Coyotes in Winter: Part 5 of 6
Rossi and Lopez set their trap.
This is part five of a six-part serialized mystery story. If you forgot where we left off, see Coyotes in Winter Part 4. For the first part, see Coyotes in Winter Part 1.
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“I’ll meet you at the diner in half an hour,” Shawn said, then hung up.
I took Lopez back by the kitchen doors, where we could keep an eye on everything and not be overheard easily. I noticed that before the diner crew had left, someone had shut off the burners and other equipment. Someone who planned to return. I couldn’t decide if that bode well for us or for the people we wanted to catch.
“I am,” I said, unable to find the word and settling with, “…surprised… the phone thing worked.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you know men. Husky voice, come and meet me, blah blah blah.”
“I’m not buying it,” I said. “As a man.”
She slipped the fingers from her left hand between the fingers of my right hand and held on lightly. “What are you saying?”
“We’ve apprehended two armed suspects. We’ve got new leads and evidence. We’ve got a witness. We’ve learned why the antibiotics are being stolen, about the undocumented workers, how they’re controlled, and why they’re being used. I’m saying, we’ve done enough. I’m saying let’s call this in.”
“We still don’t know how they’ve been evading the cops. Who are these coyotes? Why’s the diner important? On top of that, after six months of them disappearing every time we get close, we’re finally bringing one of them to us. And he’s bringing the sister. So I say we stick it out to the end.”
“You think he’s actually going to bring her? You know what he’s going to bring? Guns. Even if he brings the sister, he’s going to bring guns. And a crew. Think about it. They’ve evaded us every time. What if they use the same method to surprise us now?”
She squeezed my hand. “It’s going to be OK.”
“I don’t want to die inside this diner.”
“We won’t.”
“I don’t want to die in the parking lot, either.”
“Maybe, Rossi, I know what I’m doing.” She looked down at her shoes. I couldn’t read her expression. Possibly exasperation, possibly exhaustion, possibly ennui.
I gave her a brief hug and we split apart, holding hands to the end, the fingers lingering for a moment, intertwined.
Lopez gathered me and Fuentes by the antique manual cash register at the front of the diner. “Here’s my idea,” Lopez said. “We’ll take them outside, at the front. We lock the front door so they can’t enter. Me and Rossi take my SUV and hide behind that snowdrift.” She pointed out the window, to where a crew had used construction equipment to pile snow from the road and the parking lot into a small hill. “They pull into the parking lot. Stop at the front door. After they get out of their car, we roll in. Block the car in with my SUV. No escape route.”
Fuentes said, “They could run.”
I shook my head. “The parking lot and field have no cover. They won’t try to cross those areas under fire.” I thought about the plan. “What about Fuentes?”
“She waits inside,” Lopez said.
“I don’t like it,” I said. “Things go south, she’s trapped.”
“She can’t be outside with us.”
“Look, she’s a civilian. Her first instinct is to run.” I turned to Fuentes and said, “What’s the first thing you’re thinking about right now?”
“Running.”
“Exactly,” I turned to Lopez. “Let’s take advantage of that.”
“How?” Lopez said.
“Your plan could use a distraction. Fuentes is the distraction. While we’re dealing with Shawn at the front door, Fuentes runs out the back door and makes a big noise.” I briefly waved my hands over my head in the international symbol of running around with your hair on fire. “Meanwhile, she gets a chance to run.”
“What’s the noise?”
“Pile up a bunch of milk and pop bottles on the outside of the door. She panics, throws the door open, and the bottles smash on the concrete. Crash! Crash! Distraction.”
“Can you do that?” Lopez said to Fuentes.
“You are asking if I can panic?”
“No.”
“I will do the distraction, I suppose?”
“Noted as a yes,” I said. “And with the back door blocked, it will be difficult for someone to enter the back of the diner.”
“I am feeling confusion,” Fuentes said, “in many ways. But most importantly, are you not calling for help?” Fuentes said.
“Not yet,” Lopez said.
“Why not? Do not all cops work together here?”
“One of the reasons I hang out with Rossi, and not other cops, is because I’ve investigated cops.”
Fuentes held up a fist in solidarity. “You hunt all kinds of coyotes. Very good.”
Lopez ignored the gesture. “Good for reporters. Sucks for making a career.”
“Surely it is not that bad. In Guatemala, we see much corruption. We need good police like you.”
‘It’s that bad,” Lopez said. “I’ve put cops in prison. Understand?”
Lopez had been a cop in Rochester and on a fast track to detective. After she gave her testimony, however, the ICSO was the only force desperate enough to hire her. There was no fast track to anything in Iroquois County. The county had the same population density as the state of Washington and about as much crime.
“They think you are a… a snitch? But surely this cannot be all bad.”
Lopez didn’t respond.
I said, “There are rumors that she shot a cop.”
Lopez flashed me an angry look, which, I’ll admit, wasn’t very different from her usual look. It took a practiced eye.
“Why would police shoot police?” Fuentes said.
“We’re getting off track.” Lopez jabbed her thumb at our suspects. “Look at these pendejos. This guy on the phone, Shawn, has to be smarter than them. Smart people don’t shoot it out. Smart people let the lawyers fight it out. I’ll show Shawn my badge and he’ll sit down, shut up and lawyer up. No point in calling in help for that.”
Lopez checked the zip ties holding Frank and Shay. We set up plates, mugs, napkins and food as if they were sitting there eating lunch. No silverware, of course. She walked outside, careful of her knee, and made sure their faces weren’t visible from the windows. She went around the back and I heard a rattle of glass and metal as she set up the pile of bottles at the back door.
While Lopez was outside, I leaned down to Fuentes and lowered my voice so only she could hear me. “Stay back here. You can see out the front windows.” I pointed through the pass-through that the short-order cook uses. Fuentes followed my gesture with her eyes, out through the front window, and nodded. “It’s important to run at the right time. Everything will look really scary,” I said. “Everyone may have guns out. We may be yelling. But don’t run until the right time.”
“Don’t run?”
“I need you to wait until one thing happens. I’m going to put my hands up, like this.” I held my hands up at face level, palms forward, as if surrendering.
“I will wait. But what if the distraction does not work?
“Either everything will be under control, or Lopez and I will be dead. In any event, you’ll have a head start.”
Lopez and I left the Frank’s pickup truck out front. I moved my car to the front, near the truck, and parked off-center, taking up two spaces, like some rich jerk in an Audi might do.
Lopez looked at me with skepticism.
“You said they were ballers,” I told her. “It’s their car.”
“Do you even know what ballers are?”
“I Googled it.”
“Your ten-year-old Audi is supposed to be their car?”
“It’s not the car. It’s where the car is.”
Lopez saw the logic. If Shawn drove to the door, and we came up behind, then he might be boxed in by the pickup and my car.
Lopez and I took her SUV and hid behind the snow pile. There was no fresh snowfall that day, so our tires didn’t make obvious tracks.
While we waited, we worked through our steps, examining the terrain, worrying about where stray bullets might go. We opened the windows to listen for approaching traffic and the air had the heavy, wet smell that comes before a snowstorm.
A brown Explorer approached on the road. When it got close to the diner, it slowed down. Went past the diner. Made a slow, casual turn off the road and went down into a field onto the other side. A farmer, or hunters. Deer season had passed, but farmers always needed someone to control what they considered to be threats, animals like coyotes, who were desperate for food in winter.
“Are you carrying?” Lopez said.
“Nope.”
“What about that Sig I got you for Christmas?”
“I’m a civilian, remember? I haven’t had time to get it added to my permit.”
“Where’s your snubbie?”
She meant a well-used Detective Special revolver that I kept around for emergencies. I pointed to my Audi. “Trunk.”
“Sure. Makes it easier to find the bullets when they fall out.”
“If you’re nervous, why don’t you give me your off-duty?”
“All I’ve got is my off-duty. I’m off-duty, remember? I don’t get it, Rossi. You saw action. You can concealed-carry. Why don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to be a nurse.”
“For a guy who—” Her voice drifted off.
We’d both seen it at the same time.
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