The pawnbroker, p.22
The Pawnbroker,
p.22
“No way I’m sticking around. Cover me,” Brooks said, striding across the patio toward the garden gate.
“There goes your meal ticket,” Gordon called out. “Better follow your master like a good puppy.”
A loud crash in the house was followed by shouts in the front rooms.
“That would be SWAT. Lay down your weapon, Eddie,” Charlie said. “It’s not too late.”
“Like hell,” he said, sidestepping his way across the patio, trying to watch them and the house at the same time, waving the assault weapon back and forth.
“Lay down and close your eyes, Rene,” Gordon whispered, pushing the boy to the tile. He stepped away from Charlie and the boy, then raised his pistol.
“Eddie, stop!” Gordon yelled.
Eddie raised the assault rifle up to his shoulder, swinging it toward Gordon. A shot rang out.
One side of Eddie’s head exploded in a mass of blood, bone, and tissue. His forward motion carried him another step and he fell across his rifle as he hit the patio floor, face down.
Brooks, who’d already made it onto the lawn, stopped, finally noticed the prone sniper on the ditch bank, then threw his arms into the air.
“Don’t move, Brooks,” DuPree yelled from the fence gate at the far end as he ran into the grass, pistol out. Nancy was right behind him, armed with a shotgun. Two more officers were covering the creeps tied up out there. The sniper remained in position.
Gordon picked up Rene and turned him away from Eddie so he couldn’t see the dead man. Four SWAT members came out through the kitchen. That helped to block the view of the carnage scattered across the tile like a thrown dish of pasta.
“Make sure you get the guy on the other side of the wall,” Charlie yelled to the SWAT team, holstering his weapon. “He’s probably asleep.”
Charlie turned to Gordon. “Maybe you should have let Eddie get out into the grass. You could be dead right now if the sniper had been two seconds slower…”
“Then you’d inherit my half of Three Balls. You coulda had it all.”
Charlie shook his head as a SWAT guy looked over with furrowed brows. “We’ve gotta change that name, Gordo. And sometime real soon, you’d better wipe off your lipstick.”
Chapter Twenty
“Thanks for saving me all that paperwork,” US Marshal Crowley said, taking the deputy badges back from Charlie and Gordon. “You didn’t shoot anyone. Detective DuPree says it was a miracle.”
“Well, now you have your fugitive, Lawrence Brooks, and the evidence Mrs. Brooks handed over that will put him in a federal lockup. How long had he been under house arrest when he took off?” Charlie asked.
“Just a day before he disappeared, which makes it a week ago. Good thing APD put his name up on a bulletin and called into his office. We’d have never thought to look here,” Crowley replied. “If I hadn’t deputized you two, we’d have had to send in strangers to get the boy and the child might have freaked out.”
Charlie nodded. “We’re used to this kind of work, and Rene has spent time with us. Mrs. Brooks has been hiding out with him for years, apparently, and the boy has learned not to trust strangers.”
“The service thanks you.”
“Glad to help out,” Charlie said, looking over at Gordon, who clearly wasn’t ready to leave yet.
“I’ve got a question, Marshal Crowley,” Gordon asked. “Just what did you find out about the guy we knew as Eddie Henderson? Did you get anything from his prints?”
“Actually, we did. Henderson is actually Viktor Kozhara, twenty-eight. He was adopted from a orphanage in Ukraine at the age of eleven by an American couple in Arlington, Virginia. He had a measured IQ of 140, spoke perfect English, and aced all his classes at school. Unfortunately, he also had a lot of trouble with authority—lying, stealing, and a shitload of petty stuff. Street-smart, he was careful not to get more than a juvenile record. At the age of seventeen, he left for school one morning and just disappeared. Rode off on a bicycle, according to the report.”
“Didn’t the cops try to track him down?” Charlie asked, knowing his own parents would have never given up on him.
“There was no AMBER Alert back then, and law enforcement didn’t work too hard on it, judging from the reports. It might have been different if he’d been an innocent five-year-old girl instead of a pain-in-the-ass hoodlum wannabe. Anyway, the adopted parents hired a private eye, and the search went on until they ran out of money and gave up. Looks like the kid was smart and covered his tracks,” Crowley added.
“So when did he become Eddie Henderson?” Gordon asked.
“I believe the Henderson identity goes back at least seven years, at least that’s when he got his first driver’s license under that name,” Crowley added.
Charlie nodded, and Gordon crossed his arms against his chest. “Guess the rest of the story will have to come from Lawrence Brooks or somebody back in Pennsylvania,” Gordon surmised.
“If I get anything else, I’ll fill in Detective DuPree and he can pass it along,” Crowley said, standing and shaking their hands. “Thanks, again, guys.”
Three minutes later they were in the parking garage, climbing into Charlie’s rental Chevy. “We got lucky, finding a way to do what we did aboveboard,” Charlie said to Gordon as he backed out of the parking slot.
“Yeah, but we’d have done it anyway,” Gordon said, fastening his seat belt. “Makes shopkeeping seem kinda dull, doesn’t it?”
Charlie followed the yellow arrows and reached the street exit, stopping for traffic. “Maybe we’re not cut out for civilian life—but I don’t think it’ll hurt to slow down a little. I’m sticking with the pawnshop. You want out?”
“Naw. I’m just being nostalgic for the bad old days.”
“Good. And speaking of the shop, I’m thinking we’re going to need to add another full-time employee if business continues to pick up,” Charlie said.
“Meanwhile, I guess it’s back to work, after I go home and shower—a lot,” Gordo said. “Drop me off?”
* * *
It was three PM the next day and Charlie and Gordo were climbing into the rental Chevy parked in the visitor section of the downtown police station.
“Well, that took forever. But maybe we’re finally done with Detective Dupree and company—at least until the ADA comes calling,” Charlie said. “I’m looking forward to a regular life for a while.”
“Might be nice. Where to next? We going to Gina and Nancy’s for that cookout now? We’re still a little early.”
“Why not? Jake’s covering the shop and this is Gina’s first day back from the hospital. She’s gonna be moving around pretty slow, if at all. We’ll help Nancy with the company,” Charlie said.
“And you’ll get to see Ruth,” Gordon said.
“That too,” Charlie said, then shrugged. “I’m hoping she and Rene will stick around a little longer. The feds like the idea of her staying away from Pittsburgh. It keeps the press focused on Brooks and the indictments regarding his business practices.”
“Better for her and the boy.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, finding an opening in traffic and pulling out onto the street. “Call though, and see if we can bring anything.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later Charlie parked behind Nancy’s department vehicle in the driveway of her and Gina’s townhouse. He reached for the enormous apple pie they’d picked up at the Smith’s. Gordon already had the red wine and two six-packs of Coke.
They’d just stepped onto the porch when the door opened. It was Ruth, casually but elegantly dressed in a soft burgundy shirt and dark blue slacks. For the first time since they’d seen her, she was also wearing lipstick and a trace of makeup.
“You’ve got a smile on your face,” Gordon said as she opened the door and waved them into the foyer.
“Thanks to you two, Nancy, and the others. We don’t have to hide out anymore. Hi, Charlie,” she added, reaching out and squeezing his forearm gently.
“Um, hi. You look really nice, Ruth.”
“Thanks for noticing,” she said, backing into the large open space that doubled as living room and kitchen in houses these days. “Let me take that delicious-looking pie off your hands.”
Charlie handed it over, then looked around the room and saw Gina sitting in the big recliner chair, wearing silky pajamas and a fluffy robe. “Welcome home, Gina.”
“Yeah. You’ve really perked up,” Gordon added.
“Doing a lot better. Once I get the energy to stand up again, guys, I owe you both hugs. Okay?”
“Something to look forward to,” Charlie said, winking.
“And if you want to stroll around a little, let me know. You have my shoulder to lean on,” Gordon said.
“Sounds nice,” she said. “But the doctors want me to do all I can on my own. Now, if I get tired…”
“Just flash me a smile,” Gordon said. He turned and saw Rene over in the corner, on the carpet, wearing earbuds and playing with his handheld video game.
“Hey, Rene,” he called, waving.
“Hey, Gordon. Uh, Mr. Sweeney. Mom says I should thank you again for showing me how to play online. I’m still on the second level, but I’m getting better.”
“Practice, practice,” Gordon said.
“Who invited these strange men?” Nancy said, coming through the patio door just beyond the kitchen nook.
“We brought provisions, Sergeant,” Charlie said. “Dessert—apple pie.”
“And red wine,” Gordon added. “From a foreign land,” he said, holding up the bottle. “Some place called Callyfornya.”
“What, no beer?” Nancy asked, coming over to take the wine and the Cokes. She placed the wine on the counter next to the pie.
“Sorry. The only women I know who like beer can also kick my ass,” Charlie said, then grinned.
“Include me in both categories. I’ve got a six-pack of Sammy Adams in the fridge,” Nancy said.
Charlie moved over and opened the refrigerator door so Nancy could store the Cokes. She brought out three beers and handed one to Charlie. “Gordon?” she asked, waving the third bottle.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the brew.
“Need some help outside with the steaks?” Charlie offered, nodding toward the backyard. He’d smelled the grill when Nancy had come inside.
“No, but come and join me. We need to have a little information exchange,” she said.
“I’ll stay inside and keep the party going,” Gordon said, smiling at Gina.
* * *
Charlie stood and watched as Nancy turned the steaks, keeping downwind to appreciate the aroma. Smoke, he was used to, only this time it was pleasant.
He looked back through the glass patio door, noting that Gordon had Gina and Ruth laughing already, probably from his vast repertoire of tall tales.
“So everything local except for the kidnapping is going to be low priority,” Charlie said. “Bet DuPree is annoyed.”
“A little, but he still comes out looking good within the department. With Eddie, well, Viktor gone and the local crimes all but solved, the pressure is on Brooks for the millions he’s made ripping off financial institutions and investors. Outside of Albuquerque, nobody cares about the death of a half-dozen men. Priorities haven’t changed. Gangbangers die every day, but when big money is involved…,” Nancy said.
“Not to mention kidnapping.”
“My captain is tongue-tied over that particular problem, trying to explain everything that went down. Getting the marshals service involved instead of the FBI was unexpected, but that was the easiest path to take. It’s all legal, just very nonlinear. And, of course, Brooks is trying to blame Eddie for all that illegal shit, including the killing of Baza. Brooks claims he was just trying to get his kid back, but his employees went rogue on him,” Nancy added.
“And Eddie won’t be contradicting him from the grave,” Charlie said. “I’m glad this isn’t my problem. Sounds like you were briefed on Eddie’s real background?”
“Yeah, DuPree sent me an e-mail with a summary, including pretty convincing evidence that Eddie was the one who shot Baza and Gina. The thirty-eight used in the attack was found in his room at the estate and his prints were all over it. I wonder at what age Eddie was already beyond hope?” Nancy said, shaking her head.
“Kinda scares me when I think about becoming a parent one day,” Charlie replied. The idea seemed so distant at the moment, it sounded almost like a fantasy.
“I got a feeling you’ll do fine, Charlie. But you’re going to have to settle down first.”
“Not right away,” Charlie said, looking away, thinking about all the chaos he’d already experienced. It was going to take time to get back to any kind of normal.
He stared at the coals for a moment, his mind wandering. Finally he spoke. “So, how’s APD handling all this excitement, being in the national headlines?”
Nancy grinned. “The department is looking good on this, and I might even be up for a commendation. Meanwhile, Brooks’s crew are stumbling over each other trying to cut deals of their own. Prosecution should be easy.”
“So what about Ruth—or Sarah, I should say?”
“All of the Brooks money is frozen by the courts, so she won’t get any financial help until those legal issues are settled, which could take a year or two, depending on the lawyers. Ruth—she wants to keep that identity—is going to stay here in Albuquerque with her son. Of course she’ll be scaling down her living quarters. She’s also going to need a job,” Nancy said, taking a long sip of beer. “Know of any openings?”
Charlie looked over at the window. Ruth turned just then, catching his eye and smiling. “Think I might,” he said.
ALSO BY DAVID AND AIMÉE THURLO
THE ELLA CLAH MYSTERIES
Blackening Song
Death Walker
Bad Medicine
Enemy Way
Shooting Chant
Red Mesa
Changing Woman
Plant Them Deep
Tracking Bear
Wind Spirit
White Thunder
Mourning Dove
Turquoise Girl
Coyote’s Wife
Earthway
Never-Ending-Snake
Black Thunder
Ghost Medicine
THE SISTER AGATHA MYSTERIES
Bad Faith
Thief in Retreat
Prey for a Miracle
False Witness
The Prodigal Nun
Bad Samaritan
About the Authors
DAVID and AIMÉE THURLO have, together and separately, written more than seventy novels. Their novels have been sold worldwide in more than eighteen countries and have received the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award, a Willa Cather Award for Contemporary Fiction, and the New Mexico Book Award for Mystery and Suspense. David Thurlo was raised on the Navajo Nation in Shiprock. Aimée Thurlo was born in Havana, Cuba. The Thurlos now live in New Mexico with their three standard poodles.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
THE PAWNBROKER. Copyright © 2014 by David and Aimée Thurlo. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover photographs: sky © Scout J Photography/Getty Images; gun © Nemlaza Shutterstock.com
ISBN 978-1-250-02798-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-02799-3 (e-book)
First Edition: January 2014
Aimée Thurlo, The Pawnbroker
