Chap. 18 – Father's Day
Outside Garden State Plaza Mall
"James Shannon, you are under arrest." Mary had dreamed of saying those words. Now that this dream had come through, she felt as if she were walking through gelatin. Sound, sight, touch all dialed back. Time itself slowed, then speeded up as she turned him roughly and slapped on the cuffs. The prisoner winced. The handcuffs were pinching his skin. Too bad douche bag.
Marshall and Stan closed in on them, protecting Mary, making certain James Shannon didn't try anything. Marshall saw Mary's breath coming in gulps and gasps. He wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't hyperventilate, but he couldn't. James Wiley Shannon had to be the focus of his attention.
"James Shannon, you are in the custody of the United States Marshall Service for felony evading, bank robbery and kidnapping." Stan informed him. Mary had never heard Stan sound so, so, in command. She could hardly believe her ears. Everything in this situation is unbelievable. What's one more?
James flinched at the word kidnapping, but otherwise ignored Stan. He had eyes only for Mary. "Mary, Sweetheart. I've been looking for you."
"Tell me something I don't know asshole." Stan nodded to Marshall. "Hold him," and stepped away, phone in hand making a call. Marshall grabbed James' elbow with a control hold.
After a brief conversation Stan approached the trio. "Mary, do you know how to get to Jasper Road?"
"Off Ferndale, right?"
Stan consulted his phone. "Yes, that's it."
"Get the car. We've got him." Mary quirked an eyebrow at him. Stan made a shooing gesture, assuring her that he did have a plan.
"He's not going anywhere, Mare. Go." Marshall assured her.
This time Stan sat up front. Marshall and James Shannon had the back seat. 221 Ferndale turned out to be a modest ranch style home, with a driveway that went behind the house, effectively hiding their car. It was conveniently empty, and unfortunately, unheated.
Once in the house, Marshall turned on the heat. Coats, caps and scarves stayed on. Gloves came off – the better to hold their Glocks. The small kitchen had a table and four chairs. James and Mary sat opposite one another. Stan and Marshall stood guard on either side.
"Mary," her fathers' voice was warm with welcome. "Look at you. What a beautiful woman you've become." Mary wasn't the only one glaring at the old reprobate.
No thanks to you, she longed to say. She hoped the embarrassment that flushed her body would be mistaken for anger. She was embarrassed that this skinny, scruffy old man had provided half her biological material. If she could she would cut those parts out. It would have been less painful than the last thirty years.
"Did you have anything to do with the kidnapping of Jinx Shannon?"
"Whew! Right to the point. No beating around the bush, no how are you Dad, how have you been?"
"I don't give a rats ass how you've been Daddy. Who took her? Who ordered the kidnapping?
"That wasn't me, Sweetheart. Ginger was always easy on the eyes, but hard to live with. I never wanted any of you hurt. That's why I left. To keep you safe."
"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Now answer the question. Who kidnapped Jinx?"
"I had nothing to do with that. You have to believe me. It might have been was Rosco. He thinks I have the money from our last heist. I don't. Would I be living like this if I had?" His shabby appearance made the con man's case convincing. Not that Mary bought it. Neither did Stan or Marshall.
"Why would Rosco kidnap Mom?" They needed to know what James knew, or what he thought he knew.
"I'm not sure. He may have been trying to flush me out. Getting you to Jersey was a bonus. He knew I'd want to see you." James put his hand across the table, reaching for hers. Marshall moved closer. Mary sat back, moving her hand out of reach.
"How would he know that? Why would he think you wanted to see me?" Mary hadn't seen her father since she was almost 7 years old. Had he seen her? How could he have done that? If he had my address, he could have watched me.
"I talked about you. Told him how proud I was of you. He thought it was strange that I'd feel that way about having a child in law enforcement."
"I'm not a child," she spat. "I don't believe you. If your lips are moving it must be a lie. Just like all the other lies you told me before you left." Mary was angry with herself for being upset. Marshall's brow furrowed in concern. Stan watched every move James made.
"Mary," this time he sounded disappointed. "I know I . . ."
She wouldn't let him finish. Instead she shouted, "Who's trying to kill me?"
This time James straightened in his chair, not leaning towards Mary. "Kill you?"
"Yes," she hissed. "I was run over by a truck, grabbed in an alley and attacked. Despite their attempts, I'm not dead. It wasn't for lack of trying."
"You were run over by a truck?" He looked at her with sympathy, checking for visible injuries. "You look good to me Sweetheart."
"I was struck by a black SUV with tinted windows on the outskirts of Newark. Anyone you know, DAD?" This was the point in the interrogation where Mary should have sat back and let the silence drag an answer out of the prisoner. Stan knew it, Marshall knew it. On some level even Mary knew it. But the rage that propelled her for almost 30 years wouldn't let her stop.
"In Newark, I met an old classmate. Paddy O'Connor. He and two of his homies dragged me into an alley. Thought they'd have some fun with a dumb blonde, and then sell her for 'export.' They got a broken nose, a shot up knee cap and jail instead."
James winced when he heard the word export. He knew it meant sex trafficking. He almost smiled at the thought that his little girl had taken out three goons single handed. But his mind was still on the hit and run. He rubbed his stubble chin, deep in thought. "Black SUV? New model?" he asked, looking her way.
She nodded. Marshall had moved to stand directly behind James. James appeared compliant, but Marshall was taking no chances. He had read the file. James Shannon was as wily as his middle name. Mary's father had his own reasons for wanting to see her. With his long arms and long legs, Marshall could stand close enough to reach the prisoner, while staying too far for the prisoner to reach him.
"Sounds like the mob. What you do to piss them off Sweetheart?" James Shannon showed he could fake sincerity with the best of them.
"I'm not your Sweetheart. Stop calling me that." Mary had tried to ignore the endearment but continued repetition had eroded her shallow reserve of patience.
"Unlike you, DAD I have no dealings with the mob. Think. Why are they after me? What did you do that would make them think that kidnapping your wife and trying to kill a United States Marshal was a good idea?"
"You sure you haven't put away any of the Jersey Commission, any relatives, connections?" James Shannon was thinking, examining the relationships in the Commission. "Are there any Commission members or members of their families that have dropped out of sight recently?"
Marshall raised an eyebrow at James's question. He glanced at Stan to see if he knew the answer. If he did, Stan's expression didn't give it away. The only thing Stan knew is that they had to turn James Shannon into the authorities. Soon. The three of them could only hold him for a short time.
"I'll ask the questions," Mary snarled. "Who is trying to kill me?"
"I don't know. If you let me make the rounds, I can ask. See what I can find out."
Marshall spoke for the first time. "No. You are in custody and you will stay that way." Marshall was deadly serious. Mary and Stan could hear the cold fire in his voice. Even James couldn't miss the threat. "You are going to prison for the rest of your life."
James response was mild. "No, no no. You don't understand. Prison is ok. I'll be safer in jail. The right jail."
"And why is that Daddy? Who is after you?" Mary hadn't gotten an answer to her last question, but the answer to this one might work.
"You know I never killed no one. I don't like guns. There's a rumor that I shot one of the guys on my crew almost ten years back. I swear I didn't. I heard that the dead guy had some sort of mob connection. He wasn't a made man, but he had a sister or cousin or something. When he was shot, the relation was told I pulled the trigger. It wasn't me. I think his 'partner' the guy he brought in, shot him. Wanted a bigger cut of the action. Of course I can't prove it. I didn't see it happen. I never worked with him again. I got out of there as fast as I could."
"So it is the mob."Marshall shook his head. This was bad. The mobs connected all across the United States. Hell, across the world. If they all cooperated, Mary was as good as dead. He and Stan wouldn't be far behind. Marshall had faith in the Marshal Service, but he could count. They would be outnumbered, out gunned.
"Not the real mob,"James replied earnestly. "Not the official Commission guys. It's whoever this sister or relation could get from the mob to rub me out. The capos have no problem with me. I'm small potatoes." James meant what he said.
"Dead is dead. Whether it's the whole mob, or one guy, doesn't make a bit of difference." Marshall said.
Mary got up and walked behind the chair she'd used. She glared at the man who had been the cause of so much grief. Why had she given this worn excuse for a man so much power? She stopped her study of James and looked up at Marshall poised behind him.
Mary was struck by his fierce expression. There was no doubt in her mind that he would shoot James if necessary. Mary had no problem with that. None at all. She felt warmth flood her body as she saw the depth of his devotion.
The heater had begun starting to defrost the chilly house. The ducts creaked and popped as they warmed, and rumbled when the blower started. The marshals and James had reached the end of the road. Time to turn the bastard in.
Mary was standing, facing the front of the house when they heard screeching tires and a loud powerful engine. Marshall rushed to the front window staying to the side. At the first sound of gunfire, they all dropped to the floor. Bullets sprayed the door, the shattering the front window.
Where in the hell is that sniper window when you need it? Mary had pushed the table over, using it for cover. James had moved to the wall, away from the doorway. Stan was on the other side of the door, gun drawn.
Mary's heart clenched when she saw Marshall go down. Doofus is ducking. When the shooting stopped, the sound of the car faded. Mary stayed low and sprinted to where Marshall lay.
His eyes were open. His color's good. No blood that she could see. "Stay still. Let me look at you, get some of this glass off." She brushed the shards carefully, starting with his face, then his hair.
"Good thing you got that poufy doo. It caught a lot of this crap." When she had first met Marshall she thought his hair was ridiculous. Later she figured it was just some weird western style. Lately she had become quite fond of his hair. She flashed on grabbing handfuls of it to get his lips to hers.
She moved down to his collar, clearing the pieces of glass. She swallowed nervously but her hands were steady. Marshall started to stand up when Mary cried "Wait, wait." Another long glass piece was caught between the collar of his long coat and his scarf, a sharp point aimed at his Adam's apple.
"That piece would have meant the end of your trivia talks," she murmured, relieved to have it gone.
"Don't tell me that isn't what you always wanted," Marshall retorted.
"No, cowboy, not that way. Never like that." She opened his shirt collar and ran her fingers around his neck. Once she gave him the all clear; he picked up his gun and stood up.
Back in the kitchen, Mary was met by quite a sight. Stan, gun drawn, with their prisoner on his knees in front of him.
Mary blew out a breath. "What in the hell was that?"
"Did you see the car?" Stan asked. Marshall shook his head, no.
"Who knew we were here?" Mary looked to Marshall. "Stan, you and I were ok at the other place. You checked us for tracking devices. Stan checked the car. That only leaves two possibilities. Your cell was tracked or," she turned to her father, "you brought them. They lo-jacked you."
Stan righted the table. "Put your hands on the table. Marshall, search him. Check his pockets." James looked bewildered.
"Do it now, asshole," Mary shouted, shoving her Glock in his face. He jerked and laid his hands still cuffed, flat on the table. Marshall peeled off James's coat, checking the pockets, the lining, every seam. When he finished he handed it to Stan, who checked again. Next Marshall took everything out of the pants pockets, ran his hands down James legs and pinched the hems at the bottom of his jeans.
Pat down done, Marshall pushed James onto a kitchen chair, quickly released cuffs, yanked his arms behind his back and refastened the hand cuffs. Zip ties attached the cuffs to the back of the wooden chair. They were all shaken and he was taking no chances.
"What have we got here?" Stan used the muzzle of his gun to spread the stuff from James pockets. There were coins, a room key card, a gum wrapper and lint.
"I need my bag. Then we'll know," Marshall stated.
"I'll get it," Mary said. "You two keep an eye on him." She had to get out of there, do a perimeter check, anything to shake off the reaction to being the target in a shooting gallery. When she returned from the car, everyone was in the same position, like a kid's game of Freeze.
"Here's your magic bag, Wizard. Do your stuff."She watched as he put on the light mounted on a headband. Mary thought it made Marshall look like a Transformer. Is there a searchlight Transformer?
Marshall had more than a head mounted light in his go bag. He got out the probe he used on her Blessed Mary medal. Carefully watching the tiny display, he saw it spike when he ran it over the change that came from James's pants pocket.
"Stan's eyes and gun had never left James. Mary split her attention between Marshall and her father.
"I think this is the culprit," Marshall announced. He moved one quarter away from the rest of the coins.
"Aw, hell," James exclaimed.
"Think," Mary demanded. "Where did you get that quarter? You didn't have a lot of coins in your pocket. Where did you get change?"
"Retrace your steps. Did you have those coins yesterday?" Marshall prompted.
James head hung forward. With his arms behind him he couldn't lean far.
"Start with yesterday morning," Stan urged. "Where were you then?"
James recounted the last two days. He was staying at a small cheap motel. He didn't have a car so he took the bus to the mall today. The day before he had stayed near the motel. There was a bar and pancake house within walking distance. He went there for breakfast and dinner. He could have gotten the quarter at either place. He didn't have a chance to order lunch today.
"Someone knows you were staying at that motel," Mary declared
"We've got to get out of here before your buddies come back to see if the jobs done," Marshall said.
Remembering what Marshall had done with the tracker on her medal, she asked Marshall, "What should we do with this?" She held up the coin with the bug.
"Much as I'd like to stick it on a transit bus, and have them follow it all over town, it's best if we leave it here. Dead people don't move around much."
"Right," said Stan. "Let's move."
Marshall slit the zip ties holding James to the chair and half led, half dragged him out the back door. He jammed him into the car without undoing the cuffs. James took the abuse without comment. He'd had worse, and if that mob guy had got to him, it would have been much worse.
Mary got back in the driver's seat. The restorod started immediately. She raced the motor, and checked the instruments. "We should stop for gas. Now, before they figure out we survived."
None of the marshals wanted to say it, but the fact that they were attacked at the safe house Eleanor had provided meant she was compromised too. Stan was not a happy camper.