by Tom Abrahams
“We still need to go there. We can’t wait for the morning.”
“You say that already,” Sergei mumbles.
Another flash of lightning reveals a building off to the left of the road, maybe fifty yards from us.
“Is that it?” I ask Sergei.
“Yes,” he says. “That is liquor store.”
“Then shut off your lights!” I snap as another flash of lightning precedes a loud clap of thunder.
“What?”
“Shut off your headlights!” I repeat more forcefully. In front of the building, just off the road, is a dark SUV. “Stop the car!”
Sergei slams on the brakes and shuts off the engine. The headlights go dark.
I lean forward, between the driver’s and front passenger’s seat and point to the store. “Look! In the building…” Inside the dark building are the intermittent beams of flashlights.
“They’re here aren’t they?” Bella asks. “Blogis’ men. They beat us here.”
Lightning rips through the sky and thunder crashes with a percussive boom.
“Sergei,” I put my hand on his shoulder, “are you good with a gun?”
***
Of all the things I thought to put in my pack, a rain poncho wasn’t one of them. My clothes are soaked through, mud sticking to my shoes like glue. I’m cradling the Tec-9 close to my chest, the knee-high weeds slapping against my elbows. The TM-X thermal camera is strapped to my head, the Spyderco knife is in my waistband, along with a little surprise for Blogis’ friends.
Bella is still in the Opel. The situation is so unpredictable, I don’t want her in the middle of it. Hopefully she’s lying down in the back hatch, underneath our bags and hidden from view.
Sergei is reluctantly on the other side of the road, moving parallel to me. He’s carrying my six shooter. It’s loaded with shot shell, since he informed me that he’s not a very good shooter. The spray of the shells will be enough to stun a target if need be, giving me time to finish the job.
He knows that when I reach the driver’s side of the SUV, closest to the liquor store, he’s to cross the street, crouching low, and stay just behind the front passenger’s side tire.
I haven’t lowered the night scope yet, afraid that a flash of lightning will blind me. So, squinting against the darkness, I inch to the rear tire of the SUV, pull out my knife, and stab it into the sidewall. The air hisses loudly when I withdraw the blade, the SUV quickly sinking off balance. At the rear tailgate, I reach underneath the SUV, finding the spare tire. I punch the knife upward, jabbing three to four times before moving to the passenger side.
Sergei is hiding behind the front tire as instructed, his back pressed against the twenty-inch aluminum rim. I imagine this will cost me extra.
I punch the other rear tire, pull the blade, and relish the whoosh of air escaping from the tire. The Tec-9 is now strapped onto my back and I use my left hand to balance myself against the side of the SUV, crouching like a baseball catcher to move next to Sergei.
“Your price went up,” Sergei whispers into my ear as I stab the tire in the tread to his left.
“To what?” I ask. “I just gave you another two thousand dollars before we got out of your car.”
“My shoes are ruined from mud,” he looks down at his feet. “These are new shoes. Lots of money.”
“Really?”
The dude is about to engage in a firefight, and he’s worried about whether or not I pay him to replace footwear barely a notch above a Bass shoe.
He glares at me and licks the rain from his mustache.
“Fine,” I relent. “Another five hundred,” I offer, “but that’s it. I need you to focus.”
Sergei wipes his eyes. “Why you poke holes in tires if you kill them?”
“If we don’t kill them, it’ll stop them from following Annaliese. Got it?”
He nods.
“I’m going back around to the driver’s side. After you hear the hiss of the last tire, I’m heading for the building. I want you to follow me, but stay maybe twenty yards back. Once I open fire, you follow me. Stay low against those windows in the front. Then hit the doorway firing. I’ll make sure I’m not in your way. Whatever is moving in that building, you aim at it. You’ve got six shots. Okay?”
“Okay,” he says before another flash of lightning jolts both of us into hunching down against the SUV. “Okay,” he repeats after the thunder dissipates, “I follow you. What if they kill you? Then what do I do?”
I slap my free hand down onto his shoulder. “You’re S.O.L.”
“I don’t understand. S.O.L?”
“It means you better run as fast as you can.”
Bella has the keys to the car. She knows that if in fifteen minutes we’re not back to get her, she’s to get out of Dodge.
I check my watch again. “We’ve got eleven minutes.” I slink past him around the front of the SUV. I glance ahead to the building and see the dancing flashlights. They clearly haven’t found what they’re looking for, which is good.
The rain slaps the leaves and needles high above me, pecks at my skin, before the cold drops travel down my neck onto my back. Closing my eyes, I exhale and focus. I lower the goggles onto my eyes, wiping the lenses clean of fog, power them up, and backhand the knife into the front tread of the last tire. It squeals for an instant before I pull the blade and tuck it into my waistband. The air rushes from the tire and everything slows around me.
I whip the Tec-9 from my back and find the trigger. Six quick strides and I’m within ten feet of the front of the building. There are two large windows to the left, a flimsy door to the right. This close to the building I can hear the men inside. They’re speaking Russian, not Ukrainian, and they’re angry or frustrated.
There are three distinct voices to the left of the door and behind what I am guessing is the service counter. I’m crouched in front of the door, waiting for the next flash of lightning. I have nine minutes so I pull the surprise from my waistband, holding it tight in my right hand.
***
The smoke grenade takes three seconds to obscure the doorway. Combined with the core-shaking thunderclap that rattled the building, that gives me enough cover to kick in the door and open fire. I’m standing in the doorway, Tec-9 leveled at the counter, my goggles providing enough vision to see three figures moving quickly from left to right.
I pull the trigger, releasing three quick bursts. The figure to the right falls to the ground, wheezing. His flashlight slides across the floor to the right.
After the initial volley, I drop to a knee and slide to the left, away from the entrance. Sergei should be on his way. If I can draw fire away from the door, he’ll surprise them through the smoke with shots from the entrance.
There’s yelling I can’t understand and I pull the trigger again, this time at a figure that seems to be partially hidden behind something. The Tec-9 kicks back against my side and vibrates, its shells popping from the chamber hitting the floor and clanging with the rhythm of the rain pelting the metal roof of the building. There’s no return fire.
Through the scope, the pink glow of the man’s head jerks back and to one side before disappearing behind the counter. There’s only one man remaining and he’s moving to the right. I scan that direction. There’s some movement and then a bright flash in my eyes that brings searing pain and blindness. I fall to the ground and rip the camera scope from my head, the Tec-9 still strapped over my shoulder bangs against the floor.
He must have turned his flashlight on me!
Even with my eyes closed, a bright red light floods my vision. I’m helpless on the floor, unable to get my wits about me.
“Кто вы?!” Russian He’s demanding to know who I am. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s asking. It sounds similar to Ukrainian. “Кто вы?!!” he shouts at me, his flashlight must be aimed right at me. I can only imagine his weapon is too.
My left forearm is folded over my face, covering my eyes, when I feel a t
hick boot to my right thigh and a barrel poke into my chest. “Три, два…” He’s counting down to one.
Pow! Pow! Pow!
I recognize the sound of my Smith and Wesson.
Pow! Pow!
The man standing over me screams, curses. His weapon drops to the floor and rattles. Another squeal, less violent than the scream, a breathless grunt.
Pow! Click. Click. Click.
Sergei is out of ammunition. The third man is silent.
“Sergei!” I try to open my eyes. I can’t tell if they’re watering or still wet from the storm.
“I’m here,” he calls. “They are all dead.”
“Do you see me?” Squinting through the pain, I see a shadow hovering over me. “I’m on the floor.”
“Yes,” he touches me on the arm and grabs for my hand like an arm wrestler. “I pull you up.” He heaves me to my feet, my muddy shoes sliding on the floor. I gain my balance on his shoulder.
“Are you shot?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m just temporarily blinded. I had the night vision on and that last dude hit me with a light. I’ll be okay in like ten minutes.”
“I see the flashlights,” he says. “There are two of them. I get them.”
I release my hold on his shoulder. “You need to get Analiese. There can’t be but a few minutes left until she knows to leave. Take her a flashlight, then the two of you come back. We’ll start looking for what these guys couldn’t find.”
“Okay,” he pats my back. “I do that.” He walks away from me and picks up a flashlight before crossing the room to my left.
“Hey, Sergei,” I call to the direction of the counter, “thank you for doing what you did. Your timing was perfect.”
“No problem.” His voice is closer to me than I thought he would be. “But it will cost you more money.”
“I know.”
“You are good with gun, yes?” he asks. “You kill two of them in head. You were in the dark and killed them both. Neither of them fired a shot. You didn’t break any glass. You were perfect.”
“Lucky,” I reply. “Just good luck.”
“You are, how you say in English, a natural?” He’s moving away from me and toward the door.
“I’ve heard that before.” The cheap door creaks open before slamming shut. I reach out and Frankenstein-feel my way to the counter to my left. It feels like heavy wood and I lean into it, sucking in a deep breath.
Alone, in the dark and unable to see, the rain pounding on the roof has my attention again. It sounds like an endless wave crashing ashore, almost deafening. I pull the sling for the Tec-9 over my head and place the weapon on the counter. I squint again, trying to force my eyesight into focus without luck. I rub my eyes with my knuckles and then run a hand through my hair. It comes away wet and I wipe it on my pants, which are already soaked.
A flash of light seeps through my closed eyes followed by a rumble that vibrates from the counter through my arm and into my spine. Dripping wet, temporarily blind, and exhausted in the middle of a nuclear wasteland, it takes everything in me not to curl up in a ball and quit. I swallow against the lump forming in my throat and squeeze my eyes more tightly shut.
Another three people are dead at my hands. That’s more than a dozen since I last got a good night’s sleep: the two guys in my apartment, two on the bus, one in London, five or six in Odessa not including our driver, and now the three here.
All of this death because I chose to be an iPod mule for a politician. All of this blood because I chose to stand up for what I thought was right. All of this violence because my life, my freedom, is somehow more important to me than just accepting the death I’m rightfully owed.
It’s almost as if no matter which way I turn, I’m destined for violence. From the first time Blair Loxley attacked me at my locker in grade school, this was my path. There is no clean escape. Even the high and mighty Sir Spencer can’t make me disappear, unless it’s in a shallow grave with a bullet in the back of my head.
A shiver runs from my neck to my lower back. It’s as much from the cold setting into my body from the drenching spring rain, as it is a realization that no matter what I accomplish with Bella, my life it what it is. I’m a gun-wielding natural born killer. Pure and simple.
CHAPTER 16
“Can you see me now?” Bella has my eyes held open between her thumbs and forefingers.
“Yes.” My eyes sting, fighting the dim light. “It’s better.”
She lets go of my eyes and I keep them open enough to see. It’s been a half hour since she followed Sergei into the store. The rain has stopped, and only the occasional ping from the droplets falling off trees hits the metal roof.
“It’s getting late,” I say. “I’m good. We need to focus on the task here.”
Sergei flips on a light switch near the door. “No need for darkness now,” he says.
“Focus?” Bella smirks at me. “Nice choice of words.”
“Too soon,” I rub my right eye. “Too soon.”
She walks around the counter for the first time. “Oh!” She jumps back upon seeing two dead bodies, the color draining from her face. “There were three of them?” She glances back at the Swiss-cheese corpse in the middle of the store.
“Yes. Three. Are you okay with this, or do you want to go back to the car?”
“I’m fine,” she says. She steps over the first of the two men. “I’m getting used to this, being around you.”
“See what you can find back there,” I say. “We’re looking for a drive, right?”
Bella nods. “Or a memory card or stick. I don’t know how he delivered the pieces. The one I have was retrieved from encrypted email.”
“Sergei, are you going to help?” I ask him. “Or will that cost me extra?”
He presses his thin lips into a flat smile and rubs his fingers together like Johnny Manziel. “Five hundred U.S.”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the counter. It doesn’t appear as though the three henchmen did much real searching. The shelf behind the counter, which extends from the floor nine feet to the ceiling is filled with unopened bottles and closed boxes of liquor.
“They were looking for something specific here,” I say aloud to nobody in particular. “Otherwise they would have smashed everything.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to make any noise?” Bella picks up a bottle of Khortytsa Platinum.
“Sergei, check their pockets please, there may be some clues there.”
“Check through dead men’s pants?”
“I’m not paying you a dime more. Do it. You’re out of ammo and my Tec-9 is not.”
“Very funny,” he says. “Okay. I check pockets. No charge.”
“They were back here looking for something. They had a clue, maybe. A particular bottle.”
“Is there an office or back room?” Bella asks, admiring a seven hundred and fifty milliliter bottle of Mernaya Rowanberry. “Maybe they rifled through that.”
“Good thought,” I agree. “See if you can find something.”
Bella runs her thumb along the face of the bottle and replaces it on the shelf at eye level. She nods at me and then steps over the second body toward a dark blue curtain hanging at an opening at the far end of the counter.
“I got phone here,” Sergei holds up a cell, wiggling it back and forth. “You want it?”
“Toss it here, please.”
Sergei underhands the phone, looping it up into the air and into my hands. He follows it with a self-satisfied smile.
I check the phone, a Droid, and find nothing. There’s no call list, no recent calls, no messages, no internet search history. “This is a burner. No help.” I throw it on the floor and look back to the untouched bottles when I notice something odd.
Some of the bottles are turned backwards.
“Does this look funny to you?” I ask Sergei as he joins me behind the counter.
He’s bent over, trying to find a phone on the second
body. He finds one in a pocket and stands up to give it to me. “Does what look funny?”
“Hang on,” I check the phone for calls and contacts. Nothing. “Another burner.” I toss it on the counter. In the distance there’s a roll of thunder. The storm has moved south.
“Does what look funny?” Sergei repeats, his voice a little louder.
“Sorry, these bottles.” I point to a grouping of them on the right side of the counter, on the bottom two rows. “They’re facing backward.”
“I didn’t see that before, but, yes. I guess it look funny.” He rubs his goatee and nods at the shelf.
“There’s nothing back there,” Bella announces, coming through the blue curtain. “It’s just boxes of liquor. Most of it is untouched.”
“What do you mean most of it?”
“There are a couple of boxes that are open,” she shrugs. “But there’s no broken glass or mess back there. It’s a storeroom. A place for extra stock, I guess.”
“There’s no office? Did you see a phone back there?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “why?”
I turn to the bald, capitalist Ukrainian. “Sergei, is there a phone in here?”
“I haven’t seen one.”
“Why are you asking, Jackson?” Bella says.
“I called this place when we were in Odessa, remember? The guy answered. He was here in the store.”
“Yeah,” she says. “He could have had a cell that he takes with him.”
“I don’t think so.” I step over a body and push my way past Sergei toward the front door. Next to the door is my pack, which Sergei brought back with him at Bella’s suggestion. She thought there might be something in the bag that could help my eyes. There wasn’t. But there is a Blackberry.
I fish through one of the exterior pockets, pull out the device we took off the goon in Odessa and walk back to the counter. I power on the Blackberry and hit the call button. It automatically redials the last number, the number for the liquor store. I press the phone to my ear and listen to it ring.
It rings twice before we hear it; a faint analog phone clanging with each ring. There’s a phone somewhere in the store!
