The Right Man For Revenge

by Dan Ames

  “Working,” he said. “You?”

  “Same. In fact, I just spoke with a young woman who said her brother is missing,” Pauling said. “And when she showed me a photo of him, you were there, too.”

  Tallon sat up, swung his feet around to the floor.

  “You’re kidding me,” he said. “Was her name Figueroa?”

  “Yes,” Tallon said, and he heard the surprise in her voice. “Maria. You know her?”

  “No, but I knew her brother well.”

  “Knew?”

  He sighed.

  “He died last week. Cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “The weird thing is, their family told me that Figueroa’s sister was missing,” Tallon explained. “And that he had come out here to Seattle to find her.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re here? In Seattle?” Pauling asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. And then it dawned on him. “You are too?”

  “Sort of. I’m on Whidbey Island,” she said.

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Unpleasurable business.”

  “Having to do with this girl?”

  “No,” Pauling said. “Completely separate. Maria somehow found out I was here, my background, and surprised me with a visit. I honestly don’t know what to think. And it’s awfully strange that you’re involved.”

  “Do you have a way to contact her?” Tallon asked. He was already up and getting dressed.

  “Yeah, a cell phone. Are you going to call her?”

  “Tomorrow. But right now I’ve got something else to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, drive to Whidbey Island.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After Maria left her room, leaving only a cell phone number and virtually no other information, Pauling got a few hours sleep.

  She was up early, not feeling rested at all, but still managed to hit the hotel gym and put in a good workout. Afterward, she showered, dressed and grabbed a cup of coffee from the hotel coffee bar.

  In her rental car, she drove out of Pine Beach, along a lonely road virtually devoid of traffic. The staggeringly tall pines towered over her on either side of the strip of asphalt, occasionally parting to reveal distant mountains tinged with layers of deep blue.

  As she drove, Pauling thought about the original phone call she’d received, the one back in New York. How it had alerted her to the discovery of the body and the Jack Reacher ID.

  Who had that been?

  Chief Jardine certainly hadn’t called her. She hadn’t even known who the hell Jack Reacher was, let alone Lauren Pauling.

  Maria Figueroa hadn’t called her. If she had, why would she have bothered with the anonymity if she was planning on surprising her in a hotel room a couple days later?

  She was in Pine Beach, people had clearly noticed her presence, yet no one had stepped forward taking responsibility for the phone call.

  So who had it been?

  The coffee was strong and delicious, just the way she liked it. The road crested in front of her and she topped out, saw a long ribbon of highway ahead of her. It was the kind of road she imagined Jack Reacher loved.

  She could picture him, putting one foot in front of the other. Nowhere to go. No one to see. Just endless space and possibility.

  Pauling thought about what she’d told Jardine.

  It’s him.

  She’d said it with a conviction that she didn’t feel. There was no real way to know, of course. Yes, the body was right. The scars were wrong, though. Not correct, and not in the right place.

  And they appeared to be recent.

  Pauling had said what she needed to say, because to suggest otherwise would lead to more questions. If she’d said she didn’t think it was Jack Reacher, then what? It would lead to more questions and require more of her time tied up in bureaucracy.

  If it wasn’t Reacher, that meant someone had gone to some fairly drastic measures to deceive the police.

  Why?

  Who would do it?

  And the first person who came to Pauling’s mind was the obvious one.

  Jack Reacher.

  Maybe he’d wanted to fake his own death for some reason. She couldn’t come up with a logical motivation, but one never knew. It would be easy enough. Plant his own ATM card on some big lug that looked like him, and disappear forever.

  Except, Reacher had already sort of disappeared.

  Why would he feel the need to go to this extreme?

  What Pauling needed was time. Which is why she lied to Jardine.

  By asserting to Jardine that the body was Reacher, it gave her the freedom to investigate on her own.

  Starting with the crime scene.

  She’d seen the report in Jardine’s office, and knew that the shooting had taken place near mile marker 34 on the same rural road she was now on. It was a no-brainer. As soon as she saw the information in Jardine’s office, it was a foregone conclusion. Of course she would look at the crime scene.

  Pauling drove on, the only car on the road, and after nearly an hour she started to question her method. But as soon as she doubted herself, the crime scene tape came into view, and Pauling pulled her rental car to the side of the road.

  She shut it off, pocketed the keys, and looked around.

  There was a man.

  With a gun.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tallon arrived on Whidbey Island in the early morning hours. He crossed the bridge at Deception Pass and studied the terrain. He’d spent a lot of time in mountains both in the United States and abroad. What struck him about this area was the lushness of the foliage. The Pacific Northwest was a place of impressive beauty and Tallon was able to set aside the reasons for his trip to the area and take a moment to appreciate his surroundings.

  But only a moment.

  His first call was to Maria who stated she couldn’t talk and asked to meet at an address she texted him.

  His next call was to Pauling, but the call went to voicemail.

  Tallon filled his SUV at a gas station with a huge plaza attached. He went inside, bought a coffee and a breakfast sandwich that was piping hot and as soggy as a used beach towel.

  Tallon ate and considered his options.

  He checked his phone for any response from either Figueroa’s pathologist or his hacker friend, but no one had reached out.

  Tallon wadded up his breakfast sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the garbage can nearby.

  He had put the address into his phone for the location of the rendezvous with Maria and he would have to be there soon.

  It gave him an unsettled feeling.

  Figueroa gone.

  The strange appearance of his sister in Pauling’s room. And perhaps most of all, the appearance of Pauling in the same area, working a separate case.

  The confluence of actions made him glad that he had driven to Seattle, as opposed to flying. There were things in his vehicle he would need before he met with the girl.

  Now, he drained the rest of his coffee, got into the SUV and drove it around back, behind a semi truck that blocked any view of his actions. The huge truck also blocked any of the security cameras he’d spotted at the back of the station.

  Tallon went into the back of his SUV, unlocked the compartment beneath the false bottom and lifted the lid.

  Tallon studied the guns. He’d brought a 9mm semiautomatic pistol, as well as a military shotgun outfitted with a pistol grip and plenty of ammo for both. He also had two tactical knives and a Kevlar vest.

  He left everything in its place except for the 9mm handgun, which he fitted into a holster concealed beneath his untucked shirt. He closed the compartment and locked it.

  Tallon got back behind the wheel and headed out to meet Maria. The location wasn’t far away, and in less than a half hour he was pulling into the address at the end of his navigation route.

  It was a store at the end of a deserted street. It was a sad combination of retail down on its l
uck, with a lot of abandoned residential homes.

  Depressed was the only word that could describe the locale.

  Maria had told Tallon he should drive to the back of the building matching the address she’d provided. It looked like a convenience store, but the windows were painted black and the door was shut. It had security bars across its front.

  To the right of the store was an empty parking lot.

  Tallon took it all in, and then followed the directions Maria had given him. He drove past the store where a second parking lot, also empty, sat. At the rear of the property was a thin patch of grass with a dead tree and a picnic table.

  The picnic table was occupied.

  By a young woman.

  Alone.

  Tallon parked the SUV and approached her.

  “Maria?” he said.

  She turned and Tallon knew immediately she wasn’t Figueroa’s sister. She looked nothing like him, and he immediately recognized the presence of drug addiction. The young woman was thin, with dark circles under her eyes and the glassy-eyed look of someone not in her right mind.

  The young woman smiled at him and he saw her eyes lift slightly over and to the right of his shoulder.

  He turned.

  A group of four men had emerged from the back of the building. They were all dressed in similar fashion. Baggy pants, black T-shirts and tattoos covering most of their exposed skin.

  Gangbangers, through and through.

  One was carrying a baseball bat. Another had a section of lead pipe.

  And one had a knife.

  Tallon studied their tattoos.

  He’d seen quite a few in his time and these were the type he’d seen once before.

  In Mexico.

  Which meant one thing.

  Sica.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Can I help you?” the man with the gun asked Pauling. His uniform told her he was Pine Beach PD. His baby face told her he was probably new to the force, a young patrolman assigned to keep an eye on the crime scene until further investigation could be conducted. He looked bored.

  “Not really, but thank you,” Pauling said. She gazed up at the steep bluff to the left of the road.

  “May I see some ID, ma’am?” he asked.

  Pauling nearly rolled her eyes, but she handed him her driver’s license. He was pasty, with a buzz cut and a uniform that looked too small for him. Or maybe he’d gained weight recently and hadn’t had time to buy a new one.

  “This is a crime scene,” the young patrolman said as he handed her back the license. His voice and chest were both puffed up.

  “Really? What happened?” Pauling asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Probably be best if you moved along,” he answered. “Nothing to see here, anyway.”

  Pauling spotted the nameplate above his left breast pocket.

  Shepard.

  “So I assume the shot came from up there?” she asked, and pointed toward the bluff. To the right of the road, the embankment fell away as it curved slightly upward.

  “I can’t comment on that, ma’am,” he said. He seemed to realize that she knew more than she should. It occurred to him with a realization that arrived in slow motion. “Are you the one that identified the body?” he asked. His pasty skin turned a little pink.

  Pauling smiled.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Chief Jardine mentioned you,” he said. Now his voice had a little edge to it. “But she didn’t say you were going to stick around and…do whatever it is you’re doing.”

  He finished the sentence awkwardly, and shuffled his feet to work out his discomfort.

  “Yeah, I didn’t mention that,” Pauling said. “Just curious is all.”

  “Uh huh,” he said, his voice less than convinced.

  “There a way up there?” she asked him.

  He frowned. Clearly, she wasn’t paying heed to his suggestion that she move along. But Pauling also saw the conflict.

  “I actually just came out for some exercise, wanted to find a good hiking trail,” she said. “Is there one back there? I’d like to check out the view.”

  It was a good compromise. He could help her out, without breaking any kind of rule that would get him in trouble.

  “There’s a parking area about a quarter mile up to the left. From there, you can pick the eastern trail and it winds up there,” he said. “Don’t go where there’s yellow tape, though. Otherwise, I’ll have to come up there.”

  “No problem, Shepard,” Pauling said. “Thanks and I’ll see you around.”

  She got back into her car and drove ahead.

  As soon as she was around the bend, Shepard took out his personal cell phone and dialed a private number.

  “She’s here. Now would be a good time to grab her,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  There’s always a leader.

  An alpha male, surrounded by subservient betas.

  Usually the tallest one.

  But he isn’t always the guy who’s going to go first. Sometimes it’s the opposite.

  The smallest, weakest member of the pack usually has the most to prove and the eagerness to go along with it.

  Tallon immediately spotted the leader. Not the tallest, but clearly the strongest, with broad shoulders bulging out of a wife beater shirt, a flat face and dull eyes. No fear, but also no eagerness. He was all business.

  The unacknowledged leader was in the middle, and at opposite ends were the weakest of the group. Two of them already several full steps ahead of the pair in the middle.

  Unlike the guy in the middle, their eyes were alive with excitement. Bloodthirsty and also tinged with the need to perform. This was perfect for them. Four on one. A surefire victory.

  They were anxious to get started, demonstrate their worth by beating a lone man, clearly outnumbered, and demonstrate their value to the group. It was like a home game against a clearly overmatched opponent.

  To lose was to bring shame to everyone involved.

  Tallon considered drawing his gun and shooting them, but he figured they were armed, to a certain extent, beyond the baseball bat and the lead pipe. He didn’t want to be the first one to start shooting. They clearly felt they could handle the situation without resorting to guns as well.

  A tactical mistake, but perfectly understandable.

  Tallon was more than happy to keep guns out of the equation for now. Mainly because he wanted information.

  So he let them come, and turned his back on the girl for the moment. He figured she wouldn’t do anything just yet. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had a little pistol. Maybe a tiny .25 semi-automatic in her purse. Nothing to be concerned about at the moment. She certainly wouldn’t shoot first and guns like that were notoriously inaccurate. The odds of her hitting him were extremely low.

  So Tallon waited, knowing that the low men on the totem pole would act first.

  And they did.

  The two on the ends darted in. One went high and the other went low.

  In theory, a decent approach.

  An inexperienced fighter might be temporarily frozen with indecision. Do you duck or jump? They were counting on him to do just that, which would provide the perfect opportunity for them to take a baseball bat to his shins and a lead pipe to the temple.

  Game over.

  Unfortunately for them, Tallon took a third option.

  He lunged forward, rendering both of their swings ineffective. To swing a bat and connect with a target required distance. Once inside the bat’s arc, power was greatly diminished.

  Tallon grabbed the handle of the baseball bat with his left hand, and drove an elbow into the face of the guy with the lead pipe. He felt or heard the man’s nose squash beneath the blow.

  Tallon continued his momentum, pulling the baseball batter forward and he spread his left leg out, tripping his assailant, forcing him to the ground.

  The man’s grip on the bat loosened and Tallon wrenched it fr
om his hands and drove the butt of the bat into his temple. Much better use of a club to drive it forward on a straight path. Just as much power with a higher degree of accuracy and effectiveness. The man with the broken nose was still conscious so Tallon utilized the bat again, this time with so much force that he actually felt the man’s skull give way. Experience told him that it was probably a blow from which the man would not survive.

  Tallon turned and the leader, along with the last of the group, had suddenly realized their odds had shifted quite dramatically.

  Any pretense of a quick and savage beating was gone. The man next to the leader glanced at his superior, as if he was asking what he should do.

  Tallon knew that any hesitation was deadly in a fight like this.

  The leader of the group was already going for his gun.

  However, it’s one thing to pull a gun when you’ve got all the time in the world. Maybe when you’re showing off for a friend, or practicing in front of the bedroom mirror.

  It’s an entirely different matter when there’s another human being less than twenty feet away who’s doing the same.

  Tallon was smooth and confident and his 9mm was out and firing while the leader of the group had barely managed to get a big shiny semiautomatic out of his baggy pants. It was probably a great weapon to wave around at a party when you’re full of malt liquor and bragging about how you’re going to kill rival gang members, not so great when you’re trying to extricate it from your sagging blue jeans when a man directly across from you is beating you to the draw.

  Tallon’s shots shredded the leader’s chest, painting the man’s wife beater shirt with blossoming flowers of red blood.

  The second man’s gun was nearly coming on line when Tallon’s bullets hit him in the chest and throat. He got off one shot as he was falling backward, a bullet harmlessly flying directly toward the sky.

  For a brief moment, Tallon didn’t move as he watched the two gang members complete their fall to the ground. His gun remained in his hand, but he knew they were both dead.

  Tallon glanced down at the first two of his assailants and they were completely inert, too.