by Kevin Sivils
He pointed at the treat and held his position, causing the animal to track where Heat was pointing. Confused by Heat's failure to flee and his pointing at its feet, the pit bull sniffed the area. Discovering the treat, it wolfed it down and then resumed barking. A second treat was tossed to the same location. This time the dog wasted no time eating the treat.
Heat produced yet a third treat and moved closer to the fence, holding the treat out from his body and looking away from the dog. A low pitched, threatening growl emanated from the dog who licked its chops while watching the treat. Heat tossed it through the fence and moved closer still, repeating the process with a fourth and fifth treat.
Pacified by the treats, the pit bull sat and then finally laid down facing Heat, who was still several feet from the fence. Heat stood slowly and felt for another treat in his coat pocket, finding the lone remaining treat. Aiming with care, Heat tossed the dog bone, aiming so it landed directly in front of the dog, allowing it to eat the treat without moving. He grinned as the dog made short work of the treat, licked its lips, and then laid its head down on its forelegs to sleep.
"Who's a good boy," Heat whispered, backing away and resuming his approach to the back yard. He paused to listen. Hearing nothing, Heat stepped quickly towards the gate of the chain-link fence that attached the free-standing wooden garage to the house. He worked the latch and opened the gate, stepped through, and then pulled his Glock from his waistband.
He eyed the cast concrete steps leading up to the small porch that protected the back door. One big step and Heat was atop the steps from which he eyed the worn, cracked wooden floor of the porch.
With his heart racing and blood ringing in his ears, Heat raised his Glock, examined it to make sure it was ready to fire, and muttered to no one in particular, “here goes nothing.”
“BRING ME SOME MORE water.”
“Alfonso, she’s had enough.”
Alfonso’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he scowled at the younger, smaller Ben. “Haven’t got a stomach for it?”
Insulted, Ben took two quick steps closer, his chin jutting out defiantly. "I can stomach it just fine. But don't expect me to take the rap when you lose your temper and kill her, and the boss doesn't get the answers he wants."
A non-committal grunt was the response to Ben's verbal pushback. Alfonso stepped away and admired his handiwork. The bloody mess that was Amy's face resembled nothing close to the fragile, porcelain doll-like features she possessed before the torture inflicted on her.
“Fine. We’ll wait a bit. But when she comes to, she answers my questions or else.”
“You idiot,” Ben hissed in disgust. “Has it occurred to you she’s telling the truth?” Frustrated and with his hands on his hips, Ben shook his head. “I’m going outside for some air. Don’t touch her while I’m gone.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IF VEGAS HAD TAKEN odds on who was more surprised, the oddsmakers would have listed it as even odds. Ben stood with the door open, his hand still on the knob, and his mouth open in surprise. Heat stood, Glock at the ready, frozen with his hand outstretched for the now open door.
Heat recovered first, launching a kick at Ben’s knee. His foot missed as Ben reacted, causing the toe of Heat’s foot to graze the inside of his left knee. Heat’s foot continued its upward arc, slamming into the trafficker’s groin area. Ben grunted and clutched desperately at his groin with both hands. Before his opponent could recover, Heat launched a wild, roundhouse swing, connecting with the butt of his pistol against the side of Ben’s head.
Not stopping to see if the now prostrate Ben was unconscious or not, Heat charged through the kitchen into the living room. An explosion deafened him, and Heat felt a blast of hot air against his face as a large caliber bullet flew past and impacted into the wall. Not waiting to see who had shot at him, Heat dove towards the recliner near the front door and took cover behind the chair, peeking towards the narrow hallway entrance.
Another two explosions announced the fact two more bullets had been shot at Heat by the man Heat recognized as the pit boss. Reflexes took over, and Heat squeezed off a round from the right side of the recliner. The bullet slammed into his target's kneecap, shattering it and knocking the big man down.
With both hands gripping his Glock, Heat eased out from behind the recliner. In the distance, he thought he could hear the sounds of sirens approaching. With the ringing in his left ear making him uncertain, Heat stood still for a moment, his Glock aimed at the thug on the floor. Once satisfied he was hearing the sirens approach, he began to approach the man. He kicked the .44 revolver away from the pit boss's hand, sending it clattering down the hallway.
“Where’s Ben,” the wounded thug groaned.
“Don’t worry about Ben,” Heat informed the man. “I ain’t done with him just yet. I’d be worried about that other knee of yours if I were you.”
Heat stepped over the wounded man and looked in the first bedroom on the right. Seeing nothing, he moved on to the second room. His heart sank at the sight of Amy, bloody, battered, and unconscious, sitting taped to a chair, and her head slumped over on her chest. Heat rushed forward and felt her throat for a pulse. Finding one, he stepped back and stood straight up.
With gun by his side, Heat walked down the hallway, stepping over the bleeding thug on the hallway floor. He stopped long enough to lean over and examine the man's hands. Noting the cuts and abrasions, he aimed his Glock directly between the man's eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“What’s it to you,” Alfonso mumbled, still defiant.
“Just want to know what to put on the gravestone when I’m done with you, that’s all.”
Leaving the thug to bleed on the hardwood floor, Heat returned to the kitchen to find Ben sitting up and shaking his head. With his left hand, Heat yanked the younger man to his feet and slammed him against the refrigerator.
“Hear those sirens?”
Ben nodded, desperately trying to focus his vision.
“You have between now and when they get here to answer my questions. If you haven’t by then, I’m putting one between your eyes.”
“That’s murder,” Ben sobbed, the stink of fear exuding from his pores as his breathing became shallow and rapid.
“Naw,” Heat drawled, an evil smile on his face. “Self-defense. You surprised me when you opened the door.”
“I don’t have a gun on me,” Ben protested.
“Oh, that I can take care of,” Heat laughed. “I’ve got several on me.”
His grin vanished. “Who’s the muscle?”
“Alfonso Beteloni.”
“Did he do Wolf?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben whispered, sweat running down his creased forehead into his eyes.
“What did I say about lying,” Heat growled, the sound of the sirens growing louder and louder outside the house.
“Yeah, yeah, he did Wolf.”
“Why?”
"Your partner wouldn't leave things alone. It made Alfonso mad."
“Annoying habit he had, wouldn’t you agree,” Heat monotoned.
Releasing Ben, Heat stepped back and reached for his cell while aiming the Glock at the young man's face. On the second attempt, he reached 911 and called for two ambulances. Not wanting to play games with the dispatcher who would inevitably want to keep Heat on the phone, he ended the call.
“Move, we’re going to the bedroom where Amy is.”
Without being told, Ben raised his hands and slowly walked towards the hallway, looking over his shoulder at Heat and the pistol pointed at his head. Ignoring his wounded partner, Ben stepped into the room where Amy sat, still unconscious. He jumped at the explosion in the hallway and spun around to see Alfonso writhing in agony.
“The other knee,” Heat explained, stepping into the room, still aiming the gun at Ben’s head. “The first knee was for Amy. The second one was for Wolf.”
IT WASN'T THAT HEAT didn't like hos
pitals. It was more he didn't like being there to visit people he cared about who were seriously injured. Standing in the hospital room doorway, he listened to Amy and Blondie talk, hidden behind the privacy curtain pulled around to block the patient's view from the entrance to the room.
“You sure?”
“Of course,” Amy mumbled, still feeling the effects of her concussion and swollen lips. “It would be great to have a roommate. Somebody to talk girl stuff with.”
Pleased things had worked out for Blondie, and that Amy would be okay and have a friend to live with, Heat eased away from the room, slowly pulling the door shut. Turning towards the waiting area, he spotted Boucher and Garcia strolling towards him.
“Here to arrest me?”
The pair of detectives glanced at each other knowingly. Garcia shrugged, indicating Boucher should explain.
“The Capt’n showed up, took one look and said it was a clear case of exigent circumstances, what with Amy and all. Of course, you had to shoot Alfonso. Obviously, it was self-defense. That was quite the cannon he had, taking potshots at you. We found six slugs in the wall."
Puzzled, and before his better judgment could kick in, Heat blurted, “He only shot at me three times.”
"Funny thing, that," Garcia deadpanned. "Adrenaline kicks in, and we forget details. Of course, the grouping of those last three rounds was much better if I do say so myself."
Boucher chuckled at Heat's confusion. "Garcia put three in the wall. You're good on this one, Heat. Pressure has been big lately to put a dent in the sex slave trade. Alfonso sang like a canary on the way to the hospital. Seems he ain’t from Texas, but he's well aware we execute his kind here."
“We found that girl Wolf was looking for,” Garcia added. “That young punk is so scared of you he took us to where they hold these girls till they are ready to turn them out or put them up for auction.”
"Yeah, the Captain figured self-defense on the shooting is the least we can do for you, especially since we know this Alfonso is good for killing Wolf. The Capt’n said it showed restraint on your part.”
“We still need you to come down and help us get the story straight for the report,” Miguel informed Heat. “Captain Browning says you need to do it sooner rather than later, like tomorrow morning.”
Heat nodded and waved at the two detectives as they left him alone in the waiting area. Alone, Heat went over to the window and looked out over the Houston skyline in the distance.
Life, he thought to himself, is hard.
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The Heat is Coming Soon!
Murder on a Saturday Night
If you would like to learn more about author K.C. Sivils and his stories, please visit his website: kcsivils.com. You can sign up for one or both of his two reader newsletters, The Inspector’s Report (Crime Noir and Mysteries) and The Paine Report (Historical Mysteries).
Other Novels by K.C. Sivils
The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Thriller Series
Hardboiled Noir From The Future
The Predator and The Prey
Last Train to Nowhere
Grey Sky Blues
An Innocent Man
Death’s Cold Touch
City of Broken Lights
The Price of a Lie
Capital City Characters
Friends in Low Places
Dolls, Dames, and Danger
The Young Detective
The Girl Who Wasn’t There
Incident on Damascus II
Short Stories
A Night on The Town
Thomas Sullivan Prequel Series
The Fractured Man
What Doesn’t Kill
Dangerous is the Game
Box Sets
The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Thriller Collection: Volumes 1-3
The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Collection: Volumes 4-6
The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Prequel Series: Volumes 1-3
Capital City Characters: Volumes 1-5
Historical Fiction – Agent Nelson Paine Mystery Series
Murder on the San Juan Express
Coming soon: Murder on the White Pass
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AS A YOUNG BOY AUTHOR K.C. Sivils developed a lifelong love for reading. Among the first series of books he discovered was The Three Investigators Series of mysteries. Later in life Sivils stumbled across classic crime noir film, The Maltese Falcon, and saw the theatre run of the film Bladerunner. Thus, the foundation was laid for what led to the writing of The Inspector Thomas Sullivan Thriller series of novels.
Military history and American railroads have also been lifelong passions for Sivils. The merging of these two interests led to the creation of the Agent Nelson Paine series of mysteries which combines history, railroads, and murder!
A native of Louisiana and a resident of the state of Texas, Sivils has long suffered from the heat and humidity that comes with living on the Gulf Coast of the United States. Needless to say, life on the bayou and in cities in the deep south led to the need to tell the stories of James Benoit, “Heat,” Heatley!