Highest Law: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by R. J. Pineiro

  The comment makes the Russian pause.

  “Remember?” Dix adds.

  “Da.” Yes.

  “I carried you,” Dix says. “I carried you… home after we were… overrun by the patients in that… hospital. It was me who brought you… back.”

  Yuri apparently considers that for a moment because he does not fire.

  “You owe me,” Dix adds, staring directly into the silencer.

  Slowly, he lowers the gun. “Perhaps there is another way, yes?”

  “Anything, man,” Dix says, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll do… anything… anything… if you spare her… okay?”

  After another moment of silence, Yuri puts the gun away and reaches for the bottles of prescription meds on the table next to the bed and studies the labels. Then he says while pointing at each bottle, “Oxycodone, Zoloft, Prozac, Paxil, and even Desyrel and Restoril to help you sleep. Plus, our favorite… Zilopronol, the source of all our problems… and opportunities, yes?”

  What does he mean about Zilopronol?

  But my mind can’t think about that now. I’m focused on the tears streaking down Dix’s right cheek while trying damn hard to control mine.

  Dix swallows hard and stares at him.

  “Very well, Old Friend,” Yuri says while opening every prescription bottle and lining them up along the edge of the table next to Dix. “As you Americans say, for old time sake, I will step outside for a few minutes. If you do the honorable thing, I will leave and never come back, yes? But if you make me do it for you… well, I will wait for her.”

  Yuri fetches him a new bottle of water, twists off the cap, and places it next to the meds. Patting him on the shoulder, he adds, “It is the only way, yes?”

  Dix looks up at Yuri before his gaze lands on the prescription meds lined up next to him. Slowly, his face tightens, and he gives him a nod.

  Without another word, the Russian leaves the room.

  The world tunnels around me as I watch my brother contemplate the meds for a moment, before reaching for the first bottle. He downs half a dozen pills with a swig of water, before going for the second bottle and doing the same, spilling some but swallowing more than enough. It only takes him a minute before he consumes as many as forty pills, his hand trembling at the end, toppling the half empty bottles. Their contents spill on the table and over the floor.

  He rubs a hand over the tattoo beneath his right pectoral, right over the words CLOSE TO YOU, while mumbling, “I’m sorry, Baby. I’m so sorry.”

  Then he just stares at the ceiling.

  And waits.

  A few seconds later, the screen goes dark.

  When it comes back on twenty minutes later, Yuri is again in the room staring at his dead eye. He presses two fingers against the side of Dix’s neck, pauses for a few seconds, and it almost looks as if he somehow feels sorry for what he’s done.

  As I’m trying to process what I’ve just seen, he leaves and the screen once more goes dark.

  When it returns, Franky is staring at Dix. But she isn’t screaming or going hysterical. She’s just standing there, like in a trance, her petite figure immobile, arms hanging by her sides. The screen even darkens from a lack of motion.

  When it flickers back on, she is climbing in bed with him, curling up on his lap, just like we found her.

  And she starts to sing.

  Why do birds… suddenly appear,

  Every time… you are… near?

  Just like me… they long to be,

  Close to you.

  Close… to… oh, baby. Oh, my big, big, sweet baby.

  And she breaks down and cries.

  And I want revenge.

  I want the mother of all retributions.

  I want to unleash the fucking guns of Navarone on all of them.

  But instead, I feel someone tugging at my shoulder.

  It’s Mia. Her lips are moving but I can’t hear anything.

  “Law!” she shouts, now slapping my shoulder. “Snap out of it!”

  The blow pushes me to the side a bit.

  Damn, this woman is strong.

  “What!?”

  Holding the phone in her hand she says, “There’s been a shooting in Virginia Beach. Adanna was involved.”

  “Adanna? Is she okay?” I’m starting to border on emotional overload.

  “Not sure. Lil’ B. and Lil’ T. are on the way there now. Murph and Franky left already.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  She shakes her head. “All I know is that she was taken by ambulance to the ER. Gunshot wound. Sorry. Don’t have anything—”

  “Dammit.” I close my eyes as I remember Murph’s text. She had located a member from her old platoon. I wonder if she went ahead with the meeting and it turned into another shit show like—

  “It’s a complete mess, Law,” she says. “A complete fucking mess. What the hell’s happening?”

  I know precisely what is happening.

  It’s war.

  Plain and simple.

  A war that I sure as hell didn’t start.

  But one I intend to finish.

  SEAL style.

  Chapter 22

  Just when I think things can’t get any worse, fate decides to take another dump on me.

  It’s just past nine at night, and Franky, Murph, and I are at Sentara Virginia Beach General Hospital, where paramedics rushed Adanna Johnson after a shootout with what appears to be more Russians—at least according to the tattoos that Yanez was able to highlight at the scene.

  Apparently—and mind you the picture is still sketchy—Adanna was meeting USMC Corporal Juan Fuentes outside the Calypso Bar & Grill, a popular oceanfront watering hole, when three armed men opened up on them. But Rossi, Beatriz, and Mia—plus Yanez and MCRT—are working the scene real time, so hopefully we’ll get some answers.

  To her credit, the former Marine sergeant apparently took down two of the gunmen and also wounded a third, though not before the bastard managed to put a slug in her and two more in Fuentes. All three were rushed here but Fuentes and the Russian died en route. Adanna is in recovery down the hall after surgeons removed a 9mm slug from her left shoulder. She is under the protection of MAs. According to the doctor that briefed us thirty minutes ago, the bullet missed her heart by less than an inch.

  Franky and I are flanking Murph as we sit in a waiting room doing the only thing we can do until she is moved from recovery to a private room, and we’re allowed to see her. Each of us has an arm around his shoulders.

  “Really, guys,” Murph says, wiping his nose with a tissue from a pack on the table in front of the sofa we’re sharing. I’ve never seen the man cry before. “I’m good now. She’s gonna be okay. And her mom’s on the way from New York. Should get here in a couple of hours.”

  “Well, she’s one tough lady, Buddy,” I say. “Glad you took the plunge.”

  “What plunge?” asks Franky, who seems far more composed than I would have expected given what’s happened. Perhaps it’s because Murph needs our support at the moment. But either way, it speaks volumes to the kind of woman she is. Strong. Like Adanna.

  “Our boy here got down on one knee and popped the big question the other day.”

  “And no one told me? What the hell, Murph?”

  He gives her a half-embarrassed nod and says, “Sorry.”

  “And?”

  “And we’re gonna do it.”

  Franky gives him a hug. “So exciting!”

  “Thanks,” he says, returning the hug.

  “Dix would have been so happy,” she adds. “He just loved you guys.”

  “I know,” he says. “We loved him, too. He was our brother.”

  Franky starts to cry, and I reach for a tissue and pass it to her. Dabbing her eyes with it, she says,
“Just promise me that you’ll get to the bottom of this mess. These bastards can’t get away with the shit they’ve done.”

  “They won’t,” I say.

  “I mean it, Law,” she tells me. “I want you to put them down, like you put down that hospital shooter.”

  “I promise you that,” I tell her.

  “Damn right,” Murph adds. “Bastards made it very personal.”

  “Yep. So, we’re taking the fight right to them, wherever they’re hiding, and making them pay for what—”

  A middle-aged nurse with short dark hair and a pleasant face opens the door and sticks her head in. “Mr. Murphy?”

  Murph stands up. “Yeah?”

  “Your fiancée is out of recovery. You may see her now.”

  We also stand but the nurse raises an open palm. “Sorry, folks. Just him for now. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Murph looks at us, gives us a half wave, and he’s gone.

  I turn to Franky, who is standing there hugging herself. She’s still dressed in the same jeans and white T-shirt and a pair of sandals. Her hair is a mess. Her eyes are bloodshot. And I can still see the tracks of her tears.

  “What do you say we get out of here?” I tell her.

  She nods and I place an arm around her shoulders and she lets me pull her gently towards me.

  “But, Law… I can’t go back home,” she says as we walk down the hallway toward the front lobby. “Ever. What the hell am I going to do?”

  And there it is again.

  “You’re with me now,” I tell her, deciding to lay it all on the line. No hesitation. “That’s what the hell you’re going to do.”

  Warp Speed, Mr. Pacheco.

  And I am well aware that Dix’s body probably isn’t even cold yet, but I’m not letting her get away again.

  Franky stops and looks up at me. “I don’t want your pity, Law. I—”

  “I just want to be here for you, okay? Whatever you need. Anytime anywhere.”

  She parks those blue lasers on me, and I can feel them going right through. After what seems like a long while, she says, “Alright, Law. What I need right now is a shower, clean clothes, a meal, and a good night’s rest—and I can’t go back to that fucking house. Can you handle that?”

  Chapter 23

  “So, you really live here?”

  We’re standing in the middle of the Catalina’s salon. Franky is staring at me holding the two bags from a nearby Walmart, where we stopped on the way from the hospital to pick up a few overnight things for her.

  I shrug, and before I can help it, I say, “It helps my condition.”

  She narrows her stare. “What condition?”

  “PTSD.”

  “Oh… sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No one does, except for Murph and now you—plus the military, of course, since I get my meds from them.” I point at the little bottles still lined up on the table next to the galley.

  Franky nods absently at them, then looks down at the two bags of toiletries and clothes in her hands.

  “Shower’s that way,” I say, pointing at the door just before the narrow hallway leading to the forward stateroom. There’s towels under the sink. “I’ll fix up something in the meantime.”

  She looks at me long and hard, and once more I feel like I’m shrinking under her glare.

  Then, slowly, she walks up to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Law,” she says, placing a hand on the spot she just kissed, before backing away, going inside the bathroom, and closing the door behind her.

  I just stand there totally clueless at what I’m supposed to do next. The body of my buddy is barely making it to one of Yanez’s cold steel tables after he was murdered, and his beautiful widow is now getting naked in my shower.

  How messed up is that?

  But on the other hand, a part of me is at peace with it. I truly believe in my core that Dix is in a better place. Plus, this is the first time in a while I’m not only not alone at night, but no thoughts of suicide enter my mind. If anything, I find a strange sense of comfort at the sound of the shower beyond that thin door, and it takes another moment for reality to sink in that it’s really Franky in there.

  My Franky.

  The one I let Dix steal away.

  It could have been you, Law.

  But maybe it still could be me.

  So, in the spirit of doing everything in my power not to repeat that mistake, I do the only thing I can and should do: comply to her request for a shower, clean clothes, a meal, and a good night’s sleep. Shower, check. Clothes, check. So, I start making sandwiches.

  The shower stops a few minutes later, as I’m setting up the table and getting a couple of bottles of water from the fridge.

  Franky emerges a moment later wearing a white robe, which still has the tag hanging from the neck. Like the other night, she’s barefoot and leaving little wet footprints on my teak floors. Her hair is towel dry and just falls to the sides of her triangular face. But unlike the other night, her eyes are not bloodshot. They actually look alive. And there’s that smell of lavender again, which I’m guessing is from the shampoo and body wash she picked up at Walmart.

  “Hey,” she says. “That was nice and hot.”

  “Glad you liked it,” I say while walking up to her and pulling off the tag. “Can’t have you walk around like that.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “Sure. Now, come. Sit.”

  She sits across from me at the small dinette, and I set a small spread of ham and cheese sandwiches cut into quarters, potato chips, and sliced apples in between us. Franky digs in, devouring a couple of sandwiches before going for the apples. As she holds up a slice and takes a bite, she looks at the bottle of water, frowns, and says, “What else you got?”

  I get a pair of cold Budweiser longnecks out of the fridge, twist the tops, and set one in front of her.

  She takes a sip, then says, “What else you got?”

  I grin and reach for the cabinet behind me and produce a bottle of Cava de Oro and two shot glasses.

  Franky smiles, and I realize I haven’t seen her do so in a very long, long time. “Much better.”

  I pour and we do a shot and chase it with a swig of beer, then eat some more, but we do so in silence.

  “Did you see the video, Law?” she asks after a while, sitting back and nursing her beer.

  I nod.

  “And?”

  I realize that with all the commotion, she actually never saw it, not that Mia or I would have let her. All she knew was that Dix did not willingly kill himself.

  “And it was cold-blooded murder.”

  She nods ever so slightly, her eyes on the narrow laminate surface separating us. She then uses a finger to nudge the empty shot glass toward me. “Again.”

  I obey and she chugs it, drinks more beer, and settles her stare on me.

  “Promise me, Law. You’ll get the motherfuckers”

  “Absolutely.”

  She regards me again for a long while, then says, “Good. Hit me again.”

  And I obey once more, pouring her a third shot, which she chases with the rest of the Budweiser. She then reaches across the table and snags my beer. She takes another swig, then just holds it by the top of the neck between her thumb and index finger while studying me with those damn blue lasers.

  “So, you really live here?” she asks, breaking the eye lock to look around again.

  “For the past four months, anyway. Bought it from the guy who owns the big yacht across the gangway.”

  “And you still glad you did?”

  I consider that, then say, “Well, I didn’t want to live in an apartment but couldn’t afford a house, plus I like to sail, and it helps with the PTSD, so, yeah, still good.”

  She nods while still inspecting the interior.
“It’s nice. What’s that way?” She tilts the beer toward the narrow hallway beyond the bathroom opposite the galley.

  “Forward berth… sailor speak for a bedroom.

  “And back there?” She points at the room behind the steps leading up to the main deck. I keep it closed with a curtain-like partition.

  “Rear berth. I’ll crash there tonight. Give you the big bed up front so you can relax, okay?”

  “No,” she says. “Not okay.”

  “Ah, alright, then what—”

  “Can’t be alone, Law. Especially tonight.”

  Her eyes bore holes in my face again. Before I can reply, she slides the shot glass toward me, and I fill it again. I also snatch two more beers from the fridge.

  Franky downs the shot, finishes my beer, and accepts another cold Budweiser.

  “Glad you got out, Law,” she says.

  “Wasn’t by choice. I lift my left leg and tap on the titanium tubing. Doing so reminds me of Adanna back at Landstuhl.

  She frowns. “Still, glad you’re out of that hell, and I’m assuming the rest of you is… all good?”

  “Thanks to Dix,” I say, dropping my gaze to the beer in my hands. Then add, “He, ah… shielded me, Franky.”

  “I know,” she says. “Dix always told me everything.”

  I set the beer down. “Everything?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I hesitate for a moment. Remember, Murph, Adanna, and I had decided to keep Franky out of our little investigation since it was pretty obvious she already had plenty on her plate. But now…

  “Did he talk about what he did before the teams?”

  She narrows her stare. “You mean with the DIA?”

  I nod.

  Shrugging, she says, “No, not that part… not really. Said he had signed some DIA contract over and above his Army oath preventing him from talking about it, but he did say it was some pretty gruesome shit. And you know, for someone like Dix to say that, it had to be pretty fucked up. That’s why he got out. Wanted to do something easier for a change.”

  There’s that comment again. Dix said the same damn thing up on that mountain. What kind of work would make SEAL duty seem like the easier job?