Beyond Blue

by Austin S. Camacho

  “You better go on home, if you know what’s good for you,” Mike said, close to Gorman’s ear.

  “I can put you back together with your real family,” Gorman said in a harder voice, “but you’ve got to make your move now before the sludge drags you down.”

  Mike’s heavy right hand landed on Gorman’s shoulder. He puffed up the way fighters often do and looked down at Gorman’s head as if it might make a tempting target.

  “Look here, old man,” Mike said. “Nothing’s dragging Mr. Lucania down and you just better drag your ass out of here.”

  Gunny started forward, but was frozen by the look in Gorman’s eyes when he turned to look up at Mike. Gorman managed the kind of genuine hard look that used to freeze the toughest grunts in their tracks. After that the world blurred in front of him and he had to reconstruct the action in his memory to be sure of what had happened.

  Gorman had turned his head slowly, down and to the right. His body weight shifted subtly and there was a sigh, perhaps of frustration, maybe of anger. Then as suddenly as summer lightning, his left fist swung up, around, and down, landing like a six-pound hammer on the spot between Mike’s eyes. Gorman gave no shout, or even a grunt, but the movement must have focused all the power in his entire body. A shudder ran down Mike’s body as if the shock of that one blow had flowed through him and down into the floor. Mike’s mouth dropped open an inch. His knees seemed to lock and he fell backward in slow motion.

  Before Mike hit the floor, Gorman had returned his full focus to Lucania.

  “This gang you’re running with, they are not a winning team, Lucania,” Gorman said, using his old drill instructor voice. “They look like the future to you right now, but I’m here to tell you they’re yesterday’s gang. You know how it is in the streets right now? Let me tell you, you go in the wrong neighborhood wearing the wrong color rag, you get dead fast. But your gang, your real gang can go anywhere. This gang’s colors are black. Look at you. You’re wearing the color of death. You need to decide real fast what gang you really belong to, buddy. And,” he stabbed a thick index finger toward the left end of the bar, “You tell that asshole hiding behind the bar that if he takes a shot at me I will kick his little ass. In fact…”

  Gorman tore his attention away from Lucania and faced the end of the bar. “Come here son. Just come over here.”

  Gunny had seen Gorman’s power before, but he still found it amazing. After five long seconds of silence, Gus stepped out from behind the bar. He looked to Lucania, but his face was sheepish as he approached Gorman. To Gunny’s surprise, Gorman switched to his paternal voice then.

  “Look here, son, if you want to be a sniper, you’ve got to put out your cigarette before you get into place.”

  Then Gorman turned back to Lucania. “Listen, I understand about this identity thing. I used to belong to a gang, and our colors were green. Gunny, his old gang’s colors were khaki. I understand that you were in his old gang. But he and I joined the same gang, and our new colors were blue. True blue. Believe it or not, that’s a gang you never leave. Now sometimes things get so bad that gang can’t handle it, and we have to go beyond that, beyond blue. Like tonight. And now you’ve go to decide what your true colors are.”

  Gorman stepped in close and his voice became so low as to almost be subliminal.

  “Lorenzo Lucania, show me your true colors.”

  Rico Steele saw the flame stretch out from the barrel of his gun, and the equally bright light in Dubois’ eyes. The blast covered Jerome’s scream. Act one was over and it was time to move.

  Steele’s left hand stretched out to capture Dubois’ wrist. His right cross snapped Dubois’ head around hard. Caught completely by surprise, Dubois collapsed to the floor. One down.

  At the same instant that Steele grabbed Dubois’ arm, Stone chopped down hard on Didi’s wrist. Didi’s gun dropped just before Stone’s uppercut sent him to dreamland.

  Stunned by the flurry of activity, the other three gunmen turned to target Stone or Steele. They both dived for the floor by the front wall, and the gunmen tried to follow.

  It took one second too long. Psycho, Doc, and Frankie rushed forward like Alabama’s Crimson Tide, smashing the Haitian gunmen to the floor. Palms down on the floor, Steele watched as a half dozen of the worst lowlifes he’d met in years wrestled around for control of the three loose handguns. It would have been funny if not for the potential that the scene could turn lethal.

  It was Frankie who finally broke the stalemate with a hard right to the jaw of the man beneath his bulk. He grabbed up the stray pistol and got up to his knees. For a second he tried to get a clear shot at one of the men his partners were pummeling, but then looked down at his arm as if to remind himself who his real enemies were. While Psycho and Doc straddled and pounded on the two black gangsters, Frankie raised the gun and aimed it at Steele’s face.

  “Good-bye, asshole,” Frankie said.

  Before Steele’s eyes finished widening the office door slammed open. A uniformed police officer stepped in and, quickly spotting the danger man, turned his pistol on Frankie.

  “Freeze, all of you. Put the gun down, mister, right now.”

  Frankie had a brief moment of indecision, which Stone ended by saying, “They never travel alone, you know.”

  Frankie thought about it for about one second. Then he lowered the gun to the floor. His friends stood up, and Frankie pointed to the Haitian thugs with his one good hand.

  “We didn’t start it, officer,” Frankie said. “These guys all came busting in here and they shot our boss, Mr. Jerome.”

  Steele got to his feet, straightened his clothes and scooped up his pistol. “You would be Officer Brooks?”

  “Yep. Your friend Ms. Chiba asked me to look in on you fellows. Now what’s this about a man named Jerome?”

  A low moan from behind the reception desk drew everyone’s attention. Jerome’s hands landed on the desk. Next his head appeared as he slowly crawled up. For once he seemed to have nothing to say.

  “Boss. You’re okay,” Doc said, as if no one else would have noticed.

  “You see, Rico?” Stone said through a smug grin. “Some plan Bs are better than others.”

  “I never thought they’d buy it,” Steele replied, “loading my gun with blanks and all.”

  “Blanks?” Jerome asked, touching his chest to make sure no hole had gone unnoticed.

  “Yeah,” Stone said. “We have to thank you for your part in this Jerome. You really sold it for us.”

  “Yeah,” Steele added, while he collected up the handguns scattered around the floor. “He was so friggin’ scared he jumped a mile when the gun went off. Idiot flipped his chair back, all the way over. I’ll bet there’s a nice lump on the back of his skull.”

  Stone walked over to the reception desk and sat one cheek up on it, crossing his arms and shaking his head, before turning to Brooks again. “Now, let me explain how this bust is going to make your career. I hear you’ve had some rough times in your personal life, but at least we can get you moving toward detective.”

  “Don’t listen to these guys, officer,” Jerome said, finding his voice. “They brought these killers in here. They threatened me. That one tried to kill me,” he said, pointing at Steele.

  “Actually, I only pointed a gun I knew was full of blanks,” Steele said. He nudged Dubois with his foot. “This one tried to kill you.”

  “Yep,” Stone said, still facing Brooks. “That’s why we loaded Steele’s gun with blanks, so there would be no doubt of Dubois’ intent to murder Jerome here. And that’s why this nice lawyer here is going to turn state’s evidence. He has everything you need to not only bring down several criminal organizations he’s been working with, but also to vindicate a few cops who’ve had their careers damaged by false evidence in court.” Stone turned to Jerome and lowered his voice. “And you will remain quiet about those officers you might have real evidence against.”

  “Why the hell should I do any of tha
t?” Jerome asked, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Because, moron, you now know for sure that Dubois here will kill you the first chance he gets. And it will be easy to put all the others you’ve been working with on the same mission.”

  “This is nonsense,” Jerome said, straightening his clothes and squaring his shoulders. “A big bluff to try to scare me. Well, I don’t scare.”

  “Yeah we just saw how courageous you are,” Steele said. He had shoved two pistols into his waistband and held the other two on Jerome’s three thugs. “Okay, officer, maybe you just better take the consolation prize. We’ll press charges on these three for assault and kidnapping, and shooting up my buddy’s car.”

  “Yeah, we’ll leave the others to work out their differences together,” Stone said. He reached out to tousle Jerome’s hair, gave him a big grin, nodded to him and whispered, “Good luck, counselor.” Then he stood, nudging Dubois on his way to the door. Steele waved Doc, Frankie, and Psycho to the door. He tossed a gun to Stone, who shepherded them out into the hallway. On his way to the door, Steele then dropped one of the guns on Didi’s chest, which startled him awake. As he kept walking he got to watch Jerome’ face move from confidence to disbelief to questioning to calculating and finally to realization.

  “Wait!” Jerome leaned forward on the desk with both hands, his eyes going from Didi to Dubois and finally to Alex Brooks. “Officer, much of what my two friends here said makes a certain amount of sense. I think we need to all go to the station to straighten this all out.”

  “Do you have evidence of value in those investigations Mr. Steele and Mr. Mason referred to? Are you in a position to turn state’s evidence?”

  Didi sat up, still dazed. He looked around, spotted his boss on the floor, and then looked down at the gun in his lap. When he looked up he stared right at Jerome and seemed to remember why he was in that office.

  “Yes!” Jerome shouted. “Yes, I am, and I will. Now disarm that maniac. He’s already murdered one man and I can prove it.”

  Steele stuck his head out the door and said, “Got to give it to you, buddy. It was a great plan.”

  Ruby Sanchez could not imagine being less comfortable. She lay face down on a broad tree limb supported by her hands and feet, her elbows and knees pointed toward the ground. The thin dress she wore was no protection against rough oak bark as she lay there with her thighs and her boobs wrapped around the big branch. The bark was also slick with some sort of moss or something that smelled like mildewed clothes. Her hair was a mangled mop hanging around her face, dripping past her eyes. A chill ran through her core, along with a biting hunger. She tried hard to ignore both. It was a situation she would have found funny if it was happening to someone else.

  Traffic sounds didn’t penetrate this deep into the park. All the soft breeze carried to her ears was the sound of water dripping on leaves. It was darker than the hour would suggest, making her feel very alone. She wondered if a team of police had already taken Rafe’s house. She wondered how many terrorists were wandering the park looking for her. She wondered if a team of policemen was also abroad below, and mostly she hoped not. This was no kind of pursuit to try in the dark. She hoped they would just hold the perimeter to catch any terrorists who might wander out of the park, and come in after sunrise to look for her. She could hold out until then. It wouldn’t be the longest she’d gone without eating or changing clothes.

  While she waited for rescue or morning she heard a new rustling. At first she expected a squirrel to wander up to her face and demand his branch back. Soon she realized the sound was from below. It was a two-legged sound. Someone was moving about down there, and whoever it was knew how to keep the noise down. It had to be them.

  When the man stepped into view Ruby was surprised. He wore the same gray sweat suit as the man she had to shoot. Didn’t these clowns have rain gear? She wasn’t sure if the lack of raincoats and slickers indicated a lack of planning or fanatical toughness. Either way, she was glad the bad guys were no more comfortable than she was out there in the rain.

  The terrorist walked directly under her perch. Ruby could have dropped onto him, breaking his neck with her feet. She didn’t because she feared it would give away her position. Besides, it had taken her precious time and cost her a fingernail to climb up there. She would stay until she absolutely had to come down.

  Ruby eased her silenced pistol out of her waistband. Surely under these circumstances, even Gorman would approve the use of lethal force. She wrapped both hands around the Browning’s grip and began to track the killer as he walked away. He held his gun close to his waist like a professional. His steps were wide and soft, barely disturbing the grass over which he moved. A stone killer, Ruby thought. It would be a public service to put him down.

  Ruby waited until the man was almost lost in the darkness. She wanted him to fall as far away as possible. Anyone who found him would have to fan out from that spot three hundred and sixty degrees to look for her. She raised her weapon and forced herself to stop the low-level shiver her body was using to help fight the cold. Just before her target stepped out of her sight she clucked her tongue once.

  The terrorist instantly dropped into a partial crouch and pushed his weapon forward in a two-handed grip. He was alert, she thought, even to such a slight sound. But he couldn’t be sure it was a human sound. He spun slowly on the balls of his feet until he had turned halfway around. She had him, and he would never know.

  Ruby placed the first nine-millimeter round at center mass. The following double-tap hit near his heart and ten o’clock on his forehead. Aside from his head snapping back, the man seemed unimpressed for a couple of seconds. Then he just seemed to lose interest. He dropped his gun, lowered his arms and slouched over to the side onto the wet grass.

  “Two in the chest and one in the head,” Ruby said, “Just like they taught me in sniper school.”

  Ruby only got two seconds to feel pleased with herself before she heard something thump into the trunk of her tree. She felt as much as heard the second impact. She hugged her limb tighter and listened for movement in the park. Instead, she heard a voice.

  “Higher, I think.”

  A bullet knocked a chunk out of the trunk directly behind her. Damn. It had been a setup. They had people watching each other, baiting her. When she took one out, the others were able to get a bead on her approximate position. Unfortunately, she did not have a lock on them. She couldn’t even hear their silenced weapons firing.

  “Shit!” A bullet smacked the limb Ruby was on less than two feet from her face. They were too close, and she had no intention of dying up in a tree. Ruby dropped from her position to land prone on the ground, looking in every direction possible trying to find the opposition.

  “Over this way,” a male voice called in Spanish. That was enough for Ruby. She rose to her knees, turned toward the voice she had heard and fired another double-tap and rolled to her side. Her target said “Oh,” and two rounds hit the ground where she had been before she heard the man she had shot thump to the ground.

  “Time to go,” she told herself, sprinting through the park again. She dodged trees and jumped ditches on a random path with the sound of bullets chasing her all the way. After a minute she heard men running behind her. Lord, they were gaining on her. It sounded like a half-dozen men running full out behind her. There was no fighting that kind of force.

  Ruby ran until she found a trail worn into the forest floor. She followed it for a while at a full sprint. When she stopped to catch a breath, another bullet few past her and this time she heard the shot. They were close enough now for her to hear their guns, even with the silencers. This was doubly bad. Not only were they too close, but if she could hear their guns, they could hear hers.

  She jogged to the side and slid down a short muddy bank into a drainage ditch. She started crawling down the ditch in the three inches of dank water, hoping her pursuers wound jump the ditch and continue. Instead she heard at least two pairs of feet sp
lash into the ditch and come running toward her.

  She turned and lay prone, laying down a blanket of fire. After four bullets she heard a man scream. He raised a bigger splash when he landed in the ditch. His partner returned fire but his aiming point was too high and for some reason he was still standing erect. Another fast double tap put him on his back as well. Then a shot from above dug into the ground inches from Ruby’s head. She jumped to her feet and took off.

  Ruby was panting now, running blind, her bare feet scratched and torn by the ground she was covering. The ditch was getting deeper and before long getting out of it would be a struggle. She would be a better target on the higher ground but she didn’t want to be trapped. Keeping her gun at the ready, Ruby took a long hop to the ground beside the ditch. She stumbled a little, but would have continued running if not for the man standing directly in front of her.

  “Time to stop,” de La Fuente said. He stood with his arms folded, wearing the same gray sweat suit that she thought his team had been issued. Ruby snapped her pistol up and took aim, fixing on a point between his eyes.

  “Don’t be silly,” de La Fuente said. “There are at least five guns on you. If you fire again, they will pick you apart like a broiled chicken. Besides, don’t you want to try to talk your way out of this?”

  “And just how would I do that?”

  “Well first, you would surrender your weapon.” Ruby looked around. She and de La Fuente stood near the center of a small clearing. Five more Peruvians stepped out of the shadows. They ringed her, each with his gun arm outstretched toward her. Her breathing was deep and fast, as much from frustration as fatigue. For a moment, she thought she might try it. But no, with only two bullets left in the magazine she couldn’t win, and it seemed unlikely that these fools would allow her to call time out so she could reload. As much as it galled her, she tossed her gun to the ground at de La Fuente’s feet.

  “That’s better,” de La Fuente said. “Now, we don’t really want to kill you.”