Cole Shoot Page 13

  “And so?” Erin said firmly.

  “And so, I called an old friend of Anthony’s from L.A.” Cole cleared his throat. “He is here and plans to get him back.”

  “Jenny! Be careful!”

  Cole jerked the phone away from his ear.

  “I’m sorry. Hold on a second,” Erin said at a well-above-normal level. “Haven’t I told you not to pour the big milk by yourself? Now look at the mess. I am right here. I would have poured it for you. You’re just not big enough, OK?” Erin sounded stressed. “Oh no!” She screamed.

  “Everything OK?” Cole asked.

  “No, Jenny dumped a gallon of milk and my sauce just boiled over!”

  “I’ll call back, sounds like you’re up to your neck,” Cole interrupted.

  “No, no, it’s fine, really,” Erin said unconvincingly.

  “I’ll catch you later, sweetheart. Hugs to Jenny.” Cole clicked off the phone before Erin could answer. She didn’t call back.

  Cole got out of the car and started down the street.

  * * *

  “Who did this?” Trick screamed. “Who disrespected us this way, our street, our community?”

  Trick paced the living room like a caged animal. Not a word was said by the FCBZ crew in the room. Some were hardly breathing. They knew when Trick was in such a blind rage anything was possible, and probable. A kind of madness over took him. He was inconsolable. It was better to leave him alone. Let him scream.

  No one went for the door, they all looked at it, they all wanted to leave, but no one dared. You very likely would get a bullet in the back.

  “If they think we will take this...” Trick’s thoughts drifted as he went to the window. “Right under our noses! Why didn’t one of you see this?” He turned and looked at each face in the room. “He thrust his hand, open palm, toward the window, “Right under our noses!” His screaming was beginning to bring a hoarseness to his voice.

  “Tomorrow! Tomorrow they will wish they were never born! We will hit them with everything we got. Every bullet will be spent filling their rat hole neighborhood with blood.” Trick was panting from the force of his screaming.

  Anthony listened from down the hall. He recognized out of control. Trick was two notches up the dial from totally gone. The rage he heard could bring anything. He feared the end was near. Maybe their strike out at the Norteños will get them all killed. Anthony gave a sad grin in the darkness at his wishful thinking.

  The reality was, he had no idea what kind of offense could light such burning rage in Trick. What had they done to him? Was it one of his crew? It has to be a massive insult. No successful retaliation could possibly come from such rage. Someone will be killed, or arrested. Anthony just hoped the former wouldn’t be him.

  As Trick ranted, and Anthony worried, Chuy stood in a shady, obscured spot across the street. He was dressed in a green and gold Oakland A’s sweatshirt and a pair of khaki walking shorts. His hair was pulled back in a short pony tail and covered with a green A’s beany. Chuy patiently stood, unnoticed, casually watching the tourists and the third story window of the building across the street.

  * * *

  As Cole drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, off to the west, fog was beginning to burn off. To his right, the city was awash in sunshine and the white caps on the bay sparkled. He meant to call Kelly. He wanted to call Kelly. Somehow it just didn’t feel right. As he headed north to Sausalito, his thoughts were on her smile and the welcoming hug he would receive at her door.

  The tide was out and the houseboats of Sausalito’s Richardson Bay sat low in their moorings. Some rested in the mud, and looked sad and abandoned. In an hour or so they would begin to ride high again and take on the charm and grace of their middle to high six-figure price tag.

  It felt strange to Cole to walk down the gangplank. The houseboat was a good three feet lower than normal. Then he realized he’d never been to Kelly’s at low tide. He hoped it wasn’t a harbinger of bad tidings.

  For a long moment Cole stood staring at the pattern on the front door. Before he could knock, he heard foot steps behind him.

  “Hey, what are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

  “Hi, I was just...”

  “Not passing by?” Kelly said sarcastically.

  “No. I needed to see you.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Does something have to be wrong for me to want to see you?”

  “There is if you show up without warning.” Kelly reached Cole and put her hand on the side of his arm. “Let’s go in.”

  Cole followed as Kelly unlocked the door and went in. He shrugged his shoulders at her back. No hug for me, he thought.

  He closed the door behind him and, as he turned, Kelly put her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his.

  “What’s a matter, sweetheart?” She whispered.

  “I need you to be the pin that the needle of my moral compass rests on.”

  Kelly stepped back from their embrace. She tilted her head and squinted slightly. “What’s going on Cole?”

  “I was so sure about my decision to call Luis and the guys from LA. Now I’m not. I’m really torn. I’m supposed to be the fighter for good, justice, equality, and all the things that separate us from the bad guys. Not join up the first time my back is against the wall.” Cole crossed the room and sat down hard in a chair next to the window. “On the other hand, I would be right there with them, if they’d have let me. Fighting to get Anthony out of danger. It’s driving me nuts.”

  “‘To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. In fact, both their minds and consciences are corrupted.’ Titus 1:15.” Kelly read from an open Bible on the counter. “I found that last night.”

  “So, what’s that make me?”

  “Torn. You know what’s right. You know what’s wrong. Kind of like oil and vinegar. They don’t mix well.”

  Out the window, a small skiff glided across the shallows. Kelly moved across the room to the chair across from Cole. They sat quietly looking out at the rising tide.

  Several minutes passed. Cole spoke without looking at Kelly, “What would you have done?”

  “You have been so many places, seen so many things that I can’t begin to imagine. Your values and perceptions are based on a life lived as a first hand observer of how terrible mankind can be. So, I have no idea what I would have done. I can assure you of this, if anything but the path you’ve taken would get Anthony killed, then I surely would have gotten him killed.”

  “How can you be with someone like me then?”

  “With you I feel safe. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Since I’ve known you, I have seen such growth in you spiritually and emotionally. You have shown me that your heart is where it should be. Are you perfect? Heaven’s no. But are you working on becoming a comforter to me and a man God is proud to call his own? Yes, I see it more every day.

  “I don’t think you know how much you mean to me, to Erin, even Ben has such an admiration for you.” A shifting of the houseboat and a loud creak gave her pause. “So, if you’re struggling with this decision, it’s no wonder. The thing that sets you apart from most people is that it is a struggle. Our human nature says, let’s go get him! Kill the bad guys! Our better nature says, there must be a better way. It’s our knowledge of God’s love that causes the struggle. There is a verse, in Romans I think, that says “Do not pay anyone back evil for evil, but focus your thoughts on what is right.”

  “We should get you a radio or TV show. You’re quite a preacher.” Cole smiled.

  “It not preaching. It’s love. It hurts me to see you so conflicted. It is my faith that has taught me that our ways aren’t God’s ways. I struggle too. I’m not being holier than thou.” Kelly sounded hurt.

  “That was a compliment. It didn’t come out quite right,” Cole offered.

  Kelly got up and sat across Cole’s lap, rested her head on his shoulde
r and put her arm around his neck. “How long can I hold you?

  “I need to be back by four.”

  They sat silent for a long while. The house boat continued to shift and groan as the water level continued to rise. Kelly gently stroked Cole’s cheek.

  “The worst will be over soon,” Cole said breaking the silence.

  “I hope so,” Kelly said, then kissed him softly.

  * * *

  As was his habit, Trick surrendered his rage to large amounts of weed and beer. His manic rage was self-medicated to the point of near unconsciousness. This, of course, was seen as license for the rest of the Fire Cracker Boyz to follow suit. Soon the insane screaming gave way to the heavy bass thump of thug-life hip hop and rap music.

  Beer runs were frequent and bags of Blue Velvet marijuana buds were brought from their hiding place to be opened and scattered on the table. The afternoon passed with no further outbursts. Around four o’clock, Trick stumbled to the couch in a smoky daze. Two guys on the couch moved quickly to get out of the way as Trick flopped down facing the back of the couch.

  No one in the front room gave a thought to the young man down the hall duct taped to a chair. Anthony closed his eyes in complete exhaustion a while after the music started. He fell into a deep hard sleep.

  The Fire Cracker crew played mahjong, sent text messages, sipped beer, smoked large quantities of bud, and wasted away the afternoon. The steady beat of the boom box lulled the third floor into a false sense of safety.

  THIRTEEN

  At three-thirty, Carlos, dressed in Giant’s orange and black from head to foot, took Chuy’s spot across from the FCBZ hangout. The alcove proved to be a perfect location to observe and not be noticed. The entry was so narrow that most people walked past without even seeing it. Chuy only moved aside for one old bent lady in the three hours he stood watch. He helped her open the door and get her small aluminum frame shopping cart through the door. Once through the door, she reached into a Knob Hill grocery bag and pulled out a cookie. She smiled and handed it to Chuy and went on her way.

  “Luis says we move at five,” Carlos said, as he slipped in the narrow space. “It will be almost dark by then. Has that space turned over?” he pointed at a white Honda parked in front of the building across the street.

  “Yeah, bunch of times.”

  “I’m supposed to discourage anyone from being there at five.”

  “I’ll be back in a second. I saw something that might help.”

  Five minutes later Chuy returned carrying three orange and yellow AT&T traffic cones.

  “How’s that?” Chuy said with a broad grin.

  “Oughta do it.” Carlos nodded.

  The two old friends fist-bumped and Chuy slipped into the crowd jamming the sidewalk.

  As the afternoon sun began to fade, so did the crowds. The white Honda was replaced three or four times, but at about a quarter to five, when a silver Lexus pulled away, Carlos casually made his way across the street and placed the traffic cones in the space. No one noticed.

  He positioned himself in front of the restaurant just south of the building he watched so diligently. Three times FCBZs left the building, one came back with a grocery bag, one with a twelve pack of Keystone, and the third guy hadn’t returned. None of them bothered to look up or down the block. Carlos went unnoticed.

  At five o’clock on the dot, the old green Corolla rolled up the street. Carlos removed the cones and Chuy parked. No one got out, but Carlos climbed into the back seat.

  “See anything?” Luis inquired.

  “Nothing really. Lot of people buying crap for their next garage sale.”

  “We’ll just sit here until it gets a bit darker. Juan, let me see your phone.”

  Luis put in a number from memory. “Sage? Are you at work? We will come see you in the next hour. I’ll call you when we leave.” Luis handed the phone back to Juan. “I don’t know how to turn it off.”

  “Red button.”

  The four men sat in silence. Chuy closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Carlos and Juan looked out the windows and watched the lights start to come on along the street. Luis stared straight ahead, motionless.

  The few people on the street seemed to be either looking for a place to eat or heading for their car. A very stiff man in a long sleeve shirt and navy blue tie turned off the lights and locked the door of the jade jewelry shop on the ground floor of the building. The Corolla sat in darkness.

  It was nearly six o’clock when Luis jerked his head from side to side, popping his neck. He stretched his arms out in front of him and groaned.

  “Let’s get this thing done. Chuy, you open the trunk. Listen, I don’t want anybody dead on purpose. Beat the shit out of them. Knock their heads off, but don’t kill ‘em, you got me? If we step in it worse than we think, they start shooting, Juan, Carlos let ‘em have it. I prefer knees. If you got to take ‘em out, well,” Luis shrugged. “You make the call. We got the surprise thing on our side. Hit ‘em, hit ‘em real hard. Let’s hope we break something and they don’t get up. Once inside, I’ll find Whisper.”

  A young couple, wearing matching Carmel by the Sea sweatshirts pushing a stroller, leisurely passed by the car.

  “OK,” Luis said calmly.

  Chuy crossed himself and got out of the car. Once out of the car, Luis moved to the building’s upstairs entrance. Juan and Carlos each took a baseball bat from the trunk of the car. They all moved quickly, quietly, and with purpose.

  Luis tried the door and it was locked. Chuy stepped forward and took a small black crow bar from his waist band. He slipped it into the door casing just behind the battered doorknob. With a combination of a quick jerk and a shove of his shoulder the door popped open. He turned and grinned at the others. They moved inside and closed the door behind them.

  Luis moved quietly up four or five steps. The men stood and listened for movement upstairs. Luis pointed at the light fixture overhead and gave an across-the-throat cutting movement with the side of his hand. Carlos glanced around and, finding the light switch, cast the stairs into partial darkness.

  As the group approached the first landing, the sound of a door closing came from one of the floors above. The four men pressed against the wall. Rapid footsteps descended the stairs. Strobe-like shadows flashed across the second floor landing and down the stairwell. Luis reached over to where Chuy stood and took his baseball bat.

  The footsteps reached the second floor landing. The wall sconce cast an amber tinted light on the face of a young Chinese runner wearing an FCBZ cap and a white t-shirt. Without stopping he continued his rapid decent. On the first floor landing, the young man stopped for a couple seconds and felt the wall for a light switch. Not finding one, he continued to the ground floor. A regrettable decision.

  He was nearly on top of Luis before he sensed his presence. It was too late. In one fast, brutal movement Luis spun the runner around. One sinewy hand on each end of the bat, Luis pushed it cross the runner’s throat, cutting off his air and slamming his head hard against the wall, knocking off his FCBZ cap.

  Luis leaned in within inches of his captive’s ear, “Where is the one you guys are holding?”

  A hoarse garble of profanity came from the Asian’s mouth. Luis shoved his thumb inside the runner’s mouth and pulled his cheek hard to the left, his head followed. Luis brought the bat down hard on his collar bone, a stomach-turning crack filled the darkened stair well. In an instant the bat pinned the groaning runner back against the wall. Luis whispered once again, “The next one will crush your skull. Where is my friend kept?”

  “Back room. Down the hall,” The runner gasped.

  “Thank you,” Luis said softly pulling the bat from the young man’s throat.

  The runner grabbed his throat and doubled over. Luis came down hard on the back of his head. He went limp. Chuy rolled him down the stairs with the tip of his heavy steel-toed work boot. Carlos pushed the motionless body tightly against the door.

  “Remembe
r he’s there on the way out,” Juan said quietly.

  The first floor was lit only by a sconce on the landing and a small fixture on the celling half way up the hallway. All the doors that were visible bore the names of businesses painted in English and Chinese. The second floor appeared to be empty. Most of the doors stood open. Empty boxes and trash cluttered the hallway.

  The third floor landing benefited from a shaft of light coming off the back of a hotel sign through the window at the end of the hall. There were only four doors on this floor. From watching the windows from below, the crew from L.A. knew the apartment they were looking for was the first door on the left.

  The thump, thump, thump of Hip Hop seemed to move the peeling chocolate brown door in and out like the cone on a speaker. Chuy stood on the right side of the door. Luis on the left. Carlos and Juan stood to the side. As he moved to the center of the door, Luis turned, and in an uncharacteristic moment of affection, winked at Carlos.

  Luis nodded at Chuy, and handed him back his bat, then took a step backwards. Then, with an incredibly forceful blow, kicked the door wide open.

  “Joder a los bastardos!” Luis screamed as the four men rushed through the door.

  Chuy swung hard and hit the first guy he came to across the jaw with the bat. He went down. Two FCBZ were still sitting at the table, blunts in hand, as Juan hit one across the top of his arm crushing his humerus. His friend watched in stoned disbelief as Juan drove the bat through his shoulder joint. Both men collapsed on the floor screaming.

  A shiny, chrome box cutter slashed three deep cuts across a white t-shirt as Luis nearly eviscerated the first FCBZ in his line of sight. The shirt turned to scarlet as its owner just stood, mouth agape, looking down in horror.

  The pock-marked thug that Cole encountered on his trip into Chinatown stood with his back to the window. In what seemed like slow motion, he pulled a 9mm automatic from his waist band and racked a round into the chamber as Carlos watched from just inside the door.