“Well, now we know.”
***
Two hours later, no word. Carl paced up and down the newsroom, taking long drags on cigarette after cigarette until his pack was almost depleted. There was some whiskey in his drawer, but he needed his mind clear and focused.
The phone danced on his desk. He answered it hastily.
Kenning’s message was short and muffled. “They decided to do the raid without us. Not sure why. But it’s over.”
“Where?”
“Look, kid, I just want to say I didn’t know…”
“Where, damn it!”
“Beacon Hill. Near the big prairie fields.”
Carl knew the place. It was large swath of city blocks where the homes have been burned to the ground to prevent their use for prostitution or meth labs. Now, there was nothing but grass tall as a man.
“Who got raided?” Carl asked.
“Just meet me there. The ISA’s gone.”
“How will I find you?”
“Just follow the screams.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was already dark by the time Carl pulled out of the parking lot in Tom’s car and navigated through the labyrinth of ruined roadways.
Every now and then a silhouette would form in the street, a haggard vagrant or a group of scroungers looking for some quick supplies. None of them moved to approach the vehicle.
He tucked his revolver in his pocket, his Tommy gun on the backseat with two filled.
When he reached Beacon Hill he didn’t need to look for signs of an ISA’s raid. He then heard a soft wail like that of a wounded animal. Immediately on his left he observed a row of homes with the front doors shattered.
Ahead of him, bullet casings were strewn on the road like pinecones.
He drove closer to the homes. A line of people stood in front of them. He stopped the car and got out. As he got closer he realized they were all children. The eldest held younger siblings in their arms or by their sides.
He said nothing, observing red markings on every single doorframe.
Before he could speak, Kenning called to him from the end of the block. The children grew nervous as Kenning approached in his blue uniform. A girl started to cry. The others joined her
Kenning acted as though they weren’t there as he stood beside Carl. “They took twenty people. All of them are being transported to the main office in Bellevue for a brief interrogation before their transfer to some detention facility.”
He handed Carl the folder. “This has all the information you need. Just say you got it from a public information request. Or just don’t say how you got it.”
“What were the charges?” Carl asked.
“Depends on what they decide. They haven’t quite figured it out. One of them was suspected of selling newspapers. They couldn’t figure out who exactly. Apparently, they had an informant finger them. The ISA couldn’t decide who, so they marked the whole neighborhood for arrest. The hope is one of them will squeal.”
Carl glanced at the girl. She was still crying.
“What about the children?” he asked.
“What about them?”
“Who’s going to take care of them?”
Kenning smiled darkly. “Welcome to the ISA’s strategies as part of Operation EMERALD. They’re leaving them here on purpose. They won’t risk bringing them out of Seattle. Word might get out and cause a scandal, even with a muzzle on the press over there. The sooner the parents talk, the sooner they can come back to their children…at least that’s what the ruse will be.”
Carl frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means those people are never coming back. Even if they talk, they’re all going to end up in the same place.”
“Why?”
“The ISA hopes it’ll send a message: if one of you break the law, everyone in the neighborhood suffers. They want people to police themselves, so they won’t have to.”
Out of the crowd of children a boy roughly five years old walked up to them and pulled at Carl’s trousers.
“Where’s my daddy?” he asked.
Carl looked down at him. “I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you a policeman?”
“I’m a reporter.”
“Can you get him back?”
Carl knelt beside the boy. Kenning expected him to take out his notepad and jot down quotes for his story, maybe take a photograph to go with it.
“Where’s your mother?” Carl asked softly.
“They took her, too. Can you have her come home?”
Carl shook his head.
The boy wiped his eyes. “Why not?”
“Our parents leave us all the time. Nothing we can do about that.”
He pointed at the door to the boy’s house. “Who made those red markings?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see.”
“Did anybody see?”
“I think the police did.”
Carl patted the boy on the head and gave him a piece of gum from his pocket, along with some money. He then told the boy to go back inside the house and take the rest of the children with him.
Carl faced Kenning. “Which way did the ISA leave?”
“One group was headed south through Rainier Valley to Renton. They’ve got the prisoners. Another is headed for Georgetown where one of our stations is located.”
“What kind of vehicles?”
“Mostly armored, a few SUVs.”
Picking up the radio in his car, Carl called for Norton. “Hotel One, this is Foxtrot Five. We’ve got a situation here.”
“Copy, Foxtrot Five. What’s to report?”
“They harvested some of the trees and left the apples on the ground. Over.”
“Roger. Gather what you can and report back ASAP.”
Carl stared down at the seat, then at the boy as he headed up to his front door alone. He felt the urge for a cigarette, but a growing anger satisfied it.
“Hotel One, there’s a worm to blame for the rotten bunch,” he said. “The worm needs to be found. Over.”
“Negative. Come back and debrief.”
“I don’t think you heard me. The worm needs to be found. Tonight.”
“Again, negative. Come back.”
Carl held the radio close to his lips. “I’ll have everything for you soon. Out.”
He went over to Kenning, one hand on his belt. “You’re coming with me.”
“What?”
“We’re going to stop that convoy and get one of those officers to talk.”
“No way in hell am I going─”
Carl took his revolver out and pointed it at Kenning’s gut, a dark smile on his face. “I’m not wasting time. The longer we wait, the sooner they’ll be out of city limits. We have to get to them before that.”
“Boy, you better think twice before you do something you’re going to regret.”
“Okay, I thought about it. I’m still going after them, and you’re still coming with me.”
“Why do I need to come?”
“Because two guns are better than one.”
Kenning shook his head, his hands near his sides. He raised his chest as he drew in a long breath. “If I go with you, I’ll be done in sooner or later. Either way I’m not coming with you. You want to die? You go on and die alone.”
“Fine,” Carl set as he put away the revolver. “Either way, I’ll see you in hell!”
He watched the children following the boy’s lead as they returned to their homes. He violently shifted into fourth gear and smothered the accelerator, breaking steel gaze to wiping his glistening eyes.
***
The convoy moved like a sluggish caterpillar. The tires on the armored vehicles were ill-fitted for the roads, and they struggled to gain speed. At intersections, they took their time turning the corner. Meanwhile, the SUV in the back maintained a respectable distance.
Their clumsy navigation skills showed they know the local roads, didn’t know which ones were st
able and which were unusable.
Carl turned the Mustang headlights off as he crept up behind the SUV, waiting for when it would be in the best position to make his move. He cocked the Tommy gun in his lap and placed it between the front seats.
The convoy stopped when it came across a large pothole, too large for them to chance driving through. The drivers barked at one another and gestured out their windows. The SUV then shifted into reverse and went backwards toward Carl.
Carl grabbed the Tommy gun and got out of the car. With a stub left for his cigarette, he tossed it into the bushes, then brought the gun up and unleased a hail of gunfire. The hollow-tipped rounds shattered the rear window and the rear brake lights.
Screams erupted, followed by light pistol fire. Carl stood amused, almost invisible in the darkness. He fired more rounds at the SUV, laughing as he got back into the Mustang.
Switching to reverse, he spun around and hit the gas. He had laid the bait.
In his rear-view mirror, the SUV had turned around and was in pursuit. The armored vehicles, however, kept moving west to the police station.
Now heading due north parallel to the interstate, Carl pulled into an adjacent neighborhood, taking care not to completely outrun the SUV. It was tempting to take advantage of the modified Mustang’s superior horsepower and maneuverability, but he didn’t want to lose them. After several sudden stops followed by fast accelerations, Carl got under the SUV’s driver skin. Precaution gave way to reckless pursuit.
He took a sharp take at a four-way intersection onto a side-street. The SUV followed. He eased up on the gas, letting it creep up next to him until they were close enough to take shots at him. Bullets splashed off the ground and struck the Mustang.
Carl ducked as one went through the windshield.
He just needed to wait another second.
Relying on his street knowledge, he increased speed until the engine roared like a charging steed.
More shots struck the car.
Wait for it.
Ahead of him, he saw at the end of the road a deep pothole the size of a vehicle.
Now.
He stomped on the brakes and swerved to the right, barely squeezing into an alleyway on the right. He turned and watched as the SUV couldn’t stop or turn in time. The front of the vehicle went headfirst over the edge and into the hole.
Carl didn’t waste time celebrating. He pulled back out of the alleyway and onto the road. He left his Tommy gun behind as he got out, but brought along a full gasoline can from the back trunk. Standing above the hole, he called out to the driver.
“Looks like you missed the turn!”
The driver groaned. His injuries were probably painful, but not serious.
Carl shook the gas can so that the driver could hear the liquid splashing around. “Here’s how this is going to go: you tell me where I can find the informant who sold out those people you just arrested. Or you burn in this life, right before you burn in the next one. Your choice.”
The driver screamed and trashed in his seat, begging for mercy.
Carl was unaffected. “Not good enough. I want a name or an address.”
“I don’t know who! I swear!”
“You know where I can find him.”
“Please, let me out first!”
Carl fired a shot from his revolver at the vehicle. “I don’t have time for this! Tell me now, or you will burn!”
“You’ll kill me, anyway!”
“Then what does it matter to you if he dies, too?”
“I’m not gonna help you!”
Carl couldn’t play this game much longer. He jumped down into the hole and came over to the driver’s side. The man was trapped in his seat, unable to move his arms. Carl put away his gun and smiled.
“Good thing you wore your seatbelt,” he said. “Now, give me the name.”
“Will you let me live?”
“I just want the quisling.”
The driver swallowed and reached for his vest. Carl stopped him, but the man insisted it had the informant’s personal info. He opened the vest pocket. There was nothing in there.
“Wrong one?”
The driver was eerily calm, resigned. “No. The right one.”
His fingers dove into the pocket, taking out a small tablet. He pushed it into his mouth and bit down. He threw his head back and gazed up at the ceiling as though waiting for death to take him. Carl tried to open the man’s mouth, but it was too late. The cyanide did its work fast. Seconds later, the driver was slumped over, white foaming dripping from his pale lips.
Carl stepped back from the door and stared at the ashen face of a man who was no longer there. He punched the car repeatedly until his knuckles dripped with blood. His hands aching, he fell with his back up against the vehicle and slid down to his knees.
The story was already late. But without the informant, he had nothing to show for his troubles. What would Norton think of him now?
Someone above him spoke. “What’s the matter, ‘Killer’?”
Carl pulled back from the SUV and looked up.
Tony Marconi loomed over him, a grin from ear to ear. “I gotta say, your driving skills are pretty good. Not as good as mine, of course, but you looked like a pro out there.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Just taking a stroll in the old neighborhood. Wondered what the fuss was all about.”
He leaned to his side and saw the driver slumped over the door. “Deader than Abe Lincoln, huh?”
“You didn’t just happen to be here, did you?” Carl asked as he climbed out the hole.
“No. I got word about the raid from a mutual acquaintance of ours. He said you’d gone crazy and wanted blood. You weren’t hard to track down.”
“Why aren’t you back at your paper writing about this?”
Tony shrugged. “We went to press already. Nothing can be done about it now. Even being the editor-in-chief’s son can’t change that. I figured I’d join you in your little quest.”
Carl couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nice try, Marconi. You think I’m gonna believe you’re here to help me?”
“No. I’m here to help you help me. Those people the ISA just took were friendly to me, too. We’re not sure why they got sold down river, but that might be it. Really doesn’t matter, because other people know they were friendly to us, too. If word gets out that nobody did anything for them, nobody’s gonna want to talk to us anymore, capiche? A message needs to get sent to the right people. This kind of thing doesn’t fly in this city, no matter who it is or which paper they helped out.”
“Yeah, I get you. Just one problem. I don’t have the address, or a name.”
The Fremonty smirked lightheartedly. “Not to worry. Tony ‘Ten Lives’ knows.”
“How?”
“How’s this: I’m not going to stop you from writing this story of yours or touch you, and you’re not going to know where I got my information from. Agreed?”
“Sure. Let’s just kill this son of a bitch. I’m still on deadline.”
***
The snitch was in the good part of town, one of the enclaves where the police were a secure presence.
The neighborhood reminded Carl of his home street; everything was well-lit, the roads paved, trees planted along the sidewalk, the houses maintained behind their wooden fences bordering the property. He wondered how the man had ratted out the people arrested when they didn’t live in his neck of town.
He wouldn’t get it from Tony. His lips were sealed.
When they came up to a house, Tony double-checked the address written on a note in his hand.
“You better be right,” Carl warned.
“This is it.”
Carl paused, staring at the glow of the front windows. He thought he could hear a family inside.
“Well?” Tony asked.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
“Enough to do it myself.”
Carl looked at him, tentative. “Then why don’t you do it?”
“I thought you wanted the honors. You got the stomach?”
“Yeah.”
Tony laughed quietly as he opened his car door. “We’ll do it together.”
“Alright.”
They avoided the streetlight, their path matching that of the thin shadows cast against the lawn. On the front porch, Tony took out a small pistol and attached a suppressor. He gave it to Carl before pounding hard on the door.
They stepped aside and watched through the window as a man moved through the short hallway and into the foyer. The front door’s bolt unlocked with a click.
Tony kicked right above the door knob. The whole door swung back and struck the man, throwing him on his back.
“Do it!” Tony yelled, pulling the door open.
Carl stood over the man, shooting him in the chest twice before either one of them could get a better look at the other. He didn’t want to see his face or his expression.
The shots were perfectly muffled by the sound of the man’s fall. A voice called out to him from the kitchen directly ahead.
“Daddy?”
The silhouette of a small boy appeared between the door way to the kitchen from the hallway. He approached them slowly, calling out to his father several times. He then came over to his father’s body and saw the blood on his chest.
He looked up at Carl and Tony. “What happened?”
With Tony behind him, Carl couldn’t see his face. He didn’t want to see it, or let Tony see his.
The boy knelt beside his father and pushed him, telling him to get up. When his father didn’t move, he cried. “What did you do to my daddy?”
“Let’s go!” Tony implored.
“I want my daddy!” the boy cried.
Carl’s voice was low and soft. “So did I.”
He slowly twisted the suppressor off the pistol and handed both to Tony, who was practically dragging him off the porch. The boy’s crying was sure to draw attention.
They drove away without exchanging a word. Back in the uncontrolled section of Seattle, Tony gave instructions as to where his car was located. Carl drove him there and found it parked inside of an old gas station’s car wash facility, the machines all removed.
“It was a pleasure working with you,” Tony said.
As soon as the words left his lips, he spun around with his pistol and his trademark grin directed at Carl as ordered him to hand over his revolver. Half-surprised, Carl did as he was told. Emptying the cylinder of its bullets, Tony then commanded him to pull out his pockets and toss the strip loaders he carried onto the road.
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