“Jesus,” Vance said.
“What is it?” Braun asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” Vance said, as Braun kept driving. Vance turned and looked through the rear window to see the lights of the Nissan sports car turn a corner behind them.
“I don’t care how stupid it sounds, for Christ’s sake, spit it out!”
“I’m not sure, I didn’t get a good look at him, but I for a second I thought that was the Walker kid,” Vance said.
“Mitch Walker?” Braun asked.
“I didn’t get a real good look, but it sure seemed like him. Couldn’t have been, right? What the fuck would he be...”
Braun swung the car around, tires screeching, and headed back towards the corner.
***
Mitch entered the wharf by another side street and stopped at a boom gate manned by a heavy guard.
“Lean out the window and let me see you,” the guy said. Mitch did as he was asked. “Okay, come through,” he said, opening the boom gate.
“Where do I go?” Mitch asked.
“Straight ahead, you’ll see,” the guard said, then spoke into his radio, “he’s here.”
Mitch drove along the ill-lit road lined with containers and crates. At the end of the it, another guard was waving a glowing baton, signaling Mitch down a dark laneway lined with boxes and crates. Perfect place for a bunch of guys to spring out and ambush him. He drove ahead.
***
Braun and Vance drove up to the manned security entrance, Braun leaning out the window with his badge.
“You see a blue Nissan sports sedan around here in the past few minutes?” he asked.
“No. Nobody here except you and me,” the guard said, shaking his head with a hint of a smile. Braun eyeballed the guy, looking for any hint that he was lying. He didn’t like the look him, but finally nodded and reversed back to the road. The guard picked up his radio. “Some cops just paid a visit. Looking for your boy.”
***
“The son of a bitch brought the cops,” Cakes said. Now Cakes, Canella and Doc were standing by Doc’s van on the wharf side of the shed.
“No he didn’t,” said Canella. “If he had, they wouldn’t come asking, they’d storm the place,” she said.
“She’s right,” said Doc, “that fucking SWAT crew would be all over us.”
“No shooting,” Canella said, as Cakes put the radio back on his belt.
“So what do we do, eyeball him to death?” Cakes asked.
“You could breathe on him, that’d probably do the job,” Doc said.
“Funny, coming from you,” Cakes said.
“Talk him into coming onboard. Once we take them out to sea we can do business and dump them in the water,” Canella said. Cakes and Doc nodded.
***
Mitch drove towards the large shed, light emanating from the open entrance. He took a breath and looked over to the Glock .30 on the passenger seat, then stashed it under his seat and headed inside the shed.
Mitch drove down the middle of the shed through the stacks of containers, barrels and pallets, some looked about a hundred feet high, close to the rafters. Through the open roller doors at the far end he could see Doc and two others standing on the quay, smoking cigarettes. Waiting for him. Doc hit a button on the wall and in the rear view mirror Mitch noticed the door behind closing. He slowly drove the Nissan all the way out through the roller door onto the quay, stopped and kept the engine running. Cakes and Canella stood on one side of the car, Doc on the other.
“Nice wheels,” Cakes said.
“Shut off the engine,” Doc said.
“Where’s Peter?” Mitch asked.
“He’s on the boat. Shut off the engine so we can talk,” Doc said.
“I want to see him,” Mitch said.
“Peter!” Doc called out, looking at the boat.
The boy’s head appeared through a window.
“Hi Mitch!” Peter called. Mitch waved to his nephew. The sight of the boy looking so well made him smile.
“Did you know you brought the cops with you?” Doc asked.
“No I didn’t!” Mitch said.
“Yeah, you did, they’re out the front.
“I didn’t see any,” Mitch said.
“We don’t have time to argue,” Doc said, “You coming?”
“No,” Mitch said.
“You’re not going to leave your nephew, are you?” Cakes asked.
“No, I’m not. I’m going to give you something in exchange for my nephew,” Mitch said.
“Oh, really?” Cakes asked. “Better be good!”
“It’s your freedom,” Mitch said. He then put an arm out the window and tossed the USB thumb drive onto the ground before them. “That was given to me by the woman you sent to kill me. She must’ve had a change of heart. It details your crimes for the past few years. Drugs, murder, all of it,” Mitch said.
“That fucking bitch!” Cakes said.
Doc picked up the USB. “You expect us to believe that?” he asked.
“How else would I know about all that?” Mitch asked. “Of course, I’ve made a copy and if my nephew and I don’t get out of here alive, it goes to the police. But if you let us go, and leave me alone, I give you my word I’ll destroy the copy, and I’ll do my time in prison without incriminating you.”
Cakes, Doc and Canella looked at each other, as if communicating telepathically.
“Alright,” Canella said. “We’ve got a computer on the boat. As a sign of good faith, I want you to come onboard and show us the USB on the computer.”
“I can’t do that,” Mitch said.
Cakes reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a Berretta.
“Get out of the fucking car,” Cakes said.
***
Peter watched out the window.
The bad man is going to shoot Uncle Mitch!
But Mitch stayed put. Then Canella pulled a .44 Magnum handgun from inside her trench coat, so now there were two guns pointed at his Uncle Mitch. He looked at the remote, still in his hands, as it showed the stand-off from a different angle, from the chest-cam.
***
Standing on the quay with his gun raised, Betts had perfectly flanked Canella, Cakes and Doc. His immediate impulse was to take them out there and then, shoot to kill. He knew he was good enough to do it, to fatally shoot all three before they got a shot off. But eighteen years of being a professional made him hesitate. If you shoot them now it’s murder! You’ll get your chance if you follow procedure!
“Freeze!” he called, his Glock in one hand, his badge in the other. Cakes, Canella and Doc turned slightly, looking at him.
“Where’s your warrant?” Canella demanded.
“Put the weapons down!” Betts yelled.
“What, are you by yourself? Where’s your backup?” Cakes asked.
“You wanna take a shot?” Betts said. “Last chance. Weapons down.”
Cakes and Canella looked at each other for a moment, then she nodded and they lowered their weapons. Betts approached, primed to shoot, eyes on their weapons as they placed them on the concrete.
“Now get on the ground, slowly,” Betts commanded. “Walker, get out of the vehicle.”
Mitch stepped out of the car, leaving the engine running.
***
Inside the boat Peter watched from Betts’s perspective, seeing his gun extended in front of the camera so what appeared on the screen was exactly like a first person shooter video game. The cross hairs in the middle of the screen lined up almost exactly with the end of the gun.
As Betts approached the three crooks and his uncle Mitch, Peter put his thumb on the red button, ready to push it. He wasn’t going to give the bad man a chance to pull his gun again. He was going to shoot him. The screen shifted around and soon the bad man was right in the crosshairs. Peter pushed down on the button.
***
Betts stopped, noticing the warning buzz in his chest. Oh fuck! How is this happenin
g? Then the blast burst through him and Betts collapsed onto his knees in agony.
Cakes turned and looked at him, curious. He climbed to his feet as Betts tried to maintain control of the gun, but his hand clawed and curled involuntarily and he dropped it. Cakes pounced, booting the weapon across the concrete all the way to the edge of the quay.
***
Peter kept pressing hard on the button, but the screen point of view was on its side, the way it would look if his video character were shot dead.
***
Canella picked up her handgun and she and Cakes stalked towards Betts, who was crouched on the ground.
“It’s the taser!” Canella said “must be the boy operating it! We might have use for the kid yet!”
Cakes pulled his leg back and gave Betts a hefty kick to the face, breaking one of his canine teeth.
“Motherfucker!” Cakes said, clutching his shoe, “I think I busted my toe!”
Canella stepped in for Cakes, booting Betts to the ribs. Mitch scrambled back inside the car, the engine still idling. When Doc turned and stepped towards him, Mitch slammed the stick into first gear and put his foot down. Doc fled from the speeding car, squeezing between two containers. Cakes tried to do the same but Mitch lined him up and made a direct hit, sending the barrel-of-a-man flying over the roof of the car as Canella scrambled to safety. Mitch swerved away from Betts and hit the brakes, screeching to a halt on the edge of the quay.
Peter took his finger off the button and watched through the window as Betts got back to his hands and knees, spitting tooth fragments from his bloody mouth.
Cakes groaned in agony on the ground, a bone sticking through the left leg of his trousers.
“Cock sucking son of a slut!” he screamed, unloading a frenzy of gunfire at the Nissan.
***
Braun was driving the streets as the shots echoed throughout the wharf. “That’s our cue!” he said to Vance, and swung the car around.
***
Mitch lay low in the seat as glass fragments exploded all over the interior. He put the car into reverse and floored it, blind-driving backwards in the direction of the gunfire. But he didn’t get far, careening into the solid steel doorframe of the shed. The gun beneath the seat was sent flying into the backwards.
The electric charge had stopped surging through Betts and though he was in pain and desperate for oxygen, he forced himself onto his feet and scuttled over to his gun, lying on the edge of the quay. He grabbed it and turned around, only to see Cakes facing him with a Berretta in hand. Betts raised his gun to shoot but Cakes beat him to it.
***
Peter watched as the flash of light sped head-on into the camera in a split second before the screen went black, the gunshot echoing over the wharf. Peter recoiled like he’d been shot, then looked outside to see Betts falling backwards and plunging into the water. Peter gasped and then looked over to the car Mitch was driving.
***
Betts was calm as he sank and the Glock slipped from his limp hands. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t feel any emotion at all. He just observed what was happening. Gunshot wound to the heart. Most likely fatal. If not, I’ll drown.
***
Mitch reached under the seat for the handgun but it was beyond his reach.
“Show me your hands,” Canella said, shoving the nozzle of the .44 magnum into his ear. He obliged her and she ushered him out of the car.
***
Braun sped towards the security gate, lights flashing, siren screaming. Vance held the radio to his mouth. “Shots fired at the Port of Los Angeles, Berth 36, back up requested. All available units.”
The security guard tried to wave the car down, but scurried as Braun accelerated towards him. The car ploughed through the boom gate and roared into the yard.
***
Mitch climbed onto the rear deck of the boat, Canella’s gun in his back. Behind her, Cakes was sobbing in pain as Doc helped him onboard.
“I’m gonna kill this piece of shit, and I ain’t gonna do it quick!”
“Yeah, just wait till we cast off,” Doc said. He looked over the stern to see Betts bobbing lifelessly on his back.
In the galley Peter played with the remote device, hitting all the levers and controls. But the screen remained blank.
The sirens drew nearer as Canella planted a foot in Mitch’s back and shoved him down the steps into the galley. He fell onto the floor at Peter’s feet.
Canella rushed to the cockpit. “Untie the moorings, Doc!” she yelled, as she started the engines.
Doc left Cakes clutching his bloody shin on a deck seat and rushed back onto the quay, removing the rear mooring from a bollard and tossing it onto the boat. There was another attached to the starboard side, and one up on the bow.
***
Betts bobbed in the water behind the boat, water seeping into his mouth and nostrils. The bullet had not ruptured any organs or burst any major blood vessels. It hadn’t caused any bleeding whatsoever. But it had slammed directly into the chest-cam, which was encased in solid steel. The impact had forced the contraption back suddenly against his heart with great force and caused commotio cordis: a sudden heart attack. Without resuscitation, he would die.
***
Mitch sat in the booth next to Peter. “You okay, Pete?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“I’m okay. Do you think you could run if you had to?”
“Yes,” Peter said.
“Good, get ready.”
As Cakes hobbled down the steps into the galley, Mitch gestured for Peter to keep quiet. With the Berretta in one hand, Cakes leaned against the wall and pulled open a cabinet. Inside was a first aid kit. He dug through it, pulling out a packet of painkillers, and popped several of them into his mouth, all the while eyeing Mitch. He opened the fridge, cracked a beer, and sucked half of it down. Then he hobbled beside Mitch, turned away from him for a moment, then whipped the Berretta into the side of Mitch’s face. Mitch recoiled, and braced for more of the same. Peter screamed and began to cry.
“That’s for my leg, you little cockhead,” Cakes said.
Cakes noticed the remote on the table in front of Peter, who was still sobbing. “It’s okay, you can stop crying. No more hitting. Hey, you did a great job with this, buddy,” he said. He took the remote and looked at the black screen. “We better make sure though, hey? Barbecue time!” He hit the red button, holding it down with relish at the thought that he might be inflicting more damage to Betts, even if he was already dead.
Betts was floating behind the boat, limbs drifting about like reeds on a reef. The steel housing of the chest-cam device was now touching his heart. Inside the chest-cam, in a watertight chamber, was the taser. As Cakes pressed the red button on the remote, a high voltage charge shot from the electrodes into the steel housing and into the outer wall of Betts’ heart. The current crackled, then the heart contracted and began to beat. The taser had had the same effect as a defibrillator and Betts was shocked back to life.
***
As the sirens got louder, Cakes tossed the remote back onto the chair and shuffled to the window. The flashing blue and red lights couldn’t be seen but their beams lit up the quay beyond the shed.
***
Betts surged out of the water and coughed violently, expelling the water from his lungs. He reached out and grabbed the transom board at the back of the boat, clinging to the small platform with both hands.
Doc was on the jetty, removing the last of the moorings, which he tossed onto the boat then hustled onto the rear deck.
“Okay, all clear!” he yelled.
Canella put the throttle down, the twin engines churning up the water as the boat began to move away from the jetty.
***
Cakes was still looking out the window, the Beretta in hand. Mitch, nursing a swollen cheek, looked at Cakes through his fingers and saw he was off guard. Knowing that this was probably their best and last chance to escape what would surely be a horrible
death, he jumped across the table, lunging at Cakes’ gun-hand. He slammed it against the wall.
“Run! Get off the boat!” he yelled to Peter, wrestling Cakes. Peter ran up the steps and out onto the rear deck where Doc was standing.
“Get back inside,” Doc said.
Peter ran to the port side, eyeing the widening gap between the boat and the jetty. He climbed up onto the gunnel.
Cakes sat squashing Mitch on the bench, a handful of Mitch’s hair in one hand, the Beretta jammed into Mitch’s throat with the other.
Peter came down the steps with Doc behind him.
“If only you hadn’t fucked up in the airport. You had to get drunk, didn’t you?”
“You didn’t give me enough painkillers. Four pills for a fourteen hour flight!” Mitch said.
“That’s a fair point. I’ll remember that for the next mule.”
***
Driving through the shed, Braun noticed the banged up Nissan at the far end. He parked beside it and he and Vance pulled their guns and investigated, finding it empty. Braun looked around the quay. There was smeared blood on the concrete where Mitch had run down Cakes.
“Looks like we just missed whatever went down,” he said. Then he looked over the water and saw the CarnivOrca cruising out through the heads of the harbor. Vance ducked out of the Nissan holding the handgun in his gloved hand.
“Police issue firearm,” he said.
“Get a hold of the Coast guard!”
Brazen Violations Page 15
