“Yeah,” Cummins said. “Just thinking, is all. He give you any reason?”
“Shit, he’s talking about taking us all out into the desert to conduct some desert warfare drills. I had enough of that shit in the Sandbox, didn’t you?”
Cummins really hadn’t done any of that but he nodded in agreement—playing kindred soldiers was the name of the game right now. “Why are they so hot on doing all this training?”
“Best’s going off the deep end. Says the government’s gonna be coming for us. For him, actually. He’s talking crazy, like it’s the end of the world’s just around the corner.”
Armageddon rising, Cummins thought.
“He’s fucking nuts,” Smith said. “Like I told you, me and Charlie’s been talking. We been thinking that getting out of here might be a real good idea right now.”
Cummins wasn’t totally sure where this was going but he figured he’d better play along.
“I’m with you on that.”
The corners of Smith’s mouth curled into a smile and he clapped Cummins on the shoulder.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Smith said. “We got to figure a way to get into the safe where they got all the money locked up. We take our fair share, what we were promised, that’s all, and then take off. Me, Cherrie, Charlie and his kid, and you, if you want to come.”
Take their fair share?
Or maybe a little extra, Cummins thought. A bit more cash never hurt.
“Well,” Smith said. “Whaddaya think?”
“But how would we gonna do this? The guards at the gate would never let us leave. They took my gun, and they took yours and Riley’s too, didn’t they?”
Smith nodded. “They did, but if we do it right, we shouldn’t oughta need no guns.”
Cummins looked skeptical. “How’s that?”
Smith glanced around, even though they were alone, then leaned close, his voice a low conspiratorial whisper.
“There’s a secret way outta here.”
The FROZ
Bendover, Oregon
As Wolf and McNamara walked across the abandoned parking lot in front of the police station, they saw numerous homeless people crouching and scurrying about. One was standing off to the side urinating. Another stopped a staggering walk, pulled down his pants and defecated. Wolf and Mac gave both of them a wide berth and almost collided with a seated figure who emitted a growling sound. Wolf looked down and saw the man manipulating a syringe that he had jammed into a vein at the crux of his elbow. The hollow syringe filled with blood, then drained slightly, then filled up again. His mouth gaped with each breath and he made a gasping moan.
The soles of their shoes made a crunching sound as they walked, crushing the mosaic of discarded syringes on the asphalt. In the middle of the street, a group of three youths pushed a homeless man to the ground and started pulling stuff out of the shopping cart he’d been pushing. The man protested as he got to his knees but one of them kicked him in the side and he fell over moaning. The youths laughed.
“What were you saying about Lord of the Flies?” McNamara said.
“Those bastards.” Wolf started to head toward them but McNamara grabbed his arm.
“Hey,” Mac said. “We’re here on a mission and we got the gals depending on us. We ain’t got time to play the Lone Ranger.”
Wolf knew he was right and kept walking.
A waspish young black man who’d delivered the kick to the homeless man broke off from the group and approached them with a grin, holding a folded packet in his open palm.
“Hey, dudes,” he said. “Looking for some good shit?”
They both ignored him but he followed.
“I got some,” the young man said. “If you got the bread.”
They said nothing, continuing their trek.
“Hey, man, I know you two?” the slender man asked, following them.
“Lo siento,” Wolf said. “No hablo inglés.”
“Huh?” The young man frowned and spat. “Hey, the Vaqueros knows they ain’t supposed to be coming ’round here, Pancho and Cisco. You’d best get your beaner asses on the other side of Main Street ’fore Zeus sees y’all or he’ll kick your asses all the way back to Mexico.” After a few seconds assessment, he added with escalating bravado, “Motherfuckers.”
Wolf and McNamara exchanged glances and Wolf figured it wouldn’t be prudent to leave this loudmouth alerting people to their location. He turned and gestured to the young man, saying, “Come, come. We buy from you.”
“Now you talking,” the young man said with a smile.
They stepped over to the corner of the apartment building and Wolf clenched his fist, ready to ram it into the young drug pusher’s gut but McNamara beat him to it. The pusher folded in half and collapsed onto the ground gasping.
“Oooh,” McNamara said. “That felt good.”
McNamara straddled the pusher and after twisting his hands behind his back and securing them, along with his feet using heavy-duty plastic zip-ties, McNamara wound a section of duct tape around the guy’s mouth a few times. He squirmed a few times and McNamara placed the sole of his shoe on the young man’s face holding him still.
“Better not leave him out in the open like this,” he said. “Liable to attract too much attention.”
“This is our stop anyway,” Wolf said. His radio crackled and he heard what he took to be Yolanda’s voice saying, “It this your place?”
“Sure nuff, baby,” a male voice replied. He was still speaking with an affected, exaggerated deepness.
Wolf’s phone vibrated with an incoming text.
We here.
K, he texted back. Us 2.
Wolf moved to the edge of the building and did a quick peek. Yolanda and Brenda stood with five black guys, two of whom carried rifles.
The AR-15 and the Kalashnikov, he thought. The others are probably armed, too.
The guy in the middle had the same set of dreadlocks as in the picture Manny had shown them. It had to be Zeus, aka Booker Nobles. The group piled in the front door and he overheard Yolanda saying, “Wait a minute, why don’t you leave your entourage outside, baby.”
“Where the king goes,” Zeus said, “the entourage follows.”
They piled in the front door and Wolf ran back to give the update to McNamara.
“Guess we’d better shake a leg then,” he said. He stooped down and grabbed the trussed-up drug dealer and hoisted him up like a sack of potatoes. After adjusting the man’s bulk a bit and trying to control the squirming figure, he lowered the man feet-first to the ground. He then straightened up and delivered another solid bolo punch to the pusher’s abdomen. Twin plumes of air expelled out the man’s nostrils, accompanied by thin ribbons of snot.
“That’s better,” McNamara said and replaced the man on his shoulder.
They walked to the rear of the building and found another black guy leaning against the wall next to a solid metal door. The guy was sucking hard on what smelled like a marijuana cigarette and a shotgun was leaning against the wall next to him. His eyes widened as they came around the corner and he bounced off the wall.
“What’s the story?” he said.
Wolf snapped off the cartridge and brought the Taser up, pressing it against him for a drive-stun. The device crackled and the guard stiffened and dropped. McNamara let his burden fall to the ground and knelt beside the quivering guard. After handing the shotgun to Wolf, Mac repeated the binding ritual on this second subject. He then patted the man down and came up with another gun, a Taurus 9 mm, and a set of keys.
Straightening up, he moved to the metal door and started trying to keys in the lock. After a few times, it opened. McNamara eased the door open, peered inside, then looked back to Wolf.
“I think these two might be more comfortable inside in that corner,” McNamara said. “Don’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Wolf said and grabbed one by the feet and the other by the collar.
After secreting both captiv
es in the corner under the staircase, Wolf and McNamara made their way up to the fifth floor. The staircase ended but there was a ladder built into the wall that led to a trapdoor, which Wolf figured went to the roof. He went to the door opening onto the fifth-floor hallway and eased it open a crack. Perhaps thirty feet away, two of them, the ones with the rifles, stood outside the middle door passing a hand-rolled cigar back and forth. The sweet odor of burning marijuana was noticeable even from a distance. That meant the other three, including Zeus, were inside the apartment.
So much for the girls getting the target alone.
This wasn’t going according to the plan but that was the norm. Every plan looked good on paper until it was executed. Then Murphy’s Law—whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, usually came into play.
And it’ll go wrong at the worst possible moment, he thought.
He eased the door back closed and relayed the information to McNamara, who frowned.
“I’d say our best shot is coming in from the balcony,” he said.
Wolf agreed. Taking out both of the hallway guards would be easy enough but most likely noisy. That would alert the ones inside, who were probably just as high and prone to shooting first and asking questions later.
“Let’s open this patio door and let some night air in here,” a feminine voice murmured on his radio.
It was Yolanda again, signaling them that they were opening the patio doors. Maybe she figured it would designate which apartment they were in. She and Brenda had no idea that Mac and he were in the building already. Wolf wanted to text her but figured he’d better not. What if Zeus or one of his henchmen saw it?
Wolf and McNamara went to the ladder and Wolf scaled it quickly, then halted as he got to the top. Two wires dangled from the handle securing the trapdoor.
It might be a burglar alarm, he thought, and if it is, there could be an audible alarm attached.
He debated what to do and McNamara said, “Pull the god damn thing. Fortune favors the bold.”
Wolf put his hand on the lever but stopped. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his knife. Flipping the blade open, he severed both wires.
No alarm sounded and he worked the lever. The trap door opened and exposed a view of the velvety sky. He crawled through the opening and immediately began searching for a place where they could tie off their ropes. The roof was flat and was covered with a layer of small, oval-shaped bits of gravel. It also had a massive air-conditioning unit in the center. McNamara looped two bow-line nooses around the base of the structure and then brought both lines to the edge of the roof. Wolf was busy cutting two three-foot sections of line for him and Mac to tie into Swiss seats. They had the lines spread and the knots tied in about ninety seconds and McNamara handed Wolf a D-ring. After clipping them in place, they both went to the edge of the roof, straddled the crenulated barrier on the edge, and dropped the rest of their lines over the side.
Wolf heard them both hit the ground below. He hooked the rope through the D-ring.
They’d heard nothing on the radio since the last transmission a few minutes ago.
“Time’s a wasting,” McNamara said and straightened his legs and leaned back. Wolf assumed the same position and then shoved himself off the wall. They descended in tandem, halting their flow in front of the banister of the fifth-floor balcony. Wolf hooked his boot over the banister and saw that Mac was doing the same but his made a thumping sound. Swinging his other leg over the barrier, Wolf landed on the solid cement platform and shoved open the sliding door.
Good girl, he thought, for leaving it open.
The three men inside looked up in surprise. They, too, had been leisurely inhaling on fat, hand-rolled cigars that smelled of cannabis. One of them held an open bottle of whiskey. Wolf centered the laser dot on the chest of the closest one and squeezed the trigger of the Taser. A burst of miniature confetti burst forth with a snap as the prongs shot outward, snagging the guy’s shoulder and chest. As the guy went down, Wolf brought his foot up in a kicking motion striking the second man under the chin. He dropped like he’d been pole-axed. Wolf pivoted, doing a hook kick, and caught the third one in the temple. McNamara was inside now using the zip-ties and duct tape. Wolf kept his finger depressed on the Taser until Mac had secured the last of the three. There was no one else in the room. A door on the left side was closed and soft music and a rhythmic moaning were audible. He moved toward the door but McNamara grabbed his arm.
“We gotta take out those other two guards first,” he whispered. “The gals’ll have to fend for themselves right now. You don’t leave a rear echelon force available to attack your flank.”
The sound of a female’s loud moan, followed by a gasp of what sounded like delight, made Wolf’s blood boil.
Were they having sex in there?
Was forcing them?
He didn’t want to think about that but knew Mac was right. They moved to the door and Wolf inserted another cartridge onto the Taser. The confetti would provide minute and traceable serial numbers of the weapon but Wolf wasn’t too worried. So far they hadn’t had to shoot anybody and it was dubious that any of Zeus’s henchmen would call the police or be sophisticated enough to do a CSI sweep of the apartment later. Wolf positioned himself to the left of the door as McNamara gripped the doorknob. After seeing Wolf’s nod, Mac ripped the door open and Wolf burst through. He pointed the Taser at the guy standing to the left, the aiming crimson laser light centering on his mid chest. Wolf squeezed the trigger and the prongs once again shot outward. The man stiffened and teetered over backward. The second man made a grab for his rifle but Wolf slammed a sidekick into the man’s gut. He grunted as he slammed against the wall. When he straightened up, McNamara smacked him right behind the ear with a leather sap. Wolf kept the trigger depressed, keeping the second man writhing on the floor until they were both dragged inside along with the two long guns. The moaning had intensified behind the closed door and Wolf was verging on anger and concern for the two women, especially Yolanda.
Was she all right?
After securing and gagging both hallway guards, Wolf got up and strode to the door, taking out his gun. He gripped the knob and twisted, but it didn’t open.
Locked, he thought, then took a backward step and delivered a solid, full-footed kick just below the doorknob. Raising his gun to the combat-ready position, he peered cautiously around the door jamb and saw Yolanda and Brenda fully clothed and sitting on a settee at the end of the bed. Their feet rested on the supine figure of Zeus, who lay in a tangled mess on the floor. His arms were obviously cuffed behind his back and a swath of duct tape secured a rag that was partially protruding from his mouth. A pornographic movie played on a large, flatscreen television next to the bed, the volume on high, emitting a series of ecstatic moans and groans from the female actress.
Yolanda looked up at him and winked.
“Sure took you long enough,” she said.
Chapter Ten
Ghost Town Near Fort Lemand
Southern Arizona
Cummins backed Riley’s Caravan between the standing walls of two buildings that looked sound enough not to collapse. Smith pulled the Malibu up in front and gave him a thumbs-up as he got out of the Chevy. They made quick work of covering the white Dodge with some camouflaged netting that they’d taken from the supply room and anchored it with some discarded bricks from a nearby fallen wall.
When they’d finished Cummins felt out of breath but at least he didn’t have to throw up.
Smith paused and took out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Cummins, who declined.
“That oughta do it, all right,” Smith said as he held the flame from his lighter against the tip of the cigarette.
“You think Keller will buy the story?” Cummins asked.
Smith shrugged as he exhaled some smoke through his nose.
“I expect he might get suspicious eventually,” he said. “But for now, I think everything’ll be okay.”
They’d gotten s
pecial permission to take Riley’s car into town to get a purported radiator leak fixed. It was a total fabrication but Keller seemed to buy it because Riley was supposed to be getting his kid’s stuff ready for transfer into Desolation City. Cherrie was assisting him. Smith casually mentioned that he and Cummins could drop it off while he booked a room at the hotel for Cherrie and Chad to stay in for the next few days.
Keller had agreed but Cummins was worried that the big goon was a bit suspicious. Maybe he was smarter than he looked. And there were a lot of intangibles.
“You’re still planning on going tonight?” Cummins asked.
Smith nodded. “We ain’t got no other choice. The training’s supposed to start tomorrow. We’re supposed to be taking Cherrie and Chad into town tonight to stay at the hotel.”
“What are we going to about the safe?”
Smith drew deeply on the cigarette and let the smoke drift out of his mouth with his next words. “Only Keller and the Colonel supposed to know the combination. Guess I’m going to have to make one or the other of them give it to us.”
Having seen Smith in action in the lock-up, Cummins knew the man’s physical prowess but Keller was physically bigger and looked just as tough. Plus, he was armed with that massive Desert Eagle. It might be easier to force Best to comply but that would be equally risky and he had a sidearm as well.
But if Smith and Keller and Riley all cancelled each other out, it would leave a free path to grab the kid and the hillbilly queen and sneak away through this secret tunnel Smith had mentioned.
“So are you going to clue me in on the secret passageway?” Cummins said.
“Sure,” Smith said. “Come on.”
They walked about forty feet down the street to one of the few buildings that remained intact. It was a solid-looking, three-story brick structure and actually had a solid wooden door that was still operational.
Or, as Cummins saw as they drew closer, what seemed to be operational. When they got there, Smith took one more drag on the cigarette and tossed it down. He grabbed the edges of the door and lifted it up and out. It had merely been wedged into place in the door frame. He stepped through the opening and motioned for Cummins to follow him through the first floor. A large staircase was off to the left and the midmorning sun filtered in through the sections of barren windows and sent beams of sunlight dappling over a floor that had been swept relatively clean. Some piles of broken bricks and smashed wooden timbers were piled off to one side but the room was in better shape than Cummins would have imagined.
Devil's Brigade (Trackdown Book 3) Page 20
