Vendetta: Prequel Novella (The Xander King Series)

by Bradley Wright

  “We always used the door just outside of the priest’s office, but . . .” Kate paused. “I do remember the boys saying something about a tunnel.”

  “A tunnel under the church?” Xander tried to clarify.

  “Yeah, some of them used to sneak in that way and make out and do drugs and stuff. I never saw it, but I definitely heard them talking about it. Story was, they used to make moonshine down there back in the day. Stored it under the opera house, I think. But all of this was years ago. They could have filled that in by now. Probably have, since it was connected to the Lexington Opera House. That’s all I can tell you, though, Xander. Sorry.”

  “No, that’s perfect, Kate.” Xander motioned for Sam to drive. “Anything else about the church that might help us?”

  “Not that I can think of right now.”

  “Okay, thanks, Kate. Kyle, can you do one favor for me before you rest?”

  “Of course.”

  “Find out who owns the opera house now. That may help us.”

  “I’ll text you when I find out. You guys be careful. I can come back out, I feel fine now.”

  “Thanks, Kyle. We’ve got this. Get some rest and we’ll see you soon.”

  Xander ended the call as Sam was pulling into the public parking lot only about a block from the opera house. It was perfect because the Rupp Arena traffic was on the other side and the businesses around it were all closed for Christmas. Just past the opera house, across the street, they could still see the flashing blue and red. The police had the church surrounded. Xander hoped that Kate had just opened up a way for them to enter the church without being detected by Jerry or any of the rest of his officers. The parking lot was dark and empty. Sam shut off the engine of the Range Rover.

  She said, “So, you think that all of this is more in-depth than just the kidnapping of Allison, I see. You think the owner of the opera house might be up to something.”

  Xander pulled his Glock from behind his back and made sure a round was chambered. “I really don’t know about the owner of the opera house, but I know this isn’t just about revenge against a good-looking DA.”

  “Must be about drugs, right?”

  Xander nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking. And if there is some sort of underground tunnel that connects these two buildings, maybe someone has been using it for storing things other than stage props and wardrobe.”

  “You think this could be a turf thing?” Sam asked.

  Xander opened the SUV’s door, and a waft of cold air blew through the cabin.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Amateur Hour

  Xander and Sam approached the red brick building’s front entrance. Though the police were merely a few feet away at the church, they may as well have been a mile. No one was paying any attention to the opera house, or the two of them as they slinked under the awning at the front of the building. They walked up the stairs and chose the double doors on the right. The building was old, built in the late 1800s. The doors had probably been replaced since then, but it sure didn’t look like it. It looked like a stiff breeze could have blown them inward, but in this case, it was the shoulder of Xander King that opened them. He didn’t even really have to lean into it.

  Sam laughed as they entered. “If there is some other operation going on under this building, they might want to consider updating security.”

  “I have a feeling the way into the basement may be a little more difficult.”

  Xander was wrong. As soon as they walked in, there was a door on the right. Following the light of the flashlight on Sam’s phone, Xander merely pulled down the lever of a door handle and they were on their way down the stairs. Something tickled in the back of Xander’s mind. This seemed too easy. For the first time, alarm bells were beginning to go off. They reached the bottom of the stairs where they were met with another door. This one was not only unlocked but left ajar.

  “I don’t like this, Sam,” Xander whispered.

  “Too easy? I was thinking the same thing. If they know you’re involved enough to send four gunmen after you, they wouldn’t just leave the door to the barn open.”

  Xander gave her a look. In the light of the flashlight she could see a smirk grow across his lips. “Door to the barn, Sam?”

  “Oh, bugger off, Xander. You can’t bring a lady here from London and expect nothing of Kentucky would seep in. I was just putting it in terms your pea brain would understand.” Her British accent seemed sharper as she scolded him.

  “Don’t worry, Sam.” Xander’s smirk had grown into a full-blown smile. “I won’t think less of you as you become more Americanized.”

  Sam scoffed. Xander’s phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text from Kyle. Xander whispered it to Sam. “Opera house purchased from Lexington Center Corporation at beginning of this year by Jonathan Freeman. Quick google search, he was arrested for drug trafficking just last year in Louisville. Hope this helps.” Xander typed a thank-you and put away his phone.

  “Ever heard of him?” Sam asked.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. You think he’s working with Brancati? Maybe running a drug ring for him here in Lexington?”

  “That wouldn’t make sense really. If this were Brancati’s operation, why would he want to call attention to it like he has here tonight?”

  Before Xander could answer, the door at the top of the stairs opened, something solid clanged against the wall, the door slammed shut, and a hissing sound filled the small stairwell.

  Tear gas.

  Xander simply opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and pulled Sam through. He shut and locked the door behind him so no one could follow them from that entrance and quickly found a stack of folding chairs and ducked behind them. Sam followed. The room they were currently in was a large open space. Before Xander took cover, he noticed a lot of shelving, steel beams, and what seemed to be a sort of maze full of heaps of things on the floor with no apparent structure. But it was a quick look, because if there were others in this basement with them, he didn’t want them to have a clear shot at him and Sam. Also, he needed a moment to wrap his mind around just how amateur whoever was doing this was. He assumed their attempt was to trap him and Sam in the stairwell with the tear gas. But they didn’t even take the time or effort to close the downstairs door.

  Xander whispered. “Well, we knew they wouldn’t be military, but this is ridiculous.”

  “Right?” Sam’s whisper had a heavy dose of disbelief in it. “But let’s not get cocky. They will still have guns, and anyone can get lucky. Let’s stay focused, Xander. Lives are at stake.”

  “Yeah, but Sam . . .” Xander motioned toward what just happened in the stairwell.

  “Xander.”

  “Yes, mother,” he conceded. And he knew she was right. This wasn’t a game. But he really couldn’t believe their level of incompetence. His only hope was that it continued.

  Time to Make a Move

  St. Paul’s Catholic Church, located in the heart of downtown Lexington, was constructed in 1865 and is said to be one of the most perfect examples of Gothic Revival architecture in the country. Outside, its red brick and single spire are a classic invitation to worship. Inside, row after row of dark wooden pews are encased by archways on the left and right sides of the building that flow in waves under the vaulted ceilings toward the raised pulpit at the far end of the church. All the arches are supported by grooved stone pillars that anchor into the floor at about every sixth or seventh pew. Like most nights, a congregation of young and old were scattered about the seats, Bibles in hand. Unlike most nights, tonight the priest who normally holds council from the pulpit had been replaced by three masked men carrying large, automatic assault rifles. The usual feelings of joy and togetherness in the congregation had been replaced by fear and uncertainty. And outside, instead of just the parked vehicles of the patrons, the street was lined with patrol cars with officers standing at the ready. Down one of the corridors of the church, away from the
congregation was an office, where one man was currently getting his ass ripped for his incompetence in having hostages inside the cathedral.

  “What can I tell you, Brancati, it’s Christmas Eve, what the hell are people doing in church? Aren’t they supposed to be at home with their families? What is this world coming to?” A round Caucasian man addressed the dark-haired Italian who stood over him wearing a three-piece suit. The Italian man was half the round man’s size but carried far more weight when he spoke.

  “I shoulda left you in lockup, Bowker. I shoulda known you’d fuck this up.” Vincent Brancati’s face was red with anger. He walked away from Bowker, who was still in his orange jumpsuit, and began to pace the room. His New York accent grew thicker the angrier he became.

  “But we got what you wanted,” Bowker said. “The cops are here and they are going to seize Freeman’s stash in the basement, and we left the tunnel wide open so they would get the rest of it under the opera house. Freeman’s done. You are now the lone drug game in town. I don’t understand why you are so upset?”

  Brancati slammed his fist on the desk in front of him. Bowker jumped in his seat opposite the desk. The priest slumped over in the corner would have jumped as well, but Brancati had already put a bullet in his head. The priest had been the main reason Freeman was able to move drugs into Lexington and eat into Brancati’s share. That was all over now, just like Bowker had said.

  “Yeah, you dumb shit. You’re right, Freeman’s operation is done here in Lexington. But what good does that do me if I’m sitting in a jail cell like you were earlier today? Huh? You dumb mook!” Brancati picked up his pistol from the desk and leveled it at Bowker’s head.

  “Wait!” The round man threw up his arms, fear in his eyes. “Wait a second, we still have the DA. She’s still alive. We release her, and all the people in the church, then sneak out the tunnel over to the opera house. Then we just lay low till the heat is off.”

  “What about the Humvees outside?” Brancati asked, not lowering the gun.

  “They’re all Freeman’s. So are the men. They come with us to the opera house, we kill them there, then we have no one to rat on us. None of the people in the church saw us. I told you, I got this!”

  “Really? What about the DA? Allison whatever the hell her name is? She saw both of us. Plus it’s pretty obvious that the night you got busted out of jail all this went down.”

  “Shit . . . Okay. They still can’t tie you to anything. And forget about the DA. We kill her too. Bottom line is that you now control everything in Lexington. Right?”

  “We should have never brought her into this. I mean, for what? Revenge?” Brancati finally let his gun hand fall to his side. Bowker let the tension fall from his shoulders. “We kill her. I don’t care what anyone else wants, including the sheriff. That’s what we do. But I’ll be the one to do it. I can’t let you screw anything else up. We can’t afford it.”

  Bowker nodded and stood from his chair. The two of them once again adorned their black ski masks, made sure their pistols were locked and loaded, then made their way down the hall to the nave. Gasps and whispers from the worried churchgoers being held against their will filled the room as Brancati and Bowker quietly addressed the masked gunmen at the pulpit. After a momentary huddle, without addressing the crowd of hostages, all five of the gunmen, led by Brancati, walked right back out of the room.

  Xander raised up and peeked over the stacks of folding chairs to get a look around. Single yellow bulbs every ten feet or so emitted a soft yellow light. The ceiling was exposed, the floor made of concrete, and as far as he could tell, no one else was in this section of the basement with them.

  “Bricks of cocaine,” Sam whispered from the corner behind Xander.

  Xander turned to see what she was talking about. He found her inspecting a brick of cocaine. She had pulled back a tarp on a pile of them. There were several other piles just like it scattered around the room. He sighed a puff of hot air into the cold room, releasing some of the frustration from inside him. He wasn’t sure how he got pulled into this mess, but he didn’t like it. Xander of course hated drugs. And some of the people he and Sam had taken out were of course into dealing. But he wasn’t the police. This small-time shit didn’t interest him at all. Now, here he was, caught in the middle of some small-time drug operation when he should be at home preparing for Christmas with his niece.

  “Let’s just get Allison and get the hell out of here. The police can deal with whomever all of this shit belongs to,” he whispered.

  “Agreed.” Sam dropped the brick of cocaine and sidled up to Xander. “You got a plan?”

  “I thought that was your job.”

  “This isn’t one of my targets. We are only in this mess because you can’t keep it in your pants.” Sam nodded toward Xander’s crotch.

  “Look, just because you’ve chosen a life of celibacy doesn’t mean I have to, Sister Harrison.” He smiled.

  Sam wasn’t amused. Per usual. “I get plenty, thank you. The difference is, those whom I choose to sleep with don’t end up leading me into a drug war. Maybe celibacy would be a good life choice for you, Romeo?”

  Before Xander could artfully throw another verbal jab back at Sam, the two of them heard the squawk of a radio from the far end of the room. Xander turned toward the sound, but that side of the room was hidden from view. They heard a man’s voice on the radio but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Xander guessed that it was probably the moron that threw the tear gas in the stairwell, letting everyone know how miserably he had failed. Regardless, he knew the element of surprise was most likely gone.

  It was time to make a move.

  Something Isn’t Adding Up

  Before Xander made his move, the squawk of the radio grew closer. He peered over the stack of chairs, and a man walked into view, pocketing his radio into his leather bomber jacket and pulling a pistol from his hip. Xander motioned for Sam to stay put, and then inched his way toward the edge of the chairs. He stayed low and listened as the man’s boots slapping against the concrete grew closer. His first move would be for the gun. He would need to be fast enough to make sure the gun didn’t go off. No sense alerting the others any sooner than necessary. The man’s footfalls rounded the chairs, and Xander simultaneously slammed down on the man’s outstretched gun hand, sending the gun clattering to the floor, and wrapped his other hand around the back of the gunman’s neck. With no lapse in time, he pulled the man’s head downward as he drove his knee up into the man’s nose. With a pop and a grunt of pain, the man fell backward onto the floor from the force of the blow. Sam moved forward and picked up the fallen gun as Xander put his boot on the man’s throat. Blood ran freely from his broken nose, and if not for Xander’s well-placed foot, he would have been screaming in pain. Instead, all that came from the man were gurgled attempts to catch his breath.

  “How many of you are there?” Xander asked.

  The man reached both hands to Xander’s boot, trying desperately to relieve the pressure.

  “If you promise not to scream, I’ll lift my boot and give you some air so you can answer my question. But I have to warn you, if you break your promise, we aren’t going to be friends. Grunt once to promise.”

  The man was already grunting in pain, so deciphering an actual promise would have been impossible. But that is why Xander found it amusing.

  “Okay, Sam.” Xander turned to his partner in crime. She knew where this was going, and she wasn’t impressed. “You heard him promise, right?”

  “Oh, just get on with it, will you?”

  Xander’s shoulders slumped as if to say, you’re no fun. He looked back down at the man who was still struggling to move Xander’s boot. “If you think I’m tough, just be glad I’m not letting her have a go at you. She would have already shot you. So, how many men?”

  Xander lifted his boot, and the man gasped for air as he turned on his side. He coughed blood from his mouth that had flooded from his broken nose. Xander rolled him
onto his back. “Well?”

  While the man continued to gasp for air, Sam stepped in, placed her boot on his groin, and began to apply pressure. She looked at Xander. “Must you always make everything more difficult?” Then she looked down at the man. “How many?”

  The man coughed again, then held up six fingers. Sam reached down, grabbed the man’s radio, then stomped down on his head, knocking him unconscious.

  “You’re so mean.” Xander smirked as he followed Sam toward the opposite end of the room.

  Sam ignored him, and the two of them walked toward an open door in the middle of the concrete block wall. It was pitch black inside.

  “Looks like there is a tunnel after all. This must run directly under Saunier Street, right into the bottom of the church.”

  “I don’t like this, Xander.”

  “I’m scared of the dark too, Sam, but together we can overcome.”

  Sam didn’t acknowledge his statement. “Why would they ever want to involve you in this?”

  “I’m not sure they did. Allison is the one who called.”

  “But why?” Sam asked.

  Xander didn’t answer for a moment. He knew where Sam was going; he had thought it himself. The reason Allison had given for calling him was that she feared Sheriff Jerry was in over his head. Xander wasn’t going to get involved until she was taken.

  Sam read Xander’s face. “You’re sure you can trust this Allison?”

  “What reason would I have not to? It’s not like she has anything to gain by dragging me into something. Besides, what could she possibly have to do with Bowker and Brancati’s drug business?”

  “I have no clue. That’s why I’m asking. Something isn’t adding up. You know that. You think them taking Allison is just about revenge for her putting Bowker in prison? Why wouldn’t they just kill her?”

  Xander didn’t have an answer.