by Blair Howard
She gave me a funny look, but didn’t answer.
“If he isn’t, that’s fourteen. That means he has only three or four left: Duvon and Gold, maybe two more, plus himself. I like those odds, especially since he doesn’t know about you.”
I pointed at her, and then tapped one of my Eartechs. She nodded. I gestured for her to back away to the east wall and take cover. She nodded again, then turned and ran silently away into the darkness. That left me on the east side of the opening, Bob on the west.
I leaned sideways and peered through the wide-open double doors. The room beyond was unlike the other three. It wasn’t quite as big, but the ceiling was at least twenty feet higher. There was a row of what I took to be small offices high up on the east wall, thirty or more feet above the floor, with a narrow steel catwalk running in front of them.
Observation platform?
The room was clear—no building supplies, nothing; just a vast concrete pad, a wide open space.
The lights from outside the west windows lit what few upright supports there were and cast long shadows across the concrete. It was darker, but not so dark I couldn’t see Jacque seated in one of a half dozen steel chairs. She was facing us. Her hands were tied behind her, but I couldn’t tell if she was also tied to the chair or not. But what bothered me most was that Shady was nowhere to be seen—and that Jacque was flanked by Duvon James and Henry Gold. Gold was behind her, holding the biggest goddam knife I’ve ever seen to her throat, and he was grinning.
Where the hell is Tree?
I looked up at the catwalk. There were lights on in the two center offices, and I could hear a generator running quietly somewhere off to the southeast. A small door at ground level led off into what I assumed must be the room with the overhead door where we had spotted Shady relieving himself. And there were dark areas in both corners that I assumed were stairwells. But there was no sign of Shady.
I turned my attention back to Jacque and Gold. He was behind her, but I could see most of his head; only his chin was hidden below her shoulder. I calculated the distance. I made it roughly seventy-five feet. In this low light, it would be a hell of a shot.
“What are you thinking, Harry?” Bob whispered across the opening.
“I’m thinking I can make the shot.”
“Harry. You miss, she’s dead either way: your bullet or the knife.”
I nodded. “If I miss, which I won’t. Look, they won’t be expecting it. Shock and awe, right? The only problem I see is Shady, but where the hell is he?”
There was still no sign of him.
“So.” I looked at Bob. “You take Duvon, I’ll take Gold. Wait ’till I shoot. We don’t want Gold accidentally slicing her head off. I’ll take a step sideways and take out Gold. You ready?’
He nodded. I took a deep breath, stepped quickly to my right, dropped to one knee, and fired; Bob fired a split second later. I hit Gold slightly to the left of center, high on his right cheekbone. His head twisted to the right. The hollow point virtually exploded as it hit, showering both Jacque and Duvon with blood and bone. The knife dropped from his hand and Jacque leaped to her feet, running toward us.
A microsecond after my bullet hit Gold, Bob’s heavy .45 slug slammed into Duvon’s chest. He was wearing a vest; I saw the puff of dust as the hollow point slug hit. It picked him up off his feet and hurled him backward. His head hit the concrete floor with a sickening crack.
“Stop, you bitch,” Tree yelled and there was a burst of suppressed automatic fire: the slugs kicked up shards of concrete around Jacque’s feet as she ran, and she stopped.
“Now back up… back up, back up, back up. That’s it, now stop. Siddown and don’t even twitch. You do, an’ I’ll turn your goddamn face into a goddamn milkshake.”
She sat down.
Oh my God, I thought. We’ve blown it.
“Starke, you piece of garbage. You see that green dot on her face? That’s me. I’m gonna kill you, man, and your goddamn buddy, but I’m gonna make you suffer first. I’m gonna blow your knees an’ elbows away, and then I’m gonna gut shoot you both. You know how a .223 works, don’t you, Starke? It hits an’ then it starts a spinnin’. One in the gut an’ it’ll turn your innards into mush. It’ll take an hour for you to die.”
I still couldn’t see him. I could see the dot wavering over Jacque’s face, though. And I could tell by his voice that he was close to losing it.
“Okay, Shady,” I shouted. “We’re coming out. Don’t shoot her.”
“Harry,” Bob hissed. “We go out there, we’re dead. We won’t make it three feet.”
“I don’t think so. I think he wants to hurt us first. We have to hope Kate can do something before he does.” I looked east to see if I could see her; I couldn’t. “Here goes nothing.”
“Harry, you can’t save her. He’s gonna kill her no matter what we do.”
“Not if I can help it.”
I dropped my two VPs on the concrete and stepped around the doorframe and into view.
I didn’t get the chance to take another step. A hail of automatic fire skittered off the concrete around my feet, and I stopped dead.
He laughed. “Scared you, huh? Now your buddy. Step out, Bob. Do it now, or Harry dies on the spot.” Bob stepped out and dropped his weapons.
“Now then. That’s a whole lot better. Walk forward—slowly, slowly! Go to the chairs and sit down with your little friend. Do it now!”
And then I could see him, and he wasn’t alone. Up on the catwalk, close to the stairs, Tree had an M-16 at his right shoulder and Jonathan Greene at his left. The greasy little son of a bitch was grinning… no he was snarling down at us. Even at that distance I could see his right wrist was in a cast.
“I said sit down, Starke!” Tree loosed another burst of fire at my feet. We sat, and watched as they descended the iron stairs together. I looked at Duvon. He was ten feet or so away, still on his back, still unconscious.
Where the hell is Kate?
“Well, Harry,” Tree said as they approached. The M-16 was now tucked comfortably under his right arm, but his finger was on the trigger and the muzzle never wavered from my chest.
“You sure as hell screwed up our little operation. Well, it wasn’t so little, was it, John Boy?” Tree glanced sideways at Greene. “Oh well, it’s no biggy. We still have the product, and the men we can replace. But you two? Well now…. Oh, and how’s your sexy blond girlfriend? You can be sure I’ll pay her a little visit when we’re done here. I know where you live. How the hell you made my guys the other night…. Ah, never mind. As I was saying, I’ll pay your girl a little visit an’ screw her seven ways to Christmas before I cut her throat.”
He paused, looked down at me. Maybe he was hoping for some sort of reaction. He didn’t get one.
“Cat got your tongue, Harry? Oh, now there’s a thought. Maybe I should start with your tongue. You don’t talk nothin’ but a load o’ shit with it anyway.” He hefted the M-16 still under his arm. “So, where to begin….”
“For God’s sake, stop screwing around and finish him,” Greene snarled. “If you don’t want to do it, I will.”
“Patience, Johnny Boy. All in good time. I’ve waited a lot of years for this. Remember this, Harry?”
He showed me his left forearm. The dimpled scar on his wrist glowed white in the dim light. It was the result of a bullet I’d put in him a several years ago when I was working the Robinson case.
“I told you I’d make you pay for it, didn’t I?” He looked at Greene. “Better tie ’em up, Johnny. See to it, will you?”
“Who the hell do you think you’re ordering around you stupid son of a bitch. Do you have any idea what this mess has cost us? You tie him up. Better yet, kill them all, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Tree murmured, looking first at Bob, then at me. “So ungrateful. Do you have these problems with your employees, Harry?”
“Employees?” Greene screeched. “You work for me you
crazy bastard. Gimme that gun. I’ll do it.”
“Now hold awn there, Trigger. We got business to conduct first, me an’ ol’ Harry heah.” I almost laughed; the impersonation of Pat Buttram’s Sherriff of Nottingham in Disney’s Robin Hood was almost perfect.
Greene did not appreciate it, however. He turned away, walked to the where Bob had dropped his 1911s, grabbed one off the floor, racked the slide, and came back almost at the run, the gun held at arm’s length pointing straight at me.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Tree said lightly, and as Greene came barreling past him he slammed the barrel of the M-16 down on Greene’s wrist. The 1911 flew out of his hand and skittered across the floor, much to my relief. “I told you to be patient, didn’t I? Take it easy, you heah?”
Where the hell is Kate?
Then, as if in answer to a prayer: “Put the weapon down, Tree, slowly. Do not make any sudden moves, either of you.” It was Kate. She stepped out of the shadows at the northeast corner of the room.
“Awe, Harry, you done lied to me,” Tree said reasonably, shaking his head. “Now that wasn’t nice.”
“Better do as she says, Shady. You too, Johnny.”
Carefully, Tree laid the M-16 down beside him.
“Kick it away,” she said, and he did.
We stood up, all three of us. Bob cut the piece of rope that held Jacque’s hands. She slumped against him and burst into tears.
“I’m sorry,” Tree said. “Did I do that?” This time it was Urkle, and perfect. He truly was off his rocker.
“Turn around, you piece of crap,” Bob growled. “You too, Greene.” He ran his hands over their bodies, took a tiny .25 revolver from one of Tree’s socks, tossed it across the room, then said, “Put your hands behind you, both of you. Stretch ’em out. Good.” He looped a plastic tie over each one, jerked them tight, and then pushed them both toward the chairs.
“Ooh, nice and warm,” Tree said, as he sat down on the chair Jacque had just vacated. “Can’t stand a cold seat, can you?”
Bob didn’t answer. He just walked around back of Greene, put one hand under his chin, the other on top of his head, and with a quick, sickening jerk, broke his neck. The loud crack it made almost turned my stomach.
I stared, suddenly cold, as Bob let go of him and Greene toppled slowly forward, out of the chair and onto his knees on the floor. He kept going until his face hit the floor, and there he remained as if prayer, facing Mecca. He was gone.
For a moment there was dead silence, and then: “What the f…. Christ Almighty, Bob.” I said it almost in a whisper.,” I was stunned.
Kate screeched, “Bob! You… you killed him!”
“Yep, head of the snake, remember? And here goes another,” Bob growled as he stepped sideways, behind Shady. Before he could touch him, however, a voice screamed down at us from the catwalk.
“You bastards! You filthy pieces of shit!”
It was a woman’s voice, and no sooner was the last word out of her mouth than something akin to a sledgehammer hit me in the center of my back, and then another high on my left shoulder. Bam. Bam.
And then I was going down, pitching forward, twisting, clawing for the Smith and Wesson M&P Shield in my ankle holster. As I fell I looked up, and there she was: Kathryn Greene. She was standing on the walkway, her face twisted with rage, a pistol in her right hand aimed straight at me.
She fired again. The slug hit the plate on the right side, half sleeve of my body armor. I hit the floor on my back. By instinct, I swung the Shield upward and fired once, one-handed. The slug hit her upper left arm, spinning her around, blood spraying out over the rail, but she wasn’t done yet. Screaming like a demon, she continued the spin, righted herself, and came back into firing position, her left arm hanging loose at her side. She fired again. I felt the slug tear through the soft, fatty tissue of the inside of my lower left arm.
Jesus Christ!
I fired back instinctively; there was no time to aim. I hit her low in the right hip, and she staggered back, gun still raised, but before she could fire again I got off two more shots. The first missed; the second didn’t. It hit her in the mouth. Her head snapped back, her eyes wide; her hand dropped to her side and the gun slid from her already lifeless fingers. Slowly, she collapsed to her knees, then fell forward onto the catwalk, her hand hanging over the side, her fingers dripping blood. It all happened so quickly. No one else had even moved.
And then Kate was running toward me. “Jesus, Harry, are you okay?”
“Hell no,” I gasped. I was flat on my back, the back of my head on the floor, pain surging through my body from the multiple hits to the body armor and the tear in my left arm. I couldn’t even lift it to look at the damage.
“Oh shit,” she whispered, kneeling beside me.
“What? What?”
She shook her head. “It’s through and through.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Jeez,” Bob said, leaning over her. “That ain’t good. You need a hospital, and quick.”
“What the hell?” I tried to roll over and get to my feet. I got only part way before I had to give it up and fall back. The pain was too bad. I did manage to get a look at the pool of blood, though, and Bob was right. It wasn’t good.
“Bob,” Kate said. “Gimme one of those cable ties, quickly.”
She looped it around my upper arm and pulled it tight. The flow of blood stopped. It would work for a few minutes, but it would have to come off soon or I’d lose the arm.
“It’s the exit wound,” she said. “Bob’s right. We need help, and quick.”
She needn’t have worried. It was already arriving. Church Street was turning into a circus. Someone must have heard the gunfire, probably the first responders at the fire station, and called it in.
Well at least they don’t have far to come, I thought.
Within minutes the great windows were ablaze with flashing red and blue, amber, and white lights.
“Okay,” I said. “Get ready. They’ll come storming in here any minute. Hey…. We’ve got our story down, right?”
I laid my S&W down on the floor. “Bob, Jacque, stand still, keep your hands in sight at all times, don’t move and for sure don’t say a damned thing to anyone. “
“Where the hell is Shady?” Kate asked, looking around.
I tried to sit up. I made it onto my right elbow and looked around. The chair he’d been sitting in was empty. The cable tie was lying on the floor in front of it, the fastener broken. Not a difficult thing to do if you know how, and Shady obviously did.
From beyond the shadows, through the door under the catwalk, came the roar of a motorcycle engine. It was indeed, we found out later, the room where the overhead door was located, where I’d first spotted Tree relieving himself. The engine revved once. There was a screech of rubber on concrete, and then the sound of the engine slowly diminished as it raced away.
Son of a bitch. He’s gone. He’s gotten away.
But there was no time to dwell on that. The cops would be here any minute.
“Kate,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to get her attention. She was still looking up toward where we’d heard the motorcycle. “You get on out there, quick. Identify yourself, try to explain why we’re here and what we were doing. They come busting in, they could take us for the bad guys.”
She nodded, and ran off into the shadows toward where the sounds of hammering could be heard. They were probably trying to break down the door.
I heard her shouting something. Then there was a loud crash as door gave way, and then…. Chaos? Yeah, that was probably the right word. The first people to enter the building were the Cleveland police chief, Bobby Masterson, and Lucas Jackson, one of his captains. Both had weapons in their hands. Kate was between them.
Fortunately, I knew both of them, and even better, they both knew me.
“Well,” Masterson said, coming to stand over me as he holstered his pistol, “it had to happen sooner or later, I suppo
se.”
“What did?” I asked. “And hello to you too, Bobby.”
“I figured you’d find a way to invade my patch, and it looks like you did. Did you get ’em?”
“Er… get who?”
“Come on, Harry. Don’t play cute with me. You’re not on the golf course now and, by the look of that arm, you won’t be for quite a while. Did you get Tree and his mob?”
“You knew about them?”
“You think we’re country boys here in Cleveland? Don’t know our asses from our elbows? Of course we knew about them. We’ve been watching them for months, at least Lucas here has. Never was able to find any cause to enter the property. The owner”—he looked at what was left of Kathryn Greene up on the catwalk—“she and her shyster husband wouldn’t allow access, not without a warrant…. Well, you know all about that, don’t you, Harry. Never did believe in warrants, did you. And here you are, and what a damned mess you’ve made for us to clean up.” He grinned down at me. “And I thank you for it.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” I said dryly. And then I introduced the others.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know Bob Ryan, and the lieutenant. We’ve run into each other in the past. How are you, Catherine?” he nodded in her direction. “Ms. Hale though, I didn’t know. But now I do.” He sighed at me, and shook his head.….” He cast a glance at her, then turned again to me.
“Women, Harry? You brought women to a gunfight? What the hell were you thinking?”
I didn’t answer.
“You should have called me, Harry. You know that, right?”
I nodded.
“Then why didn’t you?”
I simply shrugged, and immediately regretted it as spears of agony shot up my arm.
“Hang in there,” he said. “The paramedics are their way. Oh, and so is the DA, and the TBI. I had to call ’em in. No choice. Besides, our crime scene unit isn’t big enough to handle this place.” He looked around, shaking his head. “How many, Harry?”
“How many what?
“How many did you kill?” He looked at the still-unconscious Duvon James. “He dead?”
