by GA McKevett
“That’s right, Granny,” Tammy said, always kind. “We’d just feel better if you were with us.”
Savannah glanced down at her watch. “Okay. It’s one-thirty. He doesn’t usually go to the gym until two. So we’ve got plenty of time to get in place and check the audio equipment.”
“Maybe go over our plan?” Tammy suggested.
“Um, Dirk figures we’ll just play this one by ear.”
Even as she was saying the words, Savannah felt a bit uneasy. This particular mission felt wrong somehow, and more than a little troublesome to her.
She wasn’t sure why.
They’d taken down many a bad guy in their day—career criminals galore and even a couple of serial killers. But only a foolish law enforcement officer would take someone like Ian Xenos lightly.
She’d looked at his picture earlier on Tammy’s computer, and something had sent a chill through her. It wasn’t his muscular body that bothered her. She and Dirk had taken down a lot of muscle-bound knuckleheads in their day. Those fellows and their muscles hit the ground just as quickly and as hard as anybody else.
No, it was the expression on Ian Xenos’s face that instinctively set her nerves on edge. Or, more accurately, it was the nonexpression. “Flat affect,” the shrinks called it. The few experiences she’d had dealing with individuals with that dead look in their eyes had been unpleasant, to be sure. Some had even been terrifying. It kept her awake at night when she thought of the horrible acts that were committed by those who felt no empathy whatsoever for their fellow man.
“There’s the gym up there on the right,” Tammy said. “The big orange sign. I recognize the logo.”
Savannah looked at the large orange circle with the cartoon bulldog in the center, standing on his rear legs, his front paws up and gloved. His jagged teeth were displayed in an ugly snarl.
“Nice,” she said. “Kinda gives you that warm, fuzzy feeling.”
“His house should be right down there, also on the right,” Tammy told them.
Dirk pulled over into the first available parking spot. “You guys go on down, get the next one,” he said. “We’ll approach him when he’s exactly halfway between home and the gym. We don’t want his buddies in either place to feel they have to come rescue him.”
“Especially if they look anything like that-there bulldog in the sign,” Granny said.
Parked on the side of the road in front of an ice cream store, they watched as Ryan and John’s big white surveillance van passed them, then pulled into a parking spot about sixty feet away.
“Okay, Gran,” Savannah said as she opened the door. “Let’s go get you in the van with those young people so you can keep an eye on ’em.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Gran said proudly. “To make sure everything goes okay with you younguns.”
Savannah watched as her eighty-year-old–plus grandmother strode off toward the van, ready to do battle, if necessary, to protect her loved ones.
She hoped that someday, maybe, if she tried really hard, she might turn out to be just like her.
The waiting was the hardest part. Always.
Savannah truly believed that with some luck, the good Lord’s help, and all the courage you could scrounge up from deep inside, there was nothing much a body couldn’t do when they set their mind to it.
But waiting to do it, when all you wanted to do was just get it over and done with, that was the toughest part.
Dirk, Gran, Ryan, John, Waycross, Tammy, and Savannah were all crowded into the van, watching for Ian Xenos to stick his ugly mug out of his house. Even though it was a roomy and quite luxurious van, with all those bodies and all the equipment, it was pretty darned crowded.
Contrary to his previous inclination not to formulate a solid game plan, Dirk was running down his latest ideas. To Ryan and John, he said, “We don’t wanna all pounce on him like an army. Let me and Savannah go out first. You’ll be listening and watching. If it looks like we need you, come on out and join in.”
“Gotcha,” Ryan said.
“Tammy and Gran . . . I want you here in the van, getting everything on tape. Waycross, you’re here, too, filming with the camera, like we showed you.”
Waycross nodded vigorously, his red curls bobbing. “Understood.”
“Then understand this, too. Under no circumstances will any one of you three get out of this van.” Dirk turned a stern look on Granny. “That means no running into the affray with a skillet in your hand. Got it?”
She gave him a curt nod.
Savannah’s mental wheels were spinning. She had a plan of her own, which she didn’t think was going to sit well with Dirk, but she decided to bounce it off him anyway. “I’d like to go up to him first. Alone,” she said. When Dirk started shaking his head, she added, “Just hear me out, dadgum it. I might be able to just have a civil conversation with him, and wouldn’t that be better than a brawl right here on Pacific Coast Highway?”
Dirk paused to think it over, so she kept talking. “Let’s get out right now. You act like you’re going into that convenience store, and I’ll hang around by the phone booth, like I’m waiting for a call. Then when he comes out, I’ll try to talk to him, and you’ll be right there if I need you.”
“Do what you think is best, old boy,” John told Dirk, “but I tend to agree with her. Too many chefs spoil the broth, and all that.”
Dirk sighed. “We’ll try it your way. But if he starts anything . . .”
Savannah reached for the van door. “Let’s go.”
Their timing was perfect. No sooner had they taken their agreed-upon positions than the front door of the house opened and Ian Xenos strode out. He was the size of a grizzly bear and was wearing a skimpy black tank top, which was cut very low in the front with enormous armholes. It was intended, no doubt, to show off every one of his muscles that he had so carefully developed.
He had a deep, deep tan, with a suspiciously orange tint to it. His head was shaved bald, and his scalp was tattooed with a set of bright red horns. Around his neck was more ink—a vine of thorns dripping crimson blood down onto his shoulders and chest.
Subtle, she thought. The jury’s just gonna love that at your trial, you badass nitwit.
But, of course, any good defense lawyer would insist that he grow some hair before his next court appearance. And dressed in a nice suit, a white shirt, and a conservative tie, no one would guess that in his natural state he looked like the son of Lucifer.
When he passed by her, he gave her a quick once-over. Although he didn’t make eye contact or smile at her, she could tell he liked what he saw.
So he appreciated a full-figured gal.
Proof that nobody was all bad.
She fell into step beside him. In her sweetest Dixie drawl, she said, “Excuse me, sir. You look like you’re in a bit of a hurry, but could you spare a minute for me? I’d sure appreciate it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dirk coming up behind him, hanging back, not getting too close, but close enough.
Xenos stopped, gave her another, longer, lustier look, and said, “Yeah. What’s shakin’, sugar?”
To her shock, he had a Southern accent that made her sound like a Yankee!
Why, wonders never cease! she thought. Who’d have thought Ian Xenos was a good ol’ boy?
“I know you, don’t I?” she said. “I’m just sure I’ve seen your picture in the newspaper.”
He frowned. “Yeah, I reckon you might’ve. So what?”
“Oh, I know who you are! They say your company sells those fake purses that me and my girlfriends buy all the time.”
He frowned a bit less, so she continued. “I gotta tell you, I think you got a bum deal. That gal on TV, that reporter, it was obvious she had it in for you from the start.”
Now he was looking surprised, and more than a little pleased. Something told Savannah that running into women on the street with burgeoning breasts, who sympathized with his cause, wasn’t something t
hat happened to ol’ Ian every day.
But he liked it.
“Well, thank you, sugar,” he said in a deep voice that was just crawling with “smarmy”—Southern accent notwithstanding.
“I don’t think she was objective at all about her reporting,” Savannah continued, laying it on thicker than she could spread Granny’s preserves on a biscuit, and twice as sweet. “Her saying you’re tied into those terrorist fellas, that your group sends them money so’s they can do their jihad terror business over here. I don’t believe that hooey for a minute. I can just tell by looking at you that you’re a fine American. And I can tell by your sweet Southern drawl that you were born in the land o’ cotton like myself.”
All of her sunshine and light were proving pointless. Because the moment she had mentioned the terrorists, his eyes had glazed over with that flat, shark look. Just like his mug shot on the Internet.
“Who are you?” he asked. Suddenly his voice was like a jug of lemonade with no sugar in it at all.
“Just a concerned citizen,” she said. “I don’t like to see innocent people get railroaded by the media. That gal was just trying to build her career by pulling you down.” She batted her eyes at him and lowered her voice a bit. “You must’ve been pretty happy to hear ’bout somebody takin’ care of her for you, huh? Without her testimony, it’s gonna be pretty hard for the prosecutor to make his case against you.”
Something snapped inside old Ian; Savannah saw it happen in his eyes. A flash of temper like hot lightning, then nothing. With a chillingly blank expression on his face, he reached out and shoved her, very hard, on the chest. She stumbled backward a couple of steps before regaining her balance.
“Get out of my way, you stinkin’ cu—”
He was only able to get the first bit of the filthy word out of his mouth before Dirk tackled him from the back, landing on him in an explosion of fury. They both fell, facedown toward the sidewalk, and landed with a terrible thud.
The violence of nearly five hundred pounds of male rage hitting the ground in front of her impressed even Savannah, who thought she had seen it all.
Ian Xenos was an enormous man, and Dirk was a big boy himself. The fight definitely qualified as a heavyweight bout.
Dirk was on the top when they landed. But it only took a couple of seconds for Xenos to reverse the situation. He managed to roll Dirk off, then flip onto his back, grab Dirk, and then the wrestling-punching began in earnest.
Fists, arms, legs, and feet were flying so furiously that Savannah couldn’t even find an opening where she could join in and add some licks of her own.
She thought of pulling her weapon, but she’d be as likely to shoot Dirk as Ian. Besides, she’d never shot an unarmed person; and from what she could see, Ian had no weapon. Except for his fists and feet, which he was using quite skillfully.
Suddenly he was on top of Dirk, pounding away. Savannah saw her opening. She jumped on his back, placing her arms around his neck in a choke hold.
At least she had fully intended for it to be a choke hold, but Xenos didn’t appear to be choking. In fact, as he and Dirk traded slug for slug, Xenos didn’t even seem to notice he had a large woman hanging around his neck and down his back.
That was a fact Savannah found most annoying—and more than a little frightening.
She’d never been astride a man who felt more like a bull than a human being.
She couldn’t believe it when she felt him rising with her still holding on for dear life, trying her best to throttle him—or at least letting him know she was there.
With strength that seemed superhuman, considering that he had an amply endowed woman on his back, Ian managed to get to his feet. Still dangling behind him, Savannah threw her legs around his waist and squeezed until her thighs felt like they were on fire.
Once, he reached over his shoulder and slapped at her head, much as she would have done to a pesky fly that was irritating her.
For a second, she considered sinking her teeth into his neck muscles, but she decided instead to lower her right leg slightly and dig her heel into his crotch.
He let out a yelp of pain . . . and kicked at Dirk.
Dirk grabbed his leg and yanked it out from under him.
All three landed in a kicking, punching, squeezing, grappling free-for-all.
Savannah lost her choke hold and grabbed onto a limb. At first, she thought it was his leg because of the size of it. Then, to her dismay, she realized it was his arm.
With one half-twist, Xeon freed it and smacked Savannah on the side of the head so hard that she saw stars.
Dirk retaliated with a brutal punch to the left side of the guy’s face, but it had no effect at all.
For a split second her eyes met Dirk’s and she could see he was as confused as she was about what to do next. They had wrestled bigger guys, and some perps under the influence of drugs that had given them extraordinary strength.
She couldn’t imagine what Ian Xenos was on.
“Get . . . his . . . legs . . . ,” Dirk gasped as he tried to climb onto the upper part of Xeon’s body and pin him.
Savannah maneuvered herself downward until she was straddling Xenos’s lower body, but she could tell it would only be a matter of seconds until he escaped that hold, too.
Suddenly they had help. She heard Ryan yell, “Help Savannah with his legs!” A second later, John was behind her, sitting across Xenos’s calves . . . or trying to, and getting kicked hard in the process.
She could see past Dirk, who was across his shoulders, to Ryan, who was trying to help Dirk get a cuff on one wrist.
It wasn’t working. They were both getting badly punched in the process.
“Stop fighting, damn it!” Dirk shouted. “We’re gonna have to hurt you!”
Yeah, right! Savannah thought as Xenos’s foot caught John squarely in the crotch.
John doubled over, face-first, onto the sidewalk, holding himself in a manner most uncharacteristic of the dignified Brit.
In Savannah’s peripheral vision, she saw a fuzzy redhead. A moment later, Waycross threw himself down onto Xenos’s lower legs, the position just vacated by the incapacitated John.
Savannah did a quick count in her head. Five against one. And as Xenos landed more blows than he received, she realized it was they who were “outnumbered.”
Ryan had given up on trying to get a cuff on him, and she was grateful for that. When a guy was fighting like Xenos, the last thing he needed was a metal cuff on one wrist to use as a weapon.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind that she was grateful Xenos had no weapon, than she saw him jerk his hand free of Ryan’s and snatch at Dirk’s Smith and Wesson strapped to his side.
“Dirk, gun!” she yelled.
She grabbed at Xenos’s hand and missed.
He had his hand on Dirk’s gun!
A second later, she heard a loud pop. Then a strange, crackling sound.
Xenos let out a scream, like that of a tortured animal! She felt his body beneath her buck wildly.
What the hell? she thought. Has he been shot? Is he having some sort of seizure?
Five seconds later, he stopped and lay still, groaning. And, most important, not fighting.
Savannah looked over her right shoulder and saw Granny standing there beside them, looking down the barrel of a gun.
It took Savannah’s brain a couple more seconds to register the wires leading from the gun to Xenos’s thigh and the metal prongs sticking in his flesh.
“You lay still,” Granny roared, “you mangy rattlesnake, or I’ll zap you again, I will!”
Standing right behind Granny was Tammy, a deeply satisfied look on her face.
“Don’t hit him again, Gran,” Dirk said. “Unless he acts up.”
Dirk looked down at the stunned Xenos. He slapped him lightly on the cheeks, bringing him around. “Come on, dude,” he said. “All we were gonna do is ask you a question. Then you had to go push my lady. What’s the matter with yo
u?”
“What do you idiots want?” Xenos asked feebly, coming around.
“Simple,” Dirk told him. “To know where you were two mornings ago.”
Xenos thought for a moment. “What? Two days ago? You mean Sunday morning?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s easy. I was in the hospital with my wife, from seven till two in the afternoon. She was having a baby.”
A deadly silence descended on the group. Savannah could practically hear her fingernails growing.
She looked from one to the other of the exhausted, bleeding, and bruised Moonlight Magnolia members and saw the same look of horror and shock on their faces that she was feeling.
They had gone through all this for nothing?
She watched as though in slow motion as Tammy suddenly produced her handheld device and began to type on it.
“Um . . . was it a boy or a girl, Mr. Xenos?” Tammy asked, barely squeaking out the words.
“A girl, Antonette Rose, seven pounds two ounces.... Not that it’s any of your damned business.”
Tammy’s thumbs flew over the keyboard. They waited and watched her breathlessly.
As she studied the small screen in front of her, a look of dismay washed over her face. She glanced from one of them to the other; then she nodded.
Dirk turned to Savannah, who looked at Waycross, and John, who had just managed to rise off the sidewalk. They all turned to Ryan, who looked like he’d prefer to be absolutely anywhere but leaning over Ian Xenos, pinning his arms to the ground.
Finally, after about ten years, Dirk reached down and put his hands tightly over Xenos’s ears.
To Savannah, he whispered, “Did you tell him your name?”
“No,” she whispered back.
In an equally low voice, Ryan said to Dirk, “We didn’t hear you announce yourself before you jumped him. Did you?”
“No.”
Dirk cleared his throat, looked around to see how many spectators had gathered, but there were few bystanders and none of them nearby.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s the plan. I’m gonna count to three. On three, we turn him loose.” They all turned to see how far it was to the van. “And we run like hell!”
