Crooked

by Bronwen John

  Holmes kicked a lever that was in the centre of the room, and Esther Crook landed hard, her head hitting the stone floor with a loud crack. She was ominously quiet for several moments before groaning as she came to. As he passed, Holmes gave her a sharp kick in the ribs.

  “Where is your father? My source tells me that he’s finishing his reports,” he said, as Esther bucked under the kick and pulled herself to a kneeling position – green eyes, no matter how dazed, tracking Holmes around the room.

  “I always kind of liked the idea of going down as a dead living legend,” she said, as she raised her hands, now free. “You can see I’m not armed. I’m the perfect victim.”

  “You’re right on that one.” A cruel smile creased his face as he pulled a gun from his waistband. “Sorry about this, Crook. Like I said, I think under other circumstances, things might have been different. Shame about us both—”

  “Being ghosts from a distant past?” Esther chuckled grimly. She didn’t look frightened, and she kept her gaze unwavering. Damn, she knew it would come down to this. Just like him. “And there’s no need to raise your voice; I assume that your colleagues are all dead bar Mr Innocent, and I can assure you that he would not have taken refuge to escape his own colleagues if he were law enforcement.”

  “Law enforcement?”

  That brief moment of distraction meant Holmes was completely caught off guard when the shriek of sirens and the squealing sound of tyres filled the air. There was an all-too-familiar pounding of feet as the raid began.

  “Nobody move!” echoed from a loudspeaker.

  “Son of a bitch!” Holmes grabbed Innocent, spinning him around. “How’d the cops get here?”

  “You ask me such a question? This is your operation! You turned yellow and handed me over to the ATF!” snapped Innocent.

  For Holmes, the implications were becoming clearer by the moment. He’d walked into friendly territory and right into a trap, and taken Innocent with him. Esther Crook had guided him through this, engineering the ultimate con. But he had to save face, if nothing else. “You can’t think this was our fault?”

  “Can’t I? Exactly who else should I be blaming, then? I’ve been using this spot for months with no problems; I bring you here and suddenly half the cops in town are on my doorstep!” Innocent looked at the girl. “Best thing you can do is spin around and leave her behind.”

  Holmes gulped air and looked at his acquaintance – or, rather, his enemy – Crook.

  Crook. He had forgotten her all over again. He kept forgetting the ruthless con artist and it kept costing him more and more. Friends in high places and the lowest of low places – even those he’d rubbed out on his way to the top – none would admit to a friendship with a man who’d apparently thrown in his chips with the ATF, and whose wife was talking with Interpol about his criminal intentions.

  “You!” Holmes pointed his gun at Crook, jerking it away from Innocent in his rage. “You!”

  “Put it down!” ordered Chris Adams. He was crossing the floor, arm close to his chest, but with his gun trained on Holmes. “You drop it, Holmes, or I fire!”

  “Forget it.”

  “Damn it, Esther, we can’t get a kill shot!” snapped Chris, keeping his gun trained on Holmes. “Will you just come in, Holmes; let the damn kid go?”

  Holmes watched as Adams stared at Crook, his green eyes connecting with hers. He could kill her; take care of this thorn in his side. He’d be extradited; he’d take the punishment. Holmes smirked as she lifted her gaze to him just as a shot rang out from his gun and she fell to the ground.

  Time stopped ever so briefly as everyone tried to process exactly what was happening. Instinct and reflex took over and time took on a slow, almost ethereal quality. The gunman who had been at the door was momentarily blinded by the flash of the canister being fired, and was taken down quickly by a charging ATF agent. The only sound Holmes was able to make was a shriek of pain as he hit the ground with his arm twisted violently behind him. Holmes found himself on the ground with Adams’s gun pressed to the base of his neck.

  “You lost all your deals. You might have had one with Interpol but you lost them, and we have enough evidence to take you down,” Adams hissed, before speaking into his radio. “Come in, come in. Medic, damn it, I have a civilian down.”

  “She’s dead,” Holmes said triumphantly. “All that matters.”

  “I’m sure that’ll comfort you on death row.” Surprise and horror filtered through Adams’s eyes. “You didn’t know, did you? First-degree murder is punishable by death in Colorado if the defendant kills a person who is kidnapped or held as a hostage by him or anyone associated with him.”

  “I didn’t hold her hostage.”

  “Then why has she got rope-burn marks on her arms? Plus, there was the abandoned car so her father filed a missing persons report.” Adams snapped the radio onto mute. “And let us face facts here. Even if she doesn’t die, they’ll kill you inside the joint… you ratted out a lot of friends. She knew every card you were going to play in that deck.”

  Holmes felt everything drop below his legs. Crook had allowed herself to be tied up and captured. She’d positioned herself as the Spanish Prisoner. Unheard of. Unseen.

  As he screamed his way into federal custody, a calm Ezra Innocent being taken with his bodyguard to another car, Holmes thought, as he gazed at the girl with Chris Adams kneeling over her, that he was worse than dead. One girl had brought him to his knees and was now probably going to talk the Devil out of his job so she could make his eternal damnation more of a misery.

  “How’s she doing, Chris?” Wyatt asked into his headset as Ash fought to be freed from the vehicle, the mountain that was Buck holding her firmly but protectively. The girl had guts, pleading with the big man to let her travel in the van with him, pleading that she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to her friend, and that she at least deserved to have someone with her if she died.

  “Weak. Barely breathing. She’s coughing up blood.”

  Through the surveillance van’s CCTV system, Ash watched as the medics gently rolled Esther onto her side, confirming the bullet wound and placing pressure on it and putting an oxygen mask on her. Ash let out a gasp at Esther’s first cough. The oxygen mask was spattered with blood flecks. Esther had forced her to watch horror movies in their time off, so when a second, stronger cough coated the interior of the mask, Ash realised that she was drowning in her own blood.

  “Esther, can you hear me?” Chris said, clutching at a bloodied hand. “Esther!”

  A rapid fluttering of eyelashes was the only response they got. It took several seconds for the movement to stop.

  Chris looked into Esther’s rapidly glazing eyes. “You had to go and do it your way. Couldn’t see my way through.”

  Esther’s intense green eyes connected with Chris’s own as she forced out her next words. “Ash safe?”

  Chris glanced over to the building where Ash was standing next to Buck, who had his big hands on her shoulders as she shook with silent sobs. “Safe.”

  Esther nodded once and her eyes began to flutter again.

  “No, keep your eyes open and look at me.” The medics pushed Chris away to have better access to their patient. Reluctantly, he allowed them to do so. “You keep fighting. You aren’t allowed to give up – you understand?”

  There was no answer. Esther’s body tensed as pain shot through her when the medics shifted her, going slack a second later.

  “She’s not breathing – we need to move now, sir.”

  Chris stepped back to allow the experts to take over, moving in time with them as they hoisted her onto the trolley.

  “I was her guardian; let me stay with her.” He glanced behind at Ash, who was now struggling against the combined efforts of Buck and Wyatt to get to her friend. “Ash, we’ll meet you in the hospital. Buck, team debrie
f.”

  Buck nodded, taking Ash’s arms and forcing her back into the van. “You did good, kid.”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Ash asked.

  “She’s risen from the grave once… what’s once more?”

  Before Ash could reply, the doors shut in her face.

  Hospitals, no matter what side of the Atlantic you were on, were uniformly white and exceedingly depressing. Ash decided this as she watched Buck pace back and forth. He paced the length of the hospital waiting room again. He was wearing a path down the tiled floor. It was almost amusing as he was wearing Chris’s patience down as well, regardless of the fact that the man himself was busy pacing the width, still wearing the shirt stained with Esther’s blood.

  “Buck, stop moving,” Chris snapped. “If you have to walk, go outside. This room isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

  “Only way I’m leaving here is if I get permission to follow through to get hold of that doctor and put…” Buck said, then suddenly noticed Ash sitting next to Wyatt, “…and put some strong words to him.”

  “No. I’ve used strong words and they don’t work.” Chris sat down hard on the seat behind him.

  The doctor who had thrown the lead ATF agent into the waiting room, amidst curses and promises of murder unless he had an update soon, had been cold in explaining that Esther’s condition was dire and would just have to wait.

  Chris shot Buck a look before he returned to his pacing.

  “Where the hell is he?” Buck muttered, smoothing his handlebar moustache with one hand as he ruffled his thick brown hair with the other every now and then. “He ought to be here.”

  “Who’s he waiting for?” Ash asked Wyatt, who was sitting with feet up on the sofa.

  “Her dad… he’s been undercover and he’s being debriefed now.” He leaned back in his seat as an auburn head shot by. “Caelan!”

  Caelan ran back, followed by Eleanor, both grey in colour and looking concerned. “What—”

  “You didn’t tell me she planned to get shot?” Buck snapped.

  “Oh yeah, because I look in the know,” Caelan scoffed angrily. “Last I heard from the damned fool was that she was going into Denver for the day.” He looked around. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Still being debriefed,” Chris grumbled. “It’s taking longer… seems he lunged at Colorado when he was being taken into Interpol custody. It took three agents to drag him, however reluctantly, off.”

  “Well, I’m sick of waiting,” Ash said, getting to her feet. She stepped outside and saw a familiar thin figure walking down the corridor towards her. “Anton!”

  The Russian-American was looking exhausted and nearly fell over from the crushing hug that Ash had swamped him with. He chuckled softly. “Got to improve your poker face,” he said, wiping her tear-tracked cheeks. “She’s in an induced coma; seems the crack at the back of her head is a real cause for concern.” He looked beyond Ash. “I figure the crew and Chris and Buck can go to see her… Vin’s already gone up. Hoping her pop will arrive soon enough.”

  Ash had seen people in intensive care before, most recently Dee when she’d misjudged the flop in Camden. She’d thought she was well above anything that they could throw at her. She was mistaken, and couldn’t hold back the shocked gasp that left her mouth. There lay Esther, who always took such care over her appearance, who was always in control, now almost invisible under the tubes and wires and machines, her head swathed in thick white bandages.

  “Oh God, Est, what have they done to you?” whispered Chris, walking to her bedside.

  The doctor stood beside him. “It looks worse than it is,” he assured the team as they crowded into the room.

  “It would have to; if it didn’t, she’d be dead,” Chris told him, because to him it couldn’t look any worse.

  “Thanks for your most reassuring words.”

  Ash jumped as Ezra Innocent took off his jacket and placed it over a chair, ignoring her shocked glance at the silent Anton, who looked as distant from the event as she felt. He shushed Esther and pressed a hand to her forehead. She remained ominously quiet, apart from the steady beeping that reassured them she was alive and the soft whoosh of her oxygen mask. Ash went to remove the offending hand, but felt her shoulder gripped by Chris.

  “Hush now, ma belle,” Ezra whispered softly to the prone figure. “We’re just waiting on you to open those green eyes.”

  “Ashia, I think I’d best introduce you,” Chris said, as Ash threw a confused look up at him. “Ash Cox, meet Ezra Gardener… Esther and Caelan’s father. You didn’t think they didn’t have their own teacher, did you?”

  The Con Man

  Epilogue

  “Are you coming to the party tonight, Ash?”

  Ash looked up at the handsome young man. Troy – of course he’d be named Troy – Allen was standing next to her, looking both confused by her scowl, and imploring.

  “No thanks, I have a prior appointment,” she said apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

  Troy grinned and walked off, and Ash rolled her eyes at his retreating back. She felt like an illegal alien. Not a comforting feeling in the ‘land of the free’.

  She sighed as she looked out over the campus, feeling a weariness creep into her bones that was both unwelcome and unheeded. She’d been in D’Evelyn Junior/Senior High School for the best part of six weeks and, in all honesty, they could keep it.

  She’d had her GCSE results back and discovered that she was en route to university if her A Levels met the required standards. Dee had been delighted, and a few careful words from Chris and Buck in the ears of social services had ensured that Ash stayed in the woman’s care. Ezra Proulx Gardener, however, had persuaded the authorities that the two needed to be placed in witness protection as they would be giving televised statements in court, and that the safest place for them to be was the USA. So far, Ash had enrolled in a Denver college, was part of the debating society, and had despised every moment of sophomore, as the Americans termed their last year. She despised that her name was now Ashia – thank God Chris and Ezra had won that bout – Colt-Sallow.

  This all paled as she compared the life of luxury she was currently living to that of poor Esther. The gunshot had, unsurprisingly, nearly killed her. It had fractured her skull and the fall to the ground had caused an epidural haematoma, but then the wound to her chest had been a through-and-through. It had taken Chris to explain that Ash’s timely intervention had probably saved Esther from a bullet between the eyes if she’d kept with the “damned foolish plan” she’d had originally.

  When Esther had eventually come around, she had been awake for only a few moments before she collapsed back into a heady slumber due to the drugs that the doctors were pumping into her, and promptly suffered a fit. Ash had watched in horror as the urbane woman had lurched around the bed, her sharp green eyes thrown back into her skull like a shark about to attack. Ash had often made this comparison, but the failure of Esther’s body to control itself had left her as weak as a kitten.

  The vomiting, shaking and high-pitched beeping of machines had lasted a total of fifteen minutes before Vin realised Ash was still in the room, and shoved her out. A priest had gone in not five minutes later, and Ash hadn’t been sure what was worse, from her perspective: the priest praying over her unconscious friend and Caelan sobbing as he pleaded with his twin not to leave him, Anton’s silence, or Ezra’s threats about what he would do to his daughter if she didn’t “stop playing about”.

  Ten minutes later, the steady beeping had resumed and Ezra had sat back down to read to his daughter. He had taken up his position as her protective father once his paperwork was done with, and he took that position seriously. Immediately after being reassured that she was recovering once more, he’d informed the doctors that they had facilities on Mr Adams’s ranch and they would be travelling there post-haste.

&nbs
p; Despite the doctors’ protests, Esther had been hooked up and returned to the ranch, where Chris had a room ready for her. She remained in a semi-comatose state. There were days when her eyes opened and days when they remained closed. Each member of the team had taken turns in reading to her. Ezra was the exception to that rule as he had sat with his daughter, talking softly and occasionally apologising.

  There had been moments of clarity when she’d asked questions about the con, but fallen asleep before the answers could be given. There had been a relapse, but that had been efficiently dealt with by Nate. She’d soon learned that Vin, Nate, Wyatt, Buck, Chris, Jesse and Ezra were from the same team that had lost the fight against Holmes in the not-too-distant past over the murder of Esther’s mother.

  Ash didn’t need to remember Ezra’s gentle persuasion to carry on without her, explaining that Esther would need physiotherapy for her injury. There was never a threat of her dying; he wouldn’t let her. He’d spent far too long on opposing sides to his. He’d offered weeks away from London where Elizabeth Holmes was set to go on trial, and where the criminal fraternities had turned their backs on the Stateside Harry Holmes. She was safe; Esther had covered her.

  It went unsaid that Esther’s plan had gone almost too well, and that it had almost cost her her life.

  Ezra’s soft explanation that it would be best for Ash to take up residency in the States had reassured her that she was doing the right thing… even if the others seemed to have moved on. Eleanor and Caelan were working on the new agency that Esther had spoken about; while Anton still kept an emerald engagement ring in his pocket, and when he’d helped Ash and Dee move into their new apartment, he’d invited them to the wedding.

  She had so many choices to make. Too many to name, in fact. Dee wanted out of the con life, that much was certain. She wanted to keep Ash safe, and Ash appreciated the offer but it still stung to think that the others had moved on.