by Brian Shea
49
He punched the message into the phone as he drove. His large fingers nimbly navigated the screen, while maintaining a steady focus on the road ahead. The storm that had helped mask his attack on the lawman subsided quickly. Steam rose from the hot asphalt, and the dense humidity caused him to use the wipers intermittently. The message he sent was simple and clear: She’s with me.
Cain waited for the response, driving south. He didn’t know how the Pastor would like him to proceed with the Heathen, but he knew it was best to begin the long journey back to Texas. His phone alerted him to the incoming message, and he looked at the response: Relax Inn just across the border into Arkansas. Room 117. Key’s at the desk. Someone will be there to meet you.
Cain tried to interpret the meaning. Did he fail again? Why would the Pastor send someone else to finish the task at the bus depot? Was he being replaced?
He squeezed at his massive thigh and could feel the wound re-open. The pain provided little in the way of relief to his sudden frustration. He pressed play on the Ford’s center dashboard display, looking to find solace in the Pastor’s words.
As if the recordings were preset to Cain’s current circumstance, the Pastor rang out his wisdom.
It is not for you to know. It is not for you to control. The direction God gives you in life is known only to him. I’ve been lucky enough to be a vessel to share his wisdom. To speak his commands. To guide the lost. Believe in me. Trust in my words. You shall walk in the light and carry forth on a just and righteous path.
Cain released his leg. Entering the GPS coordinates to his new destination, he was overcome with a feeling of excitement. Almost giddy, he wondered if the Pastor would be there to greet him. It’d been so long since he’d last been in his presence. The wishful thought carried him forward into the night.
The Heathen whimpered behind him, and Cain turned up the volume to drown out the sound. It wouldn’t be long until he would complete his task and reap the reward. The praise he so desperately sought.
Cain retrieved the key from the main desk and went back to the vehicle. The CD played and continued to blare the sermon. This was done to drown out any attempted cries for help that the Heathen might attempt while he was inside. He returned and looked down at the girl on the floorboard. She hadn’t moved. He reached his hand down under the heavy blanket, running his finger along her neck in search of a pulse. Still alive, he drove around to the rear of the motel and parked in front of room 117.
The backside of the motel was L-shaped. There was nothing to the rear of the structure except a dilapidated fenced-in area that protected a filled pool. Weeds had broken through the concrete in several places, reaching out from the ground and up the expanse of the fence. The Relax Inn appeared to be anything but. It was definitely a long-forgotten waypoint for weary travelers. Perfect for meetings like this. Perfect for a Heathen’s end.
It was deserted, except for one light green sedan parked in a nearby spot. Cain assumed this vehicle belonged to the person he was set to meet. Not sure who or why this meeting was to take place, he followed the Pastor’s instructions blindly, trusting in the man who had given his life meaning.
Cain lowered the volume on the car stereo. Leaving the Heathen on the floorboard, he stepped from the Ford. His foot landed in a puddle of warm water, a remnant from the recent storm. The water soaked into his shoes, causing them to squeak slightly as he shuffled slowly to the door. The gait of his step was off-kilter, favoring his injured thigh.
The flat plastic electronic key slipped into the slot and a click sounded, indicating that the door was now unlocked. In the stillness of the humid night air, Cain heard the creak of a chair.
Cain slipped the pistol from the holster on his hip. The weapon looked like a child’s toy in his large hand. He held it behind his back as he pushed the handle and opened the door, exposing himself to the room’s occupant.
He entered without saying a word as the door closed behind him.
50
“Nick said they’ve got some local support coming. Maybe we should wait. Let them handle it,” Izzy said, wavering in her usual confidence.
“Not a chance! This asshole tried to end our friend, killed a goddamned trooper, and abducted a little girl,” Declan said, intensely.
The focus in his eyes told the remainder. He was in operational mode, and Izzy knew that any further attempts to sway him would be futile. She drew her compact Glock 23 from the inside-the-waistband holster on the small of her back.
“You go, I go,” Izzy said, declaring her trust in the man seated in the passenger seat.
Their Camry remained parked in front of the Relax Inn’s main entrance. Izzy and Declan stepped inside the meager management office. The smell of burnt coffee and cigarettes wafted toward them as they entered. The two flashed their credentials to the clerk. His eyes widened and he wiped his nose on his sleeve, leaning in to inspect the badges.
“What can I do ya fer?” The clerk said, straightening his posture in an attempt to convey some level of professionalism.
“How long has he been in there?” Declan asked.
“Um, which one?” The clerk said, scratching at a scab on his arm.
“What do you mean which one?” Izzy said, jumping in the conversation.
“Well, ya see there is two of ‘em. One came in a few minutes b’fer the other,” the clerk said, his eyes bouncing between the two agents standing before him.
“Okay, so how long?” Declan asked again.
“Dunno. Maybe fifteen. Nah, prob-b-b-bly two-wen-n-t-ty,” the clerk said, taking on a nervous stammer.
“Thank you,” Izzy said, realizing the clerk was overwhelmed by the situation. “How about you sketch me the layout of the room?”
Satisfied by the crude drawing of Room 117’s schematic, the two agents left the clerk’s office with the duplicate key he’d made. In the muggy night air, the two moved on foot toward the room. Declan made one last check of the image on his phone’s screen.
“Still there. No movement.”
Izzy let out a long, controlled breath. The tension in her face was only equaled by the strength in her dark eyes.
“You pop the door, and I’m going to push the room. It’s going to be tight. Just be on my ass when I enter,” Declan said, pitching the plan on the fly.
“I’ve got your six,” Izzy said confidently.
“Never doubted that,” Declan whispered.
Declan raised his balled fist up by his ear, halting his progression. The silent gesture stopped Izzy. They made eye contact and Declan pointed ahead, indicating that they were approaching the target. Izzy nodded and they proceeded at a much slower pace as they closed the distance to the room.
Declan stopped again and pointed at the door. Without saying a word, Izzy came around to the front of their two-person assault team. Izzy held the electronic key at the ready, scanning the room’s exterior. The drapes were drawn, and the lights were off. She inhaled deeply and let the tension out with a long breath.
Declan held his pistol at the low-ready. He stood behind Izzy and reached up with his left hand. Squeezing her shoulder, he gave Izzy the signal to initiate, and she pushed the key into the metal slot. The click seemed as loud as a hammer on a nail. She pushed down on the handle, opening the door. Izzy moved to the right, allowing Declan a clear path into the room. His body was a blur of movement as he shot past her. She’d forgotten how fast he moved and lunged into the room to keep up.
“Hands! Now!” Declan boomed at the man seated in the chair facing the door.
The large man sat in the dark and didn’t move.
Declan stepped closer, but in the dark, it was difficult to make out the silent man’s features.
“Don’t move!” Declan then spoke over his shoulder to Izzy and said, “Hit the lights.”
Izzy turned to flick the light switch.
The door slammed shut, and what little light provided from the outside moonlight disappeared. The room was cas
t into darkness.
“Shit!” Izzy yelled.
Declan spun, and Izzy’s head smacked him hard on the side of his, like two coconuts clacking together. The impact sent him staggering backward, and he tripped over the seated man’s leg, falling to the not-so-soft carpet.
Looking up from the floor, Declan registered that the seated man was dead or at least unconscious. His face was covered in blood. Declan scrambled back, scooting along the floor on his butt like a crab. He needed distance from whoever closed that door and tossed Izzy like a rag doll.
Izzy was on the ground and not moving. In the darkness, a large figure had already closed the gap. His frame could have been that of a bear. The speed of the large man was impressive. More so was the impact that his fist carried as it came crashing down on Declan’s eye. Dizzied by the blow, Declan fired his gun blindly at the mountain of a man that hunched over him. He only managed to get one round off before the weight of the large man spilled over him.
Declan couldn’t see out of his left eye, and his gun hand was now pinned to the floor by a knee. It might as well have been sealed in concrete as Declan struggled in vain to pull free. More punches rained down, but this time, they peppered his body as well. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Declan had been in plenty of hand-to-hand battles, but he’d never been so overwhelmed.
The man then pressed both of his large hands around Declan’s neck and squeezed. The flow of oxygen was cut off, and Declan writhed to fight his way out. The room was getting darker, and sounds began to fade. The bald man’s face got closer as he applied more pressure. His eyes were a scary calm. The bald man watched curiously as Declan felt his life slipping away. Sweat rolled down the madman’s face and onto his. Wheezing, he thrashed in agony. In that moment of utter desperation, he saw his girls. He pictured each one’s face as the world around him blurred.
The bald man’s eyes flashed in a combination of shock and anger as his head snapped forward. Izzy wrapped tightly around his neck like a boa constrictor. She clawed at his face. The bald man tried to ignore the interruption and was intent on finishing his work with Declan, but she was relentless.
He loosened his grip, launching upright. He stood with Izzy on his back. She looked like a child receiving a piggyback ride. If not for the dire circumstances, it would have been almost comical.
Declan forced himself into a fast, if not temporary, recovery and tried to take aim on the giant who stood above him. Izzy’s back now provided a shield, leaving him no clear shot. Declan aimed low and fired at the big man’s legs. With his vision still blurred from the damaging blows, Declan concentrated hard to aim his shots and the rounds found their mark.
The pain of the gunshots caused the man to spasm, flinging Izzy over the bed. She came crashing down onto an end table. He collapsed to his hands and knees, holding the fresh wounds to his calves. Even kneeling, the man was enormous. The bloodied behemoth spun toward Declan, a ravenous look filling his eyes.
What little ambient light existed in the room was washed away as the large man launched toward him. Declan aimed for center mass and squeezed the trigger. The muzzle flash in the darkness was blinding. Declan continued to send rounds at the target until the mountain toppled. The dead weight of the man slammed down on Declan.
Declan wheezed as he pushed hard, sliding out from under him. He climbed atop the man’s back that was now slick with the blood emptying from the exit wounds. He roughly grabbed the beast’s neck and searched for a pulse. Nothing.
Declan then crawled his way to Izzy, who was lying face down in a pile of broken wood and glass. He touched her arm, and she spun, swinging wildly. Declan caught her arm by the wrist.
“It’s me! He’s down,” Declan said reassuringly.
“Sorry,” Izzy said, cautiously. “You sure?”
“I hope so ‘cause I’m out of bullets,” Declan said, returning to his calm, almost cocky, demeanor.
The tension in her muscles went slack and the two slumped against the cheap box spring of the bed.
“The girl!” Izzy yelled. Panic filled her eyes.
“Bathroom!” Declan said, pushing himself up from the ground.
Izzy flicked on the lights. A macabre scene set before them. The large bodies of the two dead men occupied much of the small room. As much as Declan and Izzy wanted to rush into the bathroom, part of them was terrified at what they might find.
Declan opened the door to the bathroom and saw the dark blanket covering a small body in the bathtub. His heart sank. He’d always been able to distance himself from the horrors of the world, but in this moment, he failed to do so. He couldn’t shake the thought of his own daughters from his mind. The taste of bile filled his mouth and he leaned against the sink.
“Mouse! It’s us. The two from the bus station. Friends of Nick and Anaya,” Izzy said, hoping for some response.
Nothing.
Izzy closed the distance to the little girl. Collecting herself, she pulled back the shroud to reveal the delicate features of the small girl. She seemed even smaller now.
Declan stood watching from the doorway, a sickening sadness filling him.
“Mouse?” Izzy whispered.
Nothing.
Izzy bent low and gently pressed two fingers along the child’s exposed neckline.
Mouse’s eyelids fluttered. She opened them slowly as if waking from a terrible nightmare.
“Oh, thank God!” Izzy scooped the small teenager from the tub and brought her to the bed. Declan pulled a Gerber multi-tool from his waist and clipped the zip ties, freeing the girl’s hands.
Without warning, Mouse shot her arms out, wrapping them tightly around Izzy’s neck. She buried her head in Izzy’s shoulder and wept softly. Izzy held her for what seemed like an eternity.
The embrace was interrupted by the sound of police radios as members of the Arkansas State Police filled the room.
51
After working things out with state police, the three departed for Austin. The drive back was uneventful. Izzy drove the entire way because Declan’s left eye was completely closed. Mouse slept soundly, only waking once. When the weary trio arrived, they were greeted by Nick, who was in the company of Kemper Jones and Anaya Patel.
Jones saw the exhaustion on Izzy’s face and offered her a quiet office in the back that had long ago been converted into a bedroom. It’d proven necessary too many times to count when a big case rolled in. Izzy didn’t protest his offer and followed him back.
Declan and Nick exchanged smiles as the two men took stock of each other’s injuries. Anaya squatted down and looked at Mouse. She put out her hand toward the teen. Mouse only hesitated for a moment before taking it.
“I’m going to talk with her for a moment and let you two boys catch up,” Anaya said, walking away hand in hand with Mouse.
“You look like you went a couple rounds with Mike Tyson,” Nick said with a chuckle.
“You should see the other guy,” Declan retorted.
Both men grabbed at their aching sides as they laughed. The last twenty-four hours had taken its toll on the two hardened men.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you and Izzy did for me, for Mouse,” Nick said. His tone was serious now.
“No thanks needed. I’m going to be on a little vacation when I get back to Connecticut, while the bureau waits for the all-clear from the Arkansas State Police on my shooting,” Declan said.
“That’s nothing you can’t handle. You’ve been through worse,” Nick said.
Nick broke eye contact and looked down. He pursed his lips and let out a shallow breath that escaped between his clenched teeth, making a quiet hiss. Declan noticed Nick wanted to say something else but was holding back.
“What is it?” Declan asked, prodding Nick.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past,” Nick said, still avoiding eye contact with his friend.
“No time like the present. Spit it out,” Declan said.
“It’s just something that�
�s been eating at me a bit,” Nick said, again stopping himself.
“There’s nothing you can’t say to me. Not now. Not ever,” Declan said.
“The money from the bank job. What happened to the money?” Nick asked sheepishly.
“You mean the buried treasure?” Declan smiled but continued before Nick could speak. “It bothered me too. Once I was cleared and the FBI gave me the opportunity with HRT, I didn’t want the money. But I couldn’t give it back either.”
“So what’d you do?” Nick asked, looking around to ensure that nosy ears weren’t listening.
“Val and I talked. We’d spent some of it to get back on our feet before the Khaled thing blew up. Literally. But we decided that I should try to do something good with the money left over.” Declan sighed and continued, “Even though the Jamal Anderson shooting was ruled as justified, I was devastated when I learned he’d been a pawn in Khaled’s twisted game. So, I decided to try to make it right as best I could. I found the mother of his infant child, and after doing a little bit of research into her life, I learned she was a waitress working double shifts to provide a good life for her son. I had an attorney draft up a non-disclosure benefactor contract, and a week later, Shakira Anderson received a $60,000 check.”
“Jesus. That’s a weight off my shoulders,” Nick said. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaned closer. “You did the right thing.”
“I hope so, but the weight of Jamal’s death isn’t going anywhere. It’s something I’ll carry with me to the grave,” Declan said seriously.
Jones walked up to the two men and saw they were engaged in a deep conversation.
“Not to interrupt, but I got the strangest update from the Homicide Unit of the Arkansas State Police,” Jones said, shaking his head in disbelief. “That big guy that y’all went toe-to-toe with had one of them damn microchips in his hip. Been in there awhile they said. Branded too.”