Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

Kate closed the safe and replaced the linoleum tiles. She was halfway across the basement when the door at the top of the stairs opened and the lights came on. Kate ducked behind the bar. A huge man wearing a parka and a smaller man in a windbreaker stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The big man was carrying a duffel bag.

"Look at that TV," the smaller man said. "It's almost as big as the one at the sports bar."

"We're not here to watch the tube. We're supposed to clean out the safe."

"There's a boxing match on ESPN, Chavez-Kramer. It'll be great on a big screen."

"I'm doin' what I'm supposed to. You do what you want."

The big man went into the laundry room. The small man grabbed the remote. Kate felt sick. On the big screen, two welterweights were circling each other. Halfway through the round, the large man hurried out of the laundry room and covered his ears. There was an explosion and the small man jumped out of his seat, a gun in his hand.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ready to blow the safe?" he screamed, waving the gun at the big man.

"I didn't want to interrupt your viewing pleasure."

"Fuck you. You scared the shit out of me."

The big man sighed. "Turn that off, will you. Let's get this over with."

"I'm watching the fight," the smaller man insisted stubbornly as he stuck his gun back in the pocket of his windbreaker.

A few minutes later, the big man emerged, carrying the duffel bag. Kate had a decision to make. There was no way she could get out the back door without attracting attention, but, if she waited for the men to leave, they would get away with the contents of the safe. Kate was an excellent shot and she was in a perfect position to take out both men, but she had no idea who they were. What if they were cops?

Kate stood up, gun drawn.

"Freeze, police!" she shouted. Both men jumped.

"You, watching the TV, take your gun out with your fingertips and drop it on the floor."

The small man hesitated and Kate blew out the TV screen.

"Geez," the man screamed, throwing an arm up to block the flying glass.

"Do it now!" Kate yelled, aiming between his eyes.

The small man did as he was told. Kate told him to kick the gun over to her. When the gun skittered over to her she bent down and put it in her belt.

"Okay, you," she said, pointing the gun at the big man. "I want the duffel and your gun. Be smart and I won't have to shoot you."

Without warning, the large man hurled the duffel bag at Kate and pulled out his own .45. Kate shot him in the knee a fraction of a second before the duffel hit her in the shoulder, knocking her off balance. The large man screamed as he collapsed. His gun went flying.

The other man charged. Kate shot him in the hip, knocking his legs out from under him. He grunted and crashed to the floor. The big man's teeth were clenched from pain but he was crawling toward his gun.

"You stupid fuck," Kate shouted at the big man. His fingers were inches from his gun. "Grab it so I can kill you."

The way Kate sounded made the big man freeze. She walked over and kicked him in the head, furious that he'd forced her to shoot both men. She grabbed the gun and the duffel. Then she backed out the door and pulled it shut. She didn't take a breath until she was on the freeway and she was certain that no one was following her.

Kate parked in Frank's driveway and Amanda walked out to meet her. Once she saw the grim look on her friend's face, she expected the worst.

"I just shot two guys," Kate said. "I hope it was worth it."

Amanda knew Kate's history with guns and was very concerned.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm shaking like a leaf."

Amanda led Kate into Frank's den. Kate dumped the duffel bag on the desk and sat down. Amanda went to the liquor cabinet and poured her friend a drink. Kate leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. She had been in two shootouts before this and it was always the same for her. During the action she was calm and focused, as if she was in a bubble that sealed off her emotions and slowed time to a crawl. When the action stopped, she was like a junkie going through withdrawal cold-turkey, and the raw emotions she'd sealed away while she was fighting for her life came flooding back. Her senses overloaded, filling her with fear because she had almost died, and self-loathing because she'd enjoyed the rush of combat.

"Tell me what happened,"Amanda said as she handed Kate a glass of scotch. Kate's hand shook when she took her first drink but it was steadier by the time she finished telling Amanda about the gunfight at Dupre's house.

"Any idea who they were?" Amanda asked when Kate was finished.

"No, but they were after the contents of the safe."

"Did you call the cops?"

"Not yet. I wanted to check with you first."

"We should call. Jon gave you permission to go to his home and take the stuff in his safe. Those two men are burglars. They had no right to be there. They were stealing."

"Stealing what, though? If we send the cops to Dupre's house we'll have to tell them why I was there. They'll want to see what's in that duffel bag. I'm guessing that won't help our client."

"Let's find out," Amanda said, dumping tapes and papers onto the desktop. The audiotapes from Travis's fund-raiser were supposed to be in a plain white envelope. Amanda found several such envelopes containing audiotapes, but they had dates on them that did not match the evening of the Travis fund-raiser. Amanda played them on a tape recorder but she could tell within minutes that, although interesting, the tapes were not the right ones.

Kate had been going through a ledger while they listened. Every once in a while she would pick up a videotape and compare it to a notation in the ledger.

"If these tapes show what I think they do we could destroy a lot of careers."

"But not the careers I'm interested in," Amanda responded. "The tapes from the fund-raiser aren't here."

There was a television with a VCR in the den. Kate turned it on and slipped a tape into the VCR. She and Amanda watched quietly.

"Damn, I didn't know you could do that," Kate said as one of Dupre's escorts engaged in a series of sexual contortions.

"I certainly didn't think he could do that," Amanda answered. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to appear in court with him again with a straight face."

"If we give this stuff to the cops, they'll charge Jon with every prostitution crime in the criminal code, and the lives of every person on these tapes will be ruined," Kate said. "So, what do we do?"

"Good question," Amanda answered. She looked troubled. "I don't think we have any obligation to turn over these tapes. They're not evidence of any crime that's been charged. I'll call the state bar in the morning and talk to one of the lawyers who answers ethics questions, to see what they think.

"We've got to call the police about the shooting, though," Amanda said. "Those men could be seriously hurt. Now, go home and get some sleep."

"If I can."

Amanda placed her hands on her friend's shoulders and squeezed. "You didn't do anything wrong, Kate. You just protected yourself. I'll see you in the morning."

Chapter Forty-five.

On the evening of February 17, 1972, a clerk on a smoke break had seen three men gun down Jesus Delgado in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven in Northeast Portland. The clerk had written down the license number of the beat-up, dark blue Toyota in which the three killers had escaped. Moments after dispatch broadcast this information, the car passed Portland police officer Stanley Gregaros.

Stan was riding solo because his partner had developed a bad case of food poisoning early in their shift. The young cop followed the suspects as they zigzagged to a warehouse in a deserted industrial block. Gregaros crept around the side of the building expecting to find a gang of brutal thugs. Instead he saw three white kids in their early twenties, dressed in rugby shirts, crewneck sweaters, and chinos. They looked more like fraternity brothers than a trio of assassins. What gave the lie to the picture were the weapons, ski masks, and black clothing that the boys had piled on the hood of their car.