Whistler's Angel

by John R. Maxim

THIRTY SEVEN

  Whistler had driven the Taurus half a block past the house. He had doubled back on foot to the privacy fence with the Ingram carried low against his hip. He had listened for a moment and was ready to scale it when he heard a shot fired from inside the house.

  In almost that same instant, he heard the truck coming. He looked over the fence in time to see it swing wide to the right and then make a hard left as it took dead aim at the house. To his horror, he saw Claudia. She was bracing herself and she was covering her eyes as the fuel truck plowed through the front wall. He was over the fence in one bound, gun in hand.

  He had entered through the hole that the fuel truck had left. He saw none of the men whom he’d expected to be there. All he could see was the truck, still moving forward. He heard a burst from the Calico. Carla had fired. Because she was on the far side of the truck, he couldn’t see who she was shooting at. He heard a second short burst. A male voice gave a yelp. He assumed that at least two were down. He saw Claudia as she jumped from the cab, scanning the wreckage with the shotgun at her shoulder, calling out, “Leslie, where are you?”

  There was no answer.

  He said to her, “Don’t turn. I’m covering your back. You check those two rooms on your right.” He did cover her back, but he was looking for Lockwood. He would have killed any of the six men on sight, but he wanted Lockwood especially.

  Suddenly he heard a tearing of metal and what sounded like the squeal of car tires. He looked toward the hole that the fuel truck had left and he caught a glimpse of the van. It was careening, in reverse, back out over the curb. He hadn’t heard the engine of the Dodge van start up because of all the noise from the truck.

  He heard Claudia say, “She’s not here. I can’t find her.”

  “Check the closets. Under beds. She must be here.”

  “I did. I saw where I think they taped her up. She’s not there anymore. No one’s back here.”

  “Then they have her in the van. Let’s get out of here now.”

  These words were barely out of his mouth when he heard a dull “whoomp” and saw a blinding white flash. It came from the far side of the truck. Flames spread over the ceiling and were searing the truck, but the truck kept on moving through the house. It was pushing through what looked to the wall to the kitchen. He heard more ripping and tearing, but not all from the kitchen. Some of the din seemed to come from the garage. He glanced out toward the street. He saw a second car leaving.

  This one, the green Pontiac, had its bumper hanging off it. The driver’s side door had been bent back almost double. Its muffler and exhaust pipe had been torn away. The Pontiac was dragging them behind it. He could see the driver clearly. It could only be Crow. Whistler wheeled and aimed, but he had no shot. All that he would have hit was dangling siding. The Pontiac was gone, but he could still hear Crow. Crow seemed to be screaming as he drove.

  He said. “Claudia, get out. That fuel truck can blow.” He called Carla’s name. There was no answer. The house was filling with rolling black smoke. He called again. He shouted, “Carla, where are you?”

  She answered, “I’m busy. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  From the sound of her voice, she was outside the house. He said, “Carla…Now. This place is going.”

  He took Claudia by the arm. She said, “Not without Carla.”

  He said, “Trust me. Bad penny. She’ll turn up.”

  Claudia, reluctantly, had let him lead her out. They hurried down the street to retrieve the Ford Taurus. Whistler drove it back to the front of the house where he called Carla’s name once again.

  “I see her,” said Claudia. “Here she comes.”

  Carla had appeared from behind the garage. She seemed in no particular hurry. She was walking with the Calico cradled in one arm as she sheathed her knife up her sleeve. Her free hand held what looked like two wallets. She’d apparently collected souvenirs.

  “Adam, she’s been burned,” said Claudia, watching her.

  Whistler could see that she’d been blackened by the smoke. Her hair, on one side, had been singed to its roots and the sleeve that held her knife was still smoldering. He wanted to say, “Serves her right,” but he didn’t. The damage, in any case, seemed more cosmetic than painful. She did not walk as if she were hurting.

  Whistler heard police sirens. He called to Carla, “Now or never.”

  She broke into a jog and climbed into the Taurus. Whistler stepped on the gas before she’d closed the rear door, ignoring the smattering of staring faces that had emerged from the neighboring houses. Several were even approaching on bikes, attracted by the rising column of smoke.

  Carla’s first words were, “That could have gone better.”

  Whistler didn’t trust himself to speak or to look at her. He very badly wanted to strangle her. But what he needed for the moment was to find a side road by which they might avoid the police.

  Carla said, “Take a right. You’ll come to some woods. It’s just pines. You can probably get through them.”

  She must have checked it out earlier. He took her advice. He swallowed and asked her, “Did you see Leslie Stewart?”

  “Uh-uh, but she got out. That’s what Aubrey thought, anyway.”

  “You found Aubrey?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She had chosen not say how she’d left Felix Aubrey, probably in deference to Claudia. Whistler needed to know, but that discussion could wait. He asked her, “Got out how? With Lockwood? With Crow?”

  “Neither one. A man named Kaplan. She might be okay.”

  “Might be?”

  “According to Aubrey, Kaplan’s not like those other two. The way to bet is she’s okay.”

  “Yes, but how did they get out? And if they did, they’re on foot.”

  “Through the window,” said Claudia. “That window was open. It’s the room where I told you I thought they had put her. There was duct tape…used duct tape…and a towel with more duct tape. It was all on the floor. It had been cut with a knife. Kaplan must have cut her loose and let her go.”

  Out the window, thought Whistler. He supposed that was right. He had come over the fence on that side of the house. There was no open window at that time. He’d rounded the house and he’d gone in behind the fuel truck. That was when they could have climbed out. And if she’d been cut loose, she could have run; she might be hiding. More than likely, though, this Kaplan still had her.

  Carla said, “That big flash back there was a bomb. Not a good one, but hot. Almost melted my sweater. Someone tossed it the house from the garage.”

  “That would have been Crow. He got away.”

  “And Lockwood, too?” She mouthed the word shit. She said, “This really could have gone better.”

  Whistler had tried to bite his tongue long enough. He said, “Damn you, Carla…”

  She said, “Adam…that’ll keep. For now, see those woods? See those tire tracks going through them? That’s our way out. Move this thing.”

  He was still going to strangle her. But she was right. It would keep. Those sirens were getting much closer.

  Carla said, “Hey, those tracks. They look funny to you?”

  They did. Most were old. But something had gouged a fresh furrow between them. “I would bet that’s the Pontiac,” said Whistler with a nod. “It was dragging some hardware when it left.”

  “He’s also dragging something else. Someone shot him in the ass. He was down, so I didn’t waste time on him.”

  “Then where could he go? Not far, I would think.”

  “Well, if this guy, Crow, is as nuts as they say, the way to bet is he’ll head for the hospital.”

  “In his condition? He’ll try for Ragland again?”

  “How would I know? I’m a rational thinker.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She said, “Okay, Adam, get it out of your system. Ask me why we plowed into that house.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we. As it happens, it was Claudia’s idea. She
heard the first gunshot, thought they might have shot your friend. Except Claudia was ready to bust in there on foot. You said don’t let her get hurt. I respected your wishes. That was why we went in armor-plated.”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “That’s not the truth.”

  “It isn’t? You saw it. What’s not true?”

  “You went in with that truck no more than two seconds after I heard that shot from my side. You never heard a shot while you were still down the street.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t. But Claudia did. She heard a shot and a squeal and a man’s voice yelling ‘Fuck.’ That’s either ESP or a good pair of ears. I wasn’t going to argue with an angel.”

  He asked Claudia, “Is that right? Did it happen that way?”

  She said, “That’s exactly what happened.”

  “And you…do have a good pair of ears. Yes, I know that.”

  “So? I’m waiting,” said Carla.

  “For what?”

  “An apology.”

  He said, “Carla…you do push your luck.”

  Whistler picked up his cell phone. He hit redial. Molly answered on the first ring. He said, “It’s Adam.”

  She asked, “Adam, are you staying away from that house?”

  “Um…yes. In fact, we’re leaving. Listen, Crow got away. I don’t see how he can get very far, but Carla thinks he might try for Ragland again. If he does, he might try it with a bomb this time. He seems to have a supply.”

  She asked, “That’s one of Crow’s bombs on your boat?”

  “If there is one. We don’t know that.”

  “Yes, we do. John Waldo found it. It was under your bed.”

  “Aft cabin?”

  “Uh-huh. Let me guess. You sleep forward?”

  “We do, but what kind of a bomb?”

  “Poorly made, mostly thermite, more heat than bang. But it was over the fuel tank; you would have been toast. Adam, have you seen Billy McHugh?”

  Whistler glanced at Carla. “No, we missed him.”

  “He hasn’t checked in. He was not at that house?”

  “If he was, we didn’t see him. We’ll keep an eye open. Listen, Molly…you should keep yours open as well. We’ll look around for Crow on this end.”

  She said, “No, don’t. That’s why we have police.”

  “Very well. We’ll try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Check in with me again when you get back to your boat. I need you to do more than try.”

  Whistler promised that he would. He broke the connection. As he did, they all heard a distant explosion. Like Crow’s bomb, it made a “whoomp” but a much larger “whoomp.” It was probably the tank truck, but it couldn’t have been full. From the sound, the tank had either already ruptured, or it had been nearly empty to begin with. They looked back and they saw a fresh billow of black smoke, but nothing resembling a fireball. Small favors, thought Whistler. It meant that, with luck, no neighboring house had gone with it. With luck no police and no bystanders had been hurt. But Aubrey…and Briggs…and Poole’s assistant must have cooked. He wondered which wallets Carla kept.

  Carla leaned forward. She touched Claudia’s shoulder. She said, “You don’t rattle, do you.”

  “Don’t be fooled. I was frightened. It’s just hitting me now.”

  “You don’t show it now and you didn’t back there. I’d go in with you any time.”

  Whistler said, “Carla…for now and forever…don’t even let that thought cross your mind.” He reached to touch Claudia. He asked “How are you feeling?”

  “I’d feel better if we could find Leslie.”

  Well, right now I’m taking you back to the boat. The minute we learn anything, we’ll call.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Carla and I…have to get somewhere quickly. There is still some unfinished business.”

  “It’s not Crow. You would have said so. Is it Lockwood?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you know where he’ll be?”

  “Yes, I might. If I hurry.”

  Carla told her, “He’ll be at the airport. You coming?”

  “Damn it, Carla…” said Whistler.

  “Yes, I’m coming,” said Claudia.

  He said, “Claudia, you won’t be protecting me this time. This is killing. This is not what you do. You’re not coming.”

  Carla nudged Claudia. She said, “Maybe he’s right.

  “I’m supposed to be with Adam. I’m coming.”

  For Arnold Kaplan, however, it was time to go solo. The last thing he wanted was a traveling companion. He had pleaded with Leslie to go her own way. He said, “Goodbye and God bless. You don’t owe me.”

  “Owe you? For what? For not leaving me there? You dragged me to that house in the first place.”

  “Like I said, now we’re square. No hard feelings? Goodbye.”

  As he said this to her, he was pushing a bike. She was pushing a bike alongside him. The front wheel of Leslie’s was bent. It wobbled badly. They were two streets away from the ocean.

  She was limping as well. She had banged up her knee. It had happened when he threw her out of the window. There was no time to try to be gallant.

  Kaplan had pulled her back out of the closet as soon as he heard all the bullshit going on by people who should have known better. You want to talk, talk, but when you go to shoot, shoot. You don’t have a goddamned town meeting about it. By the time the shooting started and Lockwood still wasn’t down, and everyone was shouting, all at the same time, the window began to look good.

  But, luckily, he looked out of it first. And who does he see? Who’s out there? It’s Whistler. He sees Whistler sneaking up to the fence. Right then there’s a second shot fired by Briggs. So here’s two shots, close range, but Lockwood’s still standing. Crow is not exactly standing; what he’s doing is dangling and he’s bleeding all over Lockwood’s crotch. This can’t get much worse, but it does.

  Shit hitting the fan doesn’t start to describe the events of the next thirty seconds. Someone drives this big truck through the living room wall. A damned gasoline truck, no less. Whistler’s over the fence and he runs around the front. This was a gift that Kaplan couldn’t pass up. He was going out through that side window.

  He hadn’t intended to take Leslie along, but the least he could do was cut her loose. He cut off the towel that he’d wrapped around her eyes and he cut the duct tape from her wrists. He got it all off except for one piece that she couldn’t pull out of her hair. So of course she not only gets her first good look at him, but she insists on bailing out with him.

  He should have just freed her hands and left her to do her head while he was already out the window. He also should have told her that Whistler was there. If he had, she might have stayed put. On the other hand, she might have got herself shot by running out of that bedroom. As it was, she took too damned long climbing out. One leg at a time, hold my hand, help me down. That was when he lost patience and threw her.

  Kaplan had even less time to waste once he was out the window himself. He would obviously go the opposite way from where Whistler and the truck came in the house. He would sneak around the back and find someplace to hide. The nearest place he could think of was on the far side. Over there was this jungle of solid bamboo that was thick enough to get lost in. So, okay, that’s the plan. He takes off at a run. And what does Leslie do? She takes off along with him. She thinks he must know what he’s doing.

  They reached the bamboo and they both hunkered down. By this time, someone’s blasting with an automatic weapon and the demolition derby is continuing. While the gasoline truck is still plowing through the house, the two cars in the garage are plowing out. First the van rips loose and soon the Pontiac follows, both leaving parts all over the street. Next comes a flash, not much noise, just a flash, and it figured to be one of Crow’s amateur bombs. Kaplan’s exit had been very timely.

  He could see, although not well, some activity in the kit
chen, aside from the kitchen caving in on itself. He could see a small man, it could only have been Aubrey, and he seemed to be maybe in shock. Kaplan watched as this figure came to the door. It was Aubrey, no question, and no question, he was out of it. He sits down on the edge of a patio planter with both his hands covering his face.

  Then, out of the house comes this other little figure. Red hair, black face, like a Dennis Rodman dwarf. From her build, though, this dwarf is a female. She’s talking to Aubrey; she’s nose to nose with him. This redhead has a Star Wars gun in one hand and a scary looking knife in the other.

  Just then, there’s a screech of brakes from the street. It’s Whistler out there with his Taurus. With him is his woman, the one who took out Crow’s partner. She didn’t look the type then; she doesn’t look the type now, but here she is right in the middle of this and she’s holding a shotgun in her hands.

  Whistler’s yelling, it looks like, for the redhead to come. Kaplan looks back and the redhead is coming but she isn’t in any big hurry. And there’s Aubrey, slumped over like he’s taking a nap. Kaplan doubted that Aubrey was sleeping.

  He asked Leslie, “What just happened? Did that little guy get whacked?”

  She said, “Hey, that’s Adam and Claudia.”

  “Did I tell you? They’re fine. But I’m asking what just happened back here on the patio.”

  She gave Aubrey a glance. “I wasn’t watching,” she said. While she’s saying it, she starts to climb out of the jungle. She wants to run after Whistler’s Taurus. By now, there are so many sirens in the air that it could have been a bagpipe parade. He grabbed Leslie’s arm. “Would you mind? Get back down.”

  “I have to tell them I’m all right. Let me go.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not all right. I would like to live through this. Stay down or I’ll smack you. I mean it.”

  The issue is moot because by now it’s too late. The redhead gets to the car, she hops in and Whistler goes. He’s gone, but other citizens are just showing up and a few of them are on bikes. Bikes, he thought. Good idea. That could work. The bikes off that van should still be there.

  He said to Leslie, “It’s been fun, but I’m outta here. You stay.” He stepped out of the bamboo and walked toward the street, past the house that was now making some serious smoke. He made himself walk at a halting pace that matched those of the other concerned neighbors. Of course, none of them were dressed quite like him, but he’d remedy that very shortly. He got to the garage. There was one bike in good shape. He knew that him helping himself to a bike might look a little funny to the neighbors. So, okay, he’s a looter. They should live with it. He took the bike, climbed on, and started pedaling. There was only one direction the cops wouldn’t be coming from and that was the beach, maybe four blocks away.