by Ken Ogilvie
O’Reilly listened again. His face went red. “I don’t agree, sir. If we wait too long for backup, we’ll miss them on the highway. And if Lukas can’t keep track of them, we’ll lose Freddie. We have to get on the Trans-Canada, pronto. I’ll call you when we have more information.” He clapped a palm to his temple and mouthed a curse. “Sorry, sir, but we’re going after them now. We’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect Freddie.” Then O’Reilly shouted, “Do whatever you want to me, but I’m not standing by while another of my townsfolk gets killed!” He slammed the phone down.
Hound opened his mouth, then closed it again.
O’Reilly was glaring at the phone. His hands were shaking.
“Let’s get on with it.” O’Reilly handed the shotgun to Hound and stormed out of the office. His Chevy spluttered and refused to start. Cursing, he abandoned his car, marched over to the Bentley and plunked himself down on the passenger seat.
* * *
Hound sped through Conroy and onto the Trans-Canada. He guessed that the shack Lukas had spoken of must be somewhere on or around County Road Thirty-Four, about thirty miles away.
They pulled off the highway at the nearest exit. O’Reilly’s cell phone rang almost immediately. It was Sykes. “Yes, sir. I’m relieved to hear from you. Thanks for returning. Hound’s with me. We’re driving north in his Bentley.” He told Sykes their plan.
When the call ended, O’Reilly was smiling. “Finally got hold of someone with a brain. Sykes went along with our plan. I’m beginning to like him.”
Hound said, “Chief, call Lukas and tell him Sykes is on his way. It might help to calm his nerves.”
O’Reilly tried, but got no answer. He tried again, with the same result. “I don’t like this, Hound. Lukas isn’t responding.”
Hound looked grim. He drove a short distance off the Trans-Canada and parked where he and O’Reilly could observe the highway.
Thirty minutes later, his roadster zipped past, with a stranger at the wheel. An old Buick followed close behind, driven by Butch. There were two men in the back seat.
One of them was Lukas.
“Lukas! They’ve got him,” Hound shouted.
“Boot it,” O’Reilly bellowed. “Don’t lose sight.”
Hound swerved out and onto the Trans-Canada. He followed the Buick at a distance, onto County Road Thirty-Four. The Buick travelled a short way and then disappeared down a narrow driveway. Hound drove past it and pulled over.
“I’ll call Cartwright and Sykes and give them our location,” O’Reilly said. “Looks like we may have to go after them ourselves.”
Hound grunted. “Chief, did you notice anything about this place?”
“No. What?” O’Reilly was busy dialling.
“It’s close to my cave. The lane to the meadow is just down the road.”
But O’Reilly wasn’t listening. “Sir,” he said to Cartwright, “I think we’ve found the shack. Hound’s friend Lukas is with Perez’s men, taken prisoner. Butch Taylor’s there too. He’s one of them.” He stiffened. “Yes, sir, I’ll call DI Sykes right away, but we need help now. If there’s any further delay, Hound and I will scout out the driveway and see what we can find. If we have to, we’ll engage.” He listened again and frowned. “I don’t agree, sir. We’ll hold off if we can, but that might not be feasible. Like I said before, if we have to, we’ll engage.”
O’Reilly cut the call and thumped his fist on the dashboard. Then he called Sykes and briefed him. He snapped his cell phone shut, cursing loudly. “Cartwright told us to stay clear of Perez’s men. Sykes assured me he understood the situation and urged us to proceed with caution. So much for Cartwright.”
“We’d better get moving,” Hound said. “We can’t wait for Sykes to get here. Freddie and Lukas are in big trouble.”
“Okay. We’ll go down the driveway and find the shack. Maybe we can take them by surprise. Grab the shotgun.”
They jogged back to the driveway. There they slowed their pace and crept forward. O’Reilly spotted the roadster sandwiched between a black limo and the Buick. The cars were parked close to a run-down wooden shack with an extension tacked onto the side. Hound and O’Reilly hid in the surrounding bushes.
Hound scanned the area. “We can’t reach the shack without showing ourselves. What should we do, chief?”
“Wait here and watch. With luck, Sykes will arrive before they do anything to Freddie and Lukas. I figure they’ll take them into the woods to kill them, and then hide their bodies. As long as they remain in the shack, we can bide our time and hope that help arrives.”
Just then, the door to the shack swung open and a man in a black suit emerged. A second man, blue-suited, joined him and lit a cigarette. Hound was able to hear what they were saying.
“Time to drag those chumps into the forest and do them. Then we’ll get the hell out of here. Place gives me the creeps.” The man in the black suit turned back to the door.
“Let’s tell Guido to get this over with,” said the smoker. “No reason to put it off.” He ground out his cigarette butt and followed his companion inside.
Hound whispered, “Chief, we’ve got a problem. Perez’s men are going to come out with Freddie and Lukas, who’ll likely be tied up. We won’t be able to take the thugs down without the risk of hurting our friends. We have to act now.”
O’Reilly heaved a deep sigh. “What do you suggest?”
“Go back and get my car, then race it up the driveway. When you get close to the shack, honk the horn. Make as much noise as possible, then jump out and hide behind the Bentley. Shoot at whoever comes outside to see what’s going on. While you’re getting the car, I’ll go round to the back and wait for the ruckus to begin. The minute you have their attention, I’ll rush the shack and burst in, I can ram through any door. I’ll blast whoever I find there. With a bit of luck, the men out front will panic and run, but we can’t count on it. If they retreat into the shack, you’ll have to move fast to help me. The shotgun should do the job for the guards in back, but I may not have time to reload. If they take me out, you’ll have to carry on without me. Are you ready for that, chief?”
O’Reilly looked dismayed. “Hound, we could be killed. It’s suicide.”
“Maybe, chief, but if we don’t act, Freddie and Lukas will die. I have to try. It’s your call whether you come with me or not.”
O’Reilly grunted. “What have I got to lose?”
“Okay, chief, let’s go. By the time you return, I’ll be in position. Don’t waste even a second.”
“Good luck, my friend. You’re a brave man.”
They shook hands, and Hound moved off.
It took Hound no time to circle the shack, but he stopped when he saw the back door. Thirty yards of open space lay between it and the forest. He could see Butch and two of Perez’s men through the window, and realized that charging the shack from the back wouldn’t work. These men were professional killers. Even with O’Reilly’s diversion, there was no guarantee that they would go out front. If not, they would shoot him as he crossed the open space.
He decided to rush the shack from the side, where the men were less likely to spot him. He backed into the woods. But before he reached the shack, he heard the familiar roar of his Bentley. The great machine was barrelling up the driveway, its vintage horn blaring. Hound swallowed hard and braced for action.
Chapter 32
Finally done with basic constable training, although there are still lots of specialized courses I need to take. There’s a problem though. For two months now, I’ve been trying to tell Jonathan I can’t marry him, but he won’t take no for an answer. He’s putting pressure on me to join the OPP. I would love to work there, but I want to win the job on my own merit.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Rebecca strained to overhear what Sykes was saying to O’Reilly. She was sitting next to the DI in the back of his car. Hadi and Chad were in front, with Chad driving. They were on Highway Twelve, heading for Orillia.
Sykes ended the call with a frown.
Rebecca looked at him. “What’s the matter, sir?”
“Perez’s men are holding Freddie Stafford at a shack a half hour’s drive north of Conroy. If he’s not rescued soon, he’ll be killed.” Sykes bent forward and tapped Chad on the shoulder. “Go back to Conroy and continue north on the Trans-Canada, full speed. I just hope we arrive in time.”
Chad wheeled the car around and they sped along the highway with the siren wailing. Just as they reached the Trans-Canada, O’Reilly phoned again.
“Lukas has been captured,” Sykes told his team, after the call was over. “Perez’s men are taking him to the shack. Butch Taylor’s with them, he’s on their side. Hound and O’Reilly are following at a distance. They plan to rescue Freddie and Lukas if we don’t get there in time to help.”
Sykes called Cartwright. The ERT was on the way, along with Cartwright, but they were twenty minutes behind. Sykes shook his head. “This is bad. We may arrive to find O’Reilly and Hound tried to free the captives and failed. Perez’s men won’t be easy to take down.”
Rebecca gripped Sykes’s arm. “O’Reilly and Hound have got to wait for us, sir. If they tackle Perez’s men alone, they’ll be killed. We have to arrive before the shooting starts.”
“We’re going as fast as we can,” said Sykes. “We’ll play it by ear. If necessary, we’ll move on them before the ERT arrives, but our main goal will be to pin them down. O’Reilly will have to decide whether to engage before we get there.”
“Why didn’t you just order him to wait for us?” Rebecca knew she was out of line, but this didn’t seem to annoy Sykes.
“Pointless. You didn’t hear the way he spoke. He wouldn’t have listened. And I couldn’t put him in the position of having to refuse a direct order. All I could do was tell him to be careful. Don’t underestimate O’Reilly. Cartwright may not like the man, but he strikes me as competent.”
Rebecca slumped back against the seat, feeling helpless. Sykes was right. But so was she. O’Reilly and Hound wouldn’t be a match for professional killers. The trip seemed endless. She willed the car to go faster. With tires squealing, they finally swerved onto County Road Thirty-Four. Chad switched the siren off.
Rebecca’s eyes opened wide. She sat upright.
Sykes looked at her, eyebrows raised.
“This is the road to Hound’s cave,” she said.
“What are you talking about? What cave?”
“Sorry, sir. I was here yesterday with O’Reilly and Hound. There’s a cave nearby that Hound goes to when he wants to be alone. I know we’re heading to the shack now, but I have a strange feeling about that cave. Hound told O’Reilly and me to remember the way in case we wanted to use it someday. I’m sorry to bring it up, I just thought you should know.”
Sykes grunted dismissively and turned to look ahead. Rebecca felt her cheeks grow hot. Yet again she’d spoken without thinking. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that the cave would play a role in today’s events.
Sykes spotted a driveway up ahead. “That must be it, Chad. Right where O’Reilly said it would be. Park the car just past the entrance so the ERT can find us. We’ll head down on foot. Right. Take your guns out. And, Hadi, call Cartwright. Fill him in, then join us. Rebecca, hang back twenty yards and watch for an attack from the rear. They might be hiding in the woods.”
Sykes led the way up the driveway until he reached Hound’s Bentley. He motioned for his team to stay put, and he edged past the car towards the shack. He pushed open the door, and beckoned to Chad.
Rebecca inched forward and waited beside the Bentley, alert for any movement in the woods. She heard someone creep up behind her and spun around. Hadi, who raised his hand and whispered, “The ERT will be here in fifteen minutes.”
Rebecca nodded, but then she saw bloodstains on the ground. They led away from the Bentley and into the bush. She looked in anguish at Hadi.
He touched her arm. “Stay here. I’ll follow the trail.”
“Okay, but be careful.”
Seconds later, Sykes appeared in the shack doorway. His face was ashen.
Chapter 33
Hound took a deep breath and dashed out of the woods, holding the shotgun in front of him. He made it to the shack and rounded the corner, ready to charge. At the sound of cracking wood, one of Perez’s men leapt to his feet. Hound went through the pine easily, as if it were cardboard, but tripped over the door sill and pitched forward. He managed to slide behind a huge leather couch just as three shots rang out, narrowly missing his head. The shotgun went off with a deafening boom and jerked from his grip. He scrambled to his knees.
One of Perez’s men was standing above him, aiming a gun at his head. But before he could fire, two loud bangs sounded and his head jerked sideways, splattering blood and brain matter all around. Hound peered over the back of the couch. Lukas was staring down at the body, a gun in his shaking hand. Black electrical tape dangled from his wrists. Suddenly he spun around and raised his gun.
Hound saw Butch fleeing from the room. Lukas’s bullet splintered the door frame near his head, but Butch escaped unharmed. Breathing heavily, Lukas kept pulling the trigger until the gun was empty.
Shots rang out from the front of the shack.
Hound bent down to retrieve the dead man’s weapon, just as a second gunman burst into the room, firing rapidly. A bullet caught Lukas, and tore into his shoulder. He staggered back against the wall, the gun slipping from his hand.
With a brief glance at Lukas the gunman moved forward to get a clear shot at Hound, who now gripped the dead man’s gun. Before Hound could take aim, a bullet grazed his forearm. He dropped to the floor and rolled away, narrowly avoiding another bullet that ploughed a furrow along the floorboards.
Lukas pushed himself off the wall, staggered forward and pawed at the gunman’s wrist, forcing his hand down before he could deliver another shot. Hound put his finger on the trigger of the dead man’s gun, ready to fire. But he was too late. The second man had broken free of Lukas and shot him in the chest.
Lukas pitched to the floor.
The gunman took aim at Hound. He pulled the trigger, and there was a loud click. The bullets were all spent. He swore and ran off as Hound got to his feet. His hand was growing numb from the wound on his forearm. He swapped hands and held the gun awkwardly. Another volley of shots rang out from the front of the shack.
Hound glanced at Lukas, wanting nothing more than to help him. But there was no time. O’Reilly was in trouble.
Someone called out in a weak voice. “Save me!”
Freddie cowered in a corner of the room. His hands were bound behind his back. Hound ran over and ripped the tape from his wrists.
Hound yelled at him. “See to Lukas! And pick up my shotgun.” He ran to the front of the shack but the shooting was already over. He saw O’Reilly disappearing into the trees. Guido, Butch and the gunman stood huddled at the edge of the woods, swivelling their heads back and forth between O’Reilly and the shack. Guido suddenly waved at the gunman to go after O’Reilly.
Hound saw the gunman turning to leave, and he stepped through the door and raised his weapon, but the gunman spotted him and fired before heading into the woods. Bullets tore into the doorframe. Hound ducked back and then peeked out and returned fire as best he could manage. His shots all missed their targets. He returned to the living room and knelt beside Lukas. His friend lay unconscious, breathing raggedly. Hound picked him up and carried him to the relative safety of an adjoining room. He pressed and secured a bedsheet against Lukas’s chest to slow the loss of blood. Then he went back to the living room and pulled a rug over the trail of blood. Freddie was lying on the floor, curled up with his arms covering his head.
“Stand up, Freddie!”
Freddie shrank into himself. Hound yanked him to his feet.
“We’ve got to get out of here. We’re sitting targets.”
He hauled Freddie through the back door and
into the yard. No one shot at them. Outside, Freddie seemed to come to his senses and started to run towards the forest. Hound followed swiftly behind, realizing with a jolt that Freddie had left his shotgun behind. And the handgun was out of bullets, so he tossed it aside.
* * *
Perez’s gang regrouped. Guido told the remaining gunman to chase down O’Reilly and kill him.
“Won’t get far with that bullet in his leg. Gun’s empty — I heard it click. Finish the cop off and come back. I’ll find the others. Big man ain’t no marksman, and Freddie don’t count for nothin’. Skinny guy’s dead, right?”
“Right, Guido. Pumped lead right into his chest.”
“What about me? You don’t need me? I’ll just go now, okay?” Butch’s voice shook, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead.
Guido snorted. “No fuckin’ way. You’re coming with me.”
“I’m no killer,” whimpered Butch.
“Soon will be, dog turd.” Guido gave him a dull stare. He beckoned to Butch and headed for the shack.
Butch stood still for a second, and then followed Guido.
Guido entered the back room. “Freddie and the big guy scarpered.” He pointed at Hound’s shotgun lying on the floor. “Forgot about that. Heard it out front. Good thing he left it.” He looked around the room. “Where’s the skinny guy?”
“How would I know?” Butch whined.
Guido cuffed his head. “Don’t piss with me, jerk. Move it, outside. You go first.”
“Why me?”
Guido cuffed him again. “Because, fool, if anyone’s nearby, they’ll shoot you first.” He grabbed Butch by the collar and flung him through the shattered door. Butch stumbled into the yard, with Guido behind him.
“Big guy and Freddie won’t get far. Took the skinny guy with them, so he must be alive. Good. It’ll slow them down. The cop will call for backup, so we need to work fast.”
Right now, though, there was this idiot to deal with. Perez should never have recruited him. Guido thought for a moment, and smiled.
He set off after Hound and Freddie.