The Game of Life or Death: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 3)

by Prandy, Charles

“Not my mother,” he pleaded.

  I couldn’t force myself to say yes. But he looked up and saw the answer in my eyes.

  His head dropped, and I thought he might pass out. I quickly fell to one knee and hugged my friend as people walked by.

  Twenty-four

  Rule hadn’t said a word since we left the airport. I took him back to my place because I didn’t want him going back to his apartment where his friend had been murdered, and I didn’t want him going to his parents’ house in his current state. He was a wreck. His eyes had a vacant look like he was there but he wasn’t. We sat in my living room without making a peep for about two hours. I got up once to use the restroom, but other than that I just sat there with him.

  At the airport, I’d told him that his mother and sisters were killed with his father. I left out the details about how they were killed. I knew he wasn’t ready for that. I told him about how I went to his apartment and found his friend dead, and how I was sucker punched in the face by her probable killer. I also told him about the shootout with the guy in the black Lincoln.

  By now, it was starting to get late into the night. Henry walked over to me with that look in his eyes that he needed to go outside. I nodded and he walked over to the front door.

  “Gotta take Henry out. Be right back.”

  Rule didn’t acknowledge.

  I grabbed Henry’s leash and clamped it to his collar. We walked around the block once, and he did what we came out to do.

  Back inside, Rule was still sitting on the couch looking nearly comatose. I decided to put on a pot of coffee because I knew this was going to be a long night. I didn’t mind sitting with him. I planned on being there as long as he needed.

  A few minutes later, the coffee was brewing. Maybe it was the fresh aroma of ground coffee that snapped him out of his funk because as I was pouring us both cups, I looked over and he was standing in the kitchen entrance.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  I held up a cup, “Black with one sugar. Just how you like it.”

  “Thanks,” he said in a low, almost non-existent voice.

  He grabbed the cup and took a sip.

  “How could this happen?” he asked.

  I shook my head, “I don’t know.”

  He took another sip, and I could see in his eyes that he was searching his mind for some kind of answer. “What have you guys found out?”

  “Not much. Neighbors said they saw a white Lexus in your parents’ driveway last night. Do you know anyone with a white Lexus?”

  Rule shook his head no.

  “Any of your father’s associates maybe?”

  Same shake of the head.

  We fell quiet in the kitchen as we sipped our coffee.

  “The guy in the Lincoln,” Rule said, “any I.D. on him?”

  “Not yet. He’s not in our fingerprint database, and he had no I.D. on him. Registration led to a rental company, but the vehicle was rented under a dummy corporation, from what we can tell, and no one remembers the dead guy as the one who picked up the vehicle. But we did find something that might be of interest.”

  Rule’s eyes perked up.

  “On the console were cigarettes called Sobranie. Apparently they’re Russian.”

  “Russian?”

  I nodded.

  “Russian,” Rule said under his breath.

  “Do you know if your father had been doing any business dealings with Russians?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “We contacted Interpol and sent them fingerprints for comparison. Maybe our dead guy is wanted internationally.”

  Rule took another sip of coffee and then asked the question I was dreading to answer. “Jacob, how did they die?”

  I hesitated before answering.

  “Just tell me.”

  “Rule, I’m not—”

  “Please, Jacob. Don’t bullshit me.” He looked me in the eyes, “I can handle it.”

  I’ve known Rule nearly my whole life. He’s one of the strongest people I know, both physically and mentally. So when he said he could handle it, I believed him.

  “They were executed.”

  He continued looking me in the eyes.

  “Your father was hung from a rope in the living room, and his stomach had been cut open.”

  I paused, waiting for a reaction, but got none.

  “Your mother and sisters were shot in the head, and it appeared that they were forced to watch him suffer before they died.”

  “And, Sonya?”

  “When I got to your apartment, she was lying on your bed. It looked like she’d been strangled.”

  Rule took in a deep breath. His eyes fluttered and he lowered his head.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded. “They were looking for me too.”

  “That’s what we think.”

  “This doesn’t make sense.”

  “What had you and your father been talking about over the past couple of months?”

  Rule raised his head, “What do you mean?”

  “Earlier today I visited your dad’s office, and Betsy Miller told me that your father told her that he told you something that appeared to have taken a huge weight off his shoulders.”

  Rule looked around, and I could tell he was scanning his memories for such a conversation. “I can’t recall any kinda conversation like that. Weight off his shoulders? What could he possibly have told me that would have been so important?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t know. I was hoping you knew.”

  “I hadn’t noticed a difference in him to the point that he needed to talk to me.”

  “Hmm … then we’ve got two possible scenarios: either your father has been hiding something, or Betsy Miller told me a big fat lie.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Just then, Henry started barking, which was unusual for him.

  Twenty-five

  10 Minutes Earlier

  The Game stood next to a tree a block away from the detective’s house. He wore a black shirt, blue jeans, and a mask. The tree stood far enough away from the streetlight that he was able to blend in with the dark night without a problem. He’d been watching the house for nearly two hours. Tonight he was going to make his big introduction to the detective and get the game started, but circumstances had changed once again. Circumstances being a silver Mercedes E Class parked four houses down with two large men sitting inside watching the detective’s house as well.

  My, my … he thought. Things just got really interesting.

  If The Game had to guess, the men in the Mercedes had something to do with the shootout earlier today. The Game had seen the whole thing go down. He saw the man in the black Lincoln shoot both cops, and then shoot at the detective’s car. The Game even saw the man in the white Lexus speed from behind and shoot the man from the black Lincoln in the back of the head. Just another day in D.C.

  The Game watched the men in the Mercedes closely. What did they have in mind? And who were they really after? The Game knew that the other man in the house with the detective was the son of the family that was murdered last night. News reports confirmed that his “girlfriend” was murdered in his apartment, apparently sometime after the family was murdered. So put two and two together, and you got the son was a wanted man.

  From time to time, the men spoke into a phone as they watched the house. The Game quickly realized that they were reporting to someone probably higher up. Makes sense, he thought. The brains stay behind while the muscle does the hard work. The question was, were they supposed to capture the detective and his friend alive, or kill them?

  Killing the detective wasn’t an option. It would ruin any chance of having a game. So, The Game thought maybe he’d intervene and allow the detective to live another day.

  Just then, the front door to the house opened and the detective came out with his big brown dog. The Game quickly looked over to the men who slo
uched in their seats a little. One dialed a number and spoke in his phone.

  What to do? The Game thought. What to do?

  The detective walked the dog around the block. When he was out of sight, The Game moved gracefully from his place behind the tree to another tree closer to the silver Mercedes. The Game’s movements were fluid and nimble and, most importantly, quiet. The men didn’t notice that now The Game was ducked behind the rear of their car. He could hear them speaking in a language that he didn’t understand but recognized as Russian.

  What would Russians want with the detective’s friend? The Game didn’t really care as long as they didn’t interfere with his game with the detective.

  Minutes later, the detective was back in front of his house again with the big brown dog. He opened the front door and went inside. The men in the Mercedes sat up in their seats. The Game peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the driver in the door’s mirror. He had a scruffy beard and thinning brown hair. He spoke into the phone and then waited a few seconds and hung up.

  Next, The Game heard clicking, which he knew were the sounds of guns being checked and ammo being loaded. He assumed the person on the other end of the phone gave the green light to break into the house. This isn’t good.

  The Game reached to the rear of his pants and pulled out a large hunting knife. It was supposed to be used for his ceremonial beginning of the game. He liked to equate it with the carrying of the Olympic torch. However, the game gods must want him to use it for a different purpose tonight.

  Now, he thought, who to kill first?

  By now the clicking of weapons had stopped, so he assumed that they were locked and loaded. Taking out one of the goons wouldn’t be a problem, but armed with only a knife, killing the second one had its challenges. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to think because both of the car doors slowly opened.

  Twenty-six

  The driver stepped out first. The Game peeked around the corner of the car and saw that the driver was holding a handgun with a silencer attached. Nifty, he thought. He knew then that they were planning on killing the detective. They wouldn’t have silencers attached to their guns if they weren’t going to use them. So they kill the detective and bring the other guy in because he has something they want. Why else would they have broken into two residences?

  The Game quickly went to the other side of the car and looked across the street at the detective’s house. The front was pretty well lit from a nearby street light. The best way to get into the house without being noticed was to go around back.

  The second man got out of the passenger side. The driver walked around and pointed toward the back of the house. They spoke in Russian, so The Game couldn’t understand what they were saying but if he had to guess, they were saying the same thing that he was thinking.

  The men started moving toward the house. If they made it to the back he wasn’t sure if he could stop them both at the same time. Their backs were facing him. Their guns were down by their sides. They weren’t expecting an attack from behind. They were too focused on breaking into the house. The Game stood up tall, all six-feet-four inches of him. He held the knife in his right hand with the end of the blade pointing toward the two men. He started walking. When hunting prey, he knew how to move without being heard. His feet gently touched the ground. His breathing was controlled. His nerves were calm.

  He started walking faster until he was nearly upon them. Now it was just a matter of who he wanted to kill first. They were both similar in size and stature. They looked like meaty-necked, wide-backed, and thick-armed bulls walking side by side. The Game pointed his knife and just randomly picked the one on the right. With a quick swipe, The Game reached the front of the man’s neck and pulled back hard. Red blood sprayed from a severed artery. The man next to him didn’t react quickly enough. The Game had the first man’s gun in hand and turned it on his partner. Three quick, silent shots later, and the partner fell to the ground in the middle of the street. The Game then took the gun and pressed the silencer against the first man’s head. He was down on his knees with one hand grasping at his bleeding neck. The Game squeezed off two quick shots, and the man fell to the ground with parts of his brain scattered on the street.

  Easy as apple pie, The Game thought.

  He looked toward the detective’s house and saw the big brown dog staring at him from the window. The dog started barking. The Game bowed at the dog and thought, until we meet again. Then he darted off back toward the darkness where he had originally stood. He looked around again, and then hustled back to his car because he knew police would be swarming the place shortly.

  In The Game’s haste to leave, he didn’t see that a white Lexus slowly turned the corner right as he escaped.

  Twenty-seven

  I didn’t pay attention to Henry’s barking at first. Maybe he saw a cat running across the street. Maybe a deer. I don’t live too far from Rock Creek Park, so every once in a while a deer would scatter across the street or cut through a backyard.

  Rule and I were trying to figure out if his father had been keeping any secrets. Under these circumstances it was reasonable to understand why Rule’s head would be cloudy, and conversations with his father might not come to mind. But Henry’s barking became more intense. Rule and I both looked toward the front of the house to where Henry stood. He had his two front paws on the windowsill, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he was trying to get our attention.

  “Henry, what’s up?”

  Like he could really answer back.

  “Something’s going on outside,” Rule said.

  We both walked through the living room and looked out the window. Two men were lying still in the middle of the street. From where I stood, I could see blood on their clothes and the street.

  “Jesus,” I said.

  I glanced out the window at the neighborhood and didn’t see movement anywhere. I quickly grabbed my phone and dialed 9-1-1. I told them who I was and what was in front of my house and then hung up. I grabbed my sidearm and rushed outside. Rule was behind me.

  When we got to the bodies, it was immediately evident that they’d been shot in the head. One of the men had blood oozing from his neck.

  “I didn’t hear any gunshots,” Rule said.

  “Me neither.”

  We scanned the area. I’m not sure about Rule, but my heart was pounding like it was trying to break through my chest. In the movies, detectives give the impression that nothing scares them. Truth is, we’re just like everyone else. Someone gets killed in front of my house, I’m scared as hell.

  Rule knelt down and examined the bodies.

  “Look, a silencer,” he said. He pointed to the dead guy still holding a gun in his hand. “The other one’s gun is about a foot away from his body.”

  “He was attacked first,” I said. “His gun was probably used to kill both of them.”

  “Think they were coming for us?” Rule asked.

  I looked around again. “I don’t like coincidences, Rule, but given what’s happened to your family, I think they were coming for you.”

  I knelt down next to Rule and examined the bodies more closely. “They kinda look like the guy from the black Lincoln.”

  “They were professionals,” Rule said. “Ordinary troublemakers don’t carry around silencers.”

  “But if they were professionals, how’d they end up dead?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Rule looked up to the sky. “Somebody’s watching over us for sure.”

  I looked at Rule. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. We stood up. In the distance, I heard the faint sound of police sirens. My eyes continued scanning the neighborhood when they landed on a car parked one street down. The car caught my attention because the parking lights were on. I hadn’t noticed it when we first came out. My mind was more focused on catching movement than a standing car.

  From where we stood, I could tell that the car color was white, but that was
it. Then my mind started putting two and two together. Two dead men in front of my house who apparently planned on more than just a casual visit. Was this how they entered Rule’s parents’ house? Two men force themselves in, and then the white Lexus came up later? I started walking toward the car. My right hand gripped my sidearm.

  “Jacob,” Rule said. “Where you going?”

  I didn’t respond. I tried to hone in on what kind of car was parked a block away.

  “Jacob?” Rule called again.

  Just then, the headlights of the white car came on, and the car did a quick U-turn. When the car turned, I saw what kind it was.

  “White Lexus!” I yelled.

  The Lexus’ tires peeled against the pavement and it sped away from us.

  I sprinted back toward my house where my car was parked. Rule saw what I was doing and moved with me. Seconds later we were in my car, spinning my wheels against the pavement, about to be in hot pursuit of the white Lexus.

  Twenty-eight

  The engine sounded like a roaring lion racing through my neighborhood. I caught site of the white Lexus making another turn and I quickly followed. My neighborhood is one of those old D.C. neighborhoods that if you don’t know the layout, you could easily find yourself trapped in a maze. A lot of the streets and houses look similar.

  At each cross street, the white Lexus seemed to hesitate a second before making a move. That was good for me. It meant that the driver didn’t know where he was going. Unfortunately for the driver, I did.

  I glanced down at my speedometer and saw that I was pushing past sixty miles per hour. At some points, cars were parked on either side of neighborhood roads making the high-speed chase extremely dangerous.

  “Don’t lose him, Jacob,” Rule stressed.

  “Don’t plan to.”

  At the next cross street, the Lexus made a left, which I doubted the driver knew led to a dead end. And beyond the dead end were just woods. A part of me felt a little giddy that we were going to actually catch this guy.