by K R Hill
Connor patted Bartholomew’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming. Thanks for all the help with this whole mess.”
“It’s all good. It’s family.”
“Follow me, I need to show you something.” Connor climbed a fold-up galvanized staircase up to the roof, and pushed open a hatch. He climbed through the hatch, and said, “come on.”
He pulled Bartholomew up onto the roof. “Stay behind me. Be careful.”
Connor crept to the edge of the building and leaned forward just enough to see the street below. “Yeah, they’re both there.” He pointed to a blue Mercedes parked across the street with two large men in it. “You have to get rid of the Ivan twins before you do anything. Make sure you send Ashley out in her uniform before you leave.”
Bartholomew leaned forward and looked over the edge of the roof. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there on time.”
“You have to be. When Nick finishes digging the hole, it’s show time.”
“He just texted. I guess he drove by the site with Dalton, and says it’s a piece of cake. The passenger tire should drop into the hole, just like you planned.”
“Good, then we’re just about set.”
They climbed down into the garage, past the doctor’s car projects, and stepped into the office. Connor hurried to a table and picked up a round, metal object. He turned it over and said: “I got the nozzle adapter back and wanted you to see it before tomorrow. All you got to do is shove it on the water truck hose, and the other end goes in the gun port. I turn on the water, and away we go.”
Bartholomew took the hose adapter. “Okay, this end goes on the water hose, and this end gets shoved into the gun port. It’s easy.”
“Just make sure you don’t drown anyone. Turn the water on or off when I say. I’ll be keeping time. The driver will call in a robbery as soon as we stop the truck. You’ll have twenty seconds to connect the hose. If you can’t get it connected, we abort.”
“Don’t worry. I got it.” Bartholomew set the attachment on the table.
“Okay, let’s get back to the girls.”
They drove in the same vehicle, but split up as they walked to the condo, and met again on the staircase.
Connor tapped softly on the door and saw Ashley peak around the edge of the shade.
During the night he woke and sat on the floor between Alma on the bed, and Ashley beside him, sleeping on cushions. At some point Ashley sat up and climbed behind him, and sat holding him from behind, her legs in his lap.
“I’d marry you anytime, anywhere, Connor Marin,” she whispered. “This is all going to turn out good. I just feel that in my heart. And I’m not letting you out of marrying me.”
He smiled and turned, and kissed her awkwardly.
***
Connor kissed Ashley and left the condo before dawn. To his surprise, the doctor was awake and opened the backdoor seconds after he knocked.
“Come in, come in,” said Dr. Morganstern. “I’m so excited I couldn’t sleep. The others should be here soon.”
“Don’t forget, you have to meet Ashley at that address I gave you.”
“I remember, to babysit, how exciting.”
Dalton and Nick arrived with bagels and coffee. A few minutes later Bartholomew walked in. Everyone sat around the office and chatted about the details and the timing. After about an hour the doctor left. Thirty minutes later they got a surprise.
“How do I look?” Ashley walked in, high heels clicking on the concrete floor. She turned a circle in a skintight miniskirt, black laced up boots to her knees.
“Nasty,” said Bartholomew, moving his arms up and down as though running. “Oh, baby, we’re ready to boogie.”
Ashley laughed. “What about you, Connor? How do I look?”
“Baby, I must be crazy to let you go outside like that. If there was another way, I’d have you change right now. Wow.” He drummed his fingers on his chest, searching for words. “I don’t even know what to say when I look at you.”
“What if the Ivan twins don’t like Miss Sexy here?” asked Bartholomew.
“If they don’t look, then you’ll have to find a way to slip past them.”
Bartholomew hunched his shoulders. “I’m just saying, what if they don’t look?”
Connor took a cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the time. “I don’t know. Play it by ear. You’re a big kid. You figure it out. I got to get in position or this whole plan will be worthless.”
“That’s how you help, by telling me to wing it?”
“Wait a minute.” Connor stopped at the door and turned around. “Tell me you’re not bringing that crazy shotgun.”
Bartholomew lowered his head looked at the ground.
“When I said that you needed to do whatever it takes to get away from those guys, that doesn’t mean I want to see you shooting up a city with my shotgun on the 5 o’clock news.”
“I have it in the trunk. I just wanted to bring it along for security.”
Connor raised a finger in front of Bartholomew’s face. “Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t care what you do about those two guys following you. But I do care about arousing the police when we’re trying to be invisible. Get away from the Russians quietly. Got it?”
“I won’t take it out.”
Connor checked the time on his phone. “The armored truck will be there in thirty minutes. I got to get set up. Don’t forget the adapter.”
“I got it.”
“Ashley, remember where we stashed that vehicle?”
“I do.” She bent over a tiny bit and tugged her miniskirt lower down her legs. “I know, Connor. We’ve been over it a hundred times.”
“Two hundred times,” said Bartholomew.
“I’ll be there with the white import.”
Connor hurried to the back door and ran up the alley.
***
Ten minutes after Connor left, Bartholomew looked at the clock. “It’s time to go,” he said, walking toward the car. “Are you ready?”
Ashley stood up and shook her ass from side to side as she tried to cover more of her legs with the miniskirt. “Yes, here we go.”
Bartholomew held the door slightly ajar after Ashley stepped out. He watched her swaying up the sidewalk. Every man she passed did a double take and turned to see her from behind. A few made lewd comments. The clicking of her heels announced her presence and got the attention of the two Russians in the car.
When Ashley reached their Mercedes, she stepped into the street, dropped her bag, and bent over to get it.
The moment she stepped into the street, Bartholomew jumped into the Honda and clicked the remote control for the garage door. It had only opened half way when he drove out onto the street, and was halfway around the corner when he looked in the rearview mirror.
The two Ivans were walking toward Ashley.
“No,” shouted Bartholomew. “I can’t go back. There’s no time.” He pounded a fist against the dashboard, pulled to the curb, threw it into park, and ran along the street.
By the time he got there, one of the men had his arm around Ashley and was dragging her to the car. Bartholomew hit that guy hard in the kidney. The no neck collapsed to one knee. Before Bartholomew punched again, the other Russian hit him with a club.
He took a blow on the shoulder, and across the side of his head. Bartholomew staggered back and tried to regain his balance. His vision went blurry. He raised his arms into a boxer’s stance, but the Russian hit him across the thigh. That blow dropped Bartholomew to the ground. He couldn’t punch, couldn’t grab the guy and wrestle. He wobbled, supporting himself on an elbow, then fell onto his back in the street.
The Russian raised the club to crack Bartholomew’s head.
Bart squinted and focused his vision, and he laughed when a pair of sexy black boots came up behind the man with the club.
Suddenly the Russian barked in pain and his legs clamped together.
The sweetest thing Bartholomew had ever seen was one o
f those boots coming out of the Russian’s crotch.
As the guy fell, Ashley hit him about five times, and as Bartholomew watched, laying there in the street, he couldn’t help but move his shoulders as if he was the one thumping on the Russian.
“You came back for me,” cried Ashley. “Thank you. Let’s get back on schedule.” She helped Bartholomew to his feet. Together they stumbled along the street to the car.
***
Connor lay in the field and stuffed a small Salvation Army pillow under the front of the sniper rifle. He pushed a few dirt clods out of the way, stretched his legs, and thought about his peaceful place. It was where he always went when he needed to slow his breathing and make an important shot. He imagined sitting on the end of a pier. The clear Caribbean lapped at the pilings around him. Pelicans glided across the water. He added more details in his mind, and felt his breathing grow deeper and slower.
As the visualization took effect, his mind raced back to the details of his plan. It wasn’t the range that was going to make this shot difficult, he knew. It was the fact that he had to hit a moving target. The truck would be pulling off the street, onto the on-ramp where Nick had dug a hole. Not only would the truck’s passenger side tire drop into the hole, but Connor had to shoot it out the second it dropped into the hole.
Because of the grade of the on-ramp, the truck would already be leaning to one side. Add to that the extra drop the hole would supply, the shot would flip the truck on its side. Once on its side, it could not move. It would be sitting cash duck.
The truck turned onto the ramp. A few cars moved around it, their turn signals flashing yellow. Connor breathed through his mouth, slow and easy. He moved his finger into position and applied pressure, breathing in, breathing out as he squeezed.
The truck dropped into the hole, and the rifle recoiled against his shoulder. He heard the shot. For an instant he watched through the scope. The tire burst and the truck crashed onto its side.
Connor jumped to his feet, dropped the rifle into the little trench that he had dug, and pushed dirt over the top of it with his shoes. He scanned the area for anything he might’ve left behind, sprinted onto the road, and ran to the truck.
The first call to the security company was going over the airwaves, he knew. That meant he had three minutes max before squad cars came skidding to a halt around the truck.
The water truck pulled up and Bartholomew jumped out. In a flash he shoved the adapter onto the end of the hose, climbed up onto the side of the armored truck, and tried to shove the adapter into a gun port.
“It won’t go,” shouted Bartholomew. He hammered the end of the hose against the truck.
“Stop!” Connor ran over and twisted the adapter into place. “There. Hurry!”
“Turn on the water,” shouted Bartholomew, slapping the side of the truck.
Connor grabbed the lever on the back of the water truck and shoved it forward. The thick black hose jumped, inflated like a balloon, and gurgled. He looked at his cell phone, swiped a couple times to get it into the stopwatch app. He raised a hand, shaking it as he counted off seconds, and brought it down as he shut off the water.
Water was seeping onto the pavement through cracks around the back door, and from the armored truck’s gun ports.
Bartholomew hammered on the truck with the handle of a pistol, and shouted: “Nobody wants to die. Open the door and throw out your weapons, or we’re going to turn the water back on. You’ll drown in thirty seconds. You have five seconds to decide. Five, four, three, two—”
There came a thumping and hollering from inside the truck. The back doors burst open and a flood of water hit the pavement and washed down the on-ramp behind the truck.
A car turned onto the ramp and slammed on its brakes. The driver suddenly realized what was happening, jumped from the car, tripped and rolled, then jumped to his feet and ran away with his arms above his head.
The moment the rear doors burst open, Bartholomew ran over and aimed a pistol. Two side arms fell to the pavement outside the truck. A shotgun flew out and slid across the asphalt.
“We’re coming out. Don’t shoot.”
Two men climbed out. Bartholomew rushed over and told them to get down on their knees and put their faces on the pavement.
Connor jumped inside the wet vehicle and grabbed one of the boxes holding the cash. By the time he got out, a Toyota pulled up with Ashley behind the wheel. He ran to vehicle, dropped the container in the trunk, ran back to the armored truck and grabbed the other box, shoved it into the trunk and slammed the lid.
“Let’s go,” said Bartholomew, climbing into the backseat and aiming his weapon out the window.
Connor climbed into the Toyota. “Go. We’re just three people driving along, nice and slow and easy.”
They followed the flow of traffic on the freeway, and pulled off two miles from the robbery.
“It’s right over there.” Bartholomew pointed at a vehicle across the mall parking lot.
Ashley pulled up and turned off the engine.
“Okay,” said Connor, opening the door of the second vehicle. “They saw us leave in a white import and head North. So now we’ll be two people in a blue import, heading south. Bartholomew, we’ll drop you a mile from this car. That way when you call a taxi or a Lyft, there’s nothing to tie you to this parking lot.”
Connor jumped into the driver’s seat and drove slowly out onto the main street. After he had gone a few blocks, he looked into the rearview mirror. “We didn’t even need that shotgun.”
Bartholomew smiled. “Look, we’re driving around with two containers full of cash. I figured I may as well bring some backup.”
Connor used the turn signals at every turn, kept his speed at the legal limit, and came to a complete stop at every sign. “Bart, I’ll let you off right over there. Let me get through the intersection.”
When the turn arrow changed to green, he drove into the intersection and accelerated. Off to the side he heard an engine racing, and saw headlights speeding straight at him. “Look out!” He shouted.
The speeding car flew into the intersection and hit him on the front right fender. There was a terrible crash, and the sound of grating metal. Windows shattered.
Connor locked his hands on the wheel as the little import spun around. The second his car came to a stop, he looked up at that ugly red face of Redmond, in the vehicle beside him.
Redmond laughed.
Connor fought with the gear shift lever and tried to shove the transmission into drive. He shoved it forward and it made a horrible grinding noise. Stomping on the clutch, he threw the shifter forward and tried to ease it into gear, but it made the same grinding noise.
“Shotgun,” shouted Bartholomew.
Connor looked at Redmond again. The guy in the back seat of Redmond’s car was swinging the barrel of a shotgun in his direction. Connor grabbed the shifter with both hands and jabbed it forward with all his strength. The transmission ground and bit, but popped into gear. He stomped on the accelerator and burned rubber. The little import spun a circle and slammed into Redmond’s Mercedes with a jolt.
Ashley screamed.
Connor never let off the gas pedal. He stomped on the clutch and slammed the transmission into reverse, and dumped the clutch. The little import did another burnout, hopping up and down as it sped backward through the intersection.
Without letting up on the gas, Connor jammed the shifter into first gear, coolant spilling into the intersection, glass sliding across the hood, pedestrians running, cars honking.
Ashley took her purse and knocked out the shattered windshield. It slid across the hood.
As Connor drove off, he pumped the clutch and ground the trans into second gear.
The big Mercedes was locked to his rear end. Redmond screamed. A shotgun fired.
Connor cringed and ducked his head forward as the rear windshield burst.
“Where’s my baby?” shouted Bartholomew, tearing at the back seat, tugging a
t the headrest, rocking back and forth and tearing at the fabric.
Connor whipped the wheel and the car turned sideways around a corner. It bounced off the curb and a front tire blew out. He whipped the wheel straight, sparks flying as the rim spun on the pavement.
The shotgun fired again. Bartholomew shouted and grabbed his shoulder. “I’m hit. That fucker. That fucking Russian. I’m going to show him how we play.” He attacked the seat and ripped it open.
He was half way into the trunk when the car spun around another corner and stopped facing the way it had come. Bartholomew slammed into a door, bounced off and jumped on the rear seat again, tearing it apart and reaching into the trunk. After digging about, he found what he was looking for.
Ashley screamed.
Connor whipped the wheel and the car straightened out.
“Red light! I’m not stopping.” Connor leaned forward. The car hit the top of a rise and got airborne as it entered the intersection.
Bartholomew straightened up with the shotgun, but Ashley screamed and took it away from him, climbed out the window and sat there crying and screaming. Then she found the trigger and fired a burst of six rounds into Redmond’s Mercedes. The empty casings flew into the Toyota and bounced around.
Before the car hit the ground, Connor looked in the mirror and saw the windshield of the Mercedes burst. The man behind the steering wheel covered his face.
Horns screamed. Tires screeched as brakes locked up. Two cars raced past them. A third car spun and hit the curb. And just when Connor thought he was through the intersection; a huge high boy pickup truck came speeding toward him. He turned and cleared the truck’s bumper. But the Mercedes was not so lucky.
Redmond’s Mercedes spun sideways and the truck T boned it, pushing it to the curb.
Connor let off the gas pedal and drove at a normal speed, turned several times and wound his way into the suburbs. On a quiet residential street, he parked the wreck.
“Oh my God.” Ashley stared at the shotgun in her lap. “This thing is wild.”
“Here you go, Wild Thing.” Connor took the gun and handed it to Bartholomew. He glanced in the rearview mirror.