by David Carter
As predicted: a guard was patrolling the inside perimeter of the fence exactly where Franks said he would be, with an AK 47 fully automatic assault rifle slung over his shoulder. They patiently waited until he disappeared around the other side of the house.
“Go,” whispered Franks.
They all jumped and cleared the fence, rolling with their momentum as they hit the ground.
“See you soon,” whispered Blaze to Franks and Danny, before he vanished behind a row of hedging.
Franks and Danny went their separate ways, Franks moving up the right flank, Danny down the centre, and Blaze to the far left.
Blaze used the low, trimmed hedge as cover while creeping along the ground on all fours like a crocodile. He stopped where the hedge ended, and tentatively peeked out from his position. He thought he saw Danny to his right, crouching in the shadows behind a shed presumably full of garden tools and other such items. He heard a twig snap behind him, and flattened himself to the ground on his stomach. He turned his head to the left, and made out the silhouette of the second guard, identical to the first, with an AK 47 slung over his shoulder as he patrolled the grounds. Blaze waited a few moments for the guard to pass, then made a beeline for the shed that Danny had just vacated.
Franks darted between a row of bushy shrubs and across the open grass to the cover of a lemon tree. He had made the most progress of the three, and was rapidly approaching the meeting place.
Danny was taking cover behind a wheelbarrow that had been left by one of the large flower gardens. He used it to pull himself up, and in doing so, pulled it over by mistake and lost his balance, falling on his backside into the garden and collecting a stem of rose thorns in his back for his trouble. The guard who had just passed Blaze heard the thud and rustling noise and hurried in the direction of the garden. When he arrived, he saw the wheelbarrow on its side, but nobody was there. Danny was gone.
Must have been a bloody cat, thought the guard. He positioned his rifle downward on its sling, freeing his hands to pick up the wheelbarrow to return it to the garden shed.
Blaze saw the guard coming, pushing the barrow towards him, its wheel slightly squeaking as it rolled over the manicured lawn. Blaze crouched behind the shed and waited. He heard the guard open the shed door and place the barrow inside, before returning to his rounds.
Blaze crept around the front of the shed and tried the door handle. It was still unlocked. He went inside and perused the shelves for anything that might prove useful.
Danny had managed to scramble away in time before the guard saw or heard him. He had made his way up through the gardens towards the house and was squatting behind a solid oak bench seat in the back yard. He saw Franks crouched at the base of a small set of steps that led up to the door of the guards’ room. Franks had determined that Archer wouldn’t be in the spa because of Jamal’s arrival, and that they should meet outside the door when the way was clear.
Danny crept up behind Franks. “I made it,” he whispered.
“Good,” he replied, constantly scanning the yard for movement. “Where’s Blaze?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
They waited for a full two minutes. “He should be here by now,” said Franks anxiously. “Go wait behind that bench seat while I find him.”
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
“This is why I wanted to stay together in the first place...”
They heard Jamal scream in agony.
Danny didn’t argue with him. “Hurry!”
Franks darted along the side of the deck to the front yard in search of Blaze. Danny scampered back to the cover of the bench seat, listening to the deafening sounds of Jamal screaming for help. We’re coming, Jamal, just hold on a little longer, they both thought.
After Blaze found a couple of useful items, he followed the guard who had returned the wheelbarrow to the shed around the other side of the house. As he crept up behind him he saw that not only did he have a rifle, but also a Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol hanging off his hip in its holster.
He checked his grip on the hammer he’d salvaged from the shed, before unleashing a savage blow to the back of the guard’s skull.
Thud.
One down.
The guard collapsed to the ground. Blaze didn’t stop to check if he was still breathing; he didn’t care. He pulled out a bunch of cable ties that he’d found in the shed along with the hammer and stashed in his jeans pocket, and bound the guard’s hands and feet together behind his back. He admired his handiwork. Fuck, that looks uncomfortable, he thought in amusement.
He retrieved the guard’s Glock and checked the magazine. Nine x 19mm Parabellums plus one in the chamber. More than enough to do the job.
As he clipped the magazine back in he heard a faint sound stalking him from behind: Footsteps.
With cat-like reflexes he turned and pointed the Glock at the head of the man sneaking up on him. Franks held his hands up in surrender, and hissed, “Blaze! It’s just me; Frankie.”
Blaze lowered the pistol. “Jesus, man, you scared the shit outta me.”
Franks saw the subdued guard and the weapons Blaze had acquired. He said, “Quick, one of the other guards just went around the back. I managed to sneak past him.”
“What about the third guard? Is he in the surveillance room?”
“I didn’t see or hear anyone in there. He must be outside, too.”
They set off in pursuit of the guard Franks had seen.
Danny was impatient, but decided it was best to stay put until both Franks and Blaze returned. He relaxed as he heard what he was sure were two sets of footsteps in the grass approaching from his left. Before he could move a muscle to find out for certain, he felt the muzzle of a rifle digging into the side of his neck. “Put your hands on your head and stand up slowly,” said one of the guards.
Danny did so.
“Walk,” said the guard, and encouraged Danny by bunting him in the back with the barrel of his rifle.
The other guard reached for his radio as they marched him to the guard’s room. “Code red! I repeat, code red! Intruder on the premises; over!”
Francois Steyn, Franks’ understudy and Archer’s most ruthless guard from The Wolves’ Den, answered over the radio in his thick South African accent, “Do you require assistance? Over.”
The guard never replied. The radio fell free from his hand as his body went limp from the blow to the back of his head from Blaze’s hammer.
Two down.
Franks pointed the Glock at the remaining guard. “Drop the rifle, asshole.”
“You fucking traitor! The governor will skin you alive for this!”
Blaze picked up the radio. Francois’ voice crackled from the speaker. “I said, do you require assistance? Over.”
Franks held the Glock to the guard’s temple. “Tell him it was a false alarm,” he said fiercely.
“Go to hell, Frankie.”
“Wrong answer,” said Blaze, and raised the hammer.
“No!” cried the guard. “I’ll do it,” he pleaded.
Blaze held the radio in front of his mouth. Danny seized the rifle from the guard, who said, “False alarm, Franz, it was just a rabbit caught in a hedge. All clear; over.”
Francois was confused. “Are you sure? I can assist with a search, if needed? Over.”
The guard hesitated. Blaze raised the hammer again. “Negative. All clear; over,” he assured him.
“Copy that.”
Blaze threw the radio into some bushes.
“You’re a dead man, Frankie, I’ll see to it personally,” said the guard.
“No, you fucking won’t,” said Blaze, and bashed his teeth in with the hammer, before beating in his skull with a series of aggressive blows.
Three down.
Blaze discarded the rifles and retrieved the dead guard’s Glock, and handed it to Danny. “Less chance you’ll kill me with a baby gun in close quarters,” he joked.
“What are you g
onna use?” asked Danny, bewildered. “Frankie has the other pistol.”
Blaze pulled out his knife from inside the tongue of his right boot. “Got a hammer and a toothpick. I’m good to go.”
They heard Jamal scream from where they stood outside.
“Get us in there, Frankie!” said Blaze.
They bolted up the steps to the guard’s room. Fortunately, it was unlocked, saving precious seconds. They let themselves in. No guards. Franks fumbled the master key in the lock as he tried to open the door leading into Archer’s house.
“Hurry up!” said Blaze urgently, after listening to Jamal let out another bloodcurdling scream as Francois continued his interrogation.
Franks finally got the door open.
Danny took point. He hurried down the long hallway, arms outstretched, the Glock steady in his hands. He passed many doors and passageways that burrowed through the mansion on his approach to the main living room.
Archer sat back on his black leather couch, whisky in hand, enjoying the show of Francois poking and prodding Jamal’s frail body with a range of sharp and crude instruments.
“Tell me what I wish to know!” Francois shouted into Jamal’s face. “Who helped you burn down the warehouse?”
Jamal’s courage baffled the giant South African. Droplets of sweat glistened on his pale bald head. His hulking frame circled poor Jamal as he lay restrained to a table in the centre of the room. Sheets of black polythene plastic had been laid over the floor, protecting the extravagantly priced, white woollen carpet and Persian rug from any blood splatters.
“Was it your cousin, Ramone Franks?” shouted Francois. “I know it was him! Tell me the truth and I’ll end your suffering!”
Jamal resisted one last time.
Francois had had enough. “He’s not talking, Governor,” he said.
“Then finish him,” he replied.
Francois trembled with excitement as he slowly pushed the pencil-thin spike he held into Jamal’s chest and through his heart. Jamal’s screams ceased as blood spewed from his mouth and his eyes rolled up, his nightmare finally over.
Danny went in hot. He fired a round from close range into Francois’ shoulder. He screamed as the bullet punched through the bone and out the other side, startling Archer, who spilled his glass of whisky over his suit pants as the bullet lodged into the couch, only six inches away from destroying his kneecap.
Blaze stormed in. Francois’ eyes bulged in fear as he realised who it was running at him wielding a hammer.
Crack.
Francois’ already shattered shoulder disintegrated from the blow. He screamed at the top of his lungs as Blaze turned him on his front, and savagely wrenched his arm behind his back to secure him with a cable tie. “You’re too late,” he mocked Blaze through clenched teeth. “Your friend is already dead.”
Blaze stood on Francois’ ruined shoulder. He cried out as Blaze applied more and more pressure, before stomping on it as hard as he could. Francois’ cries could have been heard from miles away. Blaze rolled him over on his back. “Hammer to the face or spike to the throat? You have three seconds to decide.”
Francois spat in his face.
“Spike to the throat it is, then.”
“Stop!” interjected Danny.
“Are you fucking serious? He killed Jamal!”
“Just hear me out. Didn’t you say the detective who let you come here tonight wanted these guys alive?”
“No, he said he wanted Archer alive. I don’t care about this ugly fucker.”
“Well, if you give him this piece of shit, as well as Archer, you might guarantee your freedom even if you don’t catch the killer in Glendale. Isn’t that the deal? You catch the killer, you get your freedom?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, wouldn’t it be better to have some bargaining power? You said yourself the detective isn’t such a bad guy. Who knows? if you help him nail these bastards he might pull some strings for you.”
Blaze hesitated, then punched Francois in the nose, breaking it in the process, then said to him, “If you make another sound I’ll bring the spike back into the equation. Got it?”
Francois wisely nodded.
Archer remained seated on his couch with a look of amusement on his face. Danny had him covered with his Glock. Franks remained concealed in the hallway—too distraught to reveal himself after sighting Jamal’s tortured body.
Blaze took a moment to cut Jamal free and respectfully close his eyelids. He then slowly turned to face Archer. “I would give anything to rip your fucking tongue out through your neck right now, but I made a promise to Danny and Frankie and I intend on keeping it,” he seethed.
Archer smirked back at him. “How noble of you. And what might that promise be, Bobby?” he asked.
“I need two things from you. Then I’m taking you in—which is a far better offer than what I’d prefer to give you.”
“Making threats is no way to negotiate with me. Why would I help you, knowing I’m either going to prison or going to be wearing your hammer as a hat?”
“Because I fucking said so.” He raised the hammer as he stepped towards him.
“Oh, Bobby, I do love our little chats.” He smiled, and confidently stood up in front of him, taking a few casual strides while Danny kept the Glock firmly in line with his head. “The problem with your little plan, Bobby, is that I’m always one step ahead of you.”
“That’s not the way I see it.”
Archer took off his glasses. He oozed confidence as he gave them a polish. “And just how do you see it, Bobby?”
“I’d say that you’re pretty fucked right now.”
Archer put his glasses back on. “On the contrary,” he replied, and walked over to a bookshelf that stood against one of the living room walls. “Do you like reading, Bobby?” he asked him as he selected a thick, hard-covered book from one of the shelves.
“When I’m not busy drinking...”
Archer grinned. “The thing is, Bobby, you can learn so much if one takes the time to read. For example: I once read a story about a man who kept a gun hidden inside a hollowed-out Bible in his house, in case of a situation such as this.”
Blaze’s eyes burned with rage as Archer pulled a Glock 17 of his own from the inside of the book and aimed it straight at his head.
“I was a Boy Scout when I was a little boy,” explained Archer, “and that taught me to always be prepared.”
Blaze scoffed. “That’s funny; I thought you were gonna say that’s where you learned how to fuck little boys.”
Archer’s face hardened. “Drop the gun, Danny,” he commanded, “or I’ll blow Bobby’s head off.”
Before Danny could answer, Franks finally got a hold of himself and decided it was time to intervene. He entered the room with his gun pointed at Archer. “How about you shut the fuck up before I shoot a neat little hole between your eyes?”
An awkward silence filled the room. Archer kept his gun pointed at Blaze. Franks and Danny kept their guns pointed at Archer. Francois remained bound and in agony on the floor. Blaze was the piggy in the middle.
Stalemate.
Chapter 55
Archer was first to cut through the tension in the room by saying to Blaze, “It appears we are at an impasse. Perhaps we can negotiate and come to a gentleman’s arrangement?”
“Do I look like a fucking gentleman to you?”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss the idea, Bobby. After all, I do have a gun pointed at your head.”
“That’s true, but you won’t use it because you’re a cock-sucking pussy who gets everyone else to do your dirty work. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s three against one. You’re hardly in a position to negotiate. Kill me if you want, but it’s Danny and Frankie that need something from you. Not me. Shooting me achieves nothing.”
Archer’s finger tightened around the trigger. “Well, Bobby, if I’m going down, you’re sure as hell coming with me.”
> “Then fucking well get on with it,” he challenged him.
Archer kept the gun level with his head. He hesitated. “What is it that you want so badly that you would risk everything and come here, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m certain I can walk away with what I came for,” he replied, then walked over to a glass display unit mounted on the wall, with his hands in the air, surrendering, still holding the hammer while he perused the unusual collection of items on display.
“Get away from there,” commanded Archer.
“I’m just having a look. You’ve got some pretty interesting shit here.”
“I didn’t realise you were into antiques, Bobby?”
“I’m not usually. But these items are fascinating.”
Archer didn’t pick up on his slightly sarcastic tone.
“Care to tell me what all this stuff is?” asked Blaze, realising he may have found a chink in Archer’s armour.
The proud look on Archer’s face was a sign that Blaze’s theory was, indeed, correct. “Why, I’d be glad to tell you all about them,” he said, while his gun remained level with Blaze’s head. “We’re in no rush, are we?”
“Just keep it brief. I’m not much of a scholar. You can start with that blue and white vase thingy.”
Archer let out a frustrated sigh. “That, Bobby, is not just any old vase. It’s a Chinese, blue and white, dragon and lotus porcelain vase made and preserved in pristine condition since the seventeenth century!”
“Okay, that’s kind of impressive. What’s so bloody special about it?”
“Well, quite simply put, this is one of only three in existence. The first vase that came onto the market was flown over to America by the last generation of China’s royal family. It was estimated that it would fetch anywhere between one hundred and three hundred thousand dollars. But as it was the only known dragon and lotus vase in existence at the time, it sold for three million dollars at an auction in Toronto!”
“Wow, that’s quite incredible,” said Blaze, as if impressed. “So what’s yours worth?”
