Deadeye

by William C. Dietz

  So Jimmy kicked with his feet, or tried to, but couldn’t. Not with the man pressing down on his legs. He felt something tighten around his ankles and knew he’d been hog-tied. He couldn’t move but he could hear. “Got the keys?”

  “Yup.”

  “Got the radio?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay . . . Let’s do this thing.”

  Jimmy heard the door close and tried to roll over. He couldn’t. The bed . . . He was tied to the bed. Would Huggins come looking? Or would he be forced to lie there until the maid came in the morning? The answer was important because Jimmy needed to pee.

  * * *

  The empty suitcases had been left behind—and the cart rattled loudly as Omo pushed it down the hall. He was dressed in an outfit that was nearly identical to the one that the maintenance man had on. Lee had chosen business attire which, when combined with a name tag and clipboard, made her look like a manager.

  The elevator was on another floor, according to the number displayed on the indicator above the doors. So they had to wait. Lee made use of the time to monitor the radio. She couldn’t eavesdrop on security because the handset was locked to the channel used by the hotel’s maintenance personnel. There wasn’t any chatter about a missing worker, though . . . And she chose to interpret that as a good sign.

  The doors opened to reveal the very person Lee feared the most: another maintenance person. She was a heavyset woman who was wearing glasses so thick they looked like goggles. She leaned forward to peer at Omo’s name tag as he pushed his cart in next to hers. “Ruiz? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “That’s because he’s new,” Lee said, as the doors closed. “My name’s Debbie . . . I’m with HR.”

  “Okay,” the woman said, as the lift stopped on the second floor. “Welcome aboard, Ruiz. My name is Collins. Give me a holler if you need any help. There’s a lot to learn.”

  “Thanks,” Omo said. “I will.”

  Lee felt a tremendous sense of relief as Collins left, and the doors closed behind her. Thankfully, the elevator passed the first floor and went directly to the tunnel level.

  A food cart was waiting there, but the worker in charge of it was busy filing her claws, and barely glanced at them as they got off. There was only one way to go—and that was down the well-lit tunnel.

  Omo pushed the cart as Lee examined her surroundings and sought to memorize any details that might be helpful later on. A well-lit EXIT sign drew her interest. If they were forced to run, the stairs might provide a quick way out. “Uh-oh,” Omo said, as they approached the east end of the tunnel. “I see a problem.”

  Lee saw that a security guard, no, a uniformed policeman, was stationed in front of the elevator. And he was armed with an assault weapon. Was that something new? Or was that the norm? “Get ready to take him out,” Lee said from the corner of her mouth.

  Omo nodded. The Taser was in front of him, in among some tools.

  “Good evening, Officer,” Lee said. “How’s it going?”

  “Just fine,” the cop said noncommittally. “I’ll need to see your ID cards.”

  The officer produced a grunt as Omo shot him in the chest, and neither one of them bothered to break the man’s fall. Lee was calling for an elevator, any elevator, and Omo wasn’t close enough.

  An elevator arrived seconds later. Once the doors hissed open, Omo towed the cop aboard. Lee followed with the cart. Then it was a simple matter to close the doors and push the STOP button.

  By the time the policeman had regained control of his body, he was wearing his own cuffs, and plastic ties from the cart had been used to secure his ankles. He was about to say something when Lee slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth. So far so good . . . But their luck was running out. Had the attack been captured by a camera? Of course it had . . . That meant a whole shitload of trouble could be on the way.

  Lee said, “Shit, shit, shit,” as she ran a finger down the list of potential destinations. The choices included, RESIDENCE, GUESTS, and STORAGE. So Lee stabbed the button next to the word GUESTS and hoped for the best. She turned to Omo as the elevator went into motion. “Give me half the keys . . . We can open doors faster that way.”

  Omo slid a fistful of keys off the five-inch ring and gave them to her. Then he removed the Colts from a toolbox and stuck them into his waistband. That left his hands free to use the rest of the keys and the assault weapon that was slung over one shoulder.

  The doors parted as the elevator came to a halt. Lee pushed the STOP button and led Omo out into a hall lined with steel doors. Omo scored the first victory and called Lee over. But when they opened the door, it was onto an empty suite.

  Undeterred, they went back to work. A second unit was empty, too . . . But Lee had a premonition as she opened the next lock. This was the one! And sure enough, as the door swung open, there was Amanda Screed. Her hair was different, and she had a black eye, but the face matched the photos Lee had seen. But there was no joy in the young woman’s face. And the reason for that became obvious as the man with two heads stepped out of the bedroom. He was armed with a machine pistol, and Omo was about to draw the Colts, when a gun barrel prodded his back. The assault rifle was confiscated moments later.

  “You’re going to be sorry,” one of the heads said.

  “But not for long,” the other added. “Not for long.”

  FOURTEEN

  “PLACE YOUR HANDS on your head! Spread your feet!” The orders came in quick succession as the prisoners were disarmed. Lee’s veil was ripped off so that a police officer could check her ID. Fortunately, a pair of nostril filters were still in place, but it was important to avoid breathing through her mouth. “Well, look what we have here, a norm from LA!” he said. “What’s the matter, honey? Did you take a wrong turn or something?” The cop had pink eyes and blubbery lips. Lee could smell the garlic on his breath.

  “That ain’t nothing,” another officer said. “It looks like Arpo sent one of his boys down to poke around.”

  “Chief Dokey won’t like that,” a third man predicted. “Take that hood off . . . Let’s see what ugly looks like.”

  The hood came off, which prompted the first officer to say, “Eew, that’s gross! Put it back on.”

  “Cut the crap,” one of the twins said irritably. “Take them upstairs. The girl, too.”

  Both prisoners were cuffed prior to being pushed and shoved out into the hall. Lee was scared and for good reason. Except for the man she assumed to be Tom-Tom, the rest of them were uniformed police officers. That meant there was no hope of a rescue.

  The elevator ride took less than a minute. And once the doors opened, the prisoners were herded along a curving window, past a bar, and out into a well-furnished great room. Nickels was seated in a leather chair and talking on a phone. A servo whirred as he lifted a hand to signal for silence. Lee took note of the way Nickels had chosen to emphasize his physical deformities rather than try to conceal them. It was an act of defiance and one she could relate to.

  Nickels looked from Lee, to Omo, then to Amanda as he tucked the phone away. “It was a mistake to do business with your father. If I had the whole thing to do over again, I’d tell him to fuck off.”

  Amanda was clearly surprised. “You spoke to my father?”

  Nickels laughed. “That’s right . . . You don’t know! Your father asked me to loan him half a ton of cocaine, and I agreed, but only if he gave me some collateral. And you are that collateral.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Lee put in. “Why would Bishop Screed want to borrow half a ton of coke?”

  “So he could sell it,” Nickels replied, “and use the money to recruit more members. Believers who would require more churches, donate more money, and vote the way he wants them to.”

  “But he hates mutants,” Lee objected. “That’s fundamental to his religion.”

  N
ickels laughed. “No, that’s fundamental to his business.”

  “So you never intended to use Amanda as a surrogate,” Omo said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Nickels said. “I took a risk, and that was a mistake. Bishop Screed was supposed to make his first payment a week ago. He didn’t. So I plan to send him one of Amanda’s fingers. That should jog his memory.”

  “Maybe it will,” Lee allowed. “But what if Screed wrote her off? What if he never planned to pay?”

  Tom-Tom had placed both sets of ID on the table next to Nickels. He opened a case and peered at Lee. “I wouldn’t like that. You’re from LA?”

  “Yes.” The nearest mutant was ten feet away. Was that enough distance? Lee hoped so.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Amanda was kidnapped. That’s a crime.”

  “That’s it? Nothing more?”

  “Bishop Screed put pressure on the mayor—who put pressure on the chief of police.”

  “See?” Nickels said triumphantly. “The Bishop cares.”

  “Or he wants it to look as if he cares,” Lee put in cynically.

  Nickels sighed. “You may be right . . . If so, I will send people to kill the bastard.”

  He turned to Omo. “How about you? Why are you here? Sheriff Arpo is making a big mistake if he thinks he can extend his reach to Tucson.”

  “I’m on vacation,” Omo said matter-of-factly. “And I had nothing better to do.”

  Nickels laughed. The sound had a harsh quality. “She’s pretty . . . I get that. But this isn’t going to end the way you hoped. That’s what happens when you think with your dick.”

  Then, turning to the police officers, Nickels spoke again. “Take the trash out, boys . . . You know what to do. And stop by the payout window in the casino when you get back. You’ll like what’s waiting for you.”

  * * *

  Amanda was sobbing by then. She’d been used, by her father no less, and left to die. And the police officers sent to find her were about to be killed. “I’m sorry!” she shouted, as the other prisoners were taken away. “I didn’t know!” There was no answer.

  * * *

  Lee’s mind was racing as she tried to come up with a plan by which she could turn the tables on her captors. None was forthcoming. The police officers were professionals and not about to provide the prisoners with an opening.

  So that left Lee with nothing to do but think during the subsequent elevator ride and the long march through the tunnel. Why had she been so stupid? The whole notion of invading the complex was insane. Somewhere along the line, her sense of determination had been allowed to overwhelm common sense, and now she was going to pay the price.

  Worse yet, Omo was going to pay the price, too. Like Conti, he was in love with her—and like Conti, that was going to get him killed. Of course, she was going to die this time, and that was fair. Was there an afterlife of some sort? A place where she would see her father? And did she want to? Because if Frank Lee wasn’t a murderer, he was something damned close.

  Lee’s thoughts were interrupted as one of the officers shoved her into an elevator. It took them up to the level located directly below the hotel-casino complex. Then they were escorted through a maze of pumps, boilers, and other equipment to an exit sign and a flight of stairs. “Hurry up,” one of the men said. “We ain’t got all night.”

  The stairs led up to a door that opened onto a moonlight-glazed parking lot. Lee felt the cool air touch her skin, saw three squad cars parked side by side, and heard the distant tinkle of music. Lights flashed as one of the cars responded to a remote. Once the doors were open, the prisoners were ordered to get inside. A wire-mesh screen separated the front seats from those in back. The car lurched slightly as two of the officers got in the front, and the third offered a wave.

  That cut the odds by a third . . . But so what? Lee couldn’t see any way to take advantage of the situation as the engine started and the officer in the passenger seat called in. “This is Two-Ida-Four. We’ll be 10-10 (out of service) for half an hour or so.”

  The response was matter-of-fact. “Copy that . . . Over.”

  So that’s what they were. A chore to be taken care of before a return to duty. “How’s it going back there?” the cop on the right inquired. “I hope you don’t shit your pants . . . This car stinks bad enough already.”

  Both officers laughed as the car sped up an on-ramp and onto I-10 south. There wasn’t much traffic because of the blackout, and most of the vehicles around them were doing sixty or so. Lee considered an attempt to signal the people in the other cars but quickly realized how futile that would be. So what if the prisoners in the back of a police car pounded on the window? That’s what prisoners do.

  It was too dark to make out the street signs, and Lee didn’t know the area all that well, so it meant nothing to her when the squad car left the freeway. That was followed by a series of turns as the car continued generally south before taking a final left. As it did, the wash from the lights slid across a sign that said, LANDFILL. Of course . . . The perfect place to dump a couple of bodies.

  The cruiser continued for a bit and came to a stop in front of a double gate. The driver remained behind the wheel as his partner got out. The stench of rotting garbage flooded the car and caught at the back of Lee’s throat.

  After unlocking the gate, the second officer got back in, and the squad car pulled ahead. Thanks to the moonlight, Lee could see some low-lying buildings, a row of recycling bins, and the dark bulk of a bulldozer. Then the surface of the road began to deteriorate as the car lurched through some major potholes. “Okay, that’s far enough,” the driver said.

  “Works for me,” the second man said cheerfully. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The cops had their weapons drawn as they opened the back doors and ordered the prisoners to get out. The officers were divided at that point, and Lee thought about trying to charge the cop on her side of the car. Maybe she could head-butt him. No, the bastard was too far away for that.

  Maybe she should run then . . . The cop would fire, but there was the possibility that he would miss. Yes, Lee decided, some chance was better than none. But wait . . . What about Omo? She couldn’t leave without him. Then it was too late to execute her plan as she was ordered to circle around and stand beside her partner. His hands were cuffed in front of him, but he could still use them to pull the hood off. His face looked like raw meat, and there was defiance in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Lee said.

  “Me too,” Omo replied.

  Both police officers stood with their backs to the car and weapons raised. Lee closed her eyes. The shots came in rapid succession. But the hammerlike blows that Lee expected never struck her body. She heard a grunt, assumed it was from Omo, and opened her eyes.

  Both of the cops were down, and a man was standing over them. She couldn’t make out his face, only a long, lean body, which was silhouetted in front of the car. At least one of the policemen was still alive. “Please! No!”

  But it appeared that the man was enjoying himself. “What’s wrong, pig . . . Does that hurt? I hope so.” The man fired, and the cop jerked in response.

  Omo took a step forward and stopped as the long-barreled pistol swung around to point at him. “Don’t try it asshole. I want Detective Lee to live a little longer. You’re expendable.”

  Lee tried to think—tried to focus. “You’re the Bonebreaker . . . You followed me. How?”

  The man with the pistol laughed. “Trackers the size of BBs. They’re in your clothes, in your luggage, you name it.”

  “But why?”

  “You know why . . . For those who died. I’m the one God sent to kill the monsters and their progeny. That’s why you’re going to die the way your father died. But not yet! I, and I alone, will decide the how and the when. So leave this place, return to Los Angeles, and wait for me to summon you.”<
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  The gunman had already begun to back away and soon faded into the night. Then Lee heard an engine start and knew that a serial killer was getting away. There was nothing she could do about it though . . . Nothing at all.

  “That is one crazy motherfucker,” Omo said calmly.

  “Yes,” Lee said, “he sure as hell is.” Her body had begun to shake by then, and Omo put an arm around her shoulders.

  “We’re alive.”

  “Yes, I guess we are.”

  “Maybe we should take a look at those guys . . . Check for a pulse.”

  Lee nodded and followed Omo over to the bodies. Thanks to the light from the moon, and the patrol car’s parking lights, they could see fairly well. A quick check confirmed that both men were dead. “Now what?” Omo said.

  “Collect their weapons,” Lee suggested. “I’ll check the trunk.”

  Lee went over to the car, opened the driver’s side door, and pulled the trunk release. She heard it open and went back to take a look. The trunk light was on. There was a lot of gear inside, including a large first-aid kit, a toolbox, and more. But none of that held any interest for Lee. What she wanted was front and center. She said, “Bingo,” and removed a tac vest from the pile. It was heavy with ammo and gear and the acronym “SWAT” was emblazoned across the front of it.

  Most patrol officers didn’t carry weapons in the back of their squad cars, but members of the SWAT team did, and Lee was pleased to see a second vest, plus some additional firepower. She was still taking inventory when Omo arrived. “Here,” he said as he gave her a Glock 19. “There’s one in the chamber. I checked.”

  Lee slipped the weapon into her empty shoulder holster and accepted a couple of spare magazines to go with it. “Thanks, Ras . . . How ’bout you?”

  Omo was wearing the hood again. A gun belt was buckled around his waist. “I have a Glock.”