Next Exit, Dead Ahead

by CW Browning

  “Well,” Marcus said, going back to the window seat and settling himself next to Rachel, “then she tried to carry me away, but I said we couldn't leave Aunt Rachel with Karl. He would hurt her again.”

  “I was perfectly fine,” Rachel interjected, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

  “Well, you don't look fine,” Marcus informed her with the kind of bluntness characteristic of children. “And I was afraid he would wake up and really hurt you then. But the lady in black, she said he wouldn't wake up for a long time. I asked her if she was a doctor and that's how she knew, but she just smiled at me and said in her business, she knew more than doctors. What does that mean, Aunt Rachel?”

  “I don't know, mi cielo,” Rachel said with a sigh. “There's a lot I don't know right now.”

  “Well, then she asked me if I thought the haunted maze was scary,” Marcus moved on, losing interest once he couldn't get a satisfactory answer, “and I said, no. It was all acting and sets and one day, I would be acting on sets too!”

  “Really!” Stephanie sat back on her heels and smiled at the little boy. “Can I come see you?”

  “Sure!” he said with another toothless grin. “She asked the same thing! I told her yes, but she would have to leave the knife at home.”

  “Knife? What knife?” Stephanie asked, her ears perking up.

  “The one she threatened Karl with,” Marcus said cheerfully. “It was awesome!”

  “But...I thought you said she hit him and knocked him out,” Stephanie reminded him.

  “That was after she pulled out her knife,” Marcus told her. He looked up at Rachel. “Wasn't her knife cool? I've never seen a knife like that!”

  “Neither have I,” Rachel agreed, resigned. “It was very cool.”

  “It was awesome!”

  “I'm sure it was,” Stephanie murmured, turning to look at Rachel. “Did she come back?”

  “Yes.” Rachel nodded. “Once she had Marcus away and safe, she came back for me.”

  “Did she...say anything?”

  “She told me that she had called you,” Rachel said slowly, “and I could trust you.”

  “You can,” Stephanie said quietly.

  Rachel nodded, studying her thoughtfully through her one eye.

  “I know,” she said simply. “When she came back for me, she told me where to find Marcus and told me not to release him to anyone except you. She said you would keep him safe until she could get his mother to him.”

  “I will,” Stephanie promised. “What happened to the bastard who did this to you?”

  “The lady in black took him!” Marcus answered brightly, anxious to be part of the conversation again.

  Stephanie looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

  “She did?” she exclaimed. “Where did she take him?”

  “She didn't say.” For a moment Marcus looked crestfallen with that realization, then he perked up again. “But she did say he would never be able to touch me or Aunt Rachel ever again.”

  “I bet that made you very happy,” Stephanie said.

  Marcus nodded and suddenly buried his head into Rachel's side and wrapped his arms around her.

  “He hurt Rachel,” he told Stephanie plaintively, and she nodded gravely.

  “Yes, he did,” she agreed.

  “She let him so he wouldn't hurt me.”

  “Yes, I know,” Stephanie said, her heart breaking at the look in his eyes.

  “The lady in black said he won't hurt anyone ever again,” Marcus said, squeezing Rachel tightly. “I'm glad.”

  Stephanie glanced up at Rachel.

  “Did she tell you anything else?” she asked her quietly.

  Rachel met her gaze steadily.

  “She told me to tell you everything I know,” she said calmly, “and no one else.”

  Stephanie nodded slowly and glanced at Marcus.

  “Let's start with him,” she said softly. “What did they do with him?”

  “They used him to move around the museum,” Rachel told her, smoothing the boy’s hair. “He could fit through the prison windows, you see. He's very athletic and they exploited that fact.”

  “What did they make him do?” Stephanie asked.

  “They made him go through the dungeon window on the night before you found the arm,” Rachel told her as Marcus buried his head in her side again. “He went in and moved the arm out from behind the dummy. They used some kind of cross-bow to shoot a zip-line in the window from the top of the wall. Then, they lowered him down from the roof and he slid in through the window. When he got inside, he took the end of the line from where it had latched onto the gate and moved it to the hook in the floor. He used it to climb out the window when he finished, sliding down the zip-line to the wall where Turi was waiting for him.”

  “The alarms!” Stephanie breathed and Rachel nodded.

  “The grappling hook shot out of the gate, setting off the motion detector before it came back in and clamped onto the bars,” she explained. “When Marcus got in and moved it to the hook in the floor, he set it off again.”

  Stephanie glanced at Marcus.

  “It took him an hour and a half to get into the cell?” she whispered.

  “He was terrified,” Rachel replied. “He doesn't like heights. They told him if he didn't do it, or if he fell, they would kill Jessica.”

  “Karl said I'm going to jail,” Marcus whispered. “He said I'm a cri...cri...a bad person now.”

  “No baby, you're not a bad person,” Stephanie assured him, reaching out and taking one of his hands again. “You're very brave.” She looked at Rachel. “Was that all he did?”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head. “They also made him put the blue box on the front steps.”

  “How did you do that?” Stephanie asked him.

  Marcus peeked at her.

  “I went in through the basement window in the back,” he whispered. “If you go across the basement, there's another window. I went through it, put the box on the steps, and came back.”

  “And did Karl open those windows for you?” Stephanie asked.

  Marcus nodded.

  “What about...” her voice trailed off, not knowing how to ask if the boy had seen Rodrigo's remains or Philip hung up outside.

  “He didn't see anything else,” Rachel told her softly, seeming to know what Stephanie hesitated to say. “I made sure of that.”

  Stephanie glanced at her mutilated face and had no doubt as to how she had ensured the boy didn't witness a mutilated, headless corpse or a full dead body.

  “Do you know why they chose this museum?” Stephanie asked Rachel. “Why all the elaborate displays?”

  “Karl's been bringing drugs into Mt. Holly for them for about a year now,” Rachel told her. “When Jenaro showed up and saw where he worked, he wanted to use it for the shock and fear value. Karl said the Cartel was intent on instilling fear in the area because they wanted to expand their reach to this state.”

  “What do you mean?” Stephanie asked.

  “The Casa Reino Cartel is responsible for about thirty percent of the drugs on the streets from Florida up to Maryland,” Rachel explained.

  Stephanie blinked, shocked.

  “What?!” she exclaimed.

  Rachel nodded.

  “Why do you think Jenaro came here himself?” she asked. “He wanted to set up operations in New Jersey, using Karl to run them. Karl said someone here owed the Cartel a lot of money and Jenaro was going to take care of that as well, but he was more focused on getting their operation started.”

  “This was all a tactic to bring fear into the area?” Stephanie repeated, shaking her head. “How?”

  Rachel gazed at her steadily.

  “After all the displays at the prison, they were going to start kidnapping children and threatening the parents,” she said, “starting with the Nuñezes.”

  “And Marcus?”

  “They were going to sell him in Mexico.”

  Stephani
e closed her eyes briefly.

  “All to bring the fear of the cartels to Jersey,” she murmured. “What evil mind thinks this stuff up?”

  “Jenaro Gomez.”

  “Don't let them take me!” Marcus suddenly cried, lifting his head.

  “No one's taking you anywhere,” Stephanie promised him.

  “That's what the lady in black said, too,” he said, settling back against Rachel. “Do you know her? Will she keep Karl away from me?”

  “I know her well,” Stephanie murmured grimly. “You won't have to worry about Karl ever again.”

  Viper straddled the rickety, old ladder-back chair and rested her chin on the back, watching as Karl started to come around. He lay on a drift of dead leaves, his wrists bound with wire behind his back, in front of a rotted out log in the woods. Her Jeep was parked in the trees behind him a few feet away, and she sat in the back-door of an infrequently-used hunting blind buried in the depths of the Pine Barrens. The hut sat on the edge of a large clearing, and the afternoon sun glared high in the sky, casting her in shadows. She sat perfectly still, watching as Karl groaned and turned his head, his eyes flickering open.

  “What the...” he mumbled thickly, squeezing his eyes shut again for a moment against the bright sunlight. He winced as he tried to struggle into a sitting position. “Where the hell am I?”

  “Somewhere no one will hear you scream.”

  Karl started and looked toward her voice, squinting against the sun and trying to see her in the shadows.

  “I remember now,” he said slowly.

  “Good. That will save time,” Viper replied, lifting her head from the back of the chair. “Tell me about the boy.”

  “Bite me,” Karl spat, leaning back against the log.

  Viper shook her head and clucked her tongue, calmly reaching down to pull her military knife out of her ankle holster. She flipped it in the air and the sun glinted off the serrated blade brightly before the handle landed comfortably in her hand. Karl stared at it uncomfortably.

  “Now, that's no way to talk to a lady,” she purred softly. Getting up, she moved the chair out of the way. “I heard you were quite the flirt. I should have known something was off when you impressed Agent Walker. She's always been a sucker for creeps.”

  “You're the one she brought into the prison that day!” Karl exclaimed, recognition dawning as Viper moved out of the shadows. His eyes went to her black boots. “You're the one with the boots.”

  “Congratulations,” Viper murmured. “You remembered the shoes.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Karl asked, tilting his head back. “Why do you care about the boy?”

  “I don't,” Viper answered, her voice still soft and cold. “I care about you and the man who's paying you.”

  “I'm flattered.”

  “Don't be.” Viper moved around behind the log and Karl twisted his head to watch her. “Where's Jenaro?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Karl said, turning his head back around and testing the wire holding his wrists together. He grimaced when the wire cut into his skin.

  “Yes, you do.” Viper sighed, crouching down behind him. She draped one arm over his left shoulder and pressed the tip of her blade into the right side of his neck. He flinched and blood appeared, pooling around the blade tip before trickling down his neck. Her voice continued, an icy wave that made Karl freeze, “You're going to tell me everything you know about Jenaro Gomez.”

  Alina watched as beads of sweat broke out along Karl's temple and his breathing became shallow. He would break sooner than she expected.

  “You can suck my...”

  Viper pressed the knife further into his neck, stopping him mid-sentence. She twisted her blade and he whimpered in response.

  “No, thank you,” she murmured. “Where is he?”

  “I don't know,” Karl said, swallowing.

  “I don't believe you.”

  Viper pulled the knife out of his neck. He sighed a deep breath of relief, but it cut off when she wrenched his head back at an extreme angle and pressed the blade against his esophagus.

  “Let me put it this way,” Viper hissed, “you can tell me now, or I can leave your head on a pole outside the shed where you mutilated the face of a young woman and terrorized a small boy. You have three seconds to decide. One...”

  “You left Rodrigo's head there?” Karl gasped.

  “Two...”

  “Gomez thought it was someone called The Hawk.”

  Viper paused and her hand stilled on the knife at his throat.

  “Is that so?” she asked softly.

  “He said the Hawk was becoming a nuisance,” Karl said, taking a quick breath as she paused. “I thought he was being paranoid, until I heard Lorenzo turned up dead.”

  Viper kept her knife against his throat, but pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  “Paranoid how?” she asked, diverted.

  “He said the Hawk would come after him. He said the head outside the prison was a warning.” Karl stared up at her, sweat pouring down his face. “I thought anyone would be suicidal to go after Jenaro Gomez, but then Lorenzo turned up dead and now here you are.”

  “How did you find out about Lorenzo?” Alina asked.

  “Turi brought me food and beer every day, along with instructions,” Karl said. “He told me this morning Lorenzo was found with a bullet in his head, and now Ramiero's missing. Jenaro is nervous, and that makes Turi nervous. He said he's never seen Jenaro afraid before now.”

  “And where is he?”

  “I don't know, I swear!” Karl gasped as the knife pressed against his esophagus and broke the skin. “He always came to me. I never went to him.”

  Viper's eyes narrowed as she stared down at him coldly.

  “I thought you might be useful, but it turns out you're just a rent-a-cop who likes to beat up people weaker than yourself,” she said, her eyes black pools of darkness that made him shiver involuntarily. “You're no use to me at all.”

  “Wait!” Karl cried out. His eyes flared in terror as her hand shifted on the knife. “He knows you're coming! He's waiting for you. I don't know where he is exactly, but I know he's close to Riverside. He's close to the river. And he's waiting for you. He's waiting to kill the Hawk.”

  “Oh, I'm not the Hawk,” she told him, smiling a smile that made Karl's blood run cold.

  “But...then...who are you?” Karl stammered.

  “I already told you,” Viper purred, raising the blade above his neck. “I'm your worst nightmare.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  John leaned against the side of the SUV with his arms crossed and watched Blake stride up the cement sidewalk to the two-story, dilapidated Cape Cod. The house had seen better days. Its paint was no longer white but dingy gray, peeling in places to reveal weather-worn siding underneath. The windows were all intact, but some were missing one shutter while the others were missing both. The front porch sagged with age, and the railing was long gone, leaving posts where it used to sit. Trash collected along the base of the front porch, banding together in the dirt like so many tumbleweeds, and any grass that had once graced the small, postage stamp front yard had given up, strangled out by crabgrass and weeds.

  John kept one eye on Blake and one eye on the front windows, his hand near his holster with his 9mm. He didn't like the fact that Blake was going to the door alone, but Blake had been adamant. How he intended to get the inhabitants of an alleged crack house to talk wasn't clear, but John stayed alert near the SUV, ready to intervene if necessary.

  The front door cracked open and a face peered out cautiously, providing the only opening Blake needed. He never broke stride as he slammed the door open with his shoulder, driving it into the person inside. He reached around the door, ripped a shotgun out of the man's hand, and tossed it outside into the barren yard as he disappeared into the house. The door slammed shut and John blinked at the speed with which it had been accomplished, his lips curving into a reluctant gri
n.

  He was still grinning about ten minutes later when Blake came out the door again, strolling down the sidewalk and ignoring the shotgun laying in the yard.

  “He wasn't here,” he said, coming up to the SUV and going to the driver's door. John nodded and turned toward the passenger's door. “But they told me somewhere else to try. It's a few blocks away.”

  “Just like that?” John asked in disbelief, getting into the SUV.

  Blake slammed the door and started the engine, glancing at him with a grin.

  “I may have...encouraged them a little,” he said with a shrug, pulling away from the curb.

  “What makes you so sure Lorenzo was at a crack house, anyway?” John asked.

  “I've been studying these guys for over three years. I know them like I know my own family,” Blake answered. “Larry hasn't had time to run the tox screen, but he said the marks on the inside of Lorenzo's arm are consistent with a needle. I don't need the tox screen to tell me Lorenzo fell off the wagon again.”

  “Ok.” John nodded and watched out the window as they rolled through a stop sign and into another depressed neighborhood of old, deteriorating row homes. “You said he was diabetic. Could it be from insulin?”

  “Lorenzo takes insulin pills, not needles,” Blake replied. “Besides, you don't inject insulin into your arm. Don't you know any diabetics?”

  “No,” John answered with a grin. “And I'm not much of a fan of needles, so I wouldn't know where they stick themselves.”

  “Better watch your sugar intake, then,” Blake warned. “Lay off the soda pop.”

  “Did you just call it...soda pop?” John demanded.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Do me a favor and never say that again,” John told him. “I can't work with someone who calls it pop.”

  “What do you call it?”

  “Soda,” John said emphatically. “Just soda.”

  Blake glanced at him as he pulled over in front of a gray row home, flanked on either side by an empty lot where the neighboring houses had long since burned down.

  “You need to learn to not sweat the small stuff,” he told him. “You'll have a heart attack before you're forty.”