Criminal-obooko-thr0056

CRIMINAL
A Derrick Olin Novel
by,
Stellen Qxz

Copyright © 2007 by Stellen Qxz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any means without the prior written
consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used
in reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination,
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or institutions or events is entirely
coincidental.

Also by Stellen Qxz:
Principal Target
Compulsive
Criminal
Inactive
Vicious
Deadline
Extraction
Purity
Reciprocity
Blackball
Retrograde
Fearless

For Dad.

“And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you
free.”
—Official motto of the U.S. Central Intelligence
Agency.
“And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall piss you
off!”
—Unofficial (staff) motto of the U.S. Central Intelligence
Agency.
“For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, who
art as black as hell, as dark as night!”
—William Shakespeare

The Good News
The good news was that Evan Cross had no appointments on
Wednesday, planning to spend the entire day in his loft writing. An
easy day for me. Good. Maybe I could relax a bit.
I opened the car door and climbed out, feeling a sudden sharp
pain in the small of my back. An old injury that acted up every now
and then, more so now that I was approaching middle age. Then
there was the ache in my left knee, another injury incurred during the
same time period. Oh well, at least I’m still here. Some others I had
known had not been so lucky.
I locked the door to my Taurus and shut it, then glanced
around again before lumbering across the parking lot toward my
apartment. I was in the middle distance when something suddenly
moved through my guts and I knew that I was not the only one in this
parking lot.
I dropped down to the pavement just a fraction of a second
before the first shot was fired, muzzle flashes visible off to my left. My
next move was to shoulder-roll over toward a green pickup truck that
was parked in front of the apartment next to mine, getting out of the
line of fire as more shots rang out…

Chaptter I
MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA
“The one thing that you have to keep in mind, regardless of the situation you
find yourself in, is that your goal is always the same, to escape. To get away
before you are seriously injured or overcome. As I said before, if it is your
possessions they are after, jewelry, money, stuff that can easily be replaced,
then give it to them. Your life is worth a lot more. However, if they want to
harm you physically, or want to take you to another location, perhaps some
place less public, then you must resist and do so quickly with determination
and resolve, using the tactics that I’ve been teaching you for the past week.”
Karyn Lochert smiled nervously, a couple beads of perspiration visible
in the middle of her mildly lined forehead, a few strands of blond hair
hanging loose, almost touching her skin. She was very close to me, or I was
very close to her, depending on your point of view. Karyn is about five-four,
which puts her six inches shorter than me. She’s petite, weighing maybe a
hundred eight pounds or so, probably less. I outweigh her by a considerable
amount, but if she masters the techniques I’ve been trying to teach her, my
size won’t matter much.
I’ve just grabbed and pushed her up against the rear wall of the small
exercise room in back of the gym we’ve been occupying for the better part of
two hours. I’ve got one hand on her throat, using moderate pressure, while
my other hand is on her left shoulder, applying even sterner pressure.
Karyn’s green eyes are focused directly on me, and she is remaining calm, her
breathing controlled and regular. Good. Now let’s just hope she remembers
what else I taught her and can put it to use in this situation.
Apparently she has learned something because all of a sudden her
left arm moved between us, sweeping up in an arc, the blade of her hand impacting
hard against my hand at her throat, loosening my grip. At the same
time her right hand shot out and the heel of her palm made a solid connection
with my ribcage, the force of the blow causing me to double up and move

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back. And Karyn does not relent nor hesitate, quickly following up with a
raised knee to my groin, and finally another heel-palm strike, this one to under
side of my right jaw, jarring my teeth and knocking me off balance.
Or it would have had I not been wearing protective headgear, as well
as similar gear over my chest and genitals. Still, I had felt the blows and knew
for certain that had this been an actual confrontation and I wasn’t wearing
protection, Karyn would have done quite well, and I’d be in considerable pain
right now.
She stood several feet away from me, having freed herself and
quickly moved away from her attacker (me) as instructed. Very good indeed.
I pulled off my headgear and wiped sweat from the top of my shaved
head.
“I think I’ve created a monster,” I quipped, looking at the Colonial
Bank * senior vice president. “You did very well, Karyn. Really. I think you’re
ready now. Quickly!” my tone became urgent. “What do you do if someone
grabs you?”
“Break their grip immediately,” she responded instantly. “Before
they can solidify their hold. Then get away from them as quick as I can, hurt
them if I have to, but get away.”
I nodded.
“Very good,” I told her, dropping the head protector on the mat beneath
my feet then undoing the straps on my chest protector. “For the most
part you’re going to be traveling in countries that have pretty good police and
security forces, and they do a good job of protecting American visitors, especially
those who are on important business that their governments believe will
be beneficial to their countries. But even so, as an American you will be a
constant target in a lot of locations. Especially when you get to some of the
Middle Eastern countries you’re going to, in particular Saudi Arabia and Jordan.
Being a woman will be one factor, and being a banking executive will be
another. Kidnapping is a high probability threat. For ransom in one instance,
and for white slavery in the other.”
* In August of 2009 Colonial Bank of Alabama failed and was taken over by
BB&T of North Carolina, however for the purposes of this series of novels
Colonial still exists.
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Karyn smiled and wiped sweat from her brow with the back of a
hand.
“Cheery thoughts,” she replied. “Perhaps I should convince the bank
to hire you to bodyguard me while I’m on this trip.”
I walked over to her, stretching my neck, feeling a little stiff.
“It might not be a bad idea for you to have a protector while traveling,”
I admitted. “Especially with the way things are around the world these
days, in particular in the Middle East.”
“Yeah,” Karyn said. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine. Really. I was joking
about the bodyguard thing. Marc † insisted that I go through this training with
you, and I believe it was sensible, although I initially resisted it. I’ve learned a
lot, you’re a very good teacher, but I don’t think I’ll need somebody to watch
out for me over there. I won’t be alone you know. I’ll have a couple of others
with me. Both big, strong guys. No worries.”
I stared down into her beautiful green eyes for a few moments before
responding.
“Doesn’t matter how big and strong you are, or your gender, Karyn,”
I said in a quiet but staid tone. “Anyone can be taken. And if somebody targets
you…”
Karyn suddenly became very serious herself, nodding slowly.
“I understand,” she said, then reached out and touched my cheek.
Although I didn’t show it, that brief contact had sent a small electric charge
shooting through me. “I’ll use what you taught me,” she continued. “I’ll practice
every day too. Promise. Thanks again for all your help.”
I stared at her for a few moments longer, my body still alive with the
jolt that had momentarily passed through me. It had been impossible for me
not to notice how attractive Karyn Lochert was from the first moment we met.
I knew she was forty-eight, but could easily pass for ten years younger.
Smart, funny, beautiful, sexy… and married.
Not that that latter bit had ever stopped me before, as long as the
woman was willing. But this was a job. I’d been hired by the head of corporate
security for the Colonial Bank Group to train the Senior Vice President
† Marc Guyerson, Executive Vice President and Director of Corporate Security
for the Colonial Bank Group of Alabama.
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and Director of Private Banking (Montgomery District), Karyn M. Lochert, in
the techniques of personal defense before she embarked on an overseas trip in
a couple of weeks. Nothing new, I’d done a lot of work like this over the years
since leaving the Air Force and striking out on my own as a freelancer. I had
also trained my share of beautiful women before, but none seemed to have the
affect on me that Karyn did. I had to admit to myself that I was more than a
little surprised; and a little disturbed too.
She stood there wearing gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, both
soaking with perspiration, her shoulder length blond hair held back by some
sort of cloth band, and she still looked fantastic. I just wanted to… But then
there was that diamond wedding ring she wore on her left hand. And there
was also someone else on my mind.
“You’re welcome, Karyn,” I told her. “And have a safe trip.”
She nodded, smiling, and stepped closer.
“Thank you, Derrick,” she said, then kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll
call you when I get back, let you know how things went. If that’s alright with
you?”
There was actually another question concealed inside the one she
asked, and as I stared down into her eyes I could see it plain as day.
There was also the matter of that innocent and friendly little kiss
she’d given me.
Signs and portents?
Or hopes and dreams?
“Sure,” I told her. “That’d be great. I’ll give you my numbers before
we leave here today.”
“Good,” she nodded then glanced at her watch. “I have a meeting
back at my office in about ninety minutes. Gives me enough time to shower
and change before I head back. If we’re done here, that is.”
“We are,” I told her.
“Alright,” she said, placing a hand in the center of my chest once
again, smiling innocently. “Then I’m gonna go shower. Will you still be
around?”
“Sure,” I told her. “I need to shower and change too. If I finish first
I’ll wait for you.”
Karyn smiled again.
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“Good,” she said, and then turned and started out of the workout
room.
I stood watching her go, smiling as I admired her lovely round buttocks,
remembering how firm it had felt on those not too infrequent occasions
when she had accidentally pressed herself against me as we trained.
“You’re a bad, bad man, Derrick Olin,” I said to myself, bending
down to pick up the protective gear and a towel that I’d dropped on the floor
earlier. “And I’ve got to hurry up and get down to Mobile.”
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MOBILE, ALABAMA
Chapter II
Colonial Bank of Alabama actually has branches in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee,
Mississippi, and South Carolina in addition to the Great State of Alabama.
Its headquarters is based in Montgomery and that’s where I had been
for the past week training Karyn Lochert. I live in Birmingham and primarily
work there, but travel whenever required. Me and Paladin. Have Gun, Will
Travel. Even if a gun isn’t required.
I grew up in Birmingham but left after college to pursue a career in
the Air Force. I returned to the Magic City following ten years in the service,
most of my time spent as a special agent with the Air Force Office of Special
Investigations, AFOSI, or simply OSI.
Since returning to Birmingham I had been working for myself as an
independent contractor, a freelancer, ultimately answerable only to myself,
carefully choosing the clients I wanted to work for. I had been lucky, managing
to find enough clients that I could tolerate for the most part and who
could afford to pay me well. Colonial Bank was probably my best paying client,
and I performed a variety of services for them, specifically for their security
department. Usually these services were in the area of training their security
personnel, and, on occasion, jobs like the one I’d just finished up with
Karyn Lochert. Preparing the bank’s senior executives before they traveled
overseas to some potentially dangerous foreign environs.
I had been handsomely compensated, the funds now residing in my
bank account back home—not in a Colonial account however—and now I was
away, just not heading back to Birmingham. My destination from Montgomery
was south instead of north, and in a little less than two and a half hours I
arrived.
It was Friday afternoon, one-thirty. I was about an hour early. Perfect.
As I drove south on North Water Street in Mobile I looked to my left and
saw Mobile Bay. The water appeared inviting from the distance, but I sus-

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pected that with all of the industrial chemicals and crude oil that had been
accidentally spilled in it over the years it probably wasn’t. Didn’t matter to
me anyhow, my plans did not involve spending much time outdoors this
weekend.
A few minutes later I reached my destination, the Adam’s Mark
Riverview Plaza Hotel. I’m sure the suite I had reserved offered an excellent
view of the bay, but once again, it really didn’t matter to me.
I pulled up in front of the hotel’s main entrance and shut off the engine,
getting out of my car as a valet walked toward me. I gave him a five and
told him not to touch my car because I’d be right back once I checked in. He
smiled and backed away and I went inside to register.
I wasn’t thinking about Karyn Lochert now, nor Colonial Bank, or all
the other things I had to do and the bills that had to be paid when I got back
to Birmingham. I also wasn’t thinking about the spectacular view of Mobile
Bay outside the window of my top floor suite once I checked in. Nothing outside
mattered at the moment, everything of significance in the universe was
right here, right now, on the inside.
The suite had an incredibly comfortable king-sized bed in the bedroom,
accompanied by at least a dozen plush pillows of various shapes and
sizes. Most of them had been discarded because there simply was not enough
room for all of them and two people. Really, only one or two were actually
needed, for the most part. The fun part. Actually, it was all fun.
I loved listening to a woman pant, to see and feel her shudder with
each of my touches, so soft, so gentle, so agonizing. Traci Brenner’s head was
lying in the center of one of the medium-sized fluffy pillows in the middle of
the bed. She was completely naked, her eyes closed, her slender arms bent at
the elbows and pressed into the bed on either side of her head. Her small
hands were tightly bawled into little fists and the tip of her pink tongue was
protruding between clenched teeth.
Suddenly she shrieked and opened her eyes, looking down… then
she opened her mouth all the way and moaned deeply, loudly, her eyes shutting
tightly once more and her head pressing back into the pillow.
I was lying on my stomach, also completely naked, my face poised
just above her pubis, staring up over her flat tummy and catching sight of her
breasts, small with fully erect pink nipples. Traci’s face flushed deeply as she
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experienced yet another series of intense orgasms. Then I put my mouth back
on her and continued what I had been doing, listening as she continued to
moan helplessly, passionately, out of control.
I slid my tongue all the way inside her, then pulled back, licking her
clitoris, then her labia, running my tongue all across her neatly trimmed pubic
hair, tasting her, inhaling her, devouring her.
It had taken some time for me to become comfortable with the idea
of performing oral sex on a woman. I was twenty-eight, and I remembered
quite clearly the day when for some reason I felt the desire to try it, and I had,
and to my great surprise, I seemed to enjoy it more than the woman I had
been with at the time. I found myself more aroused and more desiring of my
partner, wanting to please her more and more, and in the process pleased
myself immensely, both of us experiencing climax as never before.
Now I loved taking a woman with my mouth, and could actually find
more satisfaction in it sometimes than through intercourse. However, when
it came to receiving oral sex, that was another matter entirely. I was not the
biggest fan, could really do without it. There was something that just made
me feel really uncomfortable, the experience of a woman’s tongue on my penis
or my testicles, taking me into her mouth, down her throat… Even when I
was alone and contemplated these sensations, the thoughts made me shudder
with a kind of revulsion that was hard to explain. Nevertheless, I never
shared this with any of my sex partners, and never would. It was very hard to
tell a woman you didn’t want her to return the favor when you’d spent an
hour pleasing her that way. So I lay back and endured, and did my best,
through monumental effort, to never let any woman know just how much I
hated every excruciating second of it.
Now it is my head in the middle of the pillow as I lay on my back,
one hand on my chest, the other behind my head on the pillow, both eyes
open, as they usually were during all sexual encounters. I was staring down at
Traci’s short-cut brown hair, noticing the way that it covered most of her face
at the moment as she rhythmically sucked my swollen penis from tip to the
base, her saliva making me slick and slippery. Although I really didn’t like
this at all, I liked being with Traci, and I liked that she enjoyed what she was
doing, it aroused and pleased her, and in turn that pleased me. The added
benefit was that I got a great abdominal workout during oral sex because
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throughout most of it I had to clench my stomach muscles to keep from
screaming.
Traci raised her head to look at me, her soft brown eyes full of lust
and desire. She kissed the underside of my penis, smiling at me. I smiled
back. Then she slipped both hands under my buttocks, lifting. I knew what
was coming next, and steeled myself for it, seeing her drop her head, and then
her tongue was licking that spot between my testicles and anus. I groaned,
both hands gripping the bed on either side of me. A stray and totally whacky
thought occurred to me then, and I smiled a little. It’s a good thing I keep the
area down there neatly trimmed myself.
Dear Christ in Hell!!!
We knelt in the middle of the bed, arms around one another, kissing
on the mouth, our tongues probing one another deeply, our rhythm slow and
unhurried. Traci was a very good kisser and I could spend hours just kissing
her, that is if there weren’t so many other things that I liked doing with her
that she was equally good at.
She pulled back a little, her hands now on my shoulders, staring up
into my eyes.
“Your friend’s starting to poke me in the stomach,” she said with a
smirk.
“Your stomach isn’t what he actually wants to poke,” I quipped, kissing
her lips once more.
Traci grinned.
“I’m so glad we could get together this weekend,” she said. “I’ve
been going crazy not seeing you these past couple of months. Marcus still has
two weeks left on his convalescence leave before he ships back over to Iraq.
He’s fully recovered and eager to get back into the action. I suppose if I cared
more I’d be upset, but as it is…”
Marcus was Marcus Brenner, Traci’s husband, a master sergeant in
the U.S. Army’s 5th Special Forces Group, currently serving another full and
extended tour in Iraq. He’d been wounded two months ago and sent home to
recuperate, and as a result it had been impossible for Traci and me to get together.
I’d missed her too, but it was probably easier on me. Traci really was
in a bad situation, married to a man she didn’t love, mother of a young boy
whom she was raising largely on her own, and no doubt she felt trapped by
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her life, unable to see a way out. The relationship that we had begun a couple
of years ago was her way of escaping her life, if only for a brief period, and it
was usually easy for her to get away for us to be together because her husband
was gone so much. Birmingham and Mobile weren’t all that far away, and she
did have another reason to come up there fairly often. Traci runs a horse
breeding ranch in Mobile and is also a certified riding instructor. From time
to time she teaches riding classes for abused children living in shelters up in
Birmingham. And usually when she comes to town for those classes it’s done
over a weekend; and we spent the nights together. When Marcus was
wounded and shipped home she had to suspend her classes for a while, and I
had been busy with other things. Then the opportunity to come to Montgomery
had presented itself, and things had worked out from there. Lucky for us
both.
I kissed her again, eyes open, staring directly into hers.
“You’re so beautiful,” I told her in a heavy voice.
She smiled, putting her arms around my neck and squeezing my
body against hers.
“And very horny,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find some place else
for your friend down there to press in to.”
I chuckled, tightening my grip on Traci’s supple body.
Room service delivered cold cuts and a bottle of champagne at our
request and we ate and played on a lavish, oversized chair in the front room.
Normally I don’t drink alcohol, but from time to time, just to be sociable when
I’m with Traci, I’ll take a sip here and there, as I did with the champagne.
And after a while we went back to the bedroom for some more intense play.
Traci was lying on her back once again, staring up at me, her knees
pressed together and pointing straight up, her feet flat on the bed. I knelt
beside her, my left hand slowly rubbing the tops of her knees. She smiled up
at me and nodded.
“Yeah,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready now.”
I nodded, leaning down to kiss each of her knees. Then I reached
down as Traci raised her feet off the bed and lifted her legs straight up above
my head. For just a brief moment my left hand brushed against the small
silver anklet that she wore on her right ankle, a gift from me that she only
wore when we were together. While kissing the back of her left calf, I used my
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left hand to take firm hold of the flared end of the plug that protruded from
Traci’s lower body. In sex-toy lingo it was known as a butt-plug and for the
last ten minutes it had been inside of her body, thoroughly lubricated and
gently placed. With a small amount of effort the plug came free and I
wrapped it up in a hand-towel and dropped it on the floor beside the bed.
Traci sighed, handing me a two ounce bottle that was half filled with
a clear, slippery looking substance. I took the bottle and snapped open the
top with my thumb and then carefully applied a generous amount of the substance
to my fully erect and condom-sheathed penis. I was kneeling directly
in front of Traci now, her raised legs braced against the left side of my neck as
I applied the lubricant. When I was done I snapped the cap down on the bottle,
glancing briefly at the label on the side. Astroglide. I smiled, how appropriate.
The bottle was dropped onto the floor as well and then I took a hold of
Traci’s ankles and separated her legs, bracing one ankle on each of my shoulders.
“Ready?” I asked, looking down into her eyes.
“Yeah,” Traci responded, a small smile on her face, her fair skin
slightly flushed and bathed in a thin layer of perspiration.
With great care and tenderness I eased my erection into her, slowly
pushing against the tightness of her sphincter until it gave way, then I entered
her anal canal and continued until the length of my shaft filled her. As I was
entering her Traci had lain motionless, her eyes focused intently on mine, her
lips parted slightly, barely making a sound. Once I was completely inside her
she gasped and moaned deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. Then she
moaned even louder and smiled.
“God, Derrick, you feel so good in my ass,” she said breathlessly.
I grinned, leaning down and kissing her, her long, slender legs folding
effortlessly against her chest as I did so. Then I was kneeling upright once
more with her ankles still against my shoulders.
“Fuck me!” she demanded, a wicked grin on her lips.
Needless to say I was smiling too, and then I did exactly what I had
been commanded to do.
For the next little while Traci and I explored all of the pleasures and
wonders of anal sex, switching positions a couple of times, moving to her favorite,
reverse cowgirl—with me on my back and Traci facing away as she
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straddled me, moving back and forth and bouncing up and down as I held her
small waist in my hands. And then we tried one of my favorites—Traci lying
face-down in the middle of the bed, a pillow under her tummy, me kneeling
above her with one hand on her back and the other on her hip. Penetration is
deep and complete, the head of my penis pressing right up against the wall of
her vagina and giving direct stimulation to her G-spot with each thrust, causing
Traci to shudder and gasp in ecstasy, to orgasm over and over again until
finally my own release was ignited and I groaned deeply in my throat, my hips
moving faster and faster as I erupted in a torrent of spent impiety.
Empty and satisfied.
Neither of us could move or speak for several minutes afterwards,
and once we regained ourselves all we could do was laugh like idiots for several
minutes more.
Later that night we lay intertwined, Traci’s head on my chest. The
room was dark but we had the curtains open with the sheers closed and light
from the bay filtered inside. I carefully stroked her bare back, gently digging
my fingers into her smooth skin.
“I’m gonna hate like hell driving to Mississippi Sunday morning,”
Traci whispered suddenly. “Wish I could just spend the whole weekend here.”
I was silent, nothing really for me to say, she was just thinking out
loud. So I continued rubbing her back.
“But that’s where I’m supposed to be and if I don’t go and Marcus
ever found out…”
More silence.
Finally she sighed and raised her head. I looked into her eyes in the
semi-darkness, barely able to see her.
“Well we’ve got another day to spend together,” she said finally,
smiling. “Plenty of time.”
“Plenty,” I echoed, leaning over and kissing her soft lips.
We lay like that and I held onto her until she drifted off to sleep; and
a while longer. Before going to sleep myself I eased out of bed and went to
relieve myself in the bathroom, then came back and snuggled up close to
Traci once more. I kissed her shoulder and her cheek, then closed my eyes
and settled in.
I was a very content man right now.
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But was I happy?
Did it really matter?
Did I really care?
Contentment had its virtues.
As did Traci Brenner.
I kissed her shoulder again and then let sleep take me.
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Chapter III
BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA
For the next two weeks after leaving Mobile I didn’t have any work to do. It
happens that way sometimes in my profession, especially when you’re an independent
contractor working for yourself. It’s usually one end of the spectrum
or the other. Either too much work or none at all. And since I’m a
pretty good manager of my finances and live a relatively simple life, I don’t
worry that much about the dry times. I use it to keep myself in shape and my
professional skills sharp.
Every week day I woke up at five and ran five miles, rain or shine,
through the streets of Homewood where I have a small furnished apartment
on Green Springs Highway. Following that I spent another hour working out,
sometimes in my apartment and other times at Sandi’s Gym in the Wildwood
Center a couple miles from my place. Sometimes I’d drive over, and other
times when I’m feeling really adventurous I run there, workout, then run
home. Who says you have to slow down or get any smarter when you hit
forty?
Once my daily workout was complete and I’d had a nice hot
shower—sometimes a soak when my muscles really ached—and a good breakfast,
I’d head over to Pleasant Grove and spend a couple hours honing my
skills on the range. For about five years now I’ve been a member of the F.O.P.
Range and Training Center in Pleasant Grove. I often bring clients out here
for shooting lessons when I’m not using the facility for my own skill-building
purposes.
Because my profession sometimes requires the use of weapons (most
often firearms), it is important for me to maintain my proficiency with a wide
variety of them, and I just happen to have quite a well-stocked personal arsenal.
My favorites are Glock pistols, most notably the .45 caliber. I own three.
The Model-21 full-size, the Model-30 compact, and the Model-36 “slimmed”
compact. All very excellent weapons and they have never let me down, taking

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care of me when I needed them the most, and in turn I always make sure I
take care of them.
Each day at the range I alternate between one of the .45’s and use
them in conjunction with some of my other weapons. There are various scenarios
that I run through; each designed to test my reactions in certain critical
situations that I might face—and sometimes have faced—in my operational
life. The neat thing about the F.O.P. Range is that it is several ranges: pistol,
rifle, shotgun, and assault weapon. And, because the range is owned by a
local police officer and several departments train their personnel on-site,
there is also a combat training range equipped with a “Live-Fire House”. Inside
it there are rooms with popup targets, each containing a potentially dangerous
situation that an officer or agent might face in the field. Shoot or don’t
shoot, and all you have is a split-second to make a decision that could result
in someone’s death, quite probably your own. It is not as realistic as what
you’d face in real life, but what besides actual real life is? Still, it’s pretty
close. At least a couple times a week I manage to use the “Live-Fire House”,
and have an absolute blast.
On the third Monday in June, a particularly hot and humid day, I’d
completed my range time, having fired somewhere in the neighborhood of
four hundred rounds through four weapons—my Glock-30 among them—and
sat at the covered table in back of the lower pistol range breaking down,
cleaning, and reassembling everything. It was after one o’clock and I was
starving, quickly inspecting each part of each weapon before hurriedly putting
them all back together. There was a Hardee’s about a mile or so away from
the range and I intended to go there and order the largest thick burger they
had on the menu. I’d eaten a good breakfast this morning but I suppose all
the sweating I’d done on the range since then had burned it out of me. I
didn’t eat burgers as much now as I had when I was younger, but on occasion
I got a taste for them, as I did today, and Hardee’s was my usual solution. Or
when I was out west, Carl’s Jr.
I reattached the slide and receiver of my Glock, checked the action,
then loaded a full magazine into the weapon and chambered a round. Now I
was done, ready to go. And that’s when my cell phone rang. Suddenly something
within told me that I’d be skipping that thick burger.
And that something wasn’t wrong.
- 15 -

Damn!
Stellen Qxz
- 16 -

Chapter IV
Behind Colonial Bank, the Simon Family is my second largest source of regular
income. They are probably the wealthiest family in Alabama, certainly in
the Birmingham area, and are always in the news because of their great philanthropic
gifts to various charities and causes. In point of fact, no one really
knows the true source of the family’s wealth, it is just considered Old Money
and very much appreciated by those from every spectrum who delight in receiving
generous portions of it for their causes and pet projects.
The current head of the family is the youngest son of the last patriarch,
Jonas Simon. Lev Simon is forty-six and serves as Chairman and Chief
Executive Officer of the Simon Group, the overriding company that controls
all others within the family’s sphere of dominance and influence. I’m not
really up to date on everything the Simon Group is in to or owns, and I really
don’t care. Provided their activities aren’t illegal or otherwise offensive to me,
it’s really none of my business where their money came from or what they do
with it. But it is nice from time to time to be the recipient of some of it.
For the most part my dealings with the family are through the head
of the Simon Family Charitable Trusts, the foundation that was set up specifically
to deal with the family’s philanthropy, handling donations, gifts, and
fundraisers for this cause and that. Nadya Simon is the head of the Trusts.
She is Lev’s fifty-four year old American-born Muslim-Christian wife from a
little town just outside of Detroit, Michigan. By the way, Lev and the rest of
the Simon family are Jewish. That makes things really interesting around the
holidays I’m sure. But again, I don’t care.
I was first contacted by representatives of Lev Simon’s a few years
ago to provide protective surveillance for Nadya when she had received a series
of vile death threats following a television appearance on the local news
where she questioned the motives behind America’s current, as she put it,
“military follies in the Middle East”. She got it from all quarters. Some called
her a “Rag-head loving Muslim bitch!”, while others saw her as a “Jew-bitch

Stellen Qxz
Israel lover!” Lev was concerned for her safety, despite Nadya’s dismissals,
and he insisted that she get some sort of protection. As it happens, the Simon
Family does a great deal of business with Colonial Bank, and following a conversation
between the chief counsel for the Simon Group and the Executive
Vice President in Charge of Security for Colonial Bank, Lev sent his people to
talk to me. Then he and I met. After that I met Nadya Simon, and I must say
that life became quite amusing for both of us then.
She was fifty-one at the time and still looked amazing. Straight jetblack
hair that hung past her shoulders, large dark brown eyes, almost back,
an oval face with smooth porcelain-like skin, full lips and a wide mouth, and a
most incredible body that stood around five-five and probably a hundred
thirty pounds, all properly proportional in every way.
And her personality… one of the most outlandish I’ve ever come in
contact with, especially for someone of her station in life. I can say this about
Nadya, she is never boring. I am not one usually known for laughing out loud
all that often, but whenever I’m around Nadya she seems to bring it out of me.
Over the years I’ve been called in several more times to provide security
for Nadya, it seems that she can never resist the temptation to say what
she thinks about anything when there’s a camera and microphone nearby.
However, she has also called me in a few times to handle other security matters.
When I took the call from her at the range this afternoon she told me it
would be one of those again, asking if I could come to her office in Riverchase
as soon as possible. My stomach was groaning, but I said yes nonetheless.
Work took priority over a happy tummy.
I packed up my stuff, went up to the clubhouse to sign out, then got
in my car and drove back to my place in Homewood. I had a quick shower
and put on fresh clothes—slacks, a polo shirt, loafers, and my trusty blue
blazer fresh from the dry cleaners—grabbed a couple of granola bars out of
the kitchen cabinet on my way back out the front door, then got in my car and
headed south for the ten mile drive down to Riverchase. If it had been a
straight shot down I-65 I might have made it there quicker, but you can’t get
to the Riverchase Center where Nadya’s offices are located from I-65. You
have to switch over at 459 then take Highway 31 South until you reach Parkway
Lake Drive, and take that all the way to Parkway Office Circle. Eventu-
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Criminal
ally, with patience and tenacity, you will reach Riverchase Center, as I did at a
quarter to three this afternoon.
And not a moment too soon!
The lot at Riverchase Center is secured and visitors must show ID
and that has to be verified with an office-holder in the building. The process
only took a minute in my case because Nadya had already called down and
told security I was coming. Once I was cleared the guard at the gate gave me
a pass to put on my dashboard and told me where I should park. Since I had
been here a number of times before I already knew the drill and drove ahead,
turning left into the parking deck and proceeding as directed.
I found an empty space on the third level, which was fortunate because
the covered walkway that led to the main building was on the third
floor. When I reached the other side I once again found myself in the company
of an armed security guard. Two actually. One at the entrance and one
behind a large semi-circle desk that was mounted against the far wall in the
entryway. The guard at the door nodded as I entered and I returned his nod,
heading over to the guard at the desk.
Again identification was required and after this guard verified my
identity he told me to wait just a moment, someone would be coming to get
me. Before I could respond the doors to one of the elevators down the corridor
opened and a thin young man in a fawn colored suit stepped off, walking
toward us smiling. His name was Julian and he was Nadya’s executive personal
assistant. I knew him well. We shook hands, then Julian signed me in
and I was issued a temporary badge by the guard, and after I affixed the badge
to my blazer pocket I was led over to the elevators.
Nadya’s offices are located on the top floor and I followed Julian into
her suite, past many busy looking young men and women, some on the
phones, others on computers, all doing work that I assumed was important to
them and to the Simon Charities.
Julian knocked once on one of the large carved oak doors to Nadya’s
private office, then he opened them and stepped inside, ushering me to precede
him. I told him thank you and he nodded, bowing slightly before backing
away and closing the doors.
Nadya Simon was seated behind a large teak desk centered at the
rear of the office and in front of a large picture window. The curtains had
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Stellen Qxz
been pulled wide open and there were no sheers or blinds. From a security
standpoint I might have been concerned because in my mind Nadya was always
a target for somebody or other, but I knew two things about her office
window. The first was not a secret. It was tinted on the outside and impossible
to see through unless you had some very special equipment. The second,
which was less well known, was the fact that the material the window was
made from could probably survive a direct hit from and anti-tank missile.
The best that money could buy. A recommendation of mine to Lev Simon
when I’d been protecting Nadya the first time. She had refused to shut herself
up inside her office and not enjoy her magnificent view, regardless of the
threats. So a compromise had been agreed upon. She could have her view,
we’d just make sure that nobody out there with a rifle and a scope had a view
of her. And even if they could find out which window belonged to her office,
they’d need something approaching a sidewinder rocket to penetrate it.
Nadya removed her glasses and smiled when she looked up from
what she’d been reading on her desk. She stood at once and rounded the
desk, her arms wide.
“Rockman!” she exclaimed as we embraced. As usual she was far too
enthusiastic for comfort. “God it’s good to see you Rockman!” Rockman—
actually Rocman—was her nickname for me, one of several. It seems that
Nadya thinks that I favor the actor Charles S. Dutton who used to play a character
named Roc on TV. Apparently she liked the show, or maybe she just
liked Dutton, and she started calling me Roc, and then Rocman. I really don’t
see the resemblance. I’m much better looking. And I have a mustache and
goatee now. Still got the shaved head though, and Nadya just loves that too.
She pulled back, still smiling at me, then raised her left hand and
gave my head a rub, as she always did. She loves bald men. Or maybe black
men. Bald black men? If I were Lev I might be worried. He’s a short Jewish
guy with a full head of dark curly hair.
“How you doing, baby?” she said.
“Well, love,” I said, my arms still around her waist, enjoying the
closeness, for the most part. “You?”
“Fantastic!” she said, then leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.
“Especially now that you’re here.”
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Criminal
She took my right arm and pulled me toward the two high-backed
chairs in front of her desk.
“Come on, let’s sit down and talk.”
I followed and sat as she sat, observing as she crossed her legs and
smoothed out her black and white skirt over her thighs, making sure not to
cover her knees. Nadya has great knees, and everything else, which she
knows all too well.
While I was looking at her, she smiled, leaned over and squeezed my
knee.
“Good to see you, Derrick.”
“You too, Nadya,” I said. “Now why don’t you tell me why you
called?”
Her smiled faded a little, and she sighed, nodding.
“Alright,” she said. “You know that from time to time I sponsor
young up and coming artists. Painters, musicians, authors, and the like.”
I nodded but said nothing.
“Okay, so about two months ago I was introduced to this young
writer named Evan Cross. He’s only thirty, but he’s got a great mind, and his
stuff’s pretty good too. Unfortunately it’s really hard for a new writer to get
published these days. Most publishing houses won’t touch a new writer, and
those that do take so much advantage of them that they hardly see any return
on their work for several books, if they survive that long and are well enough
received. And that’s why I sponsor some of them from time to time, those I
really have a good feeling about. Evan Cross is one of those. Actually you and
he have something in common. He’s a Ph.D. in sociology.”
I nodded again.
“Well we don’t actually have that in common, Nadya,” I told her. “I
only have my BA in sociology.”
She grinned and touched my knee again.
“But you know what I mean. You studied the same field. Only your
courses after school took you on very different paths. Anyway, I agreed to
take Evan on as one of my artistic sponsorships, financing him and opening a
lot of doors in the publishing world that would have otherwise not been available
to him. He was very grateful, and I was glad to do it because, as I said, he
is very good. Very talented for someone so young.”
- 21 -

Stellen Qxz
“Is he into teaching?” I asked.
“No,” Nadya responded. “He did a little while working on his Ph.D.
Never wanted to be a teacher though. I asked him about that. It’s usually
why most people get their doctorates, so they can get a job at a university or
college somewhere. But Evan said that he had no interest in teaching longterm.
He was more interested in research and publishing, but he didn’t just
want to publish papers and essays, which he has done also, rather he wanted
to write and publish books.”
“I see,” I said. “So what, now you’re getting him published and you
think maybe thousands of sociology fans may mob him at his book signings
and you want to hire a bodyguard for him?”
Nadya smiled and smacked my knee with the back of her hand this
time.
“No silly,” she said. “I wish it were that. That would be a lot better
than the truth.”
I could see seriousness rising in her eyes and suddenly my manner
became less jovial.
“What is it, Nadya?” I asked.
She paused, gathering her thoughts, glancing away for a few moments,
then she looked back at me, sighing heavily once more before speaking.
“The book that Evan is writing is about crime in the inner city. For
the past few years he’s traveled throughout the southeastern region, when not
working other jobs to pay the bills, gathering data and interviewing scores of
people—police, lawyers, social workers, teachers, politicians, criminals themselves,
everyone—and he’s got a lot of stuff. But Evan began to believe that
perhaps his focus had been too grand and that if he tried to put it all down in
a book it would have to be more than a thousand pages, and nobody would
want to read it, unless they were in a mood for War and Peace, The Sequel,
which most people aren’t.
“So he decided to change his focus, and concentrate on a smaller
sample. He still intended to use a lot of what he had learned from other locations,
but for the most part Evan set his designs on Birmingham and the
problems of crime in the poorer neighborhoods here. Again, he did a lot of
research and interviews, and I’ve read some of what he’s collected and put
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Criminal
into chapters so far, it’s really good, Derrick. Really makes you think. He’s a
gifted writer.”
I nodded, thinking I could see where this conversation was leading,
and not really liking it that much. Actually not at all.
“So what’s the problem, Nadya?” I said.
“Starting last week Evan’s been getting threats over the phone and
some notes left in his mailbox at his loft downtown, no envelopes, just
dropped in,” she told me. “Pretty nasty stuff. The gist is that if he tries to
publish the book he won’t live to see it hit the stands.”
“How many threats exactly?” I asked.
“Total of four since last Wednesday,” she said. “Two verbal and two
written.”
“Have you gone to the police?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“He doesn’t want the police involved,” she told me. “Doesn’t believe
they can do much anyway other than write a report. The threats can’t be
traced.”
“They probably could if the cops could look through his research and
notes, that way they’d learn who would most likely be threatened by the book
being published.”
“And they’d also learn some things that Evan does not want them or
anyone else to learn. He needs for his sources to stay a secret; otherwise their
lives could be in danger as well.”
I sighed this time, shaking my head.
“Then Mr. Cross has a problem, love,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, grinning suddenly. “This is why I called you. The
number one problem-solver I know.”
Despite myself I started to grin as well.
“So have you discussed hiring me with him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He has agreed to meet with you before deciding.”
“Swell,” I said. “So when does that meeting take place?”
Nadya uncrossed her shapely legs and stood up, glancing down at
me, her smile even wider now.
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Stellen Qxz
“He’s in the conference room down the hall,” she told me. “Actually
I ordered food from the Hunan Garden just a couple blocks away. It should
be here shortly. I skipped lunch and am starving now. How about you?”
I smiled too, standing.
“If you weren’t already married, my lady, I’d get down on one knee
right now,” I told her.
Nadya snickered and moved very close to me.
“Well you can still get down on your knees for me, Derrick,” she said,
her eyes ablaze with mirth and mischief, her breath sweet and warm on my
skin.
Sometimes I do know when to keep my mouth shut. This was one of
those times, and so I did.
Still smiling, the Chairwoman of the Simon Family Charitable
Trusts, Mrs. Nadya Simon, led me from her office and down the corridor to
the conference room where my potential new client awaited.
- 24 -

Chapter V
Evan Cross was sitting at the circular conference table in the middle of the
room when Nadya led the way in. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but he
really didn’t fit the image in my mind. For some reason or other I had never
considered the possibility that he would be black, but he was, his skin very
dark, almost ebony. He was a small man too. Maybe five-seven, probably no
more than a hundred forty pounds. Neat dresser, fashionable slacks and
shirt, clean and pressed, the sleeves of the dress shirt he wore rolled up above
the cuff, and carefully tucked in. He also wore octagonal steel framed glasses
that fit his face perfectly, minimizing the size of his nose, which was considerable.
And there was the afro, neatly trimmed, and in keeping with the current
style, whatever the hell that was. One of the added bonuses of shaving your
head is you don’t have to care about hairstyles.
Cross stood when we entered, moving away from the table but keeping
his hands at his sides. Nadya walked up to him and put her hands on his
shoulders, staring into his eyes. I stopped by the door and waited, watching.
“Evan, sweetheart, this is the man I told you about, Derrick Olin.
He’s come to help.”
Cross stared over at me, his gaze uncertain. I could tell he was nervous,
but he didn’t intend to show it, preferring instead to try for stoic indifference,
but it didn’t really work so well. In my business you became an excellent
reader of people very quickly, or you died. I could tell he was scared,
which is why he had agreed when Nadya wanted to call me, but he didn’t want
me to know. That was fine; he could massage his ego all he wanted to right
now. For the moment he wasn’t my client. And maybe he never would be.
Nadya turned and motioned me over and I moved very slowly in my
approach.
“Derrick, Evan Cross,” she made the introductions. “Evan, this is
Derrick Olin.”

Stellen Qxz
He held out a hand and I held out mine and we shook. His skin was
smooth but not exactly soft, and he gave me as firm a handshake as possible.
I have never understood why people—guys actually—feel that you have to
squeeze the hell out of somebody’s hand to show how strong a handshake
you’ve got. In this case Cross really didn’t have the strength to make it too
uncomfortable, but he tried.
“Good to meet you,” I said, looking into his dark eyes.
“Likewise,” he said, lowering his hand. “So you’re the bodyguard
Nadya’s been telling me about?” His accent was not southern, probably
somewhere from the Midwest. My guess would be Illinois. Definitely very
well educated, and proud of it. Right now he was assessing me, figuring ways
to test me to see if I was really up to the task. I could tell right off he had disdain
for my profession, probably thinking it was unseemly and anathema to a
properly ordered society. And he’d be right if we lived in a properly ordered
society. In which case I’d probably be shit-out-of-luck because I discovered a
long time ago that the only thing I’m truly any good at is what I do for a living
now. It didn’t bother me too much though. With the way the world was going
people were not likely to start working out their differences peaceably any
time soon. It was more likely that they would all eventually blow themselves
up. This meant that I could look forward to continued employment for a very
long time to come.
“I’m a lot of things,” I replied to his statement. “Sometimes a bodyguard,
although for the past couple of decades people in the profession have
been trying to get beyond that phrase, preferring instead the term protection
agent. As for myself, I could not care less.”
Cross suddenly smiled, showing perfectly even and white teeth.
“You speak very well, Mr. Olin,” he said.
“So do you, Dr. Cross,” I replied.
He stopped smiling, and then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “That probably sounded patronizing. And it was.
Didn’t really mean offense. It’s just so rare that I actually hear anyone use
that phrase correctly. They usually say ‘I could care less’. You said ‘I could
not care less’, which, of course, is the proper terminology. That’s what I was
referring to. Most people never catch that.”
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Criminal
“Of course,” I responded coolly. He was probably telling the truth,
but I didn’t care, and I wasn’t really all that thrilled with Evan Cross at the
moment either.
Nadya looked from one of us to the other for a few moments then
suggested that we sit, which we did. Nadya took a seat next to Cross and I
moved to the other side of the table, adjusting my blazer as I sat down, feeling
the butt of my Glock dig into my right side.
“I’ve been telling Derrick a little about the situation, Evan,” Nadya
told him, brushing her hair back over her left shoulder. The blouse she had
on was unbuttoned down to the top of her breasts and from this position I
had a pretty good view of her cleavage, not my intention when I chose this
seat, but an added bonus, or a distraction from a certain point of view. However,
not an unwelcome one.
“And what do you think, Mr. Olin?” Cross asked me.
“Call me Derrick,” I told him and he nodded. “And I think that you
might have a serious problem on your hands. But I need to know more before
I can make an accurate assessment. Do you have the threatening notes?”
He nodded, reaching into the briefcase next to his arm on the table
and pulling out two sheets of crumpled paper, passing them across. I took
them and read both. Simple and direct, telling him that if he tries to publish
his book he’ll be killed, only the language was a little more colorful. I glanced
up at him.
“And what did the phone calls say?” I asked.
“Same thing,” he said. “Same foul gutter language too.”
“Sex and ethnicity of the caller?” I asked.
“Male, black,” he said. “Sounded young. A thug maybe.”
I nodded, glancing at the notes again.
“This is amateur stuff,” I told them after looking up once more. “But
that doesn’t mean the threats aren’t real. The people you might be dealing
with here aren’t very bright—in most cases—but they can be nasty. They
might think this would be enough to scare you off, but if it’s not, then they’ll
come after you, and probably try to kill you.”
Nadya frowned, looking over at Cross.
“Evan, perhaps you should reconsider going to the police,” she said.
He shook his head adamantly.
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Stellen Qxz
“No, Nadya,” his voice a little strained. “I told you, I don’t want the
police involved. That could get in the way of my research, if the people I’ve
been dealing with found out the police were involved, if they learned of the
threats… No, the police must not become involved. At least not at this point
in time.”
Nadya nodded slowly, and then refocused on me, her eyes almost
pleading.
I nodded.
“So what about me, Dr. Cross?” I said.
Cross stared at me harshly for half a minute.
“You’d be different,” he said, his tone lightening a little. “You’re not
police and if we did this right nobody would even know about you. I’ve got
most of what I need to finish my book already, really only got about eight
more chapters to do, then some reworking on some of the others before sending
it off for the publisher to have a look. But there are a few things I need to
tie up on some matters, and that means I need to talk to some of my sources.
Let me ask you something, Derrick. If I hire you is it the same as me hiring a
lawyer? Are you bound by some sort of official privilege?”
“Strictly speaking,” I said, folding my hands on the table in front of
me, “no. There is no official bodyguard-client privilege. However, anything
that you tell me is held in my confidence, and anything that I learn while
working for you is also held in confidence; provided, of course, you are not
involved in anything illegal. In any case I won’t lie for you, least of all under
oath in front of a judge and jury.”
Cross studied me hard for maybe another minute, and then smiled
grudgingly.
“An honest and direct man. I like that. I won’t lie to you, Derrick,
this does have me concerned. I’ve been doing a lot of research for this book,
gotten to meet a lot of dangerous people, and the possibility of one of them
threatening me is not a pleasant prospect. I welcome your assistance with
this matter.”
God did he have a stick up his ass. And people think I need to loosen
up.
“I’ll do what I can,” I told him. “But in order to do that you’re gonna
have to be straight with me.”
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Criminal
Both Cross and Nadya seemed puzzled, even glanced at one another
before turning their perplexed gazes back on me.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Derrick?” Cross said. “I
have been straight with you.”
“Not entirely, Evan,” I said flatly. “I’m pretty good at reading people
and I can tell when somebody is holding something back. You may not feel
that I need to know something, but if it has you worried or concerned, believe
me, if I’m going to be an effective bodyguard to you, I have to know it. As I
told you—assured you—anything I learn is confidential. But I have to know.
And I’ll make it easy for you. Nadya tells me that Birmingham is the main
focus for your book about inner city crime, is that correct?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“And that tells me a lot right there,” I told him.
“Like what?” he responded apprehensively.
I sighed.
“Like you’ve been digging up dirt on the number one criminal in
these parts, the overlord of crime in Birmingham. One Innes Redbone. Am I
correct?”
He looked as if he’d swallowed something bitter, and I knew he
didn’t want to answer, but he knew he had to if he wanted my help. Slowly he
nodded.
“Yes,” his voice small.
“And you suspect he’s the one behind the threats?”
A long pause, then another nod.
“Well let me put your mind at ease there, Evan,” I told him. “Innes
Redbone, as I’m sure you know, is a cold-blooded and stone-hearted killer.
He doesn’t know from subtle. He wouldn’t bother with childish threats. He’d
send one of two people to see you. Either his chief enforcer, Nestor Cabaña,
who would take great pleasure and delight in breaking many of your bones, or
Frankie Burrage, his number one shooter, who would take no pleasure, but
would nonetheless rather accurately and ruthlessly shoot you dead.”
The room fell silent again and Nadya’s eyes widened.
“My god, Derrick,” she finally managed. “I’ve heard of this Redbone
character before. He’s supposed to be very dangerous.”
- 29 -

Stellen Qxz
“Supposed to be and is,” I confirmed. “Which I’m sure Evan can
corroborate. Innes Redbone is a thug of the first order, and largely responsible
for the bulk of the major crimes committed in Birmingham and the surrounding
areas. Drugs, prostitution, gambling, and, of course, murder. Most
of the lesser gangs report to him, or at least give him tribute. The cops and
the feds would love to nail him, but nobody ever lives long enough to testify
against him.”
I was staring at Evan Cross the entire time I spoke to Nadya, watching
his reaction, and seeing the fear build within him.
“So are you sure, Evan, that you don’t want to bring in the police?”
He looked up at me and stared hard again, then slowly shook his
head.
“You seem to know a lot about these people, Derrick. Perhaps I
should have used you as a source. No, by the way, I do not want to bring in
the police. Not now. I think you may just be the man I need to help me, to
watch my back while I’m on this. Will you take the job?”
“Provided you’re straight with me,” I told him.
Cross smiled suddenly, but only for a moment.
“I understand,” he said.
I glanced at Nadya and she stared back with a hint of trepidation in
her eyes.
“Then I suppose you’ve got yourself a bodyguard, Dr. Cross,” I told
him directly.
Next came the discussion of my fee, which Nadya assured me she
would be covering, then we talked a little about the kind of services I would be
providing. He did not want a twenty-four hour a day watcher, and that was
good because I couldn’t do that by myself, and putting a team together on
such short notice was not going to be easy.
We decided on protective surveillance. When he had to go out to
meet with sources I would be his shadow, staying far enough away so as not to
be intrusive, but close enough to respond if something happened. He lived in
a secure building downtown, a guard in the lobby and one in the parking
structure, and residents had to have keys to gain access to the building or be
buzzed in by the lobby guard.
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Criminal
The lobby elevator required a resident’s key as well, or the guard had
to use his master. I reminded him that someone had still gotten in the building
and slipped the notes in his mailbox, twice, but then he pointed out that
they hadn’t been able to get beyond the first level either time. I chose not to
continue the argument because he was missing the point. Besides it would be
an easy matter to knock some resident over the head and take his key, but
there was no real reason to make that point right now, so I skipped it.
There were no cameras in the building and that was odd, considering
how security-conscious everyone seemed to be these days. I told him I’d
come by and have a look at his place, see the layout for myself, and he agreed.
The Chinese food Nadya had ordered finally arrived and we took a
break to eat, Nadya making small talk with both of us, but Cross was preoccupied,
and I wasn’t sure if he was thinking about his book or his safety, or
maybe something else. It was clear to me that he wasn’t telling me everything
even now. That bothered me, but not enough for me to turn down the paycheck.
At least not for the moment.
At four-thirty we concluded our meeting and Cross said he was going
to head back to his place downtown. I stood up, my stomach very happy now
as it was full of good Chinese food, and told him I’d follow him home and
have that look around now, if that was alright. It was.
Nadya smiled and kissed both of us good bye, telling me to keep in
touch and not to hesitate to ask for any assistance from her that I needed. I
told her I would not, and then waited for Cross to collect his things and followed
him out.
Employed once more.
And once more onto the breach… ‡
‡
“Once more onto the breach, dear friends, once more.” From Shakespeare’s
Henry V.
- 31 -

Chapter VI
Traffic was starting to get heavy as we left the Riverchase Center, it being
close to quitting time for most normal working folks. Luckily we were heading
toward town and the majority of the traffic was heading the other way.
Still, there were some congested spots here and there. Once we got onto I-65
it was a fairly straight shot north to the downtown area where Evan Cross had
a loft on 3rd Avenue North.
He drove a little blue Miata and apparently liked to drive fast. I’d
have to have a conversation with him about the necessity to obey the traffic
laws and not to drive at a rate of speed that might cause his protection to fall
behind. Also, a fatal traffic accident would make him just as dead and whoever
was threatening him wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Good for them, not so
good for Dr. Cross.
It was twenty after five when Cross turned left into the parking garage
attached to his building on the corner of 20th and 3rd , swiping his access
card and waiting until the security arm blocking the drive rose up. In order
for a visitor to gain access they have to see the guard in the booth next to the
security arm. I pulled in behind Cross and waited while he stopped and explained
to the guard that I was a guest of his and cleared to come in. The
guard was probably in his late fifties and not all that alert, he simply nodded
at me and went back to reading the newspaper on the desk in the little booth.
As I drove in I thought to myself that if the guard inside the building was just
as alert as this one then it was no wonder someone had gotten in twice and
left notes in Cross’ box. Hell, it probably wasn’t all that hard to get upstairs if
you were determined.
A few minutes later I found out just how right I was.
The door leading inside the building was not secured as advertised
and the guard who was supposed to be there was nowhere to be found when
Cross and I entered the front lobby. In fact, there was no one in sight.
“Maybe he’s gone to make his rounds,” Cross offered.

Criminal
“Maybe,” I said, glancing around, checking out the desk, noticing the
crossword puzzle book turned over and open, the half empty coffee cup and a
half eaten Twinkie on a napkin next to it . “Where’s your mailbox?”
Cross indicated the area at the far end of the lobby near the bank of
elevators.
“Just around the corner from the elevators,” he said, walking in that
direction. I followed. “Let’s see what I’ve got today.”
I waited, still glancing around. Cross carefully inserted his key into
the box’s lock and just as carefully peered inside. After a few cautious moments
he reached in and took out his mail, looking through it.
“Bills only I’m afraid,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe another threatening
note would have been better.”
He tried to make light of it, but failed. I was still looking for the
guard, and getting a little antsy being in this empty corridor.
“Let’s go up to your place, please,” I told him, moving back around
the corner to the elevators with him. “Once I check out your loft I’ll see if I
can find the wayward guard who’s not at his post and find out why the door to
the lobby wasn’t locked.”
Cross nodded, pressing the button for the elevator and opening one
of the letters he’d received.
My client had the third loft on the eighth floor facing 20th Street. It
was large, or at least seemed to be. The front room was huge, but the other
rooms were small, especially the bedroom. I checked everything, paying particular
attention to the locks on the door and the view from the windows, assessing
what someone could see from the outside. Too much in my judgment.
My recommendation was that Dr. Cross keep his blinds closed for the time
being. I could have recommended that he get windows like the ones in Nadya
Simon’s office but didn’t think he’d go for it, and probably couldn’t afford it.
But Nadya might foot the bill. Something to consider later if this thing developed
into something really serious.
His front door was surprisingly sturdy, heavy, solid core, probably
constructed with some sort of metal or dense composite material, and complete
with a steel locking bar that would be nearly impossible for someone to
break through without an axe or a chainsaw, and even then it would take
time.
- 33 -

Stellen Qxz
“You might want to consider getting an alarm system,” I suggested
as he leaned against the refrigerator in his kitchen, adjusting his glasses and
finishing the rest of his mail. “I could recommend some people for you to talk
to who could give you a pretty good deal. Actually having an alarm just makes
sense these days, even if you aren’t receiving threats. Crime’s on the rise according
to FBI stats.”
He glanced up and nodded, seeming a little bored.
“I’ve thought about it. Leave me the names and numbers and I’ll see
about giving them a call.”
I nodded, glancing around some more. The apartment was very
neat. Reminded me of my place, only a lot more pretentious. And at my place
all of the furniture, including the two pictures on the walls, came with the
apartment. Here, I could see personal style and individual choice.
“What have you got going on tomorrow?” I asked.
He glanced up at me.
“Tomorrow morning I’ve got a meeting with someone at the little
café next door,” he told me. “Just a background source, some research I
needed done. That’s around ten. Then after that I plan on spending the day
up here writing.”
I nodded, watching him.
“Alright,” I said. “Any plans after that? Maybe going out to dinner
or something?”
Suddenly Cross looked very uncomfortable, and glanced away. I
could tell that he was strongly considering something, making a decision, and
I waited patiently. Waiting is a big part of what I do, and over the years I have
become quite good at it. Kind of boring though.
Finally he looked back at me, his expression uncertain.
“Look, I should probably tell you this now,” he said evenly. “Maybe I
should have told you before, and if it’s a problem then we can part company
now and I’ll just have to make other arrangements.”
Still I waited, my expression neutral.
“I’m gay, okay? If that offends you then I’m sorry. Actually I’m not
sorry. I’m comfortable with who and what I am, and if that causes you problems
then so be it. I’ll just have to find someone else with your skills to help
me.”
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Criminal
I nodded slowly.
“Why would you need to do that?” I said simply, glancing around the
kitchen. “And besides, I knew a few seconds after I met you that you were
gay. Or at least had a strong suspicion. Once I stepped into this apartment I
knew for certain. And as for having a problem with it, I couldn’t care less.”
Evan Cross stared at me rigidly for several long moments and then a
smile cracked his thick lips.
“My apartment is gay?” he said.
“Of course,” I told him with a straight face. “No unmarried heterosexual
male has a place this neat, with the exception of me. But the kicker is
your artwork. All abstracts, but of males in various stages of undress. Subtle
by some standards, but noticeable to somebody who’s trained to observe.
And I couldn’t care less about your sex life. So do you have a date or something
tomorrow?”
He nodded slowly.
“Actually I have a friend,” he confirmed. “More than that really. His
name is Connie—Conrad. Tomorrow evening he and I were planning on going
out to dinner and checking out some of the new artwork at the civil rights
museum afterwards. Then coming back here.”
I nodded.
“Don’t ever feel you have to keep something from me,” I told him.
“My job is not to approve or disapprove of your personal choices. But in order
to protect you to the best of my abilities, I have to know the real you, everything.
I’ll be here at nine in the morning, and will be at the café while you
meet your source. Afterwards I’ll probably hang around for a while. You’ve
got my cell number and I suggest you program it into speed-dial. I live over
in Homewood and can get here pretty quickly, but if you need rapid assistance
do not hesitate to call the cops. Police headquarters is just a few blocks
away and they can get here a hell of a lot quicker than I can. If you get any
funny feelings, anything that seems suspicious, call me immediately. I don’t
mind false alarms, but I would hate like hell for something to happen to you
when I could have prevented it. Okay?”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
- 35 -

Stellen Qxz
“Alright,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’m going to go see if I
can find the guard downstairs. I’ll call you before I leave to let you know I’ve
gone.”
Cross followed me to the door and watched as I undid the security
bar and slid the heavy door aside. I took out my wallet and pulled out a card,
handing it to him.
“This guy is probably the best alarm installer in the city,” I said.
“Just mention my name and he’ll give you a good deal.”
Cross took the card and stared at it, nodding.
I stepped outside and waited while he shut the door and locked the
security bar in place. Then I turned and headed for the stairs, wanting to
check to see if there were any obstructions, and to see if all the doors could be
opened from the stairwell. They could, even on the lobby floor, which sort of
defeated the purpose of having elevators that could only be operated with a
key.
Once I reached the first level I found the lobby guard back at his
post. He too appeared to be in his late fifties, balding, overweight, and really
not all that interested in his job. He did glance up when I approached his
desk, but I could tell all he really wanted to do was get back to his crossword
puzzle. I didn’t delay him, deciding that it actually wouldn’t do any good to
talk to him. Security wasn’t a profession for him, it was simply a paycheck.
He had no clue and it would be a waste of my time and my breath to have a
conversation with him about it. So I simply nodded and headed outside.
First I would go around the corner and check out the café, and then I
would go over to police headquarters and have a talk with a friend of mine in
the recently formed Criminal Intelligence Unit. It was nearly six o’clock but I
knew the detective in question would still be on duty, being a tireless and
truly dedicated public servant.
And one who’s shift ran from ten in the morning till eight at night.
- 36 -

Chapter VII
The headquarters of the Birmingham Police Department is located on 1st Avenue
North between 18th and 19th streets, a mere stone’s throw away from
where Evan Cross lives. So after I checked out the little café next to his building,
Big Herb’s Rolled Sandwiches, I got back in my car and drove over there.
At one time visitors could park in the lot adjacent to Police Headquarters, but
no more. Now all non-police personnel, even very special visitors such as me,
had to park on the street out front and put money in meters, no matter the
time of day or night. It was after normal working hours when I arrived and
that meant I didn’t have to struggle to find a parking space, there were several
available right out front.
Getting out and locking my car out of habit, I carried the bag I had
acquired at Big Herb’s and entered the building. To the left of the entrance is
a bank of elevators, but only “official” personnel are allowed to go right up.
Mere mortals have to go to the right where there is a counter outfitted with a
bulletproof window above it and imbedded speaker boxes, behind which several
uniformed officers wait to assist you. Actually that’s more of a normal
business hours thing. This time of day there is only one fatigued female sergeant
on duty. She’s probably around forty-five, but seems older, and probably
can’t wait much longer until her pension. In her case she’s probably felt
that way for most of her career.
I walked up to the sergeant and smiled my most charming smile,
telling her who I was and who I had come to see. She didn’t seem to respond
too much to the smile, simply nodded and picked up a phone. After maybe a
minute she nodded and hung up and told me to wait over by the elevators and
someone would be down to get me shortly. I thanked her as she handed me a
visitor’s badge through a slot at the bottom of the bulletproof glass and told
me to keep it visible for all to see at all times while I was in the building; and
to return it before exiting the building.

Stellen Qxz
I was standing by the elevators waiting for eight minutes, and no one
came in or out of the building, and then the doors to the last elevator away
from where I was standing opened and a young officer wearing a sharply
pressed dark blue uniform stepped off and glanced around.
“Mr. Olin?” he asked.
I told him I was and he asked me to follow him onto the elevator,
which I did. I could tell the young man was a rookie, probably recently out of
the academy. He was doing shit-duty now for some reason or other, perhaps
as punishment for some recent misdeed. Being a gofer for the Detectives’
Bureau was not the assignment most fresh officers craved.
The elevator stopped on the tenth floor and Officer Phillips stepped
off and indicated that I should go to the right, and then he followed me. The
room we entered was at the far end of the corridor and when we arrived I saw
a newly affixed sign that read: Criminal Intelligence Unit. I know the sign
was new because when I had been here last month the door had been blank,
the unit just having come into existence. Now it was up and running and had
a sign and everything. Progress.
Officer Phillips now the led way into the main bay and back toward a
cubicle on the left wall at the rear close to where the shift commander’s office
was located. He tapped on the cubicle wall.
“Detective, I have Mr. Olin here,” Phillips announced.
“Thank you, Officer,” said Detective Paige Palmer as she glanced up
from her desk. “That’ll be it for now.”
The young officer nodded and smiled at me, then retreated, probably
off to take on his next menial task. I stepped into the cubicle and faced the
woman behind the small and much cluttered desk.
Paige Palmer, mid-forties, blonde, more than a decade and a half
under her belt on the force, and quite a woman in so many respects. She
smiled at me and leaned back in her squeaky chair, her breasts pressing
against the front of her yellow button-down blouse as she held her arms above
her head and stretched.
“Have a seat, Derrick,” she told me, her brown eyes full of amusement.
I sat.
- 38 -

Criminal
“Well how are the new digs?” I asked, adjusting my blazer and trying
to get comfortable in the very uncomfortable folding metal chair.
Paige put her hands down on the desk and stared across at me.
“Getting there,” she said. “You see we finally got the sign up on the
door. The captain has really been bitching about that to Maintenance, finally
happened two days ago. And now all the phone lines work too. Mostly.”
“Good,” I said. “Glad to know that all my tax dollars are doing some
good. Getting any work done?”
Paige grinned, glancing outside her cubicle for a moment.
“That’s debatable,” she confided. “Creating an intelligence unit was
a good idea, and long overdue. But it’s like they expect instant results, and
that’s just not likely to happen, Derrick. You know how it is. New unit is created
with a lot of resources and a mandate directly from the chief and the
mayor and a lot of other units get jealous, and they try to shut you out, don’t
want to share information. For an intelligence unit that isn’t good. Even my
old team—Vice-Narcotics—is being close-mouthed, not wanting to share files
on cases that I worked on myself before transferring out. Just a bunch of bureaucratic
BS, but it’s above my pay grade. I’m just a lowly investigator. My
captain and lieutenant are dealing with most of it, and with the chief backing
them I’m sure they’ll get it straightened out one day before I retire.”
She paused, sighing and sitting back once more.
“So, I know you didn’t come here just to listen to me bitch. And I see
you’ve got a bag in your hands there. Smells pretty good too.”
I smiled and set the bag on the desk.
“Thought you might have forgotten to eat,” I told her.
She smiled again and leaned forward, picking up the bag and opening
it on the back end of the desk. She glanced inside and then looked back
up at me.
“Is this cheese steak sandwich from Big Herb’s?” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “I was just over there and thought of you.”
“God these are great, Derrick. Thanks. And I am starving. Some of
the guys and I were thinking about ordering a pizza in a bit, but now, thanks
to you, I can save my last ten bucks till payday. Thanks a bunch.”
- 39 -

Stellen Qxz
“You’re welcome, love,” I told her, sitting back and watching as she
took the sandwich out of the bag and unrolled the wrapper, taking an eager
bite.
“God is this terrific. I know you want something now, Derrick. Give
me a minute here, and then I’ll probably give you whatever you want. Emphasis
on the whatever.”
I chuckled.
After a few more bites she set the sandwich down and wiped her
mouth with the napkin from the bag.
“That really hits the spot,” she said, dropping the napkin next to the
sandwich on her desk. “Now, what you need?”
“I took on a client today,” I told her. “Can’t really get into it right
now, but he could have some problems with some of the local hoods, the
really nasty ones. I was just wondering if perhaps you could help me out with
a quick overview of the current power structure of the criminal element in the
Magic City; since you are now a member of the department’s ultra elite intelligence
gathering arm.”
Paige smirked and waved a hand, leaning back in her chair once
more, crossing her legs. I could see she was wearing jeans and now I kind of
wished she’d stand up—and turn around! Paige has a great ass for a white
woman in her mid-forties. Or a woman of any age and race. But alas that is
not why I am here at the moment. And that really is a shame. Did I mention
Paige has a great ass?
“Yeah,” she said, “that’s us. Birmingham’s CIA. And just as effective
at preventing crime as they are at preventing terrorism. At least for the moment.
But as for the hoods in Birmingham, you probably know the structure
as well as I do. This isn’t New York, Chicago, LA, or Miami, thank god. We
do have crime, even organized crime, but nothing nearly on the scale they do.
Still, there are influences from some of those larger markets, but mostly the
feds deal with that. On the local level we have the usual things: drugs, prostitution,
gambling, illegal booze, extortion, protection, and, of course, murderfor-hire.
“There are four main gangs in Birmingham that control what we
refer to as organized crime. A Latino group called Los Lobos, run by Manny
Salazar. Mostly drugs and prostitution, some extortion and protection too.
- 40 -

Criminal
They set up shop on Southside in a bodega. Original I know. We’ve got surveillance
on Salazar and his crew, so do the feds. He’s the smallest of the
bosses, but he’s growing fast and that’s got the others concerned.
“Next on the list is…” I listened for the next eleven and a half minutes
as Paige laid out the names and organizational charts of the other top
criminal gangs in Birmingham, learning far more than I wanted to know, but
I’d rather have too much information than not enough, so I listened patiently.
After a pause to take a few sips from the Coke she had gotten out of
the small cooler on the floor behind her desk, she looked back at me.
“And you know I’ve left somebody out,” she said.
I nodded.
“Of course,” I said. “Figured you’d save the best of the worst for
last.”
“Worst of the worst,” Paige said. “Innes Redbone, Lord of Crime in
the Birmingham metro area. A thoroughly ruthless and murderous son of a
bitch with more bodies attached to him than an undertaker. And, of course,
we can’t link a goddamned thing directly to him. Neither us nor the feds. But
we keep trying. He’s into everything from drugs to murder. Even runs a
high-end escort service using girls from all over the Southeast, brought in for
special occasions for his really important clients. The operation is managed
by his new play thing, a real looker in her own right. Name of Mya Brown.
Sweet Mya Brown is what she’s actually called. His woman, an ex-working
girl herself. Innes Redbone ostensibly runs all of crime in the black
neighborhoods in Birmingham. And since Birmingham is now a black majority…”
“He essentially runs Birmingham crime,” I said.
“Yep. And all the other bosses have to pay him tribute. They all report
to him, Derrick, in one way or another. Even the Latinos and the Asians.
Despite Manny Salazar’s ruthless streak, he isn’t crazy enough to disrespect
Innes. At least not yet. There will be a war between them one day, and the
bodies will really stack up when that happens, but for now Innes still has the
grip, and not likely to give it up easily. So, does this help you?”
“Not really,” I told her, crossing my ankles and leaning back further
in the chair. “I knew some of this already, but you certainly have given me a
- 41 -

Stellen Qxz
new appreciation for the depths of organized crime in the city. Thanks a
bunch.”
Paige grinned.
“So you aren’t gonna tell me anything about your client, how this
might pertain to him?”
“Can’t,” I told her. “Privileged information for the moment.”
“That is until somebody starts shooting at him, right?” she said.
“Never said my client was a him, Paige, darling.”
“True,” she said. “Well for the sandwich I hope you got your
money’s worth.”
“Indeed,” I told her. “Thank you very much. Actually, I was just
looking for an excuse to come by and see you.”
Paige laughed.
“Sure you were,” she said. “You know where I am most of the time,
and even where I live. And now with all of my boys out on their own—even
the twins are gone off to college—when I am home I’m there by myself. You
ever want to drop by…”
I held her gaze for a few moments. Paige really was the biggest flirt,
and quite serious about it.
“You never know,” I told her, then had a thought. “Say, are you
working tomorrow night?”
“Actually I get off at three tomorrow,” she told me. “Gonna be going
back to regular eight hour shifts soon. Tomorrow’s just a test. I work from
seven to three, then ten to eight for the next two days before I’m off till next
week. Why?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner tomorrow night,”
I said. “Then perhaps a trip to the civil rights museum afterwards.”
Paige’s expression was a combination of amusement and curiosity
and it took her a few moments to respond, but she said yes.
“Excellent,” I told her, standing. “And don’t forget your handcuffs.
And your badge and gun. Just in case.”
She stared at me oddly for a moment and then understanding
dawned on her.
“Son of a bitch!” she said, grinning. “You’re inviting me to be your
cover? Bastard! But I get another free meal out of it, right?”
- 42 -

Criminal
“I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know where we’re going and what
time.”
She shook her head, but I knew she wouldn’t change her mind.
“Fine. Now get out of here, Derrick, before I change my mind.”
“Bye, love,” I told her, then walked out of the cubicle and headed for
the door up front. This time I didn’t get an escort and really didn’t need one.
It was pretty simple to find the elevator and press the down button.
I just had to remember to return my visitor’s badge when I got to the
main lobby. It would be really embarrassing to have the female sergeant have
to tackle me outside and slap the cuffs on.
Probably be the height of excitement for her shift though.
- 43 -

Chapter VIII
I made it back to my place in Homewood at a quarter to eight, not lucky
enough to find a parking space close to my first level apartment as I had been
earlier today. So I parked across and five spaces down under the street lamp
on the east side of the property. It was still light outside but fading quickly,
probably another fifteen minutes or so, then the artificial light would be all
that was left.
I got out of my car and glanced around. It was still very warm and
the few people who were out right now were wearing shorts and T-shirts for
the most part. I was the only one dumb enough to be wearing a jacket, but of
course, I had a very good reason.
As I walked across the lot to my apartment I noticed a young couple
on the second level leaning against the railing and talking. The young woman
was a redhead, short, with lots of freckles. She glanced at me and smiled before
returning her full attention to her boyfriend. He was skinny, kind of
short too, long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and looked like it hadn’t
been washed in a while, and I noticed several piercings in his left ear. He
glanced down at me too but didn’t smile.
When I entered my apartment I was pleased to find it cool and inviting.
I’d left the temperature controls set at seventy-five so if it got too hot the
system would automatically kick on. June in Alabama is very hot, so I had no
doubt that the AC had been working rather diligently today.
In the bedroom I took off my blazer and hung it up in the closet,
then walked over to the bed and pulled the Glock-30 off of my right hip, turning
it on its side and inspecting the Jentra belt clip that I had attached to it
before leaving the range earlier. I vacillate between holsters and belt clips,
both having their virtues. Of course, the good thing about having a belt clip is
that you don’t have to worry about a holster, and they make concealed carry a
whole lot simpler. However, holsters help keep your weapon clean—and your

Criminal
clothes—and sometimes they make drawing your weapon in a critical situation
easier. Less snagging. But I do like my belt clips.
It was mounted on tight and I opened the bedside drawer and put
the Glock inside, then went to the bathroom to relieve my pressing bladder. I
was a little hungry now and debated on whether or not to cook or maybe run
down to one of the dozen or so fast food places all within a half mile of my
place. Since I was already at home I decided to try my luck in the kitchen.
There was deli sliced turkey, ground turkey, and a frozen ribeye steak. Additionally
I had frozen corn, frozen mixed vegetables, and pasta noodles. Now
there was no reason I couldn’t make a good meal out of that.
Along with a couple of thick slices of rough grain wheat bread, I had
a pasta salad with chopped deli turkey and a tall glass of cold grape cranberry
juice. Sitting at the table in the front room, I ate and glanced through my
well-used copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. Once again I found myself
amazed that a little Chinese general more than twenty-five hundred years ago
had composed something that was still so applicable today, not only in warfare
but in so many other aspects of life. And once again I was a little dismayed
that the principles and teachings of the book were not being adhered
to by the current crop of leaders around the world. Especially here in the good
ole’ US of A.
Sighing, I closed the book and finished my dinner. I was no longer
an Air Force officer and it was really not my problem anymore. There was
some contentment to be found in that I suppose. But not a whole lot.
After dinner I washed and put away my dishes and went into the
bedroom to undress. I was standing at the foot of my bed stretching my back
and arms when my phone rang. I sat down and picked up the extension on
the bedside table.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey, Mr. Dangerous,” said a familiar voice with a chuckle.
“Rod!” I exclaimed, lying back on the bed with a smile. “You bastard,
how the hell are you?”
Rodney Riker laughed before responding.
“I’m great,” he said. “How you doing? Been a while since we
talked.”
“That’s right,” I confirmed.
- 45 -

Stellen Qxz
Rodney Riker was a man I’d known a long time, one of my closest
and oldest friends, and that’s saying a lot considering my lack of social graces.
We had met about twelve years ago when I was still in the Air Force OSI and
Rodney was a special agent with the FBI’s Counterintelligence Division. Our
respective agencies had been fighting each other for jurisdiction of a case involving
a group of Serbian freelancers believed to be in the United States to
assassinate a former Yugoslav cabinet minister who was being groomed to
take over the top slot in the new Serbian government. While our superiors
bickered back and forth, Rod and I decided to work together on an agent-toagent
level and by the time the dust had settled on the in-fighting, we managed
to correctly identify the threat, predict the attack, and prevent it without
any damage to the target. Needless to say, our superiors were not happy we
went around them, but in light of our success they couldn’t do much about it.
After that assignment Rod and I did a lot of liaison work, helping
each other out with information and other resources whenever possible, always
careful to make sure nobody in our own agencies found out too much
about it because despite all the talk about interagency cooperation and all of
us being on the same team, to put it quite simply, nobody in government
really believes that. Not even today. Which is yet another reason I left when I
did, and eventually, so did Rod. Now he was back in his hometown of Lake
Charles, Louisiana working as a private investigator, and doing rather well
with a string of corporate clients who kept him pretty busy. We kept in touch
as much as possible, even worked a couple of cases together from time to
time. Despite the fact that we both had very distinct and strong personalities
that didn’t always mesh well, we seemed to get along and actually liked each
other. Again, quite a feat for me.
“So anything exciting going on down in Lake Charles?” I asked.
“Not really exciting,” Rod replied. “But now that hurricane season
has officially started, we expect something. As for work, I just completed a
security review of one of my client’s shipping fleets. Took a whole month,
which didn’t really bother me because I got to spend most of that time out on
the water. Now I’m just doing the final paperwork. How about you?”
“Well funny you should ask,” I told him. “Up until today I was doing
nothing but working out and training every day. Then I got a call from a
sometime client and she had a job for me. I’m shadowing a writer who might
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Criminal
be stepping on the toes of some local bad guys. Could get interesting. Or
maybe not. You know the way this job goes as well as anybody.”
“Can’t be any guys up there any badder than Derrick Olin,” Rod said
with another chuckle.
I smiled.
“Of course not. But these people are thugs, hoods actually. Total
criminals and all around bad people. What passes for organized crime up
here. My client is writing a book about crime in the inner city and he’s collecting
a lot of stuff about the people behind it. He’s been getting some
threats as word has gotten around about his research. So his benefactor—the
sometime client of mine—wants me to look out for him for a while. Money’s
good so I don’t mind. And I’ll deal with whatever comes up.”
“I’m sure you will,” he said. “Just watch your back.”
“Always,” I said. “Hey, was there any particular reason for this call,
or just catch up?”
“Catch up,” Rod said. “Like I said, we haven’t talked in a while and
I’ve been busy.”
“I understand that,” I told him. “Before my two weeks of nothing I
was kind of busy too. So how’s your love life?”
Rod laughed long and hard.
“Man you’ve become a comedian in your middle years,” he said.
“How’s yours?”
I thought of Traci Brenner and our recent weekend at the Adam’s
Mark Riverview Hotel. I smiled, and then I lied to Rod and told him mine
was as uneventful as his. We spoke for another hour, mostly reminiscing
about old times and adventures, then we said our good byes, promising to
keep in better touch.
I got off the bed at the end of the call and went into the bathroom to
wash my face and hands. It was after ten o’clock. A bit too early for me to go
to bed, so I would do some reading. I always try to keep something around to
read besides The Art of War, and recently I’d been to Books-A-Million again.
There were two unread novels on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. One by
Nancy Taylor Rosenberg and one by Stuart Woods.
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A mental coin toss had me sitting in bed and reading Stuart Woods
until nearly midnight before I became sleepy enough to turn off the lights and
go to bed.
- 48 -

Chapter IX
Tuesday it was once again a hot and sunny day. When I got up at five it was
already seventy-seven degrees, forecast high was ninety-nine. Today was not
a blazer day. Actually it was a T-shirt and shorts day, but that would not be
appropriate or practical for me.
I worked out in my apartment this morning, half an hour with my
Body Blade personal exerciser, working up a decent sweat and getting in a
good muscle toning and firming. A shower followed then a light breakfast,
and I got dressed. Today would be blue jeans, comfortable sneakers, and a
light blue loose-fitting short sleeve shirt designed to be worn outside the
pants. Under the shirt, tucked into my waistband, were my fully loaded
Glock-30 and my T-16 expandable baton, most commonly referred to as an
ASP. Also tucked in there was a spare Glock magazine loaded with ten 200
grain hollow-points. Attached to the right front pocket of my jeans was my
not exactly street-legal knife. Designed primarily for close-quarter combat, it
was foldable, six inches long, razor-sharp, and made of a very sturdy composite
material that was not supposed to show up on X-rays. An ace in the hole
just in case all else failed.
I left home at eight and made it over to 3rd and 20th in about twenty
minutes. Since I was early I decided to take a drive around the block a few
times and check out the neighborhood. Downtown Birmingham was very
busy in the morning and traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, was very
heavy. By the time I managed to make it around the corner once another
twenty minutes had gone by, so I decided to find a parking space somewhere
close to my client’s building and get out and have a look around on foot.
As soon as I stepped out of my air-conditioned car the oppressive
heat hit me and I began to sweat. This was going to be fun.
Most of the pedestrians were dressed in business attire and they
were moving fast, either trying to get to their offices on time or make it to one
of the score of coffee shops and diners around the area before they made the

Stellen Qxz
mad-dash to their offices to begin their workday. In addition, there were also
a good many street people out and about. They were easy to spot. Haggard,
unshaven, dirty clothes, vacant looks in their eyes as they sat on benches or
leaned in doorways, and most people did their best not to notice them, avoiding
all eye contact as if they didn’t exist.
I always made it a habit to look them in the eyes and to nod, to at
least acknowledge their existence. I rarely gave them money anymore, but I
showed them some basic human consideration. Why I don’t know, it’s not
like I have a whole lot going on on the emotional side of things. Maybe having
a sociology degree is finally starting to get to me. And maybe it’s not.
I had already called Evan Cross this morning and told him I’d be
down in the café when he arrived and that he should just go in and meet his
contact and not even acknowledge me. I’d be watching everyone else, seeing
if anyone paid him or his contact any undue attention. And if someone
looked like they were going to make a move I’d make one first. He had
agreed, and at exactly two minutes past ten—having walked several blocks in
every direction for the past hour and then some—I was sitting at a table near
the back of the semi-open air café watching the entrance when Cross came in
wearing khaki slacks and a green polo shirt. One of the waitresses greeted
him warmly, touching his arm and spending a few moments talking to him
before pointing to a table near the left front where a middle aged white guy
with a bad comb-over sat drinking coffee and eating some sort of bagel sandwich.
Cross thanked the waitress and walked over to the table, either not seeing
me or otherwise doing a good job of pretending not to notice me.
Once he was at the table I shifted my focus to the rest of the café, the
other diners, and the area outside that I could see. I was looking for threats,
surveillance, anything out of the ordinary. Presumably Cross faced no imminent
threat from the man he was meeting so I concentrated on the outward.
The café was busy and crowded, most people coming in and going
out quickly with what they ordered, but many of the tables were full and the
wait staff was hopping. No one that I could see really looked like a shooter for
the local hoods, but you never could tell. Which is why you always had to
keep a sharp eye out for every one and every thing. As one of my OSI instructors
had put it: “If all bad guys looked like bad guys then our lives would be
pretty boring.”
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Criminal
To my way of thinking boring is preferable to getting shot at, but to
each their own.
I was drinking hot Earl Grey tea and nibbling a bran muffin while
pretending to read the morning paper. Anonymous. Just another Birmingham
citizen with nothing going on today. Maybe out of work, maybe taking
the day off, maybe looking for work. Who knew? And who cared? This area
of downtown most people minded their own business during work days, and
most every other time.
The waitress came over and asked if I wanted more tea, I said yes,
and then declined another muffin. Occasionally I glanced over at my client
and his contact. They appeared to be getting on well, whispering with their
heads close together. I noticed that neither of them was writing anything
down. Must have good memories.
Then it was back to watching the environment, assessing potential
threats, going over my escape plan once again in the event something went
wrong. Simple and straightforward, but there was always the possibility of a
foul-up, which is why I always had another backup plan to the backup plan.
By eleven my client had concluded his meeting, standing with his
contact and putting money on the table. I quickly did the same and headed
for the exit with the newspaper held in my left hand, slipping on a pair of dark
shades. Beyond the rim of the café the sun was shining down and I could feel
it sting my skin. Good thing I put the sun-block on this morning. SPF 50. I
was taking no chances. Skin cancer was on the rise in the southeast and I
spent a lot of time outdoors.
The foot traffic had slackened considerably over the last hour but
there were still a few people moving about, some in business suits, but mostly
the street people. Not surprisingly they always seemed to hang around eating
places. I walked over to a bench on the right side of the entrance to the café
where two street people sat talking, both male and apparently in their fifties,
but that might be off by a decade or more considering their living conditions.
Loitering on a crowded street is pretty good cover, no one appeared
to pay that much attention to me, and I only had to wait a few seconds before
Evan Cross walked out of the café and parted company with his friend after a
handshake and a wave. The contact went right and Evan turned left, walking
around the corner to his building.
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Folding the paper and putting it under my left arm, I followed him at
a discreet pace. He entered the building, waved to the guard on duty at the
desk, then walked to the elevators and pressed the button. I stood outside for
a while admiring a couple of young ladies in nicely tailored skirts and blouses
as they walked down the street on the opposite side. Both quite attractive, but
much too young. Oh well…
Then I turned and walked inside the building. The front doors
weren’t locked this time either. I asked the guard about that and he told me
that they only locked them at night now, after ten o’clock because so many
residents had complained about having to dig their keys out of pockets or
purses before they could come in the building.
Perfect, I thought, and typical.
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Chapter X
Dinner was going to be in a trendy restaurant on the south side of downtown
known as Southside. Actually this particular location was known as Five
Points South and it was the place for excitement and nightlife in Birmingham
if you liked that sort of thing. I always tried to avoid this area, usually only
going there when absolutely necessary, as is the case this evening.
On Cobb Lane South between 13th and 14th avenues is Cobb Lane
Restaurant. Not a very creative selection of names, but it makes finding the
place pretty simple if you can read a map. My research indicates that the cuisine
is rumored to be very good, if a bit pricy, and the atmosphere is festive
and laid back. Mostly the young and the upwardly mobile frequent the place,
but according to sources that doesn’t detract from the ambiance.
I met Evan Cross at his place at six after returning home to shower
and change into more appropriate clothing following a day of hanging out in
and around his building looking for bad guys and finding none. When I arrived
I found a handsome young man sitting on the living room sofa with a
glass of what appeared to be wine in his left hand, looking very comfortable
and relaxed. White, slender, dark blond hair worn somewhat long and obviously
professionally styled in some salon. He was about the same height as
Evan Cross, which made him shorter than me by about a couple of inches or
so. He was also a damn good dresser. I wasn’t up on all the latest fashions
and styles, did most of my shopping at Wal-Mart or JC Penny’s—and had no
complaints—but I could tell the clothes this young man wore were expensive.
When he rose from the sofa for the introductions there was no doubt that his
clothes had been tailored to fit his sleek frame. Hell, if I had been gay and
only cared about looks I might have fallen for him too.
We shook hands and I was told that the young man was Conrad
Grayson—Connie. His grip was firm but the skin of his hand was smooth, soft
even, like he didn’t do much manual labor, or had ever done any. I could tell
by his physic that he had to work out, no way that was natural, but my guess

Stellen Qxz
was he chose some form of exercise that did not cause unseemly calluses.
Probably even had a personal trainer.
Grayson appeared to appraise me as I spoke with my client, and I got
the impression that he was doing more than assessing my capabilities as protector
for his paramour. But maybe I was just imagining. Evan told me
where he would be dining, he and Mr. Grayson just having decided themselves,
and I said that would be fine. If they didn’t know until a few minutes
ago where they were going to eat then the chances were good nobody else
would know either. They had called just before I arrived and managed to
make a reservation for seven, and they planned on leaving the loft by sixthirty,
taking Grayson’s car, which was parked in a visitor’s slot in the garage.
I left them to finish their cocktails and went downstairs, adjusting
my black blazer as I rode down in the elevator, taking comfort from the
weight of the Glock-30 on my right hip and the Kel-Tec P-32 at the small of
my back. In the garage I found the silver SUV that Grayson had identified as
his and gave it a quick check over, just being thorough, then I went to my car
and called Paige Palmer on my cell.
“Are you all dolled up?” I asked.
“I look good enough to eat,” she replied with a hint of humor. “So
where are we going?”
I told her.
“Pretty swanky place,” Paige said. “Guy spends that kind of money
on a date he usually wants something in return.”
I chuckled.
“Actually I only have to foot the bill for your meal, mine’s being reimbursed
by my client,” I told her.
“Well good for you,” she said. “I’m ready. I can leave now. Where
do you want to meet?”
“My client has already reserved two tables, the second in my name.
If you get there before me just ask to be seated at my table. Otherwise just say
you’re joining me.”
“Got it,” Paige said. “And I’ll see you in a bit. Bye, Derrick.”
I said good bye and hung up, checking my watch. About five more
minutes to go. Enough time to have another quick look around, so I got out of
my car and started walking around the parking garage again.
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Chapter XI
Paige really did look good enough to eat; and she knew it too. She had on a
black silk dress that stopped just above her knees, sheer hose covered her very
shapely legs and led down to a pair of black heels with a strap around the ankles
that I always found particular sexy on a woman, although I’m not really a
fan of heels. The dress was held up with spaghetti straps and plunged at the
neckline. Paige really didn’t have the bosom to give the outfit the full effect,
but she was a sight to behold nonetheless. The only real complaint I had was
that she had her shoulder length blond hair put up tonight. I like a woman’s
hair down. But life is rarely perfect.
I stood up to greet her as the waiter brought her over to the booth I
was sitting in directly behind where Evan Cross and Connie Grayson sat.
“Gorgeous,” I said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You clean up
very nicely, Detective.”
Paige grinned.
“You’re not so bad looking yourself, Mr. Olin,” she said, eying me up
and down. “I didn’t know we’d be so color-coordinated. Black is your color.”
“Yours too,” I told her, ushering her into the seat across from where
I sat with a clear view of the back of my client’s head.
“That’s what my ex-husband used to say,” she quipped, sliding into
the booth and setting her purse down on the side closest to the wall.
I sat back down and smiled, glancing briefly at the waiter.
“Would you like something to drink?” I asked her.
“Can I have alcohol?” she whispered.
“Sure,” I said. “You’re off duty now.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It has been a bastard of a day. I’ll have a white
wine, please.”
The waiter nodded and departed.
“I was serious,” I said, staring. “You really do look amazing, Paige.”

Stellen Qxz
“Trying to make me blush, Derrick?” she said. “Thanks. I got this
dress a few months ago because it was on sale. Thought it might come in
handy one day. Just glad I can still fit into it.”
“Don’t start that,” I chided. “You don’t have to worry about a thing
in that department. And I know I’m not the only guy who’s told you that.”
She shook her head deprecatingly and glanced around the restaurant,
noting that most of the other tables and booths were nearly full already.
“Yeah, but you’re the only one I know wouldn’t lie to me,” she said.
“At least not about that. Where’s your client.”
“Behind you,” I said, glancing over her shoulder to the next booth.
“We’re pretending not to notice, however.”
Paige nodded, then grinned.
“A clandestine dinner, I like it.”
The waiter brought her white wine back and asked if we’d like to
order dinner. I already knew what I wanted but Paige needed a few minutes,
then she ordered a grilled chicken Caesar salad and another white wine when
the meal was ready. The waiter nodded, took our menus then departed.
I picked up my glass of water and took a sip, staring at the lady detective
over the rim of the glass.
“Tell me about your day,” I said.
She glanced over at me after draining half her glass.
“Are you sure you want me to?” she asked.
I nodded, putting my glass down, folding my hands together on the
table, and staring directly into her eyes.
“Please.”
She sighed softly, had another sip of her wine then proceeded.
Dinner arrived and Paige continued her story while we ate. At one
point my client got up to go to the bathroom and I excused myself as well.
Might as well do that while I had the chance, and this way I could keep an eye
out just in case the men’s room attendant got any funny ideas.
When I returned to the table Paige continued where she had left off.
I noticed that my client and his friend had gone through about a bottle and a
half of wine during their dinner and wondered if maybe it would be a good
idea to suggest they take a cab when they left the restaurant later.
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Criminal
“Anyway,” Paige spoke, “Lieutenant Lacey is pissed at Lieutenant
Pine over at West because she’s being territorial about the precinct’s CI files,
doesn’t want to give up anything. Despite the chief’s directive. And it’s just
making things a whole lot harder than they have to be. In the end the chief’s
just gonna have to make an example outta somebody over this thing. Pine
would be my choice. I mean, god, it’s not like we’re not all supposed to be on
the same side for chrissake!”
I nodded encouragingly as I pushed my plate away, having finished a
very good piece of grilled salmon and seasoned mashed potatoes.
“Makes me glad I decided not to become a Birmingham cop all those
years ago,” I said.
Paige stared at me over the rim of her third glass of wine this evening.
She drained it and put it back on the table.
“I wish you had,” she said. “If you had you’d probably be my captain
by now and I have no doubt that you’d have the balls to cut somebody else’s
off over this in a heartbeat.”
We both laughed and I noticed Evan Cross signal the waiter for the
check. I signaled next but when the waiter came over he told me that Cross
had already taken my check as well. Considerate. Saved me from filling out
an expense report too. But I would reimburse him for Paige’s meal. Had to
keep the finances straight and separate.
“We’ll leave your car in the lot,” I told her as I leaned across the table.
“After I make sure my client is safely back at his place later on—once we
leave the museum—I’ll drop you back here so you can pick it up.”
“Good,” Paige said, reaching for her purse. “By then the alcohol
should have worn off.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I confessed. “It would be unfortunate for a
highly regarded BPD detective to get pulled over on a DUI.”
Paige grinned as she took my hand and stood.
“In this dress I wouldn’t even have to flash my badge,” she said.
“I’m sure,” I said, then slipped an arm around her waist and led the
way out. In a minute or two my client and Mr. Grayson would be leaving and
I wanted to be outside already, checking things out, dealing with any problems
before they became problems.
- 57 -

Chapter XII
The Civil Rights Museum has been in operation in Birmingham for about fifteen
years now, and people come from all over the United States and the
world to see its displays. However, since I have been back in Birmingham
these past six plus years, I have not been there once. Iconoclast thy name is
Derrick.
There were quite a number of people at the museum tonight. Tuesdays
must be big around here. Of course, there is that new display that my
client had mentioned. He and Connie Grayson walked very close together but
not touching, this was still Alabama after all, and not nearly as enlightened as
it pretended to be sometimes. Just a few years back a gentleman of homosexual
leanings was beaten to death by a couple of rednecks as he left a bar on
Southside. They were on death-row themselves now, but the gentleman in
question was still dead, so caution was still a word to live by.
As Cross and Grayson walked through the museum, maneuvering
around the crowds, pointing and whispering, Paige and I walked about ten
feet behind, never too far away. Paige was spending most of her time looking
at the displays, pictures, paintings, statues, everything that was there to be
viewed about a not too pleasant time in American history. I imagined this
was a curious place for her, for someone like her. A white woman, formerly
married to a black man, and mother of four boys of mixed race. She could
probably see everything from both sides, and more than likely didn’t really
understand either. That’s one of the reasons I don’t really think much about
it. Because thinking about it leads to opinions about it and then on to taking
sides. Sides are a dangerous thing to take. Much better, in my humble estimation,
to be a freelancer. Free to think, free to believe, or free to do neither.
Once you took sides you made enemies, and then life was surely no fun.
An older white couple, expensively dressed, walked up to Cross and
Grayson and started talking. My client did not appear alarmed and even
smiled as he shook the puffy man’s hand, then introduced him and his wife to

Criminal
Conrad Grayson. Paige was staring at a full-length black and white photograph
of a dead black man who had been lynched and then tied to the side of
a tree with heavy chains, the chains then attached to a truck bumper and
pulled until the unfortunate creature’s limbs had been disjointed. I noticed
her expression and saw a tear in her left eye. In her career Paige had worked
Undercover Narcotics and Homicide, and once as a young patrol officer had
been involved in a running gun battle on the city’s north side with two very
determined bank robbers. She had killed one and wounded the other, taking
a couple rounds to her vest and one in her leg in the process. This was a
tough woman who did not crack easily, but I could tell she was moved by the
picture, what it represented, as any normal person would be. I glanced at it,
then dismissed it, putting a hand on her bare shoulder.
“God some of the things we do to one another, Derrick,” she whispered,
putting her hand on top of mine. “How could somebody ever think
that was justified?”
I had no answers, and decided it was best to keep my mouth shut,
just offering the support of closeness and touch.
After a few minutes Cross and Grayson broke free of the other couple
and moved on. Gently I eased Paige on as well and she came without reluctance.
As we approached the back of the museum the crowd became denser
and I decided to get closer to my principal, just in case. This was the location
of the new display and everyone was clamoring to get a good view. I really
hated crowds, especially when everyone was jammed in close together. If
something happened a lot of people were going to get hurt as I shoved them
out of the way to get my client to safety. On the other hand, if something
happened, whoever was responsible would probably have excellent cover for
his or her escape. Which was why as Cross and Grayson moved closer to the
display, Paige and I were right behind them, my eyes moving around and taking
in everything, my muscles loose and ready to spring into action.
Then the moment was over, people shifting positions, and now we
were moving on again, the crowd thinning as we progressed back out into the
wider area of the museum where fewer guests were. Cross and Grayson were
talking about what they had seen, both very enthusiastic about it, describing
things I could never comprehend, nor would want to. Paige seemed a little
distant and she took a deep breath to steady herself, glancing around.
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“You know I could use the ladies’ room right now,” she said.
“It’s over near the side exit,” I indicated the direction behind us and
to the left. “Saw it before we went back there.”
She smiled, touched my arm.
“Be back in a sec,” she said.
I nodded, glancing around some more as my client and his companion
moved on, still immersed in deep conversation. Everyone around us
seemed like they belonged there. All appropriately attired, no one alone, no
one staring unduly at my client, but I was still ever alert. It usually happened
when you thought things were humming along smoothly, everything under
control. Then out of nowhere that guy you thought wasn’t a threat suddenly
pulled out an Uzi… and the day went straight into the crapper after that.
The museum usually closed at nine-thirty but tonight it stayed open
an extra hour. Luckily my client decided to leave at ten. This was good because
maybe we could avoid some of the crowd that would inevitably build up
at closing time; and we managed to do that.
Back at the loft Evan Cross informed me that Mr. Grayson would be
staying the night and that he felt he would be safe enough. I nodded without
comment or judgment and told him I’d be over in the morning around nine
unless he needed me earlier. He would not. Tomorrow morning would be
spent writing, and then at noon he had to go out and meet with someone in
Ensley, a source he said. I said fine and bid him good night, retuning to the
elevator.
Ensley. The section of Birmingham that I had grown up in. Kind of
the Wild West of the city these days. And also a significant part of the power
base of one Innes Redbone, thug-extraordinaire. This should be interesting.
A few extra pieces of operational hardware might just be in order for tomorrow.
Paige had nodded off in my car downstairs and came awake instantly
as I exited my client’s building and climbed back inside the vehicle.
“I’ll get you to your car as soon as I can,” I told her, starting the engine.
“Then you can go home and get your beauty rest.”
Paige grinned as she reattached her seatbelt.
“Kind of a disappointment, Derrick,” she said. “Usually guys at least
make a token effort to get me out of my clothes at the end of a date.”
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Criminal
I shifted into gear and glanced over at her.
“Well the date’s not actually over yet, love,” I told her, then eased my
foot off of the brake.
Paige started giggling and after a few seconds so did I.
I had parked on 3rd Avenue North out in front of the building and it
was one-way so I had to drive over to 22nd Street and take that to 1st before
coming back to 20th . I could have taken 22nd all the way over to Southside but
the roads get tricky after crossing the overpass that is the north/south demarcation
point and it’s just better to take 20th .
Paige was smoothing out her dress and making sure I got a good
look at her thighs as I accelerated and starting moving into the far right lane.
Out of the corner of my left eye I spotted two young men moving toward the
front of my client’s building, and they had thug written all over them. Saggy,
baggy jeans, oversized sports shirts hanging out, hats turned backwards, very
expensive footwear with the laces untied. They seemed wrong somehow, although
in this neighborhood you got all kinds, but still… in my gut I had this
feeling.
“Paige, you do have your gun in your purse, right?” I said.
Suddenly the mood inside my car was very sober.
- 61 -

Chapter XIII
Two other cars were in the left two lanes and not moving particularly fast. I
slowed to a stop after checking my rearview mirror to make sure there were
no cars directly behind me. Paige was picking her purse up from the floor
between her feet and unzipping it.
As soon as the two cars passed us I spun the wheel to the left and hit
the gas, accelerating rapidly in the wrong direction back toward my client’s
building. The two young hoodlums were no longer in sight but I did see one
of the front doors of the building swinging closed, and my insides went cold.
It was after ten and that door should have been locked.
Cars were starting to approach across the 20th Street intersection
and I flashed my lights to make sure they saw me as I came to a stop in front
of the building, tires screeching. There was one car approaching in the lane
that I was in and the driver seemed annoyed as he pulled to his right. As I
undid my seatbelt and climbed out, the driver of that car pulled to a stop and
rolled down his window, undoubtedly wanting to give me a piece of his mind.
He reconsidered, however, when he saw the look in my eyes. Probably the
Glock in my right hand had something to do with it as well. Good sense got
the better of him and he quickly drove on.
I was out of the car and moving toward the sidewalk. Paige climbed
out of the passenger’s side and I noticed she was kicking off her heels, having
a bit of trouble because of the straps that wrapped around her ankles. I also
noticed the subcompact 9mm Glock in her right hand. She was all business
now, no trace of being buzzed as she had seemed to be a few minutes earlier.
I took the left side door and Paige had the right one, both of us moving
quickly but cautiously, weapons aimed ahead. The glass doors swung
outward and Paige reached for the handle of the door on her side with her left
hand, nodding at me, then pulling it open and I went through, crouching low,
my weapon held in a steady two handed grip, and my pulse rate slightly elevated.

Criminal
The entryway was empty, not even the guard who had been there
just minutes ago. Not a good sign. Of course, he could have just gone to the
bathroom or to make his rounds. I sensed Paige move in on my right side and
just then I heard a low moan, like somebody in a lot of pain.
Carefully moving toward the desk, my weapon ahead of me, I peered
over the top and saw feet. The guard.
“Fuck!” I swore, reaching for the cell phone on my belt. “Guard’s
down!” I told Paige, moving for the elevators and pressing the button. I
quickly scrolled down to my client’s number and tossed the phone to Paige.
“Call Evan Cross and tell him somebody’s coming up to his apartment right
now and he should not answer the door. In fact, he should stay as far away
from the door as possible. Take the elevator when it comes. Guard keeps a
spare elevator key in his middle desk drawer if the one on his belt is gone. I’m
going for the stairs.”
I turned and started around the corner to the stairway door, paused
briefly.
“His apartment’s on the eighth floor!” I shouted, then ran full-out,
controlling my fear but anxious nonetheless.
The reason I do all that I can to stay in shape, workout, run, etcetera,
is because of moments like this. While it is true that in my profession it is
quite rare that something interesting or exciting happens—unless you are
working in, say Russia or the Middle East—things do happen. And if an operator
is not in shape then he puts not only his life at risk, but that of his clients
as well.
Since I often run five miles up and down the hills around Homewood,
racing up eight floors in an apartment building is not much of a challenge.
However, when I reached the eighth floor landing I was a little winded
and beads of perspiration were forming on the top of my bald head. Even so I
knew I wasn’t about to pass out or have a heart attack.
After a brief pause and a couple of deep breaths, I cautiously opened
the stairway door and peered into the hallway. My client’s loft was around the
corner from the staircase, one of five units on this floor, all just off the elevators.
I stepped out into the corridor and moved in that direction, and just as I
took my second step I heard a gunshot.
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My pulse quickened just a bit more and I crouched, putting my back
against the wall. Fuck! Well, here’s something exciting, I thought, then eased
off the wall and cautiously glanced around the corner.
The two young men I had spotted out on the street earlier were
standing at the door to my client’s loft, both holding large semiautomatic pistols.
One was aiming at the lock and about to fire a second round while the
second one stood back and covered him, holding his weapon somewhat awkwardly,
as if he had never received any proper training; no doubt he had not.
I dropped to one knee and aimed at the one doing the covering.
“Stop where you are!” I shouted, and both men seemed to freeze
momentarily.
The one covering spun around, suddenly his weapon a little less
awkwardly held in his left hand. At first he didn’t appear to see me—the hallway
is not particularly well-lit at night—his head whipping left to right. Then
he did see me, and he raised his pistol.
I shot him twice in the center mass and he staggered back against
the wall on the left side of the loft’s door, dropping his pistol and sliding
slowly to the floor with an expression of shocked surprise in his eyes.
The first man had also turned around by now and as his partner fell
back and dropped his weapon I saw the look of shock on this young face too;
and there was a moment’s indecision. Perhaps he would be sensible, drop his
weapon and put up his hands. But then the doors to the middle elevator
opened and Paige Palmer took a step forward. I could see a sudden glint in
the young man’s eyes and knew what he was thinking.
As he raised his weapon I shot him twice in the center mass as well.
Goddamn are .45’s loud in confined spaces!
Paige went low and aimed her weapon as she got off the elevator,
glancing around quickly to see if there were any other hostiles. We were both
covering the two downed men but neither appeared to be moving. Paige covered
me while I checked for pulses. There were none. I stood back up and
slipped my weapon into my waistband on my right side.
“I got your client,” Paige told me, lowering her pistol to her right
side. “Also told him to call 911. Central Precinct will be responding shortly.”
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Criminal
She took a deep breath, released it, and then reached into the top of
her dress, pulling my cell phone out of her bra. Seeing the expression on my
face Paige smirked.
“Didn’t have any pockets,” she said.
I took the phone.
“Of course not,” I said. “And now I’m jealous of my phone.”
Paige grinned and touched my arm with her left hand.
“Well after all the paperwork I’m gonna have to write as a result of
this date of ours, I’m gonna be tuckered. I suspect you will be too, Derrick.
But…”
I smiled again.
“Thanks for the backup, love,” I told her.
She nodded.
“No problem. I always knew going out with you would be explosive.”
We both started laughing, and then doors along the corridor started
to open cautiously, but not the door to my client’s loft. I scrolled to his number
once more and pressed CALL, moving across the hall away from the two
men I had killed. I wasn’t squeamish when it came to violent death but the
odor emanating from the two corpses was rather unpleasant. Both of them
had voided their bowels. Paige got a whiff as well and moved away too.
After five rings I heard Evan Cross’ shaky voice on the line, and then
I began to breathe again.
- 65 -

Chapter XIV
It was nearly four in the morning before the cops wrapped up in the hallway
outside my client’s loft. Statements were taken, photographs were taken,
more statements were taken, more photographs, then the bodies were finally
removed by morgue attendants and the area where blood and bodily fluids
had been spilled was cleaned and disinfected by a crime-scene clean-up team.
Everyone went back into their apartments after being questioned by the police
because they had to get up and go to work in a short while and none of
them believed they would actually be able to sleep after the excitement, but
they would try.
The senior officer on the scene was the lieutenant from Central Precinct
and he personally questioned Paige, taking her down to his car to get her
statement. I didn’t see her for more than two hours, but when she returned
she nodded and whispered to me that I should expect no problems with the
shooting review team. It seemed that the lieutenant and Paige were old
friends. That was fortunate.
“I got the Homicide lead to give me a set of prints from the corpses,”
Paige told me as we leaned against the wall outside my client’s loft, watching
the crime scene techs wrap up and put their gear away. “I’m gonna run them
personally and see who these boys were, and who they ran with. I know you
wanted to keep things kind of close on this, Derrick, but now that there’s been
an incident you know that can’t continue. You were in my office yesterday
asking about criminal gangs and today somebody comes after your client.
And they look like bangers to me.”
I nodded, sighed, and suddenly felt very tired.
“Probably were, Paige,” I said. “My client’s already made a statement.
He declared that he’s working on a book about crime in Birmingham.
Now I don’t know for sure but I suspect that he’s stumbled onto something
that some thug doesn’t want published. Maybe if you find out who the shooters
were we might find out which thug sent them. He’s gotten four threats

Criminal
before this. Two phone calls and two notes left in his box downstairs. My
guess is that somebody got impatient, made a move. How’s the guard by the
way?”
“Cracked across the skull,” Paige said. “But he’ll recover. Not much
of a guard either. Probably be asking for reassignment soon. Okay, I’ll run
the prints, and do some other digging. You gonna be okay?”
I nodded, glancing around.
“Yeah,” I told her. “But I gotta stay here. Will you be alright getting
back to your car?”
She smiled tiredly.
“Yeah,” Paige said. “I can catch a ride with one of the cruisers downstairs.
Don’t worry about that. I also asked the lieutenant to post a car here
for the rest of the night.”
“Appreciate that,” I said.
“And you’ll get your Glock back as soon as they’re through processing
it. Probably a couple of days.”
“Thanks, love,” I said, covering my mouth to yawn.
“I take it you have a spare?” she said.
I nodded.
“Of course,” I told her. “And another in the car. I’ll be fine. Thanks
again for the backup. And I owe you another dinner. Next time it won’t be a
working one, promise.”
She smiled and leaned close to me, her eyes fully on mine.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Then she kissed me on the side of the mouth.
I watched her get on the elevator with the forensics techs then the
doors slid shut. I was alone in the empty corridor, the smell of chemicals and
death filling my nostrils. Shit was I exhausted too, but now I had to go in and
face my client… and his friend.
And the fun just keeps on coming.
- 67 -

Chapter XV
The news media had gotten wind of the shootings last night and by six a.m.
there were reporters snooping around for a story. Luckily the guard in the
lobby—a replacement for the one who had been bashed over the head—
refused them entry into the building. Now the lobby door was locked aroundthe-clock.
But that didn’t stop the press from hanging around on the public
sidewalk and street asking questions of everyone who exited or entered the
building. The cops posted downstairs had also been instructed to keep mum.
By eight in the morning Nadya Simon was calling. I reassured her
that Evan Cross was alright, as was I, but Nadya being Nadya had to come
over and see for herself. She arrived at nine and the guard downstairs didn’t
even try to stop her. I was out in the hallway when she got off the elevator
wearing a burgundy dress with a four inch slit up the right thigh and low-cut
on the top side. She came right up to me and threw her arms around my
neck, crushing her body against mine.
Well if I wasn’t awake before, I sure was now. We stood like that for
several minutes and when Nadya finally eased back and looked into my eyes
her dark eyes were rimming with tears. She was a very passionate and emotional
woman, and I knew her tears were real and not just for show, but they
did make me a little uncomfortable, as Nadya often did.
“I’m fine, Nadya,” I told her. “Honest. And so is Evan. And Connie.”
She put a hand on her mouth, then took a deep breath.
“Thank god,” she whispered. “Connie’s father would die if anything
happened to him.”
“Really?” I said, suddenly curious. “Who’s his father?”
She looked at me oddly.
“You don’t know?”
“No,” I said.
“His father is Lionel Grayson,” she responded.

Criminal
“The Lionel Grayson?” I said. “The development guy in the news all
the time?”
She nodded, now wiping her eyes with the knuckle of the index finger
on her right hand.
“That’s Lionel. The man who’s made millions on development projects
all over the region, and several right here in Birmingham. He also donates
a good bit to charities. A really generous man. Connie is his only kid.
He’s not exactly happy with his son’s lifestyle, but he loves him nonetheless. I
wonder if Connie has called him.”
“Couldn’t tell you, Nadya,” I said. “They’re both up now, in the
kitchen having coffee. I was just in there talking to them. They’ve calmed
down a lot since last night. They’ll be okay.”
“Who were they, Derrick?” Nadya asked, her eyes boring in on mine.
“The men who tried to… You know.”
“Yeah,” I said gently, suddenly remembering that we were standing
right on the spot where the two corpses had lain just a few hours ago. Casually,
I moved Nadya a few feet to the right, my hands still at her waist, and
quite comfortable for some reason or other. “Don’t know yet. The police will
run the prints. From the look of them, at least to me, they were gang-bangers.
Shooters. No telling who they worked for though. I’ve got a friend in police
intelligence. She was actually here last night. She promised to run the prints
herself and get back to me as soon as she knows something. Maybe identifying
them will help us figure out specifically who wants to hurt Evan.”
Nadya stared at me for a few more moments, sniffling.
“Once again you have proven my faith in you, Derrick,” she said,
forcing a smile. “Thank you. For everything. And I’m glad you were not
hurt.”
I smiled.
“Me too, love,” I said.
She grinned a little, rose up on her toes and kissed me on the lips.
“I want to go in and see Evan and Connie now,” Nadya told me. “I
take it you did not sleep last night?”
“Nope,” I told her. “Have to work something out today. I’m not sure
if he’s planning on keeping his appointment this afternoon or not, but I hope
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he isn’t. It’ll give the police time to run the identities of the men I killed last
night, and give me a chance to arrange for some backup. A day should do it.”
Nadya nodded.
“I’ll talk to Evan. He needs to stay in today anyway. If he’s up to it,
writing is fine, but he should not leave his apartment. And you should rest.”
As if on cue, I had to bring my hand to my mouth once more as I
started to yawn.
“I won’t argue there,” I told her.
She touched my arm, then turned and walked over to the loft door,
sliding it aside as if she lived there, then went in and closed it behind her.
I glanced around the empty corridor and then stretched my back and
arms, feeling more exhausted than I had in a while. Even so, my mind was
making plans, considering angles, and working out details.
Once I got some sleep I’m sure everything that was now running
through my head would make perfect sense, because at the moment not much
did.
- 70 -

Chapter XVI
I was back in the corridor outside Evan Cross’ loft at eleven o’clock when the
center elevator opened and a slender and athletically built black man of about
forty-two stepped out. He wore pressed black jeans, a black silk shirt, expensive
black sports shoes, and a beige blazer unbuttoned. The man also wore
wire-rimmed glasses and had a neatly trimmed afro as well as a bushy mustache
and goatee.
His name was George Oliver—Ollie to his friends—and even his
enemies, the few of them who were still alive and able to speak. This is one of
the reasons I had called him a couple hours ago to see if he was available to
come over. Ollie was more than suited to the task at hand.
“You never call, you never write ‘less you want something,” Ollie
said, and then grinned as he walked over and shook my hand. “And you look
like shit, boy.”
I smiled as we shook hands.
“And feel a little like it too,” I told him. “Haven’t slept much in the
last day and last night was a bit trying.”
Ollie nodded, glancing around and then moving to lean on the wall
next to me, keeping his long arms down by his sides.
“So I hear. You clipped two baddies last night. Ought to start callin’
you Wyatt Earp.”
“Funny,” I said. “You didn’t happen to hear who the shooters were
or who sent them, did you?”
Ollie glanced sideways at me, an expression of mock disbelief on his
face.
“And just who do you think I am, Mr. Olin?” he protested. “How
would I have such information? I am simply a poor businessman trying to
make a living in this magic old city of ours. Why do you think I would have
information on such desperate ruffians as those you disposed of last night? I
mean really… It’s because I’m black, isn’t it? Damn racial profiling.”

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Although I didn’t feel like it, I had to laugh.
“Poor businessman my ass,” I muttered. “I see the cars you and your
partner drive. That club of yours is doing major bucks. Probably why you can
afford to run over here and do me this favor.”
Ollie grinned, glancing up and down the hallway.
“What are friends for?” he said. “And nah, I don’t know who the
fools were or who sent them. But you give me some names, if they connected,
maybe I can run ‘em down.”
“Soon as the cops tell me,” I said. “I’ll pass it along. Maybe the cops
will get lucky on their own.”
Ollie nodded, then smiled.
“And maybe pigs will fly. So who you think after your guy?”
“Most probably some of the local thuggery,” I told him. “Client’s
writing a book about inner city crime and is centering most of it on Birmingham.
Been getting some threats, which is why I was hired.”
“And a good thing too,” Ollie interjected.
“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, I guess when he wouldn’t frighten off
somebody decided to make him back off; permanently. Only thing I don’t get
is how they knew he wasn’t going to stop writing the book. Maybe they found
out he was still meeting with his sources, don’t know. But I’d sure like to.
What time do you have to be at the club tonight?”
“Probably not going,” Ollie responded. “Good thing about being
partnered with Earl now is I don’t have to punch no time clock.”
“As if you ever did,” I said to him.
“True,” he said. “But now I’m a boss too. Don’t need both of us
there all the time. And I got a good second in Security. He can handle that
end of things for a while. I can hang in here with you on this long as you
need. Maybe even arrange some more help too; if that’s something you
want.”
“I appreciate that,” I told him. “I’ll see how it goes. Right now I
need to go home and get a shower, then check in with the cops. I’ll get some
rest after that and then be back here later on, say around seven.”
“Make it later,” Ollie said. “Take your time, man. I got this. Make it
ten or something.”
“You sure?” I said.
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Criminal
“Sure,” he said. “No problem. Now can I meet your client?”
“Our client,” I said, stifling a yawn. “And yeah. His name is Evan
Cross. Okay guy. A little scared right now.”
“Understandable,” Ollie said as he followed me into the loft. “Considering
that just a few hours ago his hallway got redecorated with a coupla
fellas’ blood and guts. Gonna take a lot more effort to get those stains outta
that wood floor.”
I shook my head, leading the way inside.
- 73 -

Chapter XVII
After leaving Evan Cross’ place a little past eleven-thirty I decided to call police
headquarters on my way home. Paige had made it in, late, of course, but
had been tied up with a number of other things, and having to deal with her
captain’s questions about her involvement in last night’s festivities. She told
me she hadn’t had time to check on the prints yet, but promised to have
something within a few hours; if things didn’t get crazier around her office. I
thanked her and told her I was on my way home to get some rest and would
call late in the afternoon.
At home the first thing I did was take a ten minute hot shower.
When I finished I thought about getting something to eat in the kitchen because
I was starving, but decided against it, preferring sleep instead.
At five p.m. I rolled over to the sounds of thunder outside, glancing
toward the windows across from the right side of the bed and noticing that
the day had suddenly become much darker. It was pouring rain outside. Perfect.
After a quick trip to the bathroom I sat on the edge of the bed and
called Ollie to check in. He said everything was fine and that he and Evan
Cross were getting on good. Nothing and nobody suspicious had come by,
although many of the neighbors eyed him oddly when they passed him in the
corridors when he was out making rounds. I thanked him again for his help
and told him I’d see him at ten. My next telephone call was to Paige Palmer’s
office number.
The line rang four times before she picked up.
“Criminal Intelligence, Detective Palmer speaking.”
“Hello, Detective Palmer,” I said in a serious voice. “This is your
date slash battle-buddy from last night, and I was wondering if you’d like to
join me for a special mission to Iraq?”
I heard a snicker.

Criminal
“Not funny, Derrick,” Paige said. “If you only knew all the shit I had
to take from my captain today about our little adventure last night. I’m glad I
didn’t have to shoot anybody myself or I’d probably have had to fill out a forest
of paperwork. As it is I had to do half of one anyway. Christ!”
“Sorry, love,” I told her. “You gonna be okay?”
“Sure,” she said. “Captain Braxton is really a teddy bear most of the
time. That’s one of the reasons why I agreed to come into this unit in the first
place. He’s just a little stressed right now.”
“Aren’t we all,” I told her. “So did you get those prints ID’d?”
“Got ‘em an hour ago,” Paige said. “The dead guys are—or were—
Michael Jameson, 19, and Damian Craig, 20. Both had long rap sheets, everything
from assault to robbery to suspicion of murder. None of the charges
ever stuck though, nobody would testify. And that’s just since they left the
juvenile system by the way. Juvie files are sealed but I bet you it would be
more of the same.”
“No bet,” I said. “Any make on who they were working for?”
“Hard to say,” Paige told me. “From their records it looks like they
worked for almost every bad guy in Birmingham at one time or another. Kind
of looks like they might have been freelance talent. Specializing in the hard
work, if you get my drift.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They were killers. Which we already knew. Anything
else?”
“Not really,” she told me. “I’ve been going over their records for
about the last half hour, trying to see if there are any connections. When I get
a chance I’m gonna feed this stuff into a new analysis program that the feds
installed on our computers a few weeks ago and see if it can come up with a
lead. If something does come up I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” I said. “And you know what else might help?”
There was a brief silence, then a sigh.
“You want to see the files yourself?” she said at last. “You really do
want to see me back in uniform again, don’t you?”
“Well actually I do,” I said. “But not because I want you busted in
rank. It’s just that your butt looks so good in those dark blue uniform pants.”
Paige burst into laughter and it was nearly a minute before she could
continue.
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“Well thanks for that,” she said. “Guess that’s why when I was working
Patrol and used to pull all those guys over they’d stare at me in their rearview
mirrors when I went back to my car to write out their tickets.”
“And had smiles on their faces when you came back,” I finished for
her. “Exactly so.”
Paige chuckled again.
“You’re a clown sometimes, Derrick,” she said. “And I love you for it.
So are you saying that I don’t look good in my jeans?”
That was a trap I didn’t intend to step into.
“Anyway, how about the files?”
“You already owe me another dinner,” she said.
“Then I’ll owe you two,” I said.
Another pause.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I get off at eight tonight, maybe a little
later. I can bring ‘em by your place after then. What time are you going back
over to your client’s?”
“Need to relieve Ollie by ten,” I told her.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll get to your place before nine.”
“Thanks, Paige.”
“You’re welcome. Now I need to go before my lieutenant wonders
why I’ve been on this line so long and comes over and sees me working on
something other than what I’m supposed to be working on. Bye.”
The line clicked and I hung up the receiver.
My stomach was growling and I was really hungry now, so I got up,
slipped on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and then went into the kitchen to see
what I could throw together.
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Chapter XVIII
“Don’t recognize neither of them,” Ollie said after a careful study of the mug
shots taken from the police files of the two men I’d killed last night. “But that
don’t mean much. So many thugs and bangers out there these days. And the
names don’t mean nothing neither. Least not to me. But I’ll ask around, see
if they mean something to somebody.”
I nodded.
We were standing in the hall outside Evan Cross’ eighth floor loft at
a couple minutes to ten. Ollie looking just as he had this morning, barely
seeming tired, and now I felt better as well, wearing blue jeans, dark sneakers,
and a black short-sleeve shirt worn outside of my jeans. Under the shirt I
wore my Glock-36, Kel-Tec P-32, and ASP. There was a duffel bag on the
floor next to the front door of the loft and it contained a number of other operational
items that I thought would be prudent to bring along.
“Thanks, Ollie,” I told him. “For everything. Now why don’t you go
and get some rest.”
“Will do,” he said, checking his watch. “What time you want me
back in the morning?”
“Well Evan’s got an appointment in Ensley at nine in the morning
and I’ll be going with him. House on 32nd and E.”
“That’s a few blocks down from the club,” Ollie said. “Not too far
away. Want backup?”
“That would be nice,” I admitted. “If you’re up to it.”
“Not a problem. I don’t sleep much these days.”
“Know the feeling,” I said. “Yeah, I’d appreciate the company. Also,
I’m arranging for uniformed guards to start watching this place starting at
seven in the morning. Nadya Simon has agreed to spring for it. Cross isn’t
too keen on the idea, but after last night he didn’t argue too much. They’ll be
on duty three shifts a day, and that’ll help a lot. Plus I’m thinking about having
cameras installed in this hallway as well. I think after last night the build-

Stellen Qxz
ing manager will probably want to do the same for the rest of the place, but
that’s his affair. Have to see if it’s feasible. But the guards are a done deal.
Once they’re in place we hunker down and wait. See if there’s a next move.”
Ollie nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “And I’ll see if I can get anything on the two guys
you clipped, see if anybody know them or maybe who they frontin’ for. I’ll see
you over in Ensley when you get there in the morning.”
I nodded.
“Right. Have a good night.”
Ollie nodded, pressing the elevator down button. He stifled a yawn
as the doors to the far end car opened and he got on, waving. I waved in return
as the doors slid closed.
Glancing around, I sighed, then picked up my duffel and slid the
door to my client’s loft aside, stepping in and closing it behind me.
- 78 -

Chapter XIX
The community of Ensley is located on the west side of Birmingham and is
the section of the city in which the young and dashing Derrick Olin was born
and raised. When I was growing up Ensley was a thriving community with
working families, businesses small and large, and a fairly safe environment in
which kids could play. That started to change somewhat as I reached my teen
years, violent crime and drugs began to move in, and then the area just went
to hell. My parents kept the house I had grown up in until 1990 when a fire
resulting from the explosion of a neighbor’s house had devastated the area.
An idiot neighbor had not paid his gas bill in months so it was shut off. And
in an effort to heat his own house he had set off a propane explosion that
nearly killed him along with his two sons and burned down three other
houses, my parents’ included. I was already in the Air Force then, stationed
in Virginia. I remember quite clearly the night I received the call from my
middle sister. The good news was that none of the family had been injured.
The bad news was that the house was gone, along with just about everything
in it. That’s when my parents moved, and shortly thereafter most of the other
decent families got out as well. And crime and poverty moved in. And the
gangs.
Now Ensley was the murder capital of the city, drugs and prostitution
and other vices running rampant like a plague. All of the businesses that
had been thriving there when I was a kid had closed years ago. From time to
time someone would try to open a small neighborhood store there, but that
usually didn’t last more than a few months before they were robbed out of
business. There were a few nightclubs and some small stores that still operated
there, plus a bank branch or two. And one furniture store that had been
based on 19th Street forever and managed, somehow, to remain in business
despite everything else—probably because it was situated just a quarter of a
block down the street from the West Precinct of Birmingham PD. Beyond it
there wasn’t much left in Ensley besides empty spaces and bleakness. I rarely

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came back to this area if I could help it. It was depressing. All my childhood
memories and dreams gone.
The nightclub that Ollie Oliver is part owner of is located here, on
Avenue E between 19th and 20th streets. What’s ironic about that location is
that when I was a kid this was the site of one of the better neighborhood drug
stores, Ensley Apothecary. My family used to shop there all the time. I got
my first comic books from there, and many of the little toys that made my
young life such an adventure. And now it was a nightclub. Well, at least the
building wasn’t sitting empty like so many of the others, falling apart, rotten
with decay. And friends of mine were running it, both fellow Ensley boys, sort
of. Ollie was born in Flint, Michigan and his partner, Earl Ashley Dexter, was
born in Detroit, but both had moved down to Alabama with relatives early in
their lives and that’s how we had come to meet in school.
Our lives had taken very different paths over the years—Earl spent
twenty years as a Navy enlisted man, I did my time in the Air Force, and Ollie,
well his career path was the most interesting—but now we had all returned to
where everything started.
Right back here in Ensley.
It was raining again Thursday morning, but not as heavily as it had
been when I woke up yesterday afternoon. When Evan Cross pulled into the
driveway of the house on the corner of Avenue E and 32nd Street in Ensley at
five till nine the rain had nearly subsided, only minor sprinkles. I pulled to a
stop on the 32nd Street side of the house, my windshield wipers on low intermittent,
and watched as Dr. Cross exited his Miata and adjusted his glasses
before reaching back inside the car and collecting his briefcase. Today he had
on gray slacks, a yellow shirt, and a black blazer, looking every bit the academic.
The only thing missing were patches on his elbows.
I glanced around, checking my mirrors and watching cars go by. No
pedestrian traffic at the moment, and I was glad of that. One less concern for
me and for Ollie.
Parked across the street from the house Evan Cross was now entering
was a brand new black Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows. Ollie’s new
ride. Kind of flashy, but not too many people would pay it that much attention,
probably figuring he was a drug dealer waiting to make a sale, lots of
that going on in this neighborhood these days. Nobody would call the cops,
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Criminal
not wanting to get involved, and definitely not wanting to piss off a drug
dealer.
It was more likely that someone would wonder about me, my car was
a five year old dark blue Ford Taurus, and the street I was parked on was too
narrow for parking. So I decided to move it, drive around the block a few
times. Ollie had a perfect view of the house from his position and could call
me on my cell if anything happened while I was making the rounds, which
was unlikely.
When I came back about ten minutes later I decided to park at the
curb in front of the other house on the corner of Avenue E and 32nd , across
the street to the left of the one that my client was now visiting. It looked like
it was unoccupied, the grass nearly two feet high, paint peeling, no curtains at
the windows. Yeah, probably empty.
I shut off the wipers and turned off the engine, undoing my seatbelt
and trying to get comfortable. My cell phone rang a minute later and I fished
it off my belt, already knowing who was calling.
“Yeah, Ollie?” I said, glancing around me.
“This as exciting as bodyguarding gets?” he asked with a hint of the
sardonic in his voice. “Only danger so far is of my head hitting the steering
wheel when I nod off.”
I grinned.
“I’m sure you’ve got padded leather on the steering wheel in that
thing,” I told him. “So you wouldn’t get hurt too badly.”
Ollie uttered a deep chuckle.
“So anyway,” he said. “I made some calls on those two shooters. So
far I haven’t got nothin’ for you. But some people I know still gotta call back.
Should have something later on today.”
“Good,” I said. “Cops still don’t have much either. My friend in
Criminal Intelligence is going to see if she can get the juvenile records for
both of them unsealed, figuring that maybe something in them might help
us.”
“Maybe,” Ollie commented. “Lot of these street bangers always run
with the same crowds even when they grow up. Not that these guys were all
that old, but in gang terms they would be considered middle age.”
“Christ,” I said. “Middle age at 19 and 20. What does that make us?”
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Ollie chuckled again.
“Makes us still alive, Derrick. And good.”
“I guess,” I responded. “By the way, when Cross is done here he says
he wants to drive around Ensley for a bit, maybe stop and take some pictures.
You okay to hang in for that?”
“Sure,” Ollie said. “Gonna be some pretty depressing pictures
though.”
“I think that’s the point,” I said. “Afterwards he’s having lunch with
his significant other at Moe’s Southwest Grill off of 280 in Mountain Brook.
Round about twelve-thirty. Then home. The guards are in place at his loft
now and they’re better than your average security people. The company they
work for really goes all out for their training. That makes them a bit more
expensive but you get what you pay for. I’m gonna spend the rest of the day
over there keeping an eye on things. You can take off when you get ready.”
“How about night shift?” Ollie asked.
I paused.
“Guards will be in place,” I continued. “Plus the cops are making
extra patrols. I really don’t think anybody will be dumb enough to go for him
again at his place, at least not so soon.”
“These guys aren’t exactly known for smarts, Derrick,” Ollie said.
“And they ain’t afraid of the cops or some security guards. Think I might
ought to come ‘round tonight and sit for a while. Just till sun-up.”
“You sure you want to?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Ollie said. “No problem. Earl can manage things just fine
while I’m gone. Needed a break from that place anyway. Got this new head
hostess working there now. White chick, blonde with great big bazookas.
Name’s Reese Tamblyn. Real hot momma, Derrick. Need to keep away from
her ‘fore I do something stupid, know what I mean?”
I chuckled.
“Yes I do,” I replied. “Meeka will kill you. More likely cut your balls
off in your sleep.”
He chuckled.
“Too right, my man. Too right. Say, you should come by the club
some time and meet her. Real nice girl.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind maybe when this job is over.”
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Ollie laughed again, then I saw the front door to the house at 3123
Avenue E Ensley open and my client stepped out, followed by a gaunt looking
black man in plaid short sleeves and green pants, age about sixty.
“Heads up,” I said to Ollie.
“I see him,” Ollie responded. I’m taking off now, circle the block.
Let me know the direction and I’ll go post somewhere.”
“Right,” I said. “Then we’ll alternate being close and far back.”
“Out,” Ollie said and hung up. A couple seconds later his Escalade
pulled from the curb where it was parked and made an immediate right turn.
I sat watching as Evan Cross said good bye to the old man, then
walked down the steps and over to his car in the driveway.
Time for some more fun and excitement. And it was starting to rain
again.
Perfect.
- 83 -

Chapter XX
Late Saturday morning I drove down to Tuscaloosa, which is about an hour
away from Birmingham, following Evan Cross and Conrad Grayson in the
latter’s vehicle. They had plans to visit another museum and then have lunch
with some friends who lived in the area. The museum they were planning to
visit was off of Paul W. (Bear) Bryant Drive and curiously was known as Murphy’s
African American Museum. That made me laugh for all sorts of reasons.
I suppose Murphy could be Black Irish.
I was without date cover and did my best to appear to be just another
solo art lover at the museum to view the works on display. This time it
was all paintings by black artists, mostly all up-and-coming according to people
who knew and cared about such things, myself not included.
The place was more crowded than I would have expected for a Saturday
afternoon, and the racial mix was more diverse than I had imagined it
would be. So much for stereotypes I guess, and isn’t that a good thing?
Cross and Grayson seemed more relaxed here than they had been in
Birmingham. I suppose since they don’t live here they feel they can be more
open and free with their relationship. I noticed that Grayson seemed to touch
his partner more and they behaved more like a couple than they had the other
night. Perhaps in light of what had nearly happened after their date on Tuesday
they had decided not to care as much about public perceptions. No one
else in the crowd seemed to notice or care, and actually I saw quite a number
of other couples of the same stripe, male and female, and one that could
probably pass for either. Not that I actually cared. None appeared to be a
threat to my client, and that was all that really mattered to me.
Lunch was at a place called the Cobblestone Café about a half mile
from the museum and we arrived there around one-thirty. One of the other
couples from the museum led the way over and they were greeted by yet another
couple when we arrived. One couple was male, the other female, all

Criminal
black. I wondered if maybe Connie Grayson felt a little uneasy being the minority,
but he seemed not to care that he was the token white guy at the table.
The group got a large table on the west side of the restaurant by the
windows. I wasn’t happy about that but at least there were blinds on the windows
and they were half closed to keep most of the afternoon sun from glaring
in and blinding the customers. I got a table two over from them where I
could watch most of the rest of the restaurant and be close enough to grab my
client should that necessity present itself.
The waiter brought me a glass of water and put a menu down in
front of me. I told him I didn’t need the menu. When I’d come in I saw that
the house special today was a quarter pound burger cooked to order and fries
or onion rings. I ordered a medium rare burger on sourdough with Swiss
cheese, mayo, tomatoes, and the house barbeque sauce, and a side of crispy
onion rings. Ice tea to drink. The waiter took my order and the unused menu
and nodded as he walked away.
Over at my client’s table the six friends were laughing and talking
while they looked over their menus. After a while a cute little redheaded waitress
came over to take their orders. She joked with them and it quickly became
apparent that they all knew each other. A thought struck me then and I
wondered if she might be gay. There go those stereotypes again, Mr. Olin.
Why should it matter? Truth was it didn’t, just a stray thought, and a way to
pass the time. I think I mentioned before that bodyguards have a lot of time
on their hands.
My lunch arrived and it looked and smelled delicious. It truly was
made to order and I thoroughly enjoyed every bite. Evan Cross and company
seemed to enjoy their meals as well, and their time together. We stayed in the
restaurant for nearly two hours, then everyone moved out to the parking lot
where the conversation continued for another forty minutes. During this time
I remained in the background, watching everything, and silently willing Cross
and Grayson to get back in their damn car and start back to Birmingham.
At four-thirty that is precisely what they did. And I followed, still
pleasantly full from my lunch, and a little sleepy.
We were back in Birmingham by five-thirty and after a quick stop by
Grayson’s place in Cahaba Heights, we returned to Cross’ downtown loft.
Evan and I had discussed this after what had happened Tuesday night. As
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with any relationship, both partners liked to spend time at the other’s place.
However, at the present time, with the threat that Evan Cross obviously faced,
it simply was not a good idea for him to stay at Connie Grayson’s apartment,
even though there were surveillance cameras in his building in addition to a
guard downstairs. There was better security at Cross’ place now and if he and
his partner wanted to be alone together it was best for them to do so there.
The guard outside the loft nodded casually as Cross and Grayson
came off the elevator ahead of me and went inside. Once the door closed the
guard shook his head. I knew what was on his mind, and that concerned me a
little. Lots of people have problems with homosexuality, and that’s their
right, just as long as they don’t get stupid about it. The question on my mind
now was whether or not this guard would let his personal feelings interfere
with how he did his job. Only one way to know for sure. So I asked him.
He shook his head again and smiled.
“My brother gay, man. Don’t care for it myself. Don’t know how no
man would rather be with another hairy-assed guy when all them smooth
legged girls out there. But you know, they do what they want. I don’t give a
shit. Long as they don’t try to pat me on the ass.”
I nodded, my concerns somewhat assuaged.
“Alright,” I said. “Then I’m heading home. You get off at eleven?”
The guard nodded.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got my cell number. Any problems, call me.”
He nodded again and I went over and pressed the elevator button. A
few seconds later the middle car arrived and I stepped on, heading down.
My car was parked in front of the building on 3rd Avenue and I had
just climbed in and started the engine when my cell phone rang. The ringtone
told me who was calling and I smiled, reaching toward my belt with my
right hand.
“Hey, beautiful,” I said into the mouthpiece.
“Hey yourself, handsome,” said Traci Brenner. “Where are you?”
“At the moment I’m downtown on 3rd Avenue, just leaving my client’s
place. Where are you?”
“At the moment I’m sitting in the parking lot of your complex,” Traci
responded cheerily. “And I’m awfully lonely.”
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Excitement like an electric charge shot through my body at that instant
and I slipped the car in gear.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I told her. “And you won’t be lonely
then. Promise.”
Traci giggled.
“I know I won’t be. Hurry.”
“Nearly there now,” I said, pulling away from the curb, still cognizant
enough of my job to glance around to make sure that a band of Uzi-toting
bad guys wasn’t closing in on the building. However as I did this, most of my
thoughts were occupied with the sexy slender brunette on the other end of my
phone. Professionalism didn’t desert me completely and I was still alert to
danger, sincerely hoping there would be none, but ready to respond nonetheless.
I hung up my cell and quickly made for 22nd Street. My plan had
been to drive over to 8th South, also known as University Boulevard, and take
that all the way to Green Springs and my apartment. Now that plan had
changed. Once I got turned around I’d head for straight for the interstate and
get to my destination—and my desire—all the more quickly.
This really was an unexpected surprise. Traci had not even hinted
that she might be coming to Birmingham this weekend. I was going to have
to discipline her for that brazen omission.
That thought gave rise to a gigantic smile, and an erection of comparable
measure.
- 87 -

Chapter XXI
Watching Traci Brenner achieve orgasm is one of the most thrilling and erotic
things I have ever experienced in my forty years. The way her eyes roll back
into her head, the way her skin flushes in wave after wave as her passion
builds, the little noises she utters when she is close to climax, and then there
is the release, an ear-shattering shriek as her body begins to tremble and her
limbs tighten around me like a vise.
We are in the middle of my bed, the curtains in the room drawn, the
bedside lamp turned on low, the AC maintaining a cool temperature. Traci is
beneath me, her knees raised high, her slender arms around my neck, her
body and mine slick with perspiration. Both my fists are pressed into the
mattress on either side of her supple body, supporting most of my upper body
weight as my lower body repeatedly presses into hers, my rigid organ sliding
deeply into her wetness.
“Oh god!” she exhaled, her eyes opening momentarily. “Oh Jesus,
Derrick! Oh god!”
Being a pagan § non-believer myself, the concept of a god having
anything to do with what we are doing right now, the pleasure we are experiencing,
is, well, a little silly. But now is not the right time to go into that with
Traci. Besides, right now I feel like screaming “oh god!” too.
I was looking down at her as she fell back on the pillow, her face
slack with the joy of total release, and now I was moving faster and harder,
going deeper into her soft womb, moments from… and then it happened, all
my muscles tensed, and then the convulsions began…
After we had both achieved satisfactory ends we lay motionless in
the same position we had been in for most of our encounter, Traci’s arms still
around my neck and my hands under her buttocks, cupping them gently. We
§ Pagan: Defined as a person with little or no religion. Derrick Olin prefers
it to the more antiseptic term atheist.

Criminal
lay like this for quite a long time, neither of us saying anything, and neither of
us in any hurry to move.
Finally I lifted my head and looked down into Traci’s brown eyes.
She was smiling, but I could see that she was exhausted, worn out might be a
better term, and this made me smile too, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment.
Of course, Traci had made quite an accomplishment herself because I
was worn out too.
“That was nice,” I said.
Traci grinned.
“It was,” she said. “Damn, Derrick, you’re something else, baby.
Wonder if your neighbors called the cops yet? Thinking maybe you were killing
some white chick over here.”
I snickered and kissed the pointed tip of her nose.
“The neighbor on the other side of the wall behind the headboard is
away this week,” I told her. “Don’t know about on the other side or upstairs,
and don’t care.”
She grinned and kissed my lips.
“Me either,” she said, moving her hips a little. “I don’t care if the
whole fucking world heard us.”
“They might have,” I said with a straight face. “You seemed to be
more vocal than usual.”
“Me?” she smirked. “What about you? All that groaning and grunting,
especially right at the end. Thought I was in bed with a wild animal.”
We were both grinning.
“And you were,” I said, then kissed her lips again.
Traci went into the bathroom and I slipped on a pair of shorts and a
black T-shirt and padded into the kitchen to see if I could whip up something
for dinner. We’d both just burned off a lot of calories and needed to replenish.
When Traci came into the kitchen a few minutes later she was wearing
a faded green nightshirt that she left at my place for times like this. It was
knee-length and shapeless and didn’t do much for her cute little figure, but
that didn’t matter. I knew what she looked like underneath, but it was best
not to think about that if we were going to get a chance to eat.
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Stellen Qxz
I had taken out some deli turkey and ham and sliced it up and put it
on a plate with some American cheese slices. Now I took a bowl from the top
shelf of the cabinet over the sink and opened a canister of Pringles chips,
emptying them into the bowl as it set on the counter next to the plate of turkey,
ham, and cheese.
“You know I haven’t had chips in ages,” Traci said, leaning against
the back of my right shoulder as I finished emptying the Pringles. “I was just
thinking about having some the other day.”
I set the empty can on the counter near the sink and glanced back
over my shoulder, kissing the side of her mouth.
“Actually so was I,” I said. “Which is why I bought these the other
day. I guess great minds think alike.”
Traci grinned and kissed me.
We went into the living room and sat down on the floor between the
sofa and coffee table, our favorite place to eat when we were here together. In
addition to the meats and cheese and the chips, we each had a glass of cool
cranberry grape juice—grape being a personal favorite of mine. Traci picked
up a slice of turkey and added a piece of cheese, rolling them together, then
fed it to me. As I was taking it into my mouth I nibbled on her fingers and she
smiled.
“Is that your way of saying that you’d like to eat me too, Mr. Olin?”
I laughed, nearly choking as I chewed, reaching for my juice and
taking a couple of quick swallows.
“Very funny, smarty pants.”
Traci kissed me.
“Actually I’m not wearing any pants right now,” she teased.
“I noticed,” I said, picking up a slice of ham and a slice of cheese,
then adding a broken chip in the middle before rolling the whole thing together.
Traci leaned over and I slowly inserted it into her mouth, and, inevitably,
she took my middle finger and slowly sucked it in as well.
“You know you look good with anything in your mouth,” I told her,
and we both laughed, Traci almost choking this time.
We continued to eat and laugh as we talked, just enjoying being close
with one another, totally comfortable and content. I hadn’t asked her why she
was in town, sensing she really didn’t want to talk about anything serious at
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the moment, but I knew there was something on her mind, probably something
quite serious. It was in her manner, her mood, and in the things she
didn’t say. But if she wasn’t ready I would not push her. There were a lot of
other things the two of us could concentrate on this Saturday night.
Then all of a sudden Traci pushed the food back on the table,
climbed into my lap, and pulled the nightshirt over her head, dropping it on
the sofa behind me. She kissed me with such intensity that I feared she might
start convulsing, but she didn’t, and eventually pulled back, slightly breathless
but smiling. I knew that smile, and really liked that smile. She reached down
and pulled my T-shirt out of my shorts and over my head. The shorts were
the next to go…
It was ten after ten and we were once again lying in my bed with the
lamp on low, both of us on our sides facing each other, our legs intertwined,
our hands between us, fingers interlaced, and Traci was gently kissing me on
the lips. I felt a tremor pass between us and suddenly felt ill-at-ease.
Traci looked deeply into my eyes before speaking, her voice solemn.
“Marcus is back in Iraq now, but he’s going to be done with this tour
in a couple of months.”
I said nothing, waiting.
“When he gets stateside he’s gonna try for first sergeant. Only problem
is his C.O. has told him he can’t do it in his current unit, 5th Special
Forces. His ultimate goal is to make sergeant major before he has to retire
and there are only a couple years left for him to get where he needs to before
it’s too late. This means he has to transfer to another unit. There’s a new
Special Operations command being established out where the 75th Rangers
used to be based before they moved east.”
“Missoula, Montana,” I said helpfully, just to be saying something I
guess.
Traci stared at me for a moment with a curious grin on her face.
“Is there nothing you don’t know something about, Derrick?” she
said.
I smiled, saying nothing more.
“Yeah,” she continued. “Missoula, Montana. If he gets the transfer
we’ll be moving there. If it were anywhere but Montana I’d probably throw a
fit and refuse to go, but Montana would be a perfect place to run a horse
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Stellen Qxz
ranch. Marcus is even excited about that, and Junior. I’ve been out there a
few times and I just love the place, it’s really beautiful, true horse country.”
She stopped talking, looking deeply into my eyes for a few long moments,
a profound sadness in hers.
“And you know that means we won’t be able to continue seeing each
other,” she said. “I mean, it’s not like now when one of us can drive four
hours and see the other. Plus I won’t have the built-in excuse of coming up
for riding lessons at Oak Mountain. If we move, you and I won’t be able to do
this anymore.”
I nodded slowly, my throat suddenly tight. I cleared it before responding.
It took a couple of tries.
“I know, love,” I told her. “And we both knew it would come to this
one day. Neither of us thought it would ever last two years, and I sure as hell
have no regrets. Other than it has to come to an end. But you have to do
what you have to for your family. I never wanted to complicate things for you,
sweetie. I always told you that when you were ready to end it, we would, no
protests, no complaints, no regrets. That still stands.”
Tears started to roll from her eyes and she was shaking slightly. I
knew she wanted to speak but couldn’t. To tell the truth I felt myself welling
up too, and that really bothered me. But I suppose that I had to admit to myself
that after a couple of years even I can grow emotionally attached to someone,
especially someone with whom I have been thoroughly intimate. I took
her into my arms and held her close and tight for a very long time. There
were so many things that could be said, but right now none of them seemed
adequate, so neither of us said a word.
Eventually Traci went to the bathroom to wash her face and when
she came back to bed and climbed beneath the sheet with me she seemed to
be through the worst of it. She lay her head on my chest and stroked the hairs
on my stomach in a slow circle. After a while she glanced up at me, smiling.
“I never told you this because I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,
nor did I want to complicate things,” she said resolutely. “But now
I’m gonna say it because I need to. I want to.” She paused and took a breath,
then continued, her eyes and her voice never wavering. “I love you, Derrick.
You have meant so much to me over these past two years. You’ve kept me
going, given me refuge and solace, made me feel good—and not just in bed—
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Criminal
and for that I love you. You’re a very special guy and I hope you will be
happy. I hope you find someone you can be happy with forever. I know it
can’t be me, but you deserve to be happy, Derrick, and in love. Thank you for
the time we had together.”
I leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I told her with a thick voice. “There is no
way I could tell you how special the past two years have been for me. You
have been a joy and a delight in my life. I am so glad we found each other,
and I wish you nothing but happiness wherever you end up. You were just as
much a comfort to me as I was to you, more than you will ever know. I hope
that one day you will find that happiness for yourself, and with someone you
truly love. I’ve never said this to you before, but you and I both know it is
true. You don’t love Marcus. You haven’t for a very long time. You should be
with someone you do love. Someone you know loves you. Perhaps one day…”
She stared at me hard for about a minute, then nodded slowly and
kissed my right nipple.
“Perhaps one day,” she said softly. “When Junior grows up. You’re
right, I know. But, it’s not final yet. And there are at least a couple months
left before Marcus returns. So in the meantime…”
That impish grin was back, and the glint in her eyes. Both welcome
sights. The mood had become too sullen for my taste. I pulled her on top of
me and we kissed again, and all those passions returned.
Traci reached down between us and cupped my testicles, squeezing
gently. I reached a hand up and gently stroked her chin, and then I said
something that I have never said to another human being: “I love you too,
Traci.”
Deep down inside I knew I didn’t actually mean those words, could
never really feel love, but I knew it was what she needed to hear. The words
made her cry.
And a short time later Mrs. Traci Brenner royally fucked my brains
out!
- 93 -

Chapter XXII
Monday morning when I came to relieve Ollie at seven I found him down in
the parking garage standing beside his Escalade having a cup of coffee. I
parked in the space one over from him and got out wearing khaki slacks and a
blue button-down shirt hanging outside my pants. My Glock-30 had been
returned by the police and was now on my belt on my right hip, back where it
belonged.
Ollie had on jeans, a black silk T-shirt, and a lightweight charcoal
blazer. I walked over and leaned on the hood of the Escalade next to him. He
turned his head sideways and stared at me for a second.
“Last fella did that got his ass kicked,” Ollie said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah,” I said, “but I bet he wasn’t as charming as me.”
Ollie shook his head and had another sip of coffee. I leaned off of his
vehicle.
“How did it go last night?” I asked.
“Same as every other night ‘cept last Tuesday,” he said. “Boring.
Nothing to report. Ever since you got those guards upstairs there’s not a
whole lot for me to do. Guess I might head on back to the club tonight.”
“Well I appreciate all your help, Ollie,” I told him sincerely. “Thanks
a lot. And I understand. Earl probably misses you.”
Ollie grinned and shook his head.
“Yeah, sure he do. By the way, got something for you. Something
you might like.”
I glanced at him just as a blue Explorer came around the corner
heading for the exit, the driver an Asian male, late twenties, talking on a cell
phone, oblivious.
“What?” I said.
“That guy Damian Craig you clipped last week,” Ollie said. “The
twenty year old shooter.”

Criminal
“Yeah,” I said, a sudden flash of the young man’s face, both before
and after death. “What about him?”
“One of my sources finally called me back about four this morning.
If I hadn’t been up already I’d have been pissed. Seems Damian Craig is—or
was—the second cousin of somebody we both know; and hate a real fuckin’
lot!”
“Alright,” I said, now fully turned toward the lanky nightclub coowner
and former mob enforcer. “Now you’ve teased me, who is it, Ollie?”
He grinned and swirled his cup before answering.
“Nestor Cabaña,” Ollie said, and the skin on my scalp suddenly
shrank.
“Fuck,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “The chief enforcer for the biggest thug this town’s
ever known. A crazy motha fucka in his own right.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I rejoined, once again leaning against the
Escalade. “So does that mean the hit ties to Redbone?”
“Can’t say that for sure,” Ollie said, finishing his coffee. “Just found
out the kid was Cabaña’s cousin, don’t know if he was workin’ for him. Source
say he’d done some stuff for Nestor in the past when he was younger, under
age, but don’t know about now. It’s possible though. Still looking into that.
But it be an awful big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I admitted. “And here’s another question I’d love to have the
answer to. If I killed that crazy mother fucker’s cousin, why hasn’t he paid me
a visit yet? Or sent Frankie Burrage to do it for him?”
“First off,” Ollie told me. “Frankie work for Innes and don’t clip nobody
‘less the bossman say so. Second, if Nestor wanted you dead, chances
are he’d do it himself. Or try to. But you right, that is a interesting question.
Maybe he don’t know the boy dead. Or maybe he don’t care. Or he maybe
afraid of you.”
I smiled.
“That fool’s too crazy to be afraid of anything,” I said. “Your source
is sure about the family connection?”
“Dead sure,” he told me. “I already asked that.”
I nodded, thinking carefully.
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“Alright,” I said. “What’s done is done. I’ll pass this on to the cops
and let them go talk to Cabaña, and maybe Redbone too, rattle them a little,
see what develops.”
“That be good,” Ollie said, glancing at the gold Rolex watch on his
left wrist. “I’ll keep digging on my end. I get anything and I’ll shoot it straight
to you. Meantime, you be careful. And if you need me again, just holler.”
“Will do,” I said. “And thanks, man.”
He put out his hand and we shook.
“No problem. Talk at you soon. And I was serious the other day too.
Come by the club some time and meet our new head hostess. I guarantee
you’ll be impressed.”
“I’m sure,” I said, suddenly thinking about Traci Brenner and the
news she had delivered Saturday night. “See you later, Ollie.”
He climbed into his sleek SUV and started the big V-eight engine
and put on his seatbelt. I watched him drive off and then I walked out the
front entrance of the garage and around to the entrance to the apartment
building. Checking my watch—a cheap Casio from Wal-Mart—I calculated
that Paige Palmer wouldn’t be at work for maybe another forty minutes and
decided to wait until then before I called to tell her what Ollie had just told
me.
It was not good news. Possibly the worst of all. Even if Innes Redbone
was not directly involved in the threats and the attack on Evan Cross,
there was a connection to his strong right hand, Nestor Cabaña. Whether the
connection was a coincidence or not still had to be determined, but on some
level it really didn’t matter. Damian Craig had been kin to Nestor Cabaña and
had now shuffled off this mortal coil ** at my hands. I didn’t peg Nestor for
the forgiving type and that meant another complication to consider.
I said good morning to the guard on the desk in the lobby and
walked over to the elevators where a young couple dressed for business was
getting off, talking animatedly about all the things they thought were important
in life. Ignoring them, I climbed on the elevator they had just vacated
and pressed the button for the eighth floor, then inserted a key into the slot
beside the panel. After the incident last week we had decided it would be a
** From Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
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Criminal
good idea for me to carry my client’s duplicate door key so I wouldn’t have to
wait around for the guard to let me in or access the elevator.
I leaned against the rear wall of the car and watched as the lighted
numbers above the doors slowly changed one by one as I ascended. A faint
ding sound let me know that I had reached my destination right before the
car stopped and the doors opened on the eighth floor. Sighing, I pushed off
the wall and stepped out into the corridor, my mind occupied with far too
many unpleasant thoughts this morning.
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Chapter XXIII
Tuesday night was black-tie gala night. Lionel Grayson, Founder, Chairman,
and Chief Executive Officer of Grayson Developments—father of Connie
Grayson—the biggest developer in these parts with more money than most
banks, was throwing a bash for his investors and a couple hundred of his closest
friends at the Hilton Perimeter Park Hotel in Vestavia Hills. All the
women were in their finest and most expensive evening gowns while all of the
men had on the regulation black-tie and tux. Grayson had invited his son
Connie, and, as you would expect, Connie invited Evan Cross, which meant I
was invited too.
I don’t own a black-tie, or any ties for that matter, and no tux.
Which is where Mr. Burch Formal Wear came in. I rented what I needed for
the evening and billed it to my client, and if I do say so myself, I look pretty
good in it. Last time I had on anything remotely resembling formal wear I
was still in the Air Force and attending a mandatory reception for a highranking
foreign military dignitary. In the service what passes for a military
tuxedo is known as “mess dress”. As an officer I was required to own at least
one, and I did, and only one, wearing it as sparingly as I could. Since going
private this was the first time I had had to go formal. Hopefully it wouldn’t be
the start of a trend.
Evan and Connie arrived together, Connie having picked his date up
at his loft downtown, and I followed in my car. When we got to the Hilton at
eight at least half of the guests had already arrived. I could tell by his mood
that Connie was a little apprehensive about tonight. Remembering what
Nadya Simon had said about his relationship with his father, how he wasn’t
exactly thrilled with his son’s lifestyle choice but loved him anyway, I guess I
could understand. He probably didn’t want to embarrass his father, but he
didn’t want to deny who he was either. Both he and Evan Cross did make an
impressive pair as they strolled ahead of me into the grand ballroom where
the main festivities were taking place.

Criminal
As I entered and glanced around I saw a number of familiar faces.
Local politicians, business executives, and one or two television personalities.
The most notable of the latter was Rhonie McDavid, Chief Correspondent for
the local CBS affiliate, Channel 42. My, my she looks even more scrumptious
in person. Blonde, about five-five, maybe fifty to fifty-three years old (because
I know she has three grown sons), impressive cleavage, well-shown off
in the turquoise gown she’s wearing tonight. The gentleman standing to her
left is her husband. I recognized him from TV as well, although I believe that
he has now left the air in favor of teaching at one of the local universities.
Journalism I think; fitting considering he is, or was, a top journalist for many
years.
I allowed myself one more glance at Rhonie McDavid—making sure
that she wasn’t concealing something in her dress that could be a threat to my
client—then I moved on, checking out the rest of the room and the rest of the
guests.
It would be highly unlikely that some hood could get in here tonight,
and if they did they’d stick out like a sore thumb. Plus I had noticed three
Vestavia Hills Police cruisers parked outside when we arrived. Probably the
majority of the small force’s evening shift, but a good deterrent against the
riffraff that might want to cause trouble while the high and mighty were
partying.
Evan and Connie stopped and picked up drinks off of a passing
waiter’s tray and spoke to a few people they apparently knew. Off to my left I
spotted Nadya Simon and her husband Lev. They were holding court with a
small circle of people, the phony smiles firmly in place, and the fake laughter
too. Nadya hadn’t spotted me yet but I knew she would before long, and she’d
come over, most likely without Lev.
When Connie and Evan had finished their drinks they turned to each
other and Evan straightened his mate’s tie. It appeared that both men were
trying to give the other courage, building resolve for some great challenge that
lay ahead of them. After a minute they turned again and starting walking
through the crowd, occasionally saying hello and shaking a hand here, kissing
a cheek there. I kept about five feet behind them, my eyes still scanning the
faces, watching the placement of hands, ready to spring like Spiderman if the
need arose, pretty confident that it would not.
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And then there he was, the Man himself. I recognized him from TV
too, and the papers. Lionel Grayson, businessman, entrepreneur, humanitarian,
all around guy of guys. He looked good in his expensively tailored tux. It
had to have cost several grand, at least. He probably figured it was worth it,
and no doubt that he could afford it.
Grayson was in his mid-fifties, straight black hair going to gray
around the temples, a politician’s smile with perfect white teeth, kind of on
the tall side, at least six-two, and a perfect tan that seemed natural. Probably
took a lot of trips to Florida and California, or some tropical island somewhere.
Hell, he could afford to own his own island, and probably did.
Grayson was all smiles when his boy walked up. They exchanged a
hearty handshake and a brief hug, and then the old man put his hands on his
son’s shoulders and looked at him with a smile of pride on his deeply lined
but healthy looking face. All this time Evan Cross stood off to the side looking
slightly uncomfortable. There was a woman just behind Grayson’s right
shoulder. Early thirties, very tall, good hips, blonde, very attractive, and
dressed to kill in a strapless black gown that clung to her every curve and
stopped just a couple inches above her knees. I knew Grayson was a widower,
but I had also heard that he was never lacking for female companions. Something
told me that this blonde was his companion of the moment. She stood
watching Grayson and his son, not intruding, standing quietly in the background
like a servant waiting to serve her master’s needs, and that put a nasty
thought into my mind. However I was not able to pursue it because at that
moment Nadya Simon arrived and slipped her arm through mine.
“Hey, Rocman,” she said with a smile.
I glanced to my left.
“Hey, Nadya,” I said. And sure enough, Lev Simon was nowhere in
sight. “You look amazing in that dress by the way.”
She beamed, and she really did look good. I had to remind myself
that she was the one paying me to keep Evan Cross alive and it was highly
unlikely that she was concealing a lethal weapon down the front of her dress,
so my eyes didn’t need to keep staring at her plunging neckline.
“And you look handsome as well. Glad you came.”
I nodded, continuing to glance around now, anywhere but down.
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Criminal
“Kind of a requirement when your client attends a function. You
gotta go too, although I really don’t think he’s in any actual danger here.”
“Only of being bullshitted to death,” Nadya whispered, then grinned.
I smiled, watching as Evan and Lionel Grayson shook hands, warm
and friendly, sort of, and then the trio walked over to the bar and got drinks,
the tall blonde following closely but not really a part of the clique. Interesting.
“So have the police gotten anywhere with their investigation?” Nadya
asked as I adjusted my position in order to get a different view of the room.
“Not really,” I told her. “They’ve identified the shooters but are not
having much luck finding out who sent them.” I decided not to tell her about
the link between one of the dead men and the chief enforcer for the largest
criminal in the metro area.
“Well until you feel the danger to Evan is gone, Derrick, I want you
to continue to protect him. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “You know how long it will be before he’s ready to
publish?”
“Not really,” Nadya admitted, spotting someone and waving at them.
“He says he’ll be done putting it all together by the end of the July. About a
month more to go if that holds true, the First being in a couple of days. Then
the editors have to go over it, see what needs to be changed and send it back
to Evan for any rewrites. Maybe by the end of the summer if he’s lucky, or the
first of fall. But once it’s in the hands of the editors and the publisher maybe
the threat will diminish.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Depending on with whom we’re dealing, and why
they actually want to hurt him.”
Nadya turned to me and looked directly into my eyes.
“What do you mean, Derrick?” she asked with a frown.
I was silent for a moment, considering my words carefully.
“Something’s not right about his story, Nadya. Something he’s not
telling. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve sensed it from the beginning.”
“You think he knows more about the threat to him than he’s letting
on?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I told her. “He’s got more to tell. And I’d really like to
know what the hell it is, but I see no reason to push him about it just yet.”
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We were both quiet then, and soon Nadya spotted someone else she
needed to talk to. She told me to keep in touch with her and if I needed anything
I should call her, then she walked off.
I couldn’t help myself, once before she left I glanced down and had a
good, long look at the girls. Not bad for a woman in her mid-fifties.
Now Lionel Grayson was introducing his son to some people, his
arm around the younger Grayson’s shoulders, father and son as one. Evan
Cross and the tall blonde stood in the background, both of them looking
somewhat uncomfortable, and trying really hard not to show it.
I glanced around the room once again, taking in the crowd, and desperately
wishing I was somewhere else right now.
Perhaps with my head down the front of Nadya Simon’s dress?
Stop that! I gave myself a mental slap. That’s not a place you need
to go. Although it would be interesting.
Another mental slap.
That’s better. Now back to work.
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Chapter XXIV
It was half past midnight when I turned off of I-65 at the Green Springs Avenue
exit. When the light at the top of the ramp changed I turned left and
headed down to Green Springs Highway, turning right at that intersection
and driving the block and a quarter south to the turn off for my apartment
complex, the Green Springs Executive Apartments.
Not a soul appeared to be stirring in the parking lot as I turned left
past the dumpster and drove to the far side of the complex, up a slight incline.
All of the spaces near the building were taken, of course, so I found one on the
hill almost directly across from my apartment, backing in and shutting off the
engine as I began to yawn. Apparently I was exhausted, and yawned again.
For about a minute I sat staring out at the darkness in the lot, checking out
the cars parked around me. Some were familiar, others weren’t, all appeared
to be empty. I glanced up in the rearview mirror and stared at my reflection.
Still handsome in my tuxedo, clip-on bowtie still firmly in place. Time to go
in and take this monkey suit off; it had to be back at the shop before noon
tomorrow if I wanted to get my full deposit back.
The good news was that Evan Cross had no appointments on
Wednesday, planning to spend the day in his loft writing. An easy day for me.
Good. Maybe I could relax a bit.
I opened the door and climbed out, feeling a sudden sharp pain in
the small of my back. An old injury that acted up every now and then, more
so now that I was approaching middle age. Then there was the ache in my left
knee, another injury incurred during the same time period. Oh well, at least
I’m still here. Some others had not been so lucky.
I locked the door to my Taurus and shut it, then glanced around
again before lumbering across the parking lot toward my apartment. I was in
the middle distance when something suddenly moved through my guts and I
knew that I was not the only one in this parking lot.

Stellen Qxz
I dropped down to the pavement just a fraction of a second before
the first shot was fired, muzzle flashes visible off to my left. My next move
was to shoulder-roll over toward a green pickup truck that was parked in
front of the apartment next to mine, getting out of the line of fire as more
shots rang out, bullets bouncing off the concrete, impacting against the vehicle
I was behind and the one to the left of it.
My Glock was in my right hand now and I went flat on the ground,
looking under the truck toward the thick clump of bushes approximately forty
feet away on the far end of the lot. That’s where the shooter or shooters were,
and they were coming out now. Two of them, armed with what appeared to
be semiautomatic pistols. The shots sounded like they came from 9mm’s, the
preferred weapon of the gang-banger. And the shooters themselves were carbon
copies of the guys I’d tangled with last Tuesday night. Tuesday was fast
becoming my least favorite day of the week.
It was lucky for me these guys had no training in tactics. Instead of
separating and working their way toward me from different angles, they
stayed together side-by-side and approached my position. Amateurs or fools;
or both.
I rolled toward the front of the pickup and rose to a crouch. I was in
the darkness now and they were exposed by the streetlamps on the outskirts
of the lot. This gave me a slight advantage and I used it as quickly as I could,
moving around the front of the pickup and over to the front of the brown SUV
next to it. Lights started coming on in apartments behind me, but I knew no
light would come on in the apartment directly behind me because it was mine,
and I was out here getting shot at.
The first shooter became visible to me near the back end of the SUV
and I took the slack out of the trigger of my Glock, holding it in a steady twohanded
grip. Now I saw the second guy, just a little ways back of the first. I
shot him in the left side and the heavy impact of the .45 caliber jacketed hollow-point
spun him around like a flimsy piece of paper in the wind.
The other shooter turned toward his friend, then dropped down and
spun back in my direction. This kid was fast. He managed to get a couple of
shots off, neither of which came all that close to hitting me, but I moved back
reflexively. My next shot caught this shooter in the right shoulder, knocking
him back several feet. He was left handed and still able to hang on to his
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Criminal
weapon, and despite the shock of being hit I saw that he was still trying to
point that weapon at me. So I shot him again, this time dead center in the
chest. That put him down all the way, thus canceling the threat that he posed.
Now more lights were coming on behind me and I moved cautiously
from in between the vehicles and checked the condition of both men I had
shot. One dead for sure, the other bleeding badly but he had a chance if he
got medical attention quickly.
I was just about to reach for the cell phone on my hip when I sensed
something off to my left. Fuck!
Shooter number three stepped out from behind the dumpster fifty
feet away and opened fire with what sounded like a mini-Uzi, full automatic.
If the weapon had been set for single-shot he might have hit me. A lot of people
have no idea how hard it is to control a weapon on full automatic. Which
is why people who know what the hell they’re doing don’t use that selection
unless they’re pinned down and need to break free or push their attackers
back. Rounds were going everywhere, some coming close to me, hitting the
pavement and skirting past, others punching holes in my neighbors’ cars, but
none landed on the intended target: me.
Still, I dropped low before turning and raising my Glock toward the
shooter, squeezing off two quick rounds, then a third. All three apparently
missed but they did the trick. The third shooter took off running in the opposite
direction, dropping his weapon as he did so. I could have shot him in the
back, even at this distance, but figured I’d done enough damage tonight.
Sometimes leaving a live enemy around can be useful. Not always, but in
some cases.
Anyway, some of my neighbors were now peaking out through their
curtains and blinds and no doubt would be making witness statements to the
cops very shortly. One or two of them already didn’t care for me and would
probably like nothing better than to tell the cops how I’d shot an unarmed
man in the back as he fled the scene.
No need to make that 911 call now; sirens were fast approaching my
position. So I put away my pistol, took off my bowtie, and went to lean
against the hood of my car.
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Not how I had intended to spend these early morning hours, but…
Then something else occurred to me and I did take out my cell phone and
made a quick call. Just to be sure.
- 106 -

Chapter XXV
“Thanks, Officer. Yeah. Thanks again. And thank your sergeant for me. I
really appreciate it. Yeah. Right. I will. Bye.”
I ended my third cell phone call of the night and put the phone back
on my belt, now reassured that no attempt had been made on my client and
that in addition to the guard posted outside his door, there was now a BPD
squad car with two uniformed officers posted at the building as well. Additional
area patrols would be made every hour too. With my mind at-ease, I
could now finish dealing with my own situation.
It was two in the morning and most of the night shift from the
Homewood Police Department, a good bit of the South Precinct of the Birmingham
PD, and a contingent from the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office
were in the parking lot outside my apartment. Lights flashing, radios
squawking, and lots of uniformed officers taking statements while others
stood along the perimeter of crime scene tape and kept bystanders at bay.
Inside the perimeter were the detectives, forensics techs, and a couple of
coroner’s assistants all doing their thing. The banger I had killed was still
lying on the ground where he had died, now covered with a black plastic
sheet. His partner was still alive and had been taken to UAB Hospital for
emergency surgery. His prognosis was not good, apparently my bullet had
lacerated his liver, but he was lucky, UAB was the best hospital in the region
and not all that far away. A while back I dated a respiratory therapist who
worked there in the ER; she had been the best too. Or so I used to think. And
she had been.
At the moment I was talking to the senior Homewood officer on the
scene, this being Homewood’s jurisdiction and all. He was tall, slender, and
fit with a blond crew-cut, cool blue eyes, and a long, crooked nose that looked
like it had been broken a couple of times. His name was Corporal Brian Williams
and we knew each other because we were both members of the F.O.P.
Range in Pleasant Grove and sometimes shot together.

Stellen Qxz
“So you’re just coming home from a party, get out of your car, and
these three bangers open up on you?” Brian said in a no-nonsense tone,
hands on his narrow hips, resting above his black leather duty belt.
“Pretty much how it happened,” I told him, noting that his black
uniform was perfectly tailored to his body. Must have cost him a few bucks.
“Only I wasn’t really at a party. More like a reception and I was working, protecting
a client. Black-tie.”
“I see,” Brian said with an ironic grin. “When I first saw you tonight
I thought maybe you were going for the James Bond look.”
I smirked.
“Only if Bond was black and bald,” I told him. “Anyway that’s how it
happened. I’m pretty sure this incident will tie in to the one that I was involved
in a week ago downtown.”
“Heard about that,” Brian said, glancing over and seeing the coroner’s
assistants unroll a black body bag from the back of their van. “You
dropped a couple more bandits. Seems like it’s becoming a habit with you,
Derrick.”
“Well we all need a hobby,” I replied dryly. “But if you’ll check with
Detective Palmer in BPD’s Criminal Intelligence Unit I’m sure she’ll fill you
in.”
“Paige Palmer?” the Homewood cop said with a smile. “Haven’t seen
her in a while. And she’s in Intel now? Well I will have to call her. What’s
this all about, Derrick?”
As succinctly as possible I filled him in. We were standing on the far
side of the parking lot near the clump of bushes the that two shooters had
been hiding behind when they’d first attacked. From here we could see everything
that the techs and detectives were doing, and watch all the spectators
and members of the press who had shown up by now. Even at two in the
morning there were a lot of them.
“So why do you figure they came after you and not your client?” he
asked, his long arms now folded across his muscular chest. “I mean, I can see
why they’d want to take you out first if you were protecting your client at the
moment, but he’s at home and you’re here, and nobody made a move on him
while you were being attacked.”
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Criminal
“Yeah,” I said. “And somebody wanting to take my client out should
have gone after him instead of coming over here for me first. Seems kind of
personal to me.”
“Revenge on you for taking out the other hitters?” he suggested.
“Possible,” I mused. “Did I mention who one of the guys from last
week was related to?”
Brian Williams shook his head.
So I told him.
Surprise instantly registered on the cop’s rugged face.
“Christ, are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I said.
“You think he sent these guys after you?”
“Don’t know. Doesn’t really seem his style. Nestor Cabaña would
probably want to do it himself. But you never know. To be honest I don’t
know what the fuck’s going on in this thing but I’m going to find out. People
showing up at my place in the middle of the night with guns is not something
that I ever want to have happen again. Whoever did this needs to understand
just how pissed off I am about it.”
Brian nodded.
“Well we’ll ID these guys in short order. We also got the Uzi the
third one dropped. Techs tell me it has prints on it. We’ll find that guy and
sweat him, maybe find out what’s going on. I’m leaving somebody posted
here for the rest of the night too. I doubt that any more shooters will show
up, but the press is another matter. They’ll be pestering people all night. I’ll
talk with Paige in the morning too.”
I nodded.
“I appreciate it, Brian,” I told him. “And I’d appreciate getting my
Glock back as soon as I can. Lately she’s been spending too much time as a
guest of local law enforcement.”
Brian smiled again and put a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll see what I can do. But I know you, pal. You got a fucking arsenal
to choose from.”
He walked over to talk to one of the detectives and I turned and
looked around the lot, seeing many of my neighbors standing and talking, a
few glancing over at me. On the bright side I suppose it was a good bet that
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nobody would be coming over to my place to borrow a cup of sugar or anything
else any time soon.
That’s me, a silver lining kind of guy.
- 110 -

Chapter XXVI
Wednesday morning at seven, Detective Paige Palmer arrived at my apartment.
I was awake anyway, only managing to get about two hours sleep before
giving up and getting out of bed to workout, then showered and dressed.
I had planned on going over to Evan Cross’ place early and hanging out, being
on hand just in case. But now I put that aside for a while.
“You’re single handedly thinning out the criminal population of
Birmingham, Derrick,” Paige said as she sat on my living room sofa sipping a
cup of hot coffee that she had picked up on the way over. “Some people are
talking about giving you a medal, others, not so much.”
I came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of cranberry juice and sat
down on the easy chair across from the sofa, a rectangular wooden coffee table
in the middle. To my right was the twenty-five inch color television that
came with the apartment, and off to the left near the opposite wall was a
round dining table with four chairs, also courtesy of the apartment complex.
However, the placemats on the table and the VCR/DVD player on the bottom
shelf of the TV stand were mine.
“They can keep their medals,” I said, sipping my juice. “Though it
would be nice if somebody did something to keep the thugs from shooting at
me in the first place.”
“Yeah,” Paige said, setting her cup down on the table and picking up
a gray file folder she had also brought in with her. “I know what you mean.
We ID’d the shooters from last night. All three, including the one who
dropped the Uzi and ran. His name is Eugene Fritz by the way. 24, long rap
sheet. Mostly violent stuff. BOLO’s out on him statewide. We’ll get him
eventually. He’s a local boy, never been out of the area. Only places he knows
to hide are around here where he feels safe. And sooner or later somebody
will sell him out to get clear of something they’re hung up on. They always do.
Other guys are James Marquez, 21—the dead guy—and Jermane Taylor, 22.
He’s in a coma at UAB now. Loss half his blood volume before they were able

Stellen Qxz
to repair all the damage. His liver doesn’t look so good though. Probably
have to have a transplant if they can find a donor. The docs give odds at seventy/thirty
against him ever waking up.”
I nodded slowly, holding my glass in both hands on my lap. Listening
to Paige talk about the men I had shot did not faze me in the slightest.
Not the first time I’d had to shoot people, obviously, and more than likely it
would not be the last. And let us not forget, the fuckers were trying to shoot
me. But a moment of quiet reflection was in order, a non-religious spiritual
meditation of sorts. Then I had more juice.
“All of them have long criminal records, Derrick,” Paige went on.
“Strong-arm stuff mostly, and, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, they’ve
been bangers since they were out of diapers.”
“Crews?” I asked.
“All of them,” Paige said. “Marquez and Taylor once even worked for
Manny Salazar.”
I frowned.
“They did not appear Latino to me. Despite one of them having a
name like Marquez.”
“No, but Manny doesn’t discriminate sometimes when he needs hard
muscle. And anyway, this was before the gangs started separating more along
racial lines. Also, before you ask, yeah, they have been linked to Innes Redbone.
All three of them. All peripheral stuff though, nothing direct or concrete.
But you know the way he operates, nothing ever really connects to him.
Which is why we can’t nail him.”
“I still don’t like coincidences though,” I said, finishing my juice.
“That’s two incidents and both have links to Innes Redbone, albeit indirectly.
And my client is working on a book about crime in Birmingham. That can’t
be a coincidence. I’ve been avoiding it but now I think I’m gonna have to have
a very frank talk with my client and find out just exactly what the hell he’s got.
It’s the only way I can think of to narrow the threat profile. I would appreciate
it if you’d rattle Redbone’s cage, please.”
Paige smiled, tapping the folder against her knee.
“That’s already on the agenda for this morning. Some of my buddies
in Vice-Narcotics are being kind enough to accompany me and a couple of
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other detectives from CIU while we go over to his place in West End for a
chat.”
“Good,” I said. “Give Nestor Cabaña my love, please.”
“Sure will,” Paige said. “Give him a big kiss too. And you are alright?
I mean, in the span of a week you’ve had to shoot four people. I was
with you last week, I saw how cool you were under fire, how you didn’t even
blink when you shot that guy. But I know sometimes things take a while to
filter through. If you need to talk to somebody…”
I smiled at her and nodded.
“Thanks, love, but I’m fine. Appreciate the offer though.”
She sat staring at me for a few moments, her face curious and serious
at the same time. Then she set the folder down and stood, coming around
the coffee table to stand directly in front of me.
This morning Detective Paige Palmer was wearing faded blue jeans
that looked both well-worn and comfortable. They also fit her shapely lower
frame quite nicely. She bent down and put her hands on my knees, looking
directly into my eyes.
“You don’t have to be macho with me, Derrick Olin,” she said in a
low tone, a thin smirk on her full lips, her coffee-breath warm on my face. “I
know you’re all man, tough as steel and everything. But even Superman had
a good cry every now and again.”
I started chuckling and nearly dropped the empty glass that I was
holding in my lap. I reached up and touched her smooth cheek.
“Always been partial to Batman myself,” I told her. “And we all
know what a cold son of a bitch he was.”
Paige began to laugh too and stood back up. I stood as well, setting
my glass on the coffee table and slipping my arms around her waist.
“Thank you, Paige,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine.
After a couple of heartbeats she leaned in and I didn’t resist as her
eyes closed, mine did not. The kiss was more than friendly, further than either
of us had ever gone before. Did this mean that there was more to come
in the future? And did I want that?
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I thought of Traci Brenner then, and for the first time in the last two
years I did not feel a slight hint of guilt about kissing another woman. Fascinating,
as Mr. Spock would have put it. Utterly fascinating.
When the kiss ended Paige was grinning and so was I. We didn’t talk
about it, both of us having to get to work. So we said good bye and I walked
her out to her car. After she was gone I got into my car and drove out of the
lot too.
It was time for me to have a very blunt discussion with Dr. Evan
Cross, Ph.D.
- 114 -

Chapter XXVII
I found him sitting at the dining table in front of his Dell laptop. There was a
window to the left of where he sat but the curtains were drawn. Good. One
less thing to argue about.
Evan Cross was wearing gray shorts and a white short sleeve polo
shirt, no shoes, but he was wearing his glasses, of course. When I walked in
he stopped typing and glanced over at me. I walked over and said good morning,
then I told him what had happened at my place last night.
He was understandably shocked, glad that I was unhurt, and appropriately
bemused by the entire situation, unable to discern why someone
would make a move against me, postulating that perhaps it had something to
do with something else that I was or had been involved with at some time in
my past. Not an illogical assumption, a question the police had also asked.
But I told him that the shooters were gang-bangers just like the two that had
come after him last week, and that it was unlikely that anyone I had dealt with
in the past would come after me like that. Most of them knew better.
I sat down at the table across from him, put my elbows up, folded my
hands together as if in prayer, and rested my chin on top of them. Then I
stared at Evan Cross intently and didn’t say a word. He stared back as long as
he could manage, then glanced away uncomfortably, asking if I wanted some
coffee or something. I told him, and not for the first time, that I did not drink
coffee and he said that he was going to get a cup for himself. I nodded, sitting
back in the chair and waiting.
It took him eight minutes to return and when he did he did not look
at me, sitting down behind his laptop and sipping his coffee in silence. I
waited some more. I was a good waiter and could do it for a long time. All
part of the job.
Finally Evan Cross looked up, uncertainty in his eyes.
“Why are you looking at me that way, Derrick?”

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I nodded absently, fixing him with as neutral an expression as I
could muster, the same one that I had been using since I had walked in here
this morning.
“Like what?” I asked innocently.
“Like you think I’ve done something wrong,” he said with increasing
agitation in his voice. “Or maybe I had something do to with the attack on
you last night, because I can assure you I did not.”
His tone was a little nasal, his pitch just a bit too high.
“Oh,” I said. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with last night.
At least not directly. More than likely that attack was a result of my employment
by you. Kind of doesn’t make sense though because if they wanted to
get to you it would have been smarter to come after you directly again, when I
wasn’t around. Going after me only cost them more personnel, and got more
police attention. The reason I’m staring at you, Evan, is because I know that
you know more about all this than you are saying. You have some idea who is
behind the threats against you, and the attacks. You know this and are keeping
that information to yourself. And something tells me that it’s not only to
protect your work or your sources because I don’t see you being all that careful
when you’re going out to meet people. It’s something else. And I think it’s
about time I found out what it was. I believe that my knowing whatever it is
you’re hiding might help me to better protect you. And that is, after all, why
Nadya Simon hired me.”
I could see in his eyes that he was about to protest, probably quite
strongly. His mouth opened indignantly, but then closed quickly as he carefully
set his coffee cup down on the table beside the computer. He glanced
away, then back, then away again as I sat watching him.
“Derrick,” he said in a low tone, not looking at me, or anything else
that I could determine. “Derrick, I am not holding anything back, at least not
anything that is relevant to you doing your job. All you have to do is make
sure nobody hurts me, for whatever reason. That’s why you are being paid,
and I expect you to do what you are being paid for. Getting into my personal
business is not why you were hired.”
People always say more than they intend, that’s why it always useful
to rattle them a little and then shut up yourself, letting nature take its course.
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I wondered if Evan had realized his mistake yet. But if he hadn’t he was about
to.
“What personal business, Evan?” I asked, once again all innocence.
“What?” he said, staring at me with a frown. “What are you talking
about?”
“You just said that I was not hired to get into your personal business.
I was just wondering what personal business you were talking about.”
Now he was flustered, and reached for his coffee cup, nearly knocking
it off the table.
“Look, Mr. Olin,” he became formal. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about. I don’t know why you came in here accusing me this morning, or
what you are accusing me of, but I don’t like it! And if you do not stop at once
I will speak to Nadya and have her dismiss you!”
I always love being threatened by people whose lives I’m trying to
protect.
Suddenly he seemed to realize that perhaps he had gone too far and
his expression softened, as did the tone in his voice.
“Look,” he said, looking directly into my eyes; as directly as he could
manage anyway. “I realize that you are probably upset by what happened last
night. Someone tried to kill you, you were forced to kill for the second time in
a week. I can imagine that must be stressful for you. I didn’t mean to get all
fussy, let’s just forget about it and move on, okay? What do you say?”
Smart man, I thought. He knew he needed me. My question was
what did he really need me for? He wasn’t going to tell me, so I had to get the
answers elsewhere, and in the meantime I still had to protect the twerp. Fine.
I stood.
“Sure,” I said with a smile that flashed and faded in the blink of an
eye. “Since you’re staying in today I’m gonna head out for a while. If you
need me give me a buzz. The guard’s right outside.”
Then I turned and headed for the front door without a backwards
glance.
- 117 -

Chapter XXVIII
Ollie was at the club in Ensley doing inventory this morning so I went over to
see him. It was called Club-Dexter, named after his business partner and
majority owner, Earl Ashley Dexter, our mutual friend from old school days. I
parked in the back in the Employees Only section and walked around to the
front where a large black gentleman with a shaved head stood waiting for me.
We could have been brothers, only he was about six inches taller than me with
much darker skin and well-defined muscles bulging under his black T-shirt.
And the dark shades that he was wearing were a lot more expensive than the
ones that I had on.
The security guard escorted me inside the club toward the back bar
where Ollie sat with Earl Ashley Dexter going over some figures in a ledger.
Both men glanced over as I approached.
Earl had not changed much in the twenty-plus years I had known
him. My height, slender, compact frame, smooth cocoa colored skin, and a
friendly, charming, slightly roguish smile that came so naturally to him. We
shook hands and he asked if I wanted anything to drink. I declined, joining
him and Ollie at the bar.
“Boy if everybody from our old high school could see the two of you
now,” I said with a smirk. “The two bad boys of Ensley sitting here wearing
glasses and going over the books like two ordinary middle aged men. My how
times have changed.”
Ollie cast a look of derision my way, Earl just smiled, taking off his
glasses and slipping them in the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Heard somebody else tried to waste your ass last night,” Ollie said,
closing the ledger book on the bar in front of him and turning to look at me.
“Gettin’ to be kind of a habit, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And to make it even more interesting, my client
was nowhere around.”
“Seems personal then,” Ollie said.

Criminal
“Yep,” I acknowledged.
“Somebody else out to get you?” Earl offered from the other side of
Ollie.
“I don’t think so,” I told him.
Ollie smiled.
“Derrick don’t usually leave live enemies behind, Earl,” he said to his
partner, then glanced back at me. “’Less he wants to. Like the guy you let run
off.”
“You don’t miss much, Mr. Oliver,” I said. “What do you know about
him?”
Ollie smiled.
“Eugene Fritz. Punk. Used to do some low-level stuff for Innes
Redbone’s crew. Mostly pushing bad dope to school kids. Done some hard
stuff too, but for other crews. Stuff like shooting. Got a couple bodies on him
that I heard about. Thing is, right now he don’t appear to be affiliated with no
particular crew. Kind of freelance if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Would you happen to know where Mr. Fritz could be
found at the moment?”
“Nope,” he said. “At least not yet. Working on it through some people
I know.”
“Appreciate that,” I said. “Know anything about the others?”
“Jimmy Marquez and Jermane Taylor,” Ollie said, a looked of displeasure
on his light brown face. “Also punks. Low-life garbage. Needed to
get shot. Heard they used to do strong-arm robberies on old people, hurt
some of them pretty bad and took their social security checks. Glad you
popped ‘em. And the one in the coma need to expire too. Do the gene pool a
lot of good. They worked for Innes too in a round-about-way, but a lot of
people do, Derrick. No hint they been working for him recently. Kind of like
the others from last week, Jameson and Craig. Only difference there is
Damian Craig was Nestor Cabaña’s cousin.”
“You think it’s possible that Nestor sent the shooters last night to get
revenge for me killing Cousin Damian?” I said.
Ollie shook his head.
“Not his style, although he don’t really have much style. No, he’d
come at you direct, and I doubt he would have waited a week. From what I
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been hearing Nestor didn’t really give much of a fuck about the boy. Which
fits with Nestor’s character in general. What little he got. Only thing he care
about is himself. He work for Innes because he get something out of it, and
that make him happy. He also a mean and vicious thug who I wouldn’t turn
my back on for a second.”
I nodded, glancing around the bar, and to my left I spotted a blonde
standing at the end of the bar wearing a white T-shirt. I couldn’t see her
lower body because it was blocked by the bar, but her upper body was quite
impressive, and suddenly I remembered what Ollie had told me about them
hiring a new head hostess. Couldn’t remember her name, but the description
was dead-on.
“Well the cops are going to talk to Nestor and Innes today,” I said,
once again looking at Ollie and Earl. “Maybe rattle them a little and see if
anything interesting develops.”
“Doubt it will,” Ollie said. “Neither of them is afraid of the cops.
Don’t like ‘em messing in their business, but they ain’t all that worried. Not
when they got little Frankie Burrage on hand to shoot people. He may be a
small white guy who don’t look like much, but that little fucker is a stone-cold
killer who can shoot the eyes out of a fly at a hundred yards.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said.
“Hey, Reese,” Earl called abruptly, standing. “Come on down here,
somebody I want you to meet.”
Shit! I thought. Then smiled and turned on the stool as the voluptuous
head hostess whose name I now remembered—Reese Tamblyn—walked
toward us. She was wearing blue jeans, I could see them quite clearly now,
and they fit her every ample curve rather snugly.
Ms. Tamblyn stopped in front of where I sat; turning and smiling. If
I had believed in such things I would say that the devil lived in that smile.
What’s that old phrase, ah yes: “A body built for sin.” Quite applicable here.
If I were a believer.
“Reese,” Earl said to her. “This is a friend of ours. He hasn’t been
around since you started with us. We all went to school together, Ollie, Derrick,
and me. His name is Derrick Olin. Derrick, this is our new hosting
manager, Reese Tamblyn.”
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Criminal
She held out her hand and smiled even more warmly. I put her age
somewhere around twenty-eight or nine. Not much younger. Thankfully.
We shook hands and I made sure to keep my focus on those two
shining crystal blue eyes of hers, not even thinking about anything beneath
her chin.
“Pleased to meet you, Derrick,” she said in a soft voice that was full
of southern flavor, a native born Alabama girl.
“And you too, Reese,” I said. “So do you enjoy working for these
two?”
She grinned, still holding onto my hand.
“Oh they’re great bosses,” she glanced at them briefly. “I love working
here.”
I nodded, finally managing to rescue my hand, but she did not move
away, and continued staring at me. This was not the least bit uncomfortable
for me. Not in the least, really.
“So what do you do for a living, Derrick?” Reese asked, now placing
her hands behind her hips, probably sliding them in the back pockets of her
jeans. This made her 38D’s push forward against her bra and T-shirt even
more than they did naturally, and I knew she knew precisely what she was
doing when she did that. But I am a man of strong will, and I defeat all challenges.
Most of the time.
“Well when I’m not working as a male model I sometimes find work
in the private security sector,” I said.
I heard Earl snicker, Ollie shook his head. Reese looked at me and
smiled, twisting her hips a little.
“He’d starve as a male model,” Ollie said.
“I don’t know,” Reese said, her eyes never leaving mine. “I think
he’d do okay. And I am a woman.”
And that she was. Quite a woman. Ordinarily I don’t go for women
under the age of thirty-five, and had no intention of going for Reese now, but
if I did…
“You’ll probably see Derrick around here from time to time,” Earl
told her. “Just wanted you to know who he was, and to let you know we treat
him like one of the family.”
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“And he don’t drink either,” Ollie added. “So we don’t lose money by
giving him free drinks. Mostly it’s a soda or cranberry juice or something like
that.”
Reese nodded, smiling once more.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” she said, then mercifully took her hands out of
her pockets. But before she turned away she reached out with her right hand
and touched my knee, squeezing it. “See you later, Derrick.”
I nodded as she walked off.
So as not to make them feel bad, I joined Ollie and Earl as they
closely observed their employee in retreat. Quite an impressive sight. It must
have taken her hours to get those jeans up over that perfect ass of hers.
“Do the women in your lives know you hired her?” I asked, turning
once more to face my two old friends.
They looked at each other.
“Dear lord no!” Earl said, returning to his barstool. “My wife would
murder me in my sleep.”
“And you know Meeka,” Ollie said. “I’d wake up with my balls in my
mouth.”
All three of us laughed.
“She really is good at the job though,” Earl said. “Seriously. Otherwise
she wouldn’t have been hired. Honest.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Earl,” I told him. “I just hope Neiko
believes you when she finds out. I do so hate funerals. But I understand I
look really good in black.”
- 122 -

Chapter XXIX
“As you might expect, Innes Redbone was not really all that frightened by the
presence of half a dozen cops in his place. But at least we annoyed him a little.”
I smiled, sipping a glass of ice tea. Paige Palmer and I were in the
café next door to Evan Cross’ building having either a late lunch or early dinner.
It was after five so early dinner was probably what it was. Since we both
had skipped lunch today it was more of a combination of the two.
I had a grilled chicken club on wheat bread and Paige was having
another steak sandwich, and was really enjoying it. We had a table in the
back, of course, and the table closest to us was vacant at the moment. From
my vantage point I could watch the entrance and most of the other customers.
I set my glass of tea down on the table and took another bite of my sandwich.
“It’s always a good day when you can annoy that fat fuck,” I said.
Paige grinned and swallowed the food she had been chewing.
“Yeah, that was kind of fun. I could tell he really didn’t like being
pushed around by a woman. So naturally, I pushed harder. Didn’t really get
anywhere though. He claimed he didn’t know any of the shooters. Nestor
was there and he said he hadn’t spoken to his cousin Damian in years. Said
he was a punk kid and wasn’t surprised somebody dusted him. I could tell
that he was holding back the tears though, being the big family guy that he is.”
I smiled.
“Yeah. Nestor is a real charming fellow. So what does your gut tell
you?”
Paige put her sandwich down and reached for her glass of Coke. She
took a couple of sips then set the glass down, furrowing her brow as she considered
the question.
“Hard to say with these guys, Derrick. They lie as easily as you and I
breathe. The thing that keeps coming back to me is that even if your client

Stellen Qxz
was going to write something that was embarrassing about them, so what.
Sure, they got egos, but would it be worth it for them to pop him?”
“Maybe to keep face,” I offered. “Put the word out that they don’t
tolerate somebody making fun of them, or exposing their secrets.”
“Maybe,” the detective conceded. “God knows they’re petty enough.
Then I also have to ask how they knew he was going to write something about
them in his book?”
“People talk,” I said. “And it wasn’t like he was being all that discreet
about meeting and talking to people. Of course, I would think that would
mean the people he was talking to were in some danger as well, assuming they
said something to Evan Cross that they shouldn’t have.”
“You’ve got a point there,” Paige said. “But Homicide doesn’t report
any up-tick in the number of non-gang affiliated murders during the past six
months. I checked already. No innocent civilians rubbed out by bangers, if
you exclude a couple of kids caught in drive-bys meant for other bangers.
Nobody’s piling up the bodies as far as we can tell.” She paused and smiled.
“Other than on your account, that is.”
I smirked, fingering my glass on the table.
“So funny, Detective Palmer. There’s more going on here, Paige. I
feel that in my gut. Can’t get my client to admit it yet, but I know it. Maybe
it’s got nothing to do with Innes Redbone or any other known entity; perhaps
it’s something that we haven’t even considered.”
“So you’re saying your client is holding out on you?” she said.
“That’s what I’m saying,” I said. “I asked him straight out this morning
and he lied to me, got all indignant, even threatened to have me fired by
Nadya Simon if I didn’t back off. Then he realized that I was protecting his
ass and he took a step back from the brink.”
“Maybe you should let him fend for himself,” Paige suggested, drinking
more Coke. “No sense in you putting yourself on the line for someone
who won’t level with you.”
I nodded, picking up my tea and drinking half of it.
“That’s a thought,” I admitted. “And I did think of it. But if I did
that then Nadya would simply pester me to death until I changed my mind
again. Facing a few guys with guns is just simpler, less bloody too.”
Paige smiled.
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Criminal
“So you’ll just keep on like you have been until something else happens?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “The only one I really have right now.
Maybe when he turns the book over to the publisher this will end.”
“Assuming it’s got something to do with the book,” Paige pointed
out.
“Assuming that,” I said. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you do me
another favor?”
“Well you are buying me dinner now so I suppose it’s the least I
could do. Guys always want something when they feed you.”
I chuckled.
“Yeah girl, now it’s time for you to put out.”
She laughed, and covered her mouth, nearly spitting out the soda
she had just taken in.
“Damn, Derrick, you got me with that one. Jesus.”
“Sorry,” I lied.
Once she had recovered, Paige looked across the table at me.
“So what do you need?”
“A little background work,” I told her. “I’d like to know everything
there is to know about Dr. Evan Cross, from birth to now. And I’d also like to
know the same about Conrad Grayson, and his father Lionel.”
Paige stared at me for a few moments, then smiled.
“Quite the suspicious man you are, Mr. Olin,” she said. “I don’t see
why some discreet inquiries can’t be made. But it’s usually another kind of
putting out that guys expect when they buy you dinner.”
“Yeah,” I told her. “I’m an odd duck. By the way, at the reception
last night there was a very beautiful blonde escort following Lionel Grayson
everywhere. She was quite stunning.”
“Should I be jealous?” Paige teased.
“Not in the least, my dear. I got the impression that she was on the
clock, if you know what I mean.”
Paige nodded.
“You really do mean escort?”
“Possibly. Just a feeling I got. Not that I’m being prudish. I am a
man of the world after all. To each his own, and if Lionel Grayson wants to
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pay some blonde knockout for her time, and whatever else, doesn’t really concern
me, but I am a curious sort.”
“You know Innes Redbone has a side specialty in high-class
whores?” Paige said. “Think I mentioned that to you when you came to my
office last week. When I was in Vice-Narcotics we tried to get close to it,
never managed to though. Supposed to be pretty lucrative for him. High-end
clients with lots of money paying big for their ultimate fantasies.”
“Must be nice,” I said. “And it does give him leverage over some very
powerful people, vis-à-vis blackmail. So are you suggesting that maybe Lionel
Grayson’s date is in the employ of Innes Redbone?”
“Actually the whores are run by his girlfriend,” Paige said, taking
another bite of her sandwich. “Sweet Mya Brown. And maybe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe. And if that is the case, then there’s a connection
between Lionel Grayson, my client’s boyfriend’s father, and the biggest
thug in town, one Innes Redbone.”
“And your client happens to be writing a book about crime in Birmingham.”
“Mostly in Birmingham,” I corrected. “Actually it’s supposed to
encompass the entire southeast. Or it was. I wonder what made Dr. Cross
narrow his focus. And now I’m wondering how long he and Connie Grayson
have been keeping company.”
“You are a curious man,” Paige said. “I think I will look deeply into
Mr. Grayson, Senior. You might just be on to something. Don’t know what,
but maybe something good.”
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly my mind filled with all sorts of thoughts,
most of them not pleasant. This is why I tried to stick to protection work and
stay the hell out of investigations. They always led to trouble. Unfortunately,
sometimes detective work was unavoidable.
Maybe I should drop this job, but I knew I wasn’t going to do that.
There were bodies involved now.
So it was onward and upward. And maybe downward too.
We finished eating and I walked Paige out to the unmarked cruiser
parked at the curb in front of the café on 20th Street.
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Criminal
“I’ll let you know as soon as I have something,” she said, putting her
seatbelt on. “And we’re still looking for Mr. Fritz, along with Homewood and
Jefferson County. I’ll let you know when we get something on that as well.”
“Thanks, love,” I said. “See you later.”
She waved and started the engine. I walked back around the car and
up on the curb, watching her drive off. After a few seconds I turned and
rounded the corner, returning to the front of my client’s building. I’d go up
and check on him, see what his schedule was for tomorrow, then bid him
adieu.
I’d probably hang out around the building till after seven then go
home and hope nobody shot at me tonight. The PD already had one of my
guns and I didn’t want to have to turn over any more.
And I knew my neighbors could use the break too.
- 127 -

Chapter XXX
Friday, the second day of July, Evan Cross had to meet with his editor in a
fifteenth floor office in the Empire Building on 1st Avenue North, down the
street and just around the corner from where Cross lived. Since it was a
pretty day outside my client wanted to walk. I said why the hell not, there
were a lot of people around and if anyone did open fire we had plenty of human
shields. But no one did open fire and while he met with his editor I sat
out in reception with the very attractive young black woman who sat behind
the circular desk in the middle of the room. Her name was Maggie and she
seemed really happy to be alive and to have a job. Spending too much time
with Maggie might have me wanting to jump out a window, or maybe open
fire myself. But I managed to exercise restraint.
The meeting lasted an hour and afterwards we walked back to Cross’
loft where he spent the rest of the day working on his book. I left the building
at eight and headed for my place in Homewood, another day with no one
shooting at me. With luck this trend would continue even after I got home.
When I pulled into my lot the sun was almost down and the street
lights were coming up. The lot wasn’t too crowded tonight because it was
Friday and everybody was out celebrating their weekend’s start. However, the
space directly in front of my apartment was occupied by a maroon Camry,
which in turn was occupied by a most familiar figure. I parked next to the
Camry and got out of my car, leaning down in the Camry’s open passenger’s
window.
“Are you here to shoot me?” I asked.
Paige Palmer grinned.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” she said. “Brought dinner though, if you’re
interested. Chinese takeout from the Chop Suey Inn.”
“If I were a Christian I’d say bless you,” I said to her. “I guess thanks
a million will have to do. Come on inside.”

Criminal
I took out my door key, which I keep separate from my car key, and
opened the front door and held it while Paige came in holding a bag of delicious
smelling Chinese food in one hand and a battered brown briefcase in the
other. She wasn’t wearing a jacket and her Glock-19 sidearm was visible, riding
high on her shapely right hip. And, of course, she was wearing blue jeans,
along with a white button-down blouse with the sleeves rolled up.
I locked the door while Paige set her briefcase down on the dining
table, then moved around to the kitchen and set the bag of food on the
counter.
“I’ll ask what this is all about in a minute,” I told her, moving down
the hall. “But right now I’ve got to perform a very complicated deliquification
process in the other room.”
Paige turned and grinned at me.
“Are you trying to tell me you have to pee?”
“Of course not,” I replied straight-faced. “Gentlemen do not pee. We
deliquify.”
“Right,” she said. “Well once you’re done I need to pee too.”
I shook my head sadly and went of to deliquify. When I finished
Paige had her turn and when she came back I already had the dining table set,
the food open, and a soda for her and hot Earl Grey tea for me.
“If the Chop Suey Inn ever goes out of business I may just have to go
on a multi-state killing spree,” I said after chewing a mouthful of egg roll.”
Paige nodded, chewing some shrimp fried rice.
“Well let’s hope that never happens. They’ve been in business a long
time, and their food’s the best. I’m sure they aren’t going anywhere. Anyway,
aren’t you going to ask me why I came by tonight?”
“Once I smelled the food I really didn’t care about anything else. I’m
a very one-track mind kind of guy.”
“I’ve heard that about you. But I do have news. First off, the guy in
the coma at UAB is still in a coma; under guard round-the-clock. We still
haven’t gotten our hands on Eugene Fritz yet either. But the efforts are continuing.”
“Good to know,” I said, sipping my tea.
Paige smirked my way and had some noodles. When she was finished
chewing she washed it down with some Mountain Dew, the only soda I
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ever permit to be brought into my apartment. Then she stood up and walked
over to the coffee table, bending down and opening her briefcase.
Part of my training required that I always be alert for potential
threats and dangerous situations, so as she bent over I kept a close watch just
to make sure she didn’t pull a weapon from her briefcase and attack me. Of
course, for the most part I was just staring at her butt.
When Paige returned to the table she had a manila file folder in her
hand, she opened it and removed a photograph, handing it across to me.
“Is that the woman you saw with Lionel Grayson the other night?”
I took the photo and studied it carefully, realizing it was a print-off
from a surveillance camera recording, fairly good quality. I glanced up at
Paige.
“You’re getting really good at this intelligence thing.”
She nodded.
“It wasn’t hard. I knew where the event took place and luxury hotels
always have good surveillance. The Director of Security at the Hilton Perimeter
Park is an ex-ATF agent I knew a while back. Wasn’t much to sweet talk
him into letting me look at his recordings from the other night. It’s all digital
now and easy to access. Grayson wasn’t hard to spot, and then the knockout
blonde you mentioned. She was always very close to him.”
“She was,” I said, setting the photo down on the table beside my
plate. “So did you manage to find out who she is?”
Paige smiled.
“Of course. I am a detective with the Criminal Intelligence Unit of
the best police agency in the state. God, some credit, please.”
I smiled, drinking more tea.
“Her name is Nina Neetor, age 33, native born Birmingham girl.
Went to Minor High School then on to Auburn University where she majored
in marketing. Which in respect to her chosen profession was a smart thing to
do.”
“And what would her chosen profession be?” I asked, pretty sure I
already knew the answer.
“Well officially she’s a marketing consultant to a PR firm that no one
seems to have heard of. Her annual salary for this job, according to tax filings,
is thirty-one thousand dollars a year. However, on that sum of money
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she manages to live in a rather nice condo down off of Highway 280 where
the monthly maintenance fee is around fifteen hundred bucks per unit.”
“Maybe she’s good at managing her money,” I offered.
Paige shook her head slowly.
“What she’s good at managing ain’t money, Derrick. Dating back to
her time in college she has been busted no less than thirteen times for prostitution.
She’s a high-class whore. Back in her college days she apparently
supplemented her school loans by turning tricks for all the trust-fund frat
boys. And after she graduated she kept right on doing it, marketing herself
very well. Worked for a while in Memphis, then Atlanta, even did some time
down in Fort Lauderdale, but eventually Birmingham beckoned her to return.
When I was in Vice-Narcotics I never heard of her, but I checked with some of
my former colleagues who did. They busted her a couple times with wellconnected
bigwigs and both times the charges never stuck because somebody
in the DA’s office pulled some strings. Case files were kept though, and when
I was looking in one of them I noticed something interesting.”
“Yes?” I said.
“When Nina was busted the last time the person who came to put up
her bail was none other than Ms. Mya Brown.”
“Innes Redbone’s Vice President in Charge of Whore Relations,” I
said.
“And his girlfriend,” Paige added.
“So assuming Nina is still up to her old, ah… tricks, it’s logical to
assume she’s still working for Mya Brown, and through her, the big man himself.”
“Be my guess,” Paige said, finishing her soda. “But just because
Lionel Grayson is keeping company with a high-class whore who just happens
to be on the payroll of the number one crime lord in this city, does that really
mean they are connected to each other in some other way?”
The way she had posed that last question told me that she had more.
So I sat back and stared at her until she smiled, then opened the folder again.
“Let me start with the son first, Conrad Grayson. Twenty-eight,
graduate of Emory University with a degree in marketing and public relations.”
“Don’t tell me he’s a high-class whore too,” I said.
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“Not that I could find,” Paige said. “Actually he has a PR job in a law
firm downtown. It’s on 1st Avenue North not too far from Headquarters. You
know Ashley Milner?”
“Sure do,” I said. “Done a few jobs for her over the years. He works
for her?”
“Yep,” Paige confirmed. “But I kind of get the feeling he has that job
because of his father. Lionel Grayson is a major client of the Milner Law Firm
and Ashley probably gave the kid a job to keep the old man happy. Anyway,
from everything I’ve been able to find on Connie, he’s a wild and crazy guy,
loves to party, always has, and it’s very fortunate for him that his daddy has
lots of money. Otherwise young Connie would not be able to support his lifestyle,
nor would he be able to keep out of jail. He’s been busted about a half
dozen times on drug charges, both here and in Atlanta. Every time daddy has
come to the rescue and greased the wheels of justice. Last time was about a
year ago, and guess where?”
“Where?” I asked.
“He got caught up in a sweep outside the Lion Club on 3rd West,”
Paige said. “Trying to score some blow.”
“The Lion Club?” I said. “Isn’t he a little too white for that?”
Paige stared at me and arched her eyebrows. I nodded.
“Well he dates a black guy so I suppose what you’re trying to tell me
is that he prefers the black scene.”
“It would seem so,” she said. “I was on that sweep and I don’t remember
him. We do so many of them and pick up a lot of people, mostly on
minor violations that don’t go anywhere. Mainly it’s just a PR thing we do to
please City Hall and the good citizens at-large, let them know we’re out there
doing something. How long’s your client been seeing him?”
“Don’t know,” I told her. “And right now I don’t think he’ll volunteer
the information. I’m sure I can figure a way to get it if we really need to. I tell
you, Paige, right now I’m really starting to take a dislike to the men of the
Grayson family. By the way, isn’t the Lion Club a part of Innes Redbone’s
operation?”
“It is,” Paige said. “Another connection or coincidence?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Tell me what else you got. How about my client?”
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“He’s actually clean, as far as I can tell,” Paige said, glancing through
the folder on the table where she had pushed her plate out of the way. “A few
speeding tickets, but beyond that he has no criminal record. At least not since
he’s been an adult. Born in Chicago, both parents deceased. A brother in
Wisconsin and a sister in San Francisco. Got his undergraduate degree at
Iowa State, did his master’s and doctorial work at Emory.”
“Could that be where he met Connie Grayson?” I said. “They are two
years apart in age, but if he was working on his master’s and Ph.D. that would
have put him there—assuming he went directly on to post-grad—around the
time that Connie was a sophomore or junior. Assuming that they both went
to school on the same schedule. High school and then college, and in Cross’
case, graduate school.”
“They did,” Paige said, glancing up from her folder. “But Cross
didn’t go to Emory for his post-grad stuff until he was twenty-five. Grayson
had already graduated at that point. And according to records he was back in
Birmingham by then.”
“Dead-end,” I said. “Okay, anything else?”
“Not really. He’s done some teaching, published some minor papers.
And now he’s trying to get a book published. His choice of boyfriends could
be better though.”
“Love is a cruel master,” I remarked. “And now what do you have on
the old man, please? I can tell you’re bursting about something.”
Paige grinned and flipped through some pages in the folder until she
came across what she wanted.
“Most stuff you already know,” she told me. “All that self-made,
high-powered businessman crap that’s in his press-kit. He was born in Montgomery
fifty-five years ago. Dad a steel mill worker, mom a housewife. Both
dead now. Married when he was twenty, his wife is dead now too, died of
cancer ten years ago. They only had one child, Conrad Lionel Grayson. My
god, Conrad and Lionel, no wonder the kid turned out gay.”
I smiled a little but did not comment.
“Anyway, it was a tough struggle for Papa Grayson for the first half
of his life. Barely managed to get a business degree through correspondence,
but after that he got into the real estate game, first in Florida, then branched
out all over the place, mainly in the south though, and made a killing. Came
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back here to Alabama about six, seven years ago to rub everybody’s nose in
his success. He’s regarded as a tough businessman, knows how to get what he
wants, and doesn’t care what other people think of him. As you would expect,
a lot of people owe him big. Politicians, bankers, other businessmen, even
some high-ranking cops. He spreads a lot of money around, and isn’t shy
about demanding something in return for his dollars.”
“All very fascinating,” I said. “But kind of boring, Paige. Plus I’m
sure I knew all of this already and forgot it because it was useless. Anything
juicy, other than he likes to spend time with a call-girl?”
“Nothing really that points to criminal activity—other than the fact
that he’s paying a hooker for her time and talents, not to mention all those
scrapes he’s gotten his son out of—but in my research I have begun to notice
some things. Small patterns if you will. The IRS has investigated him no less
than five times, each time there was no result, the case just went away. Also,
the Securities and Exchange Commission has investigated him twice, same
result. That made me curious so I checked with a friend of mine over at the
FBI, he’s actually the ASAC now, and I asked him some questions. It seems
that the Bureau has been keeping tabs on Mr. Grayson as well, reasons unspecified.
I couldn’t get much out of my FBI guy, but the impression I got was
that he was suspected of being involved in something big. And you know the
Bureau doesn’t get involved unless it’s criminal.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re funny that way. Any hints at all as to why
the Bureau is looking into him? Or why the SEC and IRS had him up?”
Paige sighed.
“John wouldn’t say much,” she repeated. “But the impression I got
was that it had something to do with his finances. Which is what you’d expect
if the IRS and SEC got involved. But what specifically, I have no idea.”
I sat back and absently stroked my goatee for a few moments.
“I wonder if Evan Cross does,” I said.
Paige stared at me.
“You think maybe the old man is trying to bump him off ‘cause he
figures Cross knows something he shouldn’t? Something maybe Connie
whispered during pillow talk?”
“Don’t know,” I admitted. “It does seem kind of unlikely, but
stranger things have happened. The other night when they shook hands at
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the reception the old man didn’t seem to be all that fond of Cross, but that
could have simply been because he really doesn’t like the fact that his only son
is gay. Or maybe he doesn’t like the fact that his son is dating a black guy.
Maybe both. Who knows?”
“But if daddy is behind it,” Paige said, “how would he know where to
get in touch with the kind of thugs who’ve been coming after you and your
client? And why the notes and phone calls first?”
“No idea about the notes and phone calls,” I said. “Assuming they
are real. We only have Evan Cross’ word for that and right now that word is
very suspect as far as I’m concerned. And as for Lionel Grayson knowing how
to get in touch with those hoods, hell he’s dating a prostitute, he may have ties
to Innes Redbone, who knows what other kinds of ties he has. Let us not forget,
the FBI is investigating him. Paige, I really hate to put you in this position,
but it would be really helpful if you could get something more out of
your FBI friend.”
She stared at me hard for several moments, then sighed again.
“John is a really good fed, Derrick. He likes me and all, would really
love to get into my pants if his wife wouldn’t kill him, but I don’t know how
far I can push him. Still, for you, I’ll give it a shot.”
I smiled.
“Thanks, babe. And that’s another dinner I owe you.”
She smirked.
“Keep this up and you’re gonna owe me a vacation in the Bahamas
with passion-filled nights on the beach included.”
I grinned, standing and collecting our now empty dishes.
“On my budget maybe a weekend at Six Flags might be more in
line.”
She laughed, I laughed, and then I went into the kitchen, thinking
that maybe a trip to the Bahamas with Paige wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Wonder what she looks like in a bikini?
Or without one?
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Chapter XXXI
Sunday morning around eleven I was having breakfast in a restaurant in Five
Points South called the Original Pancake House. I had never eaten here but
had heard that the food was excellent, especially the pancakes, which was sort
of the point I suppose. When I was a kid almost every Sunday my mother
would make pancakes for breakfast and I covered mine in syrup and butter
and munched them all down. Back then I could eat a lot of pancakes, and still
have room for much more. However, as I have become more mature, at least
age-wise that is, my appetites have become reserved. Now I can’t eat as many
pancakes as I used to, and I don’t smother them in butter and syrup anymore
either. But I do still enjoy them, as I did this morning while sitting alone at a
corner table in the back with a good view of the front and rear entrances as
well as most of the other customers in the restaurant. Evan Cross and Connie
Grayson were sitting at a table directly to my right and seemed to be enjoying
their pancakes as well. Cross’ mood seemed a bit reticent and Grayson appeared
to be trying to engage him, doing most of the talking. Perhaps a
lover’s spat? Well as long as it didn’t turn violent, I hate getting involved in
domestic issues.
The waitress came over and asked if she could get me anything else
and I asked for more milk, which she returned with shortly and I thanked her.
In addition to the two pancakes I had, there were also two links of
pork sausage, which were pretty good too. All in all I was having a pretty enjoyable
time, even if I was working on the 4th of July. So far there had been no
further attempts on my client’s life, the police had returned my Glock-30 for
the second time in two weeks, and at least I was getting paid for my services.
It still would have been nice to know exactly what threat my client was facing,
and from whom, but since he was not being as cooperative as I knew he could
be, answers were not quick in coming.

Criminal
Paige Palmer was still trying to coax something out of her FBI friend,
and Ollie was still checking with his sources, but for right now things were
just humming along kind of aimlessly.
I stood post.
I sat post.
I followed Evan Cross whenever he left his loft, more standing and
sitting.
These were the normal things that all highly trained protection professionals
did all the time to earn their fees. Mostly boring, but generally
preferable to getting shot at.
So why the hell was I complaining? This could go on for a while and
I could earn some serious dough. Why rock the boat?
The answer was simple: I’m a short-term guy. I like to solve problems
and move on. I know some agents who are perfectly happy to take a job
that lasts months and months, taking their client’s money for as long as they
can before the well runs dry or the client realizes he doesn’t actually need protection
anymore, and probably hasn’t needed it all along.
Me, I like to get in, take care of a problem, and move on. If it takes
weeks or months, fine; but if the situation can be dealt with quickly, I have no
problem doing that too. Actually I prefer it.
The other thing that concerns me with my current assignment is that
I can’t complete a proper threat profile if I don’t have all the facts, and don’t
know what’s really going on. I know my client knows more than he’s telling.
But short of beating it out of him, which would be off-script for a protector,
I’m not sure what else to do, other than what I have been doing. Sitting,
watching, and waiting. And this morning, enjoying some of the most delicious
pancakes that I’ve had since my mother used to make them when I was
a little boy.
The waitress came over and took my empty plate and asked if she
could get me anything else. I asked for a glass of water. As she returned with
it my cell phone buzzed and I took it off my belt, checking the caller ID.
“Hey, Ollie,” I said, glancing around the restaurant as customers
entered and departed. “What’s up?”
“Got some news,” he said simply, his voice low and deep, almost
sounded like he hadn’t been awake very long. Considering he worked at a
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nightclub and had probably been working till three or four this morning, that
was probably the case.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Found Eugene Fritz,” he said, and my pulse started.
“Really now,” I said, smiling a little. “Well that is good news.
Where?”
“House over in West End,” Ollie said. “Couple friends of his looking
out for him. Wanna-be tough guys, like Fritz. No real talent though.”
“Great,” I said, pausing, thinking. “The smart thing to do would be
to call the cops and let them go pick him up.”
Ollie chuckled.
“Well I never thought you was all that smart, Derrick,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” I said. “You figure he’ll stay there till tonight?”
“Don’t see why not. My source say he been there a few days. Hidin’,
laying low. He know the cops after him. He feel safe where he is, he’ll stay.
Why, you figure on goin’ and payin’ him a visit?”
“Thought I might,” I said. “Seems the least I can do considering the
one he paid me a few days ago.”
Ollie chuckled again, deep and low, then cleared his throat.
“I’ll have somebody watch the place for me today, then later on you
and me can go see the fool if you want. Club’s closed tonight anyway. Me and
Meeka gonna go out to dinner, be finished by nine or so. Want to make it
around ten or eleven?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Thanks for the info, Ollie.”
“No problem, man. Talk to you later.”
The line clicked and I deactivated my cell, seeing my client signal for
the check. I did the same, suddenly feeling much happier about my current
situation. Perhaps tonight I’d be able to get some of those answers that I was
looking for.
Just had to make sure not to shoot anybody. It would be nice to
hang on to my weapon for more than a few days this time.
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Chapter XXXII
Ollie and I met at my place at ten o’clock Sunday night and drove over to West
End in an old black Oldsmobile that he had arrived in. I didn’t ask who the
car belonged to, knowing it was none of my business. I also knew it could not
be traced to Ollie, he would have seen to that. My friend George Oliver was a
man with a past, like most of us, but unlike most of us his past led straight
back to the Detroit mob where for about a decade Ollie was a top enforcer for
one of the largest gangs in the city. I don’t know much about it, don’t really
want to know. However, somehow he had managed to get out of it just before
a special state and federal anti-organized crime task force moved in and
wrecked all of the major criminal syndicates in Detroit and Chicago about ten
years ago. Essentially he was now an honest businessman, but I knew he kept
contacts from his old life. This is why he was able to find out so much about
local criminal elements in Birmingham when he wanted to, and this made
him a good source and friend to have.
The house he had told me about was located in the middle of Dawson
Avenue Southwest, not the best neighborhood in the city. Only marginally
better than Ensley. Most of the houses were in dire need of fixing up,
many of the families were broken, most of the people were poor and broken
themselves. In other words, the perfect place for crime to take root and fester.
Ollie cruised slowly around the neighborhood before pulling to a
stop directly behind a dark colored Dodge parked on the curb on 21st Street
Southwest, around the corner from Dawson Avenue. He shut off the engine
and undid his seatbelt. I undid mine. He said nothing so I said nothing, and
we both waited.
After about half a minute the driver’s door of the Dodge opened and
a smallish young black woman dressed in dark clothing got out, walking back
to the rear door of the Oldsmobile on Ollie’s side, climbing in. I glanced over
at Ollie and then at the young woman now in the backseat. It was hard to see

Stellen Qxz
much of her face in the darkness. I could make out short hair, it looked
straight, but most of her other features were obscured. Since Ollie seemed atease
with her sitting behind us I decided she probably wasn’t a threat.
“Derrick, this is Sheila,” Ollie finally said, glancing up into the rearview
mirror. “She a friend. Been keeping an eye on things for me.”
I nodded at the young woman.
“Pleased to meet you, Sheila.”
“Sir,” she said, nodding slightly.
“What’s up?” Ollie asked over his shoulder, checking the street
around us.
“They still in there,” Sheila said, her tone low and respectful. “One
of ‘em went out a few hours ago and got some groceries and stuff. But he back
now. All three of them in there, and don’t look like they plan on goin’ nowhere.
Least not for a while.”
Ollie nodded and turned to me.
“Your show now, boss,” he said. “What you wanna do?”
I glanced around me at the street, the houses, the occasional passing
vehicle.
“Ideally I’d like to do this without gunfire or bloodshed,” I said. “I
need Fritz alive and capable of talking. Plus I don’t want to piss the cops off
too much. They already won’t be happy when they find out I knew where
Fritz was and didn’t call them in to arrest him first.”
Ollie nodded.
“I see your point. We can probably take ‘em without killin’ nobody.
Probably. Sheila be real good at gettin’ close to guys without them realizing
how dangerous she is.”
I glanced back at Sheila and she gave a small smile.
“We send her up to the door,” Ollie continued. “They open up, you
and me come runnin’. If we do it quick we can probably take ‘em without
nobody gettin’ too seriously hurt.”
I thought a minute, nodding to myself, then glanced back at Sheila.
“You okay with that plan?” I asked.
She smiled again.
“Yes, sir,” she said, once again very respectfully.
I glanced at Ollie.
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“Could work,” I said.
He nodded.
“It could,” he said.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s do it then.”
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Chapter XXXIII
I had no clue who Sheila was, but this I did know, she was one hell of a
smooth operator. Not only did she manage to get the door opened at the
house in question in under two minutes, but by the time Ollie and I made it
from our respective hiding places on either side of the small rundown house,
Sheila had already knocked one of the young toughs down on his ass and was
trading punches with another.
Ollie went in first and hit the second guy with a solid left roundhouse
punch that knocked him several feet back where he banged his head on the
wall. I came in right behind him and closed the door, seeing the first man
down on the floor and watching Ollie follow up his first punch with a quick
combination to the second man’s gut, then another to the face, and down he
went.
I was already moving to the back of the house before the man fell by
Ollie’s experienced hands, having heard someone moving around back there.
I found a locked door to what appeared to be the only bedroom in
the house. Not much of a door, and I shouldered it, jumping back just in case
whoever was inside decided to start blasting. No one did and I eased back
into the room in time to see a dark skinned young man trying desperately to
open the window in back, presumably so he could climb out.
I rushed over and hit him a solid punch in the right kidney that
knocked him to his knees. Leaning down slightly I grabbed the collar of his
shirt and yanked him back, throwing him onto the mattress on the floor near
the front wall.
“If you know what’s good for you you’ll stay down,” I told him in a
low tone. Unfortunately he either didn’t hear me or didn’t believe me, and
despite the pain in his kidney, he struggled to his feet.
Sadly for him I was in no mood for being ignored tonight, so I followed
up my kidney punch with a heel-palm blow to his solar plexus, not sufficient
power to do permanent damage, just enough to knock the wind and

Criminal
fight out of him. Which apparently I succeeded in doing because this time
when he went down on the mattress he convulsed into a ball and didn’t try to
get up again. Good.
Ollie came down the hall a few moments later carrying a weapon in
his right hand that could easily have been confused with a piece of field artillery.
Actually it was an eight inch nickel-plated .44 magnum revolver. A joke
about compensating for some deficiency came to mind but I kept it to myself.
Ollie didn’t always share my sense of humor.
“You okay in here?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “What about out there?”
“We fine,” he said. “She watching the other two and I checked the
rest of the place. Just the three of ‘em. Got some hardware up here too.
Nothing too sophisticated. Punk guns. That your guy?”
I glanced over at the man still holding his chest and stomach, knees
drawn up as he lay on his side. I flipped on the overhead lights and got a look
at his scrunched up face.
“Looks like the photo the cops showed me of him,” I said. “Couldn’t
tell from the other night because it was dark and he was kind of far away. But
I’m sure it’s him.”
Ollie nodded.
“Well we’ll hang out here and keep the other two company while you
question the suspect, Detective Crockett.”
I smiled.
“Thank you very much, Detective Tubbs,” I said. “And tell Officer
Trudy out there she did a good job too.”
Ollie smiled and turned around, walking back up the hallway. I
closed the broken door and turned to the man lying on the dirty mattress on
the floor. I could see the pain beginning to subside in his eyes, but the fear
was growing larger. Good.
I leaned my back against the broken door and continued to stare at
Eugene Fritz for several more minutes, then I sighed.
“Well, I suppose we should be properly introduced, Mr. Fritz,” I said
in an amiable tone. “My name is Derrick Olin. In case that name means
nothing to you, I’m the guy you and your friends tried to shoot outside his
apartment in Homewood last Tuesday night.”
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And then fear took him over completely.
Even better.
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Chapter XXXIV
“Look, man, I tole you already, I don’t know who hired us. Jimmy jus’ say we
got work, we gonna shoot somebody. I gon’ get a grand for it. We all are.”
This piece of news was a little bit insulting. I was still leaning
against the broken door staring down at young Eugene Fritz. He was now
sitting up on the mattress on the floor of the dirty little bedroom.
A grand each? Three grand? That was all I was worth to somebody?
I was outraged, affronted, and a little glad because had somebody been willing
to spend decent money they might have gotten shooters who were actually
good at the work. Things might have gone differently for me then.
More silver linings.
“There’s a problem with your story, Eugene,” I said in a low and
menacing tone, like a man who was just about to lose his patience and become
very unpleasant. Mostly it was for affect, but not all. “The person you
say brought the job to you is dead and can’t confirm it. And your other buddy
is in a coma right now and can’t talk. Leaves me with you, and since you tried
to shoot me with an Uzi last time we met, your words are suspect. Nothing
personal though. Come on, you gotta know more than you’re telling. Somebody
comes to you and offers you money to shoot somebody and you don’t
ask any questions?”
“Look, man, it ain’t personal for me either, it’s jus’ work. Work I do.”
“Not very well,” I told him. “And the only reason you’re still alive is
because I decided not to kill you the other night once you ran. I figured I’d
run into you again and could ask you some questions, and you’d provide answers.
So far the first part went pretty well, you’re disappointing me on the
second. You don’t want to do that, Eugene. Believe me. You want me to feel
like you’re cooperating, contributing to my quest for information. Otherwise
this might just become very unpleasant. For you.”
He stared up at me, still holding his stomach, the look of fear palpable
on his dark face.

Stellen Qxz
“Man, come on, don’t do nothin’ bad. I’m tellin’ you what I know.
Last Tuesday Jimmy come to me and Jermane and tole us he had a job. Pay
us a grand each if we help him shoot somebody. We don’t even ask who. He
pick us up and we go and wait in the bushes at that apartment complex in
Homewood. Well Jimmy and Jermane in the bushes, me behind the dumpster.
I didn’t even know what you looked like, but Jimmy did, and when he
and Jermane starting shootin’ at you I figured you was the target, so I shot
too.”
“But not very well,” I said. “How often did you do this kind of thing
for Jimmy?”
He hesitated.
I sighed.
“Man, I can’t be tellin’ you my business. This stuff private. Gotta
keep…”
I kicked him in the chin with the tip of my black sneaker, knocking
him over the mattress and he came off the other side, his back slamming into
the opposite wall. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth and the look
of shock on his face was almost cartoonish.
I shoved the mattress out of the way with my foot and went for him,
yanking him up by his collar and slamming his back and head into the wall;
once, twice, three times, then I shoved him into the wall on my left, getting
right up in his face.
“Shit-for-brains, apparently you’re under the delusion that you’ve
got some control over things here!” I said in that same low and menacing
tone. “Let me disabuse you of that impression right now.” And I slammed his
head into this wall a couple more times, then tossed him onto the mattress
once more. It had slid down the length of the room and was now pressed
against the far wall underneath the window that Fritz had tried to flee
through earlier.
The young hood was holding the back of his head in his hands and
staring up at me in living horror, unable to keep himself from trembling, and
I noticed he had pissed in his jeans.
I reached into the right front pocket of my own jeans, piss-free, and
pulled out the six-inch folding combat knife, opening it with one hand, the
razor-sharp blade glinting off the dull light in the room. Eugene Fritz started
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to cry and beg. With one fluid motion, not turning my head, I rammed the
knife halfway into the wall to my right.
“When I take it out of the wall, Eugene, it will either be to fold it back
up and put it away, or to begin to cut things off of you; important things that
I’m sure you’ll miss. You get one more chance to piss me off. Just one! Then
all the begging in the world won’t help you. Now tell me all the other stuff you
and Jimmy and Jermane been doing, and for whom. And if for just one second
I think you’re lying to me or leaving something out, even if it’s by accident,
it’s game over and I start cutting. You got it?”
Through his terror he managed to nod.
I paused for a minute, just because, then started asking questions.
Unfortunately I really didn’t learn much that could help me. I believed
he didn’t know who had approached Jimmy Marquez with the contract
on me, that he was just a foot soldier, and a dumb one at that. Still, he had
provided me with information on other crimes that he and his buddies had
committed, including one unsolved murder of a police informant in West
Precinct. That should go a good ways toward smoothing things out with the
police when I turned him and his buddies over to them.
In the plus column it was still a good night because now all of the
people who had tried to kill me last week were either dead, in a coma, or in
custody. Still, it would be nice to know who had hired them and why, and
who was trying to kill my client and why. More questions yet to be answered.
The adventure continues.
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Chapter XXXV
I waited until seven o’clock Monday morning to call Birmingham Police.
When they arrived at the house on Dawson Avenue I was there alone with the
three occupants, all of them property tied up. Ollie and the redoubtable and
mysterious Sheila had left hours earlier and I had no plans to mention them
to the police.
The first officer on the scene was a sergeant with West Precinct, a
man I had known for years and was reasonably sure he’d understand why I
had done what I did. But you never knew sometimes, cops were funny creatures.
Sergeant William Arthur—“Arty”—was a fifty-four year old black
man with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper afro and matching bushy mustache,
silver framed bifocals, a round face with a large nose in the middle of it,
and a large and still powerful looking body, although it was going soft in some
places, chiefly around the middle. Arty was also one of the few remaining
holdovers from the revolver era of the Birmingham PD, still preferring his old
Smith & Wesson .38 over the new semiautomatics that most officers carried
now. He greeted me with a smile, but as I began to tell him what I’d been up
to over the past twelve hours his expression started to sour.
“You dumb son of a bitch!” Arty said in a low tone, pulling me to the
side as other officers arrived and entered the house. “You coulda got yourself
killed coming in here like that. Who you think you are, Wyatt Fucking
Earp?”
“Always been partial to Paladin myself,” I said.
“Funny. Derrick, I’m serious, you coulda got killed. And you ain’t a
cop, this ain’t exactly legal here you know.”
“Just a private citizen reporting the whereabouts of a dangerous
fugitive, Sergeant,” I told him with a half smile. “Along with the people who
were helping to shield him from the authorities.”
Arty shook his head.

Criminal
“You fool,” he said, then grinned. “What did you learn?”
“Nothing that will help me,” I told him, watching as the other officers
picked Eugene Fritz and his buddies up from the floor, untied their
hands and feet, then cuffed them. “He doesn’t know who hired him to shoot
me. Says Jimmy Marquez hired him and Jermane Taylor on for the gig. A
thousand bucks a piece. Cheap bastards. But I got some other stuff you
might like.”
I told him everything I had gotten out of Eugene Fritz about the
other crimes he was involved in, including the unsolved murder, and the big
cop smiled, glancing over at the three men in the custody of his subordinate
officers.
“Well that is good news,” he said. “Very good news. Get them out of
here, boys. Make sure you search ‘em good and read ‘em their rights. Also
have dispatch get ahold of Detective Green in Homicide and tell him I said he
should come over to West as soon as he can.”
A young officer said yes, sir and then the suspects were led outside.
“This’ll probably smooth things over with us,” Arty said to me. “My
captain will probably want to file some kind of complaint against you, just
because he’s a dick. I’ll see to that it goes nowhere.”
“I appreciate that,” I told him.
“You should,” he said, putting his left hand on his duty belt just
above his revolver. “What you gonna do now?”
“Go home and shower real quick, then get dressed in some clean
clothes and go protect my client,” I told him. “Nothing else I can do right
now. No other leads to pursue. Let me know if your detective gets anything
out of him that I missed, please. Although I’m pretty sure he didn’t lie to me.”
Arty nodded.
“Me too but I’ll let you know.”
We shook hands and then I started out the front door, stopped and
turned back around.
“Almost forgot,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Could you perhaps
have one of your officers give me a lift over to my place? I didn’t bring my
car.”
Arty shook his head and grinned.
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“Of course you didn’t,” he said, walking toward me. “Come on, I’ll
run you home before I head back to the station. Serve and protect, right?”
“That’s the motto I hear you guys operate under,” I said, following
him out of the house and down the front steps.
Outside the sidewalks were crowded with neighborhood gawkers
watching the police load their criminal cargo into the backs of various police
vehicles. Several people were still in their sleeping clothes, and none of them
seemed especially happy to see the police in their neighborhood.
Arty opened the front passenger’s door of his squad car and moved a
clipboard off the seat onto the floor.
“I ought to make your ass ride in back,” he said to me.
I smirked and climbed in, watching as Arty spoke to another officer
before walking around to the driver’s side and climbing in.
“Maybe I should put a meter in this thing and start taking fares between
calls,” he commented sardonically.
I remained silent, as was my right, and he started his patrol car and
pulled away from the curb.
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Chapter XXXVI
Tuesday morning I had breakfast with Ashley Milner at the Wall Street Deli
on 6th Avenue North, about three and a half blocks from my client’s loft and
six blocks from Ashley’s downtown law firm.
The mere mention of the name Ashley Milner in legal circles in this
town is enough to make grown men run screaming for their mothers. Kind of
hard to believe when you look at the petite blonde sitting across from me at a
corner table in the back of the crowded deli. Although she hardly even looks
fifty, I know Ashley recently turned sixty-two, has two grown children close to
my age, and three grandchildren. She is soft spoken and very delightful to be
around, that is as long as you are not her opponent in court or a lying witness
on the stand. She has broken more witnesses in a courtroom than Perry Mason
and Matlock combined and has caused the early retirement of an untold
number of attorneys following embarrassing defeats at her hands. I’ve actually
had the pleasure of seeing her work a couple of times. A sight to behold,
and to fear. I had a healthy respect for her, and I liked her. I believed she
liked me too so hopefully the conversation I had planned for this morning
would go my way.
We made small talk until our breakfasts arrived. Ashley had a bagel
with grape jam and coffee. I ordered a chicken and cheese croissant and Earl
Grey tea with whole milk.
Ashley spread jam on both halves of her bagel with a bread knife
then took a bite of one and chewed very slowly, her small lips moving almost
imperceptibly. She glanced up at me and adjusted her gold rimmed bifocals,
smiling.
“I have to admit, Derrick, I was surprised you called yesterday to
invite me to breakfast,” Ashley said once she finished chewing, reaching for
her coffee cup. “It’s been a while since we spoke last.”
“About eight months,” I told her, sipping my tea. “How have you
been? You look great by the way.”

Stellen Qxz
Ashley smiled.
“Are you hitting on someone old enough to be your mother, Derrick?”
she said.
“But you aren’t my mother,” I told her. “And I was simply complimenting
a beautiful woman.”
“Well thank you,” she said. “You look well too. And I’ve been keeping
busy. Lots of clients and lots of work these days. Everybody’s going to
court now it seems. Which is good for people like me. I hear somebody’s
been trying to shoot you again. They appear to have failed.”
“Yes,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich and chewing, then swallowed.
“They did. A couple of times actually.”
“Well I’m glad you’re alright,” Ashley said. “I might need to hire you
again in the future.”
I smiled a little.
We were silent for a while, both eating our breakfast, watching as
other customers entered to eat and others left, all dressed in business attire
and appearing to be in a hurry. Ashley and I sat like we had all the time in the
world, which was not exactly true, but neither of us seemed in a rush.
Ashley finished one half of her bagel, drained her coffee cup, and
wiped her mouth with her napkin. The waitress came over and refilled her
cup and asked if we needed anything else. We declined. Ashley put cream
and sugar into her new cup of coffee and looked at me as she stirred it with a
spoon.
“Alright, Derrick, out with it. Why did you invite me to breakfast
this morning? I know it was for some reason other than you missed me.”
“Well I did miss you,” I told her honestly. “But you’re right. I had an
ulterior motive.”
I paused and Ashley continued staring at me, putting her spoon
down and taking up the cup, sipping.
She set the cup down and shook her head, now grinning a little.
“And your, motive, Mr. Olin?” said the litigator as she emerged.
“Don’t make me go all courtroom in here. You know what happens when I go
there.”
I put up a placating hand.
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“Alright, Ashley,” I said. “I need some information and I was hoping
you could help me.”
“I will if I can,” she told me earnestly. “You know that.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring into her soft blue-gray eyes. “I know. Okay,
here goes. You’ve got a PR consultant working for you, guy named Conrad
‘Connie’ Grayson.”
“Yes?” she said, her brow starting to furrow.
“I need to know some things about him,” I said, and at once saw a
wall rising between us.
“Information about my employees is confidential, Derrick,” my
friend said in a formal tone, folding her small, mildly wrinkled hands on the
table behind the plate where the other half of her bagel set. “I can’t really
discuss them with you. Why do you want to know about Connie anyway?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought.
“He’s involved with my client,” I told her. “Romantically involved.”
“So?” Ashley said.
“So I’m just trying to gather information so I can assess the level of
threat that my client faces. Recently my client has become reluctant to share
information with me, so I’ve been doing some digging on my own, and I found
out Connie Grayson works for you. I also know his father, Lionel Grayson, is
one of your largest clients.”
Now Ashley’s gray-blue eyes became hard.
“And you know I can’t discuss a client’s business with you, Derrick,”
she said in a low but firm tone. “Strictly off limits.”
“I know,” I said, my tone conciliatory. “And I would never ask you to
betray a client’s confidence. That’s why I’m not asking you about your client.
I was just wondering what you could tell me about Connie. What kind of guy
you think he is, is he stable, any problems you know of that might cause trouble
for my client, that sort of stuff.”
Ashley was unmoved, but I could see her considering my request.
Long minutes went by. The waitress came over again and went away. Finally
Ashley glanced at her watch, then out the window to her right. When she
spoke again her voice had lost some of the edge, and the tone was even lower.
“Derrick, right now is not a good time to be snooping around the
Graysons,” she said. “Lionel or his son. I can’t help you. In a couple of days
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you’ll understand why. Sorry, I gotta go. Meeting with a client back at my
office at nine-thirty.”
She stood and so did I.
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“Sure thing,” I said, stepping around the table and holding out my
arms. Reluctantly Ashley Milner stepped close to me and gave me the briefest
of hugs, then she was gone.
Well that was odder than odd, I thought, sitting once again and staring
out the window after Ashley as she walked very quickly to the black Ford
Explorer parked at the curb and got in. A couple of seconds later she was
gone.
“What in the hell’s going on here?” I mused aloud. Whether inadvertent
or on purpose, Ashley had left me with a small clue to the mystery.
Something was happening in a couple of days and it seemed important. The
question was what the hell was it?
Suddenly I got the feeling that I should go back to my client’s building
and be close to him. Standing, I dropped a twenty on the table and made
for the exit.
I had walked the three and a half blocks down from Cross’ 3rd Avenue
loft.
I ran all the way back.
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Chapter XXXVII
Paige Palmer and I sat in my car parked out in front of Evan Cross’ loft at
seven o’clock Tuesday evening watching traffic pass by, vehicles, pedestrians,
and bicycles. Most of the rush had ended and now the stragglers were bringing
up the rear. I had on my shades although it had become cloudy over the
last hour and rain was forecast for this evening. Paige had a black folder on
her lap and a can of Coke in her right hand. In the CD player was a Bach CD,
the Brandenburg Concertos, and at the moment the third was playing. It was
my favorite.
“You’re a very odd black man, Derrick,” Paige said with a smirk.
“Country and classical music? What self-respecting brother listens to that
stuff?”
“A true southern son,” I drawled heavily. “And if you keep insulting
my musical choices, missy, I might have to put you over my knee and tan your
hide.”
Paige laughed and turned to look at me.
“As long as you pull my pants down first,” she said. “And yours.”
I stared at her and smiled for a few moments, then pointed at the file
in her lap.
“What you got there?”
“I could make a very bad joke right now,” she said, setting her Coke
on the dashboard. “But I’ll let it pass. This is a very thin file that my friend in
the FBI let me have. He gave it to me on the condition that I not share it with
anyone else. He’s a very good looking black man as well; unfortunately he’s
not as good looking as you.”
She passed me the file and I opened it. It was very thin, but kind of
informative. When I had read through it twice I closed the folder and passed
it back to Paige.
“Well now,” I said, staring in the driver’s side rearview mirror. “It
would appear that the FBI and other federal agencies believe Mr. Lionel Gray-

Stellen Qxz
son is not the sterling citizen that the public at-large has been led to believe
he is. If I’m reading that file right, what little there is of it, he is suspected of
obtaining financing from questionable sources in several of his development
deals in South Florida, Mississippi, and Tennessee, and quite possible right
here in the great state of Alabama.”
“Yes,” Paige said, finishing her Coke. “It would seem that way. And
if they can get enough proof to nail him the scandal will be huge. I can imagine
that a man like Grayson would do anything to see to it that this did not
happen. Perhaps even resorting to murder.”
“I agree,” I said. “The question is, does Evan Cross know something
that he shouldn’t? And if he does, what is it?”
“Also why won’t he tell you?” Paige said, putting the empty can back
on the dashboard in front of her. “I mean you are trying to keep him alive and
risking your life in the process. You would think he’d want to let you know
who was behind the threats against him, if he knew.”
“You’d think,” I said. “But there’s something odd going on here.
Maybe he knows something about the old man but doesn’t want to say because
he’s in love with the son. But since somebody’s been trying to kill him
you’d think the instinct for self-preservation would have kicked in and overridden
any sense of loyalty to his boyfriend. Also, I’m beginning to wonder if
perhaps this whole thing hasn’t been a smoke screen.”
Paige turned in the passenger’s seat and put her back against the
door, bringing her left leg up on the seat and tucking it under her right thigh.
“What do you mean smoke screen?” she said.
“Well,” I said, once again looking into the rearview mirrors. “There
is no doubt he’s writing a book because Nadya would not be sponsoring him if
he weren’t. She might be kind of flighty but Nadya Simon is nobody’s fool.
She’d cut him off at the knees if she thought for a second he was lying. Plus
he’s been seeing editors and publishers, so he’s got to be working on something.
And it is also probably about inner city crime. However, what if the
reason for the threats and the attacks has nothing to do with what he’s putting
in his book? What if he learned something else while doing his research,
something collateral, something about Lionel Grayson?”
“And you think maybe Grayson found out about it?” Paige said.
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Criminal
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe word got back to him through a source, or
maybe Cross told his lover and he went to his old man.”
“You think the son could be involved in this?” Paige said. “I mean,
he was there when the first attempt was made on Cross.”
“True,” I admitted. “But maybe he didn’t know the attack was coming.
Maybe the bangers would have left him alone. Maybe his father didn’t
care what happened to him either. Who the hell knows, this is all speculation.
We don’t know if any of it’s true. Maybe Cross found out something about
Grayson and maybe he didn’t. Maybe those initial threats were real and
maybe they weren’t. Maybe he got scared and made up the threats, wrote the
notes himself, lied about the phone calls, then went to Nadya and got her to
hire him protection.”
“He didn’t want to go to the police,” Paige pointed out. “Maybe he
was afraid we’d learn the truth after some digging.”
“Possibly,” I said. “Maybe he figured that hiring a private minder
would keep him from having to answer too many questions.”
“Too bad he didn’t know you better,” Paige quipped.
“Yeah,” I said. “And then there was the matter of those two attempts,
one on me. That one I’m still trying to figure out. Really doesn’t
make sense if Cross is the target. Revenge is a motive but not a good one. It
would have been better and more effective had they made a second attempt
on him.”
“Maybe they wanted you out of the way to send a message to Cross,”
Paige said. “Show him that they could get his bodyguard which meant he
wasn’t safe, he could be gotten to at any time. Maybe that would frighten him
into backing off, assuming he had something on somebody, Grayson or somebody
else. Maybe he is putting it in his book, or blackmailing somebody.”
“Again, a possibility,” I said. “And as usual we have more questions
than answers. Plus there was what Ashley Milner said to me this morning
about it not being a good time to look into either of the Graysons. I wonder if
she knows the feds are snooping around?”
“You know Ashley used to be a U.S. Attorney out in Colorado,” Paige
said. “She’d have connections inside the Justice Department. Maybe she
does know. You said that she said in a couple of days something was going to
happen?”
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“She said it wouldn’t matter in a couple of days,” I corrected. “Kind
of makes me think something’s about to happen. Which is why I came right
back up here after I talked to Ashley and haven’t left all day. Need to find out
what she meant, and she’s not telling. Could be covered by attorney-client
privilege, but there was something else going on with her. I’ve never seen her
look worried before, at least not like this. And even a little scared. Definitely
not the Ashley Milner I’m used to dealing with.”
“Yeah,” Paige said, turning back in her seat and putting both feet on
the floor. “Are you thinking that Lionel Grayson is maybe getting his money
from criminal sources? Dirty money that maybe he’s laundering through his
company?”
“Be my guess,” I said. “Which is probably why the FBI is looking at
him.”
“So in Birmingham the biggest source of criminal financing is…”
“Innes Redbone,” I said. “And we already know Grayson is linked to
Redbone, albeit loosely, through his escort from last week, Nina Neetor, callgirl
for-hire on the payroll of Redbone’s girlfriend and chief madam, Sweet
Mya Brown.”
“And we should remember that one of the people who tried to shoot
your client two weeks ago was the second cousin of Nestor Cabaña, right hand
man and number one enforcer for the top thug himself.”
I nodded.
“I wasn’t forgetting that,” I said.
We were both quiet for several minutes, watching as it got darker
and darker and then small drops of rain started pelting the car.
“I think I’m gonna have to force something,” I said finally. “Waiting
around gives the advantage to the enemy, gives him a chance to make plans
and to marshal resources. I need to jangle them, make them do something
stupid. And quickly.”
Paige turned to look at me once more, concern evident on her face.
“Why don’t I like the sound of that, Derrick?”
“Because you know me so well,” I joked.
“You know the captain of West Precinct is still not happy about your
most recent efforts outside the law,” Paige told me. “Perhaps it would be bet-
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ter if you let me know what you plan on doing ahead of time so I can see about
covering your ass.”
Smiling, I shook my head.
“If I knew, babe, I’d tell you. As soon as I do know I’ll give you a call.
I’m gonna sleep on it tonight and see how things look in the morning.”
“You gonna stay here all night?” she asked.
“No,” I told her. “At eight o’clock I’ll be relieved. Ollie Oliver arranged
something for me.”
“Well in that case I won’t even ask,” Paige said with a smirk. “Ollie’s
business is Ollie’s business. I’m gonna go home and climb in the tub and soak
for a while. These long hours have been killing me lately.”
I reached over and patted her knee.
“Thanks for all your help,” I told her.
Paige put her hand on top of mine to prevent me from moving it,
then turned and looked into my eyes with a mischievous grin on her lips.
“Well if you really want to thank me you’ll come home with me and
rub my back while I soak in the tub. It’s big enough for two.”
I chuckled and put my head back on the headrest.
“I’ll just bet it is,” I said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain-check
on that, along with those couple of dinners I still owe you.”
“Am I ever going to get to collect?” she said, her tone suddenly serious.
I looked into her eyes in the gathering darkness. Suddenly I was
very serious myself.
“Count on it,” I told her, not sure if I was actually telling the truth,
but when has that ever stopped me?
Paige leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, then said good night,
getting out of my car and leaving the empty Coke can on the dash. I watched
her get into her personal car, which was parked behind mine, and then she
drove off.
I was alone for maybe another twenty-seven minutes before a dark
colored Dodge pulled up behind me. Sheila climbed out of the driver’s side
and walked to my window. It was still only drizzling so she wouldn’t get too
soaked.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said with a grin.
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“Hello again, sir,” she said with a neutral expression.
“You calling me sir is really starting to make me feel old, Sheila,” I
told her.
She smiled a little.
“My upbringing, sir,” she said.
I shook my head, smiling again.
“Fine. Ollie tell you why you’re here?”
“Yes, sir,” said.
I nodded, then gave her a quick rundown. At ten after eight I started
my car and turned on the wipers. The rain was more intense now and by the
time I made it home I’d probably need an ark.
Summer showers and Birmingham, every day a surprise.
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Chapter XXXVIII
Wednesday morning my client had another meeting with his editor in the
Empire Building down on 1st Avenue North. The meeting was scheduled for
nine. I arrived at eight and relieved Sheila and she didn’t even look a little
tired. Sweet Bird of Youth.
It was still raining this morning but only a little, and Evan wanted to
walk down to the Empire Building along with all of the rest of the morning’s
foot traffic. He had his own umbrella and I had mine and we took the brief
stroll together.
Once again while he went into his editor’s office I sat out in the reception
area with the pretty young receptionist, Maggie. During this time I
took out my cell phone and called Nadya Simon. She was very glad to hear
from me, spent a few minutes asking how the job was going, and, of course,
flirting. Then I got around to the reason I had called her.
“Sweetie,” I said. “I need you to do me a favor and you can’t ask me
any questions about it. But I promise this is very important.”
“Sounds mysterious,” Nadya said in a conspiratorial tone that was
laced with humor. “I hope it’s something naughty.”
I chuckled and glanced over at the receptionist behind her circular
desk.
“Depends on your definition of that word,” I remarked. “Actually
what I need for you to do, love, is to make an appointment for me, and use
your clout to make sure that the person I want to see agrees to the meeting.”
A brief pause.
“Who do you want to meet with?” she asked, a hint of hesitation in
her husky voice.
I told her.
Another pause, this one much longer. I was patient, waiting, watching
Maggie the receptionist, waiting some more. Finally Nadya sighed over
the phone.

Stellen Qxz
“Does this have something to do with Evan’s situation?” she asked.
“I know you told me not to ask any questions, but…”
“It does,” I told her. “I can tell you that much, but nothing else. Can
you do it?”
This time her pause was only a second.
“Sure,” she said. “I can. And I will. You will tell me what this is all
about when you can, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I told her.
She told me she’d call me back once the appointment was set up. I
thanked her and hung up. Thirty minutes later Evan Cross came out of his
editor’s office carrying his briefcase and umbrella and we left, walking back
down 20th Street to his loft. The rain had stopped completely now and neither
of us needed our umbrellas. Cross walked a little ahead of me and I watched
the area all around us as we moved at a moderate pace. Most of the pedestrian
traffic had eased a bit too, and this made it easier for me to watch people.
Nadya called me back just as we entered the front doors of Cross’
building. Without letting on who I was talking to I thanked her for making
the appointment, then hung up.
“So you’re staying in the rest of the day?” I said to my client once we
entered his apartment and he put his umbrella in the stand beside the door.
“Until tonight,” Evan Cross said, walking over to the dining table and
setting down his briefcase. “Connie and I are talking about having dinner at
Landry’s in Homewood. You know it? Got great seafood.”
“I know,” I told him. “I live in Homewood, remember? Not too far
away from Landry’s. Couple of miles. What time are you planning on going?”
“I’m gonna talk to Connie around noon,” he told me, pulling out a
chair and sitting down. “We’ll make a decision for sure then. I’d say around
eight though. We’ll make a reservation. And a separate one for you. Will you
be bringing someone tonight?”
I thought about that for a second then told him to make my reservation
for two as well. After my meeting this afternoon it was a good bet that I
would be needing backup.
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Criminal
I told Cross that I had to go out for a little while but the guard was on
the door in the hallway, and if he needed me he could just call. I saw no need
to tell him that Birmingham PD had also increased patrols in this area since
yesterday, at my request and through Paige Palmer.
I left the building at eleven and headed over to my apartment to kill
a couple of hours. My appointment wasn’t until one and there were some
things I needed to take care of first.
Preparation before action makes for a lot less crying later on.
Or put another way: Proper planning prevents piss-poor performance!
Something one of my OSI instructors used to say all the time. Very
good words to live by.
- 163 -

Chapter XXXIX
It was raining again by the time I made it to my one o’clock appointment, but
that’s what windshield wipers and umbrellas are for. However I didn’t need
the umbrella when I got out of my car because I was inside a parking garage
attached to a high-rise office building in Mountain Brook on Office Park
Drive. This was the headquarters for Grayson Developments, the top three
floors designated for the exclusive use of the company.
I arrived in the outer office of the great man at five minutes before
one wearing a dark gray suit and light blue button-down shirt, sans tie. I was
greeted at the elevators by a tall Latino woman with thick black hair, maybe
forty to forty-five—perhaps a little older once I got a good look at her up close.
Her expression was very reserved and I could tell that it pained her greatly
that I was not wearing a tie. She introduced herself as Jenna, Mr. Grayson’s
executive personal assistant—emphasis on executive. I told her it was so nice
to make her acquaintance. She gave the briefest of smiles and told me that
Mr. Grayson was a very busy man and at the moment was in the middle of
some very important business, however, if I should choose, I could wait in the
waiting area. I told her that I did choose to wait and did so.
Forty-five minutes later Jenna came into the small waiting room
where I had been cooling my heels while scanning through old copies of business
magazines and finding myself quite happy with my chosen profession.
As a businessman I would have been a total failure, and would not have cared
in the least. So I guess it was a good thing I had skipped business school.
Jenna led me down the corridor to her boss’ office suite, passing
desks with other younger assistants busy at work on personal computers or
telephones, none of them bothering to look up at me as they went about their
important tasks.
We came to a pair of finely carved deep mahogany doors and Jenna
knocked briefly, then entered, beckoning me to follow, which I did. In the
inner sanctum the Man himself, Lionel Grayson, sat behind a large oak desk

Criminal
wearing shirt sleeves, looking tanned and gracious and busy and like a really
important man. Jenna walked over to the desk, hands folded in front of her
rather timidly, like she was very sorry to be bothering the Man with this, but
she must.
Grayson glanced up and thanked her, then casually dismissed her
with a quick nod. Reluctantly the executive personal assistant departed,
glancing at me somewhat unkindly, I thought, before going out and closing
the doors behind her.
Grayson rose from behind his desk and took his jacket off the back of
his executive style chair, slipping into it before coming around to shake my
hand, looking directly into my eyes with cool calm, and a hint of something
else, something I recognized as a flair of the sinister. Or perhaps I as just
imagining.
“Mr. Olin, when Nadya Simon called me this morning I have to admit
that I was surprised when she told me what she wanted, and even more
surprised when she insisted so strongly. I’d like to know what this is all
about. I saw you the other night at the reception I had at the Hilton. I understand
you are a bodyguard of some kind and have been retained to protect
Evan Cross because of the trouble he has been experiencing lately. Please,
have a seat.”
I did, sitting in a very comfortable leather club chair in front of the
desk. Grayson returned to his executive chair, sitting forward, hands folded
on the back of the desk, the picture of the powerful and in-charge chief executive
that he imagined himself to be.
“So, tell me what’s going on, what’s this all about?” he commanded.
I sat and stared at him for a few seconds before responding. He had
kept me waiting for three quarters of an hour, he could wait a few seconds.
“So you know about the threats to Evan Cross?” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “Evan and my son are… involved. He told me.
And it was on the news. Were you the one who killed those men?”
I could see disdain in his eyes, almost contempt, as if he felt he was
talking to a lesser species.
“Yes,” I told him.
“Well it was an awful thing,” he conceded, “but I suppose you were
simply doing your job. And since my son was there when it happened, I sup-
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Stellen Qxz
pose I owe you my gratitude. But tell me, why are you here now and why did
Nadya Simon intercede on your behalf?”
“Because I really doubt if you would have seen me if I’d called ahead
on my own and asked,” I told him.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I might not have seen you anyhow.
I am very busy, Mr. Olin. My time is valuable. I am in the middle of a
major business deal as we speak and do not have time to waste. So if you
would just come to your point…”
“Yes,” I said, glancing over to the large picture window on my left,
looking out at the sky as the rain picked up. “I understand that in another day
something big is going to happen for you.”
I had no clue if this was actually the case, but I figured what the hell.
And almost at once I saw something flicker in his eyes for just a moment, the
mark had been hit. Whatever the mark was.
“Mr. Olin, I always have business deals in the works, all very important.
I can’t discuss them with you, and I’m sure you understand why. Confidential
matters. And if you aren’t going to come to a point, I don’t see any
reason to continue this meeting.”
I sighed.
“I understand you’ve been investigated by the IRS and the SEC several
times over the years,” I said.
Grayson’s color rose slightly and his eyes became hard.
“Now see here, Olin!” he practically spat. “I don’t know who you
think you are or who you think you’re talking to, but I will not have you come
into my office and make baseless accusations. I am a major player in the
business community of this city, this state, and this whole region. I donate
lots of money to very powerful people, I don’t have to sit here and listen to
lies.”
“More than five investigations,” I continued, unperturbed. “Of
course, all of them went nowhere. Which you know. But do you know that
the FBI is investigating you at this very moment; as we speak?”
This time he could not conceal his shock. His mouth opened but no
words came out, and his color rose even higher. I could see him mentally
counting to ten before he was able to recover his voice.
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Criminal
“That’s a lie! It is not true. Why would the FBI be investigating me?
I am an honest businessman who has done nothing but build a successful
business, create wealth and jobs for a lot of people. Why should I be investigated?”
“Probably has something to do with your financing,” I said in a casual
tone, examining my fingernails. “That’s probably how the IRS and SEC
first became involved, but they got road-blocked somehow. Probably by some
politician you’ve got in your pocket in Congress. But now the Bureau is doing
a criminal investigation. That tells me they probably know you’ve been bribing
politicians and are going after them too. Probably already made deals
with some of them. Lighter sentences in exchange for delivering you. You
know the way it works.”
I could see the sudden worry lines on the previously stress-free and
tanned face. He tried hard to conceal it, but failed totally.
“Preposterous,” he said, but not with nearly enough zeal to be convincing.
“You are lying. You’re just a hired security guard, how would you
know what the FBI is doing?”
“Wasn’t always a hired security guard,” I told him with a direct
smile. “Ten years in the Air Force. Eight as an agent in the Office of Special
Investigations, a very good federal law enforcement agency if I do say so myself.
And I’ve still got friends, some in the FBI.”
That was true but I hadn’t been talking to any of them about this. I
was using what little information Paige Palmer had been able to get out of her
FBI contact and making the rest up as I went along. Crude and risky, but it
seemed to be doing the trick. So I continued.
“You see, Mr. Grayson, in my profession, sometimes you have to go
that extra mile to protect a client. You can’t always just stand guard and
shoot people when they attack, sometimes you have to do a little detective
work, find out who your client’s enemies are, and then take the fight to them.”
Grayson had trouble swallowing, but eventually managed and
cleared his throat, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
“So why are you here then?” he asked in an awkward tone. “Why
would you think I am an enemy to Evan? He is my son’s… friend. I would
not want to hurt him.”
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Stellen Qxz
“I suspect you don’t like the fact that he’s your son’s boyfriend,” I
told him. “I saw the way you acted toward him last week. Apparently friendly
and accepting, however I saw your eyes, and I know what you really felt. But I
don’t think you’d try to hurt him because of that relationship. Your son would
still be gay if Evan Cross didn’t exist. So it has to be something else. Something
very bad for you, something so serious that it would drive you to try to
have him killed.”
“Nonsense!” Grayson exclaimed. “Absolute garbage. And, sir, I
should tell you, if you repeat these unfounded accusations to anyone you will
be hearing from my lawyer.”
“Ashley Milner?” I said. “Yes, she and I already spoke yesterday.
Had breakfast. Lovely woman, and a damn fine attorney. Also a friend.”
This stunned him into silence.
“Not to worry,” I said after a while. “She didn’t betray any of your
secrets to me. Ashley knows her responsibilities and would never violate a
confidence.”
This seemed to relax him a little, but not much.
“Let me put it on the table for you, Mr. Grayson,” I said slowly. “I
don’t know what it was that Evan Cross found out about you. I have my suspicions
that it involves you and Innes Redbone, and money. And before you
interrupt, let me just tell you that I really don’t care what you and that fat
piece of shit have cooking up. Doesn’t concern me. But Evan Cross does concern
me. If there is one more attempt on his life, or mine for that matter, I’m
coming after you. You, Mr. Grayson, because I figure you have the most to
lose in all of this.”
He found his voice, and it was strong once again.
“I do not know what you are talking about, Olin. This is ridiculous. I
am a legitimate businessman. I have done nothing wrong. I am not involved
with any criminal elements. If the FBI is investigating me it must be a mistake.
I don’t know Innes Redbone, and would never be involved with him.
You have no proof of any of this and I will hear no more. I want you to leave
now before I summon my security to toss you out. And I promise you if you
ever come near me again I will see to it that you are dealt with.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“How’s your girlfriend?” I asked, folding my hands in my lap.
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Criminal
He frowned.
“What?” he said. “What are you talking about?”
“Your girlfriend,” I said. “The knockout blonde who was with you
last week at the reception. Nina Neetor? You know, the high-priced whore
who works for Innes Redbone?”
The skin on Lionel Grayson’s face seemed to shrink and he aged ten
years before my eyes, unable to speak.
I smiled and stood up.
“I know what you are, Grayson,” I told him in direct tone, my eyes
unblinking. “And I’m sure I know what you’re in to. Sooner or later the feds
will nail your ass. Hopefully sooner. I’m gonna go have a talk with my client
too; maybe get him to spill what he knows. Just remember what I told you.
And also remember that your son is close to my client. Be a real shame if
something happened to him too.”
Before he could respond I turned and walked out of the office.
The gun was fully loaded and cocked now. It just remained to be
seen what he would do with it.
I was pretty sure that I already knew the answer, and just hoped that
I was ready to deal with the consequences.
After this job I needed to take a vacation or something. I’d like to go
see Traci Brenner but it probably wasn’t a good time now. More than likely
she was going to move to Montana soon and that would be that. Then I’d
probably return to monkdom. But perhaps not. Paige Palmer seemed to be
giving off some pretty direct hints. Of course she wasn’t married, but maybe
her shortcomings in this area could be overlooked. Might be worth considering
further when I had more time.
First things first, though.
Time to end this thing, whatever the hell it was, once and for all.
Jenna was waiting for me in her boss’ outer office and escorted me to
the elevators and watched me until the doors slid closed between us.
Quite a thorough terrier I thought as the elevator started down. Not
bad looking either. And on her left hand I had noticed a very large diamond
engagement ring and wedding band.
Maybe something else I should consider when I had more time.
- 169 -

Chapter XL
Landry’s Seafood is located on State Farm Parkway inside the grounds of the
Wildwood North Shopping Center, dangerously close to a bookstore that has
been known to take a good portion of my money in recent years past. Tonight
I steeled myself to ignore its call as I followed my client and his date into the
restaurant where we had dinner reservations. It was a couple minutes before
eight and dark, but it had stopped raining a couple hours ago and no more
was forecast for the rest of the week, assuming that was accurate.
Evan Cross and Connie Grayson were dressed in polo shirts and
jeans and were smiling at something as they entered the restaurant and were
greeted by an attendant waiting just inside. I was wearing khaki pants, a maroon
polo shirt, and my trusty dark blue blazer. Accompanying me this evening
was Detective Paige Palmer, attired in black jeans, a cream colored pullover
blouse, and a tweed blazer. Tonight was casual night.
An attendant led us to our table, which was in the back and one over
from my client.
A waiter came over a minute later and we both ordered lemonade as
we opened our menus.
“I’ve never eaten here,” Paige said, glancing over at me. “A little rich
for my pocketbook. What with four boys and all.”
I glanced around before settling on her.
“Well it’s all on an expense account tonight, babe,” I said. “Order
whatever you like. No wine, though, you might be on duty.”
She smirked and went back to reading the menu.
“You really think something’s gonna happen tonight?” she said.
“Possibly,” I told her. “I pushed Grayson pretty hard today. I know
he was rattled when I left. And he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who
takes being pushed around all that well, especially when the person pushing
him is someone he regards as beneath him.”

Criminal
“So you’re convinced he is the one behind this?” she said, reaching
for the glass of water that set to her right.
“I am now,” I said. “After talking with him today I have no doubts
left. I don’t know what he’s in to, but I know it involves Innes Redbone. I
could see it in his eyes when I mentioned that name today. He denied it, of
course, quite strenuously, but I knew he was lying, and he knew I knew he
was lying. And I told him some other things, things that I could tell really got
to him.”
Paige looked up at me once again, a frown on her face.
“What other things, Derrick?” she asked.
“No need to get into that right now,” I told her. “Suffice it to say he
was agitated by them.”
“God you do like to live dangerously,” she said, and at that moment
the waiter came back with our lemonade.
We ordered our meals then and he went away once more. I took a
sip from my glass and glanced over at Cross and Grayson, and they appeared
to be talking and enjoying themselves, having ordered a bottle of wine for
their first course.
“I just didn’t know what else to do,” I told Paige. “I don’t like sitting
on my hands and playing defense. When I know where the threat is coming
from I like to deal with it head-on. The longer this thing goes on the more
dangerous it gets for my client, and for me for that matter. I needed to force
them into an action, and one that they don’t have a lot of time to plan.”
Paige nodded, looking around as she picked up her glass of lemonade
and took a sip.
“This is very good,” she said. “Haven’t had any lemonade in years.”
I nodded, still looking around myself. When I turned back to Paige I
could see a small smile on her lips, and a glint in her eyes that I recognized.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got something. Out with it.”
Paige grinned fully now and set her glass back down.
“There’s a clerk in Ashley Milner’s office,” Paige said in a low tone.
“I busted him a year and a half ago for trying to score some coke. Took pity
on him, got the charge reduced to minor possession. You could say he owes
me. And today I called in that favor.”
I waited, beginning to feel myself smile.
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Stellen Qxz
“He told me that tomorrow there’s going to be a major announcement
concerning Grayson Developments,” Paige said in the same low tone.
“It seems that Grayson is about to be awarded a key city contract to redevelop
a major portion of the west side’s low-income housing lands. A contract
worth millions.”
And the bell went off in my head.
“West side as in Ensley?” I said.
“Yep,” she said.
“Which means Innes Redbone,” I said.
“Most assuredly,” she said.
“Grayson is in business with Redbone,” I said. “Financing, probably
a lot more. All of it shady and off the books no doubt. And somehow Evan
Cross found out about some of it, and Grayson knows.”
“So Evan lied about receiving threats in order to get protection?”
Paige said.
“Probably,” I said. “He couldn’t go to the cops because he thought
Grayson would use his connections and find out, and he was probably right.
So he went to Nadya with a story and she called me.”
“It could fit,” Paige frowned. “But I don’t know. We don’t really
have any proof.”
“I know,” I said. “Which is why I pushed Grayson today. Later on
I’m gonna push my client and make him tell me what the hell is really going
on, but I think we’re gonna have to deal with the more immediate situation
first.”
“You don’t think it’ll happen here, do you?”
“No,” I said, and almost believed it. “Too many people in the way,
not that they really care about that. Grayson is about to close a major deal
that will earn him millions and he can’t afford to have anything get in his way
now. Especially with the feds looking over his shoulder.”
“You think he knows they’re looking over his shoulder?” Paige asked.
“He does now,” I told her, and our food arrived at that moment so
our conversation stopped. Everything looked and smelled delicious. I
thought we should eat up because something told me that we were probably
going to need our energy later on.
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Criminal
Paige watched me as I picked up my knife and fork and dug into my
grilled red snapper.
I glanced over at her and smiled.
“Don’t worry, love,” I told her. “We do this right and you’ll make
sergeant.”
She shook her head and picked up her fork.
“And if we fuck it up then I’m back in uniform on a beat some place
very unpleasant,” she said. “If I’m lucky.”
The snapper was fantastic, perfectly cooked and seasoned. My second
favorite kind of fish behind grilled salmon.
I’ve always believed that if you’re gonna have a last meal it should be
one to die for.
- 173 -

Chapter XLI
Tonight they had taken Evan Cross’ Miata, leaving Grayson’s SUV in the garage
at Cross’ place. When we left Landry’s at nine-thirty Paige and I followed
them in my Ford Taurus. Cross took the most direct route, getting onto
I-65 North just off of Lakeshore Parkway and taking it all the way to the 4th Avenue North exit. Traffic was moderate tonight and the weather cooperated,
so keeping close was not a problem, and it was pretty easy to watch for surveillance
or other vehicles whose drivers might have hostile intent. But apparently
there were none on the road, or they were better at staying hidden
than I was at spotting them. Either way, we made it back to the loft with no
problems, pulling into the garage and driving to the back where Grayson’s
SUV was parked in a visitor’s spot.
I pulled into an empty space across the way and Paige and I got out,
both of us wary and looking around. Cross and Grayson sat in the Miata for a
few minutes talking, and when I turned back toward them a few moments
later they leaned close and kissed, rather passionately. I’m a pretty tolerant
guy, and have absolutely no problem with somebody being gay, but I have to
say that watching two guys kiss is not my one of favorite things. Of course,
watching a man and a woman kiss isn’t necessarily one my favorite things
either. However, I do enjoy the act of kissing when I’m one of the involved
parties.
But I digress.
Cross and Grayson climbed out of the car and walked over to the
silver Mercedes SUV. Paige had moved down a ways, watching the front side
of the parking garage. I remained close to my client, but not close enough to
intrude on his private moment with his lover. The two men embraced, said
good bye, promising to talk in the morning, kissed once more, then Cross
stood back and watched Grayson get into his vehicle and start the engine.
Then a wave and Connie Grayson was gone.

Criminal
Evan Cross stood staring after the SUV with a small smile of contentment
on his face for several moments longer, then he turned toward me
and his smile grew larger.
“I’m gonna go upstairs now and take a nice hot shower,” he said.
“Then turn in early. Tomorrow I’m gonna put the finishing touches on my
book and see if I can get it to my editors by Monday. I think I’m almost ready
now. No use wasting anymore time.”
I nodded, glancing around, taking a couple steps toward him. I was
about to say something when I heard Paige’s urgent voice through the microreceiver
in my left ear. I reached out and grabbed my client by his shoulder,
pulling him down and over toward my car with my left hand while simultaneously
drawing my Glock with my right.
“What’s going on?” Cross asked in a frightened voice as he knelt
down beside me at the driver’s side rear tire of my car.
“Not a word!” I commanded, my voice very low. “Just do what I tell
you, when I tell you. Period!”
I could tell he wanted to say something else, but saw the expression
on my face and realized that it was not a good idea. After another couple of
seconds, there was gunfire. Handgun and larger, some full automatic. I took
a deep breath and slowly released it, my index finger slipping inside the trigger
guard on my weapon.
Patiently listening to a play-by-play over my receiver, I held on to
Cross’ collar, just in case he decided to bolt like a scared rabbit. And more
gunfire erupted, moving closer.
I heard Paige say that one of the attackers had gotten past her and
was moving our way, and from the sound of it he would be moving toward the
front side of my car, directly behind me! I quickly turned around, just in time
to see yet another young punk with a gun appear at the front of the car parked
opposite mine. He was awkwardly holding a Tec-9 and appeared to be very
startled to see me too.
The would-be assailant suddenly found himself all thumbs as he
fought desperately with clumsy fingers to point his weapon at me. It would be
a shame to kill him; he really was a klutz and clearly didn’t have a clue as to
what he was doing. Still, he was carrying a gun and associating with an unsavory
crowd in the midst of perpetrating a dastardly deed. Or trying to.
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Stellen Qxz
I shot him in the right foot and he dropped his weapon and fell to the
concrete floor howling in pain as he rolled around clutching his foot with both
hands.
That’ll teach him, I thought, rising to a crouch and dragging my client
away from my car and into the aisle, then over to the opposite row where
we sought refuge behind his car. More gunfire sounded as soon as we
stopped moving.
And then nothing. Everything seemed to end just as quickly as it
had begun. Less than a minute had actually passed.
I continued to wait and listened to the voices on my receiver, pleased
to learn that everybody on my side was still among the living and unhurt. A
few seconds later Paige Palmer came running in my direction, her Glock 9mm
held low at her right side, a look of grim fortitude on her face; and relief. A
few paces behind her Ollie stood holding a Remington pump-action shotgun
balanced across his right shoulder.
I stood up and took a breath, releasing it slowly.
“I take it we won,” I said.
Paige nodded, glancing around guardedly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Did you get the one that got by me?”
“Affirmative,” I said, reaching down and helping my client to his
feet. “Got him in the foot. He’s over by that Aurora in front of my car, crying
and bleeding.”
Ollie nodded and moved off in that direction.
Paige came over to me.
“There appears to have been six in all. Ollie and some tough little
black girl with a MAC-11 got most of them. I got one, and you got the other.
Most of them are in bad shape and I’ve already called Central Precinct. One
of the shooters is still ambulatory and capable of conversation. Ollie says he
knows him. If you guys are gonna do what you talked about, you better get
moving before reinforcements get here.”
I nodded.
“You’ll see to Dr. Cross?”
She nodded.
“Of course.”
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Criminal
Evan Cross looked at me, still frightened and badly shaken, and he
didn’t look like he was ready to leave my company. I turned to him and
touched his shoulder.
“I need to go right now. Something I need to take care of that will
guarantee that you are safe from things like this in the future. Detective
Palmer is going to look after you until I get back. Alright?”
He didn’t respond and I knew it was because he was going into—or
maybe already in—shock. I had no time for this now, Paige could take care of
him. I left him with her and went over to where Ollie and Sheila were standing.
Ollie had gotten the kid I had shot to quiet down and put direct pressure
on his wound, telling him he probably wasn’t going to die if he didn’t panic.
Sheila expertly held her deadly little MAC-11 on a tall kid wearing
baggy jeans, a black bandana on his head, and a blood-stained oversized orange
T-shirt that hung almost down to his knees. Ollie glanced at him then at
me.
“His name is Benny Jefferson,” Ollie said with a harsh grin. “And he
is going to cooperate with us. Ain’t that right, Benny?”
I could tell the youth was scared to death of Ollie, which meant he
had good sense. I told them we needed to leave quickly and we did. Around
the corner on 20th Street Ollie had a car waiting. Sheila got in back with Jefferson,
her small SMG never wavering, and Ollie and I got in front. I didn’t
ask where we were going, just sat back in the passenger’s seat and let my
pulse rate slowly return to normal.
This still wasn’t over yet.
- 177 -

Chapter XLII
Benny Jefferson had some useful information for us. Apparently the orders
to move against Evan Cross and me tonight had come directly from none
other than Nestor Cabaña himself. He had made it quite clear that we were
both to die and that no harm should come to Conrad Grayson, otherwise each
member of the assault team would die horribly, and their families. This information
was given freely because I got the impression that despite Jefferson’s
obvious fear of the psychopath Cabaña, his fear of Ollie was even
greater.
Once all was revealed we let him go. He was injured, albeit minor,
and to be honest he probably wouldn’t live much longer if he didn’t get out of
town. He was a small fry, not really worth the effort.
Nestor Cabaña has a house in West End on 14th Street near Woodland
Park and Elmwood Cemetery. Odd that he would live in such a rundown
neighborhood when he no doubt had lots of cash stashed away from all of his
and Innes Redbone’s illegal business deals, but apparently Nestor liked to
remain close to his roots.
Nestor was at his home at eleven-thirty when he got the call that the
attack on Evan Cross had failed. His language would have made Popeye
cringe. It was after this call that we let Benny Jefferson go, and then we
waited outside the house in West End while Nestor made several phone calls
before deciding he had to get out and deal with the situation himself.
He rushed outside in such a hurry that he didn’t bother checking
around him first. A mistake he soon regretted because before he knew it Ollie
came out of nowhere and hit him with a solid left to his gut, following up
quickly with a right hook to the jaw. I moved in behind and caught him,
dragging him toward the steps where Sheila waited, her MAC-11 held at the
ready. Ollie got the keys out of Nestor’s pocket and we took him inside, struggling
a bit because Nestor is not the smallest guy in the world. Six-two and
about two hundred fifty-five pounds of solid weight.

Criminal
Once I got him in the front room I dumped him on the dingy beige
sofa while Sheila secured the door and Ollie went off to check the rest of the
house. He came back a couple of minutes later and shook his head.
“It’s clean. We all alone.”
Nestor Cabaña sat up on the sofa holding his jaw, and looking
meaner than a junkyard dog. He glanced at me, then Ollie, and finally at
Sheila.
“Dumbest thing you mothafuckas could’ve done was come in here
like this. Now you all gonna die.”
Without warning or apparent effort Ollie kicked him in the jaw and
reached down and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling the other man’s face very
close.
“Mothafucka, ain’t nobody hear scared of you,” Ollie said in a low
tone fraught with peril. “I just as soon kill you right now, and you know I’ll do
it too. Only reason you alive is because this man want it. But you fuck
around, I cut you fuckin’ throat no matter what he want.”
Ollie released him and moved back. I stared down at him for a while
as he recovered from the second brutal assault on his person in the past few
minutes, blood now dripping from the right corner of his mouth.
“Okay, Nestor,” I said evenly. “I’m gonna make this simple for you.
There will be no further attempts on the life of Evan Cross. You’re gonna
make sure your boss knows this. Also tell your boss that his business dealings
with Lionel Grayson are going to land him in trouble with the feds because
they’re on to him. Right now the FBI is building a solid case against Grayson
and you know that when he gets squeezed he’s gonna roll on Innes like a soccer
ball. This whole thing, the Ensley deal, the illegal loans, the money laundering,
all of it, it’s all gonna come crashing down. Wouldn’t matter if Evan
Cross died now. It’s too late. Too many people know, and it’s only gonna get
worse. Tell your boss he should cut his losses now. And he should definitely
leave Evan Cross alone. Got it?”
Cabaña said nothing, just lay back on the sofa massaging his bruised
jaw, but I could tell he had heard everything and was thinking about it. I
stood and watched him for a few seconds more then glanced at Ollie.
“You better listen to the man, Nestor,” Ollie said, staring hard. “This
over now, or next time we see you we don’t stop to talk.”
- 179 -

Stellen Qxz
That was the last of the words. I left first, followed by Ollie, and
Sheila bringing up the rear.
Back in the car we were silent until we were about three blocks away,
then Ollie glanced over at me as he stopped at a light.
“How much of that stuff you make up back there?” he said.
I put my head back on the rest, suddenly very tired.
“Most of it,” I told him.
He nodded.
“You know what gonna happen now, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said, closing my eyes. “I do.”
- 180 -

Chapter XLIII
Thursday morning Birmingham awoke to the tragic news of the death of one
of the city’s leading citizens. Overnight it seems that Lionel Grayson, Chairman
and Chief Executive Officer of Grayson Developments, LLC, had been
murdered in his home during an apparent robbery. This despite the fact that
he lived in one of Birmingham’s safest and most exclusive neighborhoods,
Greystone Manor, and had a state-of-the-art security system in his home. So
far the police had no real clues or suspects but the mayor had promised that
the full weight of the city’s resources would be behind the investigation. Even
the governor had offered assistance from the Alabama Bureau of Investigations
and had also asked the Birmingham office of the FBI to get involved.
I watched the news that Thursday morning in Evan Cross’ loft as I
sipped tea. It was still early and Evan wasn’t up yet, and didn’t know. So I sat
on the sofa and waited for him to wake up. His night had been hard and sleep
had not come easy, but eventually he had succumbed. I had taken the liberty
of disconnecting his phones and turning off his cell so he would not be disturbed.
My cell buzzed several times this morning but I did not answer it. I
wasn’t in the mood right now. Three of the calls were from Nadya Simon and
I knew what she wanted. I’d talk to her later, tell her what I could. After all,
she was the one paying the bills and she deserved answers, most of them anyhow.
Evan Cross came out of his bedroom at ten a.m. wearing a gray bathrobe
and slippers. He was in dire need of coffee and I let him make it and
drink a cup before talking to him. I broke the news about Lionel Grayson first
and he was speechless. I gave him a moment.
“Oh god, Connie. He’ll be so devastated. You should have wakened
me. I need to call him right now, go see him.”
“Not just yet,” I said, blocking the kitchen’s exit. “We need to talk
first, Evan, get a few things straight. Just for my own peace of mind.”
He stopped and frowned.

Stellen Qxz
“I don’t know what you mean, Derrick. Look, I really have to call
Connie, his father just died for Chrissake. He needs me.”
“And you can call him,” I said in a firm tone. “Just not right now.
Right now you’re gonna talk to me and tell me why you didn’t tell me the
truth in the first place. Why you lied to Nadya and to me about the actual
nature of the threat to you. You see, I know that you knew all along that it
was Lionel Grayson who wanted to hurt you, and I think I know why, mostly.
Right now you’re gonna tell me the whole story. And I don’t want any protests
or any bullshit. I want it all. You owe me that much after I’ve been putting
my butt on the line for you these past few weeks.”
Suddenly Evan Cross seemed to fold in on himself, and he became
very emotional, almost as if he was going to cry. I didn’t care, I was sick of
him and his lies. People had died because of them. And I was damn near one
of them.
He finally composed himself enough to tell the story, and when I
heard it I had to shake my head because the reasons were even stupider than I
could have ever imagined, and I’ve got a good imagination for stupid.
It seems that Mr. Grayson really was not a fan of his son’s relationship
with Evan Cross. It was more than just the gay aspect, apparently Lionel
didn’t like the idea of his son being involved with a black man, and he wanted
the relationship to end. First he resorted to bribery, offering Evan a hefty wad
of cash to dump his son. Evan told him to go fuck himself and Grayson did
not take that very well. Threats came next, but Evan didn’t take them all that
seriously, just figuring the old man was all talk.
As all of this was going on, Evan was continuing his research into
crime in Birmingham, and while doing this research he happened across a
source who inadvertently tipped him to an involvement between Innes Redbone,
crime lord of Birmingham, and Lionel Grayson, leading upstanding
citizen of Birmingham. It was only a hint, something about illegal funding of
some development projects. No real proof, but Cross knew that any insinuation
of scandal would be bad for Grayson’s business. He had no idea that
Grayson was being investigated by the feds at the time and he went to him
and told him what he knew—very dumb. Cross’ intention was simply to get
Grayson to back off and leave him and Connie in peace.
- 182 -

Criminal
Of course this did not happen, and the telephone threats were real,
only they came from Lionel Grayson himself. This terrified Evan as he realized
his mistake, also realizing that Lionel Grayson was a lot scarier than he
had first believed. Panicked, Evan paid a homeless woman to write the two
threatening notes and then took them to Nadya, and after that she got in
touch with me.
That was it. As I said: stupid. A pile of dead bodies because of this.
It was just too silly to comprehended, too petty. I really needed that vacation.
“What are you going to do now?” Evan Cross asked guiltily as I stood
with my empty tea cup leaning against the refrigerator and staring at him, my
expression blank. “I mean, now that you know the truth. Are you going to tell
Nadya that I lied?”
“Probably,” I told him, setting the cup on the table. “She’s paying
the bill and deserves to know. Besides, the job is over. You’re in no danger
now.”
“How can you be sure?” he asked, fear making his eyes seem larger
behind his glasses. “They killed Lionel, what makes you think they won’t try
to kill me now? I need your help, Derrick. Please!”
“They killed Lionel,” I told him. “So they don’t have to kill you.
You’re no threat to them. Hell, you didn’t know half of what they probably
thought you knew. At any rate they no longer have any interest in you. You’ll
be safe. And to be honest with you, Dr. Cross, even if you weren’t gonna be
safe I probably wouldn’t care. You lied to me. That’s something that I don’t
tolerate from any client. You’ve violated my trust and as a result several people
have died who might not have if you’d been honest from the start. Or if
you hadn’t started all of this by trying to blackmail Lionel Grayson. But that’s
irrelevant now. The danger to you is over, and so is my obligation to you.
Yeah, I’m telling Nadya everything. And it is my most sincere hope that once
she hears it all she dumps your sorry ass from her sponsorship program. As
far as I’m concerned your behavior borders on the criminal and you deserve
whatever you get, or don’t get.”
On that cheery note I turned and walked out of the kitchen and then
the apartment. I had already dismissed the guard service earlier this morning
and when I went out into the hall it was empty.
- 183 -

Stellen Qxz
I was very tired now, not having slept in more than a day. Breakfast
was probably in order first. Maybe I’d stop some place on the way home.
Once I got some rest and sorted out a few things with the cops and with
Nadya Simon, maybe I’d make good on those rain checks with Paige Palmer.
What was it, two dinners and something about a back rub?
I might have been very exhausted as I rode down on the elevator this
late Thursday morning, but at least now I was smiling too.
- 184 -

Epilogue
It was a Saturday at the end of summer when the temperatures outside were
becoming bearable once again. I was indoors today, in the kitchen putting
together a snack plate and getting some juice when my cell phone rang. It
was on the counter next to my landline and I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sexy,” Traci Brenner said. “Hi you doing?”
I smiled, setting down the knife that I had been using to cut turkey
slices.
“Better now that I’ve heard your voice. How are you settling in?”
“Pretty good,” Traci said. “This place is really nice, huge. I really
like it here. So does Marcus, Jr. Marcus, Sr. left for a three month deployment
two days ago, not overseas though. He’s in California doing some training.
He’s in his new unit now too, the 2nd Special Service Force, and on track
for promotion.”
“That’s good,” I said. “How’s everything else?”
“Good,” she told me. “There’s still a lot of work to do to get settled
in. The horses haven’t arrived yet, but should be here soon. We’ll get everything
done before winter though. It really is beautiful here, Derrick, and I
wish you could see it.”
“Send me a picture,” I told her.
She chuckled.
“I will,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“Alright,” I told her. “Been busy working. Just got back from a job
over in Atlanta. Now I’m just home taking it easy. I miss you though.”
There was a long pause.
“I miss you too,” she said finally. “Which is why I called. But I also
called to say that I can’t call you anymore. This has to be the last time, you
understand?”

Stellen Qxz
“I know,” I told her. “And I understand. I’ll never forget you. You’re
beautiful. And very special to me.”
I could hear her breathing on the other end of the line and when she
spoke her voice was thick with emotion.
“So are you,” she told me. “Thank you for everything. I’ll always
remember you in my heart.”
The line clicked and I turned my phone off, setting it back on the
counter. It took me a moment to steady myself, and then I went back to cutting
slices of turkey, breathing deeply, slowly.
When I was finished with the snack plate and the pouring of the
juice, crangrape of course, I put everything on a tray and padded off toward
the bedroom.
I pushed through the door and smiled, seeing the beautiful face of
the lovely and uninhibited creature of female design waiting for me in bed,
just as naked as I was, save for the gleaming diamond engagement ring and
wedding band on her left hand.
Not so much a terrier as a tigress today.
I stepped into the room, kicking the door closed with the heel of my
bare foot.
And life goes on.
- 186 -