by Andrew Allan
Turn on a dime. Complete self-interest. Protecting his cronies. This guy was redefining how sleazy a politician could be. It was sickening.
“We can’t just ask Luther to tell us who he killed. Not without getting an axe to the face,” I said.
“Sure, we can! He doesn’t know I’m with you. I’ll act like I’m still on his side and we’ll get it out of him. And, then we’ll have him arrested,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about? That guy’s a monster. And, who knows where he is. His brother said they had more people to kill once they were through with me. We need to stop him before he goes through with it,” I said.
“Well, he can’t do that until he gets the information from me. That’s why he’s on his way here now,” he said.
I almost choked on my heart.
“Here?!”
“He called just a short while ago,” he said. “He’s on his way.”
“Why didn’t you just give him the target address over the phone?”
“Never know who could be listening in. And, with Arch dead, and me not knowing if you were alive, we were improvising. Until you showed up,” he said. Then he waved his hand between his chest and mine. “But now, we have a plan. And, a damned good one!”
He smiled, so proud of himself.
I paused a moment to think.
“Would you like a drink? Snack?” he asked moving towards the pantry.
I held out the knife, “Stay right there.”
He froze.
“I’m fine.”
“Just offering.”
I had more questions.
“Why did you tell your wife to stay gone?” I said.
He looked at me confused then stitched it together. “Carol knows nothing about this business, nor should she. Plus, I don’t want her anywhere near Luther. No telling what could happen,” he said.
“No telling,” I said.
“We’ll need to be ready for him. I have a gun in my den.”
“I’ll take it,” I said. He looked disappointed.
“Hey boss,” he said. “You’re in control. And, I’m gonna go along with whatever you say. You’ve proven you can handle a situation, and I respect— “
“Shut up. Just shut your dumb mouth for five seconds,” I said.
He clammed up.
Something wasn’t right. There was nothing stopping him from selling me out to Luther when he arrived. Then, it would be two against one and my chances would be slim to nothing, especially without the gun in the den.
“Let’s get the gun. Now!” I said.
“Sure thing. It’s in the--,” he said.
I waved the knife indicating he needed to lead the way. We walked through the mansion, across tile floors, past built-in bookshelves filled with self-help books and military thrillers, and down hallways that lead to room after room.
His den décor was just as dull as the rest of the house. Lots of brown tones, a few plaques, pictures of him with various somebodies. It’d make for a boring estate sale.
“Get it,” I said and prompted him with a wave of the knife.
He nodded and removed a picture from the wall, revealing a wall safe. He spun the dial and opened it. Before he had a chance to reach in, I knocked him on the back of the skull with the butt of the knife. He grabbed his head and cowered. I grabbed the gun and the few papers inside.
“Damn, what’d you do that for?” he said, irritated. But, he caught himself and tried to cover up his rage. That told me a lot.
The gun was loaded. I tucked it in the back of my waistband and waved him out of the den.
“You know, this whole hostage routine is really unnecessary. We’re on the same side,” he said as we walked back towards the kitchen.
“Until it’s convenient for you not to be,” I said.
“Luther has no chance.”
“Why is that? Because you have the same guy who killed Arch ready to kill Luther?”
A ghost of shock and worry flashed across his face.
“I’m not an idiot,” I said. “Keep walking.”
He walked in silence. No doubt he was calculating his odds. I just waited to see how he would play it. But, he didn’t say anything. Perhaps he was worried the more he talked the more he would reveal.
“The way I see it, you thought Luther would wipe me out. So, you had Arch killed and invited Luther up so you could kill him. Cutting the head off of the snake. That leaves Clovis and Remy. Only I took care of them for you,” I said.
He just glared at me. That was encouraging.
“With the Gagnons out of the way, this whole deal disappears...except for me.”
I watched him close. He kept walking and looking ahead. He’d gone from not wanting to talk to not even wanting to look at me.
“And, you’ve already stated how you feel about someone knowing your dirty secrets.”
We arrived in the kitchen. He turned to me and leaned against the kitchen island. His expression was matter of fact.
“So where is he?” I said.
“Who?” he said.
“Your new executioner.”
He vibed defiance and just shrugged. That meant he felt confident and I may have lost control of the situation.
“You were going to have him kill Luther. And, then when I showed up, you decided to have him kill me,” I said.
He shrugged again. A beat later he said, “If you think you can take us all, have at it commercial boy.”
I flipped the buck knife in my hand and moved in to stab him. He flinched and staggered back, tripping over the legs of a barstool. He held his hands up. I dropped down on top of him.
The door beeped. Someone walked in.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I CRAWLED OFF Wingart. He got up fast and straightened out his clothes, ever the professional.
Footsteps approaching down the hallway. Clicking across the tiles. Heavy and slow.
“I’m in the kitchen, Luther,” Wingart said.
It startled me and I looked at him like you asshole.
The steps continued in unsteady fashion. Almost as if one of his legs was dragging, maybe limping.
I watched the hallway that led to the garage – the same one I’d entered through – waiting to see how much of the big French behemoth remained intact. How much damage could he do after being mauled by alligators? How much of him was left?
Luther appeared around the corner and my heart sank.
He looked bigger than I’d remembered. And now, he looked meaner. He wasn’t half a person liked I’d hoped. His skin was shredded around his neck. He was muddy, with a milky-way pattern of blood crust across his brawny, bare chest. A flap of torn skin dangled from his bicep. His leg wasn’t dragging, his battle-axe was. And, his eyes – one white, one dark red with broken blood vessels – looked menacing under the black executioner hood, which had been frayed along the bottom and torn around the eyes. Even through the hood he looked meaner, angrier. He wasn’t here to do the job he’d been hired for.
He was here for revenge.
Wingart pointed at me.
“Luther, we lucked out. I don’t know how he got away from you. But, he was dumb enough to come here, and I kept him from leaving till you arrived,” said Wingart.
Luther didn’t look at Wingart. He projected pure hate my way.
“He’s setting you up, Luther,” I said. “He wants you and me dead so he can tie up all his loose ends and skate back to Tallahassee.”
“He killed Arch! Shot him!” said Wingart with his hands outstretched and pleading desperately.
“I did not. He murdered Arch. I killed Remy in self defense,” I said. “And, I wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t started all this.”
Luther looked over at Wingart, who went sheet white under his evil gaze.
“Now, listen, Luther. Don’t be dumb. A) He’s just an infomercial writer, he’s worthless!” said Wingart. “I’m a well-known politician who will be noticed if I am dead or missing. And B) I
can get your ass out of this jam. I can cover it all up and you can go back to your simple life killing people at the prison.”
Luther lifted his axe into striking posture. Me and Wingart, we both stiffened up in anticipation.
“Isn’t it the same old problem? The politicians shut you down in France. And, now they’re trying to do it to you here. After everything you lost, now this jerk’s gonna make you lose it again,” I said. “Same thing’s happened to me. I’ve lost my house, my friends. You’ve crippled my girlfriend. Life will never be the same for me either. Meanwhile, the slick politician is sitting pretty. He still has his nice house, his job, his family. He’s been making a big mess, but his hands aren’t even dirty. Not like ours.”
I wasn’t sure how much English Luther could even understand. But, it was just like with writing a sales prospect – I had to make that connection. It was my only chance. And, if he had any sense of justice, he’d know I wasn’t the man he wanted.
Wingart stepped up, “Luther we had a deal. And, a deal is a deal. And, on our deal that man right there was listed as one of the targets. It’s time for you to finish the work you’ve been contracted to do so you can get paid in full.”
Luther roared and slammed the battle-axe down on the island kitchen. It shattered the glass stovetop and sent black shards flying. Wingart and I ducked. Luther swung again and about chopped the refrigerator freezer in half horizontally. When he ripped out the blade the vertical doors pulled open and half the cooled contents spilled out.
I stepped back but didn’t want to go too far. That would mean descending the stairs into the sunken living room. And, as little as I know about fighting and warfare, I do know it’s better to have the higher ground.
Luther stopped swinging the axe and looked to Wingart. But, he pointed at me. In his best broken English he said, “My brother was shot! In ze head. Archibald was a fighter. Zees man could not have shot him like zat!”
Wingart looked uneasy, then glanced at me with a sly glare.
“Do you know how many men Mr. Asher has killed over the past several days?” he said. “He killed your brother and both your sons – that’s right, he got Clovis, too.”
Wingart paused to let that sink in.
Luther stood emotionless.
“If he could take all of them, why couldn’t he take Arch?” Wingart said.
Luther stepped forward and looked at me.
“I trust nobody. I kill you both, zen my problems go away,” he said. “You both deserve to die.”
I said, “Hey, at least I was a worthy adversary. Remy said that himself. That has to count for something.” I thumbed to Wingart. “He’s just playing you for a fool.”
“I am not a fool. I am the final word,” said Luther.
Another smash of the blade, this time shattering the glass dining room table Wingart had been standing next to. He quick-stepped back and down into the living room.
“If you kill me and let him live, the moment you walk out of here, he’s going to have you killed. And, after he’s gotten away with it, every time he thinks about how he fooled you, the dumb French oakie, he’s going to laugh and laugh and laugh,” I said.
“Shut your mouth, goddammit!” Wingart hissed as he stepped further back into the living room. “That sumbitch is looking you right in the eyes and lying to your face!”
He flushed red. The real Wingart was on now on display, the one who eviscerated his staff when he looked bad, the one who wouldn’t accept defeat and who wouldn’t take the blame.
“Luther, I’m gonna tell you one more time. You need to kill his ass dead right now before this turns into a mess that even I can’t get you out of. It’s that simple. Do your job!” said Wingart.
I couldn’t tell if his arrogance was genuine or a portrayal of authority that didn’t truly exist.
Luther looked to me, like I was a nuisance. As if maybe he should just get rid of me. That way he’d be free to concentrate on disemboweling the bossy son of a bitch in the living room.
I pulled out the gun and pointed it at Luther.
“Now, I know this looks bad, like I’m the one who has something to defend. But, this is just to get things wrapped up,” I said and shook the gun. “I’m quite fine with not shooting you, Luther, as long as you keep cool and swing that thing away from me.” I pointed to the axe with the gun.
He didn’t budge. He looked at the gun with about as much fear as if I was pointing a feather at him and threatening to tickle.
“Personally, I don’t care what you do to him,” I said and nodded my head at Wingart. “I suspect the world would be better off without him.”
He leered at Wingart, who pursed his lips and looked like he was both mad and surprised for losing control of the conversation.
I continued, “But, no matter what you do, I’m calling the cops. Because I didn’t start any of this and I didn’t cause any of this. The two of you did. If you can talk your way out of it, fine. But, I’ve had enough. It’s time for me to get back to the life I loved and have you deviants out of my hair. So, what you do is up to—“
“Son of a bitch!”
It was Wingart, charging up the stairs with a sharp, iron fire poker aimed at me. I jumped back, but tripped and fell hard against the pantry door. I dropped the gun and it tumbled away from me.
Wingart launched himself from the second step. He gripped the poker with two hands above his head. The pointed tip flew at my chest. I could have kicked my legs up but he could still jab the poker into me. If I rolled he could slam it into the side of my rib cage. Nothing to throw. Damn.
I rolled.
From the corner of my eye I could see Wingart redirect the poker to follow for my movement.
I pushed off the dining table base and rolled the opposite direction and brought kicked wide. It was enough to hit his shoulder and change his trajectory. The spike shattered the kitchen tile. Wingart fell on top of me and knocked out my wind. I was stunned.
He crawled off me, grabbed the poker, raised it over his head, and slammed it hard across my chest. It hurt as bad as you would expect.
I tried to roll away. He kicked me and whacked me again with the hard iron. He smashed my ribs. Excruciating pain.
I hustled and flailed to get away. But, I moved just a few yards...
And, landed at Luther’s feet.
I didn’t realize it until something cold and metal touched my cheek. I peeked over and saw it was his axe. My shoulder was pressed against his muck-covered boot. He kicked me away. I rolled onto my back and slid head first down the trio of steps to the living room. My head hit the living room floor and stopped the rest of my body from sliding down the steps. I could barely move.
Wingart moved into view at the top of the steps. He raised the poker, rage on his face and hate in his eyes.
“Allow me to finish the job you couldn’t, Luther!” said Wingart.
I wanted to kick but I couldn’t. I wanted to roll but the incline of the steps made it too difficult.
I couldn’t move.
And, Wingart had the high ground. He had the spike. He had me pinned.
He cocked the poker back. He was ready to stab me with full force.
I had tried. But, now...what could I do?
I saw my kids, my parents, Ilsa...their smiling faces. I sent my love.
I flinched my eyes closed.
I said ‘goodbye’.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
HEAVY METAL LANDED on me.
Then a scream.
My eyes opened.
They stung. Everything was red.
The scream turned into a crying howl.
I rubbed my eyes with my forearm.
A voice:
“Noooo!”
I blinked partial vision into my eyes. I had to spit. Something warm and wet spilled into it. My blood?
No.
Wingart’s blood.
Through squinting eyes I saw why:
Wingart’s arms, from the elbow down, wer
e missing. Completely gone. His upper arms flailed as if reaching out to take hold of something, to brace himself, but he had no way to grab on. He was stunned by the sheer horror of his disfigurement, no longer a sane man.
But, he didn’t have to worry long.
Movement caught my eye and I turned just in time to see Luther swing his giant, bloody battle-axe at Wingart. It was laid out flat, like he was swinging a baseball bat, and moved in a semi-circle level with his hips. The axe sliced right through Wingart’s back, severing his spine with little resistance, and sending the upper half of his doomed body tumbling into the living room.
I covered my head to avoid getting hit by the torso. It spritzed me with blood as it slammed hard against the living room floor and tumbled into the side of the leather couch where it came to a rest.
It was so horrible I couldn’t not look.
From my position on the floor, he was above me and everything was flipped upside down. Wingart’s eyes were closed, his head cockeyed between his shoulder and the couch. A puddle of blood rose as he bled out.
My ankle.
Something grabbed it.
Strong and tight, squeezing my Achilles tendon.
I buckled with the pain and tried to kick loose.
Luther had it wrapped tight in his meaty fist and was pulling me up.
I couldn’t shake free. My butt, then my back lifted off the stairs. Luther’s hand raised me up until I was dangling upside down with only my forearms touching the ground. Then he lifted the axe with the other hand and looked down at me.
“I...”, he said, then pounded the axe against his chest in self reference. “...am the executioner!”
If a demon dog from hell could speak English, that’s what his voice sounded like. But, with a French accent. The only thing missing was brimstone smoke puffing out between each word. Despite all that had just happened, my heart started pounding with a new level of fear.
He continued, “You are guilty of the crimes for which you have been accused. The judgment has been made by those with the power to decide, and...” Luther pointed the head of the axe at me. It was dripping with blood. “Your sentence has been handed down,” he said.
