A small animal, a rabbit possibly, scurried in between them, looked at the officers, and scurried off into the undergrowth.
One of the three switched his gun to his left hand, and with his right, clicked on the radio attached to his lapel. The radio crackled into life. He whispered “Control.” into the unit and waited. Nothing. He tried again. “Control, Come in.” The radio fizzled and static came over the speaker. In the background he could faintly hear a woman’s voice.
“One-Adam… you read… ver.”
There was a snapping noise from in front of them and a thin branch of a tree broke off and fell to the ground. At the same time, the radio on the officer’s lapel shattered, the bullet ripping through the man’s shoulder, and exiting through his back. The officer looked down to see that it had taken off two fingers from his right hand. Blood was pumping from the stumps of his fingers, so he had no choice but to let go of his gun, and try to stem the flow.
He had nothing really useful to hand, except for a handkerchief he kept in his back pocket.
The handkerchief was not nearly big enough to stop the bleeding, but it would have to do until he could get back to his car and radio for an ambulance. If he made it back at all, that is.
The man to his left reacted to the shot by firing straight through the gap where the branch had been cut. He twisted his gun left and right, shooting blindly into the trees in the hope of hitting the assailant.
Smoke surrounded his head, and the noise of the gun emptying its clip was deafening. Braches and leaves went flying; birds flew away in a panic at the sudden and abrupt sound.
The Beretta that the officer was using held fifteen rounds in the magazine and in his panic; he had used all of the bullets, and was laying there still firing his gun, the empty click, click, click of the trigger the only sound left.
He quickly realised that this was his first mistake. Emptying the gun of its ammo in his panic had left him defenceless against a man who was clearly a good marksman.
Second, he had created a lot of noise and sound, which had served two purposes: It gave away their position, and gave cover for the unseen gunman to move without being heard.
This was confirmed moments later when a workman’s boot stamped down onto the back of the other, injured officer.
“Hello, boys.” He said with a sneer. The third cop made a run for cover, but was too slow for Winter. A bullet ripped through the man’s neck, sending blood and flesh spraying over the ground scrub below.
John turned to the man with missing fingers. The cop looked up at him wide eyes and shaking. The blood loss showing in his face.
“Looks like you are bleeding, officer. What a mess, what a mess. Hmm – an officers’ mess, you might say.” Winter looked down at the cop with the spent gun and grinned. A hollow, soulless grin. “You know you guys have really ruined my plans today. You see I like to keep to a schedule. And the schedule is what drives my day. And when the schedule is broken I get a little – you know – tetchy.” He looked down at the man underneath his boot.
“Looks like quite a big hole you have there, young man. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Looking a bit paler for it too.” He chuckled to himself at the thought.
“Fuck you” said the bleeding officer.
“Does it always have to come down to foul language? I do dislike it so. Anyway….” he said, waving his hand away at the man. “Time for me to go, gentlemen. Can’t say it’s been fun. But thank you for the sport, none the less.”
He pointed his gun at the man’s head underneath him and fired. The cops body jolted, and more blood poured out from his skull.
He raised the gun the other cop who was fumbling for his own radio, now stricken by panic.
Winter level his gun at the man’s head and fired.
As he strolled back towards the road he thought about the inconvenience of having to deal with the police. He pulled out his phone and started to track Maggie. Damn. Already fifteen miles ahead of him. No matter. He would catch up. Ad when he did, he would finish what he started.
The road was waiting for him.
Part Four – The Ballad of Robert Finlay
“It’ll bend and break you, won’t even hesitate to,
It’ll be your only friend, it’ll get you in the end,
It’ll call when it needs you, it’ll serenade you,
It’ll be your only friend, it’ll get you in the end.”
~ Tin Soldiers
Forty nine
The flight to San Diego was crewed by a captain, his co-pilot and five very orange stewardesses. They were about to make their final descent into SAN international airport and one of the orange women was telling him to stop fiddling with his iPad as it interferes with the planes systems and blah blah blah. He thought about asking her that if he were to shove the iPad up her botoxed ass, would the combination of the it and the rest of her enhanced body cause a silicone overload? But instead he opted for “Oh yes, sorry.” What a wuss. In my younger days I had more fight, more fire in the belly he thought. God I’m getting too old for this. You can tell you’re getting old when airline hostesses look around twelve.
Captain Simpson put away the offending device and focused out of the window. He looked down and across to central LA in the distance, and then more directly down to San Diego. The monotonous low hum of the engines had been making him want to doze off, and the dry air was making him feel a little light headed. He also had that weird sensation you get when you look out onto a clear blue sky and bright sun creating a heat haze over what is obviously a very hot day, but you are in a cold air conditioned space – cold enough to make you shiver slightly and give you goose bumps. It really messes with your brain. Your eyes tell you it’s hot and your body tells you the opposite.
The airline captain’s voice came over the speakers to tell the passengers that it had been such an unbelievable pleasure to fly you all into San Diego today and it would simply make his life complete if you were to fly with him again, and if you could all wait until he has put the handbrake on until you stand up as a couple of you are looking a bit old and unsteady on your feet and he would hate you see you fall on your fat ass and sue us.
They then all shuffled off the plane where the orange women, the pilot and the co-pilot all smiled sweetly and wished them the best day of their lives and thanked the passengers all so much because they were just the best they had ever had and whatever – get off our plane.
Simpson waited at the end of the concourse for Church and Fisher, and the three men went down to pick up their hire car.
It was a short drive from the airport to the border crossing with Mexico, but before they made it, Simpson turned his phone back on and checked his messages.
He had one from John Winter that simply read – Tracking the girl heading for the border.
Good he thought. Soon this will be over.
Fifty
John Winter was driving south on Interstate 5. He was in a new car, and was making good progress. He had calmed down now and felt back in control. The kills of the police officers earlier in the day made him feel better, and he was catching up with his target fast. He was moving at around sixty five miles per hour – fast enough to catch up, but not too fast as to arouse suspicion with the police. Also quick enough to slow down to fifty if he spotted a cop car. He didn’t know what vehicle his targets were in, but his tracker told him that they were moving slower than him – so it had to be a slower vehicle.
At current speeds he estimated that he would catch-up with them near San Diego – well before they hit the Mexican border. Good. This could be finished on the move. Not a particularly clean kill, but at least I can drive off before anyone has noticed what has happened.
The car he was driving was nice. Quiet and comfortable. A BMW 3 series. Leather seats. Air conditioning. Very smooth ride. Shame I can’t keep this one. He thought. Could always re-spray it and change the plates. Depends on how cleanly I make this kill, of course.
John had stolen it f
rom Buffalos Bar and Grill car park, and made his way down the interstate. It took him a while to calm down, but picking out a nice car to steal helped him think clearly. Stupid Police. Always slowing me down. How do they train these guys nowadays anyway? Those kids that chased me into the woods earlier didn’t have a clue what they were doing. Seriously. This is why this country is going down the toilet.
He turned to look behind him to check everything was in order. His gun was on the back seat, still warm from the kills earlier. The file with the teenager’s names and photographs were in a manila envelope next to his weapon, and the small black case that was perched neatly on top contained some extra toys. Toys he probably would get to use this time. A couple of knives, a switchblade, and his personal favourite, the knuckle duster.
It’s been too long since I used that. He thought. Would be nice to get the old girl out again. After I’m done here I might even head over to Mexico myself, bust a few heads. Just for fun.
The road throbbed and rumbled underneath the car as San Diego appeared on the horizon. The evening light was reflecting off the buildings, turning them a dusky orange. Winter could make out the shapes of two vessels in the harbour – probably frigates, or even carriers. It took John back to his S-E-A-L days. Back when men were men. Not some prissy boys who worried about their haircut, or what the latest fashion was, he thought as he turned to look at his passenger.
He stared at him with his piercing blue eyes for a moment, and then back at the road.
“Do I make you nervous?”
There was a pause whilst he waited for an answer.
“No, Sir. No – it’s cool.”
The road carried on its relentless, unforgiving rhythm. The two of them sat in silence for a while. Winter calm and relaxed, the passenger shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Tell me about the girl.” As Winter spoke, the passenger jumped slightly.
“Like what? What do you want to know?”
“Resourceful?”
“Yes, kind of. I mean – not like you.”
“Sir.”
“Sorry?”
“When you address me you call me Sir.”
“Sir. Yes Sir. Sorry. Sir.”
“Handle a weapon?”
“Sir?”
“The girl. Can she handle a weapon?”
“Er. No. Sorry. I mean Sir. No Sir. Not in my experience.”
The light was starting to fade. Winter switched on the cars’ headlights.
“What about the boy?”
“A nerd Sir.”
“Nerd?”
“Yes Sir, neither resourceful or can handle a weapon.”
There was another pause. The night was almost upon them.
“How far now?” the passenger checked his phone screen.
“About four miles, Sir.”
“Amazing.”
“Sir?”
“New technology. You know years ago that kind of thing was military grade. Now they sell it on the high street. How does it work?”
“Tracks her phone to within a few feet.”
“But don’t you need to activate it on her handset first?”
“Yes sir, switched it on when she was asleep. Had to gain her trust first to get her to reveal her password. But after that, it is quick and simple.”
The traffic on the I-5 was light for the time of day, so they were cruising at a steady seventy five.
“There is a gun on the back seat.”
“Sir?”
“When we catch up to them I want you to shoot.”
“But Sir...”
“What? You want me to lean across you and fire? Besides, you need the target practice.”
“OK Sir, but...”
“I don’t care if it is her or not. But you must take out the boy. He clearly is not going to co-operate with us, so he must be killed. You can spare the girl if you want, but I would strongly advise not. She is a witness and could cause a problem for all of us, including you later.” Winter gave his passenger his piercing look once more.
“Your father had concerns that you were a pussy. How about we prove him wrong?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
Blake reached behind him and grabbed the gun.
“Good boy.”
Fifty one
Maggie, Bobby, Joe and Skylar were riding up front in Joe’s truck. Joe was driving, Skylar was next him with Bobby in between her and Maggie who was next to the passenger window.
Joe’s truck was a Kenworth Sleeper Cab. At least, the interior was when he bought it. He had since customised the hell out of it. The front cab was made up of a black leather bench seat. The stitching was finished off with silver stud work, so that the seats looked like they had been made from cow hide and dog collars.
On the floor and the ceiling of the cab were a deep blood red carpet and most of the dashboard and controls were jet black. A full length studded sun visor that ran the width of the front wind screen finished off the rocker look.
The cab was in good condition, but with a lived in feel. A few food wrappers were stuffed into the side wells, and there appeared to be a few small cracks on the edge of the glass on the front window. But apart from that, it was an impressive truck.
Heavy red curtains were closed behind them, hiding the sleeper part of the truck from view.
“So, Bobby...” said Joe. “Looks like you are into grunge, or goth. Maybe a little emo? Am I right? Judging by the way you dress, that is. But I’m not judging.”
“Er, yeah, well, you know, I suppose. If you like, you know.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Yes, Bobby is going through a goth phase. All I hear coming through the bedroom wall is boys in black eye liner.”
“Nothing wrong with a little makeup hon” said Skylar. “Some of the best started that way. Bowie, Bolan. Even Ozzy.”
“Hey Bobby, you into the oldies?”
“Er, yeah, I mean, no, I don’t know.”
“Well my shy little friend, let me educate you.” Joe flipped a switch on the dashboard. There was a sound of an electric motor whirring as the curtains behind them slid back to reveal a red quilted bed. At the foot of the bed was a plasma screen and a blu ray player. Running alongside the bed, and facing towards the front were a bank of speakers.
Maggie saw these speakers and feared that what was about to happen may well be above the sonic pain threshold. She also realised what had probably caused the cracks in the glass.
Joe tapped through the menu on the touch screen panel on the dashboard and selected Slayer. Maggie braced for impact.
The pulsing of the sound made her feel slightly nauseous. The whole space around her vibrated in time with the music. If you can call this music she thought. The road in front of them seemed to blur with the shaking of her eyeballs.
She looked across at Joe and Skylar who looked like they were relaxed and enjoying the mêlée.
“Fuck yeah baby! Woo!” Shouted Skylar as she punched her fist in the air. “Kerry King is bad ass!”
Oh jeez thought Maggie. But they are helping us. She looked over at Bobby and to her surprise he was grinning from ear to ear, almost giggling at the spectacle of Skylar air punching and head banging next to him.
He caught her looking at him and smiled broadly at her, the first time she could remember in a long time. Perhaps the first time he had smiled genuinely at her since... well. Just since.
Maggie started to cry.
“Woah, oh hey, baby girl – What’s wrong?” Skylar leaned forward and turned down the music to background level.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just... a lot has happened. Oh Bobby, you looked so happy just then.”
Bobby looked at his sister, not knowing what to do.
“You’ve been so dark recently. You don’t leave your room. I know you are being bullied at school and there is nothing I can do to help if you don’t talk to me. I mean, we used to be so close, I loved having you as my best friend.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the palms
of her hands. Skylar put her arm around her.
Maggie turned to her. “Our mum died.” She offered as an explanation. Skylar gave her a reassuring look.
Bobby stiffened in his seat.
“Bobby hasn’t been the same since. So when he looked happy just then I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.” She turned back to her brother.
“You have to let me in Bobby. You have to talk about it. You hardly ever mention her anymore. You can’t bottle it up like this. I need help to you know.”
Bobby has tears in his eyes now. “It’s not fair.” He whispered.
Both women were watching him.
“Why did she get taken away from us? I didn’t want it to happen. All of the boys that pick on me at school keep bringing it up. The use it against me. They call pick on me because I don’t like football but I like music and it’s not fair.”
Maggie leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry. We’ll make it better OK?” Bobby looked up at her hopefully and nodded.
“You know we lost someone close to us a year ago.” said Joe. Skylar nodded.
“Jessica was the bass player in Skylar’s band. I found her in a motel room one morning. Overdose. She was cold and blue by the time I got to her. I’ve run that day over and over in my mind so many times I’ve lost count. If only I had gotten there earlier. If only I had that chat about her drug use I was planning to have. But you know what? I can’t change the past. I can’t beat myself up over it. I just have to count myself lucky to have known her, and the time we had together. If I let these thoughts dominate my day then I would become too bitter, and I know she wouldn’t want that. She would want me to pick myself up, and live my life to the fullest, and not let these things hold me back.”
He glanced over at Bobby and Maggie. “Am I making sense?”
They both nodded.
“Then let’s get the fuckin’ border!”
“Yeah baby wooo!”
Fifty two
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