M. Grayson - Isabel's run

“I think you’re right. How’s your mom?” I asked.

She smiled. “She’s good. She cheered me up.”

I smiled. “ She cheered you up? I thought you were supposed to be the one cheering her up.”

Toni set her beer down. “Yeah, really. But I feel responsible for Kelli being where she is.”

“That’s silly,” I said. “You’re not responsible. It’s like you said in the office this morning-if anyone’s responsible, Kelli is.”

She nodded. “I know. That’s what Mom said, too. Still.”

“If it all goes according to plan,” I said, “Kelli’s probably going to get something like the royal treatment tonight. Wined and dined. Good meal. No pressure. Crystal’s probably already talking about taking her clothes shopping in the morning. Then, pow! Before anything else happens, we bust them, and she comes home.”

Toni nodded. “From your lips,” she said. She held up her beer, and we clinked glasses.

“Damn straight.”

Hold on, Kelli, I thought to myself. We’re coming.

The next morning at ten o’clock sharp, we walked out of the elevator and into the tenth floor lobby of the Seattle Criminal Justice Center. Mickey Cole and Javier Martinez were already there, talking to each other while they waited for Nancy. When we stepped out, Mickey saw me. He nodded. “Hey, guys,” he said.

We walked over. “Good morning.”

“How are you two this fine morning?” he asked. “All ready to go?”

I nodded. “You bet.” I looked the two of them over. Instead of the grubby jeans and T-shirts they’d been wearing when we met two days ago, today they were both dressed in tactical clothing, right down to black boots. “You know, you didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” I said.

Mickey smiled. “No shit,” he said. “So much for casual Fridays, right?”

I gave him another look over. “Looks pretty tight to me,” I said. “Reminds me of the old days.”

“You guys wore this kind of stuff in Iraq?” Mickey asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, pretty much,” I said. “Different color, but same kind of gear. Course we’d have about forty pounds of shit strapped onto our belt and vest, but same basic idea.”

“Cool,” he said. “One of these days, I want to take you to lunch. I’ve got a bunch of questions about your time in the service-,” he paused and looked at me seriously, “-that is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I don’t usually bring it up, but if someone has questions, I don’t mind answering.”

“That’d be great,” he said.

“Why-you thinking about joining up?”

He laughed. “Who knows, right, Javi?” Both men laughed.

“That’s right,” Javier said. “Depends on how the contract talks between the union and the city go. Right now, they’re still a long way apart. We may need another job.”

“They’d probably be happy to have you,” I said. “How you boys feel about low pay and the desert?”

“No mold, no mildew,” Mickey said. “Sounds cool.”

I laughed. “Cool is one thing it ain’t,” I said. “Think warm, maybe hot. Think-dry.”

“Hot and dry are good,” Mickey said. “We’ll see. Meanwhile. .”

“Shifting gears-,” Javier said. The two partners were so comfortable with each other, they could finish each other’s sentences.

“Shifting gears,” Mickey continued, “we haven’t been sitting on our asses over the past couple of days. We were able to dig up some more information on Donnie Martin and NSSB.” He paused. “You know, this fucker’s a little scary.” He paused again, “Oops,” he said, turning to Toni. “Pardon my language.”

Toni smiled. “No problem. This guy here-” that would be me, “-talks like that all the time.”

“What makes you say he’s a little scary?” I asked.

At that moment, Nancy Stewart walked out of a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. She held the door open and said, “Good morning, everyone. You guys ready?”

Mickey turned back to me. “I’ll go over it when we’re all together,” he said.

We followed Nancy back to a large conference room. Tyrone Allison was already there, along with another man whom I recognized. Captain Gary Radovich headed up the Seattle SWAT unit. He was medium height and solid in build, probably in his mid-fifties. His prematurely silver-white hair was cut in a tight military-buzz style. He saw us enter and immediately stood up. We’d accompanied his team on a SWAT raid on the apartment of a suspected drug cartel member last August. I’m not sure he remembered me, but most people tend to remember Toni. He smiled. “I remember you two from last year,” he said. Wow. Better memory than I thought.

“Captain Radovich,” Toni said, “It’s good to see you. I didn’t know you’d be leading this raid today.”

“It’s Toni Blair, right?”

She nodded, smiling. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” he said. He turned to me. “And you are. .?”

“Danny Logan,” Toni said, filling in his blanks. There. I was right about his memory, after all.

“That’s right,” he said. “Good to see you two again. And to address your point, Ms. Blair, yes, I am heading up the operation today.”

“Wonderful,” Toni said.

Two other men walked into the conference room. Radovich nodded toward them. “Let me introduce these two mean-looking guys,” he said. “Dave Bryant and Lonnie Charles from the narcotics unit. Apologies for their generally unpleasant demeanor. They have to deal with crackheads, tweekers, and various other druggies all day long, and it tends to make them cranky.”

“Very funny,” Bryant said.

The men said their hellos and took their seats.

“Let’s get going, then,” Nancy said. “I’m going to provide a little background for everyone and then Gary, I think you’ve got an operation all planned out?”

He nodded. “I do,” he said.

“Good. So what we’ve got is a house on the western edge of Ravenna Park.” She used a projector to flash an aerial photo of the boys’ house up on the screen. She walked the group through the history of our investigation, including a description of Donnie Martin and DeMichael Hollins.

“I can add a little about Donnie Martin,” Mickey said. “Since we talked to Danny here a couple of days ago, we’ve been doing a little digging.” He turned to Javier and nodded.

“Donnie Martin, as Nancy just explained, is a twenty-two-year-old career criminal. He’s already spent six years of his life locked up in one institution or another, starting when he was eleven years old. He served two different stints at the Green Hill School in Chehalis. And, in case you’re unfamiliar with it, Green Hill is not known for being a college prep school. Martin’s no petty thief-he’s a violent young man. He’s been arrested twice for assault-once when he was sixteen. The second time was two years ago, when he was twenty. He beat another gang member nearly to death with a baseball bat, but the case got dropped when the victim refused to testify-said he tripped going down a flight of stairs. All the other witnesses suddenly developed amnesia and recanted.”

“I can add to that as well,” I said. “In the course of our investigation, we interviewed a friend of Donnie’s family, Reverend Arthur Jenkins. Reverend Art’s the pastor of the Twenty-Third Street Baptist Church over in the Central District-the area where Donnie Martin and DeMichael Hollins grew up. He knows the boys well-in fact, he presided over Donnie’s aunt’s funeral a year ago. He told me that when he tried to talk some sense into Donnie then, Donnie just laughed and wouldn’t have any of it. According to Reverend Art, the word is that Donnie Martin said no way he was going to end up in Walla Walla-he’d rather go out shooting.”