The Archangel Drones (38 page)

“Well, we’ve got to come up with something. I’m getting jittery from toting this shotgun around as I go about my routine. I don’t want Manny or the cat to surprise me… if you know what I mean. That could lead to a disaster.”

“Do me a favor while we’re thinking this through,” came Gabe’s less than confident reply. “Don’t leave the house without letting me know first. Just send me a text, or make a quick call. I can have a drone there in less than 20 minutes and at least be able to help a little.”

“Okay, boss. You got it. And thanks, Gabe. Thank you for being there.”

“No need to thank me, buddy. I’m the one who got your ass into this mess in the first place. Marwick wouldn’t even remember your name if it hadn’t been for the drones.”

There was a short, insincere chuckle across the connection. “Now we both know that’s just bullshit. You didn’t cause all this. That fat ass bully who is now parked on my street fired the first shot when he chose to pick on Jacob. No matter how this nightmare concludes, you remember that, Gabe. Never forget. You didn’t start this fight, but if God in Heaven will allow it, you and I will damn sure finish it.”

Gabe ended the call, amazed at Chip’s last proclamation. The loyalty was uplifting, the man’s no quit attitude inspirational. “I’ve got to make sure he comes out of this unharmed,” he announced to the resting G-3. “Your sisters and you need to help me.”

As his nemesis predicted, Big Jim’s simmering anxiety was expanding beyond containment. It seemed like all four walls were closing in around the suspended officer, hemming him in while sucking the oxygen out of his environment. His lawyer was now in the process of trying to delay the initial hearings and actions in the criminal case being brought by the DA. But an earlier call from his counsel had advised of a sudden urgency to set a trial date from the once supportive authority. Fewer of his “friends” on the force were returning his calls, and the incompetent detectives downtown seemed to be making no progress on identifying the Archangel.

Time was running out. He couldn’t depend on anyone but himself.

Whether it resulted from paranoia, apprehension, or just plain, old pigheadedness, Jim couldn’t let go of Chip. He was convinced the man had something to do with the avalanche of undeserved shit that seemed to be raining down on his head.

Yet, his surveillance hadn’t produced anything other than a warning from a near-rookie cop, several harsh looks from the suspect’s neighbors, and a roaring case of hemorrhoids from sitting so long in the car.

Desperate, running out of options, and absolutely confident he was barking up the right tree, Marwick made the decision to approach Chip face to face and determine if he could shake some fruit off the reclusive man’s branches.

The only problem was the where and the when.

Walking up to the front door wasn’t an option. Humans, like all animals, are territorial. It was well understood by all cops that most people would resist twice as hard if confronted on their home turf as compared to out in the streets, away from their residence. It was a predictable reaction, resulting in both physical and mental escalation.

Jim wanted his approach to elicit fear, not defense. That meant he would have to catch Chip while he was out and about. Not an easy task, considering the guy had only showed his face once in three days.

It then occurred to Jim that he probably wasn’t the only one tiring of hide and seek. Completely unaware that his inability to see the world from someone else’s perspective, to put himself in any opposing role was his biggest single weakness as a police officer, Jim just couldn’t accept that any person could view things differently. He was tired of the game; therefore, Chip must be tired as well.

With that line of reasoning engrained in his thoughts and championing his movements, Jim drove back to Chip’s neighborhood. This time, he parked in a new spot, but was still within easy view of the suspect’s dwelling. “Come on out and play, Mister Archangel,” he whispered, turning off the car that had been his home as of late.

Chip spied the vehicle five minutes later, his habit of randomly checking the street now entrenched in his daily routine.

“He’s back,” the text to Gabe disclosed.

“Launching the G-1,” the response reassured a few minutes later.

Shaking his head at the self-imposed imprisonment, Chip tried to busy himself with mundane tasks around the house. The shotgun was never far from his side.

The flight to Chip’s subdivision passed quickly, the Gripen enjoying the benefit of a tailwind. Gabe was ready, manning the control desk as the now familiar rows of suburbia came into view. It only took a moment to spot Marwick’s tan colored Impala.

He maintained the drone high and out of sight, positioning the flyer in the general area of the sun just to secure the robot from curious eyes. He could observe Marwick’s outline through the open driver’s side window. A small geyser of hatred welled up inside Gabe’s throat, the image of the man who had beaten his son causing the hostile reaction.

The G-1 hovered for several minutes, all three of the men on the stage unsure what to do next. It was a showdown of inactivity.

Chip finally called his boss, unable to occupy his time with make-work chores. “I’m so sick of this. It’s driving me batty. I don’t care what we do, but let’s do something.”

“You’re just playing into his hand if you go out and confront him,” Gabe cautioned. “If I were in his shoes, that’s the move I’d be hoping for.”

“Okay, how about I go drive around? He’ll follow, and we can see how aggressive his mindset has become.”

“Where would you go?”

Chip was clearly getting agitated. “Just around. You know… a pleasant drive through North Houston. Hell… how am I supposed to know?”

Gabe realized that logic and rational behavior were quickly falling from favor. Both men fully aware that Marwick would like nothing more than to catch his prize out in the open, yet both of them were considering just such a move. It was the exhaustion that was making them rash, they were weary of the siege and demanding closure. No wonder people were constantly making stupid mistakes under pressure.

“No,” Gabe finally stated with a firm voice, unwilling to submit to stupidity. “We are not going to be the ones who fuck up. You are going to sit tight and wait him out, come hell or high water. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s tactically sound. Don’t let him win.”

Chip’s reply was interrupted by a tone indicating another call was coming in. “Hold on a second,” he informed Gabe, “Someone else is trying to call.”

After finding the right button to switch calls, Chip answered, “Hello.”

“Hello, this is Richard Sullivan from Central High School. I need to speak with Chip Denton, Manny’s father.”

The hairs instantly rose up on Chip’s neck, a call from his daughter’s school extremely rare. “This is he.”

“Mr. Denton, I’m a substitute gym teacher, and Manny has hurt her ankle,” the deep male voice advised. “She is on her way to the nurse’s office to have it checked out, but I wanted to give you a call and let you know of the injury. She may need to come home a little early today.”

Something didn’t mesh about the call. It took Chip a moment to figure out what the nagging, little voice inside him was saying. Manny wasn’t taking gym this year.

“I see, Mister… Or is it Coach? I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Sullivan,” came the unhesitating response.

The hairs on the back of Chip’s neck were standing on end, his mind racing with suspicious thoughts. “I almost didn’t pick up your call, sir. The caller ID was blocked.”

“I’m calling from my personal cell. The rest of the class is still outside right now, but I wanted to give you a heads up as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Sullivan, thank you. I was on another call, could I dial you right back?”

After the extended pause, Chip was certain whoever was on the other end had nothing to do with his kid’s education. “We’re going back inside shortly. I don’t think my phone works in the building. Besides, the nurse should be calling soon. From the looks of it, you might want to get her ankle x-rayed. Perhaps make plans for a quick ER visit.”

“I will do so, sir. Again, thanks for calling.”

Chip switched back to his boss, the urgency bleeding through in his voice. “You still there?”

“Yeah… I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about…”

Chip interrupted, “Is the G-1 still watching Marwick?”

“Sure, why?”

“Did he just make a phone call?”

Gabe got it immediately. “Hold on, let me rewind the video. I wasn’t paying attention.”

The sound of keyboard clacking came through the cell connection, Gabe obviously manipulating the buttons in quick succession. “Yes, he did. How did you know?”

Chip exhaled, relieved that Manny wasn’t hurt, pissed that Marwick would try such a stunt. “Because that son of a bitch just called me.”

After a quick recounting of the conversation, Gabe was amazed. “He is getting desperate. What do you want to do?”

“How much battery is left in the G-1?”

“Maybe 30 more minutes, give or take. The wind has picked up a little.”

“Is the G-3 ready?”

Gabe glanced over at the worktable and shook his head. “No. Not really. In an emergency, I might risk it.”

“Shit. That asshole just pretended to be a substitute teacher at the high school. He claimed that Manny injured herself and needs emergency care. He is forcing my hand, Gabe. I need a guardian angel on my shoulder…. I was going to drive to the school, pretending as if I wanted to check if Manny were okay. I wanted to find out what he was up to.”

“You don’t think 30 minutes is enough?” Gabe responded, redoing the math in his head.

“Who knows? If he runs me off the road, then maybe not.”

“The company pickup is still at your place. Why don’t you drive it? His sedan couldn’t do much against that heavier truck.”

“Now there’s an idea. It’s in the garage. Follow me.”

“Got it. Good luck,” Gabe said, the concern coming over the line.

A few moments later, Chip hit the electric garage door opener and then backed the pickup into the street. He hadn’t made it to the first stop sign before Gabe’s text buzzed on his phone. “He’s started his car. The G-1 is right with you.”

The school was only a few miles away, the route entirely comprised of surface streets with 40 mph limits. Chip wasn’t worried about the Gripen being able to keep up.

Twice he caught a glimpse of Marwick’s tail, the tan Impala hanging back a reasonable distance, weaving carefully through the snarled afternoon traffic. After a few stoplights, Chip turned into the massive, suburban high school’s parking lot, not surprised to find the visitor spaces completely full.

Big Jim was pleased, his scheme working perfectly. To begin with, he now knew who Chip Denton worked for, the license plate on the truck registered to one Jacob Industries, Incorporated. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that the suicide kid and the company employing his primary suspect shared the same name.

Secondly, he’d not only managed to flush the recluse out of his house, he’d convinced the guy to drive right into his trap.

Like most big city high schools, Central had its own police force. Consisting mostly of retired constables and HPD officers, the massive number of campuses and students had required the creation of an independent law enforcement department some years ago.