Connie Bailey - Miles to Go

by Connie Bailey

  “I want you so bad right now,” Billy said. “Come on; let’s get out of here.” Novacelli swallowed hard, the sound audible in the stillness, and reached for Billy with his uninjured hand. Rick’s fingers walked closer and closer to the stock of the AK-47 as Billy distracted the creep. Another few centimeters and Rick would have his weapon in hand, and Novacelli under arrest. And this long nightmare would almost be over.

  GARETH nudged Epiphano’s body with the toe of his boot, and then turned his gaze on Levere’s lifeless face. A great sense of loss pervaded Gareth. Finding two more soldiers the size and temperament of Epiphano and Levere wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Guys like this didn’t stroll up to you every day the way Rick had.

  He dragged his eyes from the bloody corpses of his soldiers. As he looked around the warehouse at the bodies of the gang members, his emptiness was replaced by irrational rage at them for not being alive so that he could kill them. It was with the greatest effort of will that Gareth kept his finger from depressing the AK’s trigger and shredding the remains of the Kutters into red rags. Teeth clenched in a parody of a grin, he started up the stairs.

  “WHY hasn’t Officer Miles called in?” Inspector Campbell Frehley

  asked.

  “I assume he’s busy,” Graciela said a bit more sharply than she’d intended. Graciela wished the inspector would just shut up about Rick not calling. She was worried enough as it was. Rick might be a cowboy, but he wouldn’t leave her hanging like this without a good reason. And it didn’t help that this bone-dry Brit kept reminding her every five minutes. Added to that, she was sitting at her captain’s desk, which held none of her vast collection of stress-relieving widgets. Though Walter had given his office to Frehley for the duration, Graciela was afraid to touch anything. When this was over, Frehley would go back to Merrie Olde England, but she would still have to work with the captain every day.

  “It’s most frustrating,” Frehley said from somewhere behind Graciela, “to finally have a chance to make contact with our man without compromising him, and then to lose it again immediately. I can feel my nerves fraying.”

  “And I can hear them,” Graciela muttered. Campbell Frehley stopped pacing and came to sit in a chair across from the desk. “Shall we talk about something else?” he asked. “Try and take our minds from it?”

  “I don’t think it’s possible, but I’m willing to give it a try,” she answered.

  “What sort of man is Detective Miles?” Campbell asked. “He’s a good cop,” Graciela said firmly. “He’s smart, and not just book smart. He can’t be rattled, and he can’t be bought. I’d put my life on the line for him.”

  Frehley nodded. “All right. But I asked what sort of man he was.”

  “I told you. Rick’s a cop, plain and simple.”

  “Really,” Campbell relaxed a bit more in his chair. “And what does that mean to you?” Graciela thought for a moment before she spoke again. “He can’t see injustice without wanting to make it right, whatever the cost to himself. That’s who he is, and that’s why he became an officer of the law.”

  “He sounds exemplary.”

  “He is. I know what that word means.”

  “I wouldn’t have used it if I didn’t think you knew what it meant,” Frehley said in mild reproof. “Not everything I say is an attempt to belittle you.”

  “Sorry. I’m a little touchy.”

  Campbell raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking,” he said dryly. Graciela smiled despite her mood. “Okay, I deserved that.”

  “Tell me something, Gracie. Why are two such sterling members of your department forced to work outside of it?”

  “I guess when you get right down to it, we wanted to prove we were just as good as the rest of the cops on the force.”

  “I would say that fact is self-evident.”

  “Yeah, and if promotion was based on merit alone, me and Rick might have better careers.”

  “So what is your fatal flaw?”

  “Isn’t it obvious that I’m Latina?”

  “I would think that in today’s politically correct climate you would be promoted automatically,” Frehley said. “Maybe. You’re pretty shrewd, aren’t you, hombre? Okay, it’s true I’ve been offered a few things, but promotion comes at a price, and I can’t pay it.”

  “What’s the price, if it’s any of my business?”

  “They want me to rat out my partner so they can kick him off the force.”

  Campbell’s eyebrows rose toward his widow’s peak. “The perfect cop has a dark secret?” “Yeah, and it’s his secret, so don’t ask me.”

  “I don’t have to. I’m shrewd, remember?”

  “I won’t talk about it.”

  “Fair enough,” Campbell nodded. “Why are you single?” “Que barbaridad! Who do you think you are? My mother?” “No. Just an interested unattached male.”

  Graciela’s mouth dropped open and Frehley’s phone rang simultaneously. BILLY finished tying Rick’s wrists together behind his back, leaning close to whisper in the man’s ear. “Sorry. I did my best to keep them loose, but Rafe’s got the peripheral vision of an owl.”

  “Not your fault,” Rick murmured. “Keep him sweet if you can.

  Gareth will show up soon.”

  “Now there’s a scary thought,” Billy said. “Look, if anything happens…” “Shhh. Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Rick whispered fiercely. “We’re both going to live, because I have to tell you how I feel about you and you have to hear it. Okay?”

  Billy’s fingers tightened briefly on Rick’s forearm. “Got it,” he said and rose to his feet.

  “I’m ready,” Billy called to Novacelli.

  Novacelli looked up from scrabbling around his workbench and his eyes widened as they focused on a spot over Billy’s left shoulder. “You’re always ready, tiger kitten,” Gareth said from the doorway. PAUL MACROSS finished his call, dropped his phone in his pocket, punched his entry code on the security keypad and waited. After a few moments, he heard the thunks of the locks disengaging. The thick door swung open to reveal Geordie waiting in the foyer.

  “Well, well. Been in the wars, Paulie?” Cook indicated Macross’s bandages. Paul narrowed his eyes at Geordie’s jocular tone. “One of the bullets shattered my right ulna,” he said, pointing to his cast and sling. “It’s fucking painful. If I were you, I wouldn’t fuck with me just now.”

  “Didn’t the doc give you anything for that?”

  Paul fished a bottle from his suit jacket and tossed it left-handed to Geordie. Geordie read the label and whistled soundlessly. “Have a couple,” the big man said as he twisted off the cap. “Hell no, mate! That’s codeine, just a step down from morphine. I’m not putting that shite in my body. That’s for the losers we sell to.” “You have a point,” Geordie said. “Come on in.”

  As Macross passed him, Geordie grasped the other man by his injured arm. Paul grimaced in agony and went to one knee. “I have no sympathy for you; you could have taken the pills,” Geordie said. “Now…I have one question for you, Paul. When you’ve answered it, I’ll let go. Are you planning to fuck Gareth?”

  “What?” Paul yelped in pain and consternation.

  “Are you a filthy narc, Paul?”

  “God, no!” Macross screamed as Geordie put an ounce more pressure on his arm. “Are you quite sure?”

  “Fuck yes, I’m fucking sure, you fucking bastard!”

  “All right then,” Geordie said, letting go of Paul.

  Macross sat heavily on the marble floor, sweat beading his brow, cradling his injured arm to his chest. His panting breaths echoed loudly in the foyer, louder than Geordie’s footsteps as he walked around Paul to squat in front of him.

  “If you’re not working with the Kutters, then you’re simply a fuckwit,” Geordie said dispassionately. “If it were up to me, I’d fire you permanently, but Gareth likes you. Therefore, you are being given a second chance. Here.”

  Paul set his jaw as Geordie tried t
o push a tablet into his mouth. “Take it,” Geordie ordered. “Just one to take the edge off. Don’t worry; I need you sharp and wide awake. Sorry about the armtwisting, but I had to know.”

  “No hard feelings,” Macross managed to gasp. Geordie put the pill on Paul’s tongue and helped the other man to his feet. Macross swallowed, nearly gagging, but managed to get the tablet down. By then, Geordie had brought them to Gareth’s office.

  “What’s going on?” Paul asked, leaning heavily on the mini-bar, holding a bottle of water awkwardly between his elbow and his side as he opened it with one hand.

  Geordie looked up from rifling through the drawers. “You’ll see,” he said. “For now, you’d be smart to keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.”

  Macross nodded and waited for the dizziness to pass. His head had been spinning since that Lincoln had sideswiped them. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the look on Billy’s face as the young man was yanked into the big car. Paul had failed in his charge and he hadn’t dealt with that yet. With any luck, the pain would keep the guilt at bay until he could handle it. For now, he’d be prudent and follow orders.

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  “HELLO, kids,” Gareth said, stepping into Novacelli’s room. “Can I

  play?”

  “You can’t have him!” Novacelli yelled at Gareth.

  “Who the hell do you reckon you are?” Gareth asked coldly. “Look at you in your two-hundred-dollar sneakers and your trendy hair-don’t. I’ll wager your parents still carry you on their medical insurance. You’re not a gangster, mate; you’re just a misfit who’s never had to work a day in his life. If you had come up from my streets, you might have a prayer of taking me, but the fact is that you’re soft and I’m very, very hard.”

  “Nothing’s ever good enough for you!” Novacelli shouted, apropos of nothing.

  “And you’re a shite-brained lunatic who’s long overdue for a lesson about touching things that don’t belong to you.” “Fuck you,” Novacelli said. “Fuck me?” Gareth replied. “Oh, no, no, puppy. Fuck you.”

  Gareth’s automatic chattered and a stream of bullets flew toward Novacelli like chop from a fiberglass gun. Novacelli fired as he flew backward, but his shot went over Gareth’s head. The junior gangster’s body struck the workbench and dropped to the floor. After a few twitches, he lay still amid the dross of fast-food bags, plastic bottles, and cigarette butts.

  “Well?” Gareth said, turning to a blood-spattered Billy. “Am I not your hero?”

  Billy blinked and wrenched his gaze from Novacelli’s corpse. “I suppose you are,” he said.

  “And?”

  “And I shall be properly grateful when time and place shall serve,” Billy answered.

  “I see a mattress right over there,” Gareth hinted.

  “Jesus,” Billy said, sleeving warm blood from his face. “Not here, please.”

  “Please?” Gareth repeated. “I was joking, but I like the sound of that word on your lips. Now where is Rick, my red angel?” “Tied up behind that cabinet.”

  “Oh, good. That will save some time and aggravation. Not sure I could take him in a fair fight, but tied up suits me fine.”

  “What are you talking about?” Billy asked.

  “Didn’t you just tell Novacelli that our big blond stud is a copper?” “Well, yeah, but only so Novacelli wouldn’t kill him.” “What do you care if a psycho takes out a soldier?”

  “He’s a human being, Gareth,” Billy said wearily. “That’s all.”

  “Hello, Rick,” Gareth said, pointing his weapon at Rick’s head. “I feel bad about this, sport, I really do. I like you.”

  “Afraid I can’t say the same,” Rick answered.

  Gareth smiled. “That’s my boy,” he said. “A smartass to the end.”

  “Wait!” Billy said. “Gareth, I want to make a deal with you.” Gareth chuckled. “What do you have that I didn’t buy for you, crumpet?”

  “How about your beloved product?” Billy said.

  Gareth spun to point his gun at Billy. “If you know where it is, you’d better tell me right fucking now, kitten.” It was Billy’s turn to laugh. “You know I’m not afraid of you, Gareth. You can hurt me, or kill me, but you can’t make me do anything.”

  “That’s true,” Gareth said. “You sexy bitch, you. God, you make me harder than petrified wood. Would you consider blowing me for old times’ sake?”

  “Of all the stupid things you could do right now, putting your cock in my mouth would be the most stupid of all,” Billy answered. “Do you want to hear the deal, or not?”

  “Speak.” “I tell you where the drugs are and you leave here alone without looking back. Those are my terms. They are final and absolutely nonnegotiable.”

  “Ooh, you make my balls tight when you go all cold and proper like that,” Gareth said. “I just want to throw you to the ground and pry your legs apart and ram my…”

  “Let’s not get sidetracked reminiscing about the good times,” Billy interrupted. “The cops are probably on their way, if they aren’t outside already.”

  “Are you kidding? In this district? The cops will be here when the smell gets bad.”

  “You’re too clever for me, Gareth,” Billy said. “Do you want your drugs? Or is it worth more to you to continue tormenting me?” “It’s a harder decision than you might imagine, darling,” Gareth said. “I suppose you want Rick’s life as part of this bargain.” “I don’t want anyone else to get killed,” Billy said. Gareth looked down at Rick. “Are you shagging him yet?” Gareth asked. “He’s good. Puts up a real fight. Makes you work for it, but that’s the best, isn’t it?”

  “You’re sick,” Rick answered succinctly.

  “Oh yes, of course I’m sick,” Gareth nodded. “But what about sweet, sweet Billy here? Why aren’t you calling him sick? Why do people automatically side with the perceived victim? It’s quite shortsighted of you, you know.”

  “I trust my feelings,” Rick said. “Your failing is that you don’t have any.”

  “That’s my strength,” Gareth disagreed. “But I’ve no time to debate the issue. Billy?” “Do I have your word?” Billy asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Look at me, Gareth,” Billy said. “Do I have your word you’ll leave here without killing Rick or me? Swear it.” Gareth pursed his lips, his gaze swinging between Rick and Billy. At last, he let the muzzle of the automatic weapon drop. “I swear,” he said flatly. “Now tell me.”

  Billy pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to Gareth. “There’s a black Yank tank parked in the east alleyway. It belonged to the late unlamented Rafael Novacelli and the enormous trunk is full of narcotics. There are more cached in the headliner, the door panels, and anywhere else you can think of that it would fit. Take it and bad luck to you.”

  “You really hate me,” Gareth stated.

  “With all my ruined heart,” Billy said.

  “You’ve no idea how badly I want to nail you at this moment,” Gareth said. “Nor do I care.” “Maybe we’ll meet again,” Gareth said from the doorway.

  “If we do, remember to duck,” Billy advised him, as he knelt to untie Rick.

  Gareth’s chuckle faded down the hall as Billy fumbled with knots that he’d tied such a short time ago. “Hurry,” Rick said. “He’s getting away.”

  “That’s the deal,” Billy said.

  “I didn’t make any deals,” Rick said, as the unmistakable sound of a large engine rumbling to life echoed dully off the side of the building. “Get a knife or something.”

  “I don’t want to risk cutting you.”

  “God damn it, Billy! Just find something sharp.”

  In spite of Rick’s urging and curses, Billy took his time loosening the ropes enough for the undercover cop to pull his hands free. Rick swept up his gun as they heard the sound of another vehicle arriving.

  “Shit!” Rick said. “Give me my phone.”

  Billy tossed Rick his p
hone as he pulled something else from his pocket.

  “Where did you get those keys anyway?” Rick said as he punched speed dial.

  “Out of Novacelli’s pocket; where do you think?” Billy said, as he pressed a button on the tiny box he held.

  Rick’s next words were drowned out by the sound of a massive explosion.

  “FORGET it,” Paul said. “I won’t go along with this.”

  Geordie sighed as he closed the trunk of the BMW sedan parked in the drive of Gareth Carey’s mansion. “Do you think Gareth feels the least bit of loyalty to you?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. I took his money and I’m not going to cross him.” “Suit yourself,” Geordie said, as he pulled his gun. “I’ve got everything from the safe and soon I’ll have all the drugs, if that little weasel Novacelli hasn’t gone completely insane and used them as fertilizer or something.”

  “You set all this up just to get the drugs?” Macross said incredulously.

  Geordie smiled. “You want to change your mind? I could use you.”

  “Yeah. All right, mate,” Paul said slowly. “That’s a bit too tasty to pass up.”

  “Come on then. You drive.” Paul steered the BMW according to Geordie’s directions and pulled carefully into the narrow alley beside the Kutters’ warehouse. At the end of the lane was Novacelli’s black Lincoln Continental.

  “Park here,” Geordie said as a door opened in the side of the gang’s clubhouse.

  “It’s Gareth!” Paul exclaimed unnecessarily as Carey ran out of the warehouse and hopped into the Lincoln. Something struck the side of Paul’s head and he fell sideways, unconscious before he hit the door. A few minutes later, the burning debris from the obliterated Lincoln thumped on the hood and roof of the BMW, but Paul didn’t stir.

  “SO who was that on the phone?” Graciela asked.

  “That was Paul Macross, my man on the inside,” Campbell said. “It seems getting shot was enough to convince him to surface.” “And?”

  “It’s all falling apart. Paul’s certain Hairy Carey is out for blood. Do you feel up to a field trip?”