Revenge School (A Pay Back Novel Book 1)

by Myles Knapp

  Jon D nodded. “Second option is the derringer up your sleeve.” He pointed at the front of the chair. “See those?” Underneath the box of videos he’d welded razor sharp blades to the chair’s handlebars.

  “Yes.”

  “If you can get Morano in front of the chair, hit the horn button hard, and bail out. Things will go to hell real quick. If Morano’s already discarded the shotgun, then grab it if you can and start shooting. Remember, after the fourth round it’s full of kill loads. Make real sure no one on the team is in front of the chair.”

  “What happens then?”

  “Hitting the horn button kicks in extra battery power. Chair will take off straight ahead. Fast. If it hits Morano, he’ll go down. It also releases spring-loaded knives around the chair’s base. Hopefully, the knives on the handle bars will impale him, or the ones on the base will get him when he falls.”

  “What if one of us gets hurt?”

  “We’ll have Doc in an ambulance waiting outside.”

  “What about Morano?”

  Jon D pulled out a wicked looking Luger and racked the slide. “Unless he kills us all, this is his last night on Earth.”

  The team nodded agreement. They were a grim, scared bunch. Without Pay and Chase, leadership was falling on Jon D and Richard—a strange duo to save the day.

  CHAPTER 77

  Once Morano got his videos back he was going to kill Pay, Richard, and anybody else who showed up. After that, if things went well, he’d take his time tracking down and killing the rest of the team. And getting to know Barbara Jane and Brooke would be loads of fun, if they lived through the fight.

  The encrypted phone in the back office rang. “When are your guys getting here? They’re late.”

  “Bosses say the deal was you could do what you want, beat a few hookers, con some strippers, blackmail some rich guys—whatever. But going to war with private citizens? They denied your request.”

  “You want to keep this thing going, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. I need guys here. Now.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Then you lose out on a real sweet thing.”

  “Management is getting to the point where they don’t care.”

  “They need to care. If I die, info goes to the press that won’t make them look so good.” The phone on the other end disconnected with a bang. Smiling, Morano set down his headset. They’d send help. It would be reluctant and late, but they’d send it.

  When Morano went into the back office to answer the phone, Pay wriggled the zip ties binding his wrists so the little plastic blocks were aligned one on top of the other. The rope around his chest and upper arms restricted his movements, and with his legs zipped to the chair, he wasn’t sure he could get enough leverage to break free. He pounded his wrists hard on his knee. First time, nothing. Second time nothing.

  Blood oozed from his shoulder. His knee throbbed, and his hands went numb. Pay refocused, took a deep breath, slammed his hands down as hard as possible and the ties broke loose. It took thirty seconds—thirty seconds he didn’t have—before feeling returned to his fingers and he could pull the knife from his boot.

  He was still slicing through his bindings when Morano slammed the office door. Pay palmed the knife, arranged the ropes and ties so it looked like he was still bound, and feigned unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 78

  Jon D’s chair lurched over the rough ground outside the warehouse. Richard, hobbled by the cast, was barely able to keep the thing right side up. He chuckled, partly to relieve the tension, but mostly so he wouldn’t cry. It would be ironic as hell if he killed himself in a wheelchair accident before Morano could murder him.

  The toy robot’s surveillance images were helpful, but a very large area inside was still masked. The LCD panel on Jon D’s chair did, however, show Pay tied to a chair in the center of the room.

  Morano was standing near a desk, holding a rifle and looking at a computer screen. Richard thought he might be monitoring the security cameras that dotted the buildings eaves. He appeared to be alone which was a surprise, too much of a surprise. Richard swallowed hard, wondering what was hiding in areas that the robotic ball couldn’t show him.

  About fifty-feet from the warehouse door, Richard heard Jon D’s voice in his earpiece. “Good news. Chase signed himself out. He’ll be in back of the building in 60 seconds.”

  Chase’s voice broke in, “Richard, don’t worry about shooting me. Just point at Morano and blast away.”

  Richard whispered, “I’m twenty-feet from the door. It’s open.”

  Jon D jumped back in. “Richard, count to ten, then roll in. If Pay’s ok, shoot and get the hell out of the way. Right after you roll in the door you better be shooting, because I’m coming in after you and I’m not stopping until I’m parked on Morano’s ass.”

  Jon D turned to BJ who was watching the street behind them through night vision goggles. “You ready?”

  “A gray car just rolled past. Two guys in suits. Doesn’t look like they stopped.”

  Brooke shook her head. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a hundred SWAT guys with a tank. We got no time left.”

  As he wheeled through the warehouse door, Richard’s eyes widened with fear. He remembered Morano being big, but he wasn’t prepared for the huge, grinning, half-naked man pointing a gun at his chest. A man the roboball made look a lot farther away.

  Morano stood there shirtless, dim overhead lights illuminating his sweaty body. Like the girdle from hell, fat bulged out above, below, and on both sides, of his body armor.

  If it hadn’t been a life or death situation, Richard would have laughed. With the armor in place, Morano looked like an armed, hairy, foul-smelling Michelin Man.

  Morano glared. “You’re even wimpier than I expected.” He shook the Uzi in his left hand at Richard. “Cameras don’t show anybody outside. Can’t believe those chickenshits sent you alone.”

  Richard looked at Pay who gave him a small nod. From where he was, it looked like Pay’s hands were secured with zip ties. No duct tape in sight.

  Richard snuck a quaking hand under the box and yanked the shotgun loose. Shooting fast, barely aiming, the gun twisted in his sweaty grip and dislocated his wrist. The shot went high. Tossing the sawed off at Morano, he flung the case of videos in the air. Flash drives and shiny DVDs went flying.

  A knife flashed in Pay’s hands and he slashed at the ropes binding his feet.

  Ignoring Richard, Morano lunged for the shotgun. It took him two tries because his gut and the armor got in the way.

  Richard maneuvered the chair closer.

  Morano racked the shotgun and aimed at Pay.

  Still fifteen-feet away, Richard shrieked, pulled the derringer from his sleeve and let Morano have it with both barrels. Blood flew and Morano crashed down on his back, legs flailing.

  Slamming the horn button, Richard heard the knives locking into place around the chair’s base. He bailed off and scrambled to his left. Away from the roar of the accelerating van. Away from Pay. Away from Morano. Away from the shotgun. Away from the door. Now, he was trapped in the corner—leg in a fake cast, wrist throbbing, holding an empty derringer.

  A firestorm shot from the chair’s headlights which spewed fire, like a flamethrower. Now Richard knew what the oxygen tanks on the back of the chair were for.

  The flames torched Morano’s legs, and he rolled away from the chair. Rolling smothered the fire and he stopped screaming…right up until he realized he’d stopped directly in front of Pay.

  Pay looked like an exhausted gold miner who’d discovered pay dirt. Kicking loose the remaining ropes, he pulled Morano off the ground and attacked with a series of brutal body shots. Left. Right. Left. Right. Every single punch powered by madness and fear, and delivered with the overwhelming strength of muscles
that had been perfectly trained for this moment.

  Punches flew faster than Richard’s eyes could follow. Through the flamethrower’s glare, Richard watched sweat fly off Morano’s body with every crushing blow. He was sure the cracking sounds were Morano’s ribs exploding.

  The demon wheelchair from hell spun, spewing flames, its horn honking madly. One of the chair’s wheels caught the shotgun and spun it across the floor just as Jon D’s van burst through the warehouse wall. Morano feinted towards the shotgun, and Pay dove for it. Morano staggered towards his assault rifle.

  Pay fired. All three shots hit Morano. Two bounced off the armor leaving almost no damage behind. But the third hammered into Morano’s left deltoid, paralyzing his arm. Realizing the gun was shooting non-lethal bullets, Pay tossed it aside and charged forward, knife first.

  Morano grabbed the assault rifle and turned towards Pay.

  Barbara Jane appeared from the shadows, shooting fast.

  Jon D stuck his shotgun crutch out the van window and waited for a shot, but at his angle, there was nothing he could do.

  Running full speed, Richard leapt onto Morano’s back. Grabbing his beard in his right hand and his ear with his left he kicked at Morano’s balls, but his legs didn’t come close to reaching around the enormous gut. He ripped at Morano’s ear, then slid his forearm around his neck to get a more secure hold before stabbing his right thumb in Morano’s eye; so hard, it was like he was digging for brain cells. Morano screamed and dropped the rifle as Pay crashed into them.

  Richard shoved himself off, knowing if Morano and Pay both landed on him he’d be destroyed. The two big men rolled on the floor, roaring and swearing as the weakening flames from the wheelchair hissed over their heads.

  Throwing a devastating back left elbow strike that hammered Pay’s head into the cement floor, Morano struggled to his knees, lunging for the chair’s handlebars.

  In the van, Jon D jammed a joystick straight ahead and the chair leapt forward. Morano screamed when a handlebar knife sliced into his arm. Jon D jerked the remote control to the left, hoping to embed the knife even further; but Morano grabbed the bars, lifted the front wheels off the ground and wrestled the chair in a new direction. Jon D grinned, slamming the joystick hard forward and right. The rear wheels caught, the handlebars jerked, and a blade slashed Morano’s thumb off at the base. He howled.

  A siren blared, followed by hellacious twin explosions that filled the room with tear gas.

  An amplified voice said, “It’s over now. We’re coming in. Once we leave, count slowly to fifty. Then leave. We don’t need you, but we aren’t leaving without Morano.”

  Somebody screamed in frustration. Richard wasn’t sure if it was Pay or Chase.

  The voice continued, “The first two rounds were tear gas. The next one’s going to be a flash bang. If we need them, we have a couple of room cleansers—nifty little rocket propelled grenades that’ll kill everything within a twenty-foot radius. Dead or alive, we’re taking Morano.”

  Richard heard a metallic ‘click.’ He rolled flat, face down on the cement floor. Even with his palms pressed hard against his ears, the BOOM was deafening.

  “We’re coming in. If you guys aren’t hugging the floor, the next one’s going to be a room cleanser.”

  A million candle power spotlight hanging from the barrel of an assault rifle nosed its way into the room, held by a man, face covered with a gas mask. A second man followed wearing a gas mask and pushing a rusty wheelbarrow. He struggled to load a barely conscious, badly bleeding Morano into the barrow.

  Just before he cleared the door, the man with the rifle tossed a smoking white canister into the room.

  CHAPTER 79

  Brooke was slapping Pay gently in the face. “Pay, wake up. Pay! Pay!”

  “What happened?” Pay groaned and slumped back into unconsciousness.

  Later, he came to, this time wearing an oxygen mask. It hurt to move, but by shifting his eyes he could see he was outside the warehouse, propped up against an ambulance tire. The back of the wheel well pressed into his neck and shoulders, and Brooke hovered over him. “Wha’ happened?” he gasped.

  “Doc thinks the last round was knockout gas. You guys have been out twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”

  “Everybody ok?” Pay struggled to pull the mask off.

  Brooke pushed his hands away. “Leave it on. It is helping counteract the gas. Everybody on the team is ok. Nobody was seriously hurt.”

  “Everybody?” Pay stopped wrestling with the mask and slumped back against the ambulance.

  “Richard’s banged up. Mostly bruises, but he may have cracked ribs. Chase is ok. Jon D’s fine.” She smiled with wet eyes. “Barbara Jane and I are doing better than any of you. The guys took the brunt of the gas.”

  “Morano?”

  “From the blood trail, it looks like he was badly hurt. Guys in suits rolled him out in a wheelbarrow. Outside, they shoved him into the back seat of a late model, light gray Lincoln Town Car and took off. Amy got the license plate.”

  “What now?” Pay coughed up mucus and gas. Tears poured from his swollen, bloodshot eyes.

  “We go back to HQ. Peggy, Amy, Denny, Blade, BJ and I, are going to stand guard while you guys get some rest.”

  Pay’s face twisted with alarm and he pushed himself to his feet. He ripped off the oxygen, took a deep breath, and a ragged, wrenching cough collapsed him to his knees.

  Brooke placed the oxygen mask back over his nose and mouth. “Pay, there is nothing to be done right now.” A stern look backed up her words. “Don’t give this mess a sense of urgency it doesn’t need. Morano’s gone. The team’s hurt. You all need to rest.”

  She signaled Doc. He loaded Richard, who was just now shaking himself awake, into the ambulance. The rest of the team climbed into the van, ready to head home.

  As the van started rolling, Pay opened the door. “Wait.” The team watched him limp back inside the warehouse.

  Five minutes later he returned and handed Brooke a bloody white handkerchief with a lump in it. “Figure out a way to save this,” he said, slumping into the passenger seat.

  Unwrapping the odd gift, Brooke found Morano’s severed thumb.

  CHAPTER 80

  It was almost an hour before Pay was awake and alert enough to talk. He limped to the espresso machine, got things going, and signaled for Brooke. “Can you get everyone together for a team meeting?”

  “Everyone except Richard.”

  “He ok?”

  “Pay, everyone’s ok. Richard was closest to the knock out gas and he was the lightest, so it hit him the hardest. Doc said he’ll be fine, he’s in the shower. Shaky, bruised, but ok. I imagine he’ll be here any time now.”

  Pay nodded.

  “Do you want me to get everyone else, or should I leave Amy, Peggy, Denny and Barbara Jane on guard duty?”

  “If they wanted us dead, they’d have killed us all at the warehouse.” Pay knocked back his espresso and started another. He knew the entire team would be experiencing emotional raggedness, unstoppable crying, inappropriate laughter, tunnel vision and physical rigidity right now—just a few of the side effects that came from extreme violence.

  “I’ll station Blade at the front entrance. It’s the most vulnerable,” said Brooke.

  Jon D struggled into the room on his crutches. It was the first time Pay had seen him without his chair.

  “Damn chairs at the warehouse.”

  Pay nodded. Talking was too much work.

  “If we meet at the lunch table, I can keep an eye on the security monitors. Nobody will be able to surprise us.”

  Brooke and Pay both agreed.

  “I’ve reloaded everybody’s weapons and piled a bunch of grenades in the center of the table. Anybody gets past the alarm system and Blade, they’re going to find out what it was like to stor
m the beaches of Normandy on D-day.”

  Pay frowned at Jon D. “Would have been nice to know about the flamethrower. I damn near got turned into a flare.”

  Jon D shrugged. “Figured you and Chase were smart enough to stay out of the way. Told Richard to bail out and get away from the chair. Calculated risk.”

  “Gonna have to get you that operation and fix your leg. Damn pain has seriously fucked up your thinking.” Pay groaned and hopped on his one good leg toward the conference table. “Brooke, you better run this thing. My heads not clear.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin. Suggestions anyone?”

  While the team was recovering, Brooke had been calling their contacts looking for information on the guys who rescued Morano.

  Barbara Jane had been working the computers looking for the same. “I ran the Town Car plates and got a total dead end.”

  “Whatta ya mean a dead end?” asked Pay.

  “I mean the car’s registered to a corpse. According to the Department of Motor Vehicles, the owner is one Ronnie Lucas of Carmichael, a suburb of Sacramento. License tags and insurance are current, but Social Security confirms Mr. Lucas has been dead for ten years.”

  “Any ideas about Morano?” asked Brooke.

  “We need to find the bastard and kill him,” said Pay.

  The team nodded their agreement.

  “Any ideas on how to find him?” Chase voiced what everyone was thinking.

  “Oakland, Richmond and Contra Costa County Sheriff’s departments, all got calls from assorted federal agencies,” said Brooke. Mary Ellen sat beside her, arm around Barbara Jane like she might vanish any second. “Different organizations got calls from different groups. But what it came down to was FBI, Homeland Security and CIA, the message was the same: ‘Do not respond to the reports of shooting at a Richmond warehouse. Homeland Security has taken action and the situation is now under control.’”