Tracking Shot

by Colin Campbell

  He smiled at his brother and Billy Bob nodded. Billy Bob knelt up and fired through the window. The leader got to his feet and went out the front door.

  FORTY-FIVE

  The back wall of the cabin was so close to the concrete support that the door could only open halfway, forcing McNulty to go left before he could close it behind himself and turn around to go right. Keeping low in case of stray bullets, he crept along the narrow gap, listening to the gunfire out front. He couldn’t see what happened, but the sounds spoke for themselves. His mind filled in the rest and played it like a movie in his head.

  Billy Bob fired aimlessly to give his brother some cover. Rapid shots across the damaged cars, still parked up against the porch railing like horses at a hitching post. The skinny guy fired the shotgun from the hip. He blew out the windshield of the nearest car and sent splinters up the side of the first gunman’s face. The other two gunmen turned and fired, center mass, punching three ribs and his spine out through his back. He was still firing the shotgun as he went down.

  Billy Bob stood up and roared. He fired at the man with the splinters in his face, getting off three shots before the other two exploded his chest with a double-tap each. Splinter Face took one in the body armor, one in the shoulder and a third in the neck. It was the neck shot that killed him, ripping his aorta and spraying blood across the car.

  The workshop doors burst open as the car reversed off the ramp at speed. The direction was off and it rammed into one of their own cars in front of the hitching post. There wasn’t even time to raise their rifles before the two remaining gunmen calmly stepped up to the car and shot them through the windshield. It was all over in thirty seconds. There were no final headshots to finish the Cloverleaf Boys. They were already dead.

  Thirty seconds. Just enough time for McNulty to realize he was fucked.

  He reached the rear corner of the cabin with the gunshots still echoing around the clearing. The concrete support extended way beyond the cabin and out into the open. If he tried to reach the end and head for the freeway he’d be a sitting duck. His car was all the way across the turnaround and out the other end of the junkyard halfway up the on-ramp. Too far under hostile fire.

  The gunshots echoed down to nothing. Hot metal ticked and cooled. Steam hissed from busted radiators. The remaining gunmen didn’t speak. They’d shot and killed five men in a little more than two minutes. Five men wasn’t enough. There was a sixth. McNulty. The scene wouldn’t be secure until they’d killed the sixth man. They didn’t speak. They didn’t check their fallen colleague. They spread out and approached the cabin from two sides, leaving McNulty nowhere to go.

  Except for one place.

  If he moved fast.

  McNulty darted round the side of the cabin before the gunmen were fully deployed. He dropped to his knees and lifted the wooden hatch just enough to roll through the gap. He didn’t even think about the rotting corpses as he dropped into darkness. The lid was down on top of him by the time the right flank came around the front of the cabin. McNulty listened and waited for his chance.

  The gunmen knew McNulty was still in the cabin because they’d seen him go in earlier, and nobody had come out who wasn’t already dead. They stayed out front and separated, one taking the left and the other, the right. The right flank came around the side of the cabin to cover the side window. The left flank looked for the left side of the cabin but there was no gap between it and the workshop. He checked the workshop doors, now just so much splintered wood, and scanned the interior while also covering the front porch.

  They communicated with hand signals so they wouldn’t give their positions away to anyone listening. The right flank held firm and covered the cabin from an angle, the same way McNulty had taught Alfonse Bayard to approach a building. The other gunman searched the workshop. It didn’t take long; the Cloverleaf Boys’ repair center was basic and didn’t have extra rooms, apart from the spray bay, which was just a curtained partition of the main floor. There was no upstairs or basement or office. With the car gone from the ramp there weren’t even any vehicles to search. He came back out and gave a signal. Clear. Now it was time to breach the cabin.

  The right flank covered both windows and the front door while his partner climbed the steps. The porch creaked but they weren’t bothered about the noise. If the movie guy was inside, he already knew they were coming. He crossed the porch and gave a quick glance through the window then stood beside the door. Another quick glance both sides and he went inside. The right flank went to the window above the rat pit. His colleague indicated the bedroom. Back door. The living room was secured. The outside man went along the side of the cabin to the gap between the concrete support and the house, and disappeared around the back.

  McNulty came out of the pit, gasping for air, and moving fast. He kept to the edge of the turnaround then darted between the rusting tractors and the cars on blocks. It wasn’t the most direct route, but zigzagging gave him cover instead of open space. He tried to be quiet but reckoned speed was more important now. He dodged left then right and went straight for two car lengths before having to detour around a rusty heap that might have been a Cadillac at one time. His foot caught a metal rod that swung up and hit the side of the car.

  The clang echoed in the silence. He didn’t stop moving and he didn’t glance over his shoulder. He jogged beyond the last of the wrecks and picked up speed in the undergrowth. His feet sank into soft earth again and he knew he was nearly home free. His trousers picked up more sticky buds and seeds.

  A shrill whistle sounded behind him and there was a sudden bustle of activity. Footsteps sounded on the porch. McNulty skirted the west bank of the Charles River heading toward the on-ramp. He could see his car in the distance. The hood was still up. The reflective triangle still warned traffic to avoid the parked vehicle.

  A branch snapped beneath his feet. The bushes swished and crackled as he charged forward. The gunshot was loud in the smothering hush and pain hit him like a hammer blow to the back. The impact flung him forward and to one side, and he was unconscious before he hit the cold black water.

  FORTY-SIX

  Darkness, pain and mind-numbing cold. It felt like being locked in the freezer in your underwear. With the door closed and the light turned off. McNulty wondered if the light would come back on if somebody opened the door. It was one of life’s great mysteries; does the light go off when you shut the fridge door? The thought bounced around his head along with dozens of others. The only thing he was sure of was that Kevlar vests might be good for stopping bullets but they weren’t worth shit for helping you swim.

  McNulty resurfaced gasping for air, not from the depths of the Charles River but from the darkness and delirium of feverish unconsciousness. He jack-knifed up in bed and was sick over the side. His eyes were open but they couldn’t see. The room was dark and empty and as silent as the grave. He dry-heaved twice then collapsed back against the pillows. He closed his eyes to rest them and stop the pounding headache that was threatening to crush his skull. The broken nose throbbed. His cracked ribs ached. He rubbed his temples and risked opening his eyes again. It was still dark but he could make out some shapes in the shadows.

  There was a bedside table on his right and a filing cabinet in the corner. Some kind of medical poster clung to the shadows, a skeleton or a full body diagram with the skin peeled off. A vague square shape was brighter than the rest of the room, a window with the drapes closed. It looked like it was daylight outside but nothing penetrated the medical suite.

  Medical suite? Was he back in the hospital? He deserved to be after being shot in the back and almost drowned. This didn’t feel like a hospital room though. There was no heart-rate monitor or beeps and ticks and breathing noises. He looked to his left and saw the familiar Red Cross on a white box fastened to the wall. It was a medical suite for sure, but where? He turned to his right and knocked a pitcher of water over on the bedside table. It hit the floor with a crash, prompti
ng immediate voices in the next room.

  He tried to sit up but the headache, ribs and general weakness conspired against him. The door opened a crack and a silhouetted face peeked through. The additional light brought the room into focus and he realized where he was: Titanic Productions’s medical room in the location services compound.

  “He’s awake again.”

  The door opened fully and Amy Moore came in.

  “And you don’t remember getting here?”

  “I don’t remember Christmas.”

  “Not helpful. We’re thinking a bit more recent.”

  “You don’t believe the amnesia defence then?”

  “You don’t need defense with us. It’s not what we want. Just information. Like why you stopped us from calling the police.”

  Amy stood over him while the unit nurse checked McNulty’s dressings. There were a lot of dressings now, the taped nose, the strapped ribs, the scrapes and bruises, and a nasty cut to the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was being punched in the back and flung into the river. Some gasping and struggling. A few random snatches of consciousness but nothing concrete about how he got all the way from the junkyard to the production compound, or how long it had taken. Amy sat in a chair next to the examination table that doubled as a bed.

  “It’s been all over the news.”

  McNulty didn’t sit up. “What has?”

  Amy leaned forward. “The gunfight at the Cloverleaf Body Shop.”

  “That’s what they call it? I thought Harris was being cryptic.”

  “Place doesn’t have a name. TV news reporters always label things but the OK Corral was taken.”

  McNulty looked at Amy. “But they know it was a gunfight?”

  Amy couldn’t keep the concern off her face. “Five dead and bullets everywhere? Hard to describe it as anything else.”

  McNulty frowned. “Five?”

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  McNulty wondered about the gunman that Billy Bob had shot. The other two must have taken the body with them, which was the obvious thing to do. Leave no man behind. More importantly for criminals, leave no evidence behind.

  Amy broke into his thoughts. “And they found your car parked halfway up the on ramp.” She lowered her voice. “Police have been looking for you. Got you pegged as a suspect or a witness. And a missing person, whichever it is. Practically waved a warrant for your arrest at Larry.”

  McNulty glanced toward the door. “Where is Larry?”

  “Gone to the diner to fetch some food. Location caterers are off today. You closed us down. Remember?”

  McNulty didn’t speak. It seemed there really were no secrets in the movie circus. Larry had given the cast and crew a few days off until after the Fourth of July parade, not out of concern for his crew but to give McNulty time to make some inquiries. Look where the inquiries had led him—five men dead, Mickey Mouse full of explosives, and himself banged up and knocked out and almost drowned.

  “Is he still planning on getting pickup shots at the parade tomorrow?”

  The nurse interrupted before Amy could answer. “You should be in hospital.”

  McNulty thought about the firefight at the junkyard. “I should be in the cemetery.”

  The nurse didn’t pull her punches. “If you don’t get proper medical care that’s where you’re going to end up.”

  McNulty looked at the nurse and tried to lighten the tone. “You mean Larry doesn’t offer proper medical care?”

  The nurse wasn’t for turning. “Larry provides First Aid. You’re way past First Aid.” The look on her face emphasized her concerns. “If you hadn’t kept waking up during the night and crying off the police, I’d have called them myself just to get you back in the hospital.”

  McNulty looked at the nurse. “During the night? How long have I been here?”

  It was Amy who answered. “Too long. Like she said. You should be in the hospital.”

  “But, overnight?”

  Amy nodded. “Yes. Larry’s got F.K. on standby at the parade. He’s heading over there once he’s brought the food.”

  McNulty’s chest emptied. “The parade’s today?”

  Amy gave him a funny look. “Of course. The July Fourth Parade is always on the Fourth of July.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  “Shit.” McNulty didn’t apologize for his language. He swung his legs off the bed and almost collapsed when a wave of dizziness hit him. He rested one hand on the bed until his head stopped spinning and dry-heaved again. Nothing came up because there was nothing left to come. Amy handed him a glass of water and the nurse gave him the strongest painkillers she had. His head cleared a little but he was going to have to live with the pain because there wasn’t time for it to ease.

  “Call Larry. Tell him to forget the food and get back here right now.” He handed Amy the glass and fixed her with stern eyes. “Urgent dead people right now.”

  Amy took out her phone. The nurse saw the look on McNulty’s face and gave him three more painkillers. Overdosing was the least of their worries.

  “Shit.” It was Larry’s turn to swear. “Mickey Mouse?”

  McNulty lowered himself into a chair in Larry’s office. “And marzipan.”

  Larry gave him a questioning look.

  McNulty answered. “The two most non-threatening things…” He looked Larry in the eye. “…are going to give the Fourth of July a whole new meaning.”

  He explained again how he thought this was going to go down, but in more detail. As with his previous theory about the movie-set shooting being a decoy, this was just speculation, but his last speculation had proved correct. Larry took him seriously, then stated the obvious. “You should go to the police.”

  McNulty shook his head. “The police think I just shot five men to protect you and the orphanage.”

  “Not anymore, surely.”

  McNulty tried not to move because every shift of position sent pain screaming through his ribs. “They’ve got my car at the scene and Harris knows I went there before. At the very least he has me pegged as being involved, which I am.”

  Larry sat back in his chair. He looked helpless, not something you saw very often with the boss of Titanic Productions. He held his hands out, palms up. “What then?”

  McNulty considered that for a moment while he got his thoughts straight. He was weighing up their options and ticking off the available resources. If they worked quickly he thought they could pull this off, but it would have to be a team effort. “You give everybody the day off?”

  Larry nodded. “Just me and F.K. left for some parade footage.”

  “Have the staff gone away or are they still at the motel?”

  “They haven’t got time to go away.”

  McNulty stretched his back and flexed his shoulders. The pain wasn’t as bad now but it was still there. He’d have to get the nurse to strap him up with extra padding and more painkillers because this was going to get physical. “Call a production meeting. Props, stunts and special effects.” He glanced out the window at the sunny morning. “And the location manager.”

  Larry took his phone out and scrolled through the contact numbers. “What you got in mind?”

  McNulty continued stretching to get his flexibility back. “We’re going to get an anti-Kryptonite gizmo.”

  Larry thought about all the dead people over the last week. “You can’t bring Spock back.”

  “No. I’m going to make sure Mickey Mouse doesn’t kill him in the first place.”

  The heads of department sat quietly in front of the location manager’s wall map after McNulty explained what he wanted to do. Doug Smith traced a finger along the parade route, balancing logistics against time and coming up with nothing they could do to minimize the danger apart from cancelling the parade altogether. Jerry Solomon looked at the roads surrounding Banks Square from a stunt driver’s perspective. A lot depended on how fast they coul
d find the carnival float and its whereabouts on the route. Props and special effects had different problems. Nathan Reisman and Max Wong considered them in silence.

  Solomon spoke first. “Do we know how they’re going to detonate?”

  McNulty stood beside the map. “No. I’m guessing by timer or remote.” He looked at the man who was going to have to drive the float. “Depends if they need line of sight. Timer is specific but a remote gives them flexibility in case of delays.”

  Solomon looked at the map. “Do you know when?”

  McNulty pointed at Waltham Common on the map. “The big money giveaway is at the end of the parade. But that means the floats will have all gone past. Armored truck will be in place well before then and they’ll want to blow the float at the opposite side of the parade route.” He shrugged. “Depends where Mickey Mouse is in the order.”

  The location manager checked his watch, then stepped away from the map. “I’ll get the runner to start checking now. Marshalling area is just off Main Street. Floats will already be in their designated order. Setting off in…” He checked his watch again then puffed his cheeks out. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Solomon pointed out Waltham High School on the map. “There’s a safe zone behind the fireworks display. Local ordnance. Got to be an area clear of the public. Best place to ditch the float in case it goes off.”

  McNulty looked at the stunt driver. “Can you get it there in time?”

  Solomon smiled. “I could jump the river on two wheels with a big enough ramp.”

  McNulty kept it serious. “Can you get it to the safe zone before they blow Mickey?”