by Lincoln Cole
On the other hand, he could track down the missing Hunters, but that carried risk as well. What if they had died already, and he wasted valuable time trying to find them? What if, while he dallied to find the Hunters, someone murdered the family?
Neither of them offered great options, and it became even more difficult to make a decision with the deep-seated worries swirling around in his head from his conversation with Niccolo. Damn that stupid encounter. Arthur needed to focus on the situation at hand, and the petty distractions did him no good.
The Hunters first, he decided. He had arrived here already and might as well get a sense of how bad things were. The rain pattered gently against his clothes when he stepped out of the car, not heavy enough to warrant an umbrella but enough to cause annoyance.
Arthur headed into the hotel lobby. It appeared a fairly unassuming place, dark and mostly empty. A woman stood behind the counter, reading a magazine. When Arthur came in, she glanced up but dismissed him just as quickly. She didn’t even bother asking him if he needed a room, just went back to her magazine.
He would have asked for a key, but he didn’t need it. He had a lock-picking kit, and if he did find a dead body up in the room, then the fewer people who he interacted with on his way up, the better. The last thing he wanted was for the girl at the desk to remember him asking strange questions about the room.
He walked to the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor, wondering what he would find when he made it up there. Martin had become a friend, and they’d known one another for a long time, but he had gotten on in years and hadn’t worked on a violent assignment in ages. Carl, he didn’t know quite so well, but he seemed a good person if a less than effective Hunter.
Martin loved to drink, and when not working, he usually crawled through local pubs. Arthur had spent many long nights out with him followed by painful mornings with few memories. He felt almost certain of what he would find in the room, and it wouldn’t bring anything good. He prepped himself for the pain and loss of what he might find if either of the Hunters had died.
Arthur found the room that Frieda had mentioned. It remained locked up and quiet, and nothing looked out of the ordinary. That meant little, though, because all of Arthur’s nerves thrummed on edge. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and something felt not quite right.
He slipped the toolkit out of his pocket and spent a few moments picking the lock. It made for a skill he had picked up early in his career and something he practiced regularly. It took him only a few tries before it popped open.
He opened the door gently, putting his tools away and drawing his gun. Inside, darkness greeted him with the lights out and curtains drawn. The television in the hotel room played but with the sound muted. It showed a stage with dancing people and cast everything in a bright and discordant glow as it flashed across myriad brightness and colors.
At first glance, the room seemed empty. An old and oft-used brown suitcase sat on the floor, still closed, and a few miscellaneous pocket items decorated the countertops where Martin or Carl had tossed them.
Arthur moved over to the door near the restroom, straining to hear anything. It stood closed, but not locked. He opened it up and peered inside.
Martin lay in the bathtub, and it took only a cursory glance to determine that no life remained. Someone had cut open his stomach, and a horrified expression had frozen on his face. From the look of it, he’d lain dead for a few hours, maybe less.
Arthur let out of a sigh, lowering his gun. He hadn’t expected anything else, considering they hadn’t answered their phones, but it felt painful nonetheless. Martin didn’t deserve to die, and certainly not like this.
“Sorry, Marty.”
Then, out of nowhere, movement came from the other side of the room. The scuffing of a shoe. Arthur stepped quickly out of the restroom and raised his gun just as a guy took off for the door, trying to push past him.
The guy had hidden huddled behind the bed and used Arthur’s distraction to try and sneak out. Unluckily for him, he had clipped his shoe on the divan base.
He looked in his mid-twenties with blonde hair and chubby cheeks. Arthur sprang forward, ducking low to get the guy by the legs. He lifted him up into the air and slammed him on the floor, hard, and then pressed the barrel of his gun against the kid’s neck.
“Please, please, please …” the kid murmured, closing his eyes and making whining noises. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Nobody. I’m nobody.”
“Why are you in my friend’s room?”
The guy’s eyes went wide with fear. “I didn’t kill him. I swear.”
“Then why are you here?”
“They sent me here to clean up the body. Please, I didn’t do anything. I just got here a few minutes before you. Hadn’t even had time to start.”
“Who killed Martin?”
“I don’t know,” the kid said.
Arthur pushed the gun harder into the kid’s neck.
“I won’t ask again,” he said. “Better start talking.”
“I swear; I don’t know. If I knew, I would tell you, but I never got a name. I do know that the guy who hired me drove a blue convertible, and I have his phone number. I can give them to you.”
Arthur relaxed the gun against the kid’s neck and leaned back. “Body disposal?”
“I work for the local PD, but they don’t pay much, so I do some moonlighting on the side. I swear, when I got here and saw the body, I almost left. That … that wasn’t a good way to die.”
“You said he drove a blue convertible?”
“Yeah. He was still here when I arrived, but I only talked to his goons. He had a driver, too.”
“What did he look like?”
“Balding. Old. I didn’t get a good look. Two guys stood with him, and I talked to them. They paid me to dispose of the body. I tried to say ‘no, thanks’ but they didn’t want to discuss it, you know?”
“That guy in the tub is a friend.”
“I’m sorry. Look, I don’t like this any more than you. I’m sorry your friend died, but I sure as hell didn’t kill him. You want the number?”
“Yeah,” Arthur said. The guy pulled out his cell phone, scrolled through it, and then handed it to Arthur, who took the gun from his neck for a moment to look at it. He took down the number, and then handed back the phone.
“Can I go?” the guy asked.
“Not just yet. You a local?”
The guy nodded. “Born and raised.”
“Where’s the closest movie theater?”
“What?”
“Movie theater,” Arthur said. “Where is the closest one?”
“Back in Everett. Why?”
“And if someone wanted to see a movie and they stayed here, they’d go to Everett?”
“Yeah, definitely. Why?”
“Where is it?”
“Maybe twenty minutes south, center of town.”
“All right,” Arthur said, dragging the guy off the ground and pointing him toward the door leading out of the hotel room. He gave him a shove, pressing his gun into the small of his back. “Show me.”
◆◆◆
Arthur had the cleaner drive his rental car and sat in the backseat, keeping his gun on his lap in case the guy tried to do anything stupid. With any luck, it wouldn’t take too long to find the family and make sure of their safety.
Ideally, he would find Carl alive and well, but he didn’t hold out hope for that. Someone had come after the Hunters, which meant they had gone after the family, and he felt sure he knew who.
Along the way, he called Frieda to let her know of Martin’s death and that he had gone on his way to the theater. He could tell that the news hurt Frieda, though she would never admit it. It lay in her tone.
Mid-call, he hesitated, looking out of the window to his right. “Hang on,” Arthur said. “Let me call you back.”
He hung up and leaned forward ov
er the seat. “Just up ahead. Turn onto that maintenance road and park out of sight.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it.”
They hadn’t quite reached the city limits of Everett, but Arthur had noticed a large side road leading into the forest. A rusted old convertible had parked about fifty feet off the main road, and it put him on edge. Though not sure, it looked like someone sat waiting in that car.
He did know, though, that they sat in the middle of nowhere on a not often used road that connected the city to the hotel where Aram’s family had stayed. There seemed a good chance that whenever Aram’s family finished their movie, they would use this road to get back, which made it a perfect ambush spot.
He would have done it there.
The guy did as told and drove off the road and onto a maintenance path. They didn’t go far before a large gate blocked the way, but that didn’t matter. Arthur put his hand forward between the seats. “Keys.”
“What?”
“Give me the keys and stay here.”
The guy let out a sigh, and then handed the keys to Arthur. “It’s not like I would have gone anywhere.”
Arthur ignored him and climbed out of the car, peering through the trees to see if he could spot the convertible behind them. They had gone about a quarter of a mile, he estimated. The trees grew too thick to see anything.
He circled to the trunk and popped it open. His travel bag held extra bullets, and he poured some out and dumped them into his pocket. He had two quick loaders, about fifteen extra shells, and then a full chamber. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need any of them, but better safe than sorry.
“What will you do?” the guy asked.
“Mind your own business,” Arthur said.
“You aren’t planning to …?” His eyes widened when Arthur slammed the trunk closed and held up his pistol. “I’m telling you, those guys were armed and looked ready for a fight.”
“So am I.”
“There are two of them and only one of you.”
“They don’t know I’m coming. That’s more than advantage enough.”
“I get it that the guy was your friend, but I don’t think you to want to mess with these guys. They’re serious and won’t think twice about shooting you.”
Arthur ignored the kid and opened the door. “Just stay here and keep your mouth shut.”
Before the guy could respond, he headed off into the trees, moving through the underbrush toward the access road where he’d seen the convertible. Still gloomy and gray, the rain came down a little heavier now. That made for a good thing, as it would help mask his movement through the area.
The sky grew darker even though only the middle of the afternoon, which meant a storm on the way, most likely. With luck, it would hit later rather than sooner. Arthur didn’t want to get caught in it and end up soaked and chilled.
He came up to the edge of the clearing and saw that his instinct had guided him well. The rusted-out blue convertible sat parked off to the side of the access road, hidden away from the main road and barely in sight.
A man occupied the driver’s seat, leaning back and waiting. He wore a pair of ugly yellow sunglasses. Thin tufts of black hair highlighted a balding scalp, and the rain had matted it against his forehead.
He had no idea that Arthur stood there behind his car—he focused completely on the road in front of him. Arthur glanced around, looking for the other guy the cleaner had spotted earlier at the hotel, but there seemed no one else around.
An ambush. Had to be. This guy had parked here to wait for something, and Arthur would bet good money that he sat waiting for Aram’s family. Probably planning to take them hostage, or maybe just gun them down in the street with his partner.
Neither of those situations would happen, though. Not with Arthur around.
He stepped out onto the dirt access road, walking toward the back of the blue convertible. The rain noise masked his movements, and the guy didn’t as much as flinch while Arthur approached. He had made it all the way to the driver’s door before they guy even saw him coming.
The man looked a lot uglier up close. He let out a huff and groaned when he saw Arthur, trying to grab a gun tucked between the seats, but he stopped when Arthur leveled the revolver at his face.
“Shout, and I pull the trigger.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve—”
“Hand me the gun. Slowly. Grip first.”
The guy hesitated, but when Arthur moved his gun a few inches closer, he complied. He handed Arthur the nine-millimeter pistol, and Arthur tucked it into his waistband. A walkie-talkie lay on the seat next to him; probably how he communicated with his partner.
“That too.”
The guy handed him the walkie-talkie, and Arthur put it in his pocket.
“Where’s your friend?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The other guy you came out here with,” Arthur said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“Yeah, you do. You came out here to kill some people, didn’t you? A woman and her two kids.”
The guy narrowed his eyes and reached toward the glove compartment where, no doubt, he kept a backup weapon.
Arthur didn’t shoot him, not wanting to create more noise than necessary. Instead, he flicked his wrist forward, the one not holding a gun. It held a small and balanced throwing knife, and he embedded it into the guy’s shoulder. It sunk deep and would feel incredibly painful.
The guy cried out and collapsed back onto his seat, clutching his shoulder. Arthur stepped closer to the door, keeping the gun ready.
“Think that was bad? The next one will feel a lot worse.”
“Screw off.”
“Where is your partner?”
The guy cursed at him.
“What about Leopold Glasser? The bishop. Did he hire you?”
The cleaner’s description of the main person he’d seen reminded Arthur a bit of the bishop, though not enough for him to feel sure. A look of surprise flashed across the man’s face, however, and confirmed what Arthur had guessed. The look only flashed there for a second before he composed himself.
“Who?”
Arthur smiled. “Yeah, I thought so. Where is he? Nearby? Did he stick around, or did he leave you behind to handle the wet work?”
The man didn’t reply, but the look on his face said everything. The bishop wouldn’t dirty his hands with something like this, which meant that only one other guy remained out here with him to deal with Aram’s family.
“Your partner probably went up the road to let you know when he saw them coming. Let me guess, you block off the road with your car, and he hits them from behind? Stay here. I’ll come back to talk to you in a couple of minutes, but first, I need to talk to your friend.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll just—”
In one swift motion, he bashed the guy on the side of the head with the grip of his revolver. He made sure to hit him extra hard so that he stayed unconscious.
The guy’s head lolled uncomfortably to the side, and he fell over sideways onto the passenger seat, making an odd noise. Arthur hit him again, just to make sure, and then turned back to the main road.
It proved impossible to tell where the other guy would stand in wait. Arthur stepped away from the car and scanned the area again. He didn’t see any movement, and the existence of the radio made him think the other guy might have gone a decent ways up the road.
He would have taken himself closer to Everett and the movie theater, which gave him a decent place to start looking. The problem was, if Arthur got moving and the other guy didn’t, then Arthur wouldn’t have the advantage. It made for a cat-and-mouse game that he didn’t want to play.
He needed a distraction; something to draw the other guy out of hiding.
Mmm, something like a car rolling into the road.
Arthur reached over and flipped the key to put the convertible into neutral. Then he moved
behind to the back and pushed the vehicle toward the street. It proved a heavy old thing, and the rust made it more difficult to get started, but with a little effort, he got the wheels spinning.
Luckily, he stood on the upward side of an incline. Once he got it moving, he just let it go on its way toward the street, and it kept going on its own, gradually picking up speed. Hopefully, it wouldn’t meet any oncoming traffic, and there seemed few vehicles on this particular road.
Arthur ducked to the side, moving into the trees and searching for a good vantage point. He turned down the walkie-talkie volume, picked a decent position, and watched.
The car rolled slowly into the street, and then kept going. It passed right through it and went engine first into a ditch on the opposite side. Arthur couldn’t suppress the tiniest of chuckles when the guy’s head flew forward into the steering wheel. The horn blared, and kept on blaring, when his head came to rest on the button.
A second later, the radio sputtered to life.
“What the hell, man? She ain’t here yet!”
Arthur set the radio down and waited, revolver at the ready.
“Ken? What’s up with you? Why’d you move the car? Stop with the damn horn.”
A rustling came from the foliage on the other side of the road, and Arthur watched a guy step out of hiding. He stood tall and thin, holding a radio up to his mouth. His hiding spot lay about sixty feet from the errant car, but only about twenty meters away from Arthur.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He took a few more steps out into the roadway, moving toward the convertible in the ditch, and looked nervous.
Arthur drew a bead on him. The guy tensed all of a sudden, spinning and drawing his gun. He must have heard some movement from Arthur that gave away his position.
But he moved too slowly. Arthur didn’t hesitate, acting purely on instinct. He fired off a single shot. It hit the man directly in the stomach, and he dropped his gun to the roadway, staggering sideways with a shocked look on his face.
