by L. T. Ryan
I heard footsteps from outside the room. Two sets approached at a steady pace. Perhaps time was up.
"You can stop there, Noble," Burnett said.
I dropped the box, stood up straight, wiped the sweat from my brow. I tried to dry my hand on my shirt, but it was soaked. The south Florida humidity was a bitch if you didn't have a cold beer on hand.
"Turn around, Jack," Burnett said.
I scanned the room, looking for a weapon. I'd have settled for a baton right then. But the room was empty, except for the six boxes. And then I saw something that disturbed me. One of the boxes wasn't taped shut. The ends had been folded over one another to keep it shut. The dimensions matched the others in the room. All of them were large enough to fit me, slightly cramped since I had two inches on their length.
"C'mon," Burnett said. "Arms out and turn."
Dying in the back of a warehouse located next to a Miami ghetto held very little appeal to me. But if it was going to happen, I'd prefer to see the bullet coming. Go down with a fight. I lifted my arms out to the side, stopping halfway. I turned, slowly. I kept my head low, eyes up. I offered up as menacing a look as I could manage under the circumstances.
Burnett and Reece stood outside the doorway. Burnett aimed a pistol at me. Reece held a rifle at his waist, loosely aimed in my direction. He stepped back and Burnett motioned with his pistol for me to exit the room.
I stepped through the doorway and caught Burnett's eye on the way through. "What's in those boxes?" I asked, concerned that he intended to use one as my casket.
Burnett shrugged. "Let's go outside." He looked past me and added, "Reece, I want you to take him down there with the others."
I figured that the unsecured box wasn't meant for me. At least, not yet. I walked across the empty warehouse. Burnett followed. Reece stayed in front of me, walking backward, keeping a good ten feet between him and me. My foot hit the pavement. He pointed his gun at the Escalade, then back at me.
"Get in the back," Reece said.
I reached out and grabbed the door handle. It pushed open before I pulled. One of the men from the boat was inside. He held a pistol in his right hand.
"Don't try anything," the man said. "I'll shoot if you so much as sneeze."
I did my best to look unimpressed while I pulled myself up and into the car. I took a seat and waited. A few minutes later Reece opened the driver's door and hopped in behind the wheel. He fired up the V-8 engine and dropped the transmission into drive. We inched around the semi, then slowly drove on the pavement in between a long warehouse and the ocean. He stopped where the building ended.
"Get out," he said. Then he turned to look at the man sitting next to me. "Take him to the others and walk back."
"You're not waiting?" the man said.
"Would I tell you to walk back if I was?"
The man shook his head and held out his arms. He stared me down for a couple of seconds, and then said, "Let's go, man."
"This isn't over, Reece," I said.
He smiled and leaned toward me. "Yes, it is." He started to turn in his seat, then stopped. "Oh yea, Burnett had a message he wanted me to relay to you."
"What's that?"
"Time's up."
I glanced at my watch and saw it was ten till noon.
I opened the door. The sound of waves lapping against the concrete barrier greeted me. They carried a rhythm all their own. The man's feet hit the ground and his hand hit my back. He pushed me toward the end of the building. When we reached it, he said, "Turn left."
I did and saw Pablo, the heavy guy and the skinny guy, as well as Sarah. She stood with her back to a car. Her wrists were bound together by rope. The closer I got, the more obvious it became that she'd been crying.
"Sarah," I said.
She looked in my direction. At first her face scrunched up, as if she were about to start sobbing. She filled her lungs with salt air and exhaled, seemingly to steady herself.
I got within six feet of her and Pablo told me to stop. From that distance, I could see inside the car. The two kids sat in the back seat. Neither of them were Christopher. Were their hands bound, too? I couldn't tell.
"Arms behind your back," Pablo said.
I didn't move.
"Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be," he said.
I still didn't move.
Pablo did. He punched me in the kidney with his left hand and then reached for my arm. "How's that feel, huh?"
I said nothing. My body bowed sideways to the right. Pain spread from the point of impact to the middle of my abdomen. He had my left arm pinned behind my back with his plaster cast and managed to get my right halfway around.
"Someone help," he said.
The heavy guy jogged forward and planted a knee in my midsection. I was surprised that he managed to get his leg up that high. Surprise gave way to a momentary loss of control, despite preparing myself for the blow by tightening my abdominal muscles.
He wrapped his meaty hand around the back of my head and pulled me up by my hair. "Enjoy that?"
Pablo had my wrists together and bound by rope. I struggled and the knot tightened. He grabbed my collar and yanked me back, nearly sending me sprawling to the ground. Somehow, I managed to regain my balance.
I assumed a fighter's stance, much to the delight of the men.
Pablo took a few steps back, his smile faded a little with every movement. He came to a stop about six feet away. He lifted his left arm and aimed his gun at my head. Six feet. The perfect distance. A deadly distance. Even if my hands had been untied, he'd still be able to shoot me before I could lay a hand on him.
"This is gonna be fun," Pablo said, the smile returning to his face. "Hector, go help with the car. Get that bitch in back with the kids."
I forgot about Pablo for a minute as my attention shifted to Sarah. She stood with her back against the car, shoulders slumped, head down. She looked like a woman defeated. I didn't like it. It wasn't the look of someone who'd been captured. Everything about her at that moment told me she knew she was about to die.
The heavy guy, Hector, grabbed her by the hair. I guessed that was his thing. With his other hand he pulled the car door open. Immediately the children began screaming, their little voices surfing on top of the salt air and echoing off the high steel and aluminum walls of the warehouses that surrounded us.
Hector forced Sarah into the car. He hit her twice. She went limp. I felt rage rise inside me like bile, bitter and hot and ready to spew out.
"Don't move," Pablo said, without looking at me. The guy must have had faith in his reaction time to take his eyes off me like that.
I didn't move, my feet at least. But my hands went to work dismantling the knot that bound my wrists. Boy scouts these men were not.
Hector slammed the door shut. The voices of the innocent were muffled, for a moment at least. The skinny guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He inserted one into the driver's door and unlocked it. The keys dangled from the lock, reflecting a small, but bright ray of sunlight. He opened the driver's door and slipped inside, leaving one foot on the pavement. His thin arm reached out and around the door frame and he retrieved the keys. It looked like he inserted the one into the ignition, but the car didn't start. A moment later, the guy stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.
He joined Hector at the back of the vehicle and they started pushing. The car began rolling, slowly at first, toward the edge of the pavement. The men pumped their legs. After twenty feet Hector fell to the ground because the car was moving too fast for him to keep up with. He wallowed on his stomach and then propped himself up using his elbows to watch the car as it headed toward the ocean. The skinny guy let go and straightened up. He placed his hands on his hips and arched his back a little.
The three men watched, stone still, as the car went over the edge of the pavement and into the ocean.
Chapter 30
The rope that had bound my wrists fell to the
ground. None of the men noticed the barely audible sound of it hitting the pavement. Hector and the skinny guy stood on the edge of the road, feet from where Sarah and the kids were encased in a sinking tomb. Tiny hands banged against the rear window, the only sound in an otherwise eerie silence.
Pablo stayed rooted to his spot, six feet away from me. This time the distance wasn't so deadly, not for me at least, because Pablo had his back to me. Maybe he figured it was safe to do so, since my hands had been tied. It was unfair, almost. I thought about giving him a warning, but dismissed that as quickly as he dismissed Sarah and those children.
I passed through the space between us in a second. My torso twisted back to the right, then I whipped around with my left shoulder leading, pulling my right arm around with as much torque as I could muster. Pablo's head whipped to his right, perhaps because he'd heard my foot hit the pavement. My fist connected with his temple. Pablo went down hard, his hip hit, and then his head with a thud. It bounced half a foot in the air and then smacked the pavement again.
I located Pablo's pistol, then located the men. They turned around as if in a daze. They moved in slow motion at first, then picked up their pace. They had close to a hundred feet to cross. It wouldn't take them long, not even Hector with his heft.
I dove toward the gun. The pavement scraped my body and ripped my shirt. I didn't care. Wounds could be cleaned up later. I had to reach the gun before they reached me. My hand wrapped around the pistol and I rolled through the dive. The skinny guy stood closest. I aimed at him first. Time slowed. I saw his long hair bounding and tossing across his face with every step he took. His knees pumped high, arms swung forward then back. I squeezed the trigger and hit him in the chest. The impact of the bullet stopped his torso, but his legs carried through. He flew back and his head crashed into the pavement. Hector grunted as he tried to pick up his pace. I was able to take a second longer to aim and waited until he'd almost reached me. Then I squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit Hector in the forehead. His eyes rolled in and up and his body jerked back, stopped and then fell forward. His knees hit the ground, then his thick chest carried the rest of him forward. A crimson sea formed around his head.
I placed my left hand on the pavement. My right held the gun in front of me, guarding against any sudden movements from the men I'd rendered incapacitated. I had no doubt Hector was dead. His dark, lifeless eyes staring straight ahead told me that. The skinny guy lay on his back. His dull and lifeless eyes fixed on some point beyond the clouds.
I turned my attention to Pablo, who by this time had managed to get to his knees. He faced away from me. I tucked the gun in my waistband and crossed the distance between us in a second or two. I reached down and placed my hands on either side of his head. With a quick and decisive movement, I snapped his neck like a twig.
By now almost half a minute had gone by and no one had drove over to see what was going on. I realized at that moment that this was the plan all along. Get rid of Sarah and the kids, and then shoot me. The men had failed to complete the job, and the rest of them would pay. First, I had to save Sarah and two children trapped in the back of the sinking car.
I sprinted toward the edge of the pavement. The car was underwater, but still visible. I didn't stop when I reached the invisible barrier between land and sea. I dove into the water and swam toward the car. With my pistol, I beat against the rear window until it cracked. I hit it a few more times until there was a decent hole. Water rushed through the opening, flooding the car. The water muffled the screams of tiny voices. I reached into the jagged hole in the window with both hands and began to pull the glass back. A red cloud plumed in the water and floated past my head. I didn't care.
When the hole was wide enough, I reached in and grabbed the little girl and a boy I didn't recognize. The girl squirmed and fought against me. The boy was still, too still. Sarah's body twisted and thrashed. She was trying to get herself in a position to push through the broken window, but her bound hands made it difficult. I had to get the kids to the surface quickly if I was going to have any chance of saving her.
I used my legs against the car to propel us through the water. We flew to the surface. My head burst through and I filled my oxygen-deprived lungs with a gasp, and the girl did too. The boy did nothing. His face was pale. Lips were blue. I looked around, half hoping to see someone at the edge of the pavement. Glad that I didn't, because it would have likely been Reece or Burnett. A rusted ladder was anchored to the concrete piling. I dragged the kids over and pushed the girl halfway to the top. Then I wrapped my left arm through a rung and started performing CPR on the boy.
"C'mon, kid," I yelled between breaths. The little girl, still clinging to the ladder, yelled the same.
A tense moment passed, and then he gagged and coughed and threw up water. His blue eyes fluttered open.
"Can you hang on to the ladder?" I said.
He reached out and grabbed the ladder. His body pulled away an inch or two and then he nodded. "I can do it."
I kicked off the piling and dove into the water. The car had sunk further, no longer buoyant because of the hole I created in the window. It had reached the bottom and settled in on its side. I swam into the rear window. Jagged glass tore through the flesh on my shoulders and my side. I fought against the pain and reached for Sarah's lifeless body. It took a few seconds to free her from the back seat and then get her through the broken window. I wrapped one arm around her chest and swam straight up.
I sucked in air as my head broke through the surface. Sarah's face was a light shade of blue, and her lips were a bit darker. I hoped that I'd freed her in time, but the way she looked gave me doubts.
I pulled her toward the ladder. The kids stood at the top, their timid voices urging me on with words of encouragement. I wrapped my arm through a rung again and used my knees to support Sarah's body. I gave her a few breaths. Nothing happened. I checked for a pulse but couldn't find one. I had to get her on land to begin chest compressions. I placed her over my shoulder and climbed the five feet or so from the ocean to the pavement and placed her body on the ground. Water splashed the pavement and steam rose into the air. I knelt over Sarah's lifeless body. No matter how hard I worked on her, nothing happened. No breath, no pulse, no coughing or choking. The color of her face went from light to dark blue. Her skin felt like ice.
"Cops," the boy said.
"What?" I rose up and looked at him.
"Sirens," he said. "In the distance."
If the cops were on their way, I knew that Burnett would take off whether he was ready or not. No way I'd let him get away with this.
"You," I pointed at the boy. "I need you to keep pushing on her chest like I was doing. OK?"
"OK," he said.
"And you," I pointed at the girl. "You need to give her your breath, like I did. OK?"
"OK," she said.
I got up, grabbed my gun and started running toward Burnett's warehouse. I stopped and turned. "If anyone other than me comes from this way, you run."
Chapter 31
I heard the men from the boat talking. Their voices placed them past the edge of a building that sat closer to the water than the others, but still a good distance away from Burnett's warehouse. I pressed back against the steel exterior wall and stepped sideways, moving slowly. I kept my gun up and ready. If I fired, I'd draw the attention of everyone. They had expected the two shots earlier. Those bullets had been meant for me. They wouldn't be receptive to additional gunfire. I wondered why they hadn't moved yet. Wouldn't the other men have returned by now? Perhaps Burnett anticipated a time gap while they disposed of my body. I couldn't go down with the car since the point was for me to watch. They probably had a plan to bring my body to the boat where they'd wrap chains around me and attach them to cinder blocks. I'd sink to the bottom of the Atlantic, lost forever. I found the thought tranquil, in an odd sort of way.
I was close enough to hear what the men were saying. They weren't part of Burnett's inner circle. In
stead, they'd been hired to transport him. These weren't good men, not by any stretch of the imagination. They'd done some bad things in the past, and would again in the future, if given the chance. I felt no qualms about killing either one of them. I peeked around the corner. They stood with their backs facing me and at a distance of about four feet. Close enough.
I took a deep breath. The salt air filled my lungs with a slight burn. I looked down and for the first time noticed the gash across my left side. It'd need stitches, but I could manage for now.
I tucked the gun into my waistband and then burst around the corner. My arms whipped around, up and out, the way a master of the butterfly stroke breaks through the water and seemingly flies through the air. My hands wrapped around the outside of their heads, respectively. The momentum carried my hands inward, smashing their heads together. I continued to slide my fingers around, cupped each man under their chin, dragged them around the corner.
I let the guy on the left drop to the ground semi-conscious.
I placed my left hand around the other guy's head. I stood with him in front of me, my arms crisscrossed around his head. He moaned and tried to talk. It came out gurgled. I pulled my arms to the left and right, toward their natural positions. His neck snapped and his body went limp.
I looked down and saw that the other guy had started to crawl away. I took a step, leapt, and came down with my foot on the back of his head. His face crunched against the pavement. Maybe his jaw broke or his orbital socket split in half. Maybe the sound was his teeth snapping off one by one. I didn't look. Didn't care. I reached down and pulled him back by his hair. His body bowed below me, waist on the ground, head pulled back so far it was behind his ass. I gripped his head with both hands and pulled hard to the side. Another snap. Another man who would never take another breath.
I searched their pockets. One had a knife and the other a gun. Perfect. I tucked the knife inside one of my boots. Kept one pistol tucked in my pants and walked with the other in front of me. From this point on, I'd shoot anybody but Burnett on sight.