Ryan Lock 01 - Lockdown

by Sean Black

  ‘Don’t worry about them,’ Lock said. ‘While we may be in a twelve-thousand-dollar Toyota compact and they’re in fifty thousand dollars’ worth of specially modified government-issue steel, we have a few things in our favour.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Well, for starters, I’m driving a stick,’ Lock explained, banging it into gear and accelerating away as the lights turned green.

  Don glanced over his shoulder again to see the SUV also lurching forward. ‘I don’t think that’s going to be enough somehow.’

  ‘You didn’t let me finish,’ Lock said, continuing to accelerate as they reached the next intersection. ‘More importantly, the problem with what they’re driving is that not only is it an SUV, it’s also uparmoured. Which means . . .’ He concentrated hard on his next manoeuvre, changing down as he came into the corner, braking at the apex and accelerating out again. ‘That it corners like a rubber brick.’

  Behind them, the black SUV had dropped back. Too far back. As Lock had predicted, the driver sped up when he should have slowed in an attempt to reel in his target. He took the corner too fast and the wheels of the heavy high-sided vehicle lost traction. As the SUV lurched from one side to the other the driver eased down on the brakes to bring the vehicle back under control.

  Behind them, Ty, driving the Yukon, took his opportunity, braking a second too late and rear-ending the FBI vehicle. It lurched forward suddenly, both front airbags deploying. Both vehicles came to a halt.

  Ty made his way over to the FBI vehicle, pulling open the driver-side door as the driver pushed the airbag out of the way.

  ‘Sorry, man,’ Ty said, ‘you kinda slowed down too fast for me. Braking distance on these things is a bitch, ain’t it? Listen, you want to take down my insurance details?’

  Ty peered yokel-mouthed into the back where the comms guy was pulling off a set of headphones while simultaneously trying to extract the front seat from his mouth.

  ‘Ah, shoot, you fellas ain’t cops, are you?’

  Twenty-eight

  Lock took a deep breath and charged through the apartment door. A blast of a very different kind almost knocked him off his feet. The air reeked of death and decay. His stomach lurched as he stepped down the narrow hallway, matted with old newspapers and other, less salubrious organic matter.

  Outside, at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the homeless man he’d passed on the way in, engaged in a one-sided philosophical discourse. ‘Damn bitches. Draining a nigga dry. Where’s the justice, brother?’

  Don and Janice were in the car, Janice exhausted by the day’s events and Don unwilling to face Cody.

  If Cody was here.

  Lock toed open an already semi-open door leading into a living room area. An elderly woman, sat in an armchair, the TV still on, the volume turned down. She wasn’t breathing. Her eyes were closed.

  A big ginger tom cat sat on her lap, gnawing away at her hand. From the scratches on her face, it was obvious her hand hadn’t been the only part of her body to get attention.

  Lock stepped towards it. ‘Get.’

  The cat waited long enough to show who was boss, then jumped back down on to the floor.

  Lock left the body and checked the other rooms. Even with a Vicks inhaler up each nostril, a trick employed by cops and emergency medical technicians, no one could have borne the stench for more than a few minutes.

  Back out on the walkway, his body got the better of him, and he threw up. Black shapes swam in front of his eyes. Here it comes, he thought. The first blackout. But it didn’t. His stomach stopped rolling in on itself and his head cleared enough to enable him to dial 911.

  In this part of the Bronx, Lock guessed that a dead body alone in an apartment didn’t merit a dash to the scene, and the cops took their own sweet time. If the authorities didn’t care too much how this woman had lived, why would it change now that she was dead?

  He walked back down to the car. Janice blanched when she saw him. ‘Are you OK?’

  Concern from a dying woman made him feel worse. Don got out of the car and Lock told him what he’d found inside.

  ‘That’ll be Cody’s mom.’

  Lock got Don to give him a quick description. It checked out. He didn’t want to ask Don to go inside and take a look. Not today.

  ‘Listen, Cody might be a little crazy, but there’s no way he would’ve—’

  ‘I know.’

  There had been no sign of any major trauma, stabbing or bullet wounds.

  ‘Were Cody and his mom close?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘She involved in the movement?’

  ‘That’s what got Cody started.’

  Perfect. Lock reached into his jacket for his cell and handed it to Don. ‘Start putting the word out. But don’t say anything to anyone about her being dead, just say that something’s happened. That she’s in a bad way. Oh, and get back in the car, we need to keep moving.’

  If they were to find Cody Parker, he wasn’t going to do it in convoy.

  Lock drove as Don made the calls in the back, Lock insisting it stay on speaker so he could hear both ends. Six calls in, they were getting warmer. A woman at an unofficial ‘animal shelter’ out on Long Island confirmed that Cody was out getting supplies, but that he’d be back.

  As primed by Lock, Don told her to warn off Cody from going to his mom’s place. ‘The cops are all over the place.’

  ‘You found her?’ the woman asked Don.

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Then Cody’ll want to speak to you.’

  Twenty-nine

  On the way, they dropped off Janice at a neat suburban house in Dix Hills, owned by a woman whose daughter had also suffered from MS and who had met Janice in a support group for families affected by the condition. The woman took one look at Lock and hustled Janice into her home, slamming the door without a backward glance.

  Lock called back in to Meditech and got Brand, who informed him with delight that Ty was being held by the Feds, and that both Van Stratens were far from happy bunnies. Lock thanked him for the update. None of it mattered: they were getting closer to Josh. Lock could feel it.

  On the way to the shelter, Don filled Lock in on Cody’s background. Run by volunteers, and used to house animals ‘liberated’ by the movement, there were shelters dotted around the country. A kind of Underground Railroad for quadrupeds, Lock thought. When animals were taken, they were still technically the property of the company that had been using them for experiments, so the shelters where they were kept tended to stay off the radar. Only the most trusted of activists knew their location, which made Lock wonder just where Don Stokes fell on the spectrum of extremism.

  The shelter they were about to visit was run by a woman with whom Cody had an on-off relationship.

  A chorus of barking from the back of the house greeted their arrival. Lock checked his Sig. When he saw the gun, Don’s attitude shifted.

  ‘No guns,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s one of the rules.’

  ‘One of the rules for you whackjobs maybe. I’ve got my own rules. And right around number six is, when confronting a wanted felon, carry a gun.’

  ‘You’re not gonna turn him in, are you?’

  ‘That all depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘If he has Josh Hulme,’ Lock said, failing to add that if Cody did have him, he’d be turning him in as a corpse.

  ‘He doesn’t. You have to believe me.’

  ‘Let’s go see, then.’

  In truth, Lock had no intention of handing Cody Parker to the authorities. Not yet, anyway. If Cody was arrested, Lock knew the first thing he’d do would be to lawyer up and take the Fifth.

  The house had been painted white but had faded to yellow, and the front yard was overgrown. Don led the way round the side. Lock followed a few steps behind. They were greeted by a pack of dogs who bounded up to them, a blur of wagging tails and lolling tongues. A boisterous ye
llow Labrador Retriever, shaped like a bowling ball and carrying about the same momentum, shoved its nose into Lock’s crotch. The top of the dog’s head showed a rectangular scar pattern where its skin had been peeled away. Lock wondered if it was the poster dog for the Meditech protests. He scratched behind its ears and it nuzzled in even closer to him.

  ‘That’s Angel. She was pulled out of a lab in Austin.’

  They turned the corner to find Cody Parker, lugging an industrial-size bag of puppy chow. He stared at Lock for a second before turning to Don, but made no move. Nor did he seem to register any grief. Maybe the woman Don had spoken to hadn’t yet broken the bad news.

  ‘They got her, huh?’ he said to Don.

  Uh-oh, thought Lock, here we go. All aboard the paranoid express.

  Cody threw down the sack of chow. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Ryan Lock.’

  Cody was a big guy with a hooker-blonde ponytail that snaked halfway down his back. Six four and two hundred and ten pounds, none of it fat.

  ‘I remember now. Meditech. Come to kill me too?’ Cody asked, shifting another bag.

  ‘You don’t really believe that?’ Lock said, caught flat-footed by the question.

  ‘That my mother was murdered or that you’re here to kill me?’ Cody stood, feet apart, arms by his side, way too relaxed to believe the second part. ‘If it’s the latter, I don’t see why you’d have brought a witness.’

  ‘OK, so why would someone have wanted to murder your mom?’

  ‘Because they think I’ve got something.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said they think I have, not that I do.’

  ‘One of the places Cody was staying got robbed a few weeks back,’ Don said, filling in.

  Lock thought back to the apartment in the Bronx. How low did a burglar’s ambitions have to be to target a shithole like that, never mind kill an old lady?

  ‘What’d they take?’

  ‘Papers mostly.’

  ‘What was in them?’

  ‘Details of places they torture animals.’

  ‘You mean laboratories?’

  ‘Among other places.’

  ‘But Meditech are discontinuing their animal testing.’

  ‘That’s what they all say.’

  ‘Listen, I’m here to find Josh Hulme.’

  ‘He thinks you took him,’ added Don.

  Cody didn’t blink. ‘And why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Because you’re capable of it,’ Lock interjected.

  ‘Everyone’s capable of some serious shit if they’re pushed hard enough.’

  ‘So would you mind if I had a look around?’

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  Lock crossed to the screen door at the back of the house. Cody, Don and the Labrador followed him inside. He tried to shoo the dog away but it plodded on after him.

  ‘Must be more messed up in the head than we thought,’ Cody mused, with a nod to the dog.

  Lock scratched at her scar as she rubbed against his legs. If Cody had Josh here, he was remarkably calm.

  ‘You know a girl called Natalya Verovsky?’

  ‘Know the name, sure. Same as I know the name of Richard Hulme. And his son. Been all over the news.’

  ‘You know the FBI are looking for you?’

  ‘Not about this they ain’t.’

  ‘Only a matter of time. I doubt grave robbery to kidnapping would be much of a stretch for a jury. Unless you’re denying digging up Eleanor Van Straten as well.’

  Cody looked straight at Don. A dead giveaway. Cody knew it too. ‘Have to plead the Fifth on that one, my friend,’ he said. ‘But lemme ask you a question.’

  Lock stopped in the middle of the living room. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Why’d Gray Stokes get his head blown off? And don’t give me that stale bullshit the media have been feeding the folks at home about the sniper aiming for Van Straten and missing. That was some cold shit right there. One shot. One kill.’

  ‘I can’t answer that question.’

  Cody stared straight at him. ‘Well I can.’

  Lock sat down on a couch matted with dog hair. Angel dropped her head in his lap and stared up at him with thousand-year-old brown eyes. ‘Enlighten me, then,’ he said.

  ‘Are you for real, brother? Stokes and everyone else in the movement had been yanking Meditech’s chain for months. The way we saw it, if we could get them to stop using animals, a big power-house corporation like that, all the others would fall into line. But they dug their heels in. Just kept hiring more and more guys like you. Then, out of the clear blue sky, they cave. How come?’

  Lock was silent.

  ‘Man, I might not have all the answers, but at least I’ve got some of the right questions,’ Cody said.

  ‘Say they got tired of the intimidation,’ Lock offered. ‘It happens.’

  Cody burst out laughing. ‘To individuals, sure. But to a company who’re going after a big contract from the Pentagon?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, but nobody’s supposed to know about that, are they?’

  ‘So how come you do?’

  ‘You think we don’t have people on the inside too? People might join a company like Meditech, buying into all the soft soap about curing cancer, but some of them open their eyes. It’s all about the money. Always has been. Always will be.’

  ‘So what’s this got to do with Josh Hulme? Or Gray Stokes, for that matter?’

  ‘Like I said, I’ve only got the questions. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure that settling should have been the last thing on Van Straten’s mind. Big contract like that means more testing. More animals tortured, like your new best friend there.’ Cody nodded towards Angel, who’d now fallen asleep with her head on Lock’s lap. ‘But call a truce is what they did, and next minute Janice is picking her pa’s brains off the sidewalk. He knew something, my friend. Knew something big enough to get them to back down and get him killed at the same time.’

  ‘OK, so what did he know?’

  Cody clapped his hands together. ‘Bravo, Mr “Take the Corporate Dollar”. Now you’re asking the right questions. Listen, I got some stuff around here somewhere, might help you out. Let me get it for you.’

  ‘Thought all your stuff was stolen.’

  Cody’s lips parted, forcing a smile. ‘Not all of it.’

  Cody stepped out of the room. Less than five seconds later there was the sound of a screen door slamming shut and Cody running. Lock was immediately up and on his feet, turfing Angel on to the floor. Angel righted herself and slammed into Lock’s legs. He stumbled, but stayed on his feet.

  As he hit the doorway, Don made a point of blocking his way. Lock shoulder-charged him to the ground and bolted outside, just in time to see a red pick-up take off down the driveway, snow and mud spinning up from its rear tyres.

  Lock pulled his gun, but the truck was already out of effective range to hit the tyres, and he didn’t think shooting an unarmed civilian, even a wanted fugitive, without proper authority would go down too well. He re-holstered the Sig as Don came outside.

  Don read the look Lock gave him. ‘I’m sorry I got in your way, but Cody’s my friend.’

  ‘And you’d make a sacrifice for your friends, right?’

  ‘And for the movement.’

  ‘Well, I admire your principled stand,’ Lock said, grabbing Don’s wrist and finishing what he’d started. It snapped with a dull crack.

  Don screamed in agony. ‘Son of a bitch! You broke it! You broke my wrist!’

  ‘Do something like that again and I’ll break your neck.’

  Thirty

  Lock pulled away from the house with an ageing yellow Labrador riding shotgun in the front passenger seat, instead of Josh Hulme. Angel had followed him and Don out to the car, jumped in, and then refused to budge. Lock had stared at her, and she’d stared right back. Screw it, Lock had thought, what’s one more damaged case in a car full of them?

  ‘
Where we going now?’ asked Don from the back seat.

  Lock flicked down the button to secure the rear doors. ‘You, asshole, are going to jail.’

  ‘I found him for you.’

  ‘And then you helped him get away.’

  ‘He doesn’t have the kid.’

  ‘So why’d he run?’

  ‘He’s wanted, that’s why. But not for this.’

  Lock swivelled round. ‘He is now.’

  ‘You should have listened to him,’ Don pleaded.

  ‘Gimme a break. You people think everyone’s out to get you.’

  ‘OK, fine, so why did my dad know he was going to die?’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘He didn’t have to.’

  As Angel stuck her head as close to the climate control vent as she could get it, Lock studied Don in the rear-view. ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘You ever hear that speech Martin Luther King gave in Memphis before he was shot?’

  ‘The “I Have a Dream” one?’ Lock ventured.

  ‘No. This one was about climbing to the top of the mountain, about how the civil rights movement was winning, but about how he might not be there to see the final victory. Something like that anyway. But the thing about it is, when you see the film of it, it’s like he knows that he doesn’t have long left.’

  ‘People had tried to kill King before.’

  ‘Yeah, but this was different.’

  Lock’s anger at Don had settled enough to rekindle his interest. ‘So what’s that got to do with your father? You think he knew someone was going to try and take his life?’

  ‘No, nothing that specific, but, well, it’s like he knew something was up. Just the odd thing he’d say. About how things were about to change, that we had to stay strong.’

  ‘Janice told me you’d had threats. You get any in the days leading up to it?’

  ‘No, everything had gone really quiet on that front.’

  ‘Maybe your folks didn’t want to say anything,’ Lock suggested.

  ‘Believe me, I would have known. What’s the point of making a threat otherwise?’

  ‘Maybe you should ask your sister that. Or your buddy Cody.’

  Don had a point, though. Lock had to acknowledge that. In a crowd, he never worried about the crazy guy shouting obscenities, working himself up into a lather and making all sorts of threats. You only had to worry when they went quiet. There was an ocean of difference between someone telling you they were about to commit an act of violence and someone resolving to do it. Someone who’d resolved to do it wouldn’t feel the need to tell the world about it. In fact, the last thing they would do is broadcast the fact and give the other person the jump.