James Swain - No Good Deed

This shove was harder, and he landed on the pavement, where he rolled over until he was lying on his back, looking upside down at their attacker. Without hesitating, he drew the GLOCK from his pants pocket and returned fire.

His awkward position ruined his aim, and none of his shots hit their target. Dexter wasn’t interested in shooting it out, and he ran to the street, where a black sedan idled at the curb. Dexter tossed the shotgun through the open back window, then jumped in.

The sedan peeled out. By now, Lancaster was on his feet, and he ran into the middle of Nebraska Avenue and got off two more rounds. The sedan’s back window imploded, and the vehicle took a corner on two wheels and vanished into the night. He could hear screaming and saw people on the corner running for dear life.

Back in the parking lot, he found Logan sitting on the pavement with his back against a car. The lower half of his body was blood soaked, his breathing tortured.

Lancaster crouched down, and Logan managed a weak smile.

“You saved my ass,” Lancaster said. Then added, “Again.”

“Guess I’m good at something,” his brother whispered.

Skip came out of the office holding his cell phone.

“An ambulance is on its way,” the manager said.

“Go out in the street, and hail it down,” he said.

Skip lowered the phone but didn’t move.

“You heard me,” he barked.

Skip went and stood on the sidewalk to wait for the ambulance. Lancaster didn’t want him to overhear their conversation, and he lowered his voice.

“How bad did he get you?”

“Bad enough,” his brother said.

Logan shut his eyes and started to fade away.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” he said.

His brother’s eyelids lifted. His eyes were swimming in his head, and he appeared stuck between the here and the hereafter. He took a deep breath and spoke, the words barely a whisper. “A priest once tried to convert me in the joint. He said that Christ saved a robber who was being crucified with him. I guess it’s never too late, huh?”

“You’ve got to keep fighting,” he said.

“It’s over, Jonny. I’m done.”

“Come on. You can do it.”

Lancaster took his brother’s bloody hand and squeezed it. Logan closed his eyes, and his head flopped to one side.

“The ambulance is here,” Skip called from the street.

The EMS team took over. The lead was a feisty woman with short-cropped hair. She looked into his face and instantly knew.

“Was he your friend?” she asked.

“My brother,” he said.

“I’m sorry for your loss. At least you were here to comfort him.”

“I tried.”

He wanted to cry, and retreated into the office. There was a folding chair beside the TV, and he dropped into it, burying his head in his hands. A strange feeling overcame him. Logan was the last relative he had, and now his brother was gone. He was alone in the world, and the feeling made him immeasurably sad.

Skip fixed him a cup of coffee from a pot that had been brewed hours ago. He sipped the hot liquid, thinking back to the cell phone he’d found on the bed in Logan’s room. Logan had been talking to Dexter when he’d come into the room, and he guessed Dexter had heard enough of their conversation to decide to take Logan out of the picture.

“I saw you shoot at that car through the window,” Skip said. “Did you get those sonsabitches?”

“I’m pretty sure I nailed the driver,” he said.

“They’ll get theirs. The bad ones always do.”

He finished his drink. Logan had told him a lot of crazy stuff, and he needed to write it all down, and share it with the police. He was still no closer to finding Skye, and realized that her rescue would have to wait while he dealt with Logan’s murder.

He got his courage up, and went outside. EMTs had covered his brother’s body with a white sheet. It made Logan look like a ghost, and he shuddered.

A police cruiser was parked sideways in the entrance, its bubble light flashing. A pair of uniformed cops were busy roping off the area with yellow police tape. The officers wore rubber gloves, so as not to contaminate the crime scene.

Skip came outside, and identified himself to the cops. One of the officers pulled Skip aside to get a statement. There was no rushing the process, and Lancaster leaned against a parked car while he waited his turn.

His thoughts drifted back to his childhood. Logan had been screwing up for as long as he could remember, but their parents had always given him a pass. He guessed it had something to do with Logan rescuing him at the mall. Logan had saved the day, and every bad thing he’d done after that had been ignored.

The officer finished with Skip and approached him. His name tag said Montalvo, and he was a Latin guy of about thirty. Montalvo asked to see his ID. As he produced his driver’s license, Montalvo spied the detective’s badge attached to his wallet.

“Are you a cop?” Montalvo asked.

“Retired. I’m doing a private job,” he said.

“For who?”

He handed him a Team Adam card. “I was working a case in which Logan was involved, so I came to talk to him.”

“The motel manager said the deceased was your brother.”

“That’s right. I hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years. He was recently paroled.”

“What was the job you were working?”

“I was trying to find a teenage girl that was abducted in Keystone four days ago. Her grandmother, Elsie Tanner, was murdered.”

“Your brother was involved in that?”

“Afraid so. I was going to turn him in, but he got shot.”

Montalvo scribbled furiously into his notepad. It was every uniformed officer’s dream to one day become a detective. That promotion often hinged on how the officer handled a high-profile case. If the officer did an exemplary job, the top brass would notice, and he’d get rewarded. Logan’s murder was such a case for Montalvo.

“Any idea who shot him?” Montalvo asked.

“The shooter’s name is Dexter Hudson,” he said. “My brother and Dexter were in prison together. Dexter knew my brother was going to rat him out, so he shot him.”

“Rat him out over what?”

“Dexter murdered Elsie Tanner.”

“Did your brother tell you that?”

“Yes, he did.”

Montalvo flipped a sheet on the notepad and kept writing. “Could you identify Dexter Hudson if you saw him again?”

“Yes.”

“Describe him.”

“About six feet tall, two hundred fifty pounds, a Fu Manchu mustache and sideburns. He has a muscular upper body but thin legs.”

“Sounds like you got a good look at him.”

“There’s a surveillance video from the Citrus Park Mall that shows him following Elsie Tanner. Deputy Stahl at the District III sheriff’s office has a copy.”

“You know Deputy Stahl?”

“I introduced myself to him earlier tonight.”

Montalvo flipped the notepad shut. “I know how difficult losing a brother is. I lost my own brother last year from an overdose. If you can find it in you, I’d like you to come down to the station house, and give us a full statement. It will really help our investigation.”

Lancaster was impressed. Montalvo had revealed a piece of himself in order to gain trust. This told him that Montalvo wasn’t just after a promotion, but had connected on a deeper level, and would leave no stone unturned finding his brother’s killer.

“I’d be happy to help you,” he said.

“Great,” Montalvo said. “Would you mind waiting inside the motel office until we’re done here?”

“Sure thing.”

Two dark SUVs pulled up to the curb, and their doors opened. Four men and two women climbed out and stood on the sidewalk beneath the harsh streetlight. Each wore a navy windbreaker with the initials FBI stenciled above the pocket. The cavalry had arrived.