Free Requiem for the Assassin by Russell Blake Page B

the son of the beer magnate. He was at the club with several friends and two ex-marine bodyguards. When he left the club, four masked gunmen jumped out of a nearby van and tried to force him into the vehicle, but he fought them, which bought enough time for the guards to get their guns out. The kidnappers were armed with pistols, and there was a shoot-out. One of the guards took bullets in the chest and leg, but between the two of them they killed all the kidnappers. The unharmed guard emptied his weapon into the van as it took off, and a delivery truck slammed into it as it was crossing the intersection.”
    “Sounds like the same MO as the other recent attacks, doesn’t it? Van, four men, a nightclub…”
    “You’d think these kids would figure out that getting laid isn’t worth the risk of being snatched, or worse,” Briones said, ignoring that he was only five or six years older than the youths he was castigating.
    “Any ID on the perps?” Cruz asked.
    “Negative, but three of the four had tattoos that looked military. We’re running prints.”
    “Military?”
    “You know the kind. Flags, crossed rifles, that sort of thing. Oh, and one of the men had a scar from a gunshot wound. Not recent, but it might help get a fix on him.”
    “Anyone besides the bodyguard hurt?”
    “No, by the grace of God. There were some close calls, but everyone ran inside once the shooting started. We got lucky.”
    “Sounds like it. A survivor, and the kidnappers didn’t open up with AKs and spray the street.” Cruz took a cautious sip from his cup. “And the coffee isn’t bad, either. Thanks, by the way.”
    Briones smiled. “OXXO,” he said, mentioning the ubiquitous convenience stores that had spread like cancer recently. “What did we ever do before there was one on every corner?”
    Cruz eyed him. “How much sleep did you get?”
    “Four hours. I’m fine.”
    “Are you up for the interrogation after we see the crime scene?”
    “Try keeping me away.”
    “That’s the spirit.” Cruz gave him a tired grin. “You see, even if you’re a desk jockey, you’ll still get hauled into the field in the dead of night. So it’s not all reports and meetings – there’s a little excitement to be had.”
    “Nice to know.”
    The club was chaos, with almost a thousand partygoers emptying out in waves through side doors as police vehicles blocked the street. A coroner’s van sat near the entrance, where a dozen uniformed police were standing around, exchanging jokes or complaints as they waited for the cleanup to conclude.
    Cruz and Briones approached the area where the forensics technicians were working on the corpses. Cruz shook hands with the metropolitan police sergeant in charge of the scene, who gave them the rundown on what had transpired, finishing with his estimation that the techs would need another hour to finish their job and haul the dead away.
    “We got statements from the two guards, the victim, and his girlfriends.”
    “Plural?” Cruz said, an eyebrow raised.
    “It’s a different world than I grew up in,” the sergeant observed. “As to the witnesses, everyone’s story is the same. It’s a classic grab that would have gone perfectly if the abductee hadn’t kneed one of them in the groin and kicked another in the stomach.”
    “Really? That was aggressive.”
    “He told me he does martial arts. I guess even half in the bag, the practice came to good use.”
    “It could have gone the other way.”
    “I know,” the sergeant agreed. “He’s very lucky he didn’t get a bullet to the head for his trouble. I told him.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Sitting in that Suburban with his bodyguard and the two girls.” The sergeant indicated a dark gray SUV with several police officers leaning against it. “The ambulance already took the other bodyguard to the hospital.”
    Briones went to see what he could glean from the victims as Cruz inspected the bodies and asked a pointed question here and