Girl in a Fishbowl (Crowbar Book 1)

by Thomas A. Gilly

  “Alright, whatever. I’ll take point and you take the rear. I mean, I trust you with my life too. I want that to be clear.”

  “Thanks bro.”

  Rock released Terri’s arm and started walking ahead of them, up the narrow stairwell with the wall to the right and the metal handrail to the left. Goose, still holding her left arm, gave her a shake and said, “Move.”

  She wanted to jump over the handrail—all she wanted was to get away from them. Anything was better than being these men’s prisoner. But Goose was in the way.

  Then she saw something. Tucked in the small of Rock’s back under his t-shirt—there was the outline of a gun. Right at her eye level as he moved up the stairs. A gun. Within reach. She followed after Rock. Goose kept with her.

  Goose was holding her upper arm—that still allowed her reach forward with her free hand. But she would have to pull up the t-shirt with her left hand so she could grab the gun with her right. Could she do it fast enough if she lunged forward before Goose pulled back her left arm?

  They reached the first landing. She needed to get closer to Rock. She picked up the pace.

  “Hey, I think she’s looking forward to it,” Goose said. “That’s right girly, we’re going to have some fun.”

  Rock started up the next flight of stairs. The gun was at chest height to her. Right there. In her mind she went through the motions. Grab the t-shirt with her left hand. Pull it up. Grab the gun with her right. Point it at Goose’s chest. Fire. Point it at Rock. Fire.

  They reached the next landing. How many flights were they going up? She had to do it on the next set of stairs. Thank God Rock didn’t stop. He led them up the stairs. She had to do it. Just go through the motions.

  They were in the middle of the stairs. There was the gun, right there, in reach.

  Goose suddenly stopped. “What’s that?” he cried, letting go of Terri and reaching around behind his own back. Terri glanced at the top of the stairs and saw a small figure, an animal of some sort, about the size of a cat, standing on its hind legs, a small head on a long neck with two glowing eyes.

  Both of Terri’s arms were free. With her left hand she pulled up Rock’s t-shirt and with her right she grabbed for the gun. It slid out of its holster and Terri pulled it in close to her body and pivoted toward Goose. Pointing at his chest, she fired. The flash lit up the stairwell and the bang rang in her ears. Goose staggered backwards, his right hand clutching his gun which he tried to lift, but it seemed heavy to him and he just fired it into the stairs as he tumbled backwards onto the landing below. Terri now pivoted toward Rock. As she lifted the gun he looked down at her with rage. His fist was swinging toward her. It impacted her chin and her head crashed into the wall of the stairwell.

  As she blacked out she could hear the sound of thunder.

  Chapter 59

  Conrad, Two-Guns, and Nose were weaving their way through back alleys under the eternal twilight of the Bergs. They went silently, hardly a word between them as Nose led them on their circuitous route. Finally, Nose motioned them to stop and said in a whisper, “Just one more block. I don’t think they’ve spotted us.”

  “Good,” Two-Gun said.

  “Before we go any further I have to go into this alley and see a man about a horse.”

  Nose went into a side alley out of sight. Two-Guns figured it was a good idea, you never want to get into any tight situation with a full bladder. She followed him.

  Nose was relieving himself on the alley wall. Two-Guns moved down a respectful few meters and unzipped her pants. Nose looked over at her quizzically as he heard tinkling splash against the wall. He finally said matter-of-factly, “You’re a girl with a penis.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hmm.” Nose thought about that. He then said, “Seems like you have the best of both worlds.”

  “That’s the way I look at it,” Two-Guns said.

  “It’s a wonder more people don’t do it.”

  “I often wonder the same thing.”

  “I would make an ugly girl.”

  “Yeah,” Two-Guns said, zipping up her pants. “But you’re an adorable guy.”

  Nose, tying up his sweatpants, gave a rose-hued blush that was visible even in the washed out light under the Bergs.

  They approached the back entrance of the hotel along a narrow access road. A chest high loading dock jutted out adjacent to concrete stairs leading to a service door. Across the road was a large brown dumpster that had been full at the time of the detonation, and thus remained full. Anything the flies would have been drawn to had become desiccated long ago.

  “We’ve been spotted,” Two-Guns said, motioning down the road. Headlights were rushing their way. They looked down the other direction and saw two more headlights speeding toward them.

  “I’m sorry,” Nose said apologetically. “I thought we would be safe this way.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Two-Guns said. “I’m curious to see what they’ll have to say. Stay close to me.” They backed away next to the dumpster, Conrad to her right and Nose to her left.

  The two Felicity Black jeeps stopped, facing each other with less than a meter between the two sets of headlights, blocking their way to the hotel. There were two guards in each, all of them wearing HAZMAT suits. They piled out immediately and made a line facing them.

  “You are trespassing on private property,” the guard facing Two-Guns’ said authoritatively. “This is a contaminated zone. We need to take you to safety immediately.”

  “I’m Detective Martinez from the McGees Rocks Police Department. I believe that there is a fugitive hiding in that building behind you. If you are familiar with the building you are welcome to help me search it.”

  “There is no fugitive in any of these buildings, we keep them under tight surveillance. Now if you will please come with us, we need to get you out of this contaminated zone.”

  Two-Guns shook her head. “I happen to know if we stay here for a week we’ll barely get more radiation than from a single dental x-ray. My main concern is that the fugitive in that building doesn’t get away.”

  “I’m sorry detective, do you have a warrant?”

  “No, I don’t, but I have strong reason to believe that there is a fugitive in that building and she will get away unless I search it now. So please, either help me or stand aside.”

  “Detective, aren’t you currently on leave from your police department?”

  Two-Guns’ jaws tightened. “Yes but that—”

  They all heard a bang from within the building. Two-Guns immediately recognized it as a gunshot. A moment later there was a second shot.

  The four guards turned toward the sounds of the gunshots. They were all reaching into their HAZMAT suits. It was their shoulders that gave them away. It wasn’t unusual for guards to go for their weapons at the sounds of gunshots—but by the motion of their shoulders Two-Guns knew they weren’t going to point the guns toward the building. She knew in an instant of how they were going to play it. She was obviously the biggest threat—the two in the middle were going to go for her. The one on her far right was going to go for Conrad, the one on her far left would go for Nose. She reached under her windbreaker and pulled out her shotgun. She aimed at the one who had been speaking—the leader. He was just bringing a small submachine gun, an FN P110, up to bear. She knew they were wearing body armor. Her first shot was fired without aiming. The impact hit his body and the HAZMAT suit under his arm billowed away as he was thrown backwards, his weapon firing harmlessly into the air.

  Her next target should have been the one to the left—but she saw the one on the far right aiming toward Conrad and firing. Just on her peripheral vision she could see Conrad diving for cover behind the dumpster. Good boy. She really should be going for the one on the left, the one aiming at her, but a perp was firing on an unarmed civilian. This time she aimed and shot directly at his head. The HAZMAT hood flew off in pieces, exposing the military grade full cover armor helmet. His ne
ck jerked back hard—a twelve gauge at close range should at least have him dazed for a few moments—if not knocking him unconscious.

  She felt the impacts on her side, against her vest, like hard little rabbit punches to her kidneys. She felt herself loosing balance. She tried to pivot but another impact left her falling face first away from the shooter. She really should have gone for the one to the left. She sprawled onto the ground on her stomach. She was expecting a head shot—ever since she joined Special Forces, ever since it became a real possibility that she could be killed by a bullet, it was a hope of hers that if it happened she would at least be facing her killer. But he would shoot her now in the back of the head, now that she was helpless. She glanced at Conrad. He was still behind the dumpster. Shit. “Run!” she barked, expecting the bullet to impact at any moment. “Run kid!” She couldn’t believe she was still alive. Maybe a jam. She rolled onto her back to face the shooter, her shotgun ready.

  The shooter was on his knees. His head was being knocked back and forth like a punching bag as Nose pummeled him with his bare fists—no, not bare fists—he was wearing brass knuckles. Nose’s face, a face that had been as affable and easy going as any she had ever seen (even without a nose) was now transformed into demonic rage that could match any Japanese kabuki mask. The perp on the far left was unsteadily trying to get back to his feet. Two-Guns was about to shout a warning when Nose reached toward him, pulled his gun from his hands and threw it hard against the wall, and then, grappling him around the waist he lifted him up off the ground with his head pointing down and did a hard pile drive into the asphalt. Two-Guns heard the helmet crack. Nose then continued his pummeling of the other shooter.

  Two-Gun pushed herself to a standing position as the leader was regaining his feet. She knocked him down again with shot to his helmeted head. She then took out a can of Spray-Cuff from her belt and started binding their wrists and ankles. Turning to Nose she said “Hey Nose, I think they’re done. I can take it from here.”

  Nose continued punching. Two-Guns stepped forward with her spray can. “Hey, I’m going to bind them up now. We have to look for Bobbi 1.”

  That got his attention. He backed away from the perp who toppled to the ground. Two-Guns bound the last two with the Spray-Cuff.

  Conrad came out from behind the dumpster and looked at the security guards lying on the road. “Dafuq,” he said in disbelief.

  “That was real good Nose,” Two-Guns said. “That was a real good job. I owe you one.”

  Nose, still hopped up on adrenalin, bounced on his heels and said, “Okay, yep. Alright, yep.”

  “We don’t know who fired those shots in there,” Two-Guns said. “Bobbi 1 might need our help. Nose, can you work a submachine gun?”

  “Yep, yeah, sure.” He picked one up off the road.

  “How about you Conrad?”

  “Um, uh. Um, pacifist.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, how about if you just carry one around? In case we need it. Keep your finger away from the trigger, okay?”

  Chapter 60

  Natalya stood looking over Sergei’s shoulder as he typed into the computer in the cubical office space behind the counter.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  Sergei, exasperated, said, “I need to zero out all the memory on the hotel server. After this place blows up we don’t want anything incriminating to be found, although I was assured that the investigation into the explosion will be minimal, if anyone does find anything I will be dead.”

  “I still can’t believe they trusted all this to you.”

  He gave her a withering look. “I still have a bunch of stuff to do, everything is well in hand so by all means you can go home now.”

  “I want to see her body.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Emotional gestalt.” When he gave her a blank look she said. “I need closure. Seeing her corpse will allow me to put her behind me.”

  He stopped his typing and turned the chair toward her. Lifting his hands toward her he squeezed them into fists twice and said, “We are not going to kill her before the building blows up. We are going to render her and Craynium unconscious and place them next to the propane tank. Then we will set the detonator. It will seem like they were trying to turn on the gas and screwed it up. Two fugitives from justice, dead by their own incompetence. No one left to contradict your story.”

  “What if they wake up before the detonator goes off? What if the detonator doesn’t go off?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them he said, “We’ve had some extremely competent people go over this plan. All I have to do is go downstairs and flick a switch. Twenty minutes later the place is leveled. We have some very strong sedative. In a few hours we will have nothing to worry about.”

  “Fine, so you won’t mind me sticking around until—”

  They heard a loud bang from somewhere in the building. A moment later there was a second bang.

  Sergei jumped to his feet.

  “What was that?” Natalya cried, turning toward the lobby.

  “Fuck,” Sergei said. “I told them not to use guns!”

  “Did they just shoot Terri?”

  Sergei lifted a hand to slap Natalya but instead gave her a stern, disapproving look.

  “Come on,” she said to him. “I think that rule is so over. Shouldn’t you be calling—”

  From the back of the building they heard a deeper bang, followed by machine gun fire.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Sergei said, now clearly panicked.

  “Shouldn’t you be calling your people?” Natalya asked.

  “We’re on radio silence.” He then sat back down at the computer and said, “We still have the regular hotel security cameras monitoring outside. Let me check.”

  A number of video feeds appeared simultaneously on his monitor. Two of them showed the back alley. He touched one and the image filled the whole screen.

  “Who the . . .”

  “Wait,” said Natalya. “Is that Conrad? Hold it! That’s Detective Martinez! Who the fuck is that bald guy wrecking that guy in the suit? Shit, I don’t think he has a nose. Is that a glitch or . . . yeah, he doesn’t have a nose! What the fuck is going on?”

  “We have to get out of here,” Sergei said, visibly pale. “I have to blow this place up, now. You go out the front and get the hell out of here. I’m going to go to the basement and start the detonator. With any luck these people will get caught in the explosion.”

  He stood quickly, sending the office chair rolling behind him. He grabbed her shoulders and said, “You have to get out now!”

  “Wait!” she said. “What about Terri? I have to make sure she gets blown up!”

  Sergei fumbled around in his pockets until he found a key ring. “Here,” he said, thrusting them toward her. “The white one goes to the cells. Go upstairs to the karaoke rooms, on the right, we turned them into cells. When you see Rock and Goose tell them to sedate Craynium and Bobbi, if they’re not dead already, and bring them to the basement now.” He rushed out of the office into the lobby.

  She looked at the security feed from outside. Conrad and company were now at the door. The detective tried it and it was locked. She motioned the others away and pointed a gun at it.

  “Fuck,” Natalya said and ran into the lobby.

  When Natalya entered the hallway to the cells she reached into her leather vest and pulled out a gun. It wasn’t the same gun that shot Marja, that one was in evidence, of course, but it was the same model.

  “Hello?” she called down the hall. “Goose? Rock?” She unlocked the first door. Empty. She unlocked the second—it was empty too.

  The third had an occupant lying on the bed. His clothes were torn and bloody. Despite all the blood and bruises on his face, she recognized him as David Hicks. He lifted himself slowly, painfully onto his elbows, and looked at her. There was awareness in those eyes—pained awareness, and rage.

  She po
inted the gun at him and said, “The Black Iron Prison always wins.”

  She fired two bullets into him.

  Chapter 61

  Jerome was maddeningly frustrated. He looked through Digby’s eyes at the scene on the stairs below him. The man who Teresa Vieira has shot had tumbled down to the landing and was motionless—blood making an expanding pool underneath him. Teresa was lying on her back, her body inclined on the stairs, her head on the bottom stair with her feet halfway up. Her head was shaking slowly side to side. The other man had his back to Digby. He was higher up the stairs, looking down at Teresa. He was on his knees—he was holding onto the handrail with one hand, the other was at his own throat.

  Jerome was fairly sure that Teresa had shot him in the neck when he had punched her.

  “You have to wake up the girl,” Jerome was telling Digby. The My Friendly Dragon toy was made to be controlled by voice commands. It did not come with any manual controls. Jerome had intended Digby to have total control, so he never programmed a manual mode. The only way he could get the dragon robot to do anything was to explain it to Digby.

  “I don’t understand what happened here,” Digby said.

  “Go down the stairs right now to the girl! Right now!”

  “Alright alright,” Digby said, loping down the steps. At the bottom he stood on his hind legs over Terri’s face.

  “Now yell at her as loud as you can, ‘Wake up Teresa.’ Say it now!”

  “Wake up Teresa!” Digby said.

  “Keep saying it! Over and over!”

  “Wake up Teresa! Wake up Teresa!”

  Terri’s eyes fluttered.

  “Slap her in the face as hard as you can!”

  “Won’t that make her mad at me?”

  “She’ll be more mad if you don’t! Now slap her!”

  The My Friendly Dragon wasn’t very strong; it was made to be used by children. Digby’s tiny paw hit Terri’s cheek. It was more like a friendly pat.