Overkill

by Dylan Rust

  He rubbed his hand through his hair. He considered killing her, slitting her throat, but he resisted the urge. She was still valuable on the trade market. He couldn’t let his emotion get the better of him.

  His phone rang.

  He tossed the needle onto his desk and answered his phone.

  “Igor,” Aleksander said. “There is a problem.”

  “I’ve got a problem, too,” Igor said. “You’re men said the men that they ran into Jimmy’s was dead.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No,” Igor said. “The man that tried to kill me. That was the same man.”

  “Jesus,” Aleksander said. “I’m sorry. I take full responsibility.”

  “If that happens again, it will be your head.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now what is the problem.”

  “Are you close to your computer?”

  “Why?”

  “The man, the man that tried to kill you, is free. He’s on the second level of the club. You should check the security cameras.”

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Aleksander said. “That the man who attacked you. The man who won the poker tournament. Is currently with Sasha in one of the rooms. He’s holding a gun to the mayor’s head. Club security just informed me.”

  “Tell me this is a joke.”

  “I wish it was.”

  Igor walked to the portrait of his father behind his desk. He took it down from the wall. Behind it was a his computer. It was nestled in a nook within the wall. He brought up the live feed of all seven hundred security cameras in The Dacha House.

  Igor opened the live feed of the room.

  There he was.

  Jack fucking Spade.

  “What are you going to do about this?” Igor said.

  “I suggest we charge the room with all of our men. Kill the bastard and the mayor.”

  Igor considered Aleksander’s proposition. He shook his head. It’d taken years to get compromising footage of the mayor with young girls. He didn’t want to go through that again. “No,” he said. “We can’t do that.”

  Igor looked at his desk. On top were the needle and Jack’s gun, the GLOCK 17. His mind turned. He was looking for an angle. He was looking for a way to solve the problem.

  He looked at the gun.

  He’d killed Lieutenant Rivers with that gun.

  He smiled.

  He had his angle.

  It was almost too perfect.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Igor said. “This could be an opportunity.”

  “What?” Aleksander asked.

  “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “I don’t follow?”

  “Call our contacts at the NYPD,” Igor said. “The one’s that the commissioner works with. Inform them that we Liuetenant Rivers and the man who killed him, Jack Spade.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going to turn Jack Spade over to the cops. I’ll talk to the commissioner. It shouldn’t be a problem. He’ll be New York’s problem, not ours from here on out.”

  Aleksander laughed. “Understood, sir.” He hung up.

  Igor sat at his desk and looked at Elaine. She was sleeping.

  His phone rang again.

  It was Sasha.

  30

  It was early morning. The sun wouldn’t be up for another four hours. Claire and Tom were asleep at their desks in the warehouse. They’d had a long night. The blood from Luka’s gunshot had dried on Tom’s jacket. Claire’s mouth was open. She was dreaming. She twitched and spasmed every couple minutes.

  Matti and Dobson were awake. Despite the trauma and anxiety of the night, they had found some relief in laughing at Claire’s odd muscle spasms.

  When they weren’t watching Claire, they were watching the security footage.

  Matti just finished his fourth Red Bull. Dobson was on his sixth coffee. Their blood was mostly caffeine at this point.

  Dobson scoffed when he heard the can crack open of Matti’s fifth Red Bull.

  “You serious?”

  “I need the boost.”

  “Whatever you say, man. That stuff is going to kill you one day.”

  “What doesn’t kill you…” He gulped the can back.

  “Just makes you weak. That saying is full of shit,” Dobson said.

  Matti wiped his mouth and laughed.

  They’d been watching the live feed of outside The Dacha House for hours. Nothing exciting had happened since the shootout with the van and Jack’s game of Russian roulette. It was just another at the club.

  Both agents were happy that nothing exciting had happened. They figured no news was good news. If the club was quiet, than that most likely meant that Jack’s meeting with Igor was a success.

  Matti got up and stretched.

  Dobson looked at the monitor. Bright lights appeared outside the club. He adjusted the exposure of the camera. Men holding guns and in swat gear ran up to The Dacha House’s entrance.

  “What the fuck?” he said.

  Matti looked at Dobson. “What is it?”

  “Cops?”

  “Cops?”

  “Cops!”

  Matti ran to his desk and looked at the live feed. Two swat vans and three cruises were parked outside The Dacha House.

  Dobson got up. He walked to Claire and tapped her on the shoulder.

  She opened her eyes, slowly, and then closed them.

  Dobson tapped her again, this time more forcefully.

  Claire woke up.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “It’s the cops.”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re outside the club.”

  “What?”

  Claire got up and walked over to the monitors.

  “Jesus H. Christ,” she said.

  “I know,” Dobson said. “It’s not good.”

  “You think it’s related to Jack?” Matti asked.

  Claire looked at the rookie agent. “What the fuck do you think?”

  “Jack is still inside,” Dobson said.

  Claire looked at Tom. He was still sleeping. She wished she hadn’t got up. Reality was nothing more than a nightmare at this point.

  31

  Jack’s options were limited.

  He still had the gun to the head of the mayor.

  Sasha was still holding her gun at Jack.

  The girls in the room with them were still cowering in the corner.

  “Where’s my sister?” he said to Sasha.

  “Igor said to wait,” she said. “He’s bringing her down.” She licked her lips.

  Something was wrong. Jack could feel it. He didn’t believe Sasha when she told him that Igor was bringing Elaine down, but he couldn’t let the mayor go.

  He was playing with the hand he was dealt.

  What bothered Jack the most, though, was Sasha’s smile and the way she winked at Jack.

  It was just like the poker game. She was bluffing. Her tell was her over confidence and her flirting. When she flirted, she bluffed.

  Sasha’s phone rang.

  “It’s Igor,” she said.

  She answered.

  “Perfect.” She hung up. “He’s just outside.”

  “Stay where you are,” Jack said. “If you move, I’ll shoot.”

  “Mr. Spade, if you want your sister, you’ll let me leave.”

  “Don’t move.”

  Sasha fired her gun.

  She barely missed Jack.

  The bullet grazed along the mayor’s ear. “I’m hit, I’m hit,” he screamed.

  Jack fired at Sasha but missed. The mayor’s fat body bumped into him as he fired.

  Sasha ran out of the room. She closed the door. She locked it.

  Jack dropped the mayor, who collapsed on the ground. The bullet Jack had given him in his leg was bleeding profusely. The bullet he’d thought he’d taken to the head was no worse than a paper cut.

  Jack ran to
the door and tried to open it.

  He couldn’t.

  He considered shooting it the lock and kicking it open but didn’t.

  Sirens?

  Jack knew the distinct wail of NYPD cruisers like the back of his hand. The cops were outside the club.

  He shook his head.

  He should have known.

  “Good luck, Mr. Spade,” Sasha said from the other side of the door. “You’re sister isn’t even in the club anymore. She’s on her way to Mr. Grekovitch’s penthouse. You missed your chance at rescuing her.” She cackled like a witch.

  The mayor rolled on the floor, his hands on his ear. “Help me,” he said. “Girls, help me.”

  The two girls in the room did nothing. They knew to stay quiet, to stay still.

  Jack looked around the room.

  The cops were closing in.

  The electronic music in the mainhall stopped. People were screaming. Jack could feel the heavy footsteps of the police running up the stairway to the second floor. He knew they were there for him.

  He had thirty seconds.

  There was a window in the room. It would be about a thirty foot drop.

  He fired two shots at the window. The glass shattered. He pushed the broken sheet of glass out of the window and checked the ground below.

  It was the back alley where he’d played Russian roulette with the bouncers.

  The table they’d played on was just below. If he ran with enough momentum, he’d land on it.

  It would partially break his fall.

  The NYPD were just outside the room. They were about to bust down the door.

  “Jack Spade we know you’re in there!” one of them shouted. “Drop your weapons and put your hands up.”

  Jack had less than three seconds.

  He gave himself a running start.

  The girls screamed in horror and shock as he jumped.

  He dove though the broken window.

  He crashed onto the table in the alley.

  He felt his shoulder crack and one his ribs snap.

  He ignored the pain.

  He got up and ran.

  Igor had men on the roofs of the buildings around the alleyway. He’d have to be quick. He’d have to stay in the dark, in the shadows.

  32

  After landing in the alley, he evaded detection.

  But streets of Little Odessa were swarming with cops and black SUVs, that Jack knew were occupied by Igor’s men, so he ran to Sheepshead Bay. He figured that would be where he had the best chance of survival.

  He figured if he made it to the bay, he could either climb into one of the sewers by the dock and wait out the search for him or steal a boat and ride along the coast until he was out of their search zone.

  Each step sent volts of pain through his body. Each breath felt as if he was getting punched. He pushed through. He’d definitely broken something.

  It him thirty minutes to walk one mile.

  The wind howled. The sounds of container ships coming into port bellowed through the dark. Jack walked up to the iron gate that surrounded the bay. A series of warehouses were behind it. He pulled himself over. He screamed out in pain as he dropped to the ground on the other side. He landed on his back.

  His vision grew dark.

  The pain was too much.

  He wanted to pass out.

  Sirens. Red and blue flashing lights.

  “Get down on the ground.”

  They’d spotted him.

  He pushed himself up.

  Three cruisers were parked on the other side of the fence. Six cops got out. Their guns were drawn. “Stop,” one of them screamed.

  Jack didn’t listen. He ran toward the water.

  Bullets rang off the metal of the warehouse. Yellow sparks illuminated the dark of the early morning.

  He jumped behind a dumpster that was nestled along the wall of one of the warehouses.

  “Jack Spade get down on your knees with your hands behind your head! You are under arrest.”

  Twing.

  Twang.

  More bullets. More sparks. The cups had just climbed over the iron gate.

  Jack took a few deep breaths. He pushed himself up. He needed to make it to the water. He wouldn’t be able to commandeer a boat. Not now. There were too many cops. They were too close. He’d have to make it to the sewers maybe one of them would lead back to the street.

  “Get him!” the cops shouted. “He’s running!”

  Jack’s feet felt like cement blocks.

  The cops gained on him.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Twing.

  Jack rolled on the ground and did a somersault. That was too close for comfort. Those three shots barely missed. He stood up and rested on the exterior wall of a warehouse. He was on the water facing side. He leaned against the corroded metal siding and peaked around the corner.

  Two cops were on his trail. They fired more shots when they saw his face.

  Twing.

  Twang.

  Jack waited.

  The SIG Sauer P226s they were firing were specially designed for NYPD officers. They only fired fifteen rounds each.

  He’d been counting their shots.

  They’d already fired twenty at him. They had ten left.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Seven.

  He couldn’t wait much longer. More cops would be arriving.

  Once inside the sewer system, he’d be able to swim away from the dock and get back to the street. He just hoped he had the stamina left to hold his breath for a long period of time.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Five shots.

  He couldn’t waste any more time deliberating. They were getting close.

  He ran toward the water.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  He jumped behind a garbage can.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  They were empty.

  He was in the clear. He smelt the salt of the water. He heard the rustling of the waves. He got up.

  The cops reloaded their P226s.

  He ran to the edge of the of the dock and dove in. He didn’t leave a splash. He was six feet under the surface. It was freezing cold. He could feel his lungs tighten up in his chest. He looked around the dark water and found the sewer entrance.

  He held his breath and swam to it and went inside.

  The pain, the worry, nothing bothered him. He just kept pushing. Every now and then he’d surface into a pocket of air and take two big breaths and then dive under again.

  After twenty minutes of that, he found the exit. He swam to the surface and inhaled as much as air as he could. His heart was beating like a race horse. He could feel his muscles seizing from lack of oxygen.

  He pulled himself up a ladder that led to the street.

  He pushed the sewer grate open and got out.

  He was north of the Sheepshead Bay. The sirens were distant. He was safe for now.

  ***

  The cops who chased him stopped at the edge of the bay and looked into the water. They waited for Jack to reappear. They saw him dive in.

  One of them fired a few rounds into the water and waited.

  Nothing appeared.

  He was gone.

  ***

  Jack was soaking wet.

  His teeth jittered. He needed warmth.

  If not for the adrenaline pouring through his veins, he would have passed out.

  In the distance, the sirens continued to wail.

  He was far enough away that the cops wouldn’t be a problem, but he still had to be careful.

  The axe had fallen from his pocket during the swim.

  His two guns were soaking wet.

  He dropped them. They wound’t do him any good now.

  They’d just slow him down.

  He stumbled down an alley.

  There was a homeless man huddled in a cardboard box.

&
nbsp; “You need help,” he said.

  “Do you know where I can get a jacket?”

  The homeless man smiled. “Take mine.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You’ll die.”

  “Ah shut up.”

  The homeless man took off his jacket.

  “Stop,” Jack said.

  “I said shut up. I’ll get another one from the shelter. They give these things out like their candy.”

  Jack smiled. He took the jacket.

  “Thank you.”

  “Those sirens for you?”

  “Yes.”

  The homeless man laughed. “Well, then keep running. They’ll be here soon enough.”

  33

  Igor examined the room. He peered out the broken window. He smirked. That would have hurt. If not for that table he would have broken his back.

  He picked up a glass. He threw it against the wall. He screamed.

  “How did this fucking happen?” he said. “How did get out of the cellar?”

  “He’s an impressive specimen,” Sasha said. “From our security footage, it looks like Jack grabbed Dr. Toposky and killed him during the inspection.”

  “That fucking idiot,” Igor said. “I told you we should have replaced him long ago.”

  “He’s the best chemist in the city,” Sasha said.

  “He was. He’s now dead.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “And because of his stupidity,” Igor continued, “the asshole is on the loose.”

  “The woman, his sister, is in your penthouse,” Sasha asked.

  “Good,” Igor said. “Only a few people in the city know where I live. We’ll keep her there for the time being. He won’t find her.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “Bring the commissioner in,” Igor said. “I want a rundown of their investigation.”

  Sasha left the room and grabbed the commissioner. Hugo Green walked in. He was rubbing his head. He was still feeling the affects the blow Jack gave him to the head. “He’s still on the loose,” he said.

  “I figured,” Igor said. “Please sit.” He gestured to the bed.

  “Uh, sure.” Hugo took a few cautious steps toward the bed and sat down. “My men will find him. I’ve hunted Jack Spade down before. I can do it again. The man is an animal. He deserves to be in a cage.”

  “You know what will happen if you don’t find him?” Igor smiled at the commissioner.