Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  Seth glimpsed the pistol in his hand as he reached out to close the door.

  57

  Halifax, June 18

  9:00 p.m.

  The pistol dug into Allan’s back.

  Behind him, the man in the black coat leaned forward.

  “Get the fuck inside, pig,” he said.

  The pulse hammered in Allan’s throat. He closed his eyes for a second and took a long, deep breath.

  The man nudged him again.

  Swallowing, Allan climbed onto the backseat. The upholstery smelled of stale cigarettes. Turned low, heavy metal drifted from the speakers.

  “Move over,” the man in the coat said.

  Allan slid over to the far door, looking at the two occupants in front. The driver had on a red ball cap and a gravel-colored flannel shirt. Lee Higgins sat in the passenger seat, his head tilted back against the rest.

  Allan tried to make himself calm. The guy beside him shut the door. The driver engaged the locks then hit the gas, pushing everyone back in their seats.

  “Easy,” Higgins said. “We don’t wanna attract attention.”

  “What’s going on here, Lee?” Allan asked. “Kidnapping cops now?”

  The driver let out a laugh. With a slow turn of his head, Higgins looked back at Allan, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Not kidnapping you, Stanton.”

  The driver hit the steering wheel with his fist and shouted, “Yes! Let’s fucking do this.”

  Higgins said, “Shut up, Cole.”

  Allan fought the tremor in his voice. “These your new henchmen? Dumb and Dumber?”

  “Cocky for someone with a gun pointed at his gut.” Higgins flicked his eyes to the guy in the black coat. “What if I told Talon to shoot you right here?”

  Talon turned to Allan, his face all serious. “Just give the word, Lee.”

  “Nah,” Higgins said. “Too much work. Ever try cleaning blood out of upholstery? We’d have to take the seat out. Burn it.”

  Allan felt cold with fear. He was sweating under his sport coat. Through the windshield, he saw them coming to the end of Oakland Road. Where were they taking him? Somewhere private to kill him, no doubt.

  Cole took a right at the stop sign, heading north up Beaufort Avenue. Daylight was fading. In twenty to thirty minutes, it would be dark.

  Higgins turned around to face the two backseat passengers. His gaze skipped across Allan’s face and settled on Talon’s.

  “I trust you got his gun?” he said.

  Talon nodded. “Of course.”

  Higgins reached a meaty hand over the seat. “Give it here.”

  Talon took Allan’s pistol from a coat pocket and handed it over. Higgins lifted his eyebrows in admiration.

  “Nice,” he said. “Beretta. I thought all you city pigs used Sigs?”

  Allan didn’t say anything.

  Higgins fixed him with a menacing stare, and Allan saw his own death lurking there.

  “Next time you pigs decide to tail somebody,” Higgins said, “pick a guy who doesn’t make it so obvious. But what else would I expect?

  “I remember your young guys coming in the bar all the time when I used to bounce. Trying to get their little peckers wet. Boy, they thought they were something. Strutting around like their shit didn’t stink. Every night, I wished one of them would get out of hand, just so I could slam their head through a fucking wall. See what they’re really made of.”

  Allan held his eyes. “You hate cops. I get it.”

  One corner of Higgins’s mouth twitched upward, and a shadow crossed his face.

  He said, “Oh, it’s more than that.”

  Allan felt the car slow down for a stop sign then accelerate again. He looked over, realizing they were on Oxford Street.

  “Do you really expect to get away with this, Lee?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, Stanton. I do.” Higgins tapped the Beretta against the side of his head. “I’m smarter than you think. We’re here. Your guy in the Expedition is following my car all over the place. We watched him take the bait.”

  “We pulled your car over,” Allan said. “Does Colton Reynolds sound familiar?”

  Higgins blinked, then shrugged it off. “Don’t mean nothing. Just a friend borrowing my car. The thing is, nobody is tailing me right now. Nobody knows I’m here, and nobody knows you’re here with me. Your car is back there in buddy’s driveway, not in mine. He’ll have to answer for your whereabouts. Not me.”

  Allan wondered how he could get out of this. It was one man against three. At the edge of his vision, he saw the pistol in Talon’s hand. The butt rested on his thigh with the barrel pointed straight at Allan. Could he get to it? Would Higgins just turn around again and face forward?

  “When you brought over that mask today,” Higgins said, “I asked myself why. You had nothing on me. But you were hoping if I knew anything, I’d go after the fucker who killed Todd and Blake. And you were right. But then I noticed your guy tailing me. And I realized you were really trying to set a trap. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  Allan said, “We’ve had you under surveillance since Blake’s murder. We figured the suspect would eventually go after you and we’d catch him.”

  A broad smile inched across Higgins’s face. “How ’bout it, boys? Sounds like Stanton’s got a hard-on for me.”

  Cole and Talon laughed.

  “Whatever you say, Stanton,” Higgins said. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth. All you fucking cops lie.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  Higgins fell quiet for a few seconds. “We were going to take that fucker out tonight. That’s why we ditched your tail.” He nodded. “Oh, yes. We had something nice in store for him. But then you showed up, and I knew you were piecing it all together.”

  Allan stared at him.

  Cole said, “Did you get a load of the guy’s house? What’s up with all the bars?”

  Higgins’s eyes never left Allan’s. “Afraid we might come back. Finish him off. I’m surprised the fucker lived.”

  Allan clenched his jaw. He felt a terrible knowledge creep through his brain. It brought flashes of callousness and bloodstained walls and a dead woman on a bedroom floor with her throat cut.

  “So, you did attack that family,” he said. “You, Todd, and Blake. Broke into their house while they slept. Murdered the wife and the four-year-old daughter.”

  Talon snapped his head toward Higgins. “Wait. Wait. You did a little girl, man?”

  Higgins held up a hand. “No, no.”

  “Yeah, he did,” Allan said. “Cute as a button.”

  Higgins sneered. He leveled the Beretta on Allan’s face, and Allan tensed up.

  “I didn’t kill any kid, Stanton,” he yelled. “Hear me?”

  Talon said, “What’s he talking about, Lee?”

  Higgins ignored him. “Todd went into that bedroom. Not me.”

  “Right,” Allan said. “You were too busy trying to murder her parents.”

  “Keep talking, pig. I’ll blow your fucking brains right out that back window.”

  Talon said, “Lee. What’s this about a little girl?”

  Throat working, Higgins lowered the Beretta.

  After a long pause, he said, “There was a little girl inside that house when we hit it. We didn’t know beforehand. Todd made the mistake of going into her room. She was awake.” Higgins’s eyes misted, and he blinked several times. “She saw him and tried to run. She fell. That’s all. Todd didn’t touch her. I felt bad when I heard about it. I love kids. They’re the only pure things left in this world.”

  Without another word, Higgins turned around in the seat and leaned his head back against the rest again. Allan watched him wipe his eyes.

  He said, “You know, Lee, there’s still a way back from this.”

  “How you figure, Stanton?”

  “Just let it go. Nothing’s happened here yet.”

  Cole let out another laugh. “W
hat’s this guy been smoking?”

  “He’s trying to save his ass,” Talon said.

  Higgins looked back at Allan, his eyes gone cold again.

  “Nothing’s happened here, huh?” he said. “What’ve we been talking about? You’re just gonna forget all that? Walk away?”

  Allan gave him nothing back but a flat stare.

  Higgins said, “I wouldn’t trust one word from you anyway. No, no. You’re going somewhere nobody’s going to find you. Ever.”

  58

  Halifax, June 18

  9:47 p.m.

  Brian cried against Allan’s chest, softly and raggedly, pausing brief seconds to breathe.

  “I don’t want you to go, Dad.”

  “I don’t want to go either. But—”

  “Then stay here.”

  Allan pulled himself back, holding Brian to see his face.

  “I have to catch another bad guy,” he said. “He’s hurt people.”

  Brian sniffled. “Are you coming back?”

  “If you want me to...”

  Allan swallowed hard over the painful lump in his throat. He remembered watching Brian in the rearview mirror, waving as he drove off for the airport. He remembered Melissa standing in the entryway, telling him how hard it was seeing him again.

  Allan lowered his head. Why had he come back? He’d taken a leave to get away from this underbelly of crime, heartbreak, and detritus. Yet once more, he was neck deep in the middle of it.

  Higgins and his crew had driven around Halifax for nearly an hour. Allan figured they were waiting for nightfall and to make sure no one was tailing them. They took him to an alley between two brick warehouses on the waterfront. The building on the left had windows beginning on the second floor with weak light spilling from them. The building on the right went up four stories of straight brick. A lamp over the side door showed a Dumpster beside stacked pallets.

  The area looked abandoned. Allan didn’t see anyone around. No cars. No people. Only an idle cube van sitting at the opposite end of the alley. Beyond it, the opaque city lights glowed yellow, green, and red.

  Cole shut the car off. For a minute or two, they just sat there, no one speaking a word. Allan wondered how he could get out of this. He had to try. He couldn’t simply roll over.

  Higgins broke the silence. “Shit’s about to get serious, boys. We all in?”

  “Yep,” Cole said.

  “Let’s get this done,” Talon said.

  “All right then.”

  Cole leaned into the steering wheel, and Allan heard the trunk pop. Higgins jumped out of the car first, then the other two followed. Heart racing, Allan stared through the windshield at the length of alley ahead of him. It was too far a run to reach the street beyond the cube van. They’d shoot him in the back long before he made it.

  Talon opened Allan’s door.

  “C’mon.” He waved his pistol. “Move.”

  Allan had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Stepping out, his legs felt weak.

  Keep calm, he told himself. Look for your chance.

  He could feel cool air drifting in off the harbor water. Murky clouds covered the sky and leaked a drizzling rain.

  Allan noticed Cole’s empty hands and wondered if the man had a gun hidden under his untucked shirt. He flinched as hard fingers gripped his shoulder. Talon spun him around and prodded the muzzle into his back, pushing him toward the rear of the car.

  Higgins waited there with a charged-up glare in his eyes. He slipped a finger under the trunk lid and threw it open. A tarp covered the entire interior. Chains and two cinder blocks rested on the far side.

  Talon took a step away from Allan, then another. Allan kept his focus on the pistol without directly looking at it. At the corner of his other eye, he saw Cole light a cigarette.

  Higgins stuck the Beretta in his waistband and reached into the trunk. When he brought out an axe and held it up, Allan’s breath caught in his throat. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin.

  “This was for the other fucker,” Higgins said. “Don’t worry, Stanton. I’ll make it quick for you.”

  Allan noticed Talon lower the pistol.

  Cole continued to smoke his cigarette, his head tilted back, his gaze on the dark sky.

  As Higgins turned back to the trunk, Allan saw his chance. Stepping away from the muzzle, he swung a fist and connected with a bone-jarring blow to Talon’s jaw. Talon staggered sideways, falling to one knee but managing to bring the pistol up. Allan grabbed the top of it and pushed the barrel away from him right before the metal slide ripped across his palm. A loud bang echoed off the surrounding bricks.

  Allan had never let go of the pistol, but neither had Talon. The two of them struggled over it, Talon trying to keep it, Allan trying to get it away from him. He could feel it working free from the steely grip. Almost there. In his fingers now. Then a huge mass slammed into his body, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the ground. He heard the pistol clatter on the pavement.

  Heavy boots kicked him in the stomach, in the ribs, in the back. One of them struck his head, sending a spatter of dots across his vision. Then the kicks stopped.

  Groggy and dazed, Allan crawled over to the edge of the alley. He rolled onto his back and half sat against the brick wall of the warehouse. It hurt to breathe. He was sure some of his ribs were broken.

  Cole, he saw, held a pistol in his hands now, aimed at Allan. Higgins had pulled the Beretta out.

  He jumped in the air, shouting excitedly, “Stanton’s got some fight in him.”

  He began ducking and weaving, throwing his hands out in front of him like a boxer.

  Something glinted in the middle of the alley, capturing Allan’s attention. His badge, he realized, knocked off his belt during the barrage of kicks. No one else seemed to notice it.

  Maybe someone would find it and return it to his department. Maybe Audra or another detective would learn what had happened here and who was really behind it.

  He hoped so.

  “How’s your jaw, Talon?” Higgins laughed. “Did he break it?”

  Talon picked up the pistol and spat. “That motherfucker.”

  “You want the honors, man?”

  “Gladly.”

  Higgins and Cole took a few steps back as Talon walked toward Allan. Everything seemed to gear down into slow motion. Helpless, Allan watched the black hole of the muzzle rising to his face, and he saw Herb Matteau glowering down the barrel of his revolver at him.

  This was just like his nightmares. Only a different bad guy stood behind the gun this time, and instead of trying to fire a triggerless pistol, Allan had no pistol at all.

  A sudden blast ripped through the alley, jolting Allan back. In awe and horror, he saw Talon’s head disappear in a red plume. His body hit the ground with a sickening, wet thud. The pistol landed within eight feet of Allan.

  For a moment, Higgins and Cole froze, their eyes wide and mouths agape. To his right, Allan heard the distinct racking sound of a shotgun. Another blast rang out, striking Higgins in the left side. Sparks flew off the trunk lid behind him. He let out a wild yelp, like an animal. Then he and Cole aimed their pistols down the alley.

  As the night erupted in gunfire and brilliant muzzle flashes, Allan flattened himself out on the pavement. Bullets shredded the air above his head. The taillights of the Saturn blew out in a shower of glass and plastic. Higgins took a second hit to the leg, dropping him to the pavement. Quickly, he crawled to cover on the other side of the car.

  Allan gazed down the wet pavement. A shadowy figure came up the alley toward him, shotgun raised to his shoulder. Cole fired and seemed to hit the man. He dropped to one knee, struggling to get back to his feet.

  Adrenaline pumping, Allan scrambled after the pistol Talon had dropped. He reached it, and in one fluid motion, he rolled flat on his back, bringing the pistol up, just as Cole began lowering his own toward him. Allan pulled the trigger once. The bullet caught Cole under the chin, and the
red ball cap shot off the top of his head, tumbling back through the air. His body fell limp.

  Allan looked down the length of his body at the man with the shotgun, five yards from him, not stopping.

  Four yards. The shotgun still at his shoulder, barrel leveled straight ahead. His left hand pushed fresh shells into the magazine.

  Allan dropped his legs flat against the pavement, out of the way, and sighted down the barrel of the pistol. His finger tensed on the trigger.

  “Stop!” he ordered. “Drop the gun.”

  The man kept coming. Three yards. Two. He racked the shotgun once.

  His white face picked up the light from the side door. When Allan saw the prominent scar etched across the man’s face, he lowered the pistol.

  “Mr. Connors,” he said.

  Seth paused a moment, looking down at him. He was pale and swayed on his feet. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He coughed blood onto his lips and made no effort to wipe it away. Allan could hear the sound of air entering and leaving his body. There was a dark circle in his chest, another one in his side. He’d been hit more than once. Twice, at least. Probably more.

  He lifted his head again, his dark eyes narrowing on something ahead. For the first time, Allan heard a clacking sound in the alley, like something hard hitting the pavement.

  Seth moved on.

  “Don’t,” Allan said.

  Seth ignored him.

  Wincing at the pain in his ribs, Allan got to his feet and moved past the other side of the car, the pistol stretched out in front of him. Seth was at the front of the car now, walking slowly with the shotgun pointed down. Out in front of him, Higgins dragged himself across the pavement. A long swatch of blood trailed behind him. He still gripped the Beretta, and that made the clacking noise each time he advanced his arms to pull his body forward.

  Seth stayed behind him, the shotgun aimed at the back of his head. Allan knew it was his sworn duty to stop this, to intervene. Yet still he watched.

  Higgins stopped and perked his head up. Stayed that way for several seconds.

  “Look at me,” Seth said.

  With a slow turn of his head, Higgins looked back over his shoulder at Seth and the shotgun he held. Split-second calculation darted through his eyes.