Chapter 7
He almost didn't manage to swallow the bile back down, almost lost his lunch all over the cooler. He was sure he would have, if he had actually had any.
He managed to catch the part of the conversation where Sandy explained to someone — was he talking to Don? — the horrors he had in store for him, if his demands weren't met on time. Then he kind-of faded out again, springing back to reality at the sound of the cooler door sliding shut again. He didn't like reality, and he let himself slip off again.
The other five exchanged more worried glances the longer Charlie lay there. Jeremy looked up at his mother. "Did they kill him?"
"No, sweetie, you can see him breathing, look."
"Then why doesn't he get up?"
"He'll be okay, kid," offered the teenager. "Just let him take his time."
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By the time Colby and David got back to the scene, half-an-hour after they had talked to the perp and received his demands, there was an LAPD tech van serving as command central in the parking lot. Don was pacing outside the van when he saw them, and frowned at the number of files in Colby's hands.
"What did you get?", he asked as soon as they were in earshot.
Colby held up the files. "Helluva lot more guys named 'Elvis' than I thought. We got almost 30 right here in L.A. County, paroled on robbery convictions in the last five years."
Lieutenant Richards leaned out of the van and looked at Don. "Get your people in here and we'll go over what we know."
It was a tight fit in the van with LAPD's technicians, Davis, Richards, and Don's team. David and Megan sat on the floorboard, half outside. Don assumed control, quickly introducing everybody before turning again to Colby. "30 possibles?"
Colby nodded. "29, actually." He thumbed through the files and dropped several on the floor. "These seven are already back inside on parole violations." Three more files dropped to the floor. "These are dead." He dropped some more files on the pile. "These five are unlikely. Couple of 'em are almost 80. One is actually a monk, now. Two are LAPD informants."
Don looked at the files Colby still held. "Still 14 possibles," he noted.
Colby dropped almost all the files, saving three. "We've contacted 11, so we know they're not in there."
Don smiled grimly. "Odds are getting better."
"We've re-established contact," put in Lieutenant Richards. "Mike, play the tapes back."
Don looked at the floor while they all listened to the negotiation again. When if was over, there was silence. Then, they played the tape of Don's earlier call to Charlie.
Captain Davis cleared his throat. "Okay. So this is what we know. There are two perps holding six hostages. One of the perps is named Elvis. One of them has been to prison, and came out of there a pretty sick bastard."
"That's not Elvis," Colby said suddenly.
All heads turned his direction.
"Okay, listen to the end of Charlie's call again. Try to pick up more of the voice in the background."
The technicians were soon playing the tape again, and Don thought he was going to have to leave the van the third time he heard Charlie being hit, or kicked, or whatever they were doing to him. This time, though, they heard more of the other voice. "…told you not to let him answer…" The tape was switched off.
Colby continued, waving the files in the crowded van. "I'm Elvis. I hear Charlie tell you my name. That pisses me off, and I let someone else know about it. Elvis didn't want Charlie to take the call, but Elvis didn't make the final decision. The other guy is in charge."
Don looked at the tech. "Can you do a voice match of that voice against the one on the negotiation tape?"
"I'll try, sir. Not much to work with on this one." The officer soon had voice prints on a split screen. "Definitely not a match."
Don nodded, looked at Colby. "You're right. Elvis is not in charge. So add that to what we know."
"Now we speculate," put in Megan. "Elvis didn't want his name out. Maybe that's because he has a jacket. If our Elvis also did time, who is he most likely to team up with on the outside, to pull another job?"
"Someone he met on the inside," offered David.
"Right," she confirmed. "But someone he's willing to play second gun to. Someone with more experience…or just a stronger personality…Colby, let me see the three guys you have left."
He handed over the files and she opened them all on the floor of the van and peered at them. "This one's a two-time loser, worked alone both times. This one's part of an established ring, one of the leaders." She picked up the third file and looked at it more carefully, then tossed it into the bigger pile of eliminated suspects. "This one is out. First offense, a family feud. Step-father pressed robbery charges on an 18-year-old kid. Sentenced to the minimum, out early on good behavior with a fresh college degree courtesy State of California. I'm not seeing him in this."
Don leaned over and picked up the first of the files she had opened. "My money is on this one. If he's popped again, it's the third strike. Working alone wasn't doing it for him, so he latched onto someone he thought would keep him from getting caught, this time. Elvis Andrews. 33. Career criminal, juvenile record…" He handed the file back to Colby. "Contact the Warden at Pelican Bay. Find out what kind of incarceration this guy had."
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Although he didn't know it, almost half-an-hour passed before the cold floor convinced Charlie to push himself, with one hand, back into a sitting position.
He leaned against the wall carefully and pulled his legs up, cradling his broken hand behind them against broken ribs, and hoped that one day, he would still be able to have children. He saw everyone staring at him and gave a lopsided smile. "Did I miss anything?"
"That was harsh, man", the teenager answered. "How're the little dudes?"
"Ricky!"
The teenager looked at his girlfriend. "What?"
She rolled her eyes and shivered. "We've got to do something. That guy's crazy. We're not just gonna die, we're gonna die in a Mexican desert somewhere and our families will never find us."
Charlie shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. "She's right, he will kill us. But not in Mexico. The FBI will never let him leave with us. Once he realizes that…"
"But what can we do?" Pete looked at him, and Charlie saw the desperation in his eyes.
"We've got to try and play them off each other. Pit one against the other. It's all we've got."
"That little Elvis is getting tired of Sandy calling all the shots," started Jeremy's mother, but she stopped speaking abruptly when the door began to slide open again. Elvis stepped inside, slid the door shut again and leaned back against it.
"Didn't want y'all to get lonely."
