by Martha Carr
Chapter Twenty-Two
“All units, 1099. Suspect is armed and considered dangerous. Suspect is Oscar Polansky, wanted on felony murder. Last seen at place of work, Henrico County Family Court where suspect is deputy. All units, 1099. Suspect is male, Caucasian, age forty-two, five feet seven inches tall and approximately two hundred and twenty five pounds. Approach with extreme caution and request backup immediately.”
Oscar was holed up in the back of his sister’s apartment listening to a police scanner growing angrier by the minute. He was dressed in his deputy uniform, neatly pressed, with his hunting rifle, two handguns and boxes of ammunition for both.
He would have walked right into the waiting arms of the arresting officers if it hadn’t been for Davey who called to give him a heads up in exchange for not coming anywhere near the combinating room.
Oscar thought about coming in there anyway and shooting up the place. Damn that Parrish and his shiftless lack of any kind of character. First time the jackass manages not to finish a job and it has to be on Oscar’s dime. Then he turns around and double crosses him somehow. Davey never said so but Oscar knew it had to be Parrish.
The knife used to kill Lilly Billings was found in a dumpster behind the Bill’s Barbeque near Oscar’s apartment with Oscar’s fingerprint still on it.
Oscar had sped home after the phone call just in time to see the police breaking into his apartment. He saw them carry out bags of evidence and knew that Parrish must have planted more in there as well. Davey said the police had received an anonymous tip.
Oscar didn’t believe that either. They didn’t need the tip. Someone had decided he had to go. He saw Richard Bach’s black SUV parked nearby and Richard and Robin Spingler standing around outside.
“That’s who’s giving the orders,” he said, as he took another swig of Mad Dog that he picked up at the Wal-Mart along with the ammunition. He was on a first name basis with the salesmen behind the gun counter. “Got to change their minds.”
He was sweating through his carefully pressed uniform. His sister had checked on him twice and shaken her head at him but he had raised a gun and pointed it at her and she hadn’t come near the room since.
He was trying to formulate a plan. There had to be some way out of this mess. All of it had started with that prick, Richard Bach. The man had no idea how to get a job done. Too much waiting and watching and not enough decisive action. If they had torn up Ray Billings house like he had wanted to in the first place they might have walked out of there with the damn thumb drive and then none of the rest of this would have happened. They would have never been outside of that Jones woman’s house or cleaning up one mess after another. They’d have been heroes just like Richard said they would be.
But no one had listened to Oscar. Richard had told him more than once to shut up and do as he was told. “Look where that got me,” he yelled.
There was still the thumb drive. He knew everyone was hot and bothered to get that back. He didn’t know why and didn’t much care. Oscar had never had much use for computers. It was just enough for him to know that some very important people in his organization wanted the damn thing and he’d overheard Richard saying that it had to be in the Jones house.
So, Oscar Polansky, good American that he was, was going to go and get the thing back for them if he had to march through the front door of that Black Widow’s house to get it. It was about time that someone showed they still had their balls intact.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he mumbled, spitting just a little. “That’s a plan.” He scrambled up off of the floor and scooped up his guns and ammunition in his arms, making sure the safeties were on as he stumbled over the small throw rug and stepped hard, dropping a gun. “Damn it,” he yelled. He heard his sister running from the living room into her bedroom and the lock turning into place.
He drove to the West End, his resentment building as the houses went from smaller and older to newer and much larger. All those years of watching fancy lawyers run by the metal detectors like they didn’t count, not respecting his job and his authority. Enough already, he thought, hitting the horn at a driver who was slowly going through the green light.
“Whole town has lost the ability to get things done!” he yelled out of the window of his Volvo. The front end was now being held together by silver duct tape and wire since his encounter on the bridge. No one had authorized a payment to get it fixed yet and Oscar had surmised that now that they were hunting him down, no payment was probably ever coming. One more reason to get back in their good graces any way he could, he thought, and no time like the present.
He came down the tree lined street with lawns that were obviously tended to by hired gardeners, turned the corner just ahead of Wallis Jones’ house and kept going for another block. His car had been his pride and joy but was now bound to garner attention. There were any number of people who would be happy to turn him in or shoot him on sight. He grabbed the duffel bag out of the backseat that now contained all of his weapons and he zipped up his dark blue jacket a little further to hide the oatmeal colored uniform.
“Should have changed,” he said, feeling the cold wind hit him in the face. He weaved through the back yards until he came to Wallis and Norman’s kitchen door where he calmly set down his duffel bag and pulled out the two nine millimeters, which he’d taken the time to load back at his sister’s house.
He looked up the drive to see if he was in view of the Management vehicle that he knew was watching the house but he was hidden from the street by the cars parked at the bottom and the fir tree right by the door.
He dumped a box of ammunition on the driveway and stuffed his pockets with more of the hollow point bullets. The three-o-eight Winchester was left in the duffel bag. Oscar realized it had been foolish to bring a long gun at all.
He teetered just a little as he stepped back to catch his balance and raised his right leg, wavering in the air for just a moment before he gave the door a solid kick, splintering the lock. His head felt like it was spinning from all of the cheap liquor as he stepped into the kitchen and fired off a shot into the air. Gunfire made the average person run in the opposite direction and could buy him time to search some drawers. If he could get the drive and get out he was willing to compromise and not actually shoot anyone.
He could hear the sound of people running in the house and a constant thump, thump against the ceiling that confused him. It didn’t take him long to empty every drawer in the downstairs rooms.
“Damn,” he said, swaying just a little. There was no office, no computer and nothing that looked like a thumb drive. Not even a cell phone. He pulled the trigger and let out another shot as he marched heavily up the stairs.
He got to the top and came to a guest room that looked like someone had left in a hurry. A suitcase was opened next to a small grouping of cloth bags and Oscar quickly rifled through all of them just to be sure. He wasn’t expecting to find his prize there but he was trying to be thorough this time.
Just as he came out of the room his head made contact with the tip of a swinging crutch that sent him marching backwards for just a moment as he tried to regain his senses. Someone was fighting back.
Most people would have been taken down by the solid thwack but Oscar was used to brawling, particularly when he was drunk and it was going to take a lot more than someone’s crutch to bring him down.
He fired straight out into the hall and came charging out, ready to shoot again if someone challenged him. He’d had enough with people walking all over him. Tom was sprawled on the floor. His shoulder was bleeding badly and the crutches were tangled underneath him.
“Serves you right,” said Oscar, as he stepped over him. His head ached from the booze and the dent in his forehead. He went barreling into the next bedroom where the bed was unmade and there was a little side table set up right next to the bed with tissues and a bottle of pills. He kicked it over out of spite for his throbbing head and started pulling open drawers while he kept a gun
pointed toward the door. Still nothing.
“Throw it down here,” he bellowed, as he came back out into the hallway. “All I want is what is mine in the first place. I’ve worked awfully hard for it and I’m not leaving without it. Where’s that damn thumb drive?” he screamed as loud as he could, firing off another shot into the ceiling.
He lurched toward a narrow set of stairs that seemed to lead to a third floor and heard someone gasp and hurry up the stairs. He was beginning to think it was going to be necessary to actually shoot someone to get what he wanted.
At the top was a small bedroom but there was no one around that he could see. However, there were several computers scattered around the room and Oscar began to feel like his plan was working out. He searched the drawers, turned over the mattress and checked the ports on the computers but there was nothing.
When he opened the closet he found himself face to face with a boy holding a trophy aloft.
“Graaaaaaaaaah,” yelled Ned as he brought the trophy down on Oscar’s head and pushed past him. Oscar lunged for Ned more out of anger than anything else as he felt a warm, thin stream of blood trickle down the side of his head. He dropped one of the guns and kicked it behind himself toward the wall. He caught Ned by the arm and pulled him in close, tightening his grip so it’d be just a little hard to breathe. He needed a little revenge.
“I have the boy!” he yelled, blinking his eyes. The blood was mixing with the sweat on his head and was getting caught in his eyelashes. “All I want is the damn drive and you get the boy but at this point I’m getting something!”
Wallis stepped into the room. Her fists were clenched. She held out her right arm and opened her hand. The car with the number three was in her palm.
“Give me my son,” she said in a growl.
“Mom,” said Ned. It came out in a gargle.
“Oh, Black Widow is finally angry?” said Oscar, mocking her tone.
“Ned, are you okay?” asked Wallis. Oscar had relaxed his grip a little and Ned was starting to cry. Oscar gave him a good shake.
“He’s fine. He’s the Black Widow’s son, after all, aren’t you?” asked Oscar, his words slurring. He pointed his gun at Wallis.
“Drop the little race car and kick it over here. Then back out of the room,” he said, licking his lips. This is really going to work, he thought.
“I’m not leaving this room without my son,” said Wallis. “You have the gun on us. Let the child go and once he’s out of the room I’ll drop the drive. Not a moment sooner.”
“You’re not calling the shots anymore,” yelled Oscar. “This is my game!”
“Whoever has been watching this house saw how you got in here and they have to have figured out that one of their own is threatening Walter Jones’ daughter.”
“Now it matters to you,” he said, spitting on the Persian rug.
“There is probably only a minute or two left for you to get out of here.”
“They’ll welcome me like a hero, a savior,” said Oscar, waving the gun around in the air.
“Not if the police get here too. I understand you’re a wanted man. Think about it, Oscar. They’ll take the drive from you and feed you to the dogs. You’ll be lucky if you live to even see a trial. I’m thinking just another apparent suicide from a deputy who couldn’t face the shame of what he had done.”
Oscar let out a roar and shoved Ned at his mother as he raised the gun ready to shoot them both. Wallis shoved her son out of the room and whispered to him, “Got you last,” as she let him go and turned back toward Oscar. Tears were running down her face.
She heard the loud bang and was surprised at how loud it was and how she still felt nothing. The noise seemed to fill the room. She looked down and saw no blood and felt no pain. It wasn’t at all like she expected.
Wallis looked up and was startled to see a look of surprise on Oscar’s face and the gun hanging limply by his side. He was shoved back against the bedroom wall and there was an expanding deep red circle in the middle of his shirt.
It took Wallis a moment to realize what had happened and she turned to see who else was there.
“Mom?” asked Wallis.
“Call me Mother, Wallis. It’s much more civilized,” said Harriet, still pointing a nine millimeter at Oscar as he slipped down the wall.
“When did you get here?”
“My dear, I’ve been keeping my own tabs on this place since Management came under the delusion they could decide anything about my child. I told them before, no one comes near my daughter. I could have sworn I had made my point.”
Ned ran to his mother and wrapped his arms tight around her waist. Wallis kissed the top of his head, pressing her lips against his soft hair.
“I need you to go check on your uncle. I think he was hurt,” said Wallis, trying to get him away from the two people with guns.
“No, I don’t want to leave you,” said Ned, burying his face in his mother’s chest.
“Please, baby. Go check on your uncle. I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” said Wallis, peeling his arms off of her. “It’s okay,” she said, stepping out into the hallway.
Ned started to cry harder and moved toward the stairs, backing down them one at a time, watching his mother.
“It’s okay, Ned,” said Wallis, over and over again, as she tried to stop herself from crying. It wasn’t working.
Harriet walked closer to Oscar, peering down at him. Oscar was breathing heavily, holding his bleeding belly.
“I shot you in the gut on purpose, Oscar. I heard what you tried to do to Wallis on that bridge. I was willing to let that one go since you failed so miserably but you were too stupid to take your pass and go home. It’s going to take the ambulance a little while to get here but by then you’ll be dead. You’ll have bled out very slowly and painfully and I’m going to watch you do it.” Harriet said it all with the same clipped tone she always used when trying to correct someone’s bad behavior.
“Mom, could you kick his guns under the bed, just in case,” Wallis said gently.
“What?” asked Harriet, turning back toward Wallis.
Wallis shrugged and pointed toward the two revolvers on the floor. “Kick them under the bed, okay?” she asked.
Harriet shoved them with her toe till they were well out of Oscar’s reach. She settled down on the end of the bed with her own gun in her lap and watched Oscar grimace in pain.
“This is the end, Oscar. You’ll be remembered as a bumbling killer by everyone, including strangers who will have never heard of you before this. All those years of service as a deputy won’t add up to anything. Your sister will have to move to another town. I’ll see to that myself. She’ll have nothing.”
Wallis felt a chill watching her mother calmly explain his legacy to the dying man. But she understood completely. If it had come down to it, she would have killed Oscar to keep Ned from harm. She slid the thumb drive back into her pocket and went to check on her son.
The police were barreling up the stairs when she got to Tom and Ned.
“Upstairs,” she said, pointing toward the narrow staircase. “You’ll need an ambulance and you take him first,” she said, pointing to Tom. “My mother shot the intruder. I think you were searching for him. He’s wanted for murder.”
Ned was trying to hold his uncle’s hand but he was shaking so violently that it was making Tom’s body jerk. Tom was gritting his teeth in pain, trying to comfort his nephew.
Wallis grabbed Ned and enfolded him tightly in her arms, trying to stop the shaking.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Ned. It’s over, we’re done. I’m not playing this game their way anymore.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Richard Bach had heard the sound of the door splintering and ran to the top of the driveway just in time to see Oscar stumble into the house holding the guns. He ran back to his Explorer and called Robin to tell her what had happened.
“Stand back! Stand back!” she yelled. “The police were a
lready called. I heard it on the scanner. They’ll be there any minute.”
He did as he was told and stood back by his car listening to the loud report of the gunshots. The neighbors started pouring out of their houses taking a few running steps toward the sound of the noise and then hesitating as yet another loud crack was heard. Richard felt his body jerk every time and he pulled back even further so that no one would later remember he was standing nearby during the entire episode.
Finally, the high pitch of the sirens could be heard as police surrounded two sides of the block and yelled at everyone to get back inside their houses. Richard went and sat in his car just out of range of the police who were quickly setting up the neon orange plastic tape.
He was getting ready to leave when he saw Norman Weiskopf’s car in his rear view mirror speeding toward home. Norman gave Richard a look as he passed his car that made Richard wonder if Norman was capable of committing murder. A cold thought occurred to Richard that if anyone Norman Weiskopf loved was dead in that house there was no place on earth he was going to be able to hide. He’d have to kill Norman himself or get Parrish to do it to avoid an early grave. Things had gotten so complicated.
The car was too out in the open. He needed to move it so that he could still see who was coming and going but not sit here like a sign post. He realized that anyone coming by might think he gave Oscar a ride.
He pulled the car around the corner and saw Oscar’s dented Volvo. There wasn’t a safe place for Richard to be for too long in this neighborhood anymore. If Oscar didn’t have that thumb drive by now it was going to be a dead issue as far as Richard was concerned. He had done his best.
Just as he turned off his motor he saw Norman come out and hurry up the driveway. He looked toward the direction of where Richard had been parked and turned in a circle, peering in every direction. Richard realized Norman was looking for him. He ducked down in his seat.
Norman ran back inside and took the stairs two at a time.
