Authors: Len Norman
The Ace of Spades
1988
T
he Gallop Poll showed Mr. Dukakis seventeen points ahead of Mr. Bush on the last night of the Democratic National Convention in late July. He was losing that substantial lead and was on a campaign swing in the Midwest.
Harley was driving the interstate when he saw an exit for Riverside so he decided to stop for lunch. The city didn’t look like much to him, but he saw a diner and went in. There was plenty of chatter about Governor Dukakis and his campaign stop in Riverside later that evening. Harley decided he’d stick around and catch the speech at the local union hall.
The chief ordered extra patrol and officers on hand for the Dukakis rally. Threats were made and it was rumored machine-gun-toting assholes were out to spoil tonight’s fun. Presidential candidates were always surrounded by plenty of Secret Service assigned to the protection detail and local law enforcement usually had plenty of their own on hand to assist.
Quentin and Calvin were in plain clothes working the crowds. The rally was set for 7:30 p.m. and things were already behind schedule. The political entourage was just now leaving Franklin and on its way to Riverside.
Reg and Frank were each assigned marked patrol vehicles. The task was simple; ride around the immediate area and look at people. Frank didn’t mind a bit, it was overtime and if he had to come in on his day off at least the pay was decent. Reg was working his scheduled shift, but he was happy to draw the assignment. He planned on voting for Dukakis in November and intended on telling him as much if he got the chance.
Harley and a couple of thousand others were listening intently to the candidate’s promises. Many of them were just plain sick of the last eight Reagan years. Riverside was a union city and with that there was always plenty of Democratic Party support. Harley didn’t stand out at all. Matter of fact, Calvin actually stood next to him for a few minutes.
The speech didn’t last long, and as soon as the handshaking was over it was time for the candidate to leave. The crowd soon began to melt away. None of them would ever know of the threat or what would soon happen.
Reg and Frank were still driving around the area and Harley was walking to his parked car with good intentions of leaving Riverside forever when it happened. He looked up and saw the police officer in the marked patrol car and was amazed. The last person on the face of the earth that could harm him was driving a police car. It had all come down to this—the rightful owner of the Ace of Spades was a peacekeeper in Riverside. All the years of searching; the fifty-one others he killed and hundreds that somehow got in the way. It all came down to a cop.
Harley was a highly skilled individual and, madness aside, it paid to be a genius. He was staying in a hotel just outside Riverside. He purchased a police scanner and began listening to police calls. He soon realized cars were mostly assigned single-digit numbers that corresponded with the same numbers that signified Riverside’s nine wards. Higher numbers were set aside for the accident investigator, vice officers, and then command officers. Harley reckoned the Ace of Spades officer had a single-digit number. He appeared relatively young and had been given somewhat trivial duty at the political rally.
For an entire week Harley listened to the scanner in his room and even purchased a scrambling device that could be used when the officers would switch to Code Z, which allowed them to say things they didn’t want the public to hear. The scanner was legal and the scrambling gadget was not. Then again, neither was the portable radio he kept with him in his 1987 Corvette. The sports car came with increased horsepower and torque. Just like all of his other cars; the passenger door had a hidden collection of handguns, including his favorite—that Colt .45 with the five-inch barrel and a magazine capacity of eight.
He could have afforded anything in the world, but opted to stick with the basics in that regard. If the stash of illegal guns were of no concern to him an illegal handheld radio wasn’t either.
He drove the streets of Riverside when he wasn’t in his room listening to the scanner. When a single-digit-numbered car was sent on a call he’d swing by the address and try to catch a glimpse of the officer. He hit pay dirt the third week into his hellish assignment. Now he knew the area the Ace of Spades worked. It was time to develop a plan.
Josh Horton owned several rental properties in and around Riverside. His newest customer wanted a nice house or apartment to rent on the west side. He wasn’t concerned with the cost as much as he was with the kind of place he was looking to live in. He wanted a rental that was somewhat secluded and had not too many neighbors; a large city lot at the very least. Josh was surprised when his newest tenant paid cash for the large damage deposit and six months’ rent in advance.
On a beautiful, crisp autumn day Frank received an unusual call. He was working the afternoon shift and things had been relatively quiet. The election was only a week away and Mr. Dukakis had managed to blow a very big lead. He was at least ten points behind Mr. Bush in the latest poll. Frank could have cared less.
The dispatcher sent Frank to check a vacant house. The caller reported money had been left by the last tenant and worried the money was drug related. The caller remained anonymous of course and the call was given to Frank over Code Z. The money was supposedly left in the kitchen oven.
Frank walked up to the front door and sure enough, the door was ajar; something else the caller had mentioned. Frank slowly stepped inside and turned the light on, but the power was out. He went back to the patrol car and got his flashlight. He called out with an open door and backup was sent as well.
Frank went inside, along with Victor, and they slowly checked the house. The kitchen stove was first.
“Caller said the money was in the oven.”
“Right, thousands of dollars no doubt,” Victor said.
“If I find the money, I’m calling dibs.”
“Wow, Frank, that’s harsh; I’d share with you,” Victor joked.
Frank opened the oven door and found a note inside. The note was simple:
you’re too late stupid
.
“Well, there goes my early retirement. We might as well check the rest of the house.”
The two-story house was creepy. They checked all of the rooms and found them empty. The basement had a rotten stench, but other than that it was just an empty basement. They cleared the call and Victor headed for dinner while Frank stayed in service.
Three hours later a call went out to Reg. The complainant wanted something done about his neighbors. They were always parking their vehicles in front of his house and he thought they might be doing some underage drinking. Reg was advised the caller was at 407 Foster Street.
Reg was near Foster when the call went out and arrived within minutes. He parked in front of the house and noticed there were no other cars parked along the street. So much for parking complaints, he thought. He walked to the front door and knocked.
Sergeant Trapp heard the call and thought he’d head that way. Maybe he’d catch Reg doing something wrong. He’d been shadowing Frank all day, but he was staying out of trouble. Perhaps it was time to switch gears and go for Reg.
The man opened the door and invited Reg inside. They walked into the living room and Reg said, “I’ll tell you, I don’t see any parked cars, legal or otherwise. What about the underage drinking?”
“If you go to the back of the house, you’ll see what I’m talking about. You can see them from the window.”
Reg followed the man to the back and looked out the kitchen window. Reg didn’t see a thing but he felt something; cold blue steel at the base of his neck. The sensation was the worst thing Reg had ever experienced.
“Put both hands on the wall where I can see them. Do it now!”
“If I don’t?”
“I’ll shoot you.”
“I think you might just shoot me no matter what.”
“Nope. I just want to talk with you. If I don’t take your gun, you’ll shoot me. That’s what cops do, isn’t it?”
Reg placed his hands on the wall. The gun was still pressed to the back of his neck. The man reached around and took his duty gun and handcuffs. “Any other surprises? Extra guns or knives?”
“Nope. I only carry one gun. Do I know you?”
“I doubt it, but I sure as hell know you. You’re the Ace of Spades.”
Reg felt a little better. The guy was clearly nuts. He just might find some wiggle room and discover a way out of this mess. “We gonna play cards? I like cards. Euchre, cribbage, poker? What’s your game?”
“Survival. I’ve been looking for you for thirty-eight years. I never thought the Ace of Spades would be anyone like you; someone so inconsequential. I expected more.”
“You don’t seem that old. You’ve been looking to find me for thirty-eight years? How old are you?” Reg asked.
“Thirty-eight.”
Oh boy
, Reg thought. “When did you start looking for me?”
“The day I was born. You’re the last card.” He swung his gun-holding hand and hit Reg on the side of his head. Reg fell to the floor.
Reg woke up in the living room and had no idea how long he’d been out. He thought only a few minutes. The bastard was standing in front of him and here he was, sitting on the floor, and his hands were cuffed behind him. He had a really bad feeling.
“What’s that other cop doing out there?”
“I got nothing. What the hell you talking about? Who are you?” Reg asked.
“Multiple questions? I’m talking about the cop that’s been sitting across the street. The second answer is Harley. Harley Ames. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”
“You called me the Ace of Spades earlier. I can’t play cards with you if I’m handcuffed. The key’s on my gun belt. Why don’t you let my hands free so we can play?” Reg asked.
“You don’t need to be hands free to play cards with me. I’ll deal from the deck of one card. The Ace of Spades is all yours. You want to hear about the others?”
“I think it would help.”
Harley gave him the particulars, and as he spoke, Reg knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. “So let me get this straight, I’m the only guy in the world that can harm you and once you kill me, you’re home free? You’ll drop the card on my corpse and walk away from all of this?” Reg asked.
“Not bad. You figured that out all by yourself? What about the cop outside, what’s up with him, one of your buddies?”
Harley helped Reg up and pushed him toward the window. Reg saw Kyle Trapp parked across and down the street. “Actually no. I can’t stand the son of a bitch. Nobody can. He calls himself a cop but he’s a world-class coward. The long and short of it? I hate his guts.”
Harley beamed. “Really? What’s he doing outside, then, on a low-priority call like this?”
“He wants to catch me doing something, anything wrong. He just wants to get me fired is all. No big deal, really, this shit’s been going on a long time. He even follows us with his own car on his days off, if you can believe it.”
“Let’s ask him to join us.”
Reg was between a rock and a hard place. No self-respecting cop would ever agree to what he was just asked to do, to knowingly put another officer in danger was unmentionable. Then again Kyle wasn’t really another officer. He was a mistake, a scaredy-cat, and someone who continually plotted against other officers. He stole credit from others and was a braggart as well as an accomplished liar. His only concern was advancement and when it came to doing any real police work he was ineffective and as useless as tits on a boar hog.
Reg was livid. He was handcuffed by a nut who would probably kill him, and once again Kyle sat in the relative safety of his police car. Reg always allowed for contingencies and this particular situation was no different. He knew the position he was in was bleak but refused to give in to this madman. He had a couple of ideas and they both involved Kyle. Perhaps there was still a way out of this mess. “Take my handcuffs off and I’ll call him inside.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I need to have my hands free to talk on the radio. I want to coax him inside so you can see what an asshole this guy really is. Who knows? Maybe the Ace of Spades is his card.”
“I’ll tell you what. You can lure him in while I hold the radio nice and close to your mouth. I’ll push the button when need be and you can talk to him. Once he gets inside, I’ll decide which one of you is the true Ace of Spades.”
Reg knew he was down to one last idea. He’d need to get Kyle to come inside first. His captor was nuttier than a fruitcake but very cunning. “Sounds good to me. The radio is on my gun belt. It slides up.”
Harley took the radio. “I know how these things work. When I key the microphone ask the other cop to come inside. No tricky codes and secret cop speak. Just get him in here, and if I think you’re trying to trick me, I’ll kill you.”
He held the radio in front of Reg and keyed it up. “This is number eight. Can you come inside and assist me with a legal question, Sarge?”
There was no verbal response but Kyle drove closer to the house. He took the bait and got out of the car and began walking to the front porch. Harley scooted into the other room and hid behind the archway. Kyle was on the porch opening the front door. “Reg?”
Nobody said a word and when he walked another few feet into the house he saw Reg. His back was to Harley and before he could say a word-“Nice of you to join us.”
Kyle turned and saw a man with a gun pointed right at him. He nearly fainted.
“Take that gun out nice and slow. Do it with your left hand and once it’s out just give it a toss on the chair in front of you.”
Kyle did as he was told.
“Just lace your hands behind your head and keep your back to me. I’m going to cuff you. If you act up, I’ll kill you. The choice is all yours.”
Kyle was soon handcuffed behind his back just like Reg. When he turned around it was obvious he’d peed himself. Reg chuckled and looked at Harley. “I told you so. You believe me now? This guy calls himself a cop, ain’t that the limit?”
“It does appear your analysis of Kyle is more than accurate. Perhaps you two should clear the air. What say you D’Artagnan?” Reg had read
The Three Musketeers
long ago, but Kyle was clueless about D’Artagnan and so much more.