Connie Bailey - Miles to Go

by Connie Bailey

  “Tell him we’ve got all he can handle; he has my word on it.” Geordie laughed. “Your word? Aren’t you the same bloke that told us the shit was here?” Rick looked through the doorway. “Give us a break, Fine. We can’t go back and tell Gareth that he has your word. Why don’t you just show us a brick or two and we’ll be on our way?”

  “That just isn’t possible right now,” Fine admitted reluctantly. Rick saw something in Geordie’s eyes shift and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Edging carefully aside as Fine and Geordie walked out past him, Rick realized that the card game had ended. Epiphano was still in the hallway and Levere stood next to Cody, who had his hands in his jacket pockets. Fine stopped at Hudson’s shoulder, and gave the visitors the bottom line.

  “You’ve got my word,” he said. “You can leave with that, or you can just leave.”

  “Fine,” Rick said. “The deal is off. We’re out of here.” “The fuck it is,” Cody said, pulling a nine-millimeter. “You assholes aren’t going anywhere.”

  ~ Chapter Nine ~

  IN his peripheral vision, Rick could see Epiphano easing forward and shook his head, warning him off. If shooting could still be avoided, he would do his best to prevent it.

  “Look, kid,” Rick said. “We’re leaving here. The rest is between your boss and mine.”

  “I’m the only one holding a gun,” Cody said. “I’ll give the orders.” “You forgot to say nobody moves and nobody gets hurt,” Rick said. “If you’re going to talk in clichés, you might as well use them all.”

  “You dissin’ me, Dad?” Cody asked. “Duh,” Levere said. “You shit-for-brains pillow-biter.” Cody turned his gun on Levere. “What the hell does that mean?” “You’d be a lot happier riding my pole, peg boy.” “Fuck you, shithead!” Cody shouted.

  Hudson shoved his chair back, and the others at the table stood up. Cody was no longer the only one with a gun in his hand. “Don’t make this happen, Cody,” Rick said and the kid’s gun swung back to him. Geordie pointed his Sig at Cody. “Let it go,” he told the Kutters. “You pups are courting a variety of trouble way beyond your reckoning.”

  Cody hesitated, glancing aside at Levere, as the potential for violence balanced on a scalpel’s edge. Levere winked and blew Cody a kiss. The kid’s finger tightened reflexively on the trigger and the sleek automatic began to spit bullets. Hudson shoved the unarmed Fine out of his line of fire as Levere and Epiphano drew and fired as one. Rick and Geordie rolled to the left as the shots rang out. Cody, still spraying lead, was rounding on Levere and Epiphano as they separated and flanked him.

  “Cease firing!” Rick yelled at the room at large. Cody’s head whipped around along with the nine mil. Rick fired and a bullet meant to disarm hit nearly dead center in the kid’s chest. The young man hit the floor, his gun falling from his limp fingers, as Rick and Geordie crawled across the floor using the scattered chairs and boxes as cover. Two of the four poker players were down and showing no signs of life; only Flip Hudson was still exchanging fire with Levere and Epiphano. Geordie pulled on Rick’s arm, pointing toward the hallway.

  “I can’t see Fine,” Rick said.

  “Forget him. You head toward the door; I’ll cover you,” Geordie replied. “What about you?” Rick asked.

  “I’m going after Fine.”

  “You just said to forget him. Come on. We can both make it to the door.”

  “This is personal,” Cook said, as he reloaded. “I owe Fine and I intend to pay up.”

  “You’re crazy,” the undercover cop said.

  “No one’s perfect. Now get the hell out of here. I’ll meet you by the car.” Rick stared at Geordie until the man began laying down covering fire. Crouching low, Rick snapped off a couple of shots as he broke from hiding. Levere and Epiphano added their support as Rick dove toward the hall. Epiphano reached around the doorframe and yanked the running man to safety. A red handprint stained Rick’s sleeve where Epiphano had grabbed him.

  “Are you hit, or is that someone else’s blood?” Rick asked. Epiphano stepped back, ignoring the question, giving Rick his spot at the door as he pulled a clip from his pocket. “This is it,” Epiphano said. “I’m empty after this.”

  “We got everyone except Hudson,” Levere yelled over the racket. Geordie slung a folding chair toward the table Hudson crouched behind, knocking it over. Levere and Rick fired in tandem, hitting Hudson several times. The baby-faced thug went down, but not before emptying his weapon. Levere was hit in the throat and fell back, choking on his own blood. Epiphano slid to the floor and tried to pull Levere into the hallway. A round ricocheted off the far wall and hit him in the temple. Epiphano slumped over Levere’s body and didn’t move again.

  Rick looked down at the dead men and held on to his detachment. The hollow clank of his empty clip hitting the concrete floor sounded as an anvil dropped from a third story window as he peered around the doorframe. Slamming a fresh load into the butt of the gun, he eased out into the room. Hudson raised himself up on his elbow and pointed his weapon at Rick. As a bullet whined past his ear, Rick put a round into Hudson’s forehead, knocking him backward.

  “Nice shot.”

  Rick swung to meet the threat, relaxing when he recognized Geordie’s voice.

  “Fine?” Rick asked tersely as Geordie trotted over to him. “Not so fine,” Cook said. “He won’t be any more bother to us. Let’s get out of here.” Rick hurried after Geordie, but slowed as he reached Cody’s body. Though Rick had accepted the risks that came with undercover work, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be called upon to shoot children. He told himself that any one of these boys would have killed him with blinking, but somehow it didn’t help. Kneeling, he closed the kid’s eyes and jumped when they sprang open again.

  “Asssss…hole,” Cody exhaled wetly.

  “What?” Cody bared bloody teeth in a mocking red smile. “We could’ve,” he coughed. “Could’ve owned this town with those Mexicans outta the way.”

  “Are you talking about Marcial?” Rick demanded, grabbing Cody by the jacket.

  “Smoked ’em good. Rafe’s the bomb.” Racking coughs shook Cody’s body as he spewed blood, and Rick realized the dying punk was laughing. “What the fuck are you saying?” the undercover cop shouted. “Did Novacelli have something to do with Marcial’s death?”

  “Blew ’em up real good,” Cody coughed again, disgorging another torrent of blood. The kid’s head drooped and his gaze grew fixed. Rick lowered the lifeless body to the floor as he absorbed the fact that the Kutters had taken out Antonio Marcial.

  “What are you doing?” Geordie turned, grabbing Rick’s arm and pushing Cody’s body away. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before the cops show up.”

  The two men ran from the warehouse to their waiting vehicle. Geordie stuck out his hand and Rick tossed him the keys, hanging on tight as Cook spun a smoking three-sixty and gunned the engine.

  “Too bad about Levere and Epiphano,” Geordie said tersely. “They were solid blokes.” The irony of the comment would have had Rick laughing if the situation weren’t so fucked up. Levere and Epiphano were dead; they’d just blown away a gang barely old enough to shave, and once Gareth heard their news, the bloodbath was sure to continue. Add to those facts a missing member of the Kutter gang who reputedly liked to play with explosives and the future had a distinctly dark tint.

  “Slow down,” Rick said abruptly.

  “What?” Geordie asked.

  Rick turned and looked pointedly at Geordie. “Slow down; we’re going too fast and attracting attention that we don’t need.” Geordie eased up on the pedal, looking from side to side as though he expected a police cruiser to materialize out of thin air. As they took the ramp onto the freeway, he pulled out his cell phone. “Gareth? Yeah, it’s me. We’re coming in two light and the package wasn’t at the post office.” The phone snapped shut and Geordie got into the right lane to take the exit that would lead them away from the industrial district.


  “I assume he’s less than happy,” Rick commented.

  Geordie barked out a laugh at Rick’s words. “Mate, that’s an understatement of epic proportion.” Rick couldn’t help thinking about Billy right then. Gareth was royally pissed and it was almost impossible not to imagine him taking out his frustration on the kid. As was becoming his habit of late, Rick resolutely pushed the image from his mind. Things were going to happen fast from here on out and he needed time to think about his next move. How could he explain to his partner about being involved in something resembling the gunfight at the OK Corral?

  “Relax,” Geordie said as he pulled into the drive. “Gareth will know you held up your end.” “Thanks,” Rick replied, as the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush hit him like a runaway cement mixer. His legs felt like jelly; he was sweating profusely, and his stomach was churning like pea soup on the boil. No wonder the other man was moved to offer him some reassurance. As Geordie shut his door, Rick took a deep breath and got out of the SUV. The first order of business was reporting to Gareth. If he survived that, then he’d think about throwing up.

  ~ Chapter Ten ~

  “WHAT the fuck?” Gareth screamed as he lashed out viciously,

  backhanding Geordie across the jaw. Cook’s head rocked on his neck, but he stood his ground. Gareth drew back his hand again, but let it fall to his side without striking another blow. “No fucking point in smacking you,” he said furiously. “You hardly notice it.”

  Rick stiffened involuntarily, prepared to fight, as Gareth turned on him.

  “Shit!” the crime boss shouted at the ceiling. “I am standing knee-deep in it and it’s rising!”

  “Then let’s pick up some shovels,” Rick said. Gareth’s incendiary gaze fastened on Rick’s guileless blue eyes. Rick stared back with a calm he didn’t feel. The undercover cop counted ten heartbeats before Gareth’s contorted features relaxed into a neutral expression.

  “You’re right,” Gareth said coolly. “We need to start shoveling. Before I became the successful man you see before you, I did my own dirty work. I fancy I haven’t lost my touch just yet, and I think that this pile of shit needs my personal attention.”

  “Steady on,” Geordie said. “No need for that. Rick and I put paid to those infant hooligans. They’re grease spots on their own clubhouse floor.”

  Gareth swung his attention to his lieutenant. “That’s very nice, Geordie,” he said, his voice gaining volume with each word. “But where are my fucking drugs?”

  Gareth hadn’t mentioned the loss of Epiphano and Levere since Geordie had first informed him of their deaths, but Rick wasn’t surprised. The missing narcotics were priority one. Gareth could always hire more meat; quality chemicals were a bit harder to come by. The boss’s mood was swinging back to rage again, and Rick did his best to divert it.

  “We’ll find the product,” he said. “One of the Kutters was conspicuous by his absence. I think those punks were a little smarter than they looked and took out some insurance.”

  Gareth’s eyes narrowed in thought as he stared unseeing into the middle distance. Geordie caught Rick’s gaze just as his pager vibrated against his thigh. Taking the small device from his pocket, Geordie looked at the number on the tiny screen. Instantly, the big man reached for his cell phone.

  “What?” Gareth asked sharply.

  Geordie spoke as he punched a number in speed dial. “It’s Paul,” he said. The phone only rang once before Paul Macross answered, but the room grew extraordinarily still in that time. Rick could feel the atoms of air pressing against his skin as the tension drew tighter with each passing second.

  “Paul, what the fuck?” Geordie shouted. “Bloody fucking hell! You better be taking the piss! What? Fuck me! Tell me how…” Gareth snatched the phone from Geordie’s hand and brought it to his ear. “Paul. It’s Gareth. Slowly and carefully, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  Several long moments later, Gareth spoke. “I see,” he said with eerie calmness. “And I understand why you couldn’t call earlier. Check yourself out as soon as you feel able and come straight home.”

  Gareth flipped the phone closed and tossed it at Geordie. Neither Geordie nor Rick spoke until Gareth did. The man’s serenity was even more bizarre in light of what he told them.

  “Paul’s been shot and Billy’s been abducted,” Gareth said. “Taken right off the street by your missing Kutter, Rick, as it happens. Funny, but one doesn’t expect this sort of thing in real life. In cliché action films perhaps, but not in real life.”

  “That little psycho Novacelli was drooling over Billy the night the Kutters were here,” Rick said. “But since that’s what you wanted, I didn’t mention it.”

  “So I’ve bitten myself in the arse? Is that your point?” Gareth asked.

  “Whoa, boss,” Rick said. “I just wish I’d been sharper. We don’t need to be arguing about it now, anyway. Let’s go get Billy back.” “You have some idea how we can find him?” Geordie spoke up. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

  RAFAEL NOVACELLI dropped his phone into one of the many

  zippered pockets on his baggy jacket. “Nobody’s answering me,” he said despondently, but a glance at his passenger restored Novacelli’s elation. The young man handcuffed to the door of the old Lincoln recoiled when the drug dealer reached toward him. “Aw, don’t be like that,” Novacelli said. “I’m a nice guy. I won’t hurt you. That dude you were with would hurt you plenty though. He’s got cold eyes. My dad had eyes like that and he was a hateful bastard.”

  Billy stared at the lunatic that had dragged him into a car on a city street in broad daylight after gunning down his bodyguard. His brain wanted him to look out the window and take note of their route, but his survival instinct kept his eyes on the driver.

  “Hey, you can call me Rafe, if you want,” Novacelli said with a shy smile. “That’s what my buds call me.”

  “Rafe,” Billy said carefully, “where are we going?” “Well, I can’t get Nate or Flip on the phone, which probably means something bad happened when your guys stopped by,” Novacelli said glumly. “I should find out.”

  Billy shivered as the driver turned and a moist gaze crawled over him again. “Why don’t you drop me off somewhere and go check on your friends?” he suggested. “I don’t mind waiting until you get back.”

  “I can’t let you go,” Novacelli said reasonably. “You’d just go back to that mean dude. I can’t let that happen.” “Rafe, think about this,” Billy said softly. “You shot a man on the street in front of several witnesses. This car is hardly inconspicuous. You’re going to get caught if you keep driving, and if I’m still with you, you’ll go away for kidnapping. That carries the same sentence as murder, you know.”

  “Oh no,” Novacelli said, smiling at Billy. “Don’t you worry about that. The cops’ll never get us.”

  “You sound awfully sure,” Billy said. Novacelli’s smile became a sheepish grin. “I forgot; you don’t know anything about me yet. I’m real good at making things. There’s something I made in the backseat, if you want to look at it.”

  Billy had the sinking feeling that he would find nothing good when he looked over his shoulder. “Bloody hell,” the young man muttered. “Why am I always right about the wrong thing?”

  The device was immediately recognizable from its many appearances in popular cinema. Billy’s gaze traveled over the disparate components—the timer, detonator, and explosive material connected by wires—and immediately identified the arrangement of hardware as a bomb. To his great relief, the numbers on the digital counter were static.

  “You’d blow yourself up to avoid capture?” Billy asked numbly. Novacelli reached into the small pocket inside his bomber jacket. With a proud smile, he displayed an oblong object made of black plastic about twice the size of a disposable lighter. Two tiny buttons and an ultra-slim antenna were the only significant features of the device. Billy recognized it instantly as a wireless transmitter. The lack of a red light on t
he end told him it wasn’t infrared and didn’t require line of sight to trigger the detonator. He wondered just what sort of range the remote had and it occurred to him that there was no harm in asking, given his current situation.

  “What kind of range does that thing have?” Novacelli beamed, beside himself with delight. His angel not only knew what he was holding; the desirable one was interested. This was a first in Novacelli’s experience where the norm ran from yawning disinterest to violent rejection of his overtures. “I got this off the Internet,” he said eagerly. “It’s made from components for remotecontrolled model airplanes. The range is awesome. You could be on the other side of a football field and still make contact. Farther probably.”

  “That is awesome,” Billy said, glancing nervously into the backseat as they hit a bump. “How much explosive is that bad boy packing?”

  “Don’t worry,” Novacelli said evasively. “I won’t let us be taken alive.”

  “THAT’S plain daft,” Geordie objected to Rick’s theory.

  “Sure is,” Rick agreed without rancor. “But so is Novacelli.” “It really doesn’t make sense,” Gareth said. “Why would this arsehole take Billy back to the warehouse?”

  “Because he doesn’t know what happened yet,” Rick said reasonably. “But when he sees the mess we left, he’ll scarper pretty damn quick,” Geordie said. “Likely all we’ll find is Billy’s beautiful corpse. Sorry, Gareth.”

  “No harm, mate,” Gareth said. “I’m not yet convinced that my tiger kitten isn’t somehow in on this. He hooked me up with these punks. Maybe he set all this up to fuck with me for…” Gareth paused. “So tell us, Rick, why would Novacelli stay at the warehouse?”

  “Because he’s crazy,” Rick said, “but he’s not completely stupid. He’ll figure the warehouse is the last place we’ll look for him.” BILLY looked around in dismay at the crumpled bodies lying in large puddles of blood on the warehouse floor. “We can’t stay here,” he blurted out.