by PT Reade
His grip loosened and I delivered a final blow—a hard right knee into his ribs—sending him sprawling. I scrambled to my feet and kicked him in the head. I took out my gun and pushed it into his eye. He squealed like a butchered pig.
“Pleasure working with you Paul,” I said.
He stopped struggling and sucked in air like overworked bellows.
I pointed the remaining few girls towards the door. Aisha, the sweet girl, was shepherding the stragglers out. On the right side of the room, the flames had engulfed the boxes and were now licking along the sides of the wall. It was all going up like kindling. We were running out of time.
With the last of the girls out, leaving only Aisha, myself, and the traitorous guard, I took her hand. As we started to leave, Paul came around on the floor and started chuckling.
“You’re a dead man,” he spat.
“You’re the one with your feet on fire,” I said.
Alarmed, he looked to his unlit feet. When he turned back to me, I kicked him in the face once more. His head lolled, and he went slack.
His feet would be on fire soon enough.
“Come on, Aisha,” I coughed. “Let’s get out of here.”
I led her from the room as the walls were charring and the fire began to spread to the ceiling. I thought about calling the fire department but then decided against it. A place like this would probably be better as ashes.
FIFTEEN
The blaze should have illuminated the way. Instead, everything looked darker.
It took a couple of minutes to find the exit in the building. By the time we made it downstairs and joined the other girls, the heat of the fire built over our heads. I looked up. Smoke wafted down through the cracks in the old ceiling. More than that, it looked to be buckling.
“Hurry!” I shouted. “Out that door!” I yelled, pointing to the exit door I had come in through.
The ceiling behind us was collapsing, hitting the floor in sickening clumps. I dived forward, scooping up a straggler—the youngest and slowest girl—and bundled her through the exit. A cloud of dust and debris following.
She screamed, but I hardly heard it as another section of ceiling crashed down from directly above. Plaster and wood crushed me to the floor, driving the breath from my lungs. Luckily, the debris wasn’t on fire. Still, it was heavy. I twisted and struggled to free my leg from beneath a huge timber beam that would soon go up like the rest of the place. I strained against the wood, but the plank was at least twenty feet long and all old school construction. It wouldn’t budge.
The girls screamed outside, but I couldn’t reach them. The doorway was blocked with debris and growing flames that were even now starting to creep down from the upstairs.
“Mr. Blume?”
Shit.
I turned my head. Aisha was still there. She’d remained behind with me, frozen. Why hadn’t she gone with the rest? I opened my mouth to speak, but a silhouette appeared from a room beside the old concession stand. A man walked confidently through the smoke towards us. I strained for my weapon, but my arm was held solid, pinned in place.
A gun appeared in the man’s hand. He pointed it at my head. As he moved into the swirling, dusty light, I finally saw his face.
Son of a bitch.
“Blume,” said the man I’d seen only hours earlier at Andrew’s party; the same handsome prick who’d drugged the girls. “Isn’t that your name? Are you the Thomas Blume I heard about in the news? You’re famous, man. Great investigator.”
“What, you want an autograph?” I said, still struggling against the beam. My gun was just at my waistband. If I could only—
The shaven-headed trickster fired a shot that impacted next to my head. My ears rang. Splinters of wood stung my left cheek.
“You are a funny man,” he said. “Not so funny when you burn alive, I think.”
I picked up his accent. It was just like the others. I chanced a guess.
“You’re Pruszkow, aren’t you?” I asked. “This is the cartel’s doing.”
He simply smiled, almost smug.
“Proud, are you?” I hacked a cough as the smoke reached my lungs.
“Pride has nothing to do with being paid,” the young man said.
“How about catching on fire?” I asked, glancing up. Smoke still billowed, and the remaining bits of ceiling sagged more than ever. Soon the entire first floor would be coming down. “What does your pride think of that?”
“You almost stopped us,” the young man said advancing now, ignoring my attempts at distraction. “You’re a persistent asshole, I’ll give you that.”
“Why Hyde?” I asked, hoping to keep him talking long enough to figure a way out of this. With the fire behind Aisha and this scumbag in front of us, there wasn’t much hope. “Why target Chelsea Hyde? Political gain? Political money?”
“And here I was thinking you were smart,” he said. “The Hyde bitch wasn’t the target.”
The realization hit me like a punch in the gut. I threw a glance at the terrified girl.
“It was always this one,” the young man said, waving the gun in Aisha’s direction. “She was the target at the party. And man, I got paid very well to take her and keep her alive. The two girls were together the whole night, so it was easier to take them both, but when we found out we had taken the daughter of Andrew Hyde too…” He smiled with pure malice.
“You figured payday had come early.” I grimaced, piecing the events together. “It was too good an opportunity to pass up, right? So you made a ransom call to Andrew. Only that wasn’t the plan, not the one your boss made, anyway. You were only supposed to take Aisha, and when your employer found out you were making a trade for Chelsea, he was pissed. I’m willing to bet the party crasher at the ransom drop was his doing. A little reminder not to go behind his back.”
“Fuck you, man,” the kid spat the words. “The plan was good, and Sergei died at that fucking place.”
“My heart bleeds.”
“Fuck the boss, man, and fuck you, too. Yeah, I was paid to keep this bitch alive, but now… I think dead will have to do. For both of you.”
The kid leveled the gun at me. I struggled to reach my own, ready for a stand-off or a bloodbath, but half of my jacket was still pinned under the ceiling collapse. With my other arm, I reached out for Aisha, wildly grasping.
But it was futile, this guy was going to put six rounds in me and then finish off Aisha. The only thing I could do was maybe distract him long enough for Aisha to run. At least that way, I’d die being a pain in the ass.
I’m sorry, Aisha.
A metallic clunk rang out.
But no bullets came. After a second I risked a look and noticed the young man had changed from being cocky to looking as if he were exhausted and confused. The gun hung limply at his side. He clumsily brought a hand up to his head, dropped to his knees, and hit the floor, revealing another man silhouetted against the blazing smoke behind him.
Amir stood with a wild fire in his eyes, pouring rage down at the man he had just taken out.
I’d never seen him as angry as he stood there brandishing an iron pole. For a second, I thought he would brain the guy and finish the job. He stood breathing heavily, rage etched across his face. But after a second, he dropped the impromptu weapon and glanced up.
He looked to Aisha and started shaking, eyes glassy.
“We can have our group-hug in a second,” I said coarsely. “For now, we need to get the hell out of here. A little help?”
As if in agreement, another chunk of plaster fell to the floor three feet behind Amir. Without another word, he ran over. Between us, we lifted the timber from my lower leg and the three of us staggered for the front of the building, toward the main doors. I drew my gun right away, fully ready to kill the thugs outside if any dared to get in our way.
When we hit the doors and broke into the daylight I was stunned to find the front entrance unguarded. Instead, the two guards I had spied earlier were face down on the
other side of the street being held by some gruff-looking men in dark suits. I had seen these men a few times within the last six hours or so. They were on Andrew Hyde’s payroll as security.
Coughing and spluttering, we staggered across the road to Hyde’s men. At a safe distance from the growing inferno, I dropped to the curb as my body surrendered to the events of the last day.
“How did you know where we were?” I asked Amir as he stood embracing his daughter.
“You still have Chelsea’s phone,” he said. “I did your GPS magic. Seems I learned some new tricks from an old dog.”
I grinned wryly as The Regent blazed across from us. A series of violent explosions boomed from within, making everyone jump. Flame trails shot into the morning sky and heat washed over us.
There goes the arsenal.
Sirens howled in the distance, and my first reaction was to escape. Until I could figure out how to untie myself from the set-up in Andrew’s office, I had to stay away from the cops.
Seeing my concern, Amir shook his head. “I talked to the police. Chelsea and Remay did, too. Don’t worry. The cops are looking into it as we speak. They probably have questions, but no more than usual.”
“Wonderful,” I replied sarcastically. “And does Chelsea know about her father now?” I asked.
Amir nodded, and as if it reminded him of what he had nearly lost, he hugged Aisha a little tighter.
SIXTEEN
Down but not out.
After answering a barrage of questions from the police, I crashed hard for the rest of the day. Andrew might have been gone, but his daughter was clearly a chip off the old block. She had called a number of her father’s contacts, and in the end, the police decided that it was easier to let me go than deal with the political pressure they were facing. At around three in the afternoon, I finally got back to my apartment. In the midst of questioning, I had also been ignoring calls from Remay. I wanted to speak to her, but I couldn’t focus right then. I remember thinking that I should call her back, but I ended up falling asleep on my couch instead.
When I finally did decide to answer my phone, it was only because it had jarred me awake. It was dark outside I checked the cell’s display, the time read, 1:45 am and the caller id read Amir. I hit connect.
“Let me guess,” I said, before clearing my throat. “Your wife has accidentally fallen in with the mafia, and you need my help.”
Amir laughed briefly. “I know you were asleep,” he said. “Sorry. But I’d like you to come to the restaurant. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Now? It’s late.”
“I know. But could you come anyway?”
“Why not just come up and see me?”
“Because I have a cold beer with your name on it down here.”
I laughed. It doesn’t take much to perk up the spirits of a thirsty man. “Ok, give me a minute.”
I tossed on a change of clothes and made my way downstairs to the restaurant. The summer night was pleasant enough and promised another warm day tomorrow.
When I got to the restaurant, Amir was waiting at the back door for me. He unlocked it and let me in. The few members of staff on hand were busy cleaning up, the place having closed for the night about an hour earlier. He led me to the bar area. Something was troubling him. His face was like stone, and he avoided looking at me.
“So, how’s Aisha doing?” I began.
“She’s shaken, but she’ll be fine I think. I can’t thank you enough Thomas. Once again my family owes you a debt.”
At the bar, Amir poured a beer and set it in front of me.
“I thought you didn’t like me drinking,” I said.
“After what you did this morning, you deserve it.”
“Cheers to that,” I said, and took a sip. God, it tasted good.
“So what’s so important that you woke me up at damn near two in the morning?”
“I have to tell you something, and I need to do it while I have the nerve.”
“Okay,” I said. The look of panic on Amir’s face was troubling.
“I haven’t been totally honest with you,” he said. “There are things about Hyde—Gordon, not Andrew—and some of your cases.”
“Yeah, I’m becoming more and more certain that he’s in bed with the Pruszkow Cartel. Not just this case, but others. And if that’s the case, I also think he knew about Chelsea even before it happened. But still…I don’t get why Aisha was the target.”
“It’s because…well, because they thought I was having a change of heart. It was a threat towards me. Leverage.”
“A change of heart?” I asked as an ominous feeling spread up through my gut. What was this now?
“Yes. Look…Blume, for the last few months…”
“You’ve been spying on me,” I said. “I know.”
Amir stood agape, looking as though I had reached across the bar and slapped him.
His face lost color and he asked quietly, “How did you know?”
“I’d be a pretty lousy detective if I hadn’t picked up on it,” I said.
“How long?” he asked. “I mean, when did you—”
“I’ve had my suspicions for a while. I just wasn’t sure why. But with what happened this morning and your ‘change of heart,’ I think I can piece it together.”
Amir put his face in his palms and then looked up at me.
“I’m so sorry, Thomas. I really am. And I want to tell you everything. That’s why I called you right now. I have to get it off of my chest.”
I drank a large gulp of the beer and shook my head. “I appreciate that. And I do want to hear it, just not right now. I have other things I need to take care of.”
“What now?” he asked.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sniper’s bullet casing I had retrieved. It gleamed with a dull luster in the lights from the bar. I rolled it through my fingers and smiled grimly at the lump of cold metal.
“I need to speak to an old friend, I think. Someone from a world I thought I’d left behind.”
I finished the rest of the beer in a long swallow and dropped the casing back into my pocket. “Thanks for the beer. We’ll chat soon.”
Amir looked at me, baffled, as I got up and walked out of the restaurant. I headed back up to my apartment, but it wasn’t my final destination. I had other places in mind, places much further afield.
Places from my past, with clues to my future.
EPILOGUE
Two days later…
As of three days ago, Roland Teach had become a very rich man. The boss had made sure of that. Roland still wasn’t exactly sure why he had been hired to put an end to some ransom drop-off, but what did he care? The paycheck was the important thing, and he was nothing if not a professional.
Roland sat on the bed of a rundown motel. A two-star dive complete with shabby carpets, worn decorations, and even more worn-out staff. On the tatty bed beside Roland, there were two cases. One was a small pack containing a few changes of immaculately folded clothes. He’d been on the move ever since his job at the power station—his the standard operating procedure after a contract. He found the routine of changing location and identity familiar and comforting; a clean slate every time.
In the second case, now opened, were the pieces to the rifle that he had come to know so intimately over the previous ten years or so. It was obsessively clean and packaged in snug foam for protection.
He began to assemble it, doing so with the precision of any man who loves his job. Each click made him smile. When it was all put together, he held it like a kid holds a new toy. He carried it into the small bathroom and stood in the tub. He then carefully slid the small window of his second-floor bathroom open with a piece of tissue, ensuring not to leave any fingerprints.
The Hotel might have been a dive, but it did have one redeeming feature; the location.
He set the rifle on the edge of the window pane and stared through the sight at the street two hundred yards a
way.
The black sign read, Wall St.
He checked the scope and was pleased with the alignment. His target was due at that corner, in a car, in about two minutes. Everything was going to plan.
Perfect.
This paycheck wouldn’t be as much as the one he had netted from the previous contract, but it was still substantial. He was a man at the top of his field, after all. People had to pay for the best.
Roland was so focused on eyeing the corner and waiting for his target that he didn’t notice the eerie quiet of the early morning. There was no noise from housekeeping, no chattering guests, and no loud televisions. The place was a tomb.
When something seemed to explode from the room behind him, he jumped, knocking the sight of the rifle against the window. He turned but had no time to raise his weapon before two black-clad cops rushed him. Several other tactical officers were behind these two, crashing into his room.
“Hands up!” One yelled.
Roland tried to fight them off. He caught one in the jaw with the stock of the gun then snapped a foot to the knee of another cop, twisting his arm and throwing the uniformed officer into a colleague.
He reached for the window.
If I can just…
He was dragged back down by another pair of hands. He felt the weight as more and more Police piled on top of him. He tried to push up, but it was no good.
No, no, no!
He had no idea what had gone wrong. He was always so careful, so precise. Still, Roland knew when to pick his battles. This one was done, for now. He relaxed and let the officers drag him to his feet.
The bathroom became a blur of motion as Roland was hauled out into the bedroom and to the exit. As he was escorted out of the motel room, six uniformed officers and a handful of plainclothes detectives came into view. One—a Hispanic cop—seemed to be digging through the suitcase while on the phone with someone. His face looked grave. Roland had just enough time to glance out to the skyline of lower Manhattan before being dragged forward.