Chapter 16
Gunner was getting ready to leave for a last visit to Lieutenant Samuels. He picked up the car keys, then remembered the manhunt for Beau Whistler and went back to his closet to get his personal handgun and took it with him to the car.
Asher told him to be aware.
Holly told him to pay attention.
He believed in heeding good advice. Whistler had to be desperate, and desperate men were dangerous men.
As Gunner was backing out of the garage, he noticed his gas gauge was low and headed for the Gas and Dash where he’d bought that winning lottery ticket, because it was on the same route he would take to get to the hospital.
The day was clear, which meant by noon it would be hot enough to melt a good mood. He was thinking about Samuels. The heart attack was probably going to be the push Samuels needed to retire.
A motorcycle came up behind him on the street and then passed him so fast it made his heart skip. Just for a second, he was remembering the dude on the purple Yamaha.
A block and a half later, Gunner pulled into the Gas and Dash and noticed that the rider who just passed him had stopped there, too. He pulled in at the other side of the fuel pump and got out.
He was reaching for his credit card when he glanced up and saw the rider staring at him. Recognition was instant. It was the eyes and that scar that cut his left eyebrow in half. Even with the face guard down on the helmet, he knew it was Whistler.
And Whistler knew he’d been made. Having a shootout in public was the fastest way to get caught, and since he’d already paid and replaced the gas nozzle, he decided to make a run for it.
He swung his leg over the Harley and leaned forward, releasing the kickstand as he turned the key.
The engine fired, and he gunned it. He was already shooting out of the parking lot when he saw a shadow on the pavement coming at him from behind.
Before he could react, he was hit in the back with such force that he lost his breath and then his balance. The bike was already tilting, and then he was on the pavement in an armlock, flat on his belly and trying to get enough air to breathe.
Even through his helmet, Whistler heard the man on his back shouting, “Call 911.”
Whistler was struggling and kicking and pounding air trying to knock the man off his back, but he couldn’t reach him to do any harm, and in that moment, he knew it was over.
Son of a bitch. How did Kingston move that fast? “I’m going to kill you!” Whistler shouted.
“No. You’re not. You’re going to prison for the rest of your life,” Gunner said.
Whistler shifted tactics. “I can’t breathe.”
“You just shouted and threatened to kill me. Sounds like you’re breathing just fine,” Gunner said.
But hearing the sirens of the approaching patrol cars made Whistler fight harder and Gunner hold tighter.
* * *
They came from every direction. Patrol cars from the Dallas PD were the first to arrive. The Harley was on its side and still running. One officer quickly shut it off as another recognized Gunner.
“Who’s your bosom buddy?” he asked as he reached for his handcuffs and put Whistler in restraints.
“The guy the Feds are looking for. Beau Whistler. Somebody needs to call them.”
A couple of officers sat Whistler up and removed his helmet.
“In living color,” the officer said. “Good catch, Kingston, but how the hell did you know it was him behind that face guard?”
“We’ve met before,” Gunner said and then realized his arm was burning and looked down. His shirt sleeve was torn, and the skin from his elbow down was raw and bleeding from sliding across the concrete. He was bleeding from a long cut on his shoulder, and his jaw was starting to throb.
Whistler had fared better, mostly because the helmet he was wearing took the brunt of his fall when Gunner tackled him, but he was moving from shock to rage at being caught twice by the same man.
If the security footage had been restored, then what they had was irrefutable.
No lawyer was going to save him. No deals were to be made with the Feds because everybody connected to the safe house murders was dead except him and Tom Rowdy. And they already had Rowdy in custody.
“It’s your fault, Kingston. This is all your fault,” Whistler said.
“Shut it, Whistler. Your boss is the one who ordered the hit on me. He wouldn’t admit it, but we both knew it.”
But Whistler wouldn’t give up. “You took me down. You shamed me in front of him. Because of you, I was no longer of use to him, which meant I was going to get axed. I did what I did to save myself.”
“Then it’s a good thing he’s not alive to witness this, because he would really be through with you,” Gunner said.
“Bastard,” Whistler muttered.
“Asshole,” Gunner drawled.
At that point, they pulled Whistler to his feet, put him in the back of a patrol car, and then drove away with one patrol car leading the way and four following, leaving an officer and a patrol car with Gunner.
“We called an ambulance for you, Kingston. Sit tight. I’m waiting with you until they arrive.”
Gunner nodded. “Much appreciated.”
Blood was still dripping down his arm and onto his boot and his jeans, and he was feeling a little dizzy, so he leaned against the back of the officer’s car.
“Hey, Kingston, did you really run him down and tackle him from behind as he was rolling?”
“Too many people around to take a shot,” Gunner said.
“But—”
Gunner shrugged. “I run fast.”
“I guess we’ll get to see the takedown on social media,” the officer said.
It was at that moment that Gunner realized the size of the crowd around them, all with their phones aimed straight at him.
“Great,” he muttered and pulled out his phone and called Holly. He needed to tell her before social media did it for him.
It rang twice before she picked up. He was about to ruin her day.
“Good morning,” Holly said.
“Hey, darlin’, just calling to let you know that Beau Whistler is in custody.”
“Oh, Gunner! That’s wonderful. Now we know you’re finally safe.”
“Well, almost,” he said. “It took a bit of a tussle to take him down. I have a little cut on my arm, but there’s an ambulance rolling up on the scene right now. As soon as they clean it up, I’m going home.”
“You caught him?”
He winced. Her voice was clearly at the level of squeak.
“Yes. It was the darndest thing. We both stopped at the same place to get gas. What are the odds of that? I promise I’m okay except for a little road rash.”
“You got into a fight with him at the gas station?”
“Ummm, sort of. More like I ran him down,” Gunner said.
“Like you did with the guy who tried to shoot you?”
“No, I was on foot. More like a tackle. I took him down while the bike was rolling. We both went over the bike onto the pavement. It was epic. I think. It felt epic, and now not so much.” The ambulance was coming up the street with lights flashing and the siren screaming.
“The ambulance is here. I will be going home after they’re through with me. ”
“And I will be sitting in your driveway waiting,” she muttered and hung up in his ear.
Gunner sighed. “Have mercy.”
* * *
Holly’s hands were shaking as she turned off her computer and reached for her purse.
“Gunner just caught the guy from the manhunt. An ambulance is on scene, and he’s bleeding. He swears he’s going home afterward. I will be sitting in his driveway when he arrives to take him to the ER.”
Her coworkers were horrified.
“Oh my God! Holly! What happened?” Gene asked.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, but from what he said, there were probably enough witnesses to splatter him and the incident all over social media.”
The women immediately began searching social media sites on their phones as Holly went out the door.
“If you find any video of it, I want to see,” Gene said.
* * *
The first EMT on the scene was wearing a shirt with the name Brewster stitched onto the pocket.
Brewster immediately removed Gunner’s shirt and began assessing the bleeding injuries as his partner was examining his ribs and jaw.
Gunner’s arm was burning like hell. It felt like he’d rolled in a nest of fire ants, and it was good he was sitting down.
“You need stitches. We’ll get you bandaged up enough to slow down the bleeding, but you need to go to the ER. Stitches for sure, antibiotics, and X-rays,” Brewster said.
Gunner frowned. “I didn’t fall on my head or face. I got clocked by his helmet. It’s fine. Just slosh some disinfectant on my arm and wrap it up so I don’t bleed all over my car. I’ve had worse sliding into home plate.”
Brewster grinned. “Noted, but still not letting you go until I’m satisfied.”
The patrolman still on-site with Gunner saw a black SUV with tinted windows turn off the street and pull up behind the ambulance. When he saw the two men who got out, he knew the Feds had arrived.
“Hey, Gunner, you have company,” he said.
Gunner glanced up. FBI. He could spot them anywhere. They were all wearing sunglasses, although the sunny day called for them, but they all had a tendency to walk like Tommy Lee Jones about to start a fight.
“Gunner Kingston?”
“Yes.”
The man obviously in charge flashed his ID. “Special Agent Lavinsky. Heard you caught our man. Much appreciated. We’re still working the case of the safe house murders.”
“Ah…and I’m the guy who worked the case of your missing witness who was found dead in a warehouse.”
Lavinsky blinked. “I don’t think I knew that.”
“So, Tom Rowdy isn’t talking?” Gunner said.
“I worked in the same homicide department. The information he kept leaking to Burgess Dixon also got a homeless man who went by the name Yankee Dan killed, and resulted in a fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on my head. You will be interested to know that Whistler just confessed in front of me and a dozen cops as to why he killed Dixon.”
“I would be interested in knowing what he said,” Lavinsky said.
“It was the day I sort of invaded Dixon’s office.
I had to remove the bodyguard to get in.
Dropped him with one good karate chop and went in to express my displeasure to Dixon about the hit.
Because I took Whistler out like that, Whistler believed Dixon was losing faith in him and guessed he’d be the next one to fall.
He went all proactive and struck the first blow, which was fatal.
Then he told me it was all my fault for making him look bad in his boss’s eyes. ”
Lavinsky smiled. “Something as simple as ‘losing face,’” he said, then pointed to Gunner’s arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” Lavinsky said. “Maybe we’ll see each other around.”
“Nope. I turned in my resignation a few days ago.”
Lavinsky frowned. “Shame. The PD is losing a good cop.”
“They lose good cops every time one dies in the line of duty. I’m going home to West Texas to be close to my dad. He’s not going to be here forever.”
“What is your dad’s name?” Lavinsky asked.
“Jacob Kingston. My mother was Brenda Kingston, an accomplice in an armored car robbery over thirty years ago. Unknown to all, including the leader of the gang, she buried the stolen loot in the basement of our home, then swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills because she knew the FBI was coming. She died in their car on her way to jail. Thirty years later, that unclaimed money nearly got Dad killed. Maybe you remember. My brothers and I solved the crime, found the money, and your people flew to Crossroads in a chopper to pick it up.”
Lavinsky reeled like he’d just been slapped. “You’re that family? Damn. We’re still holding our heads in shame for that one. I’d like to shake your hand…if you have one that doesn’t hurt and isn’t bleeding.”
“The left one’s good,” he said, and the two men shook hands.
“You give your father my best,” Lavinsky said. “Tell him I said he raised some really fine men.”
Gunner said nothing as they drove away, then looked back at what Brewster was doing. “Are you about through here?”
“The driveway of a gas station is filthy. All of that detritus is in the wounds on your arm. Get yourself to the ER for a tetanus shot and let them finish this up. The cut isn’t going to stop bleeding until you get stitches.
They will give you meds and stuff for pain.
If you don’t feel like it, we can transport you there ourselves. ”
“My girl will take me,” Gunner said, and in that moment, he felt a rush of emotion for the fact that he could claim that.
“Okay then, but you’re a bloody mess, so if she doesn’t pass out at the sight of you, you’ve got a good one,” Brewster said.
“Holly is not a fainter. She may give me hell for winding up in the middle of this again, and she will take me to the ER whether I want to go or not.” Then he walked over to the gas pump where he’d left his car, pulled out his credit card to pay for gas, and began refueling.