Lit Fuse (A Tanner Novel Book 44)

by Remington Kane

  Wendy wanted to stay. Her boyfriend was on the way and had told her that he would be there as soon as he could. That might be a while; he was in San Francisco when Wendy spoke to him.

  “Jake will get here soon,” Wendy assured Franny. “He has a motorcycle and will be able to weave around traffic.”

  “All right. I’ll stay with you, but I’d feel better about things if I had a weapon.” Franny normally carried a gun in her purse, but that wasn’t an option when she had to board an airplane to travel.

  The lawyer, Mike Townsend, unlocked a bottom drawer in his desk, reached in, and brought out a gun. It was a Glock 19 with fifteen rounds. He held it up. “I can protect us with this.”

  “I hope you won’t need to use it,” Franny said, then she jumped, as outside the gas tank on a burning police car erupted. She shook her head. “This is insanity.”

  Not far away, Joshua uttered a similar statement, but for a different reason. “This is crazy.”

  He and Haley were with a group of two hundred and fifty-seven members of Die Fistulous. Naya and another group leader had just declared their intention to travel to the poorest section of the city and burn it down. Joshua couldn’t believe what he was hearing and had blurted out his opinion of the plan. He normally would have followed Naya without question, but her idea seemed insane to him.

  Naya stared at him. “It’s not crazy to burn down that slum. Have you seen how the people live there? If we burn it down, the state will be forced to put them up in decent accommodations, then they’ll have to build them new and better homes.”

  “Eventually, yeah. But what about in the short run? If we burn down those buildings, where will they sleep tonight? And what about their belongings? They won’t have a chance to gather their things, and it will be dark in an hour.”

  “And if we do nothing, nothing changes. The powers that be will rebuild the storefronts for the rich merchants, but the poor people in this city will go on living in those slums. I won’t allow that. I’m going to change that. Now, who’s with me?”

  Most of those gathered let out a cheer, but Joshua was pleased to see that Haley and about twenty other people agreed with his point of view. Naya had noticed as well, and she made an attempt to win them back to her side.

  “What would you like to do, Joshua, nothing?”

  “No. Why don’t we go up the hill there and burn down those damn mansions?”

  “We will, but first we’ll instill terror in their owners. Imagine how freaked-out they’ll be when they see the rest of the city burning. They’ll know that they’re next, and it will give us time to gather more people together. Now, enough talk. Get on the buses and let’s bring this city to its knees.”

  There was more cheering, and most of those gathered began climbing aboard the buses they had used to reach the city. Joshua didn’t move, and he was pleased when Haley took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Nineteen other people stayed where they were, declaring their agreement with Joshua.

  Naya stared at them and there was a gleam of hatred in her gaze. She wasn’t getting on a bus; she had driven her car to the city, and she would be leading the assault on the slums.

  Naya drove off with the buses following behind her and Joshua watched them until they made a turn and disappeared from sight. He then spun around and pointed up at the homes on the hill.

  “I’m going up there and I’m going to burn those monstrosities to the ground.”

  “Yes baby,” Haley said, and kissed him. The others made sounds of agreement and they began walking toward the hill.

  5

  From Bad To Worse

  Cody had said goodbye to his family at the airport, but it was Tanner who was headed toward the riot in San Padre. He was making good time as there were few vehicles en route toward the city. On the other side of the highway, traffic was heavy as people fled the area.

  He had tried calling Franny again and made contact, but the call ended after several seconds. She sounded frightened. His next attempts at reaching Franny resulted in the calls not going through. He wondered if the authorities were blocking cell signals to keep the rioters from communicating with each other and considered it a strong possibility.

  As he neared the city, several police cars rocketed past him with their sirens blaring. They were followed by transport vehicles filled with national guardsmen.

  By Tanner’s rough estimate, the trucks couldn’t have carried more than two hundred men combined. Armed or not, that was not enough bodies to match the number of rioters, which was in the thousands. It would be enough to secure the courthouse. Perhaps their arrival would help Franny stay safe, and there were likely more troops on the way.

  Tanner had to bring his vehicle to a halt as traffic in front of him came to a stop. Up ahead, national guardsmen were directing the traffic inbound to the city toward a detour. That detour would lead them to an on-ramp that would head them back in the direction they had come.

  Drivers complained and expressed their concern about their loved ones’ welfare. They were threatened with arrest if they didn’t obey. Tanner said nothing, followed the guardsmen’s directions, but avoided getting back on the highway. Instead, he drove his rental into the parking lot of a post office and took off on foot through a wooded area that bordered a stream. He was only about two miles from the part of the city where the riot was taking place and had enough daylight left to make it there before dark.

  As he looked up through a gap in the branches of the trees, he could see a cloud of black smoke forming over San Padre, a city that was being set aflame in more ways than one.

  The same group of rioters who had broken into the other office building forced their way inside the building where Franny was. Mike Townsend had disabled the elevator, but there was also a stairwell.

  The protestors had clubs and other makeshift weapons, but Franny had glimpsed the outline of two men carrying rifles. Those two wore ski masks. One of the masks was red and the other brown. Mike Townsend’s handgun might not be enough. Franny told him about the rifles and Townsend laughed.

  “I doubt they know how to use them. If it comes down to a firefight, I’m betting that my training and experience in combat will serve me well.”

  Franny hoped he was right and suggested that they use the metal filing cabinets for cover. The thin metal they were made from wouldn’t stop a bullet, but the files and the inches of paper packed into them might keep a slug from getting through to the other side. She huddled behind a row of them along with Wendy and Townsend’s female assistant.

  Townsend elected to stay at his desk where he had a better line of sight on the door. The oak desk he was crouched behind wasn’t ideal for cover, but it might offer some protection.

  They heard a scream come from an office down the hall that was closer to the stairwell. Franny remembered passing it on her way to see Townsend. It was a dentist office that could be viewed from the corridor through glass walls. The dentist was a man, but Franny had seen two dental assistants who were young and attractive women. A second woman screamed, and the sound was followed by someone yelling at her to shut up.

  “Why won’t they just let them go?” Wendy said.

  Franny and Townsend shared a look, as they both feared that the men roaming the building might have plans for the women that included rape. As the screams increased, and were joined by the sound of a slap, Franny could see that Wendy had figured out what was going on.

  “Oh my God,” Wendy whispered.

  Townsend held his gun in a two-handed grip. “They won’t get past me. And they’ll wish they were never born.”

  More screaming could be heard, along with the sound of the stairwell door banging open again. Wendy released a whimper and Franny reached out and took the younger woman by the hand. Townsend’s assistant huddled beside them; the woman had gone so pale that her face nearly matched her white hair. When they heard someone moving around in the reception area, Townsend issued a warning.

  “I’ve got a gun
in here and I know how to use it! Leave the building and you won’t get hurt!”

  There was no reply. Franny found that odd. She had expected to hear someone point out that Townsend was outgunned and outnumbered, or maybe derisive laughter, or a statement of disbelief that the weapon he claimed to have was real. There was silence. Then, a voice spoke.

  “Throw that gun out and we’ll let you leave.”

  “Go to hell,” Townsend said.

  “Who are you?” said the voice. To Franny’s ear, it sounded as if the speaker had changed his position before talking. His voice made him sound older than most of the protestors she had seen earlier. He also seemed calm. There was a reason for that. The man was one of the mercenaries hired by Morgan Miller to incite the riot. He and the others of their group had decided to stay and do some pillaging of their own. The regular protestors—a mixture of Die Fistulous and natives of the city—had run from them once they’d seen that they were armed. Members of a gang of thieves weren’t put off by the weapons and decided to tag along with the masked men. It was the gang members who were down the hall raping the women from the dental office. The women’s cries of protest and screams of pain mixed with the raucous sounds of the pandemonium going on in the streets below.

  “I’m a lawyer and a former Marine!” Townsend shouted. “I will shoot you.”

  “Do you have money in there? Maybe a safe?” the voice asked, and again, it sounded as if the man had moved from where he’d been before.

  It occurred to Franny then that he was moving about so Townsend couldn’t pin down his location. At the same time, each reply from Townsend made it easier to figure out where he was. Franny was opening her mouth to warn Townsend when the lawyer spoke again.

  “There’s nothing of value here. Now leave. If you come through that door, I’ll kill you.”

  “Oh, I won’t be coming through that door until you’re dead.”

  Those words were followed by gunfire. Bullets ripped through the wall on Townsend’s left, and several of the rounds struck him in his side. He collapsed to the floor while crying out from the pain of his wounds and settled onto his back.

  Wendy screamed and Townsend’s assistant panicked and headed for the door. The woman made it through and into the reception area, then let out a shriek as someone beyond the doorway grabbed her.

  Franny released Wendy’s hand and moved over to check on Townsend. Dust particles created by the perforated wallboard floated in the air and smelled like chalk.

  Townsend had suffered three serious wounds and was losing blood at a rapid pace. He moaned with his eyes clenched tight against the pain coursing through him.

  Franny picked up his weapon. Knowing she had no chance against the two rifles, she opened a file cabinet and tucked the gun inside. She would look for an opportunity to retrieve it and surprise their attackers. It wasn’t much of a plan seeing as how she was outnumbered, but it might give her and Wendy a chance to escape.

  Townsend’s assistant was propelled backwards into the room, stumbled, and fell to the floor. A mercenary, the one wearing the red ski mask, followed her in. He had fired through the wall and wounded Townsend. He looked down at the bleeding lawyer, then searched the floor with his eyes. Those same eyes fell upon Franny, and he asked her a question.

  “Where’s the gun?”

  Franny’s voice quavered as she answered. Some of the tremor in her speech was exaggerated, as she hoped to appear nonthreatening, but she was feeling fear. She dreaded the thought of being raped by the mob down the hall or murdered by the man standing before her.

  “He, he was bluffing. There was no gun.”

  The man looked back down at Townsend, then took aim and placed a bullet in his head. Franny was shocked by the act. Townsend was no longer a threat and would have bled to death before help could arrive.

  Wendy shrieked again as she grabbed onto Franny’s arm, and there was trembling in her grip. Sitting on the floor, Townsend’s assistant began weeping.

  As his partner wearing the brown ski mask entered the room and began going through the desk, Townsend’s murderer shouted at the assistant to stand up. The woman did so slowly, while still sobbing.

  “Do you work here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there a safe?” the man asked her.

  The assistant answered while pointing to her right, where the door to the supply closet sat open. “The safe is built into the back wall in there. There’s some money being held for a client; I think it’s twenty thousand dollars… and there’s maybe three hundred dollars in petty cash.”

  As they were speaking, the other man had found nothing of interest in the desk and began going through Franny and Wendy’s purses to remove their cash. When he knelt beside the body to grab the wallet from Townsend’s back pocket, he reminded Franny of a mongrel dog she’d once seen picking over the remains of a carcass.

  With one man kneeling on the floor, and Townsend’s killer occupied by trying to get the safe’s combination from the legal assistant, Franny figured there would never be a better time to act. She ripped open the drawer on the filing cabinet where she’d hidden the gun and brought the weapon out.

  6

  Shoot-Out

  Sunset was beginning above the City of San Padre, and yet, the overcast sky was already dark with threatening storm clouds.

  Joshua and Haley led the march up the hill where the luxury homes were. They were all wearing masks to hide their faces and were determined to burn the mansions to the ground. As they neared the summit, they found their way blocked by armed guards. There were four of them and they were standing in front of a pair of huge, black iron gates that were locked. Their rifles were up and pointed at the approaching group of protestors. They had on regular clothes instead of uniforms and carried themselves like the former soldiers they were. They weren’t normal guards; they were a team of operators whom Miller had hired to defend the gates.

  A deep voice shouted an order over a speaker. “Turn back around and leave or we will fire on you.”

  None of the guards in front of Joshua had opened their mouths. When he looked beyond them and to the left, he saw that there were two other guards inside an elevated security booth. One was standing by a window and holding a handheld mic. He’d been the one to issue the threat.

  “How much are the rich assholes who live in those mansions paying you to protect them?” Haley asked.

  “It’s enough,” said one of the guards pointing a rifle at them.

  “It’s pocket change to those parasites. They could pay you ten times as much and not even miss it. Why should a handful of people enjoy the beach here instead of everyone?”

  Another guard laughed. He was a short man who had a gun strapped to his hip and was wearing a tactical vest. “Save your commie bullshit and start walking, you blue-haired bitch. We will shoot your ass if we have to.”

  One of Joshua’s group pushed past him and moved within three feet of the guard who’d laughed. He was a tall guy named Peter whom Joshua had only met the day before. In that short time, he’d seen Peter in three separate arguments. The man had also gotten a kick out of taunting the cops who had been guarding the courthouse.

  “You’re a Nazi, do you know that, shithead?”

  The short guard smiled up at Peter, who towered over him. “I know you’d better back off before I shoot your faggot ass.”

  “A Nazi and a homophobe. What a surprise.”

  More of the crowd behind Joshua moved forward and joined Peter in hurling insults at the guards. Their superior numbers gave them courage they might not otherwise possess. Joshua was about to join them when he felt Haley take his hand. She tugged on it, to pull him to the side. When he met her eyes, he saw fear there.

  “I don’t like this, Joshua. Look at the face on that guard who insulted Peter. He’s looking for any reason to use that rifle.”

  Joshua called over to Peter. “We should go now. We can always come back with more people later.”

&
nbsp; “What? You want to run away from these assholes? Why? We outnumber them.”

  “They’ve got rifles, Peter… and they’ll use them.”

  Peter made a derisive sound at that statement. He turned back to the guard and looked him up and down. “He won’t do shit. The little prick doesn’t have the balls.”

  The short guard laughed, took aim at Peter’s left knee, and fired a round into it. Peter’s leg buckled as he screamed, and the short guard laughed again. The laughter died when one of the other protestors threw a baseball bat that hit the guard in the face. Blood spurted from his nose as he dropped his rifle.

  One of the other guards opened fire as the crowd of protestors rushed forward, two people were wounded in their legs, one seriously, and Peter took a second round that struck him in the stomach. The confrontation might have ended there, but a protestor had picked up the short guard’s rifle. He began firing at the other guards, his rounds missed high as the short guard kicked the barrel of the rifle upward. That same kick, along with the recoil from the weapon, made the protestor stagger backwards.

  Three other guards pumped bullets into him before he could fire again; he went down with wounds to every part of his body. That started the remaining protestors to turn and run. One of them, a woman with eyebrow piercings, shoved Haley out of her way. That caused Haley to fall hard against Joshua. The two of them stumbled backwards over a guardrail and began tumbling down the side of the hill. They didn’t stop until they splashed into the water of the stream below.

  Franny fired a round into the torso of the mercenary who’d killed Townsend before turning the gun on his partner. The man still knelt on the floor and had his rifle slung over his back. He was sliding a sidearm from a holster on his belt when Franny fired off a shot that hit the man on his chin beneath the mask he wore. The round destroyed his jaw and exited out the back of his neck, and the mercenary settled beside Townsend’s body. He was still alive but was breathing his final breaths.