Mania - A Thriller (Jon Stanton Mysteries Book 9)

by Victor Methos

  “I’ll get the back,” Thomas said. “Katie, you run the east side.” He looked back at Stanton. “I figured you’d want to go in front.”

  “I do.”

  “For the record, this is a mistake. We should have SWAT here.”

  Stanton shook his head. “No.”

  They had no reason to listen to him. Thomas or Katie could’ve easily called in SWAT, and there was nothing Stanton could’ve done about it. But for some reason they didn’t. He figured they saw something here, too, some unfinished business that they knew he had to resolve. No doubt they would change their minds when he entered the house and call it in, but by then it wouldn’t matter. Either he would be dead, or Dale would.

  Stanton stepped out of the car. The air was cold. Not cool as it had been, but cold like a winter chill. They were near the water and high up, no structures blocking the wind. Stanton hurried to the cabin without waiting for them. The front door was locked, as was the window that probably led to the front room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thomas run silently around the house. Katie went the other way and was just as quiet, her firearm held low.

  Even here, on the outskirts of civilization, Dale wouldn’t have the girl in the front room. She would be in either the basement or the attic. Stanton scanned the building as he snuck around but didn’t see any basement windows. He went around back and saw Thomas standing in front of the back door.

  “Locked,” he whispered. “Heavy fucker, too. Probably reinforced.”

  “I don’t think we’re going in with surprise.”

  Thomas shook his head. “SWAT could be here in twenty minutes. Let them handle it.”

  “This isn’t about that anymore.” Stanton backed up a few paces, holstered his firearm, and sprinted at the house. He felt his legs pumping on the grass and it felt good. The wind whipped his face and was loud in his ears. A large window next to the door probably led into the bedroom. Curtains ran across it, and he couldn’t see what was on the other side. He didn’t care.

  He leapt and covered his face with his arms.

  39

  It had grown cold. Niles Brown sat on the balcony so long he was shivering. But it didn’t bother him. Not much of anything bothered him anymore. Today alone he had ingested Quaaludes and Xanax, smoked several blunts, and drunk enough alcohol to black out once around noon. It mellowed him out so much he would’ve lain on the couch and drooled had he not taken in a mound of cocaine to counteract the lethargic effects of the ’ludes and pot.

  He woke up with one of his favorite prostitutes, Jennifer, though he didn’t remember calling her. She said he had and was crying on the phone, though he suspected she was just saying that. Sometimes they just popped in, charged their two grand, and left, leaving him wondering how long they thought they could milk him for.

  The door opened behind him, but he didn’t turn around. There were only two people that had a key to his condo: Jennifer, who was still in the shower, and… him. The shadow of his life. Throughout everything, every pain and joy, every success and failure, every thought of suicide and every thought of elation, the shadow was there. Just on the periphery. Influencing events, influencing him. He could never seem to counter it. It was like quicksand; the more he fought, the more entangled Niles became with it.

  Dale Brown sat down next to him, right where Jon Stanton had been sitting not an hour ago, and put his boots up on the railing. He exhaled as though he’d been working hard all day and just needed a break before heading back to the grind. But really, Niles knew, he didn’t work. He didn’t do anything… except one thing.

  “Jon was here,” Dale said, his eyes on the twinkling lights of the city.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’d he want?”

  Niles tried to seem as casual as possible, as though this were the most normal conversation a father and son could have. But in his mind, he was screaming. He couldn’t handle this. Jon Stanton had always been nice to him. Nate, Niles’s younger brother, had been frail in school, picked on because he had a good mind and didn’t care about the trivial things others their age cared about, like sports and girls.

  One of the football players in junior high school, a gorilla named Rick, slammed Nate into the ground one day and stuck his knee into his back. He lifted his head and slammed his face into the ground while shouting, “Lick it! Lick it!” Nate had no choice. In front of everyone there, he licked the ground. He told Niles years later he remembered the taste: salty with beads of dirt that rolled off the linoleum onto his tongue. It was then that Jon sprinted through the hall and jumped at Rick. Stanton was small, not much meat on him, but he threw everything he had at Rick and hit Rick’s face, snapping his head back and causing him to topple over. Stanton got on top of him and went to hit him, but when he saw that Rick was crying, probably from a broken nose, he climbed off and left him alone.

  No one had expected Stanton to do that. Like Nate and Niles, he didn’t play any sports, or at least wasn’t any good at them, didn’t socialize much, and kept to himself at lunch and recess. But he’d always stuck up for Nate, and Niles had never forgotten it.

  “Leave him alone,” Niles said.

  Dale turned to him. “What did you say?”

  Niles, his hands trembling, managed to get out, “I said leave him alone.”

  Dale was quiet a moment and then burst out laughing. “You ungrateful little shit.” Dale leaned forward, grabbing Niles’s hand. “What did you tell him?”

  Niles recoiled at the touch. As a child, Dale would take his hand and squeeze as hard as he could, sending him to the hospital twice with fractures. As an adult, it wasn’t any different. “Don’t,” Niles said halfheartedly.

  “Don’t what?” Dale said, squeezing.

  “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  The pressure grew intense. Fire shot up from his hand, but Niles didn’t show any reaction other than telling his father to stop. He knew what he wanted: he wanted to see Niles cry. But he wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not again.

  “Let me go,” Niles said.

  “Or what? Hm? What you gonna do, Niles? You going to cry to that whore of a mother of yours?”

  “She’s not a whore!”

  “She is what I say she is.”

  The pain had intensified to a laser beam focused on either side of his hand. Niles fell to the floor of the balcony. He gripped the railing with his free hand, grimacing, his teeth clenched as his father didn’t relent.

  “Please,” Niles begged.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you tell him about the cabin?”

  “No.”

  Dale reached down with his other hand and grabbed Niles’s neck, squeezing that as well. “Don’t fucking lie to me! Did you tell him about the cabin? Did you?”

  “No!”

  Dale let him go. Niles wanted to vomit. He lay on the cement for a moment before lifting himself up and flopping back into the chair. Pain radiated through his hand, and he massaged it with his other hand.

  “Just leave,” Niles said. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life.”

  “Oh, but you got me in your life. You’re my son, and I’m your father. Nothing will ever change that. Ever.” Dale leaned back again, relaxing as he picked up the package of cigars and took one out. “Doesn’t matter if you told him about the cabin. I’ve got a little surprise waiting for him there.”

  Niles looked over at him. The most horrifying aspect was how alike they looked. Niles could see his eyes and nose in his father, and it revolted him. “What did you do?”

  Dale grinned. “You’ll just have to wait and see, I guess, won’t you, son?”

  40

  The glass rained over him. Scrapes and cuts stung his arms and cheeks. He felt the shards go down his neck and nick his ear. The sound was so loud it made his ears pound, but he was through.

  Stanton landed on the carpet hard. He fell on his elbows an
d knees and took a second before he opened his eyes. Checking himself, he saw several cuts on his hands and fingers, but it didn’t matter. He let them bleed.

  He rose and unlocked the front door for Thomas and Katie before pulling out his firearm. Dale would know he was here now. They didn’t have much time.

  Stanton didn’t wait for the others. He ran to the kitchen and then the bedroom, looking underneath the bed. He checked the bathroom and the closets, but no one was there. A set of stairs led down to the basement, and he stood on the top step. He heard Katie whisper his name in the other room and knew what she wanted: they wanted to lead this. This was their jurisdiction and they had to be the ones to find the girl.

  No, he thought. Not for this.

  He ran down the steps, raising his weapon on the bottom step before opening the basement door.

  As he hurried into the basement, he froze. His guts tightened so much it felt as though he would vomit. Thomas and Katie came rushing down behind him.

  Thomas said, “You can’t just—”

  “Turn around,” Stanton said.

  “What?”

  “Something’s not right. Turn around.”

  Slowly, Stanton began to back away, pushing the two of them with him.

  It was a subtle thing, just a glint of crimson light, but Stanton saw it. It moved across the room, over his shoulder, and moved toward his head.

  “Get down!”

  The shot shattered the window. A loud, echoing boom in the neighborhood. Another shot, this one tearing away chunks of wooden beam and drywall. Stanton turned, crawling toward the stairs as another shot rang out from somewhere in the darkness outside.

  He pulled Katie along and went for Thomas, when he saw the blood cascading out of his shoulder. The round had gone into Thomas’s right shoulder and exited through his back. He was groaning in pain as the blood continued to flow.

  “No!” Katie screamed, rushing toward him.

  “Katie!”

  Stanton grabbed her head and pushed it down just as another shot rang out, narrowly missing the back of her head and embedding into the wall. He held her arm and pulled as he crawled up the stairs. When they reached the top, Stanton crouched and crossed the living room. He peered outside, pulling back just a corner of the curtain, but couldn’t see anybody. It was too dark out there.

  Then he saw the glint again. It was searching the basement. Across the street, the crimson light flashed for a moment behind some trees as it swept over the house.

  Stanton rushed out of the side door and sprinted as fast as he could, circling around the house, hoping that whoever was in those trees didn’t spot him. The darkness worked to both their advantage.

  He got across the street and ducked low on the grass. Now about fifty feet away from Dale’s cabin, he began the slow duckwalk back, his eyes constantly scanning the darkness for any movement.

  And then he saw him.

  A black figure knelt behind some trees, a massive rifle steadied in front of him. The man was speaking into a phone quietly. Stanton came up around and behind. Each step was measured and soft, the trees rustling lightly in the breeze masking any noise he made.

  Stanton was nearly on top of the man now. He held up his firearm and said, “Move your hands away from the rifle.”

  The man froze. He didn’t turn around. Slowly, he set the phone down on the grass, and began to stand up.

  “That’s not what I said. I said to move your hands. You stay flat on your stomach.”

  Stanton counted ten heartbeats before the man complied and began getting down to his stomach.

  And then, in a flash, he was up and ran.

  Stanton was after him. The man ran like a track star. In less than a block, he would be out of view. Stanton wouldn’t be able to chase him down. He kept sprinting though, waiting for just enough light to be able to see him, steadied his aim, and fired.

  The first shot missed, and the second one connected. Even in the relative dark, Stanton saw a little puff of blood explode out of his leg as the man hit the ground, groaning. Stanton ran up to him and pressed the gun to his chin.

  “Lemme go, man. Lemme fucking go.”

  The man wasn’t a man at all. He was little more than a boy, maybe seventeen. He lifted the boy and dragged him up onto the grass before sitting on top of him. Years of ingrained procedure and training told Stanton to read him his Miranda rights and call for backup. He did neither of those things.

  “Hey, man. Hey… I was tryin’ to get paid, man. That’s all. It wasn’t nothin’ personal, man.”

  “Dale hired you?”

  “Yeah, man. Dale.”

  “Where is he?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  Stanton lifted his weapon and brought the handle down into the boy’s nose. It cracked, and blood began to flow within a couple of seconds.

  “Fuck you!” the boy shouted, trying to turn to his side and put his hands against his nose.

  “Every time you lie to me, I’m going to hurt you.”

  “I don’t know where he is, man. I swear. He paid me to come shoot up this house. He said to shoot anybody that breaks into his house. That some fools were comin’ to rob him. That’s it, man.”

  “How’d he pay you?”

  “Cash.”

  “Where’d you pick it up?”

  “Some fuckin’ condos downtown, man.”

  Stanton froze. He holstered his weapon. He had been played, and played well. Katie was running up behind him, her gun drawn.

  “Call it in,” Stanton said, brushing past her to get to the BMW.

  She slapped handcuffs on the boy. “I can’t let you leave, Jon.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. A detective’s been shot. I need you here. And I’m gonna need your gun.”

  He took a step toward her. “I’m close, Katie. I know where he is. I can’t just stop now.”

  “And what about Thomas? Your obsession with this almost got him killed. Is that just collateral damage? Well, he’s not collateral damage to me. I’m sorry, but this has gone too far. It’s time to end it.”

  “End it how? By letting that little girl die, too?”

  “Jon, I need your weapon.”

  He turned around and began walking.

  “Jon, don’t make me do this.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “You want my gun, you’re gonna have to shoot me in the back.”

  He didn’t know Katie and was only guessing as to what she was and wasn’t capable of. He wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t shoot him. By the time he checked on Thomas, who was pressing his jacket to the wound to slow the blood, he could hear sirens and took the keys out of his pocket. He ran back out to the BMW. When he drove past her, he saw she was on the phone and running back inside the house.

  41

  Stanton left the BMW up on the sidewalk and sprinted into the condominium towers. He put on his best smile and asked the guard to see Niles Brown again.

  “Tell him I forgot to ask him a couple questions.”

  The guard informed Niles and Stanton was allowed up. On the elevator, he pulled out his firearm and held it low. Niles was a part of this too, but not like his father. Maybe Niles was as much a victim as Elizabeth had been.

  Stanton got to the door and knocked, after pressing his back against the wall and away from the door in case a round came flying through there. Niles came to the door just like he had the other time. Before he could speak, Stanton hit him.

  Stanton hit as hard as he could, a right cross on the mouth that sent Niles flying back into the condo. Blood spattered out almost instantly. Stanton lifted his weapon and pointed it at his head.

  “What the fuck!” Niles yelled, staring down at the blood on his fingers.

  “You’re going to tell me what I want to know,” he said calmly. “Where is he?”

  “I told you. He’s at the—”

  Stanton fired. The round blew out Niles’s knee, and the condo filled with his screams. St
anton pressed his foot against the wound, causing Niles to writhe.

  Calmly, Stanton said, “I will do anything to save that little girl. Where… is… he?”

  Niles’s eyes moved. Subtly, a slight movement to the left, and Stanton heard the footsteps behind him. He ducked as Dale Brown slashed at him with a kitchen knife. Stanton rolled away, coming up with his firearm.

  “No!” Niles shouted. He grabbed Stanton’s ankles, throwing him off balance and giving Dale time to rush forward.

  Dale, though older, hit like a truck. He knocked Stanton back into the wall, the gun flying across the room, Stanton’s body collapsing the drywall behind him. Dale grabbed Stanton’s shirt and delivered three quick punches in succession with his free hand. On the fourth punch, Stanton moved away, the fist barely missing him and slamming into the wall. Stanton cracked his head into Dale’s nose, snapping his head back before he came up with a knee into his groin. Twisting away, Stanton went for his gun.

  Niles scrambled on the floor and grabbed the gun, lifting it up and pointing at Stanton.

  Dale laughed, wiping away the blood that dribbled down from his nose and over his mouth. He ran his tongue along his top lip as though relishing the taste.

  “You’re done, Jonny.”

  Stanton felt the sting in his lips, the loose tooth aching and beckoning his tongue to push on it. He wasn’t going to win this way. Slowly, he backed away to the balcony, collapsing into one of the chairs and letting the blood drip down his lips and onto the cement.

  Dale looked at his son and said, “You gonna shoot him?” He chuckled to himself, took the gun, and came out to the balcony. He pulled a chair farther away from Stanton and sat down, keeping the gun pointed at him. “I’m sorry it had to come to this. I always liked you, Jon. You were nice to my boys.”

  Stanton couldn’t think of anything to say. He had dreamed of this moment, the moment when he would confront the man who had changed his life by extinguishing his sister’s, dreamed about what he would do or say, and now that the moment had come his mind focused only on the pain radiating through his face.