Every Second

32

Dallas, Texas

Music hammered in the hallway.

Empty pizza boxes, beer cans and used napkins were strewn along the floor. Vulgar graffiti bled on the cracked walls near Unit 506 of the apartment complex in South Dallas.

This was Jerricko Titus Blaine’s most recent address.

From the command post across the street, Dallas FBI agent Trent Doyle trained his binoculars on Blaine’s unit. Colors and shadows flashed as someone inside moved from room to room.

One of Blaine’s associates?

Doyle rolled the focus wheel.

The Dallas Police Department had set up the outer perimeter and helped evacuate the building’s residents. Children clutched stuffed toys, and a white-haired woman grabbed her Bible as anxious tenants were escorted out of harm’s way to a park just beyond the perimeter set up with police tape.

The SWAT team, which had already studied the building’s floor plan, moved swiftly and quietly into position, forming the inner perimeter.

The music still pulsed from behind the door of apartment 506.

This part of Dallas generated a large number of police calls to the neighborhood every day. Over the past six years, five officers had been shot while executing warrants, as the FBI, backed by Dallas PD, was doing today. The five officers had survived, but it was just another reason why Doyle, like all others at the command post, was wearing body armor.

Slowly, he swung his binoculars toward the snipers on the adjacent building’s roof. There were others behind Dumpsters, cars, and in apartment units facing the target.

Inside the building, SWAT members had taken positions on the stairs leading up to Unit 506, and on the landing, the fire escape and the roof. Everyone was in place, whispering reports over their headsets above the thunder of the music.

Given that Blaine was suspected in an ongoing robbery-hostage-taking, the team poised for a no-knock, forced rapid entry. After a final round of radio checks, the commander gave the green light to his squad sergeant. A signal was relayed to the electricity company. Power was suddenly cut. The building became eerily silent, save for the distant yelp of a dog.

Within seconds, deafening flash-bang grenades smashed through windows and heavily armed SWAT members charged through the apartment door and the windows from the balcony, shouting orders to the man on the sofa.

“FBI! Get on the floor, now!”

SWAT members, guns drawn, forced him to the floor amid the smoke and chaos.

“Hey, what the hell’s this!” the man protested while on his stomach as his hands were cuffed behind him.

He was in his twenties. He wore a tie-dye T-shirt and torn jeans.

His wallet was yanked from his back pocket.

He was Eldon Luna, age 24, of Arlington, according to his Texas driver’s license.

“Hey, what the hell? You hurt my ears, assholes!”

The bathroom was checked, closets were checked; special equipment was used to scan the walls and ceiling for body mass. As the smoke from the grenades dissipated, the apartment was inspected two more times. The sound of metal against glass sounded as one agent tapped his weapon against a large rectangular tank in one corner.

“Damn! That a python?”

“It’s an Asiatic rock python.”

“You got a permit for it, Eldon?”

“It’s not mine.”

The squad leader radioed his commander, who alerted Doyle and the other agents that the apartment was cleared and declared safe.

By the time they’d entered, Eldon Luna had been placed back on the sofa where he remained handcuffed and under guard. While the other agents tugged on latex gloves and searched the unit, Doyle sat on the coffee table and faced Luna.

“Man, I think you dicks got the wrong place. I’m going to call a lawyer and I’m going to sue your asses off,” Luna said.

“Yes, you could do that from jail, Eldon, where we’re going to hold you for seventy-two hours. A lot can happen to you in jail in that time. Or…you can cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate? Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“Do you know Jerricko Titus Blaine?”

Luna said nothing.

Doyle leaned into his space.

“Do you want to sleep in a cell tonight?”

“No.”

“Answer the question.”

“Jerricko rents this place.”

“Where is Mr. Blaine?”

“What’s this about? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“Answer the question.”

“He’s out of town on business.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think again.”

“I really don’t know. He’s been away for a few weeks.”

“What’re you doing in his apartment, Eldon?”

“He’s letting me stay here because my old lady kicked me out.”

“How do you know him?”

“I met him at a computer science conference in Fort Worth.”

“Eldon, tell me what you know about the robbery.”

“What robbery?”

Doyle indicated the cell phone and laptop on the coffee table next to him.

“These yours?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve got warrants to search everything on the premises. I’m sure we’ll find all kinds of enlightening evidence once our people probe every aspect of your life.”

Luna looked fearfully at Doyle then the other agents.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think fast and you think hard. Things will go much better for you if you cooperate with us now. Later will be too late.”

“Think hard about what? I don’t even know what this is about!”

“Are you involved in the robbery in any way?”

“I don’t know anything about a robbery.”

“Did you help plot it?”

“What? Plot what?”

“How long have you lived here?”

“About a month.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Ask my ex-girlfriend, Karen. Karen McWhinney. She kicked me out a month ago. I’ll give you her number.”

“How did you come to live here?”

“After the conference, Jerricko and I hung out. He liked to talk about politics and we agreed that America had made some bad policy choices in the Middle East. We had some good talks, became friends. Then when Karen kicked me out, Jerricko invited me to live with him and Rose.”

“Rose?”

“His python.”

Doyle rubbed his hand over his face. This kid was running him in circles. “Tell me about Jerricko.”

“Easy to live with. He’s quiet, doesn’t like rock music. I respected that. He was always in his room on his computer. I could hear him talking to people online or over the phone.”

“Do you know who he talked to?”

“No. I’m not nosy-why should I know who he talks to?”

“What did they talk about?”

“I only heard parts. I wasn’t listening because it was none of my business. And usually I’m just listening to music on my headphones since he doesn’t like it, or watching a movie or something. His TV’s awesome.”

“Can you recall anything about the conversations you overheard?”

“Not much…”

“Did you ever hear Jerricko mention someone named Dan Fulton? Or anything about New York? Anything about a bank?”

Eldon shook his head.

“Anything about bombs?”

“Bombs? Hell, no. What’s going on?”

“Eldon, I need you to focus and tell me anything you did hear.”

“I heard some stuff about politics, the news, oppression and…stuff about nonbelievers, or something. But I wasn’t listening.”

Doyle was making notes.

“Anything else that sticks out? Anything that sounded strange?”

Luna shook his head, then stopped and bit his lip.

“Wait. There was one thing that was weird. The last time he called here to check in, he said that if anything happened to him he wanted me to take care of Rose.”