up, Herbert. You said you would.”

  Four times.

  Five.

  “Answer the phone.”

  Six times.

  Seven.

  The call went to voice mail.

  Mike disconnected, his face asking the obvious question. Why hadn’t Finch answered? Why? … Why? An agitated look gripped Mike’s face, and he expelled his breath in an audible hiss. “He … didn’t … answer.”

  Bronson wrapped his hand around Mike’s. “I’m goin’ to call Paul. I’m sure he can set up a phone meeting between Chief Kelley and you and me. We’ll find out if the chief loaded the weapon himself or if he had somebody do it. And if so, who?”

  Mike nodded but didn’t look up.

  Bronson found Paul in his contact list, called, and put the phone on speaker.

  Paul answered on the second ring. “Bronson, is that you?”

  “Sure is. You sound—”

  “I guess you’re calling about the chief.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you heard, and that’s why you’re calling.”

  “Heard what?”

  “The chief—he killed himself.”

  29

  Bronson had devoured one taco and was making his way through the second one before he called Paul. After their conversation, the tacos lost their appeal. Bronson scooted his plate away. Beside him, Mike pushed his food around the plate with his fork.

  “I know this is not how you wanted this to end, but it’s over.” Bronson wiped his mouth with the napkin and set it down. “The best thing to do is to turn yourself in.”

  Mike took a deep breath and remained quiet.