No Remorse No Regret

by Ian Worrall

  From this vantage point, she has a clear site line of fifty feet in each direction from the front of The Max House, including a brown van up the street that is possibly the escape vehicle from the attack on Danil earlier. With the hydraulics she installed on her vehicle, it is high enough that she can shoot out over the wall of the parking garage and no one will be the wiser unless they know what they are looking for.

  The front door opens and one of Marcus’s people steps out as his black Porsche 911 pulls up, followed by two other vehicles—a yellow Hummer H2 and white Ford Explorer. The Explorer pulls in front of Marcus’s car. They’re trying to do VIP level security for him. A short black man gets out of the front driver’s seat of the Porsche and stands next to it keeping the door open.

  The one who stepped out of the club turns back and opens the door. “All clear boss.”

  “Out in ten seconds,” comes the answer from inside the club.

  Melissa starts her relaxed breathing, three seconds in and three seconds out, as a dark sedan pulls up behind the Ford Explorer. She recognizes the three police detectives, Jared, Jackie, and Mitchell, as they greet Marcus as he exits the club.

  “Marcus Taylor,” Torres says in a not-so-pleasant tone.

  “What you want?” Marcus walks toward his car with his arm around the waist of the stripper.

  The three police detectives are blocking a clear shot. But she’s patient. The last thing she would want to do is bring a police thunderstorm down on Danil by killing a cop or three.

  “You got a death wish or something?” Torres asks.

  “What you mean?”

  “I guess I should have introduced myself.”

  “Yes, should have,” Marcus says.

  “I’m detective Torres, head of the Organized Crime Task Force, and these are detectives Mitchell Burnlee and Jackie Cruze. Homicide detectives.”

  “OK.”

  “There was an attack on Danil Burlomov tonight,” Mitchell says.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  “The one who got your brother killed,” Torres says.

  “Someone kill your brother you’d want him to die.”

  “Yeah, but the last ones who went head-to-head with the Russians got wiped out,” Torres says.

  Marcus waves his free arm to show off his security detail.

  “I’m smarter than Gary was. Got better security.”

  He walks past the detectives and turns back.

  “Nothing and no one can touch me.”

  As he turns away from the police again, Melissa pulls the trigger. The bullet races across the street and hits Marcus in the throat, tearing through the back of his neck. Blood spits out of his mouth and his hands fall to his sides. What the fuck just happened? he thinks. The woman he was holding screams as blood splatters over her face and chest. Torres, Mitchell, and Jackie duck down and scramble back behind their car with their guns drawn.

  “Everyone down behind the cars,” Jackie yells.

  Marcus falls to the pavement, first to his knees and then flat on his face two feet from the open door to the Porsche.

  Mitchell presses a button on his radio and yells, “We’ve got shots fired at The Max House! Requesting back up immediately!”

  As everyone scrambles for cover, Melissa gets off two more shots. One pierces the forehead of the man outside of the club who gave the all clear. The second shot hits the back of the one who had driven the Porsche, tearing out a lung and then exiting out his chest.

  Marcus can see the muzzle flashes of the remaining gun shots, but what’s wrong with my arms? I could direct the cops to where the shooter is, but I can’t move. He tries to scream when he sees his blood pouring out of his mouth. Why aren’t the cops going after him? This can’t happen to me, this can’t . . . and then his world goes black.

  Melissa closes the gun port on her vehicle, pressing a release valve for the hydraulics. As the SUV lowers down, she puts the safety back on her gun and folds the bipod. She takes a sip of her water as she hears sirens getting closer. Big pay day coming.

  Down below, the three police detectives are searching for where the shots might have come from. Marcus and the man shot in the back are now dead on the pavement as six police cruisers and four ambulances pull up.

  The uniformed police get out of their vehicles with their guns drawn and start scanning the area for signs of the shooter. Fifteen minutes pass before Mitchell gives the all clear.

  “Probably gone by now,” he says. “Just the same, run the license plates of the vehicles in the parking garage over there.”

  Jackie turns to the ambulance crews. “Bag the dead guys and see if anyone else is hurt.”

  Three of the uniformed cops start searching through the parking garage. Melissa can hear one of them outside of her vehicle talking on the radio.

  “Lots of cars for the time of night.”

  “I guess people got smart, took a cab home,” comes a reply.

  “I got ten on level two here.”

  “Another eight on level one.”

  “Total of fifteen between levels three and four. Danny how many you got?”

  “Level five had three. Level six was empty. But I found three spent shell casings up here.”

  “This is Detective Burnlee,” Mitchell speaks over the radio. “Bag those bullets for fingerprints. You other two keep an eye on those other vehicles.”

  Melissa can also hear Jackie outside talking to Mitchell.

  “What are you thinking? A mistake by a pro?” she asks.

  Mitchell shakes his head. “Not that bad of a mistake; a forensic counter measure. Or a distraction to help with an easier escape.”

  Jackie looks over at the body of Marcus. “Looks like he got touched tonight.”

  Mitchell gives her a look. “Still the smart ass you alluded to?”

  She winks at him. “Better that than a dumb ass for a partner.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Standing next to Melissa’s Tahoe, the police officer doesn’t know he has revealed the state of the police investigation to her. The other officers searching the area find nothing to help with the latest murders. She can hear the report that three people have been killed. Her principal target likely died choking to death on his blood after getting shot in the throat.

  Triple the normal fee, but wait until the cops leave before going home. Settle in for a nap. Will need to be well-rested for interrogation if I’m caught.

  Chapter 22

  D eep in the water, Melissa feels herself being pulled up higher and higher before breaking the surface where she can breathe again. What happened? What’s going on? Above her, men are talking and there is a rumbling of an engine.

  “I’ve got the package. Not quite where they’d said it would be,” she hears in an accent she can’t quite place. She hears another splash close to her, but not knowing what the situation is, she stays limp and quiet. When she hears “package” she figures her rescue was a mistake.

  Something, probably a rope, is tied tightly around her waist. She resists the urge to gasp out loud as it forces her to shorten her breathing.

  “Taking it up now,” she hears someone say from above. For a moment, she feels like she’s floating through the air until she hits something solid, jarring more pain through her body. Another sound comes out from beyond the bag, reminiscent of the metallic sound when her father climbed the ladder to put up Christmas lights.

  “See what we’ve got here then,” another accented voice says.

  The zipper is opened and she is blinded by the bright lights of the boat.

  “What in hell is this, Danil?” she hears one man ask.

  “I saw a black bag. I assumed it was the delivery.”

  Behind them, out on the water, they hear another call out, “The package is here. Call Danil back.”

  The older man turns back to the water. “Bring it over.”

  “What do we do with her?” Danil asks.

  “Put her back in the water.”
>
  Melissa starts crying and opens her eyes. As her eyes adjust to the light through her tears, she sees two men standing over her. Behind them the name of the boat “The Alexandra” is in big letters on the cabin of the yacht.

  “Please don’t,” she tries to say but can’t with the tape over her mouth. She strains against her bindings to beg for her life. The two men ignore her and continue talking to each other.

  “Can’t I have her? I did find her.”

  “You can have any girl you want, my son. She’s a witness. Get rid of her,” his father says.

  “But remember our other job we came here to do? Get her to do it.”

  The older man smiles. “Fine then.” He then turns to another of his crew. “Bring out McFarland.”

  Kneeling beside her, Danil takes the duct tape off Melissa’s mouth. He then kisses her on the top of her head.

  “Do you want to live, little one?”

  Melissa nods her head emphatically, almost hyperventilating as she tries to wipe tears from her eyes on her shoulder, her hands still tied behind her back. “Yes. Let me live please,” she cries as she gasps for air.

  “Good. I got a job for you.”

  After undoing her wrists, he takes a hand gun from one of his associates as another man who is bound by the hands and gagged is forced to his knees in front of her. Both of his eyes are swollen shut, blood still dripping from his nose and mouth. Danil puts the gun in Melissa’s hands.

  “Shoot that prick right there.”

  She shakes her head, “No, I can’t kill anyone.”

  “If you want to live, little one, you will.”

  “Please don’t make me do this.”

  Danil turns to the older man. “Hand me your gun.”

  He takes the other gun and points it at Melissa’s head.

  “One last chance, little one. He’s going to die anyway. No sense in you dying too.”

  She starts crying harder now. “No, please, I can’t do it.”

  “Fine then.”

  Danil chambers a round in his gun he has pointed at her head and then a gunshot rings out in the night as the back of McFarland’s head blows out from the exit wound.

  “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you ask,” Melissa cries as she drops the smoking gun and goes down on all fours begging for her life.

  “Well done, little one,” she hears as the man pats her on top of her head. “Now she’s an accomplice. Can I have her now?” he says to the older man.

  “As I said, my son, you can have any girl you want.”

  Danil lifts Melissa out of the sports gear bag and stands her on her feet. Bleeding from her stab wounds, she is wearing only her panties and bra. The engine of the boat starts as he picks her up again cradling her in his arms, her long dark hair falling down his back as she cries on his shoulder unable to believe what she just did.

  “We’ll see if we have some dry clothes, and something to cover those wounds,” he says to her as he’s carrying her towards the cabin of the yacht. “I think we could have some fun together.”

  Through her tears, she sees the man she was just forced to kill thrown overboard. What have I done? Lord, forgive me, please.

  Melissa wakes up in the cargo space of her Chevy Tahoe. Safe again. She turns on her notebook computer and connects it to a mini wireless spy camera in the ceiling of the vehicle. She pans the camera around her and sees that the police are now gone. The clock on the computer reads noon. After a long night, it wasn’t surprising that she slept for nine hours. The parking garage is now full of the cars of daytime workers.

  Opening the gun port on the back of the SUV, Melissa removes the Alberta license plate and replaces it with a license plate for the State of Nebraska.

  After relocking the gun port, Melissa crawls through the back to the front seat and drives off. Another successful hit and three more still to come.

  Chapter 23

  L ying in his bed, Mitchell is wearing a sleep mask and earplugs to block out the noise of children playing in the street, on summer vacation from school. Funny how kids always seem to be up and at ‘em earlier in the morning when there’s fun to be had, but it’s a fight to get them out of bed in the morning to go to school. Of course, adults are the same. Who prefers work over fishing and golf?

  His wife, Caroline, walks in carrying a tray with bacon, eggs, and fresh coffee. She wakes him with a kiss on the lips as she places the tray on the bed and turns on the bedside lamp. “Hello, sleepy head.”

  Mitchell rubs his eyes after he takes off his sleep mask and removes the earplugs. He kisses her back for several seconds. “Nothing like dessert before the main course.”

  She runs her fingers through his hair.

  “What’s breakfast in bed for?”

  “Call it brunch in bed, dear. It’s noon. You’ve worked really hard for the past few weeks.”

  “I know. Sorry. We’ve got a gang war brewing between the Russians and a small-time group of thugs.”

  “Russians going to win?” she asks.

  “Probably, if OC can’t stop it. Three more of the small-time losers got taken out last night.”

  “The shootout on the news? You were there?” A look of grave concern comes over her face. “You were lucky you weren’t shot.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  “Really?”

  “The Russian Mafia are as bad as any other OC group, whether it’s bikers, or any other ethnic mafia. They’re generally smart enough not to target cops.”

  “Good to know.” She kisses him again.

  “They know that if they start killing cops, well, the police are the biggest street gang in the city.”

  As he finishes eating and starts drinking his coffee, his phone rings.

  “Hey, Jackie. Another one? Damn it. Be there as soon as I can.”

  He lifts the breakfast tray off his lap and gets out of bed.

  “Another one, dear?” Caroline asks.

  “You remember the case I was working on when we first met?”

  “The Drowner?”

  “Yeah. We got a letter saying he’s back when a body was found with his signature. Apparently another one has been found.”

  “And more work for you?”

  “This one’s a priority. Get this guy and my daughters are safer. As are other people’s daughters. The others we’ll work on as we can. Criminals killing criminals is not our biggest problem when a serial killer is on the loose.”

  Walking into the shower, Mitchell lets the hot water wash over him as he runs his hands through his hair. He breathes out heavily, spraying some of the water onto the shower wall. Will we ever win the fight against the mad men and keep my daughters safe from them? Nothing is more important than Daddy’s little girls.

  Turning off the hot water, he steps out of the shower and dries off. Caroline is preparing his shaving kit for him.

  “Not shaving today, sweetie,” he says.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Going to try a trick that they do in the NHL playoffs. They don’t shave until the end. I might need all the luck I can get to nail the bastard.”

  “OK, then,” she says as she kisses him between the shoulder blades, putting her arms around his waist. “I will tell you that I will shave it myself in your sleep if you dare to let it get so long it goes to your waist.”

  “Hopefully it never gets that far.”

  “Yeah, hopefully,” she says.

  Caroline already has the clothes laid out for him on the bed. After getting dressed, Mitchell then opens his gun case and checks everything out. Holstering his weapon, he and Caroline embrace and kiss for a minute.

  “Once this is over, we’ll take the kids to Disney World. And after that I’ll bring you on the Alaskan Cruise I had promised you. You can hold me to that.”

  He lets her go and leaves the bedroom. Caroline sits on the bed crying silently, her jaw clenching as she hears Mitchell’s car drive off.

  “I will hold you
to that.”

  Despite his assurances that organized crime groups don’t target cops, they have in the past. Mainly in countries like Columbia. But it could happen here. And another psycho serial killer… Are my daughters going to be safe? She is more fearful of that thought. Serial killers don’t have any moral compunctions about who dies. At least a group like the Russian Mafia don’t go after ten-year-old children. Perhaps they’re better in that regard.

  And she knows that Mitchell would gladly kill anyone or give his own life to protect his children, as would she and any other true parent. If The Drowner went anywhere near her kids, his death at Caroline’s hands would cause a medieval torturer to puke his guts out.

  * * *

  In his car, Mitchell’s phone rings. Clicking on the hands-free button to answer, Jackie speaks first.

  “Hey. Apparently nailed to the bridge is another letter to you.”

  “Anything on it?”

  “No prints yet, but I got a picture of it.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Dear Detective Burnlee, so many sweeties, so little time to get them all.”

  Mitchell grimaces as he curses under his breath. “Is this the missing Cavanagh girl?”

  “Looks like her.”

  Chapter 24

  O n top of Mitchell’s desk at the police station lies a pile of notebooks. Various takeout boxes of Chinese food and pizza, some half-full, others completely empty, are on top of his and Jackie’s computer towers, chairs and filling the garbage cans. With a fork, Jackie tries some cold Chinese food, grimaces, and spits it out into an empty pizza box as Mitchell is searching through one of his notebooks.

  Another detective with a file sits down at a desk ten feet away from Mitchell and Jackie.

  “Another one bought the farm.”

  Mitchell and Jackie look over at him.

  “What’s that?” Jackie asks.

  “This file here,” he says. “The accidental death four days ago.”

  “And why so glib about it?” Mitchell asks him.