by L. T. Ryan
“Get in,” I said to Marcia from twenty feet away.
She opened her door and slid inside. I flinched at the sound of her door slamming shut.
It hit me then what had made me so uncomfortable about the driver. Sasha hadn’t arranged it. Someone else had. Someone else knew that I had left England for Jessie’s funeral.
What if that someone knew I’d returned again?
Chapter 45
Alessandro forced his way into the sheriff’s office before the sun came up. They only had a single lock on the front door. Child’s play for him. He took his time down the short, narrow hallway. He stepped past it and saw a large square room. He passed a door on his right. He pushed it open and saw a break room. The door closed and he continued forward. Three cells lined the back wall. Each cell looked to be eight foot square. In front of the cells, there were four desks. The desks were split into two groups, butted front to front, with a five-foot space creating an aisle between them.
At most he’d deal with four cops. Those odds did not favor him. Drop the headcount by one or two and he’d feel better about his chances.
He settled in and waited. Always one to arrive early, he’d been through this many times before. The element of surprise was his greatest asset. It would benefit him once again. The cops, when they entered, would let their guard down. They would be in the safest place they knew of. The station was their home away from home. And they ruled the building.
Light began to filter in through the shaded windows. The room was no longer dark. He’d have to change his approach now. The dark had provided him with cover. The light would force him to act swiftly and decisively. He’d have to change his tactics a bit. He could use one of the desks, but that would put him in a non-optimal position. The wall that separated the room from the hall was an option. But if there were multiple officers, he’d have to count on all of them entering at once.
He knew this was a fatal flaw in his plan. Why had Vera sent him here? It was only going to get him killed.
He called her, but received no answer. He didn’t leave a message.
She wouldn’t have let him out of the job, anyway.
He continued to assess various spots in the room for the advantages and disadvantages they gave him. He ruled out the desks, the wall, the drop ceiling, and the cells. In the end, he settled on the break room.
The best-case scenario involved only one cop. He could think of no second best option. Anytime he had to confront multiple armed individuals, the odds dropped.
Time passed. Six, then seven in the morning. Eight approached. He sat in a chair in front of the cells beside a window. He kept an eye on the street. He could see anyone coming from the right, left, or head on.
Shortly after nine in the morning, three cops in uniform approached the door.
Alessandro rushed to the break room. He closed the door so that it remained open a crack. His gut tightened. He didn’t like the set up. If his first shot missed, he was screwed. They’d have him pinned. He’d go down.
The front door opened and shut several seconds later. Had they all come in? He stood next to the wall, his ear pressed against the break room entrance. He heard their voices. They sounded tired, defeated.
A result of his handiwork. It made him smile.
A desk chair groaned under someone’s weight. A woman said something. A man chuckled. He heard the word coffee.
A hand slapped against the door. Alessandro pressed his back into the cinder block wall. The door swung open, stopping inches from his nose. By the time the door retreated, a man had walked two feet past him. Alessandro crept toward his unwitting target. He reached out with both hands. His left wrapped around the front and grabbed the guy’s stubbled chin. His right grabbed the base of the man’s skull. He pulled them in opposite directions. The guy’s neck snapped, and he fell to the floor.
Alessandro reached down and removed the cop’s Glock from its holster. He walked toward the door, stopped, listened. There was nothing to indicate that the others had heard the sound of their partner dying.
He eased the door open. Two cops, one male, one female, sat at their desks, facing him. They stared down at paperwork. They had pens in their hands, not pistols.
Alessandro whipped the door open. He aimed at the man with his right hand, the woman with his left. He fired off two simultaneous shots.
The man jerked backward, stiffened. Blood trickled from a fresh hole in his forehead. He fell off his seat.
The shot missed the woman. She dove toward the floor. He couldn’t see her through the desks, so he unloaded the Glock he’d taken from the dead cop’s holster. Bullets crashed against the metal frame.
He screamed. So did the woman.
Alessandro had to get out of the break room. There was no exit other than the way he entered. The woman would surely be on the phone, if she wasn’t already, calling for backup. He fired off another shot, and stepped out.
The woman squeeze off a round. Thunder exploded in the room. Intense pain rose through his leg like burning acid. He fell to the ground. Blood pooled around his ankle. She fired again. It missed. He shuffled on the floor toward the cells. A mistake, he realized, but he couldn’t backtrack. The second set of desks provided him some cover.
He pressed his head to the floor and saw the woman. It looked like blood stained her uniform. He stuck his arm out and fired. She screamed in pain.
“Come on out,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
Desk drawers opened as the woman clawed her way up.
Alessandro reached behind himself, grabbed hold of the cell bars and dragged himself to his feet. He couldn’t stand on his injured leg. He used the iron bars to support his weight.
They faced each other.
She leaned against her desk for support. She had blood on her shirt in two spots. He’d hit her in the shoulder and the abdomen. She held her pistol in her left hand. She’d had the pen in her right.
He smiled, knowing he had her.
Alessandro lifted his arm, squeezed the trigger and closes his eyes at the sound of his Glock firing. The sound echoed all around him.
He opened his eyes. The woman stood there, another crimson blossom forming on her thigh. His stomach burned. He looked down. She’d hit him in the gut. He looked up and saw her lift her arm again. He fired another shot. This one hit her in the chest. She collapsed. Alessandro leaned back against the bars. The pain he felt intensified. He glanced down again. She’d hit him in the abdomen a second time.
He knew enough about human anatomy to know that there was little chance he’d survive his wounds. Even if an ambulance drove through the wall at that moment, they’d take their time. He’d killed three cops, and they’d pin the fourth on him.
The weight of his body became too much for his weakened core to handle. He took a shaky breath and slid down the cell bars. The desks blocked his view of the woman. He saw the male cop’s feet, but that was it.
Alessandro closed his eyes and waited for death.
Chapter 46
I kept the speedometer fixed at eighty. I didn’t use the cruise control. A steady foot did the trick. How I managed to keep my foot steady, I wasn’t sure.
I’d tried to call April a dozen times. The phone only rang two or three times the first few attempts. I had pictured her diverting my calls to voicemail. I hoped it was because she was busy. I figured it had been because I’d spurned her and left her pissed off. I feared that something had happened to her.
The last few calls rang several times before being sent to her mailbox. It wasn’t her voice on the message, either. A computer generated greeting answered each time.
My nerves built. I’d hit redial, wait, hang up, then check the phone that Sasha had given me. Still nothing from her. I wanted to call her, but didn’t with Marcia sitting next to me.
Marcia appeared to have no reaction to any of this. She kept her eyes forward. I wondered what went through her head.
The minutes flew by. Before I knew it we
passed the burned remains of the senior care facility where my father had stayed. There was nothing left. A burning pile of rubble and smoke. A few people gathered nearby. They hugged and consoled one another. Families, I presumed.
This town had never experienced so much killing. Probably not in its entire lifetime. And it all started when I came home. Except for Jessie. But there was no doubt she died because of me.
We passed the abandoned road where Craig had been executed. The Tercel was still there. Yellow police tape had been strung around it, hanging from the trees.
I tried April again. No answer. I called four-one-one, had them connect me to the sheriff’s office. The line was busy.
I saw the entrance to Matt’s neighborhood. Turned right. Saw the purple house that my grandfather had built with his own two hands. I imagined him turning in his grave, again.
Police tape surrounded Matt’s house. April’s car wasn’t there, and neither were her deputies. I didn’t stop. I went to the end of the street and whipped around in the tight cul-de-sac.
“Where are we going?” Marcia said.
“I guess we should go to April’s house,” I said.
“Wasn’t the line to the sheriff’s office busy?”
“Yeah.”
“We should go there.”
I glanced at her, surprised she offered any input. She stared at me. I thought she looked steeled and determined. I nodded and turned toward town.
Downtown Crystal River looked deserted. Typical for a Sunday morning. Though many had been to Jessie’s funeral the day before, they still attended church for Sunday service.
I hopped the curb and parked the car. I left a few feet of space for pedestrians to pass through. I made it halfway to the entrance before Marcia got a foot on the ground. I stopped and turned and waited.
“Sorry,” she said as she kicked off her flats and ran toward me barefoot. She held her purse in her left hand and stuck her right arm out for balance. She might have been undercover at one time, but she’d never had the type of training I’d been through.
I yanked the door open. A cool gust blew toward me. The humid air fought it back. I entered, heard Marcia slap the door and step in behind me. This wasn’t a time for manners.
We stood in the dark hallway. The office was quiet. I caught a trace of nitroglycerin and sawdust in the air. I held one arm out and ushered Marcia behind me.
I crept along the wall, the M40 drawn and in front of me. As I neared the end, I saw a door. It had three splintered bullet holes. I straightened up, looked over my shoulder, mouthed the words, “Wait here.” Then I crouched and stepped around the corner. The area looked clear. I kept the pistol in front of me and sidestepped toward the bullet hole ridden door. I leaned against it. It opened. A man lay on the floor. I didn’t see any blood, but he didn’t appear to be breathing.
Easing back into the room, I heard a cough. I scanned and saw the desk in front of me had been shot up. I saw a man on the floor behind another desk. I went to his side. He’d been shot in the head. His lifeless eyes stared up, focused on nothing.
I heard a heavy sigh, looked back. April lay on the floor behind me.
“Jesus, April,” I said.
If she knew I was there, she didn’t show it. I checked her pulse. It was thready, weak, and slow. Maybe fifteen beats per minute. Whatever her eyes stared at, it was beyond this world. I moved my hand to her face. My fingertips brushed against her soft skin, and warm blood. I closed her eyes as she let out her last breath.
I heard another cough.
“Stay back there, Marcia,” I said.
If whoever else was in there was in the position to do something, it would have happened already. I remained cautious. I stood and walked toward the cells. I saw a man on the floor. A pistol lay next to him. He held both hands over his stomach. Blood trickled between his fingers.
“Why?” I said.
Somehow he managed to smile. I didn’t need an explanation after that.
Chapter 47
Sasha stared at the bald man in front of her like he’d stepped on her puppy.
“I’m telling you, Operation Patheos does not exist now, nor did it ever exist. Someone is feeding you a bunch of crap.”
“What do you know about Marcia Stanton? And I’m not talking about the company line. You’re the only one who knows more than I do around here. I want to know what you know.”
He got up and walked around his desk. He stuck his bald head into the hallway and then let his door fall closed. He adjusted the blinds so that no one could see in.
Sasha waited, staring out at the Thames. Two single sculls raced by. One had a full-length lead over the other.
The man sat down. He blocked her view. He cleared his throat, took off his glasses, held them to his mouth, exhaled and cleaned them. He put them back on and stared at her for a moment.
“What I’m going to tell you can’t ever leave the walls of this office. Got that?”
She nodded.
He said, “Prior to five years ago, we have no information about Marcia Stanton. She’s a ghost.”
Chapter 48
The man’s eyes shifted to his left. He looked past me. His smile faded. He tried to speak. No words came out.
“Jack, shoot him,” Marcia said.
“He’s dying,” I said. “And after what he did, I’d rather he suffer.”
The man worked his lips open and shut. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. His tongue was coated in crimson. “Vera,” the man said.
“Do it now, Jack!” she said.
The man shifted. He winced as he did so. He said, “Th…th…this is Jack? What are you doing with him, Vera?”
He’d regained some of his strength. Adrenaline, presumably. His hand dropped to the side and found his pistol. He didn’t look at me. He kept his focus on her.
“Dammit, Alessandro.”
It was Marcia speaking, but the accent was American. It sounded like what I had heard at my house in England. The voice she claimed was her half-sister’s.
“You couldn’t pull this off successfully,” Marcia said. “And you couldn’t just die.”
I started to turn toward her. I caught a brief flash as I did. Gunfire ripped through the room. Instinctively, I dove toward the wall.
The bullet hit Alessandro in the face. His head jerked back and racked the cell bars. He remained motionless for a beat, then fell to the side. Blood pooled on the floor around his stomach and his head. It crept beneath the cell bars, headed in lines toward a drain in the rear of the room.
I rolled over and got into a crouching position. I rose up an inch, caught sight of her. She was close. She fired. It caught me in the left arm. I fell back again. The phone Sasha had given me vibrated against my thigh. My cell rang in the other pocket.
Marcia appeared in front of me. She aimed the pistol in my direction. I cooled my reaction. My right leg covered the M40.
“Who are you?” I said.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Jack.” She spoke with an American accent. She sounded like she could have grown up on the other side of the state. “Things got messed up beyond repair. This is the only way.”
She lifted the gun. Her eyes watered over. She hesitated. Perhaps she felt some loyalty to me. Maybe she didn’t want it to end this way. She cared.
I didn’t.
I inched my hand over, grabbed the pistol under my leg, hiked it up an inch in her direction and fired. The bullet collided with her shoulder. Her right side jerked back. She didn’t let go of her weapon. She swung her arm forward and fired blind. It hit the wall over my head. Shattered concrete poured down on me like sand.
I aimed and squeezed the trigger. The powerful handgun jerked after the bullet left the chamber. I almost dropped it.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. A crimson bloom spread over her heart. She stared at me for a second. Confusion, fear, pain. Life left her eyes before she hit the floor.
I reached into my left pock
et with my right hand and grabbed the phone Sasha had given me. There was a text message on it.
“Abort now! She’s not who she says she is!”
I shook my head as I shoved it into the other pocket. I grabbed my cell and pulled it out. Before calling Sasha back, I glanced down at my left arm. The bullet had gone through. There might be some muscle damage, but the bone was intact. It hurt like hell to move my fingers. I’d worry about it soon enough.
Sasha answered before the phone rang once.
“Jack? Oh my God, are you OK?”
“I’m fine.” I was aware I was speaking at close to the volume of a yell. “Marcia, or whatever her name is, is dead. This guy here called her Vera. Maybe you can work with that. I’ve got some other stuff. I’ll fill you in on that later. I need an ambulance first.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Flesh wound. I’ll be all right.”
I dialed emergency services. Then I got up and walked over to April.
She’d stopped breathing. There was no pulse. Judging by the location of her wounds, there was little that could have been done for her had she been inside the hospital when the bullets hit her.
I sat beside her, threaded one hand behind her neck and pulled her close to me. I should have never left. I thought that by doing so, I’d draw the trouble away from Crystal River. In the end, I let someone special die.
The door flung open. Heavy footsteps echoed down the short hallway. I recognized her father as he swung around the partition.
“April,” he said. He looked at me, down at her. “Jack?”
I nodded. He was a shell of the man he used to be.
“What happened?” Tears streamed down his cheeks.
“It was meant for me,” I said.
He stopped in front of us, fell to his knees. His head shook shoulder to shoulder. “This is my fault. This is my karma. She’s paid for my sins.”