Book Five - Part Nine - Raging Evil: Chapter Six
London – 10:30 a.m.
A new store would open soon, three blocks east of Parliament Square in London. An oversized truck pulled up to what used to be Willis Tobacco Shoppe. But that would soon change.
Shelves and other materials were unloaded along with a brand-new sign: Touched By An Angel.
With the help of her two sons, she would open in two days and sales, as always, would be tremendous. But it was never about money. The money brought in took care of their basic necessities and nothing more. I was about sharing those special moments with people and leaving joy and contentment with the people.
In Angel Milton’s smock pocket was a plastic bag holding a locket of hair. She must never misplace or lose it until the evil was destroyed, just as she eviscerated the house of the Doll Maker and placed that woman Bethany, who she knows as Kiera, in a special place where she would never escape from.
That in itself, was the most demanding thing she had to do, knowing her long history with each other but it was way past the time to allow her to have the control on unsuspecting souls. Now, she will remain where she is until she withers and dies.
Meanwhile, Angel would do all she could to protect Baker. But even her far and wide reach may not be enough.
Milan – 12:30 p.m.
After checking into the Hilton Presiado, Tracey McPhearson unpacked his single suitcase, then opened his briefcase which held his laptop. He also looked at three other identities he would have to begin using which meant constructing three fresh faces,
Plugging it in the laptop, he connected immediately to the hotel’s satellite connection, then connected to his email.
Searching for twenty minutes, he found everything he needed on Lee Austin who almost caught him unaware. No one had ever sneaked up on him the way Austin did. That was unacceptable to Freddy. He would make certain that never happened again.
After he read through a ten-page document, he understood why this man had tried to kill him. Payback. Revenge. Cal it what you will. Because he killed his brother, Ricky.
He only killed the man’s brother and wife to speed things up. It hadn’t been personal, but this Lee Austin saw it that way. Freddy assumed he had the right to expedite things before the police arrived. But he also realized that perhaps this time he was wrong and he's rarely wrong.
Freddy, after much thought, decided not to kill him, providing after he sent him a direct warning to back off, or he would kill the remainder of his family. Through one of his many ghost emails, Freddy sent Lee Austin a message of intent.
He needed to get this Lee Austin contained.
Baker’s Office – 1:00 p.m.
As Lee Austin walked past her open office door, she looked at him, then at the clock.
“Not only does he go halfway around the world, but he’s also punctual as well.”
“I’m here, Lieutenant. Now what?”
“Mr. Austin, I think I know the real intention behind your permit to carry and your business license. So, let me make this very clear and easy for you to understand; going after Freddy is like trying to get to Mars in a Cessna. You can’t do it and survive.”
“I almost got him, Lieutenant.”
“Almost doesn’t count for anything except getting yourself killed. This is something you leave for us to handle, and the same applies for overseas authorities as well. Freddy is a trained professional killer.”
“I know all about Freddy. I know he’s been shot five times, or at least that’s the speculation. He’s human and humans make mistakes. I know he has a strong will to live, but a bullet between the eyes will kill that strength quick enough. Here, “ Lee reached inside his coat pocket and handed Baker a sheet of paper, “those names are the current ones he has been using, although by now he may have ditched them for new ones.”
She took the sheet without looking at the names and said, “At any time you leave this country to go on foreign soil that allows you to carry, I can’t stop you without good cause, but as sure as we sit here, you step out of line one time, even look at me cross-eyed, or piss up a rope, I will have you arrested, and you can believe this—I will have your permit and license revoked faster than you can say, what the hell.
“I get it, don’t get me wrong. You want revenge for what Freddy did to your brother and sister-in-law. But you can’t take the law into your own hands. If you do, that makes you no better than Freddy. You aren’t in the military any longer. You are a civilian and as such, you will follow civilian law. Let us do our job.
“So, are we on the same page, Mr. Austin?”
Lee locked eyes with her and wasn’t smiling.
“We are.”
Lee stood and walked out of her office.
Baker wasn’t smiling either.
Wagon Wheel Inn
8thand Masters – 2:46 p.m.
A call came in about a disturbance at the bar. Clauson and Banyard handled the call, or so they thought they would.
Once inside, they counted thirteen people, including the bartender. All but the bartender and a giant of a man, were at least eighty feet away from the two men and the bar which stood between them.
The bartender saw them walk in and screamed, “This guy’s been tearing my place apart! Arrest him!”
Clauson and Banyard saw the damage. Two tables with the legs snapped off, four broken chairs, and a pool table was overturned.
“Sir? Did you do all this damage yourself,” asked Banyard.
The large man looked at him, half-smiling and said, “You bet’cha I did. I gave that little bald-headed bastard a hundred-dollar bill, so I could have me a pitcher of beer and he gives me back five bucks and some change. Then I,”
“You gave me a ten-dollar bill, mister! How many times do I gotta tell you that.”
“Sir,” said Clauson, “calm down. And you,” he looked at the man well over seven-feet and close to three-fifty, “continue.”
“Well, I tell him what I gave him, and he called me a liar. That’s one thing I ain’t. That got me real mad, so I broke some stuff up. Way I see it, the rest of that hundred he kept, is paid for now.”
“Sir, I need to see some identification,” said Banyard.
“Name’s Kelly Nelson. I live in Canada, born in Ohio, but I’ve been living and working in Ottawa almost fourteen years.”
“I still need to see some ID.”
That was when Kelly became angry.
“What! You don’t believe me! My ID’s out in my truck for hell’s sake! How come I always have to be the one to take the heat! Screw this place, I’m leaving!”
Clauson and Banyard blocked his way, and Clauson was about to hit him with his taser, when Kelly grabbed Banyard and picked him up with one hand and threw him into Clauson. That was when he reached instead, for his radio. He watched as Kelly stormed out of the bar as he called for additional backup.
As Clauson and Banyard ran out onto the street, they spotted Kelly starting a dark blue Dodge Ram, but before he could pull away from the curb, Banyard fired four shots. Two in the left front tire and two in the left rear.
Kelly jumped out of his truck in an even bigger rage.
“They were damn near new tires! You guys crazy! You just cost me three hundred bucks!”
Without stopping he rushed at both of them, and both men hit him at the same time with their tasers just as two more units showed up.
Four officers raced to help as Kelly continued coming at Clauson and Banyard, not feeling the effect of the tasers, and had actually had both men dangling in the air with each hand and was about to throw them against a wall, when he felt the stinging blows from four other tasers. That was enough for him to release Clauson and Banyard, and physically knocked Kelly to his knees where he would be handcuffed.
They searched his pockets for any identification, weapons, or drugs but all they found was a five-dollar bill, some change, and a small roll of hundred-dollar bills. Thirty to be exact. Inside his truck, they did find his Canadian driver’s license, insurance, and ownership papers.
Clauson decided to go back to the bar. Banyard was assisted in helping Kelly into the backseat of the squad car. Clauson walked inside, then behind the bar and stared at the bartender.
“What is your name?”
“Jesse Stang.”
“Jesse, you, and I are going to play a quick game. It’s called give me the right answer and I won’t arrest you for theft.”
“Huh? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Remember Jesse. Right answers only count. First question. Is there a hundred-dollar bill in the register right now?”
“No.”
“If I open it up and look for myself, I won’t find one. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“If I search you, I won’t find a hundred-dollar bill on you, would I?”
“No, sir.”
“And if I said for you to hand me your tip jar next to the register and I dump everything out, I won’t find a hundred-dollar bill in there, will I?”
That was when he saw a nervous twitch flash across Jesse’s face as his eyes darted from the tip jar back to Clauson.
“No … sir.”
“Let’s have a look all the same. Bring it over here to the bar and dump out the money.”
Jesse started to reach for the jar, then stopped.
“Okay, I confess already. I hid the guy’s money in the jar. I thought he’d be too drunk to notice the difference.”
“You have one minute to call the owner of this place for me to talk to.”
Clauson turned and looked at the customers still in the bar.
“Show’s over. Go home. The Wheel’s closed for the time being.”
Jesse had the receiver stretched out across the bar. “His name is Walter.”
“Hello, Walter, this is Officer Clauson. I’m here at the Wagon Wheel which is a mess right now. You might want to call your insurance company.
“Oh, a customer got angry at your employee, Jesse Stang; accused him of being ripped off.
“He’s been detained, but Jesse is also being arrested for theft. The damage caused was indirectly due to Stang’s greed.
“No sir, I’m afraid I can’t wait for you to arrive. If I were you, Walter, I’d get here as quick as you can and have the insurance people meet you here. Anything else you might think you’ll need from us; you can come down to the stationhouse. Have a good day.”
Clauson hung up and had Jesse walk from behind the bar and handcuffed him. Then he walked behind the bar and grabbed the tip jar for evidence, and then marched Jesse outside.
The other two units were still there, and Clauson called out Merriman and Sykes and asked them to take Jesse in and put him in a holding cell. “And read him his rights on the way in.”
As the other units left, a groggy Kelly Nelson was starting to come back around.
“Man, what hit me?”
“A truck, a building, and about enough juice to light up a city block, that’s what.”