by Andrew Allan
Von snarled and pulled out a nasty looking knife.
“Good luck,” said Razook.
“How about I pull his guts out like a fire hose and use ‘em to strangle you blue?”
“Colorful. But, no.”
“Better if I did it naked?”
“Definitely not.”
I shook my head. “Wow. Buyer beware. Maximum freedom isn’t as liberated as advertised.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re a liar and hypocrite.”
“A powerful one.”
“If you were truly powerful, you wouldn’t have to kill me.”
“Sorry my power doesn’t measure up to your standards. Still…” He walked towards me and pointed with the glowing end of the brand at my face. It was close enough and hot enough to hurt. “…I’m the one in control.”
“Control?” I said. “You can’t even control your urges.”
He tightened with impatience and irritation.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Neither can I.”
I spit in his face. A big one, soaked his eye.
Razook startled and jabbed the poker at me.
I leaned clear.
The poker face-fried the goon restraining me. He howled and let go.
I shook loose.
I grabbed Von’s knife and stabbed it in his thigh.
He groaned then stifled it. Show no pain in front of the boss.
A goon moved to attack.
I jumped at him before he could move. The blade sunk into the meat between his shoulder and his neck.
Another guard kicked the knife out of my hand. I raked the kakute across his throat. Blood gushed onto the carpet. Their hotel bill went up.
It didn’t escape me that I was exceptionally lucky to have gotten three good shots on three trained adversaries. And, they wouldn’t stay down for long. Von was already hobbling his way up, steadying himself.
Big, bad Mando approached.
I grabbed the knife off the floor and threw it at him. Way off. It knocked over a decanter and spun out of sight.
The vise was tightening. Von approached, Mando approached, Razook stood nearby, brand in hand. Who knew if he could fight? He probably studied some weird, secret African fighting technique in his spare time.
“Exhaust yourself, Asher,” said Razook. “It will make you easier to kill.”
He was right. I had to get the upper hand, fast. How many more guards were outside the suite? How many in the building?
And, I needed to save Ilsa and DG. Survival meant nothing without them.
Mando took up a lot of real estate.
I moved toward the middle of the room. He followed. He lunged. I jumped to the side, was able to get around him.
Razook swung the brand at me and missed.
My reaction was primal. Like the lion who’d finally caught his prey, I grabbed with all my might, pulled him to the ground, bit his ear, clawed his face. He was stronger than he looked. He fought back. His fury seemed to equal mine. We rolled across the floor. I grabbed his robe belt and tried to strangle him with it. He clutched my throat. I screamed as the hot brand seared my back.
I punched his wrist. The brand went flying. Smoke wafted above cooked carpet.
I had the upper hand. I applied force, pulling the terrycloth strip tight, reddening his face.
Someone grabbed me from behind and lifted.
I clutched the belt and tried to drag Razook along by the neck. Something hit my wrists. I dropped the belt.
Razook coughed as he pulled the belt off his throat.
Mando squeezed me tight, my back to his chest. Damn, he has strong. I needed more air than I was getting. I kicked and squirmed. Nothing. I reached and raked the kakute down his forearm. Blood spilled, but no pressure released.
He had me tight, backing up with me, until I had a clear view of the room—Von helped Razook get to his feet. Razook waved him off and slicked his hair back with two hands. Showing weakness was a no-no.
The goon with his throat cut looked dead on the floor. The other goon had a bloody shirt, emanating from the shoulder stab. But, he looked ready to fight. And, that was enough. They had me.
“Crush him,” said Razook. “Do it now.”
Mando obeyed, strengthening his grasp on me and squeezing.
My air went out.
My muscles compressed.
My ribs bent. Something snapped.
My head felt ready to pop.
My eyes squeezed shut.
I wheezed.
This was it.
The arms released.
I fell to the floor.
Air rushed back into my lungs. I wasn’t ready. It was overwhelming. I gasped and chocked.
I rolled onto my back and saw.…
Mando falling on me.
I rolled out of the way.
Sharp pain stung my side. Something hurt inside.
Mando’s blubbery arm flopped against my back as I rolled against the wall. When he hit the floor it seemed enough to shake the building.
I rolled over to see Razook, Von, and the goons looking surprised. I turned to see what they were looking at and found the same knife Von tried to use on me sticking vertical out of Mando’s back. A further glance revealed DG standing in the threshold to the bedroom, panting, rope ties dangling from his wrists, and looking his particular brand of furious.
It was perfect.
“I’m gonna murder all of you,” he said and pointed at Razook.
Razook looked scared. “Get him.”
Razook shoved a goon in DG’s direction while taking a step back. Just like you’d expect from a shit heel mob boss in a bad b-movie.
The goon charged.
I yanked the knife out of Mando’s back and tossed it to DG. He caught it, cocked, and threw. The knife shot bullseye’d right between the goon’s nose and eye. The blade sank deep; the goon sank to the floor.
I got up, a little woozy, and staggered into the bedroom near DG.
Three against two—fair enough.
Von pulled a gun and screwed up the odds.
So, DG slammed shut the thick bedroom door and locked it. We jumped aside as bullets blasted the wood above his head as he locked the doorknob and dropped to the ground.
“You and me are gonna have a looooong talk,” he said. His swollen face affected his speech.
“I figured. But, we’re gonna need to survive this before you kill me,” I said.
He nodded.
We rolled behind the walls where incoming bullets couldn’t reach us.
The windows had a grand view of the sea, but didn’t open.
Ilsa groaned and sat up.
Bullets hit the door.
I rushed over and pulled her off the side of the bed.
I pulled her into the bathroom and set her on the toilet. I grabbed a robe off the back of the door and slid her arms into it.
DG hustled into the bathroom.
Dead end.
The bullets stopped firing.
Someone shook the door to the bedroom.
“There’s no place to go, Asher.” It was Von’s muffled voice.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?”
DG said, “Pretty much.”
He looked at the ceiling. Air vent? Too small. His gaze went from ceiling to wall to bathtub.
More bullets pounded the door. A few broke through and chipped up the headboard.
Something caught DG’s eye. I followed his gaze and caught it, too—no tub, just a shower. And, the line where two tile walls met wasn’t caulked.
DG stepped into the shower and pushed. Slight give. He stepped back and slammed his big boot against the wall tiles.
Space. Dark, black, beautiful. Sweet executive amenities.
He kicked again. The back wall rotated open, revealing a hidden corridor with stairs that went up and down.
DG looked back and smiled. “We have a way out.”
The door shook. Hinges cracked. Bullets blasted.
“Ilsa, it’s me, Walt. Please. I need you to wake up.” I splashed water on Ilsa’s face.
She stirred out of her pained daze. Her eyes opened. Recognition sparked.
“Walt,” she said.
“Yes. Yes. But, we have to go. Now.”
I looped my arm through hers and guided her towards the escape route through the shower and into the secret passage.
DG took her by the arm.
I looked back at the bedroom.
What’s that?
A briefcase—across the room, on the chair by the dresser.
What was in it? And, could it help? Of course it could.
“Take her,” I said.
Before DG could respond, I ran back into the bedroom, dropped, crawled across the floor.
Bullets popped. The door splintered. Comforter feathers burst and floated.
I crawled fast. I grabbed the briefcase, leather handle in hand. Turn, hurry back.
The doors bent. Wood split. I got spooked thinking it was going to fall in on me.
Look at that. RZK embroidered into the soft tan leather.
The doors held. Bullets pocked the wood.
My hand set down right on a splinter. Pain surged up into my wrist. But, I kept going.
DG’s face appeared out of the blackness and into the shower. He beckoned me forward.
A body slammed against the doors. Nothing doing. Fine craftsmanship.
I reached the bathroom, crawled through the shower into the corridor. Got up and went!
Down we went. I assisted Ilsa. DG shut the wall panel. There was even a lock. He put an index finger up to his lips and waved to move us along faster.
“They’re in the room,” he said.
Proving the point, fists pounded the shower wall. We were half a flight down when more shooting started. But, bullets weren’t as apt to pierce the tile.
“They’re gonna know where this thing leads,” I said.
DG nodded, “We’ll figure something out.”
We hurried down the staircase towards fate unknown.
63
ILSA YANKED HER arm from my grip.
The kakute had poked her.
She tied the robe around her.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll explain later.” I twisted the ring so the blades faced out.
“How did you get out of jail?” she said.
“I talked Stokely into it.”
“You must have used some serious witchcraft,” said DG.
“How did you get out?”
“Cops. Said they were transporting us.”
DG said, “We’ll trade notes when we get back up to the river.”
I kissed Ilsa and kept her moving quick as she could down the stairs.
DG also said, “Pretty sure Stokely was in on it.”
“Why?”
“Because he let you go.”
“Why would he do that if he already had me? They could have delivered me like they delivered you.”
DG fumed. “I owe a few of those boys some violent payback. Don’t give a damn if they wear a badge.”
“One thing at a time.”
He looked at the briefcase. I tried to open it. Locked tight.
“Gotta keep moving,” he said.
We moved. But, I kept futzing with the briefcase; whatever was inside had to be important. It would serve us well.
One floor down. We didn’t stop.
DG checked his pockets. “They took my knife.”
I waved it off. We had to keep moving.
Two floors down.
There was an exit door.
“Keep going,” I said.
We descended more stairs.
“I knew we should have stayed hidden and let you get this sorted out,” said DG.
“Thanks for believing in me,” I said.
“I believed you were going to die.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Next level down, another door.
“Skip it,” I said.
“You know they’re gonna be waiting for us wherever this ends,” said DG.
“Probably.”
The closer we got to the ground the more chances we’d have to escape.
A booming noise echoed.
We stopped mid-flight.
Someone had opened a door below.
“We can’t stay in here.” Ilsa’s groggy clouds were parting.
She led the way.
Next level down, we took a long look at the exit door. And, we listened. Were those footsteps rising up the stairwell?
I looked to DG. He looked to Ilsa. She looked to me.
Bullets sparked the stair rail.
Above?
Below?
Impossible to tell.
We pushed the exit door.
A voice said, “Good lord.”
Shower water sprayed into the stairwell, soaking my leg.
DG pushed past a wet man with soap in his eyes, knocking him to the bathroom floor. “Come on,” he said.
“What’s going on? Who are you?” The showering man grabbed at me. I “briefcased” his face. He slipped and went ass against floor drain.
We hurried into the guest suite.
“Walt.” DG shook a leather shoulder holster off a pistol. “Now, we can negotiate.”
A peek out the door. No activity.
“Let’s get to the other stairwell,” I said.
Ilsa went first. I followed, then DG.
My skin prickled with the fear Kith guards would appear around the next corner. But, they didn’t. And, we reached the guest stairwell without incident.
We stopped and listened.
No sound below.
We moved in sync down, down, down the stairs.
I tried to open the briefcase with the kakute. Nope.
“This goes to the lobby. It won’t be empty.”
DG considered the dilemma. “How’d you get in?”
I showed him the kakute. “Up a palm tree.”
Not the answer he wanted.
“All we have to do is get to the cops outside,” I said.
I looked at their faces. Ilsa’s was neutral. DG’s was determined, anxious.
“If you see an opening to slip away, take it,” I said. “It’s fine. But, nothing has changed for me. It won’t end if I don’t end it here.”
I stepped down the stairwell.
“I’m not leaving here without destroying the Kith.”
DG and Ilsa were standing still with indecision when I turned on the landing.
64
FOOTSTEPS ECHOED.
Above?
Below?
Still no telling.
“We’re sticking with you,” Ilsa said.
DG looked annoyed.
We continued down the stairs.
“I don’t know the layout of this place,” said DG. “We were brought in blindfolded.”
“That’s okay. I saw enough,” I said. “The lobby is second level. Takes you out by the pool and lounge. Parking’s below that.”
“Which should we go for?”
“They’ll be staked out at both.”
“What if we went back up?” said Ilsa. “They’d never expect it.”
“We’d still be trapped.”
“Could we wait them out? They’d think we escaped.”
DG said, “That’d reduce the heat for a bit. But, then we’d still have to escape.”
“And they’d go blow up the bridge in the meantime,” I said.
We reached a level where the stairwell was painted tropical green. The number 4 was stenciled on the wall. Fourth floor.
The door opened.
We jumped back.
A cleaning person startled at seeing DG’s gun. He grabbed her. “You’re not gonna say a damn word,” he said.
The woman nodded, hands up and open. Tears welled in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You know the people staying here aren’t good, right?”
&n
bsp; The woman, of uncertain South American descent, stalled her response…then nodded.
Ilsa took hold of the woman’s hands, “We are the good guys.”
The woman looked skeptical as she sized up the bruises and cuts on Ilsa’s face.
DG let her go.
A gunshot.
The woman’s head exploded.
A Kith guard charged at us, gun extended.
We stepped back from the door.
The Kith fired into the stairwell.
I kicked his arm. His gun hand smashed against the wall, triggering another blast.
DG slammed the steel door against him. Ribs crunched. DG opened the door, grabbed his collar and threw him down the next flight of stairs. DG shot him before he could get up.
Ilsa snatched a towel from the dead housekeeper’s apron and used it to wipe blood droplets off her face.
“Come on,” said DG.
We ran into the fourth floor hallway. Same as the others. Thick carpet and a bunch of suite doors.
But, DG had something in mind. He led us over to the housekeeper’s closet. I thought we were just going to hideout and expected we’d be diving into hampers of dirty laundry. But, at the back of the closet was another stairwell, for the staff.
“Brilliant,” I said.
We hurried down the stairs.
Third floor, empty.
Second floor, empty…but we could hear people talking in stressed tones outside the cleaning closet.
Lobby level.
We stopped at the door.
Were we sure this is the way to go? Absolutely not.
We had no choice.
“Do it,” I said.
DG kicked the door open.
We walked into a wall of steam. Because it was a laundry room. The machines were spinning. Housekeepers were steaming uniforms.
No Kith.
“Go,” I said.
We moved through the laundry room into a long, concrete hallway. It ran the length of the hotel with assorted paths branching off to banquet rooms, offices, the kitchen. We passed each as we hustled along the hallway. It was narrowed by rolling carts filled with bedding, dishes and glassware, folded banquet tables, and stacks of chairs.
Kith appeared up ahead, guns in hand.
The staff seemed to be astonished but knew enough to keep their heads down and to get out of the way.
We settled behind a tall linen bin.
The guards ran past. One said, “All stairs are covered.”
Before they’d turned a corner, we hurried off, moving faster towards an exit door at the end of the hallway.
