The Green Line (31 page)

The man pounded again. “Yo, blondie. I seen your car out front. I know it’s you. Open up.”

Trip didn’t respond. He didn’t recognize the voice or the man. He’d busted hundreds of guys that looked just like this over the years. He stepped back from the door, unsure what to do.

The man continued and his voice got softer. He was leaning in like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone else. “I saw you man. I saw you with Delia. I know what you did.”

Trip froze. Someone else he needed to deal with. The man didn’t wait for a response. He was speaking close to the door, in a hushed tone. “I don’t give a shit, man. I just need a favor. I need a little action, man. Delia told me you liked to party. I’m shaking out here.”

He looked around the room. And then he couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was almost too perfect. Trip opened the door with his gun drawn. The man entered with hands raised and looked over at the drugs on the table. A big grin swept over his face. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

Abby yelled “Help!” from the bathroom. The man lunged at Trip, an elbow to the nose, and went for his gun. Trip kneed him in the groin and pointed the barrel into the man’s temple. He fell back slightly, and Trip was able to point it at his face, but then the man kicked his kneecap and Trip stumbled. His hand knocked the table and the gun flew. It landed by the foot of the bed, near the bathroom door. The man went for it. Trip grabbed the lamp next to him and smashed it over the man’s head. The man fell to his hands and knees. Blood began seeping out of a two-inch gash in the back of his head. Trip kicked him hard then in his side. The man was barely conscious. Trip kicked him again. The man rolled onto his back. His eyes were closed. Trip kicked again, this time his head, and ran to the gun. The bathroom door opened slightly. He pointed the gun at the man’s chest and pulled the trigger. A slight
ping
exploded from the silencer. Abby screamed and slammed the door.

Trip wiped the sweat from his brow and caught his breath. His kneecap was throbbing. His nose felt broken. He wiped his face. There was blood all over his glove. “Abby,” he began again, patience fried, “get the fuck out here or I’m busting in.” There was no response. He moved to the bathroom door and gave it a small kick with his good leg. He felt the weight of her body against the cheap hollow door. Abby begged him to stop.

He kicked the door again, harder this time. His leg went straight through the door. He bent over and looked through the hole. Abby was standing against the sink. He reached through the hole for the handle but she kicked and smashed his fingers. “
Fuck
!” He pulled back. He quickly reached through the hole with the other hand and unlocked the door.

He was in. He pulled her out by the arm. She stumbled as he dragged her past the man on the ground.

“You saw that, huh? Dumb fuck never even saw it coming.” He pulled her to the bed and threw her down. “Now I’ve got a strung-out lawyer and her junkie dealer, found dead in a motel. It’s perfect.” She was crying, shaking her head frantically, still cuffed, totally helpless.

He got a needle from the dresser and rolled her onto her side so he could see her wrists. He stuck the needle in her vein. She screamed. He forced her face into the pillows. She was resisting. He pulled her back by the hair and with a controlled rage, spoke softly. “It’s all over, Abby. Now shut the fuck up.” He threw her head back toward the bed. Her energy was draining. She whimpered. Maybe just one more. He grabbed another needle and jammed it in. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

He took off her cuffs, turned up the volume of the television, and scanned the room. It was a mess, but there was no sign that he’d been there. He pulled off the gloves, shoved them in his pocket, put his leather gloves back on, wiped down the gun, and placed it in Abby’s limp hand.

He opened the door to find strobe lights illuminating the lot. Three police cars. Trip ran toward the stairs at the far end of the motel, away from where he’d parked, and went down and around to the back of the building. A high fence surrounded the lot, but two dumpsters gave him a boost and within seconds, he’d thrown his case over, hopped the fence, and run down the alley.

TRIP
got out of the cab at his office building with cell in hand. He was limping. That fucker really nailed his knee. He rang Reilly’s house while slowly climbing the stairs. When he got to the office, the door was open. The lights were on. Reilly was there. Sitting at the conference room table. Waiting.

Trip held back his surprise. “Hey—I was just trying to call you at home.”

Reilly sat forward. “What the hell happened to you?”

Trip looked down at himself. “What do you mean?”

“Look at yourself, dude. There’s blood all over your face.”

“Oh shit.” Trip walked to the bathroom sink. “I just had a bloody nose. It’s all good.” He took a minute to clean up his face and came back with a wet paper towel held up to his nose.

“Mike, you need to file a stolen car report for me. Say noon. Say it was stolen from the lot here.”

“I’m not gonna do that, Trip.” He slowly stood from the table.

“Mike, what the hell? I took care of it. Abby Donovan is not a problem anymore. Just report the Mercedes stolen and I can’t be connected to anything. Which means you’re good too.”

Reilly pulled his gun and pointed it directly at Trip. “You’re under arrest.”

Trip backed away from the barrel. “Fuck that, Mike.”

Reilly stood firm and put both hands on the gun. “This shit has gone too far.”

“Mike, relax. Have a drink. Don’t be an asshole.” Trip turned away from him and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

Reilly lowered the gun. “I don’t need a drink. I’ve had too many drinks. I sat in a god-damned bar all afternoon trying to figure out a way out of this mess. This is it.” He raised the gun at Callahan again. “I’m serious. You’re fucking under arrest.”

Trip took a sip from the beer. “Mike, if I go down, you go down.”

Reilly waved the gun with his words. “I may have taken some bribes, but I didn’t know about murder.” He was drunk. “I’m not going down for that. I’ll bring you in myself and tell them everything.”

Trip walked to his secretary’s desk and began sorting through the mail. “You so sure?”

Reilly moved a few feet toward Trip. “I’m not doing this anymore. It’s gone too far. I never signed up for this. I just needed some money for my mother, for Christ’s sake.”

Trip had prepared for this. He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms. “Didn’t you lose your gun several weeks ago?”

Reilly looked at the gun in his hands.

“Had to get a new one, right?” He enjoyed the confusion, the fear. Reilly’s focus wavered. Trip continued. “I know where it is. And I know that your prints are the only ones on the gun. I know it was your gun that killed Rashid and his friend.”

“Bullshit.”

“Wanna test me?”

Reilly moved closer. “You killed that prostitute with your bare hands.”

“Not really. I think her stocking killed her.” Trip was smiling. “No physical evidence on the body right? Hmm, wonder where that is? Oh, I bet I know. But I don’t think you’d like it.”

Reilly lowered the gun.

Trip relished the victory. “That’s right. Your only chance at remaining free is if I remain free.”

Reilly didn’t say a word.

Trip turned away from the barrel. He still had the power. He walked past Reilly and tossed the bloody paper into the garbage. “Now don’t panic. I’ve taken care of our only problems. We’re done. There’s nothing and no one out there who knows anything. I’m walking out that door and you’re not going to stop me.”

The front door opened. It was Lisa, his receptionist. She saw Reilly’s gun, still drawn at his side. “What’s going on?”

Trip remained calm. “Oh, hi Lisa. This is my good buddy, Officer Mike Reilly. We’re old friends.”

Reilly didn’t speak.

Trip continued. “Hey Lisa, my car was stolen from the lot today!”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. Must have happened sometime in the late morning. My buddy Mike here is investigating.” He kept walking toward the back exit. Reilly just stood there, powerless. “Lisa, I’m taking a little trip. Just be a couple of days. I’ll be in touch. You keep doing what you’ve been doing. Thanks, love!” He held the door handle. Reilly had remained still. Trip turned back one more time. “Mikey, I’ll be in touch. You just make that call.” Reilly looked at him and Trip gave him a wink. “We’re all good, buddy!” And he was off. Out the back and into the Porsche parked in the lot. The kid was dead, Leon, too. And now with Abby gone and that giant black dude, everything should be fine. Reilly just needed to report the car stolen. Though he wondered about all those cop cars at the motel.

· · ·

ABBY
opened her eyes and saw the machines, the I.V. in her arm. Marcus was sitting on the edge of her bed, his head bandaged.

“Marcus,” Abby whispered.

He broke in immediately. “It’s okay, Abby. You’re okay.”

She looked around the hospital room.

“They got to us in time. The doctor said you’d feel groggy and nauseous, but you’d be okay.”

Abby couldn’t stop the tears. “I saw him shoot you in the chest.” Her head began shaking again at the image. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sure that’s what Callahan thinks. Abby, I had on a vest. Nothing got to my chest. I just got whacked in the head a few times,” he said, rubbing the back of his skull. “I came to as the other officers were arriving.” He took her hand in his. “We’re okay.”

Abby tried to process it all. She sat up. “You’re really okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m an idiot, but I’m fine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Abby, look at me. I’m a big dude. I let that punk get the better of me. I should have killed him the moment I walked in the door.”

She fell back against the pillows, exhausted, and wiped her face. “He admitted everything to me, Marcus. Killing that woman at Reggie’s, killing Ali Rashid and his friend. Planting the drugs at my house.”

“Yeah, he killed the kid too—Patrick Ellis. Duvane found him at a forest preserve this afternoon. And Leon and his dad were killed over the weekend.”

“Jesus. It’s over, right? He’s arrested? I get my life back?”

He didn’t answer right away and Abby sat up straight. “What?”

“We’ve got him, Abby. We’ve got enough to nail him to the wall. We just need to find him.”

“What?”

“He got away. Before the back-up arrived. We haven’t located him yet.”

Her whole body tensed. It wasn’t over.

“Abby, stop. I can see it on your face. It’s going to be fine. I’ll get this guy. You rest. It’ll be over soon.”

“How can I rest? I was arrested today, my home was ransacked by police, I found drugs in my house. I was kidnapped, drugged, left for dead. I thought I saw you die.” She was yelling now. Unable to control her anger, her fear. “Why are you even here? You need to get him!”

Before Marcus could respond, someone said, “I don’t think so.” They both turned to the voice at the open door, where a big black man in his fifties, wearing a long wool coat, stood. He continued. “Henton is staying right here.”

Abby looked back at Marcus. “Abby, meet my boss, Assistant Deputy Superintendent Robert Duvane.”

The man came over to the bed and offered his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Donovan. I’ve heard wonderful things from Henton here, and we couldn’t have broken this case without your help.”

She didn’t know what to say. A small “thanks” was all that came out.

Duvane continued. “Marcus’s got ten stitches in the back of his head and a concussion. We’re still waiting on the lab reports for all the rest. He took a pretty good beating, unfortunately.”

“Oh my God. Marcus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Duvane broke in. “He needs to be in his own room, resting. But he insisted on sitting here with you. Waiting for you to wake up.”

She looked at Marcus again. He took her hand. “I’m
okay
.”

She turned away from both of them and stared out the window.

Marcus turned to Duvane. “Give me a minute here?”

“Sure. I’m waiting for you outside, though, Marcus. We need to talk. Ms. Donovan?” Abby turned to his voice. “Again, glad to meet you and I want you to know that we’re going to get this guy. There’s an officer right outside your door. We’re not going to let anything happen to you again.”

Abby turned back toward the window. Who was going to get him? The only police she trusted were the two in the room. For all she knew there were dozens of dirty cops on the force. How could she feel safe?

“I know what you’re thinking, Abby.”

She cut him off. “I’m not safe here. As soon as he finds out that I’m not dead, he’s going to come after me.”

“You’re not going to stay here. I’ve taken care of it.”

Before she could respond, Nate walked into the room.

“Hi there,” he said.