Chapter
4
Hotel
No-Tell
Seconds
later:
The
police vehicles surrounding the Monte Carlo had caused such a massive
traffic snarl that I had little to fear at this time from A.J., whose
car was stuck at least two blocks behind mine. Moreover, obstacles
such as trees and a Metro bus shelter prevented him from copying my
desperate act of driving on the sidewalk. Nevertheless, I kept a
vigilant watch in the rear-view mirrors.
Finally
turning the corner onto International Boulevard, I noticed the Monte Carlo's
wire wheels, which caused a shudder of recognition as
I relived the terror of the drive-by shooting outside Laverne's
apartment. Then I wondered why a blue tarp covered the driver's side
of the car - until the sight of the Medical Examiner's van answered
my question. I obtained grim satisfaction from that, tinged with
guilt because I was glad he was dead.
The
moment my car cleared the long line of emergency vehicles, I floored
the accelerator and wasted no time in covering the last half-mile to
the Hilton. While parked behind four cars that were waiting for
valet service at the hotel's front entrance, I frantically shoved the
shotgun back inside the duffel bag, which I then I tossed into the
trunk.
When
I got to the front of the line, the middle-aged parking valet looked
askance at my 1969 Camero with its spiderweb of cracks in the
windshield. Getting behind the wheel, he looked through the
windshield - or attempted to - and observed, “You must have a hard
time seeing anything at night.”
Slightly
embarrassed, I muttered, “Had a little accident just now.” I took
out my wallet and asked, “Say, do you know Tina at the front desk?”
His
eyes said “yes” but his reply was a non-committal
hemming-and-hawing: “Ahhh, well, you know. I'm not supposed
to give-out information about the staff or our guests.”
I
handed him a 20-dollar bill and said, “That's okay - I'm not
looking for information. Would you just let her know if you see a
green, late-model BMW pull up? That'll be her crazy ex-boyfriend,
and she wants nothing to do with him anymore. He's about 35, black -
”
“Oh
yeah, I think I know the guy you're talking about. Do you mean
A.J.?” Astonished by his reply, I nodded vigorously and slipped him
another 20. His mood brightening, he said with a sly wink, “Unlike
yourself, he's a real lousy tipper. I'll call the desk if I see
him.” Entering the clinically sterile lobby, I idly wondered how
often A.J. had come here in the past, being that the valet had
recalled him so readily.
Seeing
the weekend hustle and bustle of the lobby, I came to the conclusion
that Tina was as safe here as most anywhere else. When I got to the
front desk, Tina looked me over and said, “You look like hell,
Herc. What happened to your homely face? Did Angie claw you or
somethin'?”
Not
wanting to distract her from her hectic job, I merely replied, “No,
it's nothing, really. Hey, I told one of the valets to let you know
if A.J. shows up here.”
“We
already got it covered, Herc. Hotel security'll call the cops if
they see 'is ass.”
“Great
- then I just paid that parking lot scammer 40 bucks for basically
nothing. So, how much is this luxurious penthouse suite gonna set me
back?”
Abruptly
shifting to her smoothly officious mode, she replied, “Sir, since
you don't have a reservation, I'm afraid the penthouse suites are
unavailable tonight. However, we do have a nice room on the
10th-floor, with a spectacular view of the Sea-Tac control tower -
179-dollars, double occupancy.”
I
flopped a credit card down on the counter and grumbled, “Now I know
we'll only be staying here for one night.”
“Live
a little for a change, Herc.”
“After
all the shit that went down today, I'm glad to be living period.
Angie,
who had been caught in the same traffic jam as I, then came into the
lobby. She and I then went up to our room. After getting off the
crowded elevator, I told her what had just happened to me. “A.J.
just tried to kill me, Angie - on the way here.” Now all the
built-up fear and stress began pouring out, making my hands and knees
tremble all over again as I fumbled with the room key. “Today's
been fucking nuts - I wish we were a thousand miles away from here!”
Right
after entering the room, I dropped to the bed in exhaustion. Rubbing
my closed eyes, I then felt Angie cuddle-up next to me. “Denny,
you're shaking.” She put an arm around my chest. “It's okay
honey, everything will work out - it always does.”
“I
tried to do the right thing for once in my life, Angie, and look what
happened. That little girl could die, thanks to me,“ I
groaned.
She
hugged me tighter. “Come on, Denny, you know it's not your
fault.”
“I
was so naïve, going to the cops. I should have known better,
considering how they let this area turn into a fucking hell hole
since we moved here. Have you watched the news or read the paper
lately? From what I've seen, the Sheriff's
Department is the biggest criminal gang in the county.”
“Do
you think that vice cop told A.J. that you gave him information?”
“Jameson?
I thought he did, at first. But it could just as well have
been a civilian employee in the department with ties to A.J.'s gang -
a file clerk, secretary, whoever.”
“You
mean, like, a girlfriend or relative?”
Drowsily
I replied, “Yeah.” The radiating warmth of Angie's petit body was
very comforting and reassuring, so with a sigh, I immediately
dropped-off to sleep. About an hour later, the explosive brrrapp!
rat-a-tat-tat! of automatic-weapons fire awakened me with an
adrenaline-charged jolt. “What the fuck!” But it was merely the
movie Rambo: First Blood Part Two on television, at
full volume.
“Oh,
Den, I'm sorry! I just turned it on - I didn't realize it would be so
loud.”
I
stretched my arms and said with a yawn, “That's all right - I feel
a lot better now.” I then walked out onto the balcony for a minute
for some fresh air. Going back inside, I stopped short, staring at
the room and its contents in disbelief.
After
about 30 seconds of my standing unblinkingly like a statue, Angie sat
up in bed and asked, “Is there anything wrong, Den?”
“No,
I'm just admiring the place - nice, huh.”
She
reclined again and said, “Hell yes. And I love this giant bed,
like floating on a cloud.”
Viewing
the room from this angle, I was struck by the fact that it looked
much like the one where A.J. had made the sex tape with Marta and two
other underage girls, right down to the framed lithographed
watercolor of Mount Fuji. Of course, it probably wasn't the exact
room. It chilled me to consider the possibility that Tina had been
on duty when A.J. had somehow smuggled the three girls upstairs. The
tall, willowy, sophisticated Marta could effortlessly pass for 21,
thus she might have accompanied the other two girls in the hotel
without drawing undue attention from the busy staff or from the
hundreds of guests. Although his turning a hotel room into an
impromptu child porn studio was very risky, legally speaking,
utilizing any other location (such as an apartment) would have been
just as risky, or nearly so. Whichever way you slice it, sexual
predators are not known for having a brilliant decision-making
ability.
As
Rambo machine-gunned another dozen Vietnamese soldiers, I grabbed the
TV remote, muttering, “I'm not really in the mood for this right
now.” I clicked through the channels until my attention was seized
by a reporter standing in front of a multitude of flashing red and
blue lights. An on-screen graphic read: Live from Sea-Tac. I
exclaimed, “Angie, look! This is about that car they pulled-over
right down the street. They might even be the same scumbags who shot
that girl and destroyed our fucking house!”
The
reporter was saying: “...I'm standing at the intersection of
South 188th Street and International
Boulevard, where a suspect in this afternoon's shooting of an 8-year
old girl was allegedly shot and killed by Prince County deputies
during a traffic stop. The Sheriff's Public Affairs Officer is here
with me - Sergeant Flaherty, were any weapons fired by the suspect,
or found in the car?”
Flaherty
relied, “Yes, deputies discovered an Uzi-type weapon with a
30-round clip on the front seat.”
“Is
there evidence that the suspect fired at police officers?”
“That
information is being withheld pending the completion of the crime
scene investigators' report.”
“How
many officers were involved?”
“There
were two officers who discharged their weapons. As of now, they both
have been placed on administrative leave.”
While
watching the rest of the largely uninformative interview, I thought
again about the question I had first asked myself two hours ago: did
the sheriff's deputies kill the guy in order to silence him? Since
he had royally fucked-up by shooting a child, he was now expendable -
or so I imagined. One thing was certain: if he had
possessed first-hand knowledge about corruption in the Sheriff's
Office, he conveniently was no longer in a position to trade that
information in exchange for a lighter sentence.
Copyright 2014 by K.D. Bishop
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