Retribution

by Brent Towns

  Then he lay on his bed and waited for night to fall.

  The sun had been down approximately two minutes when Kane opened his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He retrieved the H&K from under the pillow and stood up. His stomach growled a protest and, he realized he’d not eaten for most of the day. He’d have to remedy that later.

  The surprise came when he walked outside and found Cleaver in the parking lot waiting for him.

  The night air was still hot, and moths, along with other night creatures, were starting to swarm the nightlights.

  “Going somewhere, Rambo?” Cleaver asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

  Kane let it slide. “Going to go have a drink. Hot night. I thought you’d still be tied up looking for the feller who killed the sheriff.”

  Cleaver ignored his words. “I heard about Druce. Bad thing to happen. He’ll be all right though, so I’m told. Shame the gas station will be closed a few days while he recuperates.”

  Kane nodded. “Yeah. Any idea who did it?”

  Cleaver shook his head. “He didn’t say. Maybe an unhappy customer.”

  “Maybe.”

  The deputy motioned to the vehicle he was leaning against. “Climb in; I’ll give you a ride to the Rose.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  Cleaver’s voice changed. “Climb in!”

  Kane paused and then gave a slow nod. “OK.”

  “Wasn’t too hard, was it?”

  The acting sheriff’s ride smelled like upholstery polish, and it was obvious that he took a lot of pride in cleaning his car. The radio chirped, and then Cara’s voice came over the radio.

  “Are you there, Art? Over.”

  Cleaver climbed in and reached for the handset. “Yeah.”

  “They’re putting a rush on the fingerprints, and we should have something by tomorrow or the next day. If it’s what we think, then it might get the DEA’s attention.”

  Cleaver muttered a curse. “Even if it does, they’ll just tell you to leave it be. Don’t waste your time. Out!”

  “Art –”

  He turned the radio off.

  “Right, let’s go.”

  The vehicle pulled out of the motel and turned right. They drove along the main street towards the edge of town.

  Kane knew something was wrong when they passed Arno’s and kept going.

  “I think you might be going the wrong way, Deputy,” Kane pointed out.

  “Nope. This is the way.”

  They were a mile out of town when Cleaver pulled the car over to the side of the road. He stopped it on the shoulder and turned to face Kane. “This is where you get out.”

  Kane thought, who does this guy think he is?

  “There ain’t no bar out here.”

  “Exactly. I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I met you. My hunch was proved yesterday and again today. So, it’s time for you to move on.”

  “What about my stuff?”

  “When you reach the next town, have Cara send it to you. Get out.”

  Kane opened his mouth to protest, but Cleaver stopped him with the drop of his hand to his sidearm. “Out!”

  He climbed out and shut the door. The car did a U-turn, spun its wheels, and headed back to Retribution. Kane was still standing there contemplating his next move when the taillights disappeared. What did Rambo do?

  He turned and started back to town.

  Chapter 7

  Retribution

  Kane found Sully’s Bar without any problems. It was a rundown joint with a flashing neon sign of a topless barmaid with the back of her skirt lifted. Even in the dark, he could tell what the inside was going to be like.

  Music filtered out through the closed doors as he approached them. Kane did a quick recce outside, checking his options should a hasty exit be required, then returned to the entry. He placed his hand on the right-side door to open it when someone coming the other way beat him to it. A drunk staggered out and almost cannoned into him.

  He stared at Kane through blurred vision and said, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  Kane stepped aside, and the drunk kept on walking.

  When he entered through the doors, the first thing that hit him, apart from the heat, was the stink; tobacco smoke, stale beer, and human body odor. Behind the bar, he saw a thin bargirl who wore a singlet top that barely covered her large breasts. She had short, black hair and one sleeve of tattoos on her left arm. She chewed gum and looked Kane up and down before she said, “Are you in the right place?”

  Kane stared around the barroom. There was no doubt in his mind that this was a rough establishment. The wire cage surrounding the stage where the band played attested to that. An empty beer bottle smashed against it and someone shouted, “Play something else other than that shit! Don’t you know any Rascal Flatts?”

  Suddenly the room was in an uproar, and more bottles flew. This time, however, they were directed at the offender.

  Kane turned back and looked at her. “How do you stop the riots?”

  “Got me a pipe under the bar.”

  “Use it much?”

  “All the time.”

  Kane nodded. “I’ll have a beer.”

  She smiled at him. “Your funeral.”

  Two minutes later, Kane stood at the bar with a cold bottle of Coors. While he sipped it, he ran a practiced eye over the room. From out back a tall, broad-shouldered, bald man emerged. Like the young woman behind the bar, he too had tattoos. Only his covered almost every visible bit of skin.

  He saw Kane and then spoke rapidly to the young woman. She glanced over at Kane then looked back at the man who was obviously her boss. She shrugged and went back to pouring drinks.

  The man, on the other hand, made his way along the bar to where Kane stood. He stared at him for a moment and then asked, “Are you lost?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Sully. This is my bar.”

  Kane placed his beer on the bar and said, “You’re the second person in a few minutes to inquire as to whether or not I was in the right place. I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Don’t go causing any trouble in here.”

  Kane heard a curse and the sound of glass breaking. He said, “I’d say I’m the least of your problems.”

  Sully swore and hurried to deal with the scuffle. He strode up to the offender, said a couple of words which the patron didn’t like, and then clipped him under the jaw. No fuss, problem solved.

  Kane sipped his beer and scanned the smoke-filled room for Barrett but couldn’t see him. After a while, however, he noticed a steady flow of human traffic from the room where Sully had emerged.

  He finished his beer, and the young woman came to get him a fresh one. She put the open bottle of Coors in front of him and started to pick the money off the bar when Kane said, “Busy tonight.”

  She gave him a curious look. “About normal.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious is all. Being sociable.”

  “If you’re looking for a quick lay, stranger, I ain’t it. Besides, I’m too much woman for you.”

  Kane smiled at her.

  “What?”

  “You just remind me of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “A lieutenant I once knew when I served in some far-off country. She was like you. Tough breathed fire.”

  “You a soldier?”

  “Was.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hey, our deputy was a soldier.”

  “So I believe.”

  “My name is Brenda. Folks call me Butch, or …”

  “… Hey Bitch!”

  She rolled her brown eyes. “… that. Excuse me.”

  Brenda turned to face the man who’d called out and raised her middle finger.

  “Butch, customers are waiting,” Sully yelled. “If you want to rattle his bones do it on your time, not mine.”

  She rolled her eyes once more. “Ass
hole.”

  Brenda froze, her gaze fixed over Kane’s shoulder. He glanced about and saw five men entering the bar. One of them happened to be Buck whose finger he’d broken earlier that morning.

  “Are you OK, Brenda?” Kane asked her.

  She seemed not to hear.

  “Brenda?”

  Her eyes flicked to him. “Hmm?”

  “Are you OK?”

  “I wish they would go somewhere else.”

  They never noticed Kane and walked through to the back room. He watched them until they were gone. “What do they do out there?”

  “Nothing.”

  Brenda went to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait. Is Barrett in there? Do they sell drugs in that room?”

  She tried to wrench her arm free of his grip but found she couldn’t. “Let me go. I don’t know who you are, mister, but I know nothing.”

  “How many of them in there?”

  “Let me –”

  “How many?” Kane’s voice was full of menace which made her rethink her stance.

  “Two before they walked in.”

  “Is Barrett one of them?”

  She nodded.

  He let go of her arm. “Is Sully in this with them?”

  Brenda shook her head. “Yes.”

  Eight all told. How do you want to play this, Reaper? Frontal assault!

  “Give me your pipe.”

  Alarm flitted across Brenda’s face. The tough façade had fallen away. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve got unfinished business with Barrett. The pipe.”

  Brenda bent down and came back up with a piece of silver pipe about two-feet long. She gave it to Kane, and he tested its weight. It was thick and solid.

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  Kane strode with purpose towards the door that led to the back room. Sully happened to glance up and saw him coming. He walked out from behind the bar to block Kane’s path.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Slick?” he growled. “Out back –”

  It was as far as he got. The pipe in Kane’s grip drove forward, and the end rammed hard into Sully’s middle. The big man doubled over with a loud grunt, and the air in his lungs expelled with a whoosh.

  The pipe rose and fell, it caught Sully across the back of his head, split the skin, and drove him to the floor. He lay there unmoving.

  An onlooker cursed at the sudden violence. He called for someone to do something, and a nearby thickset man tried to rise and meet the challenge. With one swing of the pipe, he lost two teeth and lay on his back, out cold.

  The door to the back room opened at the uproar. Kane saw one of the gang members standing there, a shocked expression on his face.

  Kane closed the distance between them in a couple of swift steps and swung the pipe hard at the man’s knee. There was a sickening crunch as the pipe found its target, and the leg gave out beneath him.

  A high-pitched scream of pain filled the barroom. Kane ignored the writhing figure and stepped over him into the back room.

  Six left.

  “What the hell?” came the cry of surprise from a gangster as Kane’s presence in the room was detected.

  They were all spread out around the room. Barrett sat behind a desk piled with money and drugs.

  A man on Kane’s right moved, but not fast enough, for the pipe smacked him across the bridge of his nose. The cartilage gave way and blood flowed. The man reeled back and collapsed against the wall.

  Five.

  With another swing, the pipe came around and took down the man on the left. He held up a hopeful right hand to stop the blow. It was pitiful to see. The pipe hit him above the wrist and snapped both bones in his arm.

  His scream was cut short when Kane dropped him as though poleaxed with another well-placed blow.

  Four.

  A similar fate befell the man who came at Kane with a large-bladed knife. Two swats of the pipe and it was over. He lay on the floor in a bleeding heap with his friends.

  Three.

  “Kill the son of a bitch!” Barrett screeched.

  A well-muscled man in the far-right corner moved, and his hand dived for the handgun in his waistband. He started to bring it up when Kane threw the pipe at him. The metal object helicoptered through the air and impacted his chest with enough force to break two ribs.

  Kane’s right hand went behind his back and emerged with his H&K. It snapped into line with Buck’s chest as the gangster with the broken and bandaged finger fumbled to get his own sidearm out and working.

  The H&K crashed, and Buck’s right shoulder was smashed back. Blood sprayed the wall behind him. Kane fired again, and Barrett’s Segundo fell to the floor with a bullet in his leg.

  Two.

  Kane’s glance darted back to the man he’d thrown the pipe at, who was doubled over in pain and unaware that his attacker was closing the gap between them. The H&K fell, the barrel impacted him just behind his left ear, and he was out before hitting the floor.

  One!

  Kane’s icy gaze settled on a stunned-looking Barrett.

  “Your turn, asshole!” he snarled and launched himself at the gang leader.

  Kane hit him between the eyes with the handgun. Barrett was flung backward, and his chair tipped over. Kane tucked the handgun away and grabbed a handful of the gang leader’s hair. Dragging him to his feet from behind the desk, he drove a brutal right fist into his face.

  “Next time you want to teach someone a lesson, think again.”

  Kane delivered two more crunching blows to Barrett’s jaw and then let him go. The gang leader fell to the floor, groaning and turned his head to look up at Kane. He spat blood on the floor and spoke with a thick voice, “You’re fucking dead.”

  Kane hit him again. He leaned down and hissed in his ear, “Listen close, Barrett. If you or your crew come anywhere near me, I’ll kill them. Most of all, I’ll come after you and put a bullet in your head. Got it?”

  “I won’t come after you; he will.”

  “Who?”

  “El Hombre. He’ll come for you,” Barrett laughed. “When he does, you’ll wish you were dead.”

  Kane hit him again. This time Barrett didn’t move.

  A moan drew his attention to the other side of the room. Buck was in pain from the two bullet wounds and bleeding all over the floor.

  “If I was you,” Kane said to him, “I’d get those looked at. I bet they hurt like a bitch.”

  Through gritted teeth, Buck snarled, “Screw you.”

  “You heard what I told your boss. You come after me; I’ll kill you. Those two were just a warning. I could have killed you anytime I wanted to.”

  “Like Barrett said, El Hombre will come for you. We won’t have to.”

  Kane picked up the pipe, turned and walked from the room. The stares he received when he emerged were ones of disbelief. He held up the pipe to return it to Brenda when the bar doors flew open, and Cleaver appeared, holding a pump-action shotgun.

  He stared at Kane, his eyes cold and menacing. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things, then once he’d gathered himself, snapped, “You’ve caused trouble for the last time in my town, you son of a bitch. You’re under arrest.”

  Barrett staggered out from the back room. His bloodied face pulled up into a snarl. “Shoot the bastard, Cleaver.”

  “Shut up, Barrett!” Cleaver snapped. “I’ll do this my way.”

  Barrett spat blood on the floor. “The new-found power gone to your head, Sheriff?”

  Cleaver ignored him. He pointed the shotgun at Kane and ordered, “Get your hands up.”

  “He’s got a gun, Cleaver,” Barrett warned him. “He shot Buck.”

  Cleaver’s face remained unchanged. “Kill him?”

  “Nope, just wounded.”

  “Pity. Get the gun.”

  Barrett moved forward and took the gun from behind Kane’s back. He tucked it into his own pants.

  “Give it to me, Barre
tt.”

  The gang leader looked about the room at everyone watching with bated breath. He shook his head and approached the deputy. As he handed the weapon over, he said in a low voice, “You’d best remember your place, Art.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Heads turned to see Cara in the doorway. She was dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt but in her right hand was her service weapon. Kane felt almost relieved to see her.

  Cleaver said, “Your boy here is a one-man riot. Took down Barrett here and some of his boys. Even Sully didn’t escape his wrath.”

  Cara looked across at the big bar owner and saw him hunched over, a towel held to the cut on his head.

  Cleaver continued, “And if that wasn’t enough, he shot Buck.”

  Her eyes fixed on Kane, an alarmed expression on her face. “What? Why?”

  Kane shrugged. “They’re selling drugs out of the back room. I don’t like drugs. Bad stuff, tends to kill people.”

  “Shut your mouth, you son of a bitch,” Barrett snarled and lunged at Kane.

  Kane was ready, and when Barrett was in range, his right hand blurred and pulled him up cold with a punch to the jaw. The gang leader staggered back and cursed aloud. He made to rush Kane again, but Cleaver stopped him.

  The shotgun discharged into the ceiling, and dust and debris rained down. The sound within the enclosed space made ears ring.

  “Hold it!” Cleaver shouted.

  Who the hell does he think he is? Kane thought. Wyatt Earp.

  “Cara, get your boy the hell out of here. I’ll deal with the rest of it.”

  “But –”

  “Just do it. With the sheriff gone, I’m in charge. I won’t have you question every damned thing I do.”

  Beneath the surface, Cara fumed. She stared at Kane and said, “Come on.”

  “Put cuffs on him.”

  She was about to protest again when Kane said, “It’s OK, Cara. Put them on.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Cleaver tossed her his. Cara caught them and put them on Kane. She glared at Cleaver one last time and escorted her prisoner out to the Tahoe.

  The deputy fixed his gaze on Barrett. “Out the back.”

  As they walked towards the door, Cleaver said to Brenda, “Call for a paramedic.”