Knowing the White,
Keep the Black
Part 5
By 9:00, Kermit and Peter climbed into the Stealth to begin the quest for Kermit's new residence. Neither man spoke, each lost in his own thoughts. Paul watched them drive away. He had debated on joining them, but then decided that maybe the best thing to do with the two was to let them spend some time together.
It was painfully obvious that something was bothering Peter. It was equally obvious that Kermit was still uncomfortable. Paul was pretty sure what was troubling his friend, but not so sure about his son.
Paul settled himself into the porch swing and took a long draw from his cup of coffee. His thoughts drifted back over the past week. He had certainly run the gambit of emotions when it came to the two men who just drove off in the blue sports car. In the span of a few short hours he had come damn close to losing both. Blaisdell closed his eyes, a knot of fear developing in his stomach. He never wanted to have to face that again.
Finally, the Captain stood, took a deep breath of the crisp morning air and decided that he would head into the precinct. There was always some work to be done there, and with Annie gone, he really didn't want to stay at the house by himself.
By noon, Peter had taken Kermit to three different complexes in the city, ranging in size and cost. Kermit had said very little, and when he did speak it was usually to tell Peter what was wrong with the younger man's selection. Peter's patience was running thin, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from retaliating.
Peter stopped at a red light on the corner of 95th and Harding, glanced at his watch and understood the rumbling that was occurring in his stomach. "Well, it's 12:15. You wanna grab a bite to eat somewhere?"
"Fine," Kermit responded succinctly.
Peter shook his head in frustration. "Well, look, if you don't want to eat, that's fine with me. We can call it a day, I'll drop you off at Paul's and then this torture will be over for the both of us."
Kermit sat quietly for a moment, then he pointed at the light, "It's green."
Peter glanced up at the light and saw that it had, in fact, turned green. He accelerated around the corner. Suddenly his quiet companion spoke, "I like Italian." The comment startled Peter.
"Okay, I know a little place off of the stem. It's nothing fancy, but the food's good."
Kermit was silent again. Peter shook his head in defeat and turned left at the next intersection. He stopped at the four-way stop sign, glancing left and right to make sure he had the right of way. A sedan was approaching from his left at what appeared to be a high rate of speed. Peter started into the intersection, presuming the car was going to make a last minute stop, when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the car was making no effort to halt its progress. Peter slammed on his brakes and the sedan sped through the intersection, missing the Stealth by a mere few inches. "Damn it, that was close!" Peter exclaimed. "Something's up." Peter turned the wheel of the Stealth hard to the right and proceeded after the speeding sedan. "Turn on the radio. Let's report this."
Kermit reached down to the police radio that had been mounted under the dash. As soon as he had flipped the switch, the dispatcher's voice could be heard, ". . .armed robbery of the First National Bank. Suspects escaped in a black 1985 or older Oldsmobile sedan, no license plate number. Heading east on Madison. Charlie 10, 15 and Adam 5 in pursuit. Suspects considered armed and dangerous."
Peter reached down and grabbed the handset. "Baker 19 to dispatch."
"Go ahead Baker 19."
"I am in pursuit of the black Oldsmobile. Heading east on Madison." Suddenly the Olds made a sharp left turn. "Correction, heading north on 85th."
"10-4 Baker 19."
Kermit, who had said nothing up until this point, turned to his companion. "I thought you were still on medical leave."
Peter said nothing, but he reached under his seat with his right hand and grabbed the red cherry light, handing it to the man.
"Paul's going to have your head for this," the passenger pointed out calmly as he turned the light on.
Peter still said nothing. The Oldsmobile had made another hard left turn, cutting off cars which were proceeding through the intersection, and almost hitting a pedestrian. Peter followed. The Stealth was faster and more maneuverable than the larger sedan, but the Olds had a quarter mile lead. It turned right into an alley, slamming into empty cardboard boxes. The boxes flew over the top of the car and landed in the middle of the road. The Stealth, built for speed, was too low to the ground to clear the boxes. Peter slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel. He avoided having the boxes jammed under the car, but now the Oldsmobile was already crossing into the next block. Peter floored the accelerator and shot through the alley after the suspects.
The sedan turned right onto open highway, and was flying north out of town, swerving in and out of slower traffic. Peter slammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the Stealth hit the 80 mph mark, while he followed the weaving pattern.
Kermit, voice amazingly cool and calm, simply said, "Paul's right."
"What?" Peter's voice sounded agitated, his eyes never leaving the road.
"You are rough on your cars."
"Would you just radio in our location," Peter gave the man a dirty look.
"I would, but I don't have a clue where we are at. If you would slow down so I could read the road signs, I might be of some help." With the Stealth now reaching speeds in excess of 85 miles per hour, it was virtually impossible to read the small road signs. "Just tell them were on County Road 197 North."
"Your wish is my command," was the only response.
"'Bout time," Peter retaliated.
The Olds slammed on its brakes and turned right, heading down an old dirt road. Peter followed suit. The Stealth went around the corner on two wheels, causing Kermit to lose his balance and roll sideways into Peter. With his right arm in the sling, he had trouble pushing himself back up. He dropped the radio handset and had to push himself up with his left hand. The Olds was still almost three-quarters of a mile ahead, and on the dirt road, would probably be able to expand its lead.
The dirt road made a sharp bend, and Peter lost sight of the car. Around the corner, he found himself at an intersection and realized that the Olds was no where in sight. Slamming on the brakes, the Stealth sliding in the dirt, he looked in the three possible directions, trying to determine the route the suspects had taken.
"Go left," Kermit ordered.
"How do you know?" Peter questioned.
"Just do it, will you, or we're going to lose them." Peter followed the ex-mercenary's order and turned the car back to the north. Sure enough, Peter finally saw what Kermit saw: a cloud of dirt from the road floating in the air.
"Damn, you have good eyesight. I didn't think you could see anything with those glasses on," Peter cracked.
"They just allow me to see what I want to see and ignore what I don't," Kermit replied simply.
The Stealth coasted down a large hill and started back up the next. "Hold it," Kermit said. Peter stopped the car. Kermit was pointing to the right side of the road. A set of tire tracks disappeared into the bushes. "I bet our friends are in here," Kermit grinned.
"Betcha you're right," Peter agreed.
"You gonna call this in?" Kermit asked his new partner.
Peter sat silently for a moment. "Nope. We don't know they're here. Let's do some leg work, first. If we find them, we'll call it in."
"Hey, that's fine with me. I'm not on the payroll yet. Paul can't fire me." Kermit shrugged, forgetting about his sore shoulder, the motion bringing a grimace to his face.
"On second thought," Peter said noticing his passenger's pain, "You stay here, I'll do the leg work."
"Yeah, right," was the sarcastic reply as Kermit opened the car door with his left hand and exited. "You have a spare gun?"
Peter said nothing. Kermit tilted his head, "Okay, let me rephrase that, do you have a gun?"
"Nope. Usually don't take it with when I go apartment hunting."
Kermit shook his head disapprovingly. "I thought Blaisdell taught you better than that. You never can tell when you are going to have to stop a charging apartment."
Peter groaned at the man's failed attempt at humor.
End Part 5
Knowing the White,
Keep the Black
Part 6
"What do you mean Baker 19 is in pursuit of the suspects!" Chief Frank Strenlich was yelling over the phone at the dispatcher, his face turning a deep red in anger. "Detective Caine is on medical leave and hasn't been cleared to return to work! Not to mention the fact that Detective Caine's partner is sitting right here!" Strenlich looked at Mary Margaret Skalaney, who was listening, baffled. "When was the last time he reported in?"
Silence. "Damn it." The Chief slammed a file down on the desk. "Patch me through to his radio." Holding his hand over the handset he looked at Mary Margaret, "I swear to God, this is the last time he pulls a stunt like this. What in the hell does he think he's doing." Wisely, Skalaney said nothing, just shrugged a Caine-like 'I do not know.'
A hand rested on the Chief's shoulder. The Chief turned, a scowl on his face. Paul was standing behind him, a frown creasing his forehead. Strenlich's scowl disappeared and was replaced with a look of professionalism. "What's going on, Frank."
"It's Peter. . .," Frank was interrupted by the dispatcher, "What? What was his last known location?" Frank said into the phone and then muttering under his breath, "If he wasn't your son. . ."
"Frank, what's happened," Paul was beginning to worry about the one-sided conversation he was hearing. Mary Margaret finally spoke up, "It seems that Peter is in pursuit of the four armed suspects who just robbed First National."
Paul's face turned to one of confusion, "There must be some mistake. He and Kermit are out looking at apartments today."
Frank's voice raised again, "Well, where was the Olds last spotted?" Silence again. "You mean to tell me that no one has seen the car for the last fifteen minutes, except for a homicide detective on sick leave! Well, that's just great." Silence again. "I want all available units running a search pattern north of 85th. I also want patrol cars on 197 North. If the suspects were looking for a fast escape route out of town that'll be the way they go." The handset was slammed down on the hook.
"What's this all about, Frank." The Captain's voice was flat and methodical.
Frank's voice was filled with frustration, "Detective Caine decided to pursue, without back-up mind you, the suspects in the First National robbery."
Paul shook his head in disbelief, "I don't believe this. Peter's on medical leave; he knows better than to do something like this."
"Are we talking about the same Peter?" Frank commented sarcastically. "The Peter Caine I know would do exactly something like this."
Paul couldn't help the angry look that crossed his face. Unfortunately, though, he knew the Chief was right. Frank spoke again, "So what do you want to do. Your detective is out there chasing down four armed and dangerous suspects without back-up and we don't have a clue where he is."
Paul took a little comfort in a thought that suddenly struck him, "Peter has back-up."
At that time, Peter and his 'back-up' were following a set of tire tracks through the overgrown woods. Peter was worried that Kermit would be hampered by the sling, but the man made his way easily through the limbs that grabbed at his black jacket, raising no comments or complaints.
After what seemed like a half-mile of walking, the two came upon a mound of camouflage netting. Quietly, Peter approached it and lifted one edge. The black Oldsmobile was parked underneath.
Kermit grabbed Peter's arm and silently pulled him back behind a thick stand of bushes to the right of the car. "Where ever our friends are at, they aren't far away."
"Yeah," Peter agreed. "There are no other tire tracks around, so they had to leave on foot."
"Which means that they are near by." Kermit was silent for a moment. "What do you want to do?"
Peter thought about their options. Procedure would indicate they should go back to the car and call in for back up. On the other hand, if Kermit and Peter turned back now, the suspects could clear out of this area and no one would ever see them again. A knot of fear balled in the detective's stomach. Damn, he wished his father were here. . .either father. The self-doubt that Peter expressed to Lo Si earlier in the day returned now. What if he screwed up again? What if he couldn't handle the situation? Maybe it would be best to call for back up?
While Peter's mind debated the situation, Kermit pulled the detective flat onto the ground. Peter let out a yelp of surprise. Kermit's only response was "Shhh." Peter was quiet.
Voices could be heard approaching from the opposite side of the stashed car. "I know we lost them," one male voice said.
"You don't know squat. Last we saw they were behind us on the highway. They could've followed us here," another voice responded.
"Ben will kill us if we led the cops here," a third voice commented.
"That's why we'll go back and make sure that the coast is clear. If it's not. . .well, we'll make it clear." The sound of a clip of ammunition being slid into it's chamber echoed through the trees. The men kept walking, just a few feet past the area that Kermit and Peter were hiding. The cop and his companion silently watched them pass.
As soon as them men were out of hearing distance, Peter muttered to Kermit, "I think we have a problem."
Kermit slid the glasses down his nose, "Gee, you think?" He responded sarcastically.
"If they find the Stealth before we get back to it, we're gonna be stuck out here with no back up."
"So, I guess we'd better make sure we get back to the car before they do, huh." The dark-suited man rose from the hiding spot and began climbing through the overgrown bushes. Peter followed.
They had traveled no more than fifty feet, when Kermit suddenly disappeared from sight, a surprised scream erupting into the air. Peter couldn't help the shout of "Kermit!" that came to his lips. He ran forward and suddenly found the ground disappeared in front of him. He circled his arms, trying to regain his balance, finally succeeding. He looked down into the pit he had almost fallen into and saw the ex-mercenary lying curled up in a ball on the bottom, a good ten feet below.
"Oh God, Kermit, are you okay?" There was no response from the man. Then coughing sounded from his body, followed by a groan. The man was lying on his right side, the injured arm underneath him. Peter tried to figure out a way to get down to help, but there were no hand or footholds available. Slowly, Kermit pushed his body onto his back with his left hand, grimacing in pain the entire way.
"Kermit, don't move. You could be hurt." Peter had to fight the urge to jump down the four-foot wide hole to render assistance, but doing that would only result in both being trapped.
"Could be hurt?" Kermit glared at the younger cop. "Damn it, you are the master of understatement today."
"Can you stand?"
"Nope. I don't even think I can sit up." He tried anyway, and the effort only produced a loud groan. "The shoulder's killing me." Kermit took a deep breath and fought down the rising pain. "Get outta here, Peter."
"I'm not leaving you Kermit." Peter argued.
"You don't have a choice. If you don’t back to the Stealth we're going to be stuck out here. . .sitting ducks. You can't get me out by yourself, and I can't get myself out. You've got to go get help."
Peter started to debate the issue and then was silent. He knew that Kermit was right. If Peter wasted time on a failed effort to get Kermit out of the hole, they would both be in trouble. If Peter was successful in getting back to the Stealth, he could bring in support. That was the only way to help the ex-mercenary now. Finally, he nodded his head in agreement. "I'll be back. Don’t go anywhere," he grinned slightly, trying to relieve the stress of the situation. Kermit only nodded, unable to speak any more.
Peter rose and started running through the woods. He had made it no more than twenty feet when a rifle shot went off behind him. He threw himself to the ground, in an effort to hide. Then suddenly fear welled up in him as he realized that the bullet's target might have been Kermit. Silence followed the sound of the gun and then a hard, cold voice spoke, "I suggest you come back here." Peter remained still and silent, hoping that the voice was talking to someone else, although there was no one else around that it could be directed at. "If you don't come back here, I'm gonna start shooting at your friend down here. You heard of the old phrase, 'shooting fish in a barrel?' Peter stubbornly didn't move for a moment, then he heard a sound to the left of him. He started to roll his body to face the noise, but instead found himself staring into the wrong end of an Uzi, which had been leveled at his chest. Two sets of hands roughly pulled the cop to his feet.
The man who had spoken pointed his rifle into the pit that held Kermit, quashing any thoughts that Peter might have had about attempting to fight. Instead, he allowed the men to push him forward towards the pit. The man with the rifle was a burly man, with a square jaw and closely cropped hair. He was much larger than either of his companions, towering over Peter by a good six inches. "Search him," the man ordered.
The man to Peter's left patted him down, removing his car keys, wallet and badge. He flipped open the badge, "Detective Peter Caine."
"Well, well," the burly man said with a sadistic smile. "I've heard of you. You're that smart ass cop that shot up the Agrippa a few months back. You think you're real hot stuff, don't ya Boy."
Peter, wisely, held his tongue. There was no need to egg the man on, especially with Kermit being in such a vulnerable position. The man to the Peter's right chuckled, "Oh yeah, I remember him. It was all over the news." Then the man's face turned serious, "What a sec. . .he's the one who took down Gant, too." The man to Peter's left now spoke, "Yeah. He's the one. You know what buddy," the man gripped Peter's shoulder roughly, "You picked the wrong time to play hero. Gant was a good friend of mine. Suddenly, the man released Peter's shoulder. Peter still remained quietly defiant. The man with the rifle suddenly nodded to his companions. Peter started to look to the side, curious at the silent communication, when suddenly the butt of the Uzi impacted on the back of his head and Peter collapsed onto the ground in a heap.
The two men standing next to him lifted his limp body by the arms. "Throw him in the hole with his friend." They complied immediately, dragging Peter to the edge and tossing him over the side.
End Part 6