All things considered, Matt was in a reasonably good mood. No one at the bank had batted an eyelid when he had entered the premises. And the bank teller, a woman in her forties, whose mouth seemed to be turned into a semi-permanent grin, had not contacted her manager or told him to wait, like they always do in the movies when they suspect that something is off.
She had dutifully expedited his request and handed him twenty thousand dollars in used fifty dollar bills as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Then she had wished him a nice day after he’d placed the money in his backpack and was moving away from the counter. It had almost been too easy.
All that was left to do now was to head back to James’ place, explain that he had to get out of the city, but without giving away too much information. He had contemplated just taking off after finishing at the bank, but had dismissed this option. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised James that he’d be there, and he was a man of his word. Besides if he got it over and done with quickly, he wouldn’t lose that much time.
He leaned his bike into the turn and shot through the intersection at close to twenty five miles per hour. Then he straightened it up and twisted the throttle until the speedometer showed sixty. He quickly flew past a handful of cars until he came to his senses and realized that what he was doing was incredibly stupid.
Take it easy, he told himself. The last thing you need right now is to be pulled over for speeding by some overzealous cop, then being arrested when he runs your details through the system.
Matt eased back on the throttle and watched the needle on the speedometer drop to just below forty-five. Then he made his way back into the slow lane where he positioned himself behind a UPS delivery van. He couldn’t rush things, he had to be patient, even though there was nothing that he wanted more than to get the hell out of this city.
He continued straight ahead for five more blocks, then made a left turn, and up in the distance about half a mile away, he could see the apartment complex at the start of James’ street. Only a few more minutes now.
He was about sixty yards away when he spotted the man. The guy had just stepped off the sidewalk and was walking up the driveway. The sight of the man walking toward his friend’s house came as such a surprise to Matt that he completely forgot to slow down, thus he continued straight past the house at a steady thirty miles an hour. His eyes however were locked onto the back of the man, and he followed him with his eyes as he headed for the entrance door. Then he was behind him, and Matt had to turn away and focus on the road again.
A jolt shot up through his body as he realized that the man could quite possibly be a police officer, wanting to question James about the whereabouts of his friend who was currently wanted for murder.
For a few seconds, Matt thought about just continuing to the end of the street, turn right and make his way over to the freeway and out of the city. But there was something that held him back. Something that told him that the man he had just seen wasn’t a police officer.
He reached for the brake, pressed it and felt the bike decelerate to a complete stop. Then he turned his head around again and looked back at James’ house. But the neighbor's hedge was obstructing his view so he could no longer see the man, which was probably a good thing, he thought. Because if it turned out that he indeed was a police officer, the last thing Matt wanted was to draw any attention to himself.
His temples were throbbing and he noticed that he was panting. Seeing the unknown man there had shook him up real good, and it reminded him of how quickly the police could home in on his location and apprehend him.
But the little voice inside his head kept insisting that it was very unlikely that the guy was a police officer. Why did he get that impression?
Matt knew that James was there. He had seen his car in the driveway as he went past. But what about the other guy’s car? There was only one car parked on the street on this side of the road, and that was a blue Mitsubishi Lancer. It had to belong to the guy he had just seen. It was even parked outside James’ house. And a Mitsubishi Lancer wasn’t exactly a typical unmarked police car, was it? He seemed to remember that members of the various law enforcement agencies preferred driving around in fancy SUVs and Crown Vics. So why was this guy driving around in a crappy Mitsubishi?
Then something else occurred to him. As he had approached the car, he had noticed that there was a sticker in the rear window. And he was convinced that the sticker had displayed either the Avis or Hertz logo. And there was no way in hell a police detective would drive around in a rental car.
Matt killed the engine of the bike, pushed down the kick stand and dismounted it. Then he turned around and faced the house, which was about fifty yards away. Another thing had just occurred to him, and it had raised his suspicion level even higher. How on earth did the guy know that James was at his house? Up until twenty minutes ago, James had been at work, and he’d had no intention of going back to his house until later that afternoon. It was only after he himself had contacted him that James had decided to do so. So how did the guy know that he would find James here? Why hadn’t he driven over to the warehouse where he was working?
And if the police suspected that they were likely to find their murder suspect here, surely they wouldn’t just send a solitary detective to arrest him? Hell no. They would descend on the house with half a dozen patrol cars, a SWAT team and enough guns to shoot up the entire neighborhood. No, something was definitely off with this picture.
Matt removed the helmet and hung it on the handlebar of the bike. The street was quiet and he didn’t think that anyone walking past would steal it. But at the moment that wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities. However, figuring out who the man he had just seen walk up James’ driveway was.
He started walking toward the house, then stopped after a few seconds and removed the backpack from his shoulders. He opened the zip, pushed aside the bundles of money and grabbed the gun and tucked it under his shirt.
Then he continued walking.
El Juez removed the gun from the holster under his jacket, placed it in his pocket and rang the doorbell. From the other side of the door he could hear rapid footsteps. Then the door swung inward and a tall and fairly muscular man stood before him.
The man looked at him with a wary expression and was about to say something, but El Juez beat him to it.
The Mexican lifted his right leg and kicked the man in the groin. Then as the man buckled forward, El Juez shoved him and closed the door behind him.
“Ahh, you fucking asshole,” the man groaned, hands covering the affected area between his legs. He had been slammed into the wall just behind the entrance door and collapsed on the floor. But despite the obvious pain, he was still trying to get back up on his feet.
El Juez pointed the gun at him.
“Don’t do anything foolish now,” he said. “One sudden move and I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes.”
The words seemed to have the desired effect, because the man stopped moving and sat back down again. Then he lifted his head and glared up at El Juez.
“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?”
El Juez took a couple of sideways steps and studied the corridor and the living room at the end of it, before he turned back toward the man on the floor.
“Is there anyone else in the house?”
The man continued to glare at him, but didn’t answer.
El Juez moved quickly and kicked him hard in the shoulder and watched him sink down on the floor again, his hand flying up to cover the bruised body part.
“I asked you a god damn question! Is there anyone else in the house?”
“No,” the man answered in between grunts and groans, his eyes squeezed shut.
El Juez nodded and stepped back until he could see the corridor again.
“Ok, get up, but do it slowly. And don’t even think about putting a hand on me.” He indicated with his head that he wanted the man to move further into the house.
“Ok, hands up in the air and turn around,” he said when the man was in the corridor. “Then walk very slowly into the living room and sit down. You and I are going to have a little talk. And if you don’t answer my questions, I’m going to make good on my promise and put a bullet between your eyes.”
They entered the living room, and El Juez ordered the man to sit down in an armchair that was pushed up against the wall. Once that was done, he walked over to the dining room table, grabbed one of the white bucket chairs and positioned it a good four yards away from the chair the other man was sitting in. All the while he was facing the guy and kept the gun pointed at his chest region. He wasn’t going to take any chances.
El Juez hadn’t bothered attaching the silencer this time, but if it came to it, he could always use one of the cushions on the couch.
“So what do you want?” The man asked after El Juez had sat down. He was still holding onto his shoulder, but the intense glare that had been there earlier had been replaced by a more cautious stare.
“I want to know where your friend is.”
“Yeah, which one,” the other man replied without losing a beat.
“Why? You have lots of friends do you?” El Juez countered.
The man didn’t respond, but kept staring at the Mexican.
“I’m looking for Matthew Brunner,” El Juez said after a few seconds of intense silence. “I believe he’s a close friend of yours. Is that correct?”
Still, there was no reaction from the other man. He kept looking at El Juez, as if he hadn’t heard the question.
El Juez could feel his annoyance starting to rise, and wondered whether he should just put a hole in the guy’s kneecap, just to get him in a more talkative mood.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to make me upset. I’ve got a very short fuse, and when I do lose my patience, the people who are responsible for it usually lose their lives. So I’m going to ask you one more time, do you know Matthew Brunner?”
The other man looked at him for a few more seconds, and El Juez thought the guy was trying to determine whether he was bluffing or not. He obviously arrived at the conclusion that he wasn’t, because eventually he answered the question.
“Yes, I know him,” he said, his eyes never leaving the Mexican, his face expressionless.
El Juez nodded.
“And where is he now?”
This elicited a short, cynical laugh from the other man.
“How the hell am I supposed to know,” he said and shrugged. “It’s not like I’m his god damn mom.”
El Juez leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and seemed to consider the response.
“That is of course true,” he said. “You’re not his mom, as you so rightly pointed out. But I still believe you know where he is.”
“Yeah? And why is that?”
A smile appeared on El Juez’s lips and he gripped the gun a little tighter.
“I think you know exactly where he is. In fact I suspect that he might be on his way over here as we speak. Why else would you rush home from work in the middle of the day?”
A flicker of doubt appeared on the other man’s face before he managed to compose himself. But it was too late. El Juez had seen it, and the Mexican realized that the man he was after would probably drop in shortly.
“I was feeling sick, that’s the only reason I decided to go home,” the man said. There was a slight tremor in his voice now.
“Really? What’s wrong with you then? You’ve got a sore throat or a bellyache? Or perhaps you’ve got a fever?”
The man was about to answer, no doubt looking for a way out, but El Juez didn’t give him the opportunity. Instead he lowered the gun and pulled the trigger, and the silence in the room was instantly replaced by a loud explosion that was powerful enough to make El Juez’s ears ring.
The other man jerked in his chair as the bullet entered him and moments later, he threw both hands on top of his jeans where his right knee was located, the blood oozing through his fingers.
“You shot me you fucking bastard!” The man shouted. Then the words were replaced by loud visceral groans and cries.
El Juez jumped out of his chair and pistol whipped the man, and for a brief moment the hands covering the knee flew up to the side of his face to ward off any more blows. And a few seconds later, blood started trickling out of the torn section of skin just below the man’s temple.
“Don’t lie. I called your employer before I came over, and he told me that you had to go back home and deal with an emergency. Now what kind of emergency was he talking about? Was it Brunner? Did he tell you that he needed a place to crash for a few days? Was that it? Now tell me the god damn truth, or I’ll put a hole in your other knee!”
“Yes, yes! He was here about half an hour ago. He rang me at work and asked me if he could borrow my motorcycle. I told him to wait until I got back home. He then told me he was going down to the bank first, and that he would see me after that. That’s all I know, man. I swear.” The words were coming out of the man’s mouth like rapid machine gun fire, and El Juez knew he was telling the truth. The guy wouldn’t have been able to come up with such an elaborate reply on the fly if he was lying.
That meant that El Juez would soon be able to carry out his mission. He would simply open the door when the target rang the doorbell and put a few quick rounds in his head. Death would be instant, and the target would have no time to reflect on the fact that his destiny had caught up with him before it was all over.
El Juez lifted the gun in his hand and fired a shot into the side of the man’s head, and once again the room was filled by a loud explosion. The man was immediately flung sideways, his upper body slumped over the armrest where it formed a seventy degree angle before it came to a stop.
Like most of the people he killed, El Juez had felt no resentment toward the man he had just shot. It was more of a practical matter. The loud groans and cries would have alerted the target, and there was no need to take that risk. And even if he had been able to convince the guy to be quiet, and the guy had done what he was told, El Juez couldn’t leave any witnesses around.
It was the second person that he had killed today, and like all the others he had killed throughout his career, it had no noticeable effect on him whatsoever. Nor would it cause him any sleepless nights later on. It was just something that had to be done. And if things went according to plan, he would extinguish the light on one more soul within the next hour.
He looked at the dead man for a few seconds before walking back to his chair and sitting down. Soon now, he thought. Soon.
Matt was pressed up against the wall when he heard the shot ring out from somewhere inside the house. He jumped and felt raw fear slam into him. Was he too late? Had the guy already killed James?
He considered running back to the front of the house, but immediately dismissed it. He didn’t know whether the front door was locked or not, and he had just retrieved the key for the rear door from underneath the flowerpot. With the key he could at least enter the house without having to break his way in. It also meant that he could sneak inside and catch the guy by surprise.
All these thoughts went through his head in less than a second, and he quickly began making his way along the side of the house, his upper body hunched down low. He hoped to God that James was unhurt, that he had somehow managed to wrestle the gun away from the man and overpower him. Although deep down he knew that this was wishful thinking on his part. And when he heard the screaming a few moments later, he knew James was in trouble and he knew he was hurt. There was no mistaking the voice, it was James’.
Oh God no, Matt thought. What have I done? Why did I have to call him? Why didn’t I just ta
ke the god damn bike and leave? If I had, none of this would have happened. But now it’s too late. I’ve involved my best friend in something I should have done everything in my power to keep him away from.
The screaming from the other side of the wall drove him onward, and it took him less than five seconds to reach the door. There he pushed the key into the lock with a hand that was trembling noticeably.
The layout of James’ house was almost identical to his own. The laundry was located at the right hand corner with the door about a yard in from the end. The patio door, a glass slider was situated a few yards further in toward the center of the house and led into the living room. There was also a door between the laundry and the living room, and he would be able to rush in there, just like he’d done a few hours earlier at his own house.
He turned the key and pulled the door toward him and stepped inside, and James’ cries intensified in strength. There was no doubt in Matt’s mind that the mysterious man he’d seen had used the gun on his friend. Probably shot him in the leg or arm to get him to reveal Matt’s whereabouts.
Matt didn’t bother closing the door behind him, but walked straight over to the door separating the laundry from the living room. His mind was a mess and he had the same flashbacks that he had experienced earlier that day. Reliving the hell he’d gone through in Iraq whenever they were out on patrols. Feeling the gut wrenching fear, the overriding thought that told him he was only moments away from getting shot. That his life was about to come to an abrupt end, and that there was nothing else to look forward to after that.
He placed his hand on the doorknob and felt his heart pounding in his chest. Come on man, get the hell in there and shoot the mother fucker. Eliminate him before he can do any more damage. He’s already injured your best friend. Are you going to wait so he can kill him too, just like he killed the guy on your couch? Get your frickin shit together and get your sorry ass in there. This is all your doing, and it’s up to you to set things straight.
Shock and Awe Page 13