by James H Roby
Jordan knew he could get the jump on Small. The voice mail stunt was just to drive the point home. So, Jordan and E-Man hid and waited for Small to come home. When he arrived, Jordan could barely contain himself. Once Small played the message, it was all worth the wait.
Small flew off Jordan’s fist like he was rocket-propelled. He looked up from the floor, his eyes were saucers. His face was a mask of fear. Jordan, despite himself, enjoyed this moment. The whole way over, he had told himself that he would handle this like any other shakedown. Now that he was here, Jordan was going to enjoy kicking Small’s ass.
Small’s legs pumped like pistons, trying to get back on his feet. His voice turned into a scream like from a child when he finally stood up. He raced for the kitchen and freedom through the back door. He breached the doorway and was clotheslined by a hidden E-Man. The blow stopped Small in his tracks. Jordan descended on him like a bird of prey. He grabbed the man and held him fast.
The two stared into each other’s eyes. Fear rose off Small like a stench. It had been so easy for him to mock Jordan – to remind him of the intimacy he never had with Robin. It was so easy for him to fain innocence about his involvement with Random. To lie. To smile as Jordan ran around trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. Now, all that was over. No rules, no laws. It was man to man.
Small tried to catch his breath, no doubt to beg for his life. Jordan pulled him an inch from his face.
“Do you know three forms of martial arts?”
Small’s face went from fear to confusion. “N-no…”
A pause.
“I do.”
He pushed Small away and at precise moment, executed a perfect roundhouse kick. Small fell into a nearby cabinet and was back on the floor.
“Damn!” E-Man said. “That had to hurt!”
Jordan ignored his partner and picked up Small. A bruise formed on his cheek at the point Jordan kicked him. A right cross and he had a matching one on the other cheek. Jordan kneed him twice in the stomach followed with an uppercut. Small was on the floor again. Shaken, Small reached his feet. He stumbled around, his balance long a thing of the past.
“Fight,” Jordan said.
Small held his hand up. “Wait, no. I- I can…”
Fight!” Jordan shouted. “What kind of man are you? I break into your house, kick your teeth in and you don’t do anything? What? You only bad when you got Random looking out for you? You can talk big out in public, but now that it’s just you and me, you’re a punk?”
Jordan felt his heartbeat soar. Disgust for Small made him want to vomit. He wanted to be a big-time criminal, on the cutting edge of the new drug craze, but he wasn’t willing to fight for it.
He grabbed Small’s shoulder, steadying him. “Let’s go, big man. Let’s see what you got. You were talking all that junk about how you fucked Robin - any dog can fuck. Come on. Let’s see the man. If there is one…”
It was like a switch went off. Small’s lips curled and from behind them a sound almost like a roar of defiance. His first punch was a left. Then a right. Both to Jordan’s face. The detective reeled under the force of the blows. Small went for a stomach punch. Jordan doubled over. Small said something but it was unintelligible.
He threw a right uppercut – an uppercut Jordan caught at the fist. Small turned his gaze to his opponent, mouth agape. Jordan twisted the fist onto itself. The snap following was clearly the sound of a bone breaking – his humerus.
“Oh, snap!” E-Man said from the kitchen door. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
Jordan went textbook on Small. The punches rained down to the places for maximum pain. Kidneys. Base of the throat. He even punched his left ear. He stopped and examined his handiwork. Small was punch drunk. Dead on his feet – mouth open, eyes closed. He swayed as if a breeze traveled the room.
“Knock him the fuck out!” E-Man shouted.
Jordan hit Small with a standing jump kick - directly to the chin. Small flew and landed on a coffee table, smashing it into a million pieces.
“Shoryuken!”
Jordan caught his breath. “That’s ‘Rising Dragon Punch’.”
E-Man shrugged. “Details. It’s a finishing move.”
Jordan sat on the couch, surprisingly calm. He looked down at his fallen foe. Now he regretted the degree of ass whipping he put on Small. He could have given the man brain damage. E-Man knelt down at Small’s side. He took off a black glove. He, like Jordan was in all black tactical gear – another leftover from the old days.
“Well, you didn’t kill him.” E-Man had a finger at Small’s vein. “Not that I’m judging.”
Jordan reared his head back on the couch. Time was not on his side, but for him to continue, he needed Small conscious.
Small lie still for thirteen and a half minutes. Jordan squatted over him. The eyes fluttered and Jordan fitted a suppressor to a H&K Mark 23 semiautomatic pistol. He pressed the barrel to Small’s temple while his other hand pressed down hard on Small’s chest.
“Just in case you were wondering,” Jordan said, “I ain’t playing with you no more. This is the deal, yo. I’m going to ask you a question. Just one. You will answer it to my satisfaction or I will kill you.” He cocked the gun.
“Yo, Noble,” E-Man said, “if you don’t need me no more, I’m going out to get the car.”
“See ya,” Jordan said, his eyes still locked on Small’s. “No witnesses. What’s it gonna be, punk?” Jordan felt Small’s heart thunder under his gloved hand.
It took a few tries, but Small found his voice. “OK, OK, what do you want?”
Jordan flashed into anger and almost squeezed the trigger. “What do you think I want! Where’s Robin?” The gun drove deeper into Small’s flesh.
Small’s head bounced up and down uncontrollably. Tears rolled out of his eyes. “OK, please! I’m sorry. OK, Random’s got her on Vinewood…off on Grand Boulevard. Down by the river. There’s a park there and…”
“I know where it is!” Jordan said. “What’s the address?”
Small sputtered a number. “Please, man, this wasn’t my idea. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Jordan stood. He leveled his gun directly at Small’s tears streamed face. “She loved you.”
Small broke into a loud crying fit. By all appearances, a gunshot should follow. Instead, Jordan just stood over him. Killing him was pointless. Jordan had broken him. He was going to jail. Federal prison. Jordan walked to the door, holstering his weapon.
“You’ve pissed yourself,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out. The thought occurred to him he had broken into Small’s house, assaulted him and two other men. The evidence he had of their guilt was almost non-existence. All three could press charges and swear they never even heard of Cody Random. If he had half a brain, he’d go back and put 9mm rounds in all their heads.
But no, he was following his instinct. Random would abandon all these failures. They’d be out in the cold and of no mind to go to the police. If Random won the day, he be a force to be reckon with. If things went Jordan’s way – when things went his way, there’d be evidence aplenty to take them down. Jordan got in the UrbanKnights’ white van.
“Well?” E-Man asked.
“She’s down by the river, off The Boulevard.”
E-Man nodded. He started the van and headed out.
“You down for this?” Jordan asked as they made their way back to the main streets.
“Little late to be asking me now. But you, are you OK?”
The streetlight flashed across Jordan’s face. Alternating light and darkness. Something like Jordan’s mood. The light of the pursuit of justice. The darkness of seeking revenge.
A newfound resolve was in his voice. “No, but I’m getting there.”
Chapter Twenty-One: The Caged Bird
Jordan and E-Man arrived on Vinewood, a residential street a block west of Grand Boulevard. The street ended in a cul-de-sac. Ev
ery house but one was empty. The neighborhood’s best days were all behind it. Blackness cloaked the street as every other street light was out. In the darkness, shapes moved like men – an occasional voice or laughter seemingly came from nowhere.
E-Man put the van in park. The address from Small was at the leftmost house in the cul-de-sac. Jordan begrudgingly acknowledged Random’s cleverness.
“There’s no way to get to the house without being seen,” Jordan said. “Very smart.”
“Uh huh,” E-Man said, “so, what do we do?”
Jordan thought for a moment. “Go around the block.”
E-Man backed up the van and went over to Grand Boulevard. The once proud street was a mirror image of Vinewood, most of the houses were vacant. E-Man drove to the house directly behind the Random house. He stopped and the two men got out. The house was a giant of a structure, a throwback to a bygone era of stately homes when this area was home to doctors and lawyers. Since those brighter days, the house had been converted to a two-family unit and ultimately abandoned. It was a heartbreaking thing to behold. The solid well-built home was standing empty. Jordan and E-Man didn’t have time to mull such things.
“We can use this,” Jordan said, “If you can get upstairs, you should be able to have a good view of the house behind.”
“Let’s get our stuff.”
At the back of the van, Jordan unloaded a pair of duffle bags. Within, weapons and a pair of communication devices. The comm set had an earpiece and a transmitter went around the throat. Smaller gear was available but given their successful history with the devices, these would work just fine.
E-Man knelt down and assembled a PSG-1 7.62mm Precision Marksman Rifle. Along with it, he affixed a huge thermographic scope. He stood once completed.
Jordan pointed to the second floor of the house. “Think you can get in and find a window overlooking the yard?”
“Did Detroit invent Techno?” E-Man made for the house, mounting its huge front porch. He stopped at the door and prepared to breach. Jordan crept around the side of the house and through the yard. He leapt the fence dividing the houses and knelt down in a mass of overgrown weeds. The moon shone above hindered by drifting cloud. Still, between his increasing night vision and the lights from the house ahead of him, Jordan had a good view of the twenty yards or so of backyard.
He spoke into his throat mike. “Are you in position? What do you see?”
“Wait a minute.” Long seconds went by. Jordan knew E-Man was sweeping the house with the scope of his rifle. The thermographic scope would detect any warm bodies around and just before any windows. The limits of technology wouldn’t allow his partner to see through the entire house, so he’d have to wait as everyone in the building moved into view. Eighteen minutes ticked away.
“Well?” Jordan asked.
“Hang on.” Four more minutes passed. “OK. I got… six…seven on the second floor. Three on the first.”
Jordan nodded. That was a lot of guys just to guard one woman. Was Random expecting him? He was probably hedging his bets – a better safe than sorry kind of thing. It was absolutely nuts for Jordan to try a rescue. He was counting on that. Hoping no one would think he would try such a thing. One mistake at any point of his rescue and Robin was dead. It didn’t matter. Today, Jordan would be perfect. If they were expecting him, too bad for them.
“Any sign of her?” Jordan asked.
“Nope. Unless she’s behind something I can’t see with my scope. Could be but, I doubt it. She’s probably in the basement.”
Jordan nodded in agreement. It was an old house and it wasn’t likely anything could block E-Man’s scope.
“OK, hero,” E-Man’s voice was back in Jordan’s ear, “What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to go in there and get her.”
“Good plan.”
Jordan grunted a response. “OK. I’m going in. Gimme some cover.”
Another pause. “Hold on. There’s a guy in the back yard. I’ll get him.”
Jordan peeped into the yard. He could see someone wandering about. A guard on patrol – a lonely figure in the middle of the yard, smoking.
“Hang on, I got this.”
“All right, John Wayne.”
“Ain’t even like that,” Jordan said. He crept from his hide. “Radio silence.”
His friend’s assumption aside, Jordan’s decision had nothing to do with ego or bravado. It would be best to keep the number of people shot with precision firearms down to a minimum. Firearms that could be tracked to the UrbanKnights. Jordan caught up to the guard and clasped him in a sleeper hold. Grunts and gurgling followed but in a matter of seconds the man was out. He lowered the unconscious form to the ground and stalked to the house.
He hugged the wall as he moved to the side door. It suddenly opened. He stepped back into the shadows. A young black man came through, not seeing the detective. Instead he reached in a stretch. Jordan kept the Mark 23 trained on the man as he yawned loudly. He reached in his pocket and produced a cigarette. Satisfied the man wasn’t going to detect him any time soon, Jordan stood. He grabbed the man by his collar and swiftly brought him in an arch ending in the side of the house. The criminal collapsed to the ground. He would wake up later having no idea what hit him and why his nose was broken.
Jordan went through the door to the landing of the stairs going to the basement. He stood motionless for a moment as he listened. Voices and footfalls traveled from the first level. Below him, sounds that could only be a television. Wrestling.
He moved down the stairs - carefully, slowly. It was an old house, full of sounds, a squeaking step, one of them. He had to be careful. No mistakes. Perfect.
One step down. Two. He was close enough to peek down into the basement. He saw what appeared to be a pair of legs. Woman’s legs. One more step. Yes, it was a pair of woman’s legs. It was Robin. His heart skipped a beat. She was strapped to a chair, her back to him. Something pulled over her head - a pillowcase or the like. Still, it had to be her. He was sure Random hadn’t kidnapped two women.
He scanned the rest of the basement. It was unfinished with pipes and heating ducts visible from the ceiling. No tile covered the floor. Off to the left, a door led to another room. Robin was guarded by three men. The man standing next to her was three hundred fifty pounds if he was an ounce. His back was to Jordan and he rubbed Robin’s shoulder suggestively.
“Soon, baby, soon,” he said. Robin struggled against her bounds trying to get away from the fat man’s touch. Her disgust was obvious. So was Jordan’s. His heart caught up with the beat it skipped earlier. He willed himself to calm down. First things first.
I’ll be with you in a second, Bird.
Beyond Robin and her fat torturer, was a couch. On it, sat two men, only the tops of their heads visible. The right one was clearly entranced by the television. The other man was sleep, his head resting on the back of the couch.
This seems familiar.
His options were limited, given how close Fatty stood. From upstairs, one of the sounds got closer. Jordan froze, willing his hearing to focus on the sound. After an endless minute, the sound moved away and grew fainter. He sighed like a whisper. He was out of time.
“Yo, I’m gonna take a piss,” the fat man said. “Look after my girlfriend.”
The man engrossed with the television made a gesture he heard, but leaned closer to his show. Fatty, chuckled at his own joke as he wobbled through the door. Jordan allowed himself a slight smile. He kept his Mark 23 trained on the back of TV man’s head. Jordan figured he was the most dangerous in the room now. Still, he listened for the return of the fat man. At the bottom of the stairs, he slid his Smith and Wesson Special Ops knife out of its boot scabbard. He held it in his right hand while the Mark 23 in his left stayed focused on its target. Robin was only four or five feet away. It might as well been four or five miles. She was stripped down to her underwear and he could see her trembling in fear. He
wanted to run to her, but he couldn’t make a sound. It would only take twenty seconds to get to her at his current pace. He held his breath. It was not the right time, considering the extreme danger they were both in, yet he couldn’t help but drink Robin’s beauty. Her nearly naked body was as perfect as Jordan had both dreamt and remembered.
This is not the time for a hard on...
He focused on what he was doing. Fatty was having quite a time in the bathroom. TV man was also trapped in his own world. After an eternity, Jordan reached her. He knelt down next to her. Robin gasped under her mask, sensing someone close to her.
“Shhh. It’s me.”
Robin stiffened. “Jordan?”
Jordan put his Smith and Wesson to work on Robin’s binds. They were 5-50 cords and cut fairly easy.
