by Samson Weld
By taking I-35W the entire way, she’d made amazing time. She was almost to the Alliance Airport exit while the other cops were still on the side streets.
I can’t believe no one’s figured out they’re heading for the airport.
She felt vindicated when the radio calls reported the Tahoe had broken through the fence surrounding Alliance Airport. The only two patrol cars that followed immediately got stuck. Apparently, the sprinklers were on in that area, turning dirt into mud. The Tahoe was reported to be muscling through the quagmire.
The damned helicopter was completely focused on the Tahoe and the pursuing cops. Why didn’t they show a wider view? She needed to find Ash’s Mustang. Something deep within her said that Ash hadn’t given up the chase just because the cops had gotten involved. He was around somewhere.
And he needed her help.
I have to catch him before he does something stupid.
Taking the exit, she rapidly crossed over to the airport lying west of I-35W. She raced into the airport glands with lights flashing and siren wailing. Bellucci had been out there once and therefore knew a path to the tarmac.
As soon as she drove past all the structures, the detective made out the Tahoe slowing to stop beside a private jet. A second later, a Mustang slammed into its side. Ash’s car flipped over multiple times before coming to rest upside down, while the Chevy Tahoe rolled into the adjacent hangar.
She hit the brake, gawking. How could anyone have survived that? Yet, they had.
Gunfire erupted a moment later.
Automatic weapon fire from both sides made her stop and reconsider. All she had was her personal firearm. A pistol was no match for that kind of firepower. Then she spotted a bloody man with an assault rifle moving toward the upturned Mustang, trading fire with Ash.
Does he have a death wish?
As if to answer her question, Ash’s fire got him. The man abruptly fell back, still, spread-eagle on the tarmac. The cop within felt outrage, yet… She understood Ash now. Something deep inside of her had changed, and Bellucci wasn’t sure she liked it.
I’ve got to stop this, she thought, putting the car in park and drawing her pistol.
Ash and someone else inside the hangar suddenly opened up on each other. Out of the blue, Ash charged out from behind his car, behind a hail of gunfire, and charged into the hangar.
What the…
Chapter 48
Carpenter came out from behind the smashed and leaking Tahoe. Ash veered toward him. They came together in a grunting, meaty thunk as both men immediately started throwing punches. Ash spun and kicked him in the face, sending Carpenter reeling backwards.
“I smell gas! Help me!” Steinberg screamed.
The stench of gasoline got worse the closer they got to the smashed vehicle. Ash looked around for anything to cause a spark during his too brief respite from Carpenter, but the former Marine hastily came charging back into the fight.
They kicked, punched, and Carpenter even head-butted Ash. He started pushing Ash back, slowly, step by step. Then Ash spotted something shiny and gold on the ground. An old-fashioned cigarette lighter?
“Ugh,” Ash grunted when Carpenter landed a gut punch while he was distracted by the lighter.
He responded with a knee up between the mercenary’s legs. Carpenter doubled up, looking sick. Ash sent a right, left, and another right into the big man’s face. He went down, but not out.
Before he lost his own strength, Ash kicked him in the ribs, over and over. He ended it with a fierce kick to the chin.
Carpenter lay on his back, out cold. Ash leaned back against the Tahoe, huffing and puffing. He felt every strike, every ache and pain, now that the fight was over.
Steinberg’s screaming for help finally brought him back to the present, and his to problem.
Walking over to the lighter, Ash picked it up and flipped open the top. One flick and the SUV would go up in flames. Immolation. There was something biblical about this sort of revenge. Yet, what a terrible way to kill a man. Just the thought made Ash cringe.
Walking over to the right side of the Tahoe, Ash looked into the shattered back window. Steinberg sat there, struggling to get his left leg free of the twisted wreckage. Seeing the damage inside, he marveled that Crenshaw had survived the impact, much less had the ability to get out and continue the fight.
That was one tough mother.
Steinberg’s head turned toward him. “Carpenter! Help me… Wexler?”
“Yeah. Ash Wexler,” he replied. “The man you got his brother to betray. The man you secretly used to cover up your wife’s murder. The man you tried over and over to eliminate, while only killing everyone I loved. Yeah, Ash Wexler.”
Steinberg looked stunned. Horrified.
“Look, look, it’s been a terrible misunderstanding,” Steinberg said. “Help me get out of here and I’ll make it up to you. I’m rich. You can be rich, too!”
“All the money in the world can’t repay me for what you’ve taken.”
“Ten million dollars! I’ll give you ten million dollars!”
“No,” Ash said, lifting up the gold Zippo. “How ironic. You murdered innocent women and children in your lust for wealth, and it’ll be a gold lighter that puts an end to you.”
“Fifty million! You’ll live like a king, Wexler,” he said urgently. “Think about it. You can have any woman you want. You can buy anything in the world!”
Ash’s jaw dropped. Did he seriously think he’d take that devil’s deal? That he’d take wealth in payment for the murder of everyone he’d ever loved?
“You’re a sick man, Steinberg,” Ash said, eyes narrowing as he placed his thumb on the striker. “Smells like gas.”
Steinberg’s eyes widened.
“No, smells like stupid!” The voice belonged to someone else.
Carpenter snarled and punched Ash in the back. Right over the right kidney. The pain was unbearable, ripping through his core. Next, the former Marine sent him flying back toward the hangar door.
Ash hit the cold, smooth concrete with a pained groan, but managed to roll back to his feet. He expected Carpenter to dive straight into saving Steinberg. He didn’t get paid if the billionaire died. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
The mercenary was coming straight for him.
Ash blocked the right cross, but Carpenter followed with a left uppercut that connected with Ash’s chin. Once again, he came off his feet and landed hard. Carpenter stomped down on his belly, doubling him up.
“I killed your woman,” Carpenter roared. He kicked Ash in the ribs. “I killed your stupid ass brother!”
He straddled Ash’s chest and started pounding fist after fist into his face. Ash felt woozy, nauseous. He felt himself fading. Mind wandering. Strangely, his life did not flash before his eyes.
Is it irony that a couple hours ago all I wanted was for it all to end, to die? And after I realize I want to live, now I’m going to be murdered?
“I’m going to beat you to death for killing my friends!” Carpenter shouted. “This is payback for Kurt and Eddie!”
A right to the cheek snapped Ash’s head to the side. His eyes blurred, but then focused on something gold and shiny beside him. The Zippo lighter? His fingers curled around it. He flipped the top open. Carpenter’s eyes cut toward it. The smell of gasoline was heavy.
Carpenter seized his wrist, reaching over with the other hand.
“Stop! Police!” Bellucci’s familiar voice shouted.
Carpenter froze, looking surprised. Ash grinned and flicked the lighter’s striker. Sparks flashed.
Whoosh!
The very air around them exploded. Knocked the air out of Ash’s lungs, yet Carpenter’s body shielded him from the worst of it. His eyes went to the Tahoe, still intact. What the hell? How did it not…
The Tahoe exploded. Ka-BOOM!
Steinberg didn’t have time to scream as his body caught fire, thick, toxic smoke engulfing his lungs. His skin burned off in the fla
sh before the concussion from the blast ripped him to shreds.
Ash didn’t see any of it, but he felt it. It was victory. It was revenge.
It was the long-awaited reckoning.
Ash bucked Carpenter off, rolling to all fours. He launched himself upon the stunned mercenary. A knee to the chin, followed by an elbow across Carpenter’s nose, left the ruthless killer dazed and gasping for breath.
“This is for killing Deanna,” Ash snarled as he wrapped his arm around Carpenter’s neck.
A sound drew his attention toward the hangar door. Bellucci was picking herself up off the ground, looking a little battered and ragged. But she was alive. He smiled and turned his full attention to Carpenter.
“And this is for killing my brother!”
Ash snapped the former Marine’s neck. Carpenter’s body tensed and then went limp. He checked for a pulse. Nothing.
“Good riddance,” Ash muttered. “Go to hell.”
The scrap and clatter of high heels drew Ash’s attention away from his dead opponent. Bellucci limped up with pistol in hand. She looked at him, then Carpenter, and finally at Crenshaw’s body.
Ash looked her up and down. Since when did she start wearing a skirt to work?
“Nice shoes,” Ash said.
Bellucci’s jaw dropped. She stared at him a moment, before shaking her head and holstering her weapon. Then the detective turned away and headed outside to meet with the incoming cops.
Ash glanced at the dead bodies, at the burning SUV, and decided it was best if he vacated the area. Slowly climbing to his feet, he limped toward a door in the back. Yeah, the last thing he needed to do was talk to a bunch of angry cops.
Chapter 49
Ash pulled his new Jeep into an open parking space. The late Friday morning parking lot remained mostly empty. Early June in Texas reminded him of summer in California. A beautiful time of year, before the scorching heat arrived in July.
A single car sat in front of the Beer Shack. A familiar white Ford 500.
Interesting, he thought.
Sliding off his sunglasses, Ash checked his face in the rearview mirror. Most of the bruising had faded, though there was still a hint of yellow and purple under his left eye after two weeks. He didn’t bruise easily and healed pretty fast when hurt.
He pulled his Dodgers cap down to help hide the last vestiges of bruising. The spring weather allowed him to wear a gray t-shirt and jeans. But the second he entered the Beer Shack, Ash wished he’d worn a fleece jacket.
Chloe stood behind the bar reading a book. She glanced up and smiled. He noticed her thin tank top, so at least someone was enjoying the AC.
“Scotch. Clean,” Chloe said. “Right?”
“Straight up,” he said. “I like my scotch cold, not the bar itself.”
That comment confused her, but Chloe shrugged it off. He moved up to the bar while she prepared his order. Looking around, he spotted her in the corner, half-hidden in the booth. Her glass sat almost empty.
“Two draft beers,” he said, pointing at the booth. “What she’s drinking.”
Chloe winked at him. “You betcha, playa.”
He shook his head. “When did you become the bartender? Moving up in the world?”
“Clint’s at lunch,” she explained. “I’ll be your attentive waitress once he returns.”
Ash took his scotch and headed over to the booth. Bellucci looked up and frowned. She was wearing a snug, sleeveless top and jeans. He paused to admire her arms.
“Good thing Texas is an open carry state,” Ash said. “Otherwise you could get in trouble with those guns.”
Bellucci blinked at him before glancing at her biceps. She smiled and chuckled.
“Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a free country.”
He slipped in opposite her. She gave him a wary look.
“How are you doing?”
She took another sip, watching him over the glass. Placing the empty glass down, she licked her lips as she continued to look at him.
“I’m fine. Boone’s funeral was yesterday. I wasn’t so fine yesterday.” She looked out the window. “I’m better today.”
He wondered about that last comment. Earlier, the morning news had had a story about Boone’s funeral on Thursday afternoon, with full police honors. Cops from fifteen states had attended. Those guys really cared about each other and took the ultimate sacrifice very seriously. End of watch.
The anchor had also mentioned that the funeral for Officer Boone’s killer was today. Ash was confident Bellucci knew that as well.
Chloe arrived with the two draft beers. She placed one on front of each of them. Bellucci looked surprised.
“I didn’t order this.”
Chloe indicated Ash. “The playa in the booth bought it for you.”
She giggled and left. Bellucci gave him another guarded look.
“Playa?” Bellucci repeated.
“Chloe’s a romantic,” he said. “Say thank you and drink your beer.”
The blonde stared at him a moment longer before she lifted it up in salute. She took a long sip.
“Thanks.”
“How’s the investigation going?” he asked. “Will you be back to work soon?”
She winced. “I wish I knew. The waiting around is the worse part.”
He’d followed the story. Being placed on paid leave was routine during police involved shootings. The case was complicated by the fact that there were no witnesses or security footage. It was just Bellucci’s word that she’d had to shoot him. No matter how it went down, Ash considered it a justified killing. Ogden was a cop killer.
Bellucci stared into her beer for a long moment. Ash grinned.
“I really like your ponytail.”
Her eyes cut up. Not a friendly look. Then he saw a smile tug at the corners of her mouth.
“I know,” she said. “You have a ponytail and high heel fetish.”
He barked a laugh. “Hush. Don’t tell anyone.”
She leaned back and observed him. The smile remained on her face as she eventually relaxed. After a moment, she shook her head sadly.
“You’re good, Ash. Real good,” she said. “The police got your Mustang, but they can’t trace it back to any known person. Just how many secret identities do you have?”
“Me? I’m an open book.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m a nun,” she said. “Pure as the driven snow.”
“I really think you are,” he said.
He stared out the window at his new Jeep Wrangler Unlimited. The four-door, four-wheel drive truck had been purchased under his real name. He was looking for other vehicles, none of which would be bought by Ashley Wexler. Oh no. He had to build up his inventory. For some reason, he needed to go back to his old ways even if his revenge days were over.
“You’re the best cop I’ve ever met. And you’re good at your job.”
“I try,” she said. Looking off into space. “Maybe not hard enough.” She caught and held his eyes. “I think I understand you a little better now. Understand why you do what you do so well.”
He quirked a brow. “Should I be afraid?”
“Not of me,” she said, taking another swallow. “I have a new understanding of truth and justice.”
“Good,” he said. Ash drained his beer. “I have to go. Maybe I’ll take you out for lunch, or dinner.”
“Wow. Should I be afraid?”
“Yes,” he said, and winked at her. “I’ve heard that I’m a player.”
Ash paid Chloe for the drinks and headed out the door. He noticed Desmond’s pawn shop had the CLOSED sign up. Probably at lunch, since it said OPEN when he’d passed by earlier. Didn’t matter. He had some things to discuss with Desmond. He thought they could strike a mutually beneficial deal.
Firing up the Jeep, he drove over to I-635, and headed east. The familiar drive out to the old farm went fast. Light traffic. But his mood darkened upon arrival. Ash’s eyes went straight to the spot wher
e Deanna had been shot, and lingered.
Heart racing, breathing shallow, he relived that dreadful moment again. Then he thought about her funeral. At least he was able to attend and say goodbye. That had been denied him when Milly and the twins were buried, since he’d still been in the ICU.
The farmhouse lay in blackened ruin. The police and firefighters had already combed through it, taking everything of value and importance. He didn’t really expect to find anything, especially not any weapons. Yet, he found a few little things to remind him of his life there. It was nothing to make him rejoice, however.
Ash found the barn empty. The police had impounded all of his vehicles. Ash wasn’t about to ask for them back. The cops would have too many questions that he couldn’t answer. Like, why weren’t they registered in his name?
I need a place like this, he thought. A place I can have a shooting range. A place with a barn to hold my stable of vehicles.
A base of operations.
It was time to stop kidding himself. He wasn’t a normal person anymore. Everything had changed. He had skills and he could make a difference. Now it was time to put those hard won skills to good use and help those in need.
Pulling out his phone, Ash checked his phone book and tapped a certain number.
“Hello, Layla,” he said when Miss Ford answered. He could almost see the pretty realtor’s face light up. She was always so expressive. “I think it’s time for me to buy a place of my own. Something out in the country, maybe a small farm.”
THE END
Ash Wexler's adventures continue in ASH PUNISHMENT. Get the book now!
Ash Punishment Sneak Peek
“All stand for Judge Michaela Kirkland,” the bailiff called in a booming voice fit for a professional boxing match.
The courtroom filled with the sound of chairs scraping across the floor, as men and women stood in respect. The defendant, Russell Heller, only stood following his lawyer’s urging, and even then very reluctantly. The judge was already behind the bench before he reached his feet and leveled cold, dead eyes on her. She returned an equally disdainful look.
