Black Daylight

by Scott Blade

  Doing fifteen miles over the limit, he calculated that he would meet with Rousey and his passengers head on.

  In his messages, Rousey sounded tweaked out and very much on edge.

  McCobb had no reason to tell him about his dead girlfriend. No point. He didn’t tell him that he had seen the money, or that he had taken the money. It was stuffed back into the duffle bag and packed into his trunk under the Louisville Slugger.

  He wasn’t nervous, but he was excited and anxious. He’d never killed an FBI agent before.

  Rousey had told him that they had a witness and that he and Kylie had planned to pin the whole thing on the guy. All he’d said was that he was a drifter and nothing else.

  McCobb came up with a similar plan, in the spur of the moment. A plan that he messaged Holden about and got Holden’s approval.

  All they both knew was that the Chicago boys were coming and they wanted Rousey alive. They didn’t need anyone else alive.

  McCobb would be a hero as soon as he handed over the man who plotted to ruin their business. Plus, he would show them that he, singlehandedly, solved the whole problem, on top of handing over their money. That last part he wasn’t sure yet. He hadn’t made up his mind.

  He looked at his watch again.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Chapter 29

  F IFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Rousey slowed the Explorer, nervously. The shotguns were in the back, and he was in close quarters that were too close for shotguns, and he was right-handed. His .38 Special was in his holster on his right hip. No way could he grab it and shoot Roberts and Rower before one of them got him first.

  All he knew was that McCobb was onto him and was coming to help him with the FBI agent and the witness, and, unfortunately, Roberts, whom he had known for a long time.

  He would venture to call them friends, even, but he didn’t need friends. He needed the money, so he could buy drugs and get the hell out of Reznor and Lawrence County.

  If McCobb wanted to help him, fine. Why did McCobb want to help him? He wasn’t sure. Somehow, his drug dealer had found out about what they were up to. That didn’t make sense to him because they had been so careful.

  He felt the need coming on. He had been staving it off all day with pills. No one had noticed. He had been careful when popping them.

  He hadn’t heard from Kylie all day. He was starting to wonder if he should be worried about that.

  He just realized, what if she ran off with the money?

  She hadn’t been answering his calls or texts.

  No way would she betray him. She was solid. He knew it.

  She did go back to the dumpsite and clean up, after all. She had told him that she took care of it. She said not to worry.

  His mind, and he thought about the money. He had big plans for that money.

  He’d probably have to kill Kylie, but later. Right now, two heads were better than one.

  “What the hell is happening?” Rower called from the back.

  He had to focus on getting rid of this problem first. Then they would have to get rid of her sister too if she pulled through. That would be harder, but it could be done. He could pick up that shift tomorrow after he dealt with this problem.

  He planned to kill all three and blame this Widow guy. He’d shoot Widow first. The guy was handcuffed. What was he going to do?

  So, he executed what he thought was a brilliant plan. He faked the steering wheel pulling and jerking. He started pulling the SUV over to the right.

  “The steering wheel is shuddering.”

  Roberts said, “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Must be wheel alignment.”

  “Could be a tire?” Rower said from the back.

  “Let’s stop here and check it out,” Roberts said.

  Rousey slowed and pressed the brakes.

  The sun was still up, but already in its sunset flight path. The light was low around them. The trees and the clouds grayed out the sky and dulled what was left of sunlight.

  Widow stared straight ahead.

  Rousey brought the Explorer to a dead stop and put the gear in park, killed the engine, took the keys out, and got out.

  “Need help?” Roberts asked.

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “Okay,” Roberts said, and he opened his door and hopped out too, leaving the door open.

  Rower started to open the door on her side, but it was child-proofed.

  “Hey. Guys, let me out.”

  Rousey put his head back in the driver’s side door.

  “You stay inside.”

  “I want to take a look.”

  “No need. It’s cold out here. You stay there. Stay warm.”

  Rousey bent down and pulled a lever and popped the hood. Then he stepped out and shut his door.

  Roberts lifted the hood and set it up.

  Rousey and Roberts both disappeared behind it.

  “I told him to let me out,” Rower said to Widow.

  Widow stayed quiet. He closed his fists and opened them again, cracking his knuckles.

  Widow twisted in his seat, slowly, reached down and undid his seatbelt.

  “You should keep that on.”

  “We’re not moving. And you’re not wearing yours.”

  Rower looked at him.

  He asked, “What?”

  “You’re a prisoner still.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t feel afraid of you.”

  “You were before?”

  “I mean I trust you more than I should.”

  They were quiet for a beat.

  Rower said, “I trust you more than these clowns, anyway.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t trust them either. Something’s not right.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Last night, Rousey was on duty with me all night.”

  “That’s his job.”

  “He brought in Olsen’s sister, Kylie.”

  “Kylie?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you know about her?”

  “No one told me. Why did he bring her in?”

  “So she could identify me as this mysterious guy that her sister had been dating.”

  Rower looked at him, confusion on her face.

  “Shostrom didn’t tell me. She IDed you?”

  “Sort of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  They heard voices up in front of the SUV.

  Roberts appeared and said nothing, but started to walk around the vehicle stopping at each tire well, looking down, bending down, inspecting each tire.

  Rousey followed behind him. He smiled at Rower, a big, hearty smile. He lifted his thumb.

  “We’ll figure this out.”

  Widow looked at him, then looked back over his shoulder at the cargo. He could see the shotguns, both loaded. They were out of reach for him. The dog cage embedded in the back was a close-patterned wire mesh. He would barely be able to reach his fingers through it, much less his arms long enough to reach one of them.

  Rower had a Glock. He knew that.

  “Kylie was there with Rousey. She hid behind him like she was afraid of me.”

  “That makes sense if she thinks you tried to kill her sister.”

  “There was something strange about it.”

  Widow thought back.

  He said, “She shivered, and she’s definitely a meth-head.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Come on! You know how I know. You could see it.”

  “So she does drugs. That’s probably why Shostrom didn’t tell me. She sounds unreliable. Besides, I’m sure she’s wrong. I told you I believed you.”

  “There’s something else.”

  Widow leaned forward and looked over the driver’s seat. Roberts and Rousey moved to the other rear tire, behind him.

  Rousey stood back and looked past Roberts. He put his hand on his .38 Special. He could shoot Roberts now,
but then he stopped. It would look bad if Roberts was shot in the back of the head by his gun. He was driving. How would Widow grab his gun?

  He holstered it.

  “These tires and tire wells look fine. You sure it’s pulling?” Roberts asked.

  “It was pulling. You saw it.”

  “Let’s check under the hood again.”

  The two deputies walked back to the front of the Explorer and out of sight.

  Widow made eye contact with Rousey, who seemed to grin at him.

  “Something’s not right,” Widow repeated.

  “What?”

  Widow looked down at the front seat again. He looked at the ignition.

  “Why did he take the keys out?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a mechanic.”

  Widow looked down at the console, at the cup holder. He saw a pill bottle. He jerked forward, fast and grabbed it and pulled it back.

  “What are you doing?”

  He spun the pill bottle and looked at the label.

  The label read: OxyContin.

  “Look at this.”

  Rower grabbed the bottle and read the label.

  “That’s not right.”

  “Rousey has been taking this. He’s been tweaking ever since I met him yesterday.”

  “It’s not right, but this is a prescription bottle.”

  “Read the label.”

  “I did. It says OxyContin.”

  “Read the name.”

  Rower looked at it and read the name out loud in a slow, lingering voice like it was hitting her all at once.

  She said, “Lainey Olsen.”

  Chapter 30

  F AST—TWO GUNSHOTS rang out from the front of the Explorer.

  The hood, the engine block, it all shook as loud metallic gunshots slammed into the hood. The windshield cracked from the impact of bullets.

  Widow grabbed Rower by the head and shoved her down and hard behind the front seats. At the same time, he twisted violently on his back and turned and slammed his boots through the window as fast and as hard as he could.

  He knew that it was possible that the police package on a Ford Explorer might have double pane glass or some kind of upgraded glass for the windows, but judging by the fact that Rousey had been issued a weapon that he had last heard of being used in the nineties, at best, he felt okay with taking the chance that he was stronger than the glass in this older model.

  His boots shattered through the glass.

  Rousey shot Roberts out in front of the SUV.

  Once! Twice! In the chest.

  Roberts gripped his chest as he fell back against the front grille. Rousey shot him a third time right there.

  Roberts was dead.

  Rousey should’ve kept moving, but he froze for a moment, like the realization of what he had done was just dawning on him.

  Quickly, he came around the passenger side of the vehicle and fired into the windshield. He fired through the window into the Explorer and into the rear.

  The .38 Special is a deadly accurate weapon, but slow compared to a semi-automatic handgun like a Glock 22, like the one that Rower had.

  The front windshield was severely cracked from the bullets wildly passing through it.

  Widow squeezed himself down and waited.

  Rousey had fired three rounds into Roberts and three into the Explorer. He was out of ammunition.

  Widow reached up with his cuffed hands and grabbed the grip on the roof and hauled himself up and slid out of the broken window about as fast as a baseball player sliding to home plate.

  On the other side of the door, he toppled forward onto the snow and paused for a fraction of a second and rolled under the Explorer.

  He knew that Rower would have her Glock out by now. He hoped that she hadn’t been shot.

  Widow stayed prone and Army-crawled under the SUV, past the front tire. He paused and saw six .38 cartridges drop to the ground and land in the snow.

  He saw Rousey’s feet.

  “Come on out, FBI?” Rousey said.

  Widow could hear the delusion in his voice as if revealing himself to them as an enemy had set his high free.

  Rousey even chuckled.

  Widow heard new bullets go into the revolver and the cylinder slam shut.

  Just then Rower was in that action, a little slower than he had expected.

  He heard return fire from her Glock 22.

  She fired two rounds in his direction, but Rousey was behind the hood. She missed.

  Rousey ducked down, his knees exposed to Widow.

  Widow looked at Roberts’ body. He had planned to go for Roberts’ gun, but Rousey was too close.

  He twisted and Army-crawled backward, keeping his eyes on Rousey’s feet.

  “Widow? You okay?” Rower called out from inside the cabin.

  Widow didn’t answer.

  As high as Rousey was, he wasn’t stupid. She’d just told him that Widow was out of the vehicle.

  Widow picked up the pace.

  Rousey got down on one knee and looked under the SUV and saw Widow.

  “There you are!”

  Widow crawled to the back and shoved himself out and moved his feet behind the rear tire just in time to miss a bullet.

  Rousey fired once under the Explorer.

  The bullet slammed into the rear driver’s side tire. It exploded with Widow right next to it.

  The sound of the tire was louder than the gunshot.

  Widow stayed where he was. He looked around the road. There were rocks and tree roots and branches everywhere, but one rock, in particular, caught his eye.

  Sticking up out of the snow was a baseball-sized stone. He leapt out and grabbed it and jumped back behind the tire, which was now just a rim and some rubber.

  He called out.

  “Rower!”

  “Yeah!” she called back.

  “Cover fire!”

  She didn’t hesitate. She fired in Rousey’s direction in a fast triple-round burst.

  Rousey cried out and ducked down close to the tire again.

  Widow jackknifed to his feet and reared his hands up over his head and slammed the rock down on the back windshield, shattering it.

  Glass sprayed over his arms and face.

  He dropped the rock and reached in and jerked out one of the Tactical Remington 870s. He hoped it was the same one that Rousey had pumped in front of him earlier. He hoped that because Widow had a thing for poetic justice, in any form.

  Rousey fired back into the vehicle at Rower—once, twice!

  Widow pumped the gun with one hand, and his other was off the trigger housing because of the handcuffs. A slug flew out. He ignored it because he didn’t need it.

  He returned his hand down the gun back to the trigger housing, ready to fire it.

  He stepped around the opposite side of the Explorer, the side that Rousey was closest to and stopped.

  Feet planted, he stood straight up and called out.

  “Rousey!”

  “Yeah!”

  “I’m going to kill you with your own gun!”

  “How you figure? I’m still holding it!”

  Widow pounded on the back side panel of the Explorer with the nose of the Remington, loud enough to get Rousey’s attention.

  Rousey heard it and stepped up and out. Either, he was the dumbest criminal ever, or he was stoned out of his mind.

  Widow suspected he was both.

  Rousey stepped out and came face-to-face with the barrel of his own Tactical Remington 870.

  Widow could’ve said something clever or ironic, but that wasn’t real life. In real life, he preferred to let the shotgun do the talking.

  He squeezed the trigger and watched most of the top left side of Rousey’s torso and shoulder and heart blow out the back of him.

  Rousey flew back off his feet so fast it left his revolver right where he had been standing.

  The gun clanged and bounced down somewhere into the engine block.

&nb
sp; Widow called out.

  “It’s okay! You can come out! He’s down!”

  Rower popped her head up and stared at Widow.

  “He’s dead,” Widow said.

  “Open the door.”

  Widow lowered the shotgun and opened her door.

  Rower stepped out; glass was in her hair and in her coat.

  Widow had just noticed that the front windshield wasn’t just cracked; it was gone. Thousands of shards and pebbles of broken glass littered the front and back seats.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  “Other than having a cop shoot at me, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Rower brushed herself off and pointed the Glock at Rousey’s corpse. She approached him.

  “That’s not necessary. He’s dead.”

  “You sure?”

  She kept walking anyway and saw for herself.

  She lurched back and looked at Widow.

  “That’s horrible.”

  Widow shrugged.

  “It’s a Magnum slug. The guns were loaded out with them.”

  “That’s not normal.”

  “It’s not illegal. Or against police policy.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Forty cents a slug,” Widow said.

  “That cheap?”

  “Sure. Or more. Depends.”

  Rower holstered her weapon and went over to Roberts.

  Widow joined her.

  They looked at him—no reason to take his pulse. He was dead too. His eyes were wide open and completely lifeless. Blood pooled everywhere, all over three holes in his chest, under him, even the snow around him was dyed red for a few feet out in all directions.

  Rower said, “Now what?”

  “This means that Kylie Olsen is probably guilty.”

  “You think?”

  “My guess is her sister got hooked up with some organ traders. They offered her substantial money for her kidney, a young woman like her could probably get twenty grand.”

  “Try a hundred and fifty.”

  “A hundred and fifty?”

  “Sure, or more if the buyers are some major player. They’d pay well. It’s better to make the donor happy to keep them quiet.”

  “Cheaper to kill them and take it. You get two kidneys.”