The Blade

by Saul, Jonas

  He made it to the darkened road and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. He knees were weak, exhausted after the arduous climb out of the pine box. Rosina was all that kept him upright. Without her, he was dead anyway.

  Nothing moved on the other side of the road. He couldn’t see security detail anywhere.

  Keeping to the darkened shadows of the trees on the side, Darwin walked parallel to the road, guessing how far to the warehouse where Gambino kept his prized World War II collection of airplanes and artillery.

  It was dark. The full dark of at least two or three in the morning, and it didn’t bother him as much as it normally would.

  Am I healing? Can a phobia go away? Maybe being in the coffin flooded it.

  He seemed to remember a doctor telling him something about flooding years ago, but forgot the exact details. He was past caring. At the precise moment he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground and had discovered he had been buried alive, he understood just how horrible the world had become. How many people before him had died at the hands of a man like Gambino? How many families had been killed like the people on his giant checkerboard by the pool? People like Frank Gambino shouldn’t be allowed to live, yet he operated above the law.

  As far as Darwin was concerned, he died in that grave. The old Darwin, the idealistic one who assumed that there was goodness in everyone, passed away.

  Being absolutely consumed with fear, stuck in a small box in a grave with no light, made the darkness under stars bright enough to endure, but dark enough to remain hidden. The dark had become his ally, no longer his foe.

  And the blade will become my ally.

  He still had an irrational response to things that were sharp or pointy, but that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

  The road turned to the right. He stayed ten feet back, deep in the dark shadows of the trees. It was time to start looking for a separate road that would lead to the warehouse. He hoped Gambino frequented the warehouse from a different access point and not just from the main house. What Darwin had planned wouldn’t work if he had to walk by the main house.

  He edged to the side of the road and closed his eyes to listen. Nothing moved. The only sounds were the crickets.

  He opened his eyes and stepped out of the trees. No one attacked him and no alarms sounded.

  He made it to the other side of the road and dropped down to the cover of trees and darkness again where he waited a heartbeat and listened.

  His guesstimate of just over a hundred yards had worked. Ten yards in front of him, light glistened off a chain-link fence. Staying in the shadows, he walked around the fence and climbed over a small stone barrier until he landed on Gambino’s warehouse property.

  At this point, he expected to see security guards or even dogs, but no one approached.

  He kept moving, walking from tree to tree not five feet from the edge of the small gravel road.

  The wall of a building came up quick. In the dark he hadn’t been able to see it. Four feet separated him from the corrugated steel wall.

  All he needed now was a door and he would be almost there.

  He hopped over a fallen tree, landed hard and slipped to the side, falling into dead leaves. He clamped his lips down hard to quell the grunt that escaped him. He waited on the ground to see if anyone heard him and responded.

  From inside the warehouse, the rhythmic sound of boots thumped as someone walked not five feet from him on the other side of the wall. He lay flat out on the damp ground and waited until silence returned. Then he slowly got up and continued along the wall in search of an access point.

  A twig scraped along his cheek but he held the groan in. The trees thickened at the corner of the building. He needed to walk over a dozen feet away from the wall to get around them. At the edge of the tree line, there was an opening. To his right, an access door.

  Something clicked and the door shot open. He stopped and stood still beside a tree, remaining hidden.

  A guard held the backdoor to the warehouse open while he puffed on a cigarette. The lights on the inside of the warehouse shone brightly, illuminating the trees Darwin stood behind. The density of the trees blocked the light from getting more than four feet past them.

  That was too fucking close. I could have stepped out when the door opened.

  He waited, barely breathing, until the man butted his cigarette and stepped back inside.

  When the door clicked shut, Darwin bolted from his hiding place and ran for the door. He gripped the handle and turned it, expecting resistance. But the door knob was unlocked.

  Of course. Who would attack a known mobster’s house that’s guarded by armed men with the only objective to kill on sight? Then why am I here? Because I’m already dead and the rest of these maggots can go to hell.

  He peeked through the crack in the door. The man who had just finished his smoke break retreated to the main offices in the rear of the warehouse.

  The door’s hinges were well-oiled as Darwin eased it open far enough to squeeze through. He stepped onto the warehouse floor and stopped as a piece of cold steel pressed against his neck.

  “Oh, man, won’t the boss be so happy with me when I show him what I caught trying to break in here. Are you so fucking stupid that it didn’t surprise you that the door was unlocked? We saw your approach on camera and motion sensors, you fucking dumbass.”

  Darwin turned enough to see the crazy look on the man’s face. He held an assault rifle, strapped over his shoulder, both hands holding it steady, with the tip pressed into Darwin’s skin.

  “You know … I’m wondering something,” Darwin said.

  He wasn’t surprised with his immediate reaction to having a loaded weapon pressed into his neck. He was beyond caring because he should’ve been killed numerous times over by now. For whatever reason, he still lived and breathed. Whether he was destined for greater things or just lucky to a fault, he was sure of one thing. The natural fear of death was slowly being beaten out of him.

  “What you wondering, asshole?”

  “Where do all of you guys come from? Like, do you all have the same mother or something?”

  The gun pulled away from his neck. A flash of movement and Darwin felt the sucker punch as it connected with his left temple. His shoulder smacked the doorframe as he lost his balance, fell backwards out the door and onto the grass. The fall hurt more than the punch.

  “Damn, that sucks,” he said.

  The pain where the rubber bullet had hit him in the forehead had recently subsided, but pulsed again.

  “Wha’s that you be saying about us? You wanna talk shit again before I kills ya?”

  “Wait,” Darwin said, his hand raised to ward off an attack. The assault rifle was aimed at his face. “I need to know if you all have the same mother because if you don’t, then how does Gambino hire you guys? I mean, it boggles the mind. Does he put out a classified ad in the newspaper saying something about asshole thugs needed to piss and shit all day while looking scary and holding a big gun?”

  The guy smiled. “You got some balls, kid. I like that.”

  “You’re gay? I would never have noticed. You look too tough to take it in the ass. Are you the wife in the relationship or the husband?”

  The guy shook his head to clear it of Darwin’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You just complimented my balls, so I was wondering if you take it in the ass or give it? Which way does your boyfriend like it?”

  Darwin braced himself and waited.

  The thug lifted the assault rifle over his head and removed the strap. He tossed it back into the building and rolled up his sleeves.

  “I think you need to learn how to talk to strangers. You break into our facility and then insult me. I will kill you, but first, I want you to feel pain.”

  “I meant no harm,” Darwin said. “You were the one who admitted to being gay. I was just curious is all and I wanted to know how a guy like Gambino could have so
many assholes on the payroll—”

  The thug lunged down, grabbed Darwin by the front of the T-shirt and brought him to a standing position.

  “Please mister, don’t hurt me,” Darwin cried out.

  Then he pushed off the ground, jumped up and wrapped both legs around the man’s midsection. The guard stumbled backwards, let go of Darwin’s shirt to use his arms to break his fall and dropped back toward the step. At the last second, Darwin opened his legs so his feet wouldn’t fall under the man’s back.

  The moment they landed, Darwin formed fists with both hands and pummeled the thug’s face over a dozen times before he stopped to catch his breath.

  Blood oozed from numerous cracks in the guard’s skin. His nose was broken and Darwin could tell that both eyes would swell shut in a matter of hours.

  Darwin pulled the guard’s unconscious body away from the open door and behind a copse of trees. He ran back to the door, stepped into the complex and grabbed the assault rifle. After a quick inspection, he found the safety and clicked it off. Then he wrapped the rifle strap over his head, held it in front of him and started along the wall toward the front.

  He passed two planes with World War II insignia on them. An old jeep with a broken windshield sat parked in the back corner.

  A light turned off in the offices at the back of the facility where the smoker had gone earlier.

  Finally he saw what he came for.

  The authentic, restored, German Panther tank sat facing Gambino’s house. The gun stuck out proudly from the turret. The tracks were wide and slightly different from other tanks he’d seen with the wheels interweaved. They were placed almost side-by-side so that certain areas of them weren’t visible. The front of the tank had a slope that probably repelled enemy artillery.

  Gambino had said that the tank was fully restored and fully operational, and that a buyer was coming to pick it up.

  Time to ruin those plans.

  Darwin swung the rifle around to his back and climbed up the side of the tank. He stood on top and looked around to make sure he wasn’t being observed.

  He grabbed the circular opening at the top of the turret and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again.

  Damn, how do you open this thing?

  A lever in the middle twisted under the pressure of his hand. He pulled up and the top opened.

  Great, it’s nice when something works in my favor.

  The crack of a weapon made him swing his head around as a bullet ricocheted off a wall. The smoker stood at the back of the building, sighting him down with his weapon.

  “Get off the tank or I will shoot you,” the guy shouted from fifty yards.

  “You’re not that good,” Darwin shouted back as he jumped up to the top and dropped down into the confining space of the turret. He bumped his right knee and left elbow on the way in, numbing his left hand.

  “Shit, that fucking hurts.”

  He grabbed the top and pulled it shut over his head as bullets careened off the tank. A quick twist and the hatch locked from the inside. Small lights flickered on. The interior was tiny.

  Great, now, how do you drive one of these things?

  He took off the rifle and scrunched down to move into another compartment. The guy outside shouted frantically into a phone about how some guy just jumped in the tank. Reinforcements didn’t bother Darwin. Short of another tank or a massive amount of explosives, nothing could stop him now.

  He found where the driver would sit in the lower forward compartment and eased into the small black chair.

  How the hell did four or five men operate in something so small?

  He quickly ascertained that the tank had seven gears. On either side of the turret he saw ammunition for the gun, but had no idea how to load it or fire it.

  All he needed to do was get the thing turned on. He touched the black steering wheel and placed his other hand on the gear shifter. Two lights hung near a black panel on his right. He saw the ignition button and pushed it. The tank fired up like the day it was built. It was so loud the guy on the phone just outside the tank was drowned out.

  He maneuvered the gears on his right and tried to find the first one. Once he had it where he thought it should be, he put his left hand on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead at a wall of metal.

  “How the fuck did the driver see where to go?”

  There was a small rectangular slit about eye level. He unclipped it and flipped it open. The first thing he saw was the guy on the phone.

  Their eyes met. Then the guy dropped the phone, yanked up his rifle and aimed at the slot Darwin stared out of. As fast as he could, Darwin slammed the slot closed and clicked it back into place. Bullets twanged off the exterior.

  “Fuck, that was close.”

  He decided he didn’t need to see out the rectangular slot. The tank was already aimed at Gambino’s house, which was his target. He would just drive forward until he hit the building.

  Now, how do I get it to move?

  He couldn’t detect a gas pedal at his feet.

  “Hey, you in the tank. Listen carefully.”

  The guy must have a bullhorn or something like it to be able to be heard over the sound of the engine.

  “We have orders to blow the tank up with you in it. Get out of the tank and we will let you live.”

  Are these guys for real? Let me live?

  “We have a large quantity of C-4 sitting under the tank right now. I give you ten seconds to exit the tank, or I will blow the C-4 … starting now.”

  That gives me ten seconds to get this thing moving.

  Because the lights were slightly above his head, he couldn’t see the clutch pedal. He felt around until his foot bumped into it and then placed his foot on top and pushed. He slipped the gears into what he assumed was the first gear and slowly let the clutch out.

  The tank chugged forward, knocking him back in his seat, his foot coming clean off the clutch. The tank stalled and stopped, the engine dead.

  “Fuck.”

  “Last chance,” he heard loud and clear now that the engine was off.

  “Fuck you.”

  He pressed down on the ignition switch again, fired up the engine, dropped the clutch and let it ease out slowly.

  The tank moved forward.

  He felt it teeter as the front came off its cement platform. It met the grass, dug in and started across the lawn toward Gambino’s house.

  As soon as the back touched down on the grass, the tank shuddered as an explosion behind the tank sent out a shock wave.

  Fucking idiot blew the C-4 anyway. Bit late, assholes.

  Darwin pushed in the clutch, dropped the Panther into second gear, opened the view slot and headed for the back patio of Gambino’s house, intent on murdering everyone he could find.

  “I’m coming baby … I’m coming.”

  Chapter 14

  Carson looked at his passenger and had the sudden urge to shove him out the door. He hated everything about Greg Stinsen at that moment. He had predetermined ideas and attitudes about Darwin when the facts spoke for themselves. Darwin had killed federal agents. Darwin had stolen a pickup truck and, as far as anyone was concerned, Bob Freska was dead because of Darwin Kostas.

  But Greg thought mobsters were involved. If he had his way, he’d proclaim that Darwin was innocent despite the evidence.

  “Hey, Rudy,” Carson said as he looked in the rearview mirror at him in the backseat, “what’s your take on all this? You think the Mafia orchestrated everything? Or is this carnage Darwin’s handiwork?”

  “Carson, seriously, I have no idea. We’ll put everything together, gather what proof we can, and charge the people responsible like we always do. Then the courts will decide who’s innocent and who isn’t.”

  “Waffling, are you?”

  “That’s not waffling. It’s what we do. We don’t assign blame.”

  Carson slapped the steering wheel. “I wasn’t assigning shit. I was asking for your opinion. So let
me ask you a different way. Who, or what, is behind all the killings of federal agents?”

  “I’m gathering that Darwin and his wife have a lot to do with it, but I can’t say they are the only guilty party. I think the Freska thing had more to do with the Gambino Family than it had to do with the Kostas.”

  “Why’s that?” Carson asked.

  “Because everyone knows Bob’s been on the take for a long time and no one could prove it. Gambino has at least half a dozen local cops around here in his pocket. Good men, too. Men who wouldn’t normally consort with guys like Gambino, but he had something on them, something over their heads. Do I think some kid from Canada took Bob out like that? No way.”