Karla tapped out another message and pressed send.
Another five minutes passed without a response. While staring at the phone, willing it to ring or buzz, I had a thought. “Text messages, Karla. We should have asked to see Stanley’s phone, to see if he was lying. Why didn’t we think to ask him?”
She furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Stanley said he had been texting Eva, asking her questions about Mick and what was real. Remember? Cells keep records of texts, don’t they?”
“Absolutely.” Her eyes lit up. “You’re right, we should’ve thought about that. We could’ve looked at Stanley’s cell to see if he actually sent those texts to Eva, and what Eva said in return.”
“If Stanley’s telling the truth, he’ll have a log of all those texts. We have to meet him right away.”
“I don’t think he’s going to respond.”
“Neither do I, but we have to find him. We have to at least try.”
“First,” Karla thumbed over her shoulder, “we have to do something with Kowalski and Palmer. What was your idea?”
“Let’s talk outside.”
We got out and met at the front of the cruiser.
“Let’s split up,” I said, “and meet back at the motel. It’s about three blocks east of here. You head west, then double back, keeping out of sight. I’ll head south for a couple of blocks, then work back toward the motel. That way our backseat friends will have no idea which direction we actually headed.”
“Are we just going to leave them in the cruiser cuffed?”
“I think we should put the handcuff key in one of the foot wells. They’ll have to work together to pick it up. I’m sure they can figure out how to release each other’s cuffs.”
“It’ll buy us time to get out of sight. I like it. Good plan.”
I nodded. “It’ll buy us at least ten minutes or more. Plus, I’ll leave the car keys so they have wheels and aren’t stranded in the middle of Compton. And I’ll leave their pieces, too, in the front.”
“Maybe they won’t pursue charges because it will be embarrassing for them to admit we got one up on them.”
“That was the idea.”
We stood and looked at each other for a moment, then Karla nodded.
I broke the silence. “Let’s go, you first. I’ll meet you back at the motel.”
Karla handed me Kowalski’s gun. “I’ll stop at a convenience store and grab some snacks. I’m starving.” She headed west without saying another word.
I walked back to the cruiser. I grabbed Stanley’s laptop and left the service pieces in the glove box, then I opened Kowalski’s door and dropped the handcuff key at his feet. I apologized and took off before he or Palmer could plead their case.
I arrived at the motel nine minutes later. Opening the door to room eight, I expected to see an empty room.
It wasn’t empty, however.
A huge, bald man sat on the corner of one of the beds with a slight grin. His right elbow rested comfortably on his knee while his right hand gripped a silenced pistol, which appeared to be a Glock. The gun pointed at my chest.
“And where is your partner in crime?” he asked.
He spoke with a heavy Italian accent, but it wasn’t Brooklyn-Italian. It sounded like he was straight off a plane from Italy. He reminded me of a wise guy, maybe a Mafia hit man.
“You mean the lady?”
“Yes, the lady.”
As I debated how to respond, I gave him the once over. He was deeply tanned with a head as shiny and bald as mine. What jumped out at me were his eyebrows. They were a deep black color and looked to be an inch and a half thick. He reminded me of a bald Antonio Banderas, but with Martin Scorsese’s eyebrows.
“I ditched her,” I said. “I didn’t want her involved in this any deeper than she already was.”
“Such a gentleman.” He motioned at the laptop in my hand. “I see you have what I’ve been looking for.”
Just then I noticed that the man had ransacked the room. Some of the dresser drawers were open. The sheets and comforter from the bed were balled up on the floor. One of the lamps was lying on its side, minus its shade. The mattress was slightly skewed.
“This is all you want?” I held up the computer. “Seems to be pretty popular. Who sent you anyway?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he clicked off the gun’s safety and patted the bed. “Drop it here, Agent Chase, nice and slow.”
“Who are you working for? Eva O’Connor?”
No response.
“Ah, it’s Stanley Tuchek then? To maintain an air of innocence, he entrusted me with the laptop. But he knew he’d get it right back. I get it.”
Again, no response.
“How did you know we were here?”
He sighed. “I’ve asked nicely. Don’t make me start shooting. I’ll start with your knees and work my way up.”
“Maybe you work for Anfernee Gates, the man you recently killed and stuffed into my trunk?”
“Last chance.” He patted the bed again.
I shrugged and held out my hands. “Why won’t you tell me? You’re obviously not going to let me leave here alive, so why not?”
“Actually, it’s your lucky day. Any other time and you’d be a dead man by now. But you have somewhere to be tonight, am I right?”
I smiled. “You are, and you just gave away your hand.”
His eyebrows rose a little. “How so?”
“You admitted your orders don’t include killing me. Obviously I’m needed at the pier tonight, so nothing deadly is going to happen. Am I right?”
He didn’t respond.
“Why don’t you put down the gun? We’ll settle this like real men. Last man standing gets the laptop. How about it?”
He scoffed. “Really?”
I didn’t want to fight him, but I also didn’t trust that he was telling the truth. For all I knew he could be here to kill me, and I didn’t want to die, not until I’d cleared my name anyway – and seen Simon at least one more time. Plus, I didn’t want to just hand over the laptop. It was important.
“You’ve got both inches and pounds on me,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’re chicken. Are you afraid? Is that it?”
The thug pulled the trigger and the pistol let out a muffled pop. I flinched as a bullet flew over my right shoulder and lodged into the door.
“I’m not here to play games, Agent Chase. Hand it over.”
“You won’t fight me? A big guy like you? You’d rather hide behind a gun. You drug and threaten innocent women and children, like Mick Cranston’s family. That was you, wasn’t it? Is that your M.O.? Is that how you operate?”
I waited for a response. His eyebrows were angled in, so I could tell I was getting under his skin. The brows were so prominent that they gave away any emotion he had. He’d make a horrible poker player.
“Come on,” I said, egging him on. “I’m gonna tear your face off. Which would be an improvement actually.”
He rose slowly, methodically. I got a good look at him. He was thick everywhere, not just in his eyebrows. He probably had two inches on me, at least. Probably bested me by twenty or thirty pounds, too. I’d have my work cut out.
“You still want to do this?” he asked, pronouncing ‘this’ like ‘deece’. “Give me a good look, Agent Chase. I don’t think that’s wise. You’re a big guy, but I’m bigger, substantially so.”
“I’ll hit you so hard in the mouth, hopefully I’ll knock that stupid accent out of you.”
That did it. He dropped the pistol onto the bed, lowered his head, and charged at me like a Pamplona bull. As he ran, his gorilla arms scraped either side of the narrow hallway. Since I stood just in front of the door, I had nowhere to go. All I could do was brace myself for the impact.
A moment later his right arm snagged me at the waist and lifted me into the air, nearly two feet off the ground. Just before slamming into the hotel door, I tossed the laptop onto the bed to protect
it. My back smashed against the hard door. I felt every vertebra in my back groan; but I hit the door flush so the impact was spread out along my spine. The hit brought me alive and heightened my senses.
Wasting no time, I grasped both hands together and clubbed him on his back as hard as I could swing. I tried two more seal clubs but, honestly, it didn’t faze him. Probably didn’t even hurt him. I felt like I was wailing on a frozen cow carcass.
The thug was in the perfect position to flip me over, so he did. I tumbled forward, tucked my head, and rolled across the floor. Since I’d landed by the bathroom door, I scrambled in there on my knees. The bathroom door swung inward, so I grabbed the edge of the door with both hands. When the thug rushed in after me, I swung the door closed like I was swinging for the fences.
He stepped back and tried to get out of the way, but at some point he realized he couldn’t avoid the impact, so he lowered his head and took the blow on the forehead. The door was cheap wood and it splintered around his head. It was like a scene out of Stephen King’s The Shining. Seriously, I could see part of the thug’s face through the door. The man was spewing and red-faced and downright pissed.
Since I was already on the floor, I scrambled back and braced myself against the side of the bathtub. Placing both hands on the ground, I cocked my legs toward my chest, then exploded them at the door. The door slammed shut and the thug’s face peeled away. He reeled back and smashed through the hallway closet, shattering the full-length mirror.
The cramped bathroom was my death sentence. I had to come out swinging, but not with my fists. My fists wouldn’t do anything to this bald ape, so I pried off the toilet top, the rectangular part made of heavy porcelain. I held it in my left hand. With my right, I grabbed the door handle and swung it open. Then I used both hands on the heavy, porcelain top and threw it at the thug with everything I had.
It slammed into his chest at what seemed like a hundred miles an hour. I swore I heard at least two ribs crack. The thug grunted and gasped, but the blow didn’t stop him. He stormed toward the bathroom in a rage. I managed to sidestep his charge just as he exploded through the doorframe. The thug almost ripped the door off its hinges as he crashed into the bathroom.
I glanced to my right and reacted, grabbing the small glass coffee pot off the tiny vanity. Fortunately, the thug’s back was turned to me, so I ran at him and lifted the pot over my head. I used the pot like a tomahawk and smashed it over the back of his skull. It shattered into a hundred pieces. Three large shards dug into the top of his head.
The thug didn’t drop. Unbelievable. Instead, he turned to face me. That was when I noticed his knees starting to give, so I used that opportunity to try and exit the bathroom, but he lunged toward me and grabbed my right ankle before I could get out. In response, I bicycle kicked him in the face with my left foot. I actually felt the cartilage in his nose mush into the sole of my shoe.
The blow didn’t faze him, and he didn’t let go of my foot. In fact, he was able to get a hold of my other foot after the face kick. He pulled me toward him like I was on a zip line. As I slid on my belly, I pivoted my upper body so I was on my side. When my feet jammed against his body, I used the momentum and sprung forward and planted my right fist into his busted nose. He yelped and finally let go of my ankles. I proceeded to kick him in the chest with both feet. The kick wasn’t very hard. But it wasn’t soft either. It had just enough power to send him backwards, to land between the toilet and tub. His head bounced off the bathroom wall. Lucky for me, one of the glass shards jammed deeper into his skull. While he winced and pulled out the shard, I scrambled out of the bathroom.
On my way out, the thug clawed in my direction and caught my shirt tail. I pumped my knees and dragged him out of the bathroom, ripping off the bottom half of my shirt. Suddenly I was free, however, so I jumped toward the bed and swiped up the gun as I slipped off the corner of the mattress. My chest broke the fall.
As I turned and pointed the gun, I figured it was over. I’d won. I had him.
I was wrong.
All I saw were four hairy knuckles coming at my face, and I had no time to react. My head snapped back. It felt like my face split in two. It was by far the hardest punch I’d ever taken, and I’ve taken a lot of punches over the years. If I’d been on my feet, I would’ve at least dropped to my knees, maybe even fallen over, but I was already on the ground when he hit me, so I simply flopped backward and landed on something soft. It took a moment to realize I’d landed on top of the comforter and bed sheets.
Somehow I managed to keep my grip on the gun after the punch, but before I could draw, the thug stamped on my right hand. The crushing weight of his boot forced me to drop the gun. He kicked the gun away, then my forehead met the sole of his boot. It wasn’t a pleasant meeting.
“You’re gonna like this,” he said.
He jerked the comforter from underneath me. Tossing it over my head, he rolled me up like a cigar. It happened quickly, and since I was dazed from the punch, I didn’t react in time. Suddenly I found myself rolled up tight in the blankets with my arms straight at my sides. The thug jumped on and straddled me.
He assaulted me with his fists. There was no pattern to his thunderous punches. Two in the face, then one in my gut, three to my side, another to the face, then back to the gut. It felt like ten men were punching me. Fortunately, as the blows came, the comforter loosened, so I was able to wiggle around and get into the turtle position and protect myself a little. The thug was in such a fury he didn’t stop to adjust the comforter. When I felt like there was enough slack in the comforter, I waited for a gut punch, then made my move.
After taking a blow to the stomach, I used both hands and latched onto his retreating fist. With a quick turn, I snapped his wrist. It sounded like popsicle sticks breaking. The man howled. At that point, I grabbed the comforter and pulled it off my face. Immediately the thug clamped onto my throat with his good hand, his left.
I reached up and tried to grab his throat in retaliation, but the thug arched his head back, which left me clawing at his stiff left arm. The man had all his weight and strength bearing straight down on my throat, so I couldn’t budge his arm. I clawed, pinched, and punched, but nothing worked.
I was in trouble. I had no oxygen coming in and not much time before I passed out, or maybe died. Desperate, I reached out and tried to grab his busted right hand, but the man was too smart. He put his hand behind his back and focused all his attention on choking me with one arm. All I could do was wedge my hands under his armpit and try with all my strength to counteract his leverage.
It worked, just a little. I was able to take a breath, which gave me some life.
We remained in deadlock for minutes. Or maybe it was seconds, I don’t know. Honestly, after seconds, or minutes, whichever it was, everything started to fade. I tried to fight against it, but it didn’t help. It felt like everything was about to end. My life. My legacy, whatever that was. All I’d truly wanted was to be the exact opposite of my dad, to be there for my boy, to help him grow up right in this world. But that didn’t seem to be on the cards for me and Simon.
Just before I blacked out, I had a thought; a thought about my son growing up without a dad. It wasn’t the end of the world for a boy to grow up without a dad, but what about a boy growing up with a dead traitor for a father? One convicted of murdering a federal agent. How would that affect a boy and his psyche?
That thought sparked new life in me. Suddenly, I was able to keep the counter pressure going again. I closed my eyes and hung on with everything I had.
Suddenly a cracking sound filled the room. Following that, tiny glass shards rained down on my face, sprinkling over me like heavy raindrops. The weight on my lower body gave way and the death grip on my throat relaxed.
As I gasped for air, my eyes fluttered open and I saw the thug toppling to his left.
There, right behind where the thug had been, stood Karla Dickerson. She gripped the base of a lamp. Its bulb was shattered an
d the end of the lamp was bent back at a near ninety-degree angle.
She smiled. “I smashed that one out of the park.”
CHAPTER 29
Karla tried to help me up, but I waved her off.
“I’m fine.” Halfway to my feet, I stumbled and fell to my knees.
“Yeah, real fine.” She helped me up.
Once on my feet, I said, “I had him right where I wanted him.”
She laughed. “Looked like it.”
“Thanks, Karla, you saved me, big time. You have a hell of a swing, too.”
“No time for small talk. I heard you guys smashing around in here before I walked into the building. We have to get out of here. Even in a dive this bad, I bet somebody’s on their way to check out what all the noise was.”
I motioned at the thug. “Let’s check his pockets first.”
While Karla felt for a pulse, I rifled through his pockets.
“You didn’t hit him that hard,” I said. “Did you?”
“He’s fine,” Karla said. “At least I hope he is. I did aim for one of those shards in his skull. That’s probably why he dropped instantly.”
A moment passed. “Got a pulse,” she said.
All I found were car keys in his pants pockets.
Karla found a cell in one of his shirt pockets. She swiped at the screen, then shook her head. “It requires a password, obviously.”
“Take it anyway.”
She pulled a rectangular badge out of his jacket pocket and looked at it. “No way, no freaking way.”
I looked at her. “What?”
“It’s an NSA badge.” Karla handed it to me; her hand shaking slightly. “He works for the Agency.”
“Can’t be.” I looked at the picture on the badge. It was indeed the bald, bushy-eyebrowed thug.
“Gustavo Enriquez,” I said. “The name doesn’t surprise me, but working for the NSA does.”
“Now we really have to get out of here, Chase, and fast.”
“Should we take him with us? Maybe when he wakes up we can waterboard him for answers.”
The Greatest Good Page 24