Cold Steele - and Mrs. Robinson Ch. 03

Calling in a few favors and asking for a few, the electricity and water were turned on the same day I requested. Abby and I were able to continue our inspection and note taking until almost midnight the next day. Then the job of finding the right contractor to do the work on the house began. We finally decided on a father and son company as they seemed to have the same vision as we did. Other than a very few suggestions, my part in the rest of the process consisted in writing checks. I did insist, and Abby let me have my way, that the den was to be my sanctuary.

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"Did your friends in low places find something?" Abby asked.

I was getting ready to go out for a night looking for information, from some other friends in low places, about Wiley Thornton and a possible connection to Jonathan Robinson. "Yes they did but I've got to see a few others to get more information." I purposely didn't mention the contract killer I was looking for; Abby has a tendency to worry too much.

"I'll be home around 1; don't wait up." I kissed her, left the apartment and climbed into my trusty truck. Some of the places I was going to I didn't want to drive my Caddy and definitely not my Corvette; neither would have lasted five minutes parked on the street.

My expedition, a investigating or fact finding mission, whatever you want to call it, the first night didn't have a good result. I decided to give it another night and if I didn't get anything I'd try something else. What else I didn't know, but I'd try something as soon as I thought of it.

The next evening at midnight, I left the aptly named 'Dive Bar' on the seedy end of Lindell and headed for my truck. As I started to unlock the door, I saw in the reflection in my driver's side window of someone driving up behind me and stopping. The man got out of the car and started toward me. I whirled around and the man stopped in his tracks about twenty feet away.

The guy was average height and weight with dark hair; I couldn't tell the color as it was dark with few street lights around. He was wearing dark jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off; he definitely wasn't dressed like a model for GQ magazine. The only outstanding thing about him was the revolver that he held down by his leg. Another man climbed out of the passenger's side and came toward where his buddy was stopped.

"Get in the car," the gun holder ordered as he motioned with his weapon. I shook my head and slowly pulled my jacket away from my right side. This allowed the Glock on my hip to show.

"C'mon pal," the second man said. "You better do it. Jasper will shoot ya; he don't care."

"Shut up Boyd," Jasper ordered. "Get in the car Steele, I'm not gonna tell you again; our boss wants to see ya."

"Oh, that's good," I replied. "Now we know each other and can talk like gentlemen." Jasper was puzzled that I didn't seem to be afraid of him and his gun. He turned to look at Boyd and when he did I put my right hand on the butt of my pistol. Boyd pulled his own revolver from his waist band. I asked "Who's your boss?"

"You'll know soon enough. Get in the car. If you don't we'll pay a visit to that bitch you run around with." Jasper started to bring his gun up but saw my hand on my weapon and stopped with it about half way to pointing it at me.

"I'm not going with you Jasper, and you made a mistake calling my lady a bitch. I don't let things like that slide." I watched him tensed up and added, "That looks like a .38 you're carrying and a wheel gun at that. You may get off the first shot before I can draw; even if you hit me, odds are you won't kill me."

Boyd and Jasper looked at each other again.

"This is a semi automatic Glock .45 with a hair trigger I'm carrying. Before you can get off a second shot I'll have put two in you and maybe two in good ole Boyd there too. So to quote Dirty Harry, do you feel lucky punk?"

I guess they felt I was full of it or maybe they did feel lucky; they both raised their weapons to fire. As a detective, while with the police and in my own business, I've never practiced for a quick draw but I was fast enough that night. Jasper got off one round, which went over my head, and didn't get a chance at a second shot; Boyd never got a shot off at all.

Two quick shots, called a double tap, hit Jasper in the shoulder and in the leg; another shot knocked Boyd off his feet. I'd learned the 'double tap' from Jacob Tully, a former Master Gunnery Sergeant in the United State Marines; he'd been the instructor at the police pistol range when I was a detective. Neither Jasper or Boyd would die although they might wish they had. With quick medical attention they would survive our little encounter. Stepping closer to the men, I kicked their pistols out of reach and squatted down.

"You boys are hit pretty bad," I offered. I took out my phone and held it up where they could see it. "Y'all want me to call an ambulance for you?"

Jasper moaned and said, "C'mon Steele get us some help; I'm bleedin to death here."

"Tell me who sent you and I'll make the call." Jasper shook his head. "Okay, the nearest hospital is ten blocks north. But I don't think you can make it Jasper." I stood and took two steps toward my truck.

"Wiley Thornton was the one," Jasper said. I nodded my head and he added, "Wiley said to make you stop askin questions about that guy Hamilton and the broad."

"Mrs. Robinson?"

Jasper nodded. "His boss told him to make you stop; put a stop to your intrusive meddling he said. I heard him and had to ask Wiley what he meant."

"Who's the boss?" I asked.

"Some rich jerk. I don't know his name but I heard Wiley call him Robinson."

Gotcha, I thought. Now I'm gonna put you away.

To be continued