Motive

by Dustin Stevens

  “Sturgis, you hit?” Tseng asked, his heart rate growing higher, seeing the fresh wound stretched across the man’s scalp.

  “Fine,” Sturgis said, wiping his hand across his pants, leaving a red print behind, before swiping back across his head a second time. “Asshole shot out my window. Shards of glass got me.”

  Again Tseng took a quick glance across, seeing the shiny objects imbedded in the creased flesh of his forehead. “Your eyes okay?”

  “Yeah,” Sturgis replied, a grunt in his voice as he pushed himself back away from the seat, his weapon at the ready.

  “How many do you think are in there?” Li asked, moving his attention away from the bodies on the drive, bright red blotches pooling out from around them, reflecting the lights of the car nearby. He shifted his weight and slid out around the edge of his door, weapon aimed at the front windows.

  “This is the Honolulu Police Department!” Tseng yelled, wondering the same thing as Li, knowing there was only one way to find out. “Your accomplices are dead! Come out with your hands up or we will come in there!”

  While it was the right thing to say, there was nothing Tseng wanted to do less than have to make a move on the house. He had called Sturgis and Li to join because he didn’t want to be alone when he walked up to the front door and asked if Thomas Zall was around. At no point did he believe he was going to end up in a shootout. If he had thought that for even a moment he would have defied the governor and called in the SWAT team, brought in a trained unit in full tactical gear to overrun the place in a matter of moments.

  At the very least he would have brought protective gear for the three of them.

  On their side was the fact that their opponents didn’t seem to be heavily trained. Dressed in black and wearing sunglasses well after dark, they seemed far more concerned with the image they were exuding than being effective in their job.

  “We know there are more in the house!” Tseng continued to yell. “If you do not come out, we will-“

  His sentence was cut off halfway through, the front window igniting with gunshots. Without trying to say another word, Tseng aimed at the sparks flashing through the front curtains, emptying his clip as fast as his finger could pull the trigger. Beside him he could hear Sturgis and Li doing the same, all three firing long after anything was being returned from the window.

  The same deafening silence fell over the front yard as Tseng pressed the magazine release on his weapon, letting the empty sleeve fall to the ground. With his right hand he reached inside the SUV and slid another off the dash, jamming it into position and wracking a live round into the chamber.

  “You good?” he asked, two short, terse words, relaying both adrenaline and tension.

  “Good,” Sturgis grunted.

  “Good here,” Li replied.

  All three stood and watched as a shadow passed behind the remnants of the living room curtains. Straining forward, they kept their guns outstretched in front of them as the front door cracked open an inch, the hinges squeaking as it moved.

  “I’m coming out,” a voice inside called. It was a male’s, terror obvious, sounding no older than early twenties. “I’m the only one left in here.”

  “Open the door slowly, and step out one foot at a time,” Tseng yelled back, “keeping your hands where we can see them.”

  A tense moment passed as the door eased open a little wider, all three men leaning forward an inch, their weapons poised. A black-clad boot was the first thing to emerge from the house, followed by a leg and a torso. Above them came an outstretched hand and the face of a frightened young man, his fleshy face pale, his cheeks red. The last things out were his right arm and leg, both spread wide from his body as he stepped onto the front patio and stopped, his full figure resting in the middle of the headlight’s glare.

  “Turn your back to us and drop to your knees,” Tseng called out. “Cross your legs at the ankles and lace your fingers behind your head.”

  Acting in slow, distorted movements the young man did as he was told, coming to rest on the concrete, his body visibly quivering.

  “Is it legit?” Sturgis asked. “Or is he a decoy to draw us out?”

  The very same thought was passing through Tseng’s mind as he stared at the back of the young man. By his count, there were five men dead on the grounds, a sixth now kneeling before them. In his experience, nobody in a group of this size ever gave themselves up unless they were alone and outnumbered. Still, he couldn’t be certain of it.

  Keeping his gun stretched out in front of him, he inched his way into the hull of the SUV and reached into the middle console, extracting a pair of handcuffs.

  “You two stay here. I’ll get this guy taken care of, then we’ll secure the house.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  There was no warning. No greeting, no attempt of parlay, nothing that would have given even the slightest heads up of what was about to come their way.

  Even more than that, there was no reason for what happened.

  After leaving the police station, Kalani wound them up through the backstreets of Makiki, rising towards Punchbowl and on up Tantalus. Behind them the last sliver of the sun slipped below the horizon, the rippling surface of the Pacific sparkling with a golden hue before giving way to a tiny green flame, the proverbial final gasp of sun on a perfect cloudless day. One moment they were bathed in light, warming the back of their necks, reflecting off the windows of cars and houses around them. The next they were deep into dusk, darkness settling fast over the neighborhood.

  Using the images they had pulled up online as a guide, Kalani cut a path towards the highest point in the valley, watching for house numbers on mailboxes. She slowed the pace of the Jeep to little more than a crawl as they went, goosing the engine with just enough gas to make it up the sharp incline, looking over each of the homes in turn.

  It wasn’t hard to find the one they were looking for.

  Perched at the top of the drive, the road forming a small roundabout in front of it, was a modern style villa that seemed to have exploded out from the mountainside. By definition it stood just two stories tall, though both stretched much higher than usual architecture called for, the total structure over thirty feet in height.

  The first thought to enter Kalani’s mind as she saw it was it looked like a Hawaiian version of a southern plantation, with large windows and thick columns down the front, the stairs and porch appearing to be cut from white marble. Below the front walk the lawn sloped down away from the house, every blade of grass clipped to uniform length, the color impossibly green. Thick forestation and flowers lined everything, blocking all neighbors from view, pruned back so as to not interfere with the stunning panorama below.

  Easing the Jeep into the cobbled driveway, the entirety of Honolulu opened up before them. They could see the high rises of downtown right in front of them, the lights of Waikiki stretched out in a jagged line along the coast. Off in the distance the dark silhouette of Diamond Head Crater lingered, its hulking shape drawing a sharp end to the lights spread wide.

  “Damn,” Kalani whispered, stopping the Jeep halfway down the drive and putting it in park, leaving the keys in the ignition. With her badge and weapon both attached to her hip she climbed out and walked around the front hood, meeting Rip, both of their gazes aimed at the view below.

  “Yeah, but I’m guessing the taxes are just brutal up here,” Rip countered, glancing over to Kalani, a wry smile on his face.

  The bullet struck him just below the right collarbone, the momentum of it carrying him backwards, the smile still affixed to his face. Inch by inch his body fell, his arms extending out in front of him, the entirety of his weight landing heavy on the cobbled stone, hitting with a mighty smack.

  For a full moment Kalani stood with her eyes spread wide, her jaw gaping open. She watched as he fell to the ground, blood spatter hitting the smooth grey rocks beneath him, settling into the rivulets separating them from one another. His body bounced once, his neck and ha
nds rising a few inches in recoil from the impact before he fell unmoving to the ground, his face open and pale, relaying the shock he was already slipping into.

  His eyes, wide and unfocused stared straight up at the sky before shifting over towards her, pleading on his face. “Get...down.”

  The words barely registered with Kalani as she stood staring at him. Around her a pair of shots skittered off the driveway, sparks flashing beneath their impact. To her left the sound of a round smashing into the front of the Jeep echoed out, the distinct din of metal-on-metal contact filling her ears.

  “Get down,” Rip repeated, his voice a little sharper, deeper.

  It was the sound she needed to hear, the words finding their way into her brain, forcing her into action.

  Dropping herself flat to the ground, she rolled over to the base of her Jeep and pressed her body tight against the front tire, curling her legs back beneath the undercarriage. Propped up on her left elbow she drew her weapon from her hip and brought it up alongside her face, trying to slow her breathing, willing her pulse to stop pounding through her temples.

  Three feet away she could see Rip lying, blood leaking from the wound in his back. In the fading light she watched his skin take on a grey pallor, his fingers curling up, his arms setting themselves rigid. With forced effort he raised his head to stare down the driveway in the direction the shots had come from, his chin resting on his chest.

  Not once did he make any effort to reach for, or even acknowledge, her.

  Tucked away behind the tire, Kalani contracted her body as tight as she could. Her field of vision was limited to a partial view from under the front bumper, no more than fifteen or twenty feet of driveway, the tops of a few flowers before the yard descended away.

  Up ahead she could hear the sound of a magazine being slid from a gun, a fresh one being slammed home. A moment later came the slide of an automatic bullet feed, the spring-loaded mechanism pressing a new round into place, ready to be fired. Backing up the sound was the even slapping of shoes against the stones, steps slow and measured, as if stalking a prey. Unable to see anything, Kalani kept her attention on Rip, his gaze still aimed at their attacker.

  “You should not have come here,” a voice snapped through the darkness, no small amount of disdain present. The accent carried a hint of an Asian lilt, sounding more island than mainland. Japanese maybe, Filipino perhaps.

  Either way, it was one Kalani was sure she had never heard before.

  “Why the hell did you shoot me?” Rip asked, his voice weakening, unnatural pauses forming between the words. “Kill her?”

  The steps continued moving forward, growing closer, still just beyond Kalani’s sight.

  “So she is dead?” the man asked, moving ever closer, his front leg just entering into view. It was stained brown, both from ethnicity and Hawaiian sunshine, everything from the knee up still hidden from sight.

  “Yes,” Rip said, his voice just more than an urgent whisper, rocking his head back and resting the crown of it on the ground for a moment. “Yes, you son of a bitch, you killed my partner.”

  The performance was so real, for just the briefest moment Kalani almost believed he thought she was gone. He had seen her fall, had watched as she rolled for cover. Even without looking at her, he knew she was okay. Despite that she wanted to wave her arms at him, to yell that she was alright, that she was just lying in wait, hoping to get off a clear shot without exposing her position.

  Seeing his act, watching him lay exposed in the open, bleeding, drawing the target ever closer, she knew she couldn’t do such a thing. If she made a sound they were both dead, the man across from them filling Rip with lead before turning his attention on her.

  “Why are you here?” the man repeated, more animosity rising in his voice. He took another step forward, his front arm extended before him, the gun gripped in his hand. Behind it his torso was still blocked from view by the front bumper, his center mass just beyond reach.

  The option was there for Kalani to make a move. She could roll her body away from the Jeep, giving herself the angle she needed, the entirety of her target coming into plain sight. Doing so risked her balance though, it drew her out into a clear firing lane, and it alerted him that she was unscathed. As much as she ached for the chance to get off a shot, to stop him before he could harm Rip any more, she couldn’t just yet. Holding her breath another moment, she continued to wait, hoping, needing, him to take one more step.

  “I...I...” Rip said from the ground beside her, his voice just barely audible, his head rising and falling, fighting to get the words out.

  “What?” the man snapped, taking another step towards Rip, his gun cocked at an angle, pointed down in anger, ready to explode. “You what?”

  Kalani never said a word. Just like her target a few minutes before, she gave no warning at all. One time after another she pulled the trigger on her Beretta, the .40 caliber bullets spitting out from the tip of it, each one punctuated by a tiny sprig of light.

  The first two rounds struck him four inches apart, one just below his sternum, the second in the middle of his chest. The impact of the first pushed his hips backward, the next drew him back into line, his body jerking with the force of the shots. He remained on his feet as the subsequent rounds entered his skin, puncturing the surface with dime-sized holes, cleaving through his flesh and tearing out the backside with exit wounds the size of silver dollars. With each blast his body jerked in reaction, the strength sapped from him, the gun in his hand sliding to the ground.

  For a long moment his body remained just barely standing, nothing more than muscle memory keeping him upright, until it too lacked the requisite strength to remain on his feet. Rocking backwards his body fell in slow motion towards the ground, retracing the path Rip had taken a few moments before, toppling over.

  He landed as a lump of lifeless weight, his body unable to brace itself as it fell to the ground.

  Gun still extended, Kalani drew her knees under her and scrambled to her feet, taking three cautious steps forward, alternating her glance between the corpse and the surrounding grounds. As far as she could tell there had been no other guards, nobody else firing, but she couldn’t be certain.

  On the ground, the man lay with his unseeing eyes aimed straight upward, bloody spittle striped down his cheek, disappearing behind his ear. Her initial reaction to his voice had been correct, the man’s appearance relaying Filipino, his stature confirming it.

  Kalani kept her attention on him just long enough to ensure he was dead before shifting to Rip, sprinting over to him, sliding to a stop alongside his body. “Rip! Rip, talk to me.”

  Reaching down, she grabbed at the seam of his shirt and tore away a chunk of it, wadding it into a ball and pressing it flat against the wound on his chest. “Rip, dammit!”

  “I’m right here,” Rip replied, reaching a hand up and clasping her around the wrist, his voice much stronger than it was a moment before. “And not so hard, I just got shot there dammit.”

  In another time, under different circumstances, there might have been a shred of humor in the comment. As it were, Kalani shoved it aside, peeling Rip’s hand from her skin and forcing it down over the makeshift compress.

  “Here, hold this,” she said, rising and moving for the Jeep. She started in the front, reaching into the middle console and snatching up her cell phone. She jammed it into the rear pocket of her jeans and rose to put her knee on the passenger seat, digging into the foot well of the back, pushing paper sacks and wrappers aside until she came up with an old t-shirt.

  “I’m okay,” Rip said from the ground behind her. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live. I was just leading him on to draw him out in the open.”

  Mouth drawn into a tight line, Kalani moved back to his side. “Raise up.”

  Placing a hand under his shoulder blade, together they lifted his upper body a few inches from the ground, enough for Kalani to stuff the t-shirt between his wound and the stones beneath him. Once
it was positioned she helped him back into place, blood already seeping into the white cotton.

  From what she could tell, the bullet had penetrated a good two inches above where she had been hit, clear of most major internal functions. The blood wasn’t seeping too badly, most of the spray on the ground beneath him from the initial exit, not from major damage.

  “Hey,” Rip said, again grabbing her by the wrist, holding it tight as she tried to pull away. “I said I’m okay.”

  Every instinct within Kalani was to pull away again, but she refrained, remaining crouched over him. She glanced to the man lying on the ground near them, to the house lit up as the backdrop, and shook her head.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  “I don’t know,” Rip said, lifting his head just enough to see before lowering it again. “But you’ve got to get in there and find out.”

  “No,” Kalani said, pulling the phone from her back pocket. “I’ve got to call for backup, medical attention for you.”

  Just as fast Rip snatched the phone away from her, his bloody hands leaving red fingerprints across the screen of it. “Just go. I’ll call it in.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  From where Thomas Zall stood, the scene played out like something from a movie. Perched on the second floor of his home, he remained stationary in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his son’s room, his hands folded behind his back. He saw as the Jeep pulled in and the pair of detectives climbed out, watched as Danilo shot the first one without waiting to at least see what they wanted.

  In all the time he had worked for Zall, he had been prone to bouts of tempestuousness. It was far worse when William was still active, Danilo taking to him like some sort of self-appointed protector. He had acted as a mother hen over the younger Zall even long after he still required it, hovering, never more than a few minutes away.