Authors: Warren C Easley
Cal
I was relieved when Kelly agreed to my proposition, although it was a deal that would make my accountant apoplectic. Running a pro-bono case down in California could get expensive in a hurry. And I was a lot less confident that I could get Veronica to come forward than I'd let on. Kelly gave me Veronica's cell phone number, but when I called it no one answered, and I didn't leave a message.
I printed out all of Kelly's e-mail messages, and we began to go back through them. I was particularly interested in what she'd seen at the Bridgetown Arsenal. When we got to that point in her narrative I said, “You say here that you watched the Arsenal for a while from a hiding place. Tell me more about that.”
“Well, I wanted to see if I could spot Macho Dude. That's what I've been calling the guy who shot Claudia. Because of the jacket he wore with the eagle on it I figured he might be a customer or work at the Arsenal. I was too chicken to just walk in, but I noticed this building across the street just sitting there half built. I found a spot up on the fourth floor and watched from there. About the third or fourth time I was up there, these two panel trucks rolled in just as it was getting dark. A dude I thought was Macho Dude got out of one the trucks, but it got dark before I could be absolutely sure.”
“What were they doing?”
“They loaded up a bunch of boxes and took off.”
“What kind of boxes?”
Kelly paused to think as she scratched Spencer behind his ears. “Just cardboard boxes, sort of square, not real big, but quite a few.”
“Did the trucks have any markings on them?”
“Nope. They were plain white. Then the next day another truck got loaded up.”
“Same kind of boxes?”
Kelly paused for a moment. “Uh, actually, that second day the boxes were bigger, rectangular. Anyway, I got up my nerve and walked over there and asked for directions. I didn't see Macho Dude, but this other dude drove up, got out, and said something to the guys loading the boxes. I recognized that voice. It was the man at the granary. I'd know that voice anywhere.”
“Shipments,” I said, more to myself than Kelly. “It has to be. When did you see this?” Kelly shrugged, so I got a calendar out and spread it on the desk in front of her. “What were the dates?”
“Uh, the first must have been a Thursday, so October twenty-third, and the second must have been on the twenty-fourth.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I'm sure. I remember that the first time was the day before the anniversary of Dad's accident on K2.”
“
Shipments,
” I said again with more emphasis. I jumped up and fished the copy of Manny Bonilla's notebook out of my briefcase and opened it up to the page containing the alphabet soup. The first entry read
Oct. 23 â two trucks/100 units
ECA-25
MGC-30
BRC-45
The second,
Oct. 24 â one truck. 45 mods - SDGC
The third,
Nov. 19 â two trucks/80
ECGR-35
RBRR-45
And the fourth,
Nov. 23 â one truck SDGC â 40 mods
I pulled up the Bridgetown Arsenal website, clicked on the
About Us
button, and read about the expanding empire that Roz Jenkins and Arthur Finley were building. Their business strategy was to buy existing gun shops and ranges and keep their original names to maintain local identities. So, their acquisition down in southern Oregon was called the Medford Gun Club, a venerable organization that had been around for decades. In northern California, it was the Red Bluff Rifle Range, which had been around for fifty years, and so it went on down to the Mexican border, fifteen gun shops and growing.
I sat there looking at the names of the shops when it popped. “
Of course
. MGC must stand for Medford Gun Club, RBRR for Red Bluff Rifle Range. I went through all the initials in Bonilla's entries and matched them up with businesses belonging to the Jenkins' family. I looked at Kelly. “I think what you saw was the load-up for a series of deliveries. My guess is that first day the âunits' were drop-in triggers made at the Arsenal to be delivered to gun shops along the I-5 corridor. The units might indicate how many triggers were delivered at each site, so 45 units at the Bakersfield Rifle Club, 20 units to the City of Angels Gun Range in L.A, and so on. Those units would be used to modify rifles acquired in the local area.”
I glanced back down at the sheet. “The second and fourth entries are different.” I looked at Kelly and spread my hands beyond the width of my shoulders. “You said the boxes were rectangular that second time. About like this? About the length of a rifle?”
She nodded.
“Okay, maybe the â45 mods' refer to 45 AR-15s modified at the Arsenal to be shipped to the San Diego Gun Club, which is probably the staging area for the entire smuggling operation into Mexico.” I nodded slowly, awed by the implications. The potential scope of the operation was impressive. “Yeah, that might hang together.”
Kelly looked back at me in complete bewilderment. “Is that good?”
I nodded again. “Maybe. If I'm right, then it should tell us when the next shipment goes out.” I looked at the third entry in Bonilla's notebook, straining to read his terrible handwriting. I could hardly believe my eyes. “It looks like a shipment's going out
today
.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
I shook my head. “No time for that.”
No stranger to risk-taking, Kelly's face brightened. “I'll show you my hiding place and we can check them out, take photos or something.” She described her perch and how to get there and ended by saying, “I think you could probably make the climb, Cal. It's not too hard.”
Nothing like a vote of confidence. I leaned back in my chair and turned the situation over in my mind. “It would certainly confirm that I'm on the right track. And if this holds, there should be another shipment in a couple of days. That would be the one to bring the police in on.”
Kelly continued to smile. “
Right
. And maybe Macho Dude will be there, too.”
I picked up the phone and called Esperanza at Nando's office. “Do you have access to Nando's ghost hunter?” I asked her after we exchanged greetings. It was what he called his night vision camera. “I might need to borrow it this evening.” Like any self-respecting PI, Nando had an array of eavesdropping devices, including a high definition, infrared camcorder.
“Of course I do,” she told me. “Stop by before five and it's yours.”
I thanked her and when I hung up, Kelly said, “
Yes
,” and leaped out of her seat, spilling her dog and causing Archie to stand up in the corner and bark a couple of times. “How cool, man. I can't wait.”
“If anyone tapes them, Kelly, it's going to be me all by my lonesome. You're not going anywhere near that place.”
“But Iâ”
“Not going to happen, Kelly. Sorry.”
While Kelly fumed in her seat, I called Veronica again but got no response. I would have to come back to that later that night. When Kelly went to the restroom, I called Tay. “I've got her,” I said when she picked up and went on to sketch in some details, including the situation with Veronica and Kelly's fear of foster care. “Any chance you can get away? I asked. “I need your help this afternoon.”
“I'll be there around three,” she told me.
I made Kelly go back over every detail of the layout at the Arsenal and even had her draw me a map. It looked feasable, and I was confident I could get in and out without being seen. I thought again about calling in Harmon Scott or Richie Truax but thought better of it. I'd promised to contact Veronica first, and besides, by the time I dealt with the police and ATF, this window of time would be closed.
It was worth a shot, I decided. What could go wrong?
Kelly
Kelly was ticked off that Claxton wouldn't agree to let her go with him to the Arsenal.
Shoot, it was my idea
, she told herself.
This really sucks
. She was sitting there giving him the silent treatment when someone knocked on the door. Claxton got up, let a woman in, and introduced her. Kelly stuck out her hand, but Tay Jefferson gave her a big hug. “You had us worried, girl,” she said, holding Kelly at arm's length. Tay was tall and stylish with the prettiest golden-brown eyes Kelly had ever seen. Kelly liked her instantly, and she figured Tay was the woman Claxton mentioned, the one he said he was becoming interested in.
They sat together in Claxton's office and went back through the story to bring Tay completely up to speed. It was clear he trusted this woman and had great respect for her. When they finished, Tay sighed heavily. “So, all this carnage for guns that shoot a little faster. Why am I not surprised? Is there any limit to this insanity?” Then to Kelly she said, “How did this shooter fellow find you anyway?”
The memory of the attempted rape sprang into Kelly's mind. She drew her mouth into a tight line and shook her head. “A guy named Digger recognized my backpack, figured I might be K209. He gave me up, for drugs or cash, or both.”
Tay sighed again and looked at Claxton, raising an eyebrow. “Well, judging from the ruthlessness of these people, I'd say that boy Digger better watch his back.”
Tay turned her attention back to Kelly. “I'm sorry about what happened to you in foster care. I don't blame you for not wanting to go back. And it's great that you've got Cal on your side, if you want to go after that disgusting creep who molested you.” She chuckled and glanced at Claxton. “I wouldn't want to be in his shoes if Cal comes after him.”
Kelly allowed herself the trace of a smile about something she rarely acknowledged, let alone talked about.
Tay said, “But you know, Kelly, there are a lot of good foster homes out there. You shouldn't let one experience, as horrible as it was, blind you to that fact.”
The smile faded. “How do you know that?” Kelly shot back.
“I was raised in one, that's how. My single mom died when I was twelve. My brother and I were brought up by two of the sweetest people in the world.” She paused. “Think about it, Kelly. That's all I'm saying.”
Claxton left around four to pick up the IR camera and head over to the Bridgetown Arsenal. It was clear to Kelly that Tay Jefferson's job was to keep an eye on her in Claxton's absence. She loved Tay but didn't like the idea of being babysat one bit. She yearned to be out there in the action. After all, she knew the layout at the abandoned building much better than he did, and she could spot Macho Dude, too, if he showed up.
Kelly excused herself to use the restroom in the apartment upstairs. She tiptoed back down, slipped into the room behind the office, unlocked the backdoor, and let herself out. Once she was out on Couch Street she started running and didn't stop until she reached the bus stop on Burnside. The #33 screeched to a stop eight minutes later. With any luck, she might already be in position in her perch when Claxton showed up. She rode up near the front of the bus, focused on the task ahead, and tried hard not to think about Tay Jefferson's reaction to what she'd just done.
This is for Claudia and Rupert, she told herself.
Cal
I parked on a side street, a good six blocks down from the Arsenal, and once more studied the map Kelly had drawn. Esperanza had checked me out on the IR camera, and I'd stashed it in a small daypack. I moved down Water Street cautiously, wearing black sweats, a down jacket, and a ball cap. When I reached the abandoned structure, I ducked off the sidewalk and watched the Arsenal across the street for several minutes. There were no cars in the portion of the parking lot I could see, and no one stirred on the loading dock, which ran along the north side of the building.
I began to feel a little silly. What if I'm wrong? What if no one shows?
I followed the chain-link fence skirting the structure around to the back of the property and scaled the fence. A steel skeleton of I-beams, cross ties and studs loomed up in front of me like a hollow Mt. Everest. I began to wonder what I'd gotten myself into. A few wall sections had been installed, mainly in the front, before the project went bust. This provided a modicum of cover, at least as viewed from the Arsenal. I still felt exposed as hell as I picked my way up through the center of the building, the route Kelly had suggested. The light was fading fast, and I was glad of it. I was also glad I'd worn my do-it-yourself Ninja suit. There was still the occasional car passing down on Water.
The steel was cold, unyielding and slippery, the going slow. When I reached the third floor, I hit a dead end and had to tightrope walk a narrow crossbeam until I found a way up at the back of the structure.
Easy, Kelly? You've got to be kidding.
I finally made it to the fourth floor, worked my way to the front, and set up shop next to a gap in two wall sections that afforded a view of the Arsenal. It was getting dark, and nothing stirred across the street. I had the camera out and was futzing with the focus when I heard, “Hi, Cal.” I snapped my head up so fast I almost fell off the beam. I squinted up into the low light. Kelly was stretched out on a beam looking down at me, a nervous smile on her face.
“Jesus, Kelly. What the hell are you doing here?”
She rolled off the beam and down a stud like a monkey down a palm tree. “I, uh, thought you could use some help, Cal, you know, spotting Macho Dude.” Her look became defiant. “This is my fight, too, you know.”
I rolled my eyes. “Now I know why you remind me of my daughter. You don't listen to me. Come on, we're out of here. I'll bet Tay's beside herself.” I pulled my cell phone out and turned it on. Tay had sent a text saying Kelly had taken off. I texted back that I'd found her and not to worry.
Kelly was looking out the gap toward the Arsenal. She turned back to me, her eyes wide with excitement. “Well, if we leave now we're going to miss the show. They just pulled in.”
I looked out. Two white vans were visible, just barely, in the near darkness. A group of men, three or four, stood next to the vans. I could see the red dots of smoldering cigarettes. I exhaled sharply. “Okay, sit tight, damn it.”
I picked up the camcorder and zoomed in. Their images seemed so close it startled me. I felt a twinge of excitement as I immediately picked out two familiar faces in the clusterâthe Mutt and Jeff duo I'd encountered in Estacada. Then a bright light bloomed at the edge of my field of vision. I panned over and voilà , Arthur walked through a door onto the dock and then closed it. He stood on the dock, said something to the men, and then went back inside. I handed Kelly the camera. “Tell me if you recognize anyone.”
She put the camera to her eye. “They're going to have to walk around if you want me to pick out Macho Dude.”
“I know. Be patient. They're smoking now. They'll get to work in a minute.”
An eternity passed. Finally, she said, “Oh, they're moving now, up the stairs, one by one. Perfect.” Another interminable pause. She handed the camera back to me and frowned. “Sorry. I, uh, don't think he's there, Cal. Those guys walk like normal dudes.”
“Okay. It's early. He might still show up.” I shot a lot of footage of the vans being loaded and periodically handed the camera back to Kelly, but she didn't see the swaggering walk we were both hoping for. I wondered if it was possible to be so certain about the way someone walked, but Kelly seemed so confident. And I reminded myself that she had recognized the shooter's walk at her apartment, and that had surely saved her life.
The filming wasn't a complete bust, though. I now had direct proof Arthur was tied into this thing, and some nice cameos of the men loading the vans. Of course, I had no direct evidence that they were loading modified AR-15 assault rifles, but I was now pretty damn confident that they were, that I had broken Bonilla's code.
When both vans finally pulled out I said, “Let's get out of here.” I followed Kelly back down through the building and did everything she did, except I did it a lot slower and with my heart in my mouth. Climbing down, it turns out, is a lot harder than climbing up.
We hurried to my car, which was up on Taylor in a section unlit by street lights. I was opening the door when I heard a voice behind us. “Well, well, if it isn't the country lawyer.”
I spun around as a man emerged out of the shadows from across the street and walked up to us. It was Farnell Timmons, and the chrome plated pistol leveled at Kelly and me shown in the low light. Kelly sucked a startled breath. I said, “What do you want, Timmons?”
He held his free hand up. “Hush, Claxton. Let me enjoy the moment. You brought the little tagger with you. What a perfect surprise. Just call me lucky.” He settled his eyes on Kelly and made what might pass for a smile in the reptile world. “Did you jump out of that window or what? I thought I'd never catch you, and lookie here.”
Kelly took a step back and bumped into the car. I said, “You got this wrong, Farnell. Sheâ”
He brought the gun up, aiming it at my face. “Shut the fuck up, Claxton. Now, take that backpack off and hand it to me,
very
slowly.” I did what he told me. With the gun leveled on us, he deftly unzipped the top of the pack and looked in. “A camera. Imagine that.” He zipped the top and slipped his free arm through a strap on the pack and said, “Come on, we're gonna walk back to the Arsenal just like folks out for an evening stroll.”
Not one car passed us on Water Street on our way back, and I had no doubt he would have shot us both had I tried anything. Better to wait for an opening, I decided, as I swung between cursing myself for getting Kelly into this and wondering how in the hell Timmons knew where I'd parked. Halfway there, Timmons said, “That was you that night in that bitch Borrego's apartment, wasn't it.”
“Yeah, that was me.”
“Well, you owe me a boot, asshole.”
“Sorry. The cops have it, and it's got your DNA all over it.”
He laughed, a sharp bark ringing with anger. “I'm not in that fascist database. Never been arrested. At least there's some privacy left in this police state. And I gotta tell you, Claxton, I'm real sorry I didn't spill your guts that night.”
Farnell took us in through the loading dock into a warehouse. Arthur was over in one corner writing at a small desk in a pool of light. He looked up, laid his pen down, and came over to us, an anxious look on his face. “What the hell, Farnell?”
“Found these two in the neighborhood. The little one's the tagger I've been looking for. Claxton hereâ”
“I know Claxton,” Arthur said. He appraised me with colorless eyes. “What's going on, Cal?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. People know we're here. Let us go now, and there won't be any trouble.” Lame, I know, but it was the only thing I could think to say. We were screwed, and I knew it.
Farnell tossed Arthur the daypack. “Check this out.”
Arthur removed the map Kelly had drawn for me first, studied it for a moment, then took out the camcorder and examined it with the air of someone familiar with electronic gadgets. He switched it on, rewound it, and put it to his eye. The warehouse fell silent. He lowered it and looked at Farnell. “He taped the load-up tonight.” Then to me he said, his voice almost pleading, “I knew you were up to something, Claxton.” He clenched his jaw and glared at me as a vein popped out on his neck like a small purple snake. “Why couldn't you just mind your own damn business?”
“This is a good thing, Arthur,” Timmons said. “We got the only witness now, and Claxton knows too damn much anyway.”
Arthur turned and shot Timmons a look. “Yeah, well, this isn't what I signed up for. This was supposed to be a business deal.”
Farnell glared back at him. “You're up to your ears in this, and you know it. I shot the bitch, but whose idea was it to plant the silencer and frame her ex-husband? Deal with it, you pussy.”
Just as I started to speak the door leading into the warehouse from the main building swung open, and Roz Jenkins walked in. She stopped when she saw the gun in Farnell's hand pointing at Kelly and me. She looked from Farnell to Arthur and wrinkled her brow. “What the hell's going on here?”
Arthur's face went bloodless, his look a study in pure anguish. “
Jesus Christ,
Roz, what are you doing here?”
“Never mind what
I'm
doing. She walked up to Farnell. “Lower that gun, Farnell.
Right now.”
Farnell had lost his air of confidence. He retreated a half step, looked at her, then back at me. “Sorry, Roz, no can do. We caught these two breaking in, and we're just taking care of business. Best you run along now. We'll handle this.”
Arthur turned to her, his eyes pleading. “Yes, Roz. Justâ”
“
Shut up,
Arthur,” Roz cut in. Then she eyed me with a puzzled look. “Is this true, Cal?”
I was torn. If I told Roz the truth, I was probably dooming her, too, but she was our only hope, slim as it was. I said, “Of course not, Roz. They've been trafficking illegal weapons out of your stores. They think we witnessed a murder, and they're getting ready to kill us.”
Kelly's knees buckled a little at my words, but she followed my lead, “That's true.” She pointed at Timmons. “I saw him shoot an innocent woman.”
Roz's eyes enlarged in utter disbelief, not at our statements, but at what was unfolding in front of her. She placed a hand on Farnell's arm. “Lower your weapon,” she said in a voice ringing with the authority of someone used to getting her way. Farnell snarled in response and slapped her across the face with the back of his free hand, a sharp, stinging blow that reverberated through the room.
Roz staggered back, and I saw my chance to rush Farnell, but he read me perfectly. He extended his arm, pointing the gun at Kelly. “Don't do it, Claxton.”
Roz looked at Arthur, a hand to her reddening cheek, a fierce glare in her eyes. “
Do something, Arthur, for God's sake.”
Arthur looked at Timmons in horror, then back at Roz like a cornered animal. There was a pause, and all eyes in the room shifted to him. “Roz, I'm sorry about this. Tell Melanie I love her.” As he said that, Kelly's map slipped from his grasp. Arthur went to one knee and extended a hand as if to retrieve it. His other hand brushed his pant leg, and then his arm extended and pointed at Timmons. I saw a momentary metallic glint and so did Farnell, but not soon enough.
Pop
. A dark red flower the size of a dime bloomed between Farnell's eyes, and he dropped like a column of ash with a look of pure astonishment on his face.
Arthur turned his hand around, and I saw the derringer.
Pop.
He fell over backwards, not caring in the least that his head hit the concrete floor first.