Days of Danger

by Jack Hunt

  Dallas felt a swell of rage. He tossed the beer across the room and grabbed her by the throat. “I was going to kill you by the end of today. Not now. I’m going to keep you alive as long as I can. I’m going to draw this out until you are begging me to kill you. And when you do, I’ll keep going for a few more days. Then I’m going to gut you like a pig.”

  He released his grip and walked back over to the bar and grasped the cable, took one more drag on his cigarette and then returned to whipping her. Her screams tore through the bar and once again he felt better.

  From the top of the bowling alley roof, Damon observed the bar through the binoculars belonging to one of Dallas’s now deceased men. He knew Dallas would be on high alert and expecting them to attack, which was why he aimed to draw them away. He scanned the perimeter, then directed the binoculars at the building called Little City Hair Cutters. Any moment now they would see the flames.

  “Come on, move!” he muttered raking the binoculars. Thick black smoke started to rise to the south of them. He was located to east. The fire was there simply to create a diversion. He didn’t expect it would draw away all of them and that wasn’t his intention. All he wanted to see was how many there were, where they were positioned and how they would react.

  Now he knew there was a sniper in the home across from the bar. He was the next one on his list. It would also give him a way to take out those standing outside. The way he saw it, as long as they didn’t see him, and he created enough confusion, he could increase the odds of being able to get close without being spotted.

  Smoke moved like a ghostly apparition down the streets.

  Sure enough, there they were, like rats crawling out of the woodwork. He watched as they emerged from their spots to see what was happening. One. Two. C’mon, there had to be more. Three. Four. If there were more, he couldn’t see them. The homes were blocking his view. He watched as two of them took off to see what was happening.

  Climbing down from Romano’s Saranac Lanes building, he sprinted through the back alleys toward H&R Block on the north side. Again he went through the process of breaking in and starting a fire. It was all about distractions, confusion and drawing them away so he could get close to the home across the street. Damon had come up with a plan that worked in phases. This was phase one, distraction. Phase two was killing the sniper. He didn’t have a phase three because he didn’t know if he’d be alive by that point. However, so far things were going well.

  Smoke billowed high into a gunmetal sky.

  He could hear voices and see men running to check out what was happening.

  Damon shifted behind the home of the sniper. He entered through an unlocked door at the back and moved quietly through the house, climbing the steps. With his Glock in one hand and a hunting knife in the other he stayed composed and calm even though his pulse was racing. As he was ascending the steps, he kept his feet to the outside. In an old home, the outer rim of the steps was usually the strongest and less likely to squeak. As he made it to the top, he could hear the guy talking on the radio.

  “What’s going on down there?”

  A crackle and a voice replied, “We’re looking into it.”

  “You have orders not to move.”

  “Ah fuck Dallas, if these assholes are back with more people, I’m not dying for him.”

  Damon stifled a laugh. It didn’t matter who they were, people were people at the end of the day. Loyalty only went so far and in a collapsed society where you could be dead before the end of the day, no one was going to lose their head for one guy. It didn’t matter what he offered.

  “Keep me updated,” the sniper said. As Damon rounded the corner he could see him. He had a beard and was wearing a thin jacket, camo pants and a ballistic vest. He’d positioned himself just in from the window. The rifle wasn’t sticking out, and that’s why they hadn’t spotted him. Damon had done well reaching the second level without alerting him. That all ended when one of the hardwood floorboards creaked.

  “Jason?” the man called out.

  Damon knew he had less than a few seconds to react. If he got on that radio the place would be swarming with men. Damon charged in with his Glock raised just as the man reached for the radio.

  “Put it down!”

  He would have shot him but he was trying to avoid drawing attention.

  The guy raised his hands slowly. “Look, man, I don’t want to die.”

  “Then put the fucking radio down.”

  He nodded and set it down.

  “Slide it over here, and your weapon.”

  The guy complied, his eyes never breaking from Damon’s.

  “And your handgun.” He reached for it. “Slowly!” Damon said. He tossed it and Damon told him to put his hands behind his back and remain laying on the bed. The bed had been pushed up close to the window and he’d been laying on it so he could relax and keep an eye on anyone approaching the bar.

  “Look, I was just following orders.”

  Damon moved in quickly and placed a knee on his back. He pushed the Glock to the back of his head. “How many are there?”

  “Six.”

  “And the others?”

  “Looking for you all.”

  “How many?”

  He shrugged. Damon slapped him with the gun’s barrel. “How many?” he asked again in a firmer tone.

  “Twenty, maybe thirty… I guess.”

  “Well which is it?”

  “Roughly around twenty. I don’t exactly keep track of them all. Look, man, I don’t want to die.”

  Damon placed his gun into his holster and tightened his grip on the knife.

  “No one does.”

  With that said he reached around and slit his throat and held him there until he bled out. He knew if the shoe were on the other foot he would have done the same. Once the guy was dead, he scooped up the radio, his additional weapons and ammo, and then rolled him off the bed. He got close to the window and snuck a peek. There were only three outside. He hurried over to the sniper’s rifle and brought it up, he positioned himself so that the rifle’s barrel was resting on the window frame. He squinted, and brought his other eye up to the scope and got one of the men in the crosshair. He had to be quick and then get out before the others returned. Every round had to count.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled as he squeezed the trigger.

  The first one dropped, the second followed seconds after and the third he caught as he tried to make a break for it. Damon slung the rifle over his shoulder and bolted out, leaving behind the man in a puddle of blood.

  With the coast clear he changed his plans.

  The goal wasn’t to kill them all, only those that could prevent him from getting inside. Damon darted out of the home and crossed the street. He burst into the bar with the Glock raised.

  Minutes before the gunfire, Ella coughed and spluttered from having more wine splashed in her face. Another shot of pain coursed through her body. She’d tried to get her hands loose, but it was useless. He’d made damn sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

  As the sound of gunfire erupted, she raised her swollen face and tried to make out what was happening. It was hard to see anything through blurred vision.

  Was it them? Damon?

  Whoever it was, it had caught the attention of Dallas. He was standing by the window looking out when blood splattered against the pane of glass. Two more shots echoed, and Dallas stumbled back, a look of fear on his face. He didn’t say anything to her but hurried over to the bar and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun from behind it.

  Not wasting any time he crossed the room and placed it against her head. She thought he was going to pull the trigger. If he had she wouldn’t have cared. She was done with the pain and suffering. All she wanted to do was join her parents.

  That’s when the door burst open and she caught sight of him.

  Damon!

  “That’s far enough!” Dallas yelled. Damon closed the door behind him and locked it. His eyes bounced fro
m Dallas to her. “I’ll kill her.”

  “No you won’t,” Damon said. “Otherwise you would have done it by now.”

  He stepped forward and was warned again.

  “You get any closer and I pull the trigger.”

  “You can’t shoot both of us. If she dies, so do you,” he replied. “I would think long and hard about that if I was you.”

  From outside, men could be heard yelling. Someone approached the door and rattled the knob.

  “Dallas?” a deep booming voice called out.

  Instead of replying Dallas continued, “You kill me, you’re dead too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then how do you expect to get out of here?”

  “Who said anything about getting out of here?”

  Dallas looked at him, narrowed his eyes then glanced at Ella. He must have thought Damon was out of his mind. Perhaps he was.

  They eyed each other with contempt.

  “You’re alone, aren’t you?” Dallas said.

  “Well I’m sure your men will find out in,” he glanced at his watch, “about four minutes.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Dallas said, shifting nearer to her.

  “Am I?” Damon replied.

  There was a long pause; Dallas glanced up at the clock. He was waiting to see what would happen as the seconds ticked over. Through slitted eyes, Ella looked at Damon. She couldn’t believe he’d come back for her. If it was just him, he was insane.

  “Let her go.”

  “It’s not happening.”

  There was more silence. Minutes passed. Outside more of his group arrived. He could hear them beating against the door.

  “It doesn’t have to end here.”

  “Of course it does.” Dallas smiled, then looked at the clock. “Your four minutes are up,” he said with a hint of glee.

  “Ah, maybe it was ten.”

  “And maybe you are full of shit!”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t walking out of this bar alive.”

  “You’ve got it all backwards,” Dallas said beginning to laugh. “You think I want to live, don’t you?”

  “Do you?”

  It was a like card game, a back and forth between them to see which one would break or give away his hand. Another shot of excruciating pain went through her. Several salty tears rolled into her mouth. She never thought her life would end here.

  “She killed my brother.”

  “We’ve all killed someone’s brother,” Damon replied.

  There was a pause as if both of them were contemplating. Ella knew this wasn’t going anywhere fast and knowing Dallas wasn’t going to drop that gun, she was fully prepared for what came next. Using what little energy she could summon, she lifted her knees and swung her body against Dallas. Her goal wasn’t to knock him over but to create a momentary distraction, enough that…

  A round exploded, she only heard one shot.

  Chapter 21

  By late morning, Frank Shelby was staring in a mirror at his mutilated ear. It was beginning to look infected. He soaked a cloth in hydrogen peroxide and dabbed it gently against the mangled, bloody tissue. Frank winced as it stung.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Hold on a minute.”

  He turned and retrieved the new bandage and wrapped it around his head. He didn’t want anyone gawking at it. Frank gritted his teeth. Hatred for Ryan Hayes welled up inside. He was going to have to grow his hair long now to hide it.

  Another knock.

  “I said one minute.”

  Once he was done, he opened the door to find Samuel.

  “Yes?”

  “I was hoping to have a moment of your time.”

  “Come on in.”

  He closed the door, went around his desk and collected a glass and a bottle of bourbon. “Drink?”

  “No, but thank you.”

  Frank poured himself three fingers. “What can I do for you?”

  Samuel took a seat. “You told me to tell you if I heard of anyone trying to go against you. Well, I have but you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’ll determine that. Who is it?”

  Without missing a beat Samuel said, “Your brother.”

  Frank spat his drink out, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  He placed the glass down and scowled. “You’re lying.”

  “No I’m not, I heard him this morning talking with several of your men. They believe you’re going to create an uprising by punishing people. They are planning to relieve you of your rank.”

  Frank shook his head, and he scowled.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Call for him. Ask him yourself,” Samuel said with an air of confidence.

  He was either lying, which wouldn’t end well, or he was telling the truth. Frank had knocked heads with his brother John on a number of occasions over the years. It had always been the same. John had bought into the idea of standing against the government and anyone who opposed Frank, but when it came down to it, he was always the first to try and get the men to consider other options. Even before they raided the compound, he’d been trying to talk Frank out of it. He’d even managed to get thirteen of his forty-six men to vote against it. It wasn’t enough, but it was proof that perhaps there was some truth to what Samuel was saying. He couldn’t believe his own brother would go against him. Didn’t he understand what he was building here?

  Samuel stared straight ahead, unfazed by having told him.

  Frank raised a finger. “If you are lying…”

  “Yeah, I already know. But don’t expect him to just come out with it.”

  “Then how can I know?”

  “He’s your brother. I knew when mine was lying,” Samuel replied.

  He had a point.

  Frank approached the door and told one of his men posted outside to go get John.

  He returned and closed the door behind him.

  “If you’re lying…”

  “Why would I lie? What do I have to gain? You’re in control.”

  Frank nodded. “Damn right I am.”

  He took another swig of his drink and studied him, trying to find a crack in his facade. Frank wasn’t sure how to respond to his allegations. The only reason he found it hard to believe was because even though John had gone against him a few times when the group had to make hard decisions, he was his brother. His own flesh and blood wouldn’t do that. A few minutes passed before John stepped inside.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Frank beckoned him in. “Close the door.”

  He glanced at Samuel before turning his attention back to Frank.

  “You got something to tell me?” Frank asked casually. He didn’t want to give him a sense that he was against him. A look of confusion spread across John’s face.

  He shrugged. “No, why?”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive,” he glanced away and looked at Samuel again as if trying to connect the dots. “What’s going on here, Frank?”

  “So?” Frank asked Samuel.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  John’s brow furrowed. “What the fuck is going on, Frank?”

  “Samuel here informs me that you and some of the men are considering relieving me of my rank. Essentially, taking over.”

  John’s brow pinched, then he lunged at Samuel, a fist connecting with his face knocking him into the wall. “Why you bastard! I’m gonna…”

  Before he could get any more jabs in, Frank pulled him back. John shrugged him off.

  “So there’s truth to it then?” Frank asked.

  “No! He’s lying.”

  “No I’m not,” Samuel said, spitting blood.

  John lunged at him again but was quickly restrained and forced up against a wall.

  He threw up his hands. “I swear, Frank. I would never do that. He’s lying.”

  Samuel wiped at his bloody lip. “Why would I lie to you when I didn’t lie about
my own brother? I could have said nothing. Done nothing. He’s suffered because of my actions. My loyalty. I went against my own flesh and blood for you, Frank.”

  Again he made a strong argument. What did he have to gain by lying? He would have only put himself at risk. He sighed. Frank didn’t know who to believe. If his brother hadn’t already fought him at every turn on decisions, he would have believed him but he had bitched and complained about every single action he wanted to take.

  “I swear, Frank. Ask the men. They’ll back me up.”

  “I bet they will.”

  John scowled. “I don’t understand.” He was at a loss for words. “You’re taking his word over mine? Your own brother?”

  “Wasn’t it Cain who killed Abel?” Frank shot back.

  They’d grown up in a religious family. Living in the Bible belt of the nation it was hard to avoid it.

  “You’re out of your mind. If you let him get in your head, then we are done here.”

  “Are we?”

  Frank didn’t like his tone. He went to the door and opened it, asked two of his men to escort John out. They entered and took a hold of him and dragged him kicking and yelling. “What the hell, Frank?”

  “Maybe you need some time to remember. Put him in the sweatbox.”

  “Frank!” His voice echoed as he was dragged away.

  Once the door was closed, Frank took a seat behind his desk and drained what was left of his drink. He ran a tired hand over his face. He wasn’t getting much sleep and the last thing he needed to deal with was a bad apple among his own group.

  “I said you weren’t going to like it. What are you going to do with him?” Samuel asked.

  “I haven’t decided. I need to talk with my men.”

  “If he isn’t going to tell you, do you think they are?”

  Again, another good point. Frank scratched at his stubble.

  “And what do you suppose I do?”

  Samuel leaned back. “You’re asking for my advice?”

  “Not advice. What would you do?”

  He sat there for a minute or two thinking about it.