Chapter 51
Oscar was a man of his word and called the Oak Hill PD along with Detective Phillips as they pulled along the road a couple house down from the address that Ginger had managed to scrounge up. He told Ashe that the local law were on their way and would be a few minutes behind them. That comforted Ashe. They would have back up, but they would also be the front line, taking point and calling the immediate shots, instead of some possible gun happy strangers with a name to make for themselves by capturing or killing a known fugitive. Ignorance in their current situation could put Scott in more danger than he was already in. Even everything seemed to be thrown into disarray and disorder, he felt better to be the first one to enter the insanity, instead of the other men with guns and badges.
After getting out of Oscar’s car, Ashe was instantly tense. He glanced down the road to the small house where Scott might be. He couldn’t make out any lights from where they stood, which only gave him a view of the side of the building. The house appeared to be dark, but that might prove wrong whenever they got closer. It also seemed quiet from their distance, but when they grew nearer that assessment could also change, as well. He didn’t know what would be waiting inside the house, if anything at all. At that point, anything could take place from that point on out.
Oscar called Ashe to the back of his car. As Ashe came around, he noticed that the detective again had the trunk open. Reaching over to the psychologist, Oscar handed Ashe a heavy black vest. It had the words POLICE scrolled across the front and back. Slipping off his blue windbreaker, Ashe put on the bulletproof clothing before slipping the windbreaker back on over it.
“You still know how to shoot?” Oscar asked in a low voice.
Ashe nodded. “I still go to the range.” He then stubbornly added, “But I don’t want any gun.”
“We don’t know what is going on inside of that house,” Oscar insisted, with his usual tone of authority. “You are going in armed or you are going to stay right here by the car. You’re choice. You can’t be naïve enough to deny the possibility that Scott could be too far gone to trust.” The detective always kept a metal gun safe in the back of his vehicle, sealed shut and kept shut by a keypad lock. Reaching in, he unlocked the miniature safe by punching a short number code into the keypad. He then opened it, letting Ashe grab a glimpse inside. He saw two small handguns and what might have been several extra clips. After snatching up what Ashe believed could have been a small 9 millimeter, along with an extra clip, Oscar went to hand the pistol and clip over to him. “Take it?”
Reluctantly, Ashe accepted the gun. And that was when he remembered the handgun on Oscar’s belt. He glanced at the solid peace of hardware on his old friend’s hip. Black metal. Wood grip. It was a Browning Hi-Power. Ashe only knew the name because he was present when his friend had raised the money to buy. He was also present when he was finally cleared by the police higher-ups to use the piece while on duty, even though it was not the standard issued weapon but his own personal one instead. It was always on Oscars hip, as if it was another appendage, which was why Ashe had actually forgotten about its existence.
With the small gun heavy in his hand and the larger gun familiar on Oscar’s hip, reality was beginning to sink deeper into Ashe’s brain.
“What have you done, Scott?” he mumbled under his breath.
Ashe kept the gun out, instead of hiding it under his windbreaker. The safety was on. He put the extra clip in the pocket of his windbreaker.
“The gun is loaded,” Oscar informed Ashe, even though the psychologist was fully aware of the fact. “You just need to put the first shell into the chamber.”
Ashe nodded and slid the bullet into place.
Once Oscar had his vest on, he ordered Ashe to follow him, not beside but behind. Ashe listened, as always, remaining a foot behind the detective, handgun pointed safely at the ground, but ready for anything that might come their ways.
As they walked slowly up the road, Ashe felt his senses heighten. He could hear their feet crunching against the street. He could see better, more fully into the night, the colors of the homes, the glare of the streetlights, and the stillness of the town’s calm block. He could smell the fallen water that sat all around them. He could feel the constant chilled breeze that continuously swept across his cheek. And he all at once felt the rain as it suddenly began to pour down on them again.
“Fuck,” Oscar swore. “We could have done without that.”
Ashe concurred completely.
Thankfully, the windbreakers had hoods, but hoods could affect their sight, give them tunnel vision. Ashe pulled up his hood anyway to block out the pounding rain, but Oscar chose to fight against it and leave his hood hanging at his back. Ashe became slightly guilty for having his hood up, because it suddenly didn’t seem all that brave. And he wanted to be brave for his son. But he also figured that the rain could affect their sight as much as a hood. So, his hood remained over his head while Oscar’s continued to hang unused.
They eventually reached the dark house where Amber Barrett supposedly rested her head. Leaving the road, they began to cautiously creep up and over a gray sidewalk and onto the driveway of the dark structure.
The house was an underwhelming two-story building. It was covered by pale vinyl siding, several years old by the wear on the surface. The windows seemed short but thick and sturdy, modern, maybe, possibly installed within the last year or so. The grass of the front yard was mowed regularly. Hedges lined the driveway and they were also maintained on a regular schedule. Two vehicle garage. The house reminded Ashe a little of his own home. Over all, just like his own home, the building appeared utterly harmless, as if an old couple were living out their golden years inside.
The looks were most likely deceiving. Ashe tightened his grip on the handle of his gun.
Using the driveway would be quieter than slopping through the puddles of the drenched front lawn, Ashe understood. It wasn’t the first house that Ashe had slithered up to in the dead of night. He knew the drill. He knew it well. They would follow the path of least resistance and less noise. Stealth was the key. And they would only have the ability of stealth until Oak Hill PD showed up with their light flashing, so they needed to take advantage of the surprise while they had it.
He wished there was a way that they could talk the Oak Hill’s finest into approaching the situation like Oscar and himself had, with ease and subtlety. That wouldn’t happen, though, Ashe was sure of it. Oak Hill PD would view it only as a hostage situation and approach it as such, with force, containment, and communication. It was protocol, one that Ashe and Oscar were breaking by acting as they were.
There didn’t seem to be any rules or regulations that Ashe had not broken in the past couple of day. It didn’t matter to Ashe. It apparently didn’t matter to Oscar, either, and he was a police officer and had the most to lose by spitting in the face of regulations. The detective was aware of it, of course, and yet he still continued up the driveway toward the quiet house. Ashe was grateful to his friend, who was risking a lot for his son, more grateful than he could or would say.
Oscar would never accept his gratitude. He was that kind of man.
Ginger had found out that the house had once belonged to Eustace Barrett, formerly Eustace Stead, the grandmother of Lucky Barrett and the great grandmother of Amber Barrett. Ginger explained that Eustace Barrett and her parents had moved into the house when she had been a young child. The house had remained in the family, becoming one of the many homes that the Barrett empire owned. It was no mansion or castle or penthouse in the city, like most of the richer members of the family lived in, but for some reason Eustace Barrett had held onto to it her entire life. Even after her death the house remained in her name, perhaps due to some sentimental factor, or small writing at the bottom of her most-likely thick final will and testament. Whatever the reason, the house stuck around long enough for Amber Barr
ett to take over residence.
While moving up the driveway, across the bushes that lined it, and along the sidewalk that led to the front porch, Ashe tried to get a quality look into the nearby windows. Through what was most likely the living room windows, a slight light could be seen. He wanted to get closer to those windows so that he could take a peek into the building. But he stayed quietly behind Oscar, patiently stepping in unison with the detective.
The concrete walkway that connected the driveway to the front porch was also lined with thick bushes, expertly trimmed and snipped.
Ashe and Oscar took gentle steps up and onto the porch, trying not to make any unwanted ruckus. Luckily, it didn’t squeak under the pressure of the two men’s girth. The porch seemed strong and sturdy and spanned the entire front of the house. It had a wooden swing and a narrow wooden table with wooden chairs that seemed to be made of the same dark wood as the porch. Even though the siding and windows of the house was modern and mass produced in some factory, the craftsmanship of the porch, swing, table and chairs was old school and beautiful, as only classically and passionately sculpted pieces of woodwork could be. Ashe couldn’t help to admire the art. He then tried to picture how the building had looked when Eustace’s family had first moved in, many years ago.
Behind the swing were a set of low lying windows, the ones that Ashe had been eyeing. The living room windows, or so he assumed. The curtains had been drawn tight, but the dim light, the one that had caught Ashe’s attention, could still be seen, barely.
Ashe parted from Oscar, who had snuck up beside the closed front door. Ashe took a couple seconds to slouch down and attempt a peek through the windows, hoping to catch sight of someone inside. The curtains were a little thick, but the fabric was not dark in color, allowing the little bit of light, which appeared to be coming from a lamp, to help Ashe make out vague shapes and outlines. He could barely make out a person, who seemed to be standing in front of a bent over figure. The figure was most likely sitting in a chair or on a couch. He couldn’t tell. Ashe also could not hear any voices or sounds from within the house over the pounding rain, which was slamming full force onto the roof and across the concrete of the road and sidewalk. He couldn’t make out any sounds from within, no matter how hard he strained to listen.
“I think I see Scott,” Ashe whispered to Oscar. He wasn’t sure if his words made it through the rain. “I can’t tell, though. I see what might be two people. I’m not sure.”
The subtle light of the lamp was suddenly extinguished, leaving the windows as dark as the others. It was unexpected and strange. To Ashe, something instantly felt off about the sudden plunge into darkness. While he was watching, neither of the figures had appeared to move. Who turned off the light, then? And why? Whatever the reason, it could not have been a good one.
“Something is not right,” Ash told Oscar. And then he saw a quick flash toward the back of the darkness. During the brief moment of the flash, he saw a shadow rushing away. “A gunshot? I think I just saw a muzzle flash, Oscar.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Oscar replied.
“Silencer? We need to get in there. Now,” Ashe insisted while already moving off the porch and toward the corner of the house. Oscar began to take up the rear, following the psychologist that time. It was a change but Ashe didn’t care. He couldn’t have stopped to give the police officer point but refused. He had to get to his son. He had a gut feeling…and he long ago learned to listen to his gut instincts when it came to certain types of situations.
Being quick and being soundless rarely went hand-in-hand, but Ashe tried his most damndest to accomplish both. Around the side of the house was a tall wooden fence, crafted from same expertise and dark wood as the porch and porch furniture. There was a gate and Ashe immediately inspected the lock that held the gate closed, which was a common metal lock that clamped shut and unlocked with a small flimsy key. Even though the little lock was holding the gate closed, it was not engaged.
In a low voice, Ashe pointed out that “Someone cut the lock.” He switched off the safety of his gun and advised Oscar to do the same. Without Ashe realizing, Oscar’s Browning had already been drawn and the safety had been flipped off. The detective had also smelled trouble, his nose being bread and buttered for the scent. It was in the air like a thick musk.
Hoping the hinges wouldn’t creek, Ashe completely removed the useless lock and nudged the gate forward slightly, only enough so that he could steal a glimpse behind the gate. Thankfully, the hinges remained silent, never alerting the two men that were standing directly beyond the wooden fence. He could barely make out their forms. From what Ashe could tell, the men were dressed in all black, from their boots to their jackets to their hats to the long barreled handguns in their clutches, which were obviously tipped with metal silencers. The men were looking away from the fence at the back of the house. Upon seeing them, Ashe’s stomach tightened at the sight of the silencers.
Professionals, he knew
Who were the men? Lucky’s men must have located him somehow and they have come to get their boss…and kill Scott and Bam in the process. Ashe refused to let that happen. Refused. The only way that his son and his son’s girlfriend, Ashe told himself, were going to die was if he went along with them, fighting the whole way down.
Pushing himself back away from the gate, Ashe held two fingers up to Oscar, letting him know about the men. Armed, he mouthed. Oscar nodded his understanding and held his pistol at attention, the barrel pointing forward. Ashe did as well. It was hard for him to breathe and harder for him to think clear, but Ashe knew he was going to have to put his thinking brain to bed and rely only on immediate actions and reactions, those would be what would save their lives and save his son. Trying to think his way through a gunfight would get him shot in the face, and he wasn’t about to die, not just yet.
Oscar edged his way to the gate, trading positions with Ashe. He would act first and Ashe would follow the lead, which was the way it should be. They would have surprise over the two professional assassins, but only for the first initial seconds. Once those seconds were gone, Ashe and Oscar would either be dead or alive.
Without giving Ashe a signal, Oscar was inching his body through the gate, Browning still at the ready. Ashe knew to be on his friend’s back, mirroring the experienced detective’s movements. Ashe had had previous confrontations, ones where force and artillery were needed, but Oscar would always be the superior in combat. Ashe would simply be his shadow, his mimic, hoping not to get dead in the process.
The two men were a couple of feet from the fence’s gate and Oscar remained crouching, quiet and nimble, as he lurked up from behind. Oscar became a blur of movement as he swiftly rose and stuck the killing end of his pistol to the back of the nearest assassin’s skull. Following suit, Ashe swiftly had his own gun to the back of the other man’s head.
“Police,” Oscar informed them in a voice that was near to a whisper. “Drop the guns. If you do not comply, I will empty my entire clip into your brain stem and my friend will empty his into your partner’s. Don’t worry…we have other clips. We may even go ahead and empty those into your dead bodies for shits and giggles. Do you understand?”
The man nodded. His gun dropped to the grass.
“Make sure your partner understands me as well,” Oscar added. “Or else you will both die right here, right now.”
His partner’s gun dropped to the ground, as well.
“What are we going to do with them, Detective?” Ashe asked, without revealing any names.
“I’m still considering killing them both,” Oscar answered.
Ashes to Ashes Page 51
