by L C Hayden
Thomas continued, “The smuggling, the laundering, all those other activities you and Andrew dipped your hands in. I tolerated them. I even looked the other way because we’re … family. But murder? Really, Dad? What right did you have to order Mike’s death?”
Bronson clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
The senator bolted to his feet. “Do you know what you are? You’re an ungrateful spoiled brat. You like all that money to do as you want. But did you ever try to earn even one penny? How dare you!”
“No, Dad. How. Dare. You.” He resumed his pacing and the senator flopped down on the loveseat.
Tension, as thick and ugly as dirty motor oil, filled the room. Bronson waited for someone to speak.
“You know what, Dad?”
Thomas’ quiet, calm tone sent a bolt of lightning through Bronson’s heart.
Thomas continued, “I’ve had it. For weeks now, I have wanted to call the police. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Then Andrew unknowingly confirmed you had ordered Mike’s execution. That’s murder, Dad. Murder.” A long silence followed, then, “It’s going to kill me, but I will testify against you and Andrew.”
The senator laughed. The sound reminded Bronson of a mink, sleek and cute on the outside, but ready to bite at a minute’s notice.
“You know you’ll be discredited.” The senator spoke with as much emotion as if he were dictating a letter. “You’ll become a laughing stock. People will feel sorry for me, and you will be ruined.”
“I would if I didn’t have proof.”
The Ledger! That would be his proof.
The senator’s voice vibrated with an almost undetected tremor. “What evidence could you possibly have?”
Bronson waited for the answer but instead, he heard Thomas’ retreating steps as he let himself out and gently closed the door behind him.
Senator Morris remained glued to the loveseat for a few seconds. Then he stood and flipped off the light switch.
Bronson relaxed. As soon as the senator walked out, he would check the ledger, take it with him if need be, and get back to Andrew’s house before he was missed. He waited to hear the senator’s footsteps telling him he left the room. But instead, Senator Morris flopped down on the same seat he had previously occupied.
For a long time, the senator remained unmoving, the room’s darkness embracing him.
Bronson cocked his head. He was as alert as a bird getting ready to take flight. He heard muffled noises. Was the senator crying?
Moments later, Bronson detected a small light. The senator had activated his cell. He must have punched in some numbers for the phone began to ring.
Someone picked up and Senator Morris said, “Listen carefully. I will only say this once. Thomas is facing some conflicting issues. It always helps him calm down when he takes the Porsche for a drive. He should be doing that in about half-an-hour. I want you and Floyd to follow him. When he’s out in the road, I want you to cut him off.”
A silence followed as the senator listened to whomever he was talking to.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. He may be my son, but he’s become a dangerous threat to us. He needs to be eliminated. Do it fast and efficiently. I don’t want him to suffer more than he has to. Just make sure you make it look like an accident.”
The senator went quiet as he once again listened to the speaker at the other end.
“Jack and Gerry should be arriving any minute. I sent them to Andrew’s house to have them take care of that other business. Soon as they get here, I’ll tell them to go help you. Call me when it’s done.” He disconnected and remained sitting as though he wanted the darkness to swallow him.
Shiiit!
73
Somehow Bronson had to warn Thomas, but how could he if he couldn’t leave the room?
Time advanced at a glacier’s pace and still the senator remained in Thomas’ office, sitting in the darkness.
Bronson took a deep breath as a plan started to formulate. He would belly-crawl like a soldier and pray the senator wouldn’t see him advance. Once—
The senator stood, and Bronson’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
Senator Morris let himself out. Bronson let out a sigh of relief and forced himself to wait for the senator to leave the hallway. Bronson slowly counted. One …
Two …
Three …
When he reached eighty-eight—his lucky number—he crept out of his hiding place. Bending low, he returned to the desk and retrieved the ledger. He stepped forward and pressed his ear to the door. No sounds came. Bronson took a deep breath and inched the door open. The hallway was clear.
Now to find Thomas. Where would he go? Bronson searched his brain for an answer. If Thomas derived comfort from his Porsche, then chances were he’d find him sitting in his car.
Paco had given Bronson a detailed layout of the house. So far, everything had been accurate. If he headed down this hallway and up the next one, it would lead to the garage.
The sound of approaching footsteps sent Bronson’s heart pounding. He dashed into the room to his right, a game room, complete with a pool table and a television as large as most theaters’ screens. He plastered his body behind a bookcase stacked with table games. He held his breath.
He waited.
He heard distinct voices as the men approached. From the sound of them, two men walked side by side. One must have said something funny as both laughed.
Then they stopped in front of the game room door frame.
Another funny thing was said, but this time, only one laughed.
“Let’s forget this and hit the sack instead. We’re going to be sucking tomorrow.”
His partner must have agreed as both turned and left.
Bronson waited and counted. This time he counted to only thirty-three. When he finished, he stuck his head out from behind the case. Coast looked clear. As he drifted toward the exit, his elbow hit the case, knocking down one of the games.
Bronson froze.
He listened.
Nothing.
He thanked his lucky stars and dashed toward the door he hoped led to the garage. He turned the knob and let himself out.
He was in the garage, the blue Porsche before him.
The empty blue Porsche.
74
“Alex?” The voice came out high-pitched and incredulous. “What the heck are you doing here?” Thomas stood at the opposite side of the garage.
Bronson mentally slapped himself because he had failed to see Thomas. Bronson had been so focused on the car. “You’re in danger.”
“What?”
“I need to get you out of here.”
Thomas headed toward Bronson. When he saw the ledger in Bronson’s hand, Thomas’ jaw stiffened and his eyes bore into Bronson’s. “What are you doing with that?”
“You said you had evidence. I thought this might be it.” He handed it to Thomas.
Thomas accepted it, but the anger still burned in his eyes. “You better explain yourself.”
Bronson realized that the only way to make him move was to spit out the truth. “You told your father you were going to call the police.”
Thomas shook his head, his eyes narrow slits in his face. “How did you—”
Bronson continued, “After you left your office, the senator called someone and ordered him and Floyd to follow you when you drove off in the Porsche. They are to cut you off the road and kill you. He’ll also send two more men, Jack and Gerry, to help them. Now can we go?”
The color drained from Thomas’ face, and his blue eyes glazed as if he were in a trance.
“Move it.” Bronson used his commanding voice.
Thomas shook himself and jumped onto the driver’s seat.
Bronson climbed into the passenger’s side and buckled up.
Thomas started the engine as the garage door opened. “Where to?”
“Just drive. I’ll tell you when to stop.” Even as he spoke, Bronson�
�s mind spat out various possibilities.
The tires squealed as Thomas gunned the engine and sped away.
“Whoa. Slow down. You don’t want them to think you’re onto them. Drive like you normally do.”
Thomas shrugged. “This is how I always drive.”
“Okay, then.” Bronson tightened his seat belt. “Can I borrow your cell?”
“I don’t have it. It’s back home.”
Dang it! Hopefully, Paco had been able to reach Special Agent Pablo. “How about a gun?”
“That would be my … dad—uh, father.” The senator’s house came to view and Thomas stared at it as though it had grown fangs.
“You okay?” Bronson asked.
Thomas shook himself. “Yeah.” He returned his sight to the road. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Listen to your gut. It’s tellin’ you I’m your only chance.”
Thomas’ silence gave Bronson hope. “Up ahead, just after the road forms an upside-down Y, you’ll see a small dip in the road. I want you to pull off there.”
“Why?”
“You’ll open the hood. They’ll think you got car trouble and started walking. They’ll start combing the woods. They’re not expectin’ me. That’ll give me an advantage.” Bronson focused on the line of trees, unmoving black sentinels in the dark road.
“What do I do?”
“You follow the road, but remain hidden behind the tree line.” Bronson focused on the rearview mirror. No lights headed their way. At least, not yet. “You see a car approachin’ duck and wait until the lights disappear before you move. With luck, maybe you’ll see a line of police cars headin’ this way. If so, wave them down.”
“How would they know to come?”
“I asked Paco to call Special Agent Pablo Escobar.”
“Paco?”
“Paco, like your servant. I’d give him a raise if I were you.”
They reached the dip on the road and Thomas eased off the gas. “It’s not right, leaving you here. Four men will be out there hunting for me, and there’s only one of you to stop them.”
“I’m countin’ on takin’ care of the first two before the other two show up.”
Thomas parked the car and turned off the engine. “Still, they have guns. You don’t.”
“I have rocks, branches, and a kitchen knife. They don’t.” Bronson pointed to the ledger. “Aren’t you goin’ to need that?”
Thomas nodded and reached for it. “You’ll need to explain how you got hold of this.”
“Another time.” Bronson got out and nodded toward the hood.
Thomas opened it.
“That should do it,” Bronson said. “Now get.”
Thomas shook his head. “Alex—”
“Bronson.”
“What?”
“My real name is Bronson. Harry Bronson. Now get goin’.”
Thomas stood still. “I shouldn’t leave you.”
“Do you know how to street fight?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Have you ever hit a person with the intent to kill or render him useless?”
Again, Thomas shook his head.
“That’s what I mean. I can’t fight them and take care of you at the same time. Your intentions are good, but you’d be a bigger help if you could bring the cavalry to me.”
Thomas looked down and nodded. He turned and headed down the road.
“Thomas.”
He stopped. “Behind the trees, remember? And walk on the other side so you’re facing traffic. If they try to abduct you, they’re goin’ to have to turn around.”
Thomas crossed the street and disappeared into the trees.
Bronson sat on the ground and removed his shoes and socks. After putting his shoes back on, he glanced around for the right size rocks. He stuffed them into his sock. Next, he searched for the right size branch.
A beam of lights appeared at the edge of the hill. Bronson dashed toward the darkness. He wished he had had more time to prepare.
Here we go.
75
From his vantage point behind an oak tree, Bronson watched the car roll down the hill. They must suspect something. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be approaching at a snail’s pace. Bronson’s alert button went up a notch.
The car pulled behind the Porsche but its passengers didn’t get out. They kept their brights on, making it impossible to see inside the car.
Bronson held onto one of the stuffed socks, ready to swing it at one of the men’s head. That should knock him down while Bronson disabled the other man. But he couldn’t do anything until they got out of the car. What were they doing?
Time ticked away at a snail’s pace. Still, the men remained sitting in the car.
Bronson caught a glimpse of another set of headlights heading his way. Now he knew what they had been waiting for.
Shiiit!
* * *
Thomas did exactly what Bentley—no, not Bentley. What was his name? Bronson, that was it—told him to do. He sprinted forward, keeping the trees between him and the road. He wished he could run on the pavement. He could go much faster. What would it hurt? Hardly anyone used this road, especially at three in the morning.
He was about to leave the safety of the trees when at the far distance, he saw the glow of headlights growing bigger as the car approached. He bolted back to the forest where the trees concealed him. He watched as a gray sedan roared past him.
Thomas immediately recognized the company car. Although it had been too dark to see inside, Thomas felt sure that Jack and Gerry were the passengers. They rushed to help Floyd and Ruben so all four could hunt him down like an animal and kill him.
Thomas shuttered. Now Bronson would have four to fight instead of two. Should he turn back and help him?
* * *
The approaching car came to a stop and two beefy-looking men got out. The driver’s door of the first car opened and a man let himself out. Where was his partner? Had Bronson assumed wrong?
The three conversed in low tones.
Like rapids in a river, Bronson’s mind bounced from one possibility to the other. He could fight two at a time, but three armed men? Bronson’s job was to protect Thomas. These men had no idea where he was. He was safe.
Maybe Bronson should retreat. Let the authorities round up them up. Bronson looked down when one of them slammed shut the Porsche’s hood. They had probably realized that nothing was wrong with the vehicle. They must be growing suspicious.
Best if Bronson made his exit while he still could. He stepped away from the protection of the tree. He’d take one tree at a time until he was safely out of their sight and firing range. The next one was about three feet away. He bent low and kept quiet.
He edged his way forward and froze.
The barrel of a gun shoved against the small of his back forced Bronson to stand still.
“Start talking,” the voice behind him said.
Bronson raised his arms but didn’t turn around.
76
“Is that your Porsche, Mister?” Bronson asked. “I was walkin’ when I saw the abandoned vehicle. I thought maybe I could …” He shrugged. “Well, you know. But if that’s your car, I’ll keep headin’ my way. No harm done.”
“You were walking on this particular road at three in the morning?” His sarcastic tone told Bronson everything he needed to know.
“Is that what time it is? I’m a drifter, and I don’t have a watch.” Bronson mentally prepared himself for the next step.
“Very funny.” The man gave him a small push. Just what Bronson had been waiting for.
“Start walking.” His firm voice demanded to be obeyed.
Bronson pretended to stumble from the push. He used that distraction to swing his elbow backward. It impacted with his assailant’s mid-drift.
The man doubled over.
Bronson pivoted, clasped his hands together, and brought them down hard on the man’s back.
The ma
n dropped to the ground, face first. A trickle of blood ran down the hill.
Bronson turned him over and as best as he could checked him. He was still alive but unconscious.
If Bronson was to get away, he’d better hurry. But first, he’d locate the man’s gun. His search cost him several precious moments. He was about to give up when he spotted the glint of metal on the ground. He smiled when he realized it was the gun he’d been looking for. He picked it up and placed it in his pants’ pocket.
He glanced down at the three men. They continued with their conversation but soon, their concern would grow for their friend.
Bronson had no time to waste. He turned, heading away from them. He had traveled several yards when he heard his attacker yell in a wobbly voice, “Over here. He’s getting away.”
Shiiit!
Bronson had thought he’d be unconscious a lot longer.
The man staggered as he attempted to stand. He held on to a tree for balance.
In record time, Bronson reached him.
When he saw Bronson approach, his eyes widened, huge as saucers. He released his hold on the tree and moved forward, away from Bronson and toward his companions. Bronson reached out with a kick. The man stumbled and fell, hitting his head on a boulder. He remained still.
He would no longer pose any problems, but the damage had already been done.
With guns drawn, the three below ascended the small hill, heading toward Bronson.
77
Instead of heading away from his attackers, Bronson ran in a horizontal position, hoping to put distance between him and the man furthest to his left. Then he’d do a ninety-degree turn and move downward so that he’d come behind his first target.
Bronson focused his vision downward. A clearer pathway lay ahead, but reaching it would consume valuable time. He’d take the rockier and more direct trail. He dodged fallen timber, climbed over rotting trunks, and kept going. His muscles felt on fire and his lungs screamed. Still, he advanced.