Rick Mofina - Every Second

He was Eldon Luna, age 24, of Arlington, according to his Texas driver’s license.

“Hey, what the hell? You hurt my ears, assholes!”

The bathroom was checked, closets were checked; special equipment was used to scan the walls and ceiling for body mass. As the smoke from the grenades dissipated, the apartment was inspected two more times. The sound of metal against glass sounded as one agent tapped his weapon against a large rectangular tank in one corner.

“Damn! That a python?”

“It’s an Asiatic rock python.”

“You got a permit for it, Eldon?”

“It’s not mine.”

The squad leader radioed his commander, who alerted Doyle and the other agents that the apartment was cleared and declared safe.

By the time they’d entered, Eldon Luna had been placed back on the sofa where he remained handcuffed and under guard. While the other agents tugged on latex gloves and searched the unit, Doyle sat on the coffee table and faced Luna.

“Man, I think you dicks got the wrong place. I’m going to call a lawyer and I’m going to sue your asses off,” Luna said.

“Yes, you could do that from jail, Eldon, where we’re going to hold you for seventy-two hours. A lot can happen to you in jail in that time. Or…you can cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate? Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“Do you know Jerricko Titus Blaine?”

Luna said nothing.

Doyle leaned into his space.

“Do you want to sleep in a cell tonight?”

“No.”

“Answer the question.”

“Jerricko rents this place.”

“Where is Mr. Blaine?”

“What’s this about? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“Answer the question.”

“He’s out of town on business.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think again.”

“I really don’t know. He’s been away for a few weeks.”

“What’re you doing in his apartment, Eldon?”

“He’s letting me stay here because my old lady kicked me out.”

“How do you know him?”

“I met him at a computer science conference in Fort Worth.”

“Eldon, tell me what you know about the robbery.”

“What robbery?”

Doyle indicated the cell phone and laptop on the coffee table next to him.

“These yours?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve got warrants to search everything on the premises. I’m sure we’ll find all kinds of enlightening evidence once our people probe every aspect of your life.”

Luna looked fearfully at Doyle then the other agents.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think fast and you think hard. Things will go much better for you if you cooperate with us now. Later will be too late.”

“Think hard about what? I don’t even know what this is about!”

“Are you involved in the robbery in any way?”

“I don’t know anything about a robbery.”

“Did you help plot it?”

“What? Plot what?”

“How long have you lived here?”

“About a month.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Ask my ex-girlfriend, Karen. Karen McWhinney. She kicked me out a month ago. I’ll give you her number.”

“How did you come to live here?”

“After the conference, Jerricko and I hung out. He liked to talk about politics and we agreed that America had made some bad policy choices in the Middle East. We had some good talks, became friends. Then when Karen kicked me out, Jerricko invited me to live with him and Rose.”

“Rose?”

“His python.”

Doyle rubbed his hand over his face. This kid was running him in circles. “Tell me about Jerricko.”

“Easy to live with. He’s quiet, doesn’t like rock music. I respected that. He was always in his room on his computer. I could hear him talking to people online or over the phone.”

“Do you know who he talked to?”

“No. I’m not nosy-why should I know who he talks to?”

“What did they talk about?”

“I only heard parts. I wasn’t listening because it was none of my business. And usually I’m just listening to music on my headphones since he doesn’t like it, or watching a movie or something. His TV’s awesome.”

“Can you recall anything about the conversations you overheard?”

“Not much…”

“Did you ever hear Jerricko mention someone named Dan Fulton? Or anything about New York? Anything about a bank?”

Eldon shook his head.

“Anything about bombs?”

“Bombs? Hell, no. What’s going on?”

“Eldon, I need you to focus and tell me anything you did hear.”

“I heard some stuff about politics, the news, oppression and…stuff about nonbelievers, or something. But I wasn’t listening.”

Doyle was making notes.

“Anything else that sticks out? Anything that sounded strange?”

Luna shook his head, then stopped and bit his lip.

“Wait. There was one thing that was weird. The last time he called here to check in, he said that if anything happened to him he wanted me to take care of Rose.”

Santa Ana, California

Lieutenant Sean Baylor came around his desk and greeted FBI agent Wade Darden with a crushing handshake.

“Have a seat, Wade. Got everything right here.”

Darden, the Bureau’s resident agent for Orange County, was handling the FBI’s urgent request for the Santa Ana PD to share the personnel records of Lori Wallace, a former officer with the force.

Several file folders waited on the small table where Darden and Baylor pored over them.

“Okay, from the top. We’ve got her application-she was married to Dan Fulton at the time but kept her family name, Wallace. There’s her education file. She’s got a degree in criminology from Cal State,” Baylor said.

Turning over file pages, Darden took his time, reading carefully through Lori Wallace’s background investigation, her personal history statement and her psychological evaluation, which included a written exam and an interview with a psychologist.

“She passed her medical and excelled on physical agility, the wall, the long pursuit and the body drag. High scores at the range, too,” Baylor said.

They continued flipping pages that reflected an exemplary career.

“In the four years she was on the job she was mostly on patrol. She’d received several commendations. Letters of thanks from the community,” Baylor said. “She took a little time off when she had her baby, came back to more commendations.”

They turned to pages documenting new assignments.

“She did outstanding investigative work and was on track to become a detective,” Baylor said. “Then it all turned to crap. It’s the next folder, Wade.”

Darden opened the red folder of reports, pages of statements, maps, drawings, photographs and a list of other items relating to one homicide and a police-involved shooting.

“Wallace and her partner, Tim Rowland, a seven-year veteran, are on overnight patrol,” Baylor said. “They roll up to a corner store for a coffee and come upon an armed robbery in progress. As they step out of their patrol car, the suspect, who had just robbed the clerk of one hundred and sixty-one dollars, is exiting and firing a handgun into the store, hitting a pregnant woman in the arm. Rowland reacts, reaches for his sidearm but the shooter beats him, getting off three rounds, hitting Rowland in the jaw, neck and shoulder above his vest. Rowland stumbles back, collapsing into Wallace, who manages to catch him while drawing her weapon and firing at the suspect.

“The suspect fires more rounds at Rowland, who is now a shield for Wallace, enabling her to fire repeatedly at the suspect, hitting him in the head and heart, killing him while Rowland dies on top of her in her arms. That’s what happened. Much of it was caught on the store’s security cameras. I’ll get you a copy of the videos.”