False Positive

by C. Ryan Bymaster

  The screech of the Charger’s tires, bright lights veering to the side, the violent, body-jarring impact as the front end of the smaller vehicle crashed into the reinforced rear of the SUV. A strange slowing of time occurred for Dent, like each crumple of metal and every crackling clink of shattering glass had demanded its own moment of acknowledgement.

  All too soon the moment passed, and time suddenly came crashing back.

  Fifth was screaming, glass peppered the dashboard from behind, the rear of the Escalade lifted and pushed the locked front wheels forward another half-dozen feet. Dent fought through a wave of disoriented nausea and, in the sudden darkness brought on by the Charger’s headlights suitably destroyed, turned to Fifth.

  What he said — or screamed — he didn’t really know, only that she responded with wave of her hand. Her feet were still planted on the dashboard, knees tight against her chest, head under her arms. She was uninjured, that he could see, and she even managed to peek out from under her arms give to him some form of a smile.

  “I have to—”

  “Go!” she said loudly. “Get the bastard!” She was angry, he could tell, and Dent wanted to believe that anger was directed at the driver of the Charger, and not at him.

  It took him two tries to successfully open the door, his hand fumbling at the handle, and when he did manage to get out, he fell to a knee. He stumbled to his feet, hand on the Escalade for support, and wobbled-walked to the rear. Steam and a series of deep clunking sounds wafted from the hood of the Charger, which was mashed under the frame of the Escalade.

  The driver side door flew open and a coughing, retching man spilled out.

  In an instant, Dent was there. Like his body was preemptively reading his mind, Dent’s hands gripped the man’s shirt and yanked him up into a teetering stance before him. From the looks of it, the man’s nose was busted, at least three teeth were missing, and his left ear had almost been sliced clean off by some sharp debris or glass.

  Back along the street a pair of headlights approached but soon disappeared somewhere, fading away to leave Dent and the driver of the charger in near darkness.

  “You psychotic asshole,” the man slurred, the words dribbling out of his mouth with thick strands of blood.

  In response, Dent shoved the driver back against the car and drilled his fists into his stomach over and over. Blood, spittle, and curses sprayed at Dent and when he finally relented the driver almost collapsed back to the asphalt.

  Dent wouldn’t let him go that easy. This man had come after them, had put Fifth’s safety at risk. He didn’t know what the man had hoped to accomplish this night, and somewhere down deep, Dent realized that he would need to get answers out of him.

  Catching him under one armpit, Dent went to work on the man’s face, using his knuckles to finish what the car crash had started. Thoughts of Fifth screaming, the fear that he literally felt pouring out of her, the seething hatred toward the man before him, all of it drove Dent to a primal state of rage.

  A small voice at the back of his mind warned Dent that he needed this man alive, at least long enough for him to answer some pertinent questions. But whatever had come over Dent had a firm grip. His right hand and knuckles began to ache from the repeated beating, so he did the logical thing and switched hands, breaking the man’s ribs with his left hand.

  “Dent!” Fifth screamed from the car. “Dent! Stop it!”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the Escalade shift and shake and he realized the girl was attempting to get out.

  He took a break in his beating to shout back, “Stay in the car!”

  “You get in the car!” Her voice cracked, but it had broken through whatever had taken him over.

  His eyes focused on the bleeding pulp of what had been the driver’s face. At one point during the beating, Dent managed to somehow rip the man’s ear completely off. He hadn’t intended to do such a thing.

  Dimly aware that he’d possibly gone too far, Dent drew back, letting go of the man’s arm. For a brief second, the man’s eyes rolled around, peeking out from swollen sockets, and settled on Dent’s own. Then, like a scarecrow filled with sand instead of straw, the man buckled, folded in on himself, and slid down against the car to hit the asphalt.

  “Who sent you?” Dent asked the man.

  The slightest twitch of a hand was the only response.

  “Chisholme?” Dent pressed.

  A mumble, accompanied by half of a shake of his head.

  “Who?”

  The same twitching hand raised, went for a jacket pocket.

  Dent was on the man in an instant, bending down, his fists pounding on flesh. He stopped only when he was sure the man wouldn’t try again for his pocket, for whatever weapon he had there. Dent threw the man’s jacket open, went to the pocket.

  Pulled out a phone. Not a weapon.

  “What?” demanded Dent.

  “Contract …,” the man uttered.

  “Who?”

  “His name … Charon ….”

  Dent stood up quickly and checked the phone. No calls, ingoing or out. One message only. He clicked on it to see a picture of himself cropped next to one of Fifth. Below, a set of instructions: Eliminate the man, do not injure the girl. Payment dependent upon both conditions, explicitly.

  Dent dropped the phone, then slammed his heel down onto it.

  So Charon was still in the game. Dent figured after the fiasco in California that his old handler would have gone into hiding. The blame for all that had transpired had been placed on Charon’s shoulders. That worm had friends in high places if he’d managed to keep his head above water. And apparently Charon hadn’t forgiven Dent for the breach of contract that had led Dent to saving Fifth instead of turning her over to Chisholme.

  Looking back to the semi-conscious man propped against the Charger, Dent went to pull his gun, determined to eliminate this threat.

  But another call from inside the Escalade stayed his hand. “Dent! I don’t want to be here anymore. Please, can we just leave? Please.”

  Dent let his hand fall back to his side, empty. Fifth’s head, illuminated by the interior dome light, was poking out of his open door, watching. That was the only reason the driver of the Charger would continue living. Still though, the man had risked injuring the girl. So Dent took a step towards the man and kicked him solidly, fracturing his jaw and sending him spilling over to the side.

  Fifth shrank into her seat when he got back into the Escalade and told her to buckle up. He had to get the cars separated and then search for a place to turn around and flee the scene.

  In her seat, Fifth sniffled, then used the back of her arm to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Dent tried not to notice.

  VI

  When the mash-up of cars came into sight, Ingram pulled off the road and killed the engine. He turned his headlights off then popped the trunk and waited a minute for his vision to adjust to the darkness. After flicking the interior dome light off as well so it wouldn’t give away his presence, he opened his door and went around to the back.

  He’d caught up with Dent and Kasumi days ago, thanks to the girl’s exploits being broadcasted on television. Though it had helped zero him in on his target, it also had forced his target to flee. Luckily, Dent hadn’t thought of changing vehicles since their last encounter, allowing Ingram to locate and then follow, biding his time for the opportune moment to strike.

  As it turned out, he hadn’t been the only one to think the same.

  Properly frustrated with the Charger’s interference, Ingram threw open the lid to the trunk and pulled out his .338 Lapua rifle. He walked through the high grass over on the passenger side, where he settled in and used the top of the car as a stabilizer. In half a minute, he had his night scope focused on the scene ahead.

  Finger touching but not depressing the trigger, Ingram watched as Dent beat the shit out of the driver of the Charger. A miniscule adjustment of the scope to the right, and it looked like there was someone in the pa
ssenger seat of the Charger. The passenger wasn’t moving about, likely knocked out from the crash, so Ingram dismissed that factor for now.

  Centering the scope on Dent once more, Ingram wondered how this would play out. He didn’t see the girl anywhere, and had to assume she was still in the Escalade. The way Dent was going at the driver, whom he’d now propped against the side of the car and was presumably pressuring for answers, made Ingram wonder if the girl had been injured in the accident.

  What else could drive someone like Dent to such a volatile reaction?

  Unless Dent wasn’t truly all he was reported to be. That would change how things played out in the future, the next time they would inevitably meet. But that time wasn’t now. Ingram was tasked with retrieving the girl, safely, and with too many variables active in this moment it would be risky for Ingram to make an attempt at securing Kasumi.

  Dent stood up and stepped away from the man he had been beating and for a moment his face was directly in the crosshairs. Ingram’s finger tempted the cool metal of the trigger.

  Right here, right now. It would be so easy.

  He could eliminate Dent. With a chance, Kasumi wouldn’t run, the driver of the Charger wouldn’t give chase. But … No.

  Not yet.

  Ingram wanted Dent alive. Not for any altruistic reasoning. If anything, Dent was a thorn in Takeda’s side, and therefore a thorn in Ingram’s. He would kill Dent eventually. But not this night.

  Dent wasn’t like the rest of them. He didn’t ignore Ingram. Dent had actually responded to Ingram’s presence. Not many people did. Kasumi did, he could tell. He’d had an eye on her ever since he’d been tasked with retrieving her and he had a feeling she’d known he was out there watching her. He assumed it had something to do with her talent.

  But Dent was all natural, or so Ingram had been told. Which meant Dent naturally noticed Ingram.

  So Ingram would let him live. Just a bit longer.

  Ingram settled back in to watch the show, and Dent didn’t fail to surprise and entertain.

  After another quick round of beating on the driver of the Charger, Dent began searching through the man’s pockets. Whatever he found must have satisfied him and, after a stunning kick that slumped the driver over onto his side on the road, Dent walked back to his Escalade and got in.

  There was a horrible grind of metal against metal as the Escalade worked to extricate itself from the Charger. There came a series of flashes — alternating reverse and brake lights — and another round of grating metal before the Escalade finally broke free and drove down the street. No doubt Dent would find a suitable place to make a U-turn and head back to the highway.

  Ingram was about to tuck the rifle back inside his trunk and hide behind his car when he caught movement in the Charger. He settled his crosshairs on the car and saw the source of movement. The passenger was no longer unconscious. The car door opened on that side and Ingram watched the man get out. Instead of going to check on his partner, the passenger ducked back into the car and pulled something from inside. When he came back up, Ingram saw clearly what it was.

  A small handgun.

  Further down the street, headlights flashed as Dent completed his U-turn and headed back this way. The passenger of the Charger saw this as well, notably by the stance he took. He spread his feet and brought his gun up, aiming in the general area of where the Escalade would come passing by.

  The glare of the headlights grew stronger, the rev of the engine, louder.

  Through the scope, the passenger tensed, preparing to fire.

  Ingram’s finger found the trigger again.

  And just as the Escalade came into full view, a single gunshot rang out.

  Headlights veered as the Escalade swerved, but soon they settled back in a straight line. In seconds, the Escalade passed by Ingram, where he’d quickly ducked down in the grass behind his car. He would have to hurry if he wanted to stay on Dent’s trail. But first he needed to make sure the driver of the Charger wouldn’t be following. He didn’t know who the man was working for, but if it wasn’t for Takeda then he wasn’t an ally. Plus there was the matter of the fool’s interference.

  Too bad he’d have to handle this quickly, which meant he’d use his gun instead of his knife. There was no real satisfaction when the person you put a bullet into had no clue you were standing above them with the gun centered on their chest. Kind of like killing someone in their sleep.

  Dent, Ingram thought with a grin, as he walked towards the Charger, Dent would notice Ingram. He would see the man holding the gun. Not like the beaten and battered man Ingram was approaching ….

  Less than a minute later, Ingram had finished cleaning up and he headed back to the highway, two bodies bleeding out on the dark street and a smile of anticipation on his lips.

  VII

  Kasumi’s throat was raw from screaming at Dent but she finally got him to leave the driver alone and head back to the car. She twisted back around in her seat and wiped the tears from her eyes, determined to put on a brave face. By the time Dent got back in the car, she hoped she looked calm.

  He settled in and looked over at her, and she swore she saw something in his eyes, something that wasn’t very Dent-like. There was anger, that she’d seen a few times before, but there was also something like concern in his eyes … or maybe worry?

  For her? Or for himself and how he went barbaric on that guy back there?

  She knew he would have killed that guy. She’d seen Dent kill bad guys before. But what he had done to that man … That was brutal. Brutal, and way over the top. Dent didn’t do things like that. What the hell happened?

  “Are you okay?” he asked in a neutral, flat tone. If she hadn’t caught a glimpse of his eyes in the light just then, she would have doubted the emotions she thought she saw floating just beneath the surface.

  She stopped sniffling — because she was definitely not crying — and said, “I’m a little shaken.” Then, “Are … are you okay?”

  He latched his hands onto the steering wheel and stared at his bloody and swollen knuckles. He didn’t answer, vocally. He just nodded. Then he looked her way, and said, “Buckle up.”

  She did. She clutched the seatbelt strap, twisting it in her sweaty palms as he worked their car back and forth, trying to get it unstuck from the car that had slammed into them. Little glass shards fell from the dashboard as the car shook with his effort. She kept an eye on him without being too obvious, though with Dent she could have stared openly and he likely wouldn’t have taken note of it.

  Why had he gone so ballistic on the driver back there? She’d seen him hurt and kill before, and from anybody else she would have called those other moments ruthless. But Dent was Dent. He was as ruthless as a stone. Well, maybe a boulder. In an avalanche. But still, you can’t get mad at a boulder that just did what it did. It didn’t care if you were in its way as it careened downhill. Nothing personal, just obeying gravity.

  But that, back there, what he did … That seemed personal.

  She hadn’t been able to hear them, Dent had spoken too quietly to the driver, but she’d watched enough movies to know what went down. Sometimes the bad guys wouldn’t readily give up what they knew, and sometimes the good guy had to beat the answers out of the bad guys. But in the movies, it only took a few punches, a few kicks or verbal threats and the bad guys caved in. They spilled their guts, and then the good guy walked away, leaving the bad guy crying in shame.

  But Dent went way off script on this one. That was more than a few punches and kicks. At one point it seemed Dent beat the bad guy into unconsciousness and then beat him back to, well, consciousness. The problem was, Kasumi couldn’t always see the man’s head during the beating, at least during the second half of the whole thing. Maybe the guy was being stubborn. Maybe he was egging Dent on.

  It had gotten to the point that she’d almost jumped out of the car to save the bad guy. She actually had been tempted to stop the good guy from beating up the bad guy! Ho
w unheard of. But truth of it was, she was scared. And not entirely because that guy in the car was trying to capture her, but because Dent had gone so … savage.

  She was scared at what Dent was becoming at that moment, and scared that even she could have been hurt if she tried to intervene physically. She and Dent had a connection, she knew — she prayed she knew — but these last weeks, especially since stopping Connor at The Ranch, she could see him changing.

  She snapped out of her dark thoughts as there was a jarring shake and shudder followed by a loud scrape and squeal as Dent finally got their SUV to rip free from the other car. He then sped up the dark street, away from the carnage and the wrecked car and bad guy. She needed to make sure he was okay, to remind him that they were in this together. She calmed herself, taking a few breaths.

  “What was that about back there?” she snapped. Okay, maybe she should have thought before opening her mouth, instead of blurting out the first thing that came to mind. But still ….

  “I had to keep them from getting to you,” came his reply.

  “That’s not ….” She took another calming breath, though at this point is was for show more than anything else. “I mean, why did you beat that guy up so badly?”

  The SUV slowed as Dent began making a U-turn on the dark, dark, road. “I needed to know who sent them.”

  She looked away from him, out the window. She thought she saw something, maybe a deer — Did deer hang out this late at night? — and said, in as encouraging a tone as she could muster, “I could have helped, you know. Could have forced him to want to be nice to me, to get him to answer your questions ….” Without having you go all berserk on him.

  The SUV straightened out, heading back, back to where he left the guy bleeding on the road next to the car.

  Dent said, “My way worked just as well.”

  “Maybe too well.”

  He looked over but didn’t say anything.

  “I could have helped,” she insisted. “Saved you from hurting yourself.”