Angels & Imperfections

  Chapter 20

   

  “Sergeant Jacobs here, what can I do for you?”

  “Sergeant, my name is John Wesley Tucker. I’m a Private Investigator here in Tyler. Your name was given to me by your LT. He suggested you might be able to bring me up to speed on a runaway I’m looking for.”

  “OK. What is the subject’s name, sex and age?”

  “Her name is Lori Murphy, she’s just turned sixteen. About three months ago she ran away with her boyfriend. His name is Orlando Cruz. Her parents contacted your department about ten days ago, as soon as they learned of her whereabouts.”

  I could hear fingers flying over computer keys.

  “Yeah, OK, here it is. We have a BOLO on her. Nothing reported so far. What can I do for you?”

  “Have you, or can you crosscheck for ‘Jane Does’ at the morgue.”

  I could hear her fingers flying again, behind her voice.

  “I can tell you… there is no Jane Doe matching her description, in either the Dallas County or the Tarrant County morgues.”

  That was a relief.

  “Do you have any other information I might find useful?”

  “Not really, Mr. Tucker. These girls drift from one area to another. They change their appearance. They get hooked on drugs. Unless we pick her up on drug charges or a soliciting for prostitution charge, we probably won’t find her.”

  “I’ll be coming to Dallas to find her, and return her to her parents. I’m just giving y’all a ‘heads up’ notice.”

   

  It took me several hours of research, but I found an address for Orlando Cruz. Apparently he didn’t feel any need to hide his identity or his whereabouts.

  Because I didn’t want to be tailed to and from Dallas by a big black SUV, I rented a car for the trip. It was an ugly, little, economy car, with New York license plates. I got the extra insurance.

   

  Orlando and Lori ‘lived’ in a ratty, little apartment complex in south Oak Cliff, a Dallas suburb.

  At about 2:30 the next morning, I was waiting for them when they got in.

  I had already had a little run-in with the local thugs. After knocking on the door of apartment 221, at about midnight, I was sitting at the top of the stairs on the second floor of the apartment building. Some young guys, who were built like football linemen, but dressed like hip hop artists, took exception to my presence. They indicated they intended to cause me some level of personal discomfort. It was prevented from escalating into a big scene, by me showing them my old DHS credentials and my .45. The credentials were outdated, the .45 wasn’t. I held the high ground, so although there were a lot of harsh words and hand signals, and one of them showed me his gun, they shuffled away acting tough, a couple of them holding their pants up by the crotch, with one hand.

  I continued waiting on the grungy second floor. Most of the families in the building had gone to bed. I knew the thugs were around and probably watching me, but they didn’t feel lucky enough to push the point.

  I had just decided to come back in daylight, when an old beaten up, green, two door sedan drove into the parking lot. I eased back into the deep shadows at the end of the building. Someone had broken out the security light.

  Shortly, Orlando and Lori came staggering up the stairs. It took Orlando a full minute to get the key into the lock and the door open. Apparently the lock kept swimming out of his reach. He and Lori managed to get through the door opening without falling. They didn’t see me coming. I walked in right behind Lori. The stink in there was nearly overpowering.

  I didn’t wait. I hit Orlando with a flat leather sap I was carrying in my pocket. He went down and out, as if someone had let all the air out of him. Lori just stood there staring. She had a kind of vacant look.

  Frisking Orlando, in a pocket I found three hundred dollars, all in tens and twenties. He also had a cheap switchblade and a J-frame, .38 revolver. I stuck the gun behind my waistband and put the knife and cash in my pocket. I grabbed Lori by the arm and directed her out the door and down the stairs. She didn’t resist. It was as if she was used to being pushed and pulled around. We went to the car and I got her buckled into the passenger seat. I had almost made it around to the driver’s side, when the band of hip hop linemen showed up again.

  There were five of them. One had a baseball bat and another was swinging a golf club, so maybe they really were athletes.

  “Where you takin’ da bitch? The spokesman asked. He had a grill of gold over his front teeth. I think one of those teeth had a diamond in it.

  I had seen them coming, so I had the roll of money in my hand.

  “We’re going for a drive if that’s cool with you.”

  “Hell man, you ain’t no kinda fed, that ain’t no police car, and you ain’t goin nowhere,” another one said.

  I held up the roll of money.

  “There’s three hundred dollars here, I expect it’ll pay the toll.”

  I handed the first speaker the roll of money. The attention of the others was drawn to the bills as he started counting it. I took the opportunity to duck into the driver’s seat, real quick like. As I started the car, one of them jerked my door open.

  “You ain’t goin nowhere mo…” he stopped speaking, because he was looking into the muzzle of my .45.

  “Step off, or the last thing you ever hear will be a real loud noise, and then the rest of us will all start shooting each other.”

  He took a step back. They were all poised to attack.

  I managed to shift the car into reverse without letting go of my gun, but I had to look away from them for a second to do it. ‘Grill boy’ pulled a gun out of his pants, as the two ‘sportsmen’ started pounding on the car with the bat and the golf club. The windshield on Lori’s side was smashed and crazed, as I stepped on the gas and shot backwards out from between them, managing to turn the car and accelerate backwards toward the street. Gun fire erupted as two or three of them fired rapid shots at us. In the middle of the street now, I turned and continued accelerating backward away from the apartment building. They came running out into the street, and poured gunfire at us. I heard the occasional bullet hit the car. Within seconds, we were three blocks away. I whipped the car around and took off fast, grateful they had not managed to shoot out the tires.

  I looked over at Lori, concerned she might have been shot. She looked terribly frightened now, but did not appear to be bleeding. A couple of blocks later, I came to a well-lit gas station and pulled in. I jumped out and ran around to the passenger side, pulled open the door and confirmed that Lori had not been hit. Neither had I.

  The car was another story. I could see around and between the cracks in the windshield, but only on my side. The passenger side of the windshield was nearly bashed in and was completely shattered. There was a single bullet hole in it, up high. The driver side headlight was shot out. The side windows were crazed and shattered and there was glass all over the back seat. There were bullet holes high in the driver’s side quarter panels and there were bashes and dents from the bat and the golf club.

  I was as amazed the car was still running, as I was that we were alive. It was grace and mercy for us; those guys were just firing wildly and not aiming. Otherwise, I would surely be dead and Lori might be as well. As I walked around the car, only nine bullet holes could be counted. Some bullets had passed right through the car, doing a lot of body damage. A couple had ricocheted through the roof and the back seat. Other than the one headlight, they had failed to hit the radiator or anything else vital, not even a tire. They must have fired at least twenty five rounds between them.

  I jumped back in the car and took off. I knew there was a pretty good chance they would pursue me in their own vehicle. I was surprised I could hear no sirens or see any cops yet.

  A couple of minutes later, we drove onto I-20 and headed east. As I went under an overpass, I saw the flashing blue and red lights of police cars, flying by overhead. I kept going. Looking at my watch,
I was astonished to see less than four minutes had passed since I had put Lori in the passenger seat. Adrenaline had slowed the rest of the world down.

   

  I cursed myself for a fool. I had nearly gotten myself and Lori killed. What was I thinking? This could have been handled differently.

  It would be a long drive to Tyler, and I was experiencing the let-down of the adrenaline wearing off. I was getting dangerously sleepy, having to force myself to remain alert.

  I couldn’t stop checking the rear-view mirror.