by Scott Blade
The big guy’s twenty seconds were up. Either he had seen the US Marshal tied up in the back or he’d heard the gunshot and assumed it was his boss taking me out because he came running from the kitchen. The door blasted open, and a priceless look oozed down his face.
I said, “Welcome back.”
I pointed the gun at him and said, “Come back in. Sit.”
The big guy looked at his boss and then at me. For the first time, he expressed an emotion—anger.
He didn’t move.
Kara was inching away, past Carter.
Without turning my head toward her, I said, “Kara, go to the front window. See if there’s anyone else out there.”
She said, “What?”
“Go check it out. It’s okay. See if they got any friends out there.”
“Friends? What’s going on?”
“Go check for me. It’s important.”
She nodded and walked over to the front door and looked out the window. She said, “I don’t see anyone.”
“Are you sure?”
She said, “I think so.”
I said, “Okay. Kara, listen to me.”
I glanced at her to make sure she was listening, and then I looked back at the big guy. He still wasn’t sitting.
I said, “Take a good look at these guys. Especially that one.” I pointed at Carter.
She came back over and looked at them.
I said, “These guys came here to kill you.”
She gasped and said, “What? Why?”
“Something your mom saw twenty years ago. There’s a guy in the ER. The one down the street. His name is John Martin. He’s a Marshal. Go to the ER and find him. Find the sheriff’s deputies. They’ll be there already. This guy Martin will explain everything to you. He’s in bad shape right now, but he’ll be okay in a couple of days. Meanwhile, you tell the sheriff what went on here tonight. Make sure he knows about the other cop that was here. Tell him that twenty years ago, you and your mom were moved here by John Martin.”
Her mouth hung open. I could only imagine what she felt. I knew something about not knowing who you were your whole entire life. In a way, I was the lucky one. At least my old man was still out there somewhere. What did Kara have?
I said, “I know. It’s a lot. Trust me. You’ll be better off with John Martin explaining it all to you. Just remember that these guys are bad. This guy came here for you and your mother. He’s the bad guy. You ever see him again, you steer clear. Got it?”
She either nodded or said nothing because I didn’t hear a response. I craned my head and asked again, “Got it?”
She said, “Yeah.”
“Good. Now get the hell out of here.”
Kara said nothing, didn’t go to the back to pick up any of her belongs. She didn’t go to a car in the parking lot. She just took off out the door, running.
I turned back to the big guy and said, “She’s running. I walked from the ER in less than ten minutes. So we don’t have a lot of time. Means I gotta get going.”
The big guy said, “What you going to do?”
Carter said, “Who the hell are you?”
“I told you. I’m nobody.”
The big guy lowered his hands but kept them in my sight. He said, “No one’s going to believe you. We got a cop with us.”
I said, “You don’t listen too good. I’m not going to be telling my side. I told you. I’ve got to be going.”
The big guy said, “You’re a pussy.”
I said, “Whatever. You’re the one who got beat.”
“Bet you aren’t anything without that gun.”
I looked down at Carter, who was on the dirty diner floor. He was scooting toward the table like he was going for his gun.
I fired another round at him. It hit near his face. Tile exploded up in a small dust cloud.
I said, “Next one goes in your back. Paralysis will ensure you don’t make it back here looking for Kara. You want that?”
The big guy scrambled forward. He was quick, faster than I thought, but useless.
I pointed the Glock back at him and said, “Don’t make me kneecap you, too.”
He froze. Now I had to figure out what to do with him.
I said, “You want me to ditch the gun? Go at it with you? We could go blow for blow until one of us is dead or the cops show up. What do you think?”
The big guy said, “I’m game for that.”
I thought about it for a moment. The thought was appealing in a way. We could duke it out like a couple of characters from a stupid Hollywood flick. Or whatever.
I said, “I guess I could give you a chance. Not very sporting for me to just shoot you while you’re unarmed? Right?”
He grinned and said, “Right.”
Carter said, “Emile, kill him!”
I said, “Emile? What kind of name is that?”
The big guy ignored the question and said, “So we gonna do this or what?”
“Sure. I’ll fight you. Why not?”
He grinned again.
I motioned like I was going to throw away the gun, but instead I stopped and said, “One question first. Seeing as I’m about to give you a fighting chance, it occurred to me to ask you something.”
He said, “Yeah, what?”
“You got another pair of handcuffs?”
He said, “What?”
I said, “Well, there were two of us left in the diner. That’s me and the waitress. One and one equals two.”
He said, “I know that.”
“Ah. Well, you know that. So you must have another pair of handcuffs. So where are they?”
“We don’t got no handcuffs.”
I said, “Funny. Because I used a pair on the dirty cop you brought. And there were two of us in the diner. So you must’ve brought two pairs of handcuffs, right? You were going restrain both of us, right?”
He shrugged and said, “I don’t follow.”
I said, “Well, the way I see it, I’m about to give you a fighting chance. So weren’t you going to give me one, too? I mean, you were planning to just handcuff me and leave me here, right?”
He said nothing.
I said, “So you were going to kill me? Kill that girl?”
No response.
I said, “Then why should I give you a chance?”
I shot him in the kneecap, same as Carter. Same reaction even. The big guy flung forward in a violent arc like a sack of potatoes heaved down a staircase.
He screamed as much as Carter.
I turned and walked out of the diner and through the parking lot. I looked both ways. The ER was to the east, so I headed west.
I left Carter’s gun behind. Maybe he would reach it and try to shoot it out with the cops when they arrived. That would bring a bad outcome for him, but a good one for Kara.
Chapter 16
IT WASN’T VERY LONG before I heard sirens behind me, back at the diner and Cedar Corner. They were distant but not too far away. I figured they would find the guys in the diner in maybe ten minutes. The terrain along the highway was basically flat desert with sporadic low patches of trees and greenery here and there.
If the deputies believed their story, then they would come looking for me. But the night was on my side. I walked off of the road and far enough out into the desert that I was camouflaged by the darkness but still close enough that I could see the road and any headlights that drove down it.
I wasn’t tired anymore because of all of the coffee and adrenaline.
I walked on and on until morning. After a while, I felt safe enough to walk back near the highway. I walked into a huge truck stop and made my way into the showers. I waited for the only other patron to finish showering and come out, and then I went into the showers and into one of the stalls, pulling the curtain closed. I pried the drain open—it was wide and square-shape. I took out the Glock and ejected the magazine and the spent shell. I tossed the gun into the drain and replaced the grate. Someday someone would find t
he gun. Maybe they would be showering and peek down and see something dark in the water. Or maybe a worker would come in and clean and check the pipes. Perhaps a plumber would find it a year from now.
Whatever. It didn’t matter to me.
I turned on the shower. Keeping my clothes out of the water spray, I leaned forward and let the water rinse through my hair and off my head. I leaned back out and took some water on my face. Then I shut the shower off and dried myself with brown paper towels.
I went out to the parking lot and stood around for a bit. It was very late at night. There were rows and rows of big rig trucks, hauling all kinds of things from huge logs to gas to whatever else. Most of the parked ones were still running, but the lights were turned down low like they were on power-down mode. Sleeping truckers, America’s backbone.
I felt dead tired myself.
I waited outside the truck stop on an old, green bench. I waited for the right trucker to pull up. The kind who looked like he recognized a fellow traveler and would take pity on a tired drifter. But before I did that, I walked over to an ancient pay phone. It was still encased in a booth, but the door had been ripped from the hinges long ago.
I stepped inside and pulled out some quarters and dialed the ER back in Cedar Corner. There was a dial tone and then a ringing.
A voice answered.
I said, “Hi. I don’t have a lot of time. Spotty cell phone. I was calling to check on my father. John Martin. Any change in his condition?”
The voice said, “Oh, sure. He’s awake. Doctor thinks he’ll be just fine. Let me put the deputy on for you. They’ve been posted here all night.”
I said, “No. Listen, I don’t have time for that.”
She said, “Oh. Okay. Are you coming in?”
“Yeah. I’m driving there now. But listen, can you tell me if there’s a girl there? She’s young. In a waitress uniform.”
“Oh yeah, she’s here. She’s being checked out by the doctor. She had some kind of ordeal tonight.”
I smiled. Kara had made it to the ER. I didn’t want to press my luck by trying to talk to her. I thought that would be a bad idea. Certainly, the sheriff’s deputies would’ve intercepted that call.
Then the nurse said, “Hang on—someone wants to speak to you.”
Damn.
A voice that wasn’t too familiar got on the line. Sounded like he just woke up.
“This is John Martin. Who’s this?”
I stayed quiet. It was him. He sounded weak but much better than when he had spoken to me earlier.
He said, “Son? Is this you?”
I wasn’t sure if he really had a son and was asking seriously or if he actually meant me. I should’ve hung up the phone, but I didn’t.
I said, “It’s the guy you almost hit with your car.”
Martin said, “I figured. I got you to thank for saving Kara?”
“I played a role.”
“Thanks so much. I made a promise to her mother. Long ago. If it wasn’t for you, she’d be dead.”
I said, “Don’t mention it.”
“What do I call you?”
I said, “Nothing.”
The line was silent, and then John Martin said, “I see. Well. Thank you all the same.”
“She going to be okay?”
He said, “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll pull all of my sources to make sure she’s relocated again—and somewhere that she wants to go. No more diners for her.”
I smiled and heard the operator’s automatic warning telling me I was almost out of time.
I said, “I gotta go.”
He said, “Good luck.”
I wanted to say more, but I saw a trucker who was leaving the truck stop, and he looked friendly enough. I hung up the phone and heard the change swallowed up. I followed the trucker and asked for a ride, told him I would pay for it and would be very grateful if I could sleep in the back for a while.
He agreed with a hearty smile and said, “Come on.”
I slept uninterrupted for four hours and woke up somewhere in the middle of Arizona. I got out at another truck stop and took the magazine from the dirty US Marshal’s Glock and threw it into a dumpster.
About the Author
Scott Blade grew up in Mississippi, where things are very much not what they seem.
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Also, check out the first book in the Jack Cameron series, Gone Forever, and then the second book, Winter Territory and Foreign & Domestic.
And coming in the Summer is A REASON TO KILL Book 5!
