The Murder Run

by Michael P. King

  They moved around the back of the house and up the other side past two darkened bedrooms, which brought them back to the front. They peeked in the living room window. Thick Neck faced the TV with a remote control in his right hand and his beer in his left. Tony clicked his rifle to full auto, sprang up in front of the window, and sprayed the room with bullets. The rifle wailed like a high-speed jackhammer. The window shattered inward. Thick Neck jerked around like a dancing marionette. When he finally fell, Tony stopped firing.

  Nicole ran in through the front door. “Overkill, don’t you think?”

  Tony was right behind her. Thick Neck was lying in a pool of blood, his chest and legs riddled with bullets, the broken neck of the beer bottle still in his hand. Tony checked his throat for a pulse. “Dead.”

  They turned on the lights in the bedrooms. In the first bedroom were four cots, cases containing rifles, and four packed carry-on bags. In the second bedroom, a military laptop computer sat on a folding table. Next to it was a small safe. “Bingo,” Tony said. He glanced at Nicole. “Watch the front.”

  He gave the safe a push. It was bolted down. He squatted in front of it. Old-style dial combination. Guess they didn’t want to risk someone using a magnet on an electronic keypad. He rubbed his hands together. It was always a pleasure to open one of these old boxes. He rotated the dial, listened for the clicks, and worked out the combination on a scrap of paper. Success. He turned the handle. The bolt slid back into the door. Now for the hard part. He cracked the door open just so the front edge of the door cleared the face of the safe. No wire visible. He opened it a little more. Still no wire. On the third go-around, he spotted the thin steel booby trap wire. He glanced around the top of the table, looked in a backpack lying on the floor, but he didn’t see any wire cutters.

  He went into the living room, where Nicole was standing in the dark looking out the window. “We need some wire cutters.”

  They went into the kitchen and looked through the drawers. Mismatched silverware, cooking utensils, old pots and pans, but no wire cutters. They went back into the living room and turned on the lights. No wire cutters lying about anywhere. They went into the bedroom and went through the luggage. Nothing. They went back into the living room. “There have to be wire cutters,” Tony said.

  “Maybe one of the other guys has them,” Nicole replied.

  “Or maybe this guy.” Tony knelt beside Thick Neck and went through his pockets. In his front right pocket with his change and a container of Tic Tacs was a multitool with a wire cutter in it.

  He went back to the safe, cut the wire, and then continued to open the door in stages while he looked for other wires. Finally, he pushed the door open with a wooden kitchen spoon while he stood to one side. The cut wire went to a triggering device on a box with a hole in the front.

  “What is it?” Nicole asked.

  “Never seen anything like this before. And I’m not going to touch it.” He pulled the blackmail envelope, a stack of cash, and a 9 mm pistol out of the safe. The envelope had been opened. He looked at the paper inside. The printed text was in a code, with a hand-written decryption written in underneath. The decryption looked like a numbered bank account and a password. Jackpot. So this was what was worth killing for. He put the paper back in the envelope. He handed the envelope and the money to Nicole, shut the safe door, and put the pistol into his pocket.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  In the meantime, Missy left Lysistrata and drove six blocks to Diamond Jack’s, a neighborhood bar with pool tables and pinball machines. She needed to be sure she wasn’t being followed. Robertson was pushing her, which was not like him. He might know she was being followed and he might not. That was the problem. Not only didn’t she know if she could trust him, she didn’t know if he really knew what was going on.

  Diamond Jack’s was as empty as you would expect on a Sunday night. A couple was playing pool. Two guys sat at the bar playing cribbage and nursing beers. Another guy was watching a basketball game on TV and talking with the bartender. Missy took a barstool close to the back and ordered a beer. She waited thirty minutes. Then she called a rideshare, laid some money on the bar, and went to the ladies’ room, where she opened the window and climbed out into the alley. That was why she’d chosen this bar. Working window and a short drop to the ground.

  She went down the alley, came out on the next street, and walked two blocks to Katie’s Apparel. A Camry was just pulling up. She got in the back.

  “You’re going to the Three Pines Motel on Beech Street?” the driver asked.

  “Yes.”

  A hooded man wearing dark clothes watched Missy from the shadows at the entry to the alley. Just as she got into the Camry, a truck pulled up beside him. He climbed in. “That’s the one,” the hooded man said.

  “Got you,” the driver replied.

  They took off after the car. The hooded man got out his phone. “Major? She’s on the move.”

  French drove down the gravel road to the farmhouse. The passports were beautiful. Real art. They had the bank-account numbers and the passcodes. Just as soon as they dealt with the safecracker, they’d be on a plane to Switzerland. Split the money into separate accounts. Handshakes all around. Never see any of them again. Setting up the corporation last year and buying the house in New Zealand had been a genius move. No one would be able to find him.

  Where was the farmhouse? He peered into the dark. Why were the lights off? He pulled into the front yard so that his headlights shined through the living room. Broken windows. Where was Rollings? He pushed the truck door open and dropped to the ground behind it. He pulled his pistol. He crawled across the patchy grass to the front window and peeked in. In the light from the headlights, he saw Rollings lying on the floor. Damn it.

  He pushed the front door open, stepped into the shadows in the living room, and worked his way through the dark house until he came back to the living room from the kitchen. The place was empty. He flipped on the wall switch. Blood, bullet holes, and broken glass. He walked back through the house, turning on the lights as he went. Their luggage had been tossed. Rollings dead, the house searched. Who could have done it? He went to the safe. The wire had been cut. The envelope and the money were gone. This wasn’t bad luck. This was the safecracker. He pulled out his phone. “Rick? Rollings is dead. Collect Missy and the girl. Bring them here.”

  He paced through the house, walking from room to room, getting angrier with each step. Robertson was dependable. He was in this up to his eyeballs. Which meant that Missy was the weak link. She’d sold them out. He snatched up a kitchen chair and beat it against the wall until it was in pieces. They had to know everything she knew, and they had to know before she died. They were getting the bank-account numbers back. They were killing the safecracker. They were going to be on the plane in the morning. He tossed the last piece of the chair into the living room. Get a grip. Now was not the time for emotion. He called Robertson.

  “Paul? Rollings is dead. The numbers are gone. Rick and Gary are collecting Missy and her girlfriend.”

  “Take it easy,” Robertson said. “She belongs to me.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “She’ll tell us whatever she knows.”

  “You can bet on that.”

  “Wait for me before you start.”

  Tony and Nicole were back at their motel room. They had the account numbers, $25,000 in cash, plus the $5,000 and the diamonds. Tony sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. “This job is beginning to pay for itself.”

  Nicole kicked off her shoes. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

  “Please.” He got out his phone to call Missy. The phone rang four times. He thought it was going to voice mail when she finally picked up.

  “Better be good,” Missy said.

  “You sound out of breath. Am I interrupting something?”

  “Talk fast.”

  “Plan worked. I got the package and narrowed the odds.”

&nb
sp; “By how many?”

  “One.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s a start.”

  “You know they’re coming to kill you.”

  “This is my worried voice.”

  “Ha ha.” She ended the call.

  Nicole handed him a glass of wine.

  “Thanks.” He sipped his wine and stared off at the door to the motel room.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’re moving to a new motel. French is going to be pissed off when he gets back to the farmhouse.”

  “What are we going to do with the account numbers?”

  “Garcia wants them, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to get them. We’ve got what looks like the complete info for a numbered account. Ill-gotten gains for sure. If we knew which bank, we could walk in and take whatever’s in the account. No questions asked. This could be the score of a lifetime. I’m not just giving it up because a Fed wants it.”

  At the Three Pines Motel, Missy and Betty were cuddled together in the dark in the bed closest to the bathroom. “Who was that?” Betty asked.

  “The guy I’ve been helping. He just ripped off the bad guys. They’re going to be after him hard now.”

  “How much longer until we can go home?”

  “I’m amazed he’s lasted this long.”

  Betty sighed. “Oh girl, I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me too. I’ve been cashing in favors, sleeping on couches. To be lying here with you—even in this place—it’s heaven. When this is all done, let’s go on a spa vacation.”

  “Massages and beauty treatments?”

  “The complete pamper package. Private balcony, fine dining—we’re going to get spa’d out.”

  The door to the motel room slammed open against the wall, the doorjamb shattering where the bolt had been locked. Two men in dark clothes and masks rushed in. Betty screamed. Missy snatched up her phone, grabbed Betty by the arm, pulled her into the bathroom, and locked the door. They were naked. There was no window. There was nothing to use as a weapon. “Get in the tub,” Missy said. She speed-dialed Tony.

  8

  Getting Even

  Tony’s smartphone rang. He picked it up from the bedside table and glanced at the screen. Missy. What could she want? “Yeah?”

  “They found me!”

  The line went dead.

  He turned to Nicole. “The mercs just scooped up Missy.”

  “Shit. What’s our play?”

  “I don’t owe her anything. But she’s going to break and put the mercs on me. I don’t know what she knows. Not for sure. And if they’re all together, it might be the best opportunity to finish them off.”

  “So we’re back to tailing Robertson?”

  “Yes.”

  Nicole scooted off the edge of the bed and picked up her pants from the floor.

  Tony pulled Robertson’s signal up on the tracker app on his phone. “Looks like he’s going back to the farmhouse.”

  “That place is a mess.”

  “It’ll scare the hell out of Missy and they’ll only have one place to burn, so it’s pretty much a win-win if they can stay on a tight time line.”

  “We’re gearing up?”

  “Kevlar, assault rifles, and sidearms. Extra ammo. If everyone’s there, there’ll be French, Robertson, and the two mercs. French has got to go.”

  Nicole drove the Camry. Tony watched Robertson’s movements on the tracker app. Nicole flipped off the headlights just before she turned onto the gravel road. They knew where they were going, but the night seemed horror-movie dark. She rolled into the grass and up to the fence in the same place they had parked the first time. Every window in the farmhouse was lit up. Robertson’s Explorer was parked out front. The mercs could be anywhere. Tony turned off the Camry’s inside lights before they opened the car doors. There was no room for error this time. They put on the Kevlar, checked their weapons, and put on the communication headsets. Then they moved silently across the road, Tony about six feet ahead and to Nicole’s left. Tony was carrying his AR-15, Nicole was carrying the sniper rifle. As they approached the house, she moved off into the dark.

  Tony crawled up under the kitchen window and peeked in. Missy and another woman, wearing bathrobes, were duct-taped into kitchen chairs. The other woman, a thin Eurasian with bad bedhead, was sobbing. The girlfriend. So Missy had been telling the truth, at least about that. French and Robertson were standing over Missy. A merc was leaning against the sink, leering at the girlfriend. In his mind, he was already on top of her. Tony crawled away from the window. He clicked on his comms. “We’re missing one merc,” he whispered.

  “Affirmative. If he’s out here, I haven’t found him yet.”

  Tony crawled away from the house and took out the Garcia cell phone. It rang twice before she picked up.

  “It’s about time,” Garcia said.

  “I’m getting ready to clean up your mess. You keep the cops away, and maybe you’ll find your paperwork in the rubble.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Please, you’ve been tracking this phone from the first minute.”

  “I want Robertson.”

  “We’ll see how it works out.” Tony ended the call.

  He crawled back to the kitchen window. He could hear French speaking: “You’re going to tell us where he is.”

  “All I have is a phone number,” Missy said.

  Tony heard a smack.

  French continued. “Do you want us to hurt your girl?”

  “No. No. But I don’t know anything else. I’m telling you the truth.”

  Robertson’s phone rang. He glanced at the face of the phone and then answered it. “Yeah?”

  “I know you know I’m on to you,” Garcia said. “Get out of there if you want to live.”

  He slid his phone back into his pocket. If he left, Missy and her girlfriend were dead. It didn’t matter what French told him. But Garcia wouldn’t lie to him. Really, at this point, he couldn’t even be sure that French wasn’t planning to murder him too. He’d talked himself into this spot step by step, always agreeing to go along. To save his marriage. To bolster his retirement. But then the killings had started. The Chens and Clemens. He was in too deep. Now Garcia was going to squeeze him. He’d be lucky to stay out of prison. But at least he wouldn’t die here today. Missy knew the risks. She’d been well paid all along, and the girlfriend? She wasn’t his responsibility. “I have to go.”

  “What do you mean?” French asked.

  “Supervisor wants me.”

  “At one o’clock in the morning?”

  “Which means I’ve got to go.”

  “You can’t leave,” Missy said. “You promised me you’d take care of us.”

  “And I will.” He turned to French. “Wait for me. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “How about if we finish this first?”

  “Do you want my supervisor hunting for me?”

  “Okay, we’ll wait. Get out of here.”

  Tony heard the front door slam and a car start. Nicole spoke over the comms. “That was Robertson. There’s three trucks out back, the dead guy’s and two others.”

  “Got you.”

  From in the kitchen, French said, “Paul can be a little squeamish. He’s never really been a field agent. Now it’s just us party animals. Option one: You tell us everything you know about the safecracker. Option two: We make you watch while we mess up your girl, and then you tell us everything you know about the safecracker.”

  “Are you going to let us go?”

  “Missy. You’re a friend of Paul’s. You’re a professional criminal. I know you can’t rat us out. I’d love to have Gary drive you back to the motel. What’s the safecracker’s name?”

  “He doesn’t have a name, as far as I know. He has a new name every time I see him. People in the game call him the Traveling Man. Never heard anyone call him anything else.”

  “Where’s he s
taying?”

  “He’s been to three motels that I know of. God knows where he is now. Another motel, I guess.”

  “You have to do better than that.”

  Her voice broke. “If I knew where he was, I’d tell you. He’s nothing to me. If he knew you had me, he’d be as quick to kill me as you. Paul and me go way back.”

  “All that’s just fine, but it doesn’t do me any good. Gary? Help the girlfriend out of her robe.”

  Tony tapped his comms on. He whispered, “When you get a shot, take it.”

  “Got you,” Nicole replied.

  Through the sniper scope, she watched Gary cross over to Betty with a kitchen knife in his hand, cut through the duct tape on her wrists, and pull her to her feet. She tried to push him away. He smacked her face. When he grabbed the lapels of her robe, Nicole fired. The window above Tony’s head shattered, shards of glass flying into the room. Nicole fired again. The first slug hit Gary in the abdomen. He lurched sideways. The second shot spun him around. Betty screamed, clutched herself, and started jumping around. French dove for the floor and started crawling toward the back bedroom. Missy struggled in her chair, bouncing it off the floor. “Get down, Betty, get down!” she yelled.

  “No shot,” Nicole said.

  Tony lifted his assault rifle to his shoulder as he sprang up at the window. He put a row of slugs into French’s back. French stopped crawling. A shot splintered wood from the window frame by Tony’s head. He dropped to the ground. “Missy!” he yelled. “Sniper in back!”

  Tony heard Nicole’s voice over the comms. “I was on the move. Saw a flash. Can you draw him out?”

  “I think I might have pulled a stitch, but I can run a few feet. I’m going to try for the closest truck.”

  Tony ran around the corner into the backyard. The only light was behind him, making him an obvious target. A shot came in to his right. He shifted left two steps. A shot came in to his left just as he shifted right again. He lunged, his rifle out in front of him. A shot came in over his head as he hit the ground behind the truck. Pain exploded from the stitches in his side. He saw stars. Just then, another shot rang out.