Harry Bronson Box Set

by L C Hayden

  The digital display on the car’s dashboard read 3:16. By the time they’d reach the pharmaceutical research center, one of the security guards should be asleep. Bronson would only have to worry about one guard. “What’s their training like?”

  “Never asked, but both are older and out of shape—like you.”

  Sticks and stones might break my bones, but words will never hurt me. The light turned red and Bronson stopped. He wondered why the city didn’t change the system to flashing yellow during the night. “Do they carry?”

  “Carry?”

  Bronson drummed the steering wheel while he waited. He looked all around. Not a car in sight. He gunned it and went. Halfway through the intersection the light changed to green. “Guns. Do they carry guns?”

  “I think so.” Clark stretched the I as though he really didn’t know the answer.

  “Ever been to the lab at this time of night?”

  “Several times. I come and go at all sorts of hours. I buzz the guard, he lets me in. I have to sign the after-hours sign-in sheet.”

  Another traffic light threatened to slow Bronson down. This time, when it turned yellow, Bronson sped past it. “When you’re alone in the lab at night, do the security guards follow your actions?”

  Clark shrugged. “Who knows? I never thought about it, but there’s a security camera in the lab, if that’s what you wanted to know.”

  Clark had answered every question without hesitating. He seemed to know the system, but Bronson wondered if he was holding any information back. “What else should I know?”

  “You’ll need to remove these handcuffs.”

  Bronson’s glance drifted to the rearview mirror, where he could see Clark’s face. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “I can help you. We walk in the front door like I always do. I introduce you as a fellow scientist. We go down to the lab home free. I work at my station, drawing the guard’s and the camera’s attention. You’re free to go down to the basement.”

  Bronson’s gaze returned to the road. It made sense, but it seemed too easy. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t run?”

  “Where would I go? My house? You know where that is. I have no girlfriend, no real friends, no family outside of my niece and my servants. I can’t leave town because my niece needs me. So tell me, Bronson, where can I go that you couldn’t find me?”

  By now Bronson had reached the edge of town. Soon the streets would lead him to the road that passed the McGory and Stein research center. The idea of not fighting any security guards appealed to him. Walk in, go down to the basement, find Linda, and leave through the back door he recalled from a copy of the floor plans taped to the top of the receptionist’s desk. No sweat, no problems.

  The city lights dimmed as he left Two Forks behind. He had two choices. One, he could fight the guards, rescue Linda, and keep Clark prisoner. Or two, he could take a chance on Clark running away, but still get Linda out and not fight any guards. If he fought the guards, as tired and as much as he hurt, they might overpower him. Best to take a chance on Clark.

  He pulled over, unlocked the car, and helped Clark out. “Turn around.” Bronson removed the handcuffs. “Get in.” Clark rubbed his wrists and reached for the back door. “The front,” Bronson said. “If they’re watchin’ the parkin’ lot when we pull in, it’ll look funny if we’re supposedly friends and you get out of the back seat.”

  Clark continued to rub his wrists. He opened the front passenger door and slid in. Bronson got back in the driver’s seat, praying he’d made the right decision. “View different from up front?”

  “I work here. I drive this road all the time. I don’t need to see the scenery. Besides, it’s dark. What’s there to see?”

  Bronson started the engine and pulled out. “Obviously, you’re not the one who’s holdin’ Linda. You’re takin’ orders from someone. Who?”

  “I’ve got no idea.”

  Bronson narrowed his eyes, casting him a warning look. “Yeah, I bet.”

  “I’m serious. I don’t know who he is. I call him the Chief because he sits out there somewhere like a big Indian chief and gives orders.”

  “How do you communicate with the Chief?”

  “I have a preprogrammed cell. To reach the Chief, I punch five. Carrier is three and four. I punch four, that means there’s trouble. No need to talk to him. If I want to talk—or rather, if I wanted to talk to him, not that I ever did—I punch three. Mitch was two, but his cell was destroyed.”

  “Let’s see yours.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Out in the woods somewhere. While you and Carrier fought, I stomped on the cell, hoping to break it. Then I threw it as far as I could into the trees around my house.”

  “Very convenient.”

  “I thought so.”

  Bronson turned into McGory and Stein Drive. “What can you tell me about the Chief? Think he could be McGory or Stein?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t like to point a finger at someone when I’m not really sure.”

  “How noble of you.”

  Clark folded his arms. “I’m not really a bad guy, Bronson. I did what I did for my niece, and in spite of everything, I’d do it all over again.”

  “Then let me rephrase that question. If you were to bet on the Chief’s identity, who would you pick? Hypothetically speaking.”

  “Stein.” Clark looked away.

  Bronson pulled into the back area of the parking lot and turned off the engine.

  Clark pointed ahead of him. “Front entrance is over there. Why did you park way over here?”

  “It’s closer to the lab’s back door. We may have a longer walk to reach the main entrance, but better to walk now than when we have Linda.”

  Clark nodded.

  “Are you ready?”

  Again, Clark nodded.

  “If you blow this for me, I—”

  “No need for threats. I won’t interfere with you getting Linda out.” He took a deep breath. “Once we’re inside, to your right, you’ll see some folding doors. You open those and you’ll see a closet where we store supplies. Walk into the closet, and to your left, you’ll see a wall behind some self-standing shelves. Under the second shelf, there’ll be a button. Push it and the door will open. You’ll see the stairs. Good luck.” Clark opened the door, stepped out, and waited until Bronson joined him.

  Together they headed toward the main glass door. Once there, Clark pushed the intercom button. The security guard, a balding man with a big stomach and no gun, waved them in. They entered and headed for the security desk.

  “You and your guest will need to sign in,” the guard said.

  “I’m familiar with the procedure. How’s the family, Tom?” Clark picked up a pen and wrote his name.

  “Family’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Clark handed Bronson the pen. “You’ll need to sign in and show Tom your driver’s license so he can verify you are who you say you are.”

  Bronson signed in, retrieved his license, and displayed it. Tom looked at the picture, then at Bronson, and finally at the signature. “Texas, eh? You’re a long way from home.”

  “Well, yeah, you know how it goes. My line of work involves a lot of travelin’.”

  “And what is it that you do, Mr. Bronson?”

  “I’m a scientist. We’re here to work on a couple of trouble spots.”

  “I see.” He handed Bronson his driver’s license back. “How long do you think you’ll be here?”

  Clark shrugged. “An hour? An hour and a half, maybe.”

  “I’ll look for you then so you can check out.” He sat behind the console, propped his feet up on the desk, and started to watch television. Reruns, from what Bronson could see. Behind him, the system’s cameras checked the hallways, various rooms, and the parking lot. Tom paid no attention to them.

  Clark led Bronson down the hallway. “You remember what I told you about the basemen
t?”

  “Sure do.”

  “You go there and I’ll go to my station. I doubt Tom’s watching, but you never know.”

  As soon as they entered the lab, Bronson scanned the room and spotted the cameras. “If you stand over there and turn your back to the camera, they’ll still be able to see you and think you’re workin’.”

  “Why would I want to turn my back to the camera?”

  “Because you’re going to be handcuffed to that pipe over there.”

  Clark frowned. “Really, Mr. Bronson, that’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not for you, but for me.”

  They headed for the counter. Bronson used Clark’s back to block the camera’s view as he cuffed him to a pipe that stuck out. He double-checked it to make sure Clark couldn’t yank it out. Satisfied, he slowly walked around the room, pretending to be interested in its contents. When he knew he was safely out of camera range, he took a right, spotted the double doors, and opened them.

  The walk-in closet was bigger than his living room. He walked to his left and found the self-standing shelves, the only wall that didn’t have shelves attached to it. He looked under the second shelf and spotted the button. He pushed it. The wall slid open to show a well-lit area below. Bronson stood at the top. He couldn’t see anything but the stairs. He took out his gun and held it at the ready position. He took two steps down and listened.

  Nothing.

  He descended a couple more stairs and scoped the area. As far as he could tell, the basement held a lot of equipment, but no hostages. “Linda?” He took a couple more steps down and paused.

  “Bronson.” Linda’s voice came from behind the stairs.

  He went down the rest of the way, turned toward Linda’s voice, and froze.

  A giant of a man held a gun to Linda’s head.

  A chill ran down his spine as he sensed someone standing behind him. Before he could react, he felt a blow to the back of his head. Pain exploded, greater than he’d ever experienced. A gasp escaped his mouth. The warmth of his trickling blood floated him into darkness.

  forty-six

  Marshall had papers scattered on every available area in his small office. He gathered a stack of them piled on a chair and dropped them on the floor. “That’s my weakness, you know, paperwork. I hate it.”

  Mike leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and glared at Marshall.

  Marshall glanced up and pointed to the chair. “Sit.”

  Mike didn’t move.

  “Oh, I see. You’re mad. You don’t understand why I haven’t been locked up. Well, let me tell you a story. I don’t know how you do it in Dallas, but here in Wyoming we have a system that says not-guilty-until-proven-so. Good rule, you should try it.”

  “Yes, of course. I can see innocent written all over you. That’s why you pulled that stunt. Your gun was meant to keep us safe.”

  Marshall half-smiled and shrugged. “We have another system here that you Dallas boys need to try. It’s called Undercover Cop.”

  His statement burst inside Mike’s brain like a bomb in a cavernous room, reverberated, and left him stunned. “You’re working undercover.” His voice came out rough and dry. He cleared his throat. They sure did things differently here.

  “We’ve had a bout of unexplained crimes, so with my supervisor’s consent, I’ve accepted a couple of bribes. So far, I know of three dirty cops, but the ring is bigger, and I’m going for the big fish. I’m slowly penetrating it, and when I have the entire lot, I’m reeling ’em in.”

  Mike pursed his lips. “That doesn’t explain why you aided Clark.”

  “Can’t prove it yet, but I suspect there’s a connection between Clark and the incidents here at the station.”

  Mike dropped down to the chair. “Did we blow your cover?”

  “Maybe not. I’m having one of my men drive Paul to the airport for appearance’s sake. My crew thinks I want Paul out of here so he doesn’t open his trap. As soon as he lands in Dallas, I want you to call him and explain why he’s got to keep his mouth shut. Think you can do that?”

  Mike nodded.

  “As for Bronson, we’ll keep him on the wanted list, maybe even intensify our hunt for him, and as for you, I think I’ll throw you in a cell for a couple of hours.”

  Mike felt his muscles stiffen. He sat up straighter.

  “Relax. It’ll only be two hours, tops. Then I’ll have to release you due to lack of evidence. I’ll put you in an isolated cell. I’ve already had you empty all your pockets and relieved you of your watch and ring. I’ll make sure all your belongings are kept together and safe. Work with me on this, will you?”

  Feeling like a stone, Mike nodded. “Bronson needs to know this.”

  “I’ll call him when I can. I’ll get his number from your cell.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You ready?”

  Not really. He stood up.

  * * * * *

  Mike clasped his hands behind his back as he paced in the small motel bedroom. “I can’t believe Bronson. He sets it up so that I spend the night with you, then he takes off so I have to spend my time finding him. What goes through that man’s head? I’ve never been able to figure him out.”

  Ellen sat on the bed, watching her ex, a half-smile plastered on her face. “In Bronson’s defense, Paul told him you were in jail. He had no way to know you’d be out in two, three hours. How did you get out?”

  Marshall had kept his word. An hour and fifteen minutes after he had been thrown in the slammer, Marshall released him. He drove Mike to Clark’s house, where he picked up Bronson’s car. “You explain it to Bronson for me,” Marshall had said. “I haven’t had a chance to call him and I don’t think I will. That might arouse suspicion.”

  Hoover nodded.

  Marshall continued, “It really would help my cover if you and Bronson took off. Consider it. Take good care of yourselves.” He waved goodbye and drove off.

  Hoover couldn’t tell any of that to Ellen. He wished he could and maybe someday he would. He resumed his pacing as though Ellen hadn’t asked anything. “How long ago did you say Bronson left?”

  Ellen glanced at the alarm clock. It read 5:25. “A bit over two hours.”

  “Two hours? Where the hell is he? Why doesn’t he answer his cell?”

  Ellen looked down. “I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I’m worried.”

  Mike stopped and looked at her. He sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her. She leaned on him and Mike wished they could stay like that forever. “You stay here. I’m going to go look for him. Try to get some sleep.”

  “Mike.”

  He stood up. “I have to go.” He kissed her forehead, memorizing each delicious moment. He fished for the keys in his pocket. “I’m going to the lab. Seems to be the most logical place to begin.” He threw her a kiss and walked out.

  Mike reached McGory and Stein Pharmaceutical Research Center in record time. As soon as he pulled into the parking lot, he saw his car at the back. As he approached it, he wondered what so many vehicles were doing there so early in the morning. He reached the car and checked it out. He found nothing incriminating. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he rushed toward the entrance and banged on the door.

  The security guard remained seated, his eyes closed. Mike banged on the door again. The guard woke up. He looked at Mike, then at his watch, and shook his head No.

  Mike retrieved his badge, shoved it against the glass, and pointed to the knob. The security guard frowned but buzzed him in.

  Mike didn’t wait to reach the guard’s station before speaking. “Is Bronson still here?”

  “Who?” The guard looked down at the sign-in sheet.

  “Bronson. Harry Bronson. He probably came with Clark.”

  “They were here, but left more than an hour ago.” He pointed to the signatures showing they had checked out.

  Mike looked at the writing. Large, block letters. Anyone—including Bronson—could have done that. �
�Mind if I check Clark’s lab?”

  “Do you have a search warrant?”

  Mike leaned forward. “I didn’t think I needed one. All I want to do is take a look. You let me in, I won’t report you for sleeping on the job.”

  The guard’s eyes widened and he wet his lips. “Sure, no harm in you just checking, but I doubt you’ll find anything.”

  He led Mike down the hallway and opened the door to the lab. “This is Clark’s station, where he and Bronson came. They were here for maybe half an hour. Then they checked out and left, like it says on the sign-in sheet.”

  Mike walked around the room, looked in the trash can, opened the doors to a huge storage closet, and looked at each item on the lab benches. “The car Bronson drove is still in the parking lot.”

  “Maybe they took Clark’s car and left Bronson’s here. Bet you anything in a couple of hours Clark will bring him back to get his car.”

  As logical as that sounded, Mike had trouble believing it. “Any possibility they’re still inside?”

  “None whatsoever. They signed out and they can’t get back in without me knowing it.”

  “Did you actually see them sign out?”

  “Well, uh, they, uh—”

  “You were asleep, weren’t you? You don’t know who signed Bronson out.”

  The guard held Mike’s gaze.

  “How about surveillance cameras? Would any of them show us what we want?”

  “Sure.” The guard reached to retrieve the tape. “Damn,” he said. “It’s gone.”

  forty-seven

  Bronson felt as if an entire marching-band drum line was practicing in his head. He reached up, massaged his forehead, and struggled to open his eyes and focus. At first, muted colors swirled around him, but gradually, the double images blended into one. He saw a bathtub, a sink, a woman sitting on the floor, her legs pulled tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Her head rested on her knees.