The Back Door Man

by Dave Buschi

James upped the pressure. He was bending the man, contorting the man’s body like a pretzel. The man couldn’t breathe. His windpipe was collapsing. James had taken every bit of oxygen from the man’s lungs. The man kicked the bench, limply. Tried to claw James’s arm. Two more futile kicks. Then…

  Ten seconds later it was done.

  James kept squeezing for another full minute, just to make sure. Then he released and got up. Panting for air, James staggered into the kitchen. He was afraid to see… afraid the noise had drawn the other two.

  There was a yell; a man howling in pain. James cringed, expecting to see the other men storming in with guns. But there wasn’t anyone. Just Bob and this other man tied up on the floor.

  James went around the island. There was Katie and Hannah. They were on the floor tied up. Their eyes were closed. Oh please, merciful God…

  He saw Katie’s chest rise. She was breathing. Asleep… just asleep. Hannah, as well. His babies. His little girls could sleep through thunderstorms. Thank god.

  He pulled a knife from the chopping block. There was a scream and his blood curdled. That scream had come from Sue! For a second he was torn on what to do. Race towards her or free his girls? He made a quick decision. He bent down and quickly sliced the rope that was around Bob’s wrists. He gave the knife to Bob. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Bob nodded.

  James went into the mudroom and grabbed the shovel. Bob was cutting through the rope on his legs. There was another scream and James looked at Bob. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and Bob, his eyes wet, motioned with his hand.

  “Go! I’ll untie the girls.”

  120

  SVLAD cursed and hiked up his pants.

  Can’t a man take a shit?

  He hastily fastened his belt and grabbed his gun. He heard the woman scream again, then Boris yelling. That wasn’t fucking. That was something else.

  Toilet paper trailed him as he left the bathroom. With his peripheral vision, he saw something to his left. It was movement, coming down the corridor. Something… make that someone running...

  He turned his head and saw something, which was just a blur. Something being swung.

  121

  “BLJAD! Kudá namýlilsja?” the man yelled. “Where are you going?” He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her on the bed like she was a little girl.

  His face contorted into a snarl.

  “Menjá nadúli!”

  He picked up his gun and strode towards the bed. He towered over her. His muscled torso and arms were covered with black tattoos and smeared with blood. There was blood oozing from the gashes on his arm and side.

  He thrust his pistol in her face. “Mouth on it!”

  Sue shrank from it, pushing back with her hands, till her entire body was against the headboard. The man laughed. “Not so tough now, are you? Put your mouth on it!” He shoved the gun closer. She turned her face and he dug her cheek with the barrel.

  He grabbed her breast and squeezed hard.

  She kicked out with her legs and he grunted. She bit down on his hand.

  “Súka!”

  He stepped back and yelled towards the door. “Kakógo chërta!”

  He kept his eyes on Sue as he backed towards the door. “Are you sleeping?!” He turned and yanked open the door.

  Sue could only see the man’s back. The man’s head snapped back. It was like whiplash. His knees buckled and he toppled backwards, falling with a thud onto the floor.

  A man entered with a shovel. His face was bloody and bruised. The clothes on him looked like rags.

  “Sue!”

  “James!”

  122

  SUE threw her arms around him.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  She started crying. He held her tight.

  “Baby, are you okay?”

  She blubbered, “Yes, I’m fine.” Her body tightened. “Our girls?”

  “They’re fine. They’re with your dad.”

  James picked up her shirt and put it around her.

  “There are more men.”

  “I know,” James said. “I saw them go down the road.”

  He explained as Sue put the rest of her clothes on. How when he called, he’d been outside and could see everything through the window.

  “I wanted to warn you,” she said. “But I couldn’t.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Your face…” She started to cry again.

  “It’s okay, baby. It looks worse than it is.”

  A moment later, they joined their girls in the kitchen. Bob had untied them and the older man, and was loading one of his shotguns.

  Katie and Hannah ran over and grabbed his legs. “Daddy!”

  James hugged them. The scent of their hair sent a wave of emotion washing over him. He didn’t want to let go, but knew they weren’t safe, yet.

  “We need to go,” James said. “The others will be coming back.”

  “It’s better we stay here,” Bob said. “How many did you take out?”

  “Three.”

  Bob nodded.

  James looked at Sue.

  “Mommy?” Hannah said.

  Sue seemed frozen. James saw what she was looking at. The man he’d just hit with the shovel had walked into the room. He was holding his gun.

  123

  “SOMETHING’S not right.” Paulson looked at his watch.

  “Should we walk ahead, check it out?” Portino’s head of security said. “You sure he parked just up the road?”

  “That’s what he said. But this—”

  He didn’t get to finish before he was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. Next to him Savic frowned. Savic looked at his men and pointed to his eye. The men nodded.

  The six of them raced back to the house.

  124

  JAMES watched as the man fell down. Bob said something unintelligible. His shotgun was smoking.

  “We need to get these lights off!” Bob moved fast. “Lewis, Suzy, take the girls downstairs to the cellar. Lock the door. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Bob motioned to James and spoke quickly.

  James nodded, listening. He didn’t like Sue and the girls leaving, but they didn’t have time to waste.

  “They’ll be okay,” Bob said, seeing the look on James’s face.

  They moved quickly through the house. Bob used the breaker panel to turn the rest of the interior lights off. The house was pitch black, but James’s eyes had already adjusted. In his hand he had the gun he’d retrieved from the man Bob had just shot.

  “Outside,” Bob whispered. He pointed towards the windows. The floodlights, which illuminated the perimeter, were still on. James saw men running towards the house.

  “How many do you see?”

  James held up five fingers.

  “There should be six.” Bob bolted the front door. He opened a panel on the wall and armed the security system. “That’ll tell us where they try and come in. You ready for this?”

  James bit his lip and nodded.

  125

  BOB had been in these situations before and knew how they could end. It was almost forty years ago, but time collapses when certain events trigger memory. He could still remember the fear in his belly the first time he was out on patrol. Knowing there were men out there who wanted to kill him.

  He had given James the best advice he could. He didn’t like they had to split up, but knew with just the two of them this was the best way. Staying together made them ineffective. They became one easy target. Split up they might stand a chance.

  There were six killers out there. Bob had told James he shouldn’t hesitate. Shoot at the biggest target, and then follow-up with the kill shot. Just squeeze. Don’t think.

  This wasn’t a time for indecision or for doing things halfway. He’d seen men go down and with their dying breath take out friends that were right next to him. A man was dangerous till the very end… and even then he was still dangerous.

  A river of memories washed over Bob. His emotions rig
ht now were opening the deluge. Even though he was calm on the surface, on the inside he was eighteen again.

  He could still recall the face of the man he’d first killed. It had been with a knife. No one should ever have to do that.

  He still had nightmares where he was struggling with the man, both of them not wanting to die. That struggle repeated itself in a never-ending loop. But in his dreams it wasn’t him holding the knife, but the other man. Sometimes, even when he awoke, he was convinced that his life all this time had never happened; that he had died in that miserable place and never come home.

  There were plenty of memories to join that one. Bob reminded himself that it wasn’t Vietcong out there. These men had probably never been to war. They may not know the psychological part of this. It was usually the mind that kept you alive. The fear that made you step into the fire.

  Bob took a deep breath. He tapped a code into the security system and opened the door. This was the most dangerous part. He was on the south leeward side of the house. Just a few moments ago, per his instructions, James had killed the floodlights.

  The men were out there. It was impossible to know where exactly. A minute ago he’d seen them go around the other side. The men had been together in a pack. Bob could only hope they were stupid enough to stay that way.

  Okay. Into the fire.

  Bob gripped his shotgun and ran out into the dark.

  126

  THE house was deathly quiet. It was unnerving in its silence.

  The sounds of the night, which had been so loud when James had approached the house, were completely turned off, as if a switch had been flipped. It was as if all the crickets were listening, waiting for something to happen.

  Listening…

  To his steady heart.

  James realized he was not afraid. He believed. He was going to save his family.

  James got to work. Those men would be coming soon. Any moment now. He needed to be ready.

  127

  THE men were huddled. Packed together. Bob wished he had an M60 right now. He’d be able to take them all out with one short burst.

  He was flat on his belly to keep from being seen. The men didn’t seem worried in the slightest they might be visible. They were standing there talking.

  Bob considered taking them out with his double-barreled shotgun, but he’d never be able to pump fast enough to take them all out.

  His thoughts were forceful. Disturbing. But he realized their cause.

  These men were trying to take his little girl from him. While she may be grown now, it was the same thing to him. His little girl was inside. His granddaughters were inside. And because of that… because of these men’s intentions… these men were all going to die.

  It was coming back in a rush. The man he became in ‘Nam. It had changed him then and he was changing now. Bob could feel his finger getting itchy. They were so close together. If he just got closer, got off two quick shots, reloaded in time.

  No. Patience.

  The shotgun spread would hit most of them, but it wouldn’t kill all of them. Two, three, maybe four would still be alive. He couldn’t risk that. He needed to cut down the odds. Pick them off one by one.

  He waited.

  It didn’t take long. The men split into two groups. Five headed towards the house. One headed towards the barn.

  That worked.

  He followed the solo one. He’d double back once he took him out.

  The man loped over and entered the barn. Inside were the horses. What was he doing? Bob soon found out. The man had found the hay area. He’d taken out some matches.

  What a coward. It would kill the horses for sure. They were in their stalls. The man knew this, and here he was lighting his match.

  The man cursed; seemed to be having trouble. The hay was probably wet from the nighttime dew.

  “Hello.”

  The man turned. Bob jerked with the stock of his gun. It caught the man on the bridge of the nose, smashing and splitting it like a banana’s ripe skin. The man staggered and Bob hit him in the face again.

  The man fell back.

  He was dead before he hit the hay.

  128

  IMPATIENT, not waiting for the wanted diversion, they shot out the windows and entered the house. Four of them went in at once. Paulson held back. Let them be the first to get shot.

  He didn’t like this. The men hadn’t listened to him. He told them they needed James alive.

  It’s too late for that, Savic had said in his guttural pig voice. Fine. Kill them all. What the hell? Who cared about the money?

  Paulson was not happy. This game was over and he was just now realizing it. Portino probably thought the same thing. Asshole was probably packing his bags right now. He hadn’t answered any of Paulson’s calls.

  Damn them all. Least let the woman live. James’s wife. He wasn’t getting zilch out of this. Of course it wasn’t going to make up for the lost billions. But at least he’d have someone to take his frustrations out on. She wanted rough; he’d give her rough.

  Paulson looked on as the men entered. Before they took out the windows, they were able to see James and the old man. Both were so stupid. Hiding in plain view, just visible, peeking over the couch.

  Savic and the others entered quickly. They were shooting as they moved. Bullets riddled the old man and James. Paulson saw both their bodies go down.

  Except…

  The men stopped shooting.

  It wasn’t the old man and it wasn’t James. The two blockheads they’d left to guard the captives, fell down, twice dead. Someone had propped them up to make it look like…

  Shots rang out. Savic and another man went down.

  Shit.

  The two men standing returned fire. Paulson looked on as one was hit; he spun, was hit again… went down. Just one left. Paulson didn’t stick around. This was over, but he didn’t have to witness it. He ran towards his car.

  BOB heard the shots. He was too late. He’d seen the men entering the house.

  He ran across the field. In the dark he tripped and went sprawling. Dammit! His shotgun flew from his hand. He got up and looked for it. As he did so, he suddenly noticed a man less than fifty yards away. The man noticed him too.

  PAULSON squeezed off two shots. The man went down. Not bad. So much for the old man. He went to his car and started it. Live to fight another day. He looked in the rearview mirror. The barn was right behind him.

  Well fuck.

  Paulson quickly backed up. Can’t just leave like this.

  He put the vehicle in park and left it running. Inside the barn were the horses. The shooting had spooked them. Two of them whinnied and snorted at Paulson. They were digging their hooves in their stalls.

  The place stunk of manure. Paulson looked for what he needed. Hay bales. Perfect. They were over by the far wall. Near them, on the ground, was Savic’s man. He was laid out on his back. Blood had pooled around the man’s head. He was dead, lying in his own filth.

  So much for doing a simple job. He was supposed to light a fire and create a diversion. Guess that old man had mucked things up and gotten here first.

  Paulson pulled out a lighter. If you want something done, do it yourself. The hay was wet. It lit, but not fast enough.

  Annoyed, Paulson looked around. He walked past the horses. They were making more noises, kicking the stalls now. Stupid animals.

  He didn’t have time for this. Just as he was about to cut bait, he spied a riding mower. There, near it, was just what he needed. A fuel can.

  Wearing a grin, he carried it back towards the hay. He splashed liberally all around the hay bales, on the walls, making sure not to pour the gas directly on the sputtering flame.

  He winked at the horses on the way out. “Goodbye, ladies.”

  He heard the whoosh of flame as it lit the gas. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

  He got in his car, passed the house, and gunned it down the lane.

  129

&
nbsp; JAMES hunkered down as the men pumped bullets into their dead compatriots. He’d propped them up, made them appear alive. The darkness had misled them. They thought they were shooting at him.

  James was up on the second-story landing. His elevated position gave him a direct bead on those below him.

  Go for the biggest target, Bob had told him. James followed the advice. He rose just enough to get the right angle. He aimed for their chests. A dad’s voice in his ear. Breathe. Easy son. Slow squeeze.

  One.

  The man with the gray cap splayed backwards like a rag doll. With a steady hand, James oriented on the man in the black Windbreaker. The man was looking at his compatriot fall.

  Two.

  A thump in the chest. The man slumped and fell. James moved from his position, backwards, out of their range of vision. He scurried ten feet, got behind a flower pot.

  The third and fourth were firing. They were shooting everywhere. They obviously didn’t know where James was.

  James took a deep breath and moved just enough to get an angle. The man was arcing his fire. His bald head looked like a cue ball. Slow squeeze.

  Three.

  The man spun. The shot had tagged him on his right side. James squeezed again, three dots centering on the target. The man doubled over and then crumpled to the floor.

  One more.

  The last man standing didn’t run. He was in this till the end, squeezing off every shot he had. He still didn’t know where James was. His eyes began to scan the stairwell… looking up near where James was on the landing. His shots were going errant. The man paused… out of bullets… he frantically reached for another clip.

  Lord forgive me.

  Four.

  The man’s face twitched to an expression of permanent surprise. He fell. It was over.

  The Feds arrived minutes later. Talk about timing. The rest was a blur.