Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set

by Gordon Carroll

  It didn’t matter, nothing mattered now. He had his escape car and as soon as he healed he would be back. He’d kill them all; the cop, his family, the other cop too if the knife hadn’t done the job, Detective Rothstein. And last of all Cinnamon. Yes. He would leave her till last; let the fear take hold and have its way with her until he was ready.

  The parking lot swayed and tilted like the deck of a boat on ocean swells. Enrico weaved his way, blinking his eyes and trying to clear the fog and weariness that pulled at him. It seemed to take forever, the rancid heat of the night causing him to sweat and the smell of smoke heavy in the air. That made him smile. The smoke was his work. He hadn’t succeeded in creating true art tonight, but at least he’d managed a large death toll and killed some of the men that had come to see his Cinnamon dance.

  He reached out and put his hands on the hood of the car. He’d made it. But he felt so tired, so incredibly tired. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired before. Using the car for support he made his way to the driver’s side door. He’d have to break the window, he didn’t have a lock pick set on him, but it didn’t matter, there was no one around to hear. He hit the window with his elbow; a feeble attempt that did nothing but hurt his arm. He rested for a moment, letting his body lean against the window, his chin on the roof of the car.

  A rock would work. He’d need to look for one, only he didn’t have the energy. He needed to rest, to sleep, just for a little while, a few minutes. He remembered back to his childhood when his mamma would wake him up for school and how he’d beg to be allowed to sleep for just five more minutes. That’s what he needed now — five minutes — just five little minutes — five heavenly minutes. He’d just let his eyes stay closed, his chin on the roof, and then everything would be all right, everything would…

  Enrico jerked awake. What was he thinking — what was he doing? He had no time for sleep — no time for anything but escape. The police might be converging this very instant. He needed to — needed to — needed to — to — rest — he needed to rest, just to rest, for just a few… NO! He snapped his head back and forth, held his eyes open wide.

  This was not like him. He was a professional — the consummate professional.

  He looked about him, searching for a rock — and what did he need the rock for? He couldn’t think — the window, yes the window — but there were no rocks, or maybe there were but it was too dark to see one. He needed something to get the door unlocked…or did he? His brain was so fuddled he couldn’t remember if he’d tried the door.

  He pulled at the door handle and it opened.

  Stupid Americans, so trusting, always leaving their treasures unsecured.

  Falling into the driver’s seat he let his head lean back against the headrest and almost fell asleep, but caught himself just as he started to doze off. He had work to do. He still had to break the steering column to get at the ignition wires, twist them off and then drive away. But he was so sleepy — so tired — so bone weary. If he could only close his eyes, rest his brain.

  The big red sign over the back of the store, much smaller than the one out front, but large just the same, stood dark at this time of night, but Enrico made out the target symbol with the snorting bull in the center and the big letters spelling out “Bulls Eye”. Again he thought how stupid these Americans were. Everything in this town was named after guns and things to do with guns and shooting, even its department stores. Well, when he’d recovered he’d show them guns — guns — bullets — and shooting. Only they would be the targets — the bull’s eyes. The thought made him smile. Yes, it would be wonderful.

  Enrico’s head lolled to the left and he saw that the driver’s side door still stood open. He shut it and started to lean forward to get at the steering column when he felt something warm brush lightly against his neck. It felt somehow — familiar. He let his eyes close as he tried to remember where he had felt this particular feeling before. Cinnamon, yes Cinnamon. When they slept together, her up high on the pillow, her sweet lips inches from the flesh at the back of his neck, her tiny arm draped over his shoulder, her breath whispering in and out of her barely parted lips, so soft in sleep, so sweetly delicious. He rested there now with Cinnamon, her breath, her essence, her life, caressing his skin, giving him goose bumps and sending small, delicate shivers running down his spine. No woman had ever affected him like her; so different, so incredible. He still loved her, he would always love her. He would kill her because that was just the way it had to be, but his love would only grow stronger over the years and decades. But for now he wanted to turn to her, to love her, to feel her one last time.

  His eyes fluttered halfway open and he turned, reaching for her, his fingers clumsy and thick feeling. His thumb stabbed into her eye, he jerked it back about to apologize, when his brain startled awake — he wasn’t in bed with Cinnamon — he was in a car he was stealing and he needed to get away — but the breath had been real — the breath and the eye and…

  It wasn’t Cinnamon in the back seat.

  76

  Sarah Hampton

  * * *

  Puzzle Solved

  * * *

  The sun was just coming up as Sarah watched the last remnants of Gatling Gams burn to the ground. She had an eerie feeling of déjà vu; so much like that first morning when she’d found John Doe and his missing parts inside the unfinished structure.

  So far eleven people were known dead, with dozens more wounded. A terrible tragedy but far less than it could have been if it hadn’t been for Dominic and Sammy Rothstein.

  Chuck Creed and Sammy were both being checked out at the hospital; oddly enough the same hospital where John Doe was housed. Dominic had turned in the briefcase with all the money. He’d explained how Sergeant Creed saved him and stopped the man trying to rob the club, as well as saving the money, although he’d almost been killed in the process and the bad guy made good his escape.

  She shook her head. What a man — Sergeant Creed — what a hero. He had to be the best cop in the world. And how about her rook? He was turning out to be quite the man himself.

  Dominic still limped, his knee badly sprained, but he refused to go to the hospital, staying on at the fire scene and helping out. Sarah was just so happy that he was alive.

  The cats were still there, but they were keeping their distance, almost as though the destruction of the site where everything had started held some supernatural power over them. They were silent, but they stared at her, all of them, with wide glowing eyes.

  Dominic hobbled over to her, soot and dust covering him. His uniform was ripped, his gun and holster gone, he bled from numerous abrasions and cuts, his hair a mess — and he’d never looked better to her. She loved him. She wished she could be with him, but she didn’t think the cats were going to let that happen and that made her very sad. She thought that maybe she could bear living the rest of her life in the asylum if she could first have just a little time with Dominic.

  “I think we’re about done here,” said Dominic. “Rex said he’d give us a ride to the hospital. But I’ll have to ride in the back where Timmy usually is. I guess him and the Denver K9 guy were doing their bait car stuff when the call went down. They had to leave Timmy there alone. After he drops us off he’s going to swing back and pick him up. Poor doggy.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Timmy referred to as a poor doggy,” said Sarah. “But I would like to check on Chuck.” She pointed a finger at him. “I told you he was super cop.”

  “Yes you did,” said Dominic.

  Rex drove up and the two of them piled in.

  “Lost your doggy I hear,” said Sarah.

  “Nah, he’s just taking a nice long nap back at Bulls Eyes is all, said the muscular K9 officer. “He’ll be fine till we get back. The dog’s used to being locked up in a car for hours on end; he’ll sleep nice and peaceful. I just want to get back to him before it starts getting hot out. How bad is Chuck hurt?”

  Sarah looked back at Domini
c.

  Dominic shrugged. “He got cut pretty bad. Bled a lot, but it didn’t look like it hit the carotid or jugular to me.”

  “Saved your bacon I hear,” said Rex.

  “That he did.”

  “Well, join the club, Rook. Sarge has saved just about all of us one time or another. Me included.”

  Sarah held up her hand. “Me too.”

  “Looks like a good club to belong to,” said Dominic.

  At the hospital all three of them went up to see Chuck and Sammy. Sarah let Dominic hold her hand, it felt so nice, even though she knew it was totally unprofessional. When they looked in on Sammy he was sleeping, the doctor told them he’d be unconscious for hours so they all migrated to Chuck’s room; already out of surgery and recuperating in the ICU. He opened his eyes and gave them a sheepish grin as they slipped into the room. A nurse told them there was only one person allowed in at a time, but they ignored both the rule and her; after all they were cops.

  “Thanks for coming guys.” His voice sounded little more than a raspy whisper.

  Sarah took up his hand and squeezed it. His fingers felt thin and fragile and for maybe the first time she noticed how he had aged. Tears welled in her eyes and she felt her throat clog to the point that she couldn’t speak.

  Chuck patted her hand and looked up at Dominic. “Did you tell them?” he rasped out.

  Dominic nodded. “I told them how you saved me by taking out the assassin Sammy was trying to stop, and how you got the money from him, even though he stabbed you in the process. I was able to return the briefcase, so everything’s okay.”

  “Assassin?”

  Dominic said, “Yeah, there are a few details we’ll have to fill you in on. The main thing is that everyone knows how you saved the day and for you to just concentrate on getting better.”

  Chuck closed his eyes, breathed in and out for several seconds. Then he nodded, opened his eyes. “Thanks, Kiddo.”

  “Hey, you saved my life.” Dominic looked around at the others. “Although from what I hear that’s not such a rare occurrence with you.”

  “What about the bad guy, did we get him?”

  Sarah finally found her voice. “No. But we will, don’t worry about that. You just do like Dominic says and concentrate on you, and getting better.”

  Chuck nodded. “I’m tired, must be the drugs; I’d better get some sleep. Again, thanks for coming.”

  Sarah kissed him on the forehead. Dominic told him he’d be praying for him to have a swift recovery. Rex grinned and said he’d send over some protein shakes to help keep up his strength.

  They started for the elevator but Sarah stopped them. “Hey, I’d like to leave a note for Sammy, would you guys wait for me in the car?”

  Dominic let go of her hand and it made her feel less — substantial — as if his love were helping to anchor her to reality. He gave her a brief kiss and then let her go.

  In Sammy’s room Sarah took out her pocket notebook and prepared to write. She wasn’t certain what she would say. She didn’t think she’d ever see him again. The cats were already surrounding his bed and roaming the hallways in the hundreds; the message clear, Sarah had failed. She didn’t think she’d be able to keep her sanity much longer, but she did want to thank him for trying and for being such a good friend over the years.

  “Sarah.”

  She looked down and saw Sammy staring at her.

  “It is you, right? I can’t see much without my glasses, but the outline looks right and it smells like you.”

  As she had with Chuck she took up his hand. “Yes, it’s me, Sammy. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I kind of lost it there. I hadn’t slept in over a week. Stupid.”

  “Rex and Dominic were here,” said Sarah. The doctors said you’d be out a long time so I had them go down to the car. I was going to leave you a note.” She held up the notebook, then shrugged and put it back in her pocket.”

  “What happened after I passed out?”

  She gave him a brief rendition of the events, including what happened to Chuck and that the guy Sammy had been trying to catch got away.

  “What about Cinnamon?”

  “Who?”

  Sammy laid back and closed his eyes. “The midget stripper that was with me at the club.”

  “Oh, her. No idea. I haven’t seen her since you blacked out.”

  He nodded, eyes still closed. “Okay.”

  “Sammy, I just wanted to thank you for what a good friend you’ve been all these years. And to tell you I understand about you not being able to solve the John Doe case. There just isn’t enough…”

  Sammy held up a hand and opened his eyes. “Actually I did solve it.”

  “What?”

  He smiled and slowly nodded. “Yeah, back at the club, after the first explosion, it came to me. Everything just clicked together and I got it.”

  “Are you saying you know who attacked him, who mutilated him?”

  “Yes. The answer was right there all the time, staring us right in the face.”

  A big fat tabby appeared on the headboard of his bed. It glared at Sarah with huge red eyes. It hissed and clawed the air at her. Around her feet the cats streamed in, their backs humped, showing teeth and hissing randomly.

  “Who?” she whispered.

  The cats were becoming agitated, they milled and thronged, some of them stretched up alongside her legs, flaring their nails and sinking them into the material of her dirt and dust stained police uniform pants. The tips made it through to her skin making pinprick holes that stung.

  She ignored them. “Who? Who did that to him?”

  And there were half a dozen cats next to the tabby above his head. All were reaching for her and hissing as though demanding she not ask the question. That she shut her mouth and leave the room before it was too late. Cats perched on top of the E.K.G. machine, on the respirator, on the little table beside his bed. They were everywhere, staring and meowing and hissing, willing her to leave, to shut her ears and walk away, to accept her insanity and come to them, to stay with them forever.

  But she would not go with them, not now, not when she still stood a chance to be with Dominic, and to save both herself and John Doe. A chance to right the wrong and kill the monster that had done what he’d done to an innocent man.

  “The measurements were off,” Sammy said.

  “Measurements?”

  “I know — ridiculous — but the lab guys made a mistake, several actually. His reach clued me in; something wrong about the measurements — two things. First the distance from the outlet to the chainsaw and second, the distance from the handle to the end of the blade — but then it hit me — I mean literally hit me in the face — when they measured his reach they forgot to add in his missing hand. You see? They measured from fingertip to stump. They screwed up — they forgot and that got me thinking…what else did they forget — the hand — they never printed it. I should have caught the mistake myself, but I had a lot on my plate at the time. Anyway if he’d been dead instead of just in a coma it never would have happened. With a corps you plot from every which way and of course you would catalogue all the fingerprints, but with a live body you have to be — delicate in how you go about doing things. Leaving the hand out was an oversight, but an understandable one in light of the unusual circumstances.”

  The cats were clamoring so loud she could hardly hear him, besides what he said made no sense. Distances — measurements — reach? What did any of that have to do with the guy who tried to kill John Doe?

  “It’s the clue I needed, the hand; or rather the lack of the hand. Once I realized they didn’t print the severed hand it all added up perfectly. The bloody thumbprint on the trigger, the smudged unreadable prints on the shaft, all from the missing hand. The pieces of the puzzle slipped right into place.

  “When I first got to the hospital this morning, I woke up for a while, still pretty out of it, but I made some calls, woke up some lab people down at County
and at CBI. I had them print the thumb and fingers — check them against the partial bloody prints on the trigger and shaft of the chainsaw; perfect match.”

  The cats — the cats — the cats! They were bumping into her, scratching, screeching, hissing. Their humped backs and gaping eyes like witch’s familiars let loose. She wanted to kick them, to shoot them, but she had to concentrate, to listen to what Sammy was saying. But she didn’t understand; nothing he said made sense.

  “I don’t — I don’t understand…”

  “Sorry,” said Sammy, “I’m rambling a bit. My brain’s still a little goosey, I need more sleep, but look, it’s simple really. The man who attacked John Doe is…John Doe.”

  Everything stopped. The cats stopped moving, stopped scratching, screeching, hissing, breathing; everything froze perfectly still.

  “What?”

  “Yes,” said Sammy. “John Doe tried to kill himself. He started in the main room, that’s where most of the blood spatter was found. He began by cutting off his penis with the chainsaw. Why? Well that area does get a lot of blood flow, so if he were going to try and bleed out real fast, start there. There could be other reasons too, like a broken heart, but I’ll get to that in a minute. Then there’s the shoe patterns, which didn’t make sense until this clicked in. See, there were a long series of hops, with both his feet jumping up and down together; a sympathetic combination of a reaction to the pain and an attempt to keep the blood flowing from the wound. But the swelling from the major veins to the groin area would quickly seal them off — that and of course the body’s natural blood clotting ability. When the hopping didn’t work, he hacked off a hand; again, a good choice in amateur thinkology, but not so good in practicality. Major trauma like that is met with equally aggressive bodily defensive measures. So, just as with the groin, the blood vessels swell, shutting off flow, diverting blood to other areas. So what does JD do? He goes for the gold. He sits against the support column, reaches out his long arm — the one with the hand still attached — and starts to work cutting off his head. Only the cord reaches its limit halfway through and pulls the plug. By then he’s too weak from blood loss and systemic shock to try anything else. Plus he’s pretty much stuck to the beam.”