Unfinished Business--A Nitrous Racing Story

[mlittle]

~~~At some time, every account must be settled, and every debt paid in full.--J.H. Vincent

~~~He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.--Friedrich Nietzsche

~~~Revenge is the fire that consumes without compunction or conscience. Nobody is safe from a man with revenge in his eyes and rage enshrouding his heart.--Eddie Sakamura, Rising Sun Imports

.....................Nearly two years have passed since the brazen murder of FBI agent Stephanie Harrington outside the Zero Degrees’ nightclub shocked Velo City to its’ absolute core. The perpetrator, David Young, a/k/a “The Whisper”, was thought to have been locked away for life but after a brazen escape during a prisoner transfer he makes his way back to the West Coast, vowing to get his revenge on the one man whose life was most affected by the events of that night. For former criminal-turned-street racer and P.I. Matthew Little, the events of that night have begun to recede into the past. Now married and a successful private investigator, what happens with the Whisper's return will bring back the memories and emotions of that night and force him into a final showdown with an old nemesis............

[mlittle]

Chapter 1


***Wednesday night, late June 2011, Zero Degrees Nightclub***
Nighttime in Velo City always has a special beat to it, regardless of location. From the Harbor District all the way up to the Valley, there’s always a party or a celebration of sorts going on and the Taravel District in Northeast Velo was no exception. As had been the case all evening, Zero Degrees had been jumping to its’ own distinctive groove, even as the last of the late-night partiers’ began to spill onto Kensington Blvd. Meanwhile, in a third-floor conference room, there was a meeting of sorts going on. The usual suspects were there; about a dozen or so people involved with Exotic Ice Customs and M-K Investigations were in the room, enjoying a bit of conversation whilst waiting for EIC’s founder Othello Corvelle, a/k/a Scandalous, to arrive. “And I thought my bosses always complained when I’d show up late for shift duty,” Kelsey said, catching my attention with the casual remark.

“Yeah, but I’ll bet when they saw that Medal of Valor on your lapel they dropped that line of questioning real quick,” I replied. Shooting me an acid look, she replied, “Unfortunately, every time I’d glance at that bar I’d ask myself, ‘Why couldn’t I have saved Det. Chastain along with the other two officers at Florence and Vermont?’, referring to her actions at that intersection during the first day of what eventually became known as the 1997 South Velo Riots. Dropping that line of thought, I started to change the subject when the doors to the conference room opened and in walked EIC's president, Othello Corvelle. Better known as Scandalous, Corvelle personified EIC's luxury style, a style which reflected in everything EIC was involved in. After a round of hellos’ and how-are-you’s, he spoke to the dozen or so of us in the conference room with the same sonorous voice that seemed to resonate forever in a room.

“Sorry for being late, everyone. I’ve got a few things to mention then I’ve got to take off for the night. You know how it goes....heavy lies the crown, right?” Pausing for a moment amidst a few scattered chuckles, he continued. “As I’m sure all of you are aware, tonight’s a special occasion for a couple of us in this room. First,” pointing over to a couple of new EIC members, “I’d like to introduce a couple of new members to EIC, Michael Brewer and Annie Luckett. Both just joined EIC this past week and I look forward to seeing them represent us for a long time here in Velo City.” All of us congratulated them with a round of applause as Scandalous raised his hand up for a moment.

“Second......Kent, see that gift over next to the window? Bring that over here, please?” All of us looked as Kent, Zero’s lead bartender, walked over and picked up a small gift-wrapped package, setting it down on the table near Kelsey and I a few moments later. “In case any of you have been away or hiding under subway tunnels in the city,” which brought a chuckle from several people around the conference room, “next Thursday marks Matt and Kelsey’s first wedding anniversary and I thought it only appropriate to get y’all something to mark the occasion.”

“Knowing y’all, the Wraith’s probably packed to the gills with presents,” I quipped. “I can see it now.........Kelsey and I will have to ride on top of the Acis to get back to the house,” bringing a round of laughter to the table. As everyone was congratulating us on our anniversary, Scandalous continued on. “Anyway, there were one or two other things I was going to mention but I think they can wait. Enjoy the rest of the evening, everyone.” As Scandalous was leaving the conference room, the rest of us got up and starting talking amongst ourselves. I got up out of my chair and stood, thinking about the past few years and everything that had happened to me in that time. As I walked to the door, I grabbed my jacket and turned, pausing to look over at Kelsey. Watching her in a conversation, I thought to myself, Am I the luckiest man on Earth or what?


“........so, anyway, Rhino’s griping about his ankle when we jumped over the palace’s front gate and I’m thinking to myself, ‘Why don’t I just twist the other ankle so that he’ll be quiet?’”, I said to Ravyn and a couple of others at the bar. “Why didn’t you, Matt?” Ravyn asked.

“Good question..........I’m not entirely sure,” I deadpanned in return. As we finished our drinks, he added, “Seriously, though, Matt, congratulations on your anniversary. You and Kelsey make a wonderful couple,” raising his bourbon glass in the air. “To good friends!”

“To good friends!,” we all shouted, raising our glasses in unison. As we were setting our glasses down, I felt a familiar arm snake around my upper back. I turned and saw Kelsey standing there, looking ever so stunning in a short, black belted dress. “And all this time I thought you were rearranging all those gifts in the Aero.”

“No, Rhino’s doing that as a favor to me. I told him if he didn’t, I was going to drop-kick him down to 77th Street and–“

”That’s cruel, Matt. They’d eat Tsar up for breakfast.” Everyone chuckled at the thought of EIC member Chris Vick, a/k/a Rhino, running for his life up and down 77th Street in South Velo, the images of that alone bringing another round of laughs. “Anyway, speaking of which.........,” she finished, whispering something into my ear which caught my attention really, really quickly. We took our leave of everyone and headed over to the Wraith. Next to it stood Rhino, who looked as though he’d been climbing K2 without oxygen. “You all right, kid?”

“Yeah, but I got your gifts and everything re-arranged in the car. You should have just enough room to squeeze into the front seats.”

“I hope so, kid.” Handing him a twenty, I opened the passenger door for Kelsey, then walked around and got in the driver’s seat. Looking at all the gifts in the back I thought, “How they ever got that many gifts in there is a mystery......” but I dismissed it as we pulled away from the curb and headed up Kensington Blvd. for the short trip to our house. While we didn't break any land speed records getting there, suffice it to say, it was a good bet that the pillars of heaven got a very good rattling that night.



VestaCo. Acis sportscar, a/k/a "the Wraith"

[mlittle]

Chapter 2



***next morning[TH], 2212 Baker St, Kensington Hills, Velo City, Ca.***
Whoever is knocking on the door had better have a very good explanation, I thought to myself as I slowly awoke, Kelsey asleep next to me in bed. As I got dressed, the knocking continued, enough to wake her up. “Who is it, Matt?”

“I’m not sure, but whoever it is had better have an explanation,” I replied. Grabbing a pair of cargo pants, a blue/green shirt and a pair of Sketchers, I ambled over to the door; walking by the living room, I saw a large gray slick-back sedan in the driveway. Feds, I thought bitterly. Only the Feds have the stones to drive those abominations in Velo City. Opening the door, I saw two gentlemen standing at the door, one bald-headed and tall, the other a little shorter, both wearing conservative blue suits that just screamed 'FBI'. “Let me guess; you got tired of chasing after bank robbers and terrorists and decided to pay me a visit, huh?,” I said in a snarky, condescending manner.

“Spare us the sarcasm, Mr. Little,” said the bald-headed one. “It’s been what, 2 years, but you should still remember us–“

”Yeah, thanks for bringing those memories back, Inspector Christensen. And I see you brought Agent Pritchett with you as well,” I replied, again in the same snarky tone. It was one thing for someone you liked to wake you up by knocking on the door..........it was another thing for someone you didn’t care for to do likewise, and FBI Inspector Rich Christensen and FBI S.A. Nate Pritchett of the bureau's Velo City field office were at the top of the latter list. Stepping outside to join them, I asked, “So what brings you two here at,” pausing to look at the Rolex GMT Master watch I wore, “8:30 in the morning?”

“David Young. ” Ins. Christensen said. That brought a chill to my blood. He continued. “He escaped during a Bureau of Prisons transfer from Marion to Leavenworth a couple of days ago; we only found out about his identity last night from the FBI office in Salt Lake City. We only felt it was appropriate that you should be notified of what happened.”

“So, what happened?”

“After his trial, he was supposed to have been sent to USP Marion, which he was. But somehow he managed to escape while he was being transferred by ground transport from Marion to Leavenworth. Several accomplices, members of a Kansas militia group, are believed to have set up an ambush for the express purpose of springing him from the transfer vehicle. The escape attempt was brazen in its’ violence. All told, three guards and five other inmates were killed during the escape. At first, we also thought Young was on the bus.......until,” handing me a photo of Young taken in Salt Lake City, Utah, “a Salt Lake policeman spotted Young near Temple Square. He gave chase but Young escaped. That surveillance photo is the last we’ve seen him, which was three days ago.” By now my blood was probably the temperature of liquid nitrogen but outwardly I remained calm. “So, where is he?”

“That we don’t know,” replied Agent Pritchett. “Best guess........he’s going to try to return to Velo City. When he escaped from that pursuit in Salt Lake, the Salt Lake Metro PD sent us a photo they recovered following the chase,” handing me a second photo. The photo was of FBI Agent Stephanie Harrington, taken in Velo City prior to her death. “We think he’s going to try to finish what he started–“

”You think?,” I said to him, my anger finally starting to rise. “Let me ask you this, then. Why was he being transferred on the ground? Aren’t most federal prison transfers done via air?”

“Most of the time; why this one wasn’t..........,” Christensen waved his hand back-and-forth in a ‘who knows’ kind of manner. “All we know is that if he does return to Velo City, he’s likely to come after you.”

“Let him; I caught him last time, fellas’. I can catch him again if I have to,” I said. As we were talking, Kelsey stepped outside, wearing a long silk kimono-style robe. “What’s wrong? And who are these.....?”

“FBI, Mrs. Little.” The pair introduced themselves and explained what they were doing and why they were there; Kelsey’s reaction was a mix of shock and anger. “I can understand this Young going after Matt,” pointing over towards me, “but why would he want to come after me?”

“Simple; we think Young’ll go after anyone and anything in his way to get to him. The only problem is that until we actually have evidence that he’s in Velo City, we can’t assign protective agents to either of you and by then.......,” waving his hand back and forth again, “we could have a repeat of what happened before.” Handing us each a card, Christensen added, “If we find out anything, we’ll let you know. Good day.” As both agents walked back to their car, I turned around and walked back into the house, Kelsey right behind me. I sat down, the blood in my veins still chilled by what I had been told. After what seemed like an agonizing silence, she asked, “What’s wrong, Matt?”

For a long time I didn’t say anything; no words seemed to form. Then I laid out the whole ball of wax about who David Young was and what he had done two years ago; I didn’t hold anything back, I just let the chips fall where they would fall. Outwardly, I continued to keep a calm exterior but if one could’ve seen inside me, they would’ve seen something a lot different. They would’ve seen someone who knew, deep inside, that a day of reckoning was coming, one I could no longer avoid or put aside...............for that day was on the near horizon and there didn't seem to be anything I could do to avoid it.

[mlittle]

Chapter 3


***late TH morning, Zero Degrees, Taravel District***
With everything that had happened still fresh in my mind, I headed down to Zero Degrees as was my normal custom; when I arrived, I handed the keys to the Aero to one of the valets’, with instructions to keep it parked nearby. As I entered the club, I saw the usual suspects near the ground-floor bar. Heading over to the bar, I ordered an iced tea rather than the usual glass of bourbon or scotch. “You alright, Matt? You look a little.....what’s the word, frazzled?,” asked Zero’s chief bartender, Kent.

“Yeah, I’m alright, Kent. Unfortunately, Kelsey and I got a visit this morning from Frick and Frack–“

”Frick and Frack?,” asked Zero’s floor manager, Patrick Hamilton. The Memphis-born Hamilton, a/k/a Ravyn, was Zero's floor manager and knew pretty much everything that went on in the club.

As I explained why they had visited us this morning, Ravyn’s jaw nearly went through the floor. “You’re kidding? That s-o-b’s on the loose?”

“Yeah, he escaped during a prisoner transfer and he could be headed here.” Finishing the glass of tea, I set it back down on the bar and looked towards the second-floor area of Zero. “Rest of the gang here?”

“Yeah, they’re up there waiting on you.” As he was saying that I bounded up the stairs to the second-floor offices of M-K Investigations, which operated from Zero’s second-floor during the day. All the gang was there; Mike Chevalier, Mike Smith, Matt Frechette, Melissa Marquis.......in other words, the usual suspects.

“Hey, everyone!,” I said, grabbing a chair from a nearby table. For about thirty minutes we talked about a couple of cases the agency was working on, then I spoke up, having not said anything up to that point. “Let’s try to wrap these cases up as soon as possible, okay?” Everyone nodded and began to leave, but Mike Chevalier hung around and waited ‘til everyone had left. Grabbing another chair and sitting down, he looked right at me and said, “Are you alright, Matt?”

“Not really, Slick. Apparently, the Whisper escaped from federal custody a couple of days ago and could be headed here. I just.......,” pausing to catch myself for a moment before continuing, “can’t decide what to do. I mean, whatever happens to me, I don’t care. I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Kelsey, you know?”

“I hear you,” Chevalier replied. “You thinking of anything specific?”
“Not sure at the moment. I’m thinking of a couple of ideas–“
”Such as?”

“Having Kelsey go up to our cabin in Big Bear and stay there until all this blows over, for starters.” Mike knew exactly the place I was talking about, a two-story cabin set in the woods along the south shore of Big Bear Lake that I had bought several years back. “Can we change the subject, Slick?”

“Sure, what to?”

“I don’t know, like.....” Just then my cell chirped; fishing it out from my front pants pocket I answered, “Hello?” Smiling as I heard my wife’s voice on the other end, I started swatting Mike away, pantomiming, ‘Go away! Go!’. He walked away laughing, then came back over and started pantomiming as if he were looking for something as I closed the cell a few minutes later. “What on earth are you looking for, Mike?”

Acting as if he were brushing away lint off of my shirt, he deadpanned, “Oh, just looking for the choke collar–“

Mock-flexing a punch, I pushed him away. “Oh, shut up!,” I said sarcastically. “Like you’re one to talk, Slick. You’ve been married a decade; Sarah’s probably got one embedded around your neck!” We both laughed about that one for a few moments before I got up from the table. “Where ya’ off to?”

“Downtown....I’ll probably be there an hour or so,” grabbing my sport jacket as I continued, “then a couple of other things before I come back for the afternoon sit-around.”

“Be careful, Matt, alright?” Nodding over at him, I headed down the stairs and walked out to my car. Little did I know what was about to happen..........

(TH afternoon, Mid-Wilshire)
The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the pavement in waves as I pulled to the curb along N. Fairfax near one of Velo City’s major landmarks, the Fairfax Farmers’ Market. One of the oldest institutions in the city, the nearly block-wide market was an anchor for the city’s Wilshire District, within easy distance of Studio City and the Miracle Mile. It was also one of Kelsey’s favorite haunts, for it was within walking distance of Mid-Wilshire and Carthay Center where she had lived in her youth.

As I walked through the Fairfax entrance, I headed towards the stairs and the second-floor shops above. All around the sounds of at least a dozen languages could be heard, the reflection of the mosaic that Velo City was. There was an almost electric atmosphere to the place matching anything to be found elsewhere in the city. Bounding the stairs two at a time, I headed down the broad corridor towards one of the shops in particular. Knowing the place was a favorite of hers’, I quietly walked in. The clerk, knowing who I was, pointed over to one of the shops’ aisles.

Keeping a quiet demeanor, I walked up behind her and in a quiet voice, whispered, “I always thought those were nice.” Startled, she turned around then put her arms around me. “How’d you know.....”

“The clerk sorta’ gave you away,” I said, canting my head back towards the entrance. Glowering towards her older sister, Claire, Kelsey called out, “Thanks, Sis!”

“Anytime,” came the reply. By Candlelight had been in the McNeal family for almost three decades and Kelsey’s older sister, Claire, now ran the shop their father had opened back in 1980. It was one of the Market’s most popular locations and had been featured in the Velo City Times’ Style section several times. Turning back to me, she asked, “What brings you by?”

“Had to talk to a client over in Mid-City; another case in the books.” Quickly kissing her on the cheek, I turned the question around. “And you?”

“Oh, I came by to pick up a few things for our anniversary. Okay, here and a few other places,” she said with a nod and a wink. After a few minutes at the counter, we headed out of the shop. As we were walking I said, “You know, I was just thinking. Instead of waiting ‘til next week to head up to Big Bear, why don’t we go up there this weekend and celebrate our anniversary then?”

“This weekend?”

“Yeah, we’ll go up tomorrow afternoon and come back next week.”
“Matt, I–“

”Think about it, darling. A trip up there’ll do us both some good. We’ll be able to relax in the beauty of the woods and the lake. We’ll have ourselves a nice candlelight dinner, some Cabernet, listen to some jazz and.........,” saying a few other things sotto voce that caused her to say, “You really are an awful person, Matthew–“

”Awful? Me, awful?,” I replied in a somewhat injured yet amusing tone.

“Yes, awful. Just look at how you distract me from the worries of the world,” she said.

“True,” I said, holding her close as we continued to walk towards the Fairfax entrance, “but a distraction every so often never hurt, now did it?” Exiting the Market, we turned and began to walk along N. Fairfax when we heard the screeching sounds of a car doing a very fast U-turn some distance down Fairfax.

Turning to look, both of us saw a large, late-model sedan driving towards us with the windows down. Although I wasn’t sure quite what was going on, Kelsey's experiences as a cop were enough to spot a drive-by and without hesitating, she yelled, “Get down!”

As onlookers dove for cover, both of us crouched and ran towards a nearby car. Suddenly, the air above filled with the crack and whistle of large-caliber rounds being fired at close range. Diving behind a nearby car, I heard several rounds hit the side of the car; behind me, little pockmarks appeared on a wall where several more hit. Then, as soon as it began, it was over; an eerie silence came over that stretch of Fairfax as the vehicle burned rubber and headed up Fairfax. As the silence went away, I could hear someone crying up the street. In the distance a siren could be heard, likely a VCPD black-and-white headed here. Running back over to where Kelsey was, I sat down next to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think. Let me check,” she said, doing a quick pat-down of herself. Then, she stopped and put her hand around near the small of her back. “What is it?,” I asked.

“I don’t know.....,” she said, feeling around. Bringing her hand back around, both of us saw that it had blood on it. “What......” It was then that she felt the pain from the wound; gritting her teeth, she looked at me with a pained expression. “Guess I didn’t duck, huh?”

I didn’t laugh; instead, I had her lean over and pulled up the back of her blouse to take a look. Sure enough, there appeared to be an entry wound around the lower right area of her back. Although I only saw one, Kelsey was in too much pain to have it come from just one wound. As the sirens grew closer, I did another quick glance. It was then that I noticed her left thigh, which looked to be soaked in blood. Pulling my belt off, I used it as a tourniquet to stop any additional blood loss.

Telling her to stay where she was, I got up and looked down Fairfax in the direction the drive-by car had taken. Although I didn’t know who had done the shooting, I had a pretty damned good idea who had put it together. As I continued to look down Fairfax, I felt my blood begin to boil. I thought to myself, You want to dance, Whisper? Okay....We can dance.

[mlittle]

Chapter 4



***late TH evening, Olympia Medical Center, Carthay Square***
If there was one place I hated being at more than any other, it had to be hospitals. Every time I ever visited one it was never under the best of circumstances and this evening was one of them. Sitting in the 5th-floor waiting room, I kept looking at my watch and thinking, What was going on? I knew enough about gunshot wounds to know that whatever was happening, the longer the wait, the worse the probable outcome yet I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what had taken place. It was a good thing I was the only one in the waiting room, for despite it being a warm June evening, I felt as though I was freezing. I got up, shaking myself to try to get the blood going again and to try to get my mind off of what had occurred.

Walking over to the coffee machine, I poured another cup; my hands were shaking so badly I had to stop twice, calm down and pour slowly. Just as I had finished, the door to the waiting room opened and in walked several EIC members, including EIC’s head of security and Zero’s floor manager. “Hey, guys,” I said weakly, more from exhaustion than fear.

“We got down here as soon as we heard, “ Bulletproof replied. “Ravyn’s been calling everyone, letting 'em know what happened and all. They tell you anything yet?”

“No–.” Just as I said it, a nurse stuck her head in the door on the far side of the waiting room. “Excuse me, but is there a Matthew Little here?” I looked over and stuck my hand up in the air, letting her know. Walking over to her, she added, “Dr. Billets would like to talk to you for a few minutes. If you’ll follow me, sir.....” Turning back to everyone, I said, “I’ll be right back,” before following the nurse out of the waiting room and down the corridor. Turning right at the first intersection, I saw a sign up ahead saying, “SURGICAL RECOVERY”, along with a short, petite woman standing nearby in surgical clothes. “Mr. Little? I’m Dr. Grace Billets, chief attending surgeon. I have some good news for you.”

“You do?”

“That I do, sir. Your wife’s one very fortunate woman, considering she was hit twice at close range with a large-caliber weapon.” She went on to explain what the extent of Kelsey’s injuries were, which were not as serious as first thought. “The wound to her lower back was actually from a ricochet and not an actual entry wound. The wound to her upper left thigh was a straight through-and-through. She was lucky, too; that bullet came very close to severing her left femoral artery. There was some ballistic shock from that wound, but there wasn’t any major damage to bone, muscle or nerve that we could find. The prognosis is actually quite good. Barring any complications, we’ll probably keep her through the weekend, which is fairly standard for gunshot victims in her condition, before she’s released.”

“Can I see her?” I was pretty much jumping up and down inside, happy at the good news.

“Sure, right this way.” I followed Dr. Billets’ through the automatic doors that marked the hospital’s recovery rooms down about a third of the way before stepping aside. Walking in, I saw Kelsey lying on the hospital bed, talking to her older sister. After a moment, Claire saw me and walked over, giving me a hug and asking how I was holding up. “Better than I was a little bit ago,” I quipped. Seeing Kelsey smile from the hospital bed, I added, “And how’re you doing?”

“I feel like I got hit by a bus,” she replied. “You know, Matthew, we gotta’ stop meeting like this,” she added, bringing a laugh from both myself and Claire. “Wait, I’m supposed to be the bullet magnet here, not you,” I joked. Grabbing a nearby chair, I sat down, words not expressing how I was feeling. “You know, everyone from Zero’s is back in the waiting room; you want to talk to them–“

”Yeah, I’d like that,” she said. “They’ll only let two or three in at a time, though. Claire, would you excuse us for a few minutes, please?” As she walked out of the room, Kelsey’s smile went away. “Are you alright, Matt?”

“Other than running on straight adrenalin for about the past five hours or so, yes I’m alright.” Before I could say anything else, Mike Chevalier popped his head into the room. “Matt, we gotta’ talk.” Getting up from the chair, I leaned down and gave my wife a kiss before whispering to her, “Get some rest, okay?” She smiled as I walked out of the room. Heading down the hallway back towards the waiting room, I said to Mike, “What’d you hear?”

“A couple of things. Not here, though.” Wondering what in the world he was talking about, we walked to one of the elevators, then headed down to the hospital’s cafeteria. Grabbing yet another cup of coffee, we found a table near the exit and sat down. “Fire away, Slick.”

“Okay, I talked to my source over in Vice. According to him, Robbery-Homicide’s got the case," rifling through a small notepad. "Lead investigator’s a Sgt. Hilbiber if I recall–“

”Why RHD? Why not Hollywood or Wilshire?”

“Simple. You got, one, a high-profile drive-by shooting on a major Velo City thoroughfare. A media case if there ever was one. Two, there were two fatalities and several wounded, Kelsey being among them. Throw in the fact that Kelsey was an ex-cop......my guess is the department brass on the 10th floor of Parker Center are looking at this as a hit on her, not you. On the other hand, they know about the Whisper’s escape from federal custody, so everyone in RHD wants to put this case down and hard, if not for any other reason than, active or no, no one takes a shot at an officer without getting one major Velo City-style beatdown.”

I winced at the thought of VCPD officers going nightstick on any suspects in this case; the department was less than two years out from under a federal consent decree for just the type of brutality the department was long infamous for. “And, if the locals put this case down before the Feds get their hands on it, it’d be one major embarrassment for that bald-headed prick,” Chevalier added, referring to Inspector Christensen. “I mean, think about it.....the locals catch the Whisper right under his nose and put him down on state charges.” He then changed subjects on the fly. “How’s Kelsey doing?”

“Better than expected,” I replied, telling Mike about her injuries and the expected prognosis. “Unless anything changes, they’ll probably release her Monday.”

“That’s good to hear.” Before he could continue, I threw one back at him. “You know, something doesn’t add up, Mike.”
“What doesn’t add up?”

“I don’t know........I don’t know. There’s something here I’m not seeing. If this was the Whisper’s doing, why the outside hitters? I mean, if it’s me he’s after, why go after Kelsey–“

”Easy. He’s probably so full of rage and revenge over you catching him the first time around, he figures you owe him. How is anyone’s guess.......” As he spoke, I finished the cup of coffee and started to get up. “You okay, Matt?”

“Not really; as much coffee as I’ve drunk and as wired as I am at the moment......”

As I stood Mike got out his cellphone and talked for a little bit. Closing it, he said, “If you’re going back to your place, I’ll drive. Brewer and Luckett will go with us, watch over you ‘til morning.” Raising my hands up in a ‘whatever’ manner, I got up and followed him back up to the hospital’s parking structure, where Michael Brewer and Annie Luckett were waiting for us next to Slick’s ‘upgraded’ S-10 truck. After climbing into the truck, we headed out of the parking garage and pulled out onto Olympic Blvd. for the drive up to Kensington Hills.

(TH/FR night, 2212 Baker St., Kensington Hills)
After what seemed like an hour on the myriad of surface streets, Mike’s truck pulled up to the driveway in front of my house. All four of us piled out of the truck as I walked up to the door. Opening it, I turned the lights on. The house seemed a little emptier but knowing Kelsey was alright lessened the emptiness. “Make yourselves at home,” I called out, grabbing a couple of glasses from a side cabinet. Setting them on the table, I opened the freezer and got a few handfuls of ice, putting some into each glass.

Reaching over for a bottle of Old Forester 75', I poured some into each glass then handed one each to everyone before I grabbed the last one and headed for the den. “And now you’ve seen my humble abode,” I said, bringing a small chuckle from everyone. Sitting down, I took a long sip of the bourbon, letting it roll for a bit before swallowing. Setting the glass down, I sat back in the large chair I kept in the den; it wasn’t long before I drifted off to sleep, a slight smile on my face as I thought of what had been avoided today. In the back of my mind, though, one image kept popping in....................the image of the man behind what had happened today; the evil that was personified as the Whisper.

[mlittle]

Chapter 5



***FR morning, Kensington Hills***
It was the television that woke me up the next morning; I slowly opened both eyes and looked around. Mike Chevalier was sitting in another chair and looked to be half-asleep himself; Brewer and Luckett were nowhere to be found. Getting up out of the chair, I felt my back twinge slightly; reaching back, I could feel the familiar presence of the Bren Ten .45 pistol I regularly carried with me. Taking it out from its’ concealed location, I set it down on the table next to me. The noise caused Mike to wake. Startled, he looked over from the other chair. “Glad to see you’ve joined the rest of the real world, Slick,” I said sarcastically. “We got a long day ahead of us.” Looking around, I added, “Where’s the two kids?”

“Brewer & Luckett? I sent them back to Zero a few hours ago,” he replied. “While you’ve been asleep overnight, I’ve been working the cell phone and found out a couple of things,” pulling out his notepad and rifling through it. “Alright, first. My source over at Vice says they got an ID on the car that did the drive-by yesterday. They’re looking for a red, maroon ‘79 Lincoln Continental; last seen down in Ladera Heights. Second, there was an anonymous call made to RHD overnight. someone left a message about the Whisper, saying someone high up in the Velo FBI office helped set up the prisoner transfer that started the whole thing–“

”They say who?”

“I’m getting to that. According to my source, it had to be federal because of the fact that Young was a guest of the United States government at Marion so any transfer from one federal prison to another has to be made by someone with authorization to do so or someone who can hack into the DOJ’s computers back east. Finally, there may have a Whisper sighting–“

”Where?”

“Somewhere down in the Harbor District. Before you tear-a#% down there, though.....they didn’t say where. All I’ve heard is that it’s somewhere in that area.” As he continued to speak, I got up and began to walk out of the den towards the main bedroom. A few minutes later, with a fresh set of clothes and a million thoughts at hand, I walked back into the den and picked up the Bren Ten, putting it back into its’ familiar concealed location. “Where are you going, Matt? You’re not thinking of going after him–“

”Oh, I’ll go after that son of a ***** but now isn’t the time. I’m going down to the Harbor to see an old friend.” Without waiting, I grabbed a light jacket and walked out to the Wraith, which thankfully had been brought to the house overnight from Fairfax. Doing a short walk-around, I was amazed to find no bullet holes or damage to the car; as I got back to the driver’s side door, Mike walked out of the house. “I’ve got the keys; go ahead and lock up. I’ll see you at Zero’s this afternoon, okay?” Before he could say anything else, I was already backing out of the driveway and headed down Baker St. for the drive down to the Harbor.

(late FR morning, Harbor District)
After a short visit to the hospital to see Kelsey, I headed down to the Harbor District, partly to get a lay of the land but mainly to talk to an old friend. Keeping the Wraith around 90mph on the drive down, I weaved in and out of the heavy traffic heading south on the 405 freeway, feeling the crisp sounds of the Wraith’s twin-turbo Crimson V10 as I threaded my way towards the Harbor, the sounds of The Cars’ “Stranger Eyes” playing from the speakers. Eventually, I made my down to San Pedro and the dockside quays where my good friend and former cellmate from Terminal Island had his sport-fishing business. Off to one side, the sign was still there or so I thought; it read B & B Pacific Tours.

I did a double-take looking at the sign and thought, B and what? I got my answer the minute I pulled into the parking lot outside the main building where Lee’s offices were. Right near the front parking area were two cars, one of them a dark-red Lamborghini Murcielago while the other one was a silver-black 2010 Dodge Challenger SRT-8. I thought to myself, that cannot be who I think it is, although I had a pretty good suspicion as to who it could be. Those suspicions were confirmed the minute I walked into the main office and asked whether Lee Brinson was around. The person at the main desk replied, “I think he’s looking at a boat out on the docks. Let me see if Erica’s around.”

I had one of those did-she-say-what-I-think-she-said moments, which was confirmed a few moments later when a well-dressed woman walked into the main office. “Lee says every time something bad happens in Velo City, you always ask for his help. At least you know where the shop is,” said former FBI special agent Erica Bronder.

“And I see your sardonic wit hasn’t left the building either,” I replied, giving her a quick hug and greeting. “I thought you were–“

”Still with the Feds? No, I turned in my badge right after.....well, you know what I’m referring to,” she said. I nodded as I knew exactly what events those were.

“Anyway, what brings you down here?” I explained everything that had happened; as I spoke, the color seemed to drain from Bronder’s face as if she had seen a ghost. “But I thought he was still–“

”He was. He escaped during a prisoner transfer about a week or so ago and tried to kill me yesterday in a drive-by along N. Fairfax. As crazy and psychotic as it seems the Whisper’s become, who knows what he could do next.” We continued talking for a couple more minutes before one of the doors which led to the docks opened and in walked the other half of B & B Pacific Tours. “Lee, how’s it going, brother?”

“Fine, for someone who had to spend time at Terminal Island with you," he quipped. "How’s life treating you, Webster?,” he said, trying to bear-hug me and failing at it. “Lee, you could never succeed at that.....besides,” I replied, turning the tables on him, “you were never that strong to begin with!” After setting him back down, I asked, "When did you and Erica.....”

“Hook up? Been going on about a year and a half now, Matt. So, what brings you down to the docks?”

I explained the situation to Lee; his reaction was pretty much the same as Erica’s.......”and you think he might be down here in the Harbor?”

“I don’t know. All I’ve heard is that someone might’ve seen him in this area, so watch your backs, okay? The really odd thing, Lee.....and this is where I need those rat-lines of yours, my friend........is someone with a lot of juice had to have authorized the transfer which set up the escape attempt itself. Either someone in DOJ or someone here. My gut tells me it’s on this end.”

Blowing out some air, Brinson whistled softly before replying. “Okay. My guess is someone hacked into the DOJ’s servers and found a way into the transfer system–“

”JPATS.”
“Excuse me, Erica?”

“JPATS. Justice Prisoner and Alien Transportation System. ‘Con Air’ to you two ex-felons,” Bronder replied. “It’s a system the feds use to transfer federal inmates from location to location, almost always through the air but every so often they use ground transport. But for a prisoner such as David Young, someone had to have hacked in and approved a transfer. There, normally, should be no way someone that violent is ever transported on the ground.” Both of us looked at Bronder as she continued. “There is one thing, though. If someone had the codes to get into the JPATS system, they could alter the transfer schedule and who went where.” The conversation between the three of us continued for about a half-hour before the phone at the main desk began to ring. Answering it, Brinson held the receiver over towards me. “For you, Matt.”

Grabbing the receiver, I answered, “Hello?” Motioning for them to give me a little space, I listened as the man on the other end spoke. “I hear you’re looking for the Whisper. Meet me at Daniels Field, corner of 12th and Meyler. Thirty minutes. Don’t be late.” The phone clicked and the connection ended. Handing the receiver back to Lee, I looked over at Bronder, “Erica, who was in the Street Racing Task Force when you were still a Fed?”

“There were,” she said, pausing to remember, “about 15 of us in the SRTF here in Velo City. Christensen was the task force leader, Pritchett his second–“

”Guess who was just on the phone?” It took a half-second for Bronder to reply, “Pritchett? Pritchett!?”
“One and the same. Wonder what he has to say, though?”

“Who knows? Daniels Field, that’s what, about 15 minutes or so from here?”
“Yeah; you want us to go with you?”

“Yes, but not visible. By the sound of his voice I don’t think he wants to talk to more than one person, so when we get over there, just stay along the periphery of the field while I talk to him.” As the three of us walked to our cars, I wondered what could be pushing a senior FBI agent like Nate Pritchett to talk to me behind his boss’s thick-headed dome? Then I thought to myself, If Inspector Carson is somehow involved in all this, then Pritchett’s looking for an Out, a way to clear his name before it gets too far out of hand. But where was the connection?

Starting up the Wraith, I backed out onto San Pedro, hoping that I had just a break in the case. However, the same thought came to mind, Where is the connection between Christensen and the Whisper? Was there anyone else involved? And how many people would I have to go through to get to the Whisper? These questions flowed through my mind as I headed over to Daniels Field for what was going to be a very interesting conversation.

[mlittle]

Chapter 6



***late FR morning, Daniels Field, San Pedro***
As I drove over to Daniels Field, a block-size park in the heart of San Pedro, I kept wondering what was so important that someone high up in the FBI’s Velo City field office would risk a one-on-one conversation, but he couldn’t have picked a more open place. With its’ broad expanse and multi-story buildings along each side of the field, anyone would have a near-clear view of myself and Pritchettl. Grabbing one of the rovers Lee had gotten out of his office, I keyed the mic. “Lee, Erica, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear you,” came Lee’s reply. Moments later Bronder replied, “Go!”

“Okay, I’m gonna park along 12th Street close to Cabrillo and walk down to where Pritchett wants to meet. Erica, find a spot to watch across the park; Lee, park along Meyler and walk towards me as I move along 12th, okay?” As they keyed their mics’ I heard the Aero’s built-in Bluetooth begin to chirp. Pressing the talk and speaker buttons, I spoke. “Go ahead; you’re on speaker.”

“Matt, its’ Mike. Where are you at right now?”
“San Pedro. I’m on the way to talk to, of all people, Agent Pritchett.” I could just imagine Slick’s expression as I continued. “It seems he wants a face-to-face about the Whisper, Mike.”

“Well, watch yourself, alright,” he replied. “I don’t trust Pritchett and I know you ain’t fond of him, so be careful.” The connection clicked off as I turned onto 12th Street and pulled to the curb. Spanish-style homes and buildings lined both sides of the street as I got out and crossed the street. Dashing over, I began walking towards the northwest corner of Daniels Field. Looking over, I saw several dozen people enjoying a Friday afternoon in the park, oblivious to what was going on. Up ahead was a large park bench facing towards the street. Sitting on one end was Agent Piersall, who seemed to be in a nervous mood.

Make that two of us, I thought as I continued along 12th Street. Glancing across the park, I saw Bronder’s Challenger parked along 13th Street; Lee’s Lambo was parked on Meyler, north towards 12th. Finally, I reached the bench. Hearing my approach, Pritchettl turned and motioned for me to sit down; taking the other half of the bench, I asked him, “You wanted to talk. So talk.”

Taking several deep breaths, Pritchett began. “A couple of months back, someone approached Inspector Christensen concerning certain events involving the SRTF and its’ members. I never caught the entire conversation, but whatever it was must have spooked Rich a lot–“
”What was it about?”

Shaking his head, Piersall continued. “What I’m about to tell you could get both of us killed. In early 2005, the FBI offices in Velo City, Chicago, New York and Dallas began what later became known as Operation Whisper Falls. A small operation, by bureau standards but its’ purpose and goal was simple..........to arrest former agent turned master criminal David Young, a/k/a the Whisper. To do this, the bureau brought in several agents from across the country, agents who could easily immerse themselves in Velo City’s street racing and/or underworld culture without anyone getting wind of their activities. The plan was to infiltrate the growing criminal organization the Whisper had built up in Velo City with the eventual goal of arresting him and several others,” handing me a manila folder with what I assumed were bureau documents inside.

Opening the folder, I began reading as Pritchett continued. “It took us almost two years but we finally were able to get one of our agents deep into Young’s criminal organization. Despite the history between the agent in question and the Whisper, the agent was able to rise to a position of trust in the Young organization, effectively becoming the equivalent of a capo in the Syndicate. At the time of her death in September 2009 we were within two months of going to the federal grand jury here in Velo City and getting indictments against the whole of Young’s organization, right up to the Whisper himself. Everything from loan-sharking, theft, embezzlement, corruption, smuggling.....all the way up to murder. Through her efforts we were able to get our best glimpse into the criminal underworld of Velo City than at any other time in the bureau’s history here on the West Coast.”

It sounded as though he were giving a press conference at the FBI's Westwood offices rather than telling me about the Whisper, but I didn’t interrupt him. Then he dropped a bombshell on top of everything else he had said. “Unfortunately, your crossing paths with the agent in question in May & June 2009 began the sequence of events that resulted in the murder of said agent in front of the Zero Degrees nightclub that evening in September. The agent’s name, Mr. Little, was Stephanie Harrington.” I sat back, stunned at what he said. “No other FBI agent has managed to get as deep into any criminal organization as Harrington was able to, and that includes all the myriad of mob-related operations back east. Oh, we got several dozen indictments and convictions out of the veritable treasure trove of information she was able to amass–“

”Wait, wait, wait.........I thought she’d been re-assigned to support–“

”That was what we instructed agents who were asked about it to say, but let me finish. When you and her hooked up, Young found out from a high-level source who Harrington was. The contracts on both of you back then was an incidental coincidence. We had two choices.........either pull her out and get what we could. Or leave her in, despite the risks and keep at it. When we told her in June 2009 about the contract on her life, she said she would continue. No hesitation, no doubt in her mind. She was that committed to taking Young down. And yes, I knew the history between Harrington and Young.......,” pausing for effect. “You see, I was her handler during the course of the operation. In fact, the afternoon of her death, we had held another debriefing session with her; we had no idea what was going to happen that night........” Pritchett stared out towards Meyler for a moment before continuing on.

“Anyway, the bureau’s been trying to find out who blew Harrington’s cover then. Everyone in the SRTF, myself included, were questioned at length about it and given polygraph tests.....everyone except...........” He handed me another folder. This one had a list of all the agents and support personnel who were questioned by polygraph at the time. “Look at the list and see if anyone jumps out.” I scanned the list and noticed a name absent from it. “Christensen’s not on the list–“

”That’s your high-level leak. Our dear old SRTF boss leaked the name of an FBI agent to a known underworld criminal, the end result being her death. Now do you see why I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Little?”

“If this is true, why the charade he put on after I caught the Whisper the first time around and why the act –“

”He’d received several cash payments from someone who we’ve never identified, payments which should've caught the eye of our internal affaisrs people but for some reason never did. Anyway, it was Christensen who changed the schedule to put Young on a ground transfer. Of course, no one could’ve foreseen that Young would use outside help to escape during the transfer.” Forget stunned, I thought to myself. By now my blood was beginning to boil as the implications of what I’d just heard bounced around.

That *******, I thought. Not only was Carson the leak back then, but he had been the one who set up the circumstances of Young’s escape. When I get a hold of him, he’s gonna’ wish he’d never crossed paths with me. After a few strained moments of silence, Pritchett got up. I followed suit, the folders tightly held in my hands. “For what it’s worth, I hope you can take both of them down. Good day, and farewell.”

With that, Pritchett began walking away. I sat back down on the bench, too stunned to say anything. Several minutes passed before both Lee and Erica joined me. I told then what Pritchett had said, prompting a few muttered obscenities from Bronder and a look of ‘what-the-hell” from Brinson. “You gonna’ go after Christensen, Matt?”

Looking over at Brinson, I nodded, then added, “Wanna help?”
“Sure, why not. Erica?”
“Yeah, I’ll help, what do you need?”

Reeling off a list of things and plans I needed, I added, “Hopefully, if this plan works, we’ll find out where the Whisper is and put an end to this pretty soon. Let me know when you two are ready, alright?” Both of them nodded and walked to their own vehicles as I walked back to the Wraith. Driving away from the park, both folders in the passenger seat, I felt both exhilaration and anger, purpose and hate flow through me in a yin-yang sort of way. I was now closer to getting the Whisper, but the added roadblock that was Inspector Christensen now stood in the way. How anyone like him could’ve let someone like Stephanie hang in the wind was a mystery, one I would soon get the answers to. Hopefully, those answers would lead me to getting rid of the evil that was the Whisper once and for all.

[mlittle]

Chapter 7



***SA afternoon, Olympia Medical Center, Carthay Square***
After spending most of Friday running down leads, I headed over to the hospital to check on Kelsey and see how she was doing. Pulling into one of the parking spaces in the hospital’s parking structure, I couldn’t help but think about what Agent Piersall had said to me down in San Pedro. I sat in the Aero for what seemed like forever, thinking back to the good times Stephanie and I had shared back then and squaring those thoughts with what Pritchett had said. Something kept bugging me, though......Steph and I, at the time, had hooked up after the armored car heist, the one that involved the Whisper, yet how could the Whisper have known who she was unless someone close to her had told him?

According to Pritchett, it had been Inspector Christensen who was the leak, yet I couldn’t immediately accept that line of reasoning. Too convenient, I thought to myself, getting out of the Wraith and quickly walking to the parking structure’s bank of elevators. Standing towards the back of the elevators, I nodded as several of the hospital staff got on at the ground floor. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I exited on the fifth floor and headed down the hallway to Kelsey’s hospital room. Seeing Zero’s lead bartender along with a few other Zero regulars, I walked over and in my usual nonchalant manner asked, “Let me guess. This is a weekly barstaff meeting?”

Turning to face me, Kent replied, “Yeah, and Rhino’s moving one of the bar fridges’ up to the second-floor at Zero, too! How’s things, Matt?,” he said, offering a quickly accepted handshake.

“Fine, going along pretty good.” Kent introduced me to the others standing near him. “In case you didn’t know them,” pointing to each one, “these motley characters,” drawing a groan from one and an eyeroll from me, “are Aussie, Chuck and Billi.” As the four of us introduced ourselves, I looked over at Kent. “This is gonna’ sound odd, but don’t hospitals normally frown upon large groups of people outside of hospital rooms?”

“Never fear,” Kent replied. “Ravyn, Bulletproof and Scandalous all spoke to both Dr. Billets and hospital security. We explained the situation and EIC's offered to reimburse the hospital for any and all security-related charges. It seems they get their share of VIPs’, celebrities and other notables here, so they agreed. I’d hate to see the charges after all this, but–“

”It’s worth it, Kent. It’s worth it.” Changing tack, I added, “Do me a favor. 911 both Ravyn and Chevalier; have them meet me here ASAP.” Kent got out his ever-present Blackberry and began making his calls as I stuck my head inside the room. Seeing that Kelsey was asleep, I grabbed a chair and sat down, not wanting to disturb her. I hadn’t been sitting for more than a minute or two when I felt her arm snake across mine. Looking over, I saw that Kelsey was awake and glancing over at me. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, I just thought I’d close my eyes and see how long it’d take you to notice I wasn’t asleep.” Propping herself on her elbows, she talked for several minutes, adding, “I haven’t had so many people see me since I graduated from the academy, not just from the club but some of my former colleagues from the department. There are times where I don’t miss the Job, but I do miss my friends, though.” Stopping to grab a note from a nearby table, she added, “There was a message for you from a Sgt. Hilbiber–“

”Ohh, not him again,” I groaned.

“Yeah, Science came by and said they arrested someone for the drive-by. They’ve got the guy over in the high-power module at County......” She paused for a moment as I asked her, “How’d he end up with a name like Science?”

“Simple. He knows more about forensic and criminal sciences than most of the department’s forensic techs. Now, he could tell you some interesting stories from our days down in 77th Division.” Seeing my confusion, she explained. “When I graduated from the police academy back in ‘95, my first assignment was down there, right in the middle of gang-banger central. Science was my patrol supervisor and training officer the first four months I was there. Let me tell you, he’s about as much of a straight-arrow within the VCPD as you’ll find anywhere. He’s probably forgotten more about police work than any ten others will learn in their careers.” Sighing, she laid back on the hospital bed. Glancing back over at me, she asked, “So, how's the search going?”

“Interesting, to say the least.” I mentioned the connection between the Whisper and Inspector Christensen, which drew a sharp and rapid reply from Kelsey. “I knew there was something I didn’t trust about that overgrown Mr. Clean wanna-be,” she said, the barest hint of anger in her voice.

Before I could reply, Kent stuck his head back in. “Matt, Ravyn’s in the parking garage. He’ll be up here in a few minutes. Mike’s on the Blackberry; he wants to talk to you.” Walking out of the room, I grabbed the Blackberry. “Go ahead, Mike.” I could tell from the sounds in the background he was on the highway.

“First things first, Matt. How’s Kelsey?”
“Doing better than expected. I spoke to Dr. Billets this morning and said they’ll likely discharge Kelsey on Sunday rather than Monday.”

“Man, that’s great news. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll ask Kelsey what she wants to do this evening or tomorrow morning. How’s things on your end?”

“Better than I thought. The Whisper is down in the Harbor District. My source tells me he’s looking to try to exit Velo City from there rather than overland.” Pausing for a moment, he added, “Don’t you have some friends down there, Matt?”

“Yeah, why?,” I replied, thinking of Lee and Erica.

“Hang on, I’m picking up something on the scanner.” In the background I could hear the radio traffic on a police-band scanner Slick kept in his truck. “Matt, do you know anyone who drives a silver Challenger–?” The words hadn’t traveled through the Blackberry as I took off for the elevators, a very bad feeling coming over me. Something was telling me something very bad had just happened.

***early SA afternoon, Harbor District, corner of W. 6th and Harbor***
Racing down the 405, I had a premonition that the Whisper was playing games with me, going after my wife and friends rather than me, but that was the Whisper in a nutshell. He was a grade-A coward and I wanted to put him down hard, damned the methods and the consequences. Come after me, Whisper, why don’t ya?, I thought to myself. Finally, I pulled off the 405, leaving a trail of burnt rubber on the freeway as I made my way down Harbor Blvd. towards 6th St. It wasn’t long before I saw and heard the numerous lights and sirens that marked a police crime scene.

Pulling to the curb, I hopped out of the Wraith and made my way towards the crowd when I saw the silver Challenger next to a street lamp, its' side riddled with bullets. Pushing through the crowd of on-lookers, one of the detectives at the scene saw me and waved me through. It was Sgt. Hilbiber. “What happened?” I asked him. Over near the Challenger was what appeared to be a pair of bodies in the street, covered with a bright yellow tarp. Back up Harbor a pair of ambulances raced up the road, dodging cars and lights on the way to Harbor-University Hospital. “Who are you again?”, he asked.

I told him who I was and about the note he left with Kelsey for me, then repeated my question. “What happened here?”

“We think either a drive-by or an ambush. First, though, come with me, sir.” The two of us walked over to the yellow tarp. The two of us kneeled down around the bodies as a uniform pulled the tarp back enough so that their faces could be seen. I waved for the uniform to put the sheet back down.....I knew who they were. Both of us got back up and began walking towards the east side of the street, away from the crime scene. “Well?,” he asked. “Did you recognize either of them?”

“Yeah, Sergeant, I did.” They would later confirm the ID's on both of my friends, but now the Whisper was making this a personal vendetta of mine. Looking upward, I saw a couple of media choppers doing their usual carrion dance. Off to the west, the sun appeared to be ducking behind some clouds, as if it didn’t want to witness the remainder of the day. Turning back to Sgt. Hilbiber, I asked him what he thought happened.

“Well, best guess and this is only a guess until we get enough evidence, but what it looks like is that your friends pulled up to the curb on Harbor to make the turn onto 6th St. and got boxed up in traffic. Then,” pointing to a nearby crosswalk, “someone walking by opened up on them with an automatic weapon; whoever was driving starting backing up and going forward in rapid succession, trying to push other vehicles out of the way. Eventually, they got to the street lamp,” pointing to where the Challenger was, “and bailed out of the car. Judging by the number of shell casings and empty magazines around the passenger-side doors, your friends put up a hell of a gunfight. It wasn’t enough, though.”

Walking over to the Challenger, he pointed to what appeared to be drag marks and blood stains on the pavement. “Whoever shot at them waited for them to run out of ammo. They then dragged them over to the other side of the street and,” pointing back to where the yellow tarp was, “shot them twice more, each in the head. Witnesses report seeing several men, dressed in black clothing, leaving the scene down Harbor Blvd. in a red-maroon late-model sedan. Everyone was ducking for cover, so they couldn’t be more specific.” My mind continued to race with thoughts of what had happened here. I could almost imagine what Lee and Erica had gone through and it made my skin crawl with shock, horror and anger. Turning back towards the Wraith, I began walking very quickly away from the crime scene; Sgt. Hilbiber called out behind me, “Where are you going?”

“To talk to somebody,” I replied back, not really caring if he heard me. Climbing into the Wraith, I backed up, then peeled away, racing hellbent towards the 405. As I hit the 405 for the drive back up to downtown Velo City, I had only one thought in mind.........I was going to find out where the Whisper was and end this game. There was going to be an accounting for what was happening and the Whisper and his minions would pay in full.

[mlittle]

Chapter 8
If you've ever seen the 2004 movie Man on Fire with Denzel Washington in it, you should have a halfway decent idea of what's about to happen in this chapter..............



***early SA evening, Federal Building, Downtown Velo City***
After stopping by Zero Degrees and going through the storage area in Ravyn’s office(I can just hear him going, ‘I gotta’ change the combination........again.’), I traveled down Kensington Blvd. to the heart of downtown Velo City with one singular purpose in mind......to get the location of the Whisper from Inspector Christensen. This time, however, I decided to go alone. If anything bad happened, I wasn’t about to let the rest of EIC get in trouble or lose anyone else to the Whisper and his minions. After reaching the heart of downtown, I made my way over to the Federal Building, officially named for the city’s founder, Peter J. Velo.

Parking along the curb, I waited for the inspector for leave for the day. I knew from my sources that Christensen liked to work on the weekends. As luck would have it, it had just turned 7pm when out the front doors of the 20-story complex walked Inspector Carson, who began to walk up S. San Pedro towards 7th St. Getting out of the Wraith, I started following him, checking to make sure the always familiar Bren Ten .45 I carried was in its’ concealed back location. Slowly I made my way up San Pedro, watching around to check that I wasn’t being followed as I followed Christensen towards the nearby intersection.

As he stood there waiting for the crosswalk to turn green, I drew the Bren Ten and hid it underneath my jacket, so that it wouldn’t be seen by anyone walking casually by. When I got up to Inspector Christensen, I walked right up to his left side, making sure he felt the .45 press up against his ribcage. “Don’t move,” I whispered to him. He turned, more shocked than anything. “What is this–?,” he began to say until he realized who was behind him. “What do you think you’re doing? You realize who I am?”

“I realize who you are.” Nodding to the right, I said, “Start walking.” We turned onto 7th St. where his car was. Knowing that he could try to pull his service piece on me, I kept the .45 underneath my jacket but firmly in his back so he wouldn’t reach for his. “When we get to your car, give me the keys. Then, take your gun and holster out from your waist and throw it in the back floorboard.”

We soon walked up to Carson’s car, a black 2009 Dodge Challenger. Appropriate color, I thought, considering what I had in mind for getting the Whisper’s whereabouts for it was the same color as my heart then. Tossing me the keys, he sneered, “Where are we going, ex-felon?,” trying to rile a reaction from me. Opening the back door, I said to him in a cold manner, “Get in.” He got in, but as he entered, I took the butt end of my .45 and struck him squarely in the head, knocking the bald-headed Carson out and leaving a gash in the process. After making sure he was restrained, I closed the passenger doors and got behind the wheel, turning the Challenger away from the curb onto 7th St., heading towards the 5 freeway and the drive back down to the Harbor.

***90 minutes later, below the Vincent Thomas Bridge***
Off in the distance, the lights of the Vincent Thomas Bridge could be seen. Looking over, I could see the safety lights on a couple of barges and container ships as they plied the waters of Velo Harbor. Back towards the 405, vehicles were beginning to turn on their lights as the western sun dropped below the horizon. Meanwhile, Inspector Christensen was trussed up to the Challenger's hood with zip-ties, bent over the front of the Challenger, nothing on but a pair of boxers.

Turning towards the car, I tore off the latex gloves I had on, tossing them in the open backseat of the Challenger and taking a couple of things with me, which I proceeded to place on the Challenger’s hood. Leaning on the car, I said in an evil stage tone, “You know where we are, Carson? Hmm? We’re under the Vincent Thomas Bridge, down in the Harbor. About six, seven blocks south is where your people ambushed and murdered two friends of mine a little while. I don't need to tell you their names, you s..................... You know damn well who they were!," striking him with the butt of my .45 across the back of his head. He tried to break free of the zip-ties around his extremities but couldn’t. Christensen spoke, half-sneeringly and half-jokingly. “You know who I am? You know who I am!!?”

“Yeah, you’re a corrupt FBI agent who ratted out another FBI agent to a very bad individual, that’s who you are.” Pausing to wipe my hands with a moist towelette, I turned away for a moment before speaking again. “Look at me,” I said to him, forgetting that I had taped his eyes shut with duct tape. "Oh, hang on a second." Reaching over, I yanked the tape off very roughly, leaving red marks on his face. “See these things right here? Couple of items I want to show you.” In front of Christensen were several items, each of which I held in front of him for him to see.

“See this? This plastic thing? This is a charger. It’s used by convicts to hide money and drugs; they stick this in their bodies, they tuck it up their rear ends.” Holding another item up, I said, “This? This is a pencil detonator; has a little receiver on it so that when it gets a signal, it detonates the explosive it’s lodged in.” Holding up a small, gray block, I added, “This? This is C4. Very powerful explosive.” Setting it back down, I finished by saying, “Put these three things together and you have a bomb. Not very sophisticated, but very powerful.”

Then I leaned down next to Christensen and whispered in a sadistic stage whisper, “That’s what you have in your a#% right now.” As the horror of his predicament hit him, Christensen struggled to break free of the zip ties, to which I pointed right at him and said, “Don’t move! Don’t move!! Don’t move!!!”

Then I added one other thing. Tapping a small watch on the hood of the Challenger, I showed it to Christensen. “See this? Cheap watch. You can buy it in any bodega in the Southland. Has a pager on it, which I’m going to use......,” setting the time on the watch, “to send a page to the receiver that’s tucked up your a#% right now, a page which you will receive in............ten minutes.” Standing along the car, I knew I had to get the information from him now. “Now tell me where the Whisper is.” As he kept struggling, I said, “I got all the time in the world, Rich. You don’t, but I do.” A few moments later, he slumped and looked over. “Alright, I’ll tell you where he’s at.” Taking a tape recorder out, I turned it on to record. “Okay, where is he then?”

As the time ticked away, I looked at the watch. Nine minutes. Christensen spoke, in the tone one would have if they were in San Quentin’s death unit awaiting execution. “There’s a safe house the bureau has here in the Harbor; we keep witnesses for major trials there if necessary.”

“Where is it? Eight-thirty.”

“It’s on the north end of the harbor, W. Basin Ave.. There’s a set of warehouse residences we have. They were seized from drug dealers and tax cheats but instead of reporting the seizures, my people just got rid of the bad guys and kept them for our own use.” For the next few minutes he spilled his guts on several items of interest, including how he had used the FBI’s Street Racing Task Force as his own corrupt force, taking cars and parts from street racers in what the public would’ve thought were legit raids. Then he added, “the Whisper’s in one of those residences right now, waiting for a nighttime pickup.”

“When’s the pickup?”
“Sunday night, 9pm.” I looked back at the pager watch, 90 seconds. Turning off the recorder, I started to get up from the car. “What......what are you doing?”

“I gotta’ leave, I gotta’ go, Rich.” As I started to walk away, he asked, “Aren’t you going to grant me a last wish, vato?”

Pausing as the seconds wound down, I looked over at him. “Last wish?” Blowing out some air, I looked away, towards the harbor and said, “I wish........you had.........more time. See you in the next life, Rich.” I began to walk away, counting down the seconds. As I reached a late-model Ford Crown Victoria I had stashed away earlier, I turned back towards the Challenger as the C4 bomb exploded, destroying the Challenger and killing Inspector Christensen in the process.

“Goodbye, Inspector,” I said coldly to myself before getting in and driving away. As I drove back onto the 405, I replayed the tape and information he had given me. West Basin Avenue, West Basin Avenue.......that’s right along the Velo waterfront. I thought to myself, should I go after the Whisper tonight or should I go after him tomorrow? I kept driving up the 405, my thoughts no longer a jumbled mess but clear and concise. I know where’s he at, I know how long he’ll be there.........don’t do anything stupid, just put the Whisper down. End his reign of terror before he goes after anyone else. I had already suffered enough thanks to the Whisper.......either he was going down for good or Kelsey would end up a widow. Time to let the chips fall where they will, I said under my breath. Time to let them fall.

[mlittle]

Chapter 9



***SU morning, Zero Degrees, Taravel District***
After a sleepless night, I drove down from Kensington Hills to the club, feeling a combination of both confidence and abject fear; confidence that I was getting very close to the Whisper...........and fear that in going after him, I was becoming just as evil as the Whisper. It was like dancing on the edge of a razor blade, I thought.........sooner or later, everyone falls off the blade, or as one of Kelsey’s confidential informants once said, “Revenge is the fire that consumes without compunction or conscience. Nobody is safe from a man with revenge in his eyes and rage enshrouding his heart.” No s#$%, I thought to myself. But it ends tonight, I kept saying.....tonight, the Whisper is going down.

Focusing on the day ahead, I pulled into the main lot in front of Zero Degrees; one of the valets grabbed the keys and drove it to a nearby space. Walking in, I headed over to the bar. “Morning, Billi,” I said to the morning bartender.

“Morning, Matt,” came the very cheerful reply. “How’s life?”

“Okay; bound to get better in a couple of hours anyhow,” a subtle reference to Kelsey’s discharge from the hospital later in the day. “Iced tea w/lemon, please.”

Pouring a large glass, Billi slid it over to me. “Here ya’ go. How’s the search going?”

“Well, we know where he is. Granted, I had to,”, coughing for a second, “cajole the information from someone, but we know where he is. Wanna’ help?”

“Hell yeah!,” Billi said.

“That’s good; I’ll let you know if I need you, alright?” Finishing the last of the tea, I looked around, then began walking upstairs to the second-floor tables which were the open-air offices of M-K Investigations; I two-stepped the stairs and turned the corner. Michael Brewer, one of EIC’s newest members, was sitting at one of the tables, drinking a Negra Modelo. Pulling over a chair, I sat down and asked him how he was doing. “Fine,” came the monosyllabic reply. Before I could say anything, my cell chirped. Opening it up, I said, “Hello?”

“Where ya’ at, Matt?,” came the reply.

“Back at Zero Degrees, Ravyn,” I answered. “Where are you at?”
“Olympia Med,” came Ravyn’s reply.

“Who’s with you there?”
“Kent, Chuck, Rhino and Slick.”

“Wait for me; I’ll be down there in a bit.” Closing the cell, I looked back over, past the wall and towards the ground-level dance floor. So many memories, I thought, before snapping back to reality. As I walked back towards the stairs, I turned back to Brewer. “Michael?”
“Yes, sir?”

“See that list on the far wall?,” pointing to a small 4x6 card on a corkboard.
“Yeah.”

“Call everyone on that list; have them meet me at Olympia Medical Center, in Carthay Square .” As Brewer grabbed the notecard and began calling, I bounded down the stairs, banging my fists together. Getting closer, I thought. Getting closer.

***SU afternoon, Olympia Medical Center, Carthay Square***
As I pulled the Wraith into a space inside the hospital’s parking garage, I couldn’t help but notice all the EIC members’ vehicles parked in the immediate area. I smiled; I don’t think I’d ever felt prouder to be a member of EIC then I was then. Walking to the garage’s elevators, I kept smiling. After a stop to let some people on at the 2nd and 3rd floors, the elevator arrived on the fifth floor. Exiting the elevator, I headed for Kelsey’s hospital room. As I rounded the corner, I saw everyone gathered outside. “I see the gang’s all here,” I quipped.

“Yeah, we were just wondering......did Matt get lost in traffic again?” Giving Ravyn a punch in the shoulder, I walked into the room and a broad smile came across me; after several days in the hospital, Kelsey was standing next to her sister Claire, discussing who knows what. When she saw me enter, she came over and gave me a kiss. “I see my driver has arrived,” she said, giving Claire a nod and a wink, which elicited a eyeroll from me. “How ya’ feeling, babe?”

“Other than a twinge in my leg, a lot better,” she replied. Drawing me close with a hug, she added, “I’ll be glad to leave the hospital.”

“You and me both,” I said, kissing her on the forehead and brushing a few hairs away. “The whole gang’s outside, ready to whisk you to wherever you wanna’ go,” canting my head back as if to nod towards the door. Grabbing her overnight bag, Kelsey slung it over her shoulder and waved to the door. “I guess it’s time to hit the road.” The three of us walked out of the room. as Kelsey and Claire talked to the others, Mike Chevalier and I walked a little ways’ down the hall and began talking. “I heard about that explosion down in the Harbor last night. That you?”

“Yeah, that was me. Found out where the Whisper’s at, Slick. He’s in a safehouse, north end of the harbor. According to the late inspector, he’s supposed to be picked up around 9pm tonight.”
“So, what’s the plan?”

“First, we need to go back to Zero. Then we’ll decide.” We walked back to the others and headed out of the outside, pausing at the nurses’ station so that Kelsey could sign a couple of discharge papers. That being taken care of, all of us walked over to the elevators and headed down to where all of our vehicles were parked. After negotiating our way through the parking garage, we made our way out onto San Vicente Blvd. and began heading up towards the Taravel District.

It was going to be a long, long day, but as Kelsey and I followed Ravyn’s Lotus, I thought to myself, two years have passed since I last dealt with the Whisper. Two years.....I just hope I don’t have to go through anything like I did last time. Then I thought........what if Christensen had been lying? What if the Whisper wasn’t there or what if he was but wasn’t waiting for a nighttime pickup? As the saying goes........no honor among thieves....what if the Whisper was playing his own game?

Reaching over for the Bluetooth, I dialed Chevalier’s cell and waited for him to pickup. As soon as he did, I said, “Mike, change of plans. I need you and Ravyn to meet me down in the Harbor–“
”What? Where in the Harbor, Matt?”

“You know where, Mike. Have them meet us and you there ASAP.” Cutting off the Bluetooth, I saw Kelsey giving me a very odd look. “What’s going on? I thought we were headed back to Zero.”

“Change of plans, hon. We’re going to take the Whisper down today, before his 9'o’clock pickup.” As we drove down the 405 to the Harbor I kept thinking to myself, If I were the Whisper, would I actually wait for an evening pickup or would I try to get out of the city before then? From what Christensen had told me and from the information Pritchett had given me, the Whisper supposedly had an extensive network of rat-lines throughout the Southland. There was always the chance that if we waited ‘til 9 to go after him, he might get in the wind and try to disappear once again. Why not go after him now, I thought?

[mlittle]

Chapter 10



***SU afternoon, Southeast Velo near the Harbor***
Breaking every speed limit in sight, we reached the location I had hinted at to Slick. Pulling onto surface streets, I drove to an abandoned lot that I knew from my criminal days; it was here that I had discussed getting rid of a large batch of gold bars, bars that were seized in a heist which started the whole ball of wax going two years before. Getting out of the Wraith, I reached back behind me and pulled out the Bren Ten .45 I carried, setting it on top of the car. Next to it, I placed several more magazines alongside as Kelsey got out, a now worried expression on her face. “Where are we, Matt?”

Before I could reply, I saw Mike’s S-10 pull beside us; almost as soon as he pulled to a stop, he got out and began walking over to me. “Ravyn's a few minutes out. So, where are we again?”

“Remember that armored car heist, Slick? The one with the three guards..........yeah, that one,” I said, causing Kelsey’s eyes to widen. “Well, this is where we discussed it beforehand.” Taking out a map of the north Harbor area, I got out a pen and circled an address on the map. “Alright, this is the safehouse where the Whisper is currently located. According to our late inspector, there’s supposed to be a pickup at 9pm, but we’re going to intercept him beforehand,” pausing as several others jogged over to the Wraith. “Afternoon, Ravyn,” I said, looking at the new arrivals.

“Well, hello to you too, Matt,” quipped Zero’s floor manager. I did a double take. Normally, Ravyn wouldn't be seen outside Zero without an Armani suit but this time he was wearing jeans and a large shirt with what looked to be a flak vest underneath it. He was also carrying a sidearm with him, a Bersa Thunder .380 strapped to his right leg. This was new, I thought, before remembering that back in Memphis, Ravyn had been a detective with the Memphis PD.

After a few more minutes we split up and went back to our rides. As we pulled out of the lot, I looked over and saw that the worried expression on Kelsey’s face was gone, changed into a serious one as she was busy loading a Kimber Custom TLE .45. Looking back towards the road, everything was silent until I heard Kelsey whisper, “What the.....,” whipping around to look towards the other side of Figueroa St. “Was that who I thought it was, Matt?”

“Where?” I said, slowing down.

“Back there, getting into a car. That was the Whisper, Matt, back there about a half-block or so,” she replied, still looking back towards the other side of the street. Slowing down to make a u-turn, I hit the Bluetooth switch and punched in one of the numbers. “Ravyn, you hear me?”

After a few moments, I heard his reply. “Yeah, Matt, what’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but Kelsey just spotted the Whisper leaving a bar on Figueroa. Looks like he got–,” pausing to make a u-turn, I was now headed south on Figueroa, “–into a silver/black Aero. Pardon to me for saying this but I’ve seen this movie before, Ravyn,” a reference to the motorcycle chase from two years ago. “I’m keeping this line open; I’m going to follow him, see where he goes. Stay tight.”

Concentrating on the street ahead, I saw him turn onto Bridges Blvd.; following him, I kept a safe distance, not wanting him to know he’d been spotted. Eventually, after what seemed to be a long pursuit of just following him, he slowed to a stop, as if he pulling to the curb when all of a sudden I saw him gun the Aero right onto an entrance ramp for the 405 freeway. Without hesitating, I gunned the engine and charged after him onto the freeway. The chase, as they say, was on.


***Southeast Velo City, SU afternoon***
As I began chasing the Whisper up the 405, all my thoughts came back to the first time I’d tangled with him, especially the chase up the mountain roads outside of Velo City. That time, I’d been scared ****less but didn’t feel it; this time, I had the advantage of knowing the roads and, since we were both driving the same vehicle, I felt like nothing could touch me.

As I began to pursue him, I noticed an eerie silence; it was as if everything was being channeled away from my focus, all the sounds and all the background noises one normally hears while driving were gone, replaced by both the silence itself and the faint background beating of my heart. Up ahead, the Whisper, having realized he was being followed, began accelerating faster, weaving to and fro. I followed suit, dancing my way along as I slowly started catching him. There was no desperation in the Whisper as he kept weaving in and out of traffic. In the background I could hear Kelsey talking to Ravyn over the Bluetooth, letting him know where we were. Suddenly, I saw up ahead a cloud of smoke as the Whisper lurched his Aero off the 405 and onto a surface street. “Hang on!,” I said as I followed suit, narrowly avoiding an eighteen-wheeler in the process.

Now we were back on surface streets, Kelsey calling out side streets over the Bluetooth as I kept the Whisper in my sights. You are not getting away from me, you son of a *****!, I said to myself. Our chase continued for several more minutes until, up ahead, I saw someone’s car run right up the back of another before launching itself into the air. The car proceeded to make a hard landing, rolling several times before it came to a stop, smoke and steam billowing out from every conceivable part of the vehicle.

Coming to a stop nearby, Kelsey and I jumped out of the Wraith, just as someone crawled out from under the Aero and, seeing us running towards him, took off down a side street. Without even thinking, I took off after him, running as fast as I could. A couple of times, he tried climbing over fences, which didn’t do anything as I just climbed over them as well.

Turning onto another side street, he started knocking people out of the way. I kept after him, yelling “Out of the way, out of the way!” and trying not to hit anyone in the process. Suddenly I heard the whip-crack of a bullet fly past. Yeah, I thought to myself, I have seen this movie before. Drawing my sidearm, I kept after, dodging a few more bullets that were fired at me. Running down another alleyway, I saw the Whisper try to climb a wrought-iron fence. When I got close enough I aimed and fired at him, hitting the iron fencing as he dropped to the other side.

Climbing the fence, I looked over and saw him running away but with a noticeable limp. Jumping to the other side, I landed a bit awkwardly but got my bearings and started chasing him down. “It’s over, Young; give it up!,” I yelled at him, two years of memories inflected in my yelling. Still, he kept on, so I aimed at him again and fired. Thwack was the sound the .45 round made as it hit Young in the upper left leg, sending him sprawling to the ground. Keeping it focused on him, I walked over cautiously, watching Young try to crawl away. When I got to him, I kicked the 9mm pistol he had with him away, then stood over him, .45 drawn at him. I could kill him right now and no one’d be the wiser, I thought to myself as two years of memories flowed through me. I could see those years in vivid imagery; it only made my hate towards the Whisper bubble up more.

When I got over to him, I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw him up against a wall, my .45 still pointed at him. In the distance I could hear a woman’s voice crying, “No! No!,” as I looked at the Whisper, a now defeated look on his face. Those cries of “No!” got louder until, a few seconds later, Kelsey came running up towards us, her sidearm down by her leg. Right behind her was Ravyn and Mike while in the distance the plaintive wails of police sirens could be heard. “Don’t, Matt!”, Kelsey was saying, her voice broken and hoarse from yelling. “Don’t! You’re better than he is, Matt. It’s not worth it, it’s not worth it....,” she was saying, close to tears. The others soon joined in, but I kept looking at the Whisper, all the emotions of the past still bubbling through. Eventually, ever so slightly, my gun arm began to drop as their words penetrated the thick armor I had up around me. Seconds past by slowly while I lowered my arm, all the while just waiting, hoping the Whisper would try something. Then Kelsey’s words came through all that emotional armor and I thought, She’s right.......he’s not worth killing. Even with everything he’s done to me, Stephanie, Kelsey and my friends the past two years, he’s not worth it.

I began to back up away from him as several police vehicles screeched to a halt behind us. Several uniformed VCPD officers and a couple of plainclothes detectives came running over, their guns all drawn and pointed at the Whisper. I holstered my weapon and turned around. “You’re right,” I said to Kelsey, “he really ain’t worth it,” as an officer began to cuff him. As we were walking away, Sgt. Hilbiber walked alongside us. “I see you got him,” he said.

“Yeah, I got him,” I said to the man, then I leaned over to him. “Just make sure you lock his a#% up, okay?” He turned to Young and began to read him his rights as we walked over to a nearby ambulance. It’s over, I thought. I got the Whisper and this time he is not getting away, ever. Once we got to the ambulance, I sat down and began shaking. “You all right?”, Kelsey asked me.

“Yeah, I’m all right. It’s just....I can’t believe I caught him a second time, you know?,” I said, choked with emotion. While everyone else was standing around, I looked skyward and for the briefest of moments, I thought I could see everyone the Whisper had taken from me smiling down as if to say, “Goodbye, Matthew. Everything’s okay now.” And for the briefest of moments a tear fell to the ground as if in acknowledgment. Taking a couple of deep breaths, I looked over at Kelsey and said to her, “You know, my dear, we have got a few things to catch up on,” which drew a groan from both Ravyn and Mike. Kelsey shot both of them a stern look as I said, “What? What?” As I said it, Kelsey put her arms around me and drew me close to her. As she did so, she asked, “Such as?” Rather than say anything, I put my hands up to her lovely face and kissed her for the longest time. I didn’t care who looked.......after all, what were they going to do, arrest us?

[mlittle]

Epilogue



***mid-July, VCPD Academy Grounds, Elysian Park***
Would someone explain to me what we’re all doing here?, I thought to myself as I sat down in a chair along a row of carefully arranged metal chairs on the academy’s parade ground in Elysian Park. Even more startling, I thought, was the sight of my wife Kelsey on stage, sitting in one of the chairs in her police uniform, this time with lieutenant’s bars on the uniform collars instead of the sergeant’s stripes she had worn when we first met. Meanwhile, a bunch of us from EIC besides myself were sitting facing the stage behind the fifty-three men and women who made up the VCPD’s newest class of graduates, Class 211-1.

As the graduation ceremony began, part of my mind wandered back to the events of the past few weeks. It’d been interesting to say the least, especially the shocking news that the Whisper, David Young, had been stabbed to death in one of the high-power module areas of the Velo County Jail, a/k/a Men’s Central Jail. That news had come as a shock, not because he had been killed; part of me was happy to see that. The shock was that, in a perverse sense, the Whisper had escaped justice, albeit in a bizarre manner and at the hands of someone I once knew.

As Sgt. Hilbiber, who was sitting on-stage alongside Kelsey, had put it, “Someone put a three-inch shiv in his neck. What happened was that, a few days before, Rampart Division officers arrested a guy on a D & D charge, drunk and disorderly. They processed him at division, where the guy gave what turned out to be a false ID. Division sent him over to Men’s Central, where he just happened, by sheer ******* coincidence, to be in the same module as Young. Couple of days later, as they’re walking to the chow hall, our mystery man takes a plastic shiv and drives it straight through Young’s neck, severing a carotid. Young bled out in about 60, 70 seconds. Deputies got to the attacker but he had a weird smile on his face as they were hauling his a#% away. Turns out the ID he gave back at Rampart was a bogey, a fake. His real name, Mr. Little........was Devon Alexander Harrington, Stephanie Harrington’s little brother. Guess her family settled that account, huh?” My first thought was shock and amazement. I had met Devon a couple of times and the kid, who could’ve passed as Rhino’s twin brother, didn’t look like he could hurt anyone, but he did it. He got the Whisper. Not me, not the police.........the brother of the woman I had once loved had settled everything with a flash of a jail-made knife. Sgt. Hilbiber was right. It was a small world, after all. As my mind came back to the present, a long round of applause for the police academy graduates had begun; I clapped along with everyone else in attendance.

Then after a few words from Mayor Villareal, Chief Bratton spoke, his Boston Brahmin accent ever present. “There’s a few more things I’d like to mention before dismissing Class 211-1. As all of you are aware, several of the officers here on-stage have been awarded commendations for their recent efforts in apprehending one of Velo City’s most heinous and violent criminals. It is my distinct pleasure to announce that the following members have been awarded the department’s Meritorious Service Commendation for their actions involving the search and arrest of David Young. In addition,” motioning to several of us in the audience, “it is my pleasure to award civilian commendations to the following individuals for their efforts alongside our officers.” Suddenly I heard the chief’s adjutant calling out our names; not just mine but those of my friends. After we got up to the stage and received our own commendations, the chief finished his remarks.

“Finally, I’d like to mention something else before our ceremony ends today. It is not often that the Velo City Police Department welcomes back one of its’ own from the civilian world. But it is with great pride and honor that we do so today. When she joined the department in 1995, she was one of 37 men and women graduating from the academy in class 95-2. In two years time, though, she would go on to win the department’s highest award, the Medal of Valor, for her rescue of 77th Division officers Mike Empringham and Richard Moore during the South Velo Riots. In the nearly two years she has been away from the department, she has become one of the city’s top private investigators, using the skills learned within the department to help the citizens of this great and mighty city. But she never forgot the calling which she first answered those years back and so it is with great pleasure that we welcome Kelsey Elizabeth Little back to the department!”

This time a thunderous ovation arose from the field as Kelsey stood and walked over to the speaker’s rostrum to accept her department shield back from the chief. Then the chief added, “We welcome her back to the department, this time as a lieutenant. Beginning in a few weeks, Lieutenant Little will take command of the department’s newest detective squad, the Open/Unsolved Unit, whose purpose will be to solve the numerous crimes that had escaped the grasp of the department over the years. It is my solemn belief that a city which forgets its’ unsolved cases is a city lost to the ages, and this unit will hopefully begin to bring closure to those cases. Congratulations, Lieutenant!” A second round of applause rose, drowning the entire field and the surrounding area. It lasted for several minutes before the ceremony ended and everyone began going their separate ways.

As the crowds began to file out from the grounds, I kept thinking about where my life had gone and where it was headed. As far as things went versus the Whisper, I was a free man, all debts canceled and all accounts settled. Granted, I didn’t get to see him get the justice he deserved, but in the eyes of the street, he got it. That alone made me feel good, not just for myself but for everyone else around. As for the present.........as my friends and I continued talking, I looked over and saw Kelsey talking to her fellow officers and I realized just as I had had some unfinished business to deal with, so did she as well.