Den of Iniquity

by J G Jerome

  I encourage her, “We’ll get you there, Baby.”

  She clears and cases the weapon before she smiles at me.

  After finishing with the heavier rifles, we move over to the ‘main range’ facility. Monty networks with the Range Safety Officer for a moment, and the elderly gent escorts us to our lanes. We have two that are adjacent to one another.

  We lay out the shotguns, AR-15s, and pistols on the benches. I bench my pistol as well, then we start with the shotguns. I haven’t fired a shotgun since Military Police school ages ago. Monty recommends the .12-guage with double-aught buckshot for defense, so I try it and manage to hit center of mass. However, the recoil is heavy. I shake my head. I tell the ladies to skip it for now.

  Monty hands me a Mossberg Maverick 88 pump .20-guage. I shoot the weapon and find it much easier to handle, and shred the head of my previous target. I ask him, “What ammo is this?”

  “Number 4 buckshot,” Monty replies. “The weapon is lighter. The charge is smaller at this guage, but for up to twenty meters it works well. If your target is further out, shoot ‘em again.” He shrugs, “Honestly, the .410 bore can work, too. You’ll only get eight or nine pellets per shell versus the .20 gauge’s twenty-four, but a .410 is really easy to control.”

  I clear the .20 gauge and set it on the bench. The ladies each try it. Monty coaches them to hold it tight to the shoulder. Josie does okay, chewing a hole out of the target’s side. Marissa hits center-of-mass. Audrey fails to hold it tight, and she nearly drops the weapon. Rebecca does better that way, but she still staggers from the recoil. Both Audrey and Rebecca try it again, leaning into the weapon. Audrey hits the target center-of-mass. Rebecca chews a corner off the upper left shoulder.

  All four of them are good with the .410. Each one of them hits close to center-of-mass.

  Monty is rubbing his chin. “You know, Will. I have seen some wicked shotgun weapons with drum magazines or assault rifle variants. Inside ten meters, a .410 is sufficient. A bullpup with a drum magazine might be interesting. I’ll do some research. I also know of a couple of decent magazine-fed .410s. One is similar to an AR-15 carbine. We can try them to see what you like best.”

  “Okay,” I agree. “What’s next?”

  Monty orients the ladies to the AR-15s. All of them do well prone, and decent standing. Rebecca still has control issues standing, but she does better than with the heavier rifle. She is the best of all the ladies prone.

  We try a variety of pistols next. Audrey, Josie, and Marissa all do well with the .22, .38, and 9mm weapons. Their shot groups with the larger calibers had wider shot-groups, but not terrible. Rebecca struggles controlling the pistols in general. I can tell she’s getting frustrated.

  I wrap her in a hug. “It’s okay, honey. You will get better with practice. And...you are deadly with a rifle. You can defend us just fine, Baby.” She frowns at me for a moment before breaking into a beautiful smile.

  Monty says, “I think a shotgun is the answer for you, Rebecca - at least to start. I’ll check with my buddy to get those .410’s and bring back a semi-auto if I can get a .20 gauge.”

  Rebecca says, “I need to be able to handle a pistol. What if that is the only weapon available when I need one?”

  I agree. “You’re right. However, training the small muscles that allow you to control the weapon and working on technique will get you there. Be patient, my love.”

  Audrey tells her, “My dad took me to the range for a year before I could consistently hit my chosen target, Rebecca. We can get you there, love. Just be patient and have faith in yourself.”

  “Well said,” Marissa adds.

  Josie tells Rebecca, “I need a lot of work too, Rebecca. We’ll train regularly, and we’ll get there. I feel best about the shotgun and rifles right now, but I need to get good with pistols, too.”

  I tell Monty, “We’ll talk it over, and I’ll email you an order. I expect that we’ll get matching nine-mils. I’m fond of the Sigs, and the ones you had here worked pretty well for them.”

  He nods as we help him get all the weapons loaded into his Escalade. I send him a Zelle for the ammo, and our business is complete for the day. We shake hands, and the ladies all give him hugs. He is flustered as he gets into his truck, but he waves as he drives away.

  We pile into the CRV and drive east to First Watch at I-17 for brunch before heading back to Prescott. We have an early dinner with Dan and Maria before Audrey drives back to Phoenix in her own car.

  31

  Carla

  This week has been all about getting ready to move into the new house this weekend. Monday, we packed up clothes and housewares from our various temporary lodgings. I plan to leave my desk, TV, some basic kitchen utensils, and linens at the apartment and use it as an office for the time being. I figure it will take a while to get settled and get an office space in the new house, while the lease on the apartment still has a month on it. Josie installed a crawl-through passage in the bedroom closet of the apartment yesterday. All the funding went through for the house on Mount Vernon, and I got the keys Tuesday.

  Today is Wednesday, and the painters attacked the house first thing this morning. Marissa and I decided to splurge and put two crews on the job to finish quickly. They are starting the job with one group inside and one outside. It will still be tight having it ready to move in by this weekend.

  I am wrapping up my notes from the last meeting when Marissa calls me.

  Marissa sounds frantic. “Will, Carla called, and she needs help. I’m in Cottonwood. Can you help her?”

  “Sure, honey.” I lock my computer and pull on my boots. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” she moans. “I was in the middle of a client conversation, so I let it go to voicemail. I realized she never calls me, so I listened to the voicemail. She said she is in danger. Since I can’t get there quickly, I thought I’d see if you could help her.”

  “Of course,” I reply. I clip my pistol onto my belt and grab a light jacket. “Send me her phone and address. I’m heading out the door now.” I check for my knife and that I have a baton with me.

  I exit the apartment as she answers, “I emailed it to you just before I called. I’ll text her that you are coming.”

  My CRV beeps as I key the remote. “Okay, Honey. I’ll update you when I know something.”

  “Okay. Be careful, Will. I love you,” she says by way of sign off.

  “I love you too, Marissa.” I disconnect and start the car. I pull up Carla’s address and key it into Google maps, then I dial her phone number.

  She answers as I turn right on Aubrey. “Hello Carla, Will James here. I’m on my way. I’ll be at your condo in about 10 minutes. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She responds, “It’s a townhome.” I shrug as she continues. “There is a guy standing in front of my house yelling and waving a gun. He was disciplined at work for negligence, and I was involved. Another miner was injured because this neanderthal didn’t follow safety protocols. He has been written up three times for the same thing. His manager put him on LWOP, er...leave without pay, for two weeks. I was there to ensure they stayed legal. He’s decided it’s my fault he’s not getting a paycheck.”

  “Any word on ETA for police?” I ask.

  She answers, “They had a multi-vehicle, multi-fatality wreck at Costco, so most of them are down there. It’s going to be a bit before they get here. The sheriff might get someone here sooner, but it’s the jurisdiction of the Prescott Police Department, so I’m kinda out of luck at the moment.”

  “Okay, Carla. I’m on my way. Keep the door locked and get behind heavy furniture. I should be there in a little over five minutes from now,” I tell her.

  Six minutes later, I pull into the same slot I used to move Marissa out of Carla’s townhome.

  I get out and walk to the door. There is a burly guy in the yard holding a gun behind his back like I wouldn’t see it. He looks strong, but he also looks like he drinks his weight in be
er every week.

  I knock on the door. “Carla, it’s Will.”

  There is a long pause, while I keep an eye on the goober in the front yard. Carla finally lets me in and closes the door. I look out the window to see the goober start to prowl on the sidewalk.

  I look at Carla. “You want him dead?”

  She responds, “I wouldn’t be legal until he actually attacks on my property. Plus I would have to do it.”

  I shrug. “I don’t care. He’s a danger to you. You’re the victim here. No matter what happens to him, he is not the victim.”

  Apparently he has worked up some more courage because I hear him yell. “You want to fire me, bitch? Let’s hear you say it to my face.”

  I look at her. She shrugs. “I did. I was in the room when the manager brought him in for discipline. He asked what the maximum penalty was. I told him firing the guy would be warranted given the three previous write-ups. The manager decided on two weeks LWOP since the other guy wasn’t severely injured. The miner that got injured will be back to work in two days with an armful of stitches, bandages, and pain meds that won’t let him operate machinery. It’s a loss for the company and a poor precedent. I think the manager goes drinking with this cretin. He should have fired him, and I told him that in the room.” Her whole narrative is delivered like she is reading from a script - absolutely no emotion. It’s disconcerting on such a beautiful woman.

  I ask her, “Do you have a weapon?” Shakes her head. “Do you know how to use one?”

  She nods. “Yes, but I haven’t practiced recently. I used to go shooting in Phoenix with a guy from work.”

  I nod and pull my pistol. I rack a round and hand it to her. “There’s no safety, no hammer, and no decocking lever. Just aim and squeeze the trigger. Clear?”

  She looks at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go talk him down. Or kill him. His choice,” I reply nonchalantly.

  “You’re going to trust me with a gun?” she asks.

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” I can see her thinking about her answer.

  I tell her, “You’ve had more than enough opportunity to kill me if you were going to do it.” I hold out the grip of the weapon. “Keep your finger on the guard, not the trigger. If you need to use the weapon, line up the dots of the site on your target, gently lay the tip of your finger on the trigger and squeeze it slowly and gently. When you need to hurry, take your time.”

  Her smokey grey eyes stare into mine. She nods slowly. I place the weapon into her open palm. “Okay,” she says.

  I ask, “What’s his name?”

  “Cyrus Masterson,” she responds.

  “Lock the door after I leave, Carla.” She nods.

  I slowly open the door. “Coming out,” I announce in my best drill sergeant voice.

  I hold my hands up and walk slowly out the door towards the idiot standing in the grass. I hear the door lock behind me.

  I call to the goober, “Hello, I’m Will. Are you Cyrus?”

  Looks at me suspiciously, a Colt 1911 style pistol hanging loosely next to his right leg. “Yeah? Whaddya want?”

  I tell him, “I want you to leave before the police get here. You’re scaring my friend.”

  He scoffs. “Bitch deserves to be scared. She said I should be fired.”

  I play nice for the moment. “Oh? Why?”

  He says, “She never liked me.”

  “How often have you spoken to her?” I ask.

  “Yesterday and today,” is his well considered response.

  “So Cyrus, help me be clear here. You are saying she’s always disliked you despite having never met you until yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” the idiot responds like a sulking child. “And she said I should be fired.”

  “Other than her dislike for you, what did you do to meet her?”

  He waves his hand dismissively. “Some jackass at work hurt himself. He claimed it’s because I didn’t follow safety procedures, but everybody knows those are bullshit.”

  “So you don’t care enough to follow the rules, and now everyone is picking on you. Is that about right?” I ask.

  I’m only about six feet away from him. He sneers, “That’s right, motherfucker.” His gun starts to rise in my direction.

  I pull his soul out of him, and he collapses. Unfortunately his gun goes off, and the bullet creases my left calf - barely missing the shin bone. I hold onto his soul as I roll on the ground cursing and spitting.

  I breathe deeply and try to push the pain aside. Lifting the pant leg to reveal the wound, I learn it is bleeding but not badly. It’s just going to burn like a sonofabitch for a while. Sadly, I need to leave it until paramedics look at it - no ‘necromancer heal thyself’ business. I get up, and Cyrus’ soul yells and screams at me. The volume decreases rapidly as I draw about half the energy from his soul. I keep a light hold on the ghost and then ignore him for the moment..

  I roll the corpse away from the gun. I scribe my glyph on the base of his skull and energize the body. I exert my will to make Cyrus’ zombie my bitch.

  “Get up, Cyrus.” The zombie slowly rises.

  I give him directions. “Cyrus, the police are on their way. Pick up the gun, decock it, and engage the safety.” He does.

  “How much life insurance do you have?” I ask.

  “Five hundred thousand. It goes to my bitch wife and brat,” he answers dispassionately.

  “Are your payments up-to-date, Cyrus?”

  He shrugs. “I think so. The wife pays the bills.”

  I continue my interrogation, “Why do you think your wife is a bitch?”

  “She is always nagging me to not go out drinking after work. She wants me to come home and spend time with her and the kid. She doesn’t know what it’s like to work. She’s a housekeeper at the Pioneer Home. Inside, air conditioned, just has to do housework and pick up after the old people. A man needs to unwind before going home to the bitch and the brat.”

  I make my decision. I wish it was a tough one, but honestly his attitude towards his family and women in general is pissing me off. Plus the worthless fuck shot me! I call for an Angélus Mórtis to take the remnants of his soul away and release my hold on it.

  “Watch me as I back into the house, and then watch the door until the police arrive. When they talk to you, turn around and look at them. Then shoot their car. Don’t shoot them, or you’ll be dead,” I tell him.

  I raise my hands and back toward the house. I hear the door. I call over my shoulder, “Coming in, Carla.”

  “Door is open, Will. Careful of the step.”

  I look over my shoulder and step up. When I am through the door, Carla closes and locks it.

  She acts concerned as she asks, “Did you get shot?”

  “Yeah the dumbshit was ready to shoot. When he dropped, the gun went off. Maybe he spasmed when he died. The bullet grazed my calf. It’s bleeding, but not too bad. It is going to make a mess on your floor regardless.”

  “Come back behind the island. I have a first aid kit under the sink.”

  That sounds like a good idea. I’m dripping enough to sell the ‘I got shot’ idea. I nod and limp over to where she is leading.

  Carla asks, “Why did he fall?”

  I slide down next to the stove with the island at my feet. Look at her eyes. “If asked, just relate what you saw. He fell down, shot me, and then I helped him up.”

  She pulls a first aid kit out from under the sink and pushes my jeans up. She looks up at me. “Okay. What really happened?”

  I look at her for a moment before answering. “I pulled his soul out of his body and called a Death Angel to take it home. I made him a zombie.”

  “So he’s just going to stand there?” she asks.

  “He’s going to wait for the police,” I clarify. She nods and looks at my injured leg.

  Carla cleans and dresses my wound. She wraps gauze around it to hold the bandage in place then gets a kitchen towel over
the wound and a couple of throw pillows. She tapes those in place with a handy roll of duct tape from the kitchen drawer. Then she has me roll slightly to my right and puts her weight on the bandage.

  Things played out about how I expected. The police arrived and got out of their cars. They saw Cyrus with his gun, so they drew their weapons and told him to drop the gun. He followed my directions and shot up their car, so of course the police shot him repeatedly. I feel my connection to him fade. Not wanting to waste the energy, I pull his remaining life and death energies to me.

  Now the police are knocking on the door. Carla lets them in and leads to where I’m sitting on the floor. It turns out the officers are my two old friends Officers Johnson and Bird.

  Officer Bird calls for paramedics before starting to question me where I sit on the floor. Officer Johnson takes Carla to the living room.

  I give a concise summary of what happened and answer her questions. Officer Bird finishes asking questions as the Paramedics come in the door. She actually chuckles when I tell her how I got shot and then smiles for the rest of the questioning. She’s cute when she smiles.

  The paramedics remove Carla’s construction, and clean the wound again. The blood leakage has slowed to a miniscule trickle. They consult with the ER and give me an antibiotic shot. They finally leave me to my own devices and depart.

  When they leave, Carla sits next to me. “I find it comforting to sit beside you.”

  “No problem, Carla.” I wrap my left arm around her shoulder as I call Marissa to report. She’s worried about the bullet wound, but I reassure her that I’ll be fine.

  Marissa says, “I’ll have Mom bring Josie over. She can take you home in your car and let Rebecca know what happened.”

  Carla leans on me for a few more minutes before she gets up.

  I tell Carla, “We are moving into a new house this weekend. Come by to meet Audrey. She’s the only one you haven’t met, yet. You can meet Sidney too, if you like.”