Never Cry Mercy

by L. T. Ryan

  There would be no second warning. He'd given a directive, and the guy failed to follow it. His blood would not be on Jack's hand.

  He squeezed the trigger.

  Click.

  Nothing.

  What the hell? It's always loaded.

  Whatever light remained glinted off the guy's teeth as he smiled.

  "Oh, I'm gonna have fun with this."

  Frozen in time. That's how Jack felt watching the guy attack his brother. Sean lay on the ground, his hands clutching his stomach. The man towered over him, standing just a few feet away. Jack stood there with the defunct pistol, unsure what to do next.

  "I'm gonna rip your damn spine outta your mouth," the guy said.

  "Jack, run," Sean said.

  He heard the words. Visualized turning and sprinting through the woods, into the neighbor's yard, to their backdoor. Banging and screaming for help. Maybe he'd be in time to save Sean and Molly.

  Or maybe with one on the loose, the men would cut their losses, execute whichever of Jack's siblings they held, and be on their way. Point made. Your move.

  "Go!" Sean said.

  Jack went. But backward was not an option.

  He charged the large man that stood between him and his brother.

  Chapter 53

  The lights inside the garage were on, casting long yellowish-white rectangles through the windows along the parking lot. I picked a shaded lane and moved to one of the bay doors to get a look inside. The Jeep was still there. Maybe they'd done some work on it. Maybe they'd rigged it to blow up. In the middle of the room sat the big guy I'd fought with outside the garage. Two other men I didn't recognize were there, too. They were seated around a table, playing cards. I didn't spot any weapons. Only alcohol. I'd hoped that the place would be empty. This was a close second.

  The best option for entering was a door along the side. It appeared to open into the garage's walled office, which at that moment was darkened and presumably deserted.

  I stuck to the shadows as I made my way to the side of the building and tested the door. Found it unlocked. I cracked it an inch, then waited. No alarm. No apparent movement inside. Pushing it open further, I eased inside with the pistol drawn and aimed in front of me. As expected, the office was empty. Through a large bay window I saw the men. Not a one of them could see me.

  The room had two desks, each adorned with a computer monitor and stacks of paper. I opened the center drawer of the front desk, found pens, sticky pads, and some paperclips. Nothing useful. The side drawers were locked. I moved to the next desk and checked. In there I found a six-inch hunting knife and tucked it in my waistband. The side drawers were unlocked. As I opened the first, the room lit up.

  I spun on my heel, pistol aimed at the door separating the office from the rest of the garage. It remained closed. The light came from beside where I stood. A computer monitor had come to life. The three guys at the table paid no attention. Maybe they'd seen it and ignored it. Common occurrence, perhaps.

  I killed the power to the monitor, then resumed my desk search, turning up nothing else. I'd have to proceed with the .22 and a knife. Bad odds.

  For them.

  I waited by the door a few moments, trusting that the right opportunity to enter the garage would come soon. And it did.

  The three men broke out in a fit of drunken laughter. They slammed their cards, covered their faces. One guy fell out of his chair.

  Within a couple seconds I was through the door and halfway to the table, pistol drawn. The first guy who spotted me went silent. The guy with his back to me must've noticed his buddy's face go slack because he looked over his shoulder and then held out his hands.

  The third guy didn't fall in line with his buddies. It was the same big guy I'd beaten down the other day. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted toward me.

  I didn't hesitate. I squeezed the trigger, praying that a gun I'd never fired wouldn't fail me.

  It didn't.

  The bullet hit him center mass ten feet out. The big guy went down clutching his heart.

  "Who's next?" I said.

  Both men at the table hoisted their hands high in the air. I gestured for them to stand.

  "Over there. Face opposite directions and get on the ground feet-to-feet, fingers interlaced behind your head."

  The men complied as the big guy choked while he bled out on the floor.

  "Ain't you going to help him?" one of the guys said.

  "Depends," I said. "Is my Jeep ready?"

  "That thing's dead, man," the guy said.

  "You got something I can use then? It's gotta be four-wheel drive."

  "Take mine," the guy said. "Bronco parked out front. Keys are on the table."

  I found the skull keychain on the table with a Ford key attached. Shoved it in my pocket. Then I grabbed a spool of electrical wire and bound the men at their wrists and ankles. The big guy had stopped writhing around in the crimson pool surrounding him. Maybe he was dead. I didn't care.

  "One more thing," I said. "You know where they took her?"

  "Who?" the guy said.

  I stepped on the back of his head, smashing his cheek into the concrete floor.

  "Do you know where they took her?" I repeated.

  "Who?" he shouted. "Jesus, man, you're crushing my face. I don't know who you're talking about."

  At that same moment a door whipped open and smacked against the metal wall. The sound echoed throughout the room for the next few seconds.

  "The hell is going on in here?" said a guy I'd never seen before. He held a rifle and aimed it in my direction.

  I fired a wild shot at him and ducked behind the Jeep. There was nothing else between me and the back corner of the garage.

  A shot erupted, tearing through the windshield and soft top. It ricocheted off the wall. The guy cycled the action of his the rifle again. Fired. The front passenger tire hissed as air spewed out.

  I shuffled to the rear of the vehicle. Peeked over the spare tire. The guy spun on his heel and fired. The round knocked the spare off its mount. Son of a bitch was a decent shot. Years of hunting, I presumed. Too bad for him I wasn't a deer. He readied his weapon again. I pulled the cover off the tire and tossed it to the side of the Jeep.

  BOOM.

  Wasted shot.

  I powered off the floor, pistol ready. Located the man. He was facing away from me. I pulled the trigger.

  The shot missed.

  He chambered another round, fired at me. It tore through my right shoulder. My arm went limp. He sent another round in my direction. I dropped to the ground, reached over with my other hand and felt the wound. The pain had subsided. The bullet had only grazed me.

  But he didn't know that.

  His boots echoed off the concrete floor as he slowly and deliberately approached me. He must've mistaken me for wounded prey.

  "Free us," one of the guys said. "We can help."

  "Shut up," the guy said. "Worthless." He spat on the ground, continued toward me.

  I realized then that I had dropped the pistol after being shot. It lay on the floor in plain sight. I planned an escape. All I had to do was wait for him to get to the Jeep, then I'd take a few steps past. Run as fast as I could to the door he came in through. There were two vans at the front I could take cover behind, if I didn't reach the Bronco first.

  I peered under the vehicle and knew then that the plan would fail. I'd never make it to the door. Too much open space. My only hope was that he'd get close enough I could engage and disarm him.

  He kicked the .22, sending it skating away across the floor. The handgun banged against the wall and spun in a tight circle before coming to rest twenty or so feet from me. I saw the rifle barrel first, pointed loosely at the floor. The man stepped out from behind the vehicle. He had on grey suit pants and a silk shirt. Gold rimmed sunglasses were perched atop his head. He looked Mexican, though taller than most I'd seen.

  I kept my free hand pressed tight to my shoulder, against the woun
d, letting the blood seep out through my fingers. In my other hand I gripped the knife, holding the blade against my forearm, out of sight. I labored my breathing, playing it up that I was hurt.

  He smiled as he looked down at me. "Estas listo para morir, puta?"

  "Vete a la verga culero."

  This drew a belly laugh out of the guy. He took his eyes off of me. Only for a second, but that was all I needed.

  With everything I had in me, I hopped up, slicing forward with the knife.

  The man's reflexes were like nothing I'd ever seen. He leaned back as I drew the knife across where his throat had been. I followed through with an elbow that caught him on the jaw. The rifle fell to the floor. He twisted his body and lunged after it. I dove on top of him, driving all of my weight down. He continued toward the weapon, carrying me with him. I crawled over him, gouging his eyes. I swung my other arm out, catching the butt of the gun with my fingertips, sending it sliding another fifteen feet.

  The guy managed to worm out from under me. As he pulled himself up to his feet, I lunged at his knee, taking it on from the side. His leg buckled and he went down hard. His head smacked the concrete with a thud. Blood pooled around his face. He groaned, brought his arms in so his fists were by his neck and his elbows at his midsection.

  "Stay down," I said between breaths.

  He didn't. The guy thrust himself to his hands and knees. Blood spilled from the gash on his forehead. He looked at me, then the gun.

  I pushed off the floor, bringing my feet under and hopping up. We both went for the rifle. He dove for it. I let him. A long stretch of pegboard was mounted to the wall. I grabbed a steel ratchet that was damn near a foot long.

  The man scooped the rifle up, got to his knees.

  I drew my arm back, letting the tool dangle ready to bring it forward with every ounce of torque I could muster.

  He spun on one knee, hands adjusting on the rifle in an attempt to get his shot off.

  I planted my left foot forward, thrust my right hip toward him, whipped my arm around in a side arc. The overhead lights glinted off the ratchet.

  The guy cursed in Spanish. He held the rifle out and looked down at it. Had it jammed? Had he been in such a hurry he hadn't chambered a round?

  He glanced up, his face twisting in surprised anticipation as the tool sailed toward his face. I thought for sure his reflexes would kick in and he'd move. He started to, but the hunk of metal hit first. The guy rocked back on his heels. I rushed forward, kicked him in the chest. He toppled over, dropping the rifle along the way. I grabbed it, shot him in the chest point blank.

  Never cry mercy.

  Never again.

  Chapter 54

  "I'm coming back, and if you two so much as move I'm gonna do you like I did him."

  The two men lay face down on the floor, hands tied behind them, feet bound at the ankles. They groaned through the duct tape I'd wrapped around their heads.

  "And so help me, if this Bronco doesn't start, I'm gonna burn this building down with you two in it. Anyone tries to put out the fire, I'll kill them, too."

  The Bronco was parked off to the side. It was painted black. Wheels were black. Windows were tinted. I couldn't have found a more perfect vehicle for what I was about to do. I climbed into the driver's seat, ignoring the wounds I'd accumulated the past two days. Tried to, at least. It was a state of mind more than anything. A warm trickle of blood down my arm made it difficult to block it out entirely.

  The route I'd highlighted on the map had me leaving on Main Street, which became the highway. I sped along until I reached the first turnoff. I figured Darrow had lookouts somewhere along the way. No doubt he would tonight. They were waiting for me. I felt it. I cruised along the road for five minutes, then cut my headlights. The moon shone brightly overhead, refusing to allow me to proceed covertly if I passed a lookout too close. But if someone was a hundred feet off the road, they might not spot me. They'd hear the big ol' V-8, though.

  Without the benefit of headlights, I almost missed the next turn. The drive wouldn't get any easier from this point. I switched the lights back on and drove a few miles, looking for a landmark. The map had a picture of a snake head with the tongue sticking out.

  I wasn't sure what I was looking for until I found it. The head rose out of the dirt like an Egyptian pyramid. The mouth stood wide open, and fangs as tall as me were poised to latch onto its prey. The tongue stuck out like a large ribbon whipping in the wind.

  I slowed down and peered into the mouth. A single glass door set in the middle led inside. What the hell was it? A museum? Snake World? If I made it through the night alive, I planned on returning to find out.

  The turn off was located on the other side of the building. Nothing more than a dirt patch with two red reflectors on poles to mark it. I put the Bronco in four-wheel-drive and went off-road. From this point I had no idea what to expect. On a line, I'd reach the small little cabin in fifteen miles. What stood in my way?

  The vehicle handled the terrain without a problem. As I bounced along, I thought through the possible scenarios of what I'd find at the cabin. It couldn't accommodate many people, so I didn't expect to run into more than one or two armed men inside. The property outside, well, that was a different story. I never saw any other structures there, but at night, there was plenty of room for them to hide out in the open. I had a .22 with two shots left, and a rifle with a handful of shells I'd taken off the guy at the garage. If there were more than a couple armed men out there, tonight would not go my way.

  The moon rose higher. Seemed to glow brighter the smaller and tighter it appeared in the sky. That worked for and against me. It all depended on my approach, and how far out they were watching. With two miles remaining, I stopped the Bronco and cut the ignition. The engine ticked. The air smelled like antifreeze.

  I performed a quick sweep of the vehicle. In back I found a Glock 19. The magazine was full, and the pistol smelled of fresh oil. Presumably the guy had taken care of it. Bad luck for him that he didn't have it in the garage.

  Two miles of moonlit dirt stretched out in front of me. Twenty to thirty minutes to reach my destination.

  I started the last leg of my journey on foot.

  But I wouldn't finish it that way.

  The men approaching in the truck behind me would make sure of that.

  Chapter 55

  Reese heard the men talking outside on the porch. They spoke in hushed tones, too quiet for her to pick up on what they were saying. Her mind raced at the possibilities. They could have decided she was too much of a hassle to keep around. Better to end it now and deal with Jack later. He'd turn up.

  Or would he?

  She knew Jack was the kind of guy who'd be there for her no matter what. She only hoped that he'd arrive before time ran out.

  The door flew open, grating against the floor. For a minute, Reese heard nothing but the sounds of the cicadas serenading them with their shrill voices. After a few moments, Darrow entered. He dragged a chair into the room and set it across from Reese. He didn't sit down, though. Instead, he leaned over the back and stared at Reese for thirty seconds without saying a word.

  "What?" she said finally, breaking the first rule in negotiations. She'd given up on being able to compromise with him.

  "This'll all be over soon," he said.

  She bit down hard, trying to keep from spilling more tears.

  "Your friend Jack is close. Once he's here, we'll give him a proper welcome. Then I've got a few things to tell him."

  "Like what?" she said. "Gonna offer him a job?"

  Darrow laughed. "I tell you, that thought crossed my mind. He would make an excellent member of my organization if circumstances were different. And I don't mean a thug like Linus and the rest of those idiots in town. They're my dogs, basically. I feed them scraps and they dig in my trash. Keeps the locals in fear and away from my fence and off my lawn. Got me?"

  Reese didn't answer.

  "Anyway, if I could
have a guy like Noble, he would be part of my inner circle. The guys who I trust. The ones I know won't screw me over. And, you see, the problem is that once Jack learns a few things about me, there's no way he'd want to be a part of that group."

  "Why not? What'd you do?"

  Darrow shook his head. He straightened up and tipped the chair back so it stood on its rear two legs. "That's not something you really want to know." He paused, smiled. "Well, I guess you're gonna find out soon anyway."

  Vernon stepped into the room carrying rope, duct tape, some heavy duty zip ties, and a brown leather briefcase. She was curious about its contents, but didn't ask.

  Come on, Jack, she thought. Now is the perfect time to take these assholes out.

  "How far out are they?" Darrow asked Vernon.

  "They've got him in the truck and are interrogating him," Vernon said. "Should be here within ten minutes."

  "Perfect," Darrow said, turning his attention to Reese, smiling. "This'll all be over in twenty."

  This time she couldn't hold back the tears.

  Chapter 56

  Crystal River, Florida, 1988

  Hit a big man low.

  He'd heard it said a number of times. Had gone through it in slow motion with his father and uncle, both of whom stood over six-foot-four. Now it was time to put practice into action.

  Jack feigned high, curled his arm back as though he were going to strike at the man's throat. As the guy reacted by throwing his arms up to block, Jack dropped his mass low and lunged at the guy's left knee, driving his shoulder through from the inside out with a satisfying snap and crack. As a linebacker on his junior high football team, Jack had perfected the art of tackling. The big guy toppled over, and not a second later, Sean threw his six-two frame on the man, locking him down in a choke-hold. The guy's hollow calls for help fell on no ears.

  The man bucked against Sean, almost throwing him off. Jack stepped in with a kick to the ribs, and another to his shredded knee. The guy collapsed to the ground again. A few seconds later, he went limp, his eyes permanently opened.