“A hundred thirty-first,” Leslie said, pointing again.
Colby turned and they rolled past the metallic stairway. It looked more rusted than he remembered. And instead of the well-lighted refinery with an endless maze of twisting pipes, he saw the bleak silhouettes of the few remaining stacks and towers, illuminated only by a sprinkling of perimeter lights.
“Keep your eye out for Meister’s car,” he said, glancing back and forth.
“Over there.” She pointed to the right.
The rear end of a vehicle was visible in the high grass, wedged into an array of bushes.
Colby leaned in front of her and shone his mini-mag flashlight through the open passenger side window.
The beam swept over the trunk, taillights, and chrome bumper. “Damn,” Colby said, and stopped.
Matthew bent to place his hands over the girl’s slim neck when he heard a scream, accompanied by a banging. The damn Blem. Angry, Matthew stood and walked over to the van. He’d taken the guard’s flashlight and now shined it into the Blem’s startled face. The creature grunted. Pathetic, thought Matthew.
“Come,” he said, motioning with the beam. “Come here.”
The Blem looked at him a few seconds before moving, then scurried across the ribbed floor toward the open rear doors.
Matthew fished the handcuff key out of his pocket and roughly twisted the Blem around. The retard kept squirming until Matthew slapped him on the top of the head. It still took several tries to hold the cuffs steady enough to fit the small key into the round hole. After removing the cuffs, he tossed them onto the floor of the van.
He won’t go far with those leg-irons on, Matthew thought. Something else suddenly occurred to him.
The van. He’d have to leave it here and get out of here on foot. How else could the presence of the three bodies be explained? Otherwise, the cops would realize there was another person involved.
They both got out cautiously and approached the Cadillac from opposite sides. Colby had Brewer’s snub nose thirty-eight out and in the ready-position in front of him. Edging closer, he shone the beam inside the vehicle, sweeping over the inert form slumped over in the front seat. He opened the door and felt Meister’s neck for a pulse
“Is he dead?” Leslie asked.
Colby nodded and felt a searing rage seize his gut. This was his fault. If he hadn’t let Meister take the lead in the tail…
“What do we do now?” Leslie asked.
Colby motioned for her to back away from the Cadillac and go to the street.
He knew she had no weapon, and he didn’t have one to spare.
“Here.” He handed her his cell phone. “Stay here and dial nine-one-one. Tell whoever answers your location and that there’s been a homicide. When the cops get here, tell them the story. All of it.”
“Wouldn’t it be better for you to do that?”
“Knox is nearby,” he said. “This is the last chance to catch him red-handed.”
“But how will you find him? Looks like he already fled.”
Colby glanced around, taking in the old, but new, sights, sounds, and smells. He shook his head. “He came here for some reason. Besides, I got an idea where he’s at.”
Leslie looked confused. “How?”
“Like I said, I’ve been here before.”
She looked more confused. “Be careful. He’s armed.”
“If I can’t handle some asshole with a pony tail,” Colby said, getting back into his car, “it’ll be time to hang ’em up anyway.”
Matthew had originally planned to string-up the Blem from one of the still-standing towers, but realized that it would be just as easy to tie the rope off on the van’s rear bumper and loop it over the open door. He could use the dead guard’s car for his getaway, but that would tip them to another person being there. He’d have to hoof it for a few blocks until he found someplace to call a taxi, or something. Everything else would fall into place beautifully. The bitch from the rental place would identify the dead Blem as the van’s renter, especially with the wig in place. And it would tie things up in a neat little bow.
He smiled at his own cleverness.
Improvisation. Easy when you’re just a little bit smarter than the stupid cops and the rest of the dumb populace.
Matthew took the wig off and grabbed the Blem’s collar. The frightened eyes stared back at him, his face like a reflection in a twisted mirror at a carnival funhouse.
“It’s okay,” Matthew said in a soothing a voice. “I just want to see how it looks.”
“I’d say it looks like you’ve been acting up again,” a voice said from behind him.
Matthew stiffened. Knox.
It wasn’t possible. How could that bastard have traced them here? Matthew’s throat suddenly felt very dry, and he edged his hand down toward his belt where he’d stuck the security guard’s gun.
“How’d you find me?” Matthew asked, trying his best to sound cordial as his fingers gripped the pistol. In one smooth motion, he pulled it up from his pants and pulled the trigger. The blast from the barrel shooting out half-a-foot.
As Colby drove past the gate area of the old refinery, a gunshot ripped through the night. Slowing down, he glanced right, and saw the heaps of twisted detritus lining what had once been several square blocks of massive pipes, structures, and three-story chimneys. He pulled his car over to the right, next to a group of heavy bushes. A translucent tarp had been wired to the inside of the fence, probably to reduce the demolition dust blowing across the road. Hopefully, it would keep the car out of the line of sight of anyone inside. He slipped out, gently pushing the door closed with his hip. Moving to the fence-line, he paused. It was cyclone fencing at least twelve feet tall with a roll of twisted concertina wire on top. No way to scale it, but about twenty feet to his left he saw a small gateway. It had been secured with a rusting lock and chain. Colby moved over to it and pulled on the gate. It eased open about half a foot. Small enough to prevent anyone from taking anything sizeable out, but large enough to allow him to squeeze through. A five-foot berm ran along the inside of the fence, and he flattened out to peer over it, staring out into what looked like a big, dark field with a line of large halogen lights on twenty foot poles planted around the perimeter. Beyond the fence were heaps of crushed bricks, tangled metal, and several large cranes. A section of cement sprouted flower-like petals of twisted metallic pipes that stuck up about three feet.
He didn’t want to turn on his flashlight as he moved to the closest brick pile. Make me too much of target, he thought. Seconds later he tripped and went sprawling, the hard ground and loose debris biting into his shoulder and cheek. But he managed to hold onto both his flashlight and gun. He got to his hands and knees and listened. An uneven yell floated through the darkness.
Colby rose and peered cautiously around the junk pile.
Ahead, about thirty yards away a pair of red taillights glowed in the semi-darkness. A van. The headlights were on, and shining against a partially demolished tower or chimney of some sort. Two men were by the vehicle. Glancing around, he picked his next cover-point and took off in a low, cautious run.
Knox watched Matthew squirm, holding his gut as the blood drained out of the wound in his side. It looked like a through-and-through. Probably lacerated his bowel, but he’d live. Until he got back to New Genesis, anyway. The little prick’s shot had gone wild, and Knox pulling the trigger on the Heckler & Koch had been almost instinctual. Almost.
Forget going easy on this little son-of-a-bitch. It looked like more of a mess than he’d figured. Not only did he have Matthew and his mentally challenged clone to deal with, but two unconscious, young girls lay a few feet away.
“Who the hell are they?” Knox asked, pointing to them.
“Fuck you.” Matthew gritted his teeth. “You shot me. Get me to the hospital. Now.”
Knox smirked. It was good to know that the little bastard had reverted to type, spitting out demands and orders just like his creator-father, Jetters.
“I asked you a question,” Knox said. “Who are those girls?” He held up the Ruger .357 he’d taken from Matthew and looked at it.
“And where’d you get this?”
“I told you to get me some help.” Matthew’s voice raised an octave or two.
Knox sighed and pointed the extended barrel of the Heckler & Koch at Matthew’s left foot. To emphasize his point, he squeezed another round off, making sure that it grazed the sick bastard’s shoe. Matthew screamed like a frightened little girl.
Knox smiled again. “The next one will go through your toes. Now who are those two girls?”
“A pair of twins I picked up,” Matthew said. “I wanted to replicate Morgan’s final act.” He began to sob, and when he spoke again, his voice was a plaintive whine. “Now, please, please, get me some medical attention.”
“Believe me,” Knox said, “in a little while, you’ll have more of that than you bargained for.”
Sweet Jesus, thought Colby. This was unbelievable. It’d gone from tailing a suspect to watching a couple of psychos exchange insults at a hostage situation. And who was this new guy? Knox must have been involved with Laird, helping to commit the copycats, but another helper was something Colby hadn’t even considered. This wasn’t just a serial killer, it was a murder committee. He knew had had to get those little girls out of this alive and unharmed. If Knox left with them, they were both as good as dead. He’d never allow some missing kids to be tied back to him. The guy was too good at covering his tracks.
The long-barreled gun glistened under the glare of the red taillights. Silencer. High-capacity magazine, too.
Colby looked down at the truncated Detective Special. Five-rounds. Knox probably had twice as many. Plus, Brewer’s gun had a two-inch barrel. A belly gun. Not good for a long-range shot. Colby doubted he could take Knox out at this distance.
Another figure suddenly danced around in the headlights, moving his feet with very small steps, and making some kind of keening moan.
Where the hell did he come from? Colby watched him. And who was he?
The man began moving toward a big, half-moon shaped, metal tube that looked like it had once been a massive storage unit.
Knox moved forward and grabbed the dancing man, shoving him back toward the van, pushing him around the side of the vehicle and out of sight.
Was he going to kill him?
Colby’s gut tightened. No back-up was on the way anytime soon, and there was no time to wait. He ran to the next rubble-pile, his shoes making scuffing sounds on the broken bricks and discarded boards. If he could get close enough to squeeze off a decent shot maybe he could end this.
A snapping sound whispered between the gasps of his own labored breathing, and a round tore through the meaty part of his left calf, feeling like someone had thrust a red-hot spike through it. Colby tumbled forward, feeling something strike his left side, just above his belt. Glancing to the left, he saw Knox standing by the right-rear area of the van, holding that elongated gun with both hands in a classic stance.
Can’t let him get target acquisition, Colby thought, feeling a searing pain tearing through him with each little movement. He brought the revolver up, pointed it in Knox’s direction, and pulled the trigger.
The gun flared like a blunder buss, its flame lighting up the darkness, and causing a ringing distortion in his ears. Colby kept moving, he didn’t know how, and managed to dive behind the next pile of rubble. Rolling on his side, he peered out quickly from behind a jutting, broken cement block. He couldn’t see Knox, but hoped the round would keep the bastard from advancing to finish the job. But still, Knox had time on his side.
Taking a deep breath, and feeling the pincer-like pain wrack his chest, Colby tried to get his breathing under control. He felt a numbness rising from his legs and hoped it wasn’t the onset of shock.
He concentrated on checking the wounds with his fingers and taking quick, shallow breaths. He heard Knox call out, “You’re going to have to shoot a lot better than that, pal.”
Colby debated remaining silent, trying to lure Knox toward him, then shooting him when he got close enough. But the guy had been sharper than he’d originally thought. “Government trained,” Meister had said. That could mean anything, but suddenly it made Colby very nervous.
“You make more noise moving than a herd of elephants,” Knox called again.
Colby gritted his teeth, wondering if Knox was trying to initiate conversation as a ruse, trying to gauge their relative positioning.
Shit, he probably knows where I’m at anyway, Colby thought. Plus, I don’t intend on staying here. Might as well try to rattle him.
“Knox, give it up,” he yelled. “This area is full of police personnel. You’re surrounded.”
Silence, then Colby heard a low burst of laughter.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Knox said. “Otherwise, why would you have an idiot like Meister backing you up? But anyway, Detective Colby, it’s nice to talk with you again.”
Fragments of the brick exploded in front of Colby’s face as he felt another bullet whizz past. Instinctively, he held the revolver out and fired back, regretting it moments later. He was down to three shots now, and Knox knew his exact position.
Rolling to his hands and knees, Colby tried to move as quickly as he could toward a long stack of metal pipes, leaking blood with each movement. If he could hunker down there, maybe he could hold out until reinforcements arrived. If Leslie had gotten hold of some, and if he could stay conscious. Both his shirt and pant leg felt sodden, and he knew he was leaving a pretty obvious blood trail.
Leslie. What if she’d heard the shots? He hoped she wouldn’t try to do anything stupid, like come after him. She didn’t even have a weapon, and Knox wasn’t the type to let the fairer sex sway his aim.
A sudden burst of intense pain gripped him, holding on for several seconds before fading back into the dull, constant ache.
Colby worked on controlling his breathing. He’d partially circled the area where the van was, and had inadvertently gotten closer than he intended.
One shot, he thought. That’s all I need. Just one fucking decent shot.
“Let the gun fall from your fingers,” Knox’s voice said from behind him. He felt an accompanying nudge of something hard and metallic on the back of his head. “Right now, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
Colby felt paralyzed. The man was unbeatable. He’d been flanking while Colby thought he was moving to a new cover spot. But why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?
Must want information, Colby thought, which can buy me some time. Maybe time enough for back-up to arrive and save those two little girls.
“Listen, there’s a sniper with a night scope trained on your head right now, Knox,” Colby said. “Pull that trigger and you’re a dead man.”
The extended barrel smacked against Colby’s temple. Stunned by the blow, and before he could react, Knox’s left hand shot forward and snatched the revolver from Colby’s loose fingers.
“Now,” Knox said, pushing the end of the long barrel up against the underside of Colby’s chin, “you and I are going to have a talk, and for each wrong answer, I’m going to put a bullet into you. Get it?”
Colby felt the warmth engulfing him. Maybe, if there was any mercy in this world, the shock would overtake him now, lulling him into a state of non-feeling, whatever hell his body would have to go through. He hoped it would be the same for the twins, too. A peaceful voyage into tranquility. Colby managed to collect some saliva and spat at Knox’s face.
Knox recoiled, wiping at his cheek, as he thrust the pistol toward Colby’s head. He stopped and adjusted his aim so it was now pointing at groin level.
Colby took a shallow breath and thought, Oh fuck.
But suddenly Knox’s face twisted into a grimace, and his body went spastic, leaning backwards like he was doing some sort of bizarre limbo dance.
Colby blinked twice and saw a young Morgan Laird standing behind Knox,
holding what looked to be a Taser.
“How does it feel, motherfucker?” the young Laird said. His face was a maniacal mask.
Colby wondered if he was hallucinating. Then another wave of pain brought things into focus again. The young Laird’s shirt was bloody. He’d been shot, too. And he was continuing to keep the juice going from the Taser as he walked up on them. As he got to Knox, young Laird snatched the silenced semi auto from the ground and then kicked away the revolver. He let up on the trigger of the Taser long enough to switch hands, and then depressed it again, sending Knox into a new series of spasms. The mad eyes looked down at Colby.
“You know who I am?” young Laird asked.
Colby tried to answer, but no words would come.
“I want you to know before you die,” young Laird said. “I want you to know all of it.”
Colby tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn’t work. So this is how it ends, he thought. A lousy place to die. And he’d failed to save the twins. Again.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Colby,” young Laird said.
He knows me, Colby thought. So why don’t I know him? Unless he’s Morgan Laird, come back to haunt me.
Young Laird pointed the big-barreled weapon toward Knox when Colby heard a shot. Young Laird dropped everything, the semi-auto, the Taser, and clutched at his chest, looking down at a spreading flower of crimson on the breast of his light blue shirt. Two staggering steps and he curled up into a ball and fell over. Colby tried to reach for one of the weapons to put a bullet into Knox. He wanted to kill that bastard before he it was too late, if it was the last thing he ever got to do.
He reached out again, each movement causing more agony to radiate through his body. His fingertips brushed against the butt of the pistol, but Knox began to stir, raising himself up and shaking his head. Their eyes met and in a second, Colby knew he’d be too late as he watched Knox grin as his fingers curled around the butt of the pistol.
A second shot split the night and Colby’s eyes focused on a circular hole that appeared on Knox’s forehead.
Right between the eyes.
Colby saw Leslie’s figure, silhouetted by one of the perimeter halogen lights, running toward him. She was out of breath, but still totally professional slowing down and moving in to kick the gun out of Knox’s slack hand. The man’s glazed eyes had that vacant look of death.
Blood Trails Page 28
