by Matt Hilton
‘Good-fucking-goddamn,’ Vince snapped in my ear, ‘if nothing else will kill you, let’s go with the tried and tested method!’
He reared backwards, pulling apart his crossed hands so that the wire cut instantly into me. The only thing saving me from decapitation was that I’d reacted a second before he tightened the noose, shooting my left fist against the side of my neck and craning my head the other direction. The wire sliced into my fist and jaw, sparing my neck from being opened up. However you looked at it, I was still in a dire situation and it could only get worse. I was still weakened by my near death experience with the grenade and in no fit state to fight back, but instinct took over. I grabbed his testicles and squeezed.
Vince mewled in pain, but wouldn’t relinquish his hold, but I’d forced him to bend his knees so I wasn’t craned over backwards. I released his balls. Before he could crank my spine once more, I threw my backside into his thighs and bent forward, pulling him off his feet. I swung my upper body, and Vince was carried with me, the centrifugal force throwing out his legs. My chin was sliced to the bone, an open gash that poured blood, but by swinging him off his feet I’d gained some slack. His wrists were no longer crossed, and before he could throttle me again he’d have to jostle for position.
I didn’t allow him to find his footing, instead ramming my right shoulder into him and bearing him backwards at a run. I hoped to smash him against the Ford’s hood, but long before we reached the car we both slipped in the mud and went down. Thankfully, for me, I was on top, and more or less facing Vince, so he no longer had the capacity to cut off my head. We kicked and rolled to the side, with Vince trying his damndest to keep me rolling so that he could get astride my back and finish the job. My left fist was still trapped, my right wasn’t. I pounded him in the jaw. He gritted his teeth around an almost hysterical titter, while trying to readjust his grip. A few inches more and he’d once again have my throat encircled with the wire.
Desperation called for desperate measures. As cheap a shot as it was, I didn’t care. I lunged in with my teeth and snapped down on his face. I bit deep, chewing down on the fattest part of his narrow cheek. Vince howled in abject agony, and perhaps a little terror at the further disfiguring of his features begun when Mercer shot off a chunk of his ear.
My unconventional defence forced him to drop one end of his garrote in order to insert a hand between us, to pry my teeth off him. The wire unfurled, so I released my bite and went with the roll he’d tried to force me into earlier. The mud and beating rain made getting any balance difficult, but I found space and kicked at Vince with my right heel. There was little force generated by my injured leg, but enough to shove him away for now. I came up onto my knees, facing him as he also scrambled to get his knees under him. He clamped one palm over the painful wound in his face: to my regret I hadn’t torn a chunk of flesh out, but he’d carry the imprint of my teeth for the rest of his days. If he survived our battle, that was.
On our knees we faced off.
‘What the fuck do you call this, Hunter?’ He jabbed a finger at where my incisors had met in his flesh. ‘Fucking biting like an animal? Grabbing my balls? That’s some dirty, sneaky shit right there!’
‘No dirtier or sneakier than trying to cut off my head with a cheese wire,’ I snarled.
The two gunmen had observed our tussle, and had moved into the clear to get a better shot at me after we spilled apart. I faced them, wondering if I could reach for the SIG I’d tucked down the back of my belt, draw it and shoot them both before their bullets tore me apart. I’d already denied the Grim Reaper twice in the past few minutes, and didn’t believe I’d make it a third time. I held out my palms to show I was no threat to them, blood dripped from the back of my gashed left hand. It was also running hot and freely from the wound in my jaw, pooling in the hollows of my collarbones. I probably looked less threatening than I did pathetic.
Vince struggled to his feet. He’d done away with his rockabilly look, and was dressed similarly to our other attackers, in paramilitary garb. He wore an antiballistic vest, and an equipment belt, on which was holstered a pistol, and another grenade. If he decided to use either weapon on me I would die, no question. I pushed to my feet, furling my fingers at him.
‘We should finish this man to man,’ I said.
‘We should. You’ve fucked me over for the last time, man.’
‘When did I ever fuck you over?’ I asked, genuinely perplexed.
‘When you broke your word at the hostage exchange and didn’t hand Mercer over.’
‘Oh, you mean when I had my pal shoot your snipers. Who planned fucking over whom, Vince? None of us were ever meant to leave that place alive, were we? Your guys were ordered to gun us down the second you had Mercer in your hands.’
‘You think I’d have had you murdered in cold blood? Joe, man, it’s me Vince you’re talking to. We go back a long ways, we’re old pals.’
‘We were never pals, we only worked for the same man.’
‘It’s another reason we have to finish this,’ he said, morose for a second. I thought I even read sorrow in his eyes. ‘You turned Walter against me, man, when all I wanted was to make him happy. I did everything I could to please him, but my best was never enough. He chose you over me; do you know that? Yeah, of course you know it. After everything I did for him he still had Arrowsake burn me, and make me the hunted man.’
‘So this here’s about revenge?’
‘What else?’
‘Jason Mercer?’
‘I could give two craps about Jason Mercer. He was a contract, man, and it ended for me the second Arrowsake cut my strings.’
‘Then it’s totally personal, between you and me?’
He nodded.
‘So tell your boys to stand down. They don’t have to die today.’
‘Whaddaya mean?’ It had perhaps slipped his mind that his two gunners still stood ready with their assault rifles aimed at my chest. Vince graced his men with a pained grin. ‘Do you believe this joker? He’s such a hot shit, he actually thinks he’s going to defeat us all’
They laughed with him. The one whose foot I injured looked ready to tear me a new one right that instant.
‘You were warned,’ I said.
They sneered at my words, unaware that another figure had materialised out of the teeming rain behind them. I’d rarely been happier to see Rink in my life.
He could’ve spared them, but he still burned to avenge Sue’s murder. Rink gave no warning, he gunned down both of the hired killers without remorse, using a carbine he’d liberated from another of their murderous number.
Startled, Vince wasted a few seconds, first watching his gunmen collapse in the dirt, then turning to face Rink, and then going for his holstered pistol.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Rink told him, and aimed the smoking muzzle of his assault rifle at Vince’s chest: even wearing a bulletproof vest, he wouldn’t survive a hail of rounds at close quarters.
‘Twice now you’ve had goes at killing me with your weapon of choice,’ I said, drawing Vince around to face me. ‘Now it’s my turn to kill you.’
‘Are you really going to have Rink shoot me in cold blood, Hunter? Nah, you’re a better man than that, right?’
‘You’re right. I’m not going to have Rink do my dirty work for me. Trust me, he’d happily blow you away after what happened to Sue. I warned you I’d shoot you in the face if you hurt Sue. But here’s the thing, Vince. I’m going to give you a chance. You’ve a gun on your hip. Draw it.’
‘D’you think I’m crazy? Even if I beat you to the draw, Rink will shoot me.’ Vince kept his right hand well away from his holstered weapon; the left hand though was on the move.
‘Rink,’ I said, ‘you’d better get back.’
Vince snapped the second grenade off his belt, deftly pulling out the pin with the opposite hand. He held up the grenade as if it were something to be admired. He peered at me with a triumphant grin. ‘Try shooting me now and I’ll bl
ow us all to hell.’ Vince performed one of those crazy pirouettes of his, spinning on a heel in the mud, threatening us both with evisceration. ‘C’mon, you guys. Go for it. Shoot me if you dare, but then I’ll let go of this and…BADOOM!’
Rink began backing away, staring back at me. I gave a surreptitious nod: I’ve got this, brother.
Our ploy to defeat Arrowsake had employed a metaphorical dead man’s switch; perhaps it was ironic that Vince should employ a real one here.
I snatched the gun from my belt, aimed and fired, even as realisation struck Vince that his bluff was a complete failure. He tried to hurl the grenade at me but couldn’t, not when my bullet had struck between his eyes and killed him. The grenade tumbled out of his hand and fell to the ground. He folded and then toppled forward.
Ten feet separated us, so I was in range of the explosion. But I also had about four seconds grace on my side. I was unsteady on a damaged leg, but it didn’t slow me as I spun and charged away. Rink hightailed it for the cover of the cars. Five paces further on I took a dive into the dirt, and the bomb went off. The explosion didn’t sound half as loud as the one in the house had, but then Vince had helped muffle it. He’d fallen atop the grenade, and pressed it into the mud beneath his armoured torso. Still, bits of him rained down on me while I lay in the dirt.
44
The rain stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Over our heads the clouds still boiled, all manner of shades of grey, purple and yellow, and lightning flickered through them, though soundless now. It was a fitting backdrop for the demolished house, a hellish reminder of what we’d all just gone through. The grenade that blew apart Vince had caused little collateral damage, the one that had gone off inside was another story entirely. It had blown out what had remained of the living room window, security bars and all, plus a large portion of the wooden wall alongside the front door. Some of the roof had come down, and scattered shingles for dozens of feet in front of the porch. Even the deck was buckled and had collapsed nearest the obliterated wall. There was little left of the door I’d plunged through. The rest of the visible structure was punctured and pocked by bullet holes. Rain had overflowed some of the gutters and caused little waterfalls to splash on the floor.
I sat on my arse in the mud, staring at the house. The latest events in my life had begun with a wrecked house and were ending with another.
‘I still think you should give some thought to moving here,’ said Rink, ‘you might get the place cheaper now that it’s a fixer-upper.’
He stood alongside me, cradling the carbine. We were both confident that the threat to our lives had ended with Vince’s death, but it paid to be vigilant. It was a pity we hadn’t been more astute on our return to the ranch — perhaps even in the days beforehand when Vince’s team must first have found us — but then we hadn’t been as sharp, thinking our own personal thoughts of how we’d honour Sue’s memory.
‘Do you think the fridge survived the fight?’ I asked. ‘I could drink one of those beers now.’
‘You might be in need of somethin’ a bit stronger, brother,’ said Rink. ‘You do know there’s a lump of metal stickin’ outta your back, right?’
I craned over my shoulder for a look, but it was too painful, the deep cut on my jaw stung like hell. ‘Pull it out for me, will you?’
‘Not yet, or you’ll be pissin’ blood all over the place.’
I grunted in mirth. My shirt and trousers were so sodden it looked as if I’d taken a communal dip with Countess Elizabeth Báthory. ‘Bit late to worry about that now.’
‘Seriously, Hunter, I ain’t pullin’ that out til I know you won’t bleed to death.’
‘Forget my back for now then. How’s my face looking?’
‘Ugly as ever.’ He tapped the old scar on his chin. ‘Don’t worry about that on your jaw, I’ve cut myself worse shavin’. Besides, y’know girls love guys with scars, right?’
‘My arse.’
‘It’s true.’
‘No, I mean my arse is killing me. I think I might have some shrapnel stuck in it too.’
‘I ain’t pullin’ that out either.’
‘I’m not asking you to give it the kiss of life.’
Rink guffawed.
‘Help me up?’ I extended my hand.
‘Gimme the other one,’ he said, ‘that hand looks cut worse than anywhere. Can you still move your fingers?’
‘Only this one,’ I said, extending the middle finger and flipping him the bird.
We were both laughing as he helped haul me, grunting and moaning, to my feet. Laughter is not only the best medicine; it can also help you refrain from crying.
‘Gee, Hunter, you’re a damn wreck.’
‘Yeah, well I just got blown out of a house by a frag grenade,’ I reminded him. Actually, the wall the grenade came to rest against had taken most of the brunt of the explosion, dispelling some of the blast upwards towards the roof, and also out of the broken window. I’d only been tickled by the explosion as I’d smashed out the door, not been engulfed by it, so had gotten off with a few bits of shrapnel in my flesh rather than having my limbs blown off altogether. My words caused Rink to turn and squint at the mushy red remains of Vince further out in the yard.
‘Man,’ he wheezed. ‘I never liked that frog-gigger, and he needed killing, but I wouldn’t’ve wished that on him.’
I avoided looking. Vince had become an enemy, and I had no option but to shoot him, but blowing him to smithereens was extreme, and not something usually in my playbook.
‘Where’s Mercer?’ I asked.
‘No idea,’ said Rink, with a nod towards the long grass, ‘I was too busy fighting an armed guy back there to look out for him.’
It occurred how the gunman set to shoot me had performed a crazy dance just prior to me blasting him off the porch, and understood who had caused his jig. Mercer must have taken shelter under the deck, and shot the man through the planks, undoubtedly saving my life. He must have been lying close to where the grenade detonated.
‘Shit, I think he’s buried under there—’ I took a step towards the decking and the strength in my knees failed. Rink grabbed me one-handed, helping me to sink down safely.
‘Let me check on him,’ he said.
As Rink approached, there was a clatter and movement at the front of the deck. Some splintered planks and fallen shingles were shoved aside and a hand extended out. ‘Guys, I could do with a hand here?’
Rink crouched, pulling aside more of the wreckage, until he could see Mercer blinking up at him through a layer of brick dust and splinters. Rink appraised him with a flash of teeth.
‘Boy, am I pleased to see you,’ said Mercer. It was possibly the first time since Rink shot him that he genuinely meant it.
What happened next, I’ve no idea. I passed clean out from blood loss.
45
Rink tapped the base of his beer bottle against mine.
‘Cheers, brother,’ he toasted.
‘Skol,’ I responded, as if we were a couple of Vikings.
We sat companionably on his balcony, overlooking the communal gardens at the rear of his condominium at Temple Terrace, a neighbourhood in Tampa, while we supped our drinks.
With no replacement house of my own sorted yet, I was still calling the couch in Rink’s condo home. I’d used it for several days since checking out of the military hospital to where I’d been medevacked by a chopper hailed via Walter when it became apparent I was injured worse than I’d first let on. It wasn’t the shrapnel in my back or butt that was my main problem, or the wounds from Vince’s garrote; it was the bullet hole in my leg that had severed a vein and drained me of pints of blood. I’d been transfused, stitched up, and given meds to stave off infection and pain, but the forty-eight hours of solid sleep afterwards had equally worked their magic on me.
Jason Mercer had also received attention for his injuries, but there were miraculously few new ones considering he’d been buried beneath the collapsing deck and walls. He
checked out of the hospital a day before I did, but did me the courtesy of hanging around to say goodbye, for now, before he planned on disappearing back into the underground network set up by Sue. Only the indomitable brute that was Jared Rington had survived the latest fight without as much as a scratch.
Rink had collected me from the hospital and delivered me back to Tampa, and I hadn’t moved beyond the condo’s confines since. I sat with my leg elevated on the railing, easing my injury, but ironically it wasn’t troubling me. For all I’d been shot at numerous times, survived a car crash, been blown up, beaten and garroted, the only pain bothering me was the throbbing of my ear. It was a hold over from when Sue had punched me when I’d disturbed her flight from the house in Panama City: the pain was probably psychosomatic.
We were holding the wake for her that had been disrupted by Vince’s final assault, but we did it lost primarily in our own thoughts. Sometimes it’s enough to have your best pal beside you without having to say a single word.
We had reason to celebrate our recent victories. Vince was dead and wouldn’t trouble any of our friends or us in the future. Arrowsake was already showing signs of implosion, with Walter reporting how several of the key players had already withdrawn and were eager to distance themselves from the organisation. His prophesy had come true, including how Spencer Booth’s sudden disappearance would be explained: the story was that the former ASD(I) and his security detail had reputedly perished when Booth’s chauffer-driven limousine broadsided a gas tanker and all three men were immolated in the resulting fire. As for all the other remains left in our wake, including those most recently at the ranch, they disappeared without a trace and without fanfare.
For now we were safe from attack and prosecution, and that would do.
Honouring the truce we’d struck with Arrowsake, Walter kept the evidence dossier he held buried, but those with Harvey and Velasquez were kept safely on stand-by should our agreement ever crumble. Walter had severed his ties with Arrowsake, and he’d also tendered his resignation with the Central Intelligence Agency. He was old now, he said, and wanted to spend at least a few years in retirement enjoying his granddaughter and great grandson without having to worry about any more enemies. He half-jokingly suggested engaging Jason Mercer’s services to help him disappear into Sue’s network of safe houses to live out his golden years, but the old fart wasn’t fooling us, because he could never retire – he was thinking how he could use the network to his benefit, but in another way entirely. See, he wasn’t letting on, but I just knew that having withdrawn his funding from Arrowsake, multi-billionaire playboy Wyatt Carling had been tapped by Walter to fund a new enterprise…Arrowsake, under a new guise and new leader might rise again.