Max felt his teeth begin to tear through the Alpha’s muscles and realized, on the instinctual level that dogs realize things, that if they ripped through he would fall. So he ground down until he felt bone and held. But then the battle frenzy started to abate and he began to understand that the Alpha was not calling him to challenge him, but rather he had ordered the attack to save him. So instead of going into the usual thrashing mode that had proved successful on so many occasions, he simply held and waited for the Alpha to finish whatever it was that he was going to do. Once again, Max saw that the Alpha knew exactly what he was doing, and so he acquiesced and assumed the Beta position in the pack. But just barely.
And then Max saw the wall coming at them.
We struck hard, my back and shoulder smashing into the unforgiving brick. I forced all my breath out just before impact, but even then it was a complete shock to my system and I felt myself blacking out. Max bit down harder and the sheer pain brought me around just in time. I gripped the rope with all my strength and looked into Max’s eyes. The panicked death look I’d seen before was gone, replaced with the same fierce determination and indomitable will that I had come to recognize in him.
They hit the wall and a lesser dog would have fallen to his death. But Max was made of sterner stuff than that and maintained his grip, looking into the Alpha’s face. The Alpha grinned.
I grinned and started climbing. Max’s ninety pounds hanging, suspended by his hold on my forearm alone. The power of his bite, all the way down to the bone, kept the muscles and tendons from shredding, but did nothing to ease the pain.
Wrapping my legs around the rope as high as possible and gripping with my heels, I stood up and gained several feet. I repeated this three times, sweat and blood coursing down my face. I’d hit the wall between the ninth and tenth floors and still had maybe four feet to reach window height on the tenth. The windows were also spaced about seven feet to the right and a good twelve feet to the left. I’d have to get a little swinging momentum to make it and my arms were already shaking badly. That, and Max couldn’t hold on forever, jaw and neck muscles can only go so far.
At least he wasn’t thrashing.
Time to suck it up, Marine. I gripped the rope with my free hand, dragged my heels up under my butt, taking hold with my heels and stood up.
42
Max could feel his hold starting to give and crunched down, feeling the Alpha wince, but other than that, he gave no sign. Max no longer had any desire to advance in the Pack. He wanted nothing more than to stop causing pain to the Alpha, but that wasn’t possible now. He had to continue to hold the bite until the Alpha gave him the release command.
Max had killed lesser animals with bites half as deep and couldn’t begin to understand how the Alpha was maintaining consciousness, let alone still fighting, but he was, and in the way that dogs understand, he knew he was trying to save both of their lives. So Max did what he could, by remaining as still as possible as the Alpha pulled them both up the rope.
Inching up the rope with the climbers and one arm, I made it to where I thought I could hit the window. There was no way on earth I could make it to the roof, so it was the window or nothing.
Once in place, I pushed my feet against the wall and walked my way up till I was almost perpendicular. Max’s weight tore at my forearm and I gripped my shirt and harness with that fist to keep him up. If I’d let my arm hang down, his teeth would have shredded down and off, no matter how hard he bit.
I took five steps to the left and shoved out and toward the right, fighting to keep from spinning. I hit the wall about ten inches shy of my target, jolting Max’s body and feeling my arm tear in several places. That one got a grunt from me. I swung back and forth until I was back in my original position.
I wanted to rest, but couldn’t afford to. Every second suspended there stole my quickly depleting energy, and the pain from Max was becoming too much to bear. I got my feet up under me again and walked out as far as the rope would allow, then pushed out and away. For an instant I thought I was going to miss again, but one foot smashed through the window and I hooked it hard, holding us in place. The other foot shoved against the wall a final time and I swung in a tight circle, my butt smashing out the rest of the glass. I let loose the rope and I fell in a heap on an old couch and end table that somehow managed to hold my weight without collapsing. Max, of course, landed on all fours and stood there like he’d just gotten back from a casual stroll.
Blood soaked my sleeve and I couldn’t move the fingers of that hand. The pain screamed something fierce, but we were alive. Max was alive. And that was all that mattered. I reached out with my good hand and gave his head a rub. His body tensed, but he allowed it. Baby steps? Maybe more?
I found the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, a combination of exertion, adrenal dump, smoke inhalation and pure pain. Looking in the mirror I was a mess. Blood caked my face and soot and sweat reamed my nostrils and forehead and cheeks.
The apartment was empty and I realized they all would be, due to being evacuated because of the fire next door. The buildings were packed close in the projects and the chance that the fire might spread was highly plausible.
I had to find Jerome.
Opening the door, I saw him entering the nearest stairwell door. He didn’t look a lot better than I did, but at least he could use both arms. For just a second, I thought he might actually be happy to see me, but then his face took on his usual blank expression.
“We need to go,” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Yeah.”
As I stepped into the hallway, I saw a monstrous shadow loom up behind Jerome from the stairwell. It was Owen, Clyde’s ugly cousin. He swung down with a pistol and nailed Jerome on the back of the head. I could hear the crack over all the racket outside and my first thought was that the blow must have split Jerome’s skull like an egg shell. Jerome staggered about three steps into the hallway, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he turned and faced Owen with a gun in his own hand. I thought they would fire at the same time, but they just stood there, facing off like Dukes of old, preparing to duel.
“I knew I saw something going on up here,” said Owen. “You boys are…resilient, I’ll give you that.”
“You’re Blood,” said Jerome.
“West Side Slicks,” said Owen. “Born and raised, same as you.”
“Then why Clair?”
“That isn’t her name,” said Owen. “As to why…that isn’t for a punk like you to know. You had a job. You messed up. I fix messes.”
“You took my Clair.”
Owen nodded. “Now I’m going to take you.” He head checked me. “Then I’ll take him and this mess will be cleaned.”
“Blood Battle,” said Jerome. It was more of a demand than a question.
“It’s your right, if you want it that way,” said Owen.
“Fists?”
“Good with me, but it’ll hurt. Best for you, you just let me put a bullet through your brain and be done with it. Faster, less painful.”
“Pain doesn’t bother me,” said Jerome. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Drop your gun,” said Owen.
Jerome dropped his gun.
“Jerome…what are you doing, Jerome?” I asked.
“West Side Slicks’ got a code. I challenged him, so he’s obliged to honor it. Drop your gun,” said Jerome.
“No,” I said. “Pick yours up.”
“Drop your gun,” said Owen. “I won’t shoot you. You have my word. But if you don’t, I’ll shoot Jerome where he stands.”
“And after you kill him, you’ll beat me to death?” I asked.
For the first time I saw a little smile crease his lips. “Yes.”
“You guys are nuts,” I said. “But I have to admit, I’d kind of like to see Jerome here rip you to pieces.” I tossed my little Glock onto the floor in front of me. “Clash of the Titans. Kind of reminds me of the two big guys fighting it out in the movie The Deep. All I�
��m missing is beer and some popcorn. Make it fast, Jerome.”
Owen’s dead eyes slid back to Jerome and he actually threw his gun aside and held up his fists in a classic Krav Maga fighting stance.
My left arm was still out of commission, but my right worked just fine. I drew my Smith and Wesson 4506 forty-five caliber semi-automatic handgun from its holster in the middle of my back and put three rounds into his chest. I ran up on him and put two more through his face…just in case he was wearing a vest… which it turned out he was.
Jerome looked at me… stunned.
“What?” I said. “You never saw Raiders of the Lost Ark?” I searched the dead man’s pockets and took what I was looking for. “Indiana Jones has nothing on me.” I turned back to Jerome. “Come on. We’ve got a little girl to save.”
Just then, I felt something grab my shirt at the back of my neck and I was catapulted up and over into the dark stairwell where I crashed into the unforgiving concrete of the wall. Lights flashed behind my eyes and agony exploded in my already injured left arm. I bounced off the wall, hitting the floor almost as hard. The wind left my lungs and the world swam darkly.
Forcing my eyes to stay open, I saw an enraged Clyde charge straight at Jerome. Jerome charged back.
Max dove under the runaway trains to stand over my body, acting as guard.
The two of them hit with roughly the concussive force of a hydrogen bomb and then I lost the fight. Darkness swam over me, thick and suffocating, dragging me into the stairwell of nightmares, where I missed probably the greatest fight since Thor versus Hulk.
43
The raw impact shook both men to their cores. The scales of weight and height and sheer mass were roughly the same, but Jerome had been through a lot over the past few days, and tonight especially. Clyde stood fresh and uninjured . And so he recovered first, shaking his head and moving in on Jerome with a wide hook that connected against his cheek, reopening the tear that Gil had split in their first meeting. Clyde followed with an uppercut that struck just below his floating rib. Only the bullet-resistant vest saved him from losing his wind, but even through the padding, the concussion jarred his senses. Jerome tried to block the right that jabbed straight at his face, but he couldn’t quite get his limbs to work and the blow landed flat and hard into his nose, snapping his head back.
Jerome wrapped Clyde in his long arms, and head butted him three times — smack — smack — smack — blood flew and bone crunched before Clyde shoved forward with one hand and back with an elbow, breaking the grip and creating enough space for him to deliver two fast hooks to Jerome’s ribs and a third that came up high, hitting him on the exact spot on his cheek as before. Lights flashed like exploding stars behind Jerome’s eyes and he punched down with a swinging hammer fist that struck between Clyde’s shoulder and neck juncture. Clyde crumpled, his knees unhinging and his body going limp for just an instant before he came to and ducked to the side, just in time to avoid a knee that would have crushed his face.
Jerome, dizzy and unsteady, didn’t let it stop him. He jumped forward, both feet leaving the floor as he swung in and down with a powerful Superman punch that whacked Clyde on the side of the head. Clyde smashed into a wall and bounced off to take another punch on the opposite side of the head. Still standing, Clyde ducked down into an instinctive fetal ball, hands up to protect his face and head, elbows nearly touching his thighs as he tried to move feet that no longer felt sure. Five hard body punches landed, each taking their toll. Clyde ducked lower and shot forward, grabbing Jerome’s legs just above the knees and pulling them in tight against his chest. He drove up and in, taking his fellow giant off his feet and down onto his back, with Clyde on top.
The floor was hard concrete and five hundred pounds of man flesh was a lot of weight to absorb. Jerome’s head smacked hard against the unforgiving surface and he almost lost consciousness, giving Clyde the opportunity to climb up over Jerome’s legs and gain the mounted position. From this vantage point, he started raining blows down into Jerome’s face. Jerome found himself in roughly the same spot that Clyde had been a second before, with his arms and hands covering his head and face, trying to fend off a swarm of lethal missiles. Jerome managed to grab hold of a wrist, and even though it cost him three hard blows to the face, he held on as he hooked one of Clyde’s heels with the toe of his shoe. He bucked hard, up and to the side, throwing Clyde off balance and rolling him over his shoulder. Jerome followed the roll and now he was on top, in a reverse position, except that he was in Clyde’s guard, Clyde’s legs wrapped around Jerome’s midsection.
Clyde couldn’t believe that Jerome had managed to throw him. But now that Jerome was on top, he wasn’t about to chance letting him be there for long. He shrimped to the side, released his foot lock, and pushed-kicked Jerome off of him.
Both men made it to their feet, breathing hard, blood leaking from fresh wounds. They circled warily and then their mutual hatred pushed past their training and they charged, both titans shooting their arms and hands forward. Neither man attempted to block, and as if by silent agreement, they grabbed each other’s throats. Skill no longer mattered here. Now it was muscle against muscle… will against will… as fingers and thumbs crushed in against necks packed with hard slabs of meat and tendons and muscle. Veins, pulsing thick and blue with pressurized blood, stood bulging on their foreheads and temples as incredible force sought the end of human life. They circled, sweat streaming, teeth clenched, eyes hot and red and locked… staring in the most primal of battles, life and death. No quarter would be asked or given. The giants were silent now as every ounce of their beings warred. Bones creaked and ligaments stretched as each drove in. Finally, the circling stopped and they simply stood, grinding in with the very last of their stores of energy.
Until one man’s strength… failed.
44
Over four hours had passed since she first placed the samples in the Maxwell 16, but finally, the results lay before her.
She shook her head. “You knew all along didn’t you, Gil?” The man was smart. Sarah had three PHDs and still she had no idea how Gil could fit together the pieces of the puzzles he put together. Another reason to love him. Like with the Double Tap Rapist. Numerous police agencies had set out to catch him, but it took Gil Mason to bring an end to his evil.
Rubbing her eyes, she printed out the findings. It had been a long night and she still had to clean up, but first she had to call Gil.
Well, at least this might help end whatever he was doing in Chicago and get him back home. At the thought of seeing him again, her fatigue vanished. She picked up her cell and called him. She thought about FaceTiming him, but she looked a wreck, so instead settled for mere audio.
The phone rang and rang.
The first of the press calls started at about seven the next morning, and by eight, at least fifty reporters were waiting outside.
Senator Marsh put on his best smile as the horde barged into his office. He’d had Keisha, and the couple playing her aunt and uncle, brought in on rush notice. They were standing with him as reporters started asking questions.
He was upset because he hadn’t been able to get hold of Clyde since last night, but he kept it well hidden. This wasn’t the time to let the press get wind that anything was amiss.
Gil Mason had alerted the press to the rescue before he’d landed with the girl in Chicago. He’d managed to hold them off for a time, but it was too big a story for them to lose interest. So now both he and Keisha were being put in the spotlight for the world to see.
It put a hitch in his plans, but only a little. He’d turn this to his advantage, just as he had everything in his life. He’d started as a Blood, something that should have kept him out of politics from the beginning. Instead, he’d used it. First, to rise in power, then, as a pity card; poor boy from the hood makes good, isn’t America great? All while running the entire gang effort to take over the town from the inside. He’d been an OG for decades, having never left the Bloods,
simply playing the game and learning how to best take advantage of the system. And then, once becoming a senator, using the clout and authority to have access to when and where the police were going to be so that his men could be elsewhere. He was able to move the police and DA’s office to crack down on the other gangs, keeping the Bloods quiet and playing it on the down low. Eventually, the others were beat down to where it was easy for them to sweep in and take everything over.
It also gave him the tactical advantage of having his own private army. And Alvin Marsh never missed a chance to use his advantages, but always from the shadows. There was only a select handful of people that knew who the boss really was. Clyde, with him from the start, was his second in command and his greatest enforcer.
The only glitch in his rise had been his one weakness… women. Clyde constantly chided him about it, but Clyde was never a man for the ladies. Alvin had always had a way with women. They loved him and he loved them back. Always discreetly, he’d never hurt his wife that way, not if he could help it anyway. In all the years that they’d been together, she’d only been suspicious that one time, and he’d managed to charm her out of her fears like he charmed everyone. But Alvin knew himself to be a great man, destined for great things. And great men were too big for any one woman. How could a man as intense as he was be content with just one woman? Even Baskin Robbins understood the truth. They served the greatest taste treat in the world, ice cream, but did they offer just one flavor? No, they offered thirty-one. All the great men knew this truth. Gandhi, Muhammad, Kennedy, Clinton. The important thing was not to hurt the woman you loved most with your excursions. That, and not allowing your tastes to ruin your career. And in politics, that was something very dicey indeed. Money helped, of course, and the power, but even then there were sometimes complications, and that was where Clyde came in.
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