by Matt Hilton
‘So this is the plan, guys? We just sit here until either the cops find us or Arrowsake does?’
‘We need to catch our breath and think,’ I pointed out, ‘and this is as good as any place to do it.’
‘I’m gonna take stock.’ Rink delved in Sue’s holdall bag and pulled out the guns. He checked each for ammunition. The Uzi had never been fired so the magazine was full; the pistol though was another story. He’d depleted its mag by half when shooting the gunman, plus there was the bullet Sue had wasted firing that half-arsed warning shot earlier.
I got up and dragged out my backpack from where I’d left it in the room’s only wardrobe. Inside I’d paper cash, fake ID, and some spare clothing, plus my SIG Sauer P226 and spare ammunition. I tossed him a box of 9mm rounds, and he set to reloading Sue’s pistol.
Sue eyed the room spuriously. It was stocked with only the rudiments for survival. There was a coffee maker, but none of the makings. ‘Nothing to eat or drink?’
‘I take my breaks at that cafe down the road. You know the one, Sue? I followed you and Mercer from there earlier.’
She danced her eyebrows in reply but didn’t rise to the bait.
I said, ‘Was your reason for being there related to why a gunman came to your home?’
She knitted her fingers together, and I could tell she was in internal conflict. Finally, she looked up at us and said, ‘Maybe.’
‘Only maybe?’
‘One of our clients owns property in Mexico Beach. Jason and I were asked to accompany him here while he attended meetings with council officials and others involved in the reclamation of the town following Hurricane Michael. It was just boring stuff, about the recovery efforts, funding, insurance, and other stuff.’
‘Your client needed protecting at a town meeting? I find that hard to believe.’
‘We were asked to attend for appearances sake. Our client likes to portray a sense of gravitas, you see. He’s an important man.’
‘Sounds like he’s an asshole full of his own self-importance,’ Rink said without looking up from the guns he was working on.
Sue didn’t disagree. ‘Emotions were running high at the meeting, and there were several angry residents that took umbrage with our client, and at one point we’d to step in and separate a couple of them looking for a fist fight. A few angry threats and challenges were exchanged before we got them outside and out of our client’s hair. Once the meeting was over, he went off to conduct some personal business, and it left us at a loose end. Before returning to work we decided to grab some lunch at the café you spotted us at.’ She raised her palms. ‘Maybe you weren’t the only one to follow us back to Panama City, Joe. Maybe one of the guys we threw out of the meeting wanted payback and sent that gunman after us.’
She read the incredulity on my face.
‘Like I said, I can only say maybe, it’s the only theory I have.’
I caught Rink studying my response with an equal look of disbelief on his face. In unison, we said, ‘Bullshit.’
There was absolutely no need for Sue to have attended any town meeting tooled up with a silenced pistol and disguised in a crimson wig. I didn’t doubt that she’d accompanied a ‘client’ to a meeting, but I’d bet that the other attendees weren’t town councilors, or if they were they were of the corrupt type. The thing was, I’d lived in Mexico Beach long enough that I’d’ve gotten to hear if there were any major criminal types or dodgy politicians around, and probably would have had a run in with them by now. Whenever disaster strikes there are always parasites ready, willing and able to profit off the misery of others; I imagined Sue’s client, and those he’d gone to meet with were blood-sucking leeches. Had something bad happened, and somebody had gotten upset, and the attempted hit on Sue was supposed to be some kind of reckoning? There was a certain amount of logic in my theory. I didn’t bother sharing it though.
I straightened my T-shirt that had become rucked up from sitting in the tub chair, and fed my SIG into my belt at the small of my back. ‘I’ll go fetch my car,’ I said, ‘and see if I can grab some food on the way back. If we’re going to get through this together, you two need to speak, get things off your chests and clear the air between you.’
Rink and Sue glowered at each other.
But I left them to it, hoping that by the time I returned they would have made peace.
11
I could have left deep tracks in the amount of dirt that had accumulated on my car over the past couple of days while I’d worked: it was in need of a thorough cleaning. I made do with spraying the windshield and letting the wipers do their job, then drove away from the wreckage of my home, heading back towards the hotel. I fully intended killing some time by pulling in at the same diner as earlier, hoping that the owners would rustle up enough grub to help put us on the road, thus giving Rink and Sue an opportunity to clear the air. However, it was never to be. As I drove along the main road, again surrounded by heavy machinery and destroyed buildings, the presence of other vehicles ahead impinged on me. Mine wasn’t the only car in Mexico Beach coated in dust and fallen debris — the majority were — but the two black SUVs I followed glistened under the arc-lights set up by construction crews, giving me the impression the cars belonged to out-of-towners. The cleanliness of these cars alone wasn’t enough to get my Spider Senses tingling, but it made me look closer. The SUVs were identical models, and if I could see both, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that their license plates were similarly numbered: it was often the case where fleet cars were concerned, when vehicles were purchased in batches direct from the manufacturer. I guessed that they were rentals, collected very recently, most likely from a dealership at Northwest Florida Beaches International Airport, northwest of Panama City.
I stayed back far enough not to attract attention, then found a spot at roadside to stop. I observed the SUVs crawl past my hotel and continue on for a hundred yards before both found a place to turn and came back. There was always the possibility that these were more rescue workers, newly arrived, searching for accommodation, and who’d noticed signs of life in the hotel. Perhaps they’d checked out the hotel as they passed, debated its suitability and decided to try to hire rooms there, but I doubted it.
The front SUV turned off the road into the hotel’s grounds. At the main doors there was a turning circle, used by coaches and taxis dropping off or collecting fares. The first SUV halted there. Not unusual, but its twin carried on past the hotel towards me and stopped at curbside. Nobody got out yet.
I guessed that calls were being made between the occupants of both cars as a plan was formulated. Moments later, the rear doors opened on the curbside SUV and two figures got out. Both were males, and both immediately walked towards the entrance to the subterranean parking lot.
I reached for my phone, but, damn it, I’d earlier switched it off to avoid Walter Conrad tracking it, and so too had Rink with his. I’d no immediate way of calling my friend and warning him to expect company.
My pulse rate accelerated.
My SIG was a reassuring weight in the small of my back, but I didn’t draw it yet.
I got out my Audi, hopeful that I wouldn’t be noticed by those still in the nearest SUV. I avoided going towards the hotel, instead walking into the front yard of a damaged house, and I put the seriously off-kilter construction between us. I wasn’t done with my phone. I switched it on and found the hotel’s number in my telephone call log, rang it and asked to be patched through to Mr Hunter in my corresponding room. I could imagine both Rink and Sue eyeing the ringing phone with suspicion, and deciding to ignore the call that couldn’t possibly be intended for them. However, Rink did pick up.
‘Hello?’ His tone was noncommittal.
‘It’s me,’ I said, with no further need for clarity. ‘You need to get Sue out of there right now.’
He dispensed with unnecessary chatter. ‘How many?’
‘Undetermined. As few as four and as many as ten. Two SUVs, one outside reception, one
at the roadside. Two men are on foot already, entering the basement.’
‘Cops?’
‘Unlikely.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Coming to clear a path. Get Sue downstairs to the Ford, and I’ll do the rest.’
‘Copy that, brother.’
We hung up.
While we’d talked, I’d made it past the tilting house into its rear yard. A retaining fence around the yard had felt the full wrath of the hurricane. Splintered boards were scattered in a wide swathe, extending out into the darkness of a stretch of fallow ground beyond. I clambered over a few remaining cross spars and came to a chain-link fence surrounding a vacant lot directly adjacent to the hotel. I wondered if this ground was occasionally used for over-spill parking, but was currently the dumping grounds of large haulage containers destined to cart away the debris once more repairs on the hotel were completed. A portion of the fence had sagged, and I stepped over it. The containers offered cover as I made my way towards the hotel. I was reasonably confident nobody in the nearest SUV was aware of me, but I kept a close eye on them. The front passenger door opened and a third figure got out, this one a female. She remained standing at the edge of the road, peering towards the hotel, even as the SUV drove off towards where I’d abandoned my Audi: I guessed it was going to turn around to offer a quick getaway for when its passengers returned. I’d no idea what was going on with those in the other SUV, now out of my line of sight, near the reception doors. Perhaps they’d never leave the confines of their car, and only served to block that exit.
As I approached the hotel I was in danger of being illuminated by the lights spilling from the windows. I took care to move with caution and reached the fence, this time finding an open gate. A path of trodden sand separated the vacant lot from a low wall that I easily negotiated, but on the other side was a greater drop to the concrete floor of the parking garage. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but to me the soles of my feet slapping the ground sounded like gunshots. I crouched, holding my breath, in anticipation of a hail of bullets, but they didn’t come. I moved, keeping a row of support stanchions between the elevator and me. It occurred that the two men that’d entered the parking garage would be unable to use the lift without a key card. Perhaps it wasn’t their intention, rather that they were positioned to ambush anyone exiting at this level. I moved through the dimness, alert to the slightest hint of their presence.
Rink’s Ford sat in the shadows where he’d left it. It appeared unmolested, but I assumed the couple had checked it out before moving on. Where were they?
My gaze tracked left. I’d never needed to use it during my stay, but I knew there was a fire escape door to the back right of the parking lot. It made sense that there was direct access to it via a stairwell towards the rear of the building. I spotted a set of doors, and moved cautiously towards them, finally feeding my hand under my shirt and drawing my pistol. For security purposes opening the doors under ordinary circumstances would be via a push bar on the other side, but I could see that the two doors weren’t flush, and that they could indeed be opened from this side by way of a key card and handle. Without a card to disengage the magnetic locks the doors would have to be physically levered open with a pry bar, and this would set off an audible alarm, but apparently the couple hadn’t entered the hotel using brute force. Security arrangements are only as effective as the people using them: at some point somebody had opened the doors from inside, and walked away before they’d fully closed. One of the doors had hung up on a drift of sand that’d invaded the parking garage during the storm. The two men had found their way into the stairwell unimpeded. I moved to follow, fully expecting that Rink would choose a back exit from the hotel over the elevators or main stairwell nearer the front.
I reached the doors, but before opening them further I stood and listened. The two men I’d followed could be standing on the other side, waiting at the foot of the stairs for anyone coming down. I heard nothing from beyond the door, but my attention was drawn elsewhere. There was the distant scuff of feet from the front of the garage, and I turned in time to spot a figure vaguely silhouetted at the drive-in entrance. It was the woman I’d watched decamp from the SUV, moving in to offer support to her colleagues now that they were inside. She was entering into deeper darkness, so the hotel’s lights didn’t limn me as they did her and she’d no hope of spotting me. I took another second or two to study her before slowly moving away from the doors and crouching in the lea of the retaining wall. I braced my gun butt alongside my chest, so I could track her with the barrel without making any give-away movements.
As she approached, she grew more alert. Her head darted as she checked out the nearest hiding places, and in response to some perceived threat she halted and listened. Down by her side she held an object I couldn’t quite define, but suspected it was a weapon. In the next second she presented her profile to me and also raised what was in her hand, and I could now make out the shape of a pistol. Similarly to Sue’s gun, it was fitted with a tubular suppressor. The presence of a silencer was significant, and only enforced my opinion that these people had arrived here specifically to do us harm: in general, cops didn’t use sound suppressors, hitmen did.
She approached within thirty feet of me. She was alert, but her attention was on the elevator doors, so I was just another shadow within a clump of shadows in her peripheral vision. I could have easily shot her there and then, but I waited. There was probably zero chance that someone other than Sue was the target of this hit team, but still, shooting the woman without first confirming matters was next to cold-blooded murder. I’d happily shoot an enemy combatant, but I had to be sure.
From somewhere overhead there came the chatter of a machine pistol, and I knew for certain then: Rink had engaged the enemy. Shouts from startled guests rang out, but the men on the stairs kept their cool heads for now. The woman’s attention jerked to the fire exit doors, the sounds of gunfire from above echoing down the stairwell. She shifted position, moving central to the elevator and stairs, her gun tracking from one location to the other.
I shot her without warning.
She dropped with a startled yell, one leg collapsing completely, the other skidding away on the concrete. Her back was presented to me, an inviting target.
Immediately I pounced towards her, and rather than shoot and finish her off, I planted the sole of my foot between her shoulders and stamped her to the floor. I jammed the muzzle of my SIG to the base of her skull. ‘Lose the gun,’ I hissed.
Her arm was extended, the gun pointing away from me. She flexed her fingers, and the gun was flicked a few inches from her grasp: still too close for comfort. I adjusted position so I could reach and snatch up the gun. I shoved it down the back of my trousers.
‘Who are you and who are your targets?’
The woman moaned. ‘You shot me.’
‘Yes, you’d better believe it. I’ll shoot you again if you don’t speak.’
‘Do it then. I’m going to die anyway,’ she croaked. ‘I’m going to bleed out.’
‘Quit your bullshit,’ I snapped.
There was blood dripping on the dirty concrete. I’d deliberately aimed to hit her in the thigh, avoiding the major arteries but apparently I’d nicked a vein or two. She wasn’t going to bleed to death from her wound, but the pain would make walking difficult. Didn’t matter, I’d no plans on letting her stand. I grabbed her by her collar and dragged her back into the shadows I’d pounced from. There was a pile of litter — junk and palm leaves, blown inside by the storm — and I threw her down on it. She rolled onto her back, drawing her injured leg up against her abdomen, while staring death up at me.
‘If you won’t speak,’ I warned her, ‘then I’ve no time to waste on you.’
I whacked her on the top of the head with my gun barrel. She was a tougher bitch than she’d initially made out — which I’d taken as an act to get me to lower my defences — and the pistol-whipping didn’t knock her unconscious. It spl
it her scalp though and blood poured from her hairline into her eyes. It didn’t stop her from trying to lunge and grapple my legs. I kneed her square in the face, and this time the concussive effect of the blow knocked her flat.
Beating a woman never sat well with me, but fuck it! Her gender didn’t come into it when she was intent on murder. She’d live, but if the ambush had gone in her favour I doubt she’d have shown me any mercy.
More gunfire chattered overhead.
I raced for the stairwell.
12
Only minutes had passed since Hunter’s brief and urgent warning to get Sue out of harm’s way. Rink hadn’t tarried. Neither had Sue given him any argument when he ordered her to grab her essential stuff and leave the rest. Heeding his own advice, he snapped up Hunter’s backpack, and slung it on his shoulders. He weighed the Uzi and Sue’s pistol in his hands, and tossed her the latter. ‘If you decide to shoot at me again, you’d better not miss,’ he drawled.
She smirked at his warning. Before Hunter’s phone call they’d grudgingly began conversing, and the awkward tension had left them, but now was not the time — for either of them — to forgive or forget. She checked the gun out of habit, even if there was no need as she’d watched Rink reload it. Then she slung her tapestry bag over her shoulder, and folded her hands over the gun, its butt nestled between her breasts and the suppressor and barrel concealed under her left forearm. If they came across another hotel guest they’d be unlikely to realise she was carrying a deadly weapon. Rink couldn’t do much to conceal the Uzi, so didn’t bother. He carried it openly, even folded out the stock for greater accuracy.
He opened the door and took a peek out into the hallway. It was deserted. ‘OK, let’s move,’ he said, and immediately stepped out the room. He covered the approaches while Sue slipped out past him. Without instruction she went towards the back of the hotel, moving fast but warily. Rink followed, walking backwards, the Uzi raised. From Hunter’s room to the main bank of guest elevators and stairwell was about fifty yards, and the distance grew with each step he retreated. He didn’t trust the gun to hit anyone he pointed at over that distance, but a sustained blast of projectiles would keep their heads down.