He was about to tear the door open and rush inside when another gunshot rang out, and this time it sounded much louder. And for a second or two, Matt was convinced that the guy had been standing on the other side of the door and fired at him from point blank range.
But there was no hole in the door, and there wasn’t any excruciating pain ripping through his body. Nor were there any blood gushing out from any wounds on his skin. A horrible feeling filled his body, and he knew he was too late. What he had feared most of all had happened. And it was all his fault. He had caused this. He had willingly led the executioner to James’ door. And he had wasted his only chance to save him.
He felt tears starting to run down his cheek and he cursed himself. And at that moment, he didn’t really care whether he lived or died. It just didn’t seem to matter anymore.
In one quick motion, he turned the doorknob, pulled the door toward him and threw himself into the room.
Morrell parked the Crown Vic on the other side of the street, directly opposite James Matthews’ house. Then he looked over at his partner who was studying the scene with careful eyes.
“That’s got to be his car in the driveway,” he said.
Valdez nodded, but didn’t answer.
“Do you think Brunner is in there with him?” Morrell continued.
“I don’t know, but I’d say it’s highly likely. Why else would he come rushing home from work in the middle of the day?”
“I don’t know. Do you think we should call for backup? The guy’s a cold blooded killer.”
Valdez turned around and looked at his partner, and Morrell could tell that the idea of just walking over there and knocking on the door didn’t particularly appeal to him.
Morrell bit into his lower lip and exhaled slowly, while his eyes were studying the front of the house.
“No,” Valdez said after a while. “I think we should just walk over there, ring the doorbell and see what happens. Brunner might not even be here. But if he is, and if he decides that he doesn’t want to come out, or decides to take his friend as a hostage, we’ll call for reinforcements.”
Morrell nodded in agreement. Secretly, he wished that Brunner was inside the house, and that the guy would try to do a runner. He would then have ample cause to draw his service weapon and put a bullet or two in the son of a bitch’s back. That would be a fitting end to it. Justice would have been served, and the state wouldn’t have to fork out millions of dollars on a lengthy court case and pay for a lifetime prison sentence for yet another criminal. That was how they should deal with all the trash that was running amok in their communities, making life miserable for decent law abiding citizens. It wasn’t like they had other things to spend their tax dollars on.
He sighed and removed the gun from the holster strapped to his chest and placed it in his lap. He saw Valdez doing the same.
“Ok, you’ll secure the back of the residence and make sure he doesn’t run away. I’ll knock on the door and see what happens. If no one answers, we’ll force our way in. Sound like a plan?”
Valdez nodded carefully.
“You bet.”
“Ok, let’s get this over and done with.”
Morrell opened the door and stepped outside, the hand holding the gun pressed tightly against his thigh. Then he waited until Valdez was halfway across the street, before he walked around the car and followed him toward the house.
There was a low chain link fence separating the front yard from the backyard and Valdez cleared it with ease. Morrell watched him hit the ground on the other side, counted to ten and then made his way over to the entrance door and rang the doorbell.
He was apprehensive. His heart was beating fast and his throat felt bone dry, and beads of sweat had started to appear on his forehead. It never failed. Whenever he found himself in potential life threatening situations, the nerves kicked in. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to suppress it and how hard he tried to convince himself that he had the situation under control. The primeval fear was never far away.
He noticed that the hands clutching the gun were shaking and he pressed them hard against his leg. Come on, get a grip on yourself, he thought. You’re in complete control of the situation. If that asshole is in there, we’ll apprehend him. There are two of us, and only one of him. You should be able to do this with your arms tied behind your back.
He held his breath and strained his ears, trying to pick up any sounds coming from inside the house, but he couldn’t hear any. If someone was going to open the door, he would have heard footsteps by now.
He waited another ten seconds before he rang the doorbell again and wondered if he perhaps should have banged on the door with his hand and let the occupants know it was the police. That was standard procedure when they believed a suspect was hiding inside a residence.
He readjusted his grip on the gun, exhaled and swallowed hard. Then he quickly moved his head in both directions and scanned the area around him. A few cars had driven past since they had arrived, but other than that it was exceptionally quiet.
He turned back again and rang the doorbell for a third time, and knew he would soon have to kick in the door and search the place.
He closed his eyes and felt the beads of sweat on his forehead starting to multiply. Some of them were running down his cheek. He took a few more deep breaths and was about to take a step backward and give the door a kick, when he heard Valdez’s voice appear in the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
“John, are you there?”
Morrell grabbed the electronic device and lifted it up to his mouth.
“Yes, I’m here,” he said in a low voice. “What’s up?”
“Has anyone come to the door yet?”
“No. I was just about to force my way in when you called.”
“Well, there’s no need for that. I just checked the laundry door. It’s unlocked. I’m going inside now. I’ll let you in once I’ve gone through the house and made sure that no one’s there.”
Morrell let out another deep breath and felt some of the tightness around his chest start to ease and his shoulders drop.
“Ok, but be careful. For all we know, Brunner is somewhere in that house, just waiting for us to enter.”
Morrell clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt and took a few sideways steps so he wasn’t standing directly in front of the door. He didn’t want to get shot if Brunner decided to do a runner and figured that firing off a few rounds through the door before he stormed out was a good idea.
Morrell didn’t have to wait long for the door to open, and when it did, he immediately knew that something was wrong. Valdez’s face had turned noticeably paler and his eyes were wide and unblinking. Morrell quickly stepped through the open door, gun raised and looking toward the corridor.
“So he’s not here then?” he said.
Valdez shook his head.
“No, he’s not.”
Morrell turned his head and saw Valdez holster his gun.
“But I think his friend is,” Valdez continued, and started walking back into the house.
As they entered the living room, Morrell got a strong sense of déjà-vu when his eyes fell on the dead person slumped sideways in the chair. When he turned away from the ghastly sight a good ten seconds later, he finally lowered his gun.
“Jesus Christ!” was all he managed to say.
“He’s been executed, just like the guy we found in Brunner’s house in Alhambra,” Valdez said. “I don’t know what drove Brunner to do this, but whatever it is, he’s seriously out of control and needs to be stopped. The guy’s a fucking lunatic.”
Morrell nodded and looked at his wristwatch. It showed ten thirty. The supervisor they had talked to on the phone had informed them that James Matthews had left work at ten to ten. It would have taken him no more than ten or fifteen minutes to drive home, which meant he had been killed in the last half hour. That was of course provided that it was Matthews that was slumped over in that chair and not someone
else.
Dammit, they had just missed him. If they had been here half an hour earlier, none of this would have happened, and they would have had Brunner in their custody.
Morrell closed his eyes, filled his lungs with air and exhaled slowly, trying to keep the rage that was starting to fill his body in check. Then he turned around and began walking back toward the car. They would have to call for reinforcements after all.
11
Matt’s hands were shaking, and they had been doing so for the last twenty minutes. He had tried to stop it by telling himself to remain calm and take it easy, but it was of no use. His eyes were swollen and red, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. He had also managed to get his breathing under control again, although that had been a real struggle.
He had let the tears roll down freely at the house without any sense of shame, and he had spent a good five minutes telling his best friend, who was now dead, how sorry he was for having caused all of this. He had been very close to picking up the phone in the kitchen and dialing 911 and telling the police everything. To let them know he wasn’t the one that had murder the man at his house in Alhambra, and that it wasn’t he who had killed James.
It wouldn’t have been that difficult to prove either, given that the murderer had been lying on his back on the floor with a bullet hole in each shoulder. A decent forensic officer would have proven without a shadow of a doubt that the bullets used in both homicides came from the Mexican’s gun.
But despite it all, Matt had chosen not to do so. The police was the least of his worries. They would eventually figure out that he was innocent and let him go. However, it was a different story with the cartel. And the man on the floor had reminded him of that in a mocking tone, despite his serious injuries. If I die, they’ll just send someone else, he had said. Then he had started laughing, and the laughter hadn’t stopped until Matt had kicked him in the head.
And Matt knew that the guy was right. The cartel would not rest until they had tracked him down and killed him. And that meant that he couldn’t call the cops. He had to stick to his original plan and keep moving, despite knowing that there probably wouldn’t be a happy ending for him. The police would pin both murders on him, now that the Mexican was no longer at the scene of the crime, and they would never learn of his existence.
Both the cartel and the police would be chasing him for the rest of his life, and he would never be able to relax. He would always have to look over his shoulder, always having to worry that someone might have recognized him and call the cops. The police would in all likelihood also try to sweeten the deal and offer a monetary reward to whoever could lead them to him.
He had made one big mistake after he’d stormed into James’ living room and fired off the two quick rounds that had hit the shoulders of the man who had killed his best friend. And that was grabbing the killer’s gun and leaving his fingerprints on it. They were now all over the weapon, and it was only after he had done it that he had realized what a massive mistake he had made. He should have just kicked it away with his feet.
If he had called the cops it would have been his word against the killer’s. And if the killer was smart, and if he had managed to find himself a half decent lawyer, his alternate version of events would have been hard to refute, even though it would all have been lies.
But there had also been another reason why Matt had decided not to call the cops, and why he had carried the Mexican out of the house and thrown him into the trunk of the car that the hitman had arrived in and driven away. Matt had wanted to find out exactly who was after him, who had given the instructions to kill him, and at least try to persuade that person that he had no involvement in the hit on the cartel bigwig a few days prior. He couldn’t just be passive and do nothing. He had to try and get out of the situation he now found himself in.
A muted thud from the rear of the car told him that the Mexican was moving around in the trunk. He knew he would have to pull over soon and check on him. If not, the guy would probably die. Not that it bothered him noticeably. The son of a bitch deserved it, and Matt would certainly not shed any tears when the guy finally drew his last breath. But before the Mexican left this earth, Matt would have to interrogate him and get as much information out of him as he could.
Matt glanced at the watch on the dashboard and saw it was a few minutes after eleven. Then he lifted his eyes and gazed out over the barren landscape of western Maricopa that lay before him. He had decided to get off the main road at the first opportunity and get as far away from any prying eyes as possible.
There were a few houses and ranches scattered around here and there, but it was mostly desert, dotted with the occasional shrubbery, Acacia and Mesquite trees.
The opportunity came a few minutes later, when a tiny dirt road appeared on his left hand side. Matt slowed down and made the turn, and began making his way toward the mountains in the distance. The rough surface made the car bounce up and down, and the wheels kicked up brown clouds of dry sand. The change of surface also elicited more frequent groans from the back of the car.
The thought of the Mexican suffering took away some of the emotional pain that Matt was currently experiencing. And he hoped the guy was in real pain, the same kind of pain that he himself had inflicted upon James. The thought of his friend brought a few more tears to his eyes, and he swiftly wiped them away with his lower arm.
In a way, it still hadn’t quite registered with him that his friend was gone, and that he would never be able to hang out with him again. How would he be able to live with the guilt, knowing that it was his actions that had caused it all? He didn’t think it would be possible, at least not in the short term.
He tried to brush aside the painful thoughts and instead focus on what lay ahead. But the images of what he’d seen were still too raw to relegate to the back of his mind, and it didn’t matter how hard he tried. You have to channel the rage and use it for something good, he told himself, like coming up with a way to get the guy in the trunk to start talking.
Matt was wise enough to realize that getting the answers that he was after could turn out to be very tricky indeed. The guy was probably well adept at keeping his mouth shut. But Matt was determined to break him, and he would not stop until he had a clear picture of the situation. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in similar situations before when he’d served with the Marines in Iraq.
The sun was shining down from a cloudless sky and entering the car from the driver side, and Matt put a hand up to the side of his face to keep the bright rays out of his eyes. He had deliberately chosen not to turn on the air-con in order to make it as uncomfortable as possible for the Mexican. And by now, he imagined that the guy felt like he was trapped inside a sauna.
He was sweating himself, despite having the window rolled all the way down. And the sun had already started to burn the exposed arm that was resting there.
He continued up the dirt road for another five minutes until he came across a tiny path going down toward a ravine. The path continued behind the mountain about a hundred yards or thereabouts further on. It was the exact type of spot he had been looking for.
He hesitated for a few moments, wondering if he would be able to make his way back up again. The gradient was steep, but not too steep. And from his vantage point, the dirt seemed to be heavily compacted, and it should provide him with the traction he needed, especially if he reversed back out again.
And besides, he wouldn’t have to venture too far behind that mountain side. All he had to do was to hide the car so it was no longer visible from the road if someone were to drive by. He could always carry the Mexican to a more secluded spot and do the things he had planned to do to him there.
Matt made up his mind and turned right, and carefully nosed the car down the narrow incline and guided it behind the mountain side. From there, he continued for another fifty yards before he put the transmission in park, engaged the hand brake and killed the engine.
He could see that the road conti
nued for another hundred yards, before it came to an end at the bottom of the ravine. And apart from a few trees and some shrubbery on either side of it, clinging on to the barren soil, there was nothing there. The place was completely deserted. Good, it meant that it was perfect for what he had in mind.
Matt got out and went to the rear of the car and put the key in the lock of the trunk. The gun was in his hand, and he was aiming it at the car. Technically speaking, it wasn’t really necessary as the Mexican was in no state to offer any meaningful resistance, even if he had wanted to do so. The bullets that had torn into his shoulders had rendered him completely useless.
Matt had searched him thoroughly before carrying him out of the house and throwing him in the trunk. The guy had a knife hidden in a sheath strapped to his left leg under his pants, and Matt had removed it and thrown it into the footwell of the passenger seat. And he briefly wondered whether he should go back and get it. It could come in handy if the guy refused to cooperate. A few strategically placed slices could do wonders to encourage a non-talkative individual to open up.
No, he would leave it where it was for the time being. He could always come back and get it later on. He turned the key and unlocked the trunk, then placed the keys back in his pocket again and opened the lid all the way up.
The Mexican was lying on his back and had his eyes pressed shut. Matt could see his chest moving slowly up and down, and he could see that his mouth was halfway open, like that of a fish jerked out of the ocean. He also noticed that there was considerable more blood around the wound on the guy’s right shoulder than there had been when he first placed him there. The sleeve of the suit had acted like a sponge and transported the red liquid out in a circular pattern. Matt realized that the guy would die without medical treatment, but didn’t particularly care. Why should he? The man had killed his best and only friend, and he deserved whatever came his way.
He stuffed the gun back into his pants, leaned forward and positioned his arms under the Mexican’s neck and thighs. Then he heaved him out of there in one quick motion and threw him over his shoulder before walking down toward the ravine.
Shock and Awe Page 14