While still gripping his finger, Ryker used it to pull the punk back toward him while making him twist around. He then released the dislocated finger and snaked an arm around the man’s neck, while freeing the gun holstered on the thug’s belt.
The second man had been too shocked to respond at first. By the time he reached for his gun, Ryker was pointing his friend’s weapon at his face.
“You yank that gun out and I pull this trigger,” Ryker told the punk. He was holding the other man up in front of himself as a shield. The guy looked like he was weeping as tears flowed from his irritated eyes. Despite his struggling, Ryker held him easily.
The punk’s hand slid away from his weapon, and he held it up in warning.
“Look around you; you’re outnumbered.”
It was true, the six men who had been playing cards were on their feet and pointing weapons at Ryker. At the tables, the men there had stood and taken out weapons as well. The women they had been with were ducked down beneath the tables they’d been seated at. One of them was crying, while another was making the sign of the cross. As for the bartender, he was standing with his hands up in the air as if he were being robbed.
Ryker grinned at the man who told him he was outnumbered, then he looked over the punk’s left shoulder and spoke to someone.
“If the shit hits the fan, fire on the six at the table. I’ll kill the others.”
Everyone’s eyes followed Ryker’s gaze and saw Vivian standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. She was holding a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun with a thirty-round magazine.
Vivian smiled. “Did I hear right, did one of them call you grandpa?”
“It’s the beard. I should have never grown it back after we left Ireland.”
The door to the office opened and Ryker swiveled his gaze that way. The man who stood in the doorway showed no reaction to the scene he was viewing, but he did let his gaze linger on Vivian. She was wearing a short skirt, and her legs were long and shapely. When he turned his eyes on Ryker, he spoke English in a thick Spanish accent.
“Did you come here to discuss business or to try to kill me?”
“Your men wanted my gun. I don’t give up my gun.”
The man issued orders in Spanish that told his men to lower their weapons. Once they did so, Ryker did the same and released the man he was holding.
“Come into the office, Mr. Ryker, but leave your woman. I don’t do business with women.”
“She’s not my woman,” Ryker said. He moved toward the office at a deliberate pace. If he walked slow enough, it was difficult to discern that he had an artificial leg. As he passed near Vivian, Ryker handed her the weapon he’d taken off the punk, “Try not to get into any trouble.”
“Whatever you say, gramps.”
After he stepped into the small office, Garcia closed the door, then took a seat behind a scarred wooden desk. There was a stack of unopened mail on the desk near a new laptop computer and the latest generation Blackberry. That told Ryker that Garcia was a man who liked his gadgets.
Jorge Garcia was a former cartel member and a squat but powerfully built man of forty. Garcia never smiled. In fact, he never made any expression, and his deep-set eyes were hidden in shadow.
Garcia waved a dark-brown hand at Ryker, bidding him to speak, but then he spoke first.
“You said on the phone that you would tell me where I could find the men who killed Denny Haydon, so tell me.”
“Right now, they’re in Portland, Oregon. I already have a group of men ready to kill them.”
“But you’re here, that says to me that you don’t think these other men will be successful.”
“I once faced off against these bastards when they were less experienced boys. They killed over a dozen of the mercenaries I had with me, so no, I don’t underestimate them.”
“And did they also give you that scar on your throat?”
“No, but the man who trained them did. That’s the man I’m after. With his apprentices dead, he’ll come to find out why and want vengeance. When he does, I’ll kill him.”
“Are you certain that these are the same two I’ve been looking for, the men who killed Denny Haydon?”
“One of them pretended to be Haydon while the other said he was Haydon’s bodyguard.”
The beady deep-set eyes glittered for a moment as Garcia nodded.
“That is them. They used Haydon’s identity to enter the Citadel.”
“The man who runs the Citadel is named Jack Begley; he’s the one who’s after them in Oregon. Begley has already screwed up once, I suspect he’ll do it again. But, with any luck he’ll injure or kill at least one of them.”
“And what if he kills them both?”
“I could still use your help going after their mentor, although, I insist on killing that man myself. The sonofabitch murdered Damon. Damon was my only son.”
Jorge Garcia said nothing for nearly a minute. Ryker waited patiently. He was rewarded when Garcia gave a curt nod.
“I will kill the two bastardos who murdered Haydon and led to my downfall within the cartel. That I will do for me. This other man, this mentor, if you want my help with him, you will have to pay me.”
“That sounds like a good deal, depending on your price, but tell me, how many men can you come up with?”
“I know dozens of men who will kill for little. If I, put the word out, as they say, I could gather together a small army.”
“What do you consider a small army?”
“Fifty men, I’ll attack them with fifty men.”
Ryker laughed. “These boys are good, but they won’t survive that many out to kill them. Hell, Garcia, I almost hope Begley fails again.”
“So do I. I want to watch those men die in great pain.”
Despite the passion implicit in his words, Garcia’s face showed no expression.
“Let’s talk money,” Ryker said.
* * *
Ryker walked out of the office to find that Vivian had joined the card game. He strolled over and tapped her on the shoulder.
“We’re out of here.”
“Too bad. I won the last hand.”
“How much did you win?”
“Three dollars.”
“Not exactly high stakes,” Ryker said. As they were walking out, they passed the punk Ryker had poked in the eyes and used as a shield. The man stared at him.
“Who taught you to fight?”
“My mentor, who was taught by his mentor.”
“How about teaching me?”
Vivian laughed. “You’re too late; he’s already got an apprentice.”
The punk looked her over. “A girl, really?”
“See you around, boy,” Ryker said, and pushed open the door to leave.
After they were seated in his rented car together, with the engine still off, Ryker told Vivian about his meeting with Garcia.
* * *
“Fifty men?” Vivian said. “Damn, that should do it. I don’t care how deadly they are, Xavier and Romeo wouldn’t survive an attack that massive.”
“Let’s hope they don’t survive Begley and his Citadel guards.”
“Begley should be in Portland by now and ready to pounce on them.”
“If he kills even one of them it will make Hawke come here to help. All I care about is finding and killing Spenser Hawke.”
“What about Emma Hart? We don’t need to harm her, do we?”
Ryker eyed Vivian with a sideways glance.
“What? You like her?”
“I was pretending at first, but yeah, I like Emma. It will be bad enough for her when Romeo dies.”
Ryker shook his head in disgust. “Damn women, you’ve got to learn to separate your emotions from the work. I’ll kill Emma Hart and anyone else I need to kill to get revenge for Damon. You got that, girl?”
Vivian reached over and took Ryker’s hand. “For Damon, whatever it takes.”
Ryker started the car and pulled into traf
fic.
“All right then, let’s get to the airport and head back to California. Maybe Begley will have some good news by the time we land.”
“I hope he kills Xavier. I don’t like him at all, and he’s more dangerous than Romeo.”
“From what I’ve seen, that boy would have been named a Tanner someday.”
“There’s only one real Tanner, and that’s you.”
“That’s something else that will get settled out of all this, control of the Tanner legacy. And damn Farnsworth for ever training Hawke in the first place.”
Vivian took out her phone. “I’ll text Begley for a status report.” Miles passed, then Vivian said, “Jack Begley is in position. When Xavier and Romeo return, Begley and his people will move in and slaughter them.”
“Let’s hope that’s how it turns out,” Ryker said, and the doubt in his voice was evident.
121
Living On A Prayer
PORTLAND, OREGON, JANUARY 2004
After a long evening of driving around the city, the boys found Owen Fisher’s car at an address that was the twenty-second on a list of thirty-seven.
Fisher had registered the car under the name of Owen Taylor. Owen Taylor lived in a third-floor walk-up. Cody picked the lock on the door quicker than most would open it with a key. He was quieter about it as well and entered with his gun at the ready.
Romeo followed, and moments later they had searched the three small rooms and discovered that the apartment was empty.
“It’s after midnight,” Romeo whispered. “I thought we’d find the dude asleep.”
Cody shielded a flashlight beam with his cupped hand as he looked around Fisher’s living room.
“This place smells like it hasn’t been cleaned in years.”
“Roy said Fisher was a drunk, so no wonder.”
The living room was filthy, while in the bedroom, a plastic blowup doll lay atop grimy sheets. On the night stand was a jar of Vaseline and a box of tissues.
“This dude is pathetic,” Romeo said.
Cody moved aside an old pizza box that had a moldy slice still inside, to pick up a bright red flyer. The flyer had the name of a bar in large letters and looked as if a coupon had been torn off a corner of it. He showed it to Romeo.
“This has today’s date, and this bar is only a few blocks from here. Let’s check it out.”
Romeo agreed. Ten minutes later, they were in the bar and watching Owen Fisher. When he wasn’t shoving handfuls of peanuts into his mouth, Fisher was talking to the bartender about sports.
The boys returned outside after having a beer and waited for Fisher to exit the bar. He did so, along with the rest of the die-hard drinkers when the bar closed at two a.m.
Fisher began his walk home and swayed as he moved. He was drunk. Had he driven to the bar, he probably would have crashed his car on the way home. But then, he would never make it home.
Romeo came up behind Fisher without the man ever hearing him and smashed the back of Fisher’s head with a sap. Cody had the trunk open by the time Romeo dragged Fisher over; they piled him atop a spare tire that was flat.
They had placed Fisher inside his own car. After coming across a set of extra keys in Fisher’s apartment, Cody decided to use the vehicle.
“I’ll take the car and follow you,” Romeo said. The boys had lived in the Portland area at one point and knew the surrounding terrain well. They already had a place picked out to kill Fisher.
* * *
Owen Fisher came to a short time later and groaned as he felt the back of his head. He was tall, about six-foot-three. Although he had gone to fat, there were still indications that he had been muscular at one time. Hutchins said that Fisher had been a bone-breaker for a loan shark while a young man. Cody could imagine him in that role.
He should have stuck to harming deadbeats. The moment he placed his hands on Bev, Fisher had sealed his fate.
They were in a wooded area that was miles from another person. They had to carry Fisher into the trees, but only far enough to be away from the road.
Fisher opened his eyes and gazed about with a look of confusion.
“What’s going on? Who the hell are you guys?”
“Roy Hutchins sent us,” Romeo said.
Fisher’s eyes darted around. “Is Roy here?”
“It’s a little hard to navigate in that wheelchair, especially in the woods,” Cody said.
Fisher looked as if he were about to cry.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Roy’s woman, but she fought back and tried to keep her purse.”
“Her name is Bev. You crossed the line when you hit her,” Romeo said. He raised his hand and pointed a weapon at Fisher’s chest. The big man pleaded and begged him not to shoot.
“No man, don’t kill me, not like this, I need to make peace.”
“Roy doesn’t want to make peace with you,” Cody said. “He just wants you dead.”
“Not Roy, God. I need to make peace with God.”
“This isn’t a church,” Romeo said. He was about to pull the trigger when Cody held up a hand.
“There’s no harm in letting him say a final prayer.”
“I guess not.”
Fisher looked up at the boys. “You’re gonna let me pray?”
“Be quick about it,” Cody said.
Fisher thanked him, then gripped the gold cross that was hanging around his neck. He prayed silently with his eyes closed, but Cody noticed that his lips were moving. After about a minute, Fisher opened his eyes. They appeared to hold peace where there had been only fear.
“Are you done?” Cody asked.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re done,” Cody said, and Romeo pulled the trigger on Fisher.
122
Kill The Dead
PORTLAND, OREGON, JANUARY 2004, 2:53 a.m.
Jack Begley stamped his feet again to try and warm them up. His toes felt like ice. It was forty-two degrees out, which wasn’t horrible, but he’d been outside for hours.
Begley was standing with Serge and twelve of his guards amid a grouping of trees. Vivian had called with information that gave the location where Cody and Romeo would be staying while in Portland. The small dilapidated home looked like nothing more than an old shack to Begley.
* * *
Vivian had called Emma and learned that Cody and Romeo would be in the Portland area looking at a property to flip. Vivian knew the boys used their real estate ventures as a cover for their real work as assassins.
She assumed that if they were going to Portland that it would be to take a contract.
“I have a friend in Portland,” Vivian had told Emma. “She lives in the Pearl District.”
“I’ve heard that’s a nice area, but the boys won’t be near there, at least I don’t think so. Romeo said that they’ll be staying overnight at a property on, oh wait, I wrote it down. Here it is, they’ll be at One Woodland Lane to assess a small home. They said the house may need a lot of work.”
“Why stay there?”
“They lived near Portland for a time and had worked on other properties in the area. Romeo said they know the real estate market there well.”
The Citadel, Vivian thought. They must have stayed in the area while they were casing the Citadel.
“I hope they decide against doing the project,” Emma said, “or I’ll only see Romeo on the weekends.”
Vivian had agreed that it would be better if they stuck to flipping homes near Robbin’s Cove, then Emma asked her about her new boyfriend.
“I’d like to meet him sometime.”
Vivian had smiled into the phone. “I may just bring him by soon.”
* * *
At his first sight of the shack, Begley wondered why anyone would stay there, then he remembered that the men he was after were assassins. If they were in the area to kill someone, maybe they didn’t want to risk renting a room.
Just to be sure, Begley had one of his men enter through an unlocked window.
That man reported finding two backpacks and a pair of sleeping bags.
“I don’t think there’s any power in the house,” the guard told Begley, “but they could stay warm if they lit a log in the fireplace.”
“Whatever they’re doing won’t take long if they decided to rough it like that, so we’ll wait for them to return,” Begley said.
“I just thought of something,” Serge said. “What if they’re out at the Citadel? Maybe they know that Knox was working for you.”
“You mean I might be their target?”
“It’s possible.”
“Shit, and here I am with most of the guards with me.”
“Relax, there’s no way they could make it inside the Citadel again, but they might be there checking things out.”
Begley took his phone from an inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll call Irina and tell her to have the guards go on alert until we get back.”
* * *
That was over five hours ago. Begley was beginning to wonder if Cody and Romeo were even coming back, or maybe they would be gone all night.
Serge echoed his thoughts a moment later. “Maybe these guys picked up some women and went home with them. If so, we’re wasting our time here.”
Begley was about to agree and tell everyone to head back to the vans they had parked off the road. That’s when one of his men hissed a warning.
“I see headlights.”
Begley grinned at Serge. “We’ve got them.”
* * *
The tiny home sat at the end of a crumbling road and was the only structure in the small cul-de-sac. The only reason someone would drive down the road was to reach the house.
“Somebody could be lost,” Serge said. “We should hold our fire until we know for sure.”
Another whisper came from the guard who had first spotted the headlights. He was squinting against the glare, but he caught a glimpse of the vehicle’s interior as the front end dipped.
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