Reverse (The Infusion Series Book 2)

by Steven Tandberg

  “Right, right.”

  “Get out of here,” I yelled.

  They left without another word, Jake still cupping his battered head.

  I picked up Manuel’s body and flung it over my shoulder. I crept over to the car, popped the trunk, found the handcuffs he always kept in the back and locked them on his wrists, then plopped him in the trunk. I wasn’t too careful, and his head slapped the side, creating a small laceration above his eyebrow. He deserved it. I took out the syringe of sedative and jammed it into his leg, injecting the entire dose. I slammed the trunk closed, jumped in the car and started driving to the mortuary. My heart beat wildly, and I had to keep wiping my hands from the nervous sweat building up. I checked my watch, 1:15 p.m. Time to call. I dialed each number I had memorized from the map room. After seven numbers, the eighth one rang.

  Aedan answered on the first ring. “The cripple comes through!”

  “Aedan, you’re OK?”

  “Better than OK, I am a freakin’ genius!”

  “Is Jamie OK?” I asked.

  “Yeah dude, we are all good. She got out, and the men didn’t do crap, just let her run up to the house. Your man Stefan came through! The Doña took her into your room and locked the door.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s still there. But dude, you should have seen it. I freakin’ swiped him with the IV pole--,”

  “Who is with her now?” I interrupted.

  “The Doña, don’t worry dude, she’s safe.”

  A rush of anxiety swept through me. “Aedan, get in that room, now!”

  “What’s a matter?”

  “Something Manuel said.” The dots seemed to connect; maybe Manuel is a front man for her operation. He works for her and not the other way around. I scanned the conversations; all of the Spanish people had spoken around me. A conversation Manuel and Tigre had right before we raided Roxanne’s hideout warehouse stuck out immediately.

  “Podemos deshacernos de ellos? Nos darían más dinero,” said Tigre.

  “No, ella sabe demasiado de esta misión.”

  “Entonces, cuándo vamos a estar a cargo?”

  “Con tiempo.”

  Translated:

  “Can we get rid of these guys? We’d get paid more,” said Tigre.

  “No, she knows too much about this mission.”

  “Then when are we going to be in charge?”

  “In time.”

  Manuel and Tigre were planning to take control. Could this all be fitting into the Doña’s plan? “I think the Doña is behind all of this,” I yelled into the phone.

  “Oh sh—”

  I could hear Aedan running down the hallway. He stopped at the room and yanked on the door.

  “Jamie?” he yelled. “Jamie, are you OK?”

  No answer.

  “Aedan!” I yelled into the phone. “Aedan, get back on the phone!”

  “Dude she isn’t in there, or, or maybe she’s…”

  “She’s not, dude. Get the keys from the men. One of them must have them.” I searched my mind. Images of each and every man flashed before my eyes. I never saw anyone else with those specific keys, not even Manuel. “Dang it!” I yelled.

  “What dude?”

  “The Doña is the only person with keys to that room.” My hands began to shake, and perspiration grew on my forehead.

  “What can we do?” said Aedan.

  The armory. “With Tigre’s keys you have access to the armory. Get something heavy and blow the crap out of that door. Get Stefan to help you.”

  “What about Jamie? That crap could kill her.”

  “Aedan, I guarantee she isn’t in that room. There is an escape hatch under the bed. They’ve gone through there.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  “I… ” I visualized the house. During my first visit, the Doña had indicated it led to a cellar. Where would the cellar be? Now knowing that the Doña was the mastermind behind this whole operation I also guaranteed none of the men knew where it led. “Have some men circle the house looking for the cellar. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “K dude. Good luck.”

  “Find her, Aedan. She’s—”

  “I know Coyle, I will,” he interrupted.

  We hung up, and I slammed my fists on the dash. How could the Doña betray me like this? How much did she direct? Could it be that she knows about the cremator? If she did and I exposed them, Jamie would be in serious danger. My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  I drove around the block before pulling into the back alley of the mortuary, scouting out the area. No trace of Somatotech, although they could have gone more undercover. I pulled into the back alley of the mortuary, coasting in just as Tigre had done when I came back to life. The night gave him the advantage. I rolled in under the bright-as-blazes near noon sun. No cover for my “covert” mission. Although, I had a sense the neighbors were used to this type of secretive activity.

  I popped the trunk, hefted Manuel over my shoulder and used his keys to open the back metal door. Bonk. Oops! His head against the door frame as I passed the threshold and flopped from side to side. I couldn’t help but grin.

  I set him down on one of the autopsy tables. His limp body laid there defenseless. Nobody would be the wiser if I squeezed the life out of him. I rested my hand on his neck, tempted with the power I held. It wouldn’t take much; his trachea would collapse with a simple pinch, or I could squeeze off his arteries, starving his brain. Did he deserve to die? He kidnaped, robbed, blackmailed and even killed. He freakin’ burned people’s bodies, robbing the victim’s loved ones of closure. Would the world be better without him? Absolutely. Did I have feet to stand on? I’ve killed. I was a killer. Did I deserve to die? I backed my hand away. I was no judge or executioner.

  I put on latex gloves, grabbed his gun from its holster and tossed it into the office.

  I slid back the door to the cremation room and then hefted Manuel again. This time I let his head slip past the door without incident. I plopped him down next to the cremator, undid his handcuffs, and then reattached them around one of the pipes entering the behemoth. A quick pull verified that Manuel wouldn’t be getting loose. I filled a bucket of water in the adjacent room and used the technique Dr. Bartnev had taught me, namely dumping the entire thing on Manuel’s head.

  Apparently, I had given him a hefty dose of sedative. His eyes opened then closed in slow continuous movements. His head rocked back and forth for a moment and then his hand drifted to his bleeding forehead. He tried to reach with his other arm, but the handcuffs restrained him. Finally, it dawned on him, his eyes shot open, and his nostrils flared. He frantically yanked at the cuffs and pole.

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “This has been a long time coming, Manuel.” I pulled out his cellphone.

  “I’m going to tear you to shreds and then burn what’s left of your sorry body. Then I’ll do the same to your teeny girlfriend and your cripple friend.” He kicked at me with legs flailing wildly.

  I took a small step back, just out of reach. “With the evidence I’m giving the police you are the one who’s gonna die, Manuel.”

  “Not before I kill you first. And if I can’t, Tigre will and he will do so much worse.”

  “Tigre’s joining you very soon.”

  I held up the phone and showed the screen to him while dialing 911. A female answered on the second ring.

  “Operator, I have a murderer in my custody. He has killed numerous people and cremated their bodies at the Santa Fe Hill Mortuary. Located behind a hidden door in the embalming room is a large cremator room. I have left this door open. A partially cremated body, one of his victims, is currently in the cremator. His gun can be found in the office of the mortuary and his car with the blood of his victims is in the alley next to the mortuary. This information will be arriving at channel 7-News later today. Please hurry, his name is Manuel Sanchez, and he is currently handcuffed to the cremator, unar
med.”

  “You son of a b—” he yelled as I dropped the phone and crushed it under my foot. “After all I did for you.” He spat at me.

  “You saved me once Manuel, but you damned me when I came back. You enslaved me in your criminal vigilantism, Manuel. Don’t act all altruistic. You killed people for your own gain. However you try and justify it in your twisted power-hungry brain, you freakin’ killed people. It’s time to face your crimes.”

  Manuel surfaced a sinister smile. “Face my crimes? Your ignorance is yet again surprising. You’ll have the same fate, Coyle. The hacienda is full of evidence against you. If I am going down, you will be right there with me. She will see to that.”

  I took a step toward him and produced my own sinister smile. “Sure is Manuel, sure is. But you aren’t going to say anything about the hacienda, nor is Tigre.”

  “And why is that?” He gave me a slight upward nod.

  “What do you think your family on East 17th would think of your ‘operations’? Should I go visit them?”

  Manuel jumped up, straining at the handcuffs. “You touch them and you die.”

  “We both know I won’t need to. You’ve got plenty of enemies, and they’re chomping at the bit to exact revenge. All it would take is an address delivered to the wrong person. Let’s see, what was it, 305 East 17th Denver, Colorado 80203?” I grinned. “You will say nothing about the hacienda.”

  “Stefan.” He sat down and rested his head on the warm cremator. “Cabrón.”

  “Despite what you may think of him, he has morals, “I said. “Unknowingly helping you kill and burn people didn’t seem to jive with him.”

  Sirens rang out in the distance, about a couple miles away.

  “My time here is up Manuel. I do thank you for saving me from Somatotech, but I hope I never see you again,” I said and turned to leave the room. Spittle flew out from Manuel’s mouth and splattered on my back and neck. The saliva slipped down under my shirt, making me shudder. My instincts told me to turn and whale him into a pulp. Oh, how I wanted to! But Jamie’s admonition took the forefront of my mind, “With children of God, actions against us do not always require a reaction. True disciples control their agency.” I stood there calming my nerves before making the next step away.

  I glanced at the clock, 1:55 p.m. The train whistle blared out just as I busted out of the front door. I rounded the corner and prepared to sprint the last block toward the tracks, but I ran smack into a black SUV. I dented the passenger side door and ricocheted onto the asphalt, my head contacting the curb. Small glittering lights swirled around my visual field. I blinked, but they remained, obscuring my view. Warm blood spread in my hair and down my forehead as if an egg had cracked on my head.

  The driver’s side door opened, and a man in a suit rushed around the vehicle with a handgun engaged. My haze dissipated as he rounded the hood. POP. He didn’t wait for me to get up. A bullet tore through my left arm above the elbow.

  15 Trainspotting

  “Lay down now! On your stomach or your head gets it next,” he yelled while aiming his gun between my eyes.

  The pain pinned me down surging from my arm. I struggled to roll over and placed my right hand over the wound. I squeezed hard, noting it missed my humerus. Instead, it had obliterated my lower triceps. The bleeding had stopped before the man came close.

  “Put your arms behind your back.”

  I released my left arm and swung my right onto my back.

  “Now the other.” His breathing picked up.

  “Are you freaking kidding? You just shot it. You move it!” I yelled back at him.

  His hand wrapped around my left elbow and yanked my arm out from under me. The pain burned as it spread up my nerves.

  The goon made a critical mistake. In his right hand, he held the gun and cuffs. I glanced back and noticed the cuffs hung from his trigger finger. My right hand grabbed the gun and his hand, locking it in place against the gun and cuffs. Before he could release my left hand, I spun, pulling him down to the concrete with a fluid movement. He struggled against my grip, trying to free his trigger finger. I squeezed harder, and each of his fingers snapped simultaneously. The sudden collapse of his hand surprised me, so I dropped his hand and the gun. Reflexively, he grasped his mangled hand. Taking advantage of his compromised position, I kicked the gun under the SUV and elbowed him in the face, knocking him out instantly. I had to do it; at least that is what I told myself.

  A horn blared out from the tracks. The train had arrived. Each time I had heard it, the train stretched out at least a couple blocks, between ten to fifteen cars. I ran toward the tracks, still a good two hundred yards away. My incapacitated left arm flapped back and forth with each stride. The engine ripped past the block as well as only two cars loaded with coal.

  "Oh crap," I yelled as I picked up the pace. The pain in my arm screamed with the increased effort. Tires screeched behind me. I glanced back to see two police cars pull in front of the mortuary and the officers jump out. One of them ran to the SUV and checked the Somatotech goon.

  I returned to my escape. The train passed out of sight.

  “Hey, stop!” one of the cops yelled and returned to his car. He peeled out toward me with sirens blaring.

  I broke into a full sprint, striking the ground every few yards. Despite my effort, the police car closed in on me. I rounded the corner onto South Delaware Street and sprinted parallel to the tracks. The train chugged away two blocks ahead, oblivious to my chase. The police car rounded the corner just as I made up some ground on the train.

  I jumped up onto the tracks, off the street, stumbling on the loose rock. I regained my balance by pushing myself up off the rail and started sprinting toward the back of the train. As I had planned, I contacted every seventh railroad tie by stretching my stride.

  POP. POP. POP. Gunshots rang out in my direction. My heart skipped a few beats as I looked back. The police car had stopped a few blocks back, replaced by a black SUV. A masked man leaned out the window with an AK-47. He let a few more fly. The bullets struck the rocks near the rails, shooting them up at me. I turned and pushed my muscles to their breaking point, now hitting every eighth tie.

  I needed to reach the train before the tracks traveled over the street and into the industrial area. There I could use the cover of the train until switching over to the light rail at the station south, of Alameda Avenue and into the safety of crowds.

  The SUV’s engine roared as they obviously caught sight of the overpass.

  I had made it to within a few strides of the train before the shooter opened up on me. A steady stream of bullets barreled toward me. I reached out to the back of the freight car just as a bullet ripped through the skin on my neck. The pain stunned me for a moment, sending shockwaves down my back and up my head. More warm blood began flowing down my back, staining my shirt. I reached back with my good hand to stop the stream, but I lost my footing and crumpled down between the rails. Rocks jammed into my exposed skin, adding to my list of bloody wounds. Bullets rained down on my location while the train escaped my grasp. Gratefully, the raised rails gave me cover.

  My training in the death field flashed into my mind. The rocks. I clasped a few in my right hand and rolled over the far rail during a gap in their firing. The SUV pulled up, and three doors opened. I peeked over. Four men approached with three AK-47s and one handgun. They fanned out to surround me. My forehead sweated profusely, the salty liquid stinging my eyes. The rocks warm from the sun heated my exposed skin.

  “Coyle, what an absolute pleasure to see you again.”

  Yet another voice I’ll never forget. Col. Stevens. The same jerk who had taught me how to handle a gun during my Somatotech training.

  “Come on out soldier. This situation can go two ways. One, we let the bullets decide your fate, or two, you give up. Either way you come with us, dead or alive.”

  My blood boiled at the title, “soldier”. I have nothing against the military; in fact, I had seriously consider
ed joining. But, the type of soldier Somatotech wanted me to be was more a killer than a soldier. Col. Stevens had mockingly used the title in the training shooting range. I should have taken him out when I had the chance.

  The crush of rocks behind me broke my trip down memory lane. One of the men crept up behind me slowly. I didn’t need to see him. My ears localized on each step. When he made it within twenty feet, I rolled onto my back.

  “Don’t move!” he yelled and took a few more cautious steps.

  I dropped all of the small rocks except one, which I pressed between my thumb and second digit. I raised my hands into the air with the rock wedged out of sight.

  “I said don’t move!” He took another tentative step.

  My arm cocked back and snapped forward, hurling the rock before the goon could squeeze the trigger. The rock hummed through the air as it sped toward him. He tried to raise his gun to deflect it, but it tore through the side of his head, cutting down to the bone just under his helmet. He fell backward, dropping his gun. I spider ran as low as I could by the far side of the tracks to go over to him. The other goons opened up on me again, kicking up rocks around me. Bullets ricocheted off the tracks, spraying them in all directions. I stayed low and pulled the unconscious man in front of me. I grabbed the gun, swung it around and stuck it under the man’s armpit. Bullets hit his vest as I aimed at the first goon. I squeezed the trigger sending a barrage of bullets at him. He dived behind the SUV. In my peripheral vision, another goon approached from the left. I snapped around and aimed the gun at his legs. The bullets swept him off his feet, so I let up on the trigger, not wanting to kill him.

  “Retreat, men!” The colonel’s voice rang out from behind the SUV. He knew, first hand, of my ability. He knew I could take out all of his men if I wanted to.

  “Worried about my angles, Colonel?” I yelled from behind my human shield.

  "I'm always worried about your angles, soldier," he yelled as he climbed into the SUV.

  Their tires screeched out, as they lurched back toward the road.

  I grabbed the goon’s handgun from his leg holster and laid him down away from the tracks. His heart beat steadily and his respirations kept regular. As long as there wasn’t any bleeding in his brain, this dude was going to live. I maintained cover with the rails from the other wounded goon.