Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection

by Gordon Kessler

  Burke had no idea what he would find, but, proceeding like the Korean War hero he was, he raced up the stairs with no regard for his own safety. Making the top landing, he saw Tricia swinging her arms hopelessly in the master bedroom doorway. The dogs hulked over her, and Dawg had just clamped onto her wrist.

  “What in hell?” he exclaimed and ran to Tricia’s aid. He yanked the first cur off and threw it back to the stairs. Dawg released his grip on her and came back around and caught Burke on the left inner thigh, just below the groin.

  Burke screamed in pain and grabbed the dog by both sides of his head, trying to push him away, but the dog held on as tenaciously as an alligator snapping turtle.

  “Run, little girl. Hide!”

  The Epic Center pushes up three hundred and twenty-five feet above the Kansas plains and is the state’s tallest building. It stands like a monumental monolith in the center of Wichita. A copper, diamond-cut roof caps off this beauty of architecture, its corners pointing north, south, east, and west, causing its walls to be oblique to the streets below. The highest point is the north corner, sloping down at angles to the other three corners, those at equal height. In the peak of the high north corner is a notch, made for a walkway to access the roof. A door opens out on one side of the inside of this notch. Each of the four corners of the building are flat, ten feet wide, to accommodate large corner windows on all floors all the way up the structure.

  CHAPTER 32

  The early afternoon sky, gray and brooding, framed the Epic Center as two black stretch limousines stopped at the curb. Out of the first, four young men in leather jackets, gold chains, and torn blue jeans emerged. All four men wore thick, black-framed sunglasses and had long, thoroughly teased hair of various shades. A fifth man in a suit got out of the second car with six black Dobermans on long leashes. The dogs seemed well behaved and were easily led over and handed to Roary Rapids, the most prominent member of the group. He had bright yellow hair, a long drawn face with fat puffy lips that were too full for his small mouth, and he looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties.

  “Come on, guys, let’s go see about this bullshit. Madonna can’t sign us to open for her, then tell us to take a hike, just like that,” the blond man said, leading the dogs and the other three men to the revolving-door entrance.

  “That’s right, Roary, you tell ‘em,” one of the others said.

  They helped each of the dogs through and went in.

  “Wait a minute, son,” Gus Spillman, a middle-aged security guard said as they barged on and hit the up button for the elevators. “You can’t bring those dogs in here.”

  “What? Hey man, we’ve done it before. These are seeing-eye dogs, you know!” Rapids said, staring through his sunglasses over the security guard’s shoulder as if blind.

  Spillman frowned and put his hands on his hips as the elevator door opened. “Now, see here…,” he began as people coming off the elevator stepped to the side, making way for the pack of Dobermans. The strange bunch crowded inside.

  Rapids waved to Gus Spillman with his fingers and gave a big smile, looking over his sunglasses as the door closed.

  *-*-*

  Tony Parker checked in at the shelter at one o’clock, and Sarah Hill showed up at two. She’d only had four hours sleep but decided to come in early after hearing of the latest attack. Parker was happy to see her.

  Parker had been trying Rapids’ number since he came in. But with no answer yet, he began to get concerned something might have happened. Something bad. At two thirty, he had decided to go to Rapid’s home to investigate when he tried one last time and finally got a busy signal. On the next try, the housekeeper answered.

  After explaining the situation, Parker was told Rapids had just left with his dogs to see his attorney in an office at the Epic Center. The housekeeper also told him that, only moments before Parker’s call, someone had called anonymously asking as to Rapids’ whereabouts and that of his dogs. Parker wasn’t sure what this information meant in the scheme of things but sensed it to be another piece to his puzzle. A very troublesome piece.

  The Epic Center was only a couple of miles away. Parker and Hill decided to drive over immediately, hopefully to catch Rapids before he went inside.

  As they ran out to the truck, one of those spur-of-the-moment storm fronts began to roll in. It looked like this, the second cold front in as many days, would finally bring the needed rain. Dark thunderheads reached up to the heavens, flashes of lightning dancing in its black headdress, and claps of thunder announced its arrival. The wind had picked up and blew a chilling sixty-five degrees, compared to the late morning ninety-six only hours before. With emergency lights flickering, they left.

  *-*-*

  “Mr. Rapids, please, we’ve asked you before. Don’t bring your dogs in with you when you come!” Doris Carney, a neatly dressed, professional-looking young receptionist said, as Rapids and his entourage approached.

  “Sorry, babe,” Rapids said. “Like I told you last time, these dogs go everywhere I go, whether on stage or to my attorney’s office. So sue me. I’m here to see Spencer.”

  He sat on the corner of her desk, picked up a rubber band and shot it at a picture of the US President on the far wall.

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr. Rapids?” she asked.

  “Hell no! I don’t need an appointment. This is Roary Rapids you’re talking to. I suggest you get off your tight little ass and tell him I’m here.”

  Doris hesitated but obeyed. She picked up her phone and punched a button as Gus Spillman came in.

  “Mr. Spencer, I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Roary Rapids is here and insists on seeing you. . . . Yessir, I know he doesn’t have an appointment. . . . Yessir, I know he is. . . . All right, Mr. Spencer.” She put the phone down and looked up at Rapids. “Mr. Spencer asked that you allow him just a couple of minutes to finish up some very important business. Would you please have a seat?”

  “Well, all right, then,” Rapids said, “as long as it’s no more than two minutes.”

  Doris Carney looked to the security guard glaring at Rapids and said, “It’s all right, Gus. Mr. Rapids has promised me he wouldn’t bring his dogs in again.”

  “Yeah, right. When monkeys fly out my butt,” Rapids sneered.

  The other band members chuckled at their leader’s borrowed wit.

  Gus Spillman frowned and shook his head. He turned back toward the elevator.

  Eric Spencer, a tall, distinguished-looking bald man with thin lips and an eagle beak came out of his office. Before Rapids had a chance to say anything, Spencer began scolding.

  “Mr. Rapids, I suggest you find yourself another attorney. Maybe someone out in LA or New York, more familiar with the entertainment business. Maybe your agent could recommend someone. That is, if he hasn’t dumped you, too. And you might even consider moving there yourself.”

  “You listen here, you pompous bastard, my dad owns you. You’d better treat me with the respect I deserve,” Rapids insisted.

  “You’re right, your father does own me, but I just got off the phone with him. He says he’s even tired of fooling with you. You’re on your own. If it weren’t for the fortune he’s made in oil, you wouldn’t have this little hobby of yours. So, I would suggest you go crawling back to him on your hands and knees and beg him for an honest job. Of course, then he may insist on you changing your name back to Jubal Bugerman.”

  The phone rang, and Doris answered, “Hello. . . . Ah, yes, he is here, now. Can I say who’s calling?” she said looking over at Rapids. “Well, yes he does have his dogs. . . . Yes. . . . Uh, I guess that would be all right.” She laid the handset down, turned on the speakerphone and looked up at Rapids. “It’s for you.”

  Everyone in the office waited in silence for a voice. Suddenly, all six dogs, previously well behaved and passive, became restless.

  Then came the growls. All of the dogs growled. They looked at one another. At the people in the room. They paced.

/>   Doris Carney stood up from her desk and backed to Spencer’s door. The unarmed security guard watched from the open hall and began punching the down button on the elevator. Rapids and the other three men sat up and stared at the dogs. Everyone in the city knew of the numerous dog attacks. It was the first thing to Rapids’ mind when the dogs began to growl.

  “Now, what the hell’s gotten into all of you?” Rapids asked of the dogs.

  The dogs growled again, this time even more enthusiastically. Their muscles tensed. They held their jaws open, fangs exposed. The question seemed to set them off like dynamite. Rapids threw the leashes in the air, and the dogs attacked.

  Spencer, Doris Carney and the three men pushed into Spencer’s office, slamming the door behind. Rapids climbed the back of a black leather chair, leaped over the dogs and ran for Gus Spillman at the elevator.

  “Oh, shit!” Spillman said, turning to see Rapids racing at him with all six dogs in pursuit.

  “They’ve all gone mad! Quick, do something!” Rapids said, running, arms flying.

  Spillman gave a few more pokes at the button and then ran to the nearest doorway. The door led out to the stairway, leading up to the mechanical room under the roof or down to the floors below. He threw the door open and ran in.

  “Close it behind you, dumb ass!” Spillman yelled, not bothering to slow even long enough to see that Rapids made it.

  Rapids came through with the dogs too close to shut the door behind him. One of them caught Rapids in the doorway and ripped into the seat of his pants. A tremendous pain shot through his hip as the dog took a big chunk of flesh from Rapids’ ass.

  He trapped the dog, midway through the door, grabbed its snout and finally managed to break away. Rapids shoved the murderous canine back through and slammed the door quickly, but too quickly for it to latch. He ran after Spillman.

  The door popped open and the first dog came through, pushing the door wide. Rapids followed Spillman up two flights of stairs, where the guard yanked a key ring, laden with at least two-dozen keys, from his pocket.

  Rapids stood watching the keys, Spillman, then the keys again in horror as Spillman searched for the correct one. There was no place to go. The dogs were coming. The door was locked, and this bungling goof was going to get him killed.

  Spillman selected a key, slid it into the knob and unlocked and opened the door quicker than Rapids thought possible. But now, it was every man for himself. Rapids thought nothing of running through like a linebacker, knocking Spillman to the floor in the middle of the doorway. All six dogs hit the small landing to the door as Rapids ran over Spillman.

  Rapids ran into the large mechanical room. The only light came from a large corner window just below a giant, louvered vent and the high, north corner of the roof. He glanced back and saw the dogs pause, attacking Spillman as he lay prostrate on the floor screaming, flailing his arms. The dogs took slashing bites, tearing at his face, neck, hands and body until Gus Spillman no longer moved.

  With the job finished, the dogs darted off one at a time. Spillman’s body blocked the door open.

  CHAPTER 33

  Tony Parker pulled in behind the two limos in front of the Epic Center. He hoped it wasn’t too late. It began raining large drops, slapping the sidewalk and street in splats. Parker carried a new control stick, and Sarah Hill, again, took the tranquilizer gun. They trotted through the revolving doors and into the lobby. Next to the elevators, they found a list of office numbers.

  “Twenty-second floor,” Parker said, finding the name Spencer and pushing the elevator button.

  “You think we’re too late?” Hill asked.

  “Lord, I hope not. Not again.”

  As the elevator sped along to the top of the building, Hill backed up and leaned against the wall. “I’m not going near a window, I want you to know,” she said, uneasy.

  “You, afraid of heights? I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s my only fault, okay?”

  Parker and Hill poised for the worst as the elevator doors opened on the twenty-second floor. They peeked around the door. No one was in sight. They could hear the annoying, raa, raa, raa of the speakerphone in Spencer’s office and then the recorded voice of an operator, saying, “If you wish to place a call, please hang up. . . . ”

  They walked cautiously to a desk with a nameplate on top that read Doris Carney. They looked around. A chair lay toppled over.

  Something had definitely happened here. Parker put his ear to the door marked E. Q. Spencer and, after hearing nothing, tapped lightly. The door opened slowly, and Parker stepped back.

  “Thank God!” the young woman said. “You got here quick. We just called 911.” The door opened wider, revealing four timid-looking men behind her.

  “Where are the dogs?” a tall, well-dressed bald man asked. Parker guessed it was Spencer the attorney.

  “Didn’t see them. What’s going on here?” Parker asked.

  “The dogs,” the woman answered, “they attacked us. We don’t know where Gus and Mr. Rapids are.”

  Parker and Hill turned and walked back by the elevators. Smeared blood streaked the door marked, To the Roof, North Corner, High End. Hill cocked the rifle and nodded to Parker, apprehension in her eyes.

  He eased the door open and looked. Nothing. The two entered the stairway, looked down and up the steps. Droplets of blood on the stairs leading up were smudged in paw prints.

  They proceeded carefully, but Hill let the door go absentmindedly. It slammed shut, echoing through the stairwell, causing them to flinch.

  She gritted her teeth, wincing at Parker. “Oops, sorry!” she whispered.

  They continued slowly along the steps. At the first landing, they found nothing. No blood. Parker looked at the last flight of stairs. He saw nothing unusual until something dripped from the landing down to the top step. Something dark and red—more blood, and lots of it.

  Parker moved up the steps sliding his back along the wall with the control stick out in front. Soon, he could see the door at the top of the steps was blocked open. A security guard’s body lay in a lake of dark crimson.

  Hill cringed, but they went on, stepping over the body and through the door to the mechanical room. It was too late to help him, and they hadn’t found Rapids yet. They had to push on. They couldn’t stop and wait for help even though the police would be arriving soon. The seconds might be precious to Roary Rapids’ life.

  Lightning flashed from the big corner window, accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder. A window washer’s scaffold outside danced like a puppet on strings, and the shadows from the cables suspending it moved across the wall behind them like the legs of a giant spider. The control box on the window washer’s rig sparked for a couple of seconds, then smoked, clearly the target of the lightning. Rain hammered the copper roof above. Thunder clapped more frequently and louder as if a furious artillery battle escalated outside. Shadows from boxes, ductwork, heating and air-conditioning and power-generation equipment filled the cavernous room. The only light came from the dark, stormy afternoon sky through the large window.

  On the right, an open, steel stairway zigzagged up to the high point in the roof thirty feet above and to the side of the window. More equipment was on the left, and nothing showed signs of life.

  “Mr. Rapids, are you up here?” Parker called, knowing full well he could be alerting the dogs, also.

  He listened for a few seconds and then called out again. This time a voice came from the right, sounding high up.

  “I’m here, help!”

  Parker stepped farther into the room. A man hung from one of the roofing girders on the right. Below him were the dogs. All stared at Parker.

  Parker angled his body sideways to the dogs. With his left hand, he motioned to Hill, not yet seen, to get back to the stairway.

  The dogs began raving. They bolted simultaneously, charging.

  “Run, Sarah!” Parker yelled.

  The dogs would reach the stairway door before
them. The open stairs to the roof provided the only possible escape. Hill raised the rifle to shoot. Parker dashed by and grabbed her arm before she had a chance, knowing that she might get the lead dog, but by the time she cocked the rifle for the second shot, the dogs would be all over her.

  “Where are you taking me?” Hill yelled, as they ascended the steps with the dogs closing in. “I told you I don’t like heights.”

  “I just guessed you don’t like killer dogs, either,” Parker said back. “Maybe they won’t follow us up here. Some dogs don’t like open steps.”

  Parker knew Hill didn’t, either, but she had no choice. The dogs didn’t slow down to scale the steps and were bounding up halfway as Parker and Hill reached the top.

  “They’re still coming,” Parker said, looking to the door to the outside.

  The door was their only hope. Parker swung it open, pushed Hill and himself outside and slammed it behind them.

  The violent thunderstorm assaulted the city in full force now. The rain and wind were nearly overwhelming. They stood huddled against the door, already completely soaked. The driving wind gave teeth to each cold drop. It was a difficult adjustment after the day’s broiling heat. The water, the rain, everywhere—it made Parker’s throat raw and it felt as though it was twisting into a knot. It became difficult for him to swallow.

  The walkway was eight feet wide, extending from the door to the door less, mirror-image side. It was twenty feet long and cluttered with numerous antennas of various shapes. The south end led out to the slope of the roof, going down to that corner at a forty-five degree angle. The north corner was eight feet in the opposite direction its walkway leading out to a three hundred-foot drop. Taut cables stretched just above the floor, going over the north end. A short, steel-pipe handrailing was attached at each end of the walkway. The two sides of the notch extended up fifteen feet at their highest points.

  With a tremendous crack, a blinding flash of lightning struck a lightning rod near the high corner of the roof. Accompanying it, a simultaneous thunder explosion nearly sent the two of them to the floor of the walkway.