Never Cry Mercy

by L. T. Ryan

  The brothers stared at each other in the dim light. They shared a victorious smile.

  But it didn't last long.

  Molly's scream sliced through the humid night like a rusted butter knife.

  Chapter 57

  High beams illuminated the ground before me. I saw nowhere to run. No place to hide. Two doors opened up. The engine idled rough, like it might choke at any time.

  "Hands up, turn around."

  I complied and did a one-eighty into the light wash. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust enough to make out shapes.

  "Who else is with you?"

  I could barely make out the guy's face. He wore his hat so the bill covered his eyes. Every feature was shaded. Maybe I knew him. If not from town, then somewhere else. He sure as hell acted like someone I had known in the past. Definitely not like one of the townies I'd been beating up on since arriving in Texline. I figured Darrow employed at least a few people I'd crossed paths with.

  "I asked you a question," he said. "I expect an answer."

  "Only my father had permission to talk to me like that."

  He rewarded my noncompliance with a sap to the gut. I saw it coming. Tightened my abdominal muscles. It didn't make a difference. It never did with that weapon. I fell to the side and was subsequently pushed back over by another man. Dirt filled my nose, mouth, and throat, and caked my lips as I desperately tried to refill my lungs with oxygen.

  "I'll give you a minute," the guy said.

  They all cleared away from the side of the truck, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Why'd I have to get so greedy? Any other time, I'd have huffed it the last four or five miles. I went in closer than I was comfortable and paid for it. I ended up driving right past these guys without knowing. They followed then ambushed me when I began my final trek.

  The only positive to the situation was they would bring me to Reese, and I wouldn't have to walk.

  Unless I was wrong, in which case, I was pretty screwed at that moment.

  I leaned back, sucking in whatever air I could squeeze into my lungs. Oxygen slowly made its way through my body. Before I'd recovered enough to talk, the guy squatted next to me, jabbing the end of the sap into my gut.

  "Well?" he said. "Who else is with you?"

  "No one," I tried to say. It came out as a gravely whisper.

  Shaking his head, he whipped the sap up, then back down.

  I rolled to the side, mouth agape, hands grasping at the air in front of my stomach as though they could restore the oxygen to my lungs. A minute passed. Everything went dark. I felt like I was passing out. Someone came up and yanked me off the ground. My legs hadn't the strength to hold me up and I started to fall. Another man appeared on the other side of me. They grabbed my arms and dragged me to the truck. My feet couldn't keep up. They slammed me over the tailgate. My head ricocheted off the bed liner. Thank God the plastic was there to absorb the impact. I might've been knocked out otherwise. Come to think of it, that would have been preferable.

  The guy with the sap hopped up in the bed with me. I rolled onto my back and scooted until my head touched the cab. The guy remained at the tailgate.

  "I guess it's safe to assume that your dumbass came out here alone," he said.

  I said nothing, because fuck him, that's why.

  He nodded, took a step toward me. I didn't react. He lifted the sap over his head, threw a practice pitch. The sap whistled as it passed a foot or so in front of my face. There'd be no way to make it through an actual blow to the head with the weapon. I'd be knocked out cold. Possibly worse. But if that's what they wanted, he'd have done it already. He threw another practice pitch, bringing the weapon closer to my head. Fear tactic, that was all. Darrow wanted me awake and alive. No fun for him otherwise.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the glass. Heard the guy laugh.

  "Regular badass over here, huh?" He gave it a few seconds before continuing. "Well, enjoy the next couple minutes. They'll be some of the last of your life."

  No, I thought. They'll be the last of yours.

  Chapter 58

  The silence was both welcome and agonizing. Permanent silence was within reach. Reese had no idea when it would happen, though. She opened her eyes and saw nothing more than the faint glow and flicker of the oil lamp they'd brought into the cabin. It illuminated the walls, highlighting the shadowy corners. The cabin must've been a hundred and fifty years old. It was worn and scarred. Who had lived here? She imagined a family of nine eking it out, surviving on the land, all stuffed into the small space. Their days would have consisted of work and sleep. Nothing more. Maybe one or two of the kids got out and made something of their lives. Perhaps they were some of the original founders of Texline, or one of the other small towns. And one or two never made it out at all with mortality rates as high as they were back then.

  Would she make it out alive?

  Dealing with the criminal element as long as she had, Reese had long ago accepted that she could succumb to an untimely death. It wasn't a pleasant realization, but she knew it, accepted it, and continued on with her work. You couldn't live in fear as a detective. She took the stance that being cautious, prepared, and educated were the traits that would help her through her career. False bravado was as bad as walking around afraid. Both would get you killed.

  But tonight she felt fear in a way that was primal and unlike anything she'd ever been through. Every howl of the wind sent shivers down her spine. Every rustle of the trees filled her with anxiety. Panic laced every breath she took.

  And now the silence she'd grown accustomed to had dissipated and given way to the low rumble of a vehicle approaching. Soon it would be close enough to hear the ground crunching beneath the tires. After that, Jack would be brought in. At least, she hoped so. If she had to die, she wanted to see the man one last time. Tell him her feelings. The feelings she'd held on to for the past eight years, since the day they'd first crossed paths in New York.

  But what if she never saw him again? What if they killed him just outside the door and she had to listen to it? All along, she believed it was her suffering Jack would be forced to witness. She had not considered that it might be the other way around.

  "Screw what ifs," she muttered under her breath.

  "What?" Vernon said.

  She didn't respond to the man. He was dead to her. Hell, she hoped he had to be the one to pull the trigger and end her life. The ultimate betrayal of a friend. What a joke of a word. She hadn't had a true friend since, well, since she met Jack the first time.

  "Sounds like the truck is near," Vernon said.

  Darrow agreed. "We shouldn't both be on the porch."

  "Why?"

  "Do you have any idea how dangerous this man is?"

  Vernon said nothing.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if he's the one driving that truck right now."

  "Thought your guys were good," Vernon said.

  "Jack Noble is better."

  Chapter 59

  Crystal River, Florida, 1988

  "Jack, go," Sean said.

  But he didn't need to be told. He scampered in the direction of the scream, tripping over a stump. He sliced his hands on briars as he regained his footing. He seemed to encounter a new obstacle with every step. It didn't matter that he'd run through every square foot of the woods over the course of his childhood.

  It felt as though hours had passed, though in reality it had only been a few seconds when he finally saw their outlines. Molly knelt on the ground, her sobs growing louder. A man stood behind her. He extended his arm. The pistol glinted against the beam of his flashlight.

  Molly glanced in Jack's direction. Could she see him? Nothing in her blank stare told him she could. She didn't look scared, though. No, the steeled look on her face told Jack she was about to act. And act she did.

  The girl dipped forward and drove her foot back, catching the man in the crotch. He stumbled back, then bowed forward, losing control of his pistol. Molly
got to her feet and started running.

  The guy was too winded to say anything. He just pointed frantically, trying to spur others into action.

  Jack flipped the pistol in his hand and charged, letting his right arm drop to his side, gaining momentum, using every ounce of torque he could muster as he swung his arm and the pistol toward the guy's head. The man glanced over, brought his arm up. The flashlight beam nailed Jack in the eyes, temporarily blinding him. The light fell to the ground as Jack smashed the pistol into the guy's face. When the man finally fell, he landed on the flashlight, darkening it. Jack kicked him off it and cut it off as he scooped it up.

  Molly screamed out again. Had she encountered someone else? Jack strained to hear anything other than the cicadas at that moment, but they drowned out every sound other than her cries. As he neared the sound, Jack reached behind and pulled out the pistol he'd taken from the man who'd assaulted him in the house. He had no choice but to trust that it worked.

  He reached one of the clearings amid the woods. Molly stood there facing another man.

  "Please, don't," she said, her hands shaking in front of her, sobs trying to choke her words. "Please..."

  Jack extended the pistol. His finger hovered over the trigger.

  Stay calm. You've got one shot.

  They weren't his words. And they steeled his nerves. His finger brushed the cold steel.

  Squeeze it!

  Thunder rang out.

  Jack waited for the recoil that never happened.

  Molly's body jerked, then fell back.

  Jack dropped to his knees, relinquishing his grip on the pistol on the way down.

  Chapter 60

  "I wanna ask you one more question."

  I looked up at the guy. The moon hovered behind him. He had a twisted smile on his face. One that said no matter how I handled this situation, he planned on delivering a beating.

  "What?" I said.

  "Damn, you can still speak," he said. "I was certain we'd knocked the voice outta you."

  I rolled my eyes and looked past him. We were close, but still far enough out that he could do this and they wouldn't hear us at the cabin.

  "This is how you get off?" I said. "What happened to good, old-fashioned mercenary work? Go in. Do the job. Get paid. Move on. You must have some kind of little man complex if you're getting your rocks off on this."

  He lunged forward, feigning a blow with the sap. I didn't budge. He didn't move far enough to make the threat credible.

  "I mean, seriously. By all accounts, I'm about to meet my maker. You're just piling on at this point. And with me outnumbered four-to-one out here. I'd like to see you try and pull this off when it's just the two of us."

  He laughed.

  "Yeah," I said. "That's what I thought."

  "What?"

  "You wouldn't try it. You know I'm better. Anyone can tell you aren't the kind of guy who can take a beating. One asskicking and you're out. Hell the thought of it is enough for you to turn tail."

  "Oh yeah?" He took a step toward me, balancing as the truck bounced through a rough patch of terrain. "Well, it's just the two of us right now. What do you say? Wanna go at it?"

  He didn't wait for me to respond. He lunged forward with that sap up high, ready to strike. I'd been waiting for this moment. I dove at him, driving my shoulder into the front of his knee. He grunted as he swung the sap down on my leg. It burned like hell, but it wasn't enough to stop me. This was my kind of match. A six foot by five foot truck bed. No chance to move away. Grappling at its finest.

  I drove an uppercut into his groin. He dropped to his good knee. The other buckled backward as he collapsed. He held tight to that sap, swinging it at my head. I ducked to the side and brought my left arm up. The weapon hit my triceps square on. Felt like he snapped the humerus with the blow. I managed to lift the arm and thread it around his, neutralizing the sap from further use.

  He found my face with his free hand. His fingers clawed in search of my eyes. I grabbed hold of his Adam's apple and squeezed with every ounce of hand strength I had left, only letting up to dig in deeper. He jammed his thumb into my nose and pushed up. I released his throat and punished his stomach with three quick strikes. One must've hit just right because he let go of my face. I brought my arm up and wedged his neck between my forearm and bicep. Using my other arm, I secured the choke hold.

  With the sap now free from my arm bar, he tried to hit me with it, but his strength was severely reduced. His arm flailed weakly. I pulled him back, allowing myself to fall back to the truck bed. He was suspended on top of me, which meant he had no means of using the sides or lift gate to take pressure off of his throat.

  I whipped his head left, then right. His thrashing diminished. With my right arm around his neck, I repositioned my left to the side of his head and in a single counter-motion, I snapped his neck. I shoved his limp body to the side and found the sap.

  How the men in the truck hadn't noticed what was going on was beyond me. I was sure I'd hop up and have to fight both of them. But the truck rolled on, the small house nearly in sight now.

  I had two choices. Jump off the bed and stealth to the cabin, or take out the driver and see what happened next.

  Jumping seemed the safest route.

  I chose the driver.

  It'd take two taps. One to break the glass, the other to smash his head in. I could guarantee the first. The second was trickier. Chances were he wouldn't remain in perfect position for me to turn his forehead into a crater. It was a matter of how he reacted. Some men would push inside, away from the attack. Others would be so startled they'd simply turn toward the danger.

  I had to take into account the passenger, too. No doubt he was armed and could take me out before I ever got that second swing in. I considered attacking him first, but realized that wouldn't work. The driver could simply start evasive maneuvers with the truck. I'd have to drop or ditch. Either way, they'd know and be ready for me at the house.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Steady mind, steady hand. I knew how I had to do this.

  With my back to the cab, I held the sap in my right hand. It wouldn't take much to break the glass. I brought my arm across my chest, toward the passenger side. The sap tapped lightly against my ribs. Then I whipped my arm around, following with my torso, twisting at the waist. The sap hit the window, shattering it. I flicked my wrist back towards myself and let go of the weapon. I continued twisting and turning toward the front of the cab. Time slowed and everything happened in slow motion. The sap hung in midair as the truck pushed forward. I saw the guy turn his head toward the window. Fragments of glass spun in the air. My left hand found the weapon's handle mid-arc. I grasped it loosely, my arm continuing on its path. Jagged glass lined the window frame, sliced my flesh near the elbow. Warm arterial spray hit me in the face. I flinched against it, but never lost track of my target. The heavy weapon hit the guy dead on in the middle of the face, crushing his nose, splitting his lips, shattering his teeth or straight up knocking them out.

  The truck veered off path, bouncing up and slamming down hard as it cleared a deep rut. Nearly tossed me out. I dropped to my knees. Inside the cab the other guy pulled the driver to the middle and worked his way over to the driver's seat. He held the wheel with one hand, his pistol with the other. He looked back, in search of me. He brought the pistol up and aimed it at the glass.

  I didn't give him a chance to shoot. I whipped the sap around the cab and caught him on the side of the head. He slumped face-first into the steering wheel, slowly falling to the right and sending the truck in the same direction. I reached for the door handle. Pulled it open. Stepped my left leg over the side of the bed and found a foothold along the frame. I grabbed hold of the driver's shirt and yanked him out of the cab. The truck bucked as it rolled over the man. I kicked the other guy to the floor of the passenger seat, and then slid in behind the wheel.

  The cabin was close. Maybe half a mile away. The windows were dimly lit. I s
potted a dark shadow on the porch. How many lay in wait, ready to pounce?

  It wouldn't be enough. The dumbasses who detained me kept my weapon cache in the truck up front. And I'd managed to pick up another Glock. I had plenty.

  There would be no survivors.

  Chapter 61

  "The hell is going on out there?" Darrow said.

  "What's wrong?" Vernon said.

  Reese attempted to get a look at the land beyond the front porch, but the narrow door opening limited her view, as did the trouble her eyes had adjusting against the lighting inside the room.

  "The truck," Darrow said. "Looked like it went off track for a second there."

  "Hell, your guy coulda dropped his cigarette," Vernon said. "He was slapping his crotch to put out the cherry and lost control."

  "The simple approach," Darrow said. "You know that's why I dropped you almost thirty years ago. You never considered the worst could've happened."

  Vernon waved him off. "It'll just make you a miserable old son of a bitch."

  Darrow turned toward him. "A living son of a bitch."

  Reese strained to see anything past the men. Headlights swept across the space between them. Her heart dropped into her stomach, leaving her feeling like the contents of her stomach would soon surface. The end was close, and her questions would soon be answered. Would she get a chance to see Jack one more time? Was he OK? Was he going to help her get out? She couldn't do it alone, and neither could he. They had to work together on this one.

  "Maybe we both shouldn't be standing here together," Vernon said.

  "Now you're thinking," Darrow said. "Take that rifle and go thirty yards east."

  Vernon hopped off the porch and lumbered away. The truck drew closer. The headlights grew into large orbs, washing over the porch. It was time. She took a deep breath, tightened every muscle in her body and did what she'd been working up to for the past hour. Years of gymnastics had left certain joints loose. Her thumb regularly popped out of place. Newbies to the station in New York were routinely fleeced by her on a bet that she could escape from their handcuffs in less than thirty seconds.