Slash and burn jh-3

by Matt Hilton

  'No, I think we've done enough for now. We'll fall back to Pilot Point. Come back again tonight.'

  'They've seen us as well,' Harvey said. 'Maybe we should continue this way, loop round and come in from the north. We'll see you back at the lake house.'

  Harvey's suggestion made sense. Maybe the chopper would be lying in wait ahead, watching for them. If they didn't show up in the next few minutes, the men would probably come looking for them again. Maybe this time there'd be a face to face meeting. The men from the chopper would probably end up dead. But I didn't want Rink and Harvey thrown into the mix yet. I wanted to keep them in reserve for when I went in to take Kate back.

  'Easy as it goes, guys,' I said. 'Avoid contact if you can.'

  Rink winked and gave me his shit-eating grin.

  Harvey pulled away and I watched them go. Then I started my car and drove towards the lakeside cabin we'd set up as our base.

  I wasn't too disappointed. This trip had always been a simple matter of reconnaissance. And I'd seen enough for now. The presence of the chopper meant that Huffman was home and waiting for me to arrive.

  'See you later, Quicksilver,' I said.

  Driving a little faster than before, I followed the same long road back to Pilot Point. To pass the time, I thought about Kate. I pictured her walking along the sand as she approached me that first time, her sandals bumping her hip with each step of her long legs. I thought of her drinking Corona straight from the bottle and how a drip had run down her chin and into the hollow of her throat. The bead of liquid had shivered in time with her pulse. As early as then I was attracted to her.

  When Kate kissed me at the motel at Little Fork I'd played it cool. I kidded myself that I was being professional. I couldn't afford to be distracted. Really I was feeling a little guilty. Eighteen years to the day, Diane had kissed me in a similar way. We were standing in front of the vicar and had just said our vows. Till death do us part, we'd sworn. I suppose that in my heart there'd always be a place for my ex-wife, but Rink was right, I didn't have to be a monk all my life.

  My thoughts drifted to my conversation with Rink when I'd phoned him after dumping Larry Bolan's truck that first time.

  He had asked me if I had a thing for Kate. I'd denied it and Rink had admonished me. He knew exactly what was going through my head.

  'I can't let things distract me, Rink,' I'd argued. 'I start paying more attention to her pretty face, I miss the gun pointing at her head.'

  If I'd heeded those words, maybe I wouldn't have missed the Land Rover speeding across the field on my right now.

  The first I knew of its presence was when a bullet shattered my window and buried itself in the instrument panel in front of me.

  Immediately I went into defensive mode. I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and the car shot forwards. It made it all the way up to eighty miles per hour, but that was it. I'd picked the nondescript car for its ability to blend, not for speed. It wasn't known as the gas saver for nothing.

  Behind me, the Land Rover bounced over the verge and on to the road behind me. Looking in the rear-view, I could make out two men inside it. One of them was intent on driving, while the other hung out of the passenger window aiming a rifle.

  Apparently my disguise hadn't worked as well as I'd thought.

  Attesting to that fact was the grey and red chopper racing in from the right. The passenger in the chopper had an automatic rifle as well.

  Superior machinery, superior numbers and superior weapons. How the hell do I get out of this fix?

  Chapter 28

  Tito was true to his word, but Larry Bolan wondered how long that would last. When Larry came out of the back room and through the storage area into the dimly lit bar, Tito's four friends had returned to their seats around the table. They were talking among themselves. As Larry made his way across the room, passing the raised stage, the man he'd stiff-armed was scowling, but the others only watched him with mild distraction. He nodded at them and they all nodded back. The scowling man made it look like he was trying to regain face with his buddies, his nod accompanied by a curled lip.

  Larry laughed then turned away. He could hear the others laughing, and it wasn't at him.

  Boys will be boys.

  Tito was walking behind Larry. It was as if he wanted to see the big man off the premises. He made it look like he was happy with the fifteen hundred dollars, but maybe he hadn't quite taken Larry's joke at face value, which was wise, because Larry hadn't been joking.

  Larry caught Tito's reflection in a chrome surround on the doorway. Tito was looking back at his friends and there was a lot of gesturing going on.

  Larry felt for the Desert Eagle, but then let it go.

  Tito stepped past Larry, pushing the double doors open with the flats of his hands. The doors banged, startling the two minders who were lounging outside. Both men came to attention, swinging into battle readiness. Then they saw who was coming out and they faltered.

  Tito jerked his head at them.

  'Chill out, guys,' he told them. 'My friend's leaving.'

  Larry watched the men's faces. He saw a paleness creep into one of their throats, a slight widening of the eyes of the other. They were signs of apprehension, and not because they weren't going to be doing their duty. Tito's words were some sort of prearranged signal. Larry heard faint footsteps from inside. Tito came to a standstill, and Larry went on by him. Tito tapped Larry's elbow and Larry glanced back. Tito stuck out a hand. 'It was a pleasure doing business with you.'

  The way they were standing, Larry would have to turn his back on the two minders to take Tito's hand. But he was OK with that.

  'Yeah,' Larry agreed, taking the hand.

  He'd given up his back, but the disadvantage was negated by the fact that he could now see the four men approaching from inside the bar.

  Larry smiled down at Tito.

  He heard the shift of feet behind him.

  'You made some good money back there, Tito. You should've left things at that.'

  Then he hauled Tito by the hand towards him. He pivoted, whipping Tito around and off his feet and directly into the two minders. Tito crashed into them, stalling them, and Larry threw a right cross over the top of him, crunching his fist into the face of the minder on the left. Larry felt the power in his arm as it transferred to the man's jaw. It was like an explosion of kinetic force that compressed the man's jaw up into his skull. If that man wasn't dead, he was going to be taking his meals through a tube for a long time. He dropped straight down, his upper body folding over the top of Tito and taking them both to the floor.

  The second minder stumbled, his legs entangled among those of his friends. Larry reached for him, grabbing the man by his shirt, and tugged him free of the melee of limbs. The man was above average size, but in Larry's hands he was a child. Larry hauled him straight up and off his feet, pivoted again and threw him against the wall next to the open doors. Larry rammed his knee between the minder's legs, even as he reached with one hand and pushed the nearest door closed. From inside came shouts of dismay, and suddenly the other four were charging forwards. Larry dragged the minder with him, placing the man between him and Tito's four friends. Two of them had handguns, the other two had knives, but none of them could use them. Larry slammed the other door in their faces.

  The minder was winded from his manhandling, but not finished. Foolishly, in Larry's estimation, he threw a punch at Larry's jaw. Larry dipped and the man's fist hit the side of his head high up near the crown. The man probably broke his fist, but Larry didn't wait to find out. He slammed the man's head repeatedly against the closed door, the sound echoing the frantic banging coming from the other side. Blood had spattered all over the wood by the time Larry allowed the man to slip to the floor.

  There was a hasp and padlock on the door. They were probably used at night when the front doors were open to the public. Larry threw the hasp and clicked the padlock in place.

  Then he turned to Tito.

 
; He'd finally fought free from under his unconscious friend. But he'd only made it up to his knees by the time Larry leaned in and grabbed him round the throat with one big hand.

  Tito's face showed that he was terrified by what had just gone down. But he was supposed to be the hard-ass around here. 'Do you know who you are fucking with?' he demanded.

  'The hooker was right getting you that present,' Larry grinned at him. 'But she got the words wrong. It should have said Tito is a mug.'

  Tito tried tugging at Larry's wrist, but he'd have been as well trying to tear a wolf's jaws from his throat. Then he went for the gun tucked in his trousers. Larry grabbed the wrist of Tito's gun hand and dragged the arm to his side. He was holding Tito in the exact same fashion as he'd held Joe Hunter yesterday. He'd made a mistake that time, and Trent had died. There'd be no mistakes now.

  Twisting the gun hand, he heard the bones in Tito's forearm grinding together. The man began to scream through clamped jaws. Agony was in his face. Larry twisted even further and the bones began cracking, making sounds as if the man's arm was going through a wringer. The gun dropped from his deadened fingers. At the same time Larry squeezed his other fingers together. Cartilage popped. Blood flecked Tito's lips with each harsh gasp.

  'You ain't as tough as you think you are, Tito,' Larry said. Then he hauled him up, transferring his hand from wrist to crotch so that he had Tito extended above his head as if he was a barbell. He held him there for a long three count while the man squirmed, then Larry threw him down. He barely felt a twinge in the wound in his shoulder – that was the amped-up power of adrenalin for you, he thought.

  Tito hit the floor flat on his back, almost as though Larry had slammed him directly through the pavement. He didn't move. But Larry wasn't finished. He lifted a heel and stamped on the man's chest for good measure. Wind whooshed between Tito's teeth, but there was no corresponding intake of breath afterwards. His sightless eyes rolled back in his skull.

  Larry leaned down, dug a hand into Tito's pocket and extracted the fifteen hundred dollars. He also picked up Tito's weapon. A girlie Glock 19, but still another worthy back-up weapon. Then he tugged out Tito's keychain and inspected the keys. He smiled.

  He drove the Cadillac out of the lot just as the other four men came boiling through the front doors. Larry shouted wordlessly at them, flipping them the middle finger as he shot by. The two with guns lifted them, but didn't shoot. Next second they dropped the guns by their sides and ran round Minnie's to check on their boss. Larry wondered which one of them would be the new resident ball-breaker if he ever passed this way again. Maybe the one with the squint eye, he thought. God help us!

  He drove the Cadillac east towards Dallas.

  The car was a tank, but it was a reliable old workhorse and it covered the miles easily. Larry thought over what had just gone down. He was well armed now. Other than his cab fare and tip to the driver, he hadn't spent a cent. If Tito hadn't been such a greedy asshole it would have been different. But Larry had known from the second he pulled out his wad of notes that Tito wouldn't be happy until he'd taken it all away. In the end, his greed cost him everything: the guns, the money, the Cadillac, and probably his life.

  He sent the Cadillac plodding north, up the 35E, and joined route 77 past Lewisville Lake and Corinth, then headed east at Denton to pick up the road that would take him up to Pilot Point and into Grayson County. He'd been there before, running shotgun with Jim Aitken. That time he'd travelled with Aitken in one of Huffman's private jets, but he wasn't complaining. The Cadillac was a cool set of wheels. He was on his way to Quicksilver Ranch. Exactly the place he expected to run into Joe Hunter.

  Chapter 29

  I've trained in defensive driving. It's standard for any soldier engaged in counterterrorism, but on those occasions I was generally driving a bullet-proof sedan, or a hummer or jeep. In comparison the Saturn was like cheesecloth on wheels. The men firing at me could have been throwing stones and they'd have still put holes in the ten-year-old car.

  The men in the Land Rover seemed more intent on putting bullets in me than those in the chopper did. They preferred to use the helicopter to bring me to a halt. The pilot kept dropping the chopper into my line of vision, forcing me – they hoped – to swerve or brake. I just aimed the Saturn directly at them; they weren't going to wait until I crashed into them – they wanted to be paid for killing me and the cash would be no good to them if they were dead too.

  Eighty miles an hour turned out to be more than fast enough. Even on a smooth blacktop it's a reckless speed if you're swerving to avoid a 4?4 attempting to ram you. On this road, where there were as many potholes as there were patches of asphalt, it forced me to slow down to sixty just to stop the car flipping and rolling. As it was, the Saturn bounced along the trail, kicking up dust and gravel in its wake.

  The rifleman in the 4?4 kept up a steady volley of shots. The back window was history after the first two bullets and there were holes through the passenger seat now. I should have fired back at them, but I hadn't yet.

  My SIG was right there on the seat beside me, but for the time being it was prudent to keep both my hands on the steering wheel. I kept moving, heading west, trying to lead my pursuers back to an area where I could defend myself.

  South Highway 377, the road from Pilot Point to Collinsville, was somewhere ahead of me, but right then all I had were fields and the occasional stand of trees. Nothing I could use as cover from the chopper or where I could lose the men in the more powerful Land Rover. I needed built-up streets and brick walls. But I had grass and trees and herds of cattle.

  Risking taking my hands off the wheel, I jabbed the speed dial on my phone. My words to my friends were straight to the point, 'Guys, I need you back here now!'

  'On our way,' Rink said in return, and I heard the sounds of Harvey spinning the Windstar in the road.

  'I've two in a Land Rover and the chopper's back and they all have rifles,' I shouted over the roar of the Saturn's tyres on loose dirt.

  That was it as far as the report went. Rink and Harvey would be coming after me now. The only problem was there were probably four or five miles between us. Even if I stopped now, it would take them too long to get back to help me. I had to do something to slow the pursuit, while keeping myself alive.

  First thing I did was hit the brakes. The Saturn screeched along the road, back end fishtailing, sending up clouds of dirt. The Land Rover roared in, its front grille ramming into the back of my car. The Saturn leaped forwards at the collision, back wheels bouncing and grabbing the earth for traction, and I dropped gear and pressed the throttle to the floor. As I raced on, I searched for the Land Rover in my mirrors and saw that it was concealed in the cloud of dust. That was good, because it meant they couldn't see me. I braked again, pushed forwards immediately after. Another gout of dirt rose up into the air. Immediately I braked, twisting on the steering wheel, sending the Saturn in a sidelong skid. As soon as the car came to a shuddering halt, I snatched up my SIG and leaped out the door.

  I was no sooner clear of the Saturn than the Land Rover rocketed out of the cloud of dust. I had a split second of eye contact with the driver before it hit my car. The Saturn was blasted into smithereens, huge chunks of metal erupting as though a grenade had gone off inside. Something hit me on my shoulder, spinning me to the floor. But even as I went down, I was twisting like a cat, bringing round my gun. I saw the Land Rover rise up into the air, the front wheels caught on the wreckage of my car. Then it continued upwards, and began to list to one side. The list became a full roll to the side and the Land Rover went through a complete torque before crashing to the earth. The heavy vehicle didn't stop. It hit the soft verge and rolled again, and kept on rolling. This time it was the 4?4 casting off large chunks of metal. I saw the passenger flung from the wreckage, wheeling his way across the grass, his body a series of disjointed shapes that didn't resemble a human being any longer. I couldn't tell what had become of the driver, but I hoped he'd be as dead as
the rifleman.

  Coming painfully to my feet, I searched the sky for the helicopter. Dust and smoke obscured my view. There was a terrible stench in the air, a mix of fuel and burning plastic and eviscerated bodies. I could hear the chopper, but I couldn't see it. That meant they couldn't see me either. Stooping, I ran for the wrecked 4?4. I searched for the dropped rifle but couldn't locate it. All I found was the driver hung up in his seat belt. Blood covered his face, but his eyes were open. He was dazed, but he caught movement in his peripheral vision and snapped his face towards me. I didn't know the man, had never seen him before, but right then we were mortal enemies. He was a professional hit man who was trying to kill me. I shot him once between his eyes. It was cold, yes, but I couldn't leave him alive.

  I looked for the rifleman who'd been thrown from the wreckage. He was a steaming bundle thirty yards away. He wasn't moving. So I turned my attention back to the chopper.

  I didn't have long to wait.

  The chopper came roaring overhead and I was battered by the downwash of its rotor blades. Smoke from the demolished vehicles swirled round me. I used the cover to run back to the other side of the 4?4. Lifting my gun, I fired two rounds through the undercarriage. Chances of hitting the pilot were slim, but I needed them to move away from me so I could get a clear shot. Two 9 mm Parabellums through the body of the craft did the trick. The chopper swooped away, heading to a distance of a hundred yards or so before the pilot swung it round. The rifleman was now facing me and he fired a round. The bullet passed directly through the body of the 4?4. Then it continued on and I swear I felt the heat of its passing.

  Rising from a crouch, I fired at the rifleman. It was a hurried shot and I didn't expect it to hit. But as the rifleman flinched back inside the craft, I scurried to the far end of the wreck. His next round went through the space I'd just vacated. I waited. I could see the chopper through a gap in the wreckage begin to drift towards me. Holding my breath, I aimed my SIG, waiting for just the right moment.