“Sorry. Maybe I’m crazy. It’s all in my head.”
I couldn’t read the glances they exchanged, but it felt like I was missing out on a whole novel.
Leo shrugged. Maureen shrugged.
“Entertain us. Doesn’t matter if you think we’ll believe it or not. We’ll tell you either way. Maybe we can even help.”
Yeah, maybe. And maybe those odds were better than continuing my losing battle to maybe, maybe, maybe nail the bastards myself.
Why not tell these nice troopers who had somehow taken a liking to me?
Another sip of coffee.
Another deep breath.
But this time I talked.
I talked my ass off.
And I named the big names.
Probably shouldn’t have done that. When I was finished, nearly a half-hour later, it felt good. It did. I had drained the toxic waste dump in my skull. Goddamn, it felt good. Every word out of my mouth had lightened my soul by psychic tons, until the scales were balanced and, well, at least I had tried.
Another book’s worth of information passed between Leo and Maureen as they smirked and rolled their eyes.
The sequel.
Must have thought it was a fantasy series, though, because suddenly Leo shook his head and turned back to Maureen. “Mr. Raske’s right.”
Maureen rubbed her fingertip on her chin. “Right, right, nothing but wild accusations and imaginary evidence.”
I furrowed my brow. “Imaginary?”
“You said it yourself. There’s no proof.”
“There is proof, I just can’t get to it. I know where to look, and I know who to tell.”
Leo’s turn to shoot me down. “If you say so, but you don’t have access to any of this so-called evidence to corroborate your story, do you now?”
Maureen giggled. “Corroborate. That’s a funny word.”
Leo grinned. “Isn’t it? Always reminds me of carburetor.”
Another giggle from Maureen. “Corr-oo-boo-rate. Ha. C’robobby.”
They shared a happy smile. Next thing they’re both laughing out loud. Belly laughs. Almost suffocated, they were having such a jolly time.
I wondered if I’d judged them wrong. Not so smart after all.
Still had one ace up my sleeve, though. Not that these clowns needed to know about Nice or her key to the Fancy Rooms. Besides, I had no idea if she was okay, or if Joel was okay. Or even if I was okay. What had happened in that RV … listen, I wasn’t okay. I wouldn’t be okay for a long time.
But I had a keen survival instinct that helped me keep my wits about me.
Even if it clicked on five minutes too late.
Gradually the laughter subsided. Leo sighed. “Yeah. Funny.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his front shirt pocket. Flipped it open, showed me the front. It was a check, made out to Leo Wereman, for five-thousand dollars.
Signed by Daniel Raske.
“This is what’s going to happen. You’re going from this cozy interview room into a not so cozy cell. Nobody besides your boss, your lawyer, the troopers who brought you in, and me and Maureen even know you’re here. And you’re going to stay here until I’m told otherwise.”
I turned to Maureen. “Where’s your check?”
She nodded at Leo. “I’m in for half of that one.”
“Okay.”
“Now, Mr. Raske didn’t say this expressly, but it seems that you’re lucky we’re police. If we hadn’t been, he probably would’ve given us more to take care of you once and for all. And by that I mean, kill you. So, you know, you can count yourself lucky, really, under the circumstances.”
“That’s good to know.”
Leo rose slowly from his chair, gave me Come hither with his fingers, and I followed, Maureen right behind us.
There were other troopers and secretaries and deliverymen and civilians milling around, but all-in-all the station was quiet. Whatever deal had been made must have been sealed in secret, because no one acted like it was in any way conspicuous that a couple of troopers escorted someone in jail clothes from the interview room to the cells.
After what I’d been through so far, I wasn’t too keen to resist. At least Leo and Maureen — corrupt to the bone, the pair of them — were being nice to me.
And what was even nicer was the fact that they only had a handful of holding cells. Most of the people arrested by troopers went to real jails, so these weren’t meant to be used all that often. Thus, they were more like storage closets with good, thick doors. They pointed me inside the first one, barely wide enough for me to squeeze to the side of the cot. Piled atop it were a standard cheap blanket and a thin pillow. I sat down and paused. Not cold, not wet, not infested with a sick rapist. Not so bad at all.
“Any way I can get another pillow and blanket?”
“Sure. Give us a few minutes.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, it’s been real, Manny. As far as anyone else knows, you’re waiting on a transfer order to the Cities, but it’s been held up. Might be a few days. Maybe a week. At least until our mutual lawyer friend figures out exactly which dark hole he wants to drop you in.”
“Bureaucratically, we mean,” Maureen broke in. “Not a real hole. It’s too late for anyone to kill you, rest assured.”
I nodded. “Great. Of all the dirty cops I could’ve run into, you guys are the best.”
Leo grinned, nodded. “You like pizza rolls? I’ll bring you a plate.”
And with that, he closed the door and slammed the locks into place.
Silence. The sort your mind slowly realized was the buzzing of florescent lights. The walls were common, matte-painted office walls, close enough to touch both sides with barely outstretched arms, also a toilet and a sink squeezed into the small space. It felt more like a cramped dorm room than a jail cell, apart from the faint smell of bleach in the air.
Once my eyes and ears had adjusted, I began to hear murmuring voices and ringing phones. Muted, but at least I wasn’t entirely alone with my thoughts.
The tension left my shoulders.
Raske just wasted five grand, because …
… I started to cry. Just a little.
Then I balled up on the cot, pulled the blanket tight around me, and eased my head onto the pillow. As long as those locks were in place, I was much safer than I had been in a long time … in the RV, in the truck stop, and most certainly in the presence of Daniel Raske.
I had barely finished that thought when sleep erased my mind to a vast, dreamless nothing.
When the door opened again, I blinked up at Leo, still without a thought in my head until I saw his wide-eyed stare. And the pistol aimed at the back of his head.
He didn’t even have my pizza rolls.
7
“Wait.” Thorn lowered his gun. “We’re not suicidal, are we?”
He took out his BCA ID and held that high instead. Joel stepped back, lowered his gun, too. Tennyson was sitting on the floor beside the bed, head in his hands, trying to stop the bleeding.
When the Stormtroopers came through the door, they were ready for a firefight, but the sight of Thorn with his ID held high stopped them in their tracks.
At least for a moment, before Tennyson coughed, cleared his throat, and said, “Shoot them! That’s what I pay you for!”
Confusion. Like trying to think in two languages at once. Trying to process the visual information of the law enforcement badge plus the verbal command of their paymaster. Nervous side-glances, then slowly those guns were raised at them again …
Joel grabbed Thorn, pulled him to the ground, and fired a few shots towards the mercenaries. None were on target, but the diversion was enough to scout for better cover while the gunmen retreated. Joel hopped over the bed, Thorn following his lead. Felt like good cover, but it was really just springs and a thin bit of fabric, wasn’t it?
The windows behind them were huge, nearly floor to ceiling, but also old and thick. And too high off the ground. Jumping th
rough them looked more lethal than a standoff with a bunch of rent-a-cops.
“Okay. Back to the first plan?”
Joel nodded. “You hear that, Tennyson? We’re going to pick off your goons one by one if they try to come through that door.”
Smug laughter from the other side of the bed. Tennyson pushed and groped his way off the ground until he was standing tall, buttoning his blood-stained suitcoat, and adjusting his shoulders.
Satisfied sigh, then he turned and smiled.
“Probably not. You see, I’m going to walk out of here right now, and that will leave the both of you facing the eight of them. It might be a stalemate until the real police get here, but I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit. As long as I’m gone when it all goes down, I couldn’t care less how you two motherfuckers die.”
If it was possible for his sneer to become even more predatory, it became outright wolfish. Blood on his teeth. Blood fucking everywhere.
“Or, you can shoot me. But do it now, boys. I’m getting bored of your yippee-ki-yay cowboy games.”
He started for the door, called out, “Captain, once I’m clear, do your worst.”
Except, he didn’t get clear.
Joel shot him in the hip.
Tennyson went down, screaming.
Joel let the sudden turmoil echo through the high-ceilinged room, until the glass beads of that glorious chandelier stopped chiming, then shouted, “Captain, you hear that? Change of plans.”
Bullet to the hip? Nasty. Bones shattered. Could’ve destroyed the intestines. Instantly debilitating. Tennyson would never walk again without a limp. Or any other way.
Thorn was just as immobilized by shock, or paralyzed by indecision. Whatever, he didn’t move, so Joel took over. “Time for a counter-offensive. Hurry.”
Joel rounded the bed, low and ready to scramble back if one of the troopers should peek around the doorjamb and decide to let loose. But no one did. Joel made it to Tennyson, a pile of pain on the floor. Clamped his hand over the man’s mouth and shouted, “Captain! We’re going to take Mr. Tennyson to the ER now. You and your men need to evacuate this hallway in one minute. I will kill on sight any person I see out there post-ultimatum, understood?”
A distant voice: “Fuck you, Joel! We’re calling an ambulance. You come out of there, you’re dead!”
“No deal. Tennyson dies if you’re not off this floor in one minute. If anyone tries to stop us, he dies. And if he dies, you’re all fucked.”
Thorn hissed from beside the bed, “You’re insane!”
Joel waved him towards the door. “The guy at the door dies first. Shoot him!”
The mercenary instantly backed away. “No, no, no, I’m out. I’m out. Please don’t shoot.”
Thorn covered the door, still hissing. “I ought to arrest you myself! I ought to shoot you!”
“What the fuck else were we going to do?”
“I don’t know!”
“Exactly!”
Joel looked down at Tennyson, who had grabbed onto his arms and was holding on for dear life, holding his breath against the pain.
Through gritted teeth. “Jesus Christ!”
Joel slapped him, got his attention despite the pain. “You can do better than pray. You can tell your boys to clear off. You need surgery. And you’re only going to get it if you tell me where Manny is.”
“My God, man! It’s just politics! He’s fine!”
“In the tank for Marquette until the end? Should I write that down for your eulogy?”
“Please!”
“Because the only thing missing is a webcam so we can post this to Fancy Rooms. How many of your subscribers out there would love to see you beg for mercy? How big is your cut of the earnings anyway?”
Tennyson gripped tighter, the shards in his hip bringing tears to his eyes.
Joel slapped him again. “Focus! What do you say?”
Thorn, gun up and close to his chest, ready to fire. “Joel, they’re not leaving.”
“Not at all?”
“Creeping closer.” He extended his gun. “And every one of the fuckers is wearing a vest.”
Joel looked back down at Tennyson. “If this is how you want it to end, I’ll grant your dying wish. All for Andrew Marquette, that garbage fire of a man. Say the word and I’ll put you out of your misery. Or call down your troops. Now.”
Tennyson took in heaving breaths. Held each one a long moment, then heaved in a big one and shouted, “Captain, get the fuck out of here! Do what he says!”
“Sir?”
“Get out now!”
“No shit?”
“Do not interfere. They’re taking me for help.”
A long pause. A longer pause. Thorn still watching, still aiming his pistol at the mercenaries.
Then, “They’re leaving.”
“Keep watching.”
Tennyson and Joel, eye to eye.
“Yeah, they’re leaving.”
Joel breathed out. Let the tension ease from his grip on the gun. Curt nod at Tennyson, then he called Thorn over to help him shift the man. Together they carried him out of the room and down the stairs, Tennyson breathing like a race horse all the way, nostrils flared, teeth clenched, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Joel had to admit, he was pretty impressed with how the guy was taking the pain. On the downside, he was heavy and it was hard to carry him down those stairs, and every couple of floors, there was a face in the door, watching. Joel was fully expecting a bullet in the back.
Nothing.
A stay of execution?
Then they hit the ground floor, through the doors, into the lobby, and …
A gauntlet. Security. Mercenaries. Cops.
Joel didn’t hesitate, lifted his gun and blew the giant old chandelier hanging above the front desk into oblivion, sending glass shards into a wide glittering orbit and leaving the blasted remains swinging perilously on the power cord. Then he rammed the smoking gun into Tennyson’s shoulder, made the man wince with red hot pain.
“We’re taking this man to the hospital now or I blow more holes in him! Get the fuck back!”
The gauntlet stared him down.
He flicked his head right to left. “Everyone over on this side.”
Slowly, the right line of men began lowering their guns and moving across the empty space to the left line.
Joel hisses, “Thorn, hold up your ID.”
“What?”
“Your shield.”
“I dropped it. It’s in the room.”
“Fuck.” Joel looked around. “Snipers out there?”
No one answered him.
But then Tennyson lifted his head.
“No one shoots these men, you understand? Someone get them a goddamned car! Now!”
Someone did.
Joel never knew whose car it was — a Honda CRV — or if they ever got it back or if anyone ever paid for the damage done by soaking the backseat in Tennyson’s blood.
He just knew that the Honda was followed by nearly every police car in St. Paul as Thorn drove them to the hospital, hazards flashing, horn blaring. As they slowed down outside the main doors, Tennyson strained to a sitting position, leaned close to Joel’s ear and finally gave up. That is, he gave him my location.
Why did he do it? Probably because Joel threatened to drive the car straight into the Mississippi River if he didn’t. By then, the pain of the jagged shards of bones poking around Tennyson’s abdomen had loosened his resolve some.
Believe you me. Joel gave me a very detailed account of the episode when he busted me out of that state trooper cell in the Minnesota Northwoods. Even told me all about how he escaped from the cops at the hospital, and how he ended up in a pair of scrubs, holding a gun to Leo’s head as he made that corrupt State Trooper release me from my brief arrest. And just like that I was back in the game.
Of course, this is all utter nonsense, or is it? Or is Joel really that good? Let’s review the evidence: He’d escaped our many mortal en
emies, come all the way up here, told Leo that he was a doctor sent from the campaign to check on me — thus the scrubs, right? — and once they got to my door, he pulled the gun.
I looked at him, considered the question, still couldn’t figure him out, though. “Okay, every cop in St. Paul knew exactly where you were, and yet you still got out?”
“It was simple. I ran into the hospital alongside the gurney, and one enough interns and nurses had crowded around, I just turned down another hallway and found a place to hide until the coast was clear enough for me to sneak out. The scrubs helped.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, they really did.”
“I mean the rest of your story. How do you almost kill Tennyson and still make it out alive?”
At this stage, we were driving in yet another stolen car, this one a Chevy Tahoe because Joel knew how to wire those up in seconds flat. Must have been all the practice he’d had on the campaign car, of course.
He certainly seemed to take more time thinking about my incredulity than he’d taken to get the car started. “I’ve been wondering about that, but I still don’t know. Maybe we got lucky.”
“Or maybe they’re afraid of what we know?”
“Better reason to kill us, I’d think.”
I sighed. I was still in my jail clothes. Not conspicuous at all. We were most likely the most wanted people in Minnesota. And we only had a short amount of time to do what we had to do to stay free and alive.
“You okay?” Joel asked.
I shook my head. “No. And I won’t be ever again.”
“I shouldn’t have left you at the cabin.”
“I didn’t know they were so … ruthless. I didn’t realize, not until I woke up in the RV …”
Shudder.
“Jesus, I can’t even … I’m sorry, Manny … So sorry.”
I nodded. We drove a few miles, taking old country highways and two-lane backroads through farmland and around lakes back to the Cities, trying to stay off the radar for as long as we could. We’d gotten rid of our phones to avoid tracking, so we had no way of knowing what was happening in the rest of the world, until we switched on the radio news. And instantly wished we hadn’t done that. They were calling us terrorists. Honest to God terrorists. Even if we’d had the means of getting in touch with anyone, we could no longer risk it. We were flying blind.
Castle Danger--The Mental States Page 24
