Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

  Schanlon squealed and ducked down in his seat. “Do something!” he screamed at Chip.

  Chip threw his shoulder against his door repeatedly from the inside but couldn’t open it. He jumped across the front seat toward the passenger-side door.

  “Stop!” Jack yelled. “Stop right now, or he gets a .45 hollow point in his face!”

  Schanlon screamed. “Stop! Do whatever he says!”

  Chip froze then turned a hateful glare toward Jack.

  “Consider yourself informed,” Jack growled. “You threaten my family and you put crosshairs on yourself.” He pulled the hammer back on his Colt. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Schanlon nodded wildly. “Okay, okay!”

  “Just remember—I’m not some pushover, weeny doc like you might be used to. I fight back!” Jack slammed the door and spun, sprinting around his car and jumping into it. He threw it into gear and sped away in a cloud of tire smoke.

  Schanlon sat in the car panting heavily for several minutes then turned his gaze on Chip, glaring venomously at him.

  “What the fuck do I pay you for?” he screeched. “That psycho coulda killed me!”

  “Sorry,” Chip mumbled as he turned his eyes downward.

  “Sorry, my ass!” Schanlon straightened his jacket and tie. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of that asshole!” He glowered at Chip. “Get rid of him—permanently. The sooner the better.”

  A malicious smile slithered onto Chip’s face, and he nodded slowly. “Any suggestions how?”

  “No! That’s your department—and I don’t want to hear any of the details.” He stabbed a finger at the other man. “Just make sure there’s no trail back to Pharmadosh—or me. I don’t need any more trouble.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t want him delaying my getting supracentyl on the street.” He waved a hand at Chip and blew out a long breath. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

  Chapter 41

  Three Days Later

  “Hey, you two! Good to see you!” Sara called out as she stepped out of the VA hospital lobby door.

  Jack and Smithson were climbing from a cab at the curb in front of the entrance. Jack stopped in his tracks at the sound of Sara’s voice. He turned slowly toward Smithson and frowned. Smithson started whistling and looked the other way. Jack turned to Sara, forcing a smile onto his face.

  “Uh, hello, Sara. What are you doing here?” He shot a quick glance at Smithson. “As if I don’t already know.”

  She halted, her gaze darting between Jack and Smithson. “Oh…I guess General Smithson forgot to mention I was going to meet you here.”

  Smithson continued whistling and gawked at the pine trees surrounding the sidewalk entrance.

  Jack snorted. “Cut the innocent act, George—you’re busted.” Jack waved Sara toward him. “Well, since you’re here, come here, and let me give you a hug.”

  She smiled broadly, rushing forward to throw herself into Jack’s open arms.

  “It’s good to see you, Sara…but you know you shouldn’t be here. You promised me you’d stay away from this mess—it’s not your battle.”

  The cabbie exited his car and was hurriedly approaching them, holding out some cash in his hand, shaking it at Smithson and Jack.

  “You call this a fucking tip?” he yelled, then suddenly, some invisible force threw him forward, and the distinctive sound of a bullet slapping into flesh replaced the man’s shouts of outrage.

  Jack, Sara, and Smithson jumped back. Jack heard the crack of a large-bore rifle, and without conscious thought, he wrapped his arms tighter around Sara and flung himself and her to the ground behind the cab.

  “George, get down! Sniper!”

  Smithson’s eyes shot wide as his head swiveled quickly between Jack and the direction of the rifle report. He dove toward Jack and Sara, but his body suddenly twirled in the air, pitching sideways to the ground just before the sound of another rifle shot reached their ears. George skidded on the concrete, leaving a smeared trail of crimson.

  “Shit!” Jack yelled. He pressed Sara against the rear wheel of the cab. “Stay here.”

  Jack lunged toward Smithson, chips of concrete flying through the air from where a bullet smacked into the sidewalk next to him. Jack grabbed Smithson’s collar and dragged him to the cover of the cab. He frantically ripped away the blood-soaked clothing over Smithson’s shoulder.

  “Goddammit!” Smithson groaned. “That hurts!”

  Jacks gaze darted from the wound to Smithson’s face. “George! You okay?”

  Smithson grimaced. “I don’t know, Jack. You’re looking at the wound—you tell me!” he replied curtly.

  “You’re giving me shit, so you must not be too bad,” Jack quipped. He swiped the blood away with his bare hand so he could better visualize the wound. His shoulders relaxed, and he sighed loudly. “I hate to sound like some cheesy movie, but…it looks superficial at first glance. I see an entrance and exit wound.”

  Jack’s and Smithson’s eyes locked.

  “What the fuck is going on, Jack?”

  Jack shook his head slowly. “A war…apparently. And I know who the enemy commander is,” he snarled.

  Two hours later, Jack was standing next to Smithson’s gurney in the VA ER, his arm around Sara’s shoulder as they watched the nurse attend to Smithson. They startled when the curtain surrounding the ER bay was heaved aside and a cop appeared. The cop appraised them intensely for several seconds then stepped forward.

  “You all are lucky to be alive.”

  “No shit?” Jack responded tersely.

  The cop stared silently at Jack a few seconds then took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Can’t say the same about the cab driver though—he took a round right through the heart.” He put his hat back on and shook his head slowly then looked between the three of them. “At least we found the shooter.”

  “What?” Jack, Sara, and Smithson all responded in unison.

  “He was in a room in that dive hotel across the street.”

  “How do you know it was the shooter?” Jack asked skeptically.

  The cop shrugged. “Well, we won’t be positive until ballistics are done…but he had a sniper rifle in the room, and the window facing the hospital was open. Couple of shell casings were on the floor by the window. Seems pretty obvious.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the cop. “How’d you take him down? Doesn’t seem like that would’ve been very easy.”

  The cop shrugged again. “He made it easy—did us all a favor, actually. Put the rifle barrel in his mouth and blew his head off.” He closed his eyes and frowned. “Man, what a mess! A point-blank, 30.06 round in a head doesn’t leave much behind.”

  “Yeah…I’ll bet not,” Jack replied cynically. “Any idea who he was?”

  The cop rested his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Nope. Not yet…but from the looks of him, I’d say he was another homeless vet…”

  Jack nodded slowly. “Uh huh…who had so little money that he lived on the street but could afford to rent a hotel room? And just happened to have a sniper rifle. And could afford expensive bullets.” Jack cocked his head to the side. “You really believe that?”

  The cop’s head snapped up, and he gaped at Jack. “There something else we should know?”

  Jack shook his head. “No. Nothing you could do anything about, Officer.”

  Chapter 42

  Next Day

  “The FBI was given jurisdiction because the shooting occurred on federal property,” Wes Watley said.

  Wes had been friends with Jack since their army days when Wes had been a CID officer. Over the years, they’d saved each other from death more than once. Wes had a promising career in the FBI, but the steps he’d taken to save Jack’s life when Jack had been shot at the veteran slave camp had cost Wes that career. He was now a highly sought-after private security consultant.

  “Fortunately, I still have some good buddies in the FBI who I can count on for the inside scoo
p,” Wes continued.

  “Any ID on the guy they found in the hotel room?”

  “Yep. He was a vet, but his military records show he was a mechanic—mostly assigned to motor pools. There’s no record that he was ever a sniper in the service or even had sniper training. Boot camp marksmanship scores were barely average.”

  “Any chance he’d have interacted with George or me back in the army? Maybe have a grudge?”

  Wes shrugged. “Possibly. We’re asking the Army CID to look into that.”

  “The FBI ballistics guy says the stock barrel had been replaced with a heavier barrel…like those used on a sniper rifle,” Wes continued. “He also thinks the shots from the hotel room were probably the only rounds ever to go through the gun.”

  “Oh…shit,” Jack groaned, tightening his hand on his phone.

  “There’s more. Initial forensic pathology shows a mismatch on the apparent time of death for the alleged shooter. I know the crime scene technologist who investigated the crime scene, and she’s sharp as hell. She told me the ‘shooter’ they found in the hotel room was probably dead several hours before the shooting even occurred. So, even though his brains are decorating the ceiling in that hotel, that shot is probably not what killed him.”

  “Sure seems like somebody wanted it to look like that guy was the shooter, though,” Jack muttered.

  “I would agree.” Wes was silent for several seconds. “Takes a special kind of cold-blooded bastard to stick a rifle barrel in a dead guy’s mouth and do that to him.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately, over the years, we’ve run across several bastards that fit that description, haven’t we?”

  “Yes…unfortunately.”

  Wes was silent again for several seconds then sighed. “Look, Jack, somebody went through a lot of trouble to make it look like this was just some crazed vet. The FBI isn’t falling for it—neither am I. Is there something you need to tell me? Has the Bass black cloud payed you another visit?”

  Jack waved his hand nonchalantly like he was shooing a fly away. “Nah. Nothing I can think of—”

  “Bullshit, Jack! Do you remember who you’re talking to?” Wes grumbled. “You know, it wasn’t too hard to find several pieces of information about the shit you’ve recently stirred up—something about some drug studies going on at the VA. You’ve got blog posts and tweets all over the Internet. Then someone attempts to assassinate you at a VA hospital!”

  “Coincidence.”

  “No, Jack…it’s what I’d call evidence. And that evidence is telling me you’re mucking around in something. This has Jack Bass written all over it! What the fuck is going on? Tell me!”

  Jack waited several seconds to respond. “I can’t, Wes…and you know why. The fewer people who are involved, the better. I don’t want the blood of any more innocent friends or family on my hands…” he mumbled.

  “Again, that’s bullshit! We’ve always helped each other.”

  “It isn’t bullshit! And you, of all people, know that! I’ve almost gotten you killed several times.”

  “Damn, you are a stubborn SOB, Jack!” Wes exhaled loudly. “Just watch your back—looks like somebody’s after you…again.”

  Jack grunted. “Yeah. I have plenty of experience with that…”

  “You know how to get in touch with me if you change your mind. In the meantime, I’m going to keep digging on this.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, I know. Too bad.”

  Chapter 43

  That Evening

  Jack had swung by the VA hospital where Smithson was still recovering from his gunshot wound. Satisfied Smithson was recovering well, Jack was now in the lobby of a nearby Comfort Inn, where Sara was staying. He tapped at his phone with an index finger, texting her that he was waiting for her. He sat down and observed the people in the dining area, smiling as he looked at the retirees who were probably getting ready for their carefree adventure of the day. He wondered what that must be like. As his gaze ran across the crowd, he noted a middle-aged man in business attire suddenly avert his eyes when Jack looked in the man’s direction. Paranoia flashed through Jack’s mind. Is this the way it’s always going to be? Always looking over my shoulder? He snorted. So much for a relaxing retirement for me someday.

  “Hi, Jack!” Sara said in a bubbly voice as she appeared at Jack’s side.

  Jack jumped. “Jesus, Sara, you scared the crap outta me!”

  Her smile melted from her face like a waxen figure sitting in the sun. “I’m sorry…”

  Jack stood from his chair. “Come here, you,” he said, waving her nearer. He threw his arms around her and gave her a big hug. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m a little freaked out by everything that’s happened lately. I shouldn’t let it turn me into a grumpy, old man, though.”

  Sara hugged him back, her tight embrace lingering. She leaned back to stare up into his eyes, an expression of solace on her face. She reached down and grabbed one of his hands and turned toward the small dining area.

  “C’mon, let’s grab a table.”

  Jack wormed his hand loose from hers as Sara led the way to an empty table. She turned and gave him a puzzled look.

  “Coffee?” she asked as soon as they sat.

  Jack’s gaze darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Sara. “No,” he grunted. “Already well-caffeinated.”

  “Something to eat?”

  Jack shook his head.

  Sara put a hand on Jack’s forearm, which he had rested on the table. “You okay? You seem…distant.”

  Jack’s gaze shot to Sara, his eyes locking with hers as he frowned and grimaced. “No, I’m not okay…and neither are you.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

  Jack sighed. “You know what I’m talking about. You could’ve been killed yesterday! Somebody probably meant those potshots for me.” His shoulders drooped. “But George caught the bullet. Hell, he was inches from death!”

  “But…Jack—”

  “No buts! I didn’t save you and Sasha from that hell-hole in Turkey just to have you get murdered in the U.S. You need to stay hidden until this mess gets cleared up…then live a nice, long life with Sasha. Somewhere far away from me.” He slapped the table top. “How many times do I have to tell you? Forget all about this…all about me!”

  Sara sat silently, her mouth and eyes wide as she stared at him, tears welling up.

  “But, I thought maybe—”

  Jack shook his head vigorously and shot a quick glance at her. “No—no ‘maybes’. I’m poison for any woman…any person. I can’t bear even the thought of you and Sasha getting hurt—or worse—just because you happened to be around me,” he continued shaking his head slowly and staring at the tabletop, glancing intermittently at Sara.

  Sara swiped at a tear running down her cheek then smiled uneasily. “Speaking of Sasha…she’s here,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Jack pinned her with an intense stare. “Oh, Sara. You shouldn’t have brought her here. That just wasn’t a good idea at all.”

  Sara shrugged. “I slipped…told her I was coming to see you. She was inconsolable when I told her she couldn’t come.” Sara peeked out of the corner of her eye toward Jack. “I just couldn’t say no to her.”

  “Uh huh. ‘Slipped’, my ass,” he grumbled.

  “She really wants to see you.”

  The angst in Jack’s mind twisted his face. He wanted to see little Sasha, too, but was afraid doing so would make the ultimately unavoidable separation even harder. “I-I…”

  Sara squeezed Jack’s forearm. “Oh, c’mon—you know I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t get to see you after she’s traveled here.” She nodded toward a hallway. “She’s waiting in our room. It’s just down the hall.” She squeezed his arm again. “It’ll only take a minute,” she pleaded.

  Jack’s jaw worked but he said nothing. He wrung his hands in his lap then pushed his chair b
ack and started to stand. “I gotta go.” Before he had even stood, he plopped back down into the chair, slowly turning his eyes toward Sara. “You’re not playing fair.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to stifle a smile. “You know I can’t leave without seeing Sasha.”

  “I never said it was fair.” She smiled at him, stood, and waved him to follow her. “This will make her day.”

  They walked down a hall until Sara stopped at a room. She unlocked the door then slowly pushed it open.

  “Sasha, there’s someone here who wants to see you,” she called out melodiously.

  Sara pulled Jack into the room and closed the door. The bedroom door flew open, and Sasha burst through, zeroing her dark eyes in on Jack then streaking across the room. She latched onto Jack’s thigh with both arms. Jack hesitantly put his hand on her head, allowing himself to stroke her soft hair as he smiled down at her.

  “Whoa! Careful—you’ll knock me down.”

  Sasha beamed up at Jack and gripped his leg tighter. Jack pushed her back so he could squat down on his knees.

  “Let me give you a proper hug, you little cutie pie.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes. After savoring the moment for only a few seconds, he opened his eyes and pushed her away. He was feeling emotions he couldn’t allow himself to feel. He picked her up and stood, holding the small girl out to Sara, who hesitantly took her. Jack smiled dejectedly then reached out and gently tweaked Sasha’s cheek.

  “I’m glad I got to see you, kiddo, but…I-I have to go.”

  Sasha squirmed in Sara’s arms, holding her arms out toward Jack. “Dr. Bass,” she whined, “don’t you like me anymore?”

  Jack closed his eyes and turned away.

  “Yes…I do. Sara, you and Sasha have got to go into hiding for a while,” he muttered. “You should take a leave of absence from your VA job.” He glanced fleetingly at her.

  “But—”