Serenity Avenged

by Craig A. Hart

  “What are you trying to find out?”

  “Who he’s working for. He tried to feed me a line about being in business for himself, but we both know that’s a load of shit.”

  “How far were you planning to go in there? If I hadn’t shown up when I did, I mean?”

  Shelby shrugged. “It’s a fair question. I don’t know, exactly. The kid has information that might keep Helen from getting hurt or worse.”

  “You’re going to a lot of trouble for an ex.” Mack gave Shelby a searching look. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

  “I don’t know, Mack. It’s not that I’d ever want to get back together with her, but she was the first person I truly loved. A man never quite gets over his first. And when I think about this little prick either harming her or letting others do so, I get a little crazy. Not only that, but she’s the mother of my daughter.”

  “You always did have a protective streak.”

  “You act like that’s a bad thing.”

  “No, actually, I admire it. But you need to keep it in check. You can’t run around torturing people because they won’t do as you say.”

  “I didn’t hurt him.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Screw your morals.”

  “They are inconvenient, I will admit.”

  Shelby sighed. “If we can’t disfigure the little cockpuppet, what can we do? How are we going to get the information we need?”

  “He doesn’t have to know we aren’t going to disfigure him,” Mack said. “I wanted to make sure you knew we weren’t going to disfigure him.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about this lack of trust you have in me.”

  Mack grinned. “Let’s go get some information.”

  Shelby had taken only a single step back toward the kitchen when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He raised his index finger at Mack.

  “Hold on. It’s Helen.” He held the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Shelby? Is Mack there yet?”

  “Yes. What’s up?”

  “It’s Leslie. She woke up a few minutes ago.”

  “So?”

  “Shelby…there’s blood everywhere.”

  “I’ll be right there. Call an ambulance.”

  Shelby hung up and looked at Mack, who raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s Leslie,” Shelby said.

  “The baby?”

  Shelby nodded.

  “Then what the hell are you standing there for?”

  “Thanks, Mack.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I think I can handle a guy taped to a chair.”

  9

  Shelby broke every traffic law in the book during the frenzied drive to Leslie’s apartment, but when he arrived, it was quiet and dark. Using the key under the mat, he opened the door and practically ran inside, but stopped short when he realized no one was there. The ambulance must have already come and left. He should have driven straight to the hospital but had thought perhaps he’d be able to help somehow until the ambulance arrived.

  His head was beginning to pound. He pressed his closed fist against his forehead and that was when he realized his knuckles were bleeding. No doubt a result of clipping Jimmy on the side of the head. He couldn’t go to the hospital with blood on his hands and now on his face, so he moved to the bathroom to wash up.

  He passed Leslie’s bedroom on the way and glanced inside. The bedsheets were a mass of twisted fabric and in the middle of the bed was an enormous bloodstain. There were bloody footprints on the carpet and a bloody handprint near the light switch. Shelby grimaced. He was no stranger to bloodshed, but the scene made him queasy and caused his heart to thud against his chest.

  “Pull yourself together, Shelby,” he said. “She’s in good hands now. There’s nothing more you can do.”

  He went into the bathroom and turned on the light. A glance in the mirror told him he’d been wise to come here first. There were streaks of blood across his forehead and left jawline. Showing up looking like this would not have helped calm anyone’s nerves. He ran cold water and washed his face and hands. The cuts on his knuckles weren’t deep, so a quick flush with disinfectant and a few seconds of pressure with a wad of cotton stemmed the trickle of blood.

  He flipped off the bathroom light and walked toward the front door. It shouldn’t take long to get to the hospital and he hadn’t heard anything else from Helen, so there was no need to drive like a maniac. Shelby felt a little foolish at having lost his head and smiled as he thought how insane he must have looked tearing through the dark streets in his old Jeep. He couldn’t even remember if he’d turned on his headlights.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked out of the apartment and was turning to lock the door when he saw a black SUV roll silently past. He didn’t recognize the vehicle, but there was something sinister about it. Even though he couldn’t see any of the occupants, he felt their eyes on him.

  He locked the door, but instead of putting the key back under the mat, he shoved it into his pocket. He told himself he was being paranoid, although he didn’t quite believe it. He tried to remember seeing the SUV follow him but realized he hadn’t bothered to look in his rearview mirror.

  “You’re slipping,” he muttered as the SUV coasted down the parking lot. He watched it go, a distinct feeling of unease settling into his stomach. He shook his head, as if to recalibrate. He needed to focus on Leslie.

  He began to walk toward his Jeep and, as soon as he moved, the SUV sped up and disappeared around a corner.

  “That was weird.”

  He got into the Jeep and stuck the key into the ignition. He paused before turning it and then cranked the engine. It started easily, smoothly, and then began idling in its familiar, thrumming cadence. Shelby breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what he’d expected. A disabled engine? An ignition bomb? He laughed, a little shakily, and put the Jeep in gear.

  It was clear within an hour Leslie would not be returning home that night. She seemed stable and the blood Shelby had seen at the apartment had not been the result of a miscarriage. However, there were still a lot of questions the doctors wanted to answer, so it appeared Leslie was in for more than a quick visit to Labor and Delivery.

  “You don’t have to sit here, Shelby,” Helen said. “You should play host to Mack. I’ll call you if anything happens or we get new information.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying.”

  Helen shook her head. “There’s no point in both of us being here. I appreciate it, though. You’ve been great…Bear.”

  This time, the nickname seemed less weird and more endearing. Shelby grinned and surprised himself by leaning over and kissing Helen on the head.

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  She smiled. “I will.”

  Shelby was anxious to get back to the house. He was still on edge about the black SUV, not to mention he had a man taped to a chair. He had tried calling Mack on the sly, but his friend hadn’t answered. All these things, combined with his concern for Leslie, had made sitting in the hospital complete agony, and he couldn’t deny leaving the premises was exactly what he wanted.

  He found his Jeep in the parking garage and immediately called Mack. Again, no answer. The uneasy feeling in his stomach, while it had never completely dissipated, now tightened into a steel ball of worry.

  Shelby resisted the urge to repeat his wild trip of earlier and instead followed the speed limit and traffic signals to the letter. He also kept a close eye on his rearview mirror but saw nothing suspicious or unusual.

  He pulled up in front of Helen’s house, parked, and walked quickly to the front door. He began to insert his key in the lock, when he noticed the door was already partially open and there were obvious signs of forced entry on the doorjamb.

  Shelby entered the house fast and low, his hand diving inside his jacket and pulling his pistol free.

  “Mack! You in here?”

  No response.

  Shelby made a c
ircuit around the main room and then did a quick turn into the kitchen, the pistol held out in front. The chair was empty, severed strips of duct tape hanging loosely. On the floor by the stove, Mack lay stretched on his back, his face a bloody mess. Shelby bent next to him and shook his shoulder.

  “Mack. Mack!”

  His friend moaned and stirred. Then his eyes blinked open and he grimaced.

  “As if getting the shit beaten out of me isn’t enough, your face is the first thing I see when I wake up.”

  Shelby helped Mack to a sitting position. “What the hell happened to you? Who did this?”

  “A bunch of cowards, that’s who. They came busting through the door and ganged up on me. I didn’t even have my pistol ready. I’d set it down on the counter to make coffee. Shit, they were fast.”

  “And the kid?”

  “I guess they took him. I didn’t see it happen.”

  “There goes our best chance of finding out who’s behind this money scheme. Although I suspect we haven’t seen the last of them.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I think I was followed to Leslie’s place, although I didn’t realize it until it was too late. If so, it means a couple of different things.”

  “Such as?”

  “First, they were watching this house and knew you were alone.”

  “Makes sense. They seemed to know exactly what to expect. And the other thing?”

  Shelby’s face darkened. “They now know where Leslie lives…and I’m the one who showed them the way.” He punched a fist into his palm.

  “You think they’ll be back?”

  “They haven’t seemed shy so far. What I don’t know is where they’ll strike next. They’re after Helen, but who knows what path they’ll take to get to her—and they now have another option: Leslie’s apartment. They’ll probably set up a watch on the place to see who comes and goes, hoping to catch a glimpse of their target.”

  “We know they’re capable of physical violence,” Mack said. “You think they’re capable of murder?”

  “You want to take the chance?”

  “Not particularly.” Mack started walking to the front door.

  “Where the hell are you going? Bailing out already?”

  “Hold your shit. I have to get some things from my car.”

  Shelby watched in confused silence while Mack left the house, went to his car, and popped the trunk. He reached in and pulled out a large duffel bag, which he slung over his shoulder—wincing as he did so. The straps strained against the bag’s weight.

  Mack reentered the house and dropped the duffel on the coffee table.

  Shelby looked at his friend with a mixture of anticipation and dread. “Mack—what the hell did you do?”

  Instead of answering, Mack reached down and unzipped the bag. Then he reached inside and began removing the contents: three pistols, two shotguns, a rifle, and enough ammunition to keep a moderately-sized civil war going hot.

  “Holy shit,” Shelby breathed. “What were you expecting to run into over here? An anti-Trump demonstration?”

  Mack waved him off. “Let’s not forget what happened the last time you and I got together. We could have used all this stuff.”

  Shelby had to admit his friend made a valid point. During their scuffle with the Ellis clan, they certainly could have made good use of the firepower that now lay scattered on Helen’s coffee table. Shelby shook his head.

  “I have been a terrible influence on you. I remember a time when you wouldn’t even turn right on red if a sign said not to. Now here you are driving around with a sketchy arsenal of weapons in your trunk.”

  “Don’t act so shocked. I was a cop for a long time. It jades a man. As a member of law enforcement, your life is regimented by the law. What you can do, what you can’t do, how you are to behave during the conduct of your profession…it takes a toll.”

  “So you’re saying you’re tired of being a good little citizen.”

  “Crudely put, but mostly accurate. The little escapade you and I shared up north opened my eyes or perhaps confirmed existing suspicions.”

  “Which were?”

  “That sometimes the law gets in the way of justice, instead of facilitating its progress. It’s difficult to maintain faith in a system that lets rapists off on a technicality when their guilt is obvious to everyone or puts on trial someone who acted with deadly force to defend their home and family. After a while, one gets tired of trying to pretend that nuances of law make any of that okay.”

  Shelby shrugged. “Well, I’m surprised…but pleased. Welcome to the dark side.” He reached down and picked up one of the shotguns. He hefted it, then held it to his shoulder and looked down the barrel. “Okay then. Let’s hope these assholes try something.”

  10

  Jimmy sat on the backseat of the SUV, rubbing his wrists and ankles to jumpstart the circulation. He looked around at his liberators. He ought to feel relieved, he thought, but he wasn’t sure if he was safer here or at the house with Crazy Knife Man.

  He reached up and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  The driver, a big man with a bald head and heavy black beard, grunted. “Darkmore wants to see you. And don’t touch.”

  Jimmy looked at the two men flanking him, but neither seemed interested in expanding on the driver’s explanation.

  “How much farther is it?”

  “Not far,” the driver said.

  “Where are we meeting him?”

  The driver didn’t answer. Jimmy wondered if they were going to the building that housed the killing room, Darkmore’s own home. Jimmy had only been there once. It was a large stone structure on the outskirts of the city, built by the descendant of a Grand Rapids lumber baron, then lost in a messy divorce. Darkmore had updated the residence to include the latest security features and hired armed guards to protect the house and premises. The surrounding land was expansive enough to ensure no close neighbors, and clever landscaping, combined with some natural tree cover, concealed the structure from most angles. A stone and iron fence surrounded the house, and this perimeter was patrolled by guards and dogs. Jimmy reflected that the only thing missing was a moat filled with hungry crocodiles.

  The SUV slowed and the driver muttered something into a radio. Jimmy looked out the windshield and saw an ornate iron gate swinging open and beyond that the unmistakable winding drive to Darkmore’s fortress mansion.

  Past the gate stood a guardhouse, a small structure not much larger than a portable toilet. The SUV halted next to the guardhouse and the guard inside peered at them. Once he saw the driver’s face, he waved them on. The guard looked harmless enough, not much more menacing than the average security stiff at the average California gated community. But Jimmy knew the man was armed and had probably killed at least once before. Darkmore preferred to hire men with experience.

  Jimmy had been an exception. With no real criminal record, except for a pot charge, and no inherent thirst for violence and mayhem, he didn’t meet Darkmore’s exacting standards. As it turned out, even hardened crime lords like Darkmore had a weakness for nepotism, and when Jimmy showed up at his uncle’s door looking for work…well, Darkmore had given him a chance.

  The SUV navigated the curving driveway and came to a stop in front of the stone house. Jimmy had already seen the place, but it was still overwhelming with its imposing stonework and pacing guards.

  They exited the car and began walking toward the house. Jimmy noticed the two men who had flanked him in the rear seat were still maintaining an uncomfortable proximity, as if expecting him to make a break for it. Right, Jimmy thought. He wouldn’t make it ten steps before he was cut down by a bullet or dragged to the ground by a slavering guard dog.

  The ensemble had reached the bottom of the wide steps leading to the front door when it opened and Darkmore appeared. He wore a wide smile, which Jimmy found unnerving. In his experience, a smile on Darkmore’s face meant trouble as often as
not.

  “Well, well, well,” Darkmore said, his eyes boring into Jimmy. “I see you’ve made it in one piece.”

  Unsure how to proceed, Jimmy gave a little nod and said, “Thanks for the rescue.”

  “It wasn’t for you. To be honest, I would have preferred leaving you there to be taken apart by your captors. But I didn’t have faith in your ability to keep your mouth shut. And, since we don’t yet know who those men are or who they’re working for, it wasn’t worth the risk.”

  “I wasn’t going to talk.”

  “I’m sure you think that’s true. But I must confess to having little trust in your word.” Darkmore motioned to his men. “Bring him to my study.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the house.

  Jimmy hadn’t been inside Darkmore’s study and knew not many had. Darkmore kept it as something of a sanctuary, forbidding anyone from entering without express permission. According to the few people who had been allowed entry, the study contained Darkmore’s most prized possessions: artwork, collectibles, rare items from around the world. It was also rumored to be where Darkmore kept the main safe, although no one Jimmy knew had ever seen it.

  The man on Jimmy’s right nudged his arm, pushing him forward and up the stairs. He was steered to the right and down a hallway, took another right, and found himself in front of a large door that appeared to be solid wood. One of the men knocked and Darkmore answered immediately.

  “Send him in.”

  The man who’d knocked opened the door, pushed Jimmy inside, and closed the door after him without being told.

  Darkmore stood behind a massive desk, hands behind his back, his dark eyes inscrutable in the dim light of the study. He wore a winter white suit, something that would have looked a measure silly on anyone else, except perhaps Mark Twain. His dark hair was brushed straight back from a high brow and his thin lips still held a chilling smile. He walked slowly around the desk, never taking his eyes from Jimmy’s face.