Inside Out wm-1

by John Ramsey Miller

  “Mr. Manelli is retired from anything any prosecutor would be interested in,” Russo replied, oblivious to the slight.

  “I must have missed the announcement in the Mafia Gazette. I don't give a bird fart about Mr. Manelli, you, or your gun boys.”

  Russo turned to Winter. “The old guy telling the truth, fellow?”

  Winter nodded. He didn't believe Russo would do anything to them given the fact that he didn't know who else was around. The duck blind story seemed reasonable enough.

  “Let us go and we'll get off Mr. Manelli's land,” Hank told Russo.

  Russo laughed expansively. “I just bet you would.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Hank said.

  “Tell you what I will do. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time,” Russo started, obviously enjoying himself, “there were two dumb-ass deputies who, just after they called their local deputy pal, drove right off into the canal. The older man was driving-bad eyes, no headlights, and the rain and all-and he panicked when the water rose so they both drowned in their car, screaming like women.”

  Hank said, “We swim real good.”

  “If you can swim out of this, you're way past good.”

  “Listen, you can't be so stupid you think you can just kill federal officers,” Hank said. “You, Mr. Manelli, and these other freaks will be on death row before you can kiss a cat's ass.”

  “It's been a rotten week for you marshals,” he said smiling maliciously. “I doubt two more dead feds will make much difference.”

  “Mr. Manelli is not going to like it when he takes a fall for your knee-jerk decision,” Hank said.

  Russo replied, “I doubt he'll give it any thought. Nobody is ever going to know I was here today.”

  Winter turned his head to watch Russo cross to the winch and grab the dangling command bar. When he pressed the up button, the spool turned and a large moss-encrusted steel cage emerged from the water. Dark brown crabs fell through the grid and rained back into the water, leaving behind an enormous bone with quills of shredded tissue standing from it.

  We are not going to die here. We will find Sean alive, and this sadistic bastard and Manelli will pay for everything they have done, Winter told himself.

  Russo unlatched and threw open the top of the cage, wiping his hands together to dry them. “Give them ten minutes each, Spiro. Then get these young men to help you put them in their car and drive it into the canal on the other side of the fence. Then you come back to the lodge.”

  “Sure,” Spiro said. “It'll take a while to lug them back to their car.”

  Russo stared at the cage, thinking.

  “After you drown them, go get their fucking car and bring it to the canal. Then put them in and submarine it.” Russo inclined his head toward the two guards. “On second thought, just drown the fuckers and throw 'em off into the canal. I mean, who gives a shit.”

  “Sure, okay,” Spiro said, nodding slowly. “I get it.”

  “Do it, then!” Russo snapped. “Then come back to the lodge.”

  Russo started for the door. “Gotta run.” Waving his hands and snapping his fingers, he said something to Yul in Italian. The guards listened intently, waited for him to finish and nodded. “Si,” Yul told him.

  “Addio,” Russo said, saluting the young guard like a soldier.

  After he left, Yul turned to Valentino and said “La testa della scimmia.” Valentino snickered.

  Winter watched over his shoulder as Spiro leaned his high-powered rifle against the wall near the winch.

  Hank winked at Winter before he shifted so he was facing Spiro.

  Spiro stared at Hank, then raised his hands high over his head, made fists, and brought his arms, like bird's wings, down slowly until his fists were knuckle to knuckle. His red T-shirt looked like it was painted on his torso. As he repeated the motion with his arms, his muscles seemed to inflate and the tendons in his neck stood out like steel wires. His face trembled and his eyes looked as though they might fly from their sockets. The guards exchanged looks, fighting back laughter.

  Valentino told Yul something else in Italian and they both snickered.

  “Let's get this over with,” Spiro said, crossing to Winter.

  “You don't speak Italian? Kind of like Spanish, especially the insults,” Hank told Spiro as the giant moved to where Winter sat with his shoulders hunched.

  “Come on, boy. Time to swim.” Spiro knocked Winter's cap off and grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “That bald boy called you a queer.”

  “I don't give a happy shit what that gibberish means.” But the giant's tight lips showed he did very much care.

  “Don't have to get your panties in a twist. They say steroids shrink up your dick to where it looks like a newborn's.”

  Winter kept his head down, fighting the urge to look directly into Spiro's eyes.

  “Technically speaking, it isn't an insult if it's true,” Hank told Spiro. “Oh, they don't have to speak English to know you'd suck a dick. That squaw-looking hair. I bet you got sphincter muscles that'd pinch the head off a catfish.”

  “Watch out, old man!” Spiro warned.

  “A hundred dollars says when you smell Old Spice you get a hard-on.”

  “Shut up, he's going to kill us!” Winter exploded. “This is all your fault.”

  “He's a faggot and it's my fault?”

  Spiro released Winter's shoulders and turned to Hank. Winter lowered his head and started rocking in place. The handcuff key in his shirt pocket might have been in the marsh for all the good it would do him.

  Spiro wagged his finger at Hank. “You're trying to get me to lose my shit and break you up so people could know it wasn't no car accident. You're wasting your time. I ain't stupid.”

  “Even that moron Rosco knows you're stupid. I just wanted one last blow job and I know you'll give it to me.”

  “It's Russo, you…” Spiro dropped down on one knee and punched Hank hard in his stomach.

  Hank fought to catch his breath. “Foreplay… be damned, then.”

  “Please don't kill me,” Winter pleaded. The young guards laughed at him.

  “Jesus Christ,” Hank said. “This muscle woman isn't smart enough to work that cage. You're more likely to die of old age while we're waiting for this idiot to figure out the controls. Duh, boss, it'll take a really long time to carry them back to their car,” Hank mocked.

  Spiro grabbed the collar of Hank's coat, dragged him over the floor to the cage, and lifted him. Hank kicked him in the shin, but Spiro didn't seem to feel it. He shoved Hank into the space, then latched the door while Hank kicked against it. Spiro grabbed the winch's control wand, flipped the toggle to raise the cage up, and let it swing over the water.

  “The crabs got your blow job, old man.”

  Hank started yelling in Spanish. “Oh no, no aspira mi pene!” Oh, no, Kill me, kill me! I'd rather be dead! The guards may not have understood Hank's Spanish or the English exactly, but they were laughing. “Sta dicendo che e gonna fuck lui!” Hank howled.

  Yul stood facing the cage with his left shoulder to Winter. He was aiming his shotgun in Winter's general direction, but his attention was focused on Hank and Spiro. Valentino was between Yul and the cage, with his back to Winter. His shotgun rested in the crook of his arm, barrel pointing at the floor.

  As Winter had hoped, the guards didn't perceive him as a threat-Hank was doing a perfect job holding their attention. Spiro, too consumed with anger to think of anything but making Hank suffer the only way he could, started to lower the cage slowly into the water, stopping the winch and then starting it again.

  Winter slipped his cuffed hands under his buttocks and feet and sprang behind Yul. Before the bald young man could react, Winter looped his handcuffed arms over the young man's head and shoulders and gripped the shotgun. Covering Yul's trigger finger with his own, Winter had his left hand flat against the receiver for leverage.

  Powered with a burst of adrenaline born of fear an
d anger, Winter overcame Yul's resistance and swung the gun's barrel to bear on Valentino.

  As Winter sprang, Valentino turned, reflexively raising his own gun. Without any choice, he fired at his partner just as Winter pressed Yul's finger against the trigger.

  Ba-boom! The shotguns' reports overlapped.

  The blast from Valentino's Wingmaster punched a fist-size hole through Yul's chest, and the buckshot hit Winter's vest with the force of a mule's kick. He landed on his back with Yul's dead weight on top of him.

  Winter's blast hit Valentino wide of his chest. He pivoted hard and fell backward, landing against the wall, six feet from the opening in the floor. The blast had blown the guard's right arm clean off below his shoulder. The naked arm lay on the floor, its hand still gripping the gun's stock.

  Spiro released the control wand and turned to the carnage like a bear in the ring. The cage continued to descend and Hank, who was fast disappearing into the murky water, hollered, “Go, boy!” before the cage vanished in a stew of bubbles.

  Winter found himself beneath Yul with no chance of pumping the shotgun to rearm the chamber. He released the weapon and pulled his cuffed hands back over the dead guard's head.

  Valentino seemed to be staring at his appendage lying just beyond his boots. Blood sprayed out through the open sleeve to the rhythm of his beating heart.

  Spiro jerked Yul's shotgun away by the barrel and slung it across the room. He grabbed the corpse by a foot and pulled Yul off Winter. Winter drew his feet back and, when Spiro lunged at him, he kicked out hard, splitting open the big man's chin like he'd used a knife.

  Winter rolled away, made it to his feet, and went for his SIG on the table. Spiro caught him from behind before he got there. The enraged giant locked his massive arms around Winter's chest and, when Spiro squeezed him, Winter thought his ribs would cave in.

  “You like that, you fuck?” Spiro raged.

  Winter drove the back of his skull against Spiro's nose crushing the cartilage and simultaneously stomped his heels down on Spiro's toes.

  Most men would have let go. Spiro merely loosened his grip for a fraction of a second, but just long enough so Winter-his arms pinned and useless-could twist around to face his captor. Spiro's nose and chin were bleeding. Face-to-face, Spiro met Winter's eyes, smiled, and squeezed harder.

  Winter sank his teeth into Spiro's narrow nose and shook his head violently. He felt the tip of Spiro's nose separate, then spit the grape-size nugget out and bit down on Spiro's chin. Spiro released Winter and grabbed his damaged nose, howling.

  You… like that… you fuck? With his hands outstretched, Winter stumbled toward the table again after his gun. He had seconds to get Hank up, and he'd have to put Spiro to sleep to accomplish that. He made it to the table and grabbed his SIG by the barrel.

  Spiro caught him by the neck of his coat and slung him away from the table.

  The handgun flew away toward the workbench.

  Winter landed beside Yul's body and managed to reach inside the dead man's coat to grab the gun from his belt.

  Spiro went for his high-powered rifle still leaning against the wall next to Valentino. He jerked the weapon up to his shoulder and whirled to aim down at Winter.

  “Now, you fuck!” he howled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You fucking, fucking… fuck… FUUUCK!”

  “Wait!” Winter yelled. “Russo said to drown me!”

  Spiro hesitated.

  Bringing the Browning Hi-Power up from behind Yul's prone body, Winter gave the giant a triple tap. Spiro fell sideways into the water, leaving most of his brains behind.

  Winter set aside the Hi-Power, scurried over, grabbed the control wand, and flipped the toggle from down to up. The wheel pulled the cage up out of the water, pushing Spiro's floating corpse aside.

  “What took you so long?” Hank sputtered. “My damn boots are ruined.”

  Winter reversed the winch and guided the descending cage to the floor. He helped Hank out. The older marshal looked around the room, surveying the carnage. “Son… you have made… one hell of a mess.”

  Winter reached into his pocket to get his handcuff key to unlock his cuffs.

  “You tired?” Hank said, after Winter had unlocked his cuffs.

  “I'm getting my second wind.”

  “What happened to your mouth?” he asked Winter after seeing Spiro's blood on him.

  “Nosebleed.” Using his coat sleeve, Winter wiped the blood off.

  Winter lifted his SIG from the floor and pushed it into his holster, snapping the thumb break closed. Water dripping from his clothes, Hank took up his Colt from the table and holstered it.

  “My boots are so full of water they're gonna hear us coming a mile off. Best I-”

  Boom! A sharp report filled the room and Hank collapsed.

  Winter turned and saw the barrel of the Ruger KP-90 drop to Valentino's leg, and Valentino's head fall forward-his chin against his chest.

  At some point, while Winter was busy, the guard had freed his semiautomatic and, using the last of his energy, managed to squeeze the trigger.

  “I'm okay. I'm fine,” Hank said, sitting up.

  Winter kept the Walther pointed at Valentino's head as he crossed to him, put his thumb between the hammer and firing pin, and twisted the gun away. He cursed himself for not checking on the man as soon as he had gotten Hank safely up. In the excitement he had lost a vital thread that could have cost both their lives.

  Winter removed Hank's wet coat and, using the bullet hole in the shirt's sleeve for a starting place, he pushed his finger through and ripped the material wide open. The bullet had hit Hank's left arm above his elbow. Winter saw shattered bone inside the exit wound, and the blood flow was steady, so the artery wasn't cut. The bullet was lodged in the side of Hank's vest. Using his belt, Winter made a tourniquet just below Hank's shoulder.

  “Scratch,” he told Hank. “You can hardly even see it.”

  “Ruined my best shirt.”

  “Maybe Millie can turn it into a short sleeve.”

  “Based on our movie stars here”-Hank winced-“I'd say I got off pretty light. I still got my gun hand and I can walk.”

  “Hank, you're going to sit here. If anybody comes here looking for them, you shoot the bastards. In the meantime, loosen this every once in a while so you don't explode. I'm sorry, I didn't think…”

  “It ain't your fault,” Hank offered. “I could have checked him out myself.”

  Winter got the cell phone, dialed Chet, and told him that Hank was wounded, in the boathouse, and would be fine until they arrived. Chet told him that their helicopter was there to pick them up and he wouldn't be able to use the phone because of the chopper's noisy engines. Winter turned the phone off and handed it to Hank.

  “You keep it,” Hank said.

  Winter put Spiro's coat over Hank's shoulders. “I know it stinks, but it'll keep you warm. Winter reached into the pocket and removed Spiro's red phone. “I'll use this if I need to make a call. You wait here for Chet,” Winter told Hank sternly. “He'll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “You keep your narrow ass out of that lodge, Winter. You wait for Chet. That's an order. I am your superior officer.”

  “You think I'm crazy, Hank?”

  “What I think is none of your business. I know for a damn fact you're crazy.”

  100

  Winter approached the lodge as stealthily as possible, finding it remarkable that there were no guards posted between the two buildings. The fact that there had been a gunfight and no one heard anything was testimony to the quality of the soundproofing Manelli had installed.

  Almost every window inside the building was lit. A green van and three SUVs were parked across from the lodge in a small clearing. In the photo taken from space, which had reduced everything to the shape of its surface, Winter hadn't been able to see that there was a covered porch entirely wrapping the second floor. The lodge was built so the ground floor was half as large as the second. Steel
beams supported the end closest to the canal. The only way up to the porch from the ground floor was by means of a staircase located beside the front door. Just before he made it, someone sitting on the steps in shadow lit a cigarette. If the man hadn't been a smoker, Winter would certainly have walked right into him.

  Winter crouched and made for the back of the lodge. Looking up as he approached the building, Winter clearly saw the old gangster pass by an upstairs window. He made his way around the far side and came up toward the front, looking for a way inside.

  Winter heard conversation and the sounds of dining, so he passed a sliding glass door and peered into the lit kitchen from the cover of night. He counted four guards, all wearing handguns. A pair of shotguns leaned like umbrellas against the wall by the door. He figured perhaps there might be more men upstairs and probably more watching the road.

  Winter carried three full ten-round magazines for his. 40-caliber SIG Sauer. He had loaded Yul's second magazine into the man's Browning Hi-Power giving him fifteen 9-mm rounds, which in addition to the partially used magazine gave him another eleven. He had eight rounds in the old Walther PP, giving him a grand total of sixty-five bullets, each one a potential death sentence. Winter doubted that Sam would have more men than he had bullets for.

  He had not considered taking up any of the long guns, because he knew before he left the boat shed that he was going inside the lodge and any shooting would be at close range. If Sean was alive, she was going to stay that way-not be killed by Sam in response to Chet's assault team arriving or by an errant shot from a long gun. Inside the building, a rifle bullet could go through a man and still travel through walls to hit something. Indoors, a shotgun blast could spread. 30-caliber lead balls until something solid stopped them. That something solid was not going to be Sean. And, the fact was, he was a far better shot with a handgun.

  Without backup, he couldn't walk straight in through the front door with a gun in each hand-there was no way he could control so many men at once and be free to do anything but guard them. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed himself a mental picture of finding Sean alive and well, of taking Sam Manelli hostage and using the threat of killing the old bastard to hold off his guards until Chet's assault force arrived.