by Peter Darley
He took up the backpack and strapped it over his shoulder. “All right, let’s get outta this place.” Putting his baseball cap on, he made a move toward the opposite side of the building.
The sound of footsteps could be heard in the distance. He stopped Belinda with his arm and ushered her back into the shadows. He felt her muscles tense and knew she was ready to fight.
They crouched down behind a pillar and peered around. Payne walked into a shard of moonlight coming through an empty window frame.
Brandon slipped his hand over Belinda’s and gave it a comforting squeeze while they waited to see what the killer was going to do.
Glancing to his left, he spotted three police officers outside through a broken window. The first drew his firearm as they discovered the unconscious thugs. His two colleagues followed and drew their pistols.
The first officer took out his radio. Brandon heard him say, “This is Blaine. I’m with Cooper and Hayes. We need back up and an ambulance.”
The reply came through. “What’s your location? And what’s the situation?”
“You know the old Newman car parts factory behind the corner of Main and Alameda?”
“Yes.”
“Well, somethin’ real weird’s going on here. We’ve just found six members of Richie Sanchez’ gang and they’ve all been beaten to a pulp.” He glanced to his right. “It also looks like there’s been a fatality. Gunshot wound by the looks of it.”
“Is there any sign of the suspects?”
“Not yet. They may be holed up in the factory. We’re going in.”
Payne had clearly heard it too. Brandon noticed him bracing his back against the wall, most likely trying to figure a way out.
He was aware Belinda was struggling not to weep and swallowed hard. They were trapped inside the most hellish building imaginable, with a squad of cops about to enter. They couldn’t move an inch in any direction without being seen by either the police or a merciless assassin.
Thirty
Into the Night
Brandon’s gaze flitted between Payne and the entrance. Payne braced himself behind the wall of the building’s restroom area. The three police officers entered less than two feet away from him.
Hopelessness, the sense of feeling trapped, and worst of all for Brandon—the thought that he’d failed Belinda, tormented him. He was becoming aware that panic triggered the mysterious rage within him, wiping out his conscious awareness. No, not now. Keep it together. He subconsciously knew that whatever his condition was, it would destroy any chance of them getting out of this situation alive.
Through the shadows, he noticed how close Payne was to the three officers, and a calculated idea came to him. If he could startle Payne, he would alert the police to him and create a distraction. Then he could slip out of the back of the building with Belinda, cloaked by the darkness.
He picked up an old, rusted wrench from beside his feet and gently eased himself into position. He could sense Belinda’s fear, but she remained calm. The risk of the two of them being exposed was considerable.
Without a sound, he drew the wrench backward and hurled it toward Payne. It lost its velocity two feet away from the killer’s right leg and collided with his shin bone, producing an involuntary cry of agony.
One of the officers darted forward to seize the gunman, but Payne spun around and bludgeoned his fist into the man’s jaw. The punch gave him the moment necessary to run, although he was clearly impeded by the throbbing pain in his leg.
The two other officers drew their pistols and gave chase.
With the distraction in place, Brandon ushered Belinda back through the shadows toward the rear exit.
“Stop!” one of the officers called.
Brandon glanced behind him and saw Payne turn to face the officers. It was obvious Payne couldn’t outrace them with his injury slowing him down.
Payne shot the officer in the abdomen at close range—a precise shot to the one inch gap between the bottom of the officer’s bullet proof vest and the belt around his pants. The force of the impact knocked the officer several feet back before he collapsed to the ground.
The other two officers instantly gave up the chase and turned back to help their fallen colleague. Payne ran with a limp toward the end of the building and out into the night.
The second officer took out his radio. “Officer down! This is Cooper at the old Newman parts factory. I’m with Hayes. We need an ambulance immediately. Blaine’s been shot.” He ran across to his partner and knelt with him to help Blaine. “Easy, man. Everything’s going to be fine. Help’s comin’.”
“N-no . . . leave me. I . . . I’ll b-be fine,” Blaine said. “G-get that s-son of a b-bitch.”
Hayes shook his head. “Man, we can’t leave you here.”
“H-help’s c-comin’. Just go.”
The two officers looked at one another uncertainly. “Cooper, I can hear the ambulance. I’ll go out and flag them down. You start after the perp, and I’ll get there once the ambulance is here.”
“D-do it . . . for me, both of you,” Blaine said. “It’s what I want.”
Hayes glanced at his partner. “Go, Coop.”
Cooper ran after Payne as siren’s shrieked close by. Hayes waited with Blaine for a moment.
“Go,” Blaine said.
Hayes was hesitant, but then he took off to join Cooper.
Brandon stepped out from behind a pillar and made a move toward Blaine.
Belinda gripped his shoulder, but he wasn’t about to take another step toward the rear exit. The instant the two officers were out of the building, she said, “Please, baby. We’ve got to go.”
“I can’t leave him.” Brandon ran across to Blaine and dropped the backpack next to him. He pulled the bullet proof vest out of the way and tore open the uniform shirt. “We’ve got to get some pressure on that wound.”
Blaine looked up at him with a pained smile. “So . . . you were . . . in here . . . after all.”
Brandon smiled at him compassionately. “Yeah, we were.” He turned back to Belinda. “Baby, you’ve got to run. I’ll catch up to you. Keep your head down and stay in the shadows.”
“But . . .”
“Run!”
He glanced in the direction she’d taken as she fled, silently praying he’d be able to find her.
He reached into the backpack and took out his suit pants, folded them four times, and pulled out the leather belt. After placing the pants onto Blaine’s wound, he fed the belt under his back, and pulled it around to thread the leather through the buckle.
Blaine gasped as Brandon tightened the belt over his injury. “Why . . . are you doing this . . . for me?”
“I’m ex-army. I won’t leave one of my own countrymen to die in the mud if I can help it. Your buddies called for help, so just hang in there. What’s your name?”
“J-Jack,” Blaine said.
They heard a siren close by.
“T-they’re here,” Blaine said. “P-please, go. Run, now. G-get away . . . while . . . you can.”
Brandon smiled appreciatively, and felt an emotional need to comfort the fallen officer, beyond his own needs. “Thank you, Jack. But they’re not coming to get me. They’re coming to help you.”
“T-thank you. I don’t get you, but thank you.”
“The belt I put around you will keep the pressure on the wound until the paramedics take care of it. Good luck, my friend.” Brandon picked up the backpack.
Even through his shock and the agony in his stomach, Blaine couldn’t help but marvel at Drake’s sense of courage and honor. What kind of a man would risk his own life to save his enemy? In a heartbeat, he knew that, despite orders, turning Drake in would be the most immoral act he could commit. What was he to do? Follow the law? Or do what was right?
He turned his head slightly and watched as the noble hero sprinted out of the building in the direction his woman had taken. He knew this was the most profound and extraordinary event of his life.<
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Within seconds, a convoy of squad cars and the paramedics arrived at the scene. The factory was filled and surrounded by police in riot gear. One unit took the back of the building to attend to the fallen gang members. The paramedics hurried over to Jack and prepared a stretcher.
Tepper skirted around them and knelt down beside the injured officer. “Blaine, hang in there. What happened?”
“J-just one man . . . he shot me. C-Cooper and Hayes . . . went after him.”
“Was it Drake?”
With his teeth chattering from shock, Jack looked away. “No.”
The paramedics eased Jack onto the stretcher and carefully removed the pants strapped to his midsection. They then proceeded to administer the appropriate emergency treatment.
Tepper stepped forward and harshly took the suit pants and belt from the paramedics as they erected the stretcher. Tepper followed them with more than a little concern, and it wasn’t simply for Blaine’s health. “Where did you get these?” he said, holding up the pants.
“They’d b-been d-dumped. U-used them . . . to bind up . . . the g-gunshot,” Jack said.
Tepper studied the blood-stained fabric with suspicion. “A pair of Armani pants and a brand new leather belt dumped inside this shithole?”
One of the paramedics interjected as they lifted Jack into the ambulance, and shot Tepper an assertive stare. “Sir, this man is in critical condition. We’ll take it from here, all right?”
Tepper realized he was acting out of line, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. However, three fugitives were still on the loose, and one of his own had taken a bullet in his attempt to apprehend one of them.
He turned back to his men. “Gentlemen, we have three fugitives running loose in the city. Nobody goes home until they are apprehended.”
After giving his instructions on combing the city, Tepper made his way around to the rear of the building.
His first view of the carnage was startling. Four men staggered as they regained their senses. One was barely conscious and being attended to by paramedics. Another was deceased, and six switchblades were scattered across the street. Tepper tried to process the scene, unable to comprehend what it would have taken to put down six armed men.
He walked over to the corpse and recognized him immediately.
A sergeant came up beside him. “You know who that is, sir?”
“Yeah,” Tepper said sadly. “Wayne Meissner. He was busted on possession of heroin a couple of years back. He was from the Valley. Geeky kinda boy. He came from a good family, but got hooked up with the wrong crowd trying to fit in.”
“I’ll get him bagged.”
Tepper nodded.
“Sir, these men said just one man did this to them. I don’t buy it.”
“It does seem a little out there, but he clearly had no intention of killing them.” He looked across to the barely-conscious man on the ground. Two men were attending to him. One held his gun in a clear plastic bag. “And I don’t think Meissner was shot with any gun other than that one.” He moved across to the three men and immediately identified the fallen criminal. “Richie Sanchez.”
Sanchez looked up at Tepper wearily. “The g-guy attacked us . . . We . . . didn’t do . . . nothing.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. You tried to roll a guy who wandered into this shithole by mistake, only this time you picked the wrong man. A trained fighter. A soldier.” Tepper chuckled at the irony. “If anything, Sanchez, I hope this has taught you clowns a valuable lesson.” He caught the attention of the attending officers. “I want all these guys taken in for questioning. If they need to go to the hospital, we’ll question them there. And I want forensics to run a ballistics check on that gun and Meissner’s wound.”
“Yes, sir.”
A call came through on Tepper’s radio, distracting him. “Hayes? Where are you?”
“We were pursuing one of the suspects and got as far as Main, but there’s no sign of him. I have a bad feeling about this, Chief. The guy seems to have disappeared into thin air. Any luck your end?”
“No. Just stay where you are. I’m sending a squad car to pick you up. This is gonna be an all-nighter.”
Tepper ended the call and looked across the activity-ridden street, overcome with confusion. He was hunting three suspects, but was no longer certain who the good guys were, and who was the enemy.
***
Brandon ran through the back streets for ten minutes hoping Belinda had followed his instruction to stay in the shadows. There was no sign of her anywhere.
He came to a main road and chanced running along the length of it. Glancing down every side street as he passed them, there was still no sign of her.
Coming to the end of the road, a chill went through him as the reality sank in. With the police and a trained assassin combing the streets for them, he’d lost Belinda.
Thirty-One
The Darkness
Belinda crouched low behind an old, black SUV parked in an open, annexed garage—one of many along the lane. None of the vehicles were particularly prestigious. Nobody would dare park a vehicle of high value in such a place.
Stress and anxiety were exhausting her. It had only been five minutes since she’d left Brandon. She’d done as he’d asked and remained in the shadows.
The events of the night played over in her mind. Brandon had been an enigma from the start. She reminded herself of his characteristics—heroic, incredibly handsome, the ripped physique, and extraordinary fighting skills. He was sensitive, adventurous and mysterious. There was the high-tech equipment, and, of course, the cabin, and the $1.2 million.
Yet, for all of that, he’d been a virgin? And a soldier? On reflection, it was absurd. So, how could he be so sincere if it wasn’t true? Nothing seemed to fit.
She listened intently, expecting to hear noises of cars or police sirens, but there was only silence. Even if she heard footsteps, she wouldn’t dare stand up from behind the SUV to see if it was Brandon. What if it was the gunman? Or a cop?
She recalled her other, similar ordeal when she’d been stranded behind the tree in the Wyoming forest. The same torturous emotions went through her again. The desire to move on and get out of where she was overwhelmed her. But she was restricted by the mercilessness of not knowing. Silence, she realized, was one of the world’s cruelest offerings. Fleetingly, she experienced bouts of temptation to give herself up so that she’d know where she stood. If only it could finally be over. Hope was becoming more of a torment than a boon.
In an effort to conceal herself from potential threats, she’d trapped herself with no conceivable way out. Constantly mindful that Brandon wouldn’t be able to find her, she remained where she was, alone in the darkness.
***
Payne came to the end of another street and darted into the alcove of an office doorway. A police car passed by slowly, and one of the officers aimed his flashlight into the street. Satisfied that nobody was there, they moved on.
Payne waited for the car to disappear into the distance, and then attempted to run across the highway, slowed down by his injured leg.
Brandon turned into the same street on the opposite side and froze. Facing one another, Payne could see Drake’s eyes on his gun. “Drake!” he shouted, and aimed the pistol toward him.
The sound of sirens pierced the air. The police were virtually upon them. Brandon darted behind the wall, and Payne braced himself behind the other side of the office building. Both managed to remove themselves from sight at the moment two squad cars entered the street.
Payne noticed a cab coming toward him on the street below. Limping as fast as he could down a flight of stone steps, he managed to flag it down and climbed in. “The Palm Dale Motel,” he said, and dropped five rolled hundred dollar bills over the driver’s shoulder. “I need to make a pick-up and then go straight to Union Station.”
The cabbie picked up the money from his lap, and a sudden enthusiasm came over him. “Jesus, man. I gue
ss it’s an emergency, right?”
“Look, do you want the five hundred, or do I give it to another cabbie?”
“I’ll get you there as soon as I can, but we may have to take the side roads to get to the Palm Dale. I just got word the police are setting up road blocks on the main highways.”
Payne closed his eyes and exhaled his fears. “Just do what you have to.”
Brandon peered from behind the wall and watched as the cab disappeared along the highway. With the assassin out of the picture, he now had only the police to avoid while searching for Belinda.
He ran across the street again and spun around in an attempt to catch a sign of her. He spotted a gas station with a public restroom approximately a quarter of a mile in the distance. His gaze lingered on his destination, but he had to find Belinda first.
After running back along the street, and then along another, he found himself back in Skid Row. Despite his unfamiliarity with Los Angeles, he was convinced he’d stumbled into a vicinity somewhere near Main and Alameda Street. That meant he couldn’t be too far from Union Station. The presence of law-enforcement had most likely driven the punks into temporary hiding, given how deserted the street appeared to be.
Belinda had heard Payne cry out Brandon’s name in the distance. Trembling, she came out from behind the SUV and cautiously crept along the sidewalk in the direction she thought she’d heard the bellow. Stepping out onto the street, she couldn’t see anything. Fear took hold of her and she ran back to the safety of the SUV.
As she was about to step back inside the garage, she froze as a human figure appeared in silhouette at the top of the street. After a moment, she sank to her knees and gave in to her need to surrender. She simply couldn’t bear it any longer, and ironically, she smiled. Finally, it was over.
And then came the most beautiful word she had ever heard.
“Baby?” Brandon hurried down the street and into the light.
