by Mary Burton
Greenland took a long draft from the beer. The alcohol loosened him up. ‘My old lady busted my chops every time I had a drink too many.’ Just thinking about Aisha pissed him off. He killed the first beer and opened a second. ‘My wife is a bitch. And full of lip. And now she’s taken my kids – my sons – and run off. It isn’t right that a man can’t see his own flesh and blood. I have a right to them.’
The man frowned. ‘Family is about the most important thing there is.’
‘Damn straight. Once I get me a real job, I intend on getting mine back.’
‘You said you sold cars?’
‘Did. Now it’s construction mostly. I’m also licensed to drive trucks.’
‘Well, then you should have no trouble getting work. Construction is booming.’
He couldn’t seem to hold a job. ‘Not so easy. All the outfits are run by pricks. That’s what I say.’
The stranger kept his gaze on the road. ‘Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You played college football for Tech.’
Greenland grinned. ‘That’s right.’
‘Heard you went to the pros.’
‘Did for a while. Then I busted my right knee.’
‘Damn.’
Greenland took a long drink of beer. It still pissed him off the way that coach had cut him loose as if he were nothing.
‘That was one hell of a catch in the Sugar Bowl.’
‘Yeah.’ The memory of that one night made him proud. ‘I was a damn superstar that night.’
‘And rightly so.’
The stranger pulled off the highway and skirted down a rural road. Soon the lights of the interstate vanished. Only the headlights of the van lit the way.
‘Is it going to be much farther?’ Greenland asked. He had to pee.
‘Just another mile or two.’
‘Okay.’ Greenland didn’t like the country. Full of wild animals, snakes and shit.
They pulled off the side road down a gravel driveway. Tall trees hovered over the road. Gravel popped under the tires. It felt as if they’d driven off the face of the earth.
At the end of the road was a clearing. No house.
Greenland leaned forward. ‘Where the hell are we?’
The stranger put the car in park and shut off the engine. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Greenland’s head. ‘The end of the line. Get out.’
‘Hey, man, if this is about robbery, then you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t have two damn nickels to rub together.’
He cocked the gun. ‘Get out.’
‘Like hell I will.’
Behind the horn-rims, the eyes that had looked old and weary hardened. The stranger fired past Greenland’s head and the cab exploded with sound as the bullet shattered the passenger window. Broken glass nicked the back of Greenland’s skull. He dropped his beer on the floor. ‘Shit!’
Fumbling for the handle, Greenland opened the door and lunged toward the ground. He didn’t know who the hell this freak was, but he wasn’t going to stick around and find out.
The hard rains from Monday had left the normally marshy ground even softer and he slipped in the mud. He struggled to stand. He slipped again. The freak got out and walked around the side of the van.
Greenland pulled himself upright. He held up his hands in defense. ‘Hey, man, I don’t want no damn trouble. Just let me go and we’ll call it even.’
The stranger looked taller, stronger now that he held his shoulders upright. ‘We are far from even.’
Panic knifed Greenland. ‘Who the hell are you?’
‘The Guardian.’ He said it with pride.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘It means, I kill men like you.’
Greenland felt sick. ‘Hey, man, I ain’t never done anything to you.’
Moonlight glinted on the gun barrel. ‘You should have treated your wife with more respect.’ He fired. The bullet sliced into Greenland’s left knee. Pain scorched through his body and he dropped to the cold, soft ground. He clutched his knee.
‘What the fuck!’ Greenland howled. Blood oozed out from under his fingers. ‘Did that bitch wife of mine send you to kill me?’
The Guardian loomed over him. ‘Don’t talk about the mother of your children like that.’
Greenland’s entire body burned. He tried to breathe through the pain like his coaches had taught him in college. Suck it up. But this pain was worse than any lineman’s tackle. He could barely think as he rolled on his side into a fetal position.
The Guardian stepped closer. Greenland’s hands were inches from his feet. This son of a bitch was going down. Moving quickly, he grabbed the Guardian’s ankle and yanked as hard as he could. The Guardian fell backward and hit the ground hard, grunting in pain as his ribs connected with a stump. The gun flew off into the darkness.
The Guardian’s pain gave Greenland satisfaction and hope. He started to crawl away. If he could get to the thick of the woods around them, he could hide.
The Guardian wrestled his body to a sitting position. His breathing was ragged and labored. With a grunt, he started to crawl around and look for the gun. He couldn’t find it.
Greenland clawed at the dirt and dragged his useless leg behind him. ‘Jesus, save me.’
Get to the woods. Get to the woods.
Greenland looked back and saw the Guardian chasing him. Determination had hardened the set of his jaw.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ Greenland muttered. His knee burned. His lungs ached with the effort of breathing.
The Guardian’s gait was uneven, but his two good legs easily overtook Greenland.
The Guardian kicked Greenland in the head. The blow cracked teeth and robbed him of the air in his lungs. Greenland rolled on his back. He tasted blood and spit out a tooth.
Every nerve in his body screamed.
‘You’re not getting away from me,’ the Guardian growled. He went back to the van, retrieved a machete, then hurried back to again kick Greenland, this time in the side. Ribs shattered. Greenland was near passing out when the Guardian planted his booted foot on his left forearm.
The Guardian ground the bottom of his boot into the tender flesh of Greenland’s arm. ‘Retribution is mine.’
‘Why?!’ Greenland shouted.
The Guardian didn’t answer. Instead, he raised the machete high over his head. The blade caught the moonlight before it came down and sliced through the wrist’s flesh and narrow bone.
Greenland screamed until his throat felt raw. He pissed on himself. His own blood pooled around his body, dampening the ground under him.
The Guardian held up the severed hand and howled with satisfaction.
That was Greenland’s last image before he passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thursday, July 10, 5:30 A.M.
Warwick was operating on next to no sleep. Zack had been up half the night running down leads on the Turner/Saunders murders. He’d been going over Saunders’s phone record and studying Kendall Shaw’s news tape from Monday. So far, he’d come up empty-handed. And the brass was getting very antsy. If an arrest wasn’t made soon, jobs were going to be lost.
They’d left the office at four A.M. Warwick had headed to the gym for a quick forty-five-minute workout that he hoped would at least get his blood flowing and sustain him through the day.
The gym had been dark when he had arrived, so he had used his key and let himself in. Now he pounded the punching bag, driving the full weight of his frustration into it. Kendall Shaw had called him four times yesterday, trying to get a quote for her next report. He had refused her once and had told her not to call again. But she had.
The woman didn’t understand the word no. She was a pain in the ass. And still he’d imagined Kendall Shaw walking toward him with her hair flowing around her shoulders and wearing only a red silk robe. He’d pictured her dropping the robe in a puddle around her feet and in the soft moonlight lying down for him and opening her legs. Moaning with p
leasure, he had straddled her and cupped her full white breasts. She had smiled up at him, begged him to take her, and he’d driven his hard cock into her.
The fantasy had left him hard and restless.
‘Shit,’ Warwick grumbled before he smacked the bag one last time.
He finished his workout and hit the showers. After a quick shower, he dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and slicked back his still-wet hair. Gym bag in hand, he headed into Pete’s office. He’d promised to spar with one of Pete’s fighters on Saturday, but at the rate things were going, he wasn’t going to make it. Everyone would be living at the station until the killer was found.
He moved down the dim hallway past the dozens of black-and-white photos that spanned two decades. The images were of Pete’s fighters. Some were taken during fight matches, others were publicity head shots, but all of Pete’s fighters were on the wall. Pete took pride in his fighters – his family, as he’d often called them. Warwick glanced at his own picture taken when he was eighteen. He grimaced, amazed he’d ever been that young.
He knocked on the office door, which was ajar, thinking maybe Pete had slipped in while he was working out. ‘Pete?’
The door swung open. The lights were off in the office. Warwick flipped them on.
Like always, Pete’s dark wooden swivel chair sat in front of a large desk that butted against the wall. The desk was a mess, covered with papers, newspapers, books, and, in the center, a state-of-the-art computer, his only concession to the modern world. Pete updated his computer every year and had the latest software on it. Above the desk on the wall hung a bulletin board covered with news clips covering the charity events Pete had hosted in the last few years. And there were more photos.
Warwick found a pencil and a Post-it pad. Quickly he scratched out a note begging out of the bout scheduled for Saturday. As he pressed the note to the computer screen, he caught sight of a framed picture nestled on the far-right corner of the desk. He never remembered seeing the picture before. Curious, he picked it up.
Unlike the others, this picture was of a twentysomething Pete holding a young girl not more than five. She had yellow hair, fair eyes, and a big gap-toothed grin. Pete stared down at the girl, his gaze tender and full of love.
Did Pete have a kid? In all the years Warwick had known Pete, he’d never talked about having any other family. He’d always said Warwick was all the family he’d needed.
But who was Warwick to criticize the old guy for having a few secrets.
God knows, Warwick had his share.
Richard Braxton arrived at the posh Richmond Hotel suite just after seven. His back was stiff and his head pounded as he watched the bellboy set his overnight bag on a luggage rack at the foot of the bed. Richard set his computer bag on the bed, pulled a fifty from his pocket, and handed it to the bellboy. ‘Thanks.’
The kid glanced at the fifty and his eyes brightened. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’
‘Where can I set my computer up?’
The bellboy pointed to a table by the large window that looked out toward the river. ‘Just call down to the front desk and they’ll give you the password for the wireless hookup.’
Richard handed the kid another twenty. ‘Do me a favor and get the password for me. There should also be a package for me at the front desk. Deliver both back to my room in thirty minutes along with an egg-white omelet, orange juice, and whole-wheat toast dry.
The bellboy pocketed the bill. ‘The package arrived before you did.’ He walked into the sitting room. ‘Here it is.’
Richard took the twelve-by-twelve-inch box. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll take care of the password and omelet right away.’
‘Good.’
The kid was annoyingly bright eyed but useful. ‘Is this your first time in Richmond?’
Richard managed a smile. ‘Yes.’
‘Business or pleasure?’
‘A little of both.’ He hated travel. It threw off his routine and generally put him in a foul mood.
‘If there is anything else I can do for you, just ring. Ask for Johnny.’
‘Thanks, Johnny. I’ll do that.’
When Johnny closed the door behind him, Richard turned to the window and loosened his tie. This city was as hot as blazes and the humidity was so thick he could cut it with a knife. He missed California, his views of the Pacific Ocean, and he couldn’t wait to return.
But he was willing to put up with all the inconveniences if it meant finding his Christina. His home hadn’t felt right without her.
He opened the box. Inside was a strand of nylon rope, a .38 pistol, a switchblade, vials of sedatives, and syringes. Lessons would have to be taught to Christina. She would have to understand that running from him was wrong.
‘Soon, Christina, soon I will find you and soon you will come home with me, where you belong.’
Greenland’s body, now wrapped in tarp, was heavier than the Guardian had anticipated. Add to that the pain of his cracked rib and it was a struggle to haul the body out of the white van as the sun rose.
The Guardian grabbed the rope around the tarp and jerked hard. Pain scorched through his midsection and shot up and down his spine. For a moment he had to pause and catch his breath.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d gotten sloppy last night. He’d underestimated his enemy and he’d nearly screwed everything up. He rubbed the sweat from his brow. He’d not slept in four or five days and his reflexes were off. But to sleep would mean a break from the killing and he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
He could have left the body in the woods but it was important to display his work. People needed to know that monsters like Greenland weren’t safe from him.
After wiping more sweat from his forehead, he gritted his teeth and pulled the body to the ground. He dragged it across the dry earth toward a tall oak by the mountain bikers’ trail in Deep Run Park. Few traveled the path this early, but by midday it would see enough traffic that someone would find the body.
With a grunt he pulled the body upright. Quickly, he unwrapped the tarp, uncovering Greenland’s head and torso. He’d position the body and then deliver the hand – the trophy – to Lindsay.
The cracking of twigs had him stiffening. Damn. Who the hell was out this early?
‘Holy shit!’
The strained voice had the Guardian whirling around. Two teenage mountain bikers paused on the trail as they straddled their bikes. The taller one was a male, no more than seventeen. Long stringy hair accentuated oily skin and acne. The shorter one, also male, had blond hair and a KISS T-shirt. Each wore bike helmets and gloves.
The Guardian’s heart hammered. Jesus, why did they have to find him? He released Greenland’s body and reached for the gun tucked in his belt at the small of his back. ‘Hey, guys, it’s not what it looks like. I’m a cop.’ To prove his claim, he flashed a badge.
The taller teen’s eyes narrowed. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘A dead body.’ There was no hiding what they’d seen and there was no disguising his own face as he tucked the badge back in his pocket. They had seen him. Damage control was his sole option. He didn’t want to sacrifice them. Shit. They didn’t deserve to die. But the Greater Good was at stake here. Hadn’t God tested Abraham by asking him to kill his only son?
He smiled. ‘I’ve just called for backup. More cops are going to be here soon.’
The shorter teen laid his bike down and took a step closer. ‘What happened to that guy?’
‘Shot, by the looks of it. We won’t know until the medical examiner gets here.’ Hand still behind his back, he pulled the hammer back on the gun.
‘Damn,’ the teen said. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before.’
‘It’s rough.’
The other teen had made no move toward him. ‘Hey, Mark, come on back. You shouldn’t get that close.’
Mark shrugged. ‘He’s dead, Jeff. He can’t hurt me.’
The Guardian smiled. ‘Naw, he can’t
hurt you. Have a good long look.’ As Mark moved even closer, the Guardian jerked the gun free but his ribs pinched hard and slowed what should have been a fluid motion.
Mark saw the gun and immediately started running toward his friend.
He fired. The first bullet went wide and missed Mark. He fired again and this time hit him in the leg. Mark fell to the ground, screamed, and clawed at the dirt. He cried for his mother.
For a split second, the Guardian froze like a deer caught in the beam of headlights. ‘Jesus, please forgive me. Forgive my sins.’
Jeff stared in horror at the Guardian and his wounded friend. Fear turned to shock and then anger. He dropped his bike and scooped up a branch. Screaming, he rushed toward the Guardian.
The branch tip caught the Guardian on the shoulder and drew blood. Pain jerked him out of his own funk. Instinct took over and he fired.
The bullet hit Jeff in the chest. He stood stunned for a moment as if not quite sure what had happened. And then a plume of blood began to stain his shirt and he dropped to his knees. Air gurgled from the hole in his chest.
The Guardian’s ribs ached and his shoulder burned as he staggered over to Mark, who was crying and calling even louder for his mother.
The Guardian stared at him. ‘Damn it, kid. Why did you have to be here?’
Tears streaked Mark’s freckled face. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Me and Jeff never would have told.’
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t take that chance.’ Tears filled the Guardian’s eyes. ‘Dumb, damn kids. You shouldn’t have been here.’
He raised his gun and shot Mark in the head.
Frank Hines’s angry voice echoed through the house. His wife, Deb, was crying. He’d been drinking again, and judging by the sounds, he’d been hitting Deb again.
‘I told you I don’t want that worthless brother of yours coming around here!’ Frank said.
‘Why, Frank? He’s my brother. He’s family.’
‘I am your only family!’
Lindsay was ten. And she was hiding in the darkened closet of her bedroom. She was too old for teddy bears and yet she clutched the threadbare one she’d had since she was a baby.