The Million Dollar Detective (10) he said, "Yah!" Then, "Oh!" as his butt hit the ground. Bart interrupted his story to tell Meredith, "What happened next may sound incredible, but I swear it's true. The bad guy, his rear end planted on the ground, looks up at me and says, I'm not making this up, 'Hey! Gimme my gun back!'" Despite his assurances, Meredith said, "No, you're not serious!" "I am," Bart said, "He did. He said that." "I presume you said, 'No,'" Meredith laughed. Looking up from the ground, the idiot kidnapper said, "Hey, gimme my gun back!" Bart did a double take, and said, "Uh, no." He deftly emptied the bullets from the gun and put them in his front pocket, then put the gun in his back pocket. To the man on the ground, he said, "You're done. You're busted. There're cops all around." Indignantly, the kidnapper whined, "You agreed no cops!" "Yeah, I'm sorry. I lied about that," Bart said. He did feel sorry for the idiot, but not very much. "Special Agent Dolty," Bart said to his hidden microphone, "could you have your people show themselves so he knows I'm not lying now?" A few innocent looking bystanders held up badges and guns, and a few men in FBI windbreakers stepped out of hiding. Dolty asked, "You want us to move in?" Bart replied, "No, not yet." "Shit," said the kidnapper. "You fucked me." "Well, now," Bart said, "some philosophers might say you share responsibility for your sad situation. You did commit the crime. Why don't you come sit on the bench?" With this gesture, Bart hoped to ease him by degrees into cooperating. The poor guy, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden ruination of his dreams, moved without protest, almost zombie-like, and plopped down on the bench. Bart said, "Hey, you want to see the money?" The guy looked up sharply. "Are you serious?" Without further hesitation, he pulled one of the cases up on the bench beside him. "Wow. You weren't kidding. This is heavy." As he made to open the case, Bart put a big hard hand on the guy's smaller, weaker hand and loomed over him, letting his intimidating size work on his mind. "Tell me where Tommy is first," he said. Now he spoke in a low, firm voice, the voice of authority. The kidnapper looked up, obviously alarmed, and obviously thinking hard, as unnatural as that must have been for him. Hesitantly, he said, "I think maybe I should talk to a lawyer." A little more confidently, he said, "I have the right to remain silent." Bart placed one hand over his hidden microphone. He took his other hand off the kidnapper's hand and placed it on his neck. He leaned in close, almost nose to nose, and gave the guy a fierce glare that had melted tougher criminals than this pathetic excuse for a kidnapper. Bart whispered, "Those are cop rules." He tightened his grip on the guy's neck, letting him feel the crushing strength available. In a half whisper, half growl, Bart said, "I'm not a cop." He hardened his glare to Clint Eastwood intensity, put his thumb on a sensitive spot, and began to press it painfully. He ignored Dolty in his earphone saying, "What's going on? Bart, the sound went out. What are you doing?" The kidnapper's eyes opened wide, and his bladder, too. He whimpered a moment, then blurted, "My house! He's at my house! They've got him at my house!" Bart released the pressure, smiled, patted the guy on the cheek and straightened up. He uncovered the mike and said to the kidnapper, "Where Tommy's being held, what's the address?" The kidnapper recited it twice. "How many partners do you have?" "Two. My no-good stupid cousin and his girlfriend. This is all their fault." "You can't choose your family. We'll take into account that you're helping get the boy back safe." To the hidden mike, he said, "Special Agent Dolty, did you copy that? Is the mike working okay?" "I got it. We're on it. Bart, what did you say to him when you leaned in?" "I'm sorry, I can't hear you clearly. You might as well move in now." To the kidnapper he said, "Go ahead, open the case." "What? Really?" He opened it, gasped, put his hands on the money, caressed it, riffled a few stacks, and started to cry. Police and special agents converged on the bench, threw the kidnapper on the ground, piled on his arms and legs, and locked him in handcuffs. They ignored the suspect's complaints of "Ow, ow, my ear! There's a rock poking me. Ow. C'mon, be careful. I'm not resisting." They searched him, found his wallet and car keys, but no additional weapons. When they had secured him to their satisfaction, they lifted him to his feet, marched him to an unmarked sedan, and whisked him off for booking. An FBI man relieved Bart of the gun and bullets. Bart said to Special Agent Dolty, "You ready to go to the house?" "The HRT guys have to scope it out before we move, but we'll go in as soon as we can. No warrant needed. Exigent circumstances. You want to come watch, or would you rather stay with your money?" "I'd rather go with you, if you can spare two people to guard the cash." "Yeah, okay." Dolty detailed two agents to guard duty. They looked crestfallen not to be in on the takedown. Dolty told them if they loaded the cash into their car quick enough, they could drive to the scene, but they had to stay with the money no matter what. They left George's car at the park. Bart rode with Dolty. On the way over, Dolty asked, "What did you say to him at the end there?" Bart said, "I asked him where they were holding Tommy." "Yeah, yeah, but did you threaten him? It looked like you might be squeezing him a little there. If you coerced information out of him, it could queer our case." Dolty sounded half-worried and half-accusatory. Bart replied, "I'm sorry, Special Agent, but my priority is recovering Tommy. My client and I are just not that concerned about your prospects for a successful prosecution." "Goddammit, Bart," Dolty said, but stopped there. He didn't splutter any empty threats as he might have done only a day earlier. Bart smiled at his progress and patted him on the arm. "I'm confident you'll get enough evidence it won't matter." Dolty gave him a sour expression, and grunted. Meredith interrupted again. "He was right to complain about your interrogation tactics, you know. You're not a police officer, but you were acting under color of authority, as a de facto agent of the police. In theory, you should have honored the suspect's request for a lawyer, and respected his right to remain silent." "Are you scolding me?" "A bit. I understand that on occasion you have to be mean, or act mean to pressure a suspect. If it were my child kidnapped, I wouldn't mind you doing far more than you did. Do you often bully suspects?" "No. I don't like to think of myself as a bully. I do bully them sometimes. It can be an effective approach. And my size gives me that intimidation factor. But I always feel bad afterwards. I'm not afraid of getting in trouble for it. I'm very careful about that. But I always feel like, if I was just a little smarter, I could find a better way." He asked, "Are you disappointed in me?" "No, not really. You showed skill and restraint in how you pressured him, the menacing tone of voice, violation of his personal space, and the esoteric martial arts trick that I presume inflicts pain with no real injury. You said they found his wallet on him? With his driver's license, name and address?" "Uh huh." Bart smiled. He had hoped to slip that detail by her, but she caught everything. "Then even if a judge ruled your 'squeezing' of the suspect improper, the prosecutor could argue inevitable discovery. They certainly would have checked the man's home, and found the boy. I presume they did find him there?" "Hang on, let me tell it," Bart said. "So, anyway--" The target house, a smallish ranch almost identical to every third one on the street, had a Harley parked in the driveway. FBI agents moved people out of the adjoining houses. The Hostage Rescue Team, scary men with body armor, kevlar helmets, and automatic rifles, took up positions near all the exits, without ever exposing themselves to view from a window. Bart tagged along as Dolty approached the command post. "Good to see you again, Special Agent Dolty," the HRT squad leader said. "We have the perimeter secured. Do you know the situation inside? How do you want to proceed? Bash in the door? Or you wanna try finesse?" Dolty said, "We think there are two suspects inside, one man, one woman. They have a hostage, a ten-year-old boy. They shouldn't be expecting us. It would be nice if we could lure the man to the door, and take him down right there." "Pizza man routine?" "Yeah, I think pizza man routine." Chapter Sixteen "Is that official FBI terminology, 'pizza man routine?'" Meredith inquired. "I'm not sure," Bart said. "Paul would know. He used to be with the Bureau." "Paul, the one who went to tail Teresa?" "Yeah, that's him. Dolty and the HRT leader made it sound like they do the 'pizza man routine' pretty often, anyway." The phrase described the routine pretty well. An agent put on a pizza chain's jacket over his bulletproof vest, walked up to the door with a pizza box, rang the doorbell, and shouted, "Pizza!" A man's voice from inside bellowed, "Pizza? We didn't order any pizza! Did you order pizza?" An inaudible voice apparently answered, "No." The man bellowed, "Get the hell out of here!" The agent at the door tried, "Well, somebody ordered a pizza for this address." "Well, it wasn't us. Fuck off!" "What if I give it to you half price?" "What kind is it?" Progress. "Pepperoni and cheese." "I hate pepperoni." Ooh, that was unfortunate. But who didn't like pepperoni? "We're vegetarian," the bellower explained. Darn, thought Bart, thwarted by vegetarian kidnappers. The agent tried to recover, but it sounded lame. "Oh, wait, I was wrong. This isn't pepperoni, it's green pepper and olives." "Bull shit! Fuck off!" The agent stood at the door a while, trying to think of another tack, and almost blew his cover looking toward his hidden colleagues for help. Finally, he hit on, "Well, then I'll just leave it here on the porch." Maybe the guy would open the door to take the free pizza after the agent left, and the HRT guys could rush him. After waiting five minutes, Bart grew impatient, muttered, "The hell with this," and walked toward the house himself. Dolty hissed, "What are you doing?" but maintained enough discipline to not break cover. Bart, still in his plump, middle-aged executive disguise, walked up to the door, pounded on it, and yelled, "You like the pizza I ordered for you, ASSHOLE?" Curtains moved in a front window, and a voice said, "Who the hell is that?" Bart walked over toward the window, swaying as if drunk, and yelled, "I know you're in there! You goddam . . . you make me sick, riding your goddam motorcycle around, makin' all kinds of racket. I hate your stupid bike!" More curtain twitching followed as Bart ambled over toward the Harley. Bart gave the bike a feeble kick, and a voice inside yelled, "HEY!" Bart walked around to the far side of the bike, put his foot on it and pushed it over. It fell on the concrete with a loud crash. An incoherent cry issued from the house, "AAAAH!" A man flew out the door, intent on getting at Bart. Bart, not sure if the guy had a gun, dove on the ground behind the fallen Harley, hoping to use it as cover. The HRT guys were good, and fast. They had hold of the guy and rode him to the ground before he'd gone two steps. More of them rushed into the house. A woman screamed. They brought her out in cuffs less than a minute after the action began. Bart got up and brushed himself off. Dolty stood beside him. "Geez, Bart," he said, "you want to give us a little warning next time you do something crazy?" "Sorry," Bart said, insincerely. "I got bored." After a beat, Bart said, this time with sincerity, "Hey, would you thank the HRT guys for me? They did good work there, taking him down so fast he couldn't shoot at me." Dolty opened his eyes wide at Bart. "A compliment? For the FBI? I thought you hated the FBI." Bart said, "Not all of them. Some of my best friends are FBI." "The HRT guys are pretty good. Their motto is servare vitas, to save lives," Dolty said. His radio squawked at him. "They found the boy. He's in good condition, handcuffed to a bed rail. They're getting him loose now." The two grinned at each other. "Now for the good part," Dolty said. He ordered his men to bring the father in. They had parked around the corner, keeping him at a safe distance in case things got dangerous, both for George's personal safety and so he couldn't witness anything bad happening to his son. But they wanted him nearby to show the boy a familiar face as soon as possible after his rescue. The car pulled up, George jumped out, agents led Tommy out of the house, George yelled, "Tommy!" Tommy yelled, "Dad!" and they fell into each other's arms, laughing and crying. This was the moment that made everything worthwhile. Bart and Dolty stood side by side savoring it, memorizing it. So many moments in crimefighting were tragic, all too few were joyous. "You need a hanky there, Special Agent?" Bart gently teased. He had noticed Dolty's eyes glistening. "No more than you, you big softy." Bart wiped a tear from his own eye. "You wanna go over and take our bows?" Dolty asked. Bart demurred, choosing to hang back a while longer. Dolty dithered for a moment, perhaps in doubt whether he should follow Bart's lead and leave the father and son undisturbed. But he couldn't resist, he had to get in on it. He went over, stood straight and proud, said words Bart couldn't hear, and beamed a great smile as the happy father vigorously pumped his hand, then the son more tentatively shook it. Bart tilted his head and massaged his lip, considering. The boy had experienced a close encounter of the criminal kind. He might need help coping. Come to think of it, the father might, too, and the mother. Bart made a mental note to give George the name of a good therapist who handled traumatic stress cases. Tomorrow, maybe. Let them be happy now. Deal with the aftermath later. The father and son came walking over toward Bart. He put on a happy smile for them. George said "Tommy, this is the guy who did more than anyone else and risked his own life to save you." Bart shook George's hand and said, "You give me too much credit." "Special Agent Dolty told us what you did here and at the ransom drop. I won't forget this, Bart, not ever." He was still smiling, but tears were shining in his eyes, also. "I know I'm paying you a big fee, but I want to give you a bonus, too. I'll, I'll give you a new car every year for as long as I live, I swear it." Bart bopped George gently on the shoulder with a giant fist. "George, that's incredibly generous. You don't have to do that. I don't need that many cars," he objected. George shrugged and said, "Yesterday, I was afraid I might never see my son again. I called you up, and today, I have my son back." He said he didn't care if Bart turned around and gave the cars away. He got a discount on new cars, anyway. "Did he work for a car company?" Meredith asked. "Which one?" "No you don't," Bart said. "I'm trying to protect the identities of the innocent." "Do your clients really give you bonuses on top of your phenomenal fee?" "Rarely. I would guess it happens less frequently than clients trying to dodge paying me at all. I skipped the part where I made George sign a contract and an IOU." "Is that the end of the story?" "There's just a little more." Bart knelt down to address Tommy. "Hey, Tommy, you remember me?" Tommy said, "Sure, you're that karate and detective guy. And you got hurt playing volleyball at that community picnic thing." Bart put a hand to his nose, said, "Ouch. Yeah, I remember that, too. Did those idiot kidnappers treat you okay?" "Not too bad, I guess." After a second's hesitation, he confessed, "I was pretty scared." "Yeah, I would have been, too." Tommy looked disbelieving. "It's smart to be scared," Bart insisted. "And I remember you're a smart kid. How was your escape plan coming along?" Tommy squirmed a little. "Not so good," he said. "Oh, I don't know. I can tell you had something in mind," Bart said. "Well," Tommy said, "I hadn't gone very far with it." He stared at one of his feet and wriggled it, then said, "When I had to go to the bathroom? They'd undo the handcuffs from the bedframe. I was thinking one of those times I could make a break for the door. Maybe if only the woman was there. I thought I could
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