by Jon Mills
He could hear the guy coughing up a storm even as he fired off a few rounds but Jack kept moving, holding down the handle until it emptied. Then he crouched and waited, listening to the guy cough as he tried to find his way out of the unnatural fog.
Within seconds he heard him approach, walking backwards, coughing and cursing.
Although visibility was low, Jack went by sound and by staying low he could see slightly better. He waited for his moment to attack.
Jack sprang into action, launching himself onto the guy and hitting the floor. They rolled across the floor and smacked into a divider. Jack held his wrist as the gun went off again. He slammed a few elbows into the guy’s face and smashed his forehead into his nose before he managed to get him to release his grip on the gun. From there it was over fast. Jack fired off a few hooks, rolled off him and grasped the gun that was a foot away. Without even getting up he unloaded two rounds into the guy and he breathed his last.
Jack snatched up the flashlight, fished through his pockets for an additional magazine and then made his way over to the other guy and put a bullet in his head. Now that he had a flashlight it didn’t take long to find the second handgun. He gathered ammo from the fallen man and headed back to the stairwell more than prepared to go to war.
Clutching both guns, he had only one goal and that was to kill any man that got in his way. And kill he did. Others must have heard the gunfire on the twentieth floor and were making their way up the stairwell as he came down. Jack crouched in the corner until he saw the first guy. He squeezed off two rounds, and the man’s body fell back into his comrades who were only a few steps behind. Moving with speed and precision he used the element of surprise to his advantage, launching himself over the banister down to the next series of steps while unloading one round after another. The sudden look of shock on the next two men soon changed as red mist covered their faces.
One of them didn’t die immediately, so Jack fired a round into his skull. He relieved them of a knife, more magazines, and an additional Glock that he tucked into the back of his waistband.
As the sound of gunfire echoed in the stairwell it couldn’t help but attract more. He had no idea how many men Pope had and quite frankly he didn’t care, he’d kill every single one of them before he left the building.
Sinking back into the eighteenth floor he waited for the next four guys who were making their way up. These were more cautious than the last. Two of them ducked into the eighteenth floor while the others continued up. The eighteenth floor was lit up, a series of corridors and enclosed offices most of which were for a law firm. Jack scanned an office table close by and spotted a stapler, he scrambled over and snatched it up. Keeping an eye on the men, he launched it over several glass dividers until it landed about ten feet away from them. The clatter of it against the hardwood floor made them turn. That was all he needed.
A simple distraction was their downfall.
Jack jogged past their bullet-riddled bodies not giving them a second look.
As Jack came out into the stairwell, an idea came to him.
He needed to stack the odds in his favor, make it harder for everyone.
He didn’t know how many of Pope’s guys were in the building or if he could escape without injury. That was why he took out his lighter, went back into the eighteenth floor, stood on a chair and placed it under the fire sensor. Within seconds an ear-piercing alarm rang out followed by an umbrella of cold water bursting forth from the sprinkler system.
Fire trucks would be there within minutes, followed by police.
He was sure Pope and his counterparts had some of the police on the payroll to allow them to run such an operation in the heart of the city, but not all the boys in blue were dirty. Although he didn’t want cops breathing down his neck it could work to his advantage.
And right now the odds were stacked against him.
Jack shot out into the stairwell and could hear men above, and others down below yelling. He made his way down and shot one more guy on the seventeenth floor before he spotted Pope yelling on the sixteenth.
The money was still in the shaft. He’d have to come back for that.
On one hand he could have just walked out of there; on the other, he knew Tyson and Shanice would never be free from a man like Pope as long as he was still breathing. He was like Gafino, in that he would hunt you down to the furthest corner of the earth before he would rest. It was in moments like these where the switch flipped in his head to the way he used to think, the way he had to act to survive.
Brutality was the only option.
Jack entered the sixteenth floor tired, his body aching from the fight, his face swollen but his spirit still intact. Through tinted office glass windows he saw a group of Pope’s men heading his way. He didn’t wait until they were within full view before he unloaded every round he had in both magazines. Glass shattered, bullets snapped and bodies dropped as he pressed in heading for Pope. He released the empty magazines, palmed two full ones into place, and continued unloading though now with specific targets in mind.
In the chaos of the moment, and the onslaught of gunfire, Jack didn’t see Spike enter the floor from the stairwell. His back was turned and the noise of gunfire too great.
A round hit him from behind, the familiar burning sensation like a hot knife going through butter. Jack’s legs buckled and he twisted in time to unload two rounds into Spike. Crawling back into an office room, Jack kicked the door closed and gripped the left side of his body. Pain shot through him, an unquenchable fire. He yanked up his shirt and saw that it had gone straight through. There was no telling if it had struck any vital organs but it wasn’t good. He was losing blood fast.
All around him water flooded the building soaking the floor and creating mini streams. The noise of the fire alarm was deafening. Wet, in pain and yet still alive he slowly slid up the wall leaving watery blood behind. Spike was dead and Pope gone.
Coward, Jack thought.
It was typical of those at the top.
Fear would get the better of them, but it wasn’t just that, it was the sound of sirens.
Jack knew that if cops caught him in this condition he would be arrested and questions would be asked later. He stumbled out looking around the empty office covered now in shattered glass, watery blood, ejected brass, and dead bodies.
Glass crunched beneath his boots as he staggered into the stairwell and made his way down. Jack made it seven more flights of steps before he glanced over and could see firefighters and cops coming up. He entered the eleventh floor and dumped the handguns into a trashcan, covered his wound as best as he could with his jacket and went back into the stairwell. Firefighters asked him if he was okay and if there was anyone else in the building. Jack nodded. “Upstairs.”
They continued on.
Two officers made their way up, one of them told the youngest to watch over Jack while he continued on. Jack glanced at his nametag: Officer Danbury.
“What happened?” the cop asked.
Jack leaned against the wall. “Someone began shooting people. The guy’s name is Jeremiah Pope. He’s still in the building somewhere.” The officer looked up the stairwell, and told him to take a seat inside the eleventh floor. He got on the radio and put the word out about Pope.
“What does he look like?”
Jack gave him the description and stifled a smile as he gripped his side and winced.
Once the young cop had alerted the others he leaned over Jack. “You hurt?”
“Yeah. You think you can help me up?”
As the cop leaned down, Jack swung his arm around his shoulder. Before the cop could respond, Jack had Danbury’s neck in the crook of his elbow and launched himself backwards to the ground to take him down. Within twenty seconds the kid was unconscious.
“Sorry, but I have no choice,” Jack said as he dragged the kid’s unconscious body further into the office and began to strip him of his uniform.
It wasn’t an exact fit but i
t would suffice.
Minutes later, dressed in the cop’s uniform, he returned to the stairwell and quickly made his way down. EMT’s were on the ground floor when he emerged. One look at him gripping a ripped and bloodied shirt, along with the injuries to his face, and they hurried over. “I’ve been shot,” he mumbled.
There were no questions as to who, or what was his name was. All they saw was a wounded cop. They did what any EMT would and got him out of there as fast as they could. He was put on a stretcher and slid into an ambulance that screamed away from the tower with the siren blaring. At this point Jack went in and out of consciousness from the loss of blood. When he came to he found himself in the hospital being wheeled down to surgery.
Fluorescent lights zipped overhead.
Then he went unconscious.
Chapter 26
The data contained inside the notebook was intriguing. Kelly Armstrong had returned to San Francisco a day earlier, written up an article that was rejected by her boss, then pored over the vast amount of documents, photos, video and browsing history on Dana Grant’s computer searching for anything that could be of use. She got lucky. She’d come to believe that perhaps the story of Jack Winchester wasn’t as important as the one Dana was investigating before she disappeared. It was based on this that she hoped Johnson would overturn his decision to have them assigned to a different project. She sat there chewing on the end of a pen, reading some of the theories that Dana had compiled, when there was a knock at her apartment door.
She glanced at her watch, and crossed the room.
Peering out the peephole she was greeted by the sight of Zach’s ugly mug.
Opening the door he thrust a bouquet of flowers into her hands and brushed past her with a bottle of wine. “Armstrong, I’ve got to admit for someone who spends most of her time with her head in the clouds you continue to surprise me. I figured you for a Nob Hill resident. Someone who is still living off her daddy’s credit card and just wants to play reporter but I’m starting to think you are the real deal.”
He set the bottle down and continued wandering. Kelly stood at the door with her jaw slack. She closed the door and shook her head. She was starting to get used to his inability to think before opening his mouth. Half the time she couldn’t make sense of what he was trying to insinuate but it usually came across as an insult. She found the best way to deal with him was to avoid taking the bait.
He went into the kitchen and looked into the pot of spaghetti. Steam swirled up around his face. He looked in the next pan and sniffed it.
“And you cook? Well I never.”
“How did you make out with the data I sent over?” she asked.
“Oh that. Right,” he said looking through her cupboards.
“Wine glasses are to your left.”
“Ah,” he muttered, taking two and fishing out a corkscrew from a drawer. He returned with a smile on his face. “Johnson loved it. He took the bait, hook, line and sinker. In fact he wanted me to pass on his thanks.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Okay, I added that part in to make you feel good but he was all smiles.”
“Zach.”
He rolled his eyes. “He’s given us the go-ahead to look into it. One month. That’s it. If we don’t come up with something concrete, a good story that he can run, you and I will be sitting behind a desk writing obituaries, and you can toss any hope of a promotion out the window.” He yanked on the bottle and the cork popped. He glanced down at a bottle of wine she had set out and compared it with the one he’d brought. “Ah, a Merlot. I always figured you for a Pinot kind of woman. That’s what I brought.”
“Why?”
“It’s light, doesn’t have much depth but is surprisingly sweet.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, Zach—”
Before she could say what she thought of him he cut her off. “I’ll dish up the food. Anyway, as we are going to be on the road together I thought we should lay down some ground rules.”
“Rules?” she asked as she shut off her laptop and put it to one side.
“Yeah, unfortunately Johnson isn’t giving us much of a budget so we need to be frugal which means sharing a room.”
“Buddy boy that is not happening.”
“Geesh, Armstrong, get your mind out of the gutter. I didn’t say the same bed. Unless of course you want to?” She put a hand on her hip and he quickly continued. “What I’m trying to say is Johnson is not going to foot the bill for two rooms, plus travel, and food. Hell, I had to fight him just to get enough for food. So what I’m saying is, you’ll have to be flexible. You are flexible, yes?” he said with a grin on his face as he brought out one of the pots. The man was full of innuendos.
“Whatever. But you’ll stay on your side of the room and if I even catch you trying to come on to me, I will cut that damn thing off.”
“Whoa, someone has got issues,” he said taking a seat. She wanted so badly to react but instead she bit down and counted to ten in her head. He served up the food and Kelly took her place across from him. She really didn’t want to invite him for dinner but if they were going to be riding together for the whole time she thought it best to put in an effort before they left.
“The real question is,” he took a large gulp of his wine, “do you think there is anything to it or is this just a woman in pain searching for a way to deal with her grief?”
“First, sure there is. You only have to go through her data to see how many murders had chess pieces left at crime scenes. It’s a killer’s signature.”
“Then why hasn’t the FBI picked up on this?”
“Maybe they have, maybe they haven’t. But she was on to something. I think she made it her mission to identify the man who committed these unsolved murders. By all accounts it appears she was working on a book about her investigation into it. I just think she just got too close to the truth and…” Kelly trailed off thinking of the dangers of picking up where Dana left off. Did she really want to stick her neck out there? “Anyway, we’ll soon know.”
“And you think Winchester is involved in some way?”
She shrugged and scooped another heap of food onto her plate. “Possibly.”
Zach wagged his finger at her. “I like the way you think, Armstrong. No article on this guy but maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.” He looked into the air daydreaming. “Who knows, I might even win a Pulitzer Prize for this article.”
“You?”
He coughed. “I meant, we.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, raising an eyebrow and dumping another spoonful of spaghetti on his plate. Zach took another swig of his drink. “So where’s this road trip taking us next?”
“Santa Fe.”
The following morning, several Santa Fe police officers arrived at the general hospital, one of whom was Officer Danbury. A staff member at the hospital had alerted them that one of their own was out of surgery and in recovery. When given the name, they were quick to dispatch officers. A nurse practitioner led them up to the second floor to room 289. The officers pushed open the door expecting to find the man lying in bed. Instead they found Danbury’s uniform in a pile on the chair, and Jack was gone.
Epilogue
6 days later
Shanice and Carla helped Tyson out of the cab. One of his legs was in a cast but he was up and the swelling in his face had come down considerably. “Let’s get you inside and I’ll put some breakfast on.”
Shanice walked ahead and opened the door.
“Can you believe they locked him up?” Tyson smiled while reading the local paper. He was using crutches and hobbling into the house. “They said it was a complete massacre. Multiple dead bodies and Pope denied it all. “Listen to this, Mom. The lawyer for a man accused of killing multiple people in Albuquerque Plaza said that her client wasn’t involved in the killings and plans to fight the charge in court. Trish Bowman said Jeremiah Pope, 38, is stunned by the allegations against him. “He’s OK, he’s just reall
y shocked by these charges, and he’s upset,” Bowman said outside a Santa Fe courtroom where her client appeared briefly. “They’re serious charges against him.” Pope has had his case adjourned to next week when he will appear by video link due to threats on his life by family members of the victims. Santa Fe police said they were investigating the case after a witness informed them that Pope was behind the killings. The witness has now disappeared.” Tyson laughed. “Even if he manages to wiggle his way out of this, it sounds like he won’t be able to show his face around here.”
“Let’s hope they put him away for a long time,” his mother said closing the door behind him. “Thanks, Carla. Do you want to stay for breakfast?”
She shrugged. “If that’s OK with Tyson?”
Tyson looked at her and smiled. “Of course it is.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Carla added.
They left Tyson in the living room in a recliner chair reading the paper. He hadn’t seen Jack but he’d heard about his performance that night through the grapevine. But with accusations being thrown around, so much bloodshed and what Pope had done to him after winning, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jack was now buried in a shallow grave somewhere in New Mexico.
“You want a cold drink, Ty?” Carla called out.
“You haven’t seen my cigarettes anywhere?”
“On the bookshelf,” his mother replied. Tyson pulled the lever on the chair and struggled to get to his feet.
Carla came to the doorway and went to help but he waved her off. “No. I’m fine. I need to do this myself.” She nodded and headed back into the kitchen. Once he got the crutch under his arm he hobbled across the room and snagged the pack up. He took one out and was just about to light it when he heard a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Tyson said making his way over. When he reached the door no one was there but down by his feet was a large suitcase with an envelope on top and his mother’s name scrawled in black ink. Tyson opened the letter. It was brief and to the point.
