Stranger in the Night (16 page)

Reaching for her father, the girl babbled in her native tongue for a moment. Then she seemed to remember where she was. She put both hands on Liz’s face to draw her attention.

“What happened to Virtue?” she demanded. Sobs tangled her words. “Why is my brother on the ground?”

“The doctors are helping him. They’re taking good care of him.”

“Did he get hurt?”

“Yes, but maybe not too much. I hope not.”

“Why is my father shouting? Why are you crying? I’m afraid!”

“Put your arms around my neck, sweetheart. Can you feel how tightly I’m holding you? Don’t be scared, Charity.”

“I want my mama!” She began to wail. “I want my mama! Mamaaaa!”

Liz swung around, searching for Mary. The woman was no longer by the door. The police moved about in the street, cordoning off the area in front of Haven. Several were talking to witnesses. But Mary? Had she bolted inside right after the shooting? Did she even know what had happened to her stepson?

“Let’s go find Mary,” Liz whispered to Charity. “She can make some tea for you and your father.”

“No! No, I want my mamaaaa!”

A stretcher lay near the spot where Virtue had fallen. Now the EMTs lifted the little boy onto it. Someone carried an IV drip overhead. In a quick, synchronized motion, they headed toward the open ambulance door.

Stephen danced alongside the stretcher, calling out, trying to reach between the medics to touch his son. Someone moved to him and caught his shoulders. Terell Roberts. The taller man drew Stephen aside.

Joshua remained on the ground where Virtue had fallen.
Now Liz realized that a couple of medics were working on him. Heart in her throat, she set Charity down, took the girl’s hand and hurried toward the cluster of men.

“Joshua?” She saw they were dabbing at blood on his arm. “Joshua, are you hurt?”

He looked up, his face ashen. “Go with the ambulance, Liz. Take Stephen. Make sure that boy lives!”

“What about you?”

“Those bullets were meant for me. One grazed my arm, but it’s nothing.” He swallowed as a medic began to blot his forearm. “It’s the kid who was shot. Virtue. Someone else, too. Maybe one of my boys. From here it looks like Raydell. Duke’s running around loose. I’ve got to get to that kid before they take him away. Liz, call me from the hospital.”

“I’m not leaving you, Joshua. Don’t ask me to leave your side.”

“Do this for me. Please, Liz, go with the boy.”

On an impulse, she knelt and kissed him. Then, taking Charity’s hand again, Liz hurried away to follow a little Pagandan boy whose five years of life had known far too much tragedy.

“A
re you following the violence?” Daniel Ransom asked Joshua. “Or is it following you?”

“What are you implying, Sergeant?” Joshua fixed his focus on Ransom. The two men stood just inside the hospital’s emergency room door. Far enough from the other visitors for a private conversation. Or a confrontation.

“Since you arrived in St. Louis, I’ve responded to two emergency calls at Haven,” Ransom said. “At both, you were the man closest to a bleeding victim.”

Joshua bristled. “I resent the implication in that statement, Sergeant. In my military service I was often obliged to step into a conflict. But I don’t cause problems. I solve them.”

“Truce, Duff. I’m ex-army myself.” Ransom’s squared shoulders sagged as he let out a breath. “This gang situation is getting out of hand, and my men are outnumbered. The Hypes have introduced a new set of variables into the equation, and frankly the department is on the defensive.”

“And I’m trying to help my friends defend Haven against Mo Ded. We’re on the same side.”

“I know that. You’ve given me the car’s make and model. We got a good description of the driver and the backseat shooter. The gun wasn’t much—a small-caliber weapon. Ballistics is studying the casings we took off the street. Did you notice anything else? Anyone on the scene? A clue as to why this action on this day?”

Joshua held his tongue for a moment as he assessed the situation. In the waiting room, Liz Wallace was seated with Stephen and Mary Rudi. Thumb in her mouth, little Charity had curled onto Liz’s lap. Sam was pacing, waiting for his fiancée to arrive. Terell had stayed at Haven to clear the construction site and shut the place down for the rest of the day.

Virtue had not yet come out of surgery. A doctor had stepped out to report that a single bullet had entered and exited the boy’s abdomen. Bleeding was controlled and vital signs were stable. No broken bones. But only the exploratory surgery would reveal the extent of Virtue’s injuries.

Like Joshua, whose disinfected and sutured forearm throbbed, Raydell Watson now bore a mark of combat. A single round had slammed through his left hand, shattering a bone. Joshua knew the injury would garner the youth a generous dose of the admiration and respect he craved. Sporting a bright white cast, he had gone home.

“I can give you information,” Joshua told the police sergeant. “You want the obvious? Or the theory?”

Ransom’s eyebrows rose. “Let’s start with the obvious. This was a Hype move. A reaction to Haven’s expansion plans. What else?”

“When the spare lot began to fill with Haven’s workers, Mo Ded stationed twelve men across the street. They came out three at a time, talking on their phones, taking orders from their shot
caller. Moments before the drive-by, two Crips entered the set. Not sure how they fit. Four of my people stood guard. Not enough. My fault. I hadn’t anticipated that level of force.”

“You think Mo Ded was onto you?”

“He knew everything. Mo Ded had the time of the work party, the number of guards we put out, the extent of our preparation. Within minutes, his men were taking up their positions. When the two Crips walked into the picture, it threw my boys off their game. They’re barely trained, and the sight of both gangs moving into Haven territory spooked them. The minute we lost our concentration, Mo Ded initiated the attack.”

“The drive-by car. You’re saying he’s that savvy?”

“Mo Ded is a smart guy. But someone at Haven is tipping him off. I don’t know if we’ve got a snitch or if it’s innocent stuff the kids have let drift out onto the streets. There was no way to keep my work a secret.”

“You actually trained some of Haven’s boys?”

Joshua had to chuckle. “Not sure I’d call it training. We talked about strategy, how to stay alert, what to watch for, methods of defense. A few hours of my time, that’s all.”

“Mo Ded’s people aren’t a whole lot better off, or they’d have hit their target.”

“Me.”

At this acknowledgment, Joshua glanced at Liz. Her brown eyes were locked on him. He had no doubt this event had affected her deeply. Her feelings for him would be impacted. But in what way? He couldn’t guess.

“Mo Ded knows I’ve been sniffing his trail,” Joshua admitted. “He may even know a little of my background, my expertise. But he can’t have a lot of information.”

“I heard he got his hands on your phone.”

This news surprised Joshua. “Who told you that?”

“Liz.”

The two men assessed each other. Joshua realized Ransom was baiting him. The police officer clearly understood there was some kind of relationship between the refugee worker and the ex-Marine. And he was no more immune to Liz than Joshua.

Ransom wanted it known that he and Liz had talked to each other apart from official settings such as the task force meeting. That Liz had shared private information with him. That if Joshua wasn’t very careful with her heart, another man was ready to step in.

“So, you’re tracking Mo Ded,” Ransom said, returning the conversation to its original focus. “I’m not surprised Sam and Terell asked you to help. Put your skills to use.”

“I’ve done a little digging. Canvassed the area. Talked to anyone who would open up. The Hypes are not welcome in the hood, so the older folks will tell what they know. It’s not much.”

“What can you give me?”

“He showed up in St. Louis this past spring. Some say he’s from Detroit, others Chicago. Cocky. Mouthy. Disrespectful. But he’s smart—they all acknowledge that. Right away, he began drawing in the misfits. Anyone who couldn’t make it in other gangs heard about the Hypes and found Mo Ded. He welcomes the disabled, the scrawny, the multiracial, the eccentrics, even the nerds. You saw him at Podunk’s, right? He’s a mixed bag himself. Some Asian, maybe a little black and Hispanic. Definitely a big shot of Caucasian. Green eyes, light brown skin, pockmarks. Weird hair and bad teeth.”

“Don’t forget the smell.” Liz stepped up to the entry area where the two men had been talking. Joshua looked over her shoulder to see that Charity had fallen asleep on Stephen Rudi’s lap.

Liz shuddered. “I will always remember how bad that guy smelled. Body odor, but something else, too.”

“Meth,” Ransom said. He glanced at Joshua. “But I guess you know.”

Joshua didn’t know. “Meth smells like cat urine?”

“Or worse. Mo Ded isn’t just dealing the stuff. He’s cooking it. But we don’t know where he set up his kitchen. Could be a traveling lab—all the equipment will fit in the trunk of a car.”

“If he’s cooking, is he using?”

“His bad teeth would suggest that. But if he is, he’s dumber than we give him credit for. Ice cooks who use don’t last very long.”

“That guy gave me the creeps.” Liz edged closer to Joshua as she spoke.

At the gesture, gratitude and relief flooded his chest. He slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“So, Mo Ded is cooking and selling methamphetamine,” Joshua recapped as he drew Liz against him. “He has assembled a motley crew. Done a little training. Armed his boys with peashooters. And now he’s determined to rule St. Louis? Seems far-fetched.”

“We thought so, too.” Ransom paused, studying the surroundings for a moment before he spoke again. He lowered his voice. “Over the weekend, my men brought in some disturbing information. We’d been hearing rumors that the Hypes may be facilitating the movement of heavier arms. Serious firepower. Now there’s talk that Mo Ded has his hands on a Claymore.”

“In St. Louis?” Joshua could hardly credit this possibility.

“What’s a Claymore?” Liz asked.

“A directional antipersonnel mine,” Joshua explained. “It was originally a U. S. military weapon, but other countries have them now. In Afghanistan, we saw Soviet versions. A Claymore is a rectangular device in an olive-green plastic case. Looks like an oversize camera—even has a sight window. Comes with short scissor legs, kind of like a tripod. It can be detonated by a signal from a distance or by trip wire. There’s also a time-delayed mode. Fires shrapnel—seven hundred steel balls—across a sixty-degree horizontal arc. Up to a hundred feet for maximum casualties.”

Her brow furrowed at the image. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

“In wartime,” Joshua said, “a Claymore is an anti-infiltration device against enemy infantry. It can be pretty successful against soft-skinned vehicles, too.”

He studied the police officer. Ransom’s expression told him the seriousness of this situation.

“But the truth is,” Joshua told Liz, “the Claymore mine is used primarily for ambush.”

“Ambush? Who would the Hypes want to…” Her words drifted off as she, too, focused on the policeman.

“A Claymore is especially effective,” Joshua added, “because it can be directionally sighted to provide fragmentation over a specific area.”

Ransom made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “In layman’s terms, there’s a peephole in the thing. You can set it up, angle it just the way you want and detonate it from a distance. You don’t have to rely on your enemy to stumble across it by chance.”

“If the opposition comes within range of the Claymore,” Joshua continued, “all you do is trigger it. I’m not crazy about that mine, though. The thing is unstable. The electrical firing device isn’t safe. Premature detonation has been a big problem. We didn’t like to use them.”

“Evidently Mo Ded disagrees.” Ransom hooked his hands in his pockets and gazed through the emergency room doors into the night. “If it’s true…if he’s got a Claymore mine…if he intends to use it for himself rather than selling it…then we’ve got serious trouble.”

Joshua knew the officer was right. Without much difficulty, Mo Ded could set up a disturbance to draw police into an ambush, and then inflict major casualties. “Do you think your source is reliable?” he asked.

“Hard to say. Either way, it’s bad. Trouble is, we don’t have the manpower to focus all our attention on the Hypes. You were both at the task force meeting. My people are doing all we can to combat gang activity. Not just us—the city, schools, parents, churches. But how do you go up against a Claymore?”

Joshua bent his head, thinking. “I’m not confident you’ve got your information right, Sergeant. A Claymore won’t be floating around for sale just anywhere. You can’t pick one up at an army surplus store. Mo Ded would need major connections to get his hands on that kind of firepower. Not to mention a boatload of cash.”

“He’s got cash.”

“You told me meth was a white man’s drug. How can Mo Ded be moving that much of the stuff in downtown St. Louis? I’ve had my eyes open since I got here. I don’t see a lot of Caucasians hanging around on street corners doing drug deals with guys in purple do-rags.”

“He’s taking it out of the area into places where he can maximize sales. But the city is a great location for him. Mo Ded uses his gangbangers to buy one of the main ingredients—the decongestant chemical in cold medications. Missouri has strict controls on the sale of that stuff now. Most of it stays behind the counter at pharmacies. But Mo Ded has a whole army of innocent-looking, bony misfits—some of them girls—that he can send around the city to do his buying. No pharmacist would suspect a kid like that to be packing a gun or communicating with his shotcaller by Bluetooth. But it’s becoming a major operation.”

Joshua studied the police sergeant. The man’s uncomfortable focus on the darkness outside the emergency room door told him there was more to this story. Something Ransom had not yet disclosed.

If the cops needed to keep certain aspects of their investiga
tion a secret, he could understand. But if they wanted his help, they would have to trust him.

“This cash Mo Ded’s got his hands on—it’s not just coming from the sale of meth. He has another source, right? There’s something else going down here.” He saw Ransom’s eyes widen slightly. “You planning to let me in on that?”

Ransom glanced at Liz, then looked at Joshua again. “I hear you’re leaving town in a couple of days.”

“I’ll be here till Saturday.”

“So, you’re not much good to me, are you, Duff? I’ve told you my men are up to our ears in this gang business. Even with all the civic groups pulling together on the task force, we need help. Expertise. With your training and experience, you might turn the corner for us. I believe we could even bring Mo Ded down.”

“But not if I’m in West Texas. I hear you, Ransom.”

The officer blew out a breath as he shook his head. “Look at you, man. Standing there. You know exactly how to crack a terrorist cell, don’t you? You know how to ask the right questions, be in the right places, hunt down the right people. You’ve got everything we need locked up inside your brain. You’ve got the physical fitness to do the job. And you’ve got the best woman around standing by your side. But you’re planning to fly off to Texas—and let my men walk right into the fragmentation zone of a Claymore mine.”

With a contemptuous grunt, Ransom nodded to Liz and walked through the sliding-glass doors of the emergency room. Joshua started after him, but a commotion in the visitors’ area drew his attention.

A doctor had stepped into the room. Stephen Rudi leaped to his feet. Charity woke with a cry as her father hefted her against his chest. Liz pulled away from Joshua’s side. He followed.