Don Pendleton - Baltimore Trackdown

Carlo prayed that it was not too late, that he had not made a fatal blunder, one that could not be corrected.

That evening at nine-thirty, Assistant Chief Gene Vincent finished work, signed out at the front desk and went to his car. Lately he had been working overtime on a secret report on gambling in Baltimore and how it had touched even some police officers. There still was a lot of work to do, but he was making progress.

Vincent entered the official car and locked it. His mind was still on his report. Yes, he was right in presuming that the more money offered, the more takers you would find in any kind of a bribery situation. Just what it took to push a normally honest cop into going on the take, he was not sure. If he were lucky, he might find out.

He left the parking lot and headed for the expressway. As usual during the forty-five-minute drive home, he would relax totally.

He turned right and took his usual shortcut along a side street toward the highway’s access ramp. He saw a car coming up fast behind but decided it had time to slow down.

It did not slow down.

The other car rammed the chief’s rig, slamming it across the curb and into a pole. The seat belt held, but Chief Vincent swung forward and hit the steering wheel with his chest and the windshield with his head. It was not enough to make him lose consciousness. His first thought was that he would be terribly late getting home.

The car stopped, and someone ran to it, banged on the door, then smashed the window to unlock it.

Vaguely he saw a face over him, then felt something wet splashed over his face and suit. It smelled strange — whiskey! He was being soaked with booze! He tried to call out, but his mind was still foggy from the knock on the head.

He was being held in place. He heard the car keys come out of the ignition, the trunk opening and closing, the keys shoved back in the ignition.

For an instant his vision cleared and he saw two men staring at him, and then a .45 automatic moving toward him. The blow on his temple didn’t seem hard, but the whole scene suddenly became too difficult for him. He saw the darkness closing in and then he relaxed and let it come and fell into a drifting, uneasy unconsciousness.

Something sharp, painful stung his nose. Chief Vincent turned away but the smell followed, stringent, biting, strong. He moved his head once more but the smell again followed. Vaguely he recognized the odor as smelling salts.

“I think he’s starting to come out of it,” a voice said from a long way off.

“Chief! Chief Vincent!” The voice was closer this time and he blinked and saw lights.

Pain darted through him as his eyes opened.

Assistant Chief Gene Vincent knew he was alive.

“What...”

Then he heard a soothing and familial voice.

“Take it easy, Chief. You don’t seem hurt bad. Knock on the head where you hit the windshield. Don’t see how you didn’t get battered up more since you didn’t have your seat belt on.”

Chief Vincent blinked again, and stared at the fuzzy shapes and forms. He shook his head and the pain knifed through him again.

He blinked and his vision cleared. Leaning into the car over him was Capt. Harley Davis, the gambling specialist.

“Davis,” Chief Vincent said. “What happened? Somebody rear-ended me?”

“Chief. We got it all under control. You sure did get a jolt in the backside, but whoever it was tore out of here. A patrol car has already sent in a report. We got cops all over the place, so just relax.”

“Head... hurts like hell.”

“Yeah, lacerations. Doesn’t seem too bad. Can you move? Try your arms.”

He moved his arms, then his legs.

“Get me out of here, Davis.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve got an ambulance on the way.”

Slowly they pulled him from the small space between the seat and the steering wheel. The wheel had not collapsed or crushed, Vincent noticed. Wasn’t it supposed to?

He swung his legs to the sidewalk and remained seated.

“Chief, you smell like a roadhouse. We found an open bottle of bourbon on the floor. You taking a little shot on the way home?”

“No, I haven’t had a drop. Give me a breath test right now.”

“No need for that, Chief,” Davis said. “Just wondered.” He reached in and took the keys from the ignition. “We need to check the trunk to be sure there aren’t any internal fuel-line or gas-tank leaks. That rear end got jolted pretty good. Hope we can get the trunk lid up.”

Sirens wailed and more police cars arrived. When Vincent looked up the next time he saw Larry Jansen watching him.

“Hey, Gene, relax. It doesn’t look all that bad.” He glanced away. “What?” he called to someone.

Captain Davis came to his side.

“Chief, I think you better come and look at this.”

The two officers went to the rear of the car. Davis pulled back an old blanket in the trunk to reveal a plastic-wrapped bundle. Chief Jansen bent in and inspected it.

“Is that what it looks like?” he asked Captain Davis.

“I’m not sure, sir. I was just checking for a gas leak. I thought you better look it over.”

Jansen lifted the wrapped bundle. Beneath several layers of clear plastic, a white powder was clearly visible.

“Look at that marker on the side,” Davis said. “It’s a recording number from our narcotics vault where we keep the impounded evidence.”

“I see it, Davis. That’s the forty thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine we took three days ago. What’s it doing in the chief’s trunk?”

“Sir, I think we better ask Chief Vincent that,” Davis said. “We have half a dozen officers who saw me open the trunk just as you drove up.”

Jansen closed his eyes. Davis had set up Vincent, then suckered Jansen to give the final shot to end Vincent’s career. No matter what happened in the investigation, Vincent was finished as a law officer. Davis had taken out another top management officer who would not be blackmailed.

Captain Davis cleared his throat. “Sir, do you want me to handle this, since you are such close...”

“Yes, Captain, take Vincent downtown and book him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First let me have a word with him.” Jansen went around the car. He looked at Chief Vincent and shook his head.

“Gene, there’s a package of cocaine in your trunk. It’s been stolen from the department’s drug storage lockup. Did you know it was there?”

“Cocaine? Hell, no. And I remember somebody pouring whiskey all over me just after the wreck and somebody smashed the window to unlock the door, then reached in and took the keys out of the ignition....”

“Remember that, Gene. Right now, we’ve got to book you. We’ll get it all straightened out. We’ve got some criminals wearing uniforms right now. We’ll get them all blasted loose. Hang in there with us, and remember what you just told me.”

He stepped back and motioned to Captain Davis, then got in his car and drove with elaborate caution toward the police station. He did not want to be in any “accident,” as Gene Vincent had been. No matter what would eventually transpire, Gene was probably finished with the department, unless they could prove a lot of things quickly. Damn!

Half an hour later Assistant Chief Jansen was back at headquarters. Chief Smith had not been to work all day. No one knew where he was. That in itself was unusual.

By midnight, Smith still had not come in. A phone call came through to Jansen’s desk. It was the first time the phone had rung.

“Yes?”

“Chief Jansen?”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is the guy who pulled you out of that bloody situation yesterday.”

“Yes, again my thanks. They just wiped out another assistant chief. Planted some cocaine in his car.”