by Samson Weld
Knives in a gunfight, not helpful, he thought. I should’ve unzipped my coat before attacking.
Osorio would shoot him before he could get to his pistols. Yet, what choice did he have?
“Stop. Don’t move,” a thug snarled behind him.
He froze, hands out to his side, waiting for someone to make a mistake. But Osorio continued to keep his weapon on Ash, as two henchmen moved up behind him. Even Consuelo began to groan and stir.
I should’ve shot him while he was down.
Osorio and Consuelo were the last two of the group that had murdered his family. Even one alive was too many.
The two thugs rushed forward and seized his arms. Ash struggled, but he couldn’t break free in time. Osorio moved up close, MAC-10 pointed at his chest. All Ash could do was seethe as he glared at his hated foe.
“You’re luck seems to have dried up, amigo,” Osorio sneered.
“As has yours,” Ash replied, but not feeling all that confident. “You slaughtered my family. They were just innocent bystanders, in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you killed them.”
Osorio shrugged, truly igniting Ash’s fury.
“You destroyed everything I loved and held dear. You destroyed my life that day, leaving me nothing. Absolutely nothing. I will kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”
The drug lord smiled. It didn’t reach his dark eyes.
“You failed in that task, amigo. I win again.” He looked around, indicating his grand home. “Like always.”
Ash spat at him. “You’re life isn’t worth two fucking pesos.”
Osorio tossed the MAC-10 aside, stepped up close, and pounded a fist into Ash’s belly. The vigilante grunted, curling up, as he coughed and gasped.
“Actually, I’m worth millions,” the Mexican sneered through clenched teeth. “In dollars, not pesos. I live like a king while you wallow in self-pity and foolish dreams of revenge. Did you really think a little man like you could take me out all by yourself?”
Ash remained quiet, considering how to respond. Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing else? Or lie completely and plant the seeds of doubt? Maybe something in-between?
“I did,” Ash admitted. “But I had help. It was the Russians who paid for my weapons, and then told me all about your businesses. They showed me where to strike to hurt you the most.”
“Lies!”
He shrugged. “How else would I know about the detail shop, the crack house, and the auto repair shop all being places you sold drugs, and let’s not forget the money I stole. But I had to give that all to Sokolov.”
Oh, that shocked the Mexican. Osorio stared at him a long moment before fury claimed his features. Ash smiled cruelly.
“You might’ve stopped me, but the Russians will find another to take you out.”
“Lies!”
Ash saw the doubt, the worry, in the Mexican’s eyes. The rage burned it all away. Osorio stepped up and landed three punches into Ash’s belly, driving the air out of his lungs.
He curled up, feet coming off the floor. The two thugs released his arms and he dropped to a gasping, coughing mess on the floor.
“I will cut off your head and send it to your mother!” Osorio screamed, kicking Ash in the ribs. “And then I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her hairdresser. I’ll kill her hairdresser’s neighbors. I’ll kill your first grade teacher. I’ll kill everyone you ever loved!”
It was time to act.
In spite of the pain, Ash kicked his leg around, sweeping one of the bad guys off his feet. No one saw it coming.
Ash grabbed two long kitchen knives, thrusting one up between the legs of the other criminal. That man gasped, a look of horror spreading across his face. Nevertheless, Ash didn’t pause to savor the moment and spun around on his knee to stab down into the other thug’s heart.
Osorio turned toward the discarded submachine gun. Consuelo cried out a warning and threw himself at Ash. Instead of running, Ash retreated against the wall, unzipped his coat, and pulled out both Glocks.
He ignored Consuelo, aiming at Osorio’s back instead. Consuelo veered away and tackled Osorio before Ash could squeeze the trigger. All three of them scrambled to their feet, but raced off in different directions.
Ash circled around through the dining room, into the foyer, and back toward the living room in an attempt to cut them off and finally end their miserable lives. Only neither of the Mexicans were to be found. And then he heard them cursing deeper in the house, followed by the distinct metallic sound of charging weapons.
“Dammit,” he whispered, emotions in chaos. Fight or flight? Stay and probably die for a slight chance of killing Osorio? Or flee to fight another day?
He knew he’d never get another chance like this.
The two Mexicans came running through the house, firing automatic weapons. That made up Ash’s mind. He took off running for his life. Into the dining room, Ash leapt through the shattered bay window and raced around the lead Escalade.
He paused only long enough to pump rounds into the other two vehicles’ tires, windshields, and engine compartments. Both SUVs’ engines sputtered and died. Then after a few shots into the house, Ash slipped behind the wheel and put it in gear.
He peeled out, crashed through the wrought iron gates, and headed toward the city. When he reached Wylie, he turned off into a grocery store parking lot and took stock.
He needed medical attention.
His wounded thigh throbbed now that the adrenaline wasn’t pumping. His ribs ached, as well as his brutalized belly. Only problem, last time he had gone to an ER, the police had caught his trail. Osorio might’ve also identified him through the ER visit.
What else could he do?
His eyes came to rest on a blue button. He saw the word On with a small star over the little n, which sent a chill through him. OnStar! GM vehicles could be tracked via GPS.
Chapter 36
Ash wrapped his wounded thigh up with a hand towel he found in the console. He wiped down everything he even might’ve touched, and then abandoned the Escalade.
He noticed antifreeze on the pavement under the SUV, so the radiator was leaking. The front end had suffered a lot more damage than he realized.
He headed up the street, westward toward Plano. Away from Osorio’s place while watching for the police and pursuit.
“This is not going to work,” he grumbled after only a few blocks.
His thigh ached more with every step. There was no way he could walk to the emergency vehicle he’d stashed inside a storage unit in Plano, much less walk all the way home to the farm in Royce City.
Calling a taxi or Uber was out of the question, too. The police definitely could track him down that way, and probably Osorio, too. He couldn’t lead them back to his farm, his safe haven. Yet, he hadn’t bothered making friends he could call for a lift. Friends were dangerous. He couldn’t afford to make friends. He couldn’t afford to lose anyone else he loved.
Ash pulled up a map of his location on his phone. Zooming out, he could see all of the roads, and the distance between him and his home. How best to cross that distance? And did he have all the medical supplies he needed to tend his bullet wound? The storage unit with the motorcycle remained his best option.
I haven’t checked it in over a month. I hope it will start.
The battery was disconnected, so he was pretty sure he could start the bike. Getting there was the issue. Could he chance an Uber to Plano? He rented the storage unit under a fake name, with a fake address and phone number. Always paid cash.
He pulled up his contacts. He had an Uber account under an alias, but it still worried him that the cops or Osorio could somehow use it against him. And then he saw it. That number.
Ash’s heart rate ramped up as he read “Deanna McGrath.” His leg throbbed. He needed a medical professional to look at his injuries, but couldn’t chance another ER visit. On top of that, he had no idea if she could take off from work just to tend to him. Or if she wou
ld come at all if he called.
“I don’t know what scares me more,” he whispered. “If she will come help me, or if she won’t.”
Ash tapped her number and it soon began to ring. She answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Deanna,” he said, suddenly unable to remember the name he gave her in the ER.
“Ash? Is that you?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
Damn, did I give them my real name? What was I thinking? No wonder Detective Bellucci knows who I am.
His face heated up. Nothing pissed him off more than his own screw-ups. That whole Collins failure was when everything had begun to unravel.
“Yeah. Can you talk?” he asked.
“I have a mouth and a tongue and a voicebox. I’m fairly sure I can talk.”
“Are you alone, I mean? Is this a bad time?”
“I’m at home,” she said. “It’s my day off.”
Nurse. Shift work. Ash nodded, though he hadn’t considered that, it worked to his benefit. Maybe.
“Great. I, um, hate to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a bind,” he said.
“Oh?” Deanna said, but then cooled. “You know, the police called about you?”
“I know. I spoke to Detective Bellucci,” he said. Would she call the police on him? “I think that misunderstanding has been settled. It was just routine stuff.”
“Great.” She sounded happy again. “So, why are you calling? It’s awful early, but I’m available for lunch or dinner.”
He hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to drag her into all of his trouble, but if he was careful it would be okay. Also, he’d disappoint her by asking for a big favor instead of a date.
“Yeah, I got hurt again. My leg this time and I don’t want to go to the ER again,” he said. “Could I maybe impose and ask for a ride to a location in Plano?”
“You’re hurt? How badly?” she asked in a rush. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Wylie, on FM544, which turns into Plano Parkway.”
“Okay, I know the area. I live in Richardson,” she said. “Give me your address and I’ll come get you.”
Ash gave her the address and the name of the closest store. He was in a strip mall, after all. Then he just had to wait, while stewing in his frustrations and self-doubts.
All my problems are due to reacting to the situation, instead of being the driver, he thought. I have to stop worrying about what everyone else is doing, or might do, and follow my plan. I can only control myself.
Regaining control was the problem. He had to do something to knock Osorio back on his heels, make him go back to playing defense. No more playing around. It was time to start his planned endgame.
Chapter 37
A blue Nissan Altima rolled to a stop and tapped the horn. Ash moved up to the passenger window and spotted Deanna’s smiling face. She was prettier than he remembered. The door unlocked and he got in, careful to avoid getting blood on her upholstery.
“Oh my, how bad is it?”
“Just a…” Ash almost said just a flesh wound, but stopped himself. “Cut on the back of my leg.”
“It’s still bleeding?” He nodded. “Then it must be pretty deep. You need to see a doctor.”
“No. It’s not a mortal wound, so I’ll be fine.”
She frowned at him a moment, before reaching over to the glove box. Deanna pulled out a trash bag. He had to lift up out of the seat, while she slid it under him.
“Fine. Let me get you home and take a look at it.”
Deanna wouldn’t listen to reason. She refused to take him to the storage unit, insisting she had to tend his injury first. At her place.
“Don’t worry. It’s not far,” she said.
Ash estimated her apartment was ten minutes from his stashed car. Not too bad. Once patched up, he could walk that if she still refused to take him. The second-floor apartment proved painful.
She had a very nice apartment. The door opened into a small living room, with a dining room to the right rear and kitchen on the back left. The furnishings looked new and comfortable. A TV was mounted over a fireplace. He noticed a short hallway to his right, with the bathroom and bedroom.
“Here, take this,” Deanna said, handing him a pill.
“What is it?”
“Oxycodone,” she said. “A pain killer.”
He took the pill, watching where she put the bottle. His eyes roamed a little, too. Her jeans fit perfectly snug, and she wore a tight baby blue tank under a red flannel shirt. Her hair was down, with hoop earrings peeking out of their dark depths.
“An opioid, huh? Are you trying to become my dealer?”
The joke was more to distract him from his inappropriate thoughts than to amuse her. She laughed, which pleased him.
“It’s not drugs I want to push on you, buster. Now take off your pants.”
His breath caught. “What?”
That made her laugh again. “Sounds more fun than it’s actually going to be. I need your jeans off to look at the cut.”
She quickly moved the coffee table away and knelt before him. For a second, he thought… But then she began unlacing his boots. Ash unfastened his jeans once the boots were off and slid them down to his knees. That seemed enough to him, but she pulled them completely off.
“Lay face down on the couch.”
He complied. She quickly cleaned the wound, actually two wounds. Entry and exit points. Then she sat back on her legs and stared at it.
She blanched. “Oh my god, that’s a bullet wound. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Ash?”
Their eyes locked and all he saw was empathy and concern. A dozen answers swirled in his head and he knew she’d see through the lie no matter which he used.
“Five years ago a drug deal went bad just as my family and I drove by,” he said through a tight throat. The memories flooded back, still fresh and painful. “The drug dealer and his thugs shot everything and everyone, without care. I was severely wounded and spent four months in the hospital and rehab. My wife and two sons died on the scene.”
Deanna stared back in horror, hand over her mouth, tears rolling down her face.
“Ash, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded and continued. “Well, it got worse. Neither the police nor the DA would do a damn thing. Not enough evidence. They had alibis. So they got away with murdering my family, but only in the eyes of the law.”
He paused to take deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves. Was he really telling her all this? Oddly, telling his truth felt liberating.
“So I started planning my own justice. Once out of rehab, I intensified my physical training. I learned weapons, martial arts, and studied tactics. When the dealer moved to Dallas, I followed. But it got complicated when he swiftly rose up to be the top dog drug lord in this area. It’s a lot harder to get to him now. Hence, the wound.”
She sat there a long moment, her gaze going back and forth between his face and wound. Finally, she nodded with the saddest expression.
“I understand how you feel. Sometimes, when I’m all alone to wallow in my misery and loneliness, I rage against the Taliban bastards that killed my husband,” she said. “I try so hard to be a good Christian and forgive them, but I just can’t.” She looked at his leg. “But I never seriously considered going to Afghanistan and killing them. The fact that you took that step scares me.”
“It scares me, too, Deanna,” he said. “But my path is set. I’ve gone too far now. I can’t step away now. Osorio will hunt me down if I do.” He smiled sadly at her. “It’s kill or be killed time now. And I absolutely have to avenge my family. Osorio and his thugs can’t be allowed to kill indiscriminately and get away with it anymore.”
“Let the police…”
“The police aren’t doing anything to stop him,” he cut her off more hotly than intended. “If you’ll notice, they’re trying very hard to stop me. Not him. He kills innocent men, women, and children, while I only kill very, very bad
guys. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
Deanna didn’t have an answer for that, so she busied herself with his wound. She had some of the liquid stitches treatment and patched him up as well as Dr. Vu had in the ER. The Oxycodone kicked in and helped a lot. So well, in fact, that Ash stole the bottle of Oxycodone while she was cleaning up.
I may need this for a few days.
“Just lay there and rest for a while,” she said. “I want to make sure you don’t go into shock. Besides, I really have to wash the blood out of your jeans.”
He gave her a what the hell look. She laughed, shrugged.
“Okay, I’m worried about you,” she said. “Sue me. Anyway, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. After lunch. I’m going to put a good meal in you first.”
“I must say, your bedside manner is a lot nicer than Dr. Vu’s.”
Deanna looked surprised, bit her lip, and headed for the kitchen. Ash relaxed when he heard the washing machine start filling with water. He relaxed, taking a deep breath, and slumber sucked him down.
Chapter 38
Bellucci set her coffee mug down and started her e-mail. She always started her day with e-mail. Most of it was internal, including a lot of jokes being spread around. Totally against policy, but some of them were pretty funny. Also, it felt good to know her coworkers were including her after only a couple weeks on the job.
She glanced at Cagle’s empty desk. Bellucci’s insides twisted and clenched. Turning him in as a dirty cop would likely ruin everything. At least it had back when she’d been with the NYPD. Her fellow cops stopped trusting her, looked at her suspiciously. And she hadn’t even been the bad cop.
Nobody likes a snitch, she thought. But I’m a cop, and it’s my job to do the right thing.
Even worse, she now knew Cagle intended on killing Wexler and making it look like an attempted escape, or something. And she was leading him straight to his target.
How could she stop Wexler and at the same time stop Cagle from murdering him?
