[JC Bannister 01.0] The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  Joan is smiling. Duke is too. He’s past the victim part of his story. He gets to tell his hero part now.

  “I run into a house, strip off my pants and jacket, grab something from the nearest bedroom. I totally look like one of the villagers. Everybody is running away from the shooter, I’m running towards him. Never find him. By the time I get there, he’s long gone. Takes me a week before I can get back to our base. Another three months before I can track down the shooter.”

  “JC?”

  Duke nods.

  “He saved my life. And it’s how we both know what a .50 caliber sniper rifle does to a person’s head,” Duke said.

  “Duke,” Joan said quietly, “snipers don’t expose themselves like that. They don’t let their rifle barrel stick over the edge of the building. And they certainly don’t count down with one hand off the barrel.”

  “Yeah? Well JC did. That day he did,” Duke answered.

  “Duke, I’m sorry, but…”

  “I found the report,” Duke countered. “Had to know who it was. I hacked into the DOD database to find out. He explained everything he did. He stuck his barrel over the edge of that building, made himself visible to me in the off chance that I could see him. In the hope that by alerting me I would have a half second extra time to react, to know what was coming and to escape. There were fifteen guys with AKs around me. If I don’t know what’s happening, leader dies then I’m dead. He exposed himself and made himself a target. Just in the hope that it might help save my life.”

  “He put that all in the report?”

  “Yup. He was commended for the save but reprimanded for his tactics. Had he not done it that way, he would have gotten the Distinguished Service Cross. Hell, if he hadn’t written his report up like he did, he would have gotten it.”

  Joan looked at him quietly. “If he hadn’t done it that way, you’d be dead. And writing the report like that — it’s just JC.”

  Duke shrugged his shoulders. Took a bite of his ice cream.

  “You know, that’s not the first time he saw you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He recognized you in the scope that day. Had to have.”

  “Probably. We were on the same convoy that day.”

  She smiled. “That’s not it. He once told me about the first time he met you.”

  “When?”

  “He had just started as an aide to The General. He was there when you caught the General’s eye.”

  Duke groaned. “Really? He was there?”

  “‘Charlie don’t surf! General, sir!’“

  “Man, I felt so stupid later.”

  “Yeah, but it caught The General’s eye. And JC’s. And when he saw you through that scope, he couldn’t just turn away. That’s why he exposed himself. Because he already knew you.”

  Duke shook his head. Looked across the street.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Joan asked.

  Duke looked at her. She was smiling over her ice cream cup.

  “Apocalypse Now saved your life,” she said.

  They laughed together as they stood. Turned to return to the hotel.

  Their laughter stopped as they saw Kowalski walking up the street towards them. Angry. Jaw set.

  “What the hell?” Joan said before he was in earshot.

  “Did you really knock him out with one punch?” Duke whispered to her.

  Joan smiled.

  “Where’s Bannister?” Kowalski barked at them. “Still in Boston?”

  Her smile disappeared. “Don’t know. Why?”

  “Call him. You have to go to Nevada tonight. Most of the group will be out of the compound tonight. Has to be now.”

  “Call him yourself,” Duke said.

  “I tried. He’s not answering. He’ll answer for you.”

  Joan took out her phone. Dialed. Put it on speaker. Rang. Again.

  “Yeah, Joan, what’s up?” JC answered. Out of breath.

  “JC, where are you?” Kowalski butted in.

  “Kowalski? I’m a little busy now.” They heard moans in the background. Sounds of machinery. Duke and Joan looked at each other. The moans turned to screams of pain. They heard movement. Sounds of violence. “Shaddup,” JC said to someone else. More violence. The moans and screams stopped. “What the hell do you want, Kowalski?”

  Kowalski continued, but slower. Glancing apprehensively between Duke, Joan and the phone. “We need to be in Nevada tonight, JC. Our intelligence says the compound will be almost empty. Now is the time.” He glanced up at Joan. She looked back, emotionless.

  They could hear JC breathing. “All right. Joan, Duke, get Theo and be there to the east of the compound in the place we discussed. I’ll be there at three a.m. Meet me with all the intel we need. We’ll get it done.”

  “Will do, JC,” Joan said.

  JC hung up. Guy looked at Joan.

  “Somebody messed with the wrong guy,” Joan said. “Now, forget you ever heard that conversation.”

  Joan and Duke walked towards the hotel, Kowalski trailing after them.

  Chapter 29

  You Gonna Kill Him?

  JC sat in a worn fabric chair. Stained. Probably was tan originally but now was mostly brown. Vargas was in a hospital bed. Sedated. Beaten. But alive.

  Kowalski had threatened and brayed, but there was no way he could keep JC from leaving. Joan was in charge. Theo took JC to the airport. Quiet trip. Caught the next flight out of LAX to Boston. First class, but still a long flight. From Los Angeles to somewhere over Henderson, Nevada he had been on the phone. Checking Kowalski’s story. Planning the attack on the Sons of Liberty compound. Then he hung up and tried to sleep.

  Coletti had picked him up at Logan International. Dropped him off at Newton-Wellesley Hospital. JC had Vargas moved to a private room five minutes after he walked through the front door. Told the nurses he was Bruno’s uncle. The nurses told him their version of the story: Hit and run accident. Broken arm. Broken collar-bone. Bruised ribs. Slight concussion. Very lucky to be alive.

  In the elevator on the way up, JC sent a text message to Mercier: “Close the bike shop. Close Gorman’s. Find Ziccardi. Take him there.” Another to Coletti: “Get the boys safe. Then find Bruno’s brother. Get him safe, too.” By the time he was walking through the door, he was starting to calm down. He had taken care of as much as he could for the moment. Time to take care of a friend.

  So he sat down on the broken down old chair.

  And waited.

  *****

  It was four hours before Vargas stirred from his drug-induced sleep. Coletti had messaged that the cycling team and Bruno’s brother were safe. Mercier had trouble finding Ziccardi but had just messaged that he had collected the package and was on the way to Gorman’s to deliver it. JC had just shut his eyes for a few minutes.

  “Boss?”

  JC smiled. Broadly. Opened his eyes. Looked at Bruno’s battered face. Vargas tried to smile but it looked more like a split-lip bloody grimace than anything else.

  “Damn, Vargas. Give you a bike and this is what happens?”

  “I zigged when I should have zagged, man.”

  JC laughed. Vargas started to laugh as well, but it caused him too much pain. He begged JC to stop. JC stopped laughing, looking over the younger man’s injuries. They would all heal. Thankfully.

  This time.

  “Vargas, Coletti told me what happened. He has the rest of the team safe. Nobody is going to get to them.”

  “What about my brother?” Vargas wheezed.

  “Safe. They’re all out at my farmhouse near Sudbury. Little camping trip. Guarded by men I trust my life with. Nobody will get near them. I promise.”

  Bruno nodded. Speaking hurt too much.

  A nurse came in to adjust Bruno’ medicine. It was too early for him to wake up. She upped the dosage.

  “He’ll be asleep again in five minutes or less,” she said as she left quietly.

  JC nodded. Thanked her. Turn
ed to Bruno. “Dude, I think she’s sweet on you.”

  Bruno started to laugh then tried to restrain himself. It didn’t work very well.

  “I swear, Bruno, I think she winked at you.”

  “Stop, man, please. It hurts so much.”

  “Aww, what are you crying about? Ribs aren’t even broken. Someday I’ll tell you about the time I got blown up in Iraq,” JC said.

  “Yeah? Did you have to walk in the snow? Uphill both ways?” Bruno was smiling. JC started to laugh. “Save it,” Bruno continued, “I think I’ve heard that one before.”

  Bruno was smiling, but his eyes were turning glassy. JC knew he was starting to float into sleep. He stood there. Watching over his new charge. Watched his breath rise and fall evenly. Painlessly. Knowing that it was his fault. Knowing that if he had killed Ziccardi the first time they had tangled then this wouldn’t have happened.

  “Vargas,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing. Z-dog won’t ever bother you again.”

  Bruno didn’t answer right away. He was fading in and out now. JC’s words filtered through his foggy brain. Started laughing. His bruised ribs didn’t hurt anymore because of the pain medication.

  “Why?” Bruno said. “You gonna kill him?” Laughed again, and then faded completely into sleep.

  JC waited. Until he knew the young man was asleep.

  “Yes.”

  *****

  “I told you, George.”

  Punched him in the gut.

  “I told you.”

  Punched him in the gut.

  “Stay away from my team.”

  Punched him in the gut.

  “Gave you a chance.”

  Punched him in the gut.

  “But you didn’t listen.”

  Punched him in the chest.

  “And now you have to pay.”

  Punched him in the face.

  The brass knuckles served two obvious purposes: Protected JC’s hands. Caused far more damage than he would be able to inflict on his own.

  The blue plastic tarp spread over the machine shop floor was large. Thirty feet by forty feet. JC preferred blue tarps to black or clear plastic. They were bulkier and required a little more in the way of burning, but their thickness and rougher weave worked better on concrete floors. Less likely to tear. Or slip when there was a lot of blood.

  Right now there was a lot of blood. Ziccardi’s hands were bound together with chains. There was another chain, thicker, hanging from a rafter. Ziccardi’s hands were hooked onto the end of the long chain, suspending him in the middle of the shop. Just high enough so his feet could barely touch the ground. But not low enough so he could stand on them. Which left him alternatively hanging free or scrabbling for purchase.

  Both activities tired him out.

  JC had tied him to a chair at first. Talked to him. Explained what was going to happen. Ziccardi had begged, pleaded. Promised. Too late. JC showed him all the tools he had at his disposal. Wrenches. Hammers. Lengths of chain. Machetes. Metal pipes. Welding equipment. And the brass knuckles.

  Every one had made George cry louder. JC had set various machinery in the shop to working so there was no way anyone would hear his cries. Even after explaining that to him, Ziccardi continued to yell and scream. So JC picked up a length of chain. Swung it like a baseball bat at Ziccardi’s face.

  A handful of teeth had flown across the shop, landing just inside the edge of the tarp. George’s chair was knocked over from the force. He was crying unintelligibly. Jaw likely broken. JC decided the chain had too much chance to spray blood everywhere. Put it down. Strung Z-dog up from the rafter. Cut the chair loose with a machete. Not being careful about where he was cutting. Picked up a metal pipe. Started wailing on Ziccardi’s rib cage. Trying to break every rib.

  JC put the pipe down, out of breath. Ziccardi had passed out. JC knew he hadn’t gotten every rib, but he’d gotten most of them. It didn’t matter. Now it was time for something else.

  He had wheeled the welding equipment over. Used the scratcher to start it up. Hot yellow-white flame. No smoke. Started cauterizing the wounds on Z-dog’s hands and ankles.

  That brought him back to consciousness quickly.

  JC tried to cauterize the wounds on Ziccardi’s face. The man kept moving his head, whipping it from side to side. JC ended up burning Z-Dog’s arms more than anything. Turned off the blowtorch. Sat down for a minute to rest.

  Drank some water.

  Then picked up the brass knuckles. Started working George over again. He had done some boxing before college and in the service, but he was long out of practice. He was getting winded again.

  Ziccardi kept crying and yelling.

  JC’s phone rang.

  Stopped. Took the rubber glove off his left hand. Dug the phone out. Joan.

  Answered.

  “Yeah, what’s up, Joan?”

  Kowalski.

  JC hung up after the conversation. Picked up a black body bag. Wrapped it around Ziccardi’s feet and legs. Zipped it most of the way up. Pulled on the chain to raise him higher. Folded up the blue tarp into a smaller rectangle. Laid Ziccardi down on the tarp. Undid the chain from his hands. Zipped the body bag up most of the way. Took out the revolver Ziccardi had pulled on JC the first time they met. One bullet inside. Put it under Z-dog’s chin.

  Pulled the trigger.

  Zipped up the body bag the rest of the way. Moved the bag off the tarp. Folded up the tarp. Carried it over to an incinerator they had in the shop. Put it inside along with his gloves and his clothes. Burned them all.

  Washed his hands with bleach in the bathroom sink. Put on fresh clothes. Picked up the revolver with a Ziploc bag turned inside out. Took out his phone. Called his friend at the coroner’s office in Camden.

  “Hello? JC?” she said.

  JC said nothing. He just had an idea. The answer to the problem of the Nevada raid.

  “JC? Are you there?” Pause. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “What? Yeah, sorry Jamie, it’s me.”

  “What’s up? You calling for dinner?” she purred.

  “That sounds wonderful. Another time, unfortunately. I need a favor. A big one, this time.”

  Chapter 30

  Did You Hear Me?

  The room at the Motel 6 in Henderson, Nevada was filled with surveillance equipment. Computers and multiple monitors were placed on every flat surface Kowalski could find. The General was there, sitting in a hard-backed chair near the door. Guy had hoped The General would have been more helpful, but his mission was clearly one of observation. He had not lifted a finger or bothered with a word of advice the whole trip over or during the setup of the equipment. The only time he had shown any interest was when the feeds from the drone came through on the big monitor. Other than Kowalski, there was one agent in the room. The rest had been asked to leave.

  It was three fifteen a.m. JC, Duke, Joan and Theo had begun the operation. Kowalski could see them moving across the screen. They were little white blobs that looked somewhat like people the more they moved. The landscape looked like a mass of dark grey outlines. Some could be easily identified as trees, others as rocks. The buildings looked like dark grey rectangles. Inside these rectangles were motionless white blobs. The compound residents.

  Kowalski’s intelligence had been wrong. The residents were not mostly gone. He had counted about forty-five people there. The General took one look at the monitor, snorted, crossed his arms and said nothing else. Kowalski had tried to call JC to inform him but his call had gone straight to voicemail. Duke and Joan had refused to carry any communication equipment that Guy had tried to provide. Unless and until they answered their phones, there was no way to let them know what was going on.

  One thing that Kowalski had been right about was that the group in the compound didn’t bother with guarding the approach to the east. There had been no patrols and JC and his crew had easily infiltrated the building. They were spread out, sneaking through the housing units. Some move
ment inside. Person smoking a cigarette. A guy going to the bathroom. But nothing that indicated the group was aware of their presence.

  As the Sons of Liberty seemed dead-set on protecting their main hall from a frontal attack, Kowalski had instructed Duke and Joan to approach from the rear. Reasoning was that it would be far easier to slip in and out if they came up from the back where nobody was expecting them. According to the feed from the drone, that was exactly what JC and his team were doing. They came together, as if communicating. Planning. Then spread out and began to walk forward to the main hall.

  Then everything went sideways.

  One of the guards at the main gate turned and started firing. Although Kowalski couldn’t see the bullets, he could see the man’s stance. And the fact that Theo, by the look of it, dived behind what appeared to be a rock. The smallest white blob, likely Joan, was the only one to not move. Kowalski guessed she was returning fire. In a few seconds, the guard fell down, his white blob getting longer and more human shaped as he lay full out. Unmoving. Probably dead.

  The other guards came running to the main hall as well. JC and his team had to retreat and take cover behind a small building. They were pinned down. Duke ran to a building on the left. Took cover there. Probably trying to draw their fire. Hopefully flank them.

  Kowalski looked over to the right of the monitor. It didn’t seem real. His brain didn’t accept it for a second.

  The General didn’t have the same problem.