“Rambo, so good of you to join us,” Jack said.
Mad Dog’s eyes darted to Jack. His lack of surprise caused Mad Dog’s ears to ring.
“I was beginning to wonder whose side you were on,” Jack continued.
“Is that so?” Mason replied.
Cold metal squeezed against Mad Dog’s temple. Maintaining a steady bead on Jack, Mad Dog fought panic and asked, “You need three guys to take me out?”
“Actually four. Doc is keeping watch outside. We wouldn’t want anyone to bust in and ruin all the fun. Besides, when I offered Rambo a half a million to kill you, he willingly accepted.” Jack smiled, brought his arms out to the side, and then shrugged. “You see, Mr. O’Donnell, your life does have monetary value, unlike that of your wife’s.”
Mad Dog’s stomach lurched. Sweat trickled down his back. He thought of his children who’d be orphans because he had miscalculated the depth of Rambo’s treachery. Mad Dog glanced at Mason. “You sold me out to this, you worthless piece of shit.”
“Afraid so, brother,” Mason said.
The barrel of Mason's pistol dug into Mad Dog’s skull like a nail being hammered into the lid of a coffin. Mason’s elbow slammed Mad Dog’s arm, dislodging Mad Dog’s weapon. The Smith and Wesson spun on the concrete floor like a life preserver out of reach. Mad Dog sighed.
“I never would have taken you for a god damn Judas, Rambo. It only goes to show you can’t trust the word of a liar. You going to shoot me in the head like this ball-less fuck killed my wife? After you kill me, you good for nothing poser, the Sons of Thunder are going to find you, and when they do, the brothers will stomp you into the ground.” Mad Dog spat and then looked at Jack. “I should have killed you when you stepped out of the car.”
Jack shook his head and said, “But you didn’t because you’re a man of integrity. A tragic character flaw.”
Jack pulled a Walther automatic pistol from beneath his coat. “Muck Eye!” he hollered. “Get Mr. O’Donnell’s gun.”
Mad Dog watched Muck Eye, who had positioned himself by the door as if he were going to make a break for it. Even though Jack had his back to Muck Eye, Jack knew what the little man was up to.
“Doc is outside. If you open that door, he’s going to kill you and throw your corpse into the Creel River.” Jack’s voice lost its calm, congenial, tone. It grew loud and bordered on hysterical. “Do as I say. Pick up the gun!”
Muck Eye hesitated. Approaching Mad Dog and Mason, he glanced up, speaking in a whisper. “Don’t do this, man.” He squatted, picking up the revolver. “Don’t kill your brother.”
Muck Eye stood and turned to face Jack, who unloaded three rounds into Muck Eye’s small frame. Loud pops echoed throughout the warehouse. Muck Eye’s body jerked backward, dropping five feet from Mad Dog. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Blood leaked unto the concrete floor. Dead blue eyes stared up at the rafters.
***
Ellen parked her car across from the warehouse. The deserted street showed no signs of life except for a utility van snoozing in a motorcycle repair shop next door. She flipped up the hood of her jacket and then made her way across the street. As she skirted the side of the warehouse, the sound of gunfire made her stop. Ducking under a narrow window, she pressed her hand to her chest to stop the abnormal pounding. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths and then rose. Cupping her hands around her eyes, Ellen peered through the glass. She swallowed to stop herself from retching. Mason held a gun to Mad Dog’s head. A man bled on the floor. Mason’s employer aimed a pistol at Mad Dog.
Adrenaline rushed into Ellen’s bloodstream. Her breath froze on the glass. An arm twisted around her waist, jerking her off balance. A grimy, calloused hand slapped over her mouth. At her back, a cold voice made her shudder.
“Make a sound, I’ll snap your neck. Understand?”
Ellen nodded. The sharp cold point of a knife cut through her jacket, pricking her lower back.
“Move.”
Fear clenched Ellen’s jaw shut. The stranger prodded her over to the rear entry.
“Open the fucking door.”
Ellen’s hand trembled as she turned the knob. Her abductor shoved her into the warehouse and kicked the door shut. Gripping her upper arm, the man stood by her side, his hand still over her mouth.
“I found this bitch snooping around the building. You think she’s a fucking cop?”
Seeing her, Mason and Mad Dog’s eyes widened in shock. Ellen’s heart rammed her chest with each beat. Bits of thought flashed. What’s going to happen? How can I have loved a killer? Ellen knew she had stepped into a deadly trap, and now her son would be motherless.
Jack turned. A smile of recognition crossed his clean shaven jaw.
“You have a knack for showing up where you don’t belong,” Jack said and then looked at her captor. “You might be right, Doc. She could be a cop.”
A glint of light. A loud quick pop. A tremendous heat slammed her chest like an exploding grenade. She looked at Mason. Her body reeled back and her legs came out from under her. In slow motion, she hit the solid concrete floor. Her lungs contracted as if a demonic presence wrung out the air. Each breath agonizingly painful, she heard Mason scream her name from some faraway place but couldn’t answer. Her body wouldn’t move, and her eyes were unseeing. The sound of gun shots ricocheted through the metal rafters. Bang, bang! Bang, bang!
CHAPTER thirty-one
Lowering his Glock and breathing hard, Mason stood immobilized in a surreal dimension. He dared not step forward or backward. Any movement would propel him into a world he didn’t want to enter. On the heels of the gunshot blasts, a thick, menacing silence squelched all sound. Its malignancy proliferated until the eerie quiet of death resounded. Mason shivered when Mad Dog’s movement catapulted him into the present.
Mad Dog turned. His stunned eyes fell upon Mason. “What the hell just happened?”
Mad Dog’s mystified words floated into space.
A raspy gasp forced Mason to move. He stepped over Jack’s lifeless body as if it were a rotting piece of carcass lying along the side of the highway. He kicked Jack’s ribs with the square toe of his boot and then went over to Doc and did the same. Satisfied both men were dead, he knelt down next to Ellen. He focused on the dark red tear in her white parka. Pressing his ear to her chest, he heard stifled breathing. With cold trembling fingers, Mason unzipped Ellen’s jacket. A bullet hole punctured her chest. A small amount of blood oozed, wetting her gray T-shirt.
The thin threads of Mason’s self-control started to unravel. He pressed two fingers into the side of Ellen’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Her bloodless skin, cold and clammy to the touch, escalated his panic. Tears distorted his vision. He found a pulse.
Tearing off his jacket, Mason covered her and then retrieved his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans.
“This is Hackett. Get that ambulance here now! Three men are dead.” His voice broke into guttural sobs. “And a woman has been shot in the chest....”
Mason turned.
Mad Dog stood over Muck Eye. He bent down, picked up his Smith and Wesson, and then searched Muck Eye’s jacket pocket.
“There’s no fucking receipt,” Mad Dog mumbled.
He straightened, tucking his weapon into his waist band, and then looked at Mason with glazed hollow eyes. “Is she alive?”
Unable to speak, Mason nodded.
“I can’t look at her. I can’t, Rambo.”
Moving to Jack, Mad Dog squatted, picking up a wad of blood stained money protruding from Jack’s coat pocket. Mad Dog stood like an old man with a crippled back.
“It’s finished,” he sighed. “It’s finally over.”
“Mad Dog, get the hell out of here! I’ll clean up this mess,” Mason said as he stood to steel his emotions.
Mad Dog’s eyes narrowed.
“I know what you’re feeling right now, Rambo.” Hoarse, shattered syllables exposed raw emotion. “Don’t let her die.”
Mad Dog walked to the door. A blinding glare outlined his silhouette when he stepped out of death’s darkness and into the sunlight.
***
The stillness of the house hung over him like a leaded blanket. Sitting at the kitchen table, Mad Dog looked down at the pile of money soaked with Jack’s blood. It would take him five years to make that much. He slugged back an entire glass of whiskey. The heat seared his belly as the hot, languid potion trickled through his veins. He sighed. Sifting through the morning’s events, he wondered if he’d be alive if Ellen hadn’t appeared.
It didn’t sound like a 911 call when Rambo called for the ambulance. He’d given no address, and it had come so soon. Mad Dog had barely pulled out of the parking lot when its eerie whine shook the quiet from the morning.
Who the hell did he call? Mad Dog rose to pour more whiskey. 8:00 a.m. He didn’t need to be at the train station to pick up his daughters until two. Taking a drink, he walked into his living room and then slumped into the recliner with his tangled thoughts.
“Why did he tell me to leave before the cops came?” Mad Dog said to the empty room. “Why didn’t he kill me? I’m a witness. It doesn’t make sense to let me go.”
Mad Dog’s mind drifted to Friday night when he’d gone to Rambo. It was odd that a drug dealer didn’t have weed to sell, but Rambo rarely smoked. He drank whiskey. Pieces of Rambo’s mysterious behavior began to fit, creating a stunning revelation.
“That’s got to be it!” Mad Dog’s startled voice broke the quiet.
He shot up and then began pacing about the room. What should I do? Should I tell the brothers my suspicions? His thoughts harkened back to his darkest days when he had handed his soul over to the whiskey he now held. Rambo rescued him from that hell. Rambo killed Jack. Mad Dog would keep silent. Not even Rambo would know what he suspected. Mad Dog finished the drink.
Looking over at the clock, Mad Dog’s thoughts turned to Ellen. He prayed she’d make it. He wondered who was with JD. Whoever it was didn’t know. The morning Mad Dog came home and told his three children about their mother’s death still haunted him. He’d never forget their faces. For Ellen’s sake, he decided to be the one to break the news to JD. He only hoped the boy didn’t end up an orphan.
***
Dee watched Mad Dog step up on the porch. Her heart throbbed in her ears. Before he had a chance to knock, she flung open the door. Cold air bit through her clothes. “Where’s Ellen?”
Dee hugged her arms. Mad Dog moved past her into the foyer without speaking.
“Where’s JD?” he asked.
“He hasn’t come downstairs yet. He’s awake. I heard him up there talking, but I thought I’d leave him be. I thought Ellen would be home by now. Where is she, Mad Dog? Where’s Rambo? Why are you here? Oh, dear God!” Dee Dee moaned. “What’s happened?”
Mad Dog closed the door and then placed his hands on Dee Dee’s shoulders. “Ellen’s been shot. Rambo’s at the hospital with her.”
Dee clasped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “I need to sit down.”
Mad Dog took her by the elbow and led her into the parlor. Seating her on the sofa, Mad Dog pulled an ottoman over and sat facing her.
“I didn’t know who was watching JD. I came to tell him about his mother.”
Dee Dee bit her lip and shook her head. “I told her not to go. I tried to tell her not to get involved in a man’s business. She wouldn’t listen to me, Mad Dog. Where was she shot?”
“In the chest.”
“Is she going to live?”
“I don’t know. When I left, she was alive.”
Dee Dee swiped away tears. “What were the two of you doing?”
She wasn’t expecting an answer. A man’s business was a man’s business.
“We went after the man who killed Gina.”
His words surprised her. She looked at him. Elbows resting on his knees, his steepled fingers tapped his lips.
“It’s over, Dee Dee. Gina can rest in peace.”
Tears welled in the corners of Mad Dog’s eyes. His hands trembled. She watched his face contort as he tried to command an emotional tide.
Mad Dog exhaled. “Why was Ellen there, Dee?”
“She told me Rambo had been talking about dying, and she knew he was involved in something dangerous. She wanted to stop him. I tried to persuade her to let me ask Spider to go instead, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Now look what’s happened. What a foolish woman.” Anger caught in Dee’s throat. “If something happens to her…what’s going to happen to JD?”
“Where’s my Mommy?” JD asked, standing in the threshold.
Mad Dog turned. “Your mom is in the hospital. Rambo is taking care of her.”
“Why is she at the hospital?” JD looked like a panicked animal.
“She was shot.”
“Did Mason shoot her?”
“No. A very bad man did.”
“Is he killed?”
“Yes.”
JD screamed, “I want my mommy. Call the police! Call the police!”
The boy ran up the stairs. Mad Dog followed JD into his bedroom. JD dove on his bed and then buried himself in the blankets.
“JD, would you like to come to the train station with me and get Tess and Amelia? You can stay with Tess until I call your Aunt Samantha.”
“No!” the boy cried from beneath the covers. “I’m going to wait here until Mommy comes home. I don’t want to go to the train station.”
“Your mom isn’t going to be home today.”
“Why? Is she dead? Is she in heaven like my daddy?”
“No. But she’s hurt and she has to stay in the hospital.”
“Can I go there?”
“You can ask Aunt Samantha when she gets here.”
JD started to cry. Mad Dog attempted to pull the covers from the boy’s face, but JD hung on in desperation. “Am I an orphan like Oliver Twist?”
He began to talk as if he were in one of his movies.
Mad Dog didn’t know what to do. He wished Tess or Samantha were there to help. He decided to go downstairs and wait until JD had time to process the terrible news, but when he turned to leave, JD leapt out of the bed.
Barricading the door with outstretched arms, eyes looking down, JD pleaded, “Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!”
“No one is going to leave you here all alone, JD.”
“I’m going to lock the doors so you can’t go.”
JD ran from the room. Mad Dog followed him down the stairs. Dee Dee stood at the landing. JD ignored her and went to the front door and bolted the lock. He paced, hands twisting back and forth, and he talked his movie talk.
Mad Dog watched the boy act out his fear. JD began to sob. Staring into the hall mirror, JD watched his tears fall. “Mommy, where are you? I told you to be home at three-fifteen. You said you’d follow the rules. You wouldn’t run out of gas. You’d be on time. You wouldn’t miss the turn.”
JD darted into his playroom and threw himself on the couch. He slammed his head on the arm of the sofa until Mad Dog wrapped him in a tight embrace. The boy struggled, but Mad Dog held on.
“Let go of me. You’re murdering me! Let go… let go! You’re killing me!”
JD’s cries tore at Mad Dog’s heart.
“Shh,” Mad Dog whispered. “It’ll be okay.”
Mad Dog’s troubled conscience nagged him. If Ellen were to die, would the price for avenging his wife’s death have been too high? Another mother might die, and there was no father to help cushion the blow. Even if she did live, things might never be the same. Ellen might come out of this paralyzed or maimed. What would his children think of him if they knew he was the cause?
The startling ring of the telephone silenced the household. Dee Dee checked the caller ID. She turned to Mad Dog. The color drained from her face. “It’s Rambo.”
***
Mason paced the quiet waiting room reserved for the family of patients
in the ICU. Frantic thoughts scattered like debris caught in a violent storm. Rage chased after them. Why did Ellen come to the warehouse? Why didn’t I realize she would? I should have stopped her somehow. But how? Tied her in the basement? The woman is unbelievably stubborn.
He saw her standing on the dark highway, refusing to go back to the rally, refusing to show pain when she burned her ankle on his bike’s hot pipes, and refusing to acknowledge the chemistry between them when he confronted her at the river.
The night she told him to leave because she couldn’t have an affair, he knew she’d been starved for what he had to offer. Almost too hungry to refrain from his advances, she asked him to go anyway. Ellen’s stubborn nature drew him to her. He loved her tenacity. Now it may have killed her, and he couldn’t bear to think of his life without her. Her love had opened a whole new world—one he thought he would never find, one he was beginning to believe never even existed except in Hollywood movies.
He sat, resting his elbows on his knees. He buried his face in his hands. Waiting was unbearable. Tears dripped down his beard. Mason had never realized he had so many.
“Hey, bro,” Spider said, standing beside him.
“How’d you get in here?”
“I told them I was Ellen’s brother.”
Mason grinned. “I told them I was her husband.”
Spider sat beside him. “I take it you haven’t heard anything yet.”
“No,” Mason sighed. He reached over to the box of tissue and then blew his nose. No longer alone, he needed to compose himself.
“It’s okay to cry, Rambo. I won’t tell anyone I caught you blubbering like a baby.” Spider chuckled. “Hell, if it were Dee, you’d have to shoot me with a tranquilizer gun.”
Mason laughed, glad Spider was there.
“But if you do something like that outside the hospital, I’ll have to kick your ass.”
Mason nodded. “Thanks for coming, Spider.”
Spider put his arm around Mason’s shoulders. The simple show of affection made tears spill. Spider let go and then stood up. “You must be parched. Want a soda?”
The Word of a Liar Page 33