Montoya nodded. “Yeah, no one can figure it out. Anyway, I made sure that Berlin knew that they were after him. He knows that they’re looking for him now. I don’t expect him to play nicely, though. Not now. Not with Simmons still out there.”
“Yeah, he won’t come in,” Mitchell said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t. He’s not going to stop until he knows that Lexi Scott is safe. Why isn’t the department helping him? Don’t they know about Simmons and Lexi Scott?”
“He asked me to keep it quiet. What am I supposed to do? I feel like I’m being pulled in all directions here.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Montoya looked like she didn’t care for the apology. He continued on, “So, you have any idea where he is?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Dammit. What if his dream was right? What if it was like some weird premonition? He needed to find him.
Mitchell turned and stomped down the aisle.
“Hey, where ya going?” Montoya called.
“To see Ecker,” Mitchell said over his shoulder.
“He’s not there.”
“What?”
“He’s not in his office.”
“Well, where is he?”
“Not sure. He left a little while ago.” She watched him curiously. “What do you want to do?”
Mitchell slowly turned, wandering back to her, his face drawn. “I don’t know, Montoya. I really don’t know.”
CHAPTER 48
Berlin stood, with the door hanging open, one arm on top of Widmark’s car and the other holding onto the door. He used his body to shield the ruin inside and to keep the rain at bay. He looked down at what was left of Widmark’s head and knew that there was no coming back for him. The smell was stomach churning, a mixture of blood, human tissue, burnt powder, with the distinct aroma of copper.
Who got to him?
Who knew that we were supposed to meet here?
He slanted himself in, as close as possible, trying for a better look. There wasn’t a weapon. Suicide would be out of the question then, not that Widmark struck him as the suicide-type. Berlin looked past the slouching body to the passenger’s side. No money, either. No surprise there.
“Looking for something, Detective?” a voice called from close by.
Berlin slowly pulled his head out of the car to see a figure, standing nearby. The figure wore a long dark trench coat and one of those hats that you’d see Humphrey Bogart wear all the time, back in his heyday. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the figure, and he decided that this figure was most likely a man due to his stature and beefy frame.
“Can I help you?” Berlin asked the man. Then he remembered that they had called him detective. That meant that they probably knew who he was. “Do I know you?”
The figure stepped in Berlin’s direction at a slow pace, still shrouded in darkness. The wind began to pick up. At first it was a gentle breeze, but then it became gusty and swept the man’s trench coat from side to side. It billowed in the air, raindrops pattering against the fabric like a distant drum. “I thought that I’d find you here. With him. I knew that it’d be a good idea to keep close tabs on him. I never did like having strangers in my city.”
Who was it?
He still couldn’t see, the rain pelting him in the face like little pinpricks. As the figure came closer, it was then that he saw the glint of the gun. The man held the weapon out in front of him, pointing it at Berlin.
Berlin went to reach for his own weapon, but the man warned him off. Seconds later he revealed himself, stepping into the circle of light that glowed on the pavement from overhead.
“Sir?” Berlin asked, his face a mash-up of worry and confusion.
“Looks like you’re having a helluva day, eh, Berlin?” Deputy Chief Ecker asked, a sly smile curling on his lips.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” Berlin said, squinting against the raindrops.
“Looking for you, of course. We’ve been looking all over for you. You’ve been a very bad boy, Detective.” The words came out in a sort of sarcastic, dry tone that made Berlin tense up.
He’d missed it. This entire time the puppet master had been the one that set him on this course from the very beginning. How could he have been so blind?
“You did this?” Berlin asked him. Meanwhile his mind worked overdrive, trying to fill in the blanks. Something was missing. What was it? It must have been in the files, but where? He flipped through endless pages of notes, charts, and documents in his mind. They zigged and zagged. A fury of information, codes, and data. So much to digest in so little time. He processed harder, worked faster.
Codes.
That was it. The letters in the columns in the notebook. Could it have been exactly like Mitchell had said? Abbreviations of people’s names? Was Ecker part of that list?
Ecker brought Berlin back into the moment, saying, “Why does anyone do anything, Detective?”
“You know what I mean, Ecker.”
“Oh, we’re gonna play it that way then, eh? No more official titles?”
“Like you said, I’ve had a helluva day. Something tells me that I’ve got you to thank for that.”
“Perhaps.”
The streetlight suddenly went out, blanketing the two of them in total darkness. This time, Berlin used it to his advantage. Maybe there would be a way out of this after all.
Keep him talking. Let him spill his guts while you concentrate on the light.
“So, it’s all been you?” Berlin asked him. “Simmons was just, what…a scapegoat? Or are you two working together now? Is that it?”
Ecker wasted no time, feeling the need to gloat, performing exactly how Berlin envisioned his performance. “In a way, but, to be honest, you were always the scapegoat, Berlin.”
“How’s that?”
Concentrate.
Berlin began to count the amount of seconds that passed between the light going off, and before it would come back on again.
Might need two attempts at this. Don’t screw it up.
“You were broken. Beat down,” Ecker said. “I didn’t expect you to figure it out. Not with that newbie, Mitchell, working with you. But then you got onto Clay’s scent, thanks to that goddamn reporter. I’ll have to pay him a visit, too, once we’re done here.”
“It wasn’t just the reporter. Clay’s the talk of the town. By all accounts, you two are the ones that fucked up.”
The light came back on, exposing them once again, in time for Berlin to see Ecker’s face frown. Neither man had moved. Ecker stood a few feet away from Berlin, who still stood next to Widmark’s car. That was the only thing that stood between them. The rain began to tone down. It finally became just a drizzle as it fell in thin streaks.
“How do you mean?” Ecker asked.
“We were bound to find out about Clay,” Berlin said. “Once his name was out there, it was just confirmation. I had a guy confirm as much out in the DC.” Berlin referred to Leonard, of course. “He took a little work. But when you have the goods on people it’s not hard to make them bend, am I right?”
“Ah, so that’s what you were doing out there. I wondered. Next thing I know, you’re talking to Clay himself out in Old Town. Yeah, he didn’t appreciate that very much. I got an earful for that one. Everything fell apart after that. You put everything at risk.”
“Sorry to shit on your cake.”
“This is hardly the time for wisecracks, Berlin.”
“Did you tell Simmons to go after Lexi Scott?”
Ecker shook his head. “That Simmons. He just had to go to pay his respects. I should have cut him loose right then and there.” He sighed. “No matter. What’s done is done.”
So Simmons had acted alone after all.
“Why, Ecker? Why go down this path?”
“Why?” Ecker paused while he formed a response. “It’s like I told you, Berlin. I’m tired of working Sundays. What’s the point? What’s the point of trying to take the
bad guys down when they’ll always win? Sure, we might break a network or stop a distribution channel, but another will just spring up. It’s a vicious cycle. No more. I’ve had enough.”
Berlin watched the gun in Ecker’s hand. It appeared to falter while he spoke. It was gradually falling, like speaking the words somehow had the opposite effect on his sense of conviction. “What are you gonna do, Ecker? Kill me?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Ecker said. “Someone needs to take the fall and it won’t be me, I can tell you that.”
“You’ll never get away with it,” Berlin said.
Ecker smiled and began to advance closer to him. “Enough talking, Berlin. Your time’s up. Step on out of there.”
Berlin did as he was told and moved to the rear of Widmark’s car. “What about Simmons?”
“What about him?”
“He still has Lexi Scott. What’s he gonna do with her?”
“I don’t know, Berlin. Don’t care, either. I cut my losses with him. He’s probably halfway to the border right now.”
What?
Berlin checked his watch. He still had time. Why would Simmons be leaving early?
Ecker’s shadow crawled to Berlin. “Oh, right, he mentioned that you had worked out some kind of deal with him. Well, thanks to you, I’ve already gotten the money. So, unfortunately for Simmons, he’s SOL. He didn’t take too kindly to my call, but what’s he gonna do? He’s got his own problems to worry about.”
Ecker now stood in front of him, the gun pointed squarely at Berlin’s chest.
“What about Clay?” Berlin asked, hoping to draw the exchange out a little longer. He needed more time.
Come on. Play nice, streetlight, that’s all I ask.
“Clay?” Ecker asked. And for the first time, Berlin noticed how much older his chief now appeared. This was a man who had seen it all, the age showing in the lines and creases on his face. His eyes were a somber fuse of burnout and emptiness. “I’m done, Berlin, what don’t you get about that? I’m done with all of them. To hell with Exodus Clay, I say. It’s time to move on.”
“He’ll come after you. You know that, right?” Berlin’s eyes darted up at the streetlight overhead.
“Let him try,” Ecker scoffed. Within seconds, though, Ecker was tracing Berlin’s eye movement, and he, too, looked up at the streetlight. “Son of a—”
But it was too late. The light overhead disappeared, engulfing the two men in total darkness once again.
CHAPTER 49
“Wake up. It’s time to go,” Simmons told her.
She wasn’t really asleep. Her head may be down and her eyes may be shut, but, no, she wanted it to be perceived that she was asleep. That she was utterly exhausted, and time had taken its toll on her.
The detective was taking too long. She realized that she needed to come up with her own plan of escape. It was now or never.
“Hey, come on,” Simmons tried again. He was next to her now, pushing at her shoulder. “Plans have changed. We gotta go.”
She let out a groan.
Be subtle.
He pulled her head back and brushed the hair out of her face. He was very quiet.
What was he doing? What was he waiting for?
He stood up straight, sighed, and fished out the handcuff key from his pocket.
It’s working! He’s going to do it.
She dropped her head back down, moaning and groaning. She moved it slowly from side to side like she had just spent the night, getting drunk on tequila. Slowly opening her left eye into nothing more than a slit, she squinted at him and watched his every move. He opened the handcuff on the left side first, not on her wrist, but on the arm of the chair. Her left hand was now free so she let it sag and fall off the arm, and the other end of the cuff bounced off the wooden chair.
Simmons now turned to her right hand, crouching in front of her. He was vulnerable.
Now. Do it now, a voice told her.
I’m still cuffed. I can’t.
The key went into the slot and his hand began to turn.
This was it.
Her body went tense, her heart pounded, and a vein pulsated somewhere in her arm. She was looking straight at him with wide-open eyes and he looked up at her when it happened. The click sounded when her other hand became free of the chair and they both froze in time. She swung her left arm, the handcuff trailing not far behind, and it struck him in the face. The other end of the cuff connected and dragged down, carving a thin gouge of crimson from cheek to jaw on his face.
He went to the ground, instinctively grabbing for his face, laying on his side. “What the hell!”
Free.
Run, Lexi! You need to run.
She got up off the chair, the two handcuffs still dangling from her wrists, and rushed for the door.
Don’t look back at him. Just run.
Miraculously she managed to reach the door, but she would get no farther as someone on the other side impinged upon her as soon as she crossed its entrance. His arm struck her in the face and she hit the floor quickly, her head taking the brunt of the fall. Now the moans and groans were very real.
Simmons unenthusiastically dragged himself over and looked down at her, squirming on the floor. She went into the fetal position, cradling her head with both hands.
“You all right, boss?” asked the man, named Mason, who had been waiting outside.
“Yeah. I’m all right,” Simmons said, touching his face then looking back at his hand to get an indication of the blood flow. “Bitch cut me.”
“What do you wanna do?”
“We need to go.” Simmons knelt down over top of her. “You’re gonna regret that you did that, Lex. Don’t forget, I know you. Which means I know all about your fear of small spaces.”
She blinked back the tears. “No. You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, yes. I would.” Simmons smiled from ear to ear. “Mason, get the box.”
“Boss?” Mason asked.
“Get the damn box, will ya?”
CHAPTER 50
The muzzle flash lit up a small area in between them, cracking like thunder, and Berlin fell down on top of Ecker in a heap. The gun went skittering across the parking lot, lost in the scuffle as the two bodies fumbled and floundered on the moist pavement like fish out of water.
Judging by the sound of the gun skidding on pavement, Berlin knew that it was now out of reach and he should thrust all of his energy into finishing Ecker off.
“You mother—” Ecker began to protest, but Berlin pressed on his chest, which cut off his air supply. Ecker strained, gasping for air, under Berlin’s forearm.
It was fitting that Berlin had the foresight to wear the bulletproof vest, as its extra weight gave him an added oomph factor, while wrestling with Ecker on the ground. He was lucky, though, that he wasn’t wearing a Level III or IV vest, which would have added too much weight with their armor plates.
Berlin moved into striking position, straddling Ecker, and hurled a fist. As knucklebone met cheekbone, Berlin thought about everything that had taken place so far. With each crack, the people affected by his actions ran through his head. Tim Scott’s pointless death, Lexi Scott’s kidnapping, Widmark’s murder, even his doctor’s mysterious death. Death surrounded him.
It was time for change.
Time to break the cycle.
Time to break him. Make him pay for the pain and torment that he had caused so many.
“Why?” Berlin demanded as he continued to pound on Ecker’s face. “Why did you have to do it?”
This was a man of authority. A man of leadership. A man that people depended on and he took their trust for granted.
Abused his power.
A small cry escaped Ecker’s lips just as the next strike silenced him. “You…”
No more.
“It ends now,” Berlin told him, as he went to knock him again, but Ecker avoided it. He slid his head to the side, and Berlin struck pavement. Berlin cried out at the
shooting pain. His hand burned. Throbbed.
Ecker kneed Berlin in the crotch. Berlin fell to the side, slinking away and clutching at his pubic region. Ecker’s hands moved quick, squeezing and tugging at Berlin’s clothing.
The gun. He’s going for my Glock.
You need to get out of this.
As he realized what was happening, Berlin thrashed his legs, attempting to get rid of him. The streetlight came back on, throwing light back onto the two men flailing about on the wet pavement. Berlin thrashed and Ecker clawed like a begging child. Then Ecker caught Berlin’s leg in mid-kick and noticed the switchblade near his pant leg, the blade shimmering in the light.
“Get off—” Berlin barked, his breaths short and brief.
Ecker retrieved the blade, pulled it out of its sheath and swiped at Berlin. He drew blood on Berlin’s arm, cutting through the fabric, and Berlin howled.
Berlin rolled away from him. Once free of Ecker’s range, Berlin gradually lifted himself back up and removed his coat. He held it in his hand, wrapping it around his wrist for added protection. Ecker climbed to a knee, his eyes full of blood, with intensity visible on his face.
Where was the man whom he had known as the chief?
Whom he had come to respect?
Ecker stood hunched over, holding the blade in hand, his face a ruin of criss-crossed sketch marks of blood and bruises. This was no man. The man he knew and respected was gone. This man was mad. Rabid.
Desperate.
The two of them danced, pivoting from side to side, anticipating each other’s next move. Ecker would parry and Berlin would dodge. This continued for several minutes while Berlin waited for the pain to subside in his hand. It had another use, too. It was one that he hadn’t thought about at the time, but now it seemed inevitable. Ecker was tiring.
Ecker was a man who had at least twenty years on Berlin. He wouldn’t be able to play this game forever and now Berlin was confident that he still had the upper hand.
But then the unavoidable ensued and Berlin was confronted with the streetlight that plunged them in darkness again. Ecker bellowed and presumably charged at Berlin. He let the coat unravel off his arm and swung it out into the open. He twisted and turned it, hoping for any kind of safety net, but then he felt the impact of Ecker’s body crash into him and they fell to the ground.
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