Rum Runner - A Thriller (Jacqueline Jack Daniels Mysteries Book 9)

by J. A. Konrath

  “Happy to be of service.”

  I sniffed the air. “I smell tomato sauce. And hot dogs.”

  “Apparently McGlade liked Vienna sausage. Obsessively. The good news is, we won’t starve to death.”

  “Maybe if we last long enough, we’ll die of coronary artery disease.”

  “Don’t knock it. Chef Boyardee just saved our lives.” Phin pointed the flashlight to a spot near our feet. Cases of cans were stacked one on top of another, and they seemed to be the only thing supporting the ceiling. Harry’s food horde had protected us from being crushed.

  I started to laugh.

  “This is funny to you?”

  “If it wasn’t for those crates of lasagna,” I said, “we both would have pasta way.”

  It took Phin a moment to absorb the pun, and then he laughed along with me.

  “It’s good that Chef Boyardee still works for them,” Phin said. “I heard he got canned.”

  Maybe we found this so funny because it was the only way we could relieve stress. It was a defense mechanism. Or maybe we were just making the most of the little time we had left.

  When the titters died down, he said, “But, seriously, we’re fucked. I can’t tell if we’re sealed in. If so, we’ll run out of air and suffocate. That’s assuming the roof doesn’t finish collapsing and crush us.”

  “There’s that optimism shining through again. You should be a motivational speaker.”

  Phin’s voice turned serious. “Can you reach your guns?”

  His question cut through the artificial mirth and put me back in that dark place. The one where we killed ourselves.

  “I thought we were going to fight.”

  “I’m all for that. But unless you want to defend yourself by throwing canned produce, a gun would be nice. I lost mine. I still have my folding knife, a belt knife, and a pen.”

  “A pen? Good. You can write T-Nail a stern letter.”

  “It’s a tactical pen. Machine steel. Pointy. Can be used as a stabbing weapon or a striking weapon. It also has a glass breaker.”

  “Perfect. If we’re attacked by panes of glass, we’re safe.”

  “Can you reach your guns?”

  I wiggled, not wanting to jostle the cans on my chest too much for fear the house of cards would collapse. “I think I can get into my shoulder holster.”

  “Take it slow and easy.”

  “I like it when you talk that way. It’s sexy.”

  “Why does it take near-death situations to bring out your playful side?”

  I lowered my voice to Kathleen Turner Jessica Rabbit level, “I’m pinned here, Phin. Completely helpless. Why, you could do anything to me.” I breathed low and throaty. “Anything at all.”

  “Just try to reach your damn gun.”

  I stopped goofing around and tried to reach my damn gun. Navigating my hand through stacked canned goods wasn’t easy. My fingers sought out gaps, then I slowly eased through them, moving the cans aside.

  “I got to my holster.”

  I managed to unsnap the leather strap, but when I yanked the butt of the weapon, I could immediately tell by feel that something was wrong.

  “Shine the light over here,” I said, pulling the revolver free of the cans.

  As I suspected, the cylinder was bent.

  “It’s broken.” I turned it over in my hand, pulling and prodding. “Ejector rod won’t work. Cylinder won’t turn, and the chamber is misaligned.”

  “Does it cock?”

  I tried to thumb back the hammer. “No. Shit, Phin. My mother gave me this gun when I graduated the police academy.”

  I went from feeling giggly to stifling a sob. Full blown hysteria was peeking around the corner, trying to stare me down.

  “I’m sorry about your gun, Jack, but can we save the sentiment for later? How about your ankle holster?”

  I wrangled control over my emotional state and tried to shift my body. “No way. I’m pinned. Can’t even move my legs.”

  That’s when we heard it. A faint, echoey rumble.

  “Is the house settling?” I asked.

  “No.” Then Phin said what I feared he’d say. “They’re digging us out.”

  DEL RAY

  After instructing the men according to T-Nail’s orders, Del went back to Lil’ K.

  Lil’ K joined the set on his fourteenth birthday, just a week ago. There had been no blood in/blood out. No rum runner. None of that old school bullshit. Just a gathering of homies. Lil’ K recited the memorized oath with a bit of coaching from Del, and then they got their party on.

  Seemed like yesterday.

  At present, Lil’ K was standing up against the trunk of a big pine tree. He was struggling to breathe, because he had a length of copper pipe sticking through him. The projectile had hit him when the house exploded, and pinned him to the tree with so much force that three brothers couldn’t pull it out. Lil’ K finally begged them to stop because it hurt so bad, and they did.

  He didn’t have much time left.

  “You hangin’ in there, homes?” Del Ray said as he approached. “You get it? Hangin’?”

  Lil’ K offered a weak smile. His teeth were red. “Hurts real bad, General.”

  “You a C-Note, dog. We eat pain and dish out payback. You know the creed.”

  “I know. Eat pain and dish out payback, then tag the pussy on the way back.”

  “Hells yeah, C.” Del Ray did not high five. He was afraid to touch him.

  “This past week… been the best of my life.”

  That was sad as hell. This kid hadn’t even begun to live.

  Del thought of all the things he’d never get to see. Never get to do.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Bangin’ was dangerous. Hustlin’ always had risks. Streets were mean. But this wasn’t the streets. This was the woods. Far from home.

  “Wish I had a cold forty right now,” K said.

  “You an’ me both, cuz. But you know you’re underage. That shit is bad for you.”

  Another weak smile. The smile faded as quick as it came. “I’m not gonna make it, am I?”

  Del didn’t sugar coat. “No.”

  “That’s okay.” He cleared his throat, spat blood. “And if I bleed and die today, never over my grave pray, I lived true and I lived free, I lived and died to serve the C.”

  Del Ray gently touched his shoulder. “You’re family. C-Note through and through.”

  Some birds began to sing. Something you didn’t hear much in the city.

  “Never had a family before,” K said. “It was nice.”

  Del felt some tears well up, and he wanted to turn away. But he didn’t. You never turned away from your own.

  “You know, I didn’t grow up on the streets,” Del said.

  “For real?”

  “Suburbs. Straight-up middle class. We had a big lawn. Little swing set in back, with a plastic slide. A two car garage.” Del had never told anyone this before. “When I was ten years old, we lost it all. Dad loved riverboat gambling more than he loved us. Had to move in with my cousins in Englewood. Scared the shit out of me. I faked being street so I didn’t get my ass whupped. Made up all these stories about myself. About how bad-ass I was. How my grandma was full-blooded Sioux Indian. I don’t have any Sioux blood in me. My real name isn’t Del Ray. It’s Paul. Paul Michael Palmer. But I left all that behind. Joined the C-Notes at fourteen, just like you. Haven’t seen my mom or dad since. Never looked back. The C’s are my family now. Remember the Creed?”

  Lil’ K gave a weak nod.

  “Being a C-Note ain’t just about turf, and scrappin’, and hustlin’. It’s about pride. Honor. Responsibility. Community. Equality.” Del began to recite. “We are strong because we all are one. Brothers and sisters united—”

  “—to make a better world for every daughter and son,” Lil’ K said, finishing the line.

  “I’m proud of you, my man. Your life has meaning. And I won’t ever forget you.”

&
nbsp; Lil’ K didn’t respond. He passed before Del finished talking.

  Del Ray wiped off his cheeks, and closed Lil’ K’s eyes.

  Then he took out his straight razor.

  JACK

  They’re getting close,” I said, listening to the excavation sounds grow stronger.

  “Take this,” Phin said. He was holding the flashlight in his bad hand, and waving his folder in the other. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “On three. One… two… three!”

  It was a bad throw. I stretched for it, and the knife handle bounced off my fingertips, landing on the floor somewhere in between us.

  “I can’t reach it,” I said, extending my arm as far as I could go.

  Phin couldn’t either.

  “What’s plan B?” I asked. The team working to dig us out seemed very close.

  “My belt knife.”

  “What are you going to use?”

  “I’ve still got the tactical pen.”

  “Give me the pen,” I told him.

  “You made fun of the pen.”

  “Have you trained with one?”

  “No. But I haven’t trained with a knife, either. Unless stabbing someone is considered training.”

  “I’ve trained with batons before. There’s a mini version of a baton called a Koga. A short impact weapon. I know how to use it.”

  “Yeah. You stab whoever is nearby.”

  “Just throw me the damn pen.”

  A light hit my face. Not Phin’s.

  “I see them!” someone yelled.

  Phin tossed the pen. I snatched it out of the air and quickly shoved it down my shirt, into the elastic of my bra.

  “I love you,” I told my husband.

  “I love you, too.”

  Then they pushed their way in and swarmed on us.

  HERB

  Welcome to beautiful downtown Spoonward, Wisconsin,” McGlade said. “Don’t blink or you’ll miss it.”

  Herb couldn’t recall ever being in a town of five hundred residents, but the main street was as he imagined it would look like. Post office. Tiny library. A few shops. And the police station. It was the only building that had lights on.

  “Let’s be quick about this,” Herb said. “We run in, tell whoever’s there what’s happening, and go get Jack. How far away is your place, Harry?”

  “About ten more miles.”

  Herb had argued against stopping in Spoonward to inform the authorities. The longer he spent in the RV, the more anxious he became. That gang kid, Chester, had given Herb a speck of hope. If the C-Notes had him guarding the road, they hadn’t finished with Jack yet. There was a chance she and Phin were still alive.

  But with every passing second, the odds got worse.

  Tom had talked Herb out of going directly to Jack. A liaison with the locals, if it worked, would be incredibly helpful. They could provide more manpower, more guns, and the necessary stamp of approval. If things went sour, this could become a bureaucratic and media nightmare. Harry hadn’t been a cop for decades, and Herb and Tom were a long way from their jurisdiction. Going into a different state, guns blazing, would cause more than just disciplinary action. They could all wind up in prison.

  McGlade pulled up next to the police station.

  “Just let me out here,” Tom said. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “We can all go in.”

  “We don’t know how long it will take. You and Harry need to go find Jack.”

  “You sure?” Herb wasn’t keen on this idea. Splitting up seemed to never work out well. “What if there isn’t anyone there?”

  “I see people through their window. Someone is home. You got a paper map, McGlade?”

  Their GPS had died at the same time their cell service had.

  “Yeah. In the good old glove box.”

  Harry opened the glove compartment, and half a dozen Clif Bars spilled out. Herb decided to kill him. After they rescued Jack.

  McGlade fished out a map, then wasted thirty seconds finding his hideaway and circling it in pen. He handed it over.

  Tom offered Herb his hand. “Be careful. I’ll be right behind you guys. If the Chief doesn’t give me a ride, I’ll steal his squad car.”

  “Good luck,” Herb told him.

  “Who needs luck when I have natural charm?” Tom asked.

  “Ned Beatty had natural charm, too,” Harry said. “Things didn’t work out well for him in Deliverance.”

  Tom opened the side door, and then smiled. “They’re cops like us. What’s the worst that can happen?“

  T-NAIL

  They dragged Jacqueline and her husband into what used to be the living room. The roof was gone, and the stars had come out. The men had set several bonfires to light up the area, but there was also ambient light from the forest fire, creeping toward them in the distance. They’d also stripped the couple of their body armor and frisked them, taking a knife and a flashlight from the man, and a knife and gun from Jack’s ankle holsters.

  Now it was just a question of which one to hurt first.

  “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time,” T-Nail said, raising his voice so all of the men gathered around could hear. Every eye was fixed on him. The flickering flames, and the half-destroyed house, made the setting look surreal. Almost tribal. This wasn’t Uganda. And T-Nail wasn’t Idi Amin. But this might be the closest he ever got to either.

  “The Eternal Black C-Notes are all about honor,” he continued. “And a man’s honor is more important than his life. This woman,” he pointed at Jacqueline, being pinned to the floor by four of his soldiers, “tried to take my honor.” He filled his lungs and bellowed, “No one takes a C-Notes honor and lives!”

  He expected whooping and applause, but there was only silence.

  Did they fear him so much they were afraid to cheer? That had to be the reason.

  T-Nail pushed his joystick forward, and the Gyro moved slower than normal. They still hadn’t found his spare batteries, but that didn’t matter. This moment was his, and he was going to relish it.

  So what would be the best way to punish Jacqueline?

  He stared into her eyes. Saw defiance.

  T-Nail knew that look. He’d seen it many times in his enemies.

  It never lasted, no matter how strong they were. He would have her begging within the hour.

  “The man,” he ordered. “Hold him down and stretch out his arms and legs.”

  The soldiers followed orders, and cleared a path for T-Nail as he rolled up.

  “You are going to die badly, Jacqueline Daniels,” T-Nail told her. “But before you do, I’m going to show you what’s going to happen to you. On him.”

  T-Nail pulled the nail gun out of his holster.

  It only took eight nails to pin Jacqueline’s husband to the wood floor.

  PHIN

  He couldn’t move.

  But then, that was probably the point of being nailed to the floor.

  Phin was face-down, arms and legs stretched out. T-Nail had shot him with his nail gun through the soles of each foot, the muscle of each calf, through the meat of the triceps, and through his palms.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt very much. Maybe it was because the nails pierced him so quickly, his nerves didn’t have time to react. The pain was nothing compared to his broken finger. Or even his cracked ribs. While Phin wouldn’t recommend his current predicament as a fun way to kill a Saturday night, he’d been through a lot worse.

  Then he looked at Jack. At the horror in her eyes. The pity. The sadness. The hopelessness.

  And Phineas Troutt’s heart ached worse than any physical pain he’d ever endured.

  JACK

  I finally understood.

  Watching the man I love get hurt like that, made me finally understand what ya-aburnee meant.

  I hope you bury me.

  It was the truest, purest thing ever said by anyone.

  I couldn’t watch him die. Not Phin.
Not the man I loved so much.

  As scared as I was for myself, I didn’t want to outlive him. I wanted to die clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Phin would make it.

  I wanted to die first.

  I had to die first.

  “I get it,” I said, keeping my voice strong. “I get it, Phin. I know it’s too late to matter, but I understand. I understand ya-aburnee.”

  “It’s about damn time,” Phin said.

  “Hey! Terrance!”

  T-Nail looked at me.

  “Do you want to know the real reason you were in jail for twenty years?” I said. “It’s because I was better than you. That’s why you spent two decades behind bars. That’s why you can’t walk. Because I’m strong, and you’re weak. And you’re afraid to show how weak you really are, in front of your gang. So you need their help to kill me.”

  I raised my voice.

  “You talk about honor,” I continued. “Where’s your honor? I took your life, and I took your legs. Why don’t you face me, man to woman? Or are you a coward?”

  T-Nail didn’t speak for almost ten seconds. Then he said, “Is that it?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “What did you think that would do, Jacqueline? Shame me into fighting you one-on-one? I could easily snap your neck. And I know that’s what you want. A quick death. But it isn’t going to be that easy for you. You’re going to watch Phineas die, while you both beg for mercy. Then you’re going to die. We’re not going to end this as equals. It ends with me in control, and you suffering.”

  “You’re all here,” I said to the hundred-plus gangbangers standing around us, “because this asshole cares more about revenge than he does about your lives. I haven’t killed a single one of you. I had a rifle, and I aimed to wound. How many of you have died because of him? All because he was stupid enough to get shot in the spine and caught by the cops, so long ago some of you weren’t even born yet. He’s seeking honor? He has no honor. Has this man done a single thing to earn your respect?”

  “I am War Chief,” T-Nail said.