Damascus Road

by Charlie Cole

  “You tell me when you’re ready,” I said.

  “Now.”

  The word barely reached my ears, and she was off running. I turned on my heel and went after her. There was a simultaneous forward assault from all three men. They were coming for us, fast. Grace and I reached the gates of the cemetery and quickly moved inside, engulfing ourselves in the night and the tombstones and trying to find cover as fast as possible.

  “Vaya a la izquierda!” I whispered harshly in Spanish. Grace heard me and cut left down the line of tombstones.

  Behind us, the footfalls of the men came into the cemetery, pausing as they searched for us.

  “¡Dé vuelta a la derecha allí!” I said, trying to keep my voice down.

  Grace planted her foot and turned right.

  “¡Cabeza para la parte posterior del cementerio!”

  “Si…” Grace breathed. She headed for the back of the cemetery.

  I sidestepped behind a headstone and waited, trying to control my breathing. I could hear Grace’s footsteps receding. A new sound was approaching fast, heavier boots coming my way. I waited until it was closer, closer still. Almost too late, when I finally made my move.

  I clotheslined the passing man, and his feet came off the ground as he collided with my arm. He made a choking sound just before he fell flat on his back. I fell on him with my knee, and the air rushed out of his lungs just before I punched him. He was out cold.

  I came up ready to fight, but the other two men were gone. I looked north, south. They were nowhere to be seen. They were fanning out in a search pattern. I took off running, angling up and over, trying to get a line on one of them. I saw one of them thirty yards ahead of me. He was creeping, stalking Grace.

  Without missing a beat, I closed the distance on him. Just as I was about to jump on him, he must have heard me and spun around. I couldn’t see a gun or a weapon, so I came in low and hit him in the gut with a tackle. I jammed him backwards into one of the mausoleums. We hit hard, but he brought his fists down on my back, driving me to my knees. He was about to crush my skull, and I had to do something fast.

  I punched him hard in his left knee, then his right. I felt the joints give, and he let out a howl. I came up with an uppercut under his chin, and he went down hard. I stood over him struggling to breathe, trying to catch my breath. The man’s jacket hung open, and I saw the phone on his belt. Not just some cheap phone, but a smartphone. I reached for it and pulled it loose.

  Behind his phone was a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum stainless steel revolver. If I were a different man, I might have taken it. Maybe if I were a different man, I may have used it. Truth was, I didn’t know where this man had used this gun before, and I wasn’t about to put my fingerprints on a weapon that could be linked to robbery or murder. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and used it to cover the grip of the pistol. I pulled it out of the holster and tossed it onto a mausoleum roof. I kicked the man before I moved on.

  Silence at this point was a gamble. Last I had seen, there were only three of them. Two were down.

  “Grace!” I shouted. “There’s only one left. I killed the other two.”

  I was lying, and chances were she would know that, but our friend would not.

  “If you see this other asshole in here, go ahead and shoot him,” I was still lying, but I kept moving as I talked, trying to locate the third man.

  “Looking forward to it,” she called back, closer than I had suspected.

  Footsteps broke from cover and beat a rapid retreat to the east. I stepped into the open aisle of cemetery markers and watched the man running away. He was too far away to catch and not worth the effort.

  “He’s gone, Grace,” I said.

  She stepped out from behind the marker and pointed her finger at me, thumb cocked.

  “I was looking forward to using this thing,” she said.

  There was a tremble in her voice, but she put on a brave front.

  “Be careful where you point that,” I said.

  Grace smiled at me.

  “You didn’t really kill two people, did you?” she asked into my shoulder.

  “Doubtful.”

  We walked out of the cemetery and found no one. I didn’t see the men where they had fallen, so I presumed they had made the same retreat as their partner. We were on the streets after dark in the French Quarter, and I knew that I had made a grave mistake. It was stupid to be out late. It served no purpose and had only made us a target.

  A taxi emerged from the darkness and was coming down the street. I decided to take it even if it was just blind luck. I pulled a twenty from my pocket and flagged him down with it. He stopped and let us in. Grace directed him back to our hotel.

  Once the taxi started moving, I blew out a long sigh and let my head fall back. “That was stupid,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “We have to find him, Jim,” she said. “We have to find him.”

  I understood then what this search would do to her. What it might even do to me. Tom could dangle clues and hints and hope everywhere and keep us guessing and hoping and hunting only to be disappointed in the end when Bobby wasn’t there to be found.

  We rode back to the hotel. Once there, I paid the man and we returned to our room.

  “I need to shower,” I said. “Do you want to go first, though?”

  “No, go ahead. It’s alright.”

  I nodded and went in. I peeled off my shirt and turned on the hot water. I scrubbed my hands to get the dirt and blood off of them. I turned to start the shower when Grace opened the door. I heard her gasp and turned back to her.

  “I forgot about your tattoo,” she said. “On your back.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  She lowered her eyes and closed the door. We were over. I didn’t doubt it. Somehow, I always knew. Sometimes there were U-turns in life. And sometimes you just have to let it ride.

  The next morning we found ourselves up and awake and ready to put the previous day behind us. We found a café that served lattes and beignets. Café Du Monde.

  “Can I get the local paper, please?” I asked.

  “Certainly, sir,” the waitress responded.

  We watched the traffic and people on the street from the dining area outside. It was a languid time, not as busy as I thought. The place was moderately full, but everyone seemed carefree and taking their time.

  “Who were those guys last night?” Grace asked.

  She had been hesitant to ask me the night before, and I didn’t have a better assimilated answer for her now than I did then. The paper arrived while I was sipping my latte. I took a bite of my beignet to buy myself more time to craft an answer.

  “You know,” I said. “I asked a guy last night about Louis. You know, the guy who taught us about boosting cars. I hate to say it… hate to even think it… but I think those were his guys. Tying off loose ends.”

  “I don’t think it was Louis,” Grace said behind the paper.

  “Come on, Grace,” I said. “How do you know that?”

  She folded the paper back and handed it to me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “There.” She pointed.

  I saw it then, the photo in the paper. It was a booking photo of Louis. At least the man I remembered by that name. The article said his name was Phillipe Laurant, but he’d used a number aliases of the years. He was found dead in his own garage with a car dropped on him after his floor lift failed.

  “Sounds like something Tom would do,” I said, absentmindedly. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said.

  “He was…never a friend. He was a way to Bobby, that’s all.”

  The news changed everything. Rather than feeling like we were getting closer, I felt the lead slipping away. I took the phone out of my pocket and set it on the table.

  “Is that from…?” Grace let the question hang in the air.

  “Yep, last night,” I said. “Don’t know why some thug would be c
arrying a $500 smartphone.”

  Grace opened her mouth to comment when the phone rang. We looked at one another. What were the chances. I pushed the speaker button. The phone connected.

  “Yeah,” I said in my best non-committal voice.

  “That’s really a terrible phone voice, Jimmy.” It was Tom.

  “Doubting Thomas,” I accused.

  “James, brother of Christ,” he said. “You did well finding the phone. I was a little disappointed that you didn’t take the revolver. That was a shame. You could have used that.”

  “Can I get a do-over?” I asked. “I didn’t realize he belonged to you.”

  Grace slapped my shoulder.

  “Where’s my son, Tom?” Grace said into the phone. Her voice was edgy with tension.

  “Would you like to talk with him?” Tom asked.

  Grace covered her mouth to muffle a sob.

  “Sure, is he around?” I asked. “If he’s busy, we could call back.”

  “Jimmy, always overdoing the bravado,” Tom said. “You make me laugh. He’s right here.”

  I could hear him cover the phone with his hand.

  “Here, it’s your dad…” he said.

  “Hello?” It was Bobby. His voice sounded lower, even over the phone. My stomach was in my throat.

  “Hi Bobby,” I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.

  “Hey kiddo,” Grace said, wiping tears.

  “Dad, I have to ask you something…” Bobby said.

  “Okay, go ahead,” I replied.

  “Why did you kill grandpa?” Bobby asked. “Uncle Tom told me that you killed him.”

  “That’s a lie, Bobby,” my voice caught, and I swallowed hard. “Tom’s lying to you. You know I’d never do that. Tom, what are you doing…”

  Again, the sound of the phone receiver being covered.

  “I know, I know…” Tom was saying. “I told you he’d deny it.”

  “Tom! What is your problem?” Grace yelled.

  “Tsk, tsk…such a shame you did that to Ellis, Jimmy,” Tom said. “But listen, let’s get down to business. You want to see Bobby, yes?”

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Listen to me then. You will do exactly what I tell you to do or I’ll pin that little unfortunate accident that Louis had on your little boy. Do you understand me?” Tom said.

  “You wouldn’t…” Grace began. I knew all too well that he would.

  “I told you, Jimmy. You ruined my future, and now I can ruin yours. You want to play ball or not?”

  “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Jimmy, go to the end of the block, and you’ll find a map inside the newspaper box,” Tom said. “Follow the map and you get the prize. Oz at the end of your yellow brick road.”

  I looked at Grace, and she shrugged in frustration, gesturing down the street to the newspaper box. Just do it, she seemed to say, whatever it takes to get our son.

  “Fine, Tom,” I said. “Whatever you want. I’m walking toward the paper box right now.”

  I keyed the speaker button to turn it off and held the phone to my ear as I walked away from Grace.

  “Listen to me, motherfucker,” I growled. “You touch my son, and I’ll feed you to the gators.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Tom said. “But there’s one problem with that.”

  I was at the paper box and bent to look in. It was completely empty.

  “You’re already going to have another funeral to attend.”

  An explosion erupted behind me, and I saw the Hemicuda in midair, flames pouring out through the windows. It was slowly tumbling through the air, its frame twisted, the metal baking.

  Grace’s scream pierced the air, and I spun to see two men pulling her into a van. It had been a trap to get me away from the table, to get me away from Grace so they could grab her. I recognized the men from the cemetery the night before. I could only assume the third was driving the van.

  “No! Stop!” I shouted, running for them. But it was too late. They threw Grace into the van and slammed the doors before I could get there. The tires squealed as they pulled out. I watched them drive away, then realized I was still holding the phone.

  “Tom?”

  “Now you listen to me, Jimmy, because this is how it’s going to go…”

  “Hey!” I barked.

  “What?”

  “Say hi to Ellis for me,” I said. “Because we’re done talking.”

  “Jimmy—“

  I slammed the phone into the sidewalk and watched it shatter. I scanned the road looking for a ride. I stepped out into traffic, ready to grab the first suitable thing to find my eye. For better or worse, it came in the form of six bikers riding through town on their motorcycles. I spotted one that looked like the best bet and ran for him. He didn’t know me, and I had no beef with him, so I collared him hard and took him to the ground without doing too much damage to him or his bike.

  His friends tried to stop, to help, but I didn’t give a damn. I grabbed the handlebars of the Harley Davidson Night Rod and threw myself onboard. I let out the clutch, revved the throttle, and burned out down the road. The bikers hurled insults at my back that I barely heard. I expected them to follow, perhaps even give chase, but I wasn’t about to stop.

  I leaned on the throttle hard and lowered my head, streamlining my body. The bike propelled me forward at blinding speed. I passed a car on the left, steered back to avoid the vehicle in the right hand lane. I couldn’t see the van, not yet, and my only hope was to close the distance before they got too far away or turned.

  Up ahead, I caught sight of the maroon van. I was about to miss a traffic light. My signal blazed red and even the New Orleans traffic had come to a stop in my lane. I had no choice. I steered over onto the center line and pressed on even harder, driving into cross traffic. The blare of horns made my heart seize in my chest, but I pushed through. I heard the crunch of metal in a fender bender, but it was behind me, and I was unscathed.

  The van was turning and I found a bus that was heading in the same direction. I followed their turn, but stayed behind cover. Their route was circuitous, but it was a slow and dedicated surveillance detection route. I switched cover vehicles again and again, staying so far back that I risked losing them.

  In the end, the gamble paid off. The van pulled into a warehouse at the edge of town, and I recognized it as a place that Tom and I had been to before. It was one of the chop shops that Louis had used when we stole cars for him. I cut the engine on the bike and let it coast. I didn’t need the attention, but I did need to see what I was up against.

  The gate was electronic and controlled by a remote. The place was essentially a junk yard with walls and aisles made of the bodies of old and rusted out cars. It made the place a maze, easy to escape if you knew where you were going and maddening if you did not. It was an auto cemetery.

  I remembered the place well enough to remember that there were out buildings. I wouldn’t be able to locate Grace or Bobby easily, but I did know that Tom probably would not split his manpower to guard two people in two locations when he could harden one holding facility and keep them there.

  An approaching tow truck caught my attention. I laid the bike down behind a bush and took cover next to it. I wished I had more time to plan, but it was a luxury I simply did not have then.

  The tow truck pulled to a stop at the gate, and the driver pushed the button on the remote on his visor and it began to rumble open. I looked at the man. He was young, fit from what I could tell. His face was covered in a beard, and his left arm rested on the window of the truck. Across his shoulder was a tattoo. It was an Army Ranger tab. Tom must have recruited some of his army buddies to help him.

  I broke from cover and ran in a low crouch until I got up enough speed to pounce. I lunged through the open window, and before the man could recoil in surprise, I wrapped my arm around his neck, cutting off his air. He tried to yell but couldn’t manage. In
stead he pummeled me with his fists. I lowered my head and took the beating. To my dismay, he finally gave up and resorted to hitting the horn. I squeezed harder, and he finally passed out. I released him, and he slumped back into his seat, unconscious.

  I heard voices then. Tom’s men were alerted. I ran back for the bike and kick-started the engine. I drove it around behind the tow truck. The truck seemed to be missing its muffler, but it hardly covered the low rumble of the Harley.

  The two men came out through the gate. They split up, each going to a separate side of the cab.

  “What happened here, Nix?” one of them growled.

  “Nothing good, Jonas,” Nix answered, looking around.

  I gunned the engine and released the brake. The tires spun, and I came tearing around the corner of the truck, aimed right for the one I knew to be Nix. He held a pistol in his hand, black and deadly. He tried to raise it in a combat shooting stance, but I was on him too fast. I crashed into him head-on with the bike and sent him sprawling backwards into the fence. His head snapped back and he dropped without a sound.

  Turning the bike, I heard cracks of gunfire. Jonas was aiming for me, but having to shoot through the cab which fouled his shot. I poured on speed and made a tight arc, faster than he could track me as I came around the truck on the motorcycle.

  When I was almost on him, I seized the front brake hard and stood the bike on its front tire, using the momentum of the turn to bring the back end of the bike around, sizzling through the air. I hit Jonas with the back tire, sending him crashing into the hood of the tow truck before falling to the ground.

  I abandoned the bike and pulled the driver from the truck. I let him fall to the ground beside Jonas. I took his place in the seat and drove through the open door into the junk yard.

  I cruised low and slow through the maze of car and truck hulks. The best I could hope for was to force Tom’s hand and get him to come out with Grace and Bobby.

  A man was leading Grace into the main building. There were four other structures and a handful of cars looked to be for personal use, not scrap. There was a Chevelle, a Dodge Charger, a vintage Porsche and a Mustang.

  I’d learned a lot in my time since that day in the car with Chris Beck. But one thing that hadn’t changed in me was my inherent inclination to flush out trouble.