Designated Target - Chapter 7

Whitaker was right in saying the facility wasn’t a prison. Located in one of LA's suburbs and surrounded by houses and apartment complexes, the short red-brick building looked more like an urgent care facility or retail space than a secure facility, with lots of parking and trees planted all across the site.

It wasn’t until he got to the door that Taylor had his first indication that this place was something other than ordinary. Next to the glass door was a sign that told visitors to press the button and wait to be buzzed in. Even here, it didn’t look that secure, with large windows and metal doors.

The inside didn’t look that much different from an urgent care facility either, although the seating in the waiting area was overstuffed chairs and couches instead of hard plastic. They even had a reception counter with nurses in scrubs and filing cabinets full of files.

There were a couple of things to indicate this wasn’t just a normal retirement community or urgent care facility. One was the complete lack of patients in the outer area. There were two other people in the reception area, sitting by themselves, but both were in their thirties and looked like they were waiting for someone.

The other thing was the doors. Both the door leading into the rest of the facility and the door behind the reception area, weren’t the normal light weight swinging doors. Although painted, Taylor could tell they were metal, and neither had windows in them. These doors weren’t for keeping visitors from wandering into the rest of the facility, they were very clearly there to keep the people in the facility from wandering out.

Whitaker must have managed to get them cleared, because Taylor barely flashed his badge when the nurse buzzed him through into the rest of the building and told them what room to go to.

Going through the heavy door was like walking into another world. Everything was clean and sterile, almost like a hospital. Gone were the carpets and plushy, overstuffed chairs. Here it was tile floors, fluorescent lights, and off-white walls. The biggest changes were the people.

Other than the occasional nurse or orderly, easily identifiable in scrubs, walking here or there with purpose, everyone else was either shuffling around almost aimlessly or just sitting, staring into nothing. Some of them were in hospital gowns, and others in normal street clothes, although a lot of those were poorly put on, with missed buttons or turned the wrong way out.

The pair eventually made it to the indicated room, and after knocking and getting no response, let themselves in. An old man sat in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, facing a barred window that looked out towards the parking lot, just kind of staring.

“Mr. Randazzo,” Taylor said from the doorway.

He repeated himself two more times, still getting no answer, before he and Robles let themselves in. The room itself was tiny. If he’d wanted too, the man in the chair could have reached out and touched the bed pushed against one wall and the opposite wall at the same time. There wasn’t enough room for Robles and Taylor to stand on either side of him, so Robles edged around to face the man while Taylor stayed behind and a little to the side of him.

“Are you Antone Randazzo?” Robles asked.

The man didn’t say anything, just stared ahead like Robles wasn’t even there. Taylor had been telling the truth when he told Whitaker he wasn’t getting his hopes up for this interview, but he’d expected at least some kind of recognition at least that they were in the room.

“This guy is gone,” Robles said.

“Damn. I know this guy did some bad stuff back in the day, but I don’t think I’d wish this kind of thing even on my worst enemy. I’d want to go standing up, knowing who I am, not like this. He might have a pulse, but he’s basically just as dead as Tony Randazzo,” Taylor said.

Suddenly, the old man’s head tilted up slightly, looking towards Taylor to his right.

“Tony?” he asked in a feeble voice.

“Yeah,” Taylor said, kneeling down to his level. “You’re son Tony. Do you remember him?”

“Tony’s a good boy. He’s going to Stanford next year,” the old man said.

Taylor stood up and took a step back, towards the door, shaking his head at Robles, as if to say ‘this guy is gone.’

“Mr. Randazzo, do you remember coming to LA with Tony several years ago?” Robles asked, giving Taylor a ‘wait a second’ gesture.

“LA?” the old guy said, turning back towards Robles.

“Yes. Los Angeles. You and Tony moved out here from Vegas for work.”

“No. We moved from Las Vegas. They were going to set us up,” he said, and then turned back to Taylor, who’d moved to stand next to Randazzo again. Pointing a finger at Taylor, he said, “I told them Tony was the man. He could make it in LA when all the rest couldn’t. Big Jim and Sal Neese and Al Detti … all of em failed. But not my Tony.”

“I heard he did really good,” Robles said, half crouching in front of Randazzo, regaining his attention. “Pushed out the Mexicans and the Chinese, right?”

“Exactly. They thought we were a joke. They thought we were playing a game, ’cause they’d seen a few movies. They didn’t know my Tony. He got rid of all of them.”

“I hear he even had the best hitter in the business working for him. I heard no one could get past this guy. Tony pointed at someone, and this guy would take care of them.”

“No. There wasn’t a guy. Tony never had a go to guy,” Randazzo said.

Robles stood up and frowned. It was impossible to tell if Randazzo was clamming up or if he just didn’t remember. His tone of voice sounded the same and he still had a weird half smile, like he was talking to friends about a ball game he remembered. Taylor had actually been impressed. Robles entire demeanor had changed when he started talking to Randazzo, in a way he’d never seen Robles do in an interview. And it had been working, for the most part, that Taylor had hoped for a minute that he might answer the question.

“Wasn’t there …” Robles started to say, before stopping as Randazzo started rambling again, as if he hadn’t paused or Robles hadn’t said anything.

“No, it wasn’t a man. It was a woman,” he said, almost as if he was trying to picture her.

“A woman?” Taylor asked.

“Yep. Damnedest thing you ever saw. You know, back in those days, women didn’t really do a lot of work for the family. I guess people thought they weren’t strong enough. This girl. By god you’ve never seen anyone like her. It was the eyes. They were like looking into a well with no bottom. I swear, I couldn’t bear to look into her eyes for more than a few seconds before it sent a shiver down my spine. And I knew some hard men. Real hard men who’d kill you as soon as look at you, and they weren’t a bit as scary as Tony’s girl.”

“Do you remember her name?” Robles asked.

“She had this black hair too. Kind of curly. She was real pretty, if you could get past the eyes, that is.”

“Mr. Randazzo,” Robles said again. “Do you know her name?”

“I think …” The old man started to say, and then chaos broke out.

The window exploded, followed by Robles shoulder as the bullet passed through him, spraying Robles blood across the old man’s face and shirt. Of course, the old man didn’t care, because the bullet continued its path through Robles into Randazzo Sr.’s face, putting an end to him caring about anything anymore.

It happened so fast, it took Taylor a second to work out what had happened. By the time he had, he was already on the floor, moving for cover next to the wall, underneath the window to limit how much of him the shooter outside could see. In violent situations, it takes much too long to think through and then commit to actions, especially when the bullets are flying. It’s why the Army breaks down and then trains its soldiers to respond first, then analyze and react second.

Taylor reached over and pulled Robles, who was grasping his ruined shoulder and screaming in pain, towards him, also out of the line of sight. There was no need to check on Randazzo Sr., the gaping hole where his left eye had been and the red spray across the back of the room was all the evidence they needed that he was dead.

Taylor didn’t need to think through what had happened. He knew who was responsible. The line up from the window, through Robles shoulder, to the old man was a perfect line; and the old man had already started telling them much more than the shooter would have wanted them to know. It was an amazing shot, since it would have had to take into account hitting the bone. The way it punched right through without deflecting meant the shooter was firing a heavy round and was probably fairly close by. A smaller round would have still penetrated Robles shoulder, but deflection would have been a problem, especially if the shooter couldn’t see that much of the intended target. That also applied to distance, since as the bullet lost velocity, it would have a lower chance of penetrating.

Those were guesses, of course, but he was fairly certain he was right. What he was sure of was that Randazzo, and not Robles had been the actual target. For one, there wasn’t a real reason to shoot Robles, except that he was in the way. There were two of them, after all, and if the shooter had been watching them enough to know to be here and see the interview, even if that was the case, a professional would have known killing one agent wasn’t going to stop the investigation.

The other reason was that, if this was the shooter they were looking for, they could have easily killed Robles if they’d wanted to. He’d been standing smack dab in the middle of the window, silhouetted against the brighter light from the hallway.

It would have been an easy shot. All that went through Taylor’s brain in an instant, as he was pulling Robles back and checking the wound. Outside in the hallway, everything erupted into chaos. People were screaming and staff started to run past, pulling confused residents with them toward some kind of safety.

“Hey,” Taylor yelled at an orderly who came into view.

Thankfully, the man stopped and crouched low, instead of just continuing on his way.

“Call 911. Tell them there are federal officers on scene, one wounded; and the shooter is still outside. We need cops and medical. And tell one of the nurses to come with bandages.”

Taylor had considered asking if there was a doctor on the premises, but in places like this, that would be unlikely. Besides, right now the best they could do was pack the wound to limit blood loss and try to keep Robles from going into shock. Taylor wasn’t a doctor, but he’d picked up enough in the Army, both in helping wounded soldiers and learning to wound others, to know the wound was high enough on the shoulder not to have hit an artery. It was impossible to tell through clothing, but the bullet looked to have gone through his collar bone or maybe just below it through the top of the shoulder blade.

Either way, he was going to need surgery to repair the damage.

The nurses showed up and Taylor slid out of their way, still staying as clear of the window as possible, even though he was almost certain the shooter was long gone. He could already hear sirens, but that wouldn’t have mattered. Within seconds of the shot, Robles and Taylor were both on the floor and the dead body of Mr. Randazzo was sitting in the chair, body lolled over its back, kind of balanced. It would have been enough for the shooter to see the target was dead.

Once he was sure Robles was in better hands than his own, Taylor started making calls. The local PD could secure the area and start a canvas, but he wanted agents from the field office down here doing interviews of the surrounding buildings and going over possible shooting sites. Taylor doubted they’d find anything, since this guy (or was it ‘gal’?) was good, but he needed to be thorough all the same.

By the time Taylor’s people finished searching for the shooter, which was as fruitless as Taylor thought it would be, Robles had already been whisked off to the hospital.

Taylor had seen his kind of wound before and knew it wasn’t life threatening, but it was the kind of injury that could take someone out of law enforcement entirely. Leaving the scene to the locals, Taylor headed towards the hospital to check on Robles, who was probably still in surgery. He might be sure that Robles was going to make it through, but he knew how much being in law enforcement meant to Robles, and what it would do to his friend to be forced out if the injury wasn’t repairable.

On the way, he called Whitaker to see if she had any updates. It had only been a few hours, but with the death of Randazzo, they were officially out of leads again. Finding out the shooter was most likely a woman was a big piece of information, and could help narrow things down, but it still wasn’t enough to find her.

“Robles got shot,” Taylor said when Whitaker answered.

“What? Is he okay?”

“He should be okay. The shooter was aiming at Randazzo Sr. and shot through Robles to get him. It was high in the shoulder, so it wasn’t life threatening. I’m on the way to the hospital now to check on him.”

“What about Randazzo?”

“Dead.”

“Damn.”

“I know. We did get something, though. There’s a chance the shooter is a woman. His brain was Swiss cheese, so it’s hard to know how much we can rely on that, but he was pretty clear, the person working for his son was a woman, not a man.”

“That’s unusual.”

“I know, but not unheard of.”

“True. And you think she shot Robles and Randazzo?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, and it means she’s following us somehow. We didn’t even know about Senior until you called me, and we went straight from seeing Walsh to the care facility, so there wasn’t time for the information to filter down to her and her get out there to set up the shot. We were only in the room five minutes or so before Randazzo was dead, so she was right on our heels. I just can’t figure out how she’s managed to stay on us like this.”

“If she’s good enough, you wouldn’t notice the tail. Robles might have, but you don’t have that kind of training. Although, it’s hard for one person to hold a tail and remain inconspicuous.”

“You think she has accomplices?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. If she worked with others, then over time one of them would have flipped on her. For all their talk of loyalty, these guys will roll on their friends at the drop of a hat.”

“True. I’ll try and keep an eye out for her.”

“Since you called, I have some more news. Walsh is dead.”

“How?”

“Stabbed in the yard.”

“No way she did that.”

“I don’t know. There’s a bunch of ways to get to someone in lockup. Pay off a guard, who pays off an inmate, maybe. Pay off a family member, who asks an inmate to do it in return for taking care of the family. I’ve seen it a bunch of times, someone on the outside putting a hit on someone on the inside. It’s not unheard of.”

“But Walsh refused to say anything.”

“It’s a good bet she doesn’t know what you talked to Walsh about, or what he said. For all she knows, he’s how you got to Randazzo Sr.; and even if she knew he didn’t talk, it probably means he did know something. Which might just be enough for her to want to get rid of him.”

“I guess. So, my next questions is why? She had to pick us up in Jersey and is probably tracking us, hoping we’ll lead her to Finney, right? Nothing out here is connected to Finney or even the Amatos, really, so what’s the point of offing everyone we talk to. She’s not getting paid for it.”

“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? She’s clearly worked out you know she exists and she’s trying to keep you from finding out who she is.”

“I realize that, but killing everyone off isn’t a great way to keep me off her trail. I mean, it was just a theory when I first came out here, and I only followed it because I had literally nothing else. She’s now confirmed for me both that she exists, because why else would she get rid of Walsh and Randazzo, and that she’s after Finney; because the only way she followed us out here, is by picking us up at some point after we stashed Finney. She doesn’t know where we put him, but she’s still following us, so she’s still trying to get to him. Now I know I’m right.”

“Sure, but she doesn’t know you. Some investigators, a lot even, would give up or at least lose determination if they were hitting this many brick walls.

“Let’s just hope that determination holds out if I keep hitting brick walls.”

“So what’s your next plan?”

“For now, I’m going to check on Robles. He’s only out here because I convinced him to back me up, so I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to him. After that, I don’t know. Back to the local office, see if I can dig up any more leads.”

“Good luck. I’ll keep looking for stuff on my end. Call me if you need anything.”

Robles was already in surgery when Taylor got to the hospital, so he pulled up a chair to wait, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. They’d been in California for a day and a half, driven all over the south-eastern part of the state, Robles had gotten shot, and they had absolutely nothing to show for their efforts. Taylor could feel the exhaustion coming, and it annoyed him.

Ten years ago, he could hump his way over two mountains, get in a firefight, hump his way back to the firebase, get a workout in after dinner; and still have the energy to go out and do it again every day, for the following week.

Getting old definitely sucked! He must have fallen asleep at some point, leaning his head back against the wall, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by a nurse.

“Your friend is out of surgery,” she said.

“He’s okay?” Taylor said, grudgingly checking to make sure everything was where he’d had it, and getting up.

“I think so. They’re wheeling him out of recovery now.

Taylor checked his watch. If Robles was out of surgery and coming out of the recovery room, it must have been a while. He was surprised to see almost four hours had passed and it was well into the early morning. Rotating his neck to get the stiffness out, Taylor followed the nurse’s directions.

Robles was already in his room when Taylor got there. Taylor was halfway into the room to check on his friend when the floor nurse followed him in and stopped him.

“Please keep it short,” she said. “He’s going to need rest if he’s going to make a full recovery.”

It was well after visiting hours, so her stopping him wasn’t all that unexpected; but Robles was a cop, shot in the line of duty. And, for this case at least, Taylor was his partner, which is why she hadn’t kicked him off the floor like she would some random other person.

“Good luck getting him to listen to you,” Robles said from the bed, turning to look at them.

Seeing Robles was awake, the nurse gave Taylor one more meaningful look, probably hoping to drive her point home, before leaving the two of them alone.

“How are you feeling?” Taylor asked once she left.

“Like I’ve been shot,” Robles said, his laugh dissolving into a cough.

“You’ll live.”

“Thanks to you,” Robles said. “Thanks for pulling me out of the line of fire.”

“Sure, although you weren’t in any more danger. You weren’t her target.”

“I sure felt like her target.”

“You were blocking the window and she needed to shut up Randazzo. He already told us we were looking for a woman. She couldn’t chance his remembering anything else. After his son and the family got taken out, I’m surprised she didn’t come back and take care of him sooner, since he was one of the few people who knew her identity. But maybe she assumed he was too far gone to do any damage.”

“So she chose now to do something about it? I don’t buy that. She had to be following us, right? But how? There’s no way she would have known we were going there. Hell, we didn’t even know.”

“I said the same thing to Whitaker when I talked to her earlier. Honestly, I don’t know; but she clearly is, and we have to assume she’s going to continue following us.”

“Following you. I’m out of it.”

“Did they tell you how long the recovery will be?”

“The doctor said eight months or maybe a year before I’m fit to return to duty, but he said I’d fully recover, with only a small range of motion lost. I got lucky.”

“I’m not sure about that. She waited until you were lined up just right. If she knew she could punch through your shoulder and still hit Randazzo, she could have done it when you were standing up instead of leaning over. That would have been easier, since the angle would have been low enough she wouldn’t have had to worry about bone. But she waited. I think Randazzo talking about her forced her hand, and even then, she let him keep talking until you bent over and she had a cleaner shot.”

“You think she could hear the conversation?”

“Maybe. Otherwise why take the shot with you in the way at all. She could have waited until after we finished to kill him. And if her goal was to keep him from talking to us, why not do him earlier. No, she did it right after he mentioned she was a woman. She had ears on the room. How? … That’s another question.”

“And you think a woman who goes to these lengths to stay hidden, and whose job is murder for hire, would worry about killing a fed?”

“She’s smart. She knows the kind of pressure killing a federal agent would bring down on her. Right now, she has the two of us on her. She kills an agent, she gets a task force. Someone this good at hiding her identity wouldn’t want that.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to thank her for ruining my shoulder when you catch her.”

“I’m just glad you’re all right. I feel a little responsible, since I brought you along.”

“Hey, this is more interesting than the stuff I normally get. You and Whitaker always hog the good cases. Although, if I knew getting shot was part of the bargain, I might have stuck to chasing bank robbers. So, what now?”

“Now I go back to do more work. I’m pretty sure she either came up in the early days of the Randazzos or came with them from Vegas. I had the impression from what Randazzo Sr. said, she wasn’t old, so if she did come from Vegas, she would have been just starting. I’m hoping to find where she made mistakes, maybe got booked for something minor. If I can find a name and a picture, it will be a hell of a lot easier to track her down.”

“Well, good luck. Go find her. I’ll make my own way back to DC and we can grab a beer after this is all over. Now get going. I need a nap.”