It was time to go in for the kill.
“Mr. Finch, let me be bluntly honest with you. I’m really not interested in purchasing a storage unit. I am interested in locating a missing boy that I have reason to believe is being held captive in one of your units.”
EIGHTY ONE
I received the look that I expected from Jerry Finch. A blank, astonished look with a little twist of insulted craziness. I held his eyes for as long as he’d let me, which wasn’t very long at all.
“A missing boy? Here? I don’t see how that’s possible. What makes you think that he’s here?”
I stared at him.
“Oh, you mean that boy that’s been on the news? Sad, what’s happened to him,” he added.
“Why would you say that, Mr. Finch? What’s happened to him? If you know something you must tell me right away.” I took a casual step towards him, not wanting to appear intimidating or threatening.
Another blank stare, followed by: “Oh, no, no, no. I don’t know what’s happened to him. I- I- I just mean that he’s run away or was taken or whatever the police think’s happened to him. I don’t know anything more than that. Honest.” I had to stop him before he tripped over any more of his words and fell flat on his face.
I again stepped in closer to Finch to apply just a little bit more pressure. “A lot of people consider me to be a patient man but not when it comes to missing kids,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now, I’m only going to ask you once more. What do you know about a missing boy? Esteban Machado’s his name. Where is he?” I even surprised myself once I finished my words. I had no idea I had any more gritty toughness left inside of me. I thought it had all withered away like a dandelion in the Arizona sun. My adrenaline was on fire and my confidence was beginning to ripple through my bloodstream. Ever since the incident with Jake I felt less and less like of a man and now it was all flooding my systems.
Suddenly, Jerry Finch discovered some left over courage of his own. He took a firm step into me and stared straight into my face. I could feel his hot stale breath on me when he said, “I told you once, Mr. Whatever- your- name- is. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I run a reputable business here and, frankly, I’m quite insulted that you would insinuate any sort of things like that taking place here.” He slid his body away from me to create more space and possibly give himself an exit route out the office door if Jerry Finch decided to make a run for it. He turned back to me and said, “The worst thing I’ve witnessed here in my dozen or so years in business is some jackass forgetting to regulate the climate control in his unit in the dead heat of July causing a case of illegal fireworks to spontaneously put on a show.” Jerry managed a giggle at the thought.
I felt my gun against my waist but was hesitant in resorting to pulling it out just yet. I decided to play a different angle. I said, “Ok, Mr. Finch, then answer me this. Have you recently rented two storage units to a guy named Barry Klein?” I held my hard- nosed stare right at Jerry’s eyes the entire time I asked him the question. I didn’t want to miss a single awkward eye blink, purse of the lips, scrunch of the nose, or tightening of any muscle in Jerry’s face. Anything that might give me a tell that he’s withholding something from me. I was willing to wait him out as long as he wanted.
“I don’t know any Barry Klein,” he replied. I was puzzled by his answer. Another inkling leading me to believe that Jerry Finch was yanking my chain the entire time. Another tell that Jerry might be in on Klein’s master plan in some way.
“That’s not what I asked you,” I said. “I asked if you recently rented two storage units to a guy named Barry Klein, not whether or not you knew the guy.”
“Oh, my mistake. My hearing’s not so good sometimes. Not that I can recall. I’m usually very good at remembering names and faces of all my customers. That name just doesn’t ring a bell.”
I saw Jerry take a step back towards the office door when I reached my hand behind me. I wasn’t going for my gun just yet, although I could see Jerry’s eyes widen. I was going for the receipt Barry Klein had on his desk in his dungeon of an underground office showing that he did in fact rent two storage units at this very facility.
I unfolded the paper and held it out in front of Jerry’s face. “Then how do you explain this?”
EIGHTY TWO
I saw it in Jerry’s face now. I knew I had to press him even harder now that he and I both knew he lied. He slid past me to sit in a chair. Head in his hands, I heard him begin to sob. I didn’t know how to handle it so I stood by awkwardly and watched another grown man break down to tears. And it didn’t dawn on me until just then. Why would Klein demand a scripted receipt for two illegally obtained storage units? Maybe he wanted to record it as a tax write- off. Although, I don’t think they have a check box on the W4 forms for kidnapping.
“So, are you ready to tell me the truth now?” I said. I leaned my weight against the edge of the desk, facing Jerry, crossed my legs at the ankles and clasped my hands against my lap. Jerry mumbled something in his hands. He pulled his face up to mine before I had to repeat the question. My gun shifted against my spine when I half sat on the edge of Jerry’s desk. A sort of subconscious reminder that it was there.
Jerry composed himself with a couple of deep breaths and began to tell the story. He told me that one Mr. Barry Klein approached him about two weeks ago looking to purchase two storage units. Jerry said Klein specifically requested them to be on separate floors. One on the top floor and one on the ground level.
“I’ve never questioned a customer’s request as long as it’s within reasonable means. So, I checked my availability and saw that I had a few available units on the fourth floor but not the top, which he was satisfied with. The first floor, however, had no availability. That’s when Mr. Klein tried to push me around.”
“What do you mean? Did he hurt you?” I asked.
Jerry managed to laugh. “No, no. He didn’t literally push me around even though he tried to. What I mean is, Mr. Klein seemed like a guy with a lot of power or status so he tried to sort of bully me into magically making a first- floor unit available.”
Bully. There was that word again. Jerry began to hang his head again but I coaxed him into continuing. “What did Klein do?” I was beginning to get a pretty good idea but I wanted to hear Jerry say it outright.
Jerry told me that Klein continued to demand that a first- floor unit suddenly become available. He said Klein attempted to demand that Jerry open all of the units to see which ones were vacant of items but were still currently rented or others that were minimally stocked with personal items. Klein really thought he could sift through each unit and discard other people’s items as if it were a church rummage sale. Or one of those reality shows that auctions off expired storage units. Who does this guy think he is?
I had to get Jerry to finally deliver the punch line. “I know Klein can be a bully so how did he get his two units like the receipt says?” I asked.
“Well, Klein easily accepted renting the fourth- floor unit and bribed me into letting him rent a unit that’s no longer in use. It’s an abandoned vacant unit left over from long before this place was redesigned. I use- used- it as storage shed for general housekeeping supplies but Klein forced me to clean it out so he could use it.”
“How much did he bribe you into providing this unit for him?” I asked.
“Ten grand.”
“Do you know what he’s using it for? Why he specifically demanded to have that specific unit?”
“No,” was all Jerry could say. I could tell he was getting embarrassed.
“You never thought to ask?”
“Not when he offers me ten grand with a gun in my face.”
EIGHTY THREE
I had Jerry show me the unit up on the fourth floor first. I figured Klein wouldn’t keep anything shady in this one since it was officially rented and ‘on the books’ as they say. From the outside, it looked like any regular storage unit. There was a heavy duty padlock c
lasping the bottom right corner of the unit closed to a metal loop in the floor.
“You don’t have keys to these, do you?” I asked Jerry.
“No, each renter purchases and supplies their own locks. Some use combination locks and others use keyed locks. I prefer people using the combination locks because they are a whole lot more reliable,” Jerry rambled, still continuing his sales pitch.
“So, you have no means to enter anyone’s unit in case of a dire emergency?”
“Well, yes but…” Jerry started to say.
“Ah, forget it,” I said and drew my gun. I was amazed at how natural it was beginning to feel to draw my gun on a regular occasion. And my conscience stayed quiet this time. Before Jerry could react to the sight of my gun and ask what I was doing, I fired a shot, blowing the supposed heavy duty lock to pieces.
I heard a sudden commotion coming from the other side of the door. It sounded like raccoons knocking over garbage cans after Thanksgiving dinner. Metal scraped against concrete and things banged against each other. I silently gestured Jerry to step back to the other side of the unit, waving him out of the way. I did the same to the other side, anticipating the door to fly open with a posse of Klein’s foot soldiers flooding out, ready to attack. I could see fear began to well up in Jerry’s face and I was counting the seconds before he took off running and left me stranded. But he didn’t. Jerry was frightened but stood his ground and waited for further instructions.
A couple of voices began to whisper with a tinny, robotic- like echo on the other side of the door. I signaled to Jerry that I was going to lift the door at the count of three, mouthing the numbers.
One… Two… Three…
The door was heavy but I was able to lift it a few feet off the ground with just my right hand. Jerry and I both stood our ground, my gun drawn, held in my right hand and resting against my thigh. Jerry’s fists were balled and ready to fly. Metal scraped against cement a couple of more times once the door lifted and I fired a warning shot into the floor inside the partially exposed unit. I expected fire to instantly return but I heard, “Ah, fuck” belted out a few times.
Then Jerry made a bad move.
EIGHTY FOUR
I guess he assumed that since no shots were returned after my warning shot into the floor, it was safe to utilize his managerial toughness. That, or he really was hard of hearing like he earlier stated and didn’t hear the profanity flying from the other side of the entryway. After a few more rapid heartbeats, Jerry impulsively stood in front of the unit and lifted the door the rest of the way. That’s when Jerry was made into a human Number Three domino. He took a bullet in the left knee, another to the belly button and a third to his right shoulder. The impact of the rapid fire sent Jerry flailing and crashing into the door of the unit across the corridor, creating a massive echo that still rattles my ears. A fourth shot went awry and pinged off the door Jerry was lying up against. I ducked hoping to avoid any ricocheting bullets off the concrete walls or metal doors around me.
Thanks for the help, pal, I thought.
Still no voices were heard and no one came charging out. Maybe the goons assumed Jerry was the only one on the outside. I could feel a tension headache starting to bubble my scalp but now was not the time to worry about it. Choosing to side- step a few paces back, I waited a few minutes before reacting. I heard metal on concrete again and a few whispers. “What the fuck was that?” one voice said. “What the hell are we gonna do with this guy?” another voice asked, referring to Jerry’s now limp body.
I counted my heartbeats, which were beginning to quicken faster than the winds before a hurricane. Sweat stung my eyes and soaking the back of my t- shirt. A call into Fitzgerald crossed my mind but then I reconsidered. This was my show. Instincts told me that there were only two goons inside the storage unit and it was a safe bet, with their reckless gun firing, that Esteban wasn’t in this unit. This meant Esteban and the other boys were being held in the other unit out back- if they were even still here.
Be a fucking hero, already. You’re stalling… stalling… stalling…
My conscience was right for the first time. Not about being a fucking hero part but about the fact that I was stalling. Was it because I was afraid? Was it because I really didn’t know what to do next? Didn’t know or just couldn’t do it?
“It’s now or never,” I whispered to myself. Before impulsively going on a kamikaze mission and rapping off shots left and right I knew I had to be more methodical and had to draw one or however many of my opponents there were out of the unit. Hoping they were stupid enough. I banged my heel off the metal door behind me a few times in five second intervals, hoping one would sneak a peek and give me an opportunity to put one between his eyes. After three clangs and rattles of the door nothing happened. And with that, I drew my gun close to my chest with both hands, turned into the unit and fired blindly.
I was able to rattle off six shots before the goons knew anything was happening. Just like riding a bike, I thought. Not being able to see what or who I was shooting, I tried my best to empty my clip into the unit. I could hear the pings and clunks of the bullets ricocheting off lifeless objects and I could hear a few suction sounds of bullets burying into flesh. I nailed one of them, at least.
I retracted behind the cover of the adjacent wall, waiting for a return barrage but nothing happened. All was quiet. There was too much happening and my adrenaline was accelerating at high octanes through my bloodstream that I couldn’t even stop to think about how I was able to open fire and potentially kill someone. Just as I was about to poke my head out like a frightened turtle and check for safety, a bullet whizzed a few inches past my face.
A voice began to echo through the open storage unit. No, check that, a scream. At first, I couldn’t make out what the voice was saying but then it became clearer and more profound the softer and more faded the voice became. It was saying, “Source, man, I’m hit.”
EIGHTY FIVE
Source.
Just like the name written on the slip of paper I found in Jake’s box. Could this be? Could I really be lucky enough to find the son of a bitch that supplied my son the drugs that indirectly led to his death? My luck never worked in such favor.
I stood rock steady, ready for a chance to ‘buss a cap,’ as they say, in the other goon hiding in the unit. I wasn’t completely confident that it was suddenly one on one because, unless I shot the one not named Source in his shooting hand, there was still a chance I was outnumbered and could be ambushed. I wanted to try another tactic. My conscience was trying to ask me what it would be like to see all that blood again but I was able to tell it to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. Now wasn’t the time.
“Hey, pal. Either you come out or I come in. Either way, one of us is going down and I got a safe bet it ain’t gonna be me,” I shouted.
I heard a laugh, then: “Yeah, you think so, muttafucka,” he shouted back.
“That’s what I’m telling you. You got two choices. One is you drop your gun and kick it out into the hallway. The other is you continue to stand there ready to shoot me and I’ll put a bullet right through your fucking teeth.”
For what seemed like an eternity, neither of us made a move. Suddenly, I said, “We can treat this like Burger King and have it your way or we can do it my way and you die. And since I don’t feel much like being hospitable, there’s a good chance this is gonna go down my way. Either way it doesn’t look like this is going to end too well for you.” I couldn’t believe the amount of confidence and adrenaline that was pulsating throughout my entire body and through the words out of my mouth.
All I heard was another thuggish giggle. “You a funny muttafucka, ain’t ya?”
“No comedy show here, buddy,” I replied. “But I’ll give you one more choice just because I’m feeling extra nice today. The first two options are still on the table or you can tell me where Esteban is and we’ll pretend like nothing happened and we walk out of here like we’re on a class trip,” I
lied. There was a beat of silence, after the echoes of our shouts evaporated. Then I could hear the one I hit struggling to breath and gurgling for air. It was then that my knees got weak and I felt as if my entire body was going to collapse right then and there. Those sounds reminded me so much of Jake and the last breaths I’d ever hear him take. The image of holding his head upright hoping there was some miniscule chance that he’d return to me. Fortunately, I was leaning my body weight into the cement column between the two units and I wouldn’t let myself collapse.
Before I could give him a chance to answer, I swung my left hand over the side of the unit and fired two shots. One pinged and panged off of something metal and the other must’ve caught some flesh because I heard an agonizing scream after I retracted my body. I figured he was just injured and potentially could fire retaliation shots if I exposed myself. So, I waited.
“All right, man. You got it. You got it.” And suddenly, two guns were sliding their way into the hallway, resting between Jerry Finch’s lifeless lower extremities. I went in, still locked and stocked with my gun pointing at the man lying on the ground, blood gushing from a gunshot wound to the right thigh. I pulled over one of the metal folding chairs and took a seat still holding my gun steadily targeted on the bodies in front of me.
Somehow, Fitzgerald crawled into the front of my brain once again and I remained firm on my stance not to call him. However, I did consider how he would react once he found out how the recent string of events turned out. A flash of lightning lasted longer than the thought. Would he somehow hold me responsible for Jerry Finch’s death? At this point I didn’t care. Finch made a stupid move and paid the price for it. That one was on him.
The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) Page 22