by Tony Bulmer
Watching, patrolling, constantly adjusting the protection mix, Inez knew that any second a deadly hail of fifty-caliber bullets could scythe through the house, killing everyone within. Walls would be no protection against Military grade firepower. The danger made her antsy and cautious. She walked her beat repeatedly, examining the danger points with meticulous attention to detail.
Inez figured that if the attack was to come, it would come early, in the tired hours of the new day, it was the time when the element of surprise would be greatest. So as dusk fell, she crouched behind the shutters to the South West of the house, preparing for a long watch. She scanned the distant ridgeline, with her night vision goggles.
Long uneventful hours dragged by.
As night drew down and the neighborhood settled under a quiet blanket of darkness, she caught a fleeting heat register just outside the edge of the property. At first she dismissed it, but it came back more clearly this time, A strong signal, indicating a stealthy approach through the shrubbery. Inez called in the perimeter team, to double sweep the area. Maybe one of the Paparazzi photographers had broken away from the pack, figuring he could sneak in close to the house under the cover of darkness.
The figure paused twenty yards out from the perimeter.
Suddenly, a laser came live, cutting in through the night, almost invisible to the human eye. The military grade night goggles picked out the beam, like a headlamp warning. Inez pressed her panic button immediately, implementing the CCS crash policy, an all units alert to signify imminent attack. The alert immediately activated the roof mounted Doppler flasher, a military counter-measure to throw off the aim of snipers and laser-guided weapons. Inez hammered the speed dial on her phone, to call Barrington, as he picked up, she said one word incoming. He had no time to respond, because in the next seconds, all became chaos.
Even before the impact, that she knew would come, she was on her feet and running, this was worse, much worse than she had feared, her mind worked quickly—spinning details of the myriad weapons systems she could be up against.
A blinding flash, a high-pitched rush of air, and a deafening concussive impact that shook every inch of the house to its foundations.
The force of the blast sent Inez spinning backwards. The unmistakable sound of a rocket propelled grenade launcher, packing high-explosive munitions. Inez took cover, beside a heavy antique dresser, waiting for a double-tap secondary strike. It came fast, before the boom of the first impact had subsided, so quick it seemed like there were two shooters.
The second impact roared even louder than the first.
Short-fuse munitions. The first strike to blow away the side of the building, the second to eviscerate the interior with a deadly concussive blast, that would pulverize everything before it; a blast so powerful it would crush your skull, flatten your lungs and break just about every bone in your body as a party-piece finisher.
Barrington was her only thought now—she had to find the client—if there was anything left of him to find. Inez emerged from behind the dresser, and was shocked to discover that the side that had protected her had been ripped open, as though a giant unseen wrecking ball had smashed through it. Half dazed by the blast, she staggered through a fog of acrid smoke, her pulse amping crazily, as she stared at the carnage the high-explosive impacts had wreaked on the building.
The side of the house was now open to the elements, a gaping explosive wound. From her vantage point at the top of the stairs, the ground floor was a scene of total devastation: furniture smashed to flaming matchwood, sparking electrics jerking crazily. The once beautiful home was now a smoking sarcophagus, walls and ceilings, smashed into a tangle of smoking rubble. Who could survive such an attack?
Inez edged down the broken stairway, into the heart of the cataclysm, water hosed down from broken ceiling pipes, a fire alarm trilled a futile accompaniment to the devastation. She held her Glock seventeen at the ready, knowing that at any second an assault team could breach through the devastated perimeter to mop up survivors, with small-arms fire.
Except, there were no survivors that she could see.
No one.
Inez cursed. She had failed her primary directive: to protect her client. She had also failed to predict the level of firepower that the enemy had at their disposal, both unforgivable flaws in her game plan.
Suddenly on the lawn, gunshots—high caliber rifle rounds, followed by a flurry of full-auto fire from a high capacity machine pistol. Inez headed through the burning smoke haze, at a low crouch, her Glock held ready for action.
A building volley of gunfire crackled through the darkness.
Suddenly, a larger gun opening up: the barking report of an AK-47 firing wildly into the night. Inez hit the ground fast, rolling forwards as she did so. She finished flat on the wet lawn, her pistol held ready before her. Bullets zipped and sang in all directions, as a deadly full-auto crossfire cut across the lawn. Three muzzle-flash bursts from the perimeter shrubbery, followed by a heavy response from her team, triangulating on the muzzle flashes, and closing rapidly.
Again—the heavy bark of the AK-47 cutting through the night.
That had to be one of Barrington’s people, firing blind into the darkness. Inez cursed softly. Who ever the shooter was, they had no idea what they were firing at—Inez loosed off a couple of rounds at the perimeter shooter, to let her people know she was in the game, then headed for the boom of the AK.
Dead Famous 46
‘He dead Mr. Costello, deader than any man I ever seen.’
I pressed my fingers to Joe Russell’s neck to feel for a pulse, His flesh was cold and motionless. It sure felt like he was dead, but I am not the kind of guy who gives up easily.
‘You find him like this? What happened to the sheets?’
‘I dunno Mr. Costello, we was waiting to ride out on the tide, I took me a trip to liquor store to get provisions, when I got back he was laying here, colder than an Alaskan Pollock. You think he dead Mr. Costello?’
‘You see him with anyone, a girl maybe?’
‘Hell no, he was laying here by his self. I didn’t see no one else. I figured he was resting at first. Then, when he didn’t stir, that’s when I figured something was wrong big time. You figure he dead Mr. Costello?’
I slapped Joe around the face.
He didn’t move.
‘You got a first aid kit?’
‘Sure we do, but it ain’t good for nothing but bandages.’
‘What did you get from the liquor store?’
‘Bottle of Scotch, bottle of Cognac Mr. Costello, same as always.’
‘That’s good Semo, you got ice?’
‘We got a whole mess of ice, Mr. Costello, we got ourselves a beaucoup icemaker, state of the art.’ Semo thought for a second. Looked puzzled, ‘What we need ice for Mr. Costello, to keep the body cold, so it don’t attract flies?’
I gave Semo a wry look, ‘Bring a bucket of ice, and bring it now, bring the Cognac too.’
Semo nodded, and with unquestioned obedience he was off. Whilst he was away, I administered several sharp slaps to Joe Russell’s face, the blows had no noticeable effect, and pretty soon Semo had returned with the ice bucket, filed to the brim. He held it out in his giant wrestler paws. ‘You want me to set it down for you Mr. Costello?’
I shook my head, ‘Hand it to me buddy, pour me a couple of glasses of Cognac, and you know what Semo, I sure wish you would call me Danny, rather than Mr. Costello.’
Semo’s face twisted with discomfort, ‘It just don’t seem right me calling you that Mr. Costello, you being the boss and all… And now with the Captain here dead, I just got to keep on keeping on, if you don’t mind that is.’
I took the bucket in my hands, gave Semo a stout nod of understanding, then turned abruptly, and emptied out the bucket of ice across Joe Russell’s chest.
The effects were dramatic.
Joe sat up, as though he had received a high voltage charge of electricity through him.
‘What are you waiting for Semo?’ I prompted, ‘Administer the patient his medicine.’
Joe Russell stared around the cabin wide-eyed. Semo shambled forward quickly, held the Cognac to Joe’s lips. Joe gulped it down rapidly without pausing for breath.
‘She stabbed me in the friggin neck!’ he bellowed.
‘No shit!’ I said.
Joe touched his neck, feeling it out, to see if it was still there, ‘Just a second, what are you doing here Costello?’ Joe looked puzzled, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be…’
‘Eating my dinner?’ I said.
‘Hell no, I thought you were…’
Semo forced a glass of Cognac into my hands, I smiled, handed it back to him, said ‘That isn’t for me buddy, it is for you.’ He smiled appreciatively and knocked it back without further bidding. ‘You were dead Captain, Mr. Costello here brought you back from the dead!’
Joe stared at me, an incredulous look on his face.
‘You fucked her didn’t you?’ I asked, matter of fact.
‘She tricked me. Stabbed me in the damn neck the little pit viper.’
‘I told you not to fuck her.’
‘My neck feels like I took bullet.’
‘If this bullshit scenario is fitting together like I think it is, you are lucky you didn’t take a bullet, you dumb ass.’
‘You back from the dead Captain!’ said Semo happily. ‘You want another Cognac to celebrate?’
Joe licked his lips, ‘Best make it a large one this time.’
I think the Captain will take a rain-check on that Brandy thank you Semo, you fill him full of grog, he won’t be much good for hunting down the girl who did this to him.’
Semo looked shocked, ‘You say a girl did this to the Captain? There ain’t no kind of decent woman who would do such a thing to Captain Russell. I think you’re looking for one of those Hollywood Boulevard types, if you know what I mean.’
I smiled, ‘Thank you Semo, I know exactly what you mean, though I am afraid this particular girl moves in rather more dangerous circles.’
Semo bowed his head, then gave me an earnest look, ‘This girl you and the Captain are looking for Mr. Costello, she wouldn’t drive a Mercedes coupe would she?’
‘You saw her leave Semo?’ I asked quickly.
‘Hell, yes, I saw her. Scooting out of here as fast as you please, that little lady wasn’t stopping for no one, she cut right out onto the highway like the devil his self was after her.’
‘Which way was she headed,’ asked Joe.
‘I caught her at the top of the dock, way she was going would have taken her back to the west side, I figure.’ Semo paused, he looked troubled, ‘I hope you fellah’s are going to stop her, before she hurts someone properly, I just couldn’t face the thought of that—her getting past me and all.’
I slapped Semo on the back, said, ‘Way I see it, we are much too late to stop her hurting people, but don’t worry Semo, we will get her, you can rely on that.’
Dead Famous 47
As bullets fizzed past her, Inez rolled sideways, until she met a low wall that bounded the patio area out back of the Barrington House. The bounding wall was lined with an immaculate box cut hedge that provided just enough cover to conceal her movements. She ran forwards at a half crouch, her adrenaline pumped muscles fighting through the danger. Her only thoughts now were for Barrington and his safety. As the blaze took hold of the Barrington property, and bullets hummed around her, she could hear sirens, soon the entire hill would be a giant crime scene. Inez knew that unless she moved fast the headlines would be out, and CCP would be implicated in the biggest, most apocalyptic failure in personal protection history. Danny would be furious, the agencies reputation ruined in one night, and on her watch too. There was no way such a thing could happen—failure was not an option. Inez straightened up, running hard now, heading towards the giant hole where Barrington’s study used to be. That’s when she saw the figure on the verandah, outlined in black against the fast rising flames that were consuming the house.
As she got closer, Inez recognized the unmistakable figure of Sly Barrington roaring at the top of his lungs, an unintelligible battle cry, as he fired off his AK-47 into the encroaching woods. He kept firing until his magazine ran empty and then snapped it out with a final howl of frustration.
‘Where the hell were you?’ he roared, ‘Where the hell were you?’
‘We have got to get out of here and now,’ snapped Inez.
‘This is war—We are at fucking war—don’t you understand?’
‘Understand this,’ snapped Inez. ‘You want to live longer than tonight, we move out now, Do as I say, do it quick, and you are walking away from this. Every second you argue is a second closer to everything you have worked for falling in the toilet, you understand me?’
Kid Dolla ambled up from the darkness, holding a sub-compact assault-rifle. He loosened a burst of gunfire into the smoldering bushes. ‘I say we tool up, let the dogs out,’ he shouted, snapping home a fresh magazine into his rifle.
‘You keep waving that automatic weapon in the air, you are looking at Federal prison time, as soon as the cops get here. If you are ready for that then stay stupid. You want to run free, then you do as I say and you do it now.’
‘You got to be tripping, those motherfuckers are out there Santos, you not see what they did? We got to pay them out, and now!’
‘They are gone, disappeared into the night, don’t you see that? You want to get out of this, you come now, you want to talk to the PD, then keep jiving smart ass.’
Kid Dolla pulled a face, kicked at the mound of spent cartridge cases that lay at his feet ‘You going to listen to this shit Sly?’ The spent casings rattled and bounced on the scorched stone.
Sly Barrington stared at Inez, his gaze hard and demonic in the light of the burning house, ‘Someone is going to pay for this Santos, you get in my way I am taking you down too.’
Inez nodded, then smiled, as she heard the roar of an engine approaching fast. She returned Barrington’s implacable gaze unflinching, ‘Know what happened to the last person who said they were going to take me out? I shot ’em in the face, so you want to try me, you better come heavy or not at all.’
‘You think I care Santos? You think I give a damn about anything anymore?’
The roar of the escape car was getting close now, her people closing in for an extraction, Inez said ‘Hell, yes, you give a damn—money, power, ego—that’s why you are in this mess to start off with.’
‘It‘s about more than money now. I couldn’t expect a woman like you to understand.’
‘Hey, fuck you Barrington. Incase you haven’t noticed, this is a salary gig for me. I listen to your whining shit because I have to, not because you are some big meal-ticket genius, with the answers to world problems. I don’t know who the hell you cut a beef with to be so hated, but you keep patronizing me like that, I am liable to sock you in the mouth, so keep it respectful.’
Kid Dolla said, ‘You can’t talk to Sly like that, you are a motherfucking employee.’
‘Is that right Mr. Gangsta rap? Well, there is only so much shit a girl can take in one day and I have about reached my limit with both of you, so why don’t you throw down the guns, or this employee is throwing in her time card right here and now,’ Inez paused, said, ‘I could be doing things with my life right now: Having dinner with my family, hooking up with friends, maybe even catching a movie. Instead, I am out here on a burning hillside, listening to your juvenile bullshit.’
As the CCP escape vehicle pulled alongside them on the lawn, Kid Dolla said, ‘She plenty mad Sly.’
Sly Barrington scowled, ‘Get in the car Kid, we’re getting the hell out of here like the lady says.’
Inez wiped her sweating face on the shoulder of her T-shirt, realized she was covered in soot and
grime. Feeling suddenly self-conscious she didn’t let it show. She holstered her Glock, met Barrington’s gaze head on, told Dolla to mind his head as he ducked into the escape vehicle. No way in hell these moneyed creeps would see her vulnerable.
No way.
Dead Famous 48
‘You are fired Costello, and I don’t give a goddamn what those motherfucking Wall Street suit rats say either.’ Standing in the Penthouse boardroom of Slycorps headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, Sly Barrington stood impressive, in a chalk stripe designer business suit.
I looked out the window, admiring the lights on the Staples Centre and the business district surrounding it—a hundred billion dollars of real estate set out like a candle lit banquet below.