Death Notes Omnibus

by James Hunt

  Both officers made eye contact with Cooper and reached for their pistols. “Hey! Stop!”

  But before either of them got close, Cooper sprinted out the back, shielding her eyes from the bright burst of afternoon sunlight, her muscles lax and uncoordinated from the whiskey and sudden demand for action.

  Cooper stretched her hand for the van’s door and yanked it open, climbing inside and thrusting the key into the ignition in the same motion. Tires screeched and smoked as she peeled out into the street and watched the officers burst out of the back of the bar, weapons in hand.

  Bullets thumped into the back of the van just before Cooper veered out of the back alley, the gear in the back of the van sliding across the floor on her sharp turn right. Another crossroad appeared on the left, and she shifted directions again, zigzagging through the downtown streets. Every turn triggered a harsh brake, then quick acceleration, the engine revving and the tires screeching.

  The wail of sirens suddenly filled the air, and Cooper pivoted her head in every direction, looking for the source. A squad car crossed one of the streets ahead of her but then slammed on its brakes. Cooper did the same, the smell of burnt rubber filtering through the vents as she reversed down another side street then spun one hundred eighty degrees and slammed the shifter back into drive.

  The tight grip on the steering wheel drained the color from Cooper’s knuckles and blue and red lights flashed in the mirrors. She turned a hard right, heading east. Another squad car joined the pursuit, and the van jolted forward from the light nudge of the police car behind her.

  “Pull over. Now.” The officer’s voice blared over the speaker, and when Cooper failed to comply, he rammed the van’s rear bumper again, this hit harder than the first. The wheel spun from Cooper’s grip for a split second, and she was jerked hard to the right, but she quickly steadied.

  Traffic thickened the farther east she drove, along with the growing escort of police cars. She laid on the horn, cars scrambling to get out of her way, pedestrians screaming and pointing at her as she barreled down the streets. One more turn south, and then a quick right set her direction back to the east, where Cooper saw her one chance at escape.

  Another ram into the rear bumper smacked Cooper’s head into the steering wheel. The rush of pain blinded her for a moment, and when her vision returned, a truck veered into her path. Cooper jerked the wheel hard right and sideswiped a sedan in her attempt to avoid the crash. The grind of metal rattled the van, and she jerked the wheel again, separating the two.

  Shaking, Cooper steadied the van, her vision focused on the whitecaps of the river where the road ended. With the path cleared and the police slowing behind her, she floored the accelerator, reaching for the seat belt and clicking it into place.

  Buildings passed in a blur. The water neared. The engine’s noise grew louder. Cooper tightened her grip on the wheel, every muscle in her body burning and tense. The van collided with the curb, shaking the inside of the cabin like an earthquake, but the seat belt kept her in place, and her foot kept the accelerator glued to the floor.

  The van slid forward and downward, the rushing waters of the river the only thing in sight. Cooper felt suddenly weightless on the quick drop down, but the sensation ended with the violent crash into the water. Her body slammed against the seat belt, which pulled tight across her chest and waist. Her arms were flung upward, both hands smacking the roof violently.

  Water rushed in through the vents as the van leveled out in the river. The current rotated the van left, and just before it dipped below the river’s surface, she saw the line of squad cars on the sidewalk.

  Cooper waded through the rising water inside the van, her pants and shoes already soaked, on her trudge to the back door. She reached for the handle and heaved it open, straining against the water pressure, which erupted in her face the moment the door cracked open. The frigid water soaked her to the bone and rose to her neck as the van thumped and settled on the river bottom.

  One last gasping breath of air and Cooper submerged herself completely. The fresh water burned her eyes as she struggled in the current, climbing toward the surface and trying to put as much distance between herself and the van as she could. The water lightened the closer she reached the top. The tightness in her chest grew insistent, and bubbles erupted from her mouth. She clawed the water faster, her lungs constricting, begging for her to take a breath. Her mind grew weak and tired, and just when she thought she would sink back down beneath the water, she broke the surface.

  Cooper gasped for air, hacking and coughing as she paddled in the river that took her swiftly downstream toward the ocean. She looked up to the ledge and then behind her where the police vehicles had stopped, some of them heading in her direction. But the river’s current rushed her away faster than they could run.

  The coastline of walled docks and boats soon turned into rocky beaches of dark-brown sand with nothing on their lands except trash. Cooper swam toward the shore and stumbled over the beach, her feet sinking into sand and muck with every step. She collapsed to her knees, out of breath and exhausted.

  Cooper pushed herself up and trudged toward the small thicket of brush. She checked her waist and saw that only the revolver and knife had survived the swim. When she checked the rounds in the chamber her hands trembled with exhaustion. But with the meeting with Quentin in a few hours, rest wasn’t a luxury she could afford.

  Chapter 10

  Boarded-up windows and doors lined the dozens of rows of houses of the neighborhood. What portions of the homes weren’t covered in faded paint were marked with graffiti. Ever since the housing crisis, the surrounding neighborhood had suffered foreclosure after foreclosure, and it wasn’t long before there were more unoccupied homes than occupied ones. Once that happened, the drugs came into play, and what had once been a safe neighborhood turned into a meth-infested war zone. Addicts, the homeless, gangs, all of them had a hand in this territory.

  It was one of the reasons Hemsworth and his team had wanted to watch the area. If they couldn’t find the killer on any security footage or in the more populated areas of the city, then it would be natural for him to hide out here. But Cooper knew better. If this guy could build a cabin in the woods with an underground tunnel and get away with murder for the past thirty years, then he had a better system than hiding out in the slums with homeless people.

  Cooper remained a block away from the meeting location with Quentin, and she kept her eyes locked on the unmarked FBI van that sat across the street from the abandoned townhomes. To the FBI’s credit, they’d done a fairly good job of blending in, but Cooper could smell a stakeout a mile away, and she’d noticed the old, rusting van with new wheels and tinted windows the moment she approached the area.

  A caravan of black sedans turned onto the street from a crossroad two blocks down, and the fatigue in Cooper’s body suddenly dispersed. The three vehicles passed the FBI surveillance team and then parked and idled right in front of the meeting spot. A few seconds later, the doors to the sedans opened, and seven men stepped out into the road. All of them wore suits and ties, with sunglasses over their eyes and shoulder holsters strapped under their jackets.

  Then the final door to the middle sedan opened, and out stepped Quentin. He was at least a head shorter than his security team, and his time out of office had not aged him well. Snow-white hair sprouted in thin wisps from the top of his head, and the attempt to hide his age with plastic surgery had left the majority of his face disfigured.

  While his security team stepped inside the building, a swarm of bodies hummed around Quentin at all times. Cooper waited for all of them to go inside then sprinted toward the building, making it a point to be seen by the FBI surveillance. If Quentin’s presence didn’t raise any alarms, then hers certainly would.

  Cooper slithered down the side alleyway and started the climb up the fire escape, moving quickly, knowing that if Quentin’s security team was as good as she thought they were, they’d move to the roof to secur
e a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding area. She kept her footsteps light against the old metal rungs that begged to clang with every step, and she paused just before reaching the top, slowly peering over the concrete railing of the roof’s perimeter.

  The building’s rooftop had a few plants, but aside from the vegetation and the roof access door, the area was clear. Cooper slid over the concrete rail and sprinted over the thick tar panels that had grown warped from the sun and weather. Just as she reached for the handle, the roof access door swung open and she stared into the surprised face of one of Quentin’s guards.

  Time froze for a second, but when the guard reached for the pistol in his holster, Cooper slammed her entire body into him, knocking them both to the floor. Sharp stabs ran through her arms and legs as the two rolled boundlessly over the rooftop. Twice she felt the debilitating jab of his fist into her stomach, but Cooper countered with a knee to his groin that ended the jabs.

  Cooper stumbled to all fours while the guard groaned and held his crotch, spitting curses. She tasted blood on her tongue and then noticed that the pistol from the guard’s holster had skidded across the tar. She scrambled toward it, the rust shaking from her knees and legs as she sprinted as fast as she could toward the weapon, which the guard saw as well.

  The two collided back on the ground and rolled until they smacked into the rooftop access door, their hands twisted and intertwined around the pistol, both jamming their legs and elbows into one another. Cooper caught the guard on the chin with her shoulder but was given a bloody nose for her efforts.

  The guard twisted his body, using his weight to pry the gun from her hands. When he turned to aim the weapon, Cooper already had the knife in hand and thrust the tip into the soft flesh of the guard’s neck. The pistol dropped from his hand, and he clawed at her face, choking on his own blood.

  Cooper felt the warm claret run over her hands and watched the color and life drain from the guard’s face. Once he was motionless, she yanked the blade free and reached for the pistol. She checked the guard for more ammo, and after he’d been picked clean, she made her way to the rooftop door and stepped inside, gun first.

  The heat from the afternoon had left the old building hotter than an oven, which only amplified the rotten smells of whoever had taken up its occupancy. Cooper descended the staircase, listening to the light footsteps of the guards inside. Sunlight filtered through the dirty windows and provided some clarity of where they were positioned, but there were too many shadows to get an accurate telling. Murmurs from the first floor drifted up the winding staircase, and Cooper made sure to keep both hands on her pistol, checking the doorways she passed on her descent to ensure that the coast was clear. The closer she moved to the bottom, the louder Quentin’s voice became.

  “I bet the bitch doesn’t show,” he said. “She’s an idealist, always has been. And they’re all talk.”

  Cooper positioned herself on the second floor, and she saw the shadows of Quentin and his thugs shift on the floor of the foyer. She eyed the window of the room across the staircase, knowing from her scout prior to the meeting that a dumpster rested below, giving her a way out and something to help break the fall, should she need it.

  With each foot Cooper planted softly on the old floorboards, she winced in anticipation of the one loud groan that would give away her position. But as she pivoted to the right side of the second floor, close to her emergency exit, she arrived without incident.

  “I’m surprised you showed up!” The moment her voice echoed down the steps and into the room where Quentin and his goons were positioned, she saw the barrels of four pistols appear in the open doorway. Quentin stepped toward the open space, only revealing a sliver of himself, making a shot nearly impossible.

  “I would say the same for you! So, I drove all the way out here. What did you want to talk about? For your sake, I hope it’s about the money you owe me.”

  “I’m here to read you your rights.” Cooper drifted her gaze toward the front entrance, praying the agents wouldn’t take much longer to burst inside.

  Laughter echoed up to the second floor, the old governor wheezing between chuckles, hacking and coughing as he caught his breath. “I don’t know if you’ve seen the news, Detective, but you’re wanted for murder, and for killing my brother no less, not to mention the cop you shot outside my bar.” The mirth faded with the mention of his brother. “You’re the last person I have to worry about right now.”

  A groan sounded beneath Cooper’s feet, and her eyes shifted downward. Between the cracks of the floorboards, she saw movement, and when she realized the number of guns aimed at her in the hallway didn’t match the number of guns that had walked into the building, she rolled right.

  Bullets sprouted from the second floor like weeds, each one looking to choke the life out of Cooper as she sprinted back up to the third floor, the guards at the bottom of the foyer emerging from their shell and joining the pursuit.

  Cooper emptied the magazine of the pistol she’d stolen from the guard she’d killed on the roof and reached for the revolver, having to be careful with her shots now.

  The gunfire ended, and again Quentin’s laughter drifted up with the smoke of the pistols and rifles. “Well, perhaps you’ve got more than just ideals in you after all. There isn’t a way out for you in this, Detective. One way or the other, I’m going to kill you.”

  “I’m not the one that killed your brother!” Sweat poured from her body, the heat of the gunfire only intensifying the swelter of the old building. Her aim was glued to the corner of the staircase, where the security team would have to pass if they wanted to make another move.

  “You think this is about Jonathan? My younger brother was an idiot. He couldn’t have made it to his position without me. I controlled him, and he had an easy ride. Do you have any idea how many people like him I have working for me? Hell, even our mother thought he was a worthless shit. No, Detective, this visit is about the money. That’s how you grabbed my attention, and that’s what I want.”

  “You give yourself up right now and I promise I won’t burn the rest of your operations down.” Cooper’s hands ached from the tight grip on the revolver, her fingers curled along the handle like vines clutching a tree. “You’re going to jail, Quentin. And if that means us sharing a cell, then I’m game.” She waited for a response, but he never answered.

  The thump of Cooper’s heart pulsed deep and slow. She kept the gun aimed at the door and when first two guards charged the sight along her revolver showed fists clutching grenades, the pins already pulled.

  Cooper sprinted to the farthest room on the third floor and jumped through its door, curling herself into a ball as the grenades exploded, quaking the ground and cloaking the building in a fog of dust and debris. She stumbled to all fours, her hands and knees scraping across the room, which spun in every direction. By chance, her hands fell across the revolver she’d dropped just as a body charged through the fog of dust. She squeezed the trigger but didn’t hear the gunshot; she only felt the kickback.

  The body dropped to the floor and red streams flooded the wooden boards, pushing their way through the settled dust. Slowly, Cooper’s hearing returned as she stumbled to her feet. The faint pop of gunfire broke through the high-pitched whine in her ears, and she clutched the window frame behind her. Once no one else entered, she stepped over the body, waving the remaining smoke from her face.

  Cooper peered over the edge of the banister. The section of stairs between the second and third floors was completely gone, turning the old wood into toothpicks. Bodies moved quickly, and she saw the flash of FBI jackets flood the bottom floor as gunfire was replaced with shouts.

  “FBI! FBI! Freeze! Put the gun down!”

  Sound and coherent thought were slowly returning Cooper’s cognitive functions as she clutched what remained of the railing. One of the agents below looked up, and the two made eye contact. He raised his pistol, screaming at her, but Cooper sprinted back into the room where she’d sho
t the guard. She pressed her face against the dirty window, looking into the alley below, where she saw a cluster of agents. “Shit.”

  Cooper sprinted back up the stairs, racing to the rooftop, as the shouts of the FBI agents on the first floor slowly faded behind her. She burst back out onto the roof, the sun fading on the horizon, and glanced left then right, looking at the adjacent rooftops.

  FBI agents burst onto the roof to her left, all three armed with rifles they aimed in her direction, shouting their orders for her to freeze as she sprinted right. Gunfire thundered behind her, and bullets peppered the old tar roofs as she gained momentum near the edge.

  The wound in her calf burned as she planted her right foot on the rooftop’s edge and pushed with every last bit of fading strength. She held her breath in midair, glancing down to the bottom of the alleyway, which rested at least one hundred feet below. The edge of the roof of the next building suddenly seemed farther away than it had before, and she felt her heart stop at the thought of falling.

  But when her foot scraped the concrete ledge on the other side, she exhaled, tumbling forward as she rolled across the hot tar of the roof. She scrambled back to her feet, snatching the revolver that had fallen on her way, and sprinted to the next roof, the FBI agents stopping at the edge of their rooftop, unwilling to make the jump.

  Twice Cooper dared the ledges along the row of houses, and twice she aced her landing. When she reached the fourth house, she headed to the rooftop door. A lock protected the roof access entry from any intruders, and with one squeeze of the revolver’s trigger, she broke the lock. Cooper descended into the darkness, the sun nearly vanished from the horizon, and stopped at the third floor when she heard the crack of wood and the entrance of the agents chasing her.

  Cooper eyed one of the back rooms to the building and the window that overlooked the backyard. She wiped the grime from the glass and saw the top of a flat overhang that hovered above the building’s rear door. She smashed the glass with the butt of her gun and cleared the remaining jagged pieces.