by Myles Knapp
Richard took Delgado’s advice to heart. His next call was to Pay. “I need a weapon for protection at home.”
“No problem.”
“I talked to a police officer who recommended a tactical shotgun. But I’d appreciate your opinion.”
“I keep a Remington 870 shotgun under my bed.”
“Why a Remington?”
“Seven shots without reloading. Shoots easy. You can buy used ones for a reasonable price. You want me to keep going?”
“No, I want to try one.”
Pay told Richard to meet him in Oakland. When Richard pulled into the drive he found Pay standing alongside a black Chevy SUV parked next to a shipping container. The container looked like it had been sitting there for a dozen years. It had an almost abandoned look—rusty, dirty and dented.
Pay opened the truck’s tailgate and pulled out three protective carry bags. “I brought a selection so you can try all the standard versions. The first one is a basic Remington pump action, like we discussed. It used to ride in an Oakland police car. Cops cut down the stock so it can be stored in the vertical rack without hitting the windshield. I also brought a typical automatic. It shoots bullets faster, without pumping, but doesn’t give off that room clearing, pump action sound.”
“What’s this one?” Richard pointed at a matte black rifle with a pistol grip. It looked like something a SWAT team would use in a Die Hard movie.
“That’s the one the Marines use, a Benelli M4. The Marine version comes in desert camo, mine’s black synthetic. An excellent weapon, but Bennelli’s are on the pricey side.”
Pay handed Richard shooting glasses, ear cups, and the older police model. “The first thing you need to learn is a good safety practice. Never put your finger on the trigger until you are ready to shoot. It belongs flat, resting alongside the barrel until you are ready to pull the trigger.” Pay demonstrated loading and unloading, using the trigger bypass button. Next, he pointed out the sights and safety. “Ready?”
“Wow. It looks so easy in the movies. But there sure is a lot to remember.”
“Yeah, and if you don’t practice, it is really easy to lockup under pressure.”
Pay pulled open the front door of the shipping container, stepped inside, and nodded at Richard to follow. Closing the first set of doors he pushed open a set of inner doors.
Richard was amazed to find a gun range inside the container. “Is this safe? Aren’t these things just made out of aluminum, or something?”
“This is a friend’s private shooting facility. It’s a full IPSEC approved range. Lined with cement, sound controlled, and a bunch of other stuff. I’ve shot a 50 BMG in here.”
Richard was beginning to find all the acronyms confusing. “50 BMG? IPSEC? What’s all that mean?”
“To tell you the truth, I can never remember what IPSEC stands for. It’s some kind of international standard for gun ranges. But a 50 BMG is the 700- grain bullet used in a Browning machine gun. One huge bullet.”
Pay sorted through a bunch of loose ammo sitting in a cardboard box behind one of the shooting benches, and handed Richard a bronze bullet bigger than a cigar. “You can rapid fire these in here pretty much all you want. Bullet just goes down range and gets funneled into a snail trap at the end.”
“Snail trap?”
“You ever played miniature golf?”
“Of course.”
“You know at the 19th hole there is always a place where you putt, and if you don’t make it then gravity feeds the ball into a lock box? That’s what happens here. Only louder and at much higher speeds. The range is a special shape. Natural forces funnel the bullets down to the end where they get fed into a vertical slot. Underneath the slot is a catcher that holds the spent bullets. Just like pee-wee golf.”
Pay picked up the Remington, wedged it firmly against his shoulder, and welded his cheek to the stock. “You can shoot a shotgun two ways. One way is called shooting from the hip, which is misleading. You actually wedge the stock between your arm and your chest. Or, you can sight it like a rifle. That’s the way most beginner’s find accurate.”
He handed the gun to Richard who pulled gently on the sliding section. When nothing happened, he looked at Pay, confusion written all over his face.
“Pump action shotgun is a man’s weapon. You treat it firm, even hard. Be nice to it and the thing acts up. You need to use force, like this.” He grabbed the gun and violently racked a round, and then pulled the gun into position. “The kick on this is a lot different than a pistol. If you don’t weld your cheek to the stock and get everything firm, you’re going to wind up with a bruised shoulder or a black eye.”
He ejected the load, pointed the weapon down range, pulled the trigger, and then showed Richard the empty breach. “Your turn. But before you load, let’s get the firing position right.”
Richard thought it would be easy to hold the gun to his shoulder. But the place he wanted to put the stock wasn’t where Pay said it belonged.
“Not there, here.” Pay readjusted the butt for the third time.
Finally Richard got the location correct. Then he found it was almost impossible to keep the butt of the gun in the right spot and get his eye lined up behind the site.
“Pull everything firm and tight into your shoulder, breathe deep, release your breath slowly then pull the trigger.” Richard followed his instructions to the letter, but nothing happened.
He pulled the trigger again. Still nothing.
“Check the safety.”
Richard pushed the safety with his thumb, re-welded his cheek, placed his index finger on the trigger, stared at the target and pulled. BOOM! The big gun rocked him. He opened his eyes and looked down range at the brown, corrugated target. Meeting his gaze was a big hole right where the heart would be.
Pay pulled the target in close. “The biggest hole is where the wadding hit the target, the small ones are the pellets. Definitely a kill shot.”
They spent another forty-five minutes shooting ammunition of increasing power and weight. With each step up, things became louder and the guns kicked harder. One hundred rounds later, Richard was the proud, concerned owner of his own pump shotgun.
Pay read the anxiety in his face. “Something wrong?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Just a couple of weeks ago I was a card-carrying pacifist. Now I own a shotgun. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”
“It’s not like you’re gonna go all Eliot Ness on me and wind up in a fire fight with the Mob. Right?” Pay laughed.
CHAPTER 65
Pay, Chase, and Brooke discussed the best way to approach the men in the videos—all of whom were likely being blackmailed by Morano. The team had two approaches. People like Richard they took on as Revenge Team students, teaching them the skills they needed to get even, and helping them as situations dictated. Others who were incapable of learning the necessary expertise, but who had a morally justifiable need, were charged a fee.
And thanks to Sam Hong, if someone wasn’t able to pay but the team wanted to help them anyway, there was no charge.
Pay’s decision was simple. “Way too many soft, old guys used to paying other people to do their dirty work. Never be able to teach ‘em the stuff they’ll need to do. They can pay. And we gotta take care of Morano anyway. Minimal increase in risk. Significant reward.”
Knowing the victims would be unlikely to accept an unsolicited call but would take one from a wealthy counterpart, the team decided to make the initial contact indirect. Ted and George reluctantly agreed to call the men in the videos and recommend the team as a solution for their mutual problem.
All the meetings followed a pretty standard pattern with only minor variations. First, Chase handed them graphic photos of dead people who had crossed Morano. “You are being ripped off by one of the most dangerous men ever released from Pelican Bay. We be
lieve you have three alternatives. One, pay him—maybe several times. Two, live with the knowledge he might kill you at any moment. Or, three, hire us.”
Then he got into the risk/reward scenario. “The solution to your problem is dangerous. There will be considerable risk to my associates. Your identity will be kept confidential. Your name will never appear in the news. If we go to court, you will never be called as a witness because there will be no paperwork or evidence of any kind that we were working together. Our fee is fifty percent of the amount you are being blackmailed, with twenty-five percent to be paid up front, in cash. The balance is due, also in cash, when we eliminate the blackmail operation.”
All of the men squawked about the fee, but Chase didn’t take the objections seriously. From birth, these men had been taught to complain about price. For them it was just a knee-jerk reaction. They knew there was no one else with the skills, ability and desire to help them. At any price.
Ultimately, they all agreed to pay.
CHAPTER 66
Mary Ellen’s condition had been upgraded from critical to stable. The doctors were cutting back her painkillers and the nurse called to tell Richard Mary Ellen had asked to see him.
In the elevator on the way to her room, Richard was rubbing red, inflamed wrists. “One of the things we learned today was how to escape zip ties. Getting loose hurts.”
“Now you know why I had you duct tape over them at MacDonald’s.” Pay unconsciously rubbed his own wrists, remembering the day he’d mastered the skill.
“I’m surprised anyone uses those things. They are really pretty easy to get out of.”
“Once you know how to get the right angle—wham, you’re free. But it only works on the consumer version. The zip cuffs the cops use for riot control are damn hard to get out of.”
Turning into Mary Ellen’s room, they were greeted by a huge smile. Pay noticed, for the first time, she was wearing make-up. A little lipstick, maybe some blush. Certainly her cheeks had lost the ghastly white hospital cast. He figured Brooke had brought by some girl supplies.
Richard and Mary Ellen chattered away, ignoring Pay. After about ten minutes of chitchat, his impatience filled the room.
Richard finally noticed Pay’s agitation. “You look like you have something on your mind.”
“You don’t need me for this. Can you catch up after I leave?”
“Sure, Pay. Richard and I will have plenty of time to talk later.”
“Mary Ellen, we’ve got a pretty good idea what happened at the club. Is there anything else we should know?”
Mary Ellen nervously plucked at her sheets and snuck a glance at Richard.
“Don’t worry. I know about the blackmail and I know you were dancing because you needed the money. You don’t need to worry about what I think.”
“What do you want to know?” Mary Ellen’s earlier smile had been replaced by a small, scared voice.
“How sure are you this guy Baker isn’t involved? Don’t really know what happened from the time you left the booth until I took out Rock.”
Mary Ellen sighed, took another deep breath and glanced away. Pay could tell she was listening for Richard’s reaction. “I practically had to carry Baker out the girl’s exit. He had eight or nine huge martinis.”
“Looked like a drunken jerk.”
“As men in the clubs go, he was ok. Not rude. Didn’t make any grabs.”
Richard frowned and Mary Ellen winced. “I made about $600. Plus, I didn’t really have to do anything. Just sit there and talk, look cute, mix drinks and listen. I didn’t even have to take my blouse off.”
“Video shows you making your drinks mostly water. Must be hard to do with a guy watching you.”
“The guys want you to party with them and it wears on you. For the customer it is just one wild night. For us girls it is night after night after night of wild nights. And those vodka calories in your stomach wind up on your butt.”
“I was working the happy hour, early shift, and Baker was my last customer. I was about to leave when Rock went batshit.”
“What did that fool want?” Richard asked.
“He starts telling me I owe him his cut. Then he grabbed my purse and started beating on me. The next thing I know you showed up. Thank God.”
She smiled at Pay. “Have I ever said thank you for that? Thank you very much.” Her smile, ringed by two black eyes, warmed Pay’s heart.
Pay grinned. “You’re welcome.”
“Why did you do it?”
“What?”
“Get involved. There were lots of people closer. And the club has bouncers who are paid to protect me.”
“I hate bullies. Especially men who beat women. Can’t let that slide.”
Richard watched her yawn. “She needs to sleep. We can pick this up tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 67
Pay hadn’t had a real relationship with a woman since he’d become a vigilante. Sure, there’d been flirtations, brief romantic encounters, and a few women where he’d even hoped for more. But he couldn’t ask a woman to be with him when she’d be the first one an enemy would try to hurt.
Pay was hoping Barbara Jane would be different. Clearly she could take care of herself. Black belt, Delta, weapons experience. If she could live with what he was, maybe she could be a friend and partner. Not a soul mate, which he thought was the kiss of death. He didn’t need to be fulfilled. But he wanted to share the important stuff in his life.
Given the potential that Morano could kill one or all of them, Pay decided she needed to know why he did what he did. Tonight he planned on telling her the truth about how he’d gotten in the business, not the Disney rated version he’d told Richard.
With that in mind, he invited her over for a simple Italian dinner. Originally he’d planned to cook, but he’d been too nervous. In the end, he had Il Fornaio deliver.
Pay was finishing his second Wild Turkey and opening a good bottle of Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc for Barbara when she knocked on the door.
Barbara glanced around the room taking in the black leather couch and the tiny Formica dinette wedged in the corner. In the bedroom, Blade sat quietly on his pad at the foot of Pay’s king size bed.
For the first time ever, Pay was embarrassed about his home. He could afford a better place but had never seen the need. His apartment was secure, quiet and convenient to both the team and work. But seeing it through a woman’s eyes, he was pretty sure it was lacking.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Barbara said, eyeing the fresh pink carnations in the center of the table.
“Mostly a place to sleep.” Pay almost stuttered
“I can see that.”
Barbara Jane set her purse on an empty section of bookcase shelf—a spot Pay had dusted only moments before. She shrugged out of her coat and Pay hung it in the room’s small coat closet.
“Before dinner I’ve got a couple of things I want to tell you.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Barbara Jane frowned. “I’ve never had a conversation that started out with ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ that went well.”
“Still.” Pay grimaced.
“I’m starving. Can we please eat first? I prefer my bad news on a full stomach.”
“I’d kinda like to get it out of the way.”
“So, let’s compromise. Tell me over dinner. But first pour me some wine.” Barbara Jane smiled, pulled out a chair, and started serving the salad.
Pay groaned, helped himself to a slice of sourdough, and took another swig from his drink. “Listen, there’s some stuff.”
Barbara Jane gave him a disappointed look. “We need to set some ground rules. Small talk until after the first course. You can wait until we’ve finished the salad and I’ve finished my wine.”
Pay sat, chastened, and chewed his salad. Never one of
his favorite parts of a meal, tonight it tasted like cardboard mixed with cigarette ashes. What seemed like twenty minutes later, Barbara Jane finished hers.
She must have chewed each bite fifteen times, thought Pay.
While Barbara served the penne in spicy caviar-vodka sauce, Pay refilled her wine and his bourbon. “Now?”
“Maybe.”
Pay sighed.
“Now would be fine.”
Shaking his head, he wiped his right hand over his eyes and down his face, pulling at his jaw. Then he took a deep breath, resting his chin in his hand, fingers covering his mouth.
“Before this thing with Morano goes any farther you need to know some stuff about me. We haven’t known each other nearly long enough for me to tell you what you need to know. A lot of it is not good.”
“Pay, there’s nothing I need to know. I know the important things already.”
“There’s stuff I feel like I have to tell you.”
Barbara Jane decided to make it easy on him. She hadn’t seen a macho man’s man this anxious since she’d awarded that high school stud her virginity. She took a sip from her wine, forked the penne, and smiled her best smile. “Please start, I’m ready for anything. And relax, I know you’ve helped people and killed people who deserved it. Anything worse than that? You aren’t having sex with Blade, are you?”
“No! Jeez, hell no!”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Why don’t you tell me how you got started?”
“Ok, I guess. You sure you want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Been doing this about fifteen years. It all started while I was in college. Be good to tell you, if we’re going to take this anywhere.”
“Where are you planning on taking it, big man?” She wasn’t going to make it that easy on him.
“Well, um. You know.”
“No, Pay. I don’t know.”
“Ah, damn it. Can you just let me tell it? Please.”