“Do you know why I had him eat it off the floor?”
“You want me to know that people do what you say.”
“That, and because I don’t allow waste. My men understand this, and if you are to work for me, you must as well.” He settled back against the chair. “Now, what kind of work were you hoping to do?”
Mason took a breath. Continuing down some elaborate path to gain Laroche’s trust and eventually Brooke’s freedom was something for which he had neither the time nor patience. While risky, it seemed better to come clean and see how things played out.
“To be honest, that was just a ruse to gain an audience with you.”
The guards stiffened, their hands moving to their weapons.
Laroche, however, seemed more intrigued than worried.
“Oh? Did you come to kill me?”
Rather than answer, Mason said, “I came to ask you to release a friend. She was taken by your men a couple of hours ago.”
“Ah, I assume you’re speaking of Miss Brooke.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “You know Brooke?”
“I do now. Delightful young woman. It’s rare that I meet a woman with such je ne sais quoi.”
“Where is she?”
“Around here somewhere,” he said, flitting his hand. “She told me you would come for her. What she didn’t say was that you would be so ruggedly handsome.”
“Brooke told you about me?” Uh-oh.
“Oh yes. In fact, she couldn’t stop talking about you. It was as if you were the only thing on her mind,” he winked, “Marshal.”
Mason mentally ran through his options. With the knife at his side, he could easily gut Laroche, but he would never make it out of the room before being plugged by his guards. Even if he could, there was still the matter of Brooke and the other captors who required rescue, not to mention the fifty or so men standing between him and freedom.
“Relax,” said Laroche. “If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“So, why aren’t I?”
Laroche squinted. “I had to see what all the fuss was about, and I’m glad that I did.”
“Why?”
Instead of answering, he said, “Do you know why I bring women here, to the jail?”
“To be sex slaves for your men.” Mason saw no reason to sugarcoat it.
“I prefer to think of them as rewards for a hard day’s work.”
Mason thought of young Carol lying naked in the jail cell. She was no man’s reward. She was a victim of selfish barbarism, and someone was going to pay for the crimes against her.
“My point,” continued Laroche, “is that Brooke is hardly suited to that kind of life. As much as my men would enjoy her company, it would be a tragic waste of her true value.”
“So, release her.”
He offered a slight shake of his head.
“Only a fool would do that. Do you think I’m a fool, Marshal?”
It took all Mason could do not to tell Laroche exactly what thought of him. Instead, he recalled McCabe’s words about how Laroche considered himself a businessman.
“I think you’re a man looking to make a deal. Why else would I be here?”
Laroche tapped his own temple. “You’re a thinker. I like that.”
“What is it you want from me?”
“Not yet. First, I need to know that you’re the man Ms. Brooke professes you to be.”
“And how exactly will you determine that?”
Laroche slid the chair back and got to his feet.
“The only way I know how. With a test.”
Laroche and his Men in Black escorted Mason to one of the prison’s indoor recreation areas. The space had certainly seen better days with one of the basketball hoops having been pulled down, and the other consisting of nothing more than an empty backboard. The roof overhead was constructed of glass and thin steel beams, allowing the sun to cast a large checkerboard pattern onto a worn hardwood floor.
The area had been cleared with the exception of two men. The first wore a wrinkled white business suit smeared with food stains, a toothpick pushed to one side of his mouth. His bushy mustache and vacant stare reminded Mason of the famous outlaw, Harvey Logan. His eyes held the gaze of a man who had grown indifferent to killing, and the Browning Hi-Power riding in a shoulder holster looked as if it had been cradled more times than a toddler’s favorite teddy bear.
The second man was no less intimidating, short but wiry, with hair cut high and tight. In one hand he toyed with a TOPS SXB knife, swishing it around like expert knife fighter, John Styers. The SXB was a big, heavy knife, designed first and foremost for survival, but with a meaty nine-inch carbon steel blade it was up to any task on the battlefield.
Mason recognized the men for what they were.
Professionals.
Logan and Styers acknowledged Laroche with a brief nod.
“Gentlemen,” said Laroche, “thank you for coming.” He turned and gestured toward Mason. “Allow me to introduce Deputy Marshal Mason Raines.”
Both men turned their eyes to Mason, but neither spoke. Mason also remained quiet. It was clear that he was to be part of some sort of challenge, and meaningless chit chat wouldn’t change the outcome.
“Marshal Raines is a famous lawman, perhaps the last of his kind, dedicated to truth, justice, and the American way.” His eyes cut over to Mason. “How am I doing?”
Perhaps he wanted Mason to roll his eyes or at the very least declare that such nobilities were irrelevant in today’s world. Instead, Mason said, “A life supporting those ideals is certainly one well lived.”
Laroche smiled. “I love you. I really do!” He clapped his hands three times in slow succession as if signaling something.
Nothing happened.
His eyes tightened, and he repeated the gesture.
The door on the opposite side of the room hastily swung open, and Brooke stepped in with Chong following behind her. Mason’s breath caught in his throat as his hand instinctively dropped to the empty holster at his side.
“What’s she doing here?” he said, turning to Laroche.
“Reminding you of the prize, of course.”
“Mason,” she said, taking a few steps toward him and then stopping, uncertain if she was allowed to cross the room. When no one moved to stop her, she hurried over and grabbed his hands in hers.
“Are you okay?” he said.
She nodded. “They came to the house while you were away. I shot one of them, but it was either give up or be killed.”
“You did the right thing.”
“How did you find me so quickly?”
“Beebie and I saw them drive away.”
Her brow furrowed. “Beebie? But I thought he tried to kill you.”
“He did, twice now. It’s a long story for another day.”
Her eyes cut over to Laroche, and she lowered her voice.
“I had to convince him that he needs you. It was the only way I could see getting out of this alive. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Marshal Raines—”
Mason looked back to see that Laroche had moved to stand between Logan and Styers.
“This way, s’il vous plaît.”
Mason squeezed Brooke’s hands. “I’ll come for you.”
She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth.
“Of course, you will.”
Mason turned and walked over to Laroche and the others. Logan and Styers both studied him intently, but Chong stood idly by, pulling at the back of his trousers as if trying to work free a wedgie.
“You’re probably wondering why we’re all here, yes?” said Laroche.
Mason shrugged. “When violent men are waiting for you, there’s usually only one explanation.”
“Isn’t that the truth? To be fair, I should say that this entire exercise is nothing more than an indulgence to satisfy my curiosity.”
“Curiosity about what?”
“Mi
ss Brooke did such a fantastic job of selling you as a modern Matt Dillon that I absolutely must know whether you’re more man or myth.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. Matt Dillon was a TV character,” Mason said, knowing that his words wouldn’t in any way dissuade Laroche from his plans.
“On the contrary, Dillon was an idea, an idea that you seem to personify. By testing you, I am in turn testing that idea. Do you follow?”
Mason saw no point in arguing. Madmen rarely saw the light of reason. That’s what made them mad.
“What do you have in mind?”
“A challenge.” He gestured toward Logan and Styers. “Your task is simple enough. You must defeat both men without dying in the process.”
Mason’s eyes drifted to Logan’s Hi-Power.
“Hardly a fair fight for an unarmed man.”
“Your point is well taken.”
He held a hand out to Chong, and the hippie reached around his back to produce Mason’s Supergrade. It had either been brought to him for this purpose, or perhaps he had recovered it when he was retrieving Brooke. Whatever the case, things were looking up.
Taking the weapon from him, Laroche ejected the magazine but left a single cartridge in the chamber. He reached over and pushed the Supergrade down into Mason’s holster.
“A bullet for the man carrying the gun,” he patted the handle of Mason’s Fällkniven A1 Pro, “and a blade for the man carrying a knife.”
“It’s still two on one.”
Laroche scoffed. “If you’re half the man Miss Brooke claims, they’re the ones at a disadvantage.”
Rather than argue the point, Mason turned his attention to Logan and Styers.
“Based on what I saw coming in, you don’t have many men as skilled as these two. Do you really want to risk their lives just to test me?”
“They fight for their lives nearly every day in one way or another. But I’ll put the question to them.” He turned to face Logan and Styers. “Gentlemen, do either of you have any objection with the rules of my contest?”
Logan spat the toothpick from his mouth.
“I’m good.”
Styers smiled and said, “I’ve always wanted to kill a marshal.”
“See,” said Laroche, “willing participants all around.”
Mason squared himself with the men as he positioned his hand next to the Supergrade. He felt his anger growing, not at the men, but at Laroche. To kill someone for sport was pointless and cruel.
“All right,” he growled, unable to hide his anger. “How do you want to do this?”
“A countdown should suffice.”
Laroche took Brooke gently by the arm and escorted her to the side of the gymnasium. Chong got no such treatment but followed after them to get out of the line of fire. Laroche’s bodyguards moved to stand in front of him, perhaps hoping to catch a bullet in case of an errant shot.
Mason played through the coming confrontation. Things with Logan would be settled in the blink of an eye. One man would win; the other would die. Mason had never met a man who could outdraw him using a shoulder holster, and he doubted that Logan would be the first.
It was Styers who worried him. A man who carried a knife the way he did knew how to use it, and while Mason was no stranger to a blade, he was far from being an escrima master. Even if he could better Styers, there was almost no chance that he would walk away without being cut. The old saying “When two tigers fight, one is injured and the other is killed,” was all but a truism when it came to a knife fight.
“Ready?” said Laroche.
All three men indicated that they were.
Laroche removed his scarf and held it in the air like a flagman at the Indy 500.
“Three… two…”
Logan went for his pistol, his hand slapping against the grip.
Instinctively, Mason drew the Supergrade and leaned back at the waist. The draw was as smooth as Irish butter, and he fired from the hip the instant the muzzle cleared the holster. Despite Logan’s foreboding eyes and smoky stare, he fumbled his draw, briefly catching the front sight post of the Browning on the lip of his holster. The delay was imperceptible to the untrained observer, but it was more than enough to seal his fate. The Supergrade’s .45 slug punched through his chest to lacerate his heart before lodging against his spine.
Even before he hit the ground, Mason dove toward him. As he did, Styers drew the SXB and advanced with his elbow tucked against his side, rapidly stabbing the heavy blade forward like a boxer’s jab. The technique was incredibly difficult to defend against, and he marched toward Mason, confident that he would quickly open half a dozen jagged holes in his flesh. It wasn’t until he saw Mason scrambling atop Logan’s body, that Styers understood what was happening.
Mason landed hard, scooped up the High-Power from where it had fallen, and rolled onto his back with the weapon pressed out in front of him. Two things went through his mind as he brought his sights in line. The first was that he could simply call for Styers to surrender. Regardless of his skill, a man with a knife was no match for a pistoleer with weapon in hand. The second thought was that if he gave any quarter whatsoever, Laroche would likely have them restart the match with blades already in hand.
Seeing no other choice, he shifted his aim and shot Styers through the hip. Bullet met bone, and Styers fell, writhing on the ground in agony. No doubt he would survive, but his days of being the agile knife fighter were arguably over.
The question then became what to do next. With the High-Power in hand, there was a decent chance that Mason could kill Laroche, his bodyguards, and even Chong if it came to that. The problem was that, after having done so, the likelihood of him and Brooke escaping the heavily fortified prison would be all but zero.
As Laroche’s bodyguards frantically drew their weapons, Mason set the High-Power on the floor and stood up. Once he was sure they weren’t going to shoot him, he bent over, picked up his Supergrade, and holstered it.
“Bravo,” Laroche said, clapping softly.
“Your man pulled early.”
“What can I say? I employ scoundrels. Such is to be expected, yes?”
Mason’s shoulder hurt from where he had hit the floor, and he slowly rolled it around.
“Are we done?”
Still curled up on the floor, Styers shouted, “You no good sonofabitch! I’m going to cut your heart out!”
“Now, now,” chided Laroche. “No one likes a sore loser.”
He made a motion for Chong to give Styers a hand, and the hippie hurried over to help him to his feet. Together, they left the room with Styers finding creative uses for otherwise well-established profanity.
Once they had departed, Laroche said, “Marshal Raines, you’ve passed my little test, and for that, I find you worthy.”
“Of what?”
“Of the lovely mademoiselle’s hand, of course,” he said, kissing her fingers. “But to win it, you will need to do something for me.”
None of this came as a surprise to Mason. It was as McCabe had said, Laroche fancied himself a businessman.
“What is it you need done?”
Rather than answer, Laroche said, “Are you aware that the three colonies exchange goods?”
“I am.” In the past, Mason had guarded convoys on their way to meeting points between the colonies.
“Then you know their schedules?”
It was a trick question to see if he was lying.
“Routes and schedules are never given out more than a day in advance and only to those who have a need to know.”
“Correct,” Laroche said with a slight nod. “So, what would you say if I told you that a convoy will be traveling along Highway 460 this very evening?”
“I’d say you have a spy in the New Colony.”
Laroche waved his hand. “Such a negative word. Let’s call him a friend across the water, shall we?”
“What is it you want me to do? Hijack the convoy?”
“Not the entire co
nvoy, no. I only care about the last truck. The rest can go on their way or burn in a ditch for all I care.”
“What’s in the truck?”
Laroche offered a coy smile. “Does it matter?”
It really didn’t. Most likely it contained food, water, or other necessities, none of which were going to fundamentally change Mason’s world.
“Why me? You’ve got plenty of men to take the convoy by force.”
“Indeed, but at what cost? The Colony doesn’t intervene in the matters of Suffolk because we don’t intervene in theirs. I don’t want to be the one who openly disturbs this unspoken truce.”
“The key word being ‘openly.’”
Laroche shrugged. “If a single truck were to be lost to unnamed brigands, who could be held accountable?”
“So, that’s it then? I get you the truck, and you let Brooke go free?”
Laroche extended his hand. “You have my word.”
Mason had no idea what the man’s word was worth but accepted that he was hardly in a position to refuse the offer.
“I’ll do it on one condition.”
The corner of Laroche’s mouth curled up into a smile.
“Oh?”
Mason motioned to Brooke. “No harm comes to her while I’m away.”
“Of course not. What kind of man do you think I am, a barbarian?”
Mason thought of young Carol lying in a cold cell, terrified of when she would next be raped. Yes, he thought, you are a barbarian. Rather than answer, however, he stood, silently waiting for the man’s assurance.
Laroche nodded. “Very well. I promise that Miss Brooke will be treated with the utmost care and respect until your return. Satisfied?”
Mason reached forward and shook Laroche’s hand.
“Done.”
“Wonderful,” he said with a smile. Laroche looked down at his wristwatch. It was an oversized gaudy timepiece with jewels dotting the face. “You have exactly twelve hours to return with the truck. I will tell my men at the gate to be expecting you.”
“And if I’m late?”
Laroche turned and gently placed his hand against Brooke’s cheek.
“I really wouldn’t be late.”
Chapter 11
The Survivalist (Solemn Duty) Page 13
