The Last Storm

by Jack Hunt

  “Is he here yet?”

  Vic shook his head.

  Cayden nodded. “So he’s gonna be a no-show.”

  “Seems that way. You want us to pay him a visit?” Vic asked.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Cayden said. He sniffed hard as he rose.

  “All right, I’ll get the boys together.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll handle this one.”

  Cayden moved across the office, stopping only to put on his winter jacket, and collect a set of brass knuckles from a drawer. He glanced in the mirror and ran his fingers through his dark hair. It was swept to one side, fashionable with a little gel. He liked to look good, appearances were everything. He pulled at the skin below his green eyes. He needed more sleep. Too many late nights were beginning to catch up. He wiped away some remaining powder under his right nostril, and stepped out onto the metal catwalk that ran along the upper level of the warehouse. Vic closed the door behind him.

  Below, several sedans and SUVs were being worked on. Dust rose in the air inside an enclosed room above a ’57 Chevy that was being sanded. Farther down a truck was in the middle of a repaint job. It was business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. As Cayden made his way down the steps, he said, “Any word back from Leon on the package?”

  “I phoned an hour ago but couldn’t get through. Damn weather is affecting service.”

  “Well let’s hope he manages to collect it.”

  Before he made it to the ground, Hank entered the building with Terry Hammond, the man he was about to pay a visit. Cayden gave him a stern look but didn’t say a word. He leaned over and whispered into Vic’s ear and Vic nodded and crossed the room to tell those working on vehicles to stop and leave. They were used to it. A few seconds later, and the sander turned off and silence dominated.

  “Hey, Bullet,” Terry said looking around nervously as workers left the warehouse, and Hank slid closed the main doors and locked them.

  “You know for a moment I thought you weren’t going to show.”

  Terry chuckled nervously, his eyes bounced between Vic and Cayden. “Me? No. You said to come here and so here I am.”

  “And here you are,” Cayden replied sniffing the air like a dog. He prowled around him like a lion watching its prey. Cayden nodded slowly saying nothing. He enjoyed the silence. He knew those who liked to talk a lot, and get theatrical when dealing with someone who had screwed up, but that wasn’t him. No, he enjoyed letting them sweat. Making them wonder what he was thinking. In fact he relished it more than the punishment he inflicted. Though he had gained a reputation for bloodshed, he preferred not to inflict pain. It was uncalled for, and yet at times necessary. This was one of those times.

  “Look, Bullet, the cops were everywhere. I had no choice.”

  He walked over to the room with the Chevy and looked through the window. Dust had attached itself to the window, and settled on the ground. One of his workers had stripped the original paint off and was getting it ready for a new paint job.

  “So you flushed it?” Cayden asked.

  “I had no choice. It was that or get caught and do time. And you know, they would eventually trace it back to you and well I was doing it to protect you.”

  “Protect me?”

  Terry nodded, a smile forming on his face as if he’d managed to find an angle, a way to make his fuck-up more palatable. It had the reverse effect.

  “And why would I need protecting when you’re the one doing the selling?” Cayden asked.

  “Yeah but…”

  “Unless of course you were planning on ratting.”

  Terry threw up his hands. “Oh no. No, Bullet. I wouldn’t do that. You know me. That’s not my way.”

  “No?”

  Cayden stood with his back to him, looking at his reflection in a pane of glass. He reached into his pocket nice and slowly and slid on the brass knuckles, allowing a moment to feel the cold metal wrap around his fingers. Beautiful.

  “Then how would they trace it back to me?” he asked running his other hand over the hard metal.

  “Well. Um. You know how the police are good at shaking people down.”

  “Getting people to speak, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you would tell them?” Cayden asked.

  “No. I flushed the drugs so I wasn’t put in that position.”

  “But if you were in that position?”

  “I…” He stumbled over his words, realizing the error of his ways. In his attempt to try and cover his ass he’d made it clear what he would have done had he been caught. It was a risk that Cayden had to take. Even though he went by the name Bullet on the streets and rarely gave out his address or showed his face, there was always a chance the cops might eventually find him and that was why he’d already formulated an exit plan. He only intended to stay in the drug business another couple of years. Once he had another ten million stashed away he was going to retreat to somewhere warm, somewhere far from Alaska, and live out the remainder of his days chugging back beers and enjoying a life far from the dangers of his world. Leon, his closest friend, had been harping on at him for over a year to call it quits, and he was right. The truth was it was becoming harder to stay one step ahead of the police. Of course he had a few cops on the payroll, those who were willing to give him the heads-up, if and when a raid ever occurred. And he’d made sure to have collateral on them in the form of video just in case they decided to grow a conscience.

  It was all about control, or perceived control.

  Cayden turned towards him, expressionless.

  “How are you going to pay me back, Terry?”

  Terry frowned, a look of confusion. “Pay you?”

  “Yeah. I mean you were responsible. How do I know you didn’t just sell it and keep the profits?”

  “Because I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “And yet you just said if you had been taken in, they would trace it back to me.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I…”

  He knew what was coming, they all did. His reputation preceded him. Over the years, stories of what he’d done to those who crossed him continued to be twisted and exaggerated but even when they were true, one thing remained the same — blood was shed, and a bullet was fired.

  Cayden nodded, smiled ever so slightly as he laid a hand on Terry’s shoulder, and patted him. “It’s okay.”

  Terry blinked hard. “Yeah?”

  He nodded, glanced once at Terry and then drove the brass knuckles into his stomach before following through with an uppercut that knocked him to the ground. Terry gasped, and clutched his stomach but Cayden wasn’t finished. He bent over and clasped a clump of his hair and dragged him a few feet across the concrete floor into the room with the industrial sander. All the while Terry was trying to spit out words but all that escaped his lips were choked sounds. Cayden dragged him up onto the hood of the vehicle, and gestured to Vic and Hank to hold him down while he tore open Terry’s shirt. Terry struggled to get free but it was pointless. His legs flailed around and he screamed out for mercy but he was beyond that point now. Without rushing, Cayden walked over to the industrial sander and scooped it up.

  “Now look at what you’re making me do.”

  “Please! Bullet, I’m sorry. I’ll get the money.”

  Cayden turned and said, “No you won’t.”

  He fired up the sander, returned and slammed it down on Terry’s chest.

  Five minutes later, Cayden walked out of that room, his clothes soaked in blood. He tucked his Beretta into the small of his back and headed to his office to change his clothes. Behind him, Vic and Hank went about cleaning up the mess, and disposing of the body.

  As he was trudging up the stairs, the phone rang, and he answered.

  It was Leon. The reception was poor. It crackled.

  “Leon? Speak up!” he yelled as he put a bloodstained finger into his ear so he could hear him better.

  “There’s been a hiccup.”

&nbs
p; “Oh?”

  “The cop is dead. Apparently he took his own life.” Cayden stopped walking and stood at the top of the catwalk looking out across the warehouse. It had been almost two weeks since his conversation with Danny. That pig had reassured him he’d have the package. He needed that load, he relied on the system he’d set up. Without a way to get the drugs into Alaska his business would soon dry up. For years he’d been buying it from another dealer on the East Coast and having it brought across the country by long-distance truckers but that process was slow and it ate into his profit margin. Once he found a way to cut out the middleman and get it directly using cruise ships that entered the port of Whittier, his business had soared to new heights. It was the perfect cover.

  Leon piped up. “Cayden. What do you want me to do?”

  “We’ll figure out the logistics for the next shipment later, for now just bring back the package.”

  “That’s the thing. It’s not there.”

  “What?” He felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t the loss of heroin that bothered him. Even though that could be replaced, it was the timing and loss of clients. He didn’t just cater to two-bit street addicts; he serviced high-end clientele who paid in advance. They relied upon delivery of goods and he hadn’t failed them yet. But this? This could ruin him. It could do more than set him back a few months; it could jeopardize everything he’d built. Trust was all he had in this business. Once that was gone so was everything else.

  “Check his apartment,” Cayden said.

  “I searched Greg’s apartment. It’s empty.”

  He shook his head and began pacing. “No. It can’t be.”

  “Maybe he put it in another one,” Leon said.

  “Shit!”

  “What should I do?”

  He was tired of leaving this in the hands of others.

  Cayden grit his teeth. “Nothing. I’m coming down.”

  Chapter 5

  The blizzard made visibility brutal. Jess and Hayley gawked out the windows as they came out of the two-and-a-half miles of dark tunnel and took in the sight of an overcast Whittier. To the right, the White Mountains loomed over the cramped town on three sides, adorned with snow-brushed evergreens, trails and frozen waterfalls. Rosy-cheeked kids trudged through the deluge, others peered out from behind panes of glass. On the left was Prince William Sound, a bay of blue that never froze because of its deep waters. Hired hands shoveled globs of snow off docked vessels. At the center of the town, nestled at the foot of the mountain, stood the remarkable fourteen-story building, Begich Towers; a huge, somber high-rise painted in beige, light blue and gray. Surrounding it, nothing more than small aged buildings, train lines, shacks, kayak rentals, harborside eateries and two inns. Beyond that, at the far edge of town, the Buckner Building stood out, a hulking gray concrete monolith, seven stories high, that had been abandoned since the army bailed in the sixties. Solomon had been filling them in on the place over breakfast. Apparently it was used by the military and dated back to the ’50s, containing a hospital, a theater, a bowling alley, a jail, a rifle range, a bakery, a lounge, a library and much more.

  Alex brought the SUV to a stop outside Begich Towers. Solomon collected the key to their apartment and said he would meet up with Alex later for a drink at the Anchor Inn. He said he would go over some things he needed to know and if they had any questions in the meantime to speak to Kip Brown, the owner of the Kozy Korner grocery store in the building. According to Solomon, Kip considered himself a pillar in the community, but to most he was just the town drunk.

  “Well here we are, the end of the road,” Alex said.

  “The end of the road? You’re telling me, this place sucks,” Hayley said holding up her cell trying to get a signal. “Does it even have internet?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “What, dial-up or carrier pigeon?”

  “Hilarious. Come on, help us lug in some baggage.”

  Alex pushed out of the vehicle and gazed at two penned-in reindeer. It truly was a world apart from the big city, or the sweltering deserts of the Middle East. Once they made their way inside and shook off the snow, they ascended a small series of steps to a lobby that looked as bland as the outside with institutional-pale yellow concrete walls, uniform green doors and low-end carpeting throughout. Immediately off to their right was a small waiting area, with a couple of wooden benches and an old woman who was curled up in a fetal position. Hayley raised an eyebrow then continued on to the elevators. Alex was beginning to regret taking the position. They walked on down the hallway past a laundromat where someone had dumped a pile of clothes on the ground. Rusted washing machines dating back to the ’80s churned loudly, shaking uncontrollably while a withdrawn-looking resident looked on absently like a mental patient.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Hayley said stepping into the elevator and hitting the button for the tenth floor. As the doors clunked closed Alex noticed there was no thirteenth floor. Before he said anything, Hayley said, “Okay now that’s just abnormal. Ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteen. What happened to thirteen?”

  “It doesn’t exist,” Alex said.

  “Of course it does.”

  “No, it’s quite common, actually. In some hotels they will make the thirteenth floor the pool floor, or some just leave it out completely. It’s something to do with a disorder called triskaidekaphobia,” Jess said.

  “She means they’re superstitious,” Alex added. “Apparently the practice of removing the thirteenth floor is to avoid alienating superstitious clients.”

  Hayley shook her head. “This place just keeps getting weirder. Dad, couldn’t we have bought a place outside of Whittier? Chief Solomon said that barring himself the other officers commute in. Why can’t you do that?”

  “Because.”

  “Because what?”

  “Because this was more affordable and practical.”

  Hayley looked dumbfounded. “I’m not sure having a building with no thirteenth floor is practical.”

  He rolled his eyes as they arrived at their level and stepped out. Several kids hurried past wearing pajama bottoms and thick winter jackets. They were followed by a mother who had nothing on her feet.

  “Doesn’t anyone get dressed?” Hayley asked.

  Alex ignored the question as they arrived at apartment 1003. Across from them he stared at yellow police tape dangling in front of apartment 1002. It looked as if someone had torn through it.

  Jess noticed too. “That doesn’t look good.”

  He waved her off. “Ah it’s fine.”

  “You think someone was murdered in there?” Hayley asked.

  He didn’t answer; instead he inserted the key and pushed the door to their apartment open. Hayley darted in eager to be the first inside. It had been something she’d done ever since she was little, however, that was usually in nice hotels where everything was fancy, modern and worked.

  She came to a grinding halt and flipped the light switch up and down. “The lights don’t work,” she said.

  “Probably the weather,” Alex replied.

  Even though it was daylight outside, it was so overcast that it was dark in the apartment. Jess dumped the bags and entered the open kitchen. She began opening cupboards. “Nice, it comes fully furnished.”

  Alex came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his mouth into the crook of her neck. “I told you. We’ve got it made.”

  “Oh yeah, we’ve got it made,” she said sarcastically after turning on the faucet. It spluttered to life kicking out Coke-colored water. They both grimaced.

  “Probably just needs to run through,” he said.

  They watched it run for a couple of minutes without getting clearer.

  Alex sighed. “I’ll speak to maintenance.”

  She tapped him on the chest. “You do that and while you’re at it maybe you can ask if they will move us into another apartment — the penthouse for instance.”

  “You are kidding?
”

  “About the penthouse, yes, but Solomon said they’ve got 196 apartments. Surely there is one that is in a better state than this.”

  “Maybe, but remember the top two floors are taken up with mostly rentals for the bed and breakfast,” he replied crouching down and getting under the sink, hoping to see if there was a quick way to fix it, only to discover a leaky pipe. He closed the doors before Jess saw it.

  “Hey, well at least they have TV,” Hayley said plunking herself down on the sofa and snatching up the clicker. She switched it on only to find it hissing with white snow. “Please tell me you got it hooked up?”

  He grimaced. “First thing on Monday.”

  “Monday?” she groaned and switched off the TV.

  Alex came over and sat beside her and nudged her in the ribs. “I promise things are going to work out just fine here. You’ll see. Heck, you might make friends with those kids we saw.”

  “Yeah, and maybe I’ll get a lobotomy while I’m at it,” Hayley replied. Alex laughed and tickled her ribs. She stifled a laugh then shook her head.

  “Dad, get off. I’m not eight anymore.” She jumped up and went to explore the rest of the cramped apartment. It was a 1,200-square-foot abode with three bedrooms, one bathroom and a kitchen with large windows that gave them a view of Whittier Harbor, the mountains, cruise ships and the ferry terminal.

  “Uh, Alex.”

  “Oh no, what now?”

  “I think we might have a leaky pipe.”

  He fumbled with the clicker and leaned back on the sofa. “Under the sink. I know.”

  “Under the sink? No, I meant in the main bedroom.”

  His stomach sank. He hopped up and went to take a look. Sure enough, one of the ceiling tiles had a stain. He reached up and noticed it was dry. “Actually I think we’re good. It’s probably just from a while back. Feels good to me.”

  “That might have mildew,” Jess said.

  “I’ll get them to look at it. Okay?”

  He headed for the door to see if he could track down Kip or at least give his mind a mental break. As he came out, he pushed back against the door as two kids raced down the corridor.