Home Fire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 5)

by Dustin Stevens

  One of the Brownings was wedged into the small of my back, the safety off, ready to be drawn in an instant.

  Adrenaline continued to work through my system. Just as it had since rolling past and spotting the Honda. Just as it had throughout the walk over after parking two blocks away.

  It kept my left hand from hanging still by my side, my thumb tapping against my thigh. Persistent and steady, it became a bit faster as the sound of footsteps grew ever louder, working steadily toward the door before stopping.

  As they did so, I had to fight every impulse not to drive myself forward, burying my heel or my shoulder or the bat or whatever else I could find into the wood. Shearing the deadbolt through the thin casing, I wanted to mow down whoever was on the other side and work my way through the house until I found my niece.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t run the risk of making a scene, of alerting whoever else might be inside or of giving the neighbors any chance to take a second glance my direction.

  Not with the way I looked.

  Especially not knowing if Elyse was even here.

  “Who is it?” a voice called out. Male, it sounded a decibel lower than necessary.

  If forced to guess, I would say it was from Pierce, the one driving the car in the image.

  “Gas company,” I said. “I’m here to check about a leak inside.”

  The man paused. Presumably, he was checking with someone else, meaning there was at least one other inside.

  “We don’t have a leak.”

  I didn’t even know if they used gas, but it didn’t matter. All I needed was for the man to crack the door open.

  “Are you sure? I got a call for this address from a Sandra Bernstein this morning that said she was smelling gas in the house. It’s imperative I check, or you could be in grave danger.”

  Namedropping Sandra like that was a risky play, especially if the guy I was speaking to was were son and knew she hadn’t been by, but it was all I had. Either he bought it and let me in, or I went with the alternative and risked being spotted by the neighbors.

  Squeezing the tip of the bat tight, I waited, preparing myself in case I needed to make entry, counting seconds, before hearing a metal chain being slid across a track. A moment later, I could hear a deadbolt turning.

  Releasing my grip on the bat, I let it slide a few inches down before grasping it by the barrel. Shifting my body slightly, I waited as the knob turned and the door cracked open.

  The face that appeared in the opening matched the one from the image on my phone. Jamal Pierce stared out at me, his eyes narrowed into a scowl.

  “Who called-“

  He never got out the rest of his question. In one quick shot, I rammed the head of the bat into his nose, feeling the aluminum connect square. On contact, the thin bone gave way, driving the man back.

  A loud grunt escaped over his lips as his hands rose straight to his face, bright red blood spurting through his fingers.

  Pushing off my back foot, I slid forward, passing by the door and swinging it shut behind me. I let a bit more of the bat slide through my hand, clasping it around the middle and driving straight ahead, burying it in his stomach.

  The blow did exactly as intended, folding him in half, all air escaping from his body. Bent forward at the waist, his arms went to his stomach, thick droplets of blood and snot dotting the floor beneath him.

  Doubled over in that position, I drew the bat up to my shoulder, swinging it down hard in a chopping motion. Connecting flush against the back of his skull, he melted straight to the floor, the only sound his weight collapsing against the carpet.

  Once he was done, I pushed straight back, pressing myself against the door. Shifting the bat to my left hand, I drew the Browning, holding it at arm’s length in my right and sweeping it over the home before me.

  A small foyer encased the front door, walls extending out a couple of feet on either side, narrowing my field of vision to the living room before me. What I could see of the place looked much like the exterior would indicate, exactly as I would have imagined for a place occupied by young twenty-somethings. The carpet was stained and shabby. The furniture looked like dorm room remainders. Every horizontal surface was covered with beer cans and food wrappers.

  The smell of both hung heavy in the air.

  Just the mere thought of Elyse being in such a place was enough to push my acrimony even higher.

  Flicking my gaze down to the floor, I saw Pierce was unmoving, and likely would be for quite a while. Blood flowed freely from his nose, the stain on the carpet growing ever larger.

  Good. It was the least the bastard deserved for what he’d done.

  If I needed to come back and question him later, I knew where he would be.

  Sliding forward, I inched away from the front door, easing forward into the living room. Again, I swung the Browning over the place in a quick arc, no signs of movement drawing my attention.

  Moving out as far as I dared, I peered over the back of the couch, making sure nobody was lying in wait. On it was a pillow with an indentation in the middle and a wad of blankets on the end, like it had been an impromptu pallet for someone the night before.

  If that was Pierce or not, I couldn’t be sure.

  Looking up from the couch, I shifted my attention to the pair of doors on the opposite end of the room. Switching the front tip of the barrel between them, I debated the two for a moment, opting to go left.

  If Elyse was here, she was behind the door on the right. The simple reasoning behind that was it was tucked into the rear corner of the house, putting her further away from the street. It would be easier to conceal her, to muffle any sounds she made, from back there.

  Not to mention, I had plainly seen blinds across all windows lining the front as I approached. No chance would they have put her someplace that she could be seen so easily.

  My going left was to clear anybody that might be lying in wait before moving on where I thought she might actually be.

  Returning to the wall, I used it as a guide, going as quick as possible, reducing the amount of time I was left open and exposed.

  Sweat trickled down from my forehead, the taste salty on my lips. My breathing became low and fast as I made the threshold and dropped to a knee. Holding the gun straight out before me, I snapped my shoulders in quick forty-five degree turns.

  The room looked much like the rest of the place, a case study in arrested development. Along the back wall was a queen bed, the sheets and blankets on it a rumpled mess. Dirty laundry dotted the floor. Posters from movies and bands popular a decade ago hung on the walls.

  But no signs of life. No indication that Elyse had been here.

  Shifting my focus from the bedroom to the living room, I once more passed the tip of the gun over the space. Seeing nothing, I rose, keeping my shoulder pinned to the wall as I eased forward toward the rear door.

  Halfway there, I was stopped cold by a thin voice calling out.

  “Jamal? Who was at the door?”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Ronell Brinks sat behind the wheel of his car, waiting as the door behind them slid back down into place. Using the rearview mirror, he watched as it worked steadily downward, a line of darkness passing over the back window. Rumbling with the persistent rattle of loose metal and an aging drive system, it took almost thirty seconds for it to close, shutting them off from the outside world, plunging them back into the pronounced silence of the concrete holding room.

  “Get out.”

  The girl didn’t respond at all to the sound of his voice. Whatever fear she had felt the day before, from the tears to her rigid posture, was now gone. In their place was a sort of stony defiance, a stance that had been in place since she woke up a half-hour earlier.

  Glancing over, Ronell could see her lips pressed tight together, her nostrils flaring slightly as she stared straight ahead.

  On her cheek, a lump was already protruding. Streaks of faint blue and purple belied her skin. The tri
ckle of blood had been washed away, though the crease it had flowed from was still visible.

  Ronell hadn’t wanted to hit her. Not because he gave a shit about her, but because he hadn’t wanted to damage the merchandise in any way. He simply hadn’t had a choice. After what she’d done to Joey, if she’d made it even a few feet further, she would have had a clear path to the front door. She might have even started screaming.

  Neither one of those could happen.

  Just like she couldn’t be led to believe that stabbing one of them was okay, either.

  “Now.”

  This time, she took the order. Reaching over, she popped open her door, both of them stepping out in unison. A moment later, the door directly before them opened.

  Drawing himself upright, Ronell watched as Big Man stepped through. Behind him was his consigliere Peanut, flanked by a pair of S-2 in jeans and tank tops. Moving in a single file, they fanned out across the width of the car, glancing between Ronell and the girl.

  Locked in those positions, the two sides stood in silence for a moment before Big Man shifted his face just slightly. “Take her to Kuntzman.”

  Nodding, the two S-2 peeled off to the side. They circled around the passenger headlamp and took up a post on either side of the girl. Each grabbed her by an elbow, steering her forward, the trio disappearing through the door, swinging it closed behind them.

  In the wake of their departure, Ronell felt his heart rate climb. He shifted his weight to either side, wanting so much to say something, but knowing better than to speak before spoken to.

  Nothing good could come of it.

  “What happened to her face?”

  His eyes masked behind a pair of mirrored shades, it was almost impossible to read Big Man’s features.

  A handful of different responses sprang across Ronell’s mind before he settled on, “She stabbed Joey this morning, so I had to put her down.”

  Spoken out loud, it sounded much worse than he’d realized. Drawing in a sharp breath, he felt his core tighten, trying to read Big Man for any sign.

  There was none.

  “She stabbed him?” Big Man asked, his emphasis on the middle word making the intent of his question clear.

  “She, uh, snapped off part of her dinner tray,” Ronell said. “Used it as a shiv.”

  Just as he had a moment before, Big Man turned his head a few inches to the side. This time, he said not a word, he and his diminutive partner sharing a glance before both turned back to face Ronell.

  “Where is he now?”

  “He’s at home,” Ronell said. “I called Jamal to stay with him.”

  For almost a full minute, Big Man said nothing. He stood and stared, seeming to calculate things in his head, before finally nodding slightly.

  “You did good. All of you.”

  A tiny breath of air slid out through Ronell’s lips, though he managed to keep his features neutral.

  “Come back tonight. Bring them both with you. Be prepared.”

  Saying nothing more, he turned back toward the door, moving his body in a series of short steps. Allowing his partner to go first, he exited without looking back.

  The instant he was gone, the roll top on the opposite end began to climb, springing to life with a clatter, letting Ronell know that it was time to be on his way again.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The boy I assumed was Bernstein looked even worse in person than he did in the still image Pally had lifted from the traffic camera. A total opposite to the man I’d left in a bloody pile by the door, my immediate thought was that he was the token white guy that was kept around because he had a crash pad and a car. He’d likely grown up with one or both of the others and never left, even now after his usefulness had run its course.

  Laying on his side, his face was awash in sweat, his dark curls plastered to his head. With his knees curled up in the fetal position, a sheet was balled up in his hands, pressed tight to his side.

  Thick blotches of blood covered it, dried to the color of rust.

  The bed he was on was a twin. Beside it was a desk and chair. Nothing else anywhere, even the walls bare, like it had been stripped. The window had been boarded shut.

  All the earmarks of a holding cell.

  “Where is she?”

  My body turned sideways, I reached out and grabbed the tail of the sheet, jerking it away. His mouth gaping, Bernstein extended a feeble hand out after it, trying to cling to the thin fabric.

  Beneath it, I could see the skin along his abdomen was stained red, a deep puncture ripped into the surface.

  Dropping the sheet to the floor by my feet, I stomped on it twice, making sure there wasn’t a weapon squirreled away inside, before kicking it across the room.

  As I did so, I noticed the shattered remains of a plastic tray on the floor, random shards of it clustered around the foot of the bed.

  “Who are you?” he asked, ignoring my question. “What do you want?”

  Staring at him a moment, I let him see me smirk. I made sure he watched as I tucked the gun back into my waistband, switching the bat into my right hand.

  Shooting him would be too easy. And it would be loud. He must have sensed those things – or at least the fact that I didn’t want to open fire inside the house – those realizations emboldening him a tiny bit.

  “No,” I said, taking a half-step forward, “that’s not how this works.”

  Shooting the bat out before me, I drove the rounded metal tip of it into his torso, pressing it flush against his open wound. It sank more than an inch into his fleshy midsection, his eyes bulging as his body writhed, a series of undecipherable sounds crossing his lips.

  Tears appeared in his eyes, his hands trying to push away the unwanted intrusion.

  Leaning hard into it, the bat remained fixed in position, fresh blood leaking from the bottom of the wound.

  “This is how this works,” I said. “I ask questions, you give me answers. If I don’t like them, my friend here and I go to work on you.

  “If you scream, nobody will hear you, and it will only make it worse.”

  I pushed harder, giving it another jab. “Understood?”

  Trying to roll into the pressure, to do anything to alleviate it, Bernstein folded his body into a tight ball. His breathing became labored, shuddering through the tears.

  “Stop, stop...please...just stop.”

  Jerking the bat back, I slashed it at the exposed sole of his foot. It connected square with his heel, a dull thumping sound ringing out, his body again twisting away from me.

  “Jesus! Stop! Please!” he screamed. Rolling to his side, he turned his back to me, creases and wrinkles striping his pasty flesh.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  Bernstein said nothing. His body continued to shudder as he cried, the sound of his sniffling echoing out.

  Lifting the tip of the bat, I traced it the length of his spine, his body flinching, pulling away, at the touch of it.

  “She’s not here!” he yelled. “She’s not here! She was, but Ronnie took her away.”

  Ronnie.

  Stopping the bat just above his coccyx, I pressed harder into him. He was cracking, just as I knew he would the first time I saw his image in the picture.

  Guys like Pierce got off on being tough. They lived for trying to stick it to others, especially a white guy that looked like me. Bernstein would have no such compunction. He’d never known true strife. His life was lived in whatever manner minimized his own personal inconvenience.

  “Who the hell is Ronnie?” I barked, raising my volume to match his.

  “Ronell!” he said, working his body clear into the corner of the bed, trying to pull away from me. “Ronell.”

  “Ronell what?”

  I pulled the back bat and smashed it harder in the same place, feeling the impact with his vertebra, vibrations traveling the length of it.

  “Shit! Brinks! His name is Ronell Brinks! Stop hitting me, damn it!”

  Th
ere was no way that was going to happen. Not with him already spewing information. Sure as hell not with him sitting on the same bed they’d kept my niece on for days.

  Jumping forward, I drove my knee into his thigh, smashing it flush into the meat. Bringing the bat up, I pressed it across the side of his neck, leaning my hands onto either end.

  “Did you hurt her?” I seethed. A string of saliva slid from my gritted teeth, splashing down his cheek. “Did you hurt her?!”

  “No,” he gasped, trying to shake his head beneath the weight of the bat. “No. Hell, she did this to me!”

  “What about Ronell?” I said, keeping the pressure on him. “Did he hurt her?”

  Fresh tears leaked down the side of Joey’s face. They dotted the sheet beneath him, his body becoming flaccid beneath me.

  He was losing steam. Whatever worth he presented was fast running out.

  “Where did he take her?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The man beside Elyse Denman was dressed like a cowboy. Or, at least, what she had seen modern-day cowboys dressed like on television. He didn’t have a horse or a gun or a kerchief around his neck, but he had boots on his feet and a cowboy hat on his head. The shirt he wore had pearl snaps instead of buttons. His belt was cinched into place with a buckle the size of her cellphone.

  Seated in the passenger seat of his truck, she had stolen a couple of quick glimpses his way. With her body pressed against the side door, she’d put as much distance as possible between them, masking the occasional glance in his direction.

  The first couple he didn’t seem to notice. Not until the third did he turn and stare at her, an amused expression on his face.

  “Get a good look, Elyse?”

  Fear was the first response that pulsated through her body. Simply hearing his voice, knowing it was directed at her, that he had caught her spying, she jumped back slightly, pushing harder against the door.

  The second, coming only an instant later, was surprise. She’d only mentioned her name once, definitely not in the presence of this man.