Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set

by Gordon Carroll

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve got you, we’ve got you. You’ll be okay.”

  But he cried even as he said it and suddenly she remembered. She wasn’t in the asylum; they weren’t taking her to the shock room. She’d been shot. She remembered the gun swinging toward her face; remembered trying to pull away and the whipping sound that puffed through her hair at the same time she felt the impact; sudden — brutal — then blackness and falling.

  Did he shoot me in the head? Am I going to die?

  She found that neither of those options frightened her. Compared to what she’d thought was going on death seemed nothing.

  The breath went out of her and her body relaxed into the thin mattress of the gurney and she saw Chuck Creed standing next to Dominic his face looking old and gray. Her eyes went back and forth between the two.

  The doctor stopped a nurse from hitting her with the second dose of Haldol, but the wary nurse kept the metal encased syringe handy.

  She tried to reach up, to touch Dominic’s face, but her hands were still secured to the rails. She smiled up at him, but it felt weak, barely twitching the corners of her lips. His fingers gripped her hand and she squeezed as hard as she could, but again there was little strength. Now that her rage and fear had passed the Haldol was doing its job, dragging her toward the world of dreams. Only she didn’t want to sleep, she wanted to speak with Dominic, to tell him how much she loved him; how much she needed him. How scared she was and why she couldn’t give herself over to him. She wanted to tell him about her mission, about John Doe and the cat and the asylum and everything. She wanted to tell him she wanted to marry him and spend her life with him. She wanted to — but she couldn’t — she couldn’t. She had a mission.

  And that did it. The medicine lost its power on her. She opened her eyes. They were pushing her into a small niche in the ER, pulling a curved curtain around them. Dominic and Chuck were gone. Hands went to work with scissors, cutting through her shirt and the straps of her bulletproof vest. Fingers pulled the lids of one eye open and shined a light into it — clicked off and repeated the procedure on the other eye.

  “I’m awake,” she said.

  Everything stopped for just an instant, a shocked silence filling the room like an expanding balloon. Then everyone went back to their jobs, strapping on a blood pressure cuff, feeling for bullet holes, attaching pads and clipping on thin wires.

  “You’ve been shot,” said the doctor that had been holding her forehead. “We’re still checking you over.” He grinned. “You were a little wild there for a bit.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She tried to do an internal check, feeling for pain. “I don’t think I’m hurt too bad. My head stings on the back and up by my right temple and I’ve got a killer headache, but that’s about it.”

  The doctor started feeling her face and head. He touched along her neck very slowly, this way and that. “Hmm. Good. When they first brought you in I saw two wounds. The one at your temple and another at the back of your head. It looked like entrance and exit wounds.” He shook his head. “It’s not though. Just a graze at the temple. The back of your head must be where you hit the ground. Whew.”

  “So I’m okay?”

  He looked around at the nurses and orderlies as they hooked and probed and attached and took down readings. “We’ll check all your vitals and make sure no fragments slipped into your head and that you don’t have a cracked skull or broken neck, but all in all I’d say yeah, you’re gonna be fine.”

  “The two cops that were with me when I was brought in, are they still here?”

  “Right outside the curtain.”

  “Could I see them?”

  “Okay, but one at a time. We need to run a few tests and take some x-rays, maybe a CAT scan and MRI.” He grinned again looking at the curtain. She followed his gaze and saw two shadows. “Can’t have people getting in the way.”

  The doctor motioned at the nurse with the syringe and he set the Haldol on a metal tray by the bed before leaving. Chuck popped in almost instantly.

  “How ya doin’, Kiddo?”

  She rubbed her eyes. “Got a nasty headache, but other than that I think I’m fine.”

  Chuck looked back at the curtain. “The rook says this is his fault?”

  Sarah shook her head and instantly regretted the movement. “No. It’s my fault. I got careless.”

  “Well, he’s pretty worked up.”

  “I’d like to see him.”

  The doctor stepped in. “How about after we get those x-rays.” He looked back at the curtain again. “Something tells me he’ll wait.”

  Chuck laughed. “Oh yeah, he’ll wait all right.” He pointed at Sarah. “No more fighting, these are the good guys. See you in a few.” With that he slipped out and the doctors and nurses went back to work.

  Sarah let her body collapse into the bed, but as her eyes started to close she noticed the metal syringe on the tray no longer rested there. She looked back for the nurse that had set it there, but he was gone. Too bad, another dose of Haldol right now would be nice.

  She looked at the curtain and saw the unmistakable shadow of Dominic waiting just outside. She smiled and closed her eyes.

  55

  Enrico Da Vinci

  * * *

  Enigma

  * * *

  Enrico believed in destiny. He knew himself to be, as all great artists, destined for great things.

  Cinnamon left his side in the wee hours of the morning and remained gone for nearly half an hour before returning. This did not bother him. She was a night person. Of course the fact that she’d taken her cell phone and called the detective she’d been sleeping with might well give the average man a moment of pause. Enrico, however, was anything but the average man. The average man had no hold on destiny and so became unimportant in the universal scheme of things.

  Enrico had bugged her phone. He’d listened to the conversation she’d had with Detective Rothstein last night a few minutes ago from his laptop, which came equipped with an earphone. The entire call had been recorded on his computer and saved to an encrypted file. He kept his expression neutral, a skill he’d learned a long time ago, but inside, his heart turned to ice. She’d betrayed him.

  The question now was what to do about it.

  He watched as she walked back to the table from the restroom. They were in a small restaurant in Lakewood that Cinnamon claimed made great huevos rancheros. She sat down, poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, raised her eyebrows in question, asking if he’d like her to do the same for him. He smiled and nodded. She poured.

  The steam spiraled up, obscuring her eyes from view, and he wanted to see her eyes just now. The eyes after all were the windows to the soul. Enrico wondered about her soul, what an enigma. He’d thought he knew all about her before ever revealing himself, but now he realized how wrong he’d been.

  “How’s your breakfast?” she asked.

  “Very good, thank you,” he said.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t cook for you. The truth is cooking isn’t one of my talents.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is. And I don’t mind at all.”

  She smiled, but then the smile left her face and she grew serious. “I have to discuss something with you.”

  “Anything.”

  “First, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the absolute truth.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you really love me? Or is this just about sex or — or something — anything else?”

  Enrico took a drink of his coffee, ugh, Americans were horrible at coffee; what did she want? He’d not expected her to take this line. From the phone call he thought she’d instead try and set him up; to make a way for the detective to be able to catch or kill him.

  “Yes, I love you. Other women no longer hold any attraction for me.”

  She looked down at her drink, her eyebrows creased as though considering a weighty proposition. Finally sh
e looked back up at him.

  “There’s a problem.”

  “Tell me of this problem.”

  “Sammy — the detective I told you about. He’ll never let me go. He loves me too. He’s very smart and he has a lot of resources. He’s the law and has the power of the law behind him.”

  Enrico shrugged. “He is just a local cop. I have killed many of his kind. He will pose no problem.”

  She shook her head. “No. He’s different. He won’t let me go.”

  “He will.”

  “Would you, if I asked you to leave me now, to never see me again, would you?”

  “No, I would not.”

  “And neither will he,” she said.

  “I will kill him.”

  She picked up her coffee, held it before her lips. She took a sip, sat the cup back down. “Last night while you were sleeping I called him. I know men, Enrico, but I hoped that maybe I was wrong and that he might let me go if he understood the danger. But as soon as I told him about you I knew it was hopeless. He thinks he can defeat you and keep me.” She looked straight into Enrico’s eyes and the power there surprised him. “But we both know that is impossible. First that he could defeat you. I’ve been with both of you and although he really is…unique, he is no match for you. And second because I could never be the wife of a police officer. I’d once thought I could never be anyone’s wife, but we are two of a kind, you and me. I think we were made for each other — no — more precisely, that I was made for you.” She shook her head. “Do I sound ridiculous?”

  Her speech came as a shock, echoing his own exact heart felt feelings and thoughts. “No,” he said, “not at all.”

  She went on to tell him almost word for word her conversation with the detective the night before.

  “There’s more,” she said. He listened raptly, amazed that there were so many facets to this incredible woman.

  “Go on,” he urged. “Please, continue.”

  “The club I’m opening for, Gatling Gams, it’s going to be packed with important people; actors, politicians, moguls; people with lots of prestige and money. It’s going to be wild. And on top of all that there’s going to be a million dollar door prize.”

  “So?”

  Cinnamon smiled sweetly. “So — suppose that someone were to try and steal that million dollar prize, and that a certain detective would know where, and when the attempted theft would happen as well as the thief’s identity? And suppose that he tried to stop it, all by himself, so that he could be the hero to the fair damsel in distress,” she pointed at herself, “only the damsel isn’t in distress. She is about to become a million dollars richer and he is about to be dead so that the damsel and the true prince can ride off into the sunset with their treasure.”

  “You mean you want us to steal this money?”

  Cinnamon nodded. “Yes.”

  He leaned in close to her. “I don’t need the money.”

  She leaned in so that their noses touched and whispered, “I know. I’ll be the thief. You may be rich, but I have very expensive tastes and besides, no one is so wealthy they can’t use another million dollars, right? Besides, I already told him that you were planning on stealing the money so I could set him up.”

  Enrico thought this over. A million tax-free dollars is a million tax-free dollars. Plus he would get to kill the detective in the very act of the detective thinking he was going to kill him.

  He thought of the stupid looking detective sharing a bed with his Cinnamon and felt a slow beat of rage blossom in his chest. The idea of looking into the man’s face as he realized that he had been betrayed by the love of his life and killed in the process, dampened the rage, replacing it with the mellow excitement of exquisite victory.

  “And what exactly is this plan of yours?” he asked.

  She ran a finger under his chin and up to his lips. She told him the plan as she gazed passionately into his eyes. “That’s just the basics, of course. I thought I’d leave the details to the expert.” She kissed him, long and deep. When she pulled back, she held him with her eyes. “Expert.”

  He understood. This was about far more than the money, more even than getting rid of the detective. It was about proving himself to her. The obituaries, the killings, even Barney Marko had not been enough. She wanted more. She wanted him to prove himself beyond measure, to complete the challenge she had set before him. Like some story of old; the knight sent to complete a quest to show his worth. Well, he was up to the challenge — any challenge with Cinnamon as the prize. He grinned, bowed his head.

  He said, “My queen.”

  56

  Dominic Elkins

  * * *

  Oblivious Indifference

  * * *

  “It’s not your fault, so stop it already. I hate moping.” Two white bandages wrapped her head; one on her right temple, the other mostly hidden by her hair on the back of her skull.

  Dominic turned the corner taking it too wide and almost sideswiped a cab. He couldn’t seem to do anything right tonight. Every time he looked at her his heart broke and he wanted to go into the jail and snap the scumbag’s neck that shot her. Not that K9 Timmy hadn’t done a pretty good job on his own, but Dominic wanted the satisfaction himself. More than that he did feel guilty. No matter what she said, it was his fault. He’d been upset about her making the joke about him getting sick and so hadn’t been as careful as he should have been. His attention was further diverted by being afraid of getting bit by Timmy again. Poor officer safety made for injured or dead officers. He’d seen it plenty enough in the war. All it took was an instant of not paying attention, just a nanosecond to lose an arm or leg or even a friend. He should have been more careful — should have had his gun out — should have been covering the bad guy and been ready to put him down. Instead he’d just stood there watching the K9 chew on him. He’d been over confidant because the others were being over confidant and that just didn’t cut it. He was better than that or at least he had been at one time. Was he slipping? And if so, why? He knew the answer. Sarah. Simple as that. He acted different around her because of the way he felt about her. He’d heard that love made men act like idiots and it seemed to be all too true, because that’s just how he was acting.

  “I mean it, Dominic. If you don’t stop moping I’m taking you back to the station and sending you home. Understand?”

  “I can’t help it. I almost got you killed.”

  “No, I almost got me killed. Look, Rex and me were both standing there with our hands in our pants instead of holding guns and we’re supposed to be the teachers here. Besides, there’s no real harm done. There’s lots of times you could get killed out here and when you don’t you say, huh, and chalk it up as a learning experience and be thankful for it. Okay?”

  Dominic let a deep breath out his nose, nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  “Good, but just so you know I’m giving you a way below standard score for officer safety on your Daily Activity Field Report.

  Dominic grinned thinly. “Like I care.”

  “Well you should,” said Sarah. “A few bad marks and BAM you’re out of the program, out of a job and on the soup line.”

  “I like soup,” said Dominic. He saw a bunch of cars gathered in the parking lot of a club still under construction. “I wonder what’s going on over there.”

  Sarah looked but quickly turned away. “They’re getting ready for the opening.”

  “Oh right, Gatling Gams. Going to be a big shin-dig isn’t it?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  He looked over at her, saw the sour expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t like the place, that’s all.” She jerked her head toward the back seat, her jaw set, eyebrows creased, face eerily white. Her eyes swiveled to his, saw him staring at her. “Keep your peeps on the street, Rook, or we’ll end up road kill.”

  Dominic faced forward as she sat back in her seat. “There’s nothing back there,” he said. “In the backse
at, I mean.”

  “Didn’t think there was,” she said coolly.

  “You do that a lot.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “So is that where it happened — back there at Gatling Gams?”

  Again she didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve heard the stories. I mean people talk. I know about John Doe.”

  “Do you.”

  “Well some of it anyway. Of course it’s from other people’s points of view.” He looked at her; she still stared at him, her face set and pale. “I’d like to hear it from you.” Her eyes shifted quickly to the backseat again before coming back to his. He thought he saw her hand go to her gun, but his view was partially blocked so he couldn’t be sure.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sarah, you can tell me anything. I love you.”

  “You shouldn’t say that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “No it’s not and even if it is, you still shouldn’t say it. I’m your supervisor.”

  “Forgot that, tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.”

  “You can’t help. No one can. I have to do it myself.” She looked back a final time before facing forward.

  Dominic thought for a bit before speaking again. “I’ve seen a lot of men who experienced too much combat. They call it PTSD now. In the old days they called it being shell shocked. Either way the guys get a certain look on their faces — they hear things — see things — things that aren’t really there — but that are really there for them. Sometimes they kind of know that no one else can see or hear what they’re seeing or hearing and they try to hide it.” He looked over at her. “You have that same look right now.” He turned back to the road. “So what is it you’re seeing and hearing back there?”