The Templar Reprisals (The Best Thrillers Book 3) by James Best (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗

Casual, confident. He had no identification, and his fingerprints were not on file. They had started a facial recognition scan, but it might be hours or even days before they had a hit. He wished this were a television interrogation, then they could cut to commercial and by the time they returned, the scan would magically deliver the identity of the culprit.

As the staring contest continued, Evarts decided the man was not ex-military. Too insolent, too cocky. He was a street thug someone found and enlisted to inflict mayhem on command. The man looked like the type who enjoyed the work.

“Where’d you grow up?” Evarts asked.

A small flinch. He was not expecting that question.

“You figure it out.”

“We will,” Evarts said. “Open your shirt.”

“Uncuff me.”

“You have enough slack. Lean forward. Open your shirt.”

“Make me.”

“If you insist,” Evarts said matter-of-factly. “You’re under arrest, so I have the authority.”

“Go fuck yourself. I ain’t strippin’ to turn you on.”

Evarts stood. “I’ll get a couple of my gentler cops to remove your clothing.” He smiled. “Wait here.”

Evarts hadn’t even taken one step before the man leaned forward to unbutton his shirt. As Evarts expected, the man’s chest was covered in tattoos, but Evarts was most interested in the one over his heart.

“So, you grew up in South L.A.” Evarts feigned indifference. “And you’re a killer.”

“What the hell? Where’d you get that from? My tats? Yer crazy.”

“Those aren’t prison tats. In fact, ‘211’ is a Crips’ tat.”

“I don’t know ’bout that, man.” He pointed to his chest. “This ‘211’ is so I don’t forget the phone number for social services. When I got it, I didn’t speak English. That was years ago, man.”

“You can button your shirt,” Evarts said noncommittedly.

The Crips used code for many of their tats. Most were a simple replacement of numbers for the corresponding numerical letter in the alphabet. Decoded, ‘211’ stood for BK, which meant Blood Killer. The Crips and Bloods were rivals and to earn that tat, the man in front of him had killed a hostile gang member. He knew one of the observing officers behind the mirror would refocus the facial recognition scan to Crip members.

“What’s your name?” Evarts asked.

“Jesus,” he said, pronouncing the J as an H.

“Jesus what?”

“Yup, Jesus What. Good name.” He looked smug. “Hey, can I get some bottled water?”

“No. Who hired you?”

“I don’t work, man.” He made a show of looking around. “Got a job for me here?”

“You shouldn’t joke around. You’re under arrest for two attempted murders and a host of other charges.”

“Two attempted what? What you talkin’ ’bout?”

“The attack on me today and the one last week.” Evarts spoke calmly. “I should forewarn you; I take this personally.”

“I never attacked you, man. Hell, I just pulled over to take a leak and you came chargin’ out of that driveway drivin’ like a crazy man. Scared me shitless, so I took off.”

“Today, you were the getaway driver, but last Wednesday you were one of the shooters,” Evarts said. “I have a witness that identifies you.”

“Bullshit! Ain’t no witness for somethin’ I never did.”

“There is. Me … I saw you shoot at me from alongside my driveway.”

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Fucking way.” When he got no response, Evarts added, “I told you, I take this personally.”

He smiled. “You can’t frame me. I got an alibi for three days ago.”

Evarts shrugged. “Won’t matter, even if it’s rock solid. Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon? Two assaults against a police officer? Flight. Hostage taking? My testimony will get you locked up in county until trial. That’s all I’ll need.”

For the first time, Jesus appeared concerned. “What you mean that’s all you need?”

Evarts bent over and stage whispered. “Listen, to tell the truth, I know the men who attacked me and escaped three days ago are dead. You may not know it, but the people who hired you are Islamic terrorists: a very ruthless breed of terrorists. With money and organization. They’ll go to any lengths to keep their cells from being exposed. They eliminate any and all risks. Always.” Evarts leaned against his chair back. “Understand?”

Jesus’ brow furrowed. “You think they kill me in lock up?”

“I know they will.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, fuck.”

“You’d do that? You’re a cop, for God’s sake. Chief of Police.”

“I told you, this is personal.”

“Wait a minute, why do they want you dead?”

“Your concern should be why they want you dead.”

“I don’t know nothin’.”

“That’s a double negative,” Evarts said. “Their concern is that you might know something.”

Evarts allowed him to stew on the reality of the situation. Finally, Jesus slumped in his chair, his body language displaying submissiveness.

“This is a deal negotiation, right?” Jesus said.

“Yes,” Evarts answered. “If you tell me what you know, I’ll drop the charges to a single Class C felony.”

“One Class B misdemeanor, city jail.”

Evarts paused, appearing to think it over. “Possibly … but that will be my call … after I hear what you’ve got to tell me.”

Jesus thought it over. Finally, he nodded.

“How much were you paid?”

“Two grand up front and I would’ve gotten another three Gs after the job was done.”

“How about the shooters?”

“Four and six.”

“That’s fifty thousand dollars spread between the six of you.”

Jesus sighed before adding, “Unless we got your wife too. That would’ve been a thirty G bonus. Five each.”

Evarts suppressed his rage. “Who hired you?”

Jesus shrugged. “Pre-paid phones. I was the last recruited. In my case, bitcoins wired to a Mexican account. We never knew who they were, but they knew their shit.”

“Accents?”

“None. Not no Arab, for sure. Hate those bastards. If I had known they were behind this job, I would’ve said no.”

“But it was okay if it was the mob?”

“Hell yeah. Those are our guys.”

“Did you know the others on the team?”

“I worked with one before. The second driver. He got me this gig. The others were strangers … at first.”

“At first?”

“We got to know each other over last couple days. They put us up at the Hyatt.”

“Hyatt Centric in Santa Barbara?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Did you speculate on who hired you?”

He laughed. “Of course,