Chapter 11
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Immediately another man stepped inside the apartment, glanced at Ricky, who pointed and cried out in a panic, “The gunman’s over there.”
The armed man had stepped back, putting everyone in a wide arc before him. He didn’t say a word, just watching all the people in this room with him.
The new guy walked into the room, casual-like, then smiled at Trent. “Hey, Trent. Nice to see you again.”
Trent nodded. “Ditto.”
The gunman had turned his weapon on the newcomer, and it stayed there.
Trent’s friend responded, like it was business-as-usual for him. “Nice to have another person join the party.”
“Too bad you picked the wrong party,” the gunman replied.
The newcomer smiled brightly at the gunman. “Oh, I don’t think so.” He walked a little closer, looked at the handgun, and nodded. “Nice little Beretta. I wonder how many deaths it’s got notched on it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the gunman snapped, but he looked a little nervous. “You need to be worried about yourself right now.”
“Nah.” The new guy shrugged. “I think you should be worried because we’re always looking to match weapons to old crimes. So, that’ll be one for the books when we get a hold of it. We’ll have to send it down to forensics, won’t we, Trent?”
“Yeah, we will indeed,” Trent replied, matching his tone. “It’s got to be crawling with all kinds of information.”
“Shut up, just shut up, both of you. What the hell is this?” the gunman asked. “I don’t know who you are, but you can get over to the couch with the woman and the kid.”
The man walked suspiciously close to the gunman on his way to the couch.
The gunman tried to clip him one with his weapon, but he just gave the new arrival an opening.
The newcomer immediately grabbed his gun hand at the wrist and snapped it hard, the gunman screaming in pain, then pulled the gun from his hand.
The audible snap of the gunman’s wrist was heard by everybody in the room, loud and clear.
The gunman continued to scream until Trent walked over and clipped him on the jaw, silencing him on the spot.
“Well, that is one way to do it too,” the newcomer conceded with a smile. He walked over to where Ricky and Naomi were now seated in shock, as he held out a hand to her.
She frowned at him, not sure what to say or do.
“Hi.” He smiled and added, “I’m Oakley. We actually met on the yacht.”
Her eyes widened, and then she felt a wave of relief, asking, “You’re one of his team?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, “and the fact that Trent got into this trouble will be something we’ll tease him about for a good long time.”
Trent rolled his eyes at that and clarified, “Hardly trouble, but I’ve got three innocent people here. It’s not like I wanted to get them shot in the process.” He looked back over at her and smiled and added, “I sent Oakley a text that we had a situation.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she noted, “but when the hell did you send that text? I didn’t even realize anybody was in the vicinity who could give us a hand.”
“I forewarned Oakley just before we started up the stairs.”
And, with that tidbit, she realized how far ahead Trent was thinking. This truly was his world. She looked over at the police artist and asked, “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but this isn’t exactly how I thought my day would go.”
“Oh, I’ve said that a few times myself lately,” she confirmed. “Welcome to the club.”
He smiled at her. “Now I can see why you need my services.”
“That’s true. It’s this gunman”—she turned to Ricky—“who gave the instructions to his men. Remember him? That’s the one who we’re trying to put a face to. Well, one of them. That other guy left with this one, right?”
“I remember him,” Ricky replied. “He was really mean-looking.” He turned to her and stated, “We really do have to help put these mean people into pictures, don’t we?”
She nodded. “Between the two of us, I think we can do a good job.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ve got most of those bad guys memorized, but I just can’t draw.”
“Well, I can draw,” the artist said, raising his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”
Ricky walked up to him and extended his hand to shake his formally. “I’m Ricky, and she’s Naomi, and that’s Trent. Apparently, that’s Oakley,” he added, turning to him.
Peter approached Oakley and held out his hand, as he said, “Thank you very much for coming.”
Surprised, Oakley reached out and shook hands with the other man. “Not a problem. I’m glad I was here at the right time.”
The artist nodded and then rejoined Naomi.
She suggested, “Do you want to go over to the table?”
He shook his head and shared, “I have a drawing board right here.” He opened up the kit that he had on the ground beside him.
Immediately Ricky was fascinated. He had a million questions to ask, and, when they started with the descriptions, it was a pretty fast give-and-take between Naomi and Ricky as to who remembered what details and whether they could argue about them to refine their memories for Peter.
But, at the end of the day, it took about twenty minutes for them both to sit back and stare at the photo, with almost a sick expression on their faces.
Trent stepped over and noted, “I gather that’s pretty close.”
When Ricky wordlessly walked over, Trent picked him up, and Ricky just buried his face in Trent’s neck and nodded.
“I just need you to verbally confirm, please. Is that him?” Trent asked again.
“Yeah,” Ricky muttered into his neck, “it’s him.” He looked over at Naomi, who was staring at the picture with a sick fascination.
She nodded. “Yeah, I hate to say it, but that’s him.”
“You hate to say it?” Trent asked.
“I didn’t realize this process would bring him back to life again,” she admitted. “In my mind, there was always this chance that he was dead and gone, and we wouldn’t have to deal with him, but this is like resurrecting the whole nightmare all over again.”
She looked at Ricky in Trent’s arms and added, “Ricky, I think the artist needs to finalize this picture, so maybe we should go lie down and read a book or something for a while.”
*
Naomi’s voice was a little shaky, but Ricky did not argue. He immediately clambered out of Trent’s arms, raced over to hers, and, with difficulty, she picked him up. He pretty well dwarfed her at this point in time in height, and she carried him out and away.
Trent walked over, took a much closer look at the picture, and nodded. “Obviously it’s a pretty good rendition.”
The police artist nodded. “Unfortunately for them, it must be a very good rendition, considering their reactions.” He sighed, looked over in the direction they had gone, and added, “They really have been through a lot, haven’t they?”
“Too much,” Trent declared. He gave him a brief synopsis of what had happened to them.
Peter was shocked and full of sorrow. “You just don’t know from one day to the next,” he noted, “but I’m glad I could help.
I’ll send this out via email once I get it scanned in.
I’ll maybe fix it up a little bit before I leave,” he added, checking out the sketch once again, “and then we’ll go from there. It’s all yours here for a while.”
Oakley was studying it when Naomi walked back in and interjected, “I hope you can get this guy in that sketch because, right about now, we’re stumped as to what the hell’s going on here.”
“How is he?” Trent asked her.
She shrugged, looking back at Ricky’s bedroom door.