by Johnny Asa
First things first, though. I had to check out my dad’s truck. If it had a clue, maybe I wouldn’t need to hack anything.
I took another deep breath and started the Tahoe. She roared to life as AC/DC’s Highway to Hell came blaring across the speakers like it was giving me a sign. I bristled slightly and nodded. I just wanted to find my dad, but what was that saying about the road to hell being paved with the best of intentions?
The drive to the dock was a blur, but when I got there, I was surprised to see how crowded it’d become. As I waited in line to get back inside, I practically strangled my steering wheel. If the truck turned up no clues, I had no idea what I’d do.
Guess, I’d cross that bridge in a minute. No use thinking about it now.
The redhead was still in the ticket box, and as I approached, he waved at me and opened the gate. Guess I was memorable.
I followed the path through the lot until I reached my dad’s Nissan. It was no longer the only car in the lot because numerous cars were parked all around. Not enough to keep me from parking close by, though.
As I shifted the Tahoe into park and jumped out, the cool, salty sea breeze hit me. I sucked in a breath, allowing the taste and smell of it to carry me back to when I was a kid fishing with my dad. We hadn’t had our own boat then, but that hadn’t stopped my dad from bumming trips from his friends or if it was a real special occasion, booking us on a fishing boat.
Jesus, I had to find him. If I didn’t, I’d have no one left. My hands curled into fists as I approached the Nissan. They’d better not have killed my dad because if I couldn’t rescue him, I’d damned sure avenge him. The Scorpions would not like that one bit.
I reached into my pocket, willing myself not to think about that, and pulled out the key fob. I hit the unlock button.
The truck exploded into a fireball of doom that sent me flying backward through the air. I hit the ground hard on my back, skidding across the asphalt as debris pelted me. Pain shot through my back, legs, and chest as heat washed over me, singeing my eyebrows and burning away my arm hair.
As I lay there, my brain filled with fog. Instinctively, I curled away from the flame, tucking myself into a ball. It was the only thing that saved me because as I rolled to the left and balled my body up, a bullet ricocheted off the asphalt where my head had just been.
The sound of it sent my body into action. Years of training took over. I rolled more, instinctively taking cover beneath a battered, blue Honda Accord. Another bullet popped the Honda’s tire as I lay there gasping for breath.
Someone had put a bomb in my dad’s car, and what’s more, now they had started shooting at me.
How could I be so damned stupid? What if they’d taken a pot shot at me before when I’d been wandering around here like a dumbass? Worse, what if I’d tried to open the Nissan’s door and blown myself up?
As those unhelpful thoughts filled my brain, another one hit me. They’d put a bomb in my dad’s truck. They’d been trying to kill him, and that meant the guy on the phone… No. I couldn’t think that way. I had to get out of here and find him. I couldn’t wallow. Not with the Nissan still burning and some jackass shooting at me.
Sirens echoed in the background, but I willed myself to focus, to allow the world around me to come into view as another bullet struck the asphalt in front of the Honda before ricocheting into the undercarriage only inches from me.
“What did you think was going to happen,” I muttered to myself as I rolled out from under the car, careful to keep it between me and where I thought the shooter might be. “Did you think you were just going to go and kick a hornet’s nest and not get a few trying to sting you?”
A bullet flew over the hood of the vehicle as I crouched down, hitting the parking lot just behind me. The sirens were closer now, but that was fine because I’d seen the muzzle flash from a building closer to the dock. It was a taller one belonging to a restaurant that boasted ten different ways to fry fish.
I ducked down, reaching behind my back and grabbing my Glock from the holster. Then I leaned close to the Honda and held my breath for a second. I exhaled while throwing myself to the side. I brought my gun up as a bullet zinged by me and fired three quick shots in the direction of the shooter. This time I saw movement, presumably the sniper dropping to avoid my fire.
“Good,” I mumbled as I hit the ground hard, a stab of pain slicing through my shoulder as I rolled to my feet and sprinted forward, careful to keep cars between me and the shooter. He rose a few times, but a shot made him duck back down.
My chest heaved, and my lungs burned by the time I made it to the restaurant. Thankfully, there was no one inside, nor had my shots attracted any attention. Then again, there had just been a car explosion. Maybe people were too focused on that to hear my shots?
I wasn’t sure, but either way, I didn’t want to get caught with a gun out. I shoved it back into my holster as I pushed through the door. The hostess, a girl in her mid-twenties with glossy pink lipstick spied me as I came in, and as she opened her mouth to speak to me, I waved her off.
“Sorry, my car just backfired, got a phone I can use?” I asked as I eyed the place.
“Um… I just called 911, are you okay?” she asked in a cutesy voice as I found the stairs and started toward them.
“Yeah, just a little banged up. Mind if I use the restroom? Wanna wash the blood off,” I said, not bothering to wait for a response as I ran up the stairs. I reached the second floor and looked around, but found no one there.
I took a few steps forward, heading toward the balcony area where I’d seen the shooter, and as I did, I felt a garrote slip around my neck.
11
My hand just barely came up in time to keep the garrote from slicing into my carotid artery. As my flesh tore open and blood spilled down my hand, I threw myself backward with my legs as hard as I could.
We slammed into the wall behind me, and the wire around my neck loosened enough for me to suck in a breath. Before I could pull the garrote free with my bleeding hand, it cinched down again. Agony ripped through me as I tried to regain my footing. My feet scrabbled across the tile as the wire cinched tighter, spilling more blood down my hand. I could feel the cold kiss of the garrote against my neck, biting into the flesh, and I knew that soon, it wouldn’t matter if I had my hand in the way.
My vision started to dim as I threw my head backward, trying desperately to find purchase in the face of my attacker. It must have worked because I felt my skull impact something squishy and crunchy.
The garrote loosened enough for me to breathe. I sucked in a lungful of air that burned all the way down as I whirled, bringing my left leg up. As I faced my opponent, my heel snapped down, catching her in the knee with a solid kick. Her leg bent sideways with a horrific snap, and she crashed to the ground, one gloved hand gripping around the garrote.
Her face scrunched up in pain as she bit down a cry and tried to regain her focus. Blood gushed from her busted lips, spilling down her chin and staining the waitress uniform she’d been wearing.
“Now, hold on a minute,” I said as her dense, hard packed muscle coiled like a snake about to spring, and a knife slid from beneath her sleeve and into her hand. “Let’s just talk a minute.”
The weapon flashed at me as I jumped back a step, narrowly avoiding the blade.
“There is no waiting for you. Only dying!” she snarled, rearing back like she was going to throw her knife at me. Before she could, my boot lashed out, catching her in the chin. Her jaw snapped together with a crack as she sprawled backward. Her head rebounded off the cheap linoleum, and her eyes went distant and far off. The knife slipped from her hand and clattered to the ground.
Thankfully, no one had shown up yet, but since I could hear sirens right outside, I knew it wouldn’t be long. All it’d take was for one of the cops to ask the hostess I’d seen on my way in about the explosion.
“Just stop,” I said, kicking her knife away. I knelt across her chest and pinning her
to the ground with my knee. “I don’t want to kill you.”
The assassin didn’t respond because she was still dazed, so I took advantage of the situation and rolled her over onto her belly and frisked her. I found a pistol, a nice compact CZ 75, which I relieved her. Part of me wished I’d found something to tie her up with, but being that I was fairly sure I’d dislocated her left knee, I didn’t much see the point. Besides, as I pinned her wrists behind her back, she started to struggle like an oiled pig.
“Stop,” I said, as she thrashed, but when she didn’t, I grabbed a handful of blonde hair with one hand and hauled her head backward a few inches. “If you don’t, I will slam you face first into the floor until you do.”
She stopped, which was good because I could hear talking down below.
“Who sent you?” I asked, knowing I didn’t have much more time.
“I’m not telling you anything,” she spat. No. There was definitely no time for this.
I hauled her up onto her feet, causing her to cry out in pain. She stumbled as I dragged her outside toward the balcony and shoved her against the edge.
“Look, you can tell me what I want to know or you can take the long trip down,” I snapped.
Her lips curled into a bloody, self-satisfied smile. “You’ll do it won’t you?” She punctuated the words by hocking a bloody loogy onto my chest. “Well, go on then.” She wobbled backward, pulling out of my grasp as she forced herself up onto the edge. “Or do I have to help you?”
I reached out, grabbing her by the throat. As I pulled her forward, I heard people coming up the stairs. Damn. No more time. I threw her to the ground and sprinted for the service door to my left. I’d barely darted through when I heard the cops enter the room and look around.
To her credit, the lady didn’t resist them, and from my position, I could see them haul her off, which didn’t surprise me what with the pistol and the giant ass sniper rifle inside. They might have found me, but since she was anything but cooperative, I was left all to my lonesome. At least for the moment.
Sure they’d be back, I made my way toward the restroom so I could pretend like I’d really been inside this whole time, but before I made it, I heard the squeal of burning rubber. My head darted toward the balcony in time to see a black SUV roll down its windows and fill the front of the restaurant with automatic weapons fire. I rushed forward, about ready to pull my Glock and fire back when the SUV hit the gas and took off toward the exit. It hit the wooden safety arm and tore it free in a spray of wood and fragments before peeling out into the road and taking off.
Below me, the girl I’d just fought lay dead in a pool of her own blood, but what surprised the hell out of me was that the cops next to her weren’t even hit. No, the person in that vehicle had managed just to take out the assassin and no one else. With an automatic weapon, no less.
I swallowed hard. That was a professional hit, and while I wasn’t sure if the hitter had been working with the sniper, clearly someone hadn’t wanted her talking.
I turned my gaze back toward the exit as cops leapt back in their cars and took off after the SUV. Thankful for the distraction, I made my way downstairs. There was so much commotion that no one gave me more than a passing glance as I made my way outside and headed toward the Tahoe. I needed to get out of here before this place became a three-ring circus. If that happened, I’d be stuck here all day, and I didn’t have time for that.
Instead, I got into my Tahoe, tried to ignore how hurt I felt, and opened a bottle of water. I gulped it down and wiped my mouth with the back of one hand before tossing the empty bottle on the passenger seat floor. Then I looked over at the laptop sitting on it.
“Screw it,” I said as I started the Tahoe and began making my way out. I couldn’t go through the normal exit what with the cops, so I drove to the side entrance that read members only. I was ready to make an excuse, but as I approached, I found they were already routing everyone through that exit because of the damage to the barrier.
I pulled up my contacts list, scrolled a minute, and hit call as I followed the few cars ahead of me out the gate and away. The sound of it ringing came over my Bluetooth, and as it reached the fourth ring, someone picked up.
“Hullo?” came the tired voice on the other end, followed by lips smacking in the way that told me I’d just woken him up.
“Hey, Ren. It’s me, Billy. I need a favor, but I think you’ll like this one,” I said, turning onto the road and heading back to my dad’s place. My back hurt like a son of a gun, and I needed to wash off the blood and change my clothes.
“Billy? Why are you calling so early?” he muttered, and I heard him moving around. “It’s not even noon.”
“Sorry,” I grumbled. Ren didn’t quite keep normal hours, but I didn’t have time to call later in the day. I needed his help now.
“So what’s this favor?” he asked, curiosity starting to leak through his tiredness.
“I’ve got a laptop that belongs to a drug runner, and I need to know about a guy named Elliott. Got a phone too. Help me get what I’m after, and everything else is yours. I’ll even throw in a case of Corona.” I took a deep breath. I had nothing I could really offer Ren, but I needed his help. Hopefully, that would be enough.
There was a long pause that almost made me think I’d been disconnected, only the screen on the console of the Tahoe told me otherwise.
“Okay,” he replied with the barest edge of excitement in his voice. “Where are you?”
“Pleasantville, Florida,” I said, breathing out a sigh of relief that he’d agreed to help me. I wasn’t sure exactly what Ren would do with the information he found on the laptop, but I was fairly sure it’d be profitable. Why? Because while his house may have cost a hundred grand, the inside of the place was so lavish it had to have cost twenty times that.
“Oh, that’s not too bad. I’m in Orlando. I’ll be there in a few hours.” He paused. “Am I going to get shot at?”
I glanced back at the docks. “Probably.”
“Okay, I’ll pack a vest then.”
12
By the time I pulled up in front of my dad’s place, I was clenching my teeth in an effort to ignore the agony my body had become. The adrenaline that had numbed my pain had long since faded away, leaving me feeling like a ragged wound. Cuts, bruises, and everything in-between screamed at me as I shifted into park and practically fell out of the Tahoe and onto the pavement.
After what felt like forever, but wasn’t more than a few seconds, I pulled myself to my feet, grabbed my duffel from the back seat, and made my way to the house. My back felt like a nest of fire ants had assaulted me, and my neck hurt like a son of a gun.
My legs were shaking by the time I mounted the porch and fell against the door. I thought about trying to unlock it, but as I dropped my duffel to the ground with a heavy thwap, I really wasn’t sure I could do it because my hands were shaking too much.
I pressed my thumb against the doorbell and waited, my forehead pressed against the wall because it was cool, and I was so damned hot.
“Who is it?” I heard Mary Ann ask, and as I turned my head back toward the door, I saw her peek at me from between the blinds of the small window beside the door. Her eyes went wide, and the next thing I knew, the door was open, and she was out on the porch with me.
“Jesus, Billy. What the hell happened to you?” she asked, her voice filled with near panic.
“Someone blew up Dad’s truck,” I replied. “I wasn’t in it, but I wasn’t exactly far away either.”
“What?” Mary Ann cried as she hustled me inside. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone blew up the truck. There was a bomb in it, and when I went to unlock it, boom,” I muttered, trying to swallow a sudden pang of agony as she threw my arm over her shoulder and led me to the couch. I barely made it to there before I collapsed.
“Oh my God, your back looks like hamburger,” she squeaked as I lay there flopped across the cheap old leather sofa like
a useless sack while she went back to the door, pulled my duffel inside, and closed it. Then she locked it for good measure.
“We need to get this cleaned up, and then you need to rest.” She shook her head. “What you really need is a doctor, but I know you’re too stubborn for that.” She bit her lip, chewing on it for a moment before nodding resolutely. Then she grabbed my arm and tried to haul me to my feet.
“Ow!” I cried, shifting so I could let her pull me to my feet while not also yanking my arm from the socket. “That hurts.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Billy Ryder. I’m done coddling you for being stupid. Now you can man up and face the consequences.” She glared at me, and I suddenly felt like a little kid getting admonished by his mother.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, looking at my feet as she led me from the couch toward the bathroom.
“Strip,” she demanded, moving past me into the tiny space and turning on the shower. I stood there like a dumbass as she turned it on and held her hand out under the spray, waiting for the temperature to adjust. When she was satisfied, she turned back toward me.
“Why are you still clothed?” she snapped, marching toward me. She grabbed the hem of my bloody shirt and jerked it up over my head. My soul screamed in sheer, gut twisting agony, and I nearly collapsed to my knees. Hell, I would have if she hadn’t caught me, wrapping her arms around my waist and steadying me. Even still, it was a near thing, and we both almost wound up on the cold tile floor.
“Sorry,” I muttered as she steadied herself.
“Welcome,” she said before she sat my ass down on the toilet. Then she jerked my boots off and flung them to the ground. A second later, she wrestled my bloody jeans off and tossed them alongside my boots and socks.