Twelve

by Dustin Stevens

  The bloody point of the blade protruded over an inch from the backside of her hand. The handle remained clean and shiny by her palm.

  It took a split second for the nerve endings to carry the pain from her hand to her brain. When they got there, Kelly clutched her hand to her stomach and fell to her knees.

  The moment snapped Will awake and he turned to find Aello standing down the hall from him. Her right hand was on her hip and her left leg was cocked outward. The angle of her leg allowed the split in her skirt to fall away from her thigh, exposing the knife belt.

  The fingertips of her left hand tapped the handles of the knives.

  Beside him Kelly moaned as she gripped the handle of the knife and tried to ease it back out of her hand.

  “No!” Will said. “Leave it in. Pulling it out makes it worse.”

  “What?”

  “It may be holding something together. Wait until we find Heath to remove it.”

  Kelly moaned again and curled herself around the hand.

  Will turned to Aello, who maintained her haughty posture.

  “You realize I could have put that knife through her head if I wanted to," Aello taunted.

  Will stepped forward. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Because she is no threat to me.”

  Will lifted his hands, palms down. “I’m no threat to you either. I just want to find my brother and go home.”

  “Two things make you a threat to me. First, you want to find your brother and go home. If you go home, that means that I didn’t win.

  “Second...” In a flash, she drew a knife from the belt and hurled it at Will. The tiny blade darted straight through the air at Will’s chest.

  Just before it struck, he snapped to the side. The bottom edge of the blade grazed his forearm, sending a thin trail of blood down to the tip of his pinkie.

  “See,” Aello said. “You are a threat. That knife would be buried in most people’s heart right now. You just got a scratch.”

  Will looked down at the thin line of blood trailing down his arm. The sight of it caused a small fire to light within him.

  Will began to hear Guns ‘n Roses in his ears again. He balled his hands into fists and took two more steps forward. "I wasn’t a threat, but I guess I am now.”

  Aello pursed her lips at him and again tapped the knife belt on her thigh.

  “How about you though?" Will asked. "Is that all you’ve got? Hiding behind some throwing knives?”

  She raised her eyebrows and lowered her gaze on him. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Will raised his bloody forearm for her to see. “I’d say the same to you, bitch.”

  Both stood and stared at each other for a moment.

  Both made their move simultaneously.

  Aello threw a hard left jab, followed by a right hook. Will blocked them both, taking a step back each time. Aello used the space to step through with her right foot and whiz her left elbow at Will’s head.

  Will grabbed her forearm with his right hand and shot two kick jabs into her kidneys. She grunted as the shots pushed her forward away from him. She shuffled forward a few quick steps and shot a kick across his torso.

  The kick knocked Will back a step and he responded by snapping his own sweep kick back at her. She turned her body at the last second and the blow slammed into her hip bone.

  The bone-to-bone contact made a crunching sound in the hallway. It knocked Aello back several steps while Will stood and flexed his leg at the knee a few times.

  Hatred showed on both their faces as Aello charged forward again and fired three straight jabs, followed by a left hook and a right uppercut.

  Will retreated from each blow, deflecting each to the side. After the failed uppercut, he pushed back into her with two quick jabs of his own. Aello dodged each of them to the side and Will feigned a third. We waited for her to slide to the left and unleashed a heavy hook into her cheekbone.

  The blow landed with a sickening crunch, snapping Aello’s head to the right. A deep cut split her cheek and her eye became puffy.

  It was almost swollen shut within seconds.

  Aello stumbled to the side and pulled a knife from her belt. She threw it backhanded at Will, followed by another one in rapid fire succession.

  The first shot past Will’s head and clattered against the wall behind him.

  The second cut just below his right shoulder, slicing a cut several inches long. Blood slid down his arm, wrapping itself in either direction around his elbow.

  Will looked down at the fresh wound and newfound anger welled up. He took two steps back and picked up the knife that hit the wall behind him.

  He lowered his eyes and glowered at her. “You and I both know that knife belts for someone your size contain five blades.”

  Will held the knife by the handle in his right hand and tapped it against his left palm, walking forward. “You used one on the dead girl earlier. You used one on Kelly and you’ve thrown three at me.”

  Aello’s cocked her thigh to the side and tapped the belt again. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re not the only with martial arts training you know.”

  Anger clouded Aello’s face as she tossed her skirt back across her thigh. She raised her fists in front of her and rushed forth.

  She fired a bevy of fists at Will, hard jabs and crosses right at his head. Each one he pushed aside with his left hand, working the knife back and forth with his right.

  After several seconds, Aello stumbled backwards. Her arms were cut to ribbons.

  Will looked down at his own arms and the blood dripping from his shoulder. “Not so much fun when somebody’s tossing knives back at you, is it?”

  Blood ran from Aello’s arms, dripping from her fingertips into small pools on the floor. She stared down at them for several seconds before trying one last rush.

  She shot a straight kick towards Will’s head, but the blood loss made her too weak to get her foot above his chest. Will easily stepped to the side as Aello slammed into the wall and fell to her knees.

  Blood continued to run from her arms and she looked up at him through her long blonde hair. “Finish it.”

  “You’re already finished.”

  “Please. Give me a proper death.”

  The words struck a cord with Will and he stared at her for a long second. The words of Heath from earlier came to mind.

  I’m not a killer. And neither are you.

  He looked down at the knife in his hand, then flicked it at Aello. It stuck in the wooden floor just inches in front of her.

  She looked up again and nodded her thanks. Wrapping her bloody hands around it, she pulled the blade from the wood.

  Will watched her for just a moment, turned and walked back towards Kelly.

  Continuing to grip her hand, Kelly rose to her feet. “What? That’s it? You’re just going to toss her a knife and let her go. She could still use it on us!”

  Will turned and stared at Aello. “She won’t.”

  “How could you know that?! Look what she did to me!”

  Will grabbed Kelly by the arm and led her away down the hall. “Come on. We don’t need to watch this.”

  Eighty-Six

  Winston watched as the wager counter for Honeycutt climbed. It sprang from just over two million to just over ten with a single refresh. “These damn Honeycutt’s just won’t die will they?”

  Rosner curled back the fingers on his right hand and examined his cuticles. “What is your inherent problem with them anyway? So what if a Honeycutt wins? They’ve been great for business.”

  Winston examined the wager totals again. It had jumped to thirteen million.

  “Yeah, but it looks bad. We spent months scouring the world for the best fighters. The day before the event we stumble across a local kid and he wins the whole damn thing? Makes it look like we’re running a dog and pony show here.”

  Rosner sighed and dropped his palm flat on the table. “Two things Eric.

 
“First, we scoured the back alleys and underground fighting circles. We all accept that there are better fighters in the world, but we’d never get them to agree to this. Just like we never would have gotten Honeycutt to agree to this.”

  Winston considered the point. It was, of course, correct.

  “Second, if anything has looked like a dog and pony show here tonight, it’s you.”

  “Me?!” Winston spat.

  “Yes, you. You have nitpicked and micromanaged the hell out of this. Eight hours ago you were smooth and in control. Now? You’re a mess.”

  Winston balled his hands up in front of him and squeezed as hard as he could. For a moment, he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. Slowly, he slid the breath from between his lips and relaxed his grip.

  The phone on his hip began to vibrate again. He pulled it from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. “Christ, what is it now?”

  He pressed four quick buttons and a moment later Chester materialized out of the kitchen. In his hands were a thin stack of papers. His face was ashen. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt again—“

  “Just get on with it.”

  Chester spread three photos out in front of them. “These were taken just a few minutes ago at the front gate. The guards radioed in and said somebody showed up honking and making a lot of noise.”

  Winston slid one of the photos over in front of himself. “Any ID on the plates?”

  “No, sir. They’re not registered anywhere.”

  Rosner peered down his nose at the closest photo. “Black SUVs. Look like a bad law enforcement cliché.”

  Winston nodded his head. “How many inside? Were they armed?”

  “Guard said there were only two men inside, both unarmed and wearing ties. Said they were here about a photo shoot? Do you have something planned for the winner?”

  Winston’s jaw dropped open and he turn a blank stare to Rosner. “Did he really just ask that?”

  “Yes. Yes he did.”

  “And just when it had been a good six hours since he said anything idiotic.”

  Rosner waved a hand and shook his head.

  “Um, the, uh, guards opened fire on the vehicle, but they were able to get away,” Chester stammered.

  Winston stared at the photos again, then to Rosner. “Sounds like a diversion.”

  “Sure does.”

  Winston flipped the photo back onto the table and leaned back in his seat. “Alert the guards that the grounds have been compromised. Reiterate that they are to use deadly force at all times.

  “Call around and get some backup here as fast as you can. You have the list of our regulars. Get them out of bed, pay them whatever they want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chester scooped the pictures up from the tables and disappeared back through the kitchen doors.

  Several moments of silence passed and Winston cocked his neck towards Rosner. “No comments on my management style?”

  Rosner pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nothing to criticize. You made the only play you could there. But I’m also not going to pat you on the head and say you did a good job if that’s what you’re craving.”

  Anger again welled inside Winston. He reached into his vest pocket and slid out the Patek Philippe. “It’s after four-thirty. We’ll soon have a winner and sunrise. We just need to hold on a little longer.”

  He didn’t wait for a response from Rosner.

  Instead, he rose and went to the podium to cross Aello off the list.

  Eighty-Seven

  The blue dress shirt clung to Heath. The fresh blood acted like an adhesive, helping the fabric stick to his skin.

  With great difficulty he peeled it off. Using the back of it he wiped away as much of the blood as he could from his face and arms. When he was done, he wadded the shirt into a ball and dropped it on the floor.

  The knife he left stuck in Boucher’s leg.

  His head throbbed with each heartbeat and his ribs ached with every breath he began walking again.

  The iron gate blocking the doorway in front of him slid aside and he moved straight for it. The cool air rushing in ran over his skin and helped to clear his head.

  At the edge of the door he paused and dropped to a knee. He held his hand to his eyes and peered out into the darkness.

  He couldn’t see anyone.

  He couldn’t see anything at all.

  Using the wall as a guide he slid outside. He kept his back pressed against it and moved out of the light, coming to a stop. For several minutes he remained motionless, hiding in the darkness.

  The cool of the wall and the air continued to hit his skin until goose bumps stood out on his arms. His heart rate began to even out and the thumping in his head receded. As the pain in his head lessened, he was able to feel the prodding in his ribs even more.

  After a few long minutes he pushed his back away from the wall and started to walk. He kept the fingertips of his left hand against the cool brick as a guide and moved forward.

  In the air it smelled like something was burning.

  He kept his feet moving and rounded a corner to find a half dozen torches burning bright in a semi-circle. In their light he could see the remains of several other torches along the opposite side.

  A handful of motionless bodies were strewn about like lawn ornaments. Casting a quick glance about, he moved forward and checked each of them.

  No Will or Kelly.

  He retreated back to the wall and waited several long moments for any sign of movement.

  Nothing.

  Heath crept forward and soon found another door back into the mansion. Resting his shoulder against the corner of it, he peered down a long empty hallway mirroring the one he had just exited. He took one step inside before retreating back into the night.

  Resting his back against the wall he closed his eyes and went through everything he knew about the grounds. A moment later, his eyes popped open and he jogged along the wall away from the open door.

  The ground was smooth and even under his feet, the grass just clipped. He jogged as fast as his ribs would allow, keeping his breath from becoming too labored.

  Two minutes later his path was blocked by a fence of iron bars. Behind them was row after row of shiny black cars.

  Eighty-Eight

  The fence was made of solid black bars. They were spaced four inches apart and stood flush with the ground. They extended eight feet in the air, each one accentuated by a sharp black spike.

  Heath walked along the length of the fence away from the house, hoping to find a gate or a low spot in the ground to get through.

  There were none.

  He tried to squeeze his arm through between one of the bars. It got just past his elbow before proving impassable.

  He was going to have to go over.

  Heath returned to the base of the wall and rested his left shoulder against it. He gripped the bars as high as he could with his hands and swung his backside out away from his body as a counterweight.

  Carefully he placed his right and then left feet on the bars. He raised his body up, paused and nudged his feet higher.

  Again he raised his body, slid his hands a little higher. Within seconds sweat began to form on his back and brow. His breathing increased.

  A searing pain stabbed into his ribs, a hot poker right between them.

  Using the wall as support Heath raised his body the last few feet and gripped the points at the end of the poles. He drew his feet up on to the horizontal cross piece and paused atop the wall.

  Spikes stuck up on either side of his feet. Hunched like a frog he rotated himself in a half-circle and slid his feet down the opposite side.

  Below him, a black Mercedes was parked just feet away.

  Heath slid himself down an inch at a time until the pain in his ribs was too much to bear. Without a thought to the noise he would make, he released the bars and jumped back on to the sedan below.

  The hood of the trunk dent
ed under his weight, letting out a metallic groan as it bent concave beneath him. Pain shot through his torso and he rolled from the trunk onto his knees and took several quick breaths.

  Pushing himself up from the ground he stumbled through the precise rows of cars to his aging Cavalier.

  Heath fished the keys from his pocket and swung himself into the driver’s seat. There he remained for a moment, gulping down the last of his water bottle.

  “I have to find Will.”

  Heath climbed from the front seat and opened the rear door. He tossed aside his gym bag and glove and slid out his softball bat. He wrapped both hands around the base of it and rotated it between his hands.

  Switching the bat to his left hand he shut both doors and began to move back for the fence.

  “Freeze! FBI!” a voice barked into the night.

  Heath did as he was told.

  “Drop the bat and slowly turn around!”

  Heath let the bat fall from his fingers and raised his hands beside him. His body made a tight revolution towards the main gate.

  A single three inch crack was visible along the hinge of the gate. Peering through it at him were two men dressed in solid black.

  One had an M-16 pushed through the crack and trained on him. The other appeared to be watching the grounds behind them.

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Uh, my name…my name is Dr. Heath Honeycutt. I am a surgeon at Oregon Health and Sciences University.”

  The man kept his gun trained on Heath.

  “I was invited here tonight as a guest of my brother, Portland Firefighter Will Honeycutt. We were told this was some sort of benefit. We’ve been fighting for our lives ever since.”

  Heath kept his hands out to his sides and took two steps forward.

  “Come no closer!”

  Heath stopped moving. “If you’re with the Bureau you can check what I’m telling you. This is my car right here. I have my wallet and car registration inside.

  “Please help us. We’re not supposed to be here.”

  The man’s face was bunched tight. He glanced to the side and back at Heath.

  Without warning, he fired two quick shots.