Perilous

by E. H. Reinhard

  “Son of a bitch!” he said. He shook his head.

  “Dad, where are you hit? We need to get pressure on it until help arrives.”

  “I am putting pressure on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That son of a bitch shot me in the ass! Twice! Once in each cheek!”

  I saw red-and-blues lighting the woods back up by the property.

  “Just hang tight, Dad. We have help coming.”

  Chapter 43 - Kane

  I stood on the ice near the back of the ambulance with Sandy and my sister. They’d made a call to 9-1-1 a mile from the property and waited for the sheriffs.

  The EMTs had my father face down on a gurney. He was mumbling profanities. They rolled him toward the back door of the ambulance as Sandy and I walked alongside.

  “They say you’ll be fine, Dad,” I said.

  He mumbled more profanities.

  I looked to one of the EMTs. “What hospital?”

  “Antigo.”

  “And what are we looking at here?”

  “His shoulder will just need to be stitched up. As far as his nether regions, through and through on both. One caught a little more meat than the other.”

  My father turned and eyeballed the EMT I was speaking with. “Did you really need to cut off my pants and leave me all ‘ass out in the wind’?”

  I smirked.

  “It was necessary, sir,” the EMT said.

  “This is humiliating,” my father said.

  I put my face down to his ear so Sandy wouldn’t hear me. “There’s nothing humiliating about what you did. I’m not happy that you risked your own life to do it, but I love you.”

  He reached out and pulled me closer by the back of my head. “I’d do it again in a second, boy.” He shot me a half smile. “Not a word of this to Sandy.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  My father pointed inside the ambulance. “Take me away, guys.”

  They loaded my father. Sandy put her foot up on the back to step in.

  “Sandy, where are the keys to your truck?” I asked.

  “Jeff has them,” she said.

  “Okay. I’m guessing these guys want me to stick around and go over everything with them. I’ll send Jeff, Tommy, and the girls to meet you at the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

  “How are you going to get there?”

  “I’ll hitch a ride with one of the sheriffs.”

  “Okay, Carl,” Sandy said.

  She stepped inside, and they closed the doors. The ambulance’s lights flipped on as it crept across the ice to the frozen boat ramp. It made a left and disappeared from view.

  Three sheriff’s cruisers sat around the Mercedes. Because their radios wouldn’t respond when they’d arrived, they searched the Mercedes and found the cell-phone jammer on in the back of the car. That explained why we couldn’t get a signal and why Benson’s radio wouldn’t go through. The sheriffs looked to be going over the inventory of weapons in the vehicle. With the number of guns lined up on the side of the car, as well as handguns on the roof, the guy had a small arsenal. The body of the deceased gunman lay at the driver’s door. I walked over to Callie and my sister, standing at the shoreline.

  Callie put her arms around me. “You’re okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine, babe.”

  She looked up at me, her face filled with worry. She spoke softly. “What if this isn’t it? What are we going to do?”

  I let out a breath. “I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Are we never going to be safe?”

  I said nothing.

  She buried her head against my chest.

  “You guys can probably head out,” I said. “I’ll meet you over there as soon as I can.”

  Callie nodded.

  “Mel, Sandy said Jeff has the keys. Why don’t you guys head over to be with her and Dad. I’ll grab a ride with one of the sheriffs as soon as I’m done here.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  I gave Callie a kiss and squeezed her tight. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Melissa and Callie trudged up the snow-covered hill, back toward the cabin. I walked toward the sheriffs at the car.

  One of the deputies came over as I approached. His name plate read Lasowski. “It’s Kane, right?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Law enforcement?”

  “Lieutenant, Tampa homicide. I believe this is all blowback from a case I worked.”

  “Followed you all the way to northern Wisconsin from Florida?” he asked.

  “Looks like it. I’m working with the feds on this. Plus, I have a team from my precinct that will need any information gathered. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  “No. We’ll share whatever we need to.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Do you want to give me a quick run-through on what happened down here?” He twirled his finger in the air.

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll get everything that took place down here. Then we’ll head back up top, and you can go over everything that transpired up there. We’ll need to go back to the station after that and then get this all written up. I’m sure you want to be with your father, so we’ll try to get it all taken care of as quick as we can.”

  “That’s fine, and thanks.”

  We started. He made me run through everything backward, a common tactic to weed out any lies. People have a hard time recounting things that are untruthful when they have to start from the finish. I understood—he was just doing his job. I went over the details with the deputy—shooting the man, him shooting my father, the gunman trying to run my father and me over, me firing at the car with the deputy’s shotgun, everything. We finished on the ice and headed back up the hill toward the cabin.

  “Where is the body going to go?” I asked.

  “The Langlade County coroner’s office. The guy’s checked him and the car for any kind of ID. There was nothing.”

  “I’ll need that guy’s prints forwarded to my friend at the FBI. I’m sure any identification you’d find on him would be phony anyway.”

  “I’ll put you in contact with our coroner. He should be able to coordinate with your feds.”

  “Thanks.”

  We neared the top of the hill, and I could see the cabin. An ambulance and more sheriff’s cruisers littered the driveway.

  “Where is the Mercedes going?”

  “To our county impound lot. We’ll probably need to take that truck there too.” He motioned at my father’s pickup, filled with bullet holes. “We’ll need ballistics information.”

  “Can I get the contact information from whoever is going to go over the Mercedes? I’d like the prints and any information found from that to be forwarded to my team.”

  “I’m guessing that it will probably be Jerry McCown. He should be at the station before you leave. I’ll get you a face to face with him.”

  “Thanks.”

  We walked past my father’s truck and the sheriff’s bullet-ridden cruiser. A second ambulance had its back doors open near the front of the cabin. I saw the EMTs loading Benson into the back. He was sitting up, facing me. He gave me a salute as they pushed the gurney up into the ambulance.

  I tossed him a wave back. “Deputy Lasowski, mind if I get a quick word with Benson before they take off with him?”

  “Not at all.” He motioned for me to go over.

  I walked to the back doors of the ambulance. Lasowski stood to my side.

  “I should be back on my feet in a couple days,” Benson said.

  “That’s good news. I just wanted to say thanks for keeping an eye on my family.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Sorry things went down the way they did.”

  “The good guys are all okay—the bad guy is dead. Thanks for dragging me out of that cruiser and you guys getting me inside to safety.”

  I nodded and looked to his attending EMT. “Yo
u’re going to the hospital in Antigo, I assume?”

  “We are.”

  “Benson, I’ll stop in to check on you.”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Are you guys set?” The EMT asked. “We need to take off.”

  I slapped the back door of the ambulance. “We’re set.”

  He pulled the rear door closed, and the ambulance drove from the driveway.

  I spent the next hour going over the gunfight from the time it began until the point where my father and I went after the man down on the lake. Lasowski said he had everything he needed. He informed me that we’d be leaving within the hour after he wrapped a few things up. I used the time to search the shed for a couple pieces of plywood, some nails, and a hammer. The scraps of wood I found were large enough to hammer up over the three window voids. That would do until I came back with someone to replace the glass.

  Lasowski and the other sheriffs finished up just before two in the morning. I’d spoken with Callie once and my sister twice since they’d been at the hospital. My father was still in the process of being patched up. The doctors said my father’s injuries were just flesh wounds, but there was enough tissue damage that he wouldn’t be fully healed for a month or more. They were admitting him to the facility and monitoring him for a day before sending him home.

  A wrecker pulled my father’s truck from the driveway. A few minutes prior, another had taken the sheriff’s cruiser. I imagined the Mercedes down on the ice had already gotten the same treatment. I locked up Jim’s place and took a seat in the passenger side of Lasowski’s squad car.

  “We’ll get your statement back at the station and let you go to your family,” Lasowski said.

  I nodded.

  He pulled from the driveway.

  Chapter 44 - Viktor

  Viktor was awoken from his sleep by a bang on his cell door. “Yard time,” a guard called.

  “What time is it?” Viktor asked.

  “Time to put your hands through the slot.” A key clanked in the small rectangular door, and the slot opened.

  Viktor scooted his legs off the edge of the mattress and sat up. He rubbed his eyes. He had no way of knowing the time, but he’d been out just a few hours prior. “I was just out,” Viktor said.

  “Don’t care. You’re on the list for my rounds. Hands in the slot,” the guard said.

  Maybe the extra yard time is for what I said happened with the guard.

  Viktor stood and walked to his cell door. He placed his hands in the opening.

  The guard linked cuffs around his wrists. “Back wall. You know the drill.”

  Viktor obeyed and put his nose to the back wall of his cell. He heard the guard’s key working the lock on the main door.

  The cell door opened.

  The guard entered and chained Viktor’s ankles. He ran the chain up and secured it to the cuffs around Viktor’s wrists. Viktor felt the guard back away.

  The sound of sneakers squeaking against the concrete floor filled the room. Viktor snapped his head to the right to look behind himself. A hand came toward his face and pressed it into the wall. Between the man’s fingers, he saw the faces of two white men. One was Kenny, Darryl’s sidekick. The other man Viktor didn’t recognize. Cuffed, Viktor tried to break away from the men. A forearm hammered him in the back of the neck, and Viktor’s face bounced off of the wall. As soon as his face touched the concrete, he felt shooting pain in his lower back. Viktor tried to spin around and protect himself, but it was no use.

  “The Brotherhood says hello,” Kenny said, “and goodbye.”

  He felt another stab—then again and again. The two men held him against the wall and repeatedly stabbed him in the lower back. They released their hold. Viktor turned toward them and fell to his knees.

  “He’s ready, Mr. White,” Kenny said.

  Darryl walked into the cell. He grabbed Viktor by the hair and jerked his head back. “You should have just paid,” Darryl said.

  Viktor felt the blade swipe across his throat.

  Chapter 45 - Kane

  The clock, protruding sideways from the long glossy-white hall of the hospital, read a quarter to eight in the morning. I’d been at the hospital for a couple hours, already having visited my father. He was awake and doing well. The doctors estimated he would be discharged midday the following day. He wasn’t happy they were keeping him for observation. Sandy remained at his side in his room. Callie, Melissa, Jeff, and Tommy sat in the family waiting area beside me.

  Deputy Sommer walked around the corner, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” I turned to Callie, next to me. “I should be back in about an hour or so.”

  She sat with one leg crossed over her other knee, thumbing through a Good Parenting magazine. “Okay.”

  “Try giving your parents a call again.”

  She nodded.

  I stood and followed Sommer down the hall. We took the elevator down a level and walked the hall to room 209. A sheriff sat outside the door.

  “Newman,” Sommer said.

  The deputy stood. “The doc is in there with him now.”

  Sommer gave the door a tap, and it opened a second later. A doctor stood at the door. The name Simpson was embroidered in blue on his white coat.

  “He’s alert. Try not to be too long, though.”

  “Okay,” Sommer said.

  The doctor stepped out of the door and allowed us inside.

  In the hospital bed lay Ramon Bega, or from what his fingerprints told us, Carlos Cruz. His back was elevated, and he faced us. We stood at the foot of his bed.

  “Mr. Cruz,” Sommer said.

  The man looked away.

  “You are in fact Carlos Cruz, is that correct?”

  “Yeah,” the man said.

  “Do you want to tell us what happened?” Sommer asked.

  Mr. Cruz said nothing.

  “Why were you trying to kill me? Who hired you?” I asked.

  He still didn’t speak.

  “You’re looking at multiple life sentences with no opportunity for parole. It would be in your best interest to cooperate with us.”

  He remained quiet.

  “This isn’t the time for protecting your accomplices or those that you work for,” Sommer said.

  His head shot toward us. “I have no interest in protecting those that hired me. Give me immunity in writing, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “You’re not getting immunity. There’s zero chance,” Sommer said.

  Cruz stared down. “What can you offer me?”

  “I’d have to talk with the DA,” Sommer said. “You’ll need to give us something as good faith first.”

  “The man that hired me was named Yury. He’s Russian. He’s probably still up here. The guy is driving a white Mercedes.”

  “He’s dead,” I said. “Who was he working for?”

  “Dead?” Cruz asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” I asked.

  “He executed one of my guys in front of me and then placed the gun in my hand. He left me for dead.”

  “Who was this Yury working for?” I asked again.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What was this Yury’s last name?” I asked.

  Cruz shook his head. “I never got a last name.”

  “Was he from Florida as well?” I asked.

  Cruz nodded. “I have more. I’ll tell you everything, but I need some kind of a deal: reduced sentence, something.”

  “I’ll call the DA, but I can’t make any promises.”

  “I want an attorney to look over whatever is presented to me,” Cruz said.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Sommer said.

  We walked from the room, and Sommer closed the door. We headed back toward the bank of elevators.

  “Looks like you may get some answers,” Sommer said.

  “I’m not sure what good it’s goi
ng to do. I know who is behind it. This attempt may have failed, but I’m sure he will try again. There’s not really a point in giving this guy any kind of deal.”

  “He won’t get much. As far as we know, he shot Kinnear. They don’t give deals to people who shoot cops around here. His sentence will be reduced from multiple life sentences without parole to one life sentence at best. Either way, he’ll die incarcerated. It will be worth knocking off the time that won’t matter to hear what he has to say.”

  I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Is something on your mind?” he asked.

  “I’m just thinking about what I should do with my family. I’m kind of at a loss.”

  “The girlfriend is pregnant you said, right?”

  I hit the button for the elevator. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe you guys should think about lying low, staying off of these guys’ radar for a while?”

  “How are we supposed to do that? I have to work. My family has to work. We all have homes, lives, and responsibilities that we can’t just walk away from.”

  Sommer didn’t respond.

  The elevator opened. We stepped inside and I thumbed the button for our floor.

  “I’m fine with looking over my shoulder. It’s part of the job. My family having to do it is another story.”

  “Well, I can have some of the guys keep an eye on your parents’ place. I wish I had something more for you, but it’s about all I can do.”

  “I appreciate it, Sommer.”

  The elevator doors opened and let us off.

  “I’m going to make the call over to the district attorney and see what he says,” Sommer said.

  “Okay, what room was Kinnear in?” I asked.

  “Kinnear is in four seventeen.”

  “Thanks, I’m going to pop in his room quick.”

  Sommer nodded. “I’ll find you when I hear back from the DA.”

  “All right.”

  I planned to spend the next hour making my rounds with my father, Deputy Benson, and Deputy Kinnear. All of them were doing well, yet none would be in the hospital if it weren’t for me or, at least, those hunting me. I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking that the situation was over or that there wouldn’t be more attempts and, with them, more people caught in the line of fire. I needed to figure out a way to put an end to it.