Dead Ringer

by Michael A. Black

  I fought.

  I rolled onto my knees, and with two hands, grabbed the silver trocar and jammed it sideways as hard as I could, to the left side of Bayless’s chest. Bayless howled as the sharp point encountered resistance, but I plowed through. His body spasmed.

  I scuttled backwards, grabbed Bayless’s gun and opened the nearest cabinet door for cover. I crouched behind it. It wouldn’t do much, but—

  Nicky fired one round. It went wide.

  He looked stunned that he hadn’t hit me.

  Muscle memory took control. My firearms instructor had forced me to practice this dozens of times, and now I thanked God that she had.

  Over the top of the cabinet door I aimed the semiautomatic at Nicky’s center mass. I took a quick breath, let it out, and squeezed.

  Nicky’s legs crumbled beneath him and he dropped to the ground.

  “Bob! Bob! What’s going on in there?”

  Candice screamed when she saw Nicky’s prone form, red cascading all over the paper jumpsuit. When she spotted her husband’s body, the trocar sticking up like a stake through Dracula’s heart, she went white and passed out.

  Thank God.

  I stood, taking a long moment to catch my breath—to try to quell the shaking of my heart, my hands, my suddenly weak legs. There was blood everywhere. I closed my eyes for a precious moment and tried to focus.

  Hal. I needed to find Hal.

  I needed to call Shade. Maybe it wasn’t too late to warn him.

  I needed to dial 9-1-1.

  The gun stayed in my right hand. These guys were all down for the count, but I wasn’t taking chances now.

  I was in my stocking feet and all the blood on the floor made it hard to walk without slipping.

  Nicky was still alive, moaning in pain. Blood spurted from his side. I didn’t know for sure, but it didn’t look like a mortal wound. I kicked the Glock away from him, then picked it up. Two-Gun Alex. As I crouched next to Bayless, he gave a long, rattled cough and then stopped breathing entirely. He was dead. This time for sure.

  And I was glad. My heart raced with disturbing elation. I’d killed him. And I was glad that I had. What was happening to me?

  Candice would have to be tied up quickly, but now that the immediate danger had passed, my arm began to throb. I knew I couldn’t do this myself.

  As I searched the area for a phone, I called out, “Hal?”

  “Alex?” his voice, coming from the next room was disbelieving, hopeful. It sounded as if he stood just outside the door held ajar by Candice’s unconscious form.

  Just as I was about to call out to Hal again, I heard someone coming in from the back door. I raised the pistol in a two-handed grip. Hands shaking, I was about to shout to the new intruder that I had a gun, when he burst into the room. My knees went out when I saw him. “Shade!” I said. I put the gun down. He was filthy, scratched, and bleeding. But never had I been so happy to see anyone in my life.

  “Alex!” He seemed about to say more, but stopped as he took in the scene around me. “Are you . . . okay?”

  Though my arm smarted something fierce, I nodded. “Better now.”

  Outside the door, Hal whimpered.

  “Come on in,” I said. “It’s okay.”

  He shuffled through the door. Naked as a newborn.

  Shade looked at Hal, then at me. He smirked. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Chapter 24

  Ron Shade

  I watched and waited in vain for my suitcase to come through the opening and onto the carousel at Midway Airport. It felt good to be back in Chicago again after the hectic past three days in Vegas, even though the two hours we’d lost flying back eastward had robbed us of the afternoon. Each new piece of luggage that fell out initially looked promising, only to be revealed as someone else’s. One of Alex’s purple monstrosities came rotating around and she moved forward. With a nod to the bandage on her arm, I reached down and grabbed the suitcase, setting it on the tiled floor in front of her.

  “There you go,” I said with a grin.

  She smiled back and nodded. It was a nice smile, too.

  We’d actually been getting along better the past few days. Maybe it was the lack of time we spent together. After I’d arrived to save the day and rescue her at the funeral home, I realized she didn’t need any slightly shopworn white knights. The residual toughness I’d seen flashes of in our conversations had asserted itself, and she’d taken care of business. More than that, she’d kicked ass. I locked the AK-47 in the trunk and threw myself on the mercy and understanding of the Las Vegas Metro Police when they showed up. And then I told them where to find the other bodies.

  We spent the first few hours getting bandaged and stitched, then spent the next two and a half days explaining, giving statements, and talking to prosecutors. Cate and Norris arrived from CPD, as well as Lulinski, who’d somehow managed to finagle a free trip to Vegas on the department’s dime. They re-interviewed Alex, Hal, and me, and then interrogated Candice and good old Nicky. He’d survived, but Alex’s bullet had pierced his upper bowel. The son-of-a-bitch would be crapping in a bag for a long time to come. I figured it would make him a very popular man in whatever prison tier he ended up in. And when Clark County Nevada was finished trying him, he faced a host of charges back in Illinois. Candice was singing like a yellow canary, and Nicky’s lawyer father had flown out to advise him to remain silent. I almost felt sorry for the old man, having a loser like that for a son. I hoped that Deputy MacMahan would rate a free trip to Vegas since their traffic fatality had morphed into a homicide.

  Even Big Dick Mackenzie was happy. So happy, he hadn’t even mentioned anything about my big recovery fee or the extensive expense report when he called to tell me that the body they’d exhumed from Robert Bayless’s grave had more PVC pipe than bone in it. Looks like Nicky had cashed in on poor Howie Rybak as well. MWO stood to get back all of their money from Manus. The Attorney General was looking into that. And although I didn’t ask, I figured that the first Mrs. Bayless would be able to keep a certain portion of the original payoff. After all, the prick really was dead this time. Alex had seen to that, bless her heart.

  I smiled at her and grabbed the second purple suitcase coming around the bend. Hal’s stuff had miraculously been among the first to be unloaded, so they were just waiting on me. But after all we’d been through, I figured they’d wait. Even though she’d spent most of what little free time we had in Vegas filming stuff for her story, we had managed a nice dinner at Binyon’s the night before. Sort of a celebratory conclusion to the last leg of our Nevada adventure. In spite of Hal’s presence, it had been so pleasant that I was feeling confident enough to invite her for round two now that we were back on home ground. I glanced down the carousel. Still no sign of my suitcase.

  “Hey, Alex,” Hal said, “watch my stuff while I run to the men’s room, okay?”

  She nodded. I grinned, although only partly because his departure smacked of serendipitous convenience. Time was a-wasting. Taking a deep breath, I turned to her and flashed what I hoped was my most dazzling smile.

  “I sure hope he gets to that urologist tomorrow,” I said.

  “Don’t knock him,” she said. “His problem helped save my life back there.”

  She’d told me in detail what had happened, and I marveled again at this tough chick that I’d originally figured was a high-maintenance whiner. Man, was I wrong.

  “Say,” I said, making my windup, “I was wondering if you’d—”

  “There you are!” a voice boomed. Both of our heads turned, and I saw the short man striding toward us like a bantam rooster. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Bass,” Alex said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to get you and Hal. I knew if I sent someone else they’d blow it all to hell.” He was obviously ignoring me. “I saw him going to take a leak, and he told me you were over here. Come on, I got a limo waiting. We got to get busy on this story if we
want to beat the competition.”

  “You remember Ron Shade, don’t you?” she said, turning my way and showing me that delightful smile again. “He’s got a prominent place in our story.”

  “Yeah,” Bass said, giving me the meagerest of nods. “You got your stuff? Hal said you had it all. Let’s go.”

  “Bass,” she said, “Ron and I were talking.”

  “We don’t have time for you to talk,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  It was her boss, so I had to be polite. I grinned at him, took another deep breath, and started to place my hand on her elbow to steer her away from him for some privacy when a feminine voice sprang up next to me.

  “Ron?”

  I turned. A dark-haired young woman stared up at me with a lovesick expression on her face. It was a face I’d tried hard to forget. Laurie Kittermann. Her arms encircled my neck and she pressed herself to me tight enough to let everybody know we’d once been closer.

  “Laurie,” I managed to mutter. I glanced at Alex, hoping she’d see my expression of surprise and alarm. But all I saw was her raised right eyebrow as she studied Laurie’s extended embrace. She was telling me how great it was to see me, and how it was fate, and all that. When she finally dropped her arms from my neck, I saw Alex’s boss ushering her away. He’d grabbed her small suitcase, and she was wheeling the larger one.

  I started to call after her, but a group of new arrivals suddenly surged in between us.

  “Ron,” Laurie said. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” She held my arm and looked around. Suddenly she flashed that beatific, I’m-in-love smile, as a blond-haired guy about her age sauntered up with a similar looking simper. “This is Dirk.” Her dark eyes beamed, and she held up her left hand, showing off a ring with a huge diamond riding on it. “We’re on our way to visit his parents. We’re getting married next month.”

  Dirk shook my hand after the introduction and said that Laurie had told him all about me, and how I’d solved her sister’s murder and saved her life as well.

  I’ll bet she had. I looked around again, trying to spot Alex, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  My suitcase came around on the ramp, giving me the chance I needed to break the conversation. I wished Laurie and Dirk luck, told them to keep in touch, and beat feet out of there, claiming to have a ride waiting.

  I looked around one more time to try to see Alex, but she was nowhere around. Outside, I knew there’d be a whole bunch of limos and cabs in the pick-up lane, and I had no idea where she’d gone. Finding her now would be like looking for a four-leaf clover in a field of daisies. With an air of defeat, I headed over toward the exit with my suitcase and gym bag so I could go catch the shuttle bus.

  One rattled by. Just missed it.

  The hell with it. With all I’d been through, I deserved a little convenience. I headed over to the line of waiting cabs and grabbed the first one. One more for the expense account.

  As I rode, I realized things could have turned out worse. I’d been to Vegas and back, gone ten rounds with an ex-Spetsnaz and a walking dead man, and still had the title. Even though I didn’t get the girl at the end, I still had a lot to be thankful for, and it sure had been one hell of an adventure.

  Yeah, I could’ve done worse.

  But, I thought as Alex’s smile floated through my mind’s eye, I could’ve done better, too. A lot better.

  Alex St. James

  For the first time, I was truly happy to have Bass around. He’d prevented me from making a fool of myself. I was so sure I’d read Shade’s signals correctly, but then out of the blue—his girlfriend zoomed in to tackle him in a bear hug. Turned out my first instincts were right, and Mr. Flirtatious was a player. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he had someone to meet him at the airport.

  Lucky me—I had Bass.

  I massaged my arm a bit—the graze still hurt—but not nearly as much as doing something stupid would have.

  As we trotted around the fencing that surrounded Midway’s luggage carousels I thought about how this adventure had all started with my adoption quest. Keeping pace with me, Bass blathered about not making the driver wait because he was paying by the hour, but I tuned him out. Now that Nicky was incapacitated—and incarcerated—there was little chance “Uncle” Larry would find it in his heart to help me.

  At one point I’d considered telling Shade about my futile efforts. After all, he was a private investigator. But something had warned me to hold back. Now, I was glad I had.

  “Over here,” Bass said.

  I felt my eyes widen. “You were serious. You really do have a limo.”

  A uniformed chauffeur held the back door open for me. I smiled and slid sideways onto the cushy leather seats.

  Bass was jumping up trying to wave Hal over. He must have spotted him because within moments Bass had climbed in next to me. “Hal’s coming,” he said.

  This was one of those stretch limos, and I chose one of the sideways seats, leaning my back against the driver’s wall, crossing my feet on the seat in front of me. “What’s the occasion?” I asked, gesturing outward to indicate this surprising level of luxury.

  “Nothing but the best for my ace reporter,” he said.

  I leaned my head back till it bumped the acrylic partition. Something was up. Right now, however, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. I didn’t ask. I decided I didn’t want to know.

  But Bass fidgeted. “I didn’t want anything to delay our filming.”

  I waited. He’d spill it.

  He didn’t disappoint. “Gabriela’s waiting for us at the station right now.”

  I sat up. My feet hit the floor. “Gabriela? This is my story.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, Bass. This one is mine. I’ve been the good soldier, I’ve taken a backseat to Gabriela since I accepted this promotion. But she’s got nothing to do with this story. I’m the one who nearly got killed. I’m the one who—” I stopped talking. Bass wasn’t budging. I’d known the man long enough to read the rigid expression on his face.

  I was alive. That was all that really mattered.

  I repositioned myself, trying to relax again. I stared out the window as though I didn’t care. But I did.

  The chauffeur finished loading my luggage as Hal lumbered into the vehicle next to Bass. Hal groaned as he adjusted himself into a comfortable position. “Damn sciatica,” he said. “Still bothers me.”

  I heard muffled suitcase movements and the occasional whump from the trunk.

  “Okay, tell me,” I said to Bass. “Why is Gabriela getting the story I worked so hard for?”

  “This one is big,” he said. “You’re good, but you’re not seasoned. We need Gabriela’s star power on this one. And I don’t know what you’re so pissed about. It’s not like we’re cutting you out. Gabriela will be interviewing you. It’s kind of like the two of you will share top billing.” He framed imaginary graphics with his hands. “Heroic reporter uncovers grisly body-part black market. What do you think?” Without waiting for my answer he continued, “Anyway, we already have footage of you from Vegas. Hal overnighted his tapes to me while you and Shade were getting grilled by the Las Vegas cops.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  Bass fingered his jawline. “I can see the two of you getting a Davis Award for this.”

  “Me and Hal?” I asked.

  “Nah . . . you and Gabriela.”

  “Gabriela?” I sputtered. “Like she had anything to do with this story. She sat like a princess back here in Chicago, getting her nails done, while I was driving a steel stake through a murderer’s heart.”

  Bass nodded. “Pretty much.”

  There was no making this guy feel guilty. I decided to stop trying.

  I leaned back again and stared out the window. The trunk slammed, and the chauffeur made his way around the passenger side, checking our doors as he did so, to finally take his place behind the wheel. I sighed, and watched the crowd, ignor
ing the new jabber between Bass and Hal.

  Just as the limo pulled away from the curb, Shade emerged from the baggage claim double doors.

  He pulled his suitcase, heading toward the cab stand. Alone.

  I sat up again, wondering what happened to his girlfriend. She was nowhere to be seen.

  With an unreadable expression on his face, Shade yanked open the first cab’s door and got in with his gym bag, while the driver stuck the suitcase in the trunk. A moment later the cab pulled away.

  Shade. All by himself. I wondered about that.

  “You’re forgetting something,” Bass said, snapping me back to attention.

  “What’s that?”

  “The homeless story.”

  “What about it?”

  “This investigation—the body parts conspiracy—is great stuff. It’s going to help us kill the competition.” He wore a sneaky grin. “But—”

  Impatient now, I asked, “But what, Bass?”

  “You never actually produced the story you were assigned.” The grin grew wider. “Not that I’m suggesting anything . . . mind you . . . I’m just saying—maybe you should think twice before you give me a hard time about Gabriela’s involvement. I’d be happy to assign you the homeless story again.” His eyes glittered. “And this time, I’ll expect results.”

  A Preview of Michael A. Black’s THE HEIST

  CHAPTER 1

  Friday, April 10, 1992

  8:50 A.M.

  The steady ripples of the current collided with waves fanning from the bow of the tow and barge. About one hundred feet up the river Johnny, “The Mink,” Osmand stood by the metal railing of the Michigan Avenue Bridge and watched the boat’s progress. A cigar smoldered between his thick fingers as he leaned against the railing, seemingly unconcerned about the crowds of downtown workers who had to step around his jutting figure on the busy walkway.

  The Mink was a stocky man in his mid-sixties; the silvery mane, which gave him his nickname, swept back from his forehead above eyes that looked as cold and unforgiving as the water far below. He looked down at the murky grayness and spat. The river slapped against the bow of the tug, and for a moment Osmand wondered what it would feel like to be swallowed by the dark wetness, his hands tied behind his back, concrete blocks wired to each ankle, and fighting the hopeless need to breathe as he sank. Would he have the strength to hold his breath until he passed out, or would he succumb to that dizzy panic and just open up, letting the icy, strangling flow wind its way into his lungs?