In Four Days (Saga Two – Day Three)
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DAY THREE…
“No. No, Khirov has not reported in or garaged his car today. Hold on and I will radio him to see where he’s at.” The Bright Day Cab Dispatcher set the phone down hard onto his desk and followed up by the sound of a cup shattering upon a floor.
“Aww, dammit! I don’t have time for this,” he grumbled aloud.
After the call from the hospital in the middle of the night, I had decided to go in early into the station. It was time to get to the heart of what was the real story behind the cabbie’s encounters and find out just what was he hiding. And from the sound of it Khirov Boulos may just have gone underground and off the grid.
“Yeah, sorry… uh, Detective Ellis. He’s not answering. You need me to get him a message?”
“That’s alright.” I hung up. Khirov had already gotten my message.
“YOU ASSHOLE! I AM BEING HUNTED!” He had screamed at me before.
Perhaps I had pushed him too hard — thought he was on the verge of telling me, but now I was going to have to chase him down too.
However, that would require some more information. I decided that I would put the name into our records database to see what might come up. Right now I had no leads and no real idea of who Khirov was or where he’d come from.
KHIROV JAMAL BOULOS
The screen blinked back at me for a few seconds and then:
KHIROV JAMAL BOULOS
Age 34
Address: 747 E Vine St. Philadelphia, PA 19124.
CHARGES AND CONVICTIONS:
Misdemeanor Assault & Battery April 9, 2002. Sentenced to 2 years due. Served 1 year 2 months (released due to overcrowding).
Check Fraud February 21, 2006. Sentenced to 1 year. Served full sentence due to minor infractions inside PICC (Philadelphia Industrial Corrections Center).
I reviewed more of the notes on those cases, but they seemed incidental and although they did reveal that Khirov had a violent streak, these did not seem connected. Nothing substantial came up until… I came across a “secured file”. That normally meant Open Investigation and were for those only with the right and need to know.
I did gleam a tad more information. One, it had been recently created — as of November 7, 2015 — and two, it had been secured and classified under the authority of a Special Agent Johnathan Driggs of the State Department. “Now this just got interesting.”
A half hour spent navigating through all the State Department’s red tape and “let me get you to the right person” calls, I was patched through to the actual extension of Agent Driggs.
“Hello, Detective Ellis. What can I do for you?”
“For starters, do you have an actual phone number I can call for you directly? You know, in case I might need to follow up with you?”
“No. There won’t be any follow up. You have my time now and only now, officer.”
Condescending much? I thought to myself.
My actual words were, “Alright, in that case, I will be specific and I hope you can give me specifics back. I am investigating a cab driver and oddly enough your name appeared with his files.”
“My name in reference with a cab driver?” he scoffed.
“See, that’s my puzzle. This guy is offgrid now and I thought perhaps you had some insight to where I might find him since you are somehow connected. How familiar are you with the name Khirov Boulos?”
Silence at the other end. “Okay. I see,” he finally responded. “That is not just a cabbie.”
“Well, he has been since I met him seven years ago. However, recently he thinks someone is after him. Could that be in reference to you or some of yours tailing him?”
He ignored my questions. “You said he’s gone offgrid?”
“Yes.”
Another long pause. Shuffling papers and sliding folders across the desktop.
“Khirov was soon to be brought in.”
“What were you interested in him for?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss much of this with you, but Khirov had some relatives across seas in Berlin, Germany that were of the resourceful persuasion, but were not so much the law-abiding types. Especially his Uncle Cemil Nejem who until recently owned several widespread and profitable commercial trucking yards here in the state.”
“What changed?”
“Let’s just say we had gathered quite a mountain of evidence, but Mister Nejem has most likely fled the United States.”
“How does Khirov fit into this?”
He coughed into his hand and then asked, “Are you a gambling man by chance?”
What the hell?
“Well, not particularly. I tend to want to keep a tight hold onto the few dollar bills I get into my wallet.”
“Hmmm. I see. Well, myself I found my guilty pleasure is sporting events. Football, basketball and even local boxing.” He slowed his speech just a bit when he mentioned local boxing.
Driggs was playing a game — either for his own entertainment, the ears listening in on the call, or he was jerking me around. I had to play a bit longer to see what I was dealing with.
“Boxing? Can’t say I know much of that.”
“You really should take the time to read up on that. All sorts of characters and stories. For instance there was an up-and-coming hispanic boy, Juan Guttierez calling himself the Latin Tyrant. But just after his last championship match he was ambushed and nearly killed. Someone took a crowbar and a bat to his hands and right arm.”
“Gruesome. And…?”
“Yeah, those are career-ending injuries.” Driggs followed it up with, “The roaches in the streets say that Nejem just happened to have lost quite a fortune on that bout.”
I see — if Driggs gets a hold of Khirov maybe he can squeeze him for his part in the assault and find out just where Uncle Cemil is hiding. That would be quite the feather in Drigg’s cap, no doubt.
“You point me in the right direction, I will make you my first call.” I proposed.
“Abandoned buildings can make excellent camp grounds so I’ve heard.”
“Thank you, Agent Driggs, you have been most helpful. How do I contact you if I should find our missing pal?”
He coughed into his hand again, muttered something to someone in the room on his end and then said, “Text me at 267-778-8242. But only if you have a damn good reason to text me. Clear?”
“Yeah, most helpful.” I hung up on the prick.
Further research revealed that there were five various business ventures listed under Cemil Nejem. I brought three patrol units with me for the first two locations. However, after the third and after another six hours of scouring through the abandoned lots, I let the other officers go and went on to the fourth property myself.
It was a quarter of six o’clock and getting toward dusk when I parked outside a chain link fence. This was the second of the commercial truck shipping yards. The parking lot had only a line of empty semis lined up along the eastern end. I was tired, dirty and wondered if this was really worth the effort. “Heh! Jinn. More likely it was just some angry hispanic ‘tyrant’ and his dogs that ran you underground.” I snorted and took one last sip from my cold coffee.
Facing me looked to be the main building at the south end and another smaller building to my right. I got halfway across the parking lot when one of the semi trucks headlights popped on. The engine hummed to life and then just idled. Behind me another semi started up, but also sat in its parking space.
“Hello?” I called out. Instinctively I unholstered my gun and kept it low at my side. “Hello? I am Detective Ell–“
The remaining three semi trucks roared awake and blinded me in their headlights. Immediately as one the semi trucks lurched forward five or so feet. I leveled my gun at the semi in front of me. The windows were pitch black and I couldn’t see anyone behind the wheel. “Shut down your engines! Come out or I will shoot!”
The driver just revved the engine louder drowning me out, but did not advance. The trucks on both ends of the line drove further up cutting me off in both directions. Maybe fifty feet behind me was just the brick wall of the other smaller building; no doors to run into.
When the three semis crept slowly forward, I fired a warning shot into the lead semi’s engine. Khirov and his relatives or maybe other Nejem’s thugs must’ve known that someone was going to come looking. “You son of a bitch Khirov! Killing an officer will only bring more police. Stop now before this gets worse!”
No answer of course.
“You are only wanted for the assault on the boxer. Come out and we can talk! You know I have been there for you, pal!”
I scanned frantically for any opening around the semis, but they were in tight formation. They kept advancing; the gravel crunching under their heavy tires. However, I did spot one possibility: a rusted fire escape scaled the wall. I was running out of room and options.
Spinning around I bolted for the broken down fire escape.
The three trucks lurched at me and as I leaped onto the escape, the nearest one clipped my leg. The other semis crashed and bit into bricks of the building. I was slammed by the force of the truck onto the steps and dropped my revolver. On pure adrenaline I hauled myself up and to the roof of the building. However, now I had a shattered, bleeding leg and was truly trapped…
The roaring engines of all five semi trucks suddenly died as one. I looked down over the edge at the lot. They sat motionless like before; the windows were just soulless black eyes. No one left the vehicles to chase after me.
However, I had nowhere to go and they were just waiting me out.
Someone really did not want me to get to Khirov tonight.
