Carl chuckled as he puffed on a cigarette. “You should have known better than to cut a deal with the ISA.”
“If only Usher had turned himself in…”
“And do what? Rot in prison for the rest of his life?”
He tossed away his half-smoked cigarette and studied her closely. Her naiveté wasn’t so strong anymore. He sensed cleverness in her voice. There was no use in demanding more from her. She wouldn’t give it.
“You thought Usher would give himself up in exchange for some deal that would work out in your favor. If that’s it, then you clearly knew nothing of him. You haven’t lived here. You don’t know us. We don’t give up. We live free or die. To you it’s just some hackneyed political slogan, but to us it means something, because you can’t fool anybody here. You’re either alive or you’re dead.”
She plunged her face into the handkerchief again. Carl crept as close to the flames as he dared, until the heat blasted his skin. He picked up a piece of debris from the brick wall and placed it in his pocket. As he was walking past the girl she offered him back the handkerchief.
“Keep it,” he said. “Starting today, you’ll need it more than I.” He paused, then asked, “Why didn’t they take you with them after they were done?”
She didn’t answer.
He walked back to the car and got in. He touched his cheek, still warm. The inferno resembled a funeral pyre. It seemed fitting for Usher to be burned with all his possessions. He had been a man unknown to Carl, and he had died with his secrets intact.
Setting the car in low gear, he slowly crept down the hill. In the rearview mirror the girl was standing in the middle of the road, staring up at the sky as the smoke poured out over the neighborhood.
There was no temptation to pull over and offer her a ride. He wouldn’t take care of her. Nor would any of his friends. Her fate was not his concern.
She wouldn’t last long in the city, anyway.
Neither would the ISA.
***
Tom could read Carl too well. He had figured out half the story by the time he reached his desk. Tom shot up in his seat and instinctively went for his hat.
“ISA?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Carl scanned the room. Most of the stringers had departed for the day, and their reporter counterparts wouldn’t leave. There were a few stragglers, Duong among them. Carl whistled to get his attention.
“What’s up?” Duong asked.
“New assignment; we’re paying some ISA boys a visit.”
It must have been a slow day for Duong; he eagerly snatched his holster and slung it around his chest, cocking his pistol before he slipped it inside.
“Does Norton know about this?” Tom asked.
“He will.”
“Come on, man; he’ll be expecting some copy to fill the paper.”
“Then he’ll get one about how we paid back the ISA for what they did to Usher. The ISA filters the information their agents get, but some of them have got to read our stuff. They’ll find out. We’ll even include some photos to go with it. That’ll encourage them.”
Tom was ambivalent as he tapped foot and shifted poses. It was too much for Carl to risk taking him along. What they were about to do required total commitment.
“You stay here,” Carl said. “I’ll ring in when we’re done.”
“Like hell. You need me out there.”
“Duong will be fine. We’ll pick up a few others along the way.”
“Why are you doing this, man? You’re not even going to check with Norton first?”
“He’d approve. And we don’t have time. He’s busy with other shit.”
Duong threw his jacket on and stood by Carl’s side. “I have some extra ammo in my car.”
“Good. We’ll need it.”
Tom tried to follow them out the newsroom. Carl stopped and pushed at his chest. Tom slowly brushed it aside. He appeared more bewildered than angry.
“Just don’t want you ending up like Ian did,” Tom said.
“I saw him get killed.”
“I know. But this isn’t under orders. It isn’t necessary.”
“It is to me.”
Tom turned his head to the side. “You worried at all about not seeing Kaylyn again? For a guy who’s looking to settle down, you seem to ask for trouble.”
“I’ll see her again. I know it.”
Tom sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll be around, I guess.”
Carl laughed and gave him a quick pat on the arm. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“Happy hunting.”
In the parking lot, Duong emptied his truck of loaded magazines and piled them into Carl’s. He then brought out two Thompsons and placed them on the rear passenger seats. They then got inside and checked the radio transmissions for the latest status report. Something had finally come in about Usher’s neighborhood. It was too great a delay to follow the reports. They’d never be able to track down the ISA units.
To an extent, the ISA had done its homework. The agency didn’t know for certain where the safe houses were, but they had a general idea. It was enough to avoid detection by bypassing certain streets and roads.
“Where are we going to find them?” Duong asked.
Carl started the car and drove onto the street. His eyes were fixed squarely on the road ahead. He smiled darkly.
“Today, it’d be impossible to miss them,” he said. “Just follow the burnt homes and crying children.”
***
The ISA left a trail of devastation in downtown that signaled their route like dropped bread crumbs. The people along the street pleaded for Carl to stop and report on what had happened. However, he was indifferent to their plight, only interested in finding out where to go next. He would come back later and make sure their suffering got the proper coverage.
By the time they got out of downtown, they had spotted two Cascadian delivery boys in their truck. They had required little convincing to join them. Any chance just to sit next to “Killer” Carl was enough for them. Fighting by his side was icing on the cake.
No longer constrained by the fleeting war-time travel restrictions, they were free to cross over into Fremont territory. The ceasefire meant they would be unmolested if they didn’t try to snatch any stories.
The delivery boys in the back talked amongst themselves excitedly. Carl watched them in the rearview mirror, chuckling to himself.
“We’re not leaving survivors,” he said. “Just wanted to make that clear.”
“Sure, boss,” one of them said. “We know how you do things.”
“Good.”
“You let Tony Marconi live,” Duong noted.
Carl almost coughed. “What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t killed until last night. Norton ordered you to off him earlier. Or did he escape?”
“Something like that.”
Quietly he suffered a tormenting fear one of them would get curious and ask for more details. He’d be able to hold them off only for a while, but some point, he’d crack. He had a lot of vices, but dishonesty was not among them. He had always been a terrible liar.
He fervently prayed that the truth of what had transpired would remain between him and Marconi, that the old man would die with his old-world sense of honor preserved.
“Who are we hitting, boss?” one of the delivery boys asked.
“ISA.”
“But who? And why?”
Duong turned back to face them. “Because we live here, and they don’t belong. One of us has got to go. Simple as that.”
“Why do they come here?”
“They don’t like us,” Carl said. “Does that confuse you?”
“No. Just wondering why. Nobody ever bothered to say.”
“They hate us because they want to tell everybody what to do and we don’t let them. Just by living here we’re saying we’re doing what we want without their permission. They can’t let it be because in their world they have the right to do whateve
r they want to anybody. Some people feel like they got to control everybody else. With those kinds of people, you got two choices; you can either talk ‘em out of it or kill ‘em when they try to kill you. You get what I mean?”
“Yeah. I just don’t get why they think we’re worth dying for.”
Carl thought about it for a while. “Maybe because they think death is worth the opportunity to be in that kind of authority over another person. I don’t know. If somebody has a better explanation, feel free to say it.”
An armored vehicle appeared on the street ahead, moving sluggishly toward the west tunnel toward Bellevue. Carl immediately slowed down and kept the car to the curb as best he could. Duong stuck his head out the side and gave the vehicle a fast glance.
“Not a biggie,” he said. “An X1 Bobcat. Light armor. It’s mainly a transport, but they’re slow."
“Too big for us?”
“With our guns? Yeah. But a grenade can take out the axle underneath it. We’ve done it before.”
Carl narrowed his eyes on the ISA insignia on the vehicle’s side. His lip curled slightly. The X1 had probably gone with the convoy that had attacked Usher’s house. Possibly Tony, too.
“Think you can get to it without being spotted?” Carl asked Duong.
“Yeah. They got that blind spot, remember?”
“Maybe they have a spotter,” one of the delivery boys said.
“Then keep an eye out. Duong; do your thing. You two boys wait for my order. We hit ‘em as soon as the vehicle’s stopped.”
The car slowed for Duong to hop out. He ran over to a storefront and took a grenade out from vest. Running up the sidewalk, he came to a stroll as he approached the Bobcat from the right. A small group of men did their best to ignore the transport as they walked in front of it at the intersection. The delay gave Duong the time he needed. Pulling the pin, he sprinted to the back of the Bobcat and then stuck the grenade between the rear right wheel axle. He then dashed back toward Carl’s car.
Carl barked for his Thompson from the delivery boys. He cocked it and stepped out, his chin raised with anticipation, a taste of bloodlust in his mouth.
The grenade last was small; there was hardly any smoke. But it was enough to destroy the rear right wheel. The Bobcat fell back, dragging that section of the vehicle behind it. The driver struggled to move forward, but the weight was too much. Most of the armored plating was on the rear doors.
Carl remained still. Even disabled, the Bobcat was like a wounded wild animal. It could still inflict harm if they were careless. The forward guns couldn’t turn to face them, and the ISA agents inside it wouldn’t come out unless they had to. Most likely they were already calling for backup.
Exactly what he wanted.
Ordering the two delivery boys to take cover, he and Duong ran to the opposite side of the Bobcat, listening for the sound of another vehicle on its way.
They didn’t have to wait long. The car flew around the corner, coming to the intersection on the left just behind the Bobcat. Right where Carl had hoped they would go.
Studying them patiently, he took aim and then signaled to the delivery boys on the opposite flank. As soon as the car doors opened, he shouted. “Let ‘em have it!”
Two lines of gunfire struck the car. The first ISA agent to appear dropped dead with one shot to the face. The next agent panicked and headed for the protection offered by the Bobcat. One of the delivery boys picked him off as he was trying to get inside one of the passenger doors. The agents inside attempted to pull him in, but his dead weight nearly cost them their lives, too.
Braving the danger, Carl stood up from his cover behind an old mailbox and walked toward the ISA car, filling the engine full of holes. He could see at least one person still inside and, as far as he could tell, still alive.
“Had enough?” he yelled. “Now you know what it’s like, you bastards!”
He unloaded another barrage. Reloading, he fired at the Bobcat. Sparks flew as the bullets deflected off the thick armor. Discounting the motionless agent in the car, he came up to the Bobcat and inspected the passenger doors. They, too, had armored exteriors.
“Duong?” he yelled.
“Yeah?”
“We got some spare gasoline in the back. Get it.”
Duong raised his eyebrows but obeyed. He returned to Carl with a red canister and an inquisitive look on his face. Taking the canister, Carl flashed a devious smile and flicked the cap off.
“For Usher,” he said softly.
Avoiding the forward guns, Carl jumped on the side of the vehicle and began pouring the gasoline. Its distinct odor filled the air as the liquid spilled over the sides, dripping down in the many crevices and cracks. The men inside screamed and argued with each other over what to do. One of them begged Carl for mercy.
There might have been a time for it; before they had burned Usher.
Tossing the empty canister aside, Carl jumped down to the ground and went for his Zippo lighter. One of the delivery boys got to their box of matches first, though he gave it Carl.
The four men gathered behind the Bobcat, immune to the cries of their enemies. Igniting a match, Carl threw it on a small puddle of gas that had formed by the vehicle’s side. A large flame instantly flickered to life and traveled up to the top. Within seconds, the entire Bobcat was a bright fireball. The screams intensified, but to him there was only one voice, and it was Usher’s - moments before the fire had overtaken him somewhere in his home.
Carl knew the man’s final cry had not been out in terror but heartbreak. The last thing he had seen before death took him had been his long-lost sister standing in the company of his enemies.
Amid the crackling of flames, he heard rumbling behind him. He turned to find the last ISA agent pulling himself out of the car. Unarmed, the man sprinted for safety among the ruined buildings to the south.
Duong and the others noticed him. They brought up their guns and fired. But the man was agile and dodged their bullets.
Carl watched amusingly, then set down his Thompson and drew his revolver. He aimed right in front of the man and then fired.
Perfect shot. The man dropped.
Everyone cheered.
“Another one bites the dust,” Duong joked.
The ISA agent stirred. One of his legs bled red. He started to crawl.
Almost a perfect shot.
The four men casually approached him. Duong and the delivery boys taunted as he continued to crawl. Carl might have joined them, but he was intrigued by the agent’s determination. The man had no reason to hope, yet he hadn’t given up. Though his wound ensured he could never escape them, he still clawed at the pavement and pulled himself forward. Their jeers had no effect on his will to live.
The delivery boys brandished their switchblades and grinned. “We’ll leave a few marks for his friends to find. They’ll know who to credit.”
Growing somber, Carl held a hand up to stop them, ordering them to stand back. He stepped in front of the agent and got down on a knee. The man reached Carl’s foot and finally ceased his crawl. Panting heavily, he looked up.
He was alarmingly young, no more than five years older than Carl. His desperate expression couldn’t conceal his boyish expression. The two men stared at each other without saying a word. The agent seemed resigned. Or he adhered to his training that taught him to never give up.
“What’s wrong?” Duong asked. “You know him?”
Carl thumbed the side of his revolver, chewing the inside of his mouth. He didn’t like what he saw. The enemy wasn’t supposed to be like that. Like him.
Eying the agent one last time, he walked away and asked Duong to grab his Thompson.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“But what about this guy?”
“Leave him. He’ll probably die. But if he can find a way to crawl back to Bellevue, let him.”
“I thought you said we weren’t taking any prisoners,” a delivery boy said.
Carl hal
ted for a second, looked back at the crawling ISA agent, and smiled.
“We’re not.”
Chapter Twenty
Carl walked up the stairway inside Kaylyn’s apartment complex with the eagerness of a knight rescuing an imprisoned lady trapped in a castle tower. He kept rethinking the words he would say in front of her. He had rehearsed it the entire driver over to her place, repeating the speech to himself as he felt a surge of confidence from his conversation earlier with Norton.
His boss hadn’t protested the attack. More dead ISA agents were a good thing. Only Carl’s failure to produce his original story rankled the old man, but all would be forgiven soon enough.
The hallway reeked of oil as he walked through it and toward Kaylyn’s door. A small boy peeked timidly out of a door, stared at him, and then closed it rapidly before he could smile back. At that moment, he was looking for an excuse to show off his happiness to anyone who could see him.
He stopped in front of Kaylyn’s door. His hand shaking, he reached into his pocket and clutched the ring box. It felt as heavy as a rock. He wanted to have it in his hand when she answered.
Then again, perhaps it was better not to have it out for her to see the instant she saw him. No need to stun her. The proposal would be big enough of a surprise.
His hand came out of the coat pocket bare as it curled into a fist. He gently rapped at the door, his heart pounding to the cadence of each knock. He then stepped away and clasped his hands behind back.
No answer.
He knocked again, this time harder. But not too hard. The last thing he wanted was her upset.
A minute later, the door remained shut.
His nerves calming, Carl removed a section of the doorframe, taking out the spare key she kept hidden there for emergencies. He unlocked the door, opened it slowly, and stepped inside.
The apartment was empty. Her bed was made, the floor immaculately clean, and the closet was closed. The desk was also spotless, but sparse. For a woman, she kept few possessions. Most of what she cherished was found outside of her home.
Inside, Carl closed the door and stood by her desk. He checked the time. It was past five. She should have been home by now. Most likely, she was out shopping or grabbing something to eat.
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