by Declan Finn
He laughed. “I looked you up the day we met, Ryan. You Catholics are so pitiful; your religious opiate robs you of real human resolve—all you need is a gun pointed at someone else to stop you. See, all that faux morality is no replacement for a good secular brain, and a secular gun. I’m going to drill you as proof that God-fearing twerps like you are all inferior, and… And you slapped me, you little—”
Ryan smiled. “I’m Catholic, part of the best educated Christian group, and second-best religious group, right after Jews. So I’m smarter than you. I also have sharpshooters ready to take your head off, so I’d be careful where you point that.”
Eielson narrowed his eyes a moment before muzzle flashes filled his vision and gunshots filled his eyes. He spun around, firing wildly into the hallway. Ryan body-slammed him into the wall, then grabbed him and lifted him off the ground by the throat.
“Resist,” Ryan asked. “Blink at me funny, you son of a bitch.” He pulled out a gun and pressed the muzzle into his eyeball. “Please, mouth off, I beg you.”
Eielson didn’t even feel the urge to talk. Sean’s eyes crackled like an electrical storm, and his fingers slowly tightened around his throat. “Fuck around with a pregnant woman on the set? Kill a baby? I guess it’s not funny now, is it! The light you see at the end of the barrel isn’t Heaven, jackass, it’s just muzzle flash.”
A gentle hand touched his arm. “Sean, let him down.” Mira smiled at him sadly. “I know. But as I understand American prisons, people such as Eielson do not live long.”
Ryan looked from Mira to Eielson and back again. She was right, and he knew it; he’d used that prison factoid before, and now… Damn, I really am losing it.
He squinted at Eielson and let him go…before punching him…once.
Eielson fell like a shot domino.
“Damn, couldn’t you have stayed awake long enough for me to rough you up a little?” He turned back to the others. “I had thought about leading shooters into this room, so I had Mitch line it with squibs. The guys from before couldn’t exactly be led, so I decided to use it for Mr. Eielson here.”
Ryan looked over his shoulder at the sounds of approaching footfalls. “Ah, Detective, how nice to see you. I have a murderer for you, if you want him.”
“Two out of three.” McGauren smiled. “I thought I’d have three disappointments for this convention. Eielson wasn’t the corpse, but at least he did it, and he is as mean as advertised.”
“Glad to see you have a goal in life fulfilled. Would you mind arresting him while I go tell my staff to pat down everyone, including guests?”
McGauren nodded and slapped the cuffs on Eielson.
Ryan turned to the others. “Once you give her your accounts on Eielson’s arrest, you’re free to leave.” He walked next to Inna and said, “Can you imagine, we’ve gotten through an entire convention, and we only had maybe two nutcases the entire weekend…that’s not bad out of a few thousand people.”
Peters cackled. “Assuming they’re not serial killers on alternate weekends.”
Ryan sighed. “As long as it’s not this weekend… Anyway, there’s only the little matter of the bottle thrower from Friday night, and some guy at the vampire ball trying to remove my head, and that’s assuming they’re not just random nuts.”
Inna tapped him on the shoulder. “What about the Axe Murderer you met this morning? Was it one of the cartel?”
“Good question. You going to be busy for a while?”
Inna nodded. “Caitlin has a panel to attend. She was going to have Eielson on it, but I suppose that is out.”
“Aw, what a shame. You’ll actually be able to get a word in edgewise.” He glanced at Caitlin. “By the way, two of Inna’s clients have tried to kill me; you need to start representing rap artists.”
“Nah, they’re too busy with publicist-arranged shootouts.”
Smile. “Mira, I’m going to leave for a little bit, I need to chat with somebody.”
***
The “Ranger” drug-dealer opened his eyes, and blinked, wondering what sort of dream he was in. The entire world was upside down: the trees, the buildings, he looked up and saw the ground.
“Name, rank, and serial number, jackass, or else,” Sean said with a shake.
He noted he was being held by the ankles. “Antonio DiVascas, I want a lawyer.”
Sean smiled. “I’m not a cop, and you have no rights until I give them to you. See, the police don’t realize you’re gone yet; they’ve been busy, so they’ll think you committed suicide rather than be jailed.” He shook him again. “Talk or drop. Right now, I really want to hurt someone. Did you try to kill me this morning?”
“Of course, didn’t you see the bullets?”
“No, moron, I mean one in the morning, you, me, and an axe.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sean let go of one ankle, and DiVascas screamed. However, he hung off the back of the sports center, and there was no one around, just the concrete below.
“I mean you’re going to be making love to the sidewalk if you don’t tell me what you’ve been doing the last few days.”
“You dropped us in the pool, I dressed up as Zorro, and we tried to cap your sister. What more do you want?”
“You mean you weren’t in the vendors’ room last night?”
DiVascas shrieked. “No! We only killed Juan there, man!”
“Wow, am I supposed to be impressed? How long have you been on campus?”
“Since LA. The heat was on, and we came here to regroup.”
“That’s almost a year, Tony. And how did you know to intercept me in LA? I left here and found you in an SUV waiting for me. How’d you do it?”
Antonio said something obscene.
Sean shook him one-handed, reminding him the precariousness of his position. “Try again. I know his name. I’ll say it, you confirm it.”
He did, and DiVascas did. “Now let me go!”
And Sean did, leaving him to gravity. He appreciated the man’s screams of terror as he fell toward the pavement. He was quite calm as he did so, unworried with fears of discovery or retribution.
After a moment, Sean grabbed hold of the bungee cord and reeled him back up. At least I remembered it this time.
***
Sean Ryan kicked in the office door, fuming like a recently-escaped mental patient. He carried his large “Gandalf” staff, a sword strapped to his hip. “I picked up a few things, lest your guards forgot who was in charge. They’ll recover.”
Sean leaned the six-foot staff against the wall and glared at both Janowitz and Robert Harrington. The university president’s tall anorexic features seemed a little more menacing as he stood, his deep brown eyes reflecting none of their original charm.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ryan?” Janowitz said, standing.
“Ask Mr. Kerr over there,” he nodded at Harrington. “Remember when we first met, Mr. President? You told me you met Clark Kerr’s definition of a perfect college—parking for faculty, sports for alumni, and sex for students. While I haven’t seen hookers as a part of the ‘admission package’, I’ve seen drugs.”
Harrington scoffed. “Give me a break. You can’t seriously believe anything some drug dealer tells you.” Harrington smirked. “Where else would you get such a ridiculous notion?”
Sean shook his head. “No, sir. You see, these gunmen were living on campus, and you personally let them in.” He grinned. “Isn’t paperwork a bitch? I suspect having a girlfriend on the side is also a bitch, isn’t it? The dealers gave me the confession, but you left the evidence. They came a year ago, once I beat them the first time, and you discovered them on campus. And instead of turning them in, you used them, took a cut for yourself. Peters may have insisted on security for Mira, but your buddies also suggested calling me. You see, Harrington, I’m not here to get a confession; I’m here to tell you you’ve been taken down by someone with a GED.”
Harrington shook his head. “I do
n’t see it that way, Mr. Ryan. You see, they prepared me well.” He reached down to open a drawer.
Before Harrington even finished speaking, Sean was in motion. He flung himself to the side, grabbing for the staff, while reaching for the throwing knife in his costume badge. His left hand grabbed the staff, and his right threw the blade. Harrington ducked under the knife, and as he stood, he saw the blunt end of the staff coming directly at his face.
Chapter 12: Euro-Trashed
Sean Ryan now received strange looks wherever he went. There were several people who had been abused by Corbin Eielson who came up to him to shake his hand. Three college students slipped him cash, presumably as a reward for disposing of President Harrington. Several people asked where they, too, could get a staff like his, when they weren’t critiquing his mismatching of G5 clothing with Lord of the Rings weaponry.
The bodyguard walked to the side passage of the sports center, waiting for Inna, Mira, and Goran. As they approached, Ryan noted that it appeared to be Mira’s turn to hold Marko. Goran was smiling, although his eyes were mildly bloodshot.
Looks like he might be sobering up.
Sean led the way into the sports center, expecting everyone to have disappeared. It was three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon, and most of the volunteers were busy breaking down sets. The CSU that had been collecting shell casings and guns—as well as confiscating all of the weapons he had fired in the lobby shootout—were gone.
But I still have my Firestar, so there, nyah!
Ryan let his eyes casually scan the hallway that paralleled the gym. He stopped dead in the hallway, nearly causing a collision with Inna behind him. He lowered himself into a crouch, closely examined a loose piece of white plastic, noting that it had been cleanly severed. The remains of a peace bond.
“Everyone,” he said, his voice tense and low. “Back away, very slowly, for the exit.”
Sean reached for the small of his back with slow, minuscule movements. “Someone cut through a peace bond. That takes a bolt cutter, not exactly something you find lying around campus. Are you packing?”
“Whenever you’re in town, of course.”
“Get ready to grab it.” He glanced at her, moving only his eyes. “Get them out. You first, Mira, and Goran last; head for the woods. I’ll cover you.”
Mira blinked. “What about Athena and Edward?”
Sean mentally cursed. He should have known better than to give them an errand before it was certain that all the problems were dead and buried. “They're busy, and out of reach. Trust me, I had a good reason for that. At least it seemed reasonable then. Just go.”
Inna nodded and reached for her subcompact, .38-caliber Glock 28; Sean had helped pick it out with her.
***
They had waited for three whole days, checking security, testing it for breeches, watching the Mexicans test Ryan’s abilities. They had been patient, waiting for security to be at its weakest, assuring that Ryan would get as little warning as possible. They had posted signs in the Javits Center informing the general public that Mira’s final appearance of the day had been canceled; one of their number had stood outside the gym, telling that lie to anyone who hadn’t already gotten the message. They had done it all under the watchful eye of the police force, standing only meters from the yellow crime scene tape of Sean’s lobby shootout. If the police had failed to leave by that time, it would have been a simple matter to kill them and leave a guard at the side entrance, since the police had already placed crime scene tape across the front.
Luckily for the crime scene analysts, they had the blessings of a tourist’s video camera photographing the whole thing, the simplicity of the crime scene (primarily shell casings and fingerprinting without much in the way of fluids), and the combined pressure of Waldemar Janowitz harassing them, as well as President Harrington bringing pressure on them to finish the analysis quickly. (In fact, Harrington had just finished a phone call to the highest government official he knew before Sean had arrested him.)
Inside the gym was the core of the trap, men who would be the primary attackers. There was, of course, supporting fire in the bleachers above, in case of emergency.
The spotter had noted the prey on approach, and was halfway down the excessively long corridor when they stopped. The spotter, dressed in a black Batman costume, noted this to his colleagues in the gym, those who were the trap.
Dragan Vasnic, a short, pale man with blue eyes, smiled. He had been the bottle thrower, or “Molotov,” as Sean liked to call him; he had also tried to remove Ryan’s head from his shoulders in the vendors’ room that morning. This assignment had been much more fun than he expected; he had spent so much of his time in Frenki’s Boys killing civilians who didn’t put up much of a fight. This, at least, might be sporting.
He looked to his three colleagues. Two were tall, broad men who had looked simply ravishing in Goth clothing when they had broken cover to handle Sean Ryan on their own. Andre Dragov, known to the Goth crowd as “Goliath,” had been given a nasty shock by Ryan’s Borg arm, and looked forward to the rematch. Mikhail Drazen, a six-foot colleague, had been invisible under the Turian makeup he wore the first day Mira had arrived, when he attempted to drive a fake knife into her heart; his arm was still a little sore from the encounter.
Dragan Vasnic told Batman to proceed, and hold the targets until backup arrived.
Batman proceeded cautiously down the hallway, trying not to draw attention by charging like a deranged predator.
However, they were already partially out the door.
Batman let out a loud bellow, freezing Goran in his well-spaced stride as the killer hurled a spread of three shuriken, tossed vertically. The throwing stars barely missed Ryan, but hit Goran. The first one lodged in the Serb’s knee, bringing him down low enough for the second to fly over his head, and for the third one to drive into his shoulder.
Sean stopped, turned, aimed, and fired, hitting Batman once in the chest; he staggered and clung to the wall, but didn’t slide down to the floor. His eyes flickered to just over Batman’s shoulder at a newcomer dressed as Dare-Demon in dark red leather. He readjusted and fired again, knocking that one backwards.
Ryan checked for anyone else, and guessed he had maybe a few seconds before someone else came for him. He crouched next to Goran. The throwing stars had come from the vendors’ area, which explained the severed peace bonds.
Someone had to buy their weapons here, how nice. “Goran, can you walk?”
“Go!” he groaned, not even bothering to look up at him. “You can’t carry me.”
Ryan heard a grunt of breath and looked down the hall. Batman was in the process of righting himself, and Dare-Demon rose to his feet.
Kevlar? Give me a break!
Sean fired twice more, one bullet per person. Both men had braced for the impact, and they only staggered this time instead of dropping. There were at least two more shapes behind them on approach.
Goran Nikolic slapped at him. “Go!”
Ryan gritted his teeth and fired three times down the hallway before grabbing his “Gandalf” staff and dashing for the door. He turned right, heading for the forest. Inna and Mira were thirty yards ahead him, standing at the forest’s edge. Petraro stood, legs spread, two hands on her Glock poised in front of her. She fired once, twice, three times, three seconds between each shot. Since her bullets were ACP shells instead of hollow-points, the impact of the rounds left marks on Batman, Dare-Demon, and The Wolverine. Sean whirled, dropped to a knee, and fired his last three shots, all of them into Batman’s chest, dropping him. Ryan was already on his feet, speeding away from the attackers, reloading as he ran.
How many of these guys are there? Mom said sixteen died in an explosion; but was it a trick to lower my guard, or was it an accident that cut their manpower in half?
Far in the distance, someone fired an automatic weapon. Sean could hear it was a Stechkin. Wow, that’s a popular model this year.
Sean shooed the two women
into the forest as he tucked the staff under his gun arm and pulled out his cell phone. He tapped Mitchell Scholl’s number, hoping for some neat special effects to at least provide a distraction. It rang six times before a voice said, “Sorry, can’t come to the phone right now, I’m indisposed.”
Mitch? Indisposed?…they’re firing Stechkins, but they didn’t bring weapons from home, because they had to buy the throwing stars here, on campus, which means they had to get the Stechkins from on-campus, which means…
The mind of Sean A.P. Ryan was very vivid, and he had an assortment of potentially gruesome scenarios that could have been visited upon his favorite toymaker. And if any of those pictures are accurate, I’m going to send all of these guys so far into the ninth circle of Hell, they’d think they spent their lives in Siberia…under the ice!
Ryan spun, a feral snarl etched into his face. He fired all ten rounds into the nearest attacker, Dare-Demon, before disappearing into the forest like Robin Hood. He slammed his last clip into place before tucking the gun away. As he had fired, he received a sense of what he was up against. He had seen at least six more people behind Dare-Demon, not counting Batman.
So the odds are at least eight-to-three against.
There was a reason Sean had put away his gun. This was going to be a different type of warfare.
Ryan whistled, calling the two women back to him. He pointed to his immediate left, directing them into a tight cluster of bushes that obviously hadn’t been trimmed over the course of their existence. He slid in behind them. He pressed his hand down, toward the ground, and they went into a crouch. Baby Marko, still drowsy in Mira’s arms, gurgled as he rolled over, burying his head into her breasts.
Lucky child. I just wished I had thought about her shiny costume ahead of time—she would have been easier to hide.
“All right, this what we do,” he began softly. “I’m going to need the both of you to stay here, together. That’s together. I’m going to hunt these guys down. Do not shoot unless you know you’re being fired upon, or if you will be fired upon. They may have more guys than we have bullets, and they’re wearing body armor, anyway.” He spotted a water bottle on the ground and picked it up. “Slide this over the muzzle and use it as a sound suppressor. It’ll only last for three, four shots at the most, and you’ll still have the slide making noise.”