by Matthew Rief
There were officers shuffling and talking into radios, EMTs scurrying quickly down toward the dock.
I stopped just beside the commotion. I clenched my fists, yelled out a few curses, then hunched over and placed my hands on my knees. I was trying my best to look emotionally broken and distraught. It didn’t take much effort.
Pretending to catch my breath, I looked around Margaret Street. It ran parallel along the water. I glanced toward the far sidewalk and the buildings on the other side of the street. It didn’t take long. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure up on the roof of a café. There was a quick dim flash of lights. Reflections. A pair of binoculars trained in my direction.
Evil people are predictably vile, I thought, remembering the words I’d spoken mere hours before.
My gaze didn’t linger. I turned and looked out over the water. I continued to breathe heavily and pretend that I was doing everything in my power to keep it together after the tragedy that had just occurred.
I staggered east, toward the street. When I reached the second row of parked vehicles, I ducked behind an SUV, then rolled under two cars before rising to a crouch along a row of bushes. I kept low and used the cover of a flame tree to reach the sidewalk. From a lying position, I took one more look at the guy up on the roof. He was scanning his binos side to side. It was dark, and he was still far off, but it looked like he was saying something into a radio.
Gotcha.
While he was looking toward the police cars and ambulance to see where I’d gone, I darted across the street. I knew the row of buildings well. Various stores and small restaurants, mostly. Ange and I walked past them all the time on our way to Mallory Square or Salty Pete’s.
I cut between a gap in two of the structures, then bolted up a fire escape. I peeked my head over the top, making sure it was clear before venturing out to stalk my prey. He was standing on the adjacent building, but there was no gap between them.
I approached the guy from behind. He was growing suspicious, scanning his binos back and forth, asking for updates on his radio. But he wasn’t suspicious enough.
I had two options to take the guy down quickly and quietly. I could withdraw my holstered Sig and send a bullet barreling toward his brain faster than a sneeze. I also had my dive knife. With all the police sirens going off, I had no doubt that I could sneak right up behind him and bury the blade into his neck.
But I wasn’t looking for the quick approach, not after what I’d just seen.
I chose option three, which revealed itself when I crouched behind an AC unit on my way to my unsuspecting target. There was a toolbox left out and propped open beside it. Half sticking out was a large pipe wrench. It was like karma was working overtime that night.
I grabbed hold of the heavy solid steel tool and stealthily made my approach across the rooftop. I weaved through the scattered tables and chairs, keeping to the shadows as I peered forward. The guy was fully engaged by the spectacle in front of him. Not once did he even glance at his back.
“Negative, got nothing, sir,” he said into his radio.
He was still scanning back and forth. Still hoping to see me rise up in the middle of the parking lot from a panic attack.
“Get out of there,” a voice boomed through the guy’s radio speaker. “Get your ass out of there, now!”
It was good advice. Unfortunately for the guy with the binos, it came about ten seconds too late.
Just as he lowered the lenses from his eyes, I slammed the heavy wrench into the side of his right leg. His knee crunched, and he wailed as he fell hard onto the tiled floor. I quickly slammed him onto his back and shoved the sole of my shoe into his neck.
I threw his weapon aside and snatched his radio.
“Don’t move,” I ordered, placing the end of the wrench against his face.
He winced, shook, and tried to yell. His leg was mangled, forming a right angle from the hard blow.
“Whoever’s listening, this is Logan Dodge,” I said clearly into the radio. “I’m on the roof of the Harbor View Café. And I’ve got your boy.”
I lowered the radio and released the pressure on his throat. He let out a loud groan between desperate breaths.
“I was wondering when you were going to stop hiding and man up,” a familiar voice replied through the speaker. “You turning yourself in or what, Dodge?”
“Get your traitorous ass up here and find out, Brier.”
He laughed.
“Let’s dance.”
I dropped the radio. Releasing my hold on the guy with the L-shaped right leg, I stepped back, then kicked him hard across the face. He was knocked out cold before he realized what had happened.
I searched his body and the area around him. I realized that the second item he’d been holding was a digital camera. It rested on the roof a few feet from his left hand. The sick murderers weren’t just watching our reaction to what had happened, they were recording it. Saving a copy of it that they could share and watch again and again. The more I got to know Wake and his cronies, the more I realized just how twisted the guy was.
I set the pipe wrench on the roof, grabbed the camera, and stepped near the edge. Rearing it back, I chucked it as far as I could toward the waterfront. It smashed onto the road, broke to pieces, and rolled right up to the police cars. The camera itself was toast, but I knew that the internal SD card would likely be undamaged. That was all I wanted. Maybe Jane could use the footage to figure out who the attackers were. A bit of evidence insurance just in case our plan went south.
I turned around and moved toward the center of the roof. Ducking behind a wicker couch and a potted plant, I took cover with a door right in front of me and the fire escape to my left. I had a clear visual of both as I waited for my enemies to make their move. It didn’t take long.
The metal door slammed open and three guys poured out. I didn’t recognize the first two, but the third was Brier. They all wore casual attire. Shorts, T-shirts, tennis shoes. And they each held rifles in their hands. But it was clear that they weren’t firearms. They were narrow and strange looking. I instantly recognized the skinny-barreled weapons as tranquilizer guns.
I moved slowly along the edge of the dining area in a crouch.
“Spread out,” I heard Brier order. “He’s here somewhere.”
I reached the edge of the wicker couch and waited. Peeking over, I watched as they fanned out with Brier in the middle. They all had their weapons raised, ready to stick me with an immobilizing drug at a moment’s notice.
I drew my Sig as the closest guy approached my position. He stopped at the edge of the railing to look around. There was nothing but a potted plant with big leafy branches between us. When I moved again, I took aim and fired a round straight into his left foot. He hunched over and yelled. I wrapped an arm around his bowed head, jerked him down, and slammed my knee into his face.
I turned and dove just as Brier and the other guy raised their guns in my direction. One of them fired. I heard the hiss of CO2 and the sound of a dart colliding with the back of a wooden chair.
I rolled and turned over a table to act as a shield. When I heard Brier’s footsteps closing in, I popped up and fired off two quick rounds while lunging after him. I wasn’t trying to hit him. I just needed to cover my approach.
As I’d hoped, he dropped down to avoid the rounds. Before he could take aim with his gun and fire back, I was on him.
I grabbed the barrel, jammed it skyward, then slammed a fist into his left eye. He grunted and jerked back. He quickly retaliated by punching me hard in the jaw and landing a strong sweeping kick. I fell toward the tile but grabbed him by the shirt and took him with me. We rolled twice, trading punches and fighting for the dominant position.
He was strong, fast, and well trained. We were also both about the same height and weight. It was like fighting an angry, morally twisted version of myself.
After I landed a series of blows to his chest, he coughed and cursed while snatching
a combat knife from his hip. I grabbed for his wrist and tried to knock it loose while we rolled up against the back of a bench. I managed to slam the knife free, twist him around, and put him into a chokehold.
“Shoot him!” Brier yelled.
The third guy had closed in. He stood only about ten feet in front of us and was watching the fight over the barrel of his tranquilizer gun.
I had Brier. He was done. There was no way that he was getting out of my grasp, and he was quickly losing consciousness. Within seconds it would be over. And the guy with the gun aimed didn’t have a target. I had Brier pinned down between us as a human shield.
Eyeing the guy with the gun and squeezing the life from Brier, I took a breath and let it out.
This was it. I knew what I had to do.
We’d planned for me to turn myself in of my own accord. This was better. It looked more like an accident and less like a potential tactical move. Nobody gets enraged after seeing their murdered friend, retaliates, then intentionally gets beaten and taken hostage.
I squeezed tighter, then gave Brier an opening. I let his arm slip free, and he grabbed my hands and ripped them from his neck. He gasped and struggled off me. I landed a final kick into his side. A blow for the road.
By the time I pretended to lunge after him, the space between us had grown. It had given the third guy his opening. He took the shot, firing the dart into my abdomen and causing me to lurch forward.
I felt the potent drug course into my body. The effects were nearly instantaneous. I became delirious, tired, and suddenly unstable.
I stumbled backward and plopped down onto the tile floor.
“That’s it, Dodge,” Brier said. He recovered from our tussle and grunted. “Time to go night-night.”
They both moved toward me as my vision blurred. I could feel myself getting weak and fading away. Within a minute, I could barely see anything. Even their voices began to blend and fade. And then my head dropped, and everything went dark.
THIRTY-TWO
Nathan Brier sneered as Logan’s head swayed backward, then went motionless as he passed out on the floor of the rooftop café. Brier rubbed his neck softly and felt the tender skin around his left eye. He was in pain from the fight, and still catching his breath.
As he eyed Dodge’s body, his anger took over. He strode toward Logan and slammed a powerful kick into the side of his limp leg. He kicked twice more before calming himself.
Turning, he saw the big black guy who’d fired the dart standing still. It was Darius. He’d worked alongside Brier for years and gave the angered man his time to vent.
“You done?” he said to Brier in a hard voice.
Brier glared at Darius, then kicked Logan’s body again.
“Now I’m done,” Brier said.
They helped the guy who’d been shot in the foot but left Ethan. He was too far gone, and they didn’t have time to help him or wait for him to snap out of it. Besides, they only needed the three of them. Fewer people meant a bigger cut for them anyway.
They carried Logan’s body down the fire escape and loaded it into the back of their silver Escalade. It wasn’t easy, and they were all tired by the time they climbed in and started up the engine.
Darius hit the gas and quickly blended into traffic. He drove through town and back onto US-1. Brier grabbed his phone and punched in a number.
“We have him,” he said calmly after Wake picked up on the second ring.
“Alive?” Wake replied.
Brier looked back at the body bag resting on the back seat. “Yes, sir.”
There was a short pause.
“Bring him here. Keep him contained until tomorrow evening, then bring him to me. I want him well-rested and alert.”
~~~
Angelina and Scott drove Atticus five minutes inland to Key West Vets. After handing the injured Lab over to the veterinarian for emergency care, they sat in the small waiting area. The moment he was taken into the back room, Ange asked Scott for an update on Logan’s position.
The tracking device he’d attached indicated that he was on the move, heading northeast, hopping island to island toward the mainland. The state-of-the-art little device had a tiny built-in sensor that could relay vital signs, most effectively temperature. Logan’s body temperature was still normal, meaning that he was still alive.
Ange hated the idea of gambling with his life but understood why he had to do it. And she trusted him, knew that he was fully capable of pulling it off. But she didn’t like letting him walk willingly into the lion’s den. And she didn’t like how he’d changed the plan, but she understood his logic.
“Hey,” Scott said after a few minutes of silence. “You alright?”
She was tapping her foot on the linoleum floor. Her mind was racing. “Never better,” she said sarcastically.
She glanced across the room at a half-filled pot of coffee. She started to rise, but Scott beat her to it.
“I got it,” he said.
He filled two foam cups with the warm dark liquid and brought them over. After handing one to Ange, Scott took a single sip before she asked for another update on Logan.
He pulled his phone out and texted Murph. He got a reply a moment later.
“Seven Mile Bridge,” Scott said, reading the message.
Ange nodded and took a sip.
A young woman wearing jeans and a blue shirt stepped out from one of the doors and strolled behind the reception counter. Jane Verona had called the vet and let him know what had happened. A longtime local, he’d driven down in his flip-flops to take care of Atticus and brought along his niece, who handled the books.
When the young woman left, they sat in silence for a moment.
“I know it’s pointless to say this,” Scott said, “but don’t worry about Logan. He’s been through worse scrapes than this.”
“I’m not worried,” Ange said flatly, lying a little. “The only ones who should be worried are Wake and his hired help.”
It didn’t take long for the vet to take care of Atticus. He brought the Lab out on a leash. He’d lost a good amount of blood, which required a blood transfusion. He’d need to take it easy for a while and he would have to take pain medication and wear a plastic cone around his neck for a week until they were able to remove the sutures.
Other than the trauma and a scar, he’d be mostly good as new after a month or two. The vet explained that he was lucky. If the blade had struck a few inches higher, it would’ve severely damaged Atticus’s small intestine.
Ange and Scott thanked him, paid the generously discounted bill, then stepped out. Without a word, they hopped into the Tacoma and drove over to Ange’s house. Atticus would be alright, but Gus hadn’t been so lucky. Neither had Mayor Crawford, or the hundreds of others Wake had probably killed over the course of his miserable life.
After half an hour back at the house, going over the details of the newly adjusted plan, they parted ways.
“We’ll be in touch, alright?” Scott said. “And Murph will be online with all of us tomorrow evening. We’re gonna get him, Ange. And we’re gonna get Logan out of there.”
“Yes, we are,” she stated.
After Scott pulled out, she packed her gear and climbed back into the truck. Before heading out of town, she stopped by Salty Pete’s.
“Is there any way you could watch over Atticus?” Ange said to Pete. “I have some serious business to attend to.”
She had the yellow Lab on a leash to keep him from moving around too much. With his bandaged leg, the plastic cone around his neck, and his body pumped full of pain medication, he didn’t look or act like his usual self.
Pete nodded and grabbed the leash. “Of course,” he said.
“Give him all the food and treats he can eat, alright?” Ange said. “It’s all on me.”
“We’ll keep him in here with us,” Pete said. “And we’ll try to keep him relaxed.”
“The meds will help with that,” Ange said. “It’s just two
days. I’ll be back Friday morning.”
Pete waved a hand and shook his head.
“Take whatever time you need,” he said. “We’ve got him. No problem.” Pete brought her in for a hug, then whispered, “Go and get the people who did this. And be careful.”
She thanked him and carried the bag of food outside. Ten minutes later, she pulled into Tarpon Cove Marina and boarded her Cessna. Scott was meeting up with Jack, and they were going to head over to Miami the following day. Ange wanted to go early. She wanted to be as close to Logan as possible in case something unforeseen happened. And she needed to clear her head. For her, flying was good for that. After completing her preflight checks and calling in to ATCs, she took off into the evening air.
THIRTY-THREE
Downtown Miami
The Next Day
Angelina strode confidently along the busy sidewalk. She walked into the shadow of a tall building and looked up. Wake Corporation could be read in big gold letters above the main entryway.
She focused her eyes on the upper levels of the building, letting her motivation build.
You’re in there somewhere, Logan, she thought. Time to get this show on the road.
She stopped before reaching the front and headed along the side of the building toward the back entrance. There were trucks and SUVs parked along a private road. Large gray metal double doors were propped open at the base of the building, allowing a few delivery guys carrying brown boxes to enter.
Ange slipped in behind them. Once through the doors, she was far from home free. There was a security station in front of her with a walk-through metal detector and two armed guards. Ange strode right up to them.
She wore a Ms. Cheezious T-shirt and a matching ball cap. The grilled cheese spot was a popular local restaurant, serving up the classic childhood favorite in unique and delicious variations. Ange also carried a plastic bag of foam to-go boxes in her left hand that each had a freshly made sandwich inside to give off a mouthwatering aroma and complete the act.
