Russell Blake - King of Swords

Ben frowned and said, “The contractor indicated that the target was a Federal Police officer-”

Ben’s statement was interrupted by the muffled sound of the new arrival’s small pistol shot blowing through his eye. The little man calmly replaced the weapon, a Ruger.22 caliber with a custom-machined silencer, and closed the briefcase, rounding the desk to grab the keys from Ben’s lifeless hand so he could let himself out.

When Briones and four armed officers burst through the rustic, hand-carved wood-paneled door at the rear of the office, the small man’s composure fractured for the first time.

“You’re under arrest, for murder and conspiracy to commit murder,” Briones said as he stepped forward with cuffs at the ready. The little man bolted towards the front of the shop with the briefcase and the keys, stopping when he saw more police out front. He slowly turned to face Briones, whose pistol was pointed at his head, and tossed the briefcase to the floor with a flourish. The corner of one lip twitched upwards, and he hissed the first words he’d spoken since entering the shop.

“You’re making a huge mistake.”

“What do you mean, they can’t find him?” Briones screamed into the phone. “We brought him in last night, and I’m scheduled to interrogate him this morning. How the hell does a prisoner go missing in lockup overnight?”

“I don’t know what to say, Lieutenant. I’m checking it out now. Theoretically, it’s impossible. Maybe we filed him under the wrong name, or there was some other administrative error,” the duty sergeant speculated.

“Do you have any idea who this man is? He’s the one who arranged to have Capitan Cruz killed,” Briones yelled, still aghast that the little man had disappeared.

“I understand, sir. Listen…captives don’t just stroll out of here whenever they like. We’ll find him. Give me an hour to sort this out. I just came on duty at nine,” the sergeant assured him.

Briones looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty. “Call me back as soon as you find him.”

He swore as he slammed down the handset. A perfect sting, the perp caught red-handed with the murder weapon while the body was still warm, the killing memorialized on tape, and he vanishes into thin air? What the hell was going on?

Briones recalled the only words the man had spoken. Gringo -tinged Spanish in an almost femininely-high voice telling him he’d made a big mistake. And a smirk that had made Briones’ blood run cold.

The man had refused to talk since then, all the way into headquarters and through booking. Not a sound. Just a steady look that projected arrogance and irritation, as though Briones had interrupted a favorite TV show, or demanded to see his license after a traffic stop. What he hadn’t behaved like was a suspect who’d just been apprehended for murder in an open-and-shut case. It had been worrisome, and now that he was nowhere to be found, that small kernel of anxiety had blossomed into a full-blown panic.

His phone buzzed again. Briones snatched up the handset. It was the front-desk receptionist.

“There’s a woman on the line who’s asking to speak to you, Lieutenant Briones.”

“A woman? Did you get a name? Did she ask for me, specifically?” he asked.

“One moment please,” the receptionist responded and put the call through, further annoying an already agitated Briones.

“Lieutenant Briones. Is Captain Cruz all right?” the voice asked, vaguely familiar but not so much so that he knew who it was.

“Uh, yes. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” Briones fielded.

“I’m sorry. This is Dinah. Dinah Tortora. From the pawn shop? My father-”

“Yes, yes. I remember, of course. How can I help you?”

“I called to speak to Captain Cruz, but the woman who put through the call said he wasn’t there because he’d been shot,” Dinah explained with a worried tone.

God damn it. What did the operator think she was doing? News of Cruz’s shooting was sure to end up all over the papers, which he’d hoped to avoid. He made a mental note to go down and beat her senseless when he hung up the phone.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Dinah.” That cat was obviously already out of the bag, so he saw no harm in confirming it.

“How did it happen? Is he all right? How badly is he hurt?” Dinah asked in a jumbled rush.

“In the line of duty. He should be fine,” Briones said, guarded from there on out.

“Is there any way I can see him?” Dinah asked.

“I don’t think so. He’s still at…he’s still in the hospital, Dinah.”

“Oh. Well, I thought he’d want to see what I found. I guess it can wait…” her voice trailed off.

“What you found? What do you mean, what you found ?” Briones asked, now on alert.

“It’s some sort of a diary, with contact names. I was going through a box my father gave me just before he died — it was almost like he had a premonition. I remember I thought it was strange. He asked me to hold on to the box for him. I forgot about it with the shock of seeing his…finding him. But I was thinking about what Captain Cruz said, so I went and got the box and pored through it. There are some bank statements and similar stuff, but also an agenda with names and numbers in it. Names I’ve never heard of. But I thought maybe it might help you with the case,” Dinah offered.

“Dinah, I’m going to the hospital later. What time can you be here?”

Briones was livid. The same sergeant was on the line, giving him an impossible answer.

“What do you mean, he was released?” Briones couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The man’s a murderer. We have him dead to rights.”

“I wasn’t here, but I called the night sergeant, and he remembers the man. A Gringo . They let him make a phone call, don’t ask me why, and a few hours later the computer updated with a list of those to be released in the morning, at seven, and his name was on it. Nobody questions the computer. If it says release a man, you release him,” the sergeant explained.

“How did he get access to a phone? What the hell is going on down there?” Briones was speechless at the incompetence involved.

The sergeant lowered his voice. “You know how it works, Lieutenant. I’m sure money changed hands, but nobody will ever admit it. All I know is what the night sergeant told me. The prisoner made a call, and then the computer listed him as one of the prisoners to release. End of story.”

“No, not end of story. I want to know who authorized the release. Someone has to sign the order. And what about the man’s name? Surely you had a name to book him under? And prints? You still print prisoners you process, correct? Damn it, man, what have you got? I need to find this prick, and every minute you delay is another advantage for him,” Cruz warned.

“I’m looking it up. Yes, I see he was booked under the name…oh…you’re not going to like this.”

“What?”

“He gave his name as Juan Perez,” the sergeant told him — the Spanish equivalent of John Doe.

“Good God in heaven. Tell me this gets better. Please.”

“Well, we did take photos and print him, so that’s something,” the sergeant said, still reading.

“Send me the prints and everything else you have on him. Now. On the intranet.”

“Yes, sir. Again, none of this was my doing. The night sergeant probably had no idea who this man was…”

“You mean Juan Perez? No, I suppose he probably didn’t. And now, neither do we. I want that in my inbox within five minutes, Sergeant,” Briones ordered, hanging up the phone, incredulous at the exchange. Just when he thought he’d seen everything…