Ash Reckoning

by Samson Weld

  Chapter 34

  Ash pulled into the Silver Dollar’s parking lot just before ten at night. It took some driving around to find an empty parking place. The Country Western themed pool hall in Mesquite was popular with the rodeo crowd.

  Pausing in the parking lot, Ash looked toward the nearby Mesquite Rodeo. There was an event going on and the crowd was loud. He smiled and headed for the pool hall front door after hearing, “Cowboy up!” coming from the rodeo.

  Yeah, I’m up all right, he thought.

  There was a small crowd out front. Smokers. He smelled the tobacco long before he reached them. Most looked like outlaw bikers and biker chicks. The men glowered their challenges while the biker chicks either dismissed him or gave him come-hither looks.

  That’s a fight begging to happen, sweetheart, he thought, eyeing an especially attractive brunette in black leather bikini top, tight faded jeans, and black thigh boots. She had a full sleeve of black, blue, and red tattoos on her left arm, and “Ride or Die” tattooed above her boobs.

  She was biting her lip, inviting him to approach with her smoky eyes. The biker she was hanging onto stood six seven if he was an inch, all muscle and bad attitude. Not going to happen. Nope.

  The cigarette smoke inside was so bad his breath caught. Ash paused again to look around. He’d met Big Al once, but that was the first time he’d come to the notorious drug dealer’s seat of power.

  The Silver Dollar had an old fashioned jukebox blaring Tammy Wynette’s Stand by Your Man, a dozen pool tables sat under bright lights, and bistro tables were scattered throughout. The bar stretched around the back wall.

  The patrons looked more country boy and country girl inside. He noted a few more bikers wearing their colors around one pool table to his far right. Ash spotted a familiar pair of young beauties. They’d been Big Al’s arm candy during his one and only meeting with the drug pusher and black market gun dealer.

  Tiffany stood tall in her sky high silver stilettos. She looked out of place in her designer dress and perfectly coiffed red hair. She reminded Ash of his realtor, fashionista born and bred. With her was Amber, a hot and sassy country girl through and through. Amber was decked out in a red halter, tight faded jeans, and red cowboy boots. The beautiful blonde even wore an old straw cowboy hand with an elaborate feather band. Their first names weren’t the only thing that looked fake.

  Big Al was nowhere to be seen.

  Ash approached the two women. Tiffany sat cross-legged on a barstool, while Amber danced and sang to the music beside her. The blonde got a mischievous look when she spotted Ash approaching.

  “Have we met before?” she asked.

  “Once,” he said. “Is Big Al around?”

  “What’s this about?” Amber asked as Tiffany turned her attention to him.

  “Business,” Ash replied. “I need to make a purchase.”

  “Did Big Al invite you here?” Amber asked, pressing up to nuzzle his neck.

  Ash paused. Who made his buyers wait for an invitation to approach him? Seemed like a bad business model for a drug supplier. On top of that, what the hell was she doing? He couldn’t imagine Big Al being okay with his girl flirting so aggressively with another man.

  Then her hands began to roam.

  “Hey now.” Ash pushed her away. “I don’t want trouble with Big Al.”

  “Big Al will kill you if you so much as kiss or feel her up,” Tiffany said and giggled.

  “But I’m worth it,” Amber purred and went in for the kiss.

  Ash averted his face, taking the kiss at the corner of his mouth. Again, he pushed her away. He was starting to get angry. Amber was playing a dangerous game and she didn’t care who she hurt. Fact was, it would be her eventually.

  “Tell Big A that Ash wants to speak with him.”

  “He’s busy,” Amber said. “But I’m not. I’m bored. Play with me.”

  Catching her wrist, Ash squeezed until she gasped. Fear filled her bright green eyes, then it turned to anger when he didn’t follow up with more violence. He kept her at arm’s distance. It wasn’t easy. He switched his gaze to Tiffany.

  “Can you tell him I want to speak to him?”

  The redhead looked Ash up and down and then shrugged. She waved the bartender over and whispered something to him. The man gave Ash a calculating look before heading through a door behind the bar.

  “Thank you,” Ash said.

  He moved down to the end of the bar, away from Amber. The blonde watched him with spiteful eyes. Tiffany watched him as well, but with an unreadable expression. Indeed, after his encounter with Big Al’s girlfriends, most of the people seemed to be sizing him up.

  It reminded him all over again of why he hadn’t dealt with Big Al other than that one purchase of a submachine gun. Big Al’s friends, customers, and even his girlfriends, had a very bad tendency to vanish without a trace.

  If I hadn’t been so obsessed with Osorio, I would’ve taken Big Al down three years ago.

  That, and Ash had solely been interested in Osorio and his associates. He might’ve been a vigilante, but he ultimately only had one target. Ash had met many really bad actors in the last five years, few more loathsome than Big Al.

  “This way,” the bartender said from the door.

  Ash looked left and right, taking note of the people watching him. He was conscious of Amber on her phone, speaking urgently, while continuing to give him the evil eye. Tiffany remained on the barstool, grinning and watching him.

  I have a bad feeling about this.

  With all his senses on alert, Ash followed the bartender down a short, unlit hallway. It ended at the back door, but with two doors on each side. Of the five doors, all were shut save one. It sat ajar, with light streaming out.

  The bartender pushed the door open and headed back up front. Ash waited for him to vanish through the door before he entered. He didn’t want anyone behind him in case he needed to make a hasty retreat.

  Big Al sat on the other side of the room like a king, attended by his for favorite goons. If anything, Big Al was smaller than before. Previously, the six-foo-ten man carried a lot of extra padding. Ash wouldn’t have called him fat, but he obviously enjoyed his meal. Only now, he looked leaner. Meaner. He saw it mostly in Big Al’s black-bearded face.

  Ash thought Grizzly Bear as he looked upon the drug dealer. He was a hirsute man, with male pattern baldness on top, made up by frizzy shoulder length black hair hanging limply from the back and sides. His beard reached halfway to his belt as if he had been rejected from a ZZ Top cover band.

  The drug peddler stood there in an open red flannel shirt, a ton of gold chains tangled in his thick chest hair and beard, loose fitting jeans, and new Timberland boots. He had been pretty much dressed the same the last time they met.

  “Hello, Big Al,” Ash said. “We’ve done business before. Do you remember me?”

  Several of the others in the room shifted, all watching Ash like hawks. They didn’t look friendly. None of them were as large as their boss, but the smallest of them still had twenty pounds on Ash.

  “No, tiger, I don’t,” he said. “Remind me.”

  The exchange reminded him of their other phone conversations and that one meeting to complete a weapon purchase. Big Al liked to call everyone “tiger.” Ash didn’t know if he just enjoyed it, or truly couldn’t remember names. He suspected it was the latter.

  “Three years ago. I bought a CZ Scorpion from you,” Ash said. Two of the men, one to either side of him, moved closer to the door. He struggled to keep them within his field of vision. “It served me remarkably well, but I recently, uh, lost it. I’d like to purchase another.”

  “Scorpion? How fitting,” Big Al said, anger started to fill his voice. His expression darkened. “You’re something of a scorpion, too, aren’t you, tiger?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Ash felt the adrenaline start to flow. His right hand twitched, feeling so terribly empty. Since he’d expected to be frisked, h
e’d left his pistol in the car. If he’d only known Big Al wasn’t that cautious.

  “You assaulted my girl out front,” Big Al said, and cracked his knuckles. “Amber is quite upset.”

  Upset wasn’t the word Ash would use. Angry. Vengeful. Not upset.

  “Amber is a man-eater. She came onto me,” he replied. “And she didn’t appreciate being rebuffed.”

  Big Al didn’t appreciate his reply, either. The big drug pusher took a step closer, eyes getting fiercer. His men moved closer as well.

  “She said you kissed her.”

  Ash could feel that kiss on the corner of his mouth again. It felt cool, making him wonder if she left her mark. A lip print would be damning evidence.

  “Amber is a liar.”

  “She said you shoved her and then squeezed her wrist very hard. You hurt her.”

  “Your girlfriend was too brash. I made her understand that I wasn’t interested in her,” he said. “I’m not looking for trouble with you. I just want to buy a good weapon.”

  “Got cash?”

  Ash pulled out a wad of twenties, fifties, and hundreds. Twelve hundred dollars in all. The last Scorpion he bought had cost him five hundred cash. He figured the price had gone up, plus he wanted extra cash in case Big Al had other weapons on hand to buy.

  “Good,” Big Al said, glancing at the man to Ash’s left.

  Everyone moved at once. Ash dropped the money as other man lunged at him. Catching his wrist, Ash turned away as he pulled and ducked. He flipped the hapless goon over and into the man charging in from his right.

  “Ah!” he cried.

  Another face appeared before him, swinging a black pistol around to threaten him. Ash reached out and seized the pistol before it could be aimed, twisting it away even as he threw a punch. He rabbit punched the man with all his strength and weight.

  The man fell back, clutching his throat and desperately trying to breathe through his crushed windpipe. The remaining two men plowed into Ash. They slammed him against the wall, pounding fists into his belly and ribs. The pain was indescribable.

  In desperation, Ash pulled the trigger. That gunshot made them both jump back. He counterattacked by slapping the pistol across the face of Big Al’s goon. The drug dealer pulled his own weapon and Ash shot him in the face.

  The room erupted with gunfire.

  The late big guy’s men fired sideways, like in the movies. Idiots. They had looks of fear and desperation, but Ash kept his calm and picked his targets. One by one, he killed them. Shot them each in the head.

  Other than their mostly empty pistols, Ash couldn’t find any other weapons or ammo. He quickly tossed the other three rooms, to no avail. Shit. In disgust, Ash headed into the pool hall out front. A pistol in each hand.

  Amber squeaked pathetically when he stepped out. He stared into her horrified eyes.

  “Happy? Your meal ticket sugar daddy is dead.” He scanned the crowd of stunned patrons. “I suggest you all get the hell out of here before the cops arrive. And if anyone even looks at me funny…”

  Ash marched out of the pool hall, past the smoking bikers, and to his car. The Mustang’s V8 roared to life seconds after he heard the first sirens off in the distance.

  Well, this was a bust, he thought, pulling out of the parking lot. Then he thought of someone else. Someone who might look upon him with friendlier eyes.

  Pulling out his phone, Ash dialed a number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Desmond. Ash here,” he said. “Tell me, what kind of guns do you have for sale? I think you mentioned AR-15s last time we spoke.”

  Chapter 35

  “It’ll have to do.”

  Ash stared at the weapons on the back wall. He’d purchased the best weapons for his purpose that Desmond had at his pawn shop. An AR-15. A pair of semi-auto Uzi submachine guns. And assorted pistols and knives. What Desmond didn’t have was ammo, so he had to tap his old black market sources again.

  He’d spent Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday putting his arsenal together. He based it off the farm’s armory, with a desk in the middle of the room facing a wall map of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. Steinberg’s Airbnb was already marked, as was his new home’s location.

  Next, Ash had turned his attention to converting the semi-automatic AR-15 and one of the Uzis into full-auto weapons.

  Besides weapons, Ash bought some military-grade night-vision equipment, spotter scopes, and other needed supplies. He’d spent five years stocking his old personal ordnance depot, learning what worked and didn’t work for his purposes. Starting from scratch put him at a disadvantage, but at least he knew what he needed.

  Ash did manage to score one item he’d failed to before. Two bulletproof vests. Indeed, one was a SWAT vest with pouches for spare magazines. The other was sleeker, meant to be concealed under clothes. Ash had a little more confidence in the bulkier police vest.

  He looked out the window. The darkness called to him. Sunrise was still two hours away. Since it was Monday morning, rush hour traffic would start up soon. Time was running out so he pulled down both Uzi submachine guns and the converted AR-15.

  Time to end this.

  The Mustang waited in the closed garage, its trunk open. Ash wrapped each weapon in a blanket and put them in the trunk. He placed the SWAT bulletproof vest on top of the small pile of weaponry, with boxes of ammo to either side. Finally, he added some long, razor sharp knives and a passive vision scope.

  Ash changed into camouflage before leaving. Traffic on LBJ proved lighter than expected, so he made good time westbound toward Grapevine Lake. He headed for the suburb of Flower Mound, north of the lake. Steinberg’s rental sat perched on the north shore, surrounded by thick woods.

  Finding a spot a good mile from the Airbnb, Ash parked in front of a dark house. There was a cluster of five homes there. He wanted his car to blend in. The last thing he wanted was to stand out if a cop car passed by.

  He hurriedly popped the trunk open and pulled on the body armor. Then he armed up. Two Uzis’ straps made a cross over his chest. A pair of pistols were holstered on his hips, with three long knives sheathed at his belt. The passive vision scope hung around his neck, about the size of half of a binocular.

  The area remained heavily wooded. Considering the value of the land, Ash found its wild state remarkable. That wouldn’t hold long. Developers were putting up McMansions on every square inch of available real estate north of Dallas/Fort Worth. They wouldn’t be happy until the land between Dallas and the Red River was wall-to-wall housing and commercial districts.

  The forest mostly consisted of mesquite and scrub oak. Nothing too large or tall, but it was a thick press of vegetation. He had to move slowly to avoid noise in the quiet night, but it was something he’d practiced extensively. Ash passed through those woods like a ghost.

  Working his way up to the eastern edge of the property, Ash lay on his belly and used the passive vision scope to study the rental house. He’d studied it extensively online and by now he knew the floorplan well. The Airbnb site even had interior pictures so he had a good idea of the type of furnishings and the inside layout.

  At the moment, the front windows glowed from interior lights. The bedroom windows were dark, but the house was otherwise lit up. A Chevy Tahoe and a Mercedes G-Wagon waited out front in the circular drive.

  Well, that sucks.

  Four armed men surrounded the house. Were they part of Carpenter’s team? Or were they Steinberg’s bodyguards? All carried military grade weaponry. The closest man was bald and grim-faced. His weapon was held to his chest by a single point sling, and he kept both hands on the weapon at all times. Very professional. Yeah, he looked ready for action.

  I really need to get me one of those slings.

  The front door opened, letting out so much light it overrode Ash’s passive vision scope. He had to turn it away until the door closed. And then he checked out the newcomer.

  There you are.

  It was Carpente
r. Ash watched him move from man to man, checking on them, checking on Steinberg’s security. Did they maintain that readiness level twenty-four hours a day?

  Were there more men inside? Or were they being true to their military training? Even Ash knew that the best time to launch an attack on an enemy force was just before dawn, when your foe was sleepy and looking forward to being relieved of duty.

  And, of course, you attacked from the east to have the rising sun at your back and in the enemy’s eyes. Exactly what Ash was planning. Exactly what they expected.

  Change of plans.

  Carpenter approached baldy. Ash watched them through the scope. They shared a laugh, looking thoroughly friendly. Baldy lit up a cigarette. Ash considered the absurdity of the situation.

  Who hired mercenaries to kill an insurance man? Crap like that only happened in movies. He understood millions of dollars were on the line, but was it worth a human life?

  What am I thinking? Of course, Steinberg thinks killing me is worth the risk, Ash thought. The scumbag had his wife murdered for the insurance money. Hell, I bet he was the sole heir, too. So all of his billions are on the line now.

  Ash took up the AR-15 and took careful aim at Carpenter and baldy. It would be so easy to take out the sniper. Yet, killing those two would bring the other three at him. He’d never get into the house. He’d never get to Steinberg. And the billionaire was the head of the snake that had to be cut off.

  Carpenter and Crenshaw had to die as well. They had to pay for killing Deanna.

  Ash watched them until Carpenter left to speak to another perimeter guard. Once he’d spoken to them all, Carpenter returned to the house. To report to his lord and master? Ash couldn’t imagine that a pampered and privileged billionaire would be up that early.

  The master bedroom was the goal. He reviewed the house’s floor plan in his head. The master bedroom was on the western side, past the kitchen. Guest bedrooms occupied the eastern end of the house. If he’d managed to acquire a grenade launcher, Ash could’ve ended it right there with a well-placed shot through the master bedroom window.