False Ransom (Mike Chance series Book 1)

by Ivan Infante

  The driver didn’t notice. He put the car in gear and steered it through the gate into a large junk yard piled high with scrap metal and trash. The sedan wound its way through the stacks of garbage until it came to the back corner of the lot furthest from the entrance. The driver pulled up to a small wooden shed and parked. Garbage swirled in the wind around the car. The place was filthy.

  Gomez got out and pulled Mike out after him by his hand cuffs. Gomez didn’t wait for Mike to get his legs under him, so Mike fell hard onto the pavement. Gomez didn’t help him, so Mike rolled onto his stomach and struggled to his knees. Finally, Gomez relented and grabbed Mike under the arm. He helped him to his feet and led him toward the shed. The driver stayed in the car.

  Mike took in his surroundings. Mounds of refuse took up every inch of the lot. There was barely any space to move. Gomez led him along a dirt track past piles of discarded house wares. They had to step carefully. In the distance, past a towering jumble of broken furniture, Mike saw a big fellow in overalls digging with a large square shovel.

  “You better make sure that hick buries me deep.” Mike said.

  Gomez ignored him. They got to the shed and Gomez opened the door by shoving Mike into it.

  Inside the shed was disgusting. The floor was a sandy mix of cigarette butts, broken glass, and balls of thick black tar. In the corner, a dead rat decomposed. The place smelled like death.

  In the middle of the room, there was a flimsy metal bed frame with two legs missing at the base. They had tied the girl to it spread-eagle. A huge gunman, with a head so flat you could eat off it, sat in the only chair. He wore a tattered grey suit and leered at the girl. Flathead had seen them coming through a window that looked out at the approach to the shed. He had managed to get off her before the door opened, but he had left his fly open.

  Mike and Gomez noticed. Mike shook his head. He’d kill this guy too. Gomez left Mike teetering in the doorway on his bad leg and walked over to where a shotgun leaned against the wall. Gomez picked it up. Flathead jumped out of his chair like he was worried.

  Gomez tossed him the shotgun. “Relax big man, I don’t care what you do to her.”

  Gomez walked back to the door and grabbed Mike. The gunman tracked them with the shotgun as they moved across the room. Gomez lowered Mike into the chair. There was a thick cord fastened to the middle slat and Gomez used it to tie Mike to the chair. “You wanna drink or something?” Gomez finished with the rope. He tied him tight.

  Mike didn’t answer.

  “You sure about that, tough guy? It gets hot out here.” Gomez pressed him.

  “I’m sure.” Mike adjusted himself in the chair. He took a long look out the window at the salvage yard. He saw the hick was still digging, flinging mud over his shoulder. Mike shifted his gaze to inside the shed. There was a pile of cigarette butts on the floor under him. Gomez followed his gaze.

  “You wanna cigarette?” Gomez asked.

  “Sure.” Mike said.

  “Go to hell.” Gomez fished in his pocket for the Savage and motioned for Flathead to come over. Gomez handed the gunman Mike’s pistol. “Kill him with this if you don’t hear from me before tonight.” Then he motioned for Flathead to go outside. The gunman did and Gomez started to follow him, but he stopped in the doorway and turned back. The sun was behind him and low in the sky. The light blinded Mike.

  “Hey, grifter.” Gomez said. “How’s it feel to know it’s all gonna be over soon?”

  “When’s soon?” Mike answered. Gomez laughed at that, then shut the door.

  Mike watched through the window. Gomez walked alone up the path back to the car, so Flathead had to be somewhere guarding the door. The further Gomez got from the shed, the smaller he looked next to the piles of scrap that filled the yard. When the wind swirled up the dust outside the window, Gomez disappeared into the haze.

  “Are they gone?” The voice was low and husky and all business. “Untie me.”

  Mike squirmed in his chair. He was tied-up tight. “I’m not untying anyone.”

  “I don’t want to die. They’re going to kill us.” The girl didn’t sound convinced.

  “No, they’re going to kill me. You’re probably going to get to go home.” Mike finished the cigarette and spit it out. It smoldered on the floor.

  “I don’t wanna go home.” Something snuck in her voice this time. A squeak that made her sound her age.

  “Big deal, you can just runaway again. If you get fifty thousand every time, then that’s a good living.”

  “I didn’t get the money.” She sounded tough when she told the truth.

  “I know.” Mike said. “You still could though.”

  She just stayed quiet for a while, then said. “If you can get me out of here, I’ll get you money. We could both get money.”

  “What if I want more than money?” He asked.

  “You can get that too.” She added a lilt to the phrase to sound persuasive. She didn’t need to.

  Mike didn’t answer her. He settled back in his chair. “They feed us?”

  “Yeah, the guy with the flat head, he’ll leave soon to go get grub. At least he’ll get me some, you they’re gonna kill, right?

  “I suppose so.” Mike didn’t like the girl. He didn’t like her at all.

  A few minutes later, Flathead strolled up the path away from the shed. The girl didn’t see him go, but Mike did. It was about time, too. Mike was hungry. He kicked at the dirt and counted the seconds it took for Flathead to reappear. There were lots of them.

  By the time Flathead came back, the sun had gone. He had the shotgun slung over his shoulder and he carried a large wooden tray with two stainless steel bowls. He didn’t have good balance and the food slopped everywhere. When he entered the shed, the bowls were half empty. What was left was brown, lumpy, and smelled terrible. Mike lost his appetite.

  Flathead put the tray down on the bed between the girl’s legs. She twitched when he got close. He got a kick out of that and smiled a little. He took the shotgun off his back and held it ready with one hand. With the other, he untied her. Mike could tell Flathead was nervous. The girl had given him trouble.

  While the gunman was focused on the girl, Mike took his measure of the man. Flathead was big, definitely a bruiser. The shotgun was also a problem in such a closed space. Mike had to worry about the girl. If he got free and struggled with this lug and shot her by mistake, there would be trouble. Mike decided to take the risk. If he acted fast, Flathead would never have a chance.

  Flathead watched the girl eat her soup ravenously. When she was done, she wiped her hand across the back of her mouth. “I need to use the washroom.” She announced.

  Flathead smiled. “There’s no washroom. I’ll have to take you out back.”

  “I’ll try and put on a good show.” She said.

  He stepped back and she slid out of bed. Her legs didn’t bend well after being bound for so long and she had trouble standing. Mike could tell she was faking. She was gonna make a run for it and leave him behind.

  Flathead steered her outside and they disappeared past the window. He could hear their footsteps walking around the edge of the shed. After a second, it got quiet except for a dog barking somewhere far off in the distance. Then the silence broke. The shotgun went off and the girl screamed. Mike heard a scuffle and a body banged against the outside wall. It shook the shed. Mike could hear them struggling. Flathead got the upper hand quickly and dragged her kicking and screaming to the door.

  When the door opened, Flathead had the girl in a bear hug. He threw her into the shed and she hit the floor hard. Flathead stood in the door red faced. She had tried to run and botched it. Now Flathead was angry. He strode over to her and gave her a sharp kick. Then he reached down with one hand and picked her up and put her on her feet. She stood in front of him square shouldered. She spit in his face. He didn’t wipe it away. He punched her in the stomach. She crumpled to the ground. He picked her up again. She spit. He hit her. They went through t
his two more times. The third time, she couldn’t muster any spit, so he shoved her back on the bed and tied her down again. She winced as he tied the knots tight, but she didn’t say a word. When Flathead was done, he headed for the door.

  “Hey, pal, when do I get mine?” Mike motioned toward the tray that lay on the dirt floor at the foot of the bed. The bowls had spilled their slop.

  “Sorry, buddy.” Flathead bent down and picked up the tray.

  “Come on, we both know where I’m headed. Give me my last.” Mike showed his best emotion. It was rusty.

  “Fine, I get it. I’ve got more up at front, but you’ll have to eat fast. He’s almost done digging.” Flathead opened the door and walked out.

  Mike watched the gunman go up the path. When he was at a distance, Mike turned his attention to the girl. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. That bastard molested me. He’s a real bastard that one.” The girl sounded like she was crying. Mike figured it was fake.

  “Pull yourself together.” Mike’s said it low and vicious.

  “I’m together.” She snarled. She showed him her hands. She had freed herself somehow. When she had untied her feet, she went behind Mike and untied him. Mike stood up. She turned him around and took a look at the handcuffs.

  “I can get these.” She said.

  “You better hurry.” Mike could see Flathead in the distance. He was coming up the path with a tray.

  The girl didn’t answer. She searched on the floor and found a splinter of hardwood. She got behind him and went to work on the lock. It only took her a second. When she was done, Mike motioned for her to get back on the bed and stay there. Then he sat back down in the chair and put his hands behind his back.

  Flathead kicked the door open. He eyed them warily from the doorway for a second before he brought the tray in and sat down on the bed near Mike. He put the tray down next to the girl. She didn’t move and, this time, he didn’t leer. She’d done something to cure Flathead of the creeps.

  “Don’t you try anything. You I can kill.” Flathead put the shotgun on his lap and picked up the bowl and spoon.

  “How about these handcuffs?” Mike asked.

  Flathead grunted his disapproval. “Those stay on. You think I’m a moron?” He leaned forward and lifted the spoon to Mike’s mouth.

  Mike lunged for the shotgun and grabbed the trigger. Flathead got the barrel. As they wrestled, the gun went off and fired into the floor. It kicked up a bunch of dirt, but no one got hit. Mike let go of the shotgun and grabbed the tray off the bed. He swung it hard and smashed it into pieces across Flathead’s face. The gunman’s knees buckled, but he stayed on his feet. Flathead tried to grip the shotgun to swing it like a club, but he was rattled and clumsy. He spent the last few seconds of his life trying to get a good grip.

  Mike moved fast. He stabbed Flathead with a jagged piece of the shattered tray. The wood sank deep into the flesh below Flathead’s ribcage. The gunman fell to his knees. Mike had another sharper shard from the tray in his other hand. He jammed it down into Flathead’s neck and hit an artery. Blood gushed like a water from a hydrant and splattered the walls. It got on everything, the floor and the girl. Flathead fell forward at Mike’s feet and went into convulsions. After a second, his eyes got wide and empty.

  Mike caught his breath and wiped his hands on his shirt. He left a lot of blood on the material. The girl sat up in bed and kept an eye on him. Flathead’s blood covered the right side of her face.

  “Is he dead?” Her voice sounded deep and husky.

  “Whatta do ya think?” Mike made a sweeping gesture to showcase Flathead’s corpse on the floor. Blood gurgled from the wound in the man’s throat.

  “My God.” The girl cringed.

  Mike wasn’t buying it. This girl was too tough. Mike shook his head and dropped down next to the body and searched. He found the Savage, checked the clip, and dropped it in his pocket. Then he pilfered the pockets of keys, cash, and more shells for the weapon. He also found cigarettes and a gold lighter. He paused to admire the lighter for a second, then he lit a smoke.

  “Got one of those for me?” The girl sat on the edge of the bed and massaged her legs. They were worth massaging. They were nice legs.

  Mike offered her the pack. He held it out for her. She didn’t get up and come over to him, so he got up and walked over to her. He put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. She took a couple of deep puffs.

  “How are we gonna get out of here?” She got up and stood in front of him and kept rubbing her legs. They didn’t need it. Now she was showcasing. Mike kept an eye on her.

  “He’s not the only one out there.” Mike picked up the shotgun, brushed it off and opened it.

  “He have more shells on him?” She stood over the body and rubbed her hands together like Ming from the Flash Gordon serials.

  “Just the two.” Mike got up off the bed and headed for the door.

  “What’re you doing?” She reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “I’m going out there to kill the rest of them.” Mike pulled away from her.

  “You’re just going to walk out there?” She sounded more disappointed than scared. She wanted a chance to think things through. Mike knew the look. He saw it on a lot of people. He didn’t pay any attention to it. He left.

  The girl followed him. She trailed along close behind him. Mike walked briskly up the dirt path toward the hick with the shovel. The man had his back to them. He was leaning on his shovel, smoking, and having a rest.

  Mike picked up his pace steadily as he got closer to the grave digger. The hick must have sensed him. He started to turn around when Mike got close, but he was too late. Mike hit him hard with the butt of the shotgun on the side of the head and the hick fell forward into the fresh grave.

  Mike dropped down on top of him. The hick tried to get up. Mike hit him again with the butt of the gun and planted a foot in the middle of his chest. Mike stopped a second to catch his breathe. His leg didn’t work right yet and the pain slowed him down.

  The hick had a lot of fight in him. He clawed at Mike’s legs like a madman. White foam flecked at the corners of his mouth. The hick’s eyes went wide when he saw the next blow coming.

  Mike smashed the butt into the man’s face again. This time, Mike broke his victim’s jaw. The hick swallowed the bottom half and gasped for air. Mike hit him again and crushed the soft fleshy part of the neck above the Adam’s apple. Air whistled out and the hick stopped moving. Mike readied another blow.

  “Stop. Stop.” The girl yelled at him.

  Mike snapped out of it and looked up at her. She held the shovel cocked back. She was ready to hit him with it. Mike put down the shotgun by the side of the grave and showed her his hands. She backed off a little, but she didn’t put down the shovel. Her knuckles white-gripped it.

  “Come here.” Mike clambered out of the grave.

  “Give me the shotgun.” She said.

  “Fine. You know how to use it? Then pick it up.” Mike pointed to it.

  “Try me.” The girl brushed past him and grabbed it.

  Mike started to reach for a cigarette, but his hands were covered in dirt and gore. He tried to brush his hands on the front of his clothes, but they came away dirtier still. The girl seemed to read his mind. She approached him slowly and reached into his jacket pocket. She took out the smokes and the lighter.

  “Here.” She reached forward gently and put a cigarette between his lips. She offered him the flame. He leaned forward and took it. When she was done, she kept the lighter and the pack.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Mike headed up the dirt path toward the front of the junkyard. The girl stuck right next to him.

  They came around a stack of rusty flattened cars and the shack and front gate come into view. Mike stopped to take a look. The front gate was flimsy. The shack next to it was a little larger than the one they’d been in, but it was of the same shoddy construction.

  “There’s my car.” The gir
l pointed at the Buick parked by the gate.

  “That’s my car.” Mike said.

  “You can have it.” She smiled. She had the lighter out and she played with it in her hand.

  “Thanks.” Mike took a step forward.

  “What’re you gonna do? Go in there?” She asked.

  “We’re both going in there.” Mike took out the Savage. “Cover me.”

  Mike jogged toward the shack. He stayed low. The girl readied the shotgun and moved off at an angle to cover him. As they got close to the front door, it opened. A short wiry man stepped out. He wore overalls and had a pistol in his hand.

  The girl shot him instantly and the blast knocked him back inside. Mike rushed forward and ran into the shack. He found the wiry man lying on his back and gawking at a huge hole in his chest. He still held his pistol, but couldn’t lift it. Mike walked up to him and took it.

  “Where’s the money?” Mike got down on his knees.

  “Go to hell.” The man’s eyes rolled back in his head. For some reason, he was smiling.

  Mike was impressed. He checked the dead man’s pockets. He found more keys, bullets for the pistol, and a wallet. He stripped the wallet. Behind him, the girl stood in the doorway. Her shadow lay across the dead man.

  “Good shot. You do that before?” He looked back at her when she didn’t answer right away. She gripped the door frame. Her face was flushed red. “Hey!” He spoke firmly and jingled the keys.

  She snapped out of it. “No, how’d I do?”

  “You did fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Did you like it?” He asked her.

  “Am I supposed to?”

  “I don’t know.” Mike said.

  “Well, I did like it. I liked it fine.” She popped open the shotgun and motioned at him for more ammo. He threw her some shells. She snatched them out of the air. “I suppose you’ll want half of the money.” She reloaded the shotgun and slammed it shut.

  “Something like that.” Mike walked past her out of the shed. He headed for the gate. She went to the car and slid behind the wheel. Mike tried several keys in the lock. It took him a while to find the right one. By the time he did, she had driven the Buick right up behind him. Mike swung the gate open and stepped back.