Breaking Point_Kindle Serial

by Aric Davis

  “Good luck,” yelled Russ over the whine of the propeller, and then Van Endel and Nelson were on solid ground again. The wind pushing at Van Endel’s back made him feel like if he were to jump, he would temporarily take flight, and then they were at the row of cars. A uniformed cop named Walt Summers was waving them toward an unmarked sedan, and they piled into it, Nelson in the front, Van Endel in the back. Summers hopped into the driver’s seat, punched the gas, and hit the siren and the already mounted light atop the car. Trees became a bluish-green blur.

  “Has he tried to leave his apartment?” Nelson asked the driver, and the man shook his head.

  “Not as of five minutes ago,” said Summers. “He’s been staying quiet. We’ve moved out most of the neighbors, but the apartment eastmost of his door has been unresponsive. Could be nobody’s home…”

  “We get it,” said Nelson. “The chief have any input on this?”

  “He wants the guy alive,” said Summers. “SWAT is on scene. They’re behind the building and hanging out in a school bus, but this is your operation, Phil. You can use them if you want, but if Richmond is as crazy as he seems, he’s going to start shooting the second he sees those ninjas, and they’re just going to put him down.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Van Endel. “I missed the start of this by a few minutes, and I want to be there to see the end of it. I think if we play this like we’re just there to deliver bad news, we’ll be able to get him relaxed enough to overpower him.”

  “I don’t think you’re calling the shots,” said Summers.

  “He may as well be,” said Nelson. “He’s been right about this thing from the beginning, and we might still be sitting under the shadow of that bridge if he hadn’t put his running shoes on and figured everything out. If this is my operation, then we’re playing it his way.”

  “Going to be your neck in a noose if this goes wrong,” said Summers. “No offense, kid.”

  “I don’t care about that,” said Nelson. “We’ll play this guy for the mope he is, and when it’s time to take him down, we’ll do it, then bring him in alive to boot.”

  Summers turned off the siren and the lights when they were a couple of miles out, and they drove the rest of the way to the apartment complex in silence. Summers pulled the car into the parking lot and then drove around the building to the back. A pair of SWAT members stood guard at the side of the building, holding MP5 submachine guns and looking ready to pounce if Ken tried to leave. How many cops are circling the block in unmarked cars, walking dogs, and just hanging around? It was an impossible question, but Van Endel didn’t think there was a civilian within pistol range of the apartment complex.

  Summers parked the car next to a school bus behind the building. SWAT members were walking around the bus, acting antsy and clearly irritated that they weren’t kicking in the door. Van Endel, Nelson, and Summers left the car, and the SWAT team lead, a man named Darryl Hendricks, approached them.

  “You in charge, Nelson?” Hendricks asked.

  Nelson nodded and said, “Yep. My partner and I are going to go in and try and play this guy straight. We need vests and mikes, discreet ones, and I want your guys ready to kick in that door if I so much as whisper the word ‘gun.’ Is that possible?”

  “Mikes yes, vests no,” said Hendricks. “We brought the good shit, not the kind you can wear under your clothes. I’d lend you some of the stuff my guys have, but—”

  “We want to play our hand a little closer to the vest than that,” said Van Endel. “No cop is going to show up to tell a man his kids are dead wearing a bulletproof vest over his shirt.”

  Another SWAT officer, named Jason, miked them quickly, with bands around their waists for batteries, and microphones that sat behind the breast pockets of their shirts. “You yell if you need help,” said Jason. “This isn’t exactly an evidence-gathering setup, this is just to get that door kicked in, all right?”

  Van Endel nodded. Nelson said, “Understood.” They stood, walked to the side of the building, and watched SWAT go through final prep to save their asses. Hendricks waved to Nelson, and Nelson said, “Let’s go, kid.”

  They walked up the steps to the second floor of the apartment complex. Van Endel felt as though his heart were trying to escape from his chest. The adrenaline spike was like nothing he’d ever felt, and he wanted nothing more than to have his gun in his hand.

  “On you,” said Nelson, and Van Endel nodded. They stopped at Richmond’s apartment, and Van Endel took a deep breath, let it out, and rapped his knuckles three times on the door. The creaking noise of someone standing from a wooden chair came through the door, and then they could hear footsteps approaching them from inside.

  Ken looked through the peephole. It was Hero and Nelson. He’d been expecting a uniform but hoping for the two detectives, especially since he’d started drinking. They seemed just right in a way that he would never have been able to explain. Ever since Ken had finally cracked and had some of the whiskey, the world had become smoother, more refined and polished. He was going to get away with what he’d done, because he deserved it, because he’d really done nothing wrong. The .38 was in his right-hand pants pocket, the magic bullet in the left one. Neither would matter if they searched him, but he couldn’t think of any reason for them to want to do that, and if things headed that way, he was going to shoot first. Ken opened the door and was face-to-face with the cops, looking not just at them, but through them as well.

  “I sure do see a lot of you guys lately,” said Ken. “Do you have some more questions about Mr. Everett?”

  “Can we come in, please, Mr. Richmond?” Hero asked, and Ken wanted to shoot him for calling him that, making fun of him that way.

  “Sure,” said Ken. “Come on in, have a seat.” The detectives walked past his extended arm, showing their backs to him to walk to the table, and Ken felt the weight of the world slip from his shoulders. They think Paula did it. Hero and Nelson sat at the table, pulling out chairs across from each other, and on either side of Ken’s seat.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” Ken asked, and the cops declined. Ken sat at the table, his half-empty beer sitting before him.

  “Starting a little early,” said Nelson. “Now you’re making me jealous.”

  “Tigers are on,” said Ken, pointing at the TV with his beer. “Winning too — it’s been a great year so far.”

  “Sure has,” said Nelson. “Could be the first time since ’68 that we take the whole thing.” Nelson laid his hands on the table. “We’re not here to talk about baseball, though, Ken. We have some tough news that we need to share with you, OK?”

  “All right,” said Ken. “I guess you better just tell me.”

  “Your kids, Tim and Lisa, were found dead this morning,” said Hero. “I’m really sorry I have to tell you that.”

  “How did they die?” Ken asked, hoping that was the sort of thing you were supposed to ask. Christ, if somebody else really had killed them, I’d have asked how much money I owed him. Ken wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. No tears, but it was worth the effort to at least attempt to look upset. He wiped at his nose next, sniffled. “Are you sure it’s them?”

  “Yes, we’re sure,” said Nelson. He cleared his throat and continued, “They were shot, Ken. Whoever did it left them by the side of the road. Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt your children?”

  “My ex-wife has been really off lately,” said Ken. “I think her and her new husband have been having trouble with the kids. They were even supposed to stay with me this weekend, but she decided to take them with her to Canada. Do you think that she…”

  “We don’t know yet, Ken,” said Hero. Ken had to suppress a smile. He’d been thinking of the man as Hero for so long that he had no clue of his actual name. Hero continued, saying, “We do know that the Canadian police are looking for her and Robert, and that they haven’t been able to turn up anything yet. If you want to come with us to the station, maybe we could g
o over some of the possible places your wife told you that she might be going. Does that sound like something you’d want to do?”

  “No,” said Ken flatly. “I need to wrap my head around this.” Ken was rubbing the magic bullet with one hand, the gun with the other. He wasn’t even sure of when he’d slipped his arms under the table, but they were there now. Did I just drop my hands under there?

  “Is everything all right, Ken?” Nelson asked. “I know this is tough to hear right now, but we can get you help.” Van Endel was nodding in agreement, but Ken could tell the mood had changed. They’re lying to me. He watched Hero exchange a look with Nelson. Something wasn’t right, Ken could feel it. He massaged the magic bullet even faster, rubbing it with his fingers until he felt almost calm. Do it now.

  “I’m fine,” said Ken. “I’m just still absorbing what you told me. It’s a lot to take in.” As he spoke, Ken began working the gun from his pocket. He was being slick, but they still knew somehow. Ken watched as the detectives put their hands in their coats; it was like something on TV, something make-believe. He was the one with the gun, he was the one who was supposed to win. Time slowed to a crawl.

  Ken freed the gun from his pants and pointed it at Hero. Both detectives had hands coming from their own jackets, heat and steel a guarantee. Ken got the iron sights of the revolver on Hero, and then Nelson kicked the table toward him and yelled, “Gun!”

  There was an explosion in Ken’s left pocket, and with it came pain — his leg was on fire. Ken dropped the pistol and fell from the chair. Someone kicked the door in, and then Ken realized there was a person on top of him. He looked up and saw Nelson holding his gun. Hero was cuffing him, and the room was filling with what looked like soldiers. He didn’t care, his leg was burning up. Hero rolled him over, and Nelson grabbed the beer from the table and dumped it on Ken’s left leg. “Fucker shot himself,” said Nelson, but Ken knew the truth. The magic bullet had gone off, it had failed him.

  Van Endel walked up the driveway to the house. He waved at Steve Krebs, the on-duty cop who was a temporary taxi for those cops who needed a ride home from the Shipwreck, Van Endel’s favorite bar. Just about everyone had been there, toasting Nelson and him. It had been glorious. Now, as he neared the front door, he wondered at just how wise those last two whiskeys had been. Van Endel could hold his liquor, but he had barely eaten and the booze had gotten to him quick. It’ll be all right — after all, you already sleep on the couch.

  Van Endel unlocked the door, after dropping his keys, and sauntered into the house. Lex sat on the couch. “Is that your case that’s been on the news all day?” she asked.

  Van Endel nodded. His vocal chords seemed to be trying to betray him.

  “I figured as much. Did everything go OK?”

  “As well as it could have, I suppose,” said Van Endel. “I mean, the guy killed his kids, but we got him.”

  “You are drunk,” she said, “and you look like you’re going to puke. C’mon, let’s get you some food.”

  “That sounds great,” said Van Endel. “I’m starving.”

  Lex walked ahead of him to the kitchen, and Van Endel sat heavily at the table. She made a plate appear in front of him an impossibly short time later, just a ham-and-cheese sandwich, but it looked delicious. Van Endel took a bite, chewed, and then drank from the glass of water that mysteriously appeared by the plate. He scarfed, then chugged water. His head was a little clearer; he was still drunk, but it was manageable. “Thanks, Lex. I think I really needed that.”

  “If you coming home drunk and safe is all I can get, I’ll take drunk and safe,” said Lex. “Just so long as you understand that I don’t expect every day to be like today.”

  “I get it,” said Van Endel. “I think I’ll be good with no booze for a little while after this, in any case.” Van Endel stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out his detective’s badge, then laid it on the table. “I have to give that back.”

  “You knew that was going to happen,” said Lex. “I’m sure you did well enough to get one that you can keep eventually. Look on the bright side: you got to help catch a bad guy, and you got some good experience.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Van Endel. “I have to give it back because I made detective. They have to get my number put on it. This is just the loaner, new one should be ready tomorrow.” He shook his head. “This is perfect, when you think about it. Pay raise, new baby. A new start.”

  “I need you here, Dick,” said Lex. “I need you here for me and this baby.”

  “I will be,” said Van Endel as he stared at the badge. It was hard to imagine a new one with his ID number on it. He still wasn’t even sure exactly how it had happened. Nelson had walked up to him after he’d left Chief Jefferson’s office and said, “You’re my partner for the long haul now, Dick.” Van Endel had badgered him at the bar for answers, but he sort of knew what had happened: Nelson had made himself look bad and told the truth.

  “C’mon,” said Lex, “and leave that thing on the table. Let’s go listen to them talk about your day.” Van Endel stood, and then stuffed the badge back into his pocket. He followed Lex from the dining room, but his thoughts were a million miles away. A woman on TV was excitedly talking about dead kids and Ken Richmond. The video showed footage of SWAT cops rushing around the building, and there was a still shot of Van Endel standing next to Nelson and knocking on the door as their coats fluttered in the wind. Detective. Van Endel sat next to Lex and closed his eyes.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photograph by Megan Davis 2012

  Aric Davis is the author of several thrillers, mysteries, and horror novels, including From Ashes Rise, A Good and Useful Hurt, Dead Man 14, The Black Plague, and Nickel Plated, which the American Library Association placed on its Top 10 list of best mysteries for youths in 2011. He lives with his wife and daughter in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where he has worked as a body piercer for sixteen years.

  This book was originally released in episodes as a Kindle Serial. Kindle Serials launched in 2012 as a new way to experience serialized books. Kindle Serials allow readers to enjoy the story as the author creates it, purchasing once and receiving all existing episodes immediately, followed by future episodes as they are published. To find out more about Kindle Serials and to see the current selection of Serials titles, visit www.amazon.com/kindleserials.