by Susan Fleet
He heard sounds, soft footsteps around the corner.
The mice were stirring and Rambo was waiting.
_____
Frank stopped at the Level Five up-ramp that led to the roof. He and Otis had checked every car on Level Four. All empty. So were the cars on Level Five. The garage was eerily quiet. No sirens. No gunshots. He realized he was holding his breath. Let out a sigh. Took a deep breath. Listened.
The squad cars outside the garage would be full of radio chatter, but he couldn’t hear it. The hospital and the garage were surrounded by massive oak trees, home to dozens of bird’s nests, but he heard no birds chirping, either. It was as if the whole world had been silenced by a mute button.
He looked up at the sky. The rain had stopped but leaden clouds hung low in the sky. Not a sound from the roof.
Was Stoltz up there waiting to kill him?
Come up to the roof and take me out yourself, Renzi.
“Quiet up there,” Otis muttered. “What the hell’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. But there’s no cover once we get to the roof.”
“Go up the ramp one on each side, we might hit him before he sees us.”
Ugly scenarios churned in Frank’s mind. Should they wait for SWAT? The only way down from the roof was this ramp. If Stoltz tried to leave the roof, he and Otis could stop him.
An elusive thought plinked his mind and flitted away.
Stoltz was up on the roof, an ex-military man ready-willing-and-able to shoot the police officers positioned around the garage with his high-powered weapon. If they didn’t stop him, there would be more dead and wounded. During this interminable standoff, Stoltz had killed one firefighter, critically wounded another, and shot several cops, no word on their condition.
So why wasn’t he shooting? Nothing but silence from the roof.
He gripped the SIG and said to Otis, “Let’s go. Shoot anything that moves. I’ll take the left side, you take the right.”
Hugging the cement wall, he inched up the ramp. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded his face. He crept upward, inch by inch. Glanced at Otis, on the other side of the ramp, arms extended, gripping the Glock in both hands as he moved upward toward the roof.
Halfway up the ramp, Frank stopped. From here he would have a clear view of the roof when he raised his head above the cement wall. And anyone on the roof would have a clear view of his head.
He made eye contact with Otis and nodded.
With his heart slamming his chest, he sprang to his feet. Did a rapid three-hundred-sixty-degree scan of the vast open space.
No Stoltz. Thirty yards away, an automatic rifle lay on the cement.
“Where the hell is he?” Otis said as they stepped onto the roof.
Frank shook his head, mystified. His muscles ached with tension and his pulse pounded a vicious drumbeat in his temples. Then he recalled an earlier report from Vobitch. A discussion they’d had hours ago. Eons ago.
After entering the hospital, Stoltz had overpowered an off-duty cop working a security detail on the first floor. What if there’d been another one?
It hit him like a sledgehammer in the gut. “He’s got a police radio!”
He dug out his cell, speed-dialed Kelly’s cell and gave it to Otis.
“Warn Kelly. Tell her Stoltz is coming. Then call Vobitch. Tell him everyone needs to stay off the radio!”
He whirled and raced down the ramp, whipping around turns like a slingshot. He had to get to Belinda’s room before Stoltz did. No telling how much of a lead the bastard had.
Would Wood and Nixon stop him? He hadn’t heard any gunshots.
He whipped around a corner onto Level Three and ran to the walkway. Kelly was in the most danger. Guarding the person Stoltz most wanted to kill.
He raced down the glassed-in walkway, feet pounding the cement, heart pounding like a howitzer. If Stoltz hurt Kelly or Belinda, he’d kill the bastard.
CHAPTER 47
The monster was in her room. Again.
Her heart was a wild beast inside her chest.
How could this be? She had escaped him once. Now he stood ten feet away, a terrifying presence, face caked with dirt and dried blood, leering at her, his disgusting stench filling the room. His terrible eyes pierced her like rapiers. His gun, long and lethal-looking, was aimed at Kelly.
Fearing her legs would collapse, she set her butt against the edge of the bed. Hunched her shoulders inside the hospital robe. Hugged her arms to her chest. She didn’t dare look at Kelly.
When they heard popping sounds in the hall, Kelly had told her to get on the floor behind the bed. But there was no time. The monster burst into the room and shot at them, a strangely muted sound. Muted or not, it had shattered the window behind her.
Now damp air was blowing on the back of her neck.
Her body shook with tremors, icy chills radiating from her belly to her chest. Six feet to her left, Kelly stood with her feet apart, gripping her gun.
Somehow, Kelly had summoned the courage to raise her gun and aim it at the monster. To protect her.
“Ready to party, Belinda?” The monster’s ice-pick eyes drilled into her.
Her stomach heaved. She feared her bladder would burst.
“We’re not having any party,” Kelly said, her voice edged with grit, a rasp on metal.
“Oh, yes we are.” The monster smiled, a terrifying smile, a death’s head smile. “We’re going to have a great time, aren’t we, Belinda?”
The wild beast ripped her chest.
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breath. Couldn’t bear his predatory eyes, devouring her like a piece of meat.
Summoning every ounce of resolve within her, she smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Barry. I wanted to speak to you before, but—”
“Bullshit! That’s not what you wanted this morning.” He shifted his stance to aim the gun at her. “You wanted me out of your house. That’s what you said, Belinda. Admit it.”
Her scalp tingled, prickles of fear. She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was too dry. She bit her cheek to summon some saliva.
“I suppose I did. But you frightened me, Barry. I didn’t expect to wake up and find you in my bedroom. It was . . . a shock.”
“A shock. Is that the best you can do? You said you wanted to talk to me, but you don’t have much to say. No more compliments for Barry, huh?”
His insatiable eyes devoured her. But his hands remained steady, aiming the long lethal-looking gun at her.
Kelly’s cell phone rang, a shrill insistent sound.
“Don’t even think about it. You answer that phone and you’re dead. Shut the fuckin’ thing off. Now.”
Something stirred within her, some primal instinct, rising up to fight the fear that paralyzed her. Never give in to fear. Act successful and you will be successful. Believe in yourself and you cannot fail.
The words she chanted silently before performances as she waited to go onstage. Now she had to give a different sort of performance.
A perfect performance. The performance of her life.
Ignoring the chills that wracked her, she breathed down to her diaphragm. Talk to him about music. And keep using his name. He likes that.
“I liked your suggestion about the Busoni violin sonata, Barry. If you lend me the score, I’ll transcribe it for flute and we can play it together.”
An infinitesimal change in his expression told her she’d scored a hit.
Then his face clenched in a scowl and his neck corded. “We won’t be playing any duets now and you know it. You think I’m stupid?”
“No, Barry. I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re very smart.”
“You got that right. Too smart to fall for any more of your fucking lies. You fooled me once with that bullshit about fixing your flute with that fucking screwdriver. And then you stabbed me. You don’t think the cops are going to let me out of here alive, do you?”
“We will if you put down the gun,”
Kelly said. “Put the gun down and everything will be fine.”
He laughed, a raucous braying sound that filled the room. “Listen to Little Miss Robo-Cop, thinks she’s gonna take me in by herself.” His gaze flicked to Kelly. “That what you think, Officer O’Neil?”
Belinda gasped. How did he know Kelly’s name?
“I think you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself,” Kelly said, her voice tense and shrill and full of determination.
“Shut up! Just ‘cuz you got a gun doesn’t give you the right to put me down. You want to shoot me? Go ahead. My finger’s on the trigger and this Beretta’s got a real light pull. You know what that means, Officer O’Neil? You shoot me, my finger hits the trigger and boom. Belinda’s dead. Stop running your mouth or I’ll shoot you.”
“Barry,” she said, desperate to distract him, “remember the piece you played on my piano that day when I came into the studio?”
“Sure. The Beethoven sonata. I played it for my Boston Conservatory audition. Not well enough to get accepted, though. Back then I couldn’t do anything well enough.” His lips twisted into a ferocious smile, the smile of a wolf about to pounce on its prey. “But now I can. Ask those cops out there. They’ll tell you how good I am. The ones that are still talking.”
The ones that are still talking.
She dug her nails into her arm. Was Frank dead?
Icy chills skittered down her neck. She had to keep him talking, had to keep him focused on music. Not killing cops. Or her.
“I thought your piano playing was quite fine—”
“Shut up! Don’t feed me compliments thinking it’ll get you out of here. It won’t.”
“I’m not trying to get out of here, Barry. I’m trying to talk to you. This morning you asked me what I wanted. Why don’t you tell me what you want.”
He studied her silently, his eyes cold and merciless. “Here’s what I used to want, Belinda. I wanted you to like me. Back in high school, Rachel introduced us after a concert and you blew me off like I was nothing. You were the star even then, principal flute of the best high school orchestra in the state. Fifteen years old and you made the others sound like fifth graders.”
Back in high school. Fear jolted her like an electric current.
“I’m sorry, Barry, but I don’t remember meeting you.”
“You blew me off in London, too. Belinda Scully didn’t need a driver.” An ugly smile parted his rubbery-red lips. “The accident changed that though. That got your attention.” His gaze shifted to Kelly. “Don’t shake your head, bitch. I should shoot you—”
“No, no, no! You don’t have to shoot anyone, Barry. Let Kelly go. She can leave her gun here and walk out the door and you and I can talk privately—”
“No.” Kelly’s grim raspy voice. “I’m not going anywhere until he puts down the gun. I’m not leaving this room until Belinda walks out of here safe and sound.”
Another braying laugh from the monster. “Hoo-eee, this little gal is a spitfire! Wish I’d met you sooner, Officer O’Neil. We could have had fun. Except for the fact that I’ve been in love with Belinda forever. Too bad Belinda didn’t reciprocate.”
He raised the lethal-looking gun and aimed it at her heart.
“Please don’t point that gun at me, Barry. You wouldn’t do that if you loved me.”
His expression grew thoughtful, a ruminative expression that morphed into anger. “It’s for your own good. That’s what Daddy-O used to say when he beat me. It’s for your own good, boy.”
Her fingernails clawed her forearms. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. “Barry, this morning you wanted me to kiss you goodbye.” She forced herself to smile, forced herself to look him in the eye. “Will you let Kelly go if I kiss you?”
Bile rose in her throat, her body revolting at the thought of those lips on her mouth.
“Now there’s an idea.” A big wolfish grin. “I like that, Belinda. You want to kiss me? Great.”
Her heart exploded in a paroxysm of fear and revulsion.
Kiss the monster? Feel that disgusting tongue inside her mouth again? Could she make herself do it? But if Kelly got away, she could get help.
“Let Kelly go first. Then we’ll have some privacy so I can . . .” She steeled herself. “So I can kiss you the way you deserve to be kissed.”
His face froze, a death mask of rage. “Kelly’s not going anywhere. Get on your knees, Belinda. Forget playing kissy-face. It’s time you kissed another part of my anatomy.”
_____
Frank burst from the walkway into the hospital corridor and stopped, shocked at the carnage. Warren Wood was down. Larry Nixon was down.
His gut plummeted like an elevator with cut cables. Holding his SIG in front of him, he advanced down the corridor. Warren lay on the floor in a pool of blood, eyes vacant and staring, a bullet hole between them.
But Nixon was alive. His eyes blinked shut. Slowly opened. Nixon saw him, and his mouth opened, but no sound came out, his tongue thrusting between his lips. Frank knelt down beside him. Saw the entry wound in the side of his head. Saw Nixon’s eyes start to glaze over.
“Took my gun,” Nixon gasped. “I think he got Sam, too.”
“Don’t try to talk. Otis is coming. He’ll help you.”
He rose. Took two strides. Flattened his back to the wall.
Peeked around the corner. Near the door to Belinda’s room, Sam Wallace lay on the floor. Blood seeped from his neck.
Belinda’s last line of defense. Fear clawed his throat.
He tried to get his breath. Forced air from his lungs. Inhaled.
The corridor was silent, a terrible eerie stillness, as if this were some post-apocalyptic world where everyone had died.
He crept down the hall to Sam. Saw the head wound and the vacant eyes. Sam was gone. His shirt clung to his back, soaked with sweat. Gripping the SIG in both hands, he inched closer to Belinda’s suite.
His heart slammed his ribs so hard he could almost hear it.
The door to the anteroom was open.
“Don’t do it, Belinda. He’ll kill us both.”
The hackles rose on his neck. Kelly’s voice, shrill with panic.
Kelly was alive, and so was Belinda. But Stoltz was with them.
He edged into the anteroom. Bloody footprints on the carpet.
Straight ahead of him, the door to Belinda’s room was ajar.
“Don’t pay any attention to Little Miss Robo-cop, Belinda. Do what I tell you.”
Stoltz. And Stoltz had a gun. A meat-cleaver of dread chopped his gut.
The carpet masked the sound of his footsteps as he inched to the door. Put his eye to the opening. The sight fried his brain.
He closed his eyes. Opened them. Saw the same horrific scene. Kelly, eyes wide, face frozen in a feral expression, arms raised in front of her. Holding her Glock in both hands. Aimed at someone he couldn’t see.
Stoltz. Armed and dangerous and bent on revenge.
The door wasn’t open wide enough for him to see Belinda. Or Stoltz.
But it wasn’t hard to picture the scene. Kelly had her gun on Stoltz. And Stoltz had his gun on Belinda. Stalemate. Unless he did something.
Holding the SIG in his right hand, he put his left palm against the door.
Willing Kelly to notice and hoping Stoltz wouldn’t, he gave the door a tiny shove. The door opened another inch. Then another. And Kelly saw it!
She didn’t look his way, but he could tell by the way her jaw muscles bunched. Now he could see Stoltz, the right half of him anyway.
His back was to the door, feet spread, legs braced. Holding a Beretta fitted with a silencer. Aimed at Belinda’s head. He could only see part of her. The part he could see was kneeling on the floor, facing Stoltz.
He waggled his fingers to attract Kelly’s attention. Then, in rapid succession, he held up three fingers—one, two, three—then motioned downward with his hand. One, two, three, drop to the floor.
Kelly blinked twi
ce. Two deliberate strokes of her eyelids.
His heart surged. Kelly got it. But Belinda didn’t know he was here. Kelly would know enough to drop to the floor when he fired, but Belinda wouldn’t. If he fired at Stoltz, he might hit her.
“Let’s go, Belinda,” Stoltz said. “You asked me what I wanted and I told you. Suck my dick, bitch. That’s what you get for stabbing me.”
The air left his lungs as if sucked out by a vacuum cleaner.
Situation critical.
He raised his left hand and waggled his fingers at Kelly.
He held up one finger. Two fingers. Three.
Kelly dropped to the floor and he burst into the room.
“Police! Drop the gun!”
Stoltz whirled, arms extended, both hands clamped on the Beretta. “Motherfuck—”
He shot Stoltz in the face.
Inside the small hospital room the blast was deafening. Time stretched out like a slow-motion video, a kaleidoscope of sounds and images.
Belinda eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
In a reflex motion Stoltz threw up his hands. A shot from his Beretta pierced the ceiling. Blood spurted from the hole in his forehead.
But he stayed on his feet, teeth bared like a cornered animal. A guttural sound came from his mouth.
More sounds. Belinda’s high-pitched wail.
More images. Kelly prone on the floor, gripping her Glock.
Stoltz’s bloody hairless face.
Then, impossibly, Stoltz staggered toward him, hands outstretched, fingers like claws, eyes fixed on him. His face contorted with fury and hate.
Frank aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger.
Stoltz blinked, shuddered, and collapsed on the floor.
CHAPTER 48
“It was a righteous shoot, Frank. No question.” Vobitch rattled the ice in his rocks glass, stone-faced as Mount Rushmore, gray eyes full of certainty.
He nodded, chewing a mouthful of cheeseburger. They were holed up in a dim-lit pub in Kenner, two towns away from the carnage at City Hospital.
“How’d it go with IAD?” Vobitch asked.