by Graham Smith
There are seven bodies lying on the floor but only six of them are trying to look my way.
The redhead with the scarred face is motionless and there’s a crimson stain on her white dress. One of The Mortician’s bullets must have caught her when he was raking the room trying to kill me.
I check for her pulse without success.
I pull the knife from my boot and free the other six. Twelve eyes show fear as they stretch their limbs and massage tender areas to stimulate blood flow.
Tagliente’s two buddies look reasonably buff. Whether their muscle comes from the gym or hard work, they’ll be able to help the girls.
‘Right, you lot. Listen up. This is the plan. We’re going to go over the balcony, slide down the roof, and drop to the ground.’ I point to Tagliente’s buddies. ‘You two go first, and I’ll lower the girls as far as I can so you can catch them. Don’t worry, ladies, it’s only a few feet from the edge of the roof to the ground.’
One of the guys says something about being afraid of heights, so I drop him to his knees with a gut punch.
‘Listen up, douchebag. I killed The Mortician tonight. You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll be next. Do you understand me?’
He nods as he clambers to his feet.
I lead everyone to the balcony and take the two guys to where I’d made my escape earlier.
‘Guys. There’s a drop of roughly ten feet once you go over the gutter. Don’t try and stay on your feet; roll like you’ve done a parachute jump. I’ll do my best to make sure the girls come down as slowly as possible, but you’ll have to catch them. Can I trust you to do that, or do I have to make threats?’
The guy I hadn’t punched shoots me a look of disgust. ‘Shit, man. You came back for us and the girls. You coulda left us to burn, but you didn’t. We’ll help them all we can.’
I nod, and point to the edge of the balcony.
He climbs over the rail and slides down the roof.
When I hear him shout a confirmation that he’s down, I help his once-punched buddy over the balcony. He’s shaking like a plate of jello being driven over a mountain track, but he doesn’t hesitate for more than a heartbeat.
The girls are jostling for position, but I halt them with a raised hand and clamber over the end of the balcony myself.
With one hand wrapped around the balcony rail’s corner post, I help the first girl over the rail and hold her arm as she slides down. My arms burn at the strain, but that’s nothing compared to the agony of where The Mortician’s knife dug into my shoulder.
When I can extend myself no further, I let go of the girl’s arm and release her. She slides down the roof and disappears over the edge.
A moment later I see the two guys laying her on the manicured lawn behind the house.
The second and third girls follow without incident, but the fourth is a different proposition.
She has most of one leg and all of one arm missing. That’s a problem, but not an insurmountable one.
The real issue is her state of mind. She’s gone beyond fear, passed terror, and totally ignored petrified. The girl is having a full-blown panic attack and is wailing and thrashing herself around.
I gently take hold of her and try to use a soothing tone without letting too much urgency creep into my voice.
‘You killed Ruby; you and that other man. You’re going to kill me now, aren’t you?’ She swings her arm at me.
Her hand bounces off my head as an explosion fills the air. The lounge door crashes to the floor and a huge fireball billows towards us.
I throw myself on top of the girl and use my body to shield hers from the fireball’s volcanic breath.
She squirms beneath me until I realise there’s no way I can calm her down before we either get incinerated, or die from smoke inhalation.
From inside the house there’s the sound of collapse, so I make a fist and hit the girl just hard enough to make her groggy.
It’s wrong on many levels, but I force my aching leg to carry me back into the lounge. Somehow, I can remember the code Tagliente gave us for his safe when he thought we were burglars. The dial spins beneath my fingers and I get the safe door open in less than a minute.
There’s a stash of money and what looks to be a variety of drugs. The money goes into my backpack and I toss the drugs onto the floor by the door so they’re sure to burn.
I don’t like stealing and I don’t consider myself to be a thief. The only reason I’ve taken this money is to repay Alfonse what he’s loaned me, and so I can afford to finish this affair in a way that’s right for all concerned.
With the money stashed, I head back to the balcony and lift the final girl’s inert body over the rail.
Now when I put my hands on the slates, they’re hot from the fire below. Not twenty feet from us a section of the roof falls in and sends a shower of amber sparks billowing upwards.
I lay the girl on the slates and lower her to the extent of my reach before letting her fall.
Beneath me the roof creaks and shifts downwards a little.
As soon as I see the guys are out of the way, I release my grip on the corner post and slide down the roof.
There’s no attempt at braking this time, and I don’t even try to grab the gutter. Instead, I’m preparing myself for a hard landing.
I thump to the ground, roll twice, and come to a halt in a row of rose bushes.
The pain from their jagging, scratching thorns is welcome: it tells me I’m alive; that I’ve survived this ordeal.
I drag myself to my feet and thrust a hand into my backpack. I grab a bundle of money and toss it towards the girls. ‘That’s from Tagliente.’
Next, I lurch round to the front of the house.
Ike’s car is still there.
For the first time tonight I have a spot of good luck: the keys are in the ignition. So are the keys to The Mortician’s SUV.
I back The Morticians car up to the guardhouse and haul Yerik’s body into the driver’s seat.
After opening the fuel cap, I plant Yerik’s foot on the gas pedal, release the parking brake, and send the SUV tearing off toward Tagliente’s burning front door.
The fire ignites the SUV’s gas tank as I’m climbing into Ike’s car.
Whether the fire will burn hot enough to destroy the bodies of my three new friends is anybody’s guess, but I’ve done as much as I can to make sure there’s no trail leading back to Halvard and Gavriel.
94
I dump Yerik’s car in an alleyway and clamber out. There were several moments on the drive back to New York from the Hamptons when I thought the sirens arrowing towards Tagliente’s house were about to turn and pursue me.
None of them had, and because I was afraid of being spotted I took back roads wherever possible.
I’m at the point of exhaustion when I totter through the door of Halvard’s pawn shop and approach the counter.
Gavriel sees me coming and lifts a flap in the counter with one hand, waving me through with the other.
Halvard is sitting in the office chair, and the way he looks over my shoulder before examining my face tells me everything I need to know.
‘They fell?’
‘They did.’
I’d say more, but there are times when words are useless.
What could I tell him? Would it help, knowing that one nephew had been murdered by a ruthless killer? That his other two nephews were so badly injured they couldn’t escape the fire he’d lit?
His eyes are rheumy and there are occasional tears running down his cheeks.
He looks at my dishevelled state and goes back to staring into space. I wonder if he’s remembering them – as children, attending their bar mitzvahs and watching them grow from children into the huge men they’d become.
‘Did they die in vain?’
‘No, they didn’t. The Mortician’s dead and they died heroes.’ I lick my lips and ponder on how much to tell him. He won’t want to know about individual suffering, or h
ow Baruch had killed his brother out of mercy before turning the gun on himself. I decide Ike’s bravery, in spearing his eye on The Mortician’s knife, is worthy of telling, even if the details are best left unsaid. ‘All three of them were heroes, but especially Ike. His courage knew no limits.’
Halvard gives the faintest of smiles. ‘Ike always was fearless. There was nothing that boy wouldn’t try to climb.’
We sit in silence for a while and then I rise to leave. I still have one task left before I catch a plane back to Casperton.
95
Alfonse picks me up at the airport. His face is full of concern and there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s had very little sleep since I returned to New York.
As I walk towards him I see his eyes watching my every movement. He’ll be noticing that I can barely lift my feet, that one arm is tied up in a rudimentary sling, and that my face and scalp are covered with minor contusions.
‘Is there any part of you that isn’t beat up?’
I shake my head.
‘This isn’t you, Jake.’ He pulls a face. ‘You may have seen yourself as an instrument of vengeance, but that’s not what you are. You know it and so do I. I’m not saying the people you have killed didn’t deserve to die, I’m saying it’s not your place to decide who lives or dies, and it’s not your job to deliver that kind of justice.’
I’d hang my head in shame if I was still a kid. ‘I know. I knew it before I went after them, but haven’t you ever been so angry?’
I let the question tail out; there’s no rationalising what I’ve done, not to him, not to anyone else, not even to myself.
Alfonse turns out of the airport parking lot and heads towards town. ‘Have you any idea how often Chief Watson has been in touch, demanding I tell him where you are?’
‘I guess it’s a lot.’
I want to apologise to Alfonse for everything he’s been through on my account, to thank him for his support, but the words won’t come out. All he’s doing is putting a voice to the thoughts that have plagued me since I climbed in Yerik’s SUV and drove away from the disaster zone that was Tagliente’s house.
Nothing he can say to me will be as harsh as what I’ve been thinking myself. Every criticism he voices is nothing more than a faint echo of what I’ve been whispering into my own ear.
‘What now?’
‘I better go see Chief Watson.’ I hesitate and sneak a sideways look at him. ‘And Taylor’s parents.’
‘I’m sorry, man.’ Alfonse lays a gentle hand on my arm. ‘Taylor’s father has been in touch with me. He doesn’t want you going there, offering your condolences. He’s even said that if you try and go to Taylor’s funeral, he’ll have you arrested.’
I close my eyes and accept the bitter pill of rejection. Taylor died when she was with me, and nothing I can do or say will ever change that. Only Alfonse and Mother know the truth about her death. Everyone else has been told that she and I had fought and parted company.
‘How’s John?’
‘He’s doing well.’ Alfonse pauses. ‘There’s something else you should know though.’
I look at his face. It’s serious, but not grave.
‘Don’t tell me. Cameron has shot the crow.’
‘Huh?’
The Scottish term for running off has confused him. I explain what I mean, and he tells me I’m right. Well, correct. Alfonse and I never tell the other when they’re right, only when they’re wrong.
Cameron being gone doesn’t matter. We’ve got what we needed from him and there’s nothing to be gained from him staying around.
The news from New York is good too. Gabbidon has been arrested and is under investigation for events that span several decades. Even if he is acquitted on all counts, there’s enough mud sticking to his name to ensure he never becomes mayor.
96
Three nights after arriving back in Casperton, I leave my apartment, throw a couple of backpacks into the trunk of my Mustang and put the key in the ignition.
Since getting back, my time has been spent answering questions from Chief Watson and some FBI suits who flew in to interrogate me.
I played dumb and stuck to my story, and they couldn’t break me. The lies I concocted pained me to say, but the alternative was admitting my part in a killing spree, to people who could imprison me for life.
My first stop tonight is Alfonse’s place.
I put the keys to my apartment in his mailbox, along with a letter explaining that I need to leave town for a while.
With everything that’s happened running through my mind, and my newfound dislike for myself growing every day, I need to find some space to try to re-find the Jake Boulder I was a week ago.
Another reason for me to get out of town is the way people have been dying when they’re in my company. After losing Taylor, I’m left with Alfonse, Mother and my sister, Sharon. I can’t bear the idea of another person suffering because of me, so it’s best for them if I’m not around to attract trouble.
With the keys and letter secreted in Alfonse’s mailbox, I take a slow drive to the edge of town.
Casperton cemetery is well kept and lies on the town’s western fringes. It takes me a while to locate the right grave in the dark, but I use my cell’s torch to read the inscriptions attached to the fresh flowers on the most recent graves.
My heart catches when I read Taylor’s name.
I clench my jaw and think only of her smile as I bend down and roll back a slice of turf.
My hand shakes as I pull the ring box from my pocket and place it on Taylor’s grave. ‘I love you, Taylor, and I want you to have this ring. I would have preferred to have put it on your finger, to hear you say yes when I proposed, but I never got the chance. I love you.’
To my ears, my voice contains nothing but the truth. It’s there in every crackle, in the pauses I make as I fight for composure, and in the quiet, heartfelt whisper I use to say the words I’d never expected to say.
I’m halfway back to the Mustang before I’m confident that the tears blurring my eyes aren’t going to fall.
The End
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Readers who enjoyed Past Echoes will also enjoy the James Ryker series by Rob Sinclair :
The Red Cobra ( James Ryker Book 1)
The Black Hornet ( James Ryker Book 2)
My Book
Acknowledgments
I would like to take this opportunity to say extend my grateful thanks to all at Bloodhound Books for their professionalism and hard work in bring this book out. Fred, Betsy, Sarah, Alexina and Sumaira have helped my writing soar, yet it’s Jo whose keen editing eye has kept me grounded, and improved my writing with every comment or suggested change.
Thanks also go to those who’ve supported me in my writing, my good friend and mentor, Matt Hilton, Col Bury who brainstorms ideas with me late at night over the odd glass of something hangover-making, the Crime and Punishment gang, all my writing and non-writing friends and of course my family.
I’d also like to say a huge thank you to all the bloggers who’ve taken the time out of their busy lives to support me. They are the unsung heroes of the book world and their support really has made the difference.
Last but by no means least, my readers. Without your support, kind reviews and enthusiasm for my writing, I’d be nothing
more than a stenographer for the voices in my head.
Coming Soon
Jake Boulder Will Return !.
Watch out for Jake Boulder Book 4 , coming Winter 2018 .