A Bullet for the Shooter

by Larry Hoy

  “I’m sorry, Jason, but I must ask you to stay.”

  Steed took a left, said something to one of the guards, and followed them from the War Room.

  “What’s going on?” Sweetwater said.

  “We’re running a con.”

  “On who?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “So where are we headed?”

  “To the break room. It’s been a long day and I could use some coffee.”

  “They have soda? Maybe some chips?”

  That made Steed smile. “I’d be surprised if they don’t.”

  The guards turned left, stopped, and pointed to an open door. The break room was lavishly stocked with free drinks and food, including more substantial fare such as salads and soups, along with shuffleboard, pool, foosball, and other game tables. Aside from them it was empty.

  “How ya feelin’?” Steed asked once they were seated.

  “I wouldn’t mind a beach and a few months to sleep. Man, I hurt, Steed. Down deep, y’know? I just wanna crawl into bed. So, what are we really doing here?”

  “We’re trying to flush the mole. Cynthia—the assistant director—thought it might be Jason, but it’s not. So now we’re trying to panic whoever’s guilty into making a mistake.”

  “How can you be sure it’s not Jason?”

  Steed sipped his coffee, which Sweetwater knew was a stall to give him time to think of an answer. People always thought he was naïve because of his age, accent, and background, and he was getting damned tired of it.

  “And don’t lie, like you’re fixin’ to.”

  Steed lowered the cup, slowly, his eyes never leaving Sweetwater.

  “That’s a dangerous thing to say to anybody, Luther, but say it to the wrong Shooter and you’ll be dead. Don’t do it again. There’s more to this world than you can possibly imagine, and the hard truth is you’re low man. You don’t have the clearance to know more than you already know.”

  “I just hate being talked down to.”

  “Grow a pair, Marine. If you can’t tell the difference between friends and enemies, you’re in the wrong business.”

  “Yeah? What do you know about service?”

  Steed’s cheeks flushed, and his nostrils flared. “I was in the room.”

  Sweetwater began to speak, stopped. His expression changed from angry to awestruck.

  “With bin Laden?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can we move on to current business now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Never mind how I know it’s not Jason; I know and that’s all that matters. You and I are supposedly interrogating Erebus using whatever methods necessary to make him squawk. Then we go back in there and see who runs.”

  “What if nobody does?”

  “I have a way of reading people, so I’ll try that.”

  “I thought I was Plan B? Since we’ve gotta burn time anyway, let’s go see Adrian. The mole might have accomplices who can tell him if we don’t.”

  “That’s a good point, Two-Bit. Sure, what the hell? Let’s go see the sonofabitch.”

  “I might have to lie about some things.”

  “We’re all sinners.”

  Chains tied Adrian Erebus to the hospital bed. Multiple PICC lines hung from his arms, and electrodes, a feeding tube, and oxygen mask obscured most of his face. But he was not unconscious, and his eyes followed Sweetwater and Steed when they entered with the doctor and nurse.

  “He should be dead and buried,” the doctor commented while checking the monitors. “Instead, he’s healing faster than any patient I’ve ever treated. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation levels are all back to normal. Considering the volume of reported blood loss, that should be impossible.”

  “Are the bullets still in there?” Steed asked.

  “No, the assistant director said to keep him alive, so I performed emergency surgery, but scar tissue formation was well advanced in his chest. His larynx was entirely whole; other than some bruising, there were no signs of trauma. And then there are the bullets.” Reaching into his lab coat pocket, he placed them in Steed’s palm. “I can’t explain any of this.”

  If he hadn’t known their origin, Steed wouldn’t have recognized the lumps of pitted gray metal as bullets. He showed them to Sweetwater.

  “Looks like they were dipped in acid.”

  “Doctor, could you and the nurse give us the room? We need to speak with this waste of resources privately.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “And please, could you take out the feeding tube? I really don’t care if he starves.”

  The nurse moved to comply and wasn’t gentle.

  “I can’t guarantee his oxygen levels if you take the mask off.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  “Before you go,” Sweetwater said, “I need something sharp, like a scalpel or scissors, and a bone saw.”

  “A bone saw?”

  “You’ve got one, right?”

  “I’ve got a hacksaw in my trunk if you’d rather have that.”

  “Sure, that’ll work.”

  Erebus laughed in a soft, raspy voice.

  “You’re not scaring me, asshole.”

  Steed made to reply, but Sweetwater held up a finger and Steed let him take over.

  “It’s not you I’m trying to scare.”

  “Goddamn if you aren’t the stupidest fool I’ve ever met.”

  “You might want to leave God out of this, since you’re probably gonna be having a conversation with him soon.”

  “Stupid, like I said. You killed the love of my life, now you wanna kill my boy. I don’t care what it costs so long as you die.”

  Sweetwater laughed and shook his head. “If only you were half as smart as you think you are, Adrian. You must’ve been the teacher everybody made fun of.”

  Erebus strained against his restraints the same moment the doctor returned carrying several scalpels and a hacksaw with rust in the teeth. Teeth champing, he snarled and growled and mumbled curses against Sweetwater.

  “Did I walk into The Exorcist? Do you want guards in here?”

  “No,” Sweetwater said. “I’ve killed him three times, and he won’t stay dead, but he will the next time.”

  That made Erebus throw back his head and cackle. “You can’t kill me!”

  “I’m not going to.”

  The doctor looked from Sweetwater to Steed and back again. “Be careful with the hacksaw, the rust might cause infection.”

  “I’m not worried about him getting an infection.”

  “Me either,” the doctor said. “I meant for you.”

  “Thanks. If you hear screams, just ignore ’em. Oh, and I want to apologize in advance; I’m afraid it’s likely to get messy in here.”

  Once they were alone again, Sweetwater laid out the instruments on the ubiquitous hospital-style rolling steel table. Everything in his body above the waist felt like he’d gone fifteen rounds with the world MMA heavyweight champ and lost. Fatigue weighted his limbs, but even after all he’d been through, he realized that moment was the first time he wanted to kill somebody. Up to that point it had all been defensive. Now his fingers itched to slice Erebus into slabs…and circumstances wouldn’t let him do it.

  Erebus said something. Sweetwater gripped the largest scalpel like a knife, whirled, and jammed it through the sheet into his right leg above the ankle. Screams echoed in the room and a spreading circle of red stained the sheet. Steed settled against the HVAC system to watch.

  “See, Adrian, I didn’t kill Grace Allen. Neither did Bonney. You’ve been going after the wrong target this whole time.”

  “Bullshit,” Erebus said, “you’re just saying that so I don’t kill you.”

  Sweetwater glanced at the sheet. The bloody circle seemed to have stopped growing, exactly as he’d thought it would.

  “I went there to kill her, but I couldn’t go through with it, so her husband pushed her over t
he side.”

  “You’re lying! I’ll bite your eyes out!”

  “Nope, not lying, so let’s stop with the threats, both ways, okay? You’re not gonna kill me, and I’m not gonna kill you. I can’t kill you. I know that now…at least, not until I kill Herbert.”

  “My boy! Keep your fucking hands off my boy, Sweetwater, do you hear me? Leave my boy alone!”

  “Your boy is dead, Erebus, and he’s been dead for years.”

  Erebus went into spasms of rage so violent they moved the bed. PICC lines popped out, and he bit at the chains.

  “That thing isn’t your boy; that thing is you. It’s feeding you energy to keep you alive, but every time it does, it shrinks a little. So, all I’ve gotta do to kill it is to keep torturing you.”

  “It is Herbert, you lying sack of shit! It is, it is, it is! My boy isn’t dead!”

  “You want me to leave him alone, Adrian? Do you want me to leave Herbert alone?”

  The madman calmed immediately, wary but listening.

  “Yes.”

  “Give me the name of the mole.”

  “And you’ll leave Herbert alone?”

  Sweetwater nodded.

  “You swear?”

  “I swear by all that’s holy.”

  “I didn’t like him anyway,” Erebus said.

  Chapter 37

  The War Room, below LifeEnders Worldwide Corporate Headquarters, Dallas, TX

  They reassembled in the War Room. Steed whispered something to Jason, listened to the answer, and went back into the hallway with Warden in tow. All of the War Room technicians kept their heads down, pretending to work, but human nature caused them to look up when they thought it safe. Guards entered and headed for the glass wall overlooking the much larger Kremlin. Steed positioned himself near the door.

  “Fuck!” cursed a stocky man in the last row, pressing a jury-rigged lever on his desk. Alarms rang throughout the building. The guards drew their weapons. “Fine, I’m your guy, but if you shoot me you’re all fucked. I’ve got a tank of sarin wired into the HVAC system.”

  “Mickey!” Jason said, aghast. “Why?”

  “It’s the usual pathetic story,” Witherbot said. “Drugs, women, gambling. Mister Erebus told us everything, even the message board on the dark web where they met. There is no way out of this, Mickey.”

  “Then we’ll all die together, won’t we? How did you know?”

  “Adrian Erebus gave you up, of course. Now put the gun down and let’s forget this lockdown nonsense. You know what happens if you shoot one of us.”

  “Did you miss the part about the sarin?”

  “I did not miss it, I heard you. I simply do not believe it.”

  “If he shows himself, I can take him. No problem,” Steed said in a loud voice. “You know my talent.”

  “No, Steed, Mickey can buy back his life by coming clean,” Witherbot said. “We just need to determine the extent of the damage.”

  Mickey had crawled under his desk, was out of sight for a few seconds, then reached up one hand where they could see it. His thumb was on a red button.

  “I’m standing up now.”

  The round head of Mickey Riggle appeared over the top of his personal monitor. A bad combover did nothing to hide his thinning hair or distract from the odd pistol in his left hand and the detonator in his right.

  “Looks like a toy,” Sweetwater said.

  “It’s real enough! Stop talking or I’ll blow us all to hell and back!”

  “Steed?”

  “Could be a homemade pistol. If that’s a ceramic barrel it won’t be very accurate.”

  “That would explain getting it past the metal detectors,” Witherbot added.

  “For a smart guy, you’re really stupid Mickey,” Jason said.

  Witherbot’s scowl could have withered a bouquet of roses.

  “Quiet.”

  “All of you shut up!” Mickey said and waited for silence before going on. “This is what we’re going to do. The assistant director and I are going up the elevator together, up to the roof. One of you is going to call for a chopper to take me wherever I want. Once I’m gone, I’ll let her go.”

  “Why should we believe you?” Sweetwater asked.

  “If I kill her, the government will pressure whatever country I land in to either extradite me or let a Shooter take me out. I’m not suicidal unless you don’t give me a choice.”

  “What about the sarin?”

  “You’ll figure that out. Let’s move. Anybody shoots me, this bomb goes off, and they’ll be scraping us all off the walls. Now get over here, ma’am. I don’t wanna die, and you don’t either.”

  “Steed?”

  “He’s capable of doing it.”

  “Very well then, Mickey, I’ll go with you. On condition that you first let all of your fellow employees walk out of here.”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” she said, making clear it was not negotiable. “You’re also going to have to lift the lockdown. With the elevators down, how do we reach the helipad?”

  “Let me take him, boss,” Steed said.

  “No, it’s too risky. And his logic is correct, if he kills me, he might as well put the next bullet in his own mouth. Mickey, let these people move into the Kremlin. They’ve been your friends and colleagues for years; do you really want to hurt them?”

  Mickey licked his lips. “They’ll be safe once we’re out in the hall.”

  “Very well,” she said.

  “Hey, Ace,” Sweetwater said, “if you hurt her, she’s right, you’d best eat the gun before I catch up to you.”

  “We,” Steed said, “before we catch up to him.”

  Witherbot joined Mickey at the end of the row of workstations. Every gun in the room tracked him, but the tableau held, and nobody fired. Sweetwater glared at the man as they walked across the room.

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Mickey didn’t reply.

  Witherbot walked through the doorway first. The guards had backed away, guns at the ready, except for one to the right of the door. She was focused on him, so she only saw in her peripheral vision her daughter’s arm and a hand wielding a shoe, swinging at Mickey’s face as he exited the War Room. The shoe missed Mickey’s nose and smacked his chin, spinning him sideways.

  Reflexively, he pulled the trigger. The gun exploded in his hand as the homemade barrel couldn’t contain the blast of the gunpowder. Fired from a distance of only three feet, the bullet hit Warden in the right flank, and she went down. Jagged shards sprayed Mickey’s hand, arm, and left cheek, but hit the guard in the eyes. He staggered backward, hands to his face, and dropped his pistol.

  Witherbot had her head turned so she missed being wounded, but her position blocked the other guards from shooting. She saw her daughter sink to her knees, which drove all thoughts out of her brain except killing Mickey. She balled her right fist and pivoted without looking, aiming for Mickey’s face…and missed. He’d gone to one knee to retrieve the guard’s weapon. She kept rotating her body in a continuing motion, and her left fist struck his forehead. Mickey rose fast and used the pistol barrel to hit her with an uppercut to the chin. Without hesitating he shot her in the stomach.

  “Anybody moves, and I shoot her again,” he cried, his voice trembling as he realized what he’d done.

  The sound was unlike any gunshot Sweetwater had heard before, and it took milliseconds to recognize it as an explosion. It wasn’t the suicide vest, something smaller; the homemade gun. Then a second shot echoed from outside the War Room, this one the telltale report of a Sig Sauer P320, the standard handgun used by LEI at all levels.

  Slowed by his injuries, Steed beat him to the door but stopped. Although unarmed, Sweetwater joined Steed and saw Mickey supporting a bleeding Witherbot as they walked backward toward her private elevator. The bank of employee elevators was down a branch hall, behind a guard station. Then Sweetwater spotted Warden on her knees and holding her stomach, blood spilling onto the floor
. He raised his fist and stepped toward Mickey.

  Mickey was using one hand to help Witherbot walk, which left him to choose between fingering the suicide belt detonator and holding the Sig to Witherbot’s head. He chose the latter.

  “Hold up, kid,” Steed said. “You’ll just get her killed. Help my daughter instead.”

  “Wait,” Mickey yelled. “Stop!” He took a shaky breath. “Everyone, just wait a second.” Panicked, he looked around, but kept the gun pressed against Witherbot’s head, above her right ear. A hole in the side of her suit jacket hid the extent of her wound. A grimace of pain barely registered on her stony countenance, but Sweetwater knew her well enough to see it.

  Warden was on her knees, hugging her abdomen as blood flowed between her fingers. Sweetwater knelt beside her. At the sight of her wound, his lips pulled back, showing all his teeth, like a dog about to attack. Ripping off a piece of her shirt, he applied pressure to the wound.

  “You’re a dead man,” he said, jabbing a finger at Mickey.

  “Shut up,” Steed said in a stage whisper. “That’s not helping. Consider this advance Shooter training.” Raising his voice, he spoke so everyone could hear. “Don’t listen to him, Mickey. He doesn’t know how these things work.”

  Jittery shakes and flitting eyes showed Mickey was on the verge of doing something crazy.

  “And you do?”

  “Yeah, I do. Cynthia, how bad is it?”

  Mickey blinked rapidly as control of the situation slipped away.

  “Don’t talk to her, talk to me!”

  “Listen to me, Mickey. Listen to me,” Steed said. “You’re only alive as long as she is, do you understand me? She lives, you live; she dies…”

  “I’ll blow us all up!”

  “No, you won’t. Everybody else lower your weapons.”

  The guards glanced at each other. They’d never seen Steed before and didn’t take orders from strangers.