No True Justice

by H. L. Wegley

  Cody crept to the SUV nearest the house.

  “Mister?” A child’s voice came from a cluster of trees near the SUV.

  Cody froze and waited.

  “Whose side are you on?” The child’s voice again.

  If someone had a gun on him, he probably would have been shot by now. He needed an answer for the child. “I’m on the side of the law.”

  “From what we saw, that’s not a good side.”

  “Yeah. The FBI is bad, and they don’t tell the truth.” A second child’s voice, almost identical to the first.

  Cody was approaching a location where an FBI black operation was possibly being conducted and yet talking to two kids. When he tried to make sense of that, it didn’t compute.

  He needed to keep the conversation going and, hopefully, gain some useful intelligence. “I know the FBI people here are not good. But I’m not in the FBI. I’m a U.S. Marshall.”

  “You mean like the marshal who was supposed to protect Gemma?”

  “Yes.” How did they know about Gemma? What else did they know about her?

  “Then you aren’t too good either. Uncalex and KC had to do your job for you.”

  This discussion was going downhill, fast. “You’re right. But I got shot. I’m here now.”

  “He’s lyin’, Josh. He don’t have no bandages or anything and he wasn’t limping.”

  “That’s because I got shot in the head.”

  “That’s the biggest whopper you told us yet,” the unnamed boy said.

  “Yeah. You’d be dead if they shot you in the head,” Josh said.

  “I almost was. I went to a hospital.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Cody Cottrell.”

  “That’s him, Cabe. The marshal Gemma told us about.”

  “Unless he’s lyin’ again.”

  Joshua and Cabe, probably Caleb. Twin boys, and they had spent time with Gemma. What else did they know? “Who’s in the house, boys?”

  “It’s alright to tell him that, Josh. We’ll see how he re-axes.”

  “There are six FBI men in there. One of them is blind.”

  “Yeah. And they have Gemma, Uncalex, and KC.”

  “KC? Do you mean KC Daniels?”

  “Yeah. She’s our aunt … well, sorta’. We call her Aunt KC. Mister, we were in that house. They captured us. If you want to know what’s inside, where everything is, we can tell you.”

  “You mean that you two got away from the FBI?”

  “Only one was watchin’ us. We blinded him with a squirt gun and got away.”

  “Now who’s telling whoppers?”

  “Honest, mister. It’s true.”

  “Yeah. We squirted bleach in his eye.”

  Bleach in his eye? Again, it didn’t compute.

  The two boys stepped out from behind the trees. They looked about four. Too young to be having this discussion and too young to be in this place of danger.

  It was best for Cody to ignore the anomalies and go for more information. “Where do you think they have Gemma?”

  “She’s probly tied up in the bedroom. That’s where we were.”

  “But maybe she’s with them in the living room. Oh, the FBI’s car is in the garage.”

  “How long ago did they take Lex and your aunt to the house?”

  “Just a minute ago,” the twin on the left said.

  “Thanks. You guys are a great source of intelligence.”

  “Yeah. About two hundred.”

  Two hundred what? He hoped it wasn’t two hundred whoppers. “Okay. Well, you two stay back here behind the cars. There might be some shooting. Whatever you do, don’t approach the house.”

  Neither replied.

  Not a good sign, especially coming from these two who acted and thought like someone three or four times their age. “I mean what I said. Always keep the car and a lot of trees between you and the house.”

  “We already had bullets shot at us, mister. We’re not stupid.”

  “Josh, we don’t know who shot those bullets.”

  “I can see that you understand,” Cody said. “I’m going in now and try to find that bedroom.”

  As Cody crept through the trees toward the house, he saw no signs of life, no shadows on the curtains.

  Was the FBI team waiting for him to approach? It didn’t matter. He was Gemma Saint’s inspector. She was his charge. And he would give his life to save her. He almost had.

  Chapter 31

  Gemma lay on the bathroom floor, on her back, when the gunshots sounded. A single burst, then the cry of people in pain.

  She had prayed it wasn’t Lex. It hadn’t sounded like his voice, but she’d never heard him in physical pain.

  Now, fifteen minutes later, she worked on freeing her hands. But that started with freeing her feet.

  Gemma’s ankles, bound with two layers of duct tape, slid back and forth on the sharp edge of the bathroom counter.

  She lifted her head from the floor and studied the frayed edge of the tape. Progress. Painfully slow, but progress.

  She arched her back and pushed up with her hands to place more weight on the tape.

  The tape tore half-way through. Probably the cheap imitation tape from China.

  Gemma raised her legs and dropped them hard onto the corner of the counter.

  The tape ripped all the way through.

  She set her feet on the floor and pulled one ankle at a time from the sticky wrapper of tape still clinging to her skin. That skin had turned raw and red. Blood appeared on her right ankle.

  She rolled onto her stomach and rocked back onto her knees. Finally, Gemma rose to her feet.

  By backing up to the counter, she worked the zip tie on her wrists into position on the edge of the counter.

  The counter edge had cut into duct tape, but could it do the same with the plastic tie?

  Gemma started the awkward contortions required to saw back and forth on the counter edge.

  Within a minute, her wrists stung where the skin had been worn away. Within two minutes, the sticky warmth of blood lubricated the ties and her wrists. The stinging radiated down into her hands and up her arms.

  To keep her mind off the pain, she prayed. First for Lex and KC. Then the boys. Finally, for herself, that no one would come in to check on her until she was free.

  * * *

  A prod from what felt like a gun barrel sent a stabbing pain through Lex’s back as Petrelli forced Lex to walk through the front door.

  Where were the boys? They had gotten away, but what were they up to? Probably trying something that could put them in danger.

  He shot off a short prayer for the boys, then for Gemma, and KC, and then stepped into the living room.

  Behind Lex, Drake’s raspy, strained voice cursed KC, trying to make her hurry.

  The vile description Drake gave KC almost forced Lex to turn and lay Drake out on the ground with a quick punch. But the damage he and KC had already done had earned them physical abuse that would go far beyond verbal vilification. That’s what Lex needed to steel himself for … pain.

  From farther behind Lex, a rhythmic clomping sound came, occasionally split apart by a guttural groan from Ensley, who hopped on one foot and drug the other.

  KC was sharp, intuitive, and cool under pressure. A lot like Gemma, but more experienced in what they were facing here, something like a combat situation.

  And Gemma—had they hurt her or just held her captive? If at all possible, he needed to see her, to know. But if he asked or demanded, he’d never get to see her.

  Blade and Drake were too cruel and arrogant to give in to a prisoner, unless they had no alternative.

  Lex studied the men in the room as Petrelli goaded him across it and forced him to stand against a wall with his hands behind him.

  Once bound, his fate would be determined, barring some kind of divine intervention. He’d already asked for that a dozen times. But it seemed that it was now or never for granting that r
equest.

  As the man called Walker picked up a roll of duct tape, the realization came that Lex had asked for help, but not acted on his request, except when he helped the boys escape.

  So why not act now?

  Had the question come from his mind or to his mind.

  Someone shoved KC beside him.

  Lex met her gaze and nodded.

  KC dipped her head. She understood their situation and was ready.

  Walker had stopped behind Lex. He had to strike now.

  He whirled and shoved a fist into Walker’s throat.

  Walker coughed and choked.

  KC already had both hands on Petrelli’s gun barrel. She kneed him in a vulnerable spot but couldn’t pull the gun away.

  “Stop, or you’re both dead!” Blade’s voice.

  Lex didn’t stop. He shoved the coughing, choking Walker into Blade, spoiling his aim.

  Blade’s rifle fired once.

  A sharp, stinging pain shot through Lex’s right triceps.

  He couldn’t stop now, Petrelli was overpowering KC.

  Lex kicked Blade in the groin and reached for his gun, snagging it with his left hand.’

  Walker had slumped to the floor choking on his injured larynx.

  Ensley watched the fray, holding a bloody cloth over his foot with one hand, the other hand on his rifle, but no sign yet that he would join in.

  Blade fought through the pain Lex had given him and tried to work the gun in position to shoot Lex again.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  And he couldn’t help KC.

  His wounded right arm still worked and had strength, but blood ran down it to his wrist.

  At some point, Ensley might decide to shoot Lex. If he did, the fight would be over in seconds.

  If Blade ripped his rifle from Lex’s hand, same result.

  KC, as game as she was, could never overpower Petrelli. How had she held onto his gun this long?

  Lex sucked in a deep breath, roared out his rage, and assaulted Blade with everything he had left. Beating the man, kicking him, glaring into his eyes.

  As Blade retreated from the furious assault, for the first time, Lex saw something that gave him a measure of hope, fear in Blade’s eyes.

  Chapter 32

  A commotion somewhere in the house.

  Gemma stopped sawing on her zip ties and listened.

  Noise came from down the hall in the direction of the living room.

  Yelling. Cursing.

  A rifle shot cracked.

  It sounded like a war. But who was doing what to whom?

  With her heart drumming out her panic, Gemma spread her wrists apart, stretching the nylon bands and dropped all her one-hundred-twenty-five pounds on the corner of the counter.

  With a sharp sting and a snap, the tie broke.

  Gemma scurried to the bed and pulled out her only two weapons, the blue-colored squirt gun and a golf club. The club head was thick and heavy. She spun it around and examined the underside of the head. SW, a sand wedge. The perfect club for pounding a little white ball out of a bunker or pounding someone’s bone until it broke.

  She positioned her body beside the door where she could reach whatever came through first … and waited.

  * * *

  Lex gripped Blade’s rifle with both hands.

  Blade backpedaled.

  Lex stepped in close and head-butted Blade.

  Petrelli ripped his gun from KC’s hands.

  She fell to the floor.

  He jammed the gun against her head. “Stop! Everybody! Or she gets it.”

  Lex pushed off from Blade and stepped back. “We’re stopping.”

  Blade advanced and raised the butt of his rifle to ram it into Lex’s face.

  “Blade, you stop too!”

  The look Blade gave Petrelli was enough to make Lex wince.

  But dissension in the ranks—that was a good thing. Maybe something Lex could cultivate.

  Lex glanced at KC on the floor. She didn’t have any apparent wounds, only a gun pointed at the side of her head.

  They would be reluctant to shoot someone as well-known and beloved by Americans as KC, but Lex would give them no provocation when a little pressure on Petrelli’s trigger could end KC’s life.

  Walker could suck in a breath now. But each time he sounded like an asthmatic. And he kept massaging his throat and trying to swallow.

  A blow to the Adam’s apple could cause a hysterical reaction that was uncomfortable. It could also cause death.

  Maybe Lex should have put more power into his punch to Walkers larynx. If Walker’s incapacitation had lasted a bit longer, he and KC could have gone another round with Blade and Petrelli.

  No. The result would be the same.

  Blade backed Lex against the wall. “Now, turn around. Hands behind your back.”

  Lex responded slowly, trying to come up with a plan of attack that had a chance of success, because once the tape went around his wrists, it was all over … except for the torture and the dying.

  “Put them behind your back, James. If you make one false move, Petrelli will add two new holes to Ms. Daniels’ beautiful head. That would be such a shame.”

  Walker wrapped the tape around Lex’s wrists, twice.

  They repeated the procedure with KC.

  It was done. Interrogation and torture, then death. They had both Lex and Gemma. How long would they wait?

  Lex prayed the boys could find a way to get help from a house down the road, from someone, anyone.

  He looked at KC.

  She didn’t look frightened, only sad.

  “Walker.” Blade pointed down the hall. “Go check on Ms. Saint, then we’ll set up our interrogation room in the kitchen where there are some interesting appliances, knives and other pain-producing paraphernalia.”

  Walker swallowed hard, then smirked as he passed Lex and sauntered down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

  Lex wanted to move, look down the hallway, anything to know Gemma was okay.

  “You see,” Blade said. “It doesn’t pay for amateurs to play around with professionals.”

  “Like them?” Lex nodded toward Ensley, then toward Drake, who had skipped the fight due to his blown knee. “And, of course, the ultimate professional, Kirby. Taken out by two kids four years old.”

  “Carr’s not going to like this. Too messy,” Petrelli said.

  Blade cursed. “Petrelli, loose lips kill people. I believe yours just killed Ms. Daniels.”

  So Max Carr was calling the shots from 935 Pennsylvania Avenue. Given the man’s political bent and ambitions, Lex wasn’t surprised. But he needed to stay alive or the story might never make it outside of this room. And it had become obvious that KC’s name and reputation would not save her. Carr would tell Blade to kill her and probably the boys too.

  * * *

  Footsteps in the hallway grew louder.

  The fight had ended. Who won? Who was still alive? Who was dead? Gemma prayed it wasn’t Lex.

  She raised her hands when the doorknob wiggled. Gemma glanced at the sand wedge leaning against the dresser beside her and put her index finger on the trigger of Caleb’s squirt gun.

  The door swung open.

  Walker stuck his head in and never had the chance to see what was coming.

  The small soaker gun filled both of his eyes with toilet bowl cleaner.

  Walker fell to his knees, hands over his eyes, cursing and screaming.

  Gemma grabbed the sand wedge, stepped back and hit the ball, Walker’s head, out of the bunker with a single, well-placed stroke.

  The screaming and cursing ended. Walker lay out cold in the doorway.

  Footsteps came from the living room.

  She scooped up Walker’s legs and pulled him into the room, then closed and locked the inside of the door.

  Walker lay unconscious at her feet, but he had no weapon on him.

  She checked him for a shoulder holster and a hand gun but saw
none.

  The door lock clicked.

  Someone twisted the handle, but the inside was locked.

  It would be only a few seconds before whoever stood outside kicked in the door.

  Gemma jumped when, behind her, the bedroom window shattered.

  A hand gun flew in through the window and landed on the floor near her.

  “Uncalex’s gun, Gemma. It’s got bullets in it.”

  She grabbed the gun. “Josh, Caleb, hide. Don’t let the Fibbies see you.”

  Gemma leaped to her position beside the door and raised the gun head-high.

  The door flew off its hinges and crashed to the floor.

  The tip of a gun barrel appeared, then a head.

  Gemma pulled the trigger.

  The man dropped to the floor. His assault rifle landed in the hallway.

  If he was still alive, she was in trouble. This was not the time for taking any chances, taking anything for granted. She was fighting evil and it was a time to fight to win.

  But she could not bring herself to shoot the man lying motionless in the hallway.

  Inside the bedroom, Walker moved, then roared in pain, and crawled toward the bathroom.

  What if he rinsed his eyes, could see, and came after her? She must stop him, but Gemma couldn’t kill him while he was helpless.

  She pushed the gun barrel against his shoulder socket and pulled the trigger.

  Walker yelled and collapsed on the floor.

  Shadows danced in the hallway. Someone was coming from the living room.

  After hearing shooting, they would be cautious.

  Her gun looked like a .38 caliber revolver. Were they six shooters or five shooters? Best to assume five.

  If so, Gemma had two shots left. And the person coming, probably Blade, wouldn’t make himself an easy target.

  But would he take the chance of hitting one of his own men by accident?

  A long burst of gunfire chewed on the door frame and splintered the dresser inside.

  Evidently, Blade didn’t give a rip about his men.

  Gemma backed away from the door, looking for cover.

  A gun barrel poked in and fired a short burst.

  She shot through the doorway, blowing a hole in the hallway wall. Maybe that would slow the man down. But with only one shot left in her handgun, this would not end well.

  Gemma had dropped the sand wedge in the middle of the room after hitting Walker.