by Mark Nolan
The Jeep continued drifting, but it screeched to a stop so close to the passing train that Jake could have reached out and touched it. Jake took a deep breath and let it out. He knew the train conductor would probably not sleep well tonight. No doubt he’d be waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where two insane men in cars played chicken with the train.
“That was close, too damn close,” Jake said.
By glancing through windows in the passenger cars that were going past, Jake could see that the Mercedes had a cloud of steam or smoke pouring out from the engine as it sped away.
Jake saw the escaping vehicle turn left and go out of sight. In a moment, the car could disappear into the mixed industrial neighborhoods, or escape onto one of the two highway on-ramps.
The train passed by and cleared the intersection, and Jake drove fast in the last known direction of the shooter’s vehicle. He crisscrossed the city blocks near the highway, but didn’t see the car anywhere. Police sirens could be heard approaching, and Jake realized that the train crossing was very close to the main police headquarters. The train conductor had probably called 911. Jake had a concealed carry permit for the pistol, but there was no sense taking his chances that the police would be in an understanding mood about him firing it within the city limits.
Jake hid the pistol under his seat and drove his car in a wandering evasive route away from the area. He saw the flashing lights of two police vehicles coming toward him from the opposite direction, so he pulled into an alley and turned off his lights. He sat and watched in his rearview mirror as the police cars roared past, heading toward the train crossing. Once the cops were gone, Jake exited the alley on the other side, turned on his headlights and drove away.
In a few minutes Jake was in another area of the city. He thought of going back to the harbor, casting off the lines and taking the Far Niente out on the bay. But on second thought the killer might have a partner or some kind of backup shooter waiting at the harbor, just hoping that Jake would return.
A hotel would be a good place to spend the night unless the person who was stalking Jake had access to his banking information. If so, Jake couldn’t risk using a credit card to pay for a hotel room. Jake didn’t have enough cash in his pocket to pay for a room at any of San Francisco’s high priced hotels. He could get cash out of an ATM machine, but that might also reveal his location to a hacker.
“When in doubt, call a buddy,” Jake said.
Jake called Terrell Hayes’ cell phone, but there was no answer. It was well past dinner time now, and Terrell was a happily married man who followed the philosophy that early to bed and early to rise made a man healthy, wealthy and… a badass. Terrell was probably curled up in bed with his sweetheart wife Alicia, right where he should be.
“Sorry bro,” Jake said as he redialed repeatedly.
Chapter 26
Terrell Hayes was in bed with his arms wrapped around his sleeping wife, Alicia. He was half awake and he didn’t move a muscle, just enjoyed the feeling of her warm body close to his, the oneness of the two of them together. The outside world was forgotten. This was where he belonged right now and she was all that mattered to him.
Tonight they were finally able to get past their latest fight, and kiss and make up. Their lovemaking had been as highly emotional as their current relationship was. It had seemed like a symphony of everything they had been feeling so deeply. The fight and the forgiveness, the anger and the joy, the pain and the passion. After their song had played out and they both lay exhausted in each other’s arms, they felt even closer than they had ever been before.
Make-up sex is soooo good, Terrell thought. Almost worth a big fight… almost. He loved Alicia so much, he’d probably die if they ever split up like Jake and Gwen had. He’d been very sorry to see Jake’s text saying the wedding was off and he had left Gwen. And he’d been surprised to see the video attached of Gwen losing her mind. Those two friends of his were probably feeling heartbroken tonight. It was just sad. Alicia stirred in her sleep and Terrell held her tighter. She sighed and said, “Mmmmmm,” and fell back asleep.
Terrell smiled and thought that he was the luckiest man in the world to have Alicia in his life. He thanked his lucky stars. There was just something so special about this woman he was madly in love with. Terrell kissed her beautiful cheek and lingered on her soft black skin, the color of the finest chocolate. He breathed in the scent her perfume. She was both his greatest weakness and his greatest strength at the same time. What a woman, what an angel. He would walk barefoot on broken glass through a burning building just to kiss her sweet lips. At the moment, he couldn’t even remember what they had been fighting about. He was just relieved it was over now.
In the drawer of the nightstand next to Terrell’s side of the bed, his cell phone kept lighting up and vibrating. He could see the light flashing softly through the cracks where the drawer met the sides of the furniture. The buzzing sound was quiet enough to prevent it from waking Alicia, but loud enough for Terrell to notice it, since he was half awake. And he was always half awake. It was one of the hazards of his job in law enforcement. You were always on call to make sure that everybody else was safe, and they could all relax instead of you.
After his phone had buzzed for the third time, Terrell realized it must be something important, or else some telemarketer was going to die a slow and painful death when Terrell tracked him down and put a blowtorch where the sun doesn't shine. Terrell eased himself carefully from Alicia’s arms as he substituted his pillow for her to hug instead of him. Alicia wrapped her arms around the pillow and let out a little moan while her pretty mouth made a pout.
“Sorry babe, be back soon,” Terrell whispered.
He kissed Alicia’s shoulder, and she fell back into a deep sleep. When he checked his phone he saw that it wasn’t the police department calling. It was his friend Jake ‘Jukebox’ Wolfe who was known for always getting into some kind of trouble. Jake probably needed Terrell to bail him out of a jam… again.
“This had better be good,” Terrell said.
He found his sweatpants on the floor and pulled them on, then took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door. Terrell knew something had to be pretty serious for Jake to be calling him repeatedly at night. Terrell’s guess was that Jake had been drinking heavily to dull the pain of breaking up with Gwen, and that had led to trouble of some kind. Jake was a natural born vigilante and protector of those in need. That got him into all kinds of trouble. But when Terrell returned Jake’s call he gave his friend a hard time.
“What is it now?” Terrell said. “I’m kind of preoccupied at the moment, sleeping between the sheets with an angel, you know?”
“You really do need your beauty sleep,” Jake said. “Sorry to bother you but somebody just took a few shots at yours truly and tried to kill me.”
“Was it Gwen shooting at you? I saw the video you sent. That girl is acting crazy.”
“Gunny Sergeant always warned us, never stick your dick in crazy.”
“Maybe you should have listened to Gunny.”
“Gwen owns a pistol, I gave it to her, but she didn’t shoot at me, not yet anyway. It was that attorney assassin, just like you warned me about.”
“How do you know it was him, did he introduce himself when he shot at you?”
“Who else would be shooting what sounded like a 22 pistol with a suppressor attached?”
“Good point, that’s an assassin’s weapon,” Terrell said. “Was he driving that same SUV we saw in the birdhouse cam video?”
“No he was in a brand new Mercedes.”
“What happened? Give me a sit-rep.”
“The assassin tried to shoot me when I was getting onboard the Far Niente. We got into a car chase across the Golden Gate Bridge and through the city. I lost him when he crashed through the railroad barrier arms at the crossing where 16th goes under I-280. He drove right in front of an oncoming train, but not before I shot his vehicle and damaged it.”
/> “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“During the chase my car was barely under control, and I couldn’t take my hands off the wheel.”
“I’ll call it in now and have our guys search the area.”
“Somebody already called. There are cop cars all over the place.”
“Did you get his license plate?”
“Thanks for your concern about my well-being,” Jake said. “Yes my friend, in answer to your unasked question, I am unhurt, and all my parts are still in one piece.”
“The ladies of the world will be glad to hear that all of your parts are still intact,” Terrell said. “They are under the mistaken belief that those parts might be good for something. Now back to more important things, please tell me you got at least a partial on the plate.”
“Only a few characters; I think there was some paint on the license plate light so it was dimmed but still legal.”
Jake recited the partial numbers and letters he’d seen, and he described the vehicle’s make and model and paint color.
“Got it, thanks.”
“Now that I think about it, when we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the toll fee collection cameras had to have taken a picture of his front license plate.”
“That’s what I was thinking too. I’m going to call and get a copy of that pic sent to me, then put out an APB on the Benz.”
“When I first saw him he had on a black stocking cap mask with holes for his eyes and mouth, but he yanked it off during the chase.”
“He probably couldn’t see where he was going. These criminal geniuses always make a mistake sooner or later.”
“It was a mistake for him to cross the bridge but I don’t think he expected me to chase after him.”
“He probably expected you to be dead.”
“True, I almost got smoked, but I dropped something, and when I bent down to pick it up the bullet flew right over my head,” Jake said. “I’m half Irish-American, so this good luck stuff just happens to me all the time.”
“Right, it’s not because you’re clumsy and you drop things, it’s because you wear lucky green shamrock boxer shorts,” Terrell said.
“It’s pretty cool. I’m not going to lie.”
“Where are you now?”
While Jake was talking to Terrell, he was also driving the Jeep in a roundabout way toward Terrell’s house.
“Can you send a cop car to park in front of my Condo?”
“Why, to protect Gwen? After what she tried to do to you, why would you be so concerned?”
“I guess I just have a protective streak for females who throw bottles at me.”
“Hmmm, it sounds like you still have some feelings for Gwen if you ask me.”
“Did I ask you?”
Terrell smiled. Women were Jake’s blind spot and his weakness.
“Yes I’ll send a car. Now get yourself over here to couch-surf in the garage before somebody else takes a shot at you.”
“You mean camp out in the man cave with all of the sports channels on the TV, a pool table, fridge full of beer, plus the awesome doggie? Who would want to stay in a boring place like that?”
“It would be roughing it, now that you’re a yacht captain and all.”
“You can call me Captain Mofo,” Jake said.
“Do you remember the garage door opener code?” Terrell said. “You know you’re welcome any time—just be sure to send me a text first so I don’t shoot you.”
Jake was currently driving through Terrell’s neighborhood and was almost to his house. “I’ll be there momentarily so I’ll let you go now.”
“Hurry up, it would be best to get your Jeep off the street and parked in front of my garage with the car cover over it, sooner rather than later.”
“I’m so close, my ass is already there.”
“Catch up with it then.”
Terrell ended the call with Jake, and then called the police station. He reported the partial license plate of the car they were looking for, and got someone working on obtaining a copy of the license plate photo from the Golden Gate Bridge cameras. He also sent a cop to check on Gwen.
He went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed while he waited for the text from Jake. A minute later Terrell’s phone buzzed and the text said, “Opening airlock.”
Terrell heard the garage door open and close, and then he got another text that said, “Mmmm, beer.” Terrell heard his dog Boo-Boo barking hello. The dog was always happy to see Jake.
Terrell put the phone back in the drawer of the nightstand, and he got back under the sheets with Alicia. He curled up in the spoon position to her plump, round behind and closed his eyes. His last thoughts as he drifted off were about how he actually slept better when his buddy from the old combat platoon was in the garage like a guard dog. If there were ever any threats to Terrell’s family or friends, Jake would fight to protect them. Terrell would do the same for Jake’s loved ones too. That’s just how it was and how it always would be, because that’s how best friends roll.
Chapter 27
Zhukov drove his damaged vehicle down back streets to the same warehouse building where he’d switched cars once before. He pressed a command on his phone and opened the garage door, then drove his car into the dark building and closed the door behind him.
He got out of the car and walked back to the garage door with his pistol in his hand. Next to the large garage door was a regular size entry door for people to walk through. The door had a viewer peephole, and Zhukov stood there and looked out through the viewer for a while to see if Wolfe had managed to follow him.
When he was sure that nobody was there, Zhukov got back into his car, and he left his lights off as he carefully drove the car up the concrete ramp to the loading docks. He drove slowly in semi-darkness; guided only by the moonlight coming through a row of dirty windows high above him. He stopped in front of a bay door, got out of his car, and removed his backpack and a duffel bag from the vehicle. He then opened the trunk to retrieve the special weapon, and he was pleased to see that it had not been hit by the bullet.
Zhukov opened the overhead door, and the truck’s doors, and then drove the damaged Mercedes into the truck cargo box. Once he exited the truck and had everything closed up again, the truck driver started the engine and drove off into the night.
Zhukov walked down the loading dock to another cargo bay and repeated the process of opening the overhead door and the truck’s back doors. Inside the truck cargo box was a Dodge Challenger.
He backed the Dodge out of the truck and onto the dock, then got out and closed the truck doors and warehouse bay door. The other driver started his truck engines and drove away.
With that taken care of Zhukov placed the unique weapon in the car’s trunk and kept his small backpack on the front passenger seat beside him. He drove the car down the ramp to the ground floor level with no headlights on. Next, he exited the building, closed the big door behind him using his phone, and drove away from the warehouse. Once he was two blocks away, he turned on his headlights and headed to another area of the city where his hotel was located. Now that he’d made his escape, he dwelled upon the fact that this evening had been highly inconvenient. Although he now had another clean car, he was angry that this unusual need to change vehicles so often had been caused by that infuriating man Jake Wolfe.
“Wolfe has had a streak of good luck but it’s about to run out,” Zhukov said to himself. “Soon he is going to learn that he should have kept his nose out of my affairs.”
For tonight, though, he would go to his hotel room and get some sleep. He drove with one hand on the wheel, and he reached into his backpack and took out the bottle of Russian Standard Gold Vodka he’d stolen from the Far Niente. After taking a few drinks from the bottle, he put the cap back on and then lit a short cigar known as a Hemingway short story.
Soon he was at his hotel, and he drove past the front of the building to do some reconnaissance before parking two blocks away a
nd walking the last part. When he passed by, he saw several police vehicles parked all around the building. Uniformed officers were going in and out of the hotel’s front doors. Zhukov had no doubt this activity must be about him. That maid might have seen a news report, and remembered his tattoos or his foreign accent, and then reported him to the police.
Zhukov thought about his charcoal sketches that were sitting on the table in his hotel room. These people would take his drawings as evidence, and he’d never see his artwork again. He got angry about the injustices that artists had to suffer, and then he felt a depression mood swing coming on, taking him to a dark place. Driving away from the hotel, he plugged a small tablet computer into the vehicle’s music system and began playing an old Russian folk song titled Katyusha.
Apple and pear trees were blooming.
O'er the river the fog merrily rolled.
On the steep banks walked Katyusha,
On the high bank she slowly strode.
As she walked, she sang a sweet song
Of her silver eagle of the steppe,
Of the one she loved so dearly,
And the one whose letters she had kept.
The evening’s troubles, the loss of his artwork, the song and the vodka all combined to make his depression even worse. He began to feel melancholy and homesick for Mother Russia, or “Rodina” as Russians called their Motherland.
Why he loved his homeland so much he did not know. It had been a difficult place to grow up. His parents had always been hungry for most of their lives, and living in constant fear of a one-way trip to the prison camps. Terrible things had happened in those camps, awful indescribable things.
The “New Russia” had been a very difficult place after the Americans had bankrupted it via the Cold War. Once the Berlin Wall finally came down and the Russians had left the East Germany prison camp nation, everyone in the world saw undeniable proof that the Marxist experiment had been a miserable failure.
