Aftermath

by Michael Kerr

  Sal felt a blow to his wrist, which jerked his arm sideways as he pulled the trigger. The gun flew from his hand, which drooped, almost severed from his arm like a wilted flower. He stepped back into the building, turned and ran, ignoring the pain from his thigh, his side, and now the agony that was beginning to blossom in his arm. He’d been shot, and not by Darrow. Someone else was here. He had underestimated Brandon.

  Ray saw the shape of a big man drop to his knee against the wall, and counted three muzzle flashes; four, with the one from the gun that Mendez was holding. The bubble that his mind had generated as a defense mechanism burst, and the noise of the storm almost deafened him. He twisted round and ran as fast as he could for the gates, zigzagging and expecting to feel the sudden blast of pain as a bullet hit him in the back. He reached the car, scrambled in and reversed away, only stopping to make a five-point-turn on the narrow road when he was at least two hundred yards from the entrance gates to the mine. He then sped back to the highway and headed in the direction he had come from, only slowing down when the initial fear and panic subsided and he felt safe.

  Pulling onto the forecourt of a closed-down Amoco gas station less than half a mile from Cinco, Ray turned off the lights, took deep breaths and waited for his heart rate to slow to something near normal. He was still shaking, but was now out of harm’s way and needed to think what to do next. Logan must have shot Mendez. What would he do now? Take the money and head for wherever the women where? Ray didn’t know. He took his phone out of his pocket to ring Jerry, but decided against it. What could he tell his boss, that he had failed to kill Mendez? No way, José. He still had the ability to track Logan, if he had managed to kill Mendez and get the money. Ray could follow him and at least retrieve the flash drive. Hopefully all was not lost.

  Sal ignored all the pain and kept moving along the centre of the large, vacant structure, which reminded him of an old mill or quarry building. Sporadic flashes of lightning flooded through windows that held broken fangs of glass in the jaws of their rotting frames. He veered to the side, keeping as near to the wall as possible, and came to a flight of metal stairs. Gripping the cold, steel handrail, he climbed them and came up into a virtual replica of the ground floor. The building had been emptied, and parts of the floor were hanging down. It was unsafe to move far from the stairs. From below, Sal heard footsteps approaching. Whoever had accompanied Darrow was not being cautious. Knew that he was injured and unarmed. Sal smiled. Maybe it was overconfidence and not curiosity that killed the cat.

  Looking around at his immediate surroundings, Sal spotted a two-feet-long length of thick braided steel cable on the floor, up against the wall next to the stairs. He picked it up, and then looked for somewhere to set a trap.

  Logan paused for a few seconds, still down on one knee. He watched Darrow bolt for the gates like a frightened deer. Noted that the bag that presumably held a lot of money was still on the ground at the entrance to the building, with the handgun that had fallen from Mendez’s hand just a few feet from it.

  Priorities.

  He moved forward. Picked up the handgun and tucked it in his waistband. Glanced out across the yard to see the BMW backing away from the gates at speed.

  He entered the building and could hear the ring of footsteps on stairs off to his right. Keeping low, he trotted over to the rear wall into the deepest gloom available and cautiously made his way towards where he had heard Mendez ascending. Maybe the hitman had a second weapon with him, but Logan doubted that. But the man was still dangerous, in the way that all wounded predators are.

  Logan arrived at the flight of stairs and mounted them one step at a time, slowly and silently, finger curled around the trigger of his gun, all set to squeeze off a shot at anything that moved.

  His head rose up above the level of the first floor, and Logan stopped and looked around the cavernous space. There did not appear to be anywhere for Mendez to hide, apart from behind one of the wide support girders that ran the length of the Building. He took another step, and then another.

  The sudden, powerful blow to his right shoulder instantly paralyzed his arm, and the pistol dropped from his limp fingers to clang on three of the metal stairs before it bounced off and fell to the concrete floor below.

  Logan turned and jerked sideways, to be struck a second blow that glanced off the side of his head, grazing it. Falling backwards, he saw the shape of Mendez appear above him, illuminated by a long, stuttering flash of lightning.

  Sal rushed down the steps with his uninjured arm raised back. He had disarmed the man, injured him, and was only feet away from him, moving quickly like a squat spider, totally focused and intent on caving in the other man’s skull with the makeshift weapon he had found.

  As Logan tumbled back he shot his hand out and grasped hold of one of the round metal railings, arresting his fall. His shoulder muscles and biceps tore as he came to a sudden stop.

  Not expecting his intended victim to come to such an abrupt standstill halfway down the flight of stairs, Sal collided into him, fell over him, and curled up in a ball as he bumped down the last few steps to the ground.

  Logan got to his feet and followed Mendez down, drawing the killer’s own gun from his waistband, fully intending to shoot him dead.

  Sal had many qualities. Most of them were bad, but dogged determination and the will to win were two that would have been thought highly commendable in most people.

  As Logan stepped off the stairs and approached him, Sal lashed out with his legs, slamming them into Logan’s ankles and knocking him over like a bowling pin.

  They lay almost face to face, strange bedfellows; both intent on killing the other. Logan raised the pistol between them, but Sal grasped his wrist and jerked it sideways a millisecond before a bullet left the muzzle, to punch a hole through the rusting galvanized iron of the wall that they were only inches from. Sal was a strong man, and was totally confident that he could overcome the man that he knew by his size must be Logan. Summoning up every ounce of his remaining strength, he clenched Logan’s wrist with his powerful, stubby fingers and twisted hard until the gun dropped to the floor.

  Logan was a little surprised by Mendez’s physical strength. It had been a very long time since he had come up against another man that could hold his own against him. But physical strength was only a small part of hand-to-hand combat.

  Logan pulled his head back three inches, and then jerked it forward with all the force he could muster. His forehead connected with Mendez’s mouth, mashing his top lip against front teeth that broke under the impact.

  Sal let out an anguished cry, and then bellowed louder as Logan followed up with a knee to his groin.

  In the second that followed, Logan Found Mendez’s nose with his mouth, to envelop it and bite down hard, twisting and tearing until a large part of it came free. As he spat the gobbet of warm, bloody flesh onto the ridged concrete floor, he reached down with his now free left hand and pulled the lock knife from where it nestled under the sock of his right boot, to flip the blade out and bring it up with an underarm thrust, plunging it into his opponent’s upper abdomen, into his heart.

  Sal did not know that he had been mortally wounded. The white-hot agony emanating from where his nose had been overrode all else. There was merely a sensation of a tightening in his chest.

  Logan waited. Mendez went rigid, and after several seconds he inhaled deeply, and the realization that he was dying became apparent in his widening eyes. The man that had made his living from killing others was now a victim.

  Even as his last breath wheezed from his open mouth, Sal’s left hand shot out with the speed of a striking cuttlefish, and like powerful tentacles his fingers grasped Logan by the throat, only to almost instantly fall away as a strong seizure wracked his body.

  Logan withdrew the blade from the corpse’s chest, got to his hands and knees and regained his breath before climbing to his feet.

  He hurt, but appreciated that he was still capable of feeling anything
. He’d just had a close call, and knew it.

  After collecting up the guns, he used his shirt tail to wipe any prints from them, before placing Mendez’s weapon back in the dead man’s hand, making sure that the index finger was in the trigger guard.

  Ray waited. Twenty minutes passed. Nothing. He had switched on the small tracking unit, but the green light was steady. So far, Logan had not moved the holdall. Ray considered phoning Logan, but decided against it. He just sat and watched the minutes mount up on the LCD display of his dashboard clock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Logan gripped the body by the shoulders and heaved it up into a sitting position against the wall. Checked the pockets and took a thousand bucks from the wallet: ten crisp hundred dollar bills. To the victor go the spoils. He also took a cell phone and a small flashlight, before allowing the remains of Sal Mendez to topple over. He then gripped the collar of the dead man’s jacket and dragged him across the floor, out into the now easing rain, to head for the mine’s entrance.

  A weathered sign stating Danger and No Admittance was hanging from one of the two locked doors that formed an arch. Someone had once said that Logan was big enough and strong enough to kick doors down. He was. One devastating kick from the sole of his boot and the rusted padlock and chain flew off the door. He pulled one of the doors back about three feet and hauled the body inside.

  Sal’s final journey was to say the least undignified. Belching noises erupted from the corpse’s open mouth as it was unceremoniously towed over the tar-blackened sleepers of a narrow gauge rail track that led deep into the tunnel.

  Logan thumbed on the flashlight and shone its beam around. Saw a side tunnel on the left and made his way into it. After several yards he came to a waist-high wooden obstruction with black and yellow diagonal hazard stripes painted on it. Behind the hurdle was a vertical hole in the ground. He leaned over the hurdle-shaped obstruction, aimed the bright cone of light down into the manmade pit, but could not see the bottom.

  With supreme effort, Logan lifted the literally dead weight up off the rocky ground and let it topple down into the darkness. He heard a muffled thump, and decided that it could be a very long time before the body was discovered.

  Back at the entrance, Logan shut the doors and replaced the hasp and chain as best he could. He then went back to the main building and retrieved the guns. All that was left to remove was the holdall standing in the doorway. He knelt and unzipped it. Poked his fingers down through the wads of bills until he came to the blank paper bundles that had been used as filler.

  Returning to the Discovery, Logan stuffed the money under the front seat, before heaving the bag as far as he could into the forest. He then drove into the yard, around the building, to find Mendez’s car parked at the rear. He gave it some thought. Decided that the car, when discovered, would prove to be stolen and have false plates. No worry. And even if it led to a search of the mine, there was nothing to connect him to Mendez. Damn! There was; DNA. Traces of his blood would be found on the corpse, and fingerprints.

  Logan jogged back to the Discovery for what he needed, then returned to the mine, retraced his steps and collected up and tossed pieces of planking into the pit, before emptying the contents of a two-gallon can of gas into it. He had found a book of matches in the glove box of the SUV, and tearing one free he struck it and ignited all the others before dropping the cluster of burning cardboard sticks and phosphorus in after the gas.

  Pulling back, Logan was almost flattened by the initial blast of heat and orange flame that erupted from the deep hole. Hopefully there would be enough oxygen to keep the fire going until all traces of him were burned away from Mendez’s body.

  Back in the car, he headed to the main road and mulled over what to do. Brandon was still a potential problem, unless the contents of the memory stick became public. Sending it to the Charleston police was the way to go. He would much rather deal personally with the man who had instigated so much death and hardship, but that was not a practical solution. Maybe a ruined life and hopefully a long prison term would be more of a punishment than a bullet in the head.

  He was tired. His shoulder and head hurt, and as he passed the defunct gas station he failed to see the shape of the BMW sat next to the wall in the gloom, half-hidden by the row of pumps that shielded it from view.

  Ray watched the green light on the receiver blink, and heard the bleep from the small speaker as the tracker began to move. He felt a surge of relief. The money was on the move, and as the gaps between the bleeps shortened, he knew that Logan was drawing near.

  He saw the Discovery pass by, but waited until the bleeps were almost a second apart before turning his lights on and following. He did not want to be seen. Knew that if Logan even suspected that he was being followed, then he would not head back to wherever the women were in hiding. If he was to have any chance of being with Gloria, then he would have to succeed. He would be ultra-careful, let Logan lead him to the women, and then, when he had the incriminating memory stick in his hand and had checked its contents, he would shoot them all.

  Logan phoned the number he had for Ray Darrow.

  Ray knew who was calling on the disposable phone. He let it ring for awhile, turned the receiver off so that it wouldn’t bleep, and then answered. “Yeah?”

  “Where are you, Ray?” Logan asked.

  “On my way back to the city.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want see you again, ever. You got lucky tonight. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yeah, Logan. And thanks, I got myself in a tight spot with Mendez. Is he dead?”

  Logan said nothing. Just switched off the phone.

  Ray turned the receiver back on and kept driving, following the signal. He knew without doubt that if he made a single mistake, then Logan would kill him. The call had been a clear warning. He had only caught a glimpse of the man as he had snapped off the shots at Mendez, but was convinced that he was extremely skilled. But what else could he do but attempt to finish what he’d started. There was no way that he could go back to Charleston without the money or the memory stick. He had a choice, cut and run, or take the biggest risk of his life. There were no guarantees. The best laid plans could turn to shit in a second. But Logan had seen him run away from the mine, and would assume that he didn’t have the guts to make a move against him. If he backed-off now and headed for Ohio, then he would always feel like a spineless failure. He wanted Gloria, and a good life with plenty of money. The element of surprise would be on his side when he met Logan again.

  The phone rang. Gloria picked up. Jerry was sitting on the settee, drowning his sorrows as he started in on his fourth large Scotch. He was consumed with anger and stress. Thought that Darrow probably didn’t have what it took to do what needed to be done. Logan was an extremely dangerous son of a bitch, and would expect Jerry to have him and the fucking Jennings’ women whacked.

  “Who is it?” Jerry said.

  “Ray,” Gloria answered, walking across the lounge and handing him the phone.

  “What happened?” Jerry demanded.

  “Everything is going to plan, boss,” Ray said. “I got in a shootout with Mendez. He’s dead. Then I left the money with Logan and drove away. The tracker’s working and I’m following him now.”

  Jerry felt the same way he had when he’d secured his first big contract to supply fleet cars to a major catering organization. Euphoria flooded through him. This problem was beginning to dissolve like sugar in hot coffee. Mendez and Naylor were now dead. Lester’s statement was worthless without proof to back it up, and Logan was unaware that he was being followed, and that he would soon be taken care of.

  “Good work, Ray,” Jerry said. “Don’t lose him for Christ’s sake. And don’t take any chances; he’s a real piece of work. You get this done and you’re future’s secure.”

  “OK, boss,” Ray said, feeling a false sense of pride, considering that he’d done nothing, apart from nearly getting shot.

  “Keep me up
to speed, Ray,” Jerry said before ending the call.

  “Well?” Gloria said. “What happened?”

  Jerry grinned for the first time in days. “You were right about Darrow, sweetheart. He took care of Mendez, and he’s on Logan’s tail. I’m starting to believe that by this time tomorrow all our troubles will be over.”

  “That’s great, Jerry,” Gloria said. “It’ll be good to get back to not having to worry about anything.”

  Logan crossed the Kanawha River and picked up I-79 north. It was late and he was hungry and tired. He drove up as far as Burnsville and left the interstate to stop at a well lit strip mall. Parked at the front of a Black Angus steakhouse, got out of the car and attempted to brush the damp concrete dust off his jacket and pants. Problem was he had blood on his clothes. He got back in the Discovery and checked his face in the rearview. There was blood matted in his hair and drying where it had run down around his ear and onto his neck from the glancing blow that Mendez had struck him.

  He drove back out onto the highway and carried on till he reached a rest stop. Went into the rest room and cleaned up. As he patted his face dry with paper towels, a tall black guy – a heavier looking version of Morgan Freeman – came out of a door marked staff only, carrying a mop and bucket.

  “Wonder if you could help me?” Logan said to him.

  “Depends what you need,” George Hunt said to Logan, giving him the once over. “You got a name, friend?”

  “Logan.”

  “I’m George. What kind of trouble you in?”

  “Two guys tried to mug me. I need some clean clothes. I can pay you.”

  “What happened to the fools that picked on a guy your size?” George asked.

  “They came off second best,” Logan said.

  George thought about it. Decided to make the effort and help the guy. And he could always use a few extra bucks. Times were hard, and Obama talked big but wasn’t making things any better. Seemed like the whole world was sliding down the pan. “This ain’t no JCPenny store, Logan. I got a pair of overalls and a baseball cap I can spare.”