Green Eyed Burn

by David A. Lloyd

  “Right.”

  With the shotgun firmly in both hands, Catherine leapt from the side door of Baby and landed, feet wide apart, on the dirt road. Ignoring the sharp spurring from the gravel, Catherine pushed all thoughts from her mind as she squeezed the trigger. The SKB bucked wildly in her hands and slammed into her hip.

  DeTully ducked back into the limousine as the radiator suddenly vomited steam.

  Catherine ejected the spent shell, tromboned the slide repeater to chamber a second shell, then squeezed the trigger again.

  The limousine’s windshield shattered.

  Catherine dove back into the van, “Go!” she cried.

  Tired Firestones bit into the earth, and gravel spat into the sky as Baby tore past the staggering limousine, “Yes!” John whooped. He glanced back at the big car. It had swung around and soon hugged the rear of the van.

  “No!”

  “Keep it floored and on the left side of the road. I want to force them to pass on the right,” Catherine called out behind him.

  “Left?”

  “Right.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  “The map says it’s a dead end.”

  “Don’t say dead.”

  John swallowed.

  55

  DAVID A. LLOYD

  Catherine switched the shotgun to her left hand and steadied herself with the bookshelf. She looped her arm around the hand hold and leaned out the side door. What the hell are you doing, chick?

  The limousine driver held the car directly behind the van so they would not fall into Catherine’s line of sight. DeTully propped himself in the window and aimed at the van’s rear tires.

  Catherine spotted the movement and cried out, “Brake hard now!”

  She braced for the coming jolt as John slammed both feet on the brake pedal.

  When the brake lights flashed on DeTully’s eyes widened like saucers,

  “Jesus H. Christ on a burro!”

  The driver reeled on the steering wheel and slammed the brakes. When it pulled into sight Catherine fired, tromboned the slide repeater, and fired again.

  The driver’s hand was torn from the steering wheel as a cluster of lead blew away most of his face. The second spray peppered the side of the car and blew out both tires.

  “Oh man…” John choked as the big car cascaded past.

  DeTully was ejected from the car and collided with a row of baby pine trees as the limousine flipped on its side and slammed into the side of the bridge. The gas tank ruptured and the car exploded into a brilliant ball of fire, showering the area with flaming debris.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Catherine cried, yanking the side door shut.

  “That’s a plan,” John agreed and pulled on the steering wheel. The van around and sped away from the burning wreck. A few moments later they were heading south on Highway 11.

  Catherine edged into the passenger seat and John looked at her. Her eyes were wide and vacant as she stared at John. Then slowly she whispered,

  “He… he… did this to me….”

  In the seat, that seemed much too large for her now, Catherine sat with her knees pulled up to her naked chest.

  John opened his mouth to say something, something to make the pain go away, but nothing would come. He averted his eyes.

  Wordlessly, Catherine picked up the comforter she left at her feet less than a hour ago and pulled it over her shoulders, “Johnny…” she whispered. John looked over and found the strength to meet her eyes. The light that he saw burning brightly in her had faded. Tear flowed freely down her cheeks. 56

  GREEN-EYED BURN

  “Thank you,” she said.

  John nodded gently then returned his attention to the road. The next time he glanced over she had passed out.

  57

  8

  An old C.P. Rail access road,

  North of Barrie, Ontario, Canada

  15:04 hours 25 April, 2020

  “Non!” Catherine screamed. She bolted upright in the bed with her eyes wide and spine straight as a board.

  John instantly dropped his note pad and knelt at her side. Her face buried within her hands she sobbed, “Non... Je ne vais pas pleurer.”

  “Catherine?” John gently brushed her shoulder with his hand.

  “Non!” Catherine screamed and recoiled from the touch. She pulled her legs to her chest and hid her face between her knees. She seemed unaware of his existence.

  “Non... non....”

  John slowly moved around and faced her, “Catherine...”

  At the sound of his voice, she cocked her head at an angle and seemingly looked right through him. Her lips started to move and a mist seemed to lift from her gaze. “Johnny?” she asked, her voice thin, feeble. John gently displayed an open hand. Catherine gingerly reached out and touched the tips of his fingers with hers then accepted and pulled him close,

  “Oh God, Johnny...”

  John held Catherine in his arms. “It’s okay, everything’s okay,” he whispered, “You’re safe now. Let it out.” He gently cradled her as she cried. 58

  GREEN-EYED BURN

  *****

  The limousine was still smoking. DeTully had tried to urinate on it through an erection. Thrilling near death experiences always excited him so. He was surprised that he was still alive. After waking up in a bed of pine needles he scurried off into the nearby woods and waited for the local police and fire crews to arrive and clean up the mess.

  It had been several hours since they had come and gone, leaving a lone Ontario Provincial Police Officer stationed at the taped off wreck. On the far side of the limousine DeTully finished his pee and zipped up, glancing at the cruiser. Then from his vantage point he spotted Smyles walking toward the officer. The cop greeted Smyles in the middle of the road. They talked for a moment then walked together back to the cruiser. As the officer lifted the door handle, Smyles shot him twice in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  “Nice shootin’, Tex,” DeTully twanged.

  Smyles spun around, with the Magnum pointing the way, looking for the voice.

  DeTully stepped out from behind the wreck. Smyles lowered his gun as he approached. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Just pissing around. What happened to you?”

  Smyles grunted and slipped his weapon back under his jacket. “Must have slipped and fell out of the car. What happened?”

  DeTully scratched the back of his neck and explained about the naked woman with the shotgun. “Now what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll take the cop car back to Sudbury then ditch it and get a hold of Miezlaiskis.”

  “She’s going to be P.O.ed,” DeTully said looking at the wreckage.

  “Screw her,” Smyles snapped, climbing into the cruiser.

  “Love to, but that ain’t going to get up out of his mess.”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  Moments later they raced their way from the smoldering wreck at a fair clip. Smyles slouched in his seat and closed his eyes.

  *****

  “Raymond Smyles?”

  Smyles dully glanced over his shoulder at the finely manicured hand resting 59

  DAVID A. LLOYD

  there. He shrugged it off and returned to his double bourbon. The man eased himself onto the bar stool next to Smyles. He pantomimed to the bartender to bring him the same.

  “Raymond Smyles,” the man stated, “Born February fifth, 1976 at St. Mary’s Hospital in Sheridan, Wyoming. Mother was Grace, formerly Paterson, and your father was Raymond Sr.”

  Smyles looked at the stranger through an alcoholic haze. “Wha’da want?”

  “After high school you joined the Marines, were you were all that you could be in the high north. Afterwards you were recruited by The Company.”

  “So ya’ read my bio ‘ow phiss off.”

  The double bourbon arrived. Smyles stared at the tumbler as the man paid for it. “Three days ago you
were suspended,” he said. “You liquidated Nikolai Konstantinovich. I know a lot of people who will applaud that.”

  “Will any of t’em be at ‘da hearin’?”

  “Sadly no, but if you want to meet them we should talk,” he slipped a card in Smyles’ shirt pocket, “If you sober up, call me.”

  Without touching the drink he stood and left. After a moment Smyles retrieved the card and stared at it. On the front was an address. Penciled on the back was a name.

  Stein.

  *****

  “Here comes a car.”

  “Wha...?” Smyles groaned.

  “Here comes a car,” DeTully repeated slower. “We can ditch the cruiser now.”

  The car turned out to be another gray stretch limousine. DeTully flashed the cruisers lights gestured for the limousine to pull over. He then stopped the cruiser behind it.

  As Smyles and DeTully approached, the rear window powered down and Lydia Miezlaiskis appeared.

  “Hi,” DeTully grinned, “We were just coming to see you.”

  “Where the hell did you get that?” she asked.

  “Trade in. You like?”

  Lydia’s expression silenced DeTully, “Where’s the girl?” she asked Smyles.

  When he did not respond DeTully said, “Uh, well, funny story that...”

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  GREEN-EYED BURN

  “She got away,” Lydia said.

  “She got away,” DeTully repeated.

  “Assholes!” she hissed. “How? You give her the limo or just called her a cab?”

  DeTully looked over at Smyles. His jaw was clenched and the vain in his temple started to throb. “She had help,” DeTully protested, looking back at the tall brunette.

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Where’s Fred?”

  “Who?”

  “The driver.”

  “Fred’s dead. Shot in the head.”

  Lydia shook her head. Lord save me from the idiots. DeTully had arched up on his tiptoes and cough a glimpse of her cleavage. When he realized she was watching, he dropped back down and cleared his throat. “How did you know to come looking for us? The rendezvous wasn’t until tonight.”

  “I heard on the scanner about a wreck on this road and since this is the only way to our air strip I put two and two together and came up with it, stupid.” She looked back at Smyles, who had not said a word since she arrived.

  “Why so down in the mouth, Smyles? It’s not like you.”

  “Fuck you!” Smyles exploded. He slammed his fist on the roof of the car.

  “Where the fuck is Stein? I want some words with that asswhore! What kind of fucking operation is he running here?” Smyles was on a tear. He kicked the side of the limousine, putting a good size dent in the door. “Why the fuck didn’t he tell me from the start we’d would be going after a Goddamn Mountie!

  I would’ve been better prepared! Goddamnit! You tell him that! I’m pissed!”

  Somewhere in the distance a dog howled.

  “Raymond,” Lydia cooed calmly, “You just did.”

  The door on the far side of the limousine opened and Stein’s handsome features appeared over the roof of the car. “Get in,” he said with barely controlled rage.

  Smyles and DeTully quickly climbed into the car.

  *****

  “Thank you Johnny,” Catherine said gently pushing away. 61

  DAVID A. LLOYD

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, handing her the comforter. Suddenly self-conscious, Catherine accepted it and pulled it around her naked self, “Hungry,” she said.

  John stood and crossed to the stove where the content of a small pot was starting to boil. “I don’t have much here. I was just making some soup. Want some?”

  “Please,” she said. “I don’t seem to be dressed for dinner,” she quipped, bidding for some levity.

  John looked at her sharply with a puzzled expression then saw the forced smile and realized what she had attempted. John inwardly smiled at her strength and gestured toward a large bowl on a small shelf. “There’s hot water and soap if you want. In the closet are some shirts and jeans. Grab what you need. I’ll wait outside.” With that John pulled open the side door.

  “Johnny,” Catherine called out.

  John stopped in the threshold, but did not meet her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  After a moment John nodded and stepped outside.

  *****

  “There in the center of the screen. You can see the tail fire,” John’s voice crackled from the speakers. “Our military liaison had told us to get down.”

  The image bounced, but the approaching missile remained on the screen.

  “I’m not sure if you can still hear me Connor, but this one is going to be close.” The camera followed the missile as it struck a building. The top three floors blew apart like toothpicks. “The missile struck the hotel the United Nations Peace Keeping troops have been using as Headquarters. What?

  What’s that? I’ve just been told that the Rondônian rebels are pressing their advantage and we have been ordered to bug out. I plan to remain broad—”

  another explosion bounced the audio levels into the red “— is John Riel in Pôrto Velho.” Catherine remembered hearing about that report. One journalist was killed during that particular skirmish. Another faced a war crimes’ tribunal for his involvement.

  The screen faded to black then the next report appeared. The CKKC icon was in the top left corner while across the bottom of the screen the time code dated it eight months ago. John’s voice dialogued from the speakers, “A man who had been kicked out of this bar in downtown Victoria yesterday returned two hours ago with a friend and opened fire using a military issue submachine 62

  GREEN-EYED BURN

  gun, killing twenty-two people and wounding seven.” The video image shifted from the exterior of the nightclub to a close up of a man being lead by police into the back of a cruiser. “The first suspect, Ronnie Everson, 49, of no fixed address and a known dangerous offender, produced a valid gun licence he acquired on the day of the slaughter.” Catherine cued the video tape forward then pressed play. The image was of a vicious four-car collision. “- gency workers move a victim from the first car. Police said Kanler was not wearing a seat-belt when he was hit from behind by Shelly Boview, 32, of Chilliwack B.C. ” The video image shifted to a close of a shattered vial next to the chalk outline, “The police believe drugs were involved with the crash. Anyone who witnessed the accident is asked to call Vancouver Pol-” she cued the tape ahead, “The body of an infant-” Catherine pressed stop and ejected the tape. She thought it odd that never once did John appear on tape during his reports. Only his voice.

  Catherine stirred the tomato soup and peered through the blinds. She saw John sitting at the base of a street light watching the afternoon traffic. She studied her Shining Knight.

  Johnny Riel. Age, late-thirties. About 170 centimeters, with a bit of a belly. Too many meals on the road. Dark brown hair, graying at the temples and thinning on top, pulled back into a ponytail. Left ear pierced. Gentle blue eyes and a crooked grin. Dimples arise when he smiles. The slight smirk slowly slid from her face as she realized that for some unknown reason, she already trusted this man.

  *****

  John opened the side door and found Catherine perched on an inverted milk crate. She was dressed in a faded pair of his jeans, with a belt wrapped around her waist, a white shirt tied off displaying her six-pack abs, and a denim jacket with the collar turned up. The cot had been folded away behind her and the small table laid out with two bowels of soup, some slices of multi-grain bread and two steaming mugs of coffee. Catherine smiled at him as he pulled the door shut.

  The effect was devastating, as John felt his heartbeat slam into overdrive.

  “Yes?” he queried quickly before she finished taking his breath away. Catherine pushed the thought from her mind and slipped onto the bench behind the tabl
e. “Could you get me up-to-date please?” she asked. “Where are we and why have we stopped?”

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  DAVID A. LLOYD

  John sat down across on the stool across from Catherine. “We are about an hour or so from Toronto. I stopped because Baby needed gas and I needed sleep.” John sipped his coffee. “Black. How did you know?” He smiled.

  “Easy.” Catherine smiled back. She found his smile contagious. “You still don’t have any milk or sugar.”

  John felt as if he could listen to the sound of her voice forever.

  “What time is it?” Catherine asked.

  “Threeish.”

  “Bien. Let’s eat,” Catherine vigorously attacked her soup. John watched her eat for a moment.

  Catherine put her spoon down. Here it comes.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What the hell is going on? And please don’t give me anything about it being better that I don’t know. I’m now in this up to my ass.”

  She placed her hand down on the table next to the bowl. “You’re right, but first I need to know something.”

  “Fine.”

  “Why are we here? Why didn’t you take me to a hospital or call the cops?

  You’ve been shot at. I’ve been shot at. I’ve been… assaulted… you almost ran over someone. We may have killed at least three people. Yet we’re sitting here eating soup.” Catherine looked him straight in the eye. “How do you justify that?”

  John leaned back against the side of the video panel and paused to gather his thoughts. “When you called for help you were, no doubt, set up. I don’t know who’s after you, or why, but I know they must’ve had help finding you.” John looked everywhere but at her for a moment then said, “I played a hunch.”

  Catherine had patched together as much. “I think you’re right. Off the record?”

  “For now,” John replied flatly.

  Catherine studied him for a moment, then conceded. “For now,” she said.

  *****

  “It’s about drugs,” Catherine said after a long moment.

  “Drugs? What kind?” John asked.

  She looked at him, “Ink.”