Memories flooded in and he fought against them, to no avail—Katy’s blood, Paige’s sobs, Frank Brumbeloe’s laughter. Max Bannon flitted across his mind’s screen…and bodies ripped apart. The minutiae of horrific images threatened to drown him in powerlessness. He squeezed the steering wheel and swallowed down a cry of helplessness. The speedometer tilted past a hundred mph, twitching as it maxed out on the right-hand side of the dial. Horns blared as he raced past. Marlowe ignored them, the blue light on the dash coloring his face in bright flashes.
The trip took less than an hour, but felt eternal. Marlowe stormed up the walkway, casting a glare at each of the four members of Wayne’s crew roaming the lawn. As he flung open the front door, Becca sat on the sofa, head in hands, body racked by sobs. Wayne leaned against a wall, face drawn and downturned. He pushed off the wall and met Marlowe in the center of the living room.
“Easy, bud. We’re gonna find her.” He placed a palm to Marlowe’s chest.
Marlowe knocked it away. “What happened? And where the hell were you? What the fuck are you doing here if you can’t protect my daughter?” The fire in his eyes rocked Wayne back a step.
Wayne stiffened, but sighed and relaxed. “She arranged her animals under the covers. Looked like she was sleeping. No idea how she got out of the house, but we’ve scoured every inch of this place. She ain’t inside. Smart kid. Must’ve hid in the shrubs ‘til Prince made a round, and slipped past. We’re keeping bad guys out, not you guys in.” Wayne bristled a moment before his face fell, and his body slumped. “We fucked up. I’m sorry, man. But we will find her.”
Marlowe pulled away, but with less force, and moved to sit by Becca on the sofa. “What happened?”
“S-she…Paige was drawing on the walls. I scolded her…Told her she couldn’t. Too harsh…I-I should have been more understanding. It’s just a goddamned wall…” Tears flowed as she sniffled between each word. She looked up at Marlowe with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He wanted to say it was okay and put an arm around her, console her. He wanted to tell her he knew she didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t, and he knew his face revealed his scorn and disgust. Becca fell again into a fit of crying at his expression, then stood and staggered up the stairs. Her bedroom door closing triggered a stab of guilt inside Marlowe, but he had no time to entertain it.
“We checked with all the neighbors, but nothing. Your boys are searching the woods. Glad they didn’t give you any forty-eight-hour bull shit,” said Wayne.
“I didn’t give them a choice. McCann knows what’s up. He got County involved.” Marlowe, his voice and stance despondent, reached out to grasp Wayne’s wrist. “We won’t find her with a search of the neighborhood or woods, will we?”
Wayne shrugged. “I hope so, man. I hope so.”
“I’ve got to get out there. I can’t sit here doing nothing.”
He took a step and stumbled, the room dimming, spinning. Wayne assisted him to the sofa. “I’m okay, gimme a sec.”
After a moment to let the dizziness pass, he drew his phone. He needed to know who was in charge on County’s end and coordinate the search. He put his finger on the button—speed dial to the department. When it buzzed in his hand, he almost dropped it. Trembling, dread knotting his gut, he placed the phone to his ear.
“Gentry.”
“Detective Gentry, we have your daughter.” The voice sounded electronic, masked.
“Let me talk to her. I want to know she’s alive.” Marlowe’s grip tightened on the phone, threatening to crush it.
“In good time. Come to the lumberyard off Highway 75. Come alone. If you bring anyone, the girl will die. We are watching.” The voice faded, replaced with a faint crackle.
“Wait. Let me talk to her, or I’m not going anywhere.”
Silence, and then…“Daddy, Daddy!”
“Baby, I’m coming. I’m coming. Are you okay? Have they hurt you?”
“Three p.m., Detective. And remember…alone.”
The line went dead.
“Them?” asked Wayne.
Marlowe nodded. “I can’t call in the cavalry. These guys don’t play. They’ll kill her if they see anyone.” He slid a hand down his face. “They’ll kill her anyway. I know that. I have to stop them…somehow.”
“You know the place?” asked Wayne.
“Yeah. They did their homework. Nothing close by and the yard’s been dormant for years. Bunch of old tin buildings, metal beams used to contain logs, an old crane never removed.”
“What’s the surrounding terrain?”
“Forest on three sides. Area near the highway’s grown over with weeds.” Marlowe gestured with his hands as if to display the description.
“Hills?”
“Yeah.” Marlowe squinted at him. “Behind the yard. Maybe five hundred yards. Why? What’re you thinking?”
“Victor’s the best fucking shot I’ve ever seen. He’d knock a fly off a yak’s ass from that distance.”
Marlowe placed his palms on the table, his arms taut and quivering. “You’d have to get in without being seen. And we don’t know how many will be on the grounds. Maybe I should call S.W.A.T.”
Wayne huffed. “Those guys are great as a hammer, but no finesse. You need guys who can get in quiet and unseen.”
“And that’s you?”
Wayne answered the question with a sinister grin, like a hyena sizing up a gazelle. “Count on one man holding Paige. Get Vic an opening. He’ll take him out, you get Paige down, and we’ll deal with the rest.” Wayne sounded confident.
“I don’t know. It’s the only play, but this isn’t exactly in the bodyguard’s job description. Promise me this isn’t a mistake.” Marlowe stared at his friend, needing reassurance.
“Won’t be the first time we had to go a bit outside the employee handbook.”
Wayne’s steeled tone was laced with menace and a touch of anger and, in spite of overwhelming worry, made Marlowe feel more optimistic.
Paige would make it out, Marlowe would see to that, but whether he could save her and escape alive himself…a question not worth considering. He would do whatever it took. If he had to die to rescue his daughter, so be it.
“Okay. Get Victor in place. Where will you be?” asked Marlowe.
“We’ll get as close as we can without risking getting spotted. Once Vic does his thing, we’ll move in.”
“I hope it goes as smooth as you seem to think it will.”
“Nothing ever goes off without a hitch. Improvise and adapt, brother.” Wayne grinned again, but with far less confidence this time.
“Thanks. I feel much better now.” Marlowe fingered the pistol under his coat, the cool steel offering a small degree of comfort. He glanced at his watch. “Two hours. We better move.”
* * *
Two muscular, tattooed, and rather mean-looking Latino guards stopped Marlowe at the gate to the lumberyard. A building to the left inside a twelve-foot-tall chain-link fence, and a security station to the right, obscured a view further into the yard. One of the men stepped to the SUV and rapped with his knuckles on the window. Marlowe tightened his grip on the Glock pressed against his thigh and lowered the glass six inches.
“Pull to the bin there. No further.” Bald, with a panther inked on the side of his head, the man grinned to show off a gold tooth set amidst dulled neighbors and motioned with an AR-15 assault rifle.
Marlowe nodded to the one and eyed the other man standing near his left front bumper. Heavier than the first, he wore a dark plaid button-down fastened to the top, tight beneath a corded neck, an Uzi dangling at his stomach. Marlowe drove the vehicle forward. As soon as he passed through, the gate drew across his rearview mirror and clinked shut behind him. He scanned the layout and spotted a guard atop a storage of twenty-foot logs contained between metal beams. Another stood leaning against the crane’s arm where it met the machine’s body, roughly eight feet off the ground. Both carried AK-47s. A lookout, holding some type of snipe
r rifle, perched at the apex of the tallest building in the yard—an open tin structure that sat off to the left, butting the fence closest to the hills where Victor would set up to make his shot.
Marlowe pulled to a stop where Gold Tooth had instructed and switched off the engine. He tucked the Glock into his waistband and got out. As he stepped to the front of the vehicle, a smarmy-looking Caucasian rounded the collection of logs, half-pushing, half-carrying Paige. Terror widened her eyes as they darted back and forth, finally finding Marlowe and locking on him with a silent scream forming on her lips. The man, all in black—black pants, a tight black t-shirt, and boots—halted fifty feet from Marlowe, crouched behind Paige, and pulled her close to his body.
Straight, stringy dark hair hung to his shoulders, parted to fall across one eye. A jagged scar zigzagged down his left cheek and touched the corner of his mouth. His entire appearance and demeanor gave off a sadistic air and made Marlowe think of Heath Ledger’s portrayal of the Joker. Not a comforting thought.
“Feels familiar, doesn’t it, Detective Gentry? Mind if I call you Marlowe? We’re so close after all.” He tilted his head and sniffed Paige’s hair. “Yeah, I read up on you.” He pointed a vicious-looking knife at Marlowe. More a short sword than knife, the blade appeared nearly a foot long, with brass knuckles for a handle. “You’re an interesting guy. Last time it was your wife though, right? Dammit, I forgot to bring the cigars.” He laughed and raked the long blade down Paige’s arm, causing her to shudder and whimper. “Aw hell, we can just improvise.”
Marlowe glared, but ignored the taunts. “Baby, it’s okay. I’m here now. You’re going to be fine.”
“These moments can get so cliché, can’t they?” Joker offered a menacing grin. “You gonna demand I let her go or you’ll kill me? Please. Don’t be predictable. No fun in that.”
“I’m here. Where’s your boss? Where’s Caesar?”
Every muscle in Marlowe’s body felt on fire. It required every ounce of will not to pull his gun and kill this son of a bitch right now. But he had been here before. Joker was using Paige as a shield. Marlowe had no shot…and neither did Victor.
“Oh, he’s here in spirit.” Joker nodded to his right.
Marlowe scanned the direction and found a video camera set on a tripod. So that was it, the reason Paige wasn’t already dead. Caesar wanted to watch. And more, he wanted to savor the moment. Make it last. Good. Marlowe needed time. Time to think of something, some way out of this mess.
Paige’s eyes roamed the area as if trying to understand what was happening to her. She would glance at Marlowe, feel the knife touch her skin, and wiggle to the side. All the while tears seemed to blur her vision. She blinked rapidly and shook her head.
“Baby, look at Daddy. Look at me.” Marlowe knelt on one knee, face level with Paige.
When she met his gaze, he said, “Paige…hi-yah.”
Joker gave him a puzzled look. Paige’s eyes lit up. She scrunched her nose and bared her teeth—what she called her scary face—stomped down on the man’s foot and bit his wrist. He grunted and jerked back on his hand, spinning Paige around to face him. Her tiny foot lashed out, catching him square between the legs. An oomph escaped Joker.
“You little bitch!” He grabbed for her.
Paige dashed away, and a sound like a bee in flight whizzed past. As his fingertips grazed her shirt, the right side of his head exploded in a shower of blood, brains, and bone. Joker fell face first into the dirt. A small hole above his left temple leaked a crimson streak to pool at the corner of his eye and the bridge of his nose. Three thuds and the men on the logs, crane, and building all fell in near unison. Marlowe knew the guards at the gate were already dead without looking back. With a desperate leap, Paige bounded into his arms.
“It’s okay. I gotcha. Daddy’s got you.” He held on for dear life. Paige clung to him, her sobs vibrating against his shoulder.
An hour later, the lumberyard crawled with cops. A pair of men in black stood near the entrance, speaking with Lieutenant McCann while casting furtive glances Marlowe’s way. The two FBI agents wore every stereotypical affectation—stoic expressions, stiff postures, and goofy sunglasses under a cloudy sky. Marlowe tried to ignore them, having no idea how to explain this. He’d had no choice but to call it in. Six bodies couldn’t disappear without someone catching wind of it. Plus, he wanted Caesar Ramirez’s ass hauled in. He would beat the son of a bitch until he confessed or could never walk again, preferably both.
“Gentry, this is Agent Morris and Agent Blackmon.” McCann moseyed over to where Marlowe sat idly on an old metal bin flipped upside down. He walked with the gait of a bowlegged cowboy marching a rustler to the gallows, apparently an attempt to impress the Feds with his Southern sheriff routine. With any luck, a good moment would soon present itself for Marlowe to chide him about the ridiculous act.
Wayne and his crew left with Paige in tow long before this party arrived. Marlowe had no intention of allowing her to become further involved. She had suffered enough, and having only recently become like her old self again, he feared any more trauma might push her into a relapse. He couldn’t bear her slipping back into the zombie state she’d endured for the two years after Katy died. He also sent the video camera with Wayne. They’d examined it, but with no feed going out, Caesar wasn’t watching in real time. Obviously, Joker was meant to return the camera for Ramirez to enjoy later.
“Want to tell us what the hell happened here, Gentry?” said McCann in his most pedantic tone.
If the Feds were here, obviously they knew it had something to do with Ramirez. And unless McCann had called them in, which he wouldn’t, they knew Marlowe sat squarely on Caesar’s shit list, which meant they were using him. The thought pissed him off, but he needed to find out what they knew.
“Thinking ‘bout building a log cabin,” said Marlowe with a smirk.
“Can it. I don’t have the patience. Six dead and you didn’t call anything in. Came out here by your lonesome, and I’ll fucking know why.” McCann’s face reddened.
“I told you Caesar threatened me. Not once, but now three times, and neither you nor the judge would let me do shit about it. Caesar said he wanted a meeting. Thought I could talk my way outta this mess.”
“He called you? Got it recorded?” asked McCann.
Marlowe shook his head. “No. Wouldn’t matter, the voice was digitized somehow.”
“Then it don’t mean shit. His word against yours.” McCann swept his eyes around the yard. “Bunch o’ bodies. Multiple types of ammo. You telling us you did this alone?”
“I’m talented.”
The lieutenant huffed. “There’ll be a full investigation into this. I’m sure the Feds will stir the shit.” He glanced at the two agents. “Pardon me, fellas.” He spun back to Marlowe. “You’re digging a hole for yourself, Gentry.”
“If any of you would do your fucking jobs, maybe I wouldn’t have to handle it all my goddamned self.” Marlowe balled his fists. He looked down to find crescents of blood welling in his palms.
McCann stared him down. “Ease up, lad. I’m still in charge…for now. We don’t have squat to go on.”
“You two gonna do something?” Marlowe pointed at the Feds standing like statues a foot behind McCann. Cold indifference bled off them in icy tendrils.
“We’ve been on Ramirez for two years with our current investigation. He’s been a person of interest for years before this.” Morris, a tall, black agent spoke. His older white partner, Blackmon, nodded. Marlowe couldn’t help but picture Jay and Kay. He half expected his memory wiped after this little conversation.
“Which means what exactly? What’re you going to do?” asked Marlowe.
Agent Blackmon shrugged. “Still not much we can do. Ramirez is very adept at masking his involvement. The five Latinos…” He waved his hand across the area. “All locals. Part of a gang on Westside. No ties to Caesar or his operation. Hired guns. And since they are all dead…” Marlowe could feel
the heat of the man’s stare from behind his mirrored shades. “We can’t question them.”
“And the white guy?” asked Marlowe.
“Sonny Berardo—freelance bad guy. He’s worked with most of the cartels and mob outfits from Chicago to Miami at one time or another. Still, nothing to connect him to Ramirez,” said Morris.
“So, in other words…You’ve got dick.” Marlowe spat on the ground and rubbed it in with a boot.
“We’d like to take you into protection until this is over…” said Blackmon.
“No fucking way. Lieutenant, I’ve got the Heretic to worry about. You can’t allow this.”
McCann opened his mouth to protest, but Morris interrupted. “We aren’t going to. Not yet. But you keep your nose out of it. Let us deal with Ramirez.”
“If you guys can’t do shit about it...” Marlowe shoved off the bin.
“He’ll keep his whole face outta the way. You have my word,” said McCann, glaring at Marlowe.
The two agents nodded and strolled away, leaving McCann shaking his head and Marlowe fuming.
“Tread light with those assholes,” said McCann. “Now you wanna tell me what really happened here? Your daughter didn’t just run away did she?”
Marlowe shook his head. “Fuckers took her.”
McCann’s eyes widened and sincere concern crept across his face. “Shit. She okay?”
“Yeah. Scared, of course.”
“The bastard’s messed with a cop and his kid. This crosses every line.” McCann slammed a fist into his palm.
The Dark Age Page 25