The rain soaked him immediately, washing off blood from his encounters with Harold’s goons and sending cold shivers up his spine as he went from the warm temperature inside the muggy car to the unusually cool Nevada weather. He saw there were rows of barbed wire over the top of the chained gate, so he put his flashlight temporarily in his mouth and took off his jacket, tossing it up but keeping hold of one of the sleeves. It provided the bridge he needed to safely cross over the wire, so once it was in place he began climbing quickly, clambering over the top and dropping down with a heavy thud. His whole body ached from the sudden descent, but Gordon didn’t let this stop him; he got to his feet, tugged on the other sleeve of his jacket to bring it down and, after slipping it on over his soaked shirt, swiftly drew his weapon. Holding the flashlight in one hand and the weapon in the other, his gun hand resting on the one holding his means of illumination, he advanced quickly but cautiously towards the door of the shed. He was aware he needed the light in order to make his entry, but was equally conscious of the fact that there was always a chance that through some unobserved vantage or camera he could more easily be seen.
Fortunately, Gordon reached the door undetected. He turned off the light and tried the handle, holding his gun firmly with his finger on the trigger as he expected hostile resistance as soon as he was spotted. The door was unlocked, so he tugged it open a fraction; light from inside spilled out and was almost dazzling after the darkness outside. Inside, there appeared to be a short corridor; dull, grey bricks formed the walls and a concrete floor led further inwards; illuminated by stark strip lights from above. There was no indication that someone was in the corridor, so Gordon tugged the door open further and followed his weapon to take a sweeping glance inside. One door lay directly ahead, with what appeared to be an office to its right, the interior visible through a previously unseen window next to its door. To its left was another door, equally unrevealing. All three doors were closed so, with no way to know for sure where anyone was inside the building, if indeed there was anyone, Gordon started moving cautiously further in. The door clicked shut behind him as he surveyed the office through the window; there was no one within, it simply housed an abandoned desk, empty shelves and a tattered office chair that might once have been quite comfortable. Gordon approached the door on the left and opened it to glance inside. There were no lights on within, so he scanned with his flashlight and saw that it was a relatively large space with a huge table in the middle along with a dozen or so discarded chairs, lending an impression it had once been a meeting place. Regardless, there was nothing of interest so Gordon pressed on towards the door at the other end. As he neared it, he was certain he could hear faint voices. So, before opening it, Gordon pressed his ear to the wood and listened carefully; two men were engaged in conversation within, one of whom could most certainly be Harold. What they were saying Gordon couldn’t quite hear through the heavy door. It was a massive risk, as he had no idea what lay beyond, but Gordon knew there was nothing else he could do, so he tried the door and found it pushed in.
He opened it as carefully as he could and peeked inside. It was dim, with lighting coming from around the corner to the right. From what he could see, directly across from him were some large metal racks that looked similar to the ones he’d seen in a tyre shop. Gordon stepped inward, looking left and right to make sure no one could see him, and then shut the door slowly behind him. He crept along the wall to the corner and slid down, peeking out at a much lower level in the hope that his stealthy observation wouldn’t be noticed.
There were more metal racks here and there and together with the large garage style door he’d seen from outside at the far end, Gordon figured it had once served as some kind of vehicle maintenance area. A table occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by industrial lamps. On the table, bound so tightly she could scarcely move, was the obvious figure of a young woman. She wasn’t moving. Briefly, Gordon thought he was too late, but the conversation he could hear told him otherwise.
“When I’m done with her, clean her up and dump her somewhere downtown.” Harold instructed.
“Sure thing, Mister Leland.”
“Then find my son. Drug him; leave the note in his pocket and the memory sticks on his body so he takes the fall. I don’t want any more screw ups! Kill Crane too before this gets any worse!” Leland yelled.
Gordon watched as Harold approached Vicky. He had a syringe in his hand and it seemed he was going to inject her. His two goons were standing passively on either side of the table watching with a total lack of empathy as he callously moved in to murder yet another innocent victim. They had numbers and, other than a metal tool stand about halfway between where Gordon was now and where Leland had his victim, there wasn’t much cover. There was, however, no time for indecision. Gordon surged around the corner, his weapon raised and aimed straight at Leland.
“Drop the syringe!” Gordon roared as he moved quickly towards the tool stand. One of the thugs reached for his weapon, but Gordon quickly aimed at him and then his companion, before aiming back at Leland. The two men didn’t draw their weapons, but neither of them made any motion to suggest they wouldn’t as soon as the upper hand presented itself. Leland stopped moving the needle towards Vicky and looked over his shoulder at Gordon.
“You’ve been a massive pain in my ass, Gordon.”
“I’ll get over it. Drop the syringe or I swear I’ll blow so many holes in you you’ll look like a sieve.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I would have offered to make it worth your while to forget everything you’ve seen, but considering you’ve killed at least two of my men today, I’m sure we’re beyond that point.”
“Three and a half, but the night’s still young.” Gordon declared hotly, holding his nerve and projecting his bravado in the hope it would unsettle his adversaries and lead to them make a mistake.
Harold turned to face him as the hand holding the syringe twitched closer to Vicky. It was likely filled with a lethal dose of liquid cocaine… and it wouldn’t take him long to inject her with it. Gordon was sure he could kill Harold before his thumb depressed the plunger, but he wouldn’t be able to prevent the two goons from opening fire. If Gordon died, they would certainly kill the helpless young woman to remove any chance of her speaking out as a witness to their crime; after which, they’d simply disappear.
“Stop moving.” Gordon instructed Harold; the older man complied, but his expression betrayed he wouldn’t comply for long.
“What do you really think is going to happen here?” Harold questioned. “You shoot me, they shoot you and the girl and you both die. Or, you shoot them, I inject the girl and then she dies. You can’t save her, Gordon, just like you couldn’t save that bitch’s mother. Isabelle, right? I was pissed when they said they killed her by mistake, but then I realized it was better in the long run, otherwise she’d just employ another detective - albeit one probably less skilled than yourself.”
“If you think complimenting me will change what’s about to happen, you’re delusional.”
“I’m just stating facts. If you weren’t such a principled man I’d offer you a job.”
Harold’s hand twitched, inching closer towards his would-be victim. Gordon knew he was just about out of time; he had to act or Vicky wouldn’t survive the next few minutes. Gordon took a quick, steadying breath and took aim at Harold’s hand. He fired without warning, his shot blasting through the limb holding the syringe. Harold snarled in pain and dropped the syringe, which clattered to the floor as he took a step back and away from Vicky. Gordon didn’t shoot again at Harold, pivoting instead and firing quickly at the thug on the right, who was already shifting out of the way, ducking down and drawing his weapon. Gordon’s shot slammed into his right shoulder just before he disappeared behind some old barrels. Gordon twisted left to fire at his partner, but he had darted behind some metal shelving units against the wall. Gordon saw him raising his pistol and ducked down behind the tool unit - just as the first of
the shots rang out.
“Kill him!” Harold roared furiously. Gordon heard the sound of movement but couldn’t determine exactly who was moving or where from his position. The return fire from the left cut out but started up from the right, the wounded thug having apparently reached his weapon. A steady stream of bullets slammed into the metal unit he was taking cover behind. Gordon waited for a break in the gunfire and leaned out around the right side, firing at the barrels. His shots were either deflected or had penetrated the metal too weakly as there was no sound to lead him to believe he had hit the gunman behind it. Gordon shifted around to the left and fired at his antagonist behind the shelves; he saw him recoil behind cover as Gordon’s bullets hit the edge - without inflicting the damage he’d hoped for. The one on the right started firing at Gordon, so he hunkered down and changed the magazine of his gun. A moment later, both of his adversaries were firing and Gordon did his best to stay calm and count off the shots, hoping he could determine when they had run out of ammunition. He was certain he heard a click on the right just after a break in the salvo’s being levied at him, so he hurried out and started towards the barrels. He crossed the distance quickly and found the wounded man struggling to reload his weapon. The latter looked up in the same instant that Gordon fired a kill shot, then he slumped to the floor with a gory wound in his forehead.
Looking across, Gordon saw the other gunman had almost completed reloading. Between them, lay Vicky on the table. Gordon sped across and grabbed it with one hand; yanking it hard and pulling it towards him. Gordon started to move into cover with the stirring, bound form of Vicky but heard a gunshot and felt an excruciating pain in his left shoulder. He grunted and dropped to his knees. Gordon had lost track of Harold since the bullets started flying and now he looked around wildly, certain it was he who had fired and needing to discover his whereabouts. Vicky made several panicking sounds, and Gordon, unable to find Harold, took a moment to calm her down as he tested the range of motion in his shoulder.
“It’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here, just stay calm.” Gordon assured her. His shoulder had been badly hit; not a simple graze this time that required a few stitches. It was bleeding heavily and he had lost much of its movement, but poking around revealed the bullet appeared to have gone straight through. The pain of these tests had nearly overwhelmed him, but knowing Vicky’s life depended on him, he had forced himself to retain his focus and be prepared to fire as soon as a viable target showed itself. The thug across from him chose that moment to fire at the bound victim on the table, but the bullets didn’t seem to have made contact with her body, at least, from what Gordon could tell of Vicky’s lack of response. When the firing ceased, Gordon heard the scurrying sound of movement and, standing, fired a quick salvo in its direction; his aim was ineffective however, as the shots missed their target who had shifted swiftly to the right, both closer to the garage door and behind another shelving unit for protection. Gordon cursed himself for his lack of precision and was preparing to hold his position and fire as soon as the gunman emerged again when Harold appeared from behind a stack of crates on the right, just beside the switch on the door. He was holding a revolver in one hand, the other being clamped over the bullet wound inflicted by Gordon, who he fired two quick shots at. The detective threw himself to the floor just before the first shot was fired, causing both bullets to slam into the metal table just below Vicky. She let out a frightened sound, muffled by the gag in her mouth. Gordon knew she hadn’t been hurt and so he quickly aimed in Harold’s direction and fired, depleting his magazine in a desperate attempt deter him from firing and inadvertently hitting Vicky. Gordon heard his weapon click empty and forced himself up, lifting his left arm just enough to grip the table and use his waning strength to shove it around. It made a terrible screeching sound as the metal dragged over concrete, mixing with Vicky’s frightened sounds, but she was out of the line of fire of both Harold and the remaining thug.
Breathing heavily both in pain and desperation, Gordon ejected the spent magazine and shoved the gun under his left armpit while he fumbled for a fresh one. He slammed it in place and then retrieved his weapon. He took a few heavy, deep breaths, leaned up out of cover and then darted back down. The gunman had a bead on him and fired. The shots narrowly missed and Gordon cursed loudly.
“I think I hit him!” The thug called out. Gordon pointed his weapon vaguely in the direction of the voice and fired a couple of blind shots by way of a retort. His left arm was flooding him with pain and he knew he didn’t have a lot of ammunition left; briefly he considered cutting away the plastic binding Vicky to the table, but when he looked towards her hands he saw that her wrists were bound by a pair of padded handcuffs, which in an odd connection caused him to realize why there wasn’t much bruising around Millie’s wrists. The cuffs were connected through a steel ring on the table - meaning he’d need some kind of tool to safely free her hands - so he couldn’t free Vicky and have her run while he held off Harold and his goon. He was going to have to keep fighting and win, or at least hold out until Jones arrived; if he was even on the way by now.
Gordon heard the garage door starting to open, a heavy, rumbling sound that immediately allowed the droning noise of the downpour outside to fill the chamber. He peaked out and saw that Harold was about to break cover. Gordon fired at him, pinning him down, and then he snapped back towards the position he thought the remaining gunman was hiding and waited for him to appear.
“Cover me, damnit!” Harold yelled. The gunman appeared over the top of the shelving unit and Gordon fired at him. He couldn’t allow Harold to leave, but he needed to kill his henchman before he could risk pursuing him. The gunman ducked down and then fired blindly at him; Gordon also ducked, waited for the salvo to end and then looked up again. He caught sight of Harold taking aim... firing a trio of shots at him. Two hit the back of the table but didn’t penetrate and injure Vicky, and the third hit the wall just over Gordon’s shoulder, narrowly missing him. Gordon leaned up again and shot several times towards Harold and then prepared to fire at the gunman - who had taken the opportunity to attempt a killing shot while Gordon was preoccupied with Harold. The detective, his hand trembling slightly as the pain from his shoulder rocked his body, managed to slam a clean shot into the gunman’s neck, causing an arterial spray of blood to erupt as he collapsed with a pitiful, gurgling sound. Harold suddenly darted from cover, running out onto the lot. Gordon tried to fire at him, but Harold went around the corner before he could pull the trigger. Gordon stood and moved around the table, briefly pausing to promise Vicky that he’d be back and assure her she was safe; he wasn’t sure if he was lying, but hoped it was the truth.
Gordon charged towards the doorway, glanced briefly at the gunman bleeding out behind the shelving unit and finished him off with a single shot to the chest. He braced himself against the wall beside the garage door then leaned out, ducking down as he did so. He wasn’t fired upon, but by counting Harold’s shots, he figured he still had one round left. It was dark, but Gordon followed Harold out into the driving rain, looking frantically for any indication of the man he was pursuing. He moved as carefully as he could with as much speed as he was capable of. As he neared the edge of the building, he slowed and raised his weapon in anticipation of Harold being around the corner. He came closer and prepared to step out cautiously when Harold swung out with some kind of plank; Gordon stumbled backwards, almost losing his footing on the treacherously wet concrete. Harold continued his assault, lunging towards him and swatting Gordon’s hand to knock the gun from his grip, and then he reared back to swing at Gordon a third time. The detective was barely able to twist away and avoid the brunt of the attack, although he was still clipped on his, until then, uninjured shoulder. He stumbled to the left and then, looking back at Harold, saw he was dropping the plank and retrieving his revolver. Gordon shoulder charged him, slamming his bruised shoulder into Harold’s body to knock him back and cause him to drop his weapon. Harold snarled and launched
himself at Gordon, grappling him around the waist and shoving him backwards and over. Gordon fell heavily, but managed to lift his head before it slammed onto the concrete; he was winded by the attack and when Harold telegraphed a vicious blow to his face with his uninjured hand, struggled to reach up and grab his wrist to prevent him from striking him. He grunted with the exertion, unable to sufficiently move his left arm to do more than push it against Harold’s stomach. With a wild, savage look on his face, Harold plunged his thumb into the bloody wound in Gordon’s shoulder, making the detective scream in agonizing pain as Harold seemingly attempted to rip the wound open wider.
Taking the advantage, Harold wrenched his hand free from Gordon’s grasp then struck Gordon with unstoppable fury in the face; Gordon heard his nose break and a stream of blood begin to form. His eyes watered and as the driving rain soaked his features, he was almost blind but desperately fought back. He reached into his pocket, hoping to extract his knife and stab at Harold as he had done against one of his hired thugs earlier, but as he pulled out the handle and switched out the blade, Harold grappled his wrist and slammed it against the concrete as hard as he could, multiple times, until Gordon dropped it. It clattered a couple of paces away, and Harold thumped Gordon again before scrambling away, moving towards the knife. Gordon reacted as quickly as his injuries would allow, grabbing Harold ankle with his good hand and pulling as hard as he could, but it did little to slow Harold down. He reached out and snatched up the knife before turning, with a manic expression on his face, towards Gordon to fling himself awkwardly in his direction, blade down and aimed at Gordon’s eye. Gordon managed to shift his head out of the way at the last possible second, the blade nicking his ear instead and causing more pain to assail the flagging detective.
Gordon twisted and grabbed Harold’s hand before rolling over and bringing one leg up to kick Harold as hard as he could in the rear. Harold yelped in pain and Gordon twisted his hand, wrenching the knife from his grasp. He let go of Harold and twisted away, scrambling to get to his feet. Through blurry eyes, he managed to catch sight of a steel glint. Shaking his head and gaining a fraction of focus, Gordon saw that it was Harold’s revolver. He lunged forward, losing his footing but able to reach the weapon. He snatched it up and rolled onto his back, seeing, as he aimed along the length of his body with one hand, Harold mimicking his movements, Gordon’s gun in his hands. With barely a moment to aim, Gordon squeezed off a shot at Harold’s centre mass; he let out a pained grunt and slumped backward. Not wanting to take a chance that he was still a threat, Gordon managed to struggle to his feet and approach him, stooping down to take his weapon from his hand and slip it into its holster. Breathing heavily, he looked down at his defeated opponent and shook his head.
His Twisted Smile Page 21
