The Redemption Man

by James Carver

“Shut up, Stevens.” Gray raised the gun in preparation. But Stevens didn’t seem to react.

  “They must have paid you a hell of a lot, Gray. That’s all I can think.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Stevens. It isn’t about money. It was never about money.”

  “What was it about, then?”

  Gray shifted back and forth on her feet with the gun aimed at Stevens. She was trying to find her resolve to do the damned thing.

  “What was it, Gray?” Stevens asked again.

  Gray thought for a moment. Then she spoke.

  “I’m only saying this because I don’t want you dying thinking things about me that aren’t right.” She licked her lips nervously and sighed. “My mother is dying. Okay? She needs a lung transplant, and this is the only way we can possibly afford that. We would never stand a chance with somebody my mother’s age and with her insurance. Clay Logan has given us a lifeline.”

  Stevens nodded and answered. “Okay. I see that. I understand.”

  “She is the only one who ever stood by me. The only person who thought I amounted to something. You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be this close to losing a loved one. And everyone is telling you there’s not a goddamned thing to be done about it. Clay Logan is the only one who offered me a chance. The only one who listened. Who gave me something that wasn’t more despair, that gave a fuck.”

  Stevens nodded and then groaned a little in discomfort. The wave of pain and nausea passed, and then he spoke, quietly but clearly.

  “Okay. But you’re wrong about me not understanding Gray.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You are. You see, I’m dying, Gray.” Stevens laughed and then winced, looking down at his gut. “I mean to say, I was dying even before this happened. I have cancer. It’s inoperable.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I wish it was. Isn’t it obvious, Gray? Haven’t you and the other officers commented on how much weight I lost? It’s one of the reasons I grew some balls, to use your phrase. I knew I was dying, and suddenly I got some perspective. I knew how short time was. So, do you see? I do know what that’s like. I don’t know your mother, but if this is what it took to save my life, I would never ask my loved ones to do…this. To help Logan do what he’s doing to those innocent men. And I’m pretty sure your mother would feel the same way.”

  Gray’s eyes welled with tears, and her breathing quickened.

  Stevens continued in the same calm voice. “If saving my life meant a member of my family willfully taking another’s, then I would not want any part of that. Before that would happen, I would say goodbye to my wife and my two children. I would. I wouldn’t want that extra time with the people I love at any cost. And neither would your mother.”

  Gray’s arms dropped to her sides, and her shoulders rose and fell in quiet sobs.

  “Oh Jesus! What have I done?”

  “Walk away, Gray. Right now you can walk away.”

  Gray collapsed to her knees weeping. Stevens reached over despite the pain and put his hand up to her face.

  Gray whispered, “I killed the guy in Long Pine. I did something that can never be undone.”

  “You have a choice now though. You can leave here and choose not to be a part of it anymore. It isn’t too late to do the right thing. Instead of spending your time here, chasing around for Clay, you should be at home treasuring the time you still have. Trust me, Gray, I know.”

  Gray held her gun in her hands, the handle wet with her tears, and made her decision.

  69

  “Turn around.”

  Devlin turned and felt a hard blunt object hammer into the side of his skull. He wheeled back violently against the side of the lab, his face numb and blazing with raw pain, his senses at sea. Packer had walked him out and down by the side of the lab, away from the view of the ranch house and the trailers. The rain had stopped, and the ground was still soft underfoot. He felt Packer take his left hand and slam it at shoulder height against the cold aluminum. Then Packer tucked his gun in his belt and took out Reeves’s knife. Devlin felt a sharp point in the middle of his palm and then paralyzing agony radiate out from his hand as Packer drove the blade through skin, tendon, and bone and into the sheet metal behind.

  Packer was only an inch from Devlin’s face. He laughed, mucus rattling in his throat. The stench of his stale breath and sweet cologne hung in the clear night air. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Ever since you pushed me through that fucking window. If the police hadn’t come, I would have sliced you up there and then. And that would have been kind. Because now, not only am I going to cut you up, but I’m going to crucify you too, priest. I killed that runt friend of yours, Ed James. He cried like a baby when he died. I’m afraid he wasn’t a very brave soldier.”

  Packer put his hand against the knife pummel, ready to drive it all the way through Devlin’s hand to the hilt. Devlin could feel Packer’s long thick fingers on his chest spread out like a giant spider. He knew he had only seconds to find a delay, a space in which to attempt to free himself. With his free right arm, Devlin summoned up every piece of energy available to him and grabbed at Packer’s little finger, wrenching it out and backward from its socket. Packer roared, as much out of surprise as pain, and instinctively brought his hands together. With Packer’s guard down, Devlin rammed the edge of his good palm into Packer’s nose. Packer rolled back with blood spurting over his front. Devlin seized the chance to lash out with a front kick into Packer’s stomach, sending him farther back onto the wet grass.

  For what Devlin had to do next, there were only seconds left. Packer was already rising from the ground with the fury of a bull looking to gore. Devlin reached across with his right hand, gripped the knife pinning him down, and ripped it out, screaming as the blade came free. Packer was nearly upon him, so he sliced wildly back and forth, slashing into Packer’s forearms that he’d brought up instinctively as a guard. Packer was hurt, not something he was used to. Devlin held the knife out, and they circled each other, Packer’s arm reaching for his belted gun.

  “You’re not going to shoot me, are you? You fucking pussy!” Devlin sneered. Packer already had the gun in his hand and paused. “You fucking pussy bastard! You got forty pounds, nearly half a foot and one arm up on me, and you’re gonna shoot me?” Devlin slung the knife away and snarled, “Do it like a fucking man!”

  Packer stood to his full height and spread out his shoulders. He threw his own gun behind him, spinning up and far out into the longer grass. Then Devlin’s Beretta followed. Packer breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly through his swollen, bloodied nose. “I’m gonna rip your body apart while you watch it happen.”

  Devlin took stock. He was an arm down, but he didn’t have a gun pointed at him. Packer was big and he was strong with a long reach, but he was slow. And he was a confident son of a bitch. There was only one strategy that Devlin could think of: get him as riled as he could and fight as dirty as he could.

  Packer was already coming at Devlin with his big fists hanging in the air. A boulder of flesh came out of the right, heading for Devlin’s head. Devlin sprung low with his knees bent and head down, letting the punch ride over his back and shoulders. As Packer followed through and came a fraction off balance, Devlin threw his fist into Packer’s groin, taking his breath away and leaving him bent over double and momentarily stranded. Devlin surfaced up by his ribs and bit down savagely on his right ear. Packer howled like a beast that had been speared and caught Devlin with a wild swing of an elbow, snapping Devlin’s head backward. As Devlin reeled back, he took half of Packer’s earlobe with him, trapped between his bloody, gritted teeth. Devlin spat out the lobe, and Packer felt for his ear, which was dripping blood, and roared with anger.

  “You little bitch!”

  Packer came at Devlin again, and Devlin danced back, causing Packer to keep coming, lurching forward. Devlin feinted left and then ducked right, exposing Packer’s left side, allowing him to grab Packer’s
trailing hand and pull hard on his damaged little finger. Packer reared back and spun, yelling from the sharp pain. Then he came stampeding back and rammed Devlin, picking him up and squeezing him, crushing him, attempting to snap his ribs open. Devlin’s left arm was busted, but he reached round Packer’s huge head with his right arm and grasped what was left of his bloodied ear, digging in behind the cartilage.

  Devlin couldn’t hold out much longer. Another thirty seconds and either his ribs would explode or he’d pass out. Or both. He had the root of Packer’s ear by his fingertips and wrenched at the cardboard-like cartilage until it clicked and tore. Packer’s grasp faltered, but then he battled through the damage and pain and went for one last crunch. Devlin desperately pummeled at Packer’s great cranium until his thumb found the wet, soft mass that was Packer’s right eye. As Packer came close to breaking Devlin in two, his eye was being pressed against the bone of his ocular cavity, the membrane reaching bursting point. With moments to go before Devlin’s body would give way and sustain devastating internal injuries, Packer’s eye burst like a water balloon, and Devlin’s thumb, free of resistance, was propelled through the thin bone into the soft yielding mass of the frontal lobe. The release was instant. Devlin dropped to the ground and rolled backward across the grass and mud. Packer’s purpose and intention were gone. He was still standing, but that was all, a great black mass now in the place of his milky eye. Devlin got to his feet and took a vicious swing at his neck, sending him crashing down on the grass. It was not possible to tell how conscious Packer was, but even so, Devlin stood over him and whispered hoarsely, “This is for Ed and Brendan.” He brought his boot down on Packer’s head with a sickening crack. “This is for Earl and Errol.” Again a boot to the head and the sound of bone splintering. “And this for that poor bastard up in Long Pine.” The last blow staved the side of his skull in.

  Packer had fallen. Devlin collapsed onto his knees beside his foe’s great bulk and wiped the soft organic material from his hand onto his jacket. He looked skyward toward a heaven and a God who led him to ever darker places. A God that pushed Devlin on into realms of evil that, in the end, were only inhabitable by humans.

  “If you do evil, be afraid…” he whispered, “for I do not bear the sword in vain. For I am God’s servant, an avenger for wrath to the one doing evil.”

  Devlin stood up and located his Beretta amongst the mud and grass. Then he went to find Stevens and Fox.

  70

  When Devlin walked into the cattle lab, there was only the light from the ranch house and the moon crisscrossing the cages and stocks. He was about to try and bust his way into the main lab when he heard a moan. Down amongst the shadowed floor, a streak of silver light ran across Stevens’s drained features. He was slumped and on the cusp of consciousness.

  Devlin crouched down to examine him. He was paper white and drenched in sweat.

  “I’m fine,” whispered Stevens. “Gray couldn’t kill me. Didn’t have it in her. She’s gone. Go, Gabe. Go put an end to it.” Then he pulled something out of his shirt pocket. “You’ll need this. It’s how I got in before.” He was holding out Campbell’s finger. “You said there was a scanner to get in, and I had the pliers to do it anyway. Campbell’s got nine other fingers to make do with.” Stevens gave a weak laugh. Devlin took the finger in his right hand, turned to the lab door, pressed the tip into the scanner, and the door clicked open. He dropped the finger, and with one hand he genuflected, then unholstered his Beretta, taking the safety off.

  Devlin stepped into the lab, and Clay’s face said it all. He’d been expecting Packer. It never for a moment crossed his mind that Devlin would come back alive. The surgeons stopped working and eyed the two men nervously.

  “Drop the gun, Clay. It’s over,” ordered Devlin.

  Clay was wild with terror. Devlin now exercised a power over him, shared an intimate and awful connection with him. But Clay wasn’t about to give up. Not even now. Especially not now. Instead, he raised his gun and pulled Fox off her chair, dragging her with him behind the row of beds. Claude, Jakob, Liu, and Wei scurried to the side of the lab and cowered along the lab wall, as far away from the line of fire as possible. Devlin tried to get a shot off, but with the bedridden men lying in the path of his bullets, there was no way he could safely fire. Clay had the advantage and let off a volley that peppered the wall behind Devlin, forcing him to the ground.

  Clay drove his gun barrel into the side of Fox’s face. “You fucking come near me and I’ll blow her head off! Put the gun down now, Devlin! Put the gun down, or I fucking blast her pretty face off!”

  Devlin had sidestepped around until he was standing by Fox’s upturned chair.

  “There’s a SWAT team on the way, Clay. It’s over.” As Devlin spoke he noticed Fox gesturing with her eyes at the floor. What the hell was she trying to tell him?

  “A SWAT team?” Clay yelled. “Fucking bullshit. You just called up a SWAT team? A priest on the run from the police for murder. You got a SWAT team to come down here? Bullshit.”

  Fox was moving her eyes furiously now, but Devlin had no idea what she was trying to communicate.

  “I’m going to count to three, and if you haven’t put the gun down, I’ll pull the trigger,” shouted Clay.

  “You’re all alone now, Clay. Packer’s dead, so’s Reeves.” Fox was still gesturing manically with her eyes.

  “One…” said Clay.

  “Gray’s gone too. Give up, Clay.”

  “Two…” Devlin desperately wished he knew what Fox was doing. Then he glanced down by his feet in the direction that Fox was frantically indicating and saw a lighter on the floor.

  “It’s over, Clay.”

  “Three…” Clay moved his head back and straightened his gun against Fox’s head.

  “Okay! Okay!” Devlin had no choice. He dropped his Beretta to the ground.

  “Thank you. Now kick the gun away—hard.” Devlin complied and the Beretta skidded and spun under the beds. Clay moved from behind the beds, dragging Fox with him so that he now stood on the other side of the lab with a clear path to Devlin. He pointed his gun at Devlin and snarled, “Now fuck off. Forever.”

  Just as Clay was about to fire, without warning, he was blinded by a vision of a dark, thunderous night, rain pouring down like the deluge, he and Reeves drenched and standing around while Packer cut a young man’s body into pieces. The scene felt more real to him now than it had at the time. It was a horrific apparition and robbed Clay of his self-control.

  He screamed out, “No! Not now! You cunt priest! What have you done to me?”

  Fox had worked her gag free and turned her head. She dug her teeth into Clay’s outstretched bicep. Clay screamed again and his gun went off, putting a bullet up in the roof. Now free of Clay’s hold, Fox yelled so loudly it might have shredded her vocal chords, “The oxygen cylinder!”

  Devlin turned to see an oxygen cylinder behind him with scorch marks along the side. Now he got it.

  Fox hit the floor. With one large span of his working hand, Devlin was able to pick up the hot oxygen tank and take aim. He pointed it toward Clay and slammed it hard into the ground. The immense heated pressure ruptured the brittle nozzle, and oxygen ripped out torpedoing, the cylinder across the lab taking the top left quarter of Clay’s cranium with it before ripping a hole in the lab’s aluminum sheet. So quick and clean had been the impact that Clay stood for a fraction of a second, not comprehending his own catastrophic mutilation before he slumped to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been severed.

  Devlin retrieved his gun, went over to Fox, and tore the duct tape off her wrists. Then Fox kept a gun trained on the four men huddled against the wall while Devlin checked over Alvarez. They’d extracted and packed one kidney and made an incision along his chest but had yet to open up his thorax.

  “Is he going to be okay?” asked Fox.

  Devlin checked over the monitor’s signals. “I think so. They’ve done a good job of keeping him stable.�
� He turned to the four surgeons. “You got him this way, you need to fix him.”

  Fox leveled her gun at the men. “Now,” she insisted.

  Jakob and Claude looked at each other. Then Claude said slowly, “I really don’t think so…”

  Without hesitation, Fox let off a round that whizzed past Lazard’s head. Lazard’s thin, feeble body spasmed and shuddered pathetically with terror. For a man who had no qualms about cutting other people open, he was an absolute coward when it came to his own physical safety.

  “Okay! Okay!” he screamed in a high-pitched whine. “Please stop shooting!”

  The four men followed the direction of Fox’s barrel over to Alvarez and set about undoing their harm.

  “What about you? Are you okay?” asked Fox, looking at the sorry state of Devlin’s left hand.

  “Right now I’m one of the healthiest people in this whole damn building. I’m fine.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “We call George.” Devlin surveyed the vast, flickering aluminum chamber. “If there’s anyone I know can clear this mess up, it’s George Brennan.”

  After Devlin put the call to in to Brennan, he remembered Stevens. “Dear God! Greg’s lying outside with a gun wound in his gut. He needs immediate medical attention.”

  “Well, in that case, we’re in luck,” said Fox, looking at the men tending to Alvarez. “You—” Fox pointed her gun at Liu, figuring him by build to be the best candidate. “—help him get the policeman in here.”

  Liu nodded eagerly.

  Devlin rolled one of the spare gurneys that had been stored in the lab out to the front building, and Liu followed. Between Liu’s two good hands and Devlin’s one, they managed with great care to get Stevens up onto the bed. Then they rolled him alongside Alvarez’s bed, and under Fox’s orders, Liu scrambled to work immediately, hooking Stevens up to a drip and respiratory and cardiac monitors.