Land of the Brave

by Tom Fowler

  "I usually get the same spots," Billy said. "Different days. I guess about ten in all."

  "All in West Virginia?" he nodded. "Your collections, too?" Another nod. "You never go to Maryland?" Head shake.

  "Wait a minute," I said. "Do any guys in Maryland cross over into West Virginia?"

  "Nope. We all stay in our states."

  "No interstate commerce." Rich frowned when I spoke those words. "Smart."

  "Let's give an award to the criminals," Rich grumbled.

  "Am I done?" Billy asked.

  "No," Rich and I said at the same time.

  I didn't think of anything else we needed him for. Billy was a pickup and delivery guy. He knew exactly what he needed to know to do those jobs. The Rodgers brothers controlled the information and managed the schedules and routes. They did illegal things, but their drivers never crossed state lines and only made collections when they needed to strong-arm someone. I'm sure a federal lawyer could pin something big on them, but Land of the Brave skirted initial scrutiny. Just like their deliveries.

  "What else you need?" Billy said. "I told you what I know."

  Rich looked at me. I shrugged. "I think we're done," Rich said. Billy started to walk away, but Rich shoved him back into the wall. "Listen, Billy. You're not going to tell anyone about our little chat."

  "No?" A spark of defiance lit in Billy's eyes. "Why not?"

  "One of my friends died because of the assholes you work for. I have no problem evening the score." Billy stared at Rich, and his expression morphed into one of fear.

  "Sure," he said. "You got it. Not a word."

  "You'd better be telling the truth." Rich let Billy go. He dashed back to his van like someone fired him out of a sling. With screeching tires, he pulled away.

  "Think he's going to dime us out?" I said.

  "I doubt it," Rich said. "He looked terrified I was going to kill him."

  "If I didn't know you better, I would have thought you'd shoot him on the spot."

  "It was tempting." Rich took a deep breath. "Pieces of shit like him got Jim Shelton killed."

  "And we'll pin it on them," I said. "All of them. But we'll do it the right way."

  "The right way?" Rich said with a smirk. "You?"

  "Well," I said, "some allowances need to be made."

  CHAPTER NINE

  We drove away from the clinic after I convinced Rich not to kick the front door in and raid the place. He wanted to call the West Virginia police. This was another ledge I talked him off. Short-term satisfaction didn't help us bust Land of the Brave and everyone involved. If the clinic folks got hauled away, the Rodgers brothers might pack their bags and set up shop in parts unknown. It took a couple minutes, but Rich listened to reason. I wondered what the hell happened to make me the sensible one.

  Back at the motel, Rich went to his room, and I went to mine. He said he wanted to strategize. It worked for me, because I wanted to exercise. Too much sitting around in the motel, driving around, and eating fast food left me feeling a little sluggish. I changed into a running outfit and pounded the pavement on Route 219. Federal Hill certainly offered more scenic routes, but miles were miles. While I ran, I thought about Billy. Rich definitely scared him, but his four large friends knew where we stayed. He could rat us out, and they could come back, this time with a bunch of guns. I wondered if we should stay at a different place even though we weren't swamped with options.

  After four miles, I walked back into my room and took a shower. Once dressed, I knocked on Rich's door to ask if he wanted food. We decided on subs from Sheetz. At this point, Rich and I should have owned stock in the company after our many visits. If being a shareholder got me free coffee, I would take it. In Sheetz, I got two subs, a couple bags of chips, some peanuts, and a pair of drinks. I carried it all back to the motel.

  As I approached, I noticed the large SUV near our rooms again. "Shit," I muttered as I ducked behind a pickup truck. Rich's door was ajar. My gun was in my room. I was armed with a pocket knife and a bag of food. And they could have four armed goons in the room. Not good. I couldn't wade into those odds.

  A minute later, three of the four men we saw before led Rich out of the room, each of them with a pistol trained on him. Two of them shoved him into the back of the SUV, while the third kicked my door in. A few seconds later, he emerged, shaking his head. He got into the SUV and it drove off. I scurried into a better hiding spot behind the truck. The SUV made a left onto 219.

  I ran back into my room and grabbed my gun. The goon just looked around; had he opened the nightstand drawer, he would have taken my .45. I stuffed it into the back of my jeans and dashed into Rich's room. His car keys were hidden behind the TV, where he always leaves them. I picked them up, ran out of the room, and fired up the Camaro. Rich likes to practice what he calls "tactical parking," so he backed into his parking spot. This allowed me to mash my foot to the floor and pull out in a trail of screeches and smoke.

  Without stopping, I made the left onto 219. One car coming from my left stopped, and I fit the Camaro in front of someone coming from the right. The SUV had already turned off the road. I figured they were going the way Rich and I went a couple nights ago, so I made the right turn and got back on the gas. The Camaro was a big, heavy beast, and visibility in any direction was subpar. But it knew what to do when I pressed the accelerator. The car surged ahead, and I scanned every cross street for the SUV.

  Then I saw it through the trees, around a bend ahead. I backed off the throttle and kept the other vehicle in sight without riding up on them. They probably knew Rich's car, and while I had no idea how observant these assholes were, but I didn't want them seeing a blue Camaro in the rearview mirror. I kept my distance as we drove on, farther than Rich and I went. Ahead, they made a left turn, onto a street full of ramshackle houses. I slowed down, approached the intersection, and watched. This was a short street, with three houses on each side. None of them looked fit for human residence. The SUV stopped in front of the last one on the left.

  I backed up and pulled over. Through the trees lining the street, I saw the three men lead Rich into the house. The door closed, and I saw the X. I eased my way onto the street, stopping behind a huge truck in front of the first house on the left. There were only two other non-goon vehicles. They looked as bad as the homes. I wondered if anyone still lived on this street. A couple lights went on inside the last house. I got out of the Camaro and closed the door as quietly as I could. The street was quiet enough I could hear my own steps as I approached. I crouched behind a rusted old SUV parked at the edge of the house. The late afternoon sun wouldn't hide me. Everything was silent.

  What would Rich do in this situation? Probably call for backup. I didn't have backup. The county police were still dodgy to me, and I didn't want to bring them in. The state police were farther away. Anyone else I could call would need a few hours to arrive. I was on my own. A couple months ago, I donned a helmet and bulletproof vest and raided a building with Rich and some other cops. This was a different situation altogether. I had a pistol, no extra ammo, no protection, and no backup. If I went in, I had to do it strategically. If they saw me, Rich could die.

  A couple minutes later, two of the men walked out of the house and got in the front of their vehicle. I wondered where the other one was. The two in the SUV didn't look in a hurry to leave. I pondered the survivability of making a dash for the door when the other one sprinted out of the building. I sneaked around to the far side of the truck. Once the third asshole got inside, they took off. I could see them laughing. Cold welled in the pit of my stomach as I wondered what they could find so funny.

  When I looked back at the house, I saw.

  It was on fire.

  ***

  Flames peeked out of windows at the back of the house. I could see bright orange through what remained of the glass. Black clouds wafted out, also at the back. They must have started the blaze there. I ran, sucked in a breath, and pushed the front door open. Acrid smoke g
reeted me, pouring out of the house and stinging my eyes. I pulled my shirt over my nose and mouth. The kitchen was an inferno, and the flames spread out from there. Much of the first floor was already ablaze. I saw a sea of gray broken up by pockets of brilliant orange. "Rich!" I shouted. No response. I coughed amid the smoke. "Rich!"

  "Up here," I heard him say.

  I stayed low and moved in the direction of his voice. As I got closer, I could see the outline of a staircase. A couple steps were missing, and what remained looked like it would collapse under a featherweight boxer. If I went bounding up them, I would wind up on the floor. And while I felt sure I could scramble out of the house before it became a pile of cinders, Rich may not make it out. I couldn't take the chance. "Are you all right?" I said.

  "They tied me up," he called.

  "I'm coming up." I put a foot on the bottom step. It didn't buckle. One down. A dozen or so to go.

  The second stair held my weight, too. The third was missing. I stepped onto the fourth. It squeaked but didn't give. When I pushed off the second and had all my weight on the fourth step, it wobbled. I hopped to the fifth. The sixth and seventh were fine, but the eighth was gone. I did the same thing I had done to bypass the third. The ninth held. The tenth buckled. When my foot hit the eleventh, the step broke. Wood clawed at my ankle as I clutched the railing, which was barely in better shape than the staircase.

  I lifted my foot out of the hole. The splintered edges cut my skin. I felt warm blood run into my sock. The railing threatened to pull away from the wall. It took a few seconds, but I extracted my lower leg and made it the rest of the way up. I spared a glance behind me. The all-consuming gray had spread. Going back down would not be an option. My chest and throat burned.

  I crouched in a hallway in the middle of the second floor. Smoke filtered up here through the vents and the holes in the floor. Heat radiated from the bottom floor. I was already covered in sweat. I coughed a few times. The air was better up here but getting worse as the fire raged below. It wouldn't take much to burn the shambles of this level. Holes were missing from the walls and ceiling. Water damage pockmarked many of the remaining surfaces. I could make out at least two doors looking at me in both directions.

  "Where are you?" I said.

  "Down here." To my right.

  I wanted to run down the hall but was concerned the floor would crumble beneath me. Jogging while staying as low as I could would have to suffice. I found Rich in the remains of a bedroom. An old mattress lay in tatters against the wall. The rest of the room looked as bad as the rest of the house and smelled worse. The goons left Rich tied to metal chair. He was bound at the wrists and around the ankles. I took out my pocket knife and spent a minute cutting him free.

  "Thanks," he said. "How'd you know I was here?"

  "I was coming back when they were loading you into the SUV. But let's talk later. This shithole is coming down."

  Rich grabbed his gun off the floor in what had been the closet. He put it in the back of his jeans. "Stairs?" he said.

  "Total loss," I said. "The first floor is an inferno by now." Sweat threatened to run into my eyes, which already stung. This end of the house was better for now. If we stood here much longer, though, smoke would overcome us. It already flowed out of the vent.

  Rich looked at the window. The glass had long since broken and fallen away, some of it into the room. He shoved the frame open. "We can get out here." He pointed down. "Look. That must be a carport or a shed." A roof jutted out from the rest of the house's first level. We could make the short drop to there and then either climb or jump down.

  "You go first," I said. "Your car is waiting outside."

  Rich climbed out the window and stood on the ledge, facing away from me. He made the short leap to the roof. I heard a crack and saw a few shingles scatter when he landed, but the carport—or whatever it was—remained intact. Rich moved to the edge, grabbed on, swung his legs over, and dropped to the ground. I saw him look around. "Shit. I think they're back. A gray SUV pulled up. Must want to check out their handiwork."

  "They will have seen your car on the way in," I said. "They know I'm here, too."

  Rich drew his gun. "Then get down here and let's deal with them." He crouched and skulked away from the carport toward the other end of the house.

  I eased out the window and onto the narrow ledge. It was about three, maybe four feet down to the roof. I jumped and landed atop the carport. It made another crack, louder than the first. Before I could take a step, the roof buckled and caved in, and I went down with it. I had felt it start to go, and the realization gave me enough time to protect my head in the fall. The rest of me hit the concrete floor of the carport hard. I lay there, surrounded by a few planks and beams. I coughed, and my whole body hurt. If this were a normal fall, I would have sprung back to my feet, even in pain. The fire sapped my strength, though. I wanted to lie on the floor, but I knew I didn't have the luxury. Rich would need help.

  While I summoned the energy to stand, the rest of the roof above me groaned. It shimmed, shook, and then fell on me.

  .

  CHAPTER TEN

  I never lost consciousness. As with the fall, I had just enough time to protect my head. The roof battering me doubled the pain I was already in. I might have welcomed a blow to the noggin. But if the goon squad overcame or got past Rich, I'd be easy pickings lying knocked out amid a pile of old wood. If I wanted to be any help to Rich—and myself—I had to get out of here. The wood pieces that landed on my arms when I covered my head fell away easily enough.

  Next, the three planks that crashed onto my chest. They flew off with a shove that sent a flare of pain running down my shoulder. My legs were covered, by a beam across my thighs and a bunch of two-by-fours below my knees. The larger piece of wood did not respond to my first push. I shifted my hips as much as I could, put both arms under the beam, and heaved. It lifted about a foot. My left arm screamed at me. I didn't have the strength or pain tolerance to throw it off. Instead, I turned more and thrust my arms upward. The beam crashed back to the concrete about two inches above my head. I let out a deep breath.

  Behind me, the fire raged. A window somewhere in the house popped and sprayed glass into the backyard. I heard voices. Before I crashed through the carport's roof, Rich had gone hunting for the men who brought him here. I needed to help him. They had three when they kidnapped him and could have picked up the fourth member. I sat up. My left shoulder still hurt something fierce, and the rest of my body was one large dull ache. I reached behind me for my gun.

  It wasn't there.

  I heard voices again. Harsh, unfamiliar. Definitely not Rich. I looked around for the gun but didn't see it. It must have fallen out when I took my tumble and got buried by the roof. I rummaged through the detritus. Most of it was brown and darkened by water damage. The color made finding a black gun difficult. If I survived this, maybe I could bling out my pistols with some nickel grips.

  A gunshot rang out, then wood splintered. I searched faster. Three more shots came from the direction of the splintering. I heard what sounded like two people grunting and falling over. When digging through a pile, my hand bumped something metal. The gun. I grabbed it, then crouched and looked out from behind a pile of wood in the ruins of the carport. One of the goons ran from my left. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rich coming from the right. He stayed close to the house and used the shadows of trees as he moved around. The other man didn't see him. By the time he did, Rich was ten feet away, and the shot was easy.

  Rich looked at the wreckage and frowned. "You all right?"

  "I'll live," I said.

  "Stay here. I'm pretty sure they brought a fourth. I'm going to find him." Rich skulked away toward my left. I kept surveying the grounds. No sign of the last guy from the SUV. I also heard no sirens. Even though first responders wouldn't come into the house, between the fire and the gunshots, I figured someone would have called the cops. Maybe this street really was empty.

 
On the far side of the yard, past the house, Rich moved away from the burning structure and deeper into the yard. It was a mess of shrubs and overgrowth, perfect for hiding a goon who didn't mind getting dirty. Then I saw the fourth man stalking Rich. "Shit," I muttered as I stood and ran over. The man did not have a gun but carried a two-by-four. "Behind you!" I yelled, but before Rich could turn, the other guy clubbed him and sent him crashing to the ground. I pushed ahead faster as the assailant bent down to pick up Rich's gun. He grabbed it and stood. "Put it down," I said as I got to within twenty feet.

  The goon looked at me, then the prone Rich, who lay in the grass and groaned. I took a couple steps closer. My pulse thumped in my ears.

  "You gonna shoot me?" he said. I recognized him from the fight at the motel, but he had been one of the guys who fought Rich.

  "I will if you raise the gun." He held it in front of him, still pointed toward the earth.

  "Ever shoot anyone before?" He grinned at me like a predator eying up its next meal.

  "First time for everything." My hear rate slowed a bit now that I wasn't running, but the situation kept it high. I didn't have Rich's practiced calm. I hoped I wouldn't need it. This asshole would put Rich's gun down, I would pistol-whip him, and it would be over.

  "Sure you got it in you?" he said.

  "You're close to finding out," I said. I was fifteen feet away and a good enough shot not to miss at this distance.

  He nodded, looked at Rich, then at me again. "Yeah, I guess you're right." This screamed setup, like the guy who fakes turning away and then throws a punch. I stayed on guard. The goon raised his left hand and started to crouch.

  Then the gun flashed up.

  I fired once. Twice. A third time.

  Three red spots appeared on the man's chest, two on the left side and one on the right. He looked confused. The gun fell from his hand. He tried to say something, but his mouth didn't work, and a thin stream of blood ran out instead.