MASS MURDER

by Lynn Bohart

  “What is this place?” Rocky asked quietly, his gaze resting on the tattered mattress.

  “Originally, probably a safe room. More recently − I have a feeling we don’t want to know.” Giorgio fingered the steel manacles.

  “Frances isn’t here, so if there’s another secret door, then I’d say this is beginning to feel like one of those haunted houses at the county fair.”

  “The question is − how do we get out of this room?”

  Giorgio scanned what little floor area his light illumined. Several sets of prints crossed the room ending at the middle of the far wall.

  “Look here,” Giorgio pointed, following the trail. “The footprints stop at the wall, turn right and disappear.”

  “Something has scraped across the floor,” Rocky said, pointing to a wide mark that began at the wall and dug through the dirt and grime back across the floor in a sweeping arc.

  Giorgio turned back to the wall and placed his hands on the bricks just above where the footprints stopped, as if feeling the wall’s pulse.

  “He must have triggered the secret door here and then moved over to step through. Come on, help me.”

  Rocky stepped forward and pressed on the bricks above Giorgio’s head. Their efforts were rewarded when Giorgio pushed a brick closest to the floor, forcing it to recede half an inch and releasing a section of the wall to their left. The entire wall popped open some three inches inwards. The expansive belfry lay beyond, letting in fresh air.

  “Be careful,” Giorgio cautioned, reaching for his gun.

  Rocky stepped around his brother to pull open the door, his form caught in a shallow beam of moonlight. There was a sudden crack, and a bullet whizzed through the shadows catching Rocky in his thigh. Rocky fell to the floor with a cry, clutching his leg. Giorgio reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling his brother away from the opening.

  “Shit!” Rocky rocked back and forth, hugging his leg.

  “Hold on,” Giorgio ordered. Keeping his eye on the doorway, he stripped down, handing his t-shirt to his brother. “Tie this around your leg.” He quickly slipped back into his sweater.

  Rocky took the t-shirt and did as he was told. The secret door stood open about three feet now, allowing the moonlight from the far window of the belfry to cut a shaft of light into the dungeon-like room.

  “Where the hell is he?” Rocky winced, squinting through the opening.

  Giorgio craned his neck to see as far as he could into the belfry. “I can’t tell. We must have caught him by surprise though. Otherwise he could have killed you.”

  “Then he’s trapped,” Rocky grunted, tightening the tourniquet around his leg.

  “Not necessarily. Remember, there’s the staircase saw blocked off by construction tape.” Giorgio put his jacket back on and turned to his younger brother. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” Rocky groaned. “I’ll nab him if he tries to come back this way.”

  “You have your cell phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Call it in.”

  Rocky pulled out his phone. His gun lay beside him.

  “Be careful, Joe,” he said as he began to dial.

  Giorgio patted his brother’s shoulder. “I intend to.”

  Giorgio got up as his brother dialed 911. He turned around to grab the old mattress, staying clear of the light spill. He dragged the tattered mattress back to where Rocky was propped against the wall. Tucking his weapon into his belt, he hefted the mattress in front of him, stepped around his brother and dashed through the opening. A bullet ripped through the corner of the mattress, sending a puff of cotton batting into the air. But Giorgio continued his charge until he reached a short wall that encircled the open bell shaft. He threw the mattress aside and then ducked down behind the wall and removed his gun. A second shot ricocheted off the bell filling the tower with a thundering alarm. The sound diminished and Giorgio looked around to map his environment.

  The belfry was shaped in a square with four large columns holding up the domed ceiling. The iron bell hung from the center of the tower like a large spider perched in the middle of its web. The ropes were tied off to one side next to a hook the monks used to recover the rope. The secret room ran along the entire north side of the tower. The west wall held a single arched window, while the south side overlooking the valley held two large square-cut windows. Cutting off the entire east side of the belfry was a temporary construction wall made of eight-foot sheets of plywood. Most likely, the construction wall cut off a third window along the south wall and a matching arched window along the east wall. He could only hope the main staircase was also behind the plywood wall so that Frances didn’t have access to it.

  Giorgio began to inch around the bell shaft to his right. The cement floor was cold and the rough exterior of the wall kept catching on his jacket. He’d only gone about ten feet when a sound made him stop. Was it Francis? Was it Rocky? A glance back to the secret room told him it wasn’t his brother. He listened, trying to locate the sound. A quick scraping noise made him focus his attention on the deep shadows in the southwestern corner where a large pillar and two saw horses blocked his view. Nothing moved. Sound was deceptive in this cavernous space and he knew he might misplace the source.

  A series of hollow thuds echoed from the far side of the tower bringing Giorgio to attention. Frances had kicked something over, either on purpose, or by mistake. Giorgio sprinted towards the west wall, darting back and forth to avoid construction debris, finally ducking behind one of the stone columns. When he’d settled in behind the column, a glance to his left revealed the main staircase. Frances had either missed it, or had other plans.

  Just then, a movement made Giorgio turn towards the construction area. A shadow darted towards the makeshift door. Giorgio pointed his gun and fired. The fleeting shadow spun around and slammed into the wood enclosure, emitting a loud curse. Giorgio ran diagonally to a stack of boxes about ten feet in front of him and then darted forward again like a quarterback looking for an opening. He threw himself behind a pile of cement bags and tucked himself into a crouched position, peering into the darkness, his gun at his waist. He was about half way across the tower. A restrained moan drifted across the cluttered space and then everything went quiet. Giorgio waited.

  A minute went by. Giorgio didn’t dare hope that Frances had been severely injured. And a moment later, a loud smash broke the silence. Frances was trying to escape through the construction door. Giorgio jumped up to stop him with his weapon drawn. A bullet tore through his right forearm, sending him spinning backwards. He dropped the gun and hit the floor next to a short stack of lumber. With a groan, he slid on his back to the safety of the pillar again. The bullet had found its mark – entering his forearm exactly where Poindexter had broken the skin with the hammer. What were the odds of that? First his head, now his arm.

  With a grimace, he pushed up the jacket sleeve and then reached into one of his pockets for his handkerchief. He wrapped it around the wound, pulling it tight with his teeth. Then he looked around for his gun.

  “Joe, you okay?” Rocky called out in a loud whisper.

  “I need some cover.”

  “You got it.”

  Giorgio heard a shuffle and a moment later there was a crack of fire as a bullet hit the construction wall, pinning down Frances. Frances fired back, hitting the wall just in front of Rocky, sending out a cloud of plaster. Rocky’s shadow moved and another shot rang out. It gave Giorgio time to find his gun, which had landed only a few feet away. A heavy plastic tarp lay folded on the ground next to him. He grabbed it and shook it out. Positioned safely behind the column, he threw the tarp over the gun like a fishing net. With a yank, he reeled in the tarp, dragging the gun with it. He picked up the gun with his left hand and leaned against the pillar for support. In the distance a siren wailed.

  “You won’t get away, Frances! Give it up,” he yelled. “We could sit here all night and wait you out.” Although he tried to hide it, Giorgio knew the strain
in his voice was evident. He took deep breaths trying to calm his nerves. Both he and his brother were wounded, and they’d trapped a killer who had few options. Not a great position to be in.

  “I’ve known a hundred guys like you, Detective. You guys will come get me. I know I hit your brother. Did I hit you?”

  Giorgio looked down to where the bullet had ripped apart the protective gauze. Blood was seeping through the handkerchief. The seared muscles were on fire, and he was having trouble making a fist. He couldn’t use this hand to fire his weapon, putting his life further at risk. Too bad he’d never taken the time to practice shooting with his left hand.

  “You nicked me. How ‘bout you?”

  The young man gave a belabored chuckle. “You nicked me. Do you play chess, Detective?”

  There was another smashing noise, as if Frances was battering the plywood door, but Giorgio didn’t dare expose himself a second time. Instead, he made sure the gun was properly seated in his left hand with a tight grip. Rocky however, rewarded Frances with a third bullet that took out a wood chip just above the construction door. There was a long pause of silence.

  “A friend of mine plays chess,” Giorgio yelled, silently thanking Rocky. Giorgio watched the shadows around him, trying to figure out what Frances might do next. He struggled to a crouching position, leaning sideways around the pillar with his right arm tucked into his chest for support. He couldn’t see Rocky well enough to give him a signal and knew his brother couldn’t see Frances without exposing himself.

  “I think we just took each other’s pawns,” a breathless voice finally answered.

  The sound of splintering wood meant Frances was almost through the security door. Giorgio moved to the left so that he could see across the opening.

  “My guess is that right now you’re positioning yourself to take my queen,” the opposing voice called from the darkness. “Am I right?”

  “I think I’ll just skip to checkmate,” Giorgio bluffed.

  Frances emitted a low, strained chuckle. “I don’t think so, Detective.”

  Giorgio searched for a shadow with a human shape, but the short wall around the bell shaft blocked his view. Rocky decided to take another shot just as the darkness in front of Giorgio moved. Frances had finally destroyed the makeshift door and gone through it as the bullet tore a chunk out of one of the nearby pillars. Giorgio knew he had to either get through that door or lure Frances out again.

  “Rocky,” Giorgio whispered. “Hang back and hold him off if he makes it past me this way.”

  “Sure thing,” Rocky whispered back. “Be careful.”

  Giorgio left his cover and hugged the outer wall of the belfry, crouching to pass under an open window where the outdoor spotlights from the gardens below cast angular shadows onto the ceiling. He crept forward until he was positioned behind the pillar at the southeast corner of the room. The muffled sound of splashing water from the fountain below added a drum beat to the forlorn wail of the approaching sirens.

  “You won’t get away.”

  “Don’t count me out so soon,” the muffled voice answered. “And I have a clear view of the doorway, so be careful, Detective. You wouldn’t want to take a second bullet.”

  The only escape for Frances had to be over the east wall, away from the approaching police cars. Giorgio had no idea how Frances planned to do it, but he moved along the south wall of the tower towards the plywood construction. He tucked himself into the corner where the plywood had been secured to a cement buttress, and he then inched along the construction wall at a ninety degree angle coming to within ten feet of the makeshift door.

  Giorgio glanced around to put his plan in play. Finding an open box of long, heavy nails, he reached in and quietly grabbed one. That little bit of effort sent fireworks up his arm, and he steeled himself for what he was about to do. He clutched the nail as tightly as he could with his right hand and then reached back over his head, gritted his teeth, and tossed it over to the wall. It hit the floor with a series of loud pings.

  A bullet ripped through the door casing and Giorgio cried out, purposely knocking over a nearby stack of cans as if he’d been hit. This time however, he was acting, remaining where he was without making a sound. If Frances came to check on him, he’d be ready. If not, he might still be able to get a jump on him.

  He became aware of a strong acrid smell and glanced down to where several gallon cans now lay on their sides next to the plywood wall. Something oozed out of the can closest to the wall. He must have knocked over some kind of solvent or industrial glue.

  “Gee, Detective. Hope I didn’t hurt you,” Francis called out.

  Giorgio’s heart leapt, but he kept silent with his gun pointed directly at the door opening.

  “Detective?”

  Still, Giorgio made no sound. Frances also became silent. Giorgio tensed, bracing his left hand as best he could, ready to fire. But Frances didn’t appear. Instead, he began moving again on the other side of the plywood wall. Either he assumed Giorgio was dead, or was wounded so badly he couldn’t move. Giorgio reached down and carefully took off his shoes. Crouched like a Sumo wrestler, he moved a couple of feet forward until he could see through the door and across the small space to the east window. The angle of the spotlights below threw more light into this side of the tower, revealing the window framed in new wood, the plaster having been stripped away for the repairs. A portable workbench was set up to the right. Lumber and bags of cement were stacked to the left. Frances was partially blocked, but Giorgio could see that he was concentrating on something in his hands. A moment later, he rocked back and threw whatever it was through the window and over the wall.

  Giorgio’s heart sank. He knew why Frances had avoided the belfry’s main staircase. He’d thrown a rope over the wall and planned to lower himself down the east side of the tower. By hugging the wall below, he could move through the heavy foliage around the building to disappear into the surrounding hillsides completely unnoticed. Giorgio had to move fast.

  He inched his way to the edge of the doorway, careful not to alert his quarry. He contemplated shooting Frances, but didn’t trust using his left hand. Instead, he straightened up and stepped into the enclosure.

  “Frances, stop,” he commanded.

  Frances jerked around, dropping the rope and reaching for his gun.

  “Don’t!” Giorgio warned, moving closer. He held his injured arm close to his waist, conscious of the throbbing pain. His left hand held the gun steady, but if Frances moved quickly in any direction, he wouldn’t have enough control to hit him.

  Frances paused, his hand held above the gun sitting on a stool.

  “Well, well, well. I thought you were dead, but then, that’s what you wanted me to think, wasn’t it?”

  “Move away from the gun.”

  Frances took a step backwards as Giorgio moved in. His right arm was useless, so rather than retrieve Frances’ gun, he merely knocked it into a bucket on the floor. Frances stood quietly next to the cement bags, a dark stain spread across one shoulder.

  “So, what now?” he asked warily.

  “We wait for reinforcements.”

  Blaring sirens announced the arrival of the police onto the monastery grounds. Frances looked around as red and blue lights flashed across the arched openings.

  “Good timing,” he said good-naturedly.

  Giorgio glanced over his shoulder at the arriving police force. When he turned back, a puff of grainy dust hit him in his face. He stumbled backwards and Frances pounced, grabbing the gun from his hand. Giorgio’s eyes burned and he slid down the wall onto his haunches. When he got the grit out of his eyes, he looked up to find Frances pointing his own gun at his chest.

  “What now?” Giorgio mimicked Frances.

  “Now, I kill you and get out of here.”

  “You won’t get away,” Giorgio bluffed.

  “I’ll get out of here, or die. I’d be dead within the week anyway. My uncle would see to that,” Frances sai
d, glancing around him.

  Frances was caught in the spill of moonlight and suddenly, Giorgio recognized him. “Your uncle?”

  “Robert Marino.”

  The last piece of the puzzle fit. “Your Uncle runs with the mob.”

  Even in the dim light, the self-satisfied grin on the young man’s face told a story. “He doesn’t run with the mob, Detective. He runs the mob.”

  Frances’ eyes kept darting around the enclosure as if looking for something. Giorgio used the moment to turn towards the shattered door where a white flash on the far side of the belfry caught his attention.

  “Whoa!” Frances exclaimed.

  Giorgio snapped to attention. Frances was moving. Hopefully, the white flash meant Rocky was positioning himself for a rescue. Frances circled around Giorgio until he was just inside the broken door. He stopped and glanced down to the floor next to the construction wall, sniffing. The solvent had seeped under the wall, spreading several feet into their space. He looked at Giorgio with a smile.

  “It seems my luck hasn’t run out yet,” he sneered.

  A tapestry of voices reached the bell tower as officers emerged from their squad cars and monks hurried from the monastery to meet them. The entire grounds seemed alive with activity. Giorgio knew time was short and that Frances would have to make this quick.

  “Get over here,” he barked.

  Frances wanted him to move into the oozing solvent.

  “Now!” he ordered, waving the gun at him.