by Rick Reed
“What the hell is going on, Agent, uh . . . ?” Jack asked, hoping he sounded genuinely incredulous. He held his hand out and demanded, “Let me see your identification.”
She flashed her credentials and said, “FBI Special Agent Crenshaw. And you are?”
Her badge said Federal Bureau of Investigation, but if she was working with the other two numbnuts, she was CIA.
“Alan Connelly,” Jack said. “So you’re FBI but that doesn’t give you the right to threaten my sister.” He could immediately see that Special Agent Crenshaw wasn’t buying it.
“I wasn’t told you had a brother,” she said to Katie, but kept her eyes on Jack.
“Can I see your identification again, Agent Crenshaw?” Jack demanded.
She pulled out the badge case and handed it to him. He examined the creds closely while he tried to come up with a plan. And he wondered if the other two were coming back.
“What could the FBI possibly want with Killian or Jack?” he asked, handing the ID case back to her. “Don’t you people chase mafia dons and bank robbers?”
“Do you have some identification, Mr. Connelly?”
Oops! Self-righteously he said, “Killian has never done anything dishonest in his life. He’s a hard-working public servant, Miz Crenshaw. He’s not a terrorist, and for damn sure he’s not a criminal. He’s a federal agent just like yourself. And Detective Murphy is a hero around here.”
Barbara Killian came around the corner with a nurse who looked like a Russian wrestler.
“Katie?” Barbara’s voice was filled with concern. The nurse was on her telephone talking to hospital security, and not in a gentle tone. Barbara was looking from Katie to Jack to Crenshaw.
“What is going on?” the nurse asked, cell phone still up to her face. “Security is on its way. I suggest you vacate this floor. You have no authority here.”
Barbara got in Agent Crenshaw’s face. “Those two men shoved me out of my husband’s room. Who do you people think you are?”
“Let’s get you back in there,” Jack said. He put an arm around her shoulder and led her toward the doors to the ICU.
“Just a minute, Mr. Connelly. I’m not done with you,” Crenshaw said, but the large nurse placed herself between Jack and the agent, and Katie got back in her face, arguing loudly.
Crenshaw reached into her handbag, and he didn’t think she was reaching for a breath mint. He hurried into the ICU and could hear Katie saying, “This is bullshit. I’ll complain to your superiors. I’ll call the governor, who happens to be a close friend of mine.” Crenshaw was threatening physical violence if they continued to interfere.
“I’ve got to find a way out of here,” Jack said to a confused Barbara. “No time to explain.”
“I can help you,” came a soft voice from behind them.
He turned around. A cleaning lady with a name tag that said “Ruby” grabbed his hand and led him to a doorway. She unlocked the door and handed him the set of keys. “Down the stairs. Turn left at the bottom. Follow that hall until it ends and turn right. You’ll come to another locked door that leads outside. Leave the keys in the door. I’ll get them later.”
He went through the door and took the steps two and three at a time. Behind him he heard Ruby say, “Good luck,” and then the door above closed.
Agent Crenshaw couldn’t shoot them all. At least he didn’t think she could, but he other things to worry about. Did the Feds put an APB out on him? Were they right now at Susan’s? Had they arrested Liddell?
He’d come too far to get benched. Murphy’s Law says: “The degree to which you look on the bright side is directly proportional to the amount of misfortune that will befall you.” He had earned some good luck.
* * *
Agent White’s cell phone vibrated. White didn’t answer. The only people who had his number were Thompson and now the female agent on loan to them from the FBI’s antiterrorist squad. He hadn’t asked for her, nor did he want her. Crenshaw had deliberately been kept in the dark and hadn’t a clue what their mission was. She didn’t even know who they really were.
White wasn’t accustomed to working jobs inside his own country against American citizens. He was from the old school. The new operatives like Allen Thompson were in it for the power and thrill that went with being labeled a “spook.” Thompson would obey orders but he would never understand what honor and duty really meant. Guys like that were saving the world by killing it, one person at a time. White’s big concern now was how Agent Crenshaw would handle it when they had to start eliminating people. He had his orders. If she got in the way . . . well.
White answered the phone.
“Sir, this is Crenshaw.”
“Go ahead.”
“Jack Murphy is here in the hospital.”
Her voice was calm, controlled. He had to admit she was cool headed. Maybe she would perform well, but she had let Murphy slip away. One strike.
“Where exactly is he, Agent Crenshaw?”
“He was trying to visit the ATF agent, sir. I pursued him into the basement of the hospital but lost him. My orders, sir?”
To her credit she had made no excuses.
“I don’t have to remind you how important this is.”
“No, sir.”
“We’re on our way.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Crenshaw?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t alert hospital security. You find him and call me.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
* * *
Jack came to the exit door, opened it, and poked his head out to see where he was. He hadn’t seen or heard Crenshaw, so he must have lost her. Several cars were moving in the lot but none of them were police cars
His mom always said that if an Irishman didn’t have bad luck, he’d have no luck at all. It was true, because he’d walked less than ten feet when he heard the sound of an engine revving behind him, and he was lifted off his feet, over the hood, and slammed into the car’s windshield.
His head hit hard, and he rolled off the hood, unable to protect himself as he hit the blacktop hard. Agent Thompson pulled him to his feet and threw him against the car’s hood. Thompson twisted Jack’s arm behind his back and shoved his face against the hot metal surface. Lightning bolts of pain exploded through Jack’s brain. His shoulder was definitely out of its socket.
After what seemed like a lifetime, the pressure eased and he was struck in the back of the head with something hard enough to make his knees buckle. Thompson crowded against him to keep him from falling to the ground and began punching him in the back and the side of his face.
Jack heard a ringing inside his skull and could smell Thompson’s too-sweet cologne. Thompson slammed Jack’s head into the car again and it was all Jack could do to remain conscious.
“What’s the matter, Jack? Don’t you have a snappy comeback for that?” Thompson said and shoved Jack’s arm further up behind him. Starbursts of pain exploded in Jack’s shoulder, and he heard himself gagging.
He’s not going to arrest me. He’s going to beat me to death.
Thompson yanked Jack’s .45 from his holster and threw it over the hood of the car. He then drove all his weight into Jack, crushing the wind from him, twisting his arm.
“What’s that, Jack?” Thompson said and drove an elbow down into Jack’s spine. “You say you’re going to do what to me?”
Jack’s pain was unbearable and then it was gone. His mind focused on one thing—revenge. Time stopped for Jack Murphy . . . and ran out for Allen Thompson. The pressure on Jack’s shoulder eased, and Jack realized that he had taken the CIA man’s scrotum in a death grip with his hand.
Thompson began sucking in air like a faulty vacuum cleaner and Jack squeezed with all his strength. Thompson was trying to move away, but Jack shifted and yanked back and forth, playing scrotum Ping-Pong. He wanted to rip his balls off, but he lost his grip. Thompson fell into him, still sucking air, and Jack turned and brough
t a knee up—hard—under Thompson’s chin. He heard Thompson’s teeth crack together, or maybe his jaw had broken, he didn’t know. He just knew Thompson had crumpled to the ground and lay in a fetal position, hands cradling his groin.
Jack propped himself against the trunk of the car, not feeling the hot metal anymore. Gorge rose in his throat, and he didn’t try to fight it back. He doubled over and threw up on Thompson’s thousand-dollar Armani suit. Jack took some deep breaths, tried to stand, and another wave of nausea hit. This time he dropped to his knees and hurled straight into Thompson’s face.
He fought back the dizziness, lifted his head, and scanned the parking lot. Crenshaw and White were still out there. A half-dozen cars were moving around but none were coming in his direction.
He took more deep breaths and saw that Thompson was starting to move around. Jack kicked Thompson in the face and when the agent’s hands came up to protect his head Jack kicked him in the crotch. He could see Thompson’s jaw was at an odd angle, maybe broken. “I warned you, asshole.”
Jack staggered to the door of Thompson’s car and tried to get in, but his damaged shoulder screamed with the effort. He knew what he would have to do. He’d seen it done a hundred times on TV. It looked easy. It wasn’t.
He positioned himself near the doorpost and slammed his shoulder against the body of the car. The pain was excruciating one second and gone the next. He didn’t have time to hurt, so he slid into Thompson’s still running car and drove to the Mary Street exit. He hoped White or Crenshaw wouldn’t find Thompson for a while. He hoped he’d broken the bastard’s jaw.
Chapter Thirty-one
Vinnie, the bartender, was standing on the wooden deck behind Two Jakes smoking when an unfamiliar car lurched across the delivery drive and came to a stop. Jack fell out of the car onto the concrete drive. Vinnie threw the still burning stub into the parking lot and was already yelling, “Jake! Jake!” as he rushed to the car. He helped Jack up, putting an arm around his waist, and met Brady at the door. Between the two of them they half-carried, half-dragged Jack through the back entrance and into a small storage room that was converted into a bedroom. They laid Jack on a cot and Brady hurried out of the room. He came back with a steaming coffee mug but Jack waved it away.
“The car,” Jack muttered and tried to sit up. Brady put the mug to Jack’s lips and said, “Drink some of this.”
Jack got a couple of sips down and pushed it away, sputtering and coughing, “Are you trying to kill me?” He lay back, still coughing.
“This will help you rest,” Brady said. He tried to get Jack to drink some more, but he just shook his head and made a face.
“We’ll take care of the car. You need a hospital, lad.”
“No hospital,” Jack said, and reached for the mug and drank down whatever nasty concoction was in there. He would vomit again, but the pain was worse than the drink. He felt woozy. Then he passed out.
Jack opened his eyes, and Brady was standing over him.
“Here, take these and wash them down with another toddy.” Brady dropped some pills in Jack’s hand and helped him sit up. Jack popped the pills into his mouth and barely tasted the bitterness before some of the lukewarm alcohol-laden liquid was poured down his throat.
“Jesus Christ!” Jack swallowed and sputtered. “What is that stuff? It tastes like lighter fluid.”
“It’s an old family recipe. You’ll sleep for a while. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.”
“Can’t sleep right now. Got to find Susan and Liddell,” he said, and was gone again.
* * *
Jack was asleep for several hours. When he opened his eyes, Susan was sitting on a chair beside the cot and holding his hand. His head and shoulder were sore as hell, but he’d live. On the other hand, Agent Thompson might have to get a sex change.
“You should see a doctor, Jack,” Susan said.
“You should see the other guy,” he said, and winced when he tried to smile. He put a hand up to his cheek and felt puffiness. Bastard!
“She’s right, you know,” Brady said to Jack. “But he’s hardheaded like his old man was.”
“I’m fine,” Jack lied. “Where’d you take the car?”
“You’re feverish, boy.”
“Honest, Brady, I’m fine.” Jack flexed his injured shoulder a few times. It hurt, but not as much as before. His head was another matter. “I’ve got to call Katie and Moira and make sure they’re safe. These guys don’t play around. Where’s Liddell?”
Brady said, “We can’t reach him. His cell phone is switched off. Katie and Moira are somewhere safe. I didn’t tell them much. Hell, I don’t know that much. But they are going to stay put. I’ve worked out a code for them to answer the phone so they’ll know it’s one of us.”
“Where’s the car?”
Brady grinned.
“What’s so funny?” Jack asked. He was worried about Liddell.
Brady said, “Well, I parked it in Double Dick’s parking spot,” he said with a sardonic grin. “Don’t worry, I wiped it down so there’s no fingerprints.”
“You didn’t,” Jack said.
“You bet I did.”
That was very risky, old man.
Jack’s run-in with the CIA had shaken things up a bit. Not knowing who was involved in this conspiracy—and that’s all it could be called at this point—created more questions than answers.
Susan said, “After Vinnie came for me and explained you were here, I didn’t think I should call anyone. What are we going to do?”
Jack tried to think. The fiasco at the hospital had surely brought the police into it. Hell, he had assaulted a federal agent, stolen his car, and fled the scene. “Guilt by fleeing” is the unofficial police terminology. But he didn’t think Thompson would file charges—for the physical injury or the stolen car. Likewise he didn’t think Crenshaw would arrest Katie or anyone else who helped him escape from the hospital. They would, however, spirit some of them away if they got the chance.
“I’ve got things to do,” Jack said and made it to his feet this time.
“Not without me,” Susan said. “I’ve probably lost my job. I want to finish this.”
Jack said, “We need wheels. We have to assume they’ve flagged all the vehicles available to us.”
Vinnie pulled a set of keys from his pocket and put them in Jack’s hand.
* * *
The keys were to a motorcycle Vinnie kept under a tarp behind the marina building. There was even an extra helmet for Susan. Brady promised to let them know as soon as Liddell checked in.
The Honda Gold Wing had no plates, but Vinnie assured Jack it couldn’t be traced back to Brady or Vinnie. Jack didn’t ask how Vinnie came by the bike. He started it and was surprised by how quiet it ran.
“Where are we going?” Susan asked. “I got a call from Indianapolis before Vinnie came to get me. They wanted to know why I was impeding a federal investigation.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Jack said.
“My boss sounded shaky on the phone. Somebody must have rattled him good.” She said, “He said there’s going to be an internal inquiry of my handling of Khaled Abutaqa, and his subsequent death.”
Jack knew it was only a matter of time before they’d be pressuring Brady and Vinnie. He wasn’t worried about Brady. He was a tough old bird. Vinnie would never talk, but Jack knew Vinnie had some kind of shady past. He hoped it wasn’t something that would land Vinnie in prison.
“We have nowhere to go.”
“Only one place I can think of right now,” Jack said. He put the bike in gear and headed for Rosedale. A few minutes later, Jack pulled down the alley and stopped behind Reverend Payne’s church. A large wooden shed-like garage sat at the back of the property. Sliding barn doors were secured with a heavy chain and padlock. There was wood privacy fence with a gate to the right.
“This is where we’re going to get help?” Susan asked.
“Payne will let us stay for a while
. At least until I can figure out what’s next.” Jack said.
“Don’t even think about leaving me here, Jack. After everything I’ve done, those guys will find me and put me in jail. It’s safer for both of us if we stay together.”
She had a point. The CIA held all the cards now.
She hopped off the Gold Wing and put her shoulder to the gate and forced it open. Jack dismounted and pushed the motorcycle into the back yard. The yard looked like an auto graveyard. Rusted hulks, truck tailgates, motorcycle frames and engines, tires, and hubcaps made up the bulk of the mess. The motorcycle would fit right in.
Susan picked her way through the junk and knocked on the back door.
Payne came to the door and invited them in. He didn’t seem surprised to find them there.
“I haven’t had a woman come to my back door for quite some time,” he said and smiled.
“I don’t usually have CIA agents chasing me,” Jack said.
They sat at Payne’s kitchen table and Jack rubbed his injured shoulder. The pain felt like a charley horse galloping toward the finish line. He said to Payne, “I don’t think these guys will cast their net very wide, but just in case, don’t talk to anyone here about us.” He was hoping Payne would insist on Susan staying there.
“What happens here, stays here,” Payne said. “One of my boys came back from the parole office this morning and said some men were talking to your secretary. He said she was giving those men hell.”
“Those are the guys who are chasing us,” Jack explained. “I had a little run-in with two of them at the hospital.”
Payne stared sightlessly in Jack’s direction. “When you have a run-in with someone, they usually get dead.”
“No one was killed, but one of them was singing tenor when I left.”
“I should call Mabel. She would have called me about this morning if she could. I think she might be in trouble,” Susan said.
Jack agreed, but there wasn’t anything they could do for her now. “Susan, I don’t think she’s in physical danger. We’ll try to call her from a pay phone. I don’t think we should use our cell phones. As a matter of fact, I think we should turn them off.” He couldn’t remember if the phone could still be tracked, even turned off, but they both powered down their cell phones anyway.
