Myles paced tensely. He had returned to the house in Jupiter, not even caring if Alicia was home. He almost hoped she was. Right now, he’d love to strangle the bitch, just to release some tension, but it was her lucky day. She was off somewhere on one of her shopping jaunts.
Myles had removed everything from the safe, trashed everything he could find that would piss off Alicia and was now nervously pacing the study floor while he contemplated his next move. He had reached endgame. Dominick must be disposed of tonight. No one else had enough information to matter. Myles had siphoned off enough money to complete his plan but the agenda was now immediate instead of several months down the road.
Still pacing, Myles went over everything again. He couldn’t find any loose ends. Once he got rid of Dominick, Myles would be home free. The only thing left to do was pick an appropriate target and a base of operations. He had Alicia’s helicopter pilot on standby for tonight and had paid him well to keep quiet. Once in the air, Myles could land virtually anywhere in the country and disappear from there.
Satisfied, he took another look round the study. Christ he was glad to get out of here. He picked up his bags, slammed the front door and took the steps two at a time, whistling.
Sixty-four
Mick kicked the cabin door shut behind him. He threw a six-pack into the cooler and set a bottle of Wild Turkey on the table. He would have a little celebration before the party started. Actually, he had started already. When he left Dominick’s office Mick headed for his favorite bar. He did a line of coke in the men’s room and then sat for a while doing shots while he contemplated his future. Finally, he figured that Dominick hadn't tried to follow him and it was safe to go back. Mick took a swig from the bottle and wiped his hand across his mouth. What a night little Mickey O’Shaugnessy was going to have. He would have his party first and then he would set up the camera and invite Dominick over to see what was left of his package.
Too bad he couldn’t share it. Mick had been sorely tempted to brag to his cronies. It would have been even better to let them come out and party with him but even Mick wasn’t that stupid. The Skulls were everywhere and they would cut him into little pieces and throw him to the hogs if they got word of his little solo operation.
Enough. He would have his fun now. Mick took a long swig of booze and set the bottle down with a thump. Weaving slightly, he staggered over to the bedroom door and kicked it open with his foot. For a second, Mick stood, staring stupidly. Why was the bed empty? Where was she? Mick turned to look behind the door. He just had time to register a flashing gleam of gold before he felt a crashing pain in his jaw. The pain almost made him vomit. Someone must have clobbered him with a sledgehammer. Mick staggered backward, fighting for balance.
A skinny banshee wearing knuckledusters covered in his blood came tearing out from the behind the door. She kicked him soundly in the nuts and ran for the front door. Howling with pain, one hand on his balls the other cautiously feeling his jaw, Mick struggled to stand upright. Must be a Skulls bitch. Must stop her before she could get back to the others. Mick snatched up his gun and gave chase, hobbling along in agony, but his fear gave him speed.
Outside, the banshee was putting pedal to the metal. She could run like a rabbit and she was getting difficult to see in the dark. Must stop her, Mick thought sluggishly. He reached his truck and sagged across it breathing heavily. Then he pulled up his gun arm and rested it on the roof. All that Wild Turkey wanted to come back up real bad. Sweating, panting and bleeding, Mick steadied the gun with both hands and sighted carefully. It was now or never. He squinted in concentration, never taking his eyes off the bitch in black as he tightened his trigger finger. Mick fired all six rounds.
The banshee cried out and crumpled to the ground. Good, got the bitch. Mick had just enough sense left to know he was really screwed up and that he better clean up this mess fast.
Fumbling, he reloaded. Then he started walking slowly towards whoever it was that broke his jaw and ruined his sex life for a month. Reaction was setting in. This was his second kill. It had been much easier than the first. I guess it’s like doing anything else, Mick thought, practice makes everything easy. Maybe I can just dump her in a cane field where they’re burning. They’ll never find her. Christ, they’ll never even smell her over the stink of sugar. Mick giggled, one way to sweeten up a sour pus.
Sixty-five
Chase was cruising slowly up the lane towards the Skulls cabin, unsure of his direction. He stopped to check his map. The cane fields all looked the same. He tied a bandana over his face to keep down the dust and the smell. Good job they were burning out here. Apparently Myles Hickman hadn't tested his toy in this area. It looked as though they hadn't had rain in months. If they didn’t do a controlled burn the whole lot could go up with a cigarette butt.
Satisfied he was heading in the right direction, Chase had just reached for the throttle when he heard something. Sounded like an animal crashing around in the cane field. Chase straightened up trying to locate the direction of the sound. Off to his left. Quietly, Chase eased off the bike and lowered the kickstand. Whatever it was, was in an almighty hurry.
All Chase’s attention was riveted on the cane field in front of him. He stepped carefully, heading towards the swaying cane. The reports, when they came, instantly stilled him. Gunshots, six of them. Not too far down the lane. Shanna. Oh God. He thought he heard someone cry out. It sounded like a woman. The thrashing sounds had stopped.
Chase spun around, headed for the bike when the cane started rustling again. Louder this time. Damn it. He couldn’t deal with some wild hog now. He had to get to that cabin. If it wasn’t too close he could make it to the bike first. Chase leapfrogged onto the seat and began kicking the starter.
“Chase.” The cry from behind him was anguished.
Chase turned his head. An apparition with red gold hair half fell, half stumbled on all fours out of the cane. Shanna clawed her way towards him, half dressed, mutilated by scratches. Her hair was wild and full of leaves, her feet were bare and bleeding, her huge wood smoke eyes were full of pain, but God she looked beautiful.
“Chase. Thank god. Hurry.”
Chase shimmied off the bike and raced toward Shanna, grabbing her up in a near fatal bear hug. He held on and squeezed even tighter, unable to say a thing. Shanna went limp in his arms and finally he let go, afraid he had hurt her.
Shanna was tugging on his arm, still fighting for breath. “Chase. The shots. She’s still back there. Help her. She..”
“She? Who? Shanna what happened?” Chase stroked her soothingly, picking twigs out of her hair while he surreptitiously checked for any sign of severe injury. Chase picked her up and half carried, half-dragged her into the shadow of a nearby tree, checking the lane for signs of company.
Shanna took no notice of her cuts and scratches. She took a deep breath and started again. “They had me captive in a cabin back there. Someone came to help me. I don’t know who it was but she shoved me out the window and that, that..” Shanna shuddered and started again urgently. “He came back before she got out. She told me to stay in the cane until morning if I couldn’t find her bike and then I heard the shots.” Shanna shoved Chase away from her and gathered the remnants of her clothes around her. “Goddammit Chase Larsen, do something. That woman saved my life.”
Even in this situation, Chase had to grin. This was the damndest woman. He got up relieved that Shanna was back to her ornery self. There had been no further sounds from the direction of the cabin. “Stay here and be quiet. No exceptions. No arguments. I can't be worried about you when I don’t know what’s going on up there.”
Shanna nodded meekly. This in itself was suspect.
Chase had half turned around when it struck him. Bike. “Shanna. This woman had a bike? What did she look like?”
“I don’t really know. It was so dark. She was all in black and s
he had mud on her face but she was very thin.”
Annie. Chase turned to Shanna once more. “Get back in the cane. Find Annie’s bike. She usually carries a cell phone in her saddlebags. If I’m not back in thirty minutes call the cops. Don’t move a muscle unless you see me understand? We don’t know what’s going on up there or how many there are.”
Shanna nodded. She turned to go, then turned back holding onto his arm. “Be careful Chase. Hurry. Please find her in one piece.”
Chase nodded. He wanted to hug Shanna again but he turned and melted into the shadows. He was seriously worried about Annie. There had been no sounds since the gunshots but a noise like that didn’t go undetected out here. Before too long there would be Skulls on this trail. And there had been no sign of Annie. If she wasn’t hit she would have been making a ruckus by now.
Chase moved fast, silently thanking Joe and his friends for the lessons they had given him in tracking. Even in boots he made little sound. The trail started to widen out a little and Chase slid into the bushes. Hugging the shadows, he made his way towards the cabin. Visibility was almost nonexistent. There was no moon and the cloud of smoke caused by the earlier burning of the cane fields hung sullenly over the area, further darkening visibility. The only light spilled out from the cabin door.
There was a truck parked in the driveway, its driver’s door hung open. Chase spotted movement by the truck and froze in mid stride. A shadowy form reached in and switched on the headlights. The beam of light blazed out and caught a small figure in its beam. The figure was lying still and silent. It looked like a broken rag doll. Annie. Chase felt the rage rise up in him red and hot. A feeling all too familiar. This was not the time. He willed it back, feeling it turn black and implacable.
The figure at the truck started walking toward Annie. He wore a leather duster and carried a gun. Chase had seen that leather duster before. It would make a good shroud. Chase glanced at the cabin weighing his options, which weren’t many. There was only one truck. No other noise. Chances are there was only one person here for now. If he was wrong he would be dead.
Chase was at a ninety-degree angle between the gunman and Annie. He had no time to get behind him. Evidently the leather duster was going to finish off his kill. He was a pretty cocky bastard. It had been some time since the original shots rang out. Why hadn't he finished her earlier? What had he been doing? From a purely professional viewpoint, this was sloppy work at best.
Chase did not dare to hope that Annie was still alive. Too much time had passed. Although, in reality only a few moments, it seemed much longer but Chase knew that Annie would have used that time to scramble for cover. Perhaps the scum who shot her thought that too. Annie was lying on her face, one arm bent under her. He had shot her in the back. There had been six shots. It was too dark to see anything. What were the chances he had missed with all of them except one?
Chase well knew that one could be all it took but in these conditions there was a chance. Even with the headlight beam hitting her, Chase could not tell if there was much blood visible. Well, if he was to try and stop that walking piece of shit from putting a bullet in Annie’s brain, there was only one way to do it.
Chase picked up a good-sized branch and lobbed it out in front as far as he could. It landed with a crash and stopped leather duster in his tracks but the man made no move to investigate, or even to douse the lights. Then Chase saw the open bottle in his other hand. Drunk. Or high, or both. That made him unpredictable, and depending on what he was on, very strong. The only chance Chase had was to rush him.
Leather duster started walking towards Annie again. Chase kept pace in the bushes. Leather duster dropped the bottle and kicked Annie so hard her body rolled over onto her back. He raised the gun. Chase bellowed a blood-curdling Viking yell. He erupted from the bushes at warp speed, still bellowing and dove into a flying tackle any pro would have been proud of.
Chase crashed into leather duster at top speed and they both went down but leather duster still had hold of the gun. Winded, the man had enough presence of mind left to point it at Chase.
Something hurtled by Chase and embedded itself in leather duster’s arm. He yelped and let go of the gun. Chase knew that knife. Annie. She was alive.
Chase didn’t take his eyes of his adversary. The man was wounded but Chase was unarmed and of much smaller size. Scumbag grabbed for the bottle as Chase risked a glance to see where the gun had landed. Chase had his back to the truck trying to force the other man into position where the headlights would blind him. He didn’t quite make it.
Leather duster had apparently had enough too. He pulled the knife from his arm and started a throw aimed directly at Chase’s chest. Instantly Chase knew it was a killing throw but it was never completed. Instead, the man’s knees buckled slowly and he dropped, face down in the dirt. There was a large knife stuck in the middle of his back. Large enough to have gone right through his heart.
Chase crouched warily searching the darkness for the source of that throw.
“Sorry to spoil your fun old man, but there seem to be a bunch of bikers headed this way.”
Chase stared at the man who had emerged from the other side of the road. The man coolly strolled over and placed a sneakered foot callously on leather duster’s back while he pulled out the knife, wiping it off on the duster.
Combat knife. Chase registered this without comment. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but thanks, man.” Chase threw this over his shoulder. He wasted no time getting to Annie. Chase crouched down and gently took Annie in his arms. She seemed to grin at him, finding something funny. Chase was dismayed. There was a lot of blood and even in the gloom, Annie’s face was very pale and contorted with pain. “Where are you hit?”
Annie coughed and held onto Chase’s arm as he raised her up a little. “Back. Only got me once though.” Again the grin flashed painfully. “In the butt.”
“Excuse me.” The stranger had a South African accent. “I don’t mean to intrude but like I said, company’s coming.” The man raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
Now Chase could hear it. The low rumble of bikes in the distance. Skulls. If leather duster had been one of their own, they would all die a slow death. If he hadn't, they probably couldn’t expect much better.
Chase glanced at the stranger and held out a gloved hand. “Chase Larsen. I owe you one.”
“My pleasure,” returned the stranger. “Brian Cavenaugh, at your service. Might I suggest moving the little lady? Although painful, it will probably be infinitely preferable to the alternative. I have a Camaro stashed down the road a bit. It will be my pleasure to take her to the hospital. I do so admire spunk in a woman.”
“You again. I might have known you’d turn up here.” Annie was not inclined to be polite. “No hospital.” Annie groaned. “And I ain’t no lady.”
Chase had pulled off his tee shirt and was busy trying to staunch the flow of blood. “Behave Annie. Yeah. Good idea, but she’s right. No hospital. I’ve got a lot of questions for you pal. For now I’ve got no choice but to trust you. You familiar with the area?”
“No and I can't say I want to be but I do have a map in the car.” Brian bent down and together they hoisted Annie fireman fashion onto Chase’s back.
“This way.” Brian waded into the bushes, away from the cane with Chase close behind.
The bikes were getting closer. Chase forced himself to move as carefully as he could but he had to get to Shanna too. He hoped Shanna would obey him for once and stay well hidden. The two men fought their way through the bushes in grim silence. Periodically Chase squeezed Annie’s hand to reassure himself she was still breathing. Eventually they came out into a small clearing. Chase was relieved to see the Camaro. While Brian opened the door, Chase carefully eased Annie down into the seat.
“Annie, can you hear me?” Chase shook her gently.
Annie nodded wearily.
“I have to get Shanna. I don’t have time for
directions. Tell this guy how to get to the club, can you do that?”
Annie stuck up a thumb.
Chase ran a hand down her cheek saying softly, “that’s my girl.” Chase straightened up. “Like I said man, I don’t know who the hell you are or how you got here but Annie will get you to the bike club. The brothers will take over from there. Stick around will you? I won't be far behind and I have a feeling we have things to talk about.”
Brian nodded curtly. He was already behind the wheel. He eased the door closed without shutting it and let out the brake. The car started bumping silently over the clearing.
Chase watched him go for a moment and then whirled around, heading back for Shanna. The first Skull had reached the cabin. Chase heard the shouts of discovery. In short order they would be combing the neighborhood.
Sixty-six
Joe and Willie stood at the edge of the laboratory compound. Joe whistled silently. “This is some place. I thought you were a little nuts wanting half the tribe up here and Chase getting the bikers too, but now I see why.”
“Yeah.” Willie stared at the compound in front of him. “He’s not going to open the door and let us in.” Willie grinned ferociously. “It will be like old times. Kill the white man. Too bad we have to share.”
Joe frowned. “Cut the crap, Willie. This thing is too big now for either our revenge or Chase’s. This madman must be stopped.”
Together the two men circled the compound. Near the front entrance Willie gave a low whistle and one of his scouts instantly materialized. “Tallfeather, anyone in there?”
Yokche:The Nature of Murder Page 23