Quick Sands: A Theo Ramage Thriller (Book 1)

by Edward J. McFadden III

  “Shut it, Frank. Now!” Jaybird said.

  Carl Jr. looked at Anna, then back at Jaybird. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “This guy Ramage and Ace are dead on the floor in there. Looks like there was a scuffle and they offed each other.”

  “No, no, no. That can’t be.” Piranha kicked the open door and vaulted from the truck, then stopped and turned to Anna. “Bring her,” he said.

  Jaybird reached into the Tahoe and helped Anna out.

  Carl Jr. headed down the alley and Jaybird motioned for Anna to follow. The sun glared down like an accusing eye, its heat in no way Christmas like. Anna’s mind spun. Ramage was dead. Now what?

  They entered the old post office via a side door and Anna followed Carl Jr. as he threaded past piles of garbage and pieces of the roof. He stopped under a doorframe and gazed into an office. Piranha doubled over, put his hands on his knees, and hung his head.

  Anna looked through a hole in the wall and saw Ramage’s body laying atop Ace’s.

  She broke then, all her frustration, anger, and love pouring from her. She ran toward the door to the office, but Jaybird grabbed her arm. She wailed and cried, trying to jerk free, but Jaybird held her fast.

  “Let her go,” Carl Jr. said. He sounded defeated.

  Anna couldn’t tell what Piranha was more upset about; losing Ace or not being able to kill Ramage himself? Thoughts of revenge filled her mind, but self-preservation pushed them aside. Sand wasn’t worth it, and what was done was done, and no matter how much she might want to change how things had turned out, she couldn’t.

  She pushed passed Jaybird, raced to Ramage’s side, and threw herself on him, crying and wailing uncontrollably like a widow attacking her husband’s coffin at a funeral. His face was bruised purple and yellow, and blood leaked from his mouth, nose, and the gash on his forehead. Love for him filled her, that warm secure feeling that reminded her she wasn’t alone, that there was another soul who understood her, cared about her, would do anything for her. She’d do anything to bring Ramage back.

  A ray of sunlight sliced through a hole in the roof and fell on Ramage’s face, and he winked at her.

  Anna froze, then realizing she needed to keep up the ruse, started wailing again, but she was no actress, and it was hard to fake cry when she was so happy.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Ramage could tell from the uneven, excited tone of Anna’s weeping that she’d seen him wink, and knew he was alive. What came next, he didn’t know. With his eyes pasted shut in a lame attempt to play dead, Ramage’s other senses came into focus. Dust tickled his nose, and the scent of body odor, cement, and sage covered the smell of shit, fear, and desperation. Sweat ran down his neck, and his lower back throbbed as it always did when the adrenaline was flowing. The tick of a car engine, the whistling wind, the hiss of the copperhead, and the never-ending scrape of sand on sand filled the room as Anna’s whimpering subsided. He could almost feel time slipping away, his opportunities shrinking like his balls.

  The way he figured it he had three options.

  Roll and fire and let the bodies fall where they may. Problem with that was he didn’t know where Piranha and his helper were standing, and he had to assume they had guns at the ready. Unless he was really lucky, they’d have the advantage and there was a good chance Anna would be hit in the crossfire. So option one was off the table.

  He could do nothing. Wait for the situation to play out, let the goon and his handler make a mistake. He didn’t like that option because it wasn’t active enough. Waiting around when Piranha could put a bullet in him at any moment didn’t appeal to him, but neither did option three.

  He could give the gun to Anna, let her do the shooting. She’d have the element of surprise on her side if he could get her the gun without Tweedledee and Tweedledum seeing. But could she do it? Did he want her to? Killing, even when justified, left scars that never fully heal, wounds that fester, grow, and infect your life.

  “OK, enough of this shit. Get her up,” Carl Jr. said.

  Ramage flicked his index finger ever so slightly, and the front of his shirt lifted for an instant, revealing the handle of Ace’s Heckler & Koch VP9. Did she see it? Would she have the nerve to take it and know what to do with it? Could she? Michael Corleone’s face filled his mind and he almost laughed as he recalled the scene where Michael kills the police chief and the mob boss. The struggle to kill. To justify taking the life of another for your personal gain. But he knew that’s not what this was. This was kill or be killed, and Ramage hoped she knew the difference.

  Anna whimpered and sniffled.

  Her weight lifted off him.

  “What the hell?” a deep male voice said.

  The game was up and Ramage reached for the Heckler & Koch, his fingers wrapping around the grip, but Jaybird had the higher ground and better leverage, and he twisted the gun from Ramage’s hand with a grunt and held it up for his boss to see.

  Anna crab walked backward until she hit what was left of the office wall, her eyes bulging from her head, her face a creased mess of worry lines. The sight of her, the fear and anguish on her face, burned Ramage’s stomach and stoked his rage.

  “You son of a bitch,” Piranha said. He came forward and kicked Ramage in the stomach.

  Air rushed from Ramage’s lungs and he saw white. He pulled himself into the fetal position, pain racing to all his wounds, his mind spinning. Blue sky filled the hole in the roof, tattered clouds streaked by, and the sun warmed his face. “No,” Ramage muttered.

  “What did you say, asshole?” Piranha said.

  “I said no.”

  “No.” The thug laughed and kicked Ramage again. “No what?”

  Ramage felt consciousness slipping away. His head rang, and he felt tired, so very tired. All he had to do was lay down and go to sleep. Everything would be OK. All this would be over, and—Ramage’s anger reignited. He couldn’t let this shit get away with everything. The deaths. The bullying. He’d vowed to tear it all down and since when didn’t he do what he said he was going to do? It was another of his mantras that was right up there with speak as little as possible; do what you say you’re going to do.

  Ramage smiled.

  Piranha said, “What the hell are you smiling about? See that shit, Jaybird?”

  Jaybird nodded.

  “What the hell are you so happy about? What did you plan to do with that gun? Huh? Kill me, right? Like you killed my father?” Piranha said.

  Jaybird held Ace’s gun in his left hand, and kept his own gun pressed to Ramage’s temple with his right. The man looked at his boss, smiling, not paying full attention to Ramage.

  “Screw you. You’re going down and soon you’ll be dead and none of this will matter,” Ramage said. Time. He needed time. Given enough time, everyone made mistakes.

  “See that over there?” Piranha pointed to the car battery. “How do you think your friend’s face will look when Jaybird is done painting it with acid? You think she’ll still give you a rise?” He laughed hysterically.

  “Wow. You come up with that one on your own?” Ramage said. He inched a little closer to Jaybird.

  “We’ll see how tough you are when she starts screaming,” Carl Jr. said.

  Anna said, “I thought… I thought you said if I co—”

  “Shut it!” Piranha said. “You’re done. What? You think I’m stupid? I’m smart. You knew he was alive. You were just waiting for him to shoot me, so now he’s gonna watch while Jaybird and I have some fun.”

  Anna started crying again and Ramage looked to Jaybird, who stared at the ground.

  Carl Jr. laughed again, hard, the cackle of a gone man, and Ramage looked to Anna who mouthed “Ride.”

  Ramage said, “Jaybird, your man’s lost. You willing to go down for him? Because that’s what’s about to happen.”

  Jaybird said nothing, but Ramage saw the doubt growing in his face. His eyes shifted quickly to Anna, then to Carl Jr., then back to Ramage. />
  “It’s still not too late for you. Help me and I’ll put a good word in for you. When the time comes I can—”

  “Shut it!” Piranha yelled.

  Ramage smiled, and looked at Anna, making a show of it, giving Carl Jr. time to see. He rolled his eyes and smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “What? Don’t you even look at her,” Piranha screamed. When Jaybird didn’t do anything, he yelled, “Jaybird!”

  “We’ve got people to do that for us.” The Sandman’s words to his son bounced around in Ramage’s skull like a pinball, clanging and ringing.

  Jaybird cracked Ramage in the head with his gun and he felt blood dripping down his face.

  “That all you got, Hoss?” Ramage said. He tightened his muscles, coiling to spring, ribs throbbing, face stinging, lower back screaming.

  “I’ll show you what I’ve got,” Jaybird said. He hit Ramage again, and again, each time reeling back slightly as he put everything he had into the punches.

  Ramage laughed. A crazy, loud, manic giggle designed to make his assailant pause, maybe even smile at Ramage’s breakdown.

  If Ramage moved for the gun the man would fire. That would be his instinctual reaction. Jaybird wouldn’t aim, or care where the bullet went.

  Jaybird coiled his arm to strike again, easing back.

  Ramage thrust both his arms upward. A violent surge that pushed Jaybird’s arms up and flattened them against his chest as Ramage drove the man backward. The pistol discharged, and a burst of hot air burned Ramage’s face as the slug tore through Jaybird’s chin and blew out the back of his head.

  Anna screamed and cried as Piranha stood still as a statue, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed in disbelief.

  Jaybird fell forward onto Ramage, blood, brain, and pieces of bone leaking onto his face. He pushed the man off him.

  The Ride slowed Carl Jr.’s reaction, but when he saw Ramage sitting up, bringing up a pistol, he jumped straight in the air like a cat, eyes blazing. Then he turned and ran, heading for the door, not looking back.

  Ramage rolled onto his side, and leveled the gun, holding it in a double handed grip as he lay prone on the floor. He put the back of Piranha’s head in his sights as bile rose in his throat.

  He opened up, squeezing the trigger as fast as he could. Six bullets spit from the gun and peppered the back of Piranha’s head. Blood pulsed from neat holes as Carl Jr. ran on, his body refusing to accept the inevitable. Half of Piranha’s head fell away, his knees buckled, and the corpse hit the ground with a thud.

  “See you in hell,” Anna said. Her face was smeared with dirt, but her eyes were defiant, and a smile played over her face.

  Ramage tried to get up, but nausea crippled him, and he went to a knee, breathing heavy, fighting back the urge to vomit.

  There was commotion outside. Men yelling. Heavy footsteps.

  Ramage gagged, leaned over, and puked bile on Jaybird’s corpse.

  Chapter Forty

  Consequences suck. Those nasty little side effects of decisions that held Ramage accountable, regardless of intentions, right or wrong, kindness or self-preservation. He wiped drool from his chin with the back of his hand as he got to his feet. His ears rang from the gunshots, but Ramage heard Anna crying and the men yelling outside. They were calling for Carl Jr., and it would only be a matter of seconds before they came to investigate. He shook his head, but he was dizzy and nauseous from the beaten he’d taken. His eyesight was blurry, and he wobbled on his feet and leaned against the crumbling interior wall of the office.

  Jaybird and Ace were dead. The Sandman and his son were dead. Chic was dead. He hadn’t killed the Sandman or Chic, but would that matter when the bodies were counted, and Ace, Jaybird and Piranha were laid on him? It was the incident all over again. The one condition of his pseudo parole; keep your nose clean and stay away from trouble, even if that meant turning away from a crime or injustice. He knew Piranha had started all this, and that his operation was now out of commission, and the town of Prairie Home would no longer have a dictator that skimmed off their lives. Yet, he knew none of that mattered. He’d killed again, and he had no right to. He wasn’t a jury, and he sure as hell wasn’t justice.

  “Boss? What’s going on in there? Everything alright?” came a thick voice from outside.

  “Anna, here,” Ramage whispered. He tossed Ace’s Heckler & Koch to her, and her eyes grew wide as she juggled the gun and secured it. She gave him a look that could’ve killed a tree sapling.

  “Go watch the doors. Anyone comes in, fire at them.”

  “Shoot someone? Ramage, I don’t know—”

  “Don’t know? Look around. Do you want to live?”

  She looked at the floor, got to her feet, and walked out without looking at him.

  With the doors covered Ramage took a moment to collect his thoughts. He’d seen four men not counting Ace, Piranha, and Jaybird. There could be more, but he didn’t think so. Jaybird’s corpse lay atop Ace’s, and Piranha’s body was in the doorway. It was a mess complicated by the fact that both men who’d been shot had been gunned down with the same gun. Ramage held Jaybird’s Glock by his side, the weapon trembling in his hand.

  Despite the gun conundrum, the idea of being hauled in, not being able to drive Big Blue anymore, being stuck back in a cubicle for ‘his own good,’ made the tiny mice run up his back. Screw that. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Like the incident, he’d done law enforcement’s job and because of him dangerous criminals were no longer preying on the public. He’d done a good thing and he refused to be punished for it. So he had to give Rex a story. Something the agent could work with.

  Anna fired the Heckler & Koch and wood splintered. “Ramage, they’re coming!”

  No time left.

  He dragged Jaybird’s body off Ace’s and positioned him across the room with his arm out and pointing at Piranha’s corpse. He kicked Ace over onto his stomach and left Piranha where he was. Then he eased out of the office, panning the Glock around the post office.

  Anna was hunkered down behind a pile of roof debris and he joined her. From their vantage point they saw the side door and the main entrance, along with the two broken windows on the front and west side of the old post office’s brick façade. They couldn’t see the windows on the back and east side of the building.

  The man with black hair and reflective sunglasses appeared in the side window, his gun at the ready. He fired a couple of shots at nothing, then panned the weapon back and forth, searching the interior. Ramage brought up the Glock, but paused.

  He said, “Wait here.”

  Anna nodded, her eyes wide as quarters. He knew people on the frontier had guns and were comfortable handling them, but most had never been in the line of fire.

  Ramage got up and walked back toward the office were the bodies were. He lifted the Glock as he went and fired at the window frames, wood and glass shards spraying the area around each window. He was methodical, one shot to each window, back and forth, as he moved across the post office.

  He stepped over Piranha’s body and ran to where Jaybird’s corpse was cooking under a ray of sunlight streaming through the broken roof. He wiped the Glock on his shirt and pressed the weapon into Jaybird’s hand, the one outstretched and pointed at Piranha’s corpse. Then he let the weapon fall to the ground, and he stepped away.

  He quickly gathered pieces of rope that had bound his wrists and did his best to tie Ace’s wrists. Then he placed the dead man’s body under the hook that still hung from the support beam above. “Pretty thin,” he said. There were holes in the crime scene, one’s he could drive Big Blue through, but it would have to do.

  A burst of gunshots, pounding feet, men yelling.

  “Ramage!” It was Anna and she sounded terrified.

  Ramage ran to the door and dropped and rolled as a volley of bullets sprayed what was left of the interior wall. He Army crawled toward the cover of the old postal service desk. Anna was pressed against a large secti
on of roof, her hands covering her ears, the Heckler & Koch silent in her hand.

  “Ramage. The place is surrounded. Come on out. We can make a deal.” Ramage didn’t know which man it was, but he sounded as sincere as an IRS agent when they said you’ve got nothing to worry about.

  Silence fell for a moment, everyone getting their bearings, trying to determine the position of their enemy. A faint thumping echoed in the distance and a smile crept over Ramage’s face. The womp womp grew louder, and as it did Ramage’s confidence grew.

  He dropped onto his belly and crawled across the post office. Gunshots rang out and one of the men outside screamed in pain, but when Ramage glanced at Anna he saw she hadn’t moved or fired.

  Another gunshot and another blood curdling wail.

  Ramage sat alongside Anna and put a hand on her shoulder as he gently pried the Heckler from her hand. She was done. Her eyes stared ahead, gone somewhere he couldn’t go, looking at something he couldn’t see.

  He peeked out from his cover and a man he didn’t recognize stood in the front window. Ramage brought up the pistol, but the guy was faster. His machine gun cackled, and bullets pelted the pile of rubble Ramage hid behind.

  The guy stopped firing and yelled, “They’re over here.” Then he opened up again.

  Dust and smoke filled the air, and Ramage popped up and fired until the Heckler clicked empty.

  The thump of helicopter rotors filled the silence.

  Ramage pulled back, then peeked around a section of roof.

  The head of a soldier dressed in black body armor appeared in the side window, the tinted face shield of his riot helmet reflecting the desolation of the post office. The agent lifted his M4 carbine and fired when he saw the man with black hair and sunglasses aiming at him through the front window.

  “Get down,” Ramage yelled. He threw himself on Anna, covering her, as gunshots smacked around them. The sound of the M4 barking was music to Ramage’s ears, and the goon in the front window peeled away and disappeared.