The Fall Guy

by Simon Wood

  “Hey, Todd.”

  Reflexively and stupidly, Todd turned towards the voice behind him. Before he could utter a word, a fist drove into his solar plexus. He dropped to his knees, the grocery sacks spilling from his grasp. All attempts to cry out for help ended in a strangled squeak. Thoughts of reaching for his gun never even materialized.

  The owner of the fist dropped to one knee, as if to help. He snatched a fistful of Todd’s tee shirt and jerked him up to his ear. “It’s your unlucky day, dickhead,” he rasped and jammed a 9mm automatic in Todd’s gut.

  He guided Todd to his feet and spun him around. He felt for a weapon and found the .357 in the back of Todd’s pants.

  “I’ll take that. Not like it was yours in the first place.”

  Todd recognized his captor. It was Dalton, the black linebacker Cochrane had brought with him to Todd’s apartment. His sidekick, Vasquez, sat at the wheel of a Lincoln across the street. The linebacker bundled him into the back of the car. He slammed Todd twice with the butt of the .357 and that was it. Todd was out cold.

  ***

  Todd came to while they were on the road. His wrists were cuffed behind him. He lay face down in the foot well for the rear passengers. Dalton’s feet pressed down on Todd’s back pinning him in place.

  “He’s awake,” Dalton said. “Enjoy these minutes, Todd. They are your last.”

  The comedians laughed.

  Todd didn’t bother asking where he was going. He didn’t want to know.

  The Lincoln came to a halt inside a building. Todd listened to the clatter of a garage door closing. He knew they’d taken him back to the chop shop at Jack London Square. The linebackers yanked him from the back of the car. This time, the place had been cleaned out of vehicles and equipment. In the middle of the shop sat Cochrane on an uncomfortable looking tubular steel and wood chair with a fixed back. Next to him laid a body bag. And next to that sat a bucket. He rested a silenced pistol lazily on his lap. These simple props and the stark surroundings struck fear into Todd. No explanation was necessary. All that was needed was a meager imagination to construct a scenario. This was where he was going to die. There was just time enough to lament how close he’d come to winning this one.

  Cochrane stood and pointed to the chair. The strength went out of Todd’s legs and the linebackers had to drag him over to it. They planted him in the seat. His head sagged under its own weight. Cochrane lifted it with the pistol.

  “I never thought you were stupid enough to come back, Todd. Honestly, I didn’t,” Cochrane said. “After I sent you on your way to Dallas and you didn’t end up in custody, I put the word out on you. I expected to receive a call from some corner of this country to tell me you’d ridden into town and they’d taken care of business. I thought the coke would bring you down. I was sure you’d try to hustle it. Do you really have it?”

  Todd swallowed. His Adam’s apple nudged the end of the silencer. “Yes.”

  Cochrane forced the pistol hard against Todd’s throat. “Honestly?”

  All saliva escaped down Todd’s throat and it burned when he answered, “Honestly.”

  “You wouldn’t be lying?” Todd went to answer, but Cochrane shushed him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you were. Stronger men than you have when faced with this predicament.”

  “No.”

  “I think I believe you. The question is, is it worth the bother of getting it back?”

  Dalton had wandered around behind Todd positioning himself in Todd’s blind spot. Cochrane nodded to him. He upended the chair, pitching Todd onto his knees then his face. Cochrane jerked Todd back and shoved the bucket under his face. Vasquez held his face over the bucket and Cochrane pressed the pistol against the back of his head.

  “I don’t know anyone who does this. I fill the bucket halfway with water. When I shoot you, the bucket will catch the spattered remains of your face and the water will stop the bullet from ricocheting off the walls. You wouldn’t believe how much this saves on cleanup.”

  Todd stared at his reflection. This was the last thing he’d see: his terrified expression before Cochrane’s bullet ripped it to pieces. He tried to close his eyes, but fear kept them wide open.

  “Where’s my coke? And please don’t waste my time.”

  Todd answered before he even comprehended what he’d said. His survival instinct had reacted on pure reflex and answered for him. It had bought him time. Even a second chance.

  “Show me,” Cochrane said.

  ***

  Todd traveled with Cochrane and his two linebackers in the Lincoln. This time, they let him sit up. Still cuffed, he sat on the backseat with Dalton and his angry looking hand cannon. Vasquez pulled up across the street from Redfern’s Noe Valley apartment.

  Todd searched the street for his lucky talisman and he found it. Redfern’s battered Malibu was parked on the street. Redfern was home and that was good. The trick was warning him that he was bringing company for dinner.

  “I’m at this place over here,” Todd said.

  “Better than your old place,” Cochrane remarked.

  “I wasn’t planning on staying long.”

  “Make him presentable.”

  Dalton turned Todd around and uncuffed him. The respite from the cuffs’ bite was temporary. Dalton re-cuffed Todd’s hands in front of him and covered them up with a jacket. Suitably camouflaged to the world, they led him over to the apartment.

  “Keys,” Cochrane said at the top of the apartment’s marble stairs.

  C’mon, Redfern, please be watching the windows. Please be primed and ready. Todd wished he and Redfern had agreed on some secret entry code. Three knocks and all is well. No knocks and all guns blazing. He dug in his jeans for the solitary key Redfern had given him.

  Cochrane snatched the key out of Todd’s grasp and stuck it in the lock.

  Todd couldn’t see around this one. It was a lose-lose situation. If he screamed out a warning to Redfern, his brains would be all over the wall before he got the first word out. If he stayed quiet, they’d have the drop on Redfern.

  Then Todd saw the edge he needed. Cochrane and his linebackers weren’t expecting anyone to be at home. Their artillery stayed firmly rested in holsters. Nobody had the drop on anyone. It was a fifty-fifty game. Not the greatest odds, but better than he was accustomed to sporting. Cochrane twisted the key and opened the door.

  He went through the door first. The linebackers shoved Todd ahead of them.

  “Collins, where the fuck have you been?” Redfern shouted from inside the apartment.

  The four of them froze in the foyer to the apartment. This was a barrel shot for Redfern. The foyer was at the bottom of a long, narrow flight of stairs that led into the apartment. Redfern might be one gun against three, but his vantage point gave him the better odds.

  Redfern’s feet pounded on the hardwood floor. “What did I say about flying under the radar, dickhead?”

  Cochrane fixed Todd with a look of pure hatred as he and his linebackers reached for their guns. Dalton released his hold on Todd and reached for his shoulder rig. Cochrane had his silenced pistol out. Redfern didn’t stand a chance.

  “We’ve got company,” Todd shouted then dropped his shoulder and charged Cochrane. He slammed him into the wall and they both fell onto the stairs. The pistol bounced from Cochrane’s grasp.

  Redfern appeared at the top of the stairs with his gun drawn. He had a clear shot of the linebackers and they had a clear shot of him. Vasquez made the mistake of reaching for Todd to tear him off Cochrane. Redfern showed no mercy and drilled him with two rounds. The first caught Vasquez in the meat of his shoulder, but the second was a headshot that dropped him on the spot. He fell against the back of Todd’s legs and Todd’s grip on Cochrane slipped. Cochrane wriggled himself free from Todd and reached for his pistol.

  Dalton got off a shot, but missed. Redfern ducked out of sight, then reappeared. He fired two rounds at the linebacker again. Redfern’s bullets couldn’t miss with that b
ig a target and both rounds hit home in his chest. Dalton staggered back, hit the wall behind him and slid down. The linebacker got off three shots as he went down. One glanced off Redfern’s head and he went down, falling out of sight.

  Now it was just Todd and Cochrane. Todd shrugged Vasquez off his feet and lunged for the recovering small man. Cochrane swung his gun towards Todd. In the close quarters, Todd moved inside Cochrane’s reach and batted his arm out of the way. Cochrane put too much effort into keeping a hold on his gun and Todd looped his handcuffed wrists over his neck. He jerked the short length of chain links into Cochrane’s throat.

  “Die, you bastard,” Todd screamed.

  “After you,” Cochrane choked out. He reached his gun arm behind him to point the weapon straight at Todd’s stomach.

  Todd turned sideways to avoid the two shots. He twisted his wrists to tighten the garrote around Cochrane’s throat and before Cochrane could fire again, he threw his weight against Cochrane, driving him forward into the stairs. Cochrane’s gun went off as his head bounced off the sharp edge of the stair. None of this deterred Cochrane. He bucked and jerked under Todd, fighting for any opportunity to get the better hand.

  “Hold it right there.”

  Both of them froze.

  Redfern stood at the top of the stairs with his gun pointed their way. Blood masked half his face where the bullet had creased the side of his head. He descended the top stair with the dexterity of a toddler’s first steps and used the wall for support, but he never lost his aim.

  “Is that you, Redfern?” Cochrane croaked. “I thought I’d crushed you a long time ago.”

  “Get him up, Todd.”

  Todd hoisted Cochrane to his feet with the handcuff noose as his helping hand. Cochrane choked out a gurgle.

  “Drop the gun, Cochrane,” Redfern ordered.

  Cochrane hesitated.

  “Do it.”

  Todd tightened his chokehold just to underline Redfern’s request.

  Cochrane dropped the gun. To Todd, it made the sweetest sound as it struck the stair.

  “Where are the keys to the cuffs?” Redfern asked.

  “My pocket,” Cochrane said and indicated to his pants pocket.

  Todd retrieved the keys and uncuffed himself.

  Redfern took another unsteady step. “I’m going to enjoy saying this. You’re under arrest.”

  “Boss,” a voice from behind Todd murmured.

  The voice weakened Todd’s grasp.

  Either reacting to the voice or Todd’s weakening hold, Cochrane fired an elbow into Todd’s gut. The blow connected with the bruises put there by Kenneth and Todd folded up. This unbalanced Cochrane and he pushed back on his heels to topple himself and Todd. Todd tried to stay upright, but he couldn’t and he went down with Cochrane on top of him.

  “Todd,” Redfern shrieked, but the shots cut his cry short.

  Dalton, with a clear target, hit Redfern twice in the chest. It was the last thing he did before he died.

  Redfern’s legs buckled and he crashed down on his back and slid down three stairs before he came to a halt.

  Now on top of Todd, Cochrane jerked his head back and head-butted Todd in the face. Pain lit up like a flare in Todd’s head when Cochrane connected with his nose. Blood poured immediately. Todd’s cries spurred Cochrane on and he head-butted Todd twice more. Todd’s grip around Cochrane’s throat loosened and he threw Todd’s arms over his head. He scrambled for his gun, grabbed it and swung it around at Todd. Todd lashed out with his only ready weapon, his feet. He smashed Cochrane in the chest, launching him backwards and tripping over the bottom stairs. Todd rolled backwards out the front door and fell down the marble steps. His bones impacted every sharp edge the hard stone had to offer. Cochrane fired twice. The bullets bit chunks out of the marble, the crack of the splitting stone louder than the silenced weapon.

  Sirens wailed in the near distance.

  Todd ran for his Toyota still parked where he left it. He expected bullets to punch holes in his back, but the bullets never came. Cochrane had his own problems to worry about. Todd reached his Toyota in time to see Cochrane racing over to the Lincoln.

  Everyone had to cut and run sometime.

  ***

  Traffic stopped Todd’s escape from being a speedy one. He’d managed only half a dozen blocks before police units sped by him. None gave him a second look and he slowed. He didn’t need to make his erratic driving memorable to all and sundry.

  Without the fear of arrest occupying his thoughts, his predicament rushed in to fill the void. Redfern was dead. The last person who could help him out of this was dead. What did he do now? He could run back to Charlie Ruskin but why screw up her life just as it was on the level again? There was Fisk, but he’d made it very obvious that his return to the Emerald City wouldn’t be appreciated. He had to face it; there wasn’t a way out, not this time.

  An additional weight pressed down on Todd. He had finally done it. He’d gotten someone killed. And a cop at that. The SFPD had just turned into a lynch mob and they wouldn’t care how many they had to string up to settle accounts.

  The only thing going for him was that Cochrane was in the same position. Worse, even. It would take time before someone worked out Todd’s identity from Redfern’s files, but it wouldn’t be necessary to look up Cochrane’s info, not with the two linebackers dead on Redfern’s doorstep. Cochrane would have to run now. He couldn’t waste his time on settling a score with Todd, regardless of how large it had swelled with this latest development. Todd might not have to run if Cochrane ran first. The next few hours would determine everything. Todd could afford to weigh up his options. For now, he’d be okay if he kept circulating. He’d become a shark. As long as he kept moving, he’d stay alive.

  The plan worked for a while. He threaded his way through the city’s streets, shifting from one neighborhood to another. He listened to the radio for news. The stations reported a fatal shooting in Noe Valley, but released no details thanks to the police not providing any. That made sense. They didn’t need the public’s involvement. They knew the identities of all the players already.

  Todd thought the cover of night would give him anonymity, but that went out of the window when he spotted a Dodge Magnum turning onto the street behind him. It could have been any Dodge Magnum, but he knew, just knew, it was the one belonging to Jeremiah Black’s crew. Panic broke out in icy trails originating from the coldness in the pit of his stomach, but he kept his head. He could be wrong about the Dodge. It could be one of a hundred Magnums in the city. There was one way to find out.

  He was on California. He took to his first right. The Dodge did likewise. His fingertips began to sweat and turned the wheel slick in his grasp. He made another right and another and another until he was back to where he started. Still the Dodge filled his rearview mirror.

  So there it was. If the cops or Cochrane didn’t get him, then Jeremiah Black would. Well, not if Todd could help it.

  Todd stamped on the gas. The Toyota gathered speed. So did the Dodge.

  He cut between cars and buses. Drivers honked at both him and the Dodge. He hoped one of the moving obstacles would do him a favor and collide with the Magnum, but none did.

  The chase ended in Presidio Heights. Todd lunged across oncoming traffic to make an unexpected left. Black’s crew didn’t react in time and didn’t make the turn. He expected them to appear a couple of blocks later, but they didn’t. Had he done it? It looked that way after five minutes and he eased off the gas.

  The Toyota’s brakes felt spongy underfoot and he had to press harder than he should. He wanted to pull over, but the water temperature gauge was in the red so he drove around until the needle dropped back into the green. He pulled over and gave the Toyota a rest.

  He’d no sooner switched the engine off when a blue Econoline van pulled up alongside him. Before the passenger finished winding down the van’s window, Todd gunned the engine, but an Escalade pulled across the front to block his
path and the Magnum stopped behind to box him in.

  The person in the Econoline’s passenger seat held Todd in place by poking a shotgun out of the open window. Todd raised his hands.

  Four black guys poured from the Escalade and pulled him out of the car.

  Kenneth emerged from the back of the Dodge Magnum.

  “Don’t think about yelling,” he said. “It wouldn’t help.”

  Todd glanced up at the townhouses with their lights on and drapes drawn. So close yet so far, he thought.

  Kenneth ordered his guys to put Todd in the Dodge and told one of them to take care of Todd’s Toyota. By the time Kenneth had slid next to Todd on the Dodge’s backseat, the Econoline, the Escalade and Todd’s Toyota were gone.

  “Let’s go,’ Kenneth said to the driver.

  “Where?” Todd asked.

  “I’m going to let that be a surprise, white boy.”

  Kenneth struck with cobra’s speed and tenacity. His hands snapped out, grabbed Todd and pulled him in close. He tied his arms in a knot around Todd’s neck. Todd thrashed to stop Kenneth from breaking his neck. The other guy sandwiching Todd in the back seat smothered Todd’s legs to prevent him from breaking loose.

  “Don’t fight it, Todd,” Kenneth said.

  But he had to fight. He didn’t want to die. Not like this. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. But when was anything fair? He clawed at the arm across the front of his throat. He wasn’t going to let Kenneth break his neck.

  But his neck didn’t break. Instead, he slipped into darkness as consciousness let him fall.

  ***

  A slap jerked Todd from the realms of unconsciousness. He found himself in the half-completed carcass of a building project. A couple of work lights lit the area. The framing and a little sheetrock was in place and made the large expanse of unoccupied space seem cramped. He sat with his legs splayed out in front of him with his back to one of the studs and his arms pinned behind him and cuffed around it. He was high up with a view of the Bay Bridge and the drone of the traffic rushing across it. He knew where he was. This was the Bay Towers, an exclusive SOMA condo development that came with a price tag that made most weep. At last, I’m moving up in the world, just as I’m checking out of it, he thought. He smiled at his own joke. He was too punchy to cry at it.