by Rob Buckman
"What are you going to do about your friend up there?" Murphy said at last.
"Not much we can do. Anyone going up there had be better loaded for bear because otherwise he's going to get his ass shot off."
"What about the local law?"
"What about them?"
"Any help there?"
"The Sheriff is a good man. But, he's been getting reports that it's Mike who causing trouble. He's as liable to go up and join the hunt instead of the other way around and get himself killed."
"You and I could head up that way and see what we can do!" Charley shook his head.
"No way. I already made the offer and turned down flat. He wanted a 'free fire zone' up there, no by-standers' or friendly’s."
"Shit, then he's in a bucket of shit." Murphy's partner chipped in. Both Charley and Murphy looked at the man.
"Who him?" Charley said with a laugh, but there was no mirth in it. "No! It's the other guys you should be worried about. They're going to find they've grabbed a timber wolf by the tail."
"So he knew what he was walking into then."
"Hell yes!" Charley snapped. "Went up there loaded for bear, plus anything else they could throw at him."
"Figured, if he had half a chance he'd get away." Murphy said with a grin. Not feeling so bad about leaving him up there.
"I don't believe getting away was what he had in mind." That raised the other two men's eyebrows. Murphy nodded in agreement.
"After realizing who we were going after, it was one of the reasons we left. That, and seeing the results of what he could do first hand. I feel sorry for those poor suckers up there, but I still think we should do something."
"So do I, son. But at this point there is not much we can do."
"I guess you’re right. Shouldn't we let someone know what's going on up there?" Charley thought about it, then nodded, scratching his chin.
"That's not a bad idea, I think I might just know someone. Be back in a second." Walking to the other end of the bar he picked up the phone and dialed information, then a long distance number.
"FBI Headquarters, how may I help you?" The voice sounded young.
"Can I talk to an agent by the name of Peter Rogers, or Pete Rogers?"
"Thank you. Hold the line please." After a click, which he suspected that meant that the call was being recorded, there was a short pause, then "Agent Rogers here how can I help you?"
"You can't. It’s more a matter of how you can help an old friend. If this is the correct Pete Rogers"
"Pardon." The voice on the other end of the line, sounded puzzled.
"A friend of mind told me recently that you and he used to be with another company. It that correct?"
"I'm afraid you may have the wrong man sir. And may I ask who this is?"
Charley saw no point in covering up who he was, even now they would be tracing the call and soon find out for themselves. He did feel upset that he had to break his promise to Mike. Now the company would know he’d talked to someone, so be it.
"My name is Charley Savage and I live in a little town called 'Peregrine Creek'. I own the `Buckthorn' Roadhouse so it will be easy for you to find me. I am also a very good friend of a guy called Mike Grainger."
"I can't say that the name is familiar to me. But just for argument’s sake, let's say he is, what trouble is he in that would be of interest to the FBI."
"Who said anything about the FBI? If you were a street sweeper I'd still be making this call."
"I don't follow?"
"Of course you don't, you probably don't even know you owe him, and that you are where you are today because of him."
"I'm sorry sir. I still don't know any Mike Grainger? You must have me confused with some another Pete Rogers. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No. If this is the wrong Pete Rogers I'm sorry for disturbing you Good-By."
"You didn't disturb me, the FBI is here to help. Good-by," with that the phone went dead in his hand. Charley looked at it.
"Now what the hell...."
He felt a little foolish as he walked back to the bar, maybe it was the wrong guy. Was there more than one Pete Rogers in the FBI, if so where the hell in the United States was he? He walked back, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled three more beers.
"Wrong guy," he said by way of explanation.
"You tried at least." They talked for a while about this and that, where they had served and in what countries. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang, the second bartender holding out the phone to him.
"Call for you."
"Thanks. This is Charley Savage."
"Mr. Savage, this is Pete Rogers. Would you mind explaining just what the hell you were talking about?!" Charley's eyebrows crept up his forehead.
"Well I'll be damned!"
"You will be if this is some game you're playing!"
"Hell no. Everything I've told you is the truth."
"You didn't explain what you meant about me owing Mike Grainger anything."
"Thought they wouldn't tell you."
"Who?"
"The 'Company' of course." He didn't have to elaborate which company.
"What didn't they tell me?"
"I don't know the whole story, okay. All I know is what little Mike told me."
"Go on."
"You know what line of work you and he were in?"
"Yes. I was his, shall we say business partner for a while."
"Good, that saves a lot of explanation. It would be better if we didn't go into the details on the phone, if you know what I mean."
"I do."
"You had a job sometimes, working overseas. Your employer got the idea you were moonlighting." He said cryptically, hoping Pete Rogers got his drift. "You know how the board of directors and company policy forbids that sort of thing."
"Yes, I do. Even if the pay is low, they hate people trying to do free-lance work after hours."
"It turned out that this wasn't true apparently. The information on your alleged additional work came from an unreliable source. But at the time, the company believed that you were moonlighting. They tried to send Mike Grainger over there with your termination notice, but being the friend he is, he refused.
"And they fired him?"
"No, he told them to go pound sand in their collective asses and quit."
"I'll be damned, sounds like him though. So what trouble is he in now, the company still trying to black ball him?"
"No, nothing like that. He been out of it for a few years and they have apparently left him alone. No. He has run into a bit of a problem with the local law plus someone else, a guy by the name of Roland Hawkins. I don't know the story behind him, but he brought in some heavyweight fetch and carry people, and they are having a bit of a Branigan." Charley just hoped that all this double talk was making sense to Rogers, it almost didn't to him.
"I see." Pete said after a long pause. "Is there a local airport down there?"
"Sure is. Why, you coming down?"
"Yes. I think I'll drop in on my old friend and see if I can lend a hand."
"I know you work for the FBI. It might not be a bad idea to make the visit somewhat official."
"You think there might be something going on that they might be interested in?"
"Who knows? Let’s just say you might like to look in on this in an official capacity."
"Any need for special equipment?"
"If you come without it you could be in big, and I mean big trouble."
"Got you." With that, the line went dead on him again.
Walking back, he gave Murphy a nod. "It's done." Murphy nodded and saluted him with his beer. Both of them had done just about all they could do for the moment, it was now up to Mike.
CHAPTER TWENTY:
Kat awoke from a restless sleep as the door banged open. She felt cold and stiff from sleeping without covers, her back stiff from the beating. Even with the heating system on, it was difficult to sleep properly, not that she could if
she'd wanted to.
"Get up! You're coming with us," said one of the ever so elegant gentleman she had met two nights ago, who didn't look so elegant now. His suit was rumpled and he had bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin.
"What! I don't understand," she mumbled. Her head ached and she had a bad taste in her mouth.
"I said you're going with us. So get up and put this on." He threw a fur coat and a pair of black lace panties at her.
"I... I was told that I would be staying here."
"Not any longer you ain't. Hawkins gave you to us. You're going to Vegas for a little training," he sneered. The meaning of his words were gradually sinking in, at about the same rate her stomach was dropping.
"You rotten bastard!" She whispered, but the man heard her. He walked over, and without warning back handed her across the side of the face. The stinging blow knocked her back across the bed, her head ringing from the blow. She was more surprised than hurt and had never suspected it was coming until it landed. She gently touched her face, finding it hot and starting to swell.
"From now on watch your mouth bitch! Get dressed, or you'll get more where that came from. I haven't got all morning to fuck around with you."
"Is this all?" she asked, holding up the coat, already suspecting the answer.
He just gave her an ugly laugh. "What do you want, a belt across the mouth again?"
Kat stood up on shaky legs and put the panties and coat on. Her shoes were still there and she stepped into them before following him out of the room. Two other men and Edward were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, and the moment they appeared all three headed out the door. Edward brought up the rear. A sick grin plastered across his face. He'd watched as she came down the stairs, giving one of his high-pitched giggles. He knew what was going to happen to her, and got some secret enjoyment out of her predicament. Climbing into the back of the limo, they forced her to sit between them, first undoing her coat.
"Now we get a chance to look at the bitch close up," one said with a laugh.
"Yeah. Might have a little fun on the plane back to Vegas as well." The other two joined in the laughter as the limo pulled away, barely waiting for the security guard to climb in the front.
A guard at the security gate waved and let them through, the driver turning left to take the back road to the airport. They didn't want to go through town just in case the bitch caused problems. They traveled along the road for ten minutes, each man making rude comments about her body as they fondled her, suggesting ways to determine who got to fuck her first. Kat shivered, desperately trying to control the rising panic, trying to find a way out. The men sitting facing her in the jump seat reaching over and grabbed the waist band of her panties and ripped them off, then slowly forcing her legs apart.
"Let’s get a close look this bitch’s pussy." He looked her in the eyes, seeing the silent struggle going on, laughing at her discomfort.
"Gona have to shave the bitch first." One said, looking between Kat's legs.
"Shave hell. Get it permanently removed, guys like hairless pussy." They all laughed at that.
The initial indication of trouble was when the first front tire blew out, then the other, the car swerving one way, then the other. Every one held on for dear life as the car careened from side to side down the road, tires screaming, the air filled with the smell of burning rubber.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!" one of the men yelled as the car finally came to a stop.
"Oh, my God! Look." The security guard yelled, pointing down the road.
"God Damn! It's that fucker they've been chasing! Grainger."
Kat's heart jumped. He wasn't dead! He'd come back after all she thought. Then her heart sank and fear gripped her. Walking towards them was something out of a nightmare, black and terrible, face almost hidden behind some sort of hood. There was blood on his chest and leg, ruby red against the dark material, his clothes ripped and torn in one place or another. He stood there in the center of the road with a snarling wolf on each side, like some aberration from hell, ready to do battle, scorning protection, fearing nothing. Daring them to do their worse, terrible and implacable. Was he coming to save her, or kill her? Her heart leapt back into her throat as the driver jumped out, dragging some sort of weapon from under his jacket.
'Why didn't he shoot him? Why is he waiting? Oh, my God he's going to die! Please God don't let him die! Not now, not now! I love him!' Her heart and head finally got together and admitting the truth, her heart chocked with fear and pride.
The driver climbed out and met death face to face, screaming all the way to hell as the bullet took his life. Brains, bone, and tissue spraying from the back of his head over the car and road as the 7.62 passed through his head. Kat felt sick, watching in horror as the three men climbed out, all pulling guns from under coats, all firing in Mike's direction.
'He can't survive! He can't kill them all before get him!' But he did.
She watched in fascination as he moved toward them and fired, first one then another, moving without appearing to move, each time a little closer, then closer still. Three bodies hitting the road beside the car one after the other. At the first shot, the security guard ducked down behind the open door, and even now was scuttling backward, using the limo as cover. As Mike walked up, she climbed out, standing by the open door. He didn't look at her, except out of the corner of his eye. His attention was focused on the rapidly retreating figure of the guard. She looked. Was he going to shoot this man in the back? No, he was too far away, running for his life. Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, and still he stood there watching. Kat watched the man depart with mixed feelings, wanting him dead one moment, alive at the next. He rounded the bend and was gone from sight. Yet Mike still didn't move. What was he waiting for? For her to say something, beg for her life, what? She knew what she wanted to say but suddenly didn't know how. I love you sounds so dumb, plus he'd never believe her, not now, not in this place of death. Slowly, he lifted the rifle, his left arm twisted through the sling in the classic stance she'd been taught as a child. A quick look told her that the man had reappeared, walking now, and feeling safe. Was he going to try and hit him at this distance? Impossible, not in these conditions through a light ground mist? She thought. It must be eight or nine hundred yards. The guard stopped, and looked back, hands on his knee, panting for breath. He made it! Grainger was not chasing him. In a mocking gesture, he raised one hand in the air, middle finger extended upwards. Her eyes flicked back in time to see the slow breath, the rifle coming down and steadying, the almost casual squeeze of the trigger. At another time and place, she would have laughed at any fool who thought he could hit something at that range, especially in these conditions. She saw the rifle jump, the barrel climbing slightly, the sound of the shot hitting her ears. A quick unbelieving look told her the shot had been true. The guard’s body lay sprawled on the ground in a heap. She knew he was dead. Kat clamped her hand over her mouth, shocked and elated. He done it! But how could he?! How could he casually shoot an unarmed man like that? Not in the heat of anger, but cold, as cold as death, as if a life meant nothing. Was life so cheap to him? If so, what about her's? He turned and looked at her, anger blazing from his eyes, realizing the anger was directed at her, yet not knowing why. 'What have I done?' She thought, fear grabbing her. Didn't he realize what was happening to her, where she was going and why?"
"If you think you're just going to walk away from this without getting dirty! You're wrong lady! Now it’s your turn..." His voice trailed off as he looked at her face. The anger replaced for a moment by something else. Then it returned as he raised his hand and gentle fingers to touch the swollen skin, his head shaking from side to side.
"Why? What have they done to you?" He whispered. "Who?" A tear flowed down her cheek, for what she couldn't say.
"A present from that pig over there."
"But why?"
"Why?" The question puzzled her.
"Why did he hit you?"
She could only shake her head, unable to answer. As if the sun had cut through dark clouds, he understood, feeling elated, shocked, happy, and sad at the same moment. The kiss had been real, and so had the promise. "We can talk later," he said in a gruff voice, choking with unsaid emotions. "We had better get out of here now," he said. Something was wrong here, but what? Why did they have to go? He had killed the men. Why did they have to run? Question upon question ran through her mind with no answers. The only way to find out was to go with him, go wherever he wanted to take her.
"We don't have to run any more. They're all dead, all except Hawkins."
"Yeah and ten other killers up in the hills trying to nail my scalp. They'll be here any minute so dump that coat and let’s go, it'll only hang up in the bushes." He still didn't know the worst of it. He saw her sad smile.
"Go like this?" She opened the coat, showing him her naked body.
He stopped, captured, unable to tear his eyes away as they traveled from head to foot. He wanted to say something but his tongue felt like a dead log in his mouth, dry and flaky. The vision faded as she closed the coat, snapping him back to reality, but not before his brain had registered the black leather slave collar around her throat. Where had he seen her wearing that before? When he looked at her body, his mind already expected to see the collar and the gold chain around her waist. Yet had never seen her naked, or had he. Reality caught up with them in a hurry as the first volley of shots slammed into the bodywork of the limo. Grabbing her shoulder he pulled her down, flipping the selector to full auto and letting rip with the remainder of the magazine into the rear of the car. They ducked around the back as another volley came in, some striking the road beside them. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out another magazine, dropping the old one and replacing it. Next, he reached in and pulled out a small block of thermite, and fished in his patch pocket for a timer and a detonator. Fitting the three together, he set the timer for thirty seconds and tossed it into the pool of gasoline under the car.
"When I give the word run like hell for those trees over there behind us. Don't stop for anything, no matter what you see or hear, got it?" There was no leeway for argument in his voice and she nodded. Max and Maxine didn’t stay around long and took off running, back into the forest beside the road.