ON Fire (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 5) (Redemption Thriller Series 17)

by John W. Mefford

  If he’s that stupid, how did he find Nicole and Mackenzie?

  I pushed up and viewed him through the car window. He looked like he might be rummaging through something, occasionally lifting his head, glancing all around and then back to the bed of the pickup. The moment he turned his sights away from me, I scooted around the car and parked myself behind the next car in the row, a gray SUV coated with mud. Looked like the type of vehicle one of my buddies in high school had taken out mudding. Only in Texas.

  Just then, a motel door opened to my left.

  “Hey, dude, what you doing to my SUV?” It was a guy in overalls, holding a can of beer.

  Fuck me running!

  I put a finger to my mouth. “Shhh.” Then I peered through the window. Marco was walking in my direction.

  “Is someone over there?” Marco called out.

  Beer Man looked at me, teetered back and forth, and wiped his eyes. He was shit-faced. “Uh…no, sir. I just came out to get some fresh air. It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  I dropped to my knees and looked under the car. Marco was within ten feet.

  “Are you lying to me, son?” Marco asked.

  The guy burped, rubbed a palm into his eye, and then chugged some more beer. I waddled on my feet to the rear of the car. The moment I got there, I heard a muffled pop. I looked back and saw the can of beer drop to the ground. A high-pitched squeak, and Beer Man crumpled to the ground, his face turned in my direction. I saw a red hole in the center of his forehead. I almost puked.

  Back down on my knees, I could see Marco’s combat boots moving in my direction. I got into an athletic position, counted to two, and then exploded out of my stance. I hit him so hard, he tripped over Beer Man’s body. He tried to get his feet underneath him, but he tumbled into the side of the Toyota. He grunted out a breath. I grabbed his wrist, his gun hand. He swung his knee up. I turned inward and blocked it with my thigh.

  As I moved my other hand over to try to twist the pistol out of his grip, he plowed his head right into mine.

  Lights flashed all around me. I stumbled backward, but I still hadn’t let go of his wrist. He threw a left hook that crunched the side of my nose. Then he laughed.

  Wrong move, Marco.

  The punch to the nose reignited my determination. I swung my leg into his rib cage—I could hear the air rush from his lungs. With both hands, I grabbed his wrist again, dropped to the ground, and swung his body over mine. As he flew through the air, the gun fell to the concrete. He landed with a bone-crunching thud and barely moved after that. A cracked skull, more than likely.

  Another guy came out of the motel door.

  “Charlie!” he yelled, looking at his buddy on the ground.

  “Call the cops. Ask for Detective Porter. Now!”

  33

  “I called the cops. Is Charlie dead?”

  Charlie’s friend dropped to the ground, put his head on Charlie’s chest and began to cry.

  I grabbed the gun and pressed the barrel to Marco’s head. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Marco moaned.

  “You better talk, motherfucker, or I’m going to do you what you did to poor Charlie.”

  “Ozzie!”

  I looked up and saw Nicole, barefooted, in a pair of baggy green sweats. She covered her mouth as her eyes went to Charlie and his sobbing buddy, and then to me and Marco.

  “This fucker, Marco, was looking in your room.”

  “Oh my God, no. They found us?” She glanced back toward her room. “Wait, I thought Marco was that PI working for Winston.”

  “He is. I think he is. Get back inside and make sure Mackenzie is okay.”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “Good. The cops are on the way. I need a minute with Marco before they get here. Please go inside and lock the door until the cops get here.”

  She paused a moment as our eyes connected. She had questions, a lot of questions. But she knew now wasn’t the time.

  “Okay,” she said, running back toward the room.

  I looked down and saw Marco peeking at me. He was more lucid. “You’re not just a PI working for Winston, are you?”

  He groaned, tried to roll onto his side. I pulled him back and poked the gun under his chin. “Talk, Marco. Now!”

  He grunted. He might be injured, but I knew he could talk. He just didn’t want to.

  Charlie’s buddy screamed out, then jumped on top of Marco and started punching him. “You fucking killed Charlie. You sonofabitch, why did you kill Charlie?”

  I let him do his thing for a few seconds—part of the grieving process, I knew—then I attempted to pull him off.

  “Dude, this won’t help bring back Charlie.”

  He stood up, wiped his mouth. “Then shoot him, dammit. He’s an animal. He deserves to die. Shoot him. Now!”

  “What do you think, Marco? Should I listen to this guy?”

  Marco brought his arms down. “Dead man walking.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a dead man walking. Doesn’t really matter what you do.”

  “Did Winston put you up to this?”

  He looked away.

  “Dammit, did Winston tell you to hunt down my wife and daughter?”

  Charlie’s friend kicked Marco in the knee three, four, five times. I didn’t stop him. Marco cried out.

  “Who hired you, Marco?”

  He peeled open his eyes, gasping for a breath. “Kill me, don’t kill me. I won’t have long to live.”

  “Why? Why are you saying that?”

  “Because I fucked up. They will find me and do away with me like they have everyone else.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Dead man walking.”

  He repeated that phrase no less than twenty times before cop cars rolled up. By then, I’d set the gun on the ground and stood up. Four cops had their guns pointed at me as I explained what had happened…rather, the edited version that I could share. “I came to visit my wife and daughter and found this pervert looking through the window.”

  Porter arrived shortly thereafter, and he sorted out things with the uniforms. I walked into room 103. Mackenzie was up and pacing. She and Nicole both hugged me at the same time. I reassured them that I was fine and that everything would be okay.

  I had to say it. That’s what you say to little kids, even if you don’t really believe it yourself. I wanted it to be true—oh, how I wanted it to be—but I wasn’t sure.

  I went back outside. The space became engulfed in lights and police tape and more cars and uniforms. I saw Marco on a gurney, handcuffed, paramedics working on him. Porter approached me, shaking his head.

  “Ozzie, something big is going on here.”

  I turned my sights to Charlie’s friend, who was standing next to a woman, their arms intertwined and both of them crying. Another senseless killing.

  “You know as much as I do, Porter. I came here to see my wife and daughter.”

  “Why are they at a Red Roof Inn?” He crossed his arms and set his feet, as if he were settling in for a long conversation.

  My wandering eyes met his. “The bombing from earlier today. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with that phone call you made just before you talked to me and the ATF agent?”

  I gave him a confused look, as if I didn’t recall. Then I waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that was just an old friend.”

  I was proud of my ability to not tell a bald-faced lie. I’d known Alex for only a few months, at the most stressful time of my life. But she was the kind of person, who, once you’d bonded, you knew it was an enduring friendship.

  He shook a finger in my direction. “I don’t know about you, sometimes.”

  I shrugged.

  “Look,” he said, glancing over at the paramedics near the gurney. “This guy, Marco Berelli…he’s not saying a thing. Why do you think he was here snooping on y
our wife and kid? Why would he kill an innocent person?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “You’ve not going to fill me in, huh?”

  “I just said I don’t know the answers to your questions. I’m pissed, and I’m worried, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “I just want to know what the hell is going on in my city! First, the car bombing, and now we got this crazy shit happening. You’re in the middle of it, Ozzie, which tells me it must track back to Franklin—am I right?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. And that’s the fucking truth.” I pointed over at Marco. “If you can get that guy to talk, then, please, be my guest. He might be the best lead we have.”

  A scream made us both flinch. Someone yelled, “He took my gun!”

  I rushed past Porter to see a flurry of cops around the gurney. It was Marco, his hands still cuffed, waving a pistol in the air.

  “Gun down, now!” A cop was in his stance, just ten feet away from the gurney, his own gun aimed directly at Marco.

  Everyone else in the vicinity froze as though they’d been cast in stone.

  As I slowly padded closer, I could see Marco’s eyes dancing wildly. He didn’t seem to notice or care that the cop had him dead in his sights.

  “Drop the fucking gun now, or I’ll shoot. Last time I ask!” The cop’s voice boomed like it was amplified.

  My eyes went straight to Marco. He spoke something so quietly that it couldn’t be heard. But I could read his lips. “I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

  I bolted out of my stance, but before I took a single step, he stuck the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  34

  With Mackenzie asleep in my arms, I walked behind Nicole into Tito’s loft. Thankfully, Luella was not spending the night. While I was reasonably certain she wasn’t an undercover mole, I knew the risk of some hit man finding my family was lower with very few people in the know. How much lower, it was hard to say, because I still had no idea how Marco had found Nicole and Mackenzie at the Red Roof Inn.

  “I already made up the futon,” Tito whispered.

  A couple of picture lights were on in the living room, allowing me to avoid tripping over a number of canvases on my way to the futon. I set Mackenzie down, pulling the sheet and blanket up to her chin. She didn’t open her eyes, but she jostled some. As I started to lift up, she grabbed my neck and pulled me closer.

  “You okay, sweet pea?”

  “Don’t leave me, Dad. I want you to stay.” Her voice sounded liked that of a frog. I’d have to tease her about it another time.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. Nothing will happen to me. And just think how cool it’s going to be to sleep among all of these life-like characters that Uncle Tito has created.”

  Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled. She tapped her cheek with her forefinger. I kissed her cheek. A wave of emotion crawled up the back of my throat. I thought about bullets and bad people being so close to her and Nicole at the motel. I couldn’t lose her. I couldn’t lose either one of them. They were my family, my life. My heart wouldn’t just ache if something happened; it would just stop.

  I shook off the emotion. “Sleep tight, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She turned on her side, and I walked over to Nicole and Tito, who was shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “How does this keep happening to you, man?”

  His question had merit, but I still felt a sting of defensiveness. “Do you know how many PIs investigate people and alleged crimes and no one even knows they exist? That’s pretty much my goal. It just…I don’t know, Tito. Am I cursed?” I raked my fingers through my hair as Nicole put an arm around my waist.

  “Don’t mean to bust your balls, dude. You know I got your back. I don’t know all the details. I’m not sure I want to know.” He popped my shoulder.

  Nicole squeezed my side. “You’re trying to do the right thing, Ozzie…for everyone.”

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t impressed with the results, but I couldn’t harp on the past, on what I couldn’t control.

  We walked into the kitchen, and Tito pulled out three bottles of beer. It wasn’t my preference, Shiner, but the chilled Heineken quenched my thirst. The three of us leaned against the counter, each lost in our own thoughts for a few silent moments. I peeked around the corner and saw Mackenzie peacefully asleep, her chest lifting and falling with each rhythmic breath. It gave me a sense of calm. I chugged more of my beer. I could feel Nicole staring at me.

  It came to me that she wasn’t aware of my conversation with Alex. I knew Alex said it was top secret, but I wasn’t going to keep secrets from Nicole. I asked Tito to give us a quick minute, and I filled her in on everything Alex had shared with me.

  She took a swig of her beer and then strummed her fingernail on the side of the bottle.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same.”

  “It’s hard to think much right now. I just want you and Mackenzie to be safe. I’m not sure who or what is behind all this bullshit. It’s far bigger than anything I could have imagined.”

  She leaned in and put her head against my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled of coconut, and it comforted me. She comforted me. I loved her. I really and truly did.

  Tito strolled back in and opened a bag of tortilla chips on the counter. “Dig in. Can’t just drink beer.” We all grabbed some chips. The crunching noises were loud, and I looked around the corner to see if we’d woken Mackenzie. She was still sleeping like a little princess.

  “You’re such a dad,” Nicole said with a wink, “and I love that about you.”

  I thought about the idea of unconditional love. With Mackenzie, it had grown into that. All parents must have that same connection with their kids. I knew that included Alex with her kids, even as they traversed through the uneven labyrinth of teenager-dom.

  My mind veered to something Franklin had said about why he went home to spend the night at his house after sleeping with two other women. He’d said he wanted to be home to see his boys when they woke up the next day. Franklin had a lot of faults, but at least he felt an unshakable link with his boys. Or so it would seem.

  Still, though, Franklin was messed up in so many ways, in how he conducted business, with whom he conducted business, his screwed-up perspective on women, and his sex addiction. He was really just gross.

  Yet, both Elaine and his mom—who he’d essentially abandoned—seemed to put him a rung above his brother, Noah. I just couldn’t let that go.

  “Your mental gears are shifting. Care to share?” Nicole said, pinching my waist.

  I took a quick drink of my beer and then held up the bottle. “This beer, being here with Tito, feeling comforted by Mackenzie and you, Nicole…I’m more relaxed.”

  “Glad you’re chillin’, but something else is churning in your brain. What is it?”

  “I’ve been wrapped up in this wave of violence…the sniper who tried to kill me, the car bomb that killed Riya, and Marco creeping on you and Mackenzie and then killing poor Charlie. But if you look at the first domino in this whole damn thing, it was the murder of Pamela Connor. She was strangled. Riya had said it herself—it was personal. Then we have the note left for Franklin about him being a lying, cheating bastard—”

  “Well, we know that part is true,” Nicole added.

  “But it’s not about what is true. Well, ultimately, we want to get to the truth, but the person or people who did this made it personal. They sent Tracy and me those text messages, which clearly showed Franklin was involved in that Drake-FDA corruption scandal. Why? It was personal.”

  I looked to the other side of the kitchen. Tito was munching on chips like they were on a conveyor belt to his mouth. “Pay no attention to me. Your story is unfolding like the climax of a movie.”

  “Personal,” Nicole said, her eyes drifting to the ceiling.
“So, like you said, if we focus on what brought all of this on—the FDA corruption scandal, Pamela’s murder—one word comes to mind, and that’s—”

  “Vendetta.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are we sharing the same brain again?”

  “Something like that.” I pulled out my phone, opened my contacts, and found the number I was searching for.

  “Who you calling?” Nicole asked.

  A groggy voice answered the line.

  “Hi, Franklin.”

  “Ozzie?” Franklin said, clearing his throat. “Why are you calling? Good news, I hope?”

  With Nicole listening in, I had one question for Franklin. It turned into three, based upon his responses. When we hung up, he was pissed, but not at me.

  Time for me to make a late-night visit.

  Nicole pulled my hips against hers and kissed me like it was our wedding night. “We need to make up for lost time. I know you have to do this, but be careful.”

  I set the beer down and headed for the car.

  35

  I stood on the porch of Rhonda Marshall’s home. Through the thin curtains, I could see a wide swath of light flashing intermittently. It had to be her big-screen TV. The sound blared. I couldn’t make sense of it, but it seemed to be awfully loud.

  I’d made one phone call while in the car. It was to Brook. Like I had with Franklin, I started our conversation by asking her just one question. She’d given me the answer—which was why I was standing on Rhonda’s front porch—but, as I’d expected of Brook, she started interrogating me like I was on the FBI Most Wanted List. I downplayed my responses. I was lying to her, but it was necessary. I had to make sure she didn’t get alarmed and start making phone calls.

  I opened the screen door and knocked hard three times. The noise level went to mute. I waited a moment, and Rhonda opened the door. She looked more haggard than when I’d last seen her, which shocked me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible. Her hair looked like it had been put through a washing machine spin cycle.