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Wayne held up his GPS tracker. “Each team has one of these, and now we need to find our targets and attach them without getting caught by the drivers.”
Blake took Wayne’s tracker in his hand. “It’s larger than I would have thought.”
He handed it back to Wayne, who turned in over in his hand and said, “It’s the tracker’s magnet that takes up space.”
The others were on their way to their cars, and Blake hollered, “Make sure you do a radio check before you leave here. If you lose contact with Peter, this whole thing will be a waste of time.”
Wayne said to Blake, “Let’s take my car. It won’t stand out like your Jeep.” They headed toward Florida Street and drove past Belz Park, where they noticed a security truck making its rounds. Wayne looked to his right past Blake and asked, “Is that our guy or one of the others?”
Blake held up the picture he had of Howard Johnson. The guards were all licensed by the State of Tennessee and their pictures were on file, so it hadn’t been a big deal to download each guard’s photo. Blake rolled down the window as Wayne slowed the car. “It’s too far to be able to tell who the hell it is, but it’s the right company logo on the door. Find a place and park. We’ll let him come out and follow him.”
Wayne made a right down Parkway and pulled into a Shell gas station and turned off the motor. They were parked at the end of the building and could still see the headlights of the truck as the driver, who may have been Johnson, made his way through the shopping center, exiting onto Third Street. Over the radio came Rainbow’s voice: “We’ve planted the tracker on Thomas’s truck.”
Peter, who was monitoring everything, answered, “I’ve got him at the Quick Mart at the corner of South Third and South Parkway East. Is that correct?”
Rainbow came back: “That’s our boy.”
Peter replied, “10-4.”
Then Bob’s voice came over the airwaves, “We’ve planted our tracker.”
Peter said, “I show Antwan Jones at Leslie’s Grocery, Rayburn Street and East Parkway South. Is that correct?”
Bob replied, “That’s a 10-4.”
Peter asked, “Blake, how are you and Wayne doing?”
Blake picked up the hand-held radio. “We have eyes on a truck, which may be Johnson’s, just waiting for him to land somewhere.”
Peter replied, “10-4.”
Wayne started the car. “Here he comes.”
Blake looked out the window as the truck passed them. “Hold it. He has his blinker on – he’s turning in here. It is Johnson.”
Johnson pulled in and parked at the outside gas pump. He got out and put the hose into his truck and then waved at the cashier inside the store, who turned on the pump once he saw who it was.
Blake looked at Wayne and smiled. “Pull over to the inside pump next to his truck facing in the other direction. When he goes in to pay for the gas, our car will hide me while I plant the tracker.”
Wayne made a circle and came in facing Johnson’s truck but on the inside lane. He stopped and they sat there while Johnson finished pumping gas.
Johnson crossed in front of them on his way to the cashier. Wayne said, “Get out now and plant the damn thing! There’s no need for me to go into the store.”
There wasn’t time to debate how it should be done. Blake jumped out of the car and held the tracker under the front fender until its magnet clicked into place, and then he hopped back in. Wayne was already pulling out before Blake closed the door. “Damn, Wayne, let me get in before you drive off!”
Before they could pick up the radio, Peter’s voice came over it, “I show Johnson at the Shell gas station at Belz and Third Sreet. Is that correct?”
Blake picked up the radio. “That’s 10-4. The game is afoot, gentlemen. Good luck to us all.”
For the next three hours, the three teams followed their targets from two, sometimes three blocks behind. Peter would come over the air with each change of direction, to keep them on course.
At 9:30, Peter’s panicked voice hollered, “Blake, your tracker just went dead.”
Blake jerked the radio up and shouted, “What was the last location?”
“He was on Florida heading south. He stopped, but the map doesn’t show any buildings or businesses at that spot, just open fields on each side of the street.”
Wayne raced down Florida and didn’t see the dead skunk in the middle of the road. Skunk smell filled the car instantly. Blake rolled down his window. “My God, Wayne, what have you done to us?”
Up ahead to their right Wayne spied a car wash. It sat on a hill. They headed up the hill to it and Wayne got out and put a dollar in the machine. And then, with the high-pressure hose, he blasted away.
While he made quick work of the undercarriage, Blake checked the bays and found where Johnson, too, had pulled in and washed his truck. He knew it had been Johnson because, close to the drain, he found the broken tracker. He raced back just as Wayne threw the hose aside. Wayne tore down Florida Street looking for Johnson. The skunk smell was still there, but not as bad.
Blake hollered over the radio, “Peter, we ran over a dead skunk. Johnson must have done the same thing and stopped at the same carwash as we did. I found your tracker by the drain. It looks like it was knocked off by the high-pressure water and then run over.”
“What about Johnson?”
“He’s in the wind for now.”
“You need to find him, Blake. The other two are leaving the area and heading north, a long way from any parks. Which makes your guy the prime target.”
“Peter, have the others break off and come back here. We need all eyes looking for Johnson.”
Blake was trying to think where Johnson could be. “Look, Wayne, we can’t afford to be driving in circles all night and never find him. I have an idea: the first place he went, even before he filled up with gas for the evening, was close to Belz Park. Maybe you weren’t wrong about it being a good location, maybe you just picked the wrong night.”
Wayne turned the car toward Third Street. “We’ll come in from the back side of the park and work our way through the shopping center to Florida Street.”
As they turned into the shopping center, Wayne killed his headlights. Most of the street lights had been knocked out by rocks or guns, so the center was very dark, but they saw no sign of Johnson’s truck lights.
Wayne turned down the street that ran along the back side of the park and led to Florida Street. To his surprise, there sat Johnson’s truck. Blake grabbed the radio. “He’s in Belz Park! I repeat: the likely killer is out of his vehicle and in the park. Wayne and I are going in. Peter, notify MPD and everybody converge on our location.”
Blake and Wayne got out of the car and began to make their way through the trees. It wasn’t long before they heard the crying of a woman and the sound of a hard slap. Blake signaled to Wayne to move to the left. They came to the small clearing from two sides and there he was. The full moon was now almost overhead and lit up the clearing. They could see a beam of light coming from the attacker’s forehead. He had placed his clothes in a neat pile on a nearby rock. He seemed to have a headlight on a band around his head for the purpose of watching his victim die in the dark. He was choking the woman, his hips driving hard as he thrust inside her. Her arms seemed to be bound behind her back but her legs were thrashing about uncontrolledly. She seemed to be on the verge of passing out.
Blake eased closer to Johnson from his blind side, hoping to take him by surprise, but Wayne jumped from his cover and shouted, “Release that woman and place your hands on top of your head!”
Neither Wayne nor Blake thought Johnson would have a gun handy. But with a movement like a cat, Johnson rolled on his back and fired at Wayne. The bullet hit him in the chest, knocking him off his feet.
Blake charged forward, firing as he ran. The first two or three rounds went wild and Johnson returned fire, the round grazing Blake’s ribs. Blake continued firing and running until he was standing over Johnson’s still body.
He kicked Johnson’s gun aside and checked to make sure he was dead. The woman now coughed and began screaming.
Blake removed the radio from his belt. “Peter, roll an ambulance to our location. Wayne is hit and the killer is dead, and as you can hear, this poor woman is severely traumatized.” Blake cut the plastic zip handcuffs the killer had used to bind her and covered her as best he could with his windbreaker. He tried to calm her while they waited for the cavalry to arrive.
Out of nowhere, lights filled the clearing. Blake was holding his side and making his way to Wayne. Rainbow caught Blake’s arm and together they made their way to Wayne, who by then was sitting up with his shirt open, digging a bullet out of his vest. Blake plopped down next to him. “Are you okay?”
Wayne held up the bullet and in a pained voice said, “I think I’ve got a couple of broken ribs, but I’m alive. I see you got him.”
Before Blake could speak, Rainbow leaned over and said, “Boss, you’re bleeding.”
Blake stood up. “It’s nothing that a band-aid can’t take care of.”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
Bravo! You’ve made this involved operation clear and understandable. The reader can track the story as well as the operatives their suspects.
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