Forever Man

by Brian Matthews

  Webber put a restraining hand on Jack’s arm. “I already told you. I want him to stay—”

  Jack rounded on Webber, pulling his arm free. “And I told you—!”

  There was a phone sitting on an end table next to the sofa. It started ringing.

  The Parsons girl released Kevin and grabbed for it.

  Webber charged forward, gun raised. “Don’t you dare answer that!”

  Jack motioned to Kevin, and the boy got up and hurried over to him.

  Picking up the phone, the girl hit the answer button and started yelling.

  * * *

  Izzy Morris rushed out of the police station. The others followed close behind. When she’d called the hospital, Sten had told her all she needed to know.

  Kevin was at Katie’s house. Webber and Jack were on their way there, and they had one hell of a lead. It was unlikely she’d get there before they grabbed the boy.

  She tossed her keys to Gene. “You drive. I need to call Katie’s house. Maybe I can warn Brittany before Webber gets there.”

  Gene caught them smoothly in one hand, but then slipped on a patch of snow. He fought to control his balance. He would have fallen had Owens not stepped up and grabbed him under both arms.

  “Thanks,” Gene told the old man.

  “You’re limping as it is. Hurt your back any more and you won’t be able to help. I don’t think you’d want that.”

  “Couldn’t you just teach me how to, you know…?” Gene twirled a finger at Owens’s healed abdomen.

  Owens raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. The expression was unmistakable.

  “Okay, okay,” Gene muttered. “I was just asking.”

  Everyone climbed into the department’s SUV, which would handle better in the snow than Izzy’s vehicle. Izzy turned to Katie in the back seat and asked for her phone number. As Gene pulled out of the parking lot, she called the house. With the phone pressed so tightly to her ear she thought it would leave a permanent mark, she waited impatiently for the connection to go through. Someone picked up before the first ring was complete. A young woman—it had to be Brittany—began yelling into the phone.

  “Oh God, help! There are two men here! One’s got a gun! He’s—!”

  Izzy heard a muffled thud. The voice cut off.

  “Brittany!” Izzy shouted. She gripped the cell until her knuckles turned white. “Brittany!”

  No answer.

  “Brittany! Answer me!”

  Someone spoke, but it wasn’t Brittany. When Izzy heard that languid yet menacing voice, her heart almost stopped.

  “Chief Morris. How unfortunate. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “What did you do to her, Webber? If you’ve hurt—”

  “Save your breath, Chief. I haven’t harmed the young lady. Well, that’s not completely true. She may have a headache when she wakes up. Now, whether or not she wakes up at all, that’s up to you.”

  “You don’t need to involve her,” Izzy said urgently. “She’s got nothing to do with this. You want to deal with someone, deal with me.”

  “I’ve already tried to deal with you. Remember? Sadly, that didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped. I assume the old man had a hand in that?”

  “I managed to get a shot off. All that did was make the thing madder—whatever it was.” Izzy made hurry-up motions to Gene. If she could keep Webber on the phone, they might have a chance. “But yes, Owens ended up saving us.”

  “Changed your worldview a bit, did it?”

  Izzy turned to look at Owens. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  Gene took a hard left. The Explorer fishtailed as its back tires broke free of the slick, snow-covered pavement. Gene turned into the slide and hit the accelerator. The transmission whined, a high-pitched tone that sliced through the cottony silence of the car’s interior. Wet wheels fought for purchase, throwing up clumps of snow. The SUV’s back end continued to swerve, gliding along the road’s surface, until the treads bit, clawed, and the car shot forward. Izzy didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she let out a jittery sigh.

  “Sounds like you’re having some trouble there,” Webber laughed. “Anyway, back to the young lady. You called for a reason. I’m assuming Katie Bethel is still with you, so you didn’t call to speak to her. And as much as it pains me to say this, I doubt you wanted to talk to me. That leaves the girl. Which means you were trying to warn her. Maybe you’re even on your way here.” Webber paused. “You play poker, Chief?”

  “What?” Izzy said, puzzled at the sudden change in topic.

  “Personally, I like a woman who knows how to gamble. How to play the odds.” She heard the distinctive sound of a gun being racked, a round being chambered. “I’ve got a gun pointed at fair Brittany. If you don’t turn around and go somewhere else, I’m going to have to blow her head off to express my disapproval. So, there’s my opening bid. Now it’s your turn. Ante up or fold.”

  “Webber, don’t. You don’t have to do this. She—”

  “Ante up or fold. You’ve got ten seconds.”

  “You’re just making things worse for yourself. If you—”

  “Nine.”

  “Damn it, we can work something out. Killing her won’t—”

  “Eight.”

  Izzy’s mind churned. She needed to get to Katie’s house. Webber knew where her daughter was. And Kevin was there. But she couldn’t risk Brittany’s life in the process. And Webber’s already shown he would kill to get what he wanted.

  “Do you promise not to hurt her?”

  “I make no promises. This is where you decide whether I’m bluffing or not. Now, have you turned around?”

  Izzy hit on an idea. She gripped Gene’s arm to get his attention. Shaking her head and motioning for him to continue on, she said, “Gene, turn the car around. Head back to the station.” She waited a few moments, while Gene continued on to Katie’s house. “There. You win this hand. But the game isn’t over. As long as you have Natalie and Kevin, I won’t stop looking for you. Eventually I’ll find you. Then you’ll answer for what you’ve done.”

  “Nice try, Chief. But you just made a novice mistake. You overplayed your hand. You should have lied and let it stand, but you trumped up your bluff. You tried to justify it. I call your bluff. You now have seven seconds.”

  “No! Wait! We turned around!”

  “Six.”

  “Gene, pull over! Stop the car!” Gene eased the car to the side of the road.

  “Five.”

  “Webber, don’t! We’ve stopped. I’m not lying.”

  “Four three two one.”

  “What! No! No! Don’t do it!”

  “Looks like you had the weaker hand. I win, bitch.”

  When Izzy heard the sound of a gunshot rip through the phone, she turned to Gene.

  “Hurry. Get to the house. I want that bastard.”

  Chapter 28

  Jack Sallinen flinched when Webber fired the gun. In the confined space of the Bethel’s living room, the shot sound like a cannon going off next to him. The smell of burnt gunpowder filled his nostrils and made his eyes water.

  Standing in front of his father, Kevin clapped his hands over his ears, buried his head into Jack’s abdomen, and began to cry.

  Jack placed his arms around Kevin’s trembling shoulders and hugged him close. He was grateful that his son’s view was blocked by the couch—he didn’t need to witness the girl’s splattered head leaking blood and brains into the carpet.

  He glared at Webber. “Can you give a guy a little warning next time?”

  The other man grinned. “You snooze, you lose, Jack. Better stay sharp if you want to hang with the big boys.”

  “And the girl? You can be damn sure Morris will be after us now.”

  “She knows we have her daughter. She’s not going to stop, no matter what I do. And again, you’re making assumptions about what’s going on.”

  Webber bent down. Grabbing one of Bridgette’s
arms, he dragged her out from behind the couch. Jack pressed Kevin more tightly into his stomach. But when the girl’s head came into view, it was intact.

  “What,” said Webber in response to Jack’s questioning look. “You thought I liked killing? Listen, this is about the bigger picture. The whole enchilada. There are stakes on either side of this little conflict we’re involved in, and I’m just trying to play by the rules.”

  “More rules,” Jack said, snorting derisively.

  “Morris is on her way. We need to be gone before she gets here.” Webber dropped the girl’s arm and stuffed the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “You do want to get your son to safety, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. Then he knelt down and placed a finger under Kevin’s chin, gently raising his head. “Hey, buddy, you ready to go?”

  Kevin’s dark eyes met his—and they didn’t turn away.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” Kevin’s voice was high and light. “Where’s J.J.?”

  Jack’s mouth dropped open.

  “Hold on. I remember.” Kevin looked around the room. “The girl? Where’s the girl?” When he spotted Bridgette lying unconscious on the floor, he shied away. After a second, his gaze reached Webber. “Who are you?”

  Webber eyed Kevin warily. “Um…name’s Webber. Friend of your dad’s.”

  “You—you can…” stammered Jack, dumbfounded.

  Kevin frowned up at his dad. “Do you know him?”

  Jack hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, he’s my friend. Our friend. He’s here to help us.”

  Kevin held his father’s gaze for a few moments. Breaking eye contact, he turned and pointed a finger at Webber. It seemed such an insignificant gesture, but the blood drained from Webber’s face. The man stepped around the unconscious girl’s body, placed the couch between him and Kevin.

  For the first time since Jack had known him, there was fear in the Webber’s eyes.

  Kevin kept his finger pointed at Webber. “Did you hurt her?”

  “Jack,” Webber said anxiously. “Talk to your son. Keep him there. Remember our deal. You help me with Kevin, I help you later.”

  Jack frowned, his eyes traveling between Kevin and Webber. What was going on here?

  Kevin was panting now, his right hand clenched into a fist.

  “You h-hurt her.”

  Webber put his hands up, palms out. “Hey, come on. That was an accident. She’ll be fine. Really. Point is, I’m not going to hurt you. So why don’t you be a good boy and stay right where you are?”

  Kevin took a defiant step forward.

  “There’s s-something d-different about you. S-something I f-f-feel.” He shook his head. “I d-don’t think I like y-you.”

  “Jack,” Webber called out. “What did I say? Keep him away from me.”

  “Kevin,” Jack said, putting as much parental authority into his voice as he could. “Come here, son.”

  Kevin jerked his head around to look at his dad. He was blinking now. His right fist hammered his thigh over and over. “B-but you d-d-don’t—”

  “Yes,” Jack said gently. “I do.” Then he smiled and held out his arms.

  Jack watched as Kevin’s expression changed; his sense of being there faded like water into parched earth. A tremor ran through his son’s body, hard enough to make his clothes flutter. Then Kevin’s awareness returned. His son looked at him once more.

  “I t-trust y-you, Dad. And l-l-love y-you. B-but….” Kevin paused, his brow coming together in a frown. Then his eyes widened in horror. He began to shake his head violently. “N-n-no, n-not you. N-n-not y-you!”

  “Kevin? Son, what’s the matter?”

  “I-I-I-I-I—” Kevin spluttered. And he was gone.

  Watching his son’s efforts almost broke Jack’s heart. He still had his arms out, and Kevin rushed into his embrace. His son’s eyes roamed in the room, fixing on everything except the one thing Jack wanted them to.

  Him.

  Holding Kevin close to his chest, he stared at Webber. “What the hell was that?”

  Webber shook his head. “It’s not something I was expecting.” He looked around the house, as if he was just now remembering where he was. “Shit, we gotta get out of here. Come on, Jack. We need to leave now.”

  Wrapping one arm under Kevin’s thin legs, Jack lifted his son up into his arms. He walked over to the couch, grabbed his son’s jacket, threw it over the boy. Looking down, he nodded toward Bridgette.

  “What about the girl?”

  Webber shook his head again. “Leave her. No time. We’re out of here.” He bolted for the door and threw it open.

  Jack ran after him. Kevin squirmed in his arms, reached up with one hand and raced a finger lightly over Jack’s chest. At some point known only to his son, the finger stopped and tapped on his breastbone.

  “Fickle-fek,” Kevin said in his silly, sing-song voice.

  Hurrying after Webber, Jack shot a curious look at Kevin, wondering where the boy had ever heard the creature’s name.

  * * *

  Izzy told Gene to turn right. He jerked the wheel around, but the Explorer was going too fast. Once again, its back end began to swerve, the tires spinning in the snow.

  Muttering a curse under his breath, Gene struggled for a few moments, tapping the brakes and turning into the slide. When he’d finally pulled them out of it, he asked, “How much farther?”

  “Just up ahead,” answered Izzy.

  “Third house on the left past the intersection,” added Katie from the back seat.

  About half a block from the intersection, Izzy saw the door to Katie’s house open. Webber came hurrying out, followed by Jack Sallinen with Kevin in his arms. They were headed toward the Silverado parked in the driveway.

  “There they are. Gene, once we get past the intersection, pull over. I’ll deal with them. Everyone stays in the car. These guys are armed. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

  Owens and Katie voiced agreement. Gene nodded. Then his eyes darted left and he swore. Izzy leaned forward to look out the window.

  An old, snow-covered Chevy Impala was rapidly approaching the intersection from the west. Someone had tried to scrape snow from the windshield, but the storm had thrown more at it. Its narrow wipers beat back-and-forth, attempting to make a clear spot so the driver could see.

  “Too fast,” Gene muttered. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “He’s coming too fast.”

  Izzy didn’t have a choice. She hit a switch on the Explorer’s dashboard. Bar light on the roof came alive, flashing blue and red.

  The Impala’s brake lights lit, but it didn’t stop. Rather, it began to coast forward on the slick pavement.

  Farther down the road, Webber spun around. He stared at them for a moment, then climbed into the Silverado.

  “Gene,” Izzy said. “We can’t lose them now.” I can’t lose the only lead to my daughter.

  The Impala continued to glide into the intersection. The driver wasn’t even trying to pump the brakes.

  “Okay,” Gene called out. “Everybody hang on.” He hit the gas. The SUV surged ahead, the engine roaring as he tried to accelerate past the Impala. But the tires couldn’t get enough traction in the loose snow. They weren’t building up enough speed. They weren’t going to get by in time.

  Whatever the other driver was doing, it must have been every wrong thing they taught you to avoid in driver’s education. The Impala’s front wheels turned, and its back end started to swing around toward the Explorer.

  Gene swore and mashed down on the accelerator, trying to pull past the oncoming car. And still the Impala came toward them, the gap between them closing rapidly.

  The Impala’s driver must have seen that it wasn’t going to work. In a last-ditch effort to avoid a collision, he jerked the wheel around while simultaneously hitting the brakes. The Explorer slid in the same direction as the Impala. Like two boxers circling one another in a ring, the cars’ momentum carried the SUV away
from and around the approaching Impala. For a brief moment, Izzy’s hopes soared as she thought Gene had done it, that he’d managed to avoid a collision.

  Then the Impala hit them. Its back bumper slammed into the Explorer’s front quarter panel in a crunch of plastic and metal. The impact shoved the SUV sideways. Izzy’s seatbelt bit into her chest as she was thrown against the door. In the back, Katie slid into Bart; the old man managed to wrap his arms around her shoulders, keeping her from tumbling onto the floorboard. In addition to his seatbelt, Gene’s grip on the steering wheel helped keep him from being jostled about. The SUV continued to spin until it hit a curb, where it finally jerked to a stop.

  Izzy was out of the SUV within seconds. The Silverado was almost clear of the driveway. She drew her gun and aimed. She needed to stop them, but she had to be careful. Kevin was in the cab.

  She fired. The bullet plowed into the truck’s rear fender. Webber didn’t slow down. The Silverado continued into the street.

  She squeezed off another shot. Then another. The Glock bucked in her hands. The rounds slammed into truck’s body, punching large holes into the metal.

  That got Webber’s attention. He stopped. A door opened and Denny Cain jumped out. He was holding the hunting rifle she’d seen yesterday. Izzy dove to one side as Denny took aim and fired. Snow erupted inches from where she’d been standing. She fired from the ground. The shot went wild. Again. The second ricocheted off the Silverado’s roof next to Denny’s head.

  The man ducked. Then he brought the rifle up, his aim tracking away from Izzy—

  —and toward the Explorer.

  “No,” Izzy shouted, firing. The shot went wide.

  Denny paused for a moment, and then he fired. The rifle’s report seemed to echo in Izzy’s ears.

  Because of the spin, the Explorer’s back end was facing Denny. His shot blasted through the rear window. Right at where Katie and Owens were sitting.

  Izzy scrambled to her feet as Denny jumped back into the Silverado. The truck sped off down the street.

  They had gotten away.

  Choking back her frustration, Izzy hurried over to the Explorer. She yanked the rear door open.