The Caretaker's Wife

by Vincent Zandri

  My idea to crucify Sonny’s corpse might have been a sick display, just like Kate said. But the terror tactic also worked. Worked like a charm.

  Big Billy got back on his bike and slowly made his way along the road while the vehicles followed. He was maybe one-hundred-fifty feet away from where the sheriff and I were positioned when the first of the SUVs ran over a landmine.

  The explosion rocked the town. That was when every deputy and townsperson with a gun opened up on the four Suburbans. Six men poured out of the vehicle that had taken the blast. One of them was on fire. I planted a bead on the burning man and fired. The headshot dropped him on the spot. The others began returning the crossfire that was coming from the roof of Bunny’s Place and on top of the jail. Two of our men immediately went down, falling from the roof. But two of their men also dropped in the road.

  Sheriff Woods shifted to the .30 cal. and began pouring lead into the surviving Suburbans. He also took out a number of bandits at the same time. He fired until one full belt was gone, and then he transitioned back to his AR15.

  I tried to find Big Billy, but he had disappeared. No doubt, he ran for cover as soon as the first Suburban detonated the mine. His Harley was sitting in the middle of the road. I wasn’t entirely sure what made me do it, but I loaded the grenade launcher with one of my four grenades, took aim, and blew the bike to Kingdom Come. The smile on my face went from ear to ear.

  I did, however, glance up at the roof of The Alamo. Cora had her AR15 shouldered, and she was firing down on the bandits who’d just escaped the burning Suburban. Not a single one of them was left standing after she was through with them. Turns out, the love of my life was a crack shot.

  The second Suburban tried to get around the first, now disabled, Suburban. The men inside it weren’t foolish enough to get out. They were firing from the open windows. Woods was firing directly into the vehicle’s windshield. But the rounds were bouncing off.

  “Fucking bulletproof glass!” he shouted while dropping his empty magazine and replacing it with a full one.

  “Whad’ya expect?” I shouted. “These bastards know what they’re doing!”

  When the second Suburban detonated another landmine, it took even me by surprise. One by one the unhurt bandits escaped the burning SUV. This time, however, instead of leaving themselves exposed to the rooftop fire, they took up defensive positions behind the two unharmed vehicles. The shots from their automatic weapons were deadly accurate. Two more of our men had been gunned down. But when I saw an arrow strike one of the bandits square in the chest, I knew Kate was still alive and still fighting.

  I turned to make a quick check on Cora on the roof of The Alamo. She was firing steadily at the bandits. But they were too well dug in now. It was a stalemate. That’s when I decided to make my way around the prowler to the sheriff.

  “We gotta outflank those vehicles or sooner than later they’re gonna get the jump on us,” I said.

  “Grenades,” he said. “You go right, and I’ll go left, while Cora shoots down the middle.”

  “Copy that,” I said.

  Turning, I sprinted for the sherriff’s office. I made my way inside, ran to the back where the jail was located, and exited the building by way of the emergency exit. Hooking a left, I sprinted along the backs of the commercial buildings that lined the main street, until I was parallel with the two surviving Suburbans.

  “I’m in place, Sheriff Woods. Over,” I spoke into my walkie talkie.

  “Copy that,” he said. “Me too. Fire at will. Over.”

  Loading my grenade launcher, I took aim at the vehicle closest to me. I fired. The explosion lifted the vehicle off the ground and sent it crashing back down. The bandits turned to me, started firing at my position. I mowed them down as quickly as the rounds could leave my barrel. And when I ran out of ammo, I dropped the magazine, and without shifting my aim, loaded a fresh one into the rifle, and resumed firing.

  When the last remaining Suburban blew sky high, I knew then that we firmly had the upper hand. That’s when I made out the chop-chop sound of rotors and, looking up, I caught sight of the blue and yellow chopper heading directly for our positions.

  I spotted the rockets’ red glare even before I heard their noise. Because, after all, light travels faster than sound. The first rocket blew the grocery store to bits. It also caused the gas pumps to blow. The earth shook, and the sky seemed like it was set on fire. The second rocket took out most of Bunny’s bar and, from what I could see, most of the men and women who were defending it. The third rocket took out the hardware store and for certain, Kate. My heart dropped to somewhere around my ankles.

  “You bastards!” I screamed at the chopper.

  The final rocket took out the sheriff’s office. Just like that, the entire town was ablaze in an inferno of fire and black smoke. The fucking state police…they were fighting on the side of the Torchi crime syndicate.

  “Everyone who hears this!” I barked into the walkie talkie. “Anyone who is still alive and able to walk. Head to The Alamo now! Over!”

  I made my way back the way I came. Only this time, there was no sheriff’s office to provide access to the main street. There was only burning rubble which I was forced to go around. When I sprinted my way across the street, I was met with automatic gunfire that ricocheted against the street, sending chunks of macadam up into my face. When I came to the glass insurance office door, I didn’t bother to stop to pull the door open. Instead, I lowered my shoulder and plowed right through it, shattering the glass.

  Cora had already made her way down from the roof, and she was changing out the magazine on her AR15.

  “We’re screwed,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Fucking state solice…fucking on the take, New York State Police. Could it get any worse? We’re all dead, Kingsley. We’re all dead.”

  She cocked her weapon, shouldered it, and went to the now demolished front door. She took aim and fired at the enemy out the door opening.

  “Here comes Woods,” she yelled. “Help me with covering fire.”

  I went to the door and took a knee. She would aim high, I’d go low. Sheriff Woods was sprinting in our direction while the bandits were firing at him with everything they had. But Cora and I returned their fire and were able to cover the sheriff as he made his way safely inside The Alamo.

  “Goddamn,” he said, his face ruddy with dirt and sweat, his cowboy hat pulled far down on his forehead. “That chopper is gonna come back, and when it does, there won’t be a building left to defend ourselves with in Loon Lake.”

  That’s when I recalled the SAM down inside the sheriff’s office bunker.

  “What about the SAM?” I said.

  He glanced in the direction of his office and the jail behind it. What was left of it, I should say.

  “Good chance one of us will get shot trying to get at it,” he said. “But it might be worth the risk.”

  “I’ll go,” Cora said.

  “The hell you will,” I said. “I should do it. The state police are already on me about Sonny’s death. I have as much of a personal grudge against those bastards as you do.”

  “We’ll cover you,” the sheriff said.

  My AR15 gripped in both hands, I stood at the open door, and like a sprinter on his mark, I waited for the sheriff’s signal.

  “Go!” he spat as he and Cora fired out the door.

  I sprinted across the street, the bandits’ rounds whizzing and buzzing past my head like angry wasps. I fired back at them from the hip, not really hoping to hit anything, just hoping that the gunfire would be enough to make them take cover. It seemed to take me forever to get to the destroyed office. But when I finally made it, I jumped over the rubble and found the door in the floor. I opened it and quickly made my way down the metal ladder.

  The SAM was still mounted to the wall. So was the flamethrower. Without thinking about it, I grabbed both. I slung the AR15 around my back and carried the SAM and the f
lamethrower with me up the ladder and onto the office floor. The bullets were still whizzing past me and ricocheting against the damaged concrete block wall. I knew if one of those bullets found a home in the gasoline-filled flamethrower, it would blow me apart.

  Sucking in a breath, I crouched and sprinted my way back to The Alamo, the SAM in one hand and the flamethrower in the other. Only when I made it back inside did I finally release my breath.

  “Back up to the roof,” I said.

  Together, we made our way upstairs and onto the roof. By now the bandits were making their way on foot through the burning remnants of the town. Cora and the sheriff took aim at them and took out two or three more. I was focusing on the sky, my eyes searching for the chopper that was sure to make its return. In the meantime, it looked like an army of black-clad Torchi bandits were making their way toward us. I could make out the sound of men entering The Alamo. Soon, they’d be upstairs and up on the roof.

  “Where the hell is that chopper?” I barked.

  I hardly got the words out of my mouth when I spotted it. It was assuming the same flight path it had minutes before when it took out most of the town’s buildings.

  “You know how to work the SAM?” the sheriff shouted.

  “You gotta ask?” I said.

  “Make the shot count, Kingsley. There’s only one round.”

  “I’ll get the bastard,” I said. “Don’t you worry.” Shouldering the SAM, I pulled off the cover, which automatically armed it. Pulling down the trigger guard, I planted a bead on the incoming chopper just as it released a rocket aimed for us, pointblank.

  “Incoming!” I screamed as I pressed the SAM trigger.

  23

  From down on my back, I felt like I was caught up in a dream. I could see the sheriff. He was still firing at the bandits down in the street. I could see Cora down on her knees. She was dazed, that much was obvious. But she was shooting at two bandits who were coming through the door that accessed the roof. Shooting them dead. My head was ringing, my body shaking. When I finally managed to get myself back up onto my feet, I could see that the chopper’s missile had struck the exterior wall of The Alamo only six feet below where I was standing. That was bad news. But the good news was that a smoking hunk of blue and yellow metal now resided in the middle of Loon Lake Main Street. It was the downed chopper, its body on fire. By the looks of it, a whole bunch of bandits had been taken out when it crashed.

  But the survivors still kept coming at us. The Alamo was severely damaged, and if I didn’t know any better, it was on the verge of collapse. As soon as she was finished with clearing out the bandits from the doorway, Cora came to me.

  “Oh my God, baby,” she said. “Are you hurt bad?”

  “A little hard of hearing,” I shouted, “but otherwise okay.”

  Sheriff Woods dropped another empty magazine and slapped a full one home.

  “That’s my last mag,” he said. “The thirty cal is out, too. We gotta end this thing soon, or we’re dead people walking.”

  I spotted the flamethrower then. I picked it up, strapped it on my back.

  “How’s this work?” I said.

  “Let me help,” he said, going around my back, turning a couple of valves. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a silver Zippo lighter and fired up the gun nozzle. “Just aim and pull the trigger,” he said.

  Peering down at the dozen or so bandits now making their way around the chopper, I waited until they were within a few feet of the building and then I let them have it. The fire engulfed them, roasted them while they ran around like helpless, screaming blind men. Enough was enough. The fire sucked the life out of their fight. The two or three survivors dropped their weapons, turned tail, and ran in the direction from which they came. Where they thought they were running to was anybody’s guess. At that point, it was obvious we had won the battle, but had Loon Lake won the war against the Torchi crime family? Only time would tell. All I knew was I had done my part. I’d done what I’d promised both for Cora and for the sheriff. Now, I had Cora for my own, and soon, I’d be flush with cash.

  The flamethrower was still strapped to my back, the smoldering gun nozzle still gripped in my hand when I turned to see him come through the door. It was Big Billy. He was carrying his mini-M16. Before his sudden presence had even fully registered, he triggered a burst at Sheriff Woods that nearly tore the lawman in two at the waist. Cora went after Billy with her bare hands, and the big goon grabbed hold of her hair with one hand while holding the short barreled automatic rifle barrel against her lower spine with the other.

  He looked at me, licked his lips, and smiled.

  “I don’t care that you’re an asshole, Kingsley,” he said. “I can forgive you for that. Christ, I can even forgive you for killing Sonny, and for killing all my brothers and sisters out there. But what I cannot possibly forgive you for is fucking up my bike. That bike was precious to me. Maybe even as precious as Cora is to you.”

  “Kill him, Kingsley,” Cora shouted. “Burn the motherfucker. Do it. Don’t worry about me. Just burn him.”

  Of course, he had me by the balls, and he knew it. There was no way I was about to sacrifice Cora just to kill the son of a bitch. Instead, I slipped the flamethrower canisters off my back and tossed the whole thing at his feet. For a quick second, he flinched, like maybe he thought the flamethrower might explode. But he quickly assumed his wide, hungry smile once more.

  “Now,” he said, “the guns, Kingsley. Drop all the guns.” I pulled the AR15 off my back, dropped it next to the flame thrower. I was about to pull the .45 from its holster when I noticed the slightest movement coming from Sheriff Woods.

  I had no idea how he could still be alive. But I saw him slowly reach for his rifle, saw him place his bloody finger on the trigger. It was important to keep Big Billy’s eyes on me. I made sure to slowly draw my .45 so he wouldn’t have a clue what the sheriff was up too.

  “Just shoot him,” Cora insisted. “Just shoot Billy, and this will be over.”

  Dropping the .45 beside the rifle and the flamethrower, I said, “Bill, look right.”

  The big man’s smile dissolved and he glanced over his right shoulder. That’s when the sheriff took a final shot with his dying breath.

  24

  The round from the AR15 nailed Big Billy in the thigh. But even at that close range, he didn’t drop on the spot. He was too big for that. Too strong. He did, however, let go of Cora. She punched him in the wounded thigh and then crawled off to safety. At the same time, I thrust myself at Billy. Wrapping my right hand around his neck, I squeezed as hard as I could. With my left hand, I grabbed hold of my fighting knife. But Billy grabbed hold of the knife at the same time, and he was using all his strength to shove the blade tip into my chest.

  Out the corner of my eye, I saw Cora go for my .45. But there was no way she could get a safe shot at Billy with the two of us tangled up like that. If she took a shot, she’d kill us both.

  And she must have known it, because she just stood there, the pistol in hand, and her face a mask of pain and anxiety.

  “Kill him, Kingsley!” she screamed like a cheerleader. “Kill him!”

  But Billy had the upper hand, and I was feeling the electric pain of the blade cutting into the flesh on my chest. I had to do something and do it fast, or this would be over in a matter of seconds. Taking a real chance, I freed up my left hand and began to pound on his thigh wound. That did the trick because he released his hold on the knife and screamed. He also dropped to the floor, taking me with him.

  I tried to plunge the knife into his neck then, but he managed to swipe it right out of my hand. He shifted himself onto his knees and, looking into my eyes, he began to choke me. Along with his massive hands crushing my throat, I felt his fury. I felt the hatred. I felt the evil that resided inside his black soul. There was so much evil inside him that he lost all sense of reality. He wanted only to strangle me. That was his singular purpose. His
sole purpose. That purpose blinded him. He never saw Cora when she raised the .45, took aim, and fired.

  The round hit him in the chest. He released my neck, but he wasn’t down yet. He was in such a rage, that he got back up onto his feet. He started to approach Cora, slowly stepping toward her. My head was spinning from lack of oxygen, but I knew I had to gather all of my strength to find a way to put him down for good before he got any closer to her.

  She fired again and again, but it wasn’t slowing Big Billy down. He was an enraged monster. Only a headshot would finish him off, but she wasn’t going for the head. It was then my eyes focused on my AR15 and the flamethrower beside it. Billy was stepping over the flamethrower on his way to Cora when I rolled over, grabbed the rifle, and took aim. Not at Big Billy, but at the flamethrower canisters.

  25

  The flames immediately engulfed Billy’s entire black leather covered body. The fire consumed his legs, arms, torso, plus his head and his face. He screamed a high-pitched wail that came from somewhere deep down inside his gut, and he clawed at his face as it melted off his skull. He dropped to his knees, and he kept on screaming until his mouth and lungs burned away. He fell flat on his face on the rooftop. Cora and I just watched his body burn like a house being consumed by an out of control fire. The Kennedy family house fire came to mind.

  “Karma’s a bitch, Bill,” I said.

  When we knew without a doubt he was finally dead, Cora took a step forward, and aiming the .45, emptied the remainder of the nine-round magazine into his charred skull.

  “When you get to hell, Billy,” she said, “say hello to my husband.”