Determinant

by E. H. Reinhard

  Ray peered at me and sipped his wine.

  “I asked you if you understand, Andrei.”

  Ray nodded.

  “How far is her house from here?” Viktor asked.

  “Twenty miles,” I said.

  “If I don’t hear from Andrei in about a half hour, letting me know that you’re in the house, I’m going to put a bullet in her head.”

  Ray unstrapped me from the bar stool and lifted me to my feet. I looked at his Rolex to mark the time.

  My arms were still linked behind me back. “What about the cuffs?” I asked.

  Ray patted the front pocket of his suit jacket. “I’ll take them off before we get there. Go.” He pointed toward the garage. “Walk, Asshole.” Ray shoved me in the back.

  I stumbled forward. He grabbed me under the arm and pushed me toward the garage. I saw the black Bentley parked in the first garage stall when we entered. It was the car we had the BOLO out on. He opened the rear passenger door.

  “Get your ass in the back.” He shoved me inside and clicked the seat belt over me. He slammed the door shut. Ray slid in the driver’s seat.

  He hit the button to lift the garage door and pulled out. We crept down the cobblestone driveway. Each stone got absorbed by the luxury car’s suspension. I looked back at the house. The front gates spread and Ray swung a right out onto the street. I looked for a house number. I couldn’t spot one. He made another right. There wasn’t a street sign in sight. He drove forward a couple blocks. I took in all the surroundings. I still didn’t know where I was. Ray made a left. I recognized the street. We turned onto Interbay Boulevard. It turned into Bayshore Boulevard just up the street. It was the same street I lived on just a few miles up. I looked back to see the street we came from. I missed the sign. The brick street made a pitter-patter under the car. The sound disappeared as the road turned to a paved surface.

  I needed to think fast. There was a good chance that the Feds were at Callie’s house. Since I turned the case over, the local PD would have been lifted. If the Feds were there, I doubted they’d let me walk into the house and leave carrying a briefcase. If there was even one there. By the time it took me to explain what was going on and devise a plan with them, Ray would know something was up. He’d call Viktor. Viktor would kill Callie. That is, if the Feds were there. If they weren’t, case or not, I’d get a bullet in the head as soon as I returned. There was no chance that these two would set me free and thank me for a job well done.

  I needed to solve the immediate problem. Take out the mammoth driving the car as soon as possible. It wasn’t going to happen while I was cuffed in the back seat. Slipping the cuffs from behind my back to the front was impossible—my arms were too big, and the flexibility required left when I turned ten. I couldn’t wait until he took the cuffs from my wrists. We pulled to a stop light. I tried reaching up behind my back and opening the car door. If I could get outside he’d be forced to come after me. Outside the car, I had a chance to do something. I got my fingers on the door lever. I pulled. Nothing happened. The child locks had been engaged.

  I needed to try something else. There was a clear view of the side of Ray’s head. I brought my feet up onto the seat and slid myself down.

  Ray noticed my movements. “What are you doing back there, Asshole?”

  “I’m trying to get upwind. You smell like shit.”

  I kept moving around trying to get into the perfect position. I made my movements quick and violent. The more obvious I made them, the better. I needed him to look back at me between the front seats.

  “Quit moving around!” Ray shouted.

  “Make me, Pussy.”

  It was the perfect trigger. He turned and reached back to swat at me. I lifted both feet and planted them into his broken nose with everything I had. The car jerked left. His head recoiled back into my target zone. I delivered another double footed kick to the side of his giant melon. His head bounced off the driver’s side window. His body fell to the left. So did his hands on the steering wheel. Ray got tossed up into the roof as the car hopped the median and crossed the other lane of traffic. We didn’t slow. A row of bushes flew by the car’s windows. Palm trees zipped by on each side. One clipped the side mirror and bounced us right. The headlights shined on an oak tree. I felt the impact. I remember hearing a bang. My neck jerked forward. The seatbelt kept me in place.

  The car filled with smoke from the airbags. I coughed. Ray wasn’t moving. I fumbled with my fingers behind my back trying to unlatch the seatbelt. The release pressed down and unlatched my belt. I jerked at the rear door handle behind my back. It still wouldn’t open. I squeezed myself through the space between the front seats and got a closer look at Ray. His head was soaked in blood. His nose was pushed even further to the side. The top of the car’s windshield was shattered. He didn’t wear his belt. I guessed the impact sent him glancing off the driver’s side airbag into the windshield. It either knocked him out or killed him. I was fine with either.

  The car’s turn signal flashed. It lit up a row of trees twenty feet to our left. The headlights shined into a tree line farther back. I expected people to come assist. There was no one. I looked out the car windows. Someone had to have seen the car veer off the road and crash.

  I took hold of the passenger door handle and yanked it. The door opened a few inches. It was pinned against the crushed metal of the front fender. I fell into the door. It opened enough for me to fall out onto the ground. I got to my knees and then my feet. I took in our surroundings. The tree we hit was planted deep into the front of the Bentley. There were trees surrounding us. No houses in sight. I rounded the car to Ray’s door. I turned, grasped the door handle behind my back and pulled. Ray flopped out.

  I looked for anyone in view. It was dark. I could see some landscaping lights deeper into the trees. The street was a hundred yards away behind us. There was still no one coming to help. I squatted over Ray’s body and fished through the front pockets of his suit jacket. My fingertips brushed the keys to the handcuffs. I snatched them up and contorted my hands to get the key into the cylinder. I needed to be quick in case Ray woke up. They key found home. I turned it and freed my left hand. I pulled my arms in front and clicked off my right. They were latched around Ray’s wrists. The cuffs just caught the last few latches.

  I checked him for a pulse. He was still alive. I went through the rest of his pockets finding a knife and cell phone. I stuck them in my pocket. Inside his suit, a chrome, .50 Caliber Desert Eagle was holstered under his arm. It was, without a doubt, the murder weapon used at Tamboro’s restaurant. I didn’t touch it. It needed to be bagged and tagged properly to be used as evidence and matched with ballistics. I wouldn’t risk being able to convict him. He needed to be put someplace safe.

  I grabbed Ray by the feet and pulled him through the grass to the back of the car. I opened the trunk. The smell inside hit me before the light inside flickered on. A dead body lay within. He appeared in his forties. He had bruising around his neck. I didn’t recognize him. He looked like he had been dead for at least a day.

  I propped Ray up against the back of the car and shoved him next to the body in the trunk. I slammed the lid down and went to the driver’s seat. The car was off. The key stuck out from the ignition on the left side of the dash. I twisted it. The car did nothing. I saw a push button start located in the center console. I footed the brake and depressed the button. Again, the car did nothing. I went to the back of the car again and looked at the plate. I memorized the tag number: AJF-P63. The car wasn’t moving. Ray was locked in the trunk. It would be fine sitting here out of sight.

  I jogged to the street. I knew my surroundings. My house was three miles up the road. I was a little over a mile from the house we left. The bay sat before me. I checked my watch. I could be back to the house in ten minutes on foot. It left me a few minutes before Ray was supposed to make the call to Viktor. I grabbed the name of the closest street and started running south. I yanked Ray’s phone from my pocket to
call for backup.

  Chapter 30

  I got off the phone with the 9-1-1 dispatcher and called the only number I knew by heart. It rang.

  “Hank Rawlings.”

  “Hank, it’s Kane. I need backup.”

  “Backup? What number is this? Where the hell are you? Are you OK? We’ve been at your condo for the last two hours. We just left like ten minutes ago. What the hell happened?”

  “Long story.”

  “What are you doing? It sounds like you’re running.”

  “I am. You need to get down here. I know where Callie and Viktor Azarov are.”

  “I’m on way. Where am I going?”

  “Big brick house a few blocks off Interbay Boulevard. It’s just up from Ballast Point Park.”

  “Do you have an address?”

  “No, but I have a plate number you can trace from the BOLO Bentley. Pretty safe to assume the car belongs with the house. Try to find out who the owner of the car and property are. You ready for the tag number?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Adam John Frank Paul six three.”

  “Adam John Frank Paul six three?”

  “Correct. If the tag doesn’t turn up anything, just find the biggest house in the neighborhood. That’ll be the place.”

  “It’s going to take me at least twenty minutes. I’ll call it in and get some people dispatched.”

  “I already called the station.” My feet pounded the ground. I sucked wind in through my mouth. “Get a couple cars to West Lawn Ave off of Bayshore. The Bentley is there crashed in someone’s backyard. Ray Azarov is in the trunk as well as an additional body.”

  “An additional body? Who?”

  “Don’t know. It might be the homeowner. I’m not sure.”

  “OK. I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll get a house number to you if I get there first.”

  I clicked off.

  Wind rushed past my face. My heart thumped. Blood and adrenaline coursed my veins. My footsteps jarred my teeth. Sweat ran into the cuts on my head. It stung. I had never run harder in my life.

  The streetlights lit my watch enough to show me the time. I had eleven minutes, I was at least five away. My turn had to be approaching. I saw the street turn to brick in the distance. I got to the brick and picked up more speed. A row of red buildings a block ahead sat on my right. It was my turn. I was only a few blocks away. I put my head down and pressed on. The adrenaline that coursed my veins just moments ago had dissipated. I was running on willpower.

  Two blocks up I made a left. I slowed to a jog. I checked my watch. Five minutes left. I searched outside the house’s front gates for a number. There wasn’t one. I didn’t have time to search further. Hank and the rest of the officers would have to find it. I pulled myself over the front gate and crouched as I ran up the cobblestone driveway. I looked at my watch. Three minutes left. I didn’t hear sirens or see red and blues in the distance. I was going in solo.

  The backyard and pool area were lit when I rounded the side of the house. I shuffled between the pool house and a row of bushes. The pool house was empty, as was the pool. I walked along the pavers and slid up to the side of the house. The doors that led into the bar where they had Callie and I tied up were open. I crept along, weaving in and out of the landscaping along the outer wall of the house. The door leading in approached. I crouched and glanced into the house. The television that sat behind the bar was on. There was no one in sight. An empty wine glass sat on the bar. I dug Ray’s knife from my pocket and flicked open the blade. I rounded the corner and stepped up the two stairs into the bar area.

  My backup would arrive in minutes. If I got Callie out of the house unseen, we could send in SWAT to deal with Viktor. I needed to find the wine room where they kept her. When Ray took me to the garage to leave we went straight from the bar. I remembered passing a kitchen and the main foyer, I didn’t see anything that looked like it led to a wine room. Past the bar, I got to the edge of the room. I looked left. A short hall that ended in an office lay before me.

  I turned right and stayed low. My feet didn’t make a sound. I followed the wall through the large living room. It was empty. A large doorway came up on my left. I looked through and pulled my head back. Wood shelving filled with books spanned to the ceiling—a library. I continued on. The wall I followed turned into a hallway. The tiled floor turned into a bending stairway. I rode the vineyard muraled wall with my back. My white knuckles wrapped around the handle of the knife.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a glass door to my left. I gave it a quick glance in. Workout equipment filled the room. To my right was a metal gate over a door. To the side of the door was a digital thermometer. There were small windows in the thick wooden door that sat behind the gate. The light was on inside. I looked in. Callie lay on the floor. I pulled at the metal gate. It was locked. There was no key in sight.

  I reached through and tried the latch on the inner door. The door pushed open. Callie moved and looked toward me. She jumped to her feet and rushed over. I folded the knife and stuck it in my back pocket.

  “Carl.” She grabbed me through the metal gate.

  “Where is Viktor?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I was upstairs with you. How did you get free?”

  “Ray took me to go to your house. I took him out.”

  “Can you get me out of here?”

  I yanked at the gate. It didn’t budge. I pulled it harder. It wiggled. I put all of my weight into it. I put both feet up and the wall and leaned back. The metal gate creaked and groaned.

  “Kane! Watch out!” Callie yelled.

  I felt a crack over the back of my head and collapsed to the floor. I turned to see Viktor holding a revolver by the barrel. He’d pistol whipped me. When my vision cleared, I recognized the gun—an engraved Colt Python .357 magnum with a pearl grip. It was a showpiece weapon for someone with money. With the power it possessed, I had no intentions of being on the receiving end of it.

  “Get your ass up! Where is Andrei?”

  I slid my back up against the wall to stand. I had my fill of getting hit in the head for the day. “The last I saw him, he was in the trunk of the Bentley. I’m guessing he’s either dead or in custody by now.”

  I watched a range of emotions cross Viktor’s face. They dissipated.

  “Where’s the case?”

  He cared more about what was inside the case then he did his own brother.

  “We never made it there to get it—ran into a little car trouble.”

  Viktor aimed at my head.

  “Cal, close the door,” I said over my shoulder.

  She retreated backward and pushed the door closed.

  I pulled the knife from my back pocket and flipped the blade open.

  Viktor smirked and let out a chuckle.

  I didn’t plan to use it on him. He’d shoot me before I got close enough for it to be an effective weapon. My chances of throwing the knife at him and hitting him blade first were slim. The odds of the blade sinking in enough to cause him to not blow my head off were even less. He was my size. I had confidence that I could handle him in a fight.

  The situation left me one option—distract him, and ambush.

  My attack got planned in my head in seconds. Throw, juke right, attack. My release had to be fast. A big wind up and he’d put a slug in me before the knife ever left my hand. I needed a distraction before my distraction. I turned the knife in my hand and took it by the blade.

  “Wait Viktor, I’ll get you the case. Let’s work something out,” I said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “First you need to let her go and do one more thing for me.”

  He scoffed. “What’s that?”

  “Duck!”

  I side armed the knife as his head. It spun through the air lower than I expected. He did duck, right into the incoming knife. I got low. I juked right. The knife bounced off his forehead, handle first. His head snapped back. He fired wild
gunshots. The first hit the floor. The second plugged into the door that I had Callie close. A third shot entered the wall where I just stood. I rushed him and closed the ten foot gap that separated us before he could fire a fourth shot. I was on him in two steps and a lunge. My left shoulder sank into his chest. I wrapped my arms around him. It was a textbook football tackle. I took his body into the muraled wall. The painted drywall crushed and sunk in from the impact. He didn’t drop the gun.

  I took his right hand with the gun in my left. I pushed it away from my body. He fired twice into the ground. I drove my right elbow into his chin. The back of his head broke through the drywall. I tried another. He blocked it with his left arm. I faked another. He lifted his arm to block. I looped my right elbow up over his defense and brought the point down into his eyebrow. It opened a two inch cut. Blood poured. He wavered. I smashed his right hand into the wall. The gun fired into the floor.

  Viktor hit me with a left cross to the side of the face. He grabbed me by the back of the head and pulled me in. He kneed my in the midsection. It took the wind out of me. I didn’t let go of his hand with the gun. He tried to turn the barrel in on me. It wouldn’t matter. He went for another knee. I lifted my leg to try to block it. It was a fake. He hooked my other leg with his foot and took it out from under me. I fell backward. My momentum stripped the gun from his hand. It bounced off the tile. I hit the ground hard.

  Viktor scrambled for the pistol. I turned over and brought myself to my feet. I walked toward him. He pointed the gun at my face. I kept advancing. He pulled the trigger. Click. He pulled again. Click.

  “What’s the matter, Viktor? You can’t count?”

  He was silent. I heard sirens.

  He threw the pistol at me and tried to flee up the stairs. I ran after him. I reached out with my hand and tripped him as he hit the top step. He went sprawling into the living room. Viktor got his feet under him and retreated backward. He threw a lamp at me. I kept coming at him. He pulled over a small coffee table as if it would stop my progress. I picked up speed. He grabbed a vase from the mantle and tried throwing it at me. I swatted it away.