Unlucky 13

Chapter 12

Cindy was with Captain Patrick Lawrence in his office on West Washington Avenue, the Village of Cleveland PD.

The captain was a big, stocky man, about forty, with thick brown hair and florid skin. He was wearing a sling, recovering from a gunshot wound to the right arm from an accident at a gun show, where a one-chambered bullet went off.

Lawrence was on the phone with someone called Reilly, saying he couldn’t use a phone or his computer or even a pen, for Christ’s sake, and don’t even think of pulling a gun. He listened to Reilly for a few seconds, then laughed and said, “Yeah, my left hand works okay.”

Cindy looked around the office. She saw the shelf of Green Bay Packers bobble-heads, the marksman plaques on the wall, the photos of the captain with a twelve-point buck, and a family photo with a good-looking wife and four boys who looked like their dad.

Lawrence was saying, “I gotta go, Reilly, but thanks for your support.”

He hung up the phone and a turned to face Cindy.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “My brother-in-law was worried about me. Now, do I have this right? You’re a reporter from San Francisco and you have a line on a fugitive who was seen in my district?”

“She’s wanted for murder,” Cindy said. “Multiple murders.”

Lawrence said, “And the name of this fugitive?”

“Not so fast, Captain,” Cindy said. She smiled, showing that despite the ponytail and the pastels, she was a pro. “I want to help you catch this person, but I need something in return.”

“Christ, yeah. You want me to go out with you on a fishing expedition, and if we hook something you want an exclusive story. Something like that, Ms. Thomas?”

“Exactly like that, Captain. And if this is a fishing trip, we’re trawling for a Great White that’s been spotted in these waters.”

The captain grinned at her. Nice grin, actually.

“I can tell you’re a writer,” he said. “What’s the nature of your lead, Ms.—”

“Please call me Cindy.”

“Okay, Cindy. Explain what you know and spare me the bull, please. I got a limited number of people on my force and none of us are going anywhere until I verify this killer you say is around here.”

Cindy told the captain that the fugitive was wanted by the FBI and had been captured on videotape within thirty miles of Cleveland.

“I’m not going to name my source—not now, not ever. But I scoped out the location this morning, Captain. This fugitive has a small child. I saw a trike on the lawn.

“Maybe that’s nothing,” Cindy said, “but this house would make an excellent hiding place for this individual.”

The captain tapped his fingers on the desk and said, “Cindy, that’s just not enough. We can’t go out to some location where there might be a dangerous felon without doing our own scoping. Give me the address and let me do this right.

“I’ll send out some guys in unmarked cars, vans, whatever, see who is coming and going, do our due diligence, before we show up with guns blazing. You follow me?”

“I understand. And now I have to be clear, Captain. You want to catch this fugitive before she runs. You really do.”

“I hear you. Now give me the name. If there are warrants out, I’ll work something out with you. Do we have a deal?”

Cindy stuck out her hand and the Captain shook it with his good one. Cindy was spelling out “Mackenzie” when Captain Lawrence’s good hand paused over the keyboard.

“Mackie Morales. That’s Randy Fish’s woman.”

“Right. You know about Fish?”

“Went to school with him. He was always a little shit, but I underestimated him. He turned out to be one of the biggest turds to come out of this state in a hundred years.”

“He was ruthless and cunning,” Cindy said. “So is Morales.”

Captain Lawrence said, “I’m on board with you, Cindy. Tell me what you know.”