Chemical Burn

by Quincy J. Allen

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Damn, that’s convenient,” I said, laying the geography out in my head. I had seen her address when I looked up her data, but I hadn’t really put it all together. “It’s just down the road a ways. Like a mile or so.”

  “I didn’t pick the house. SolCon did,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I’m sure an ‘a-ha’ look crossed my face, because she gave me a curious expression.

  “Did they, now?” I looked at her, and gears turned in my head … about whatever was on the device Nikolov’s assistant had mentioned … and that Andropov protocol.

  “I had originally been set up in a condo off Malibu beach, but they told me to move here about three months ago.”

  I did a quick calculation. I’d given the chemical data to Xen four months ago, so the timing would be about right.

  The gears clicked into place as I thought about her pistol, Nikolov’s protocol, and where her condo was located. “Can I see the Glock?” I asked.

  “What for?”

  “Something Nikolov said.” I held out my hand as she reached behind her back and handed it over. I pulled the slide back and locked it, catching the round in my cupped hand. Then I ejected the clip and inspected both closely. I emptied the clip into my hand. Reaching into a pocket where my coat was draped, I dug through a number of tools until I felt the one I wanted. I extracted a long pair of slim, heavy tweezers that appeared to be made of glass. Pressing a button on the side, the tips glowed with bright light. I used them to push down the spring return inside the clip to see inside. As the return went down, I exposed a thin strip of black and silver metal that had the faint pattern of micro-circuitry on it. A tracer. “Damn, I’m good,” I said, chuckling.

  “What?” she asked, perplexed.

  Grasping the strip with the tweezers, I pulled it out and lay it on the dashboard. “It seems that Nikolov is a cooler customer than I thought. He knew you were here. He’s been keeping a very close eye on your whereabouts, but the range of these is a matter of miles. Hence the condo only a few miles from his yacht.”

  “Oh my god,” she gasped.

  I handed her the bullets and clip, and she started reloading it. Then I inspected the Glock. Looking inside the clip receiver revealed nothing, so I removed the slide. Stuck to the inside of the slide, hidden in a groove, was another tracer. I pulled it off and stuck it to the one on the dashboard. I inspected the rest of the Glock thoroughly, making sure there were no other tracers. I put the pistol together and handed it back to her, a thoughtful look on my face.

  “How did you know?” she asked, sliding the clip back into the pistol and chambering a round.

  “Nikolov mentioned the Andropov protocol. It’s something Yvgenny told me about a few years back.”

  “Yvgenny?”

  “Hmmm?” I asked. “Oh, he’s a violin player I know. Anyway, he said the Russian mob uses the Andropov protocol when they think there might be a snitch in the mix. When Nikolov said it, I thought he meant someone in DiMarco’s crew. But when you mentioned how close your place was and who picked it out, it occurred to me it might be something else. He knew we … well, you were nearby. The only thing you had left from last night was the Glock.”

  She popped the clip and put the last round back in so she had a full load. “That son-of-a-bitch.”

  “What I can’t figure is why he let us listen in. Shit,” I muttered as I stood up. “Go change,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to meet up with DiMarco’s crew looking like that.”

  “You’re right,” she gazed down at her tanned skin and covered it up with the towel, prompting a disappointed look from me.

  “Although, that outfit might distract them considerably,” I pointed out.

  “Cretin,” she accused, feigning offense.

  “Not at all,” I said innocently. “Thinking tactically.” With a lascivious smile, I pulled the earpiece out of my ear, dropped it in the bag and handed it to her. She removed hers, dropped the microphone after it, and pulled the drawstring tight. Without another word she headed down into the cabin.

  I pulled the throttle back and got the boat moving at a slow crawl. Then I opened up one of the benches and pulled out a fishing pole and a role of electrical tape from the tackle-box. The line already had a brightly colored lure. Unhooking it, I let out some of the line and sat back down at the controls. I grabbed the two tracking devices, wrapped them around the line just above the lure, and taped them down. With a mischievous grin, I cast the lure into the water behind the boat and let it trail behind us. If I was really lucky, I’d catch something that stayed close to shore.

  Natalia came up after a couple of minutes, and I felt her eyes boring into my back.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Goin’ fishin,’” I replied, turning my head and winking at her.

  “Are you mental?”

  I thought about it for a second, replying, “Yeah, but that has nothing to do with this. Look at the dashboard.”

  She did and noticed that the tracking devices were gone. She laughing lightly just as the fishing line went taught. I got a big smile, reached into the tackle box and pulled out a scaling knife. With a quick flick, I cut the line and watched it disappear into the water.

  “We’ll see if we can’t send Nikolov on a wild fish chase,” I said as I put the pole away. “Now let’s get over to your place.” I sat down at the controls and throttled up.

  We crossed the bay in silence, ocean air and slapping waves providing a few brief minutes of serenity. All too soon for Natalia’s taste, I’m sure, I pulled the boat in and cut the engines. I grabbed my coat, put it on quickly, and got the mooring lines tied down just as she appeared, wearing the clothes she had come in.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “As I’m going to be,” she said a bit doubtfully.

  We walked down the pier, returned to the truck and got in. I fired it up and drove out of the marina. When we got to Washington Avenue, I pointed to the left, “This leads to the Venice Fishing Pier, right?”

  “Yeah, straight down,” she confirmed. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing … just a thought,” I said and turned on the radio. I hit one of the selector buttons and turned up the volume on Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.” I turned right onto Washington.

  Wincing at the volume of the music, Natalia pointed up ahead, “There, turn left on Wilson. It’ll be a quick left onto Harbor.” She had to speak up to be heard over the blaring country staple as I made the turn. “It’s Frey Street, the one right after Cloy. My house is half way up on the left.” I slowed down to turn at the alley after Cloy.

  “No, it’s the next one,” she corrected.

  “Trust me,” I said, smiling.

  As I turned down the alley, we both spotted a black SUV parked in the alley. It was identical to the ones that had attacked us the night before.

  “Get down,” I ordered. Without hesitation, she leaned over and put her head in my lap. I looked down and enjoyed a fleeting but exceedingly naughty thought—or two—and then pictured Rachel again, feeling a strange sense of guilt. A man in a black suit, tie, and sunglasses stood in front of the SUV. He had the telltale bulge of a pistol under his arm. He leaned against the hood while another man, similarly dressed, sat behind the wheel, having a conversation on a walkie-talkie. “Why do all goombahs look alike?” I asked.

  Natalia remained silent, assuming correctly that it was a rhetorical question … albeit a good one.

  “Howdy,” I said with a southern drawl as I drove slowly by the SUV, nodding my head at the leaning goombah. I pointed at Natalia’s head and winked. The man leaning against the hood saw Natalia’s back and assumed the worst … or the best as the case may be.

  “Atta boy!” He flashed me a thumbs-up and smiled.

  I grinned back wickedly and kept on driving. The driver was too engrossed in the walkie-talkie exchange to notice. I turned left and headed towards Frey.

  �
�Did they see me?”

  “One did, but he couldn’t recognize you with your head in my lap.” I started chuckling. “I think he might have gotten the wrong idea,” I added.

  I felt Natalia stiffen at the suggestion. She pinched my thigh … hard.

  “Owww! It’s not my fault! Well … not completely,” I admitted, laughing even harder. “And I think you can get up now.”

  Natalia sat up and slapped my arm.

  “I guess I had that coming,” I said. I looked behind us to make sure it was clear then stopped the truck in the middle of the street.

  “How did you know they’d be there?” she asked.

  I turned professional in an instant. “Because these guys are hired help, DiMarco sent them, DiMarco lives southwest of Washington street, they’re lazy, and their way to your house would have been the closest alley along the way that wasn’t right next door.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a reach?”

  “Not really. How else would I have known they’d be parked there?”

  “I want to argue with you, but I can’t,” she said. “And it bothers me. A lot.” I shrugged at her with a what-can-I-say look and checked behind us again to make sure there was no one there.

  “You know they’re in there, right?” I said calmly.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s going to be between two and four guys, probably four. I’m also guessing that there’s only one vehicle, but it’s possible there are two. We’ll have to risk it.”

  “Are we just going to walk up to the front door?”

  “Do you have a door in the back?”

  “Yes, and a patio on the second floor.”

  “Then no. We’re going in the back. Does your back door have a window, and are there any other windows facing the alley?”

  “A small window in the door, one over the kitchen sink and lots upstairs.”

  “Okay. If they see you at all, they won’t till you get out of the truck. If they recognize you—and they probably won’t with the wig—they’ll be scrambling to get into position. If not … well, I have a plan to get in that should work. One question …”

  “What?”

  “Are you absolutely certain you need what’s in there?” I had done this sort of thing before, and I was good at it, but I generally did it alone. Things like this usually got a little loud and messy, well, a lot loud and messy, and I’d prefer a different approach if I could find one.

  “Absolutely.” She showed concrete resolve.

  “I meant two questions,”

  “What’s the other one?”

  “Does your life depend upon it?” I was deadly serious.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay … By the way, I lied. I meant to say three questions.”

  “What is it?” she said exasperated.

  “What are you after in there?”

  “My laptop.”

  I paused for a few seconds, pondering the answer. “Oh, okay,” I said, satisfied. I looked at her sideways a moment later, a look of concern on my face. “We’re not risking our lives for your music library, are we?” I found myself on the business end of one of the dirtiest looks I’d ever seen, and I’d had plenty thrown my way over the years. “I’ll take that as a no,” I concluded. “Could I just go in and get it myself? No need to risk both of us unnecessarily,” I offered, smiling.

  “No. It’s in the master bedroom upstairs, but you can’t get to it. Only I can. Thumb-reader,” she said, holding up her thumb. Her tone was still a bit surly.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be detachable, would it?” I asked sincerely.

  She shook her head slowly, the look on her face similar to the one Rachel had adopted over the years when I suggested the impossible. What neither of them realized was that where I came from, the impossible was often probable.

  “It figures,” I said fatalistically. “Quickly, what’s the layout inside from the back door to the bedroom? Only the main rooms. And get it right. Our lives depend upon it.”

  “No pressure,” she said sarcastically.

  “Do you want your laptop or not?” I fired back at her.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands in submission. I closed my eyes and listened to her carefully. “The back door opens into a large kitchen. There’s a breakfast nook immediately to the right, and beyond that it opens into a dining room. There’s a short hallway on the right from the kitchen past the dining room the living room. On the left, there’s a long hallway that ends at the foyer.” She took a deep breath. “The living room entrance is to the right of foyer. There’s an office to the left of the front doors and a bathroom to left of that. Stairs going up run back along left side of hallway. At the top of the stairs is a small sitting room that looks down on the living room and hallway. Straight back from the sitting room is the main hallway. There are two bedrooms on the right and a master bedroom on left. The door at the end of the hallway opens onto the patio. The master bedroom has doors opening on to the patio as well.” She took another deep breath. “How’d I do?”

  I opened my eyes and gave her a smile. “Perfect, I can see it.”

  A horn blared behind us. I put it in gear and slowly pulled ahead.

  “Okay,” I said, “I’m going to put on a show for these assholes. Play along and assume they don’t recognize you, no matter what.”

  “You got it.”

  “Also, and this is really important, when I snap my fingers, you close your eyes tight until you hear a bang, understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Screw that up and they’ll most likely kill you before I can get them. After the first bang, you move and shoot. You get the far ones with the Glock. I’ll take care of anyone within ten feet.”

  “Okay,” she said a bit doubtfully and checked the Glock on the back of her belt.

  “One last thing …”

  “WHAT?”

  “Tile, wood, or carpet?”

  “What?” She looked confused again.

  “Tile, wood, or carpet?” I repeated slowly.

  “Hardwood. Why?”

  “This is gonna be messy,” I said with a wicked grin, and I felt the old me gain a foothold in anticipation of what I was about to do.

  “You’re not setting off any of those burning thingamajigs, are you?”

  “Don’t worry. Those won’t work in a situation like this. We’ll all be mixed together … up close and personal. Remember to wait for the bang when I snap, and we’ll be in and out in a jiffy. Start moving fast after it goes off, and they’ll shoot where you were, not where you are.” I turned left down the alley.

  “There,” Natalia pointed, “… with the trash cans.”

  “No recycle bins?” I scolded.

  She gave me another dirty look, which I ignored. I came to a stop closest to the cans, blocking most of the alley. The patio stretched over the back yard, covering more than half of it and nearly reaching the alley. In the upstairs window, I saw a head attached to a black suit quickly pull out of sight. A moment later the flicker of a face appeared in the window of the back door. I reached into a pocket and stuck my arm in deeper than should have been possible. Natalia got a surprised look on her face, and to her amazement, I pulled out a bottle of beer. I twisted off the top and grinned at her.

  “Show time,” I said with a giant grin. I opened the truck door and took a swig of beer, “Ugh! Warm!” I stepped into the alley, leaving the door open and the engine running.

  “Good luck,” she whispered.

  “Luck favors the prepared mind,” I quipped, and let the predator loose. I staggered out of the truck like a drunk, fumbled with the gate and finally got it open. Twenty feet lay between me and the back door. As I stumbled up the sidewalk, I reached into another inner pocket and pulled out a bright orange sphere the size of a Ping-Pong ball that had two small black buttons on opposite sides.

  In my best southern drawl, I shouted back at the truck as I stumbled towards the gate, “I’m tellin’ ya, honey, Go
d damn it! This is Billy’s place, and he said there was more beer in the fridge!”

  “I still say it’s the next alley over, you mow-rahn!” Natalia yelled back from the truck in an equally thick drawl. “He said there was a key under a big black rock by the back door, didn’t he? Do ya see a big black rock?”

  I’ll have to thank her for that later, I thought.

  I spotted the rock to the right of the back door. “Yeeee Hawwww! I sure as hell do! Come on in, sweetie!” I flipped over the rock, grabbed the key and, stepping up to the door, quickly drove it home in the keyhole. As I did so, I palmed the orange sphere in my right hand and closed my fingers around it, making sure to depress both buttons. I twisted the doorknob. Through the window I spotted the black suit of a fat man standing behind the door.

  Amateurs, I thought to myself.

  I took a few steps into the kitchen and drifted right a pace or two towards the middle. I would need room to move, and I wanted to give Natalia as much space as possible. On cue a gun poked into the back of my head, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Don’t take another step,” a thick Brooklyn accent came from behind me. “You picked the wrong fuckin house, cowboy.”

  “Whoa!” I hollered, raising my arms. “Hold on there, partner.” I saw a second man holding a gun step into the kitchen from the sunroom. I heard the footsteps of two people upstairs, one coming down the hallway and one coming down the stairs.

  “Sweetie-pie, did you find the beer?” Natalia asked as she came in the back door. The man standing near the sunroom casually pointed his gun at Natalia, silencer attached, and pressed his index finger to his lips to get her to stay quiet. “Oh!” she yelped, acting surprised as she put up her hands. She put her back against the wall so no one could see her Glock.

  “Vinny!” the man behind me hollered to someone upstairs. “Go back and watch the alley! That Russian bitch might still show up.”

  “You fellers know Billy?” I asked, keeping up the façade. “He sent us over for some beer, honest.” The footsteps above us retreated back down the hall. I tried to drag things out. I wanted to at least get the third man in the room before starting anything.