Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller Read online

  “We think something happen you. I look on video feed and you nowhere!” he sputtered, veins popping out of his forehead.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I had an emergency that had to be tended to. I had no choice,” replied Jackson.

  “Damn. Paul has probably been trying to call,” he thought.

  “Everything’s fine now. No more problems. I promise,” Jackson offered.

  “Damn it, Jackson! Dis a business! We better not lost sales. I pay you good! Don’t like games!” the Slav brother shouted.

  “I understand. It won’t happen again,” Jackson said. It was a half-hearted apology. He had no idea who he could trust at this moment.

  “Better not.” He glared. This dude was scary. There was suddenly something very sinister about him. He had never seen this side before.

  Jackson’s radar was buzzing off the charts.

  “I sorry, officers. Should not called you,” he said as he got into his shiny black Range Rover. He slammed the door and peeled out.

  Jackson just wanted everyone to get out of there so he could think things through. At this point, he had no idea who he could trust about anything.

  The cops walked around the perimeter of the building and poked their heads in when he unlocked the back door. Brunell finally got out of the car as the cops were getting back into theirs, and they both went inside.

  “Dammit. Now I’m probably going to lose my job, Brunell,” Jackson said as he slammed the back door shut.

  He walked over to his desk and saw his cell blinking. Seven missed calls and four texts. His head was pounding.

  There were five calls from Paul, along with two texts, and two missed calls and two texts from Sam. She’d also left a voicemail.

  He scrolled down and saw.

  J has game 2nite. He wants u there. Call me.

  Then:

  Where r u?

  He hit his voicemail tab and deleted everything until he came to Sam’s.

  “Where are you, Jim?” She sounded very impatient. “Jackie has a game tonight and he wants you there. It’s on the west side. But it’s probably too late now. He is going with Jeff Morrison. He was good enough to take him along, as he does often these days. Unless you get this message in the next fifteen minutes.” The message ended.

  “Why not just rip my guts out and show them to me, Sam?” he muttered to himself. The call had come in an hour and a half ago.

  He fell into his chair and blew out what little air was left in him.

  He put his head in his hands and didn’t know whether to puke or start bawling. He groaned and moved his head from side to side.

  After a couple of minutes of misery, Brunell said, “So, are you going to sit there crying like a pussy, or are we going to figure out how to stop these hajis from blowing your ex-wife and kids to kingdom come?”

  Jackson had no fight left in him. He slowly looked up through glazed eyes and croaked, “We need a plan.”

  He stood up and walked slowly over to the office fridge. Jackson pulled out two Diet Mountain Dews and handed one to Adam. He pulled his jumbo Walmart Ibuprofen bottle out of the bottom desk drawer and popped four, half wishing he could just down the whole thing and be done with it all.

  “So, let’s go over what we know. Then, what we don’t,” Jackson said.

  “Are you sure you want to do it here? Who knows who has eyes and ears on us in here. That Russkie boss of yours acted pretty freaking deranged. Maybe he could be part of this deal,” Brunell said.

  “I noticed. But I don’t know where else to go. I can’t cover up the cams in here,” Jackson said. “They have been tailing me to my house and to the La Hacienda. We can’t go to the Unit. You don’t want to bring this into your house. Let me think about it. I can’t leave yet anyway, unless I want to get fired. Go back to work. I’ll meet you at La Hacienda at six,” Jackson replied.

  He racked his brain the rest of the afternoon, and the only place that came to mind was George’s trailer. He hoped they didn’t know about him. Jackson hadn’t seen him in a few days. He hoped he was still around.

  Jackson pulled into La Hacienda parking lot a little after six and saw Brunell’s car. He walked in and Doug pulled down his favorite brand of tequila from the top shelf. Jackson shook his head and said, “Not tonight, Doug. Got a few things to do.”

  Doug looked him in half astonishment and shrugged. “Whatever you say, Chief. This must be something pretty big. Not like you to miss out on the first good buzz of the night.”

  Jackson nodded and looked over at the corner table. Brunell was sitting there, back facing the corner, looking forward. Good cop technique. Never wanted to be surprised from the back.

  “But I do have a favor to ask. Let me use your car for the next few hours, and I’ll leave mine here. I need to use the rear exit, too,” Jackson said.

  Doug shrugged and said, “As long as I can drive that sweet little Bimmer, it’s all good by me.” He handed him the keys to his beater Chrysler minivan from behind the bar.

  Jackson walked over to Brunell. “Get up. Let’s go.”

  They walked around the bar and headed out the back kitchen door. Before getting into the van, Jackson took a long look up and down the alley. He didn’t see anyone. They took the long way around, through back alleys that adjoined two strip centers. He took a different route home than he normally would, before finally getting to the Motor Court.

  He chose the opposite entrance from his and parked a block from George’s place. No one would question a crappy fourteen-year-old minivan parked around here.

  They walked silently down the sidewalk and up to George’s front door. Jackson softly tapped on his door with the keys.

  “Hey, George. It’s me, Jackson,” he said in a loud golf whisper.

  George came over to the door, peeked through the slats, and opened up.

  “Hey, Super Cop! How the heck are ya? Come on in! Come in!” he said, obviously delighted to have some company.

  “Who’s your partner there?” George queried.

  “That’s Adam. Listen George, we need somewhere to talk and hash something out. The less you know, the better. I was wondering if we could maybe use your kitchen or something?” Jackson asked.

  “Of course! Of course! Is this some big car deal or is something more sinister going on? Maybe some asshole forgot to make his payments? I know it can’t be cop or intel stuff anymore. If only,” George said wistfully.

  George had missed the action. Whenever he would come over, he would discuss certain cases that were ongoing in the media and how effed up everyone was handling them. He was addicted to Court TV and knew every angle of every case Nancy Grace had ever televised.

  “Like I said, George; the less you know, the better,” Jackson said.

  “No problem! Nice to meet you, Adam. Hey! You guys want a cold beer? I was just running low,” George said.

  “No, thank you, George. We have to keep our wits about us right now. And nice to meet you too,” Adam said.

  “Sure, sure. I think I’ll grab one, though. You fellas take your time and have at it. Mi casa es su casa, as they say down south. It’s just nice to have some company!” George said cheerfully.

  “If you need something to write on, there’s a few legal pads and pens in that drawer.” He grabbed a beer and padded back into the living room to his easy chair and his Fox News.

  Jackson and Adam had papers and pens piled everywhere over the next couple of hours, making notes on notes. And then, making more notes. The kitchen table was covered.

  George was straining to listen to them from the other room, picking up a word here and there. It was killing him not be in on the action. He kept turning O’Reilly down lower and lower to get a better listen.

  After two hours of getting nowhere, Brunell said quietly, “First, we need something we can access these files on. You don't have a computer. We can’t access it at the lot and definitely not at the Unit. Then, we have to figure out how to get to the mule before the hajis d
o, unless they already have. Then, we need to formulate a way to get to the real threat, or threats. Then, we have to figure a way to warn people without creating a full-on panic. And we need to find out how far up the chain this goes, without alerting anyone higher up. Should be a piece of freaking cake.”

  “Other than that,” Jackson said, hanging his head down and tapping his pencil on the table.

  George padded into the kitchen.

  “Sorry to bother you fellas. Just grabbin’ another can of Messican mother’s milk,” he said as he shuffled toward the fridge.

  Jackson and Brunell were both sitting silently at the table with their heads in their hands. No one spoke.

  George piped up.

  “Not to stick my nose into another man’s business, but I might be able to help you guys out - if you need any, that is.”

  Jackson looked up and shook the blur out of his eyes.

  “Appreciate the offer, George. But with this deal, you’re better off not knowing. But we appreciate the hospitality,” he said.

  “Well, seeing as you two looked more strung out than a couple of meth-heads on a five-day bender and don’t seem to be making much headway, just thought I’d offer,” George said.

  “I’ve been out of commission for a while, but an old dog still has a few tricks, especially considering this old dog used to operate in a time where we had a little more… flexibility… to get what we wanted,” George offered.

  Jackson shook his head. “George. I value our friendship. You have no idea how much. And I know you were The Cheese back in the day. But this is some big shit, not some penny ante, horse thieving stuff.”

  “Is that what you think I did? Son, you have no idea,” George said sternly. “We ran down more badass diablos than you’ve seen in ten lifetimes. This place used to be the Wild West. It was close to chaos. Murder was rampant.” He was getting heated. “I singlehandedly took down the entire western division of Satan’s Hellcats, the largest murdering mob of crank and speed freaks in the entire United States. Not to mention all the crooked politicians and worse!”

  George was getting worked up into a lather now. “Who do you think nearly brought down McCastle in the Krondak Five case? I would have too, except for his wife’s daddy and all their Federal connections!”

  He was referring to war hero, Jim McCastle, now Senator, and the huge pile of funny money that Mitchell Krondak lavished on him and four others in the eighties to grease the skids for his shaky Savings & Loan real estate dealings. McCastle had come very close to winding up in jail, but someone from DC had ordered the stand-down, forcing them to look the other way at the last minute.

  George continued his tirade, “And being as that we were ‘Way Out There’, according to DC, we had a lot of in-house discretion as to how we operated. We actually had to be real investigators, not this hamstrung, PC bullshit you guys have now. Not only did we throw out the book, we invented the damn book.”

  “George, look. I didn’t realize. No offense,” Jackson said.

  Adam piped up and said, “Jackson, maybe we could use a new set of eyes on this stuff. Listen to what he says?”

  “No way in hell, Brunell! You’ve already put my family in real danger and wrecked my job. Now you want to destroy the last real friend I have left? We need to go,” Jackson blurted out.

  “Now settle down there, son.” George stepped in. “I have been through one hell of a lot in my day. Lucy and I came so close to splitting up over it all so many times, that I can’t even tell you! We had death threats and were stalked for years. I used to have a full detail watching the house twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Do you have any idea what that does to a family? The doctors thought all the stress might have been what eventually took my Lucy away from me. No family should have had to deal with what I put them through. They warned me that if things didn’t change, she was headed for big trouble.”

  George was shouting now.

  “So don’t get all high and mighty on me, hotshot! I paid the ultimate price for this country. And just because you assholes have those smartphones and your fancy tech crap these days, doesn’t make you any smarter or better than we were! If anything, it has made you all dumber! Don’t think for one minute, that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about!”

  He was shouting, full throttle, at Jackson now. “You have no idea who you are talking to! I just never told you any of this because I didn’t want to bring up any painful memories. Being how everything was still fresh, after you getting canned and whatnot. I was being nice. And don’t think I don't have skin in this game! I still have my daughter, Lindsay, and little Liza to think about. And, as jacked up as everything is now, I still love what is left of this mess of a country!”

  George’s daughter, Lindsay and his granddaughter, Liza lived in Fountain Hills, a sleepy bedroom community in Scottsdale. Liza was the apple of George’s eye.

  Adam took hold and ran with it. “Look, Jackson. What’s the worst that can happen? If everything goes up in flames, nothing else really matters. I say we bring him in. We don’t have anywhere else to turn right now. And maybe he can help shed some light here.”

  “And I vote the same! That’s two to one, and last I checked, you are just a used car peddler with a drinking problem. This dude over here seems to be the only real cop in the room,” George chimed in.

  “Then it’s settled, we bring him in,” Brunell said. “Pull up a chair, George, and grab me a beer.”

  “Gladly, Adam! Will it be Tecate or Tecate? And how about for you, Mr. Sham Wow?” George snarked at him.

  Jackson bit his lip and hung on to the bottom of the table to keep from slugging Brunell. He shook his head. “No thanks. I’ll pass.”

  George popped the beer tops, set both down, and pulled up a chair. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

  “So, what do you say, boys? Let’s go get these rotten rat bastards!”

  11

  After they had finished laying out the scenario, they stopped and looked at George. He was visibly sweating, yet surprisingly calm. He had been tilting his head this way and that as they had spelled it all out. Turned out, it really did help to have a seasoned pro in on the thing.

  He had a way of dealing with crises that seemed above the fray - a kind of something that Jackson couldn’t put his finger on, almost like he was quietly listening to another voice and conveying the message. He didn’t seem afraid.

  “Let me process this thing a little bit.”

  He put his head down and was dead still for several minutes, taking on an almost trance-like state. The only sound in the trailer was the quiet banter of a liberal fighting a conservative on Fox in the other room, and the tick tock of the thirty-year-old daisy clock on the wall.

  Finally, he looked up, took a deep breath and said, “OK. It seems that the first step is to get everything off that drive as soon as possible, then figure out how to get to the mule. Doing those two things should open up the rest of the doors.”

  “Yeah, but we need a computer to pull everything down. We can’t risk taking this anywhere. I suppose we could go over to Walmart and buy one,” Brunell said.

  “I have one. I keep it here for when Lindsay and Liza come over. Can you believe these kids are doing their damn homework on the internet in the second grade now? They can operate these things way better than me.”

  Jackson and Brunell looked at each other.

  “I call it the ‘Antichrist’ and won’t go near the damn thing. Lindsay even signed me up for one of those damned Facebook accounts. I never look at it unless she calls and tells me she put pictures of Liza on there for me,” George said.

  “Where is it?” Jackson and Brunell asked almost in unison.

  “Hang on,” George said.

  He went into the living room and pulled it out from under the couch.

  “It requires an internet connection, which I don’t have, but I mooch off my disability-abusing neighbor next door. The dude is online twenty-f
our hours a day, playin’ all those damn video games, and looking at porn for all I know. Lindsay showed me how to log into it,” George said.

  “That’s unsafe, George,” Brunell said.

  “I never use the thing. I got nothing to hide,” he replied.

  They realized he had a point, but it would pose problems for them in the future.

  He put it on the table and fired it up. After turning off the Wi-Fi and sticking a piece of masking tape over the camera, Jackson pulled the drive out of his pocket and stuck it in the USB slot on the side. As the folders filled the screen, George’s eyes got wide.

  “Holy crap, fellas. This is some serious shit, all right.”

  They opened them all one by one. When they got to one of the Spanish ones with images, George said, “Stop! I recognize some of this. Back in the day, we had a group from down in Oaxaca, called themselves the ‘Moon God Warriors’ or something like that. They had symbols like this. It was some kind of a cult, but they were the most vicious, murdering bastards any of us had ever seen.”

  George visibly shuddered. “We busted a few of them after they snuck over the border and were caught on their way up to Paradise Valley to kill a wealthy Mexican industrialist who had a mansion over there on Camelback Golf Course.

  “Word was that the cartels, although they were small back then, had partnered up with them and used them as their assassination squad. The cartels were just coming on back then. They didn’t have the kind of manpower they have today. These psychos were their hired goons.

  “Sittin’ in the box with one of these freak boys would make your blood go cold. Never saw the kind of hate they carried. It oozed out of them, almost like meeting with the very devil himself. Scary stuff, I tell ya, boys.”

  “So what do you think these pics have to do with them?” Jackson asked.

  “They had these same symbols tattooed on their bodies. All over. Curved swords, the half-moons, blood drops, skulls, severed heads, you name it. Real beast-from-hell-type stuff. I'll never forget it,” George shuddered.