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Pursuit

By John Owens

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Chapter 1
Detective Decker’s Dream
In the dark, Detective Lou Decker crouched alongside an open door. He peered in. Ramon Garza stood there rocking and mumbling in a rapid, pressured Spanish to someone Decker could not see. Six months chasing this madman, finally, here he is in front of me. Garza laughed and began swaying maniacally while turning a machete in the fireplace blaze.
Decker drew his Beretta. He brought it to bear on Garza. The detective did not hesitate. A floorboard creaked as he stepped through the door. The killer turned to see the detective enter the room. With a scream, Garza charged, swinging the wicked blade downward at Decker’s head. Decker jumped to the side and the machete missed his head by inches. Garza gibbered as he stumbled and fell to one knee. Decker brought his gun down hard on Garza’s skull, knocking him cold. He handcuffed Garza and turned him over. Decker then picked up the machete and tossed it toward the fireplace. The detective pulled a Kimber Lite from the back of his belt. Quickly, he stuffed it into Garza’s sweaty right hand and…BLAM! He fired a round into the wall shattering a door jamb. “Missed that baby didn’t ya? Thought you’d want it back.”
The detective looked across the room. There was a child lying there, bound and hooded. He ran to the youngster, bent down and freed him. As Decker worked, the young boy looked up at him with terror in his eyes. A growling laugh came from behind. Lou turned to see the source of the boy’s fear. Instead of Garza, a large reptilian form advanced toward Decker. Wings flared and the monster’s huge mouth gaped open. A roar blasted through the room knocking Decker down.

*****

“Ring…ring.” The sudden noise caused Decker to shout “Hey--HEY!” He sat bolt upright in the lounge chair. He clawed toward consciousness, bolstered by the sensation of a growing puddle in his lap.
“Ring…Ring.” He reached for his cell phone. He had dumped a nearly full bottle of Budweiser onto his pants. Quickly setting the bottle upright, he now came fully awake. After a third ring Decker realized that it was his house phone that was ringing. Getting up from the lounger, he dumped his lap full of beer onto the floor. An expletive resounded through the room. Another mess! He walked to his desk and picked up the phone.
“Hello, Detective Decker?” came the voice on the line.
“Yes.”
“This in Linda at central dispatch. I'm sorry to bother you at home but I've had several calls from a man who wants to get in touch with you. He gave his name as Herb Van Doss. He identified himself as your brother-in-law. I tried to take a message, but he says it is important. He says he needs to talk directly to you. He asked for your home phone number, but of course, I didn't give it to him. I figured that if he doesn't have it, that’s a good reason for not giving it to him. He isn't buying the idea that you’ve been out sick for five days. He insists that we are not giving you his messages because you haven’t called him back, which is true, but I thought I ought to let you know since he keeps calling. Is it okay that I called you?”
“Yeah, sure. Thank you.”
“Detective, will you be back to work soon?”
“Don’t know.” Decker thought about his hearing that had been rescheduled for next week. It had now been rescheduled three times. Decker wondered himself if he would ever wear his badge again. “Hope so. Thanks Linda.”
Decker went to retrieve a rag to sop up the spill. Herb...as if things weren't bad enough already.
He looked at the clock. It was past four in the afternoon. He had been watching the Detroit Tigers lose another game, but he had dozed off. The game was over now. A TV psychologist was trying to keep a group of skinheads from coming to blows Just like work he laughed.
Decker picked up seven empty beer bottles. He carried them to the kitchen. He felt a wave of disgust with himself. He was never a daytime drinker. In fact, had rarely drank alcohol at all before his wife Maggie's death several years ago. Falling asleep in midafternoon. When have I ever done that?
Decker picked up his cell phone, masked his ID and dialed Herb’s home. A part of him hoped Herb had called from work so he could just leave a message. No such luck.
“Hello.”
“Herb? Its Lou.”
“You are one tough guy to get a hold of. Your old home phone number was disconnected, so I called the station for your number. Geez, Lou, that gal was no help at all. She kept telling me that you were sick. Well, since you finally called me back, can I assume you're on the mend?”
Seeing no need to fill Herb in on his current situation Lou lied. “Walking pneumonia, I'm taking a few days off” giving an obligatory but rather lame cough. “Don't take it personal. The dispatcher was following procedure.”
“Lou, this is important. Shelley's disappeared.”
“She’s gone? When?” Lou was more annoyed than concerned.
“Almost two weeks now.”
“Did she go, like, on a vacation with girlfriends or something?”
“Of course not. I wouldn't bother you for that. What do you mean 'or something?'”
Lou did not take the bait, so he didn't respond. Decker realized that his suspicions must be obvious--even to a blockhead like Herb. Not for the first time did Lou hope that Shelley finally had enough of this jackass and left him. Herb and Shelley had always had what one might call a tumultuous relationship, punctuated by shouting matches and drama. There were many brief periods of separation. Lou had always let his sister live her own life. She was an adult; if she wanted to live with someone who routinely screamed at her, well, that was her choice. However, last autumn, Lou had noted a sudden change in Shelley's general disposition. He also noticed what looked like bruises on her neck.
This enraged Decker so he spoke to a friend in the department about the situation. The friend agreed to pay Herb a visit. He posed as an old biker friend of Shelley’s. He remarked to Herb that he had run into Shelley and noticed the bruising on her neck in conjunction with her general malaise. He then spelled out clearly just what things would befall Herb if ‘the boys’ ever suspected that he laid a hand on Shelley. The officer reported back to Lou that Herb was the soul of indignation as he denied any issues at all with his marriage. Apparently, Herb took this admonition to heart as Shelley's demeanor normalized and no further marks were observed.
During the family Christmas get-together, Herb mentioned that he had a disturbing conversation with one of Lou's lowlife criminal informants, judging by the man’s accent and poor grammar. Lou feigned innocence, remarking “I come in contact with hoods every day. That's part of my job.” Actually, it wasn't, but Lou had plausible deniability. Herb’s expression suggested that Herb had figured out Lou was behind this. Decker later advised, “You know, Herb, Shelley used to run with a rough crowd before she met you. I might take whatever the man said to heart.” Herb went deathly pale at this warning. Lou wondered whether it was from fear or anger, but in any case, there was no further evidence of abuse.
Now Shelley was gone, again, but Lou’s cop sense whispered that this time might be different. “OK, tell me what you know.”
“Not much. She just left.”
“Herb, you called me, but if this is serious. If Shelley turns up injured or worse, you will be suspect numero uno.”
“C’mon, Lou, settle down. Can you come over so we can talk here, in private? I have some things to show you that might be evidence. That is, if you are well enough to travel.”
Evidence of what? Normally the thought of visiting Herb for any reason, other than to
spend time with his sister, would have prompted an immediate refusal. But this call and Herb's concern were unusual, plus Lou's radar had been activated. Something might really be wrong. This development, however unpleasant, might provide a respite for his ongoing devolution from duty, routine and responsibility.
“Guess so, but I can't get there until about seven-thirty.” Lou remembered that he should cough occasionally, so he gave a short one. “If you give me a line of BS or act evasive, I'm out of there.”
“No, really, Lou, we need to talk.” Herb coughed back and he chuckled.
“Okay, Seven-thirty. I'll stop for some burgers on the way. Do you want any?”
“Whatever you're having, as long as you are paying. Remember, I bought last time.”
Decker almost said aloud the last time. He could not remember when Herb had ever picked up the tab for anything,
Herb continued, “Just kidding Lou. Thanks. It'll be on me. It's the least I can do. Later.”

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