Fire Of Heaven Book I Blood of Heaven

by Bill Myers

  Coleman gave no answer. He was too busy looking into the boy’s eyes, evaluating his clothes, the posturing of his body — and all the time, his senses continued to focus and tighten.

  “May we come in?”

  “What’s this about?” Katherine asked.

  “I think it would be better if we came inside.”

  “What’s this about?” she repeated, holding her ground.

  Finally, Pudgy Man spoke. “We have reason to believe that a Mr. Harold Steiner is in the area and that he may be planning to jeopardize the —”

  Coleman lunged at the youngest first, throwing the bulk of his left shoulder into the boy’s chest, while sweeping out his right hand and breaking Pudgy Man’s nose with his fist. The boy staggered and fell under Coleman’s weight, and his partner was too busy grabbing his nose to be of much assistance.

  Coleman had taken Twenty-something’s head into his hands, and it was only Katherine’s scream that prevented him from breaking the kid’s neck. He settled for hitting him squarely in the face and knocking him unconscious.

  By now Pudgy Man was fumbling for his gun. Coleman sprang up and delivered a single punch to the man’s stomach and one to the jaw, dropping him to the floor to join his partner.

  The flurry had ended as quickly at it had begun. Except for Coleman’s heavy breathing, silence filled the hallway. He stood over his handiwork just outside the apartment door, stunned, trying to understand what had happened. The old exhilaration, the thrill, had momentarily surfaced. It had come and gone in seconds, but it left Coleman deeply shaken.

  “What did you do that for?” Katherine demanded.

  Coleman looked up, trying to get his bearings.

  Steiner stepped out from behind the door and gasped. “What did you do?”

  “They’re not FBI,” Coleman said.

  “How can you be sure?” Katherine asked.

  “Look at their suits. Feds can’t afford quality like that.”

  Katherine and Steiner continued to stare.

  Coleman knelt next to the older man and pulled aside the suit coat to reveal a holstered, shiny new .40 caliber Smith and Wesson. He removed the gun, pocketed the clip, and tossed the piece into the apartment.

  “Why …” Steiner asked, his voice unsteady. “What were they after?”

  Katherine shook her head. “I don’t think what is the right question.”

  Steiner began to tremble more noticeably. “But — why? What did I do?”

  Coleman pulled back Twenty-something’s coat. Same holster, but a Colt Mustang .380. “You said they already killed two people?”

  Steiner nodded as Coleman removed the gun and popped out the magazine. He checked the other pocket and pulled out a small, round silencer.

  “Looks like they wanted to make it three.”

  Steiner leaned against the door frame to steady himself.

  “You going to be okay?” Katherine asked.

  He nodded, but it was obviously a lie.

  Coleman remained standing over the bodies, still haunted by his actions. Finally he turned to Katherine. “Do you have any antiseptic? Some cloths and cold water?”

  She looked up at him, not entirely hearing.

  “Katherine?”

  Coming to, she nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She headed back into the apartment.

  Coleman knelt to inspect Pudgy Man while addressing Steiner. “Give me a hand with these two. Let’s get them into the apartment where we can —”

  He heard the click of the revolver and looked up to see Steiner raising his gun at him.

  “What are you doing?” Coleman asked, more irritated than concerned.

  “I think we’ll let the police handle it from here.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Mrs. Lyon,” Steiner called to Katherine, who was inside the apartment at the kitchen sink. “Please call 911. Tell them we have two injured men here and an escaped convict.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  As Coleman rose, Steiner backed up several steps to keep a safe distance.

  “The man just saved your life,” Katherine said.

  “And for that I am grateful. But he’s still a convicted killer, and I think it’s about time we —”

  “Steiner, be reasonable,” Coleman said.

  “Oh, I’m very reasonable, Mr. Coleman.”

  “Do you honestly think that the police are going to stop guys like this? These guys make a living by —”

  “If you’ll toss that gun in here with the other and step inside, please. And Mrs. Lyon, will you please make that call?”

  “Come on, Steiner,” she protested.

  Coleman looked at the clip in his hand. He felt its weight, its smooth, hard corners. He ran his thumb over the top cartridge, the next one to be thrust into the firing chamber. Its nickel casing was cool to the touch, the copper coating over the bullet smooth and sleek. Only the nose had texture. It was a hollow point, its tip serrated into a six-pointed star designed to flatten upon impact, destroying as much flesh and bone as possible. So much power here. So much potential. In its own way, its ability to destroy was as awesomely beautiful as any morning mist, or setting sun.

  Coleman knew it would be risky, but he could shove the clip into the gun and fire a round or two into Steiner. Of course, he might take a couple of hits himself, but considering Steiner’s fear and his inexperience with guns, the odds were in Coleman’s favor.

  “Drop the gun, Mr. Coleman.” The voice was high and quivering.

  Coleman looked up and was surprised to see something he had never seen before. In the man’s eyes was more than the usual fear and questioning. There was something harder, colder. Something was consuming him, controlling him. Here was a man lost and empty, yet at the same time utterly consumed. The helplessness touched Coleman. He wanted to reach out, to somehow comfort the man. He glanced back at his gun. A hastily fired round into Steiner’s body would neither kill what consumed him, nor fill his emptiness.

  “I’m not telling you again. Drop the gun.”

  Coleman slowly lowered the gun and tossed it into the living room.

  “Now step inside. And Mrs. Lyon, if you don’t make that phone call, I will.”

  Coleman stepped into the apartment as Katherine began to dial. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said angrily.

  “Believe it, Mrs. Lyon. The law is the law. And in the end, justice will prevail.”

  “And justice, that’s all that matters?” Coleman asked.

  “Justice is all that we have.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  The men turned to see Katherine, receiver in hand, looking out the living-room window.

  “What’s the problem?” Steiner demanded.

  Katherine motioned toward the street. “Looks like we’ve got more company.”

  CHAPTER 12

  IT WAS LISA, THE downstairs neighbor, who helped Coleman and Steiner escape. After some hasty explanations from Katherine — plus the additional motivation of Steiner’s waving gun — she escorted the two men to her back bedroom window, where they climbed out and dropped the ten feet to the pavement.

  There was no need for Katherine to come too. No one was after her. But to be safe, she grabbed Eric, had him throw on his all-purpose, purple-and-gold University of Washington sweatshirt, left some cold cloths for the men in her hallway, and asked Lisa if she and her son could hang out at her place for the rest of the evening. There was no telling what those men would do once they regained consciousness — or what the new arrivals Katherine had seen waiting outside had in mind.

  “No problem,” a wide-eyed Lisa had answered. “But if this is how you’ve adjusted to the dating scene, we’ve got some serious talking to do.”

  It was 4:15 in the morning. Outside, a heavy drizzle fell as Coleman and Steiner quickly crossed the street behind the building, Coleman in front, Steiner behind him with the gun.

  When they reached Steiner’s rental, a whi
te Taurus, Steiner tossed Coleman the keys. “You drive.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. It’s been a while.”

  Steiner referred to his gun. “I can’t drive and hold this, too.”

  “Then let me take it. You drive and I’ll hold the gun.”

  Steiner gave him a look. “Get in.”

  Coleman had barely turned over the ignition when the first shot shattered the right rear window. Both men ducked. When they rose and turned they saw a tall man just rounding the building and racing toward them. His hair was long and blonde. He wore a gray topcoat and was re-aiming his .357.

  “Get us out of here!” Steiner shouted.

  Coleman tromped on the gas. Unfortunately, he’d dropped it into the wrong gear. They shot backwards into a jarring, glass-shattering crash, devastating the front end of someone’s new Blazer.

  Another shot. The gunman was good; he hit Steiner’s window, missing his head by mere inches.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

  Coleman shifted, punched the accelerator, and they spun out as a third round hit somewhere to the rear of Steiner’s door.

  Coleman glanced into the mirror. Headlights zipped around the corner, momentarily slowing for the blond man to climb in. “Where to?” Coleman shouted.

  “The police.”

  Coleman threw him a look. “You never give up, do you?” The lights in the mirror picked up speed, and Coleman accelerated. “The police can’t offer the protection you need — not from these guys.”

  “What do you care?” Steiner said, looking out the back. “They want me, not you.”

  Suddenly the rear window shattered into a million fragments.

  “I don’t think they’re too concerned about making that distinction right now,” Coleman yelled. He turned to Steiner, whose eyes suddenly widened in fear.

  “Look out!”

  Coleman looked back just in time to see a street sweeper filling his vision. He cranked the wheel hard to the left, then straightened it out. But the inertia and the slick street threw them into a skid.

  “What are you doing!” Steiner shouted.

  “I told you — I’m a little rusty!”

  He managed to pull it out of the skid as another bullet sparked off the left fender. Coleman checked the mirror. Through the shattered glass he could see the headlights closing in.

  “There!” Steiner pointed.

  “What?”

  “The freeway entrance. Right there!”

  By the time Coleman saw the ramp they were almost past it. He pulled the wheel to the right. Again the car slid into a skid, this time taking out a road sign before bouncing up the landscaped incline and finally making it onto the ramp. Steiner was still shouting as Coleman accelerated and headed for the freeway.

  Katherine had collapsed onto Lisa’s sofa. She was past exhaustion. So many emotions raged inside her: hate, love, betrayal, worry, fear. She wanted to scream, to shout, to beat the wall, but she was too numb to even cry.

  She feared for Coleman’s life, yet she hated him with such fury and such a sense of betrayal that her head pounded in anger. This was the man who had killed her Gary, who had destroyed everything. There was no forgiving such a monster.

  But that monster had died months ago. Old things are passed away. The monster was gone, and in its place was a man who had reached in and touched her heart, who was so kind and sweet and caring that he had refused to have sex with her because it was not the right thing — for her. She trembled with both weakness and rage. She had never seen such sensitivity, such innocence —

  NO!

  He is not innocent. He is a murderer! The murderer of my husband.

  All things are become new.

  NO! He is a killer. The killer of everything I had, of everything I was!

  The thoughts warred inside her head, back and forth, until finally, with what little strength she had left, she took hold of the door he had opened inside of her and with the greatest effort forced it closed. It slammed with such power that she could feel the reverberation deep into her soul. She had made a mistake. She had started to feel. She had let someone inside. She would not allow that again. Never. Now everything would return to its place, just as it had been, just as it should be. Everything but the tears, which had finally started and which she could not stop.

  “Mom?”

  She looked up to see Eric’s worried face hovering over her. Lisa had tried putting him to bed, but he was up and kneeling over her. “It’s okay, Mom.” She felt his arms around her shoulders, clumsily patting her, trying to comfort. “We’ll find a way to help him.”

  The tears came faster. Not only had the monster opened her up and touched her heart, he had touched her son as well. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Honest. We’ll get him back, I promise.”

  She reached out and drew him to her. But instead of protesting as he usually did, Eric allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace.

  Suddenly, the door exploded.

  Katherine screamed and leaped up just as Twenty-something and Pudgy Man raced into the room.

  They had turned off the Mukilteo Freeway and were heading north on Interstate 5.

  “How fast are we going?”

  Coleman glanced at the speedometer. “A little over ninety.”

  Steiner scanned the roadway. “Where’s a good cop when you need one?”

  Coleman glanced into the mirror. Their pursuers had initially missed the on-ramp. That had put them about thirty seconds behind. But in the distance he could see their lights slowly gaining. Coleman had the accelerator pegged to the floor, but minute by minute the other car was closing the gap.

  “Maybe there’s some other way to beat these guys,” he suggested.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Steiner said. “Take the law into your own hands. Maybe kill a few extra people along the way.”

  Coleman fought back the irritation. “People change.”

  “The law doesn’t.”

  “You keep saying that, but what about mercy? What about forgiveness?”

  “Aberrations. A human invention.”

  Coleman nearly laughed. “You’re not serious?”

  “I’m not? Ask yourself, what holds the universe together?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Laws. The laws of physics, the law of gravity, of thermodynamics — all these laws are what hold the stars, the planets, even the atoms in place. Without these laws, everything would fly apart and turn to chaos.”

  “But we’re not planets, we’re human beings.”

  “And that makes us exempt?”

  Coleman had no answer.

  “Civilization must have rules. If you break a law anywhere else in the universe, you pay the consequences. You jump off a building, you fall. You split an atom, you vaporize.”

  “You kill a man, you die.”

  “Exactly. Cause and effect. Since the beginning of time, the equation has been the same. If you break that equation, and do not seek justice, a part of our civilization unravels, exactly as the universe would.”

  “But people change. There has to be forgiveness. There has to be some compassion.”

  “The law is the law.”

  Coleman glanced in the mirror. The car was two hundred yards away. “I don’t want to be petty here, but didn’t I just save your rear back at the apartment? Doesn’t that count for something in your ‘cosmic equation’?”

  “Not my decision to make. That’s why we have authorities.”

  “Listen — we have to do something. They’ll be here any second.”

  Steiner looked over his shoulder, then turned forward to search the freeway. An approaching sign read: BROADWAY 1/2 MILE. “There.” He pointed. “Take that.”

  But Coleman had other plans. About a hundred yards ahead he spotted an old plumbing van ambling down the third lane from the median. Instead of pulling to the right and heading for the exit, Coleman crossed to the far left lane.

  “What are
you doing?”

  Coleman gave no answer but began to decelerate.

  “What are you doing?” Steiner demanded.

  A second later the car was on their tail.

  “Coleman!” Steiner shouted. “Turn to the right! Take the exit. Take the exit!”

  Before Coleman could respond, the other car swerved to their right and pulled up beside them. He glanced at the speedometer. They were doing seventy-five. He looked over to the car. The driver was motioning for them to slow down and pull over. On the passenger side, the blond was emphasizing the point with his leveled gun.

  The plumbing van was twenty-five yards ahead and two lanes over.

  “Get us out of here!” Steiner demanded. “Now!”

  “Hang on,” Coleman warned.

  Steiner barely had time to brace himself before Coleman swung the car hard to the right and slammed into the other vehicle.

  The startled driver swerved into the next lane.

  “What are you doing?” Steiner shouted.

  There was no time to answer as Coleman hit the brakes and they lurched forward. In the other car, the driver and the blond snapped their heads back, watching Coleman’s car in bewilderment as they raced past. But that was only their first surprise. The second came an instant later when they slammed into the back of the plumbing van.

  Coleman swerved sharply, making a beeline for the exit. He had gained some time, but not a lot. They sped down the Broadway off-ramp, made a hard left, scooted up a few streets, then made another right. It was a major thoroughfare but completely deserted this time of morning. Malls and stores sped past, slightly obscured by a fog that increased as they approached the river.

  Cresting a small hill, Coleman and Steiner saw the flashing lights at the same time.

  “What is it?”

  “A drawbridge.”

  Steiner swore, then spotted a side street, off to the left. “There, take that!”

  Coleman turned the wheel, but this time his luck did not prevail. They skidded through the slick intersection until their wheels broadsided the traffic island on the other end and the car flipped. Coleman flew hard into Steiner and the passenger door, then slammed up into the roof. The sound of twisting, screeching metal filled his ears as glass exploded, pelting him from all sides. The car’s roll flung Coleman down into the steering wheel and dash, then back onto the roof again. There was no pain, the pain would come later, only crazy, out-of-control tumbling amid flying glass and crushing steel.