Last Man Standing

by Stephen Leather

  The ramp curved to the right but he kept his speed up. In a perfect world he’d lose his tail and meet up with Kaitlyn in Van Nuys, but Standing had dealt with enough cock-ups in his life to know that the world was far from perfect. The ramp joined a road and he accelerated. The SUV cut around the two saloons and also accelerated. It looked as if they had given up any pretence and were openly in pursuit now. He figured they had gotten close enough to him on the ramp to see that he was alone in the car. He smiled to himself. They were probably as mad as hell right now.

  He was heading south on South Moorpark Road, towards what his SatNav identified as Los Robles Open Space, which appeared to be some sort of wilderness area. There wasn’t much traffic around and the SUV came up behind the Polo, close enough so that he could see the grey-haired guy in the front passenger seat. He, like the driver, was wearing glasses.

  They drove through an estate of detached houses, each on a pristine lot, then the houses were gone and there were rocky hills either side of the road. Standing’s eyes flicked between the rear-view mirror and the wing mirrors. The SUV was getting closer by the minute and that meant they were planning something. Standing was breathing slowly and evenly and his hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. They were alone on the road now and the SUV pulled out and accelerated.

  Standing tensed, knowing what was going to come next. Their plan was to run him off the road, which wouldn’t be too difficult as the SUV was a much heavier and more powerful vehicle than the Volkswagen. There was a clump of bushes ahead to his right – if he were in the SUV that’s where he’d make his move. He accelerated and the SUV matched his speed. He had both feet at the pedals now, the right foot on the accelerator while the left hovered over the brake. He waited until the bushes were just fifty feet away before easing his foot off the accelerator and simultaneously stamping down on the brake. The Polo slowed and the SUV went ahead. As the rear of the SUV passed the Polo’s bumper he flicked the wheel to the left, and hit the accelerator at the same time as he took his foot off the brake.

  The Polo hit the nearside wheel arch and Standing pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Polo was much lighter than the SUV but the surge in power pushed the rear of the SUV to the right. If the driver had been paying attention he’d have turned his steering wheel to the right to keep his vehicle straight but Standing had carried out his manoeuvre so quickly that, before the driver could react, the rear of the SUV had shifted to the right and the vehicle flipped onto its side in a shower of sparks.

  Standing immediately took his foot off the accelerator and pressed down on the brake pedal. As the Polo slowed, the SUV continued its roll, crashing along the tarmac in a screeching of tortured metal.

  Broken glass splintered across the road and the sides of the SUV buckled under the stress, and all the time the engine roared like an animal in pain. The roll took the SUV off the road and onto the grassy verge, where it made one more complete revolution and finally came to a halt, upside down. Standing pulled up behind it and climbed out of the Polo.

  The SUV’s airbags had inflated and the wheels were still turning. The rear offside door opened and Standing hurried over. The man in the back had his seat belt still fastened and was hanging from it. He had a semi-automatic in his hand. A Glock 19. The man was shaken from the tumble and he was blinking as he raised the gun and aimed it at Standing. Standing kicked the door and it slammed against the man’s arm. The impact made the man’s finger tighten against the trigger and a shot rang out, the round burying itself in the grass. Standing kicked the door again and this time the gun fell from the man’s nerveless fingers. Standing bent down and picked up the Glock. He pulled the door open and hit the man with the butt of the weapon, smashing it against his temple. The man went limp. The passenger next to him was stunned, hanging upside down with all his weight on his seat belt.

  Standing reached inside the jacket of the man he’d hit and patted him down. The pockets were empty. He felt for the man’s trouser pockets and in the right-hand one he found a wallet. He pulled it out and shoved it inside his own jacket, then straightened up. The road was still clear of traffic.

  The SUV’s engine coughed and spluttered and died, and the wheels slowly stopped spinning. Standing pulled open the front passenger door. The airbag was keeping the grey-haired man pressed against his seat and he seemed to be unconscious. But as Standing patted his jacket looking for a wallet, the man’s eyes opened. He snarled at Standing, pushed his hand away and reached inside his jacket. Before the man could grab the gun from his underarm holster, Standing punched him, twice and hard. The man’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. Standing grabbed the man’s gun from its holster. Another Glock. He shoved it into the waistband of his jeans and then patted down the man’s trousers. He found a wallet, put it in the pocket with the first one and slammed the door shut.

  He hurried back to the Polo, climbed in and drove off, pulling a U-turn and heading back to the freeway. The road was still deserted and it was a full two minutes before he saw another vehicle, a UPS van driving in the opposite direction. The UPS driver would report the damaged vehicle but it would take the emergency services at least half an hour to get to the scene. He smiled to himself as he wondered what the occupants of the SUV would say by way of explanation.

  He reached the freeway and headed east. He wanted to contact Kaitlyn but it was more important to put plenty of distance between himself and the SUV, so he stayed in the middle lane at just above the speed limit and drove to Thousand Oaks before pulling off the freeway and sending her a text message saying that he wanted to talk to her.

  He took out the two wallets he’d taken and went through the contents as he waited for her to FaceTime him. The guy in the front passenger seat was John Keenan. Just about to turn sixty and living in Pasadena, according to his driving licence. The guy in the back was half Keenan’s age. His name was Marcus Reams and he lived in Anaheim. So both were local. Neither man had a business card or anything in the way of personal mementos, just driving licences, credit cards and cash. Both men did have blue key cards with the same logo on them, a rocky peak in a circle. Standing put the wallets in the glove compartment, along with the guns he’d taken.

  His phone rang. It was Kaitlyn, and he held the phone up so that she could see his lips clearly before telling her that the two SUVs had been following him but that he was now in the clear. ‘Where are you now?’ he asked.

  ‘Just outside Van Nuys,’ she said.

  ‘Wait where you are and I’ll come to you,’ he said. ‘Best we go see Bobby-Ray together.’

  She had parked outside a diner and she gave him the name and address. He tapped it into the SatNav. It told him that she was twenty-four miles away and that it would take precisely twenty-seven minutes to reach her. It turned out the estimate was optimistic as he hit traffic on the Ventura Freeway and slowed to a crawl. The SatNav constantly updated his time of arrival and when he finally pulled up next to the rental car, more than an hour had passed.

  They went inside for coffee. After the waitress had filled their mugs, Standing explained what had happened. He realised again the advantage of her deafness as he was able to lower his voice to the slightest of whispers and she was still able to follow what he said. ‘So who are they?’ she asked.

  ‘They both had security key cards with a logo on,’ he said. ‘A rock thing in a circle. I haven’t checked but I’m thinking Redrock, the company that employed Bobby-Ray.’ He took out his phone and used Google to search for Redrock and then checked for images. He found the logo and clicked on the page it was from. Redrock Solutions, a security company headquartered in Washington DC. He showed her the screen. ‘That’s it,’ he said, but she was looking at the phone and didn’t hear him. He waited until she looked back at him. ‘That’s the logo,’ he said.

  He scrolled through the website. Redrock Solutions had government security contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan, and provided advice to governments around the world, predominantly regarding airpor
ts and ports. They also had a personal protection division and an alarm and CCTV company. According to the website they had more than two thousand employees around the world.

  ‘Why would the company that hired Bobby-Ray be following me?’ asked Kaitlyn.

  ‘I assume because they think he’ll contact you,’ he said. ‘Did they ever reach out to you?’

  Kaitlyn shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t understand,’ said Standing. ‘I would have expected them to get in touch officially rather than following you around. You’d expect them to be on Bobby-Ray’s side.’

  ‘Unless they think he killed the client.’

  Standing shrugged. ‘Even so …’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Hopefully Bobby-Ray will know what’s going on. How far is the motel?’

  ‘About half an hour,’ said Kaitlyn.

  ‘I think we should leave your car here,’ said Standing. ‘We can use my rental.’ Standing paid for the coffees and they went out to the car park. He opened the front passenger door of the Polo and took the two guns and wallets out of the glove compartment, hiding them inside his jacket as he walked over to the rental. He got into the driver’s seat and she climbed in next to him. ‘They had guns?’ she said when he leaned over and put the Glocks in the glove compartment.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Standing.

  ‘That’s not good.’

  ‘I thought all Americans had guns.’

  ‘California has some of the most restrictive gun laws in the country,’ said Kaitlyn. ‘And it’s not easy to get a licence to carry a concealed gun.’

  ‘Those guys were pros,’ said Standing. ‘Probably former cops or ex-military.’ He fastened his seatbelt and started the engine.

  ‘But you beat them?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  6

  They arrived at the Sunset Motel in the early afternoon. It was a two-storey flat-roofed building with rooms either side of a central reception area. A large sign in the middle of the roof had the name of the motel under a cartoon of a setting sun. Underneath it was a sign that read VACANCY.

  There was a car park behind the motel with half a dozen vehicles lined up. Standing drove in and parked. ‘Is one of those Bobby-Ray’s?’ he asked.

  Kaitlyn shook her head. ‘He has a Ford F-Series.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A pick-up truck. A red one. I don’t see it.’

  Standing rubbed his chin as he considered his options. If Bobby-Ray was in hiding, he’d almost certainly have checked in under another name. If they both went in and started asking for a guest based on just a description it would look suspicious. ‘Maybe you should go talk to the desk,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose Bobby-Ray told you what name he’s used to check in?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Maybe tell them some story about him owing money and you’re there to help him. Have you got any pictures on your phone?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. She took out her cellphone and showed him a picture of her on the beach with Bobby-Ray, him in baggy shorts with pineapples on them and her in a white bikini.

  ‘Nice,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait here, you go and get the room number.’

  She forced a smile and nodded.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  She nodded again and got out of the car. He watched her walk around the side of the building. He practised square breathing for a couple of minutes, a relaxation technique that he used whenever he felt himself tensing up. He inhaled slowly for four seconds, held the breath for four seconds, exhaled for four seconds, then held his breath for four seconds before repeating the process. He felt himself relax as he concentrated on counting off the seconds.

  Kaitlyn returned after five minutes. ‘He’s not answering his phone, the clerk thinks he’s out.’

  ‘Does he remember seeing Bobby-Ray’s truck?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, he has one of the rooms at the back. Number twelve.’ They drove around to the rear of the motel. Each room had its number burnt into a wooden block at the side of its door. Number 12 was to their left on the ground floor. ‘That one,’ she said, pointing at it. The curtains were drawn and there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the handle.

  ‘What did you tell the clerk?’

  ‘Just like you said. I showed him the picture on my phone and said he was my brother. The clerk said he’d checked in as Billy Jones and had paid in cash. He checked in three days ago and the clerk hasn’t seen him since. He called the room for me but there was no answer.’

  ‘He didn’t seem suspicious?’

  ‘He didn’t seem to care. What are we going to do, Matt?’

  It was a question that Standing was struggling with. If Bobby-Ray had gone out, their only option was to wait for him to return. But they had no way of knowing how long that would be, and somebody would notice them eventually. But it didn’t make sense for Bobby-Ray to be driving around if the cops were after him. The sensible thing to do would be to lie low. ‘Why don’t you knock on the door? He might just not be answering the phone.’

  Kaitlyn got out of the car and walked over to the door. She knocked, and knocked again. She peered in through the window, then knocked on the door again. She put her face close to the door for several seconds and Standing figured she was calling out to him. One more knock and then she walked back to the car. He could see from the look on her face that something was wrong.

  ‘What?’ he said as she got back into the car. She wasn’t looking at his face, so she didn’t see his lips move. She pulled the door shut. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

  Tears were welling up in her eyes. ‘He’s lying on the floor. I think he’s dead, Matt.’

  She began to sob and Standing held her. Her body shook and he patted her on the back. ‘It’s definitely him?’ he asked.

  She didn’t answer. He stopped hugging her and pushed her back so that she could read his lips.

  ‘Are you sure it’s him?’ he said. ‘You saw his face?’

  ‘I just saw his legs,’ she said, blinking away tears.

  ‘It might not be him, Kaitlyn,’ said Standing.

  ‘It’s his room. Who else could it be?’

  ‘One step at a time,’ he said. ‘Let’s see for ourselves.’ He leaned past her and opened the glove compartment. He took out one of the Glocks.

  ‘I want one,’ said Kaitlyn.

  ‘You don’t need a gun.’

  ‘If you do, I do.’

  ‘Kaitlyn, no offence but in the wrong hands a gun is more dangerous to the shooter than the person they’re shooting.’

  ‘I could shoot before I could walk, pretty much,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure that’s an exaggeration.’

  ‘Bobby-Ray taught me when I was nine.’

  ‘So you were a late walker?’

  She laughed despite the tears. ‘Okay, I exaggerated. But trust me, I can shoot.’ She held out her hand and he gave her the second Glock. She ejected the clip, checked that the barrel was clear, then quickly and efficiently broke the gun down into its major components, placing them on her lap. Then she just as quickly reassembled the weapon, slotted the magazine back in and pulled back the slider to insert a cartridge.

  Standing nodded, impressed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You can have that one.’

  They got out of the car. Standing tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans. The Glock’s trigger safety mechanism meant that the weapon was almost impossible to fire accidentally. Kaitlyn shoved her gun down the back of her jeans. Her denim jacket was just long enough to conceal it.

  They walked over to Bobby-Ray’s room. Standing looked around but couldn’t see any CCTV cameras. He went to the window and peered through a narrow gap in the curtains. Kaitlyn was right. There was someone on the floor. He stepped back and looked left and right to make sure there was no one around, then he kicked the door hard, just below the handle. There was
a splintering sound but the door didn’t move. He kicked again, and again. On the third kick the door flew open and slammed against the wall. Standing stepped inside with Kaitlyn close behind. The body was on the floor, face down. Kaitlyn hurried over to it as Standing closed the door.

  She knelt down and rolled the body over. ‘It’s not him,’ she sighed. ‘Thank God!’

  The dead man was in his forties with receding hair, wearing a grey suit and a shirt that was matted with blood. When Kaitlyn rolled the man over she revealed a Smith & Wesson semi-automatic with a bulbous silencer attached.

  ‘Let me have a look,’ said Standing. Kaitlyn stood up and Standing took her place. There was a towel on the bed and Standing used it to pick up the gun. He sniffed the silencer and the gun. It had been fired. He ejected the magazine and did a quick count. By the look of it four shots had been fired. He put the gun back on the floor. He could see three brass cartridge cases immediately and then saw a fourth under the bed.

  He patted the man down. There was a holster on the man’s hip. In his pocket were two wallets, one containing money and credit cards, the other an FBI badge.

  ‘He’s a Fed!’ Kaitlyn gasped.

  Standing nodded. He pulled out the man’s driving licence. Roy Johnson. He was local to Van Nuys. He put the card back in the wallet and slid the wallets back into the dead man’s pockets.

  ‘Matt,’ said Kaitlyn, her voice shaking.

  He looked around. Kaitlyn was staring wide-eyed at the bathroom. He stood up and walked over to the bathroom door. It was ajar and through the gap he saw a man slumped on the toilet. At first glance he thought it was Bobby-Ray – the man was about his friend’s height and build – but as he pushed the door open he realised he was older and darker skinned.

  The man had been shot in the chest, twice, and his shirt was red with dried blood. There was another gun on the tiled floor. A Beretta. He went over to the man and patted him down. He was also carrying an FBI badge and was wearing a shoulder holster. His driving licence said he was Michael Kelly and that he lived in Santa Clarita, to the north of Van Nuys. Blood had pooled around the base of the toilet and Standing was careful not to touch it as he put the badge and wallet back.