by Samson Weld
Then he spotted it. The Belvedere Tower loomed above Preston Road. The Escalades moved over to the left lane, setting up a turn into its parking garage. Except that they blew right by it.
“What the hell?”
That threw Ash off. Where could they be headed? Oak Cliff? South Dallas? DeSoto or Duncanville? Even Osorio’s ice cream plant, the El Dairia Creamery, was a possibility.
They drove past another luxury condo tower, before Osorio turned right next to yet a third luxury high-rise where Osorio actually owned the penthouse. But they’d driven past the entry to the high-rise, so where were they going? It was a smaller side street to a residential area. Treelined streets. Homes hidden off Preston Road.
As Ash rolled up to the street, he glanced right to see the three Escalades accelerating away. There was something odd about that scene. And then he spotted them. Six well-dressed Hispanic men were jogging toward the high-rise.
“Well played,” Ash muttered. “You almost threw me off the chase, jerkweed.”
He pulled over to the curb and watched them quickly enter the high-rise. A helicopter flew by above, heading toward downtown.
Ash gave Osorio and gang a few minutes, while he pulled up Google maps on his phone. He zoomed in on his location, switched to satellite view. Looking straight down on the high-rise, he could see all the streets, alleys, driveways, and sidewalks around the structure.
Locating the trash dumpsters in back, he determined how to reach that location before pulling the black woolen ski mask down over his face. Ash turned down the side street, went to the alley, and moved up behind the high-rise. He parked next to the line of dumpsters.
He started stuffing spare magazines for his two Glocks in his back pockets. Then he pushed thirty-round magazines for the Scorpion into his coat pockets. Finally, he waited for someone to come out through the back door. He only had to wait about fifteen minutes.
Ash rushed out of his car, Scorpion in hand. The elderly white man threw his hands up. He wore a brown long-sleeved shirt with “Maint” over his right pocket, and “Chuck” over his left. A large key ring hung off his belt, as did an access card. He was a building employee.
“Don’t shoot. Take anything you want,” he cried.
The sound of a helicopter pulled his eyes up. Was that helicopter circling? Not good.
Ash forced the maintenance man back through the door.
“Gimme your access card and keys,” Ash said, once again using his Russian accent.
Hey, might as well throw as much confusion in for the cops who’ll investigate. Was it the Russians that snuffed out Osorio in a gang war? Or the vigilante? Tune in at eleven…
“We don’t keep money on site,” he said, but handed over both the key ring and card.
“I’m not here to rob anyone,” Ash said. “I’m here to take out the trash.”
That mystified the old guy. Ash forced him into a maintenance closet and then bound his arms and legs with electric cords torn off equipment stored inside.
“You just need to be very quiet for about thirty minutes, Chuck,” Ash said, still exaggerating his terrible accent. “There are very bad people here. If you can believe, worse than me. They will shoot you if they see you, so don’t be in big rush to get out of here. Dasvidaniya.”
With that, Ash closed him inside the dark maintenance closet. He headed for the elevator.
Time to put Osorio out of my misery.
Chapter 48
“Consuelo! You get me another jet. By morning!” Osorio shouted as he stomped into the penthouse.
He headed straight out onto the balcony. Downtown Dallas was laid out beautifully before him. A helicopter flew by, maybe two hundred feet above. Osorio looked down, eyes seeking out his escaping Escalades. They were already out of sight, so he couldn’t tell if the red Camaro was still tailing them.
“Wexler, I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born,” he growled.
His men began taking off their suit coats. Counting Consuelo, he only had five men with him. Three were driving the vehicles to lead Wexler on a wild goose chase. Two of the drivers were wounded, but not so badly that their lives were threatened. Unfortunately, three of his bodyguards had died protecting him while boarding the jet.
Wexler was slowly decimating his loyal men. The vigilante’s ability to find him was unnerving. And how did he keep escaping death? Hell, even the Russians were looking for him. Unless Sokolov had lied about that, hoping he’d drop his guard enough for Wexler to kill him…
He smiled at the memory of Sokolov’s face when he’d killed him. The coward thought he could shield himself with his slut. Nothing stopped Osorio’s Desert Eagle. That .50 cal round would crack an engine block. Yes, killing the big Russian had been damn satisfying.
But not as satisfying as killing Wexler would feel.
Osorio’s head filled with the sight of Wexler’s head in a bucket, eyes wide in shock. It would make for a wonderful mantelpiece. A trophy.
With that thought, he called Daniel Vega.
“Daniel, get some men together. Juan Miguel is leading a red Camaro to you. I want the man’s head in a bucket. You understand?”
“No problemo, boss,” the Mexican-American replied. “He’s a dead man driving.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Osorio said. “Call me as soon as he’s dead.”
Osorio felt much better by the time he ended the call. Consuelo joined him on the balcony.
“I found a jet at the Executive Airport. It’ll be ready to board by two o’clock,” he said.
“That’s too long,” Osorio said. “I said I wanted it now.”
“They have to call in the pilots and crew. It has to be fueled. No one can get us in the air faster.”
Osorio’s phone rang. The ring tone told him exactly who was calling. He answered.
“What do you want, Cagle?”
“Listen, Osorio, this is getting too hot for me,” the detective said. “I need to lay low for a while. You leaving the country will make it a lot easier for me. Once things cool down, you can come back and it’ll be safe for me to help you again.”
“Fuck you, Cagle. I pay you good money, so you are staying on the clock,” he snarled. “No one backs out of a deal with me, understand?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Yeah, nothing, motherfucker. You get that partner of yours under control,” he said. “I want my name cleared. I don’t care how you do it, but get it done. Or it’ll be your head in a bucket.”
“What the hell, Osorio, I’ve been… Hold,” Cagle said.
Osorio heard other voices. Female voices. The line went dead as Cagle ended the call.
Chapter 49
Ash moved quickly and stealthily toward the main lobby. He led with the Scorpion, finger hovering next to the trigger. The ski mask remained over his face.
Passing the restrooms, a thirty-something woman in a gray pinstripe blazer and skirt stepped out. She did a double-take on Ash, threw up her arms, and shrieked.
“Police SWAT,” Ash said. “Get back into the bathroom and stay there until someone tells you it’s clear. Be careful, we’re after a rapist.”
The woman didn’t hesitate. She fled back into the ladies’ room. He didn’t know if she believed him about being SWAT, but as long as she stayed hidden and safe, it didn’t matter. And then he heard her speaking through the door.
Dammit. She’s calling 911.
That meant he had less time than anticipated. Ash rushed into the lobby just as four Hispanic men in suits entered. They all froze, staring incredulously at each other. Then the Latinos all reached for pistols.
“Knock knock, motherfuckers!”
Ash opened fire.
One man went down immediately, while the other three scattered. They began shouting and cursing in Spanish and Ash heard the name “Osorio” mentioned at least twice. Ducking behind a marble wall, he squeezed off three-to-five round bursts, while trying to figure out how he could get to the elevators al
ive.
One of the Hispanic men pulled out a phone. Ash’s blood ran cold. He’d lost the element of surprise. Unless…
Ash braced the Scorpion against the wall, took careful aim even as the other two men opened fire on him, and squeezed off two shots as the marble wall disintegrated around him.
“Ha. Got him,” he said, ejecting the now empty magazine. He shoved another in. “Two down, two more to go.”
The remaining two men began shouting at each other in Spanish. Once again, Ash wished he’d studied Spanish when he was in school. But he figured out what they were saying soon enough, when they began covering each other as they leap-frogged toward him. The two used columns, chairs, and the front desk as cover.
Ash smiled.
“Buenos noches, mi amigos!”
He dropped to his belly on the floor, elbows wide on the floor for steady support, and took aim at the thug behind a chair. A five-round burst ripped a hole out of him as bullets pierced the chair, and then his body. Ash hit him with two more bursts.
His Scorpion’s sting was terrible, he thought glibly.
Ash turned the Scorpion on the last of the four. This guy was gawking at his now dead compadres. Being the last man standing against a foe with a submachine gun couldn’t be a good feeling.
Still, not as bad as the feeling of bullets tearing through your body.
“Never bring a pistol to a machinegun fight,” Ash shouted.
Pulling the trigger, Ash shot into the desk protecting the son of a bitch. He cried out, stood up, and pointed his pistol at Ash, but proved too slow. Another five-round burst ripped into him before he could get sights on Ash. One last burst put him down for good.
“Damn, that took two full magazines. Arnold and Sly never have this problem in the movies.”
Ash had five magazines left. Osorio had at least five men with him. Not good. The distant sound of sirens filled him with frustration. It wasn’t going as well as previous hits.
The thought of Osorio escaping his justice turned Ash’s stomach. Prison was too good for that murderous bastard. Indeed, death wasn’t punishment enough for murdering his family.
Ash rushed into an open elevator car. He pushed the button for the top floor, the penthouse. Nothing happened. Noticing a slot for his access card, Ash inserted the card, pushed the penthouse button again, and the button lit up. The doors closed and he started to rise quickly.
He chambered a round in the Scorpion. He would kill Osorio or die trying.
He watched the display above the door. As it approached the top floor, Ash took a deep, steadying breath. He braced himself, prepared to race straight out as soon as the doors opened.
Ding.
“Oh shit.”
He’d forgotten elevators dinged when they stopped at a floor. He could only hope Osorio was expecting the dead thugs down in the lobby. Otherwise…
The doors opened and Ash charged out into an open foyer. His eyes scanned everything from left to right.
It looked like a hallway to the bedrooms was to his left, with the gourmet kitchen on the other side of a formal dining room to his right. A huge island with six stools spanned the kitchen and dining. Straight ahead was the living room, but a wide stone fireplace blocked most of his view and separated it from the dining room.
Two men stood up in the living room and stared at him. He spotted Osorio and Consuelo out on the balcony further back, both turning to see who just came in. And then everyone reached for weapons.
Ash opened fire on Osorio, shooting between the two bodyguards.
Ratta-tat-tat-tat.
Osorio dropped to the floor as the windows and French doors shattered. Ash’s bullets shredded his lieutenant. Consuelo’s pistol flew up and over the side, and then he stared open-mouthed at Ash as he slowly toppled over the balcony. He vanished from sight for the long drop to the street below.
“Kill him!” Osorio screamed, filled with rage and panic.
His men opened fire from all directions.
Chapter 50
It looked like pure chaos at Love Field, but Bellucci could see the perfect coordination between police, firefighters, and medical personnel. In the middle of it all stood Cagle, shouting orders and directions at people.
Bellucci shook her head. It was such a shame when a good cop went bad. He obviously had the chops for the job, fell into it naturally. But whether it was greed or blackmail, Cagle had let Osorio sink his claws in and drag him down into the gutter.
She rode with Johnston, Detectives Kilgore and Tran following in their vehicle. They made excellent time. On the map, Love Field looked pretty far from police headquarters just south of downtown. But she kept forgetting Dallas was laid out on a much smaller scale than New York City.
What was left of the Gulfstream still burned bright, thanks to jet fuel. Fire trucks were still arriving, both from the airport and city. Bellucci spotted Cagle’s pickup, now just a burnt out husk of its former glory. She noticed it was riddled with bullet holes.
Johnston skidded to a stop in front of Cagle, who was on the phone.
“Cagle,” she called, sliding out of the car. Johnston was out in a flash, too. Detective Tran skidded to a stop on the other side of Cagle. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Helping at the scene of a crime,” he said, his tone grating on her last nerve. Was he really trying to make her feel stupid? “Look around, Bellucci. This is what it looks like when the shit hits the fan.”
Cagle glanced back at Kilgore and Tran, coming up behind him. He stiffened.
“How come you called off on a personal day, but we find you in the middle of a gun battle at the airport?” she asked. “Think carefully before you answer.”
His right hand moved toward his weapon. Johnston, Kilgore, and Tran all drew on him. Bellucci stepped closer, hand on her weapon.
“What the fuck, guys? We’re all on the same team here,” Cagle said, but with a little wild in his eyes.
“Are we?” Bellucci asked. “Or have you been on Team Osorio all this time?”
His fingers began to twitch, eyes darting back and forth. Looking for an escape? Or sizing up his chances against his fellow detectives?
Bellucci noticed two uniforms rushing toward them, weapons in hand. She pulled her badge off her belt and held it up.
“Homicide! Detective Bellucci!” she shouted. “We’re all Homicide detectives.”
“Their lying!” Cagle cried. “Their mob hitmen.”
“Detective Joseph Cagle, you are under arrest for corruption, aiding and abetting a known criminal, and…” Bellucci said, pulling out her handcuffs. She moved up behind him, jerked his arms back, and snapped on the handcuffs. “Resisting arrest.”
“I’ll have your badge for this,” Cagle snarled.
“You’re a dirty cop, Cagle,” she replied, holding his eyes. “You’re an embarrassment to us all.”
Bellucci’s phone rang. It was Captain Perot.
“Bellucci here, sir,” she answered. “We have Cagle in custody.”
“Good. I think your vigilante is chasing Osorio through the streets of Dallas,” Captain Perot said. “They’re fighting it out in a luxury condo high-rise as we speak.”
Bellucci’s blood ran cold as the captain explained a local news helicopter had followed the escaping Escalades, and then noticed a red Camaro following them. Six men had bailed out of the Escalades and entered the high-rise and minutes later a red Camaro had pulled up in back. An armed man had gotten out to lead another man inside at gunpoint. 911 calls to report a gunfight had started coming in shortly afterwards.
“I’m on the way,” Bellucci said, ending the call. “Kilgore and Tran can handle Cagle. Let’s roll, Johnston.”
No one argued or asked why. Everyone just did their job and Bellucci was on the road a moment later. They raced up to Preston Road, lights and sirens clearing the way. Then they headed south down Preston toward the helicopter circling above a tall condo building.
I hope we get
there in time, Bellucci hoped, thinking about Ash Wexler and how he wouldn’t survive this.
Bellucci and Johnston arrived to find four patrol cars and eight uniforms outside the high-rise. She was informed more officers were on the way, but the SWAT teams were all assisting the Feds in a series of drug busts that morning.
“Seriously?” she said.
There was a dead body just inside the shattered front door. She could see three others in the lobby. It looked like a worst-case scenario to Bellucci.
Gunfire erupted high above. A pistol fell down to bounce on the concrete before the standard cops, seconds before a body came crashing down.
“Holy shit!” one of the uniforms exclaimed.
“We can’t sit out here while they play wild, wild west up there,” Bellucci said, mostly to herself. “I’m going in.”
Chapter 51
Ash ducked behind the stone fireplace, heading for the kitchen, when gunfire made his location too hot.
Osorio cursed and shouted orders in Spanish. The sound of scrambling feet echoed through the penthouse. Everyone was heading for the kitchen.
Skidding to a stop on the smooth hardwood floor, Ash dropped to one knee next to the stone wall and waited for the first thug to reach the kitchen before him. But another came around the corner before he did.
“Damn!” he cried, diving to the side as the Mexican heavy opened fire.
That move thrust Ash into the dining room and other thugs’ sights. Rolling to his back, Ash opened up on the two bodyguards running into the kitchen. One took the brunt of the attack, falling straight back and not moving. The other jumped over him and dove behind the kitchen island. Ash then turned his weapon on the man coming up behind him.
“Aaahh!” the Mexican wailed, falling straight back.
Ash’s weapon locked back, magazine empty. Cursing under his breath, he ejected and fumbled for the next magazine.
The wounded thug groaned, rolled to his knees, and grinned at Ash as he aimed his weapon. The next magazine slipped in, Ash slapped the base to lock it in, and charged the Scorpion while the other man opened fire.
