It was dark inside the building, except for meager safety lighting near the floorboards. Nicky veered away from our little parade to hit the power, and the room lit up. From the looks of it, it was a holding room, about twenty-by-twenty, empty except for some cabinets, several wheeled gurneys, and a countertop stacked with black-and-red, zippered body bags. At the far end of the room was another set of double doors. Even I knew where they led.
Bayless didn’t waste time. “Go ahead, Candy.”
She lingered near the exit to the garage. “You want me to go in there?” she said. For the first time since I’d met the woman, I detected a crack in her ice-cold façade. “I don’t like it in there.” Shaking her head she turned away, toward the body bag collection. When she saw them, she made a face and directed her gaze to the floor. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Bayless’s baleful expression didn’t change. “You want to hang in the same garage as the bloody guy? Be my guest.”
Horrified, Candice seemed to suddenly remember Ross. “Cut it out, Bob! No. You know I hate being around dead people.”
“Then get your ass inside. You can go sit in the lobby or the ladies’ room or something till it’s over.”
She eyed the far door. “But—”
“Your ass.” Bayless pointed to the doorway. “In there. Now.”
Candice pulled her lips tight before twisting the knob on the right-hand door. The lights were on, and Bayless gestured Nicky and Hal through, then told me to follow them. He made sure to poke me in the back with his gun. A tangible reminder that he’d blow me away if I made a wrong move.
The room was cold.
Of course it was. We were in the embalming room—steel refrigeration units lined two walls. High-powered illumination in this windowless room gave a surreal impression of daylight. The overhead beams reflected on Bayless’s shiny scalp—he squinted upward. “Nice,” he said. “This’ll give you enough light?”
I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know what they needed the light for. Anger rolled in my chest, growing bigger and more powerful with each step I took.
This space was bigger than Nicky’s embalming rooms in Chicago. Newer, too. “Business must be good,” I quipped. I was tired of being afraid. Tired of waiting to see what they had planned.
Sure, I was still terrified, but now I was pissed, too. Furious that these two despicable characters would be getting away with murder—and so much more.
“Business is grand,” Bayless said. “As in a hundred grand. Per week.” He stared up at the ceiling for a moment then gave a soft laugh. “No. More than that.”
“I’ll be in the lobby.” Candice couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. She hit the far exit door with a flat hand, banging it open.
Nicky shouted after her. “There’s a television in the lounge.”
She stopped but didn’t turn. It was as though she was afraid of what she’d see. “Which way?” she asked, panic making her voice wobble.
“Across the lobby, turn right. Down the corridor, last door on your left.”
She kept her back to us. “What if I come across another one of these rooms?”
“You won’t,” he said. “I promise.”
The door swung shut behind her.
Hal stared, his eyes moving about the room, taking it in. I guessed this was his first time in a room like this. I watched his Adam’s apple bob, twice, as he backed up. “Watch it,” I said when he nearly bumped into the embalming table.
He turned, and when he saw what was behind him, he groaned. With his hands still duct-taped behind his back he couldn’t cover his eyes, but I could tell he wanted to. His legs looked ready to give out, and I moved closer. But what could I do? He had me by a hundred pounds at least. If he fell on top of me, we’d both get hurt. “Easy, Hal,” I said.
But he turned again. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a cantilevered body storage unit. I’d seen one at Sunset Manor in Chicago, where Nicky had boasted that each of the four tiers could hold a body up to 500 pounds. Right now there were four empty trays.
Nicky gave a smirk. “Your new bed, at least for—”
Bayless was unscrewing the sound suppressor from the front of the gun. “Shut up,” he said. He hefted the long barrel in his hand for a moment, looking around, finally dropping it onto the adjacent countertop next to Nicky’s embalming tools. “You keep to your business or I’ll shoot you and sell you for parts, too.”
“I have to go.” Hal said. “I have to go real bad.”
“Then piss yourself.”
Hal hiccupped. “I . . . can’t.”
I tried to catch Nicky’s eye. There had to be something there. Something left from the little boy that used to come over to our house with his parents. “Nicky,” I said. “You can’t let this happen.”
He ignored me.
Bayless continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “We’ll do the old man first. He’s easy. But . . .” He pointed the gun at me. “This one’s healthy. Prime product. If we take our time and do it right, we can make a bundle on her.”
Ron Shade
The guy who didn’t look like Bayless moved toward me, grinning and still swinging his flashlight. In his other hand he held a cell phone. “You got us, Viktor?” he asked, holding it up by his face in walkie-talkie mode.
“Yes, now shut off the damn light,” the Russian’s voice said over the phone. Loud enough for me to hear. “You’re too bright.”
He switched it off. “Okay, I’m moving in,” he said.
Too bright? That meant he must have been watching my progress all along with a starlight scope. I just hoped it wasn’t attached to a rifle.
Viktor’s voice came back on. “Check for a pistol on him. Bayless said he’s armed.”
Now how the hell would Bayless know that? Unless . . . That damn Candice. Which meant she was in on the setup, and I was lured in like a chump. Suddenly, I worried about Alex.
“Make this easy on yourself, buddy,” the Bayless stand-in said. He still had a simper stretched across his mug, and I could see in the dim light that he had crooked teeth. Small consolation, but something I hoped would tear the insides of his lips real good when my fist collided with them. “Turn around and put your hands behind you.” He withdrew a pair of handcuffs from the back of his belt.
I knew if he got those on me, I was as good as dead. “Hey, no problem. I’ll do whatever you say.” I began to turn, extending my left arm toward him, and just as he was within striking distance I sent a whistling right into his substantial gut. This bent him over and I pivoted around behind him, grabbing him with both hands to use as a shield.
The shot cracked seconds later, striking him in the chest, exiting his back with a bloody plop, and whizzing by me, all in heartbeat. I took us both down to our knees, his breathing coming in wet snorts. One down, how many to go?
Grabbing his flashlight with my left hand I pointed it directly toward the area where I’d seen the muzzle flash. It had been a dull popping sound. The muzzle velocity said rifle, but probably with a silencer attached. I heard an accompanying grunt and figured I had a few seconds before the shooter’s vision returned. I grabbed for the cell phone and took off at a cautious, but rapid, run toward the center of the area. A low wall popped up to my right and I went for it, slowing long enough to curl over the top, since I was unsure of what was on the other side. The last thing I needed right now was to fall into one of those dusky pits and break a leg.
A Russian voice screamed something from the cell phone. They must have had it rigged for multiple communications. Then another voice came on. I recognized this one.
“Viktor, what the hell’s going on there?”
Bayless.
“Everything is under control. He’s temporarily escaped. Oleg and I will find him.”
Oleg . . . So I was going to have to deal with two Russkies. I hoped he wasn’t Spetsnaz, too. But, hell, I was a Ranger. A Ranger with a five-shot revolver. But still, I knew I could take these assh
oles if I kept my head. No look so tough . . . Viktor’s words that Alley had told me before they’d tried back in Chicago. Yeah, I could beat them. They didn’t know about my minimag. Plus, I had the other guy’s flashlight as well. I took out my cell phone and was getting ready to call Alex. If I could alert her, maybe Ross could get her and Hal out of harm’s way before it was too late.
Then the real Bayless came back on the phone with something that chilled my blood: “Good. Make it quick. We’ve got the others.”
No sense in trying to warn her now. I had to beat these guys or she was dead.
“I vill call you back vhen it’s done,” Viktor’s voice said, then silence.
If they were ex-Spetsnaz they’d use standard military tactics. That meant that Oleg was probably somewhere to the west, working his way toward me with another starlight scope. I could hear them chatting in Russian on the phone. Noise discipline. I adjusted the volume to the lowest position and stuck it in my right-side pants’ pocket. I put my cell in the opposite pocket after turning it completely off. No sense risking getting an inopportune call. I jammed the extra flashlight in my pocket with my cell, and took out the minimag and the snubbie. Still crouched down, I weighed my options. They had at least one starlight scope. Most likely two. That meant they’d be sweeping the area looking for me, but they wouldn’t fire unless they had a clear shot, with no risk of a crossfire. Letting my eyes adjust further to the darkness, I spied a section of metal piping running off to my left. Barrier around a pool, most likely. About thirty feet beyond that was a square block building. A locker room, probably. Right now it offered me shelter. If I could get inside, I’d be out of sight. I could put a call in to 9-1-1 and maybe get some Las Vegas Metro boys on the way. The sound of the sirens would probably drive Viktor and his buddy Oleg running for the hills. But they could also pick off the officers who responded like sitting ducks. I’d have to try and convince the dispatchers exactly what they were going up against. Still, I knew the drill. They’d send a patrol car, maybe two officers to check out the report. No guarantees the guys would see us. And if they tried to investigate further . . .
I took a breath and began running at as fast a clip as I could toward the locker room building. Dust skipped the ground in front of me. I dove and rolled, using the powerful minimag beam to sweep in that direction, hoping it would buy me a few minutes with some backlash night blindness. I had to keep moving. I fired off a shot in the general direction and started another run.
I used the beam to check the area in front of me. It looked fairly clear, devoid of any barriers or junk. An open doorway loomed about fifteen feet in front of me. I covered the distance in about five seconds, slamming into the solid bricks as they offered a corridor that curled back into darkness. I pressed the button on the minimag and swept the interior as I walked. They’d probably track me here, but maybe there was a hiding place where I could get the drop on them, or at least one of them. If I could get myself one of those starlights, we’d be on level footing.
The beam swept over a man huddled against the wall. I jumped back and pulled out the gun, thinking he was one of them. A second later I realized he wasn’t. He was dressed in rags and smelled like a pungent roadkill. His bleary eyes stared back at me, like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.
“Don’t hurt me!” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Please,” his hands raised in front of his face. He was dressed in rags, with a long, wispy beard. Homeless. “No, no, I don’t mean no harm. Don’t hurt me!”
“I won’t. Now keep your voice down.” If he kept yelling he’d lead them right to us. “Sit down over there.”
“No!” His eyes widened in terror as I realized a second too late that he’d seen the gun in my hand. He bounced off the wall in a full-out run for the door. I tried to move to cut him off, but with the strength borne of desperation, he stiff-armed me out of the way.
“Don’t go out there,” I yelled, but it was too late. He tore around the sectioned wall and disappeared. I followed, knowing he was another walking dead man. I peered around the edge of the corner, offering as little of my body as I could, the snubbie outstretched.
He made it maybe ten feet before the shot brought him down. I saw the muzzle flash and squeezed off three rounds. I think one of them hit, but ducked back just in time to avoid another hail of bullets. One shot left, dammit. What was I thinking? The son-of-a-bitch was dead as soon as he ran out from cover.
They’d be over to check on him shortly, thinking he was me. Then, when they realized he wasn’t, they’d center on this area and flush me out. Maybe I’d hit one of them with my volley. Maybe not. Panic started to wrap its fingers around my spine.
No, I had a chance, I told myself. That poor bastard had given me one. I took out the cell phone and tried to listen. Nothing. No merry Russian voices asking if it had been good hunting. I felt the edge of the wall and found some holes broken into the cement blocks. Maybe I could get on the roof. Searchers don’t often look up, which is why snipers always like the high ground. Maybe it would give me a vantage point to get off another shot. It’d been poor ammo discipline to use up one of my precious five shots before, but it had been instinctual. Slipping the minimag and the gun into my back pockets, I gripped the broken sections of the blocks and began to climb. I got about halfway up when the block I’d gripped gave way, sending me sprawling. I hit hard on my back and clipped my head on the cement wall. Shaking off the pain, I got up and jumped for the wall again, using a more cautious climbing technique. This time I made it. The roof was flat and covered with dusty gravel. The remnant of an old air-conditioning unit was in the center, its frame now empty. I did a low crawl over to the side. I didn’t risk using the minimag up here, for fear of giving away my position. I scanned the area. Something moved. Maybe thirty feet away, to my right, one of them was advancing, holding his rifle up and scanning through the scope. He brought the phone up and someone whispered in Russian on my phone. Open channel. Bad noise discipline, boys. From the voice, I didn’t think it was Viktor. No reply. Viktor was probably letting poor Oleg go check the body. You go, buddy. Let me know what you find.
My foot brushed against a chunk of something. It moved. Reaching and feeling, I found a section of brick about the size of a book. I reached for it and brought it in front of me. Maybe I could toss it out there for a diversion. The homeless guy’s body was maybe fifteen feet from the building, which gave me a pretty clear shot if Oleg gave me his back. I had one shot left, so I had to make it count. One shot, one hit, jump down and go for his rifle. It was my only chance to level the playing field. My fingers curled around the brick fragment, then released it. Too risky to try the toss. I’d need the minimag to illuminate him if I wanted to be sure of my aim. I stretched out, holding the flashlight alongside the barrel of the snubbie. When the time came, and I had target acquisition, I’d press the button to switch it on, aim, and pull the trigger. One shot, one hit, center mass.
Then I’d have to make the drop. The roof wasn’t that high. Maybe fifteen feet or so. I’d done jumps off garage roofs when I was a kid. I’d jumped out of airplanes in the army. I should be able to handle a paltry fifteen feet. I hoped.
The hulking figure advanced, still looking through his scope, alternating between the twisted corpse and the surrounding terrain, maybe about twenty-five feet away. He kept the alternating pattern. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t realize that it wasn’t me until he got closer. Until it was too late. But . . . too late for whom?
One shot . . . One hit.
Why didn’t I take Ross’s Glock instead? He hadn’t offered it, but apparently it hadn’t done him too much good anyway. Shit. I still had to worry about rescuing Alex. I had to make this work.
One shot, one hit.
He moved to about ten feet from the corpse, lowering his rifle as he swept over it, obviously certain that I’d either changed clothes and grown a beard in the last ten minutes or so, or he’d shot the wrong guy. He was ben
t over too much. I needed a better target. I made a kissing sound with my lips and he straightened. I pressed the button illuminating him and fired a half a second later, releasing the minimag button as I did so. His legs twisted under him, and he folded onto himself. Knowing hesitation was death, I rolled to the left, away from the area where I assumed Viktor was watching. Bullets clipped the section of roof on the other side of the building. He knew where I was, and he’d be coming for me. I only hoped he wouldn’t expect me to go for Oleg’s rifle. I jammed the minimag into my pocket and stuck the empty gun in my belt. Gripping the edge of the roof, I dropped my legs over and swung down, losing my grip from the momentum and hitting the cement in a twisted heap. Pain shot up my legs to my side, and I knew I’d ripped the stitches on my arm, but I had no time to hurt. I took out the other flashlight and struggled to the edge of the building. I knew he was watching through his scope, so maybe, just maybe he’d follow the light. I switched on the flashlight, leaned back, and gave it a hard toss, watching its arc as I started my sprint toward fallen Oleg. And his rifle.
I made about ten steps before I heard a round whiz past me and I dove forward. Landing hard on my stomach, I held the minimag in my hand and pressed the button, sweeping its powerful beam toward where I thought he might be, as I scrambled toward the rifle. It must have bought me the precious few seconds I needed, because the spray of bullets went wide. My hands gripped the gun and felt an immediate sense of relief. It was an AK-47, but a scaled down model. With a scope. Now we were on even terms, but I was still a sitting duck, and he was a lot closer to targeting me than I was him. He knew the area I was moving toward. Using Oleg’s body for cover, I laid the barrel of the rifle on his side. His head was twisted toward me, a few inches from mine, his dead eyes half open and glazed over. My bullet had caught him at the base of the throat. Lucky shot. I’d been aiming at his chest but firing from above can affect your sighting.
A bullet tore through him and whizzed by me. Obviously, Viktor knew exactly where I was and wasn’t lamenting the demise of his buddy. I wanted to check Oleg’s magazine, search him for additional mags, but another round smacked into him. That one didn’t fully penetrate for some reason, but I couldn’t stay here and wait to see how many he’d stop. I had two choices. Go left, back to the building, or right toward a swatch of tall palms about twenty feet away. I opted for the right, figuring he’d think I’d head for the thicker cover. But first, I wanted to give him a little taste of his own medicine. I squeezed off a round, and another, then moved in a low crouch. I hit the dirt and scrambled the final few feet, stirring the dust and the wispy scrubs. Bullets popped in the sand too close for comfort. I rolled next to the base of one of the palms. A ribbon of thorns prickled the backs of my hands. Staying prone, I put my right eye to the scope and saw the entire scene outlined in a field of clear green and black. Viktor was running for the building. He’d made the bad mistake of being too far from cover.
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