Omega Series Box Set 1

by Blake Banner

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. We should finish him now.”

  Ivory nodded. “And that’s what makes you stupid, Jackson, and me smart. Because information, my friend, is power. And I aim to find out why this son of a bitch arranged this meet, and why he is here.”

  While he had been rambling, my mind had been working. Now I frowned at him and said, “You say you don’t know where Carmichael is, but that’s kind of odd, isn’t it?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Should I?”

  I shrugged. “You killed his wife…” I said it like one thing followed from the other.

  He shrugged back at me and shook his head. “So I killed his wife. So what?”

  I frowned and laughed at the same time, like I was surprised at how dense he was being. “You shot her with your .38, in her bedroom at Solitude…” I paused like I was waiting for the penny to drop.

  He stared at me a long time. Eventually, he said, “What the hell…?”

  “Maybe I’m missing something, Ivory, but it seems to me that if you shot her with the .38 at Solitude, in her bedroom, you have to know where Carmichael is now.”

  He was staring at me like I was crazy. Maybe he was right, cause the play I was making had one chance in a million of paying off. But it was the only chance I had right then. He stepped up close to me, with his face screwed up and his eyes like slits.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, man?”

  I sighed like he was being stupid. “You got Bat to handle the .38, right?”

  He nodded, “Uh-huh…”

  It was good enough for now. I said, “Stay with me, it isn’t complicated. You were screwing his wife and you went to Solitude, where you used to meet, and you shot her in the bed, correct?”

  “Yeah…so what?”

  I shrugged and grinned. “So nothing, I just wanted you to confirm those couple of points.”

  His face twisted into an ugly mask.

  “You mother fuckin’… You gonna play me? I’m gonna fuckin’ gut you, you piece of shit!”

  I spoke quietly. “Yeah, your man with the goatee thought he’d do the same. Why’d you kill her, Ive? Was it because she didn’t want to fuck you anymore? You were boring her? She decided that in the end, her sixty-year-old white boy was a better lover than bad-ass Ivory? Is that why you killed her?”

  His laugh was like a screaming parrot. “You so full of shit! You don’t know nothing! Jackson was right, man. You got balls, but aside from balls, you got jack! I’m gonna gut you right now.”

  I saw the silver glint of the blade and smiled. “Your mistake, Ive, was to think that I was unarmed. I’m not unarmed, Ivory. This is code red, now.”

  Speed does not come from strength. It comes from technique. It comes from knowing which parts of your body to tense and move, and which ones to leave loose. It took a microsecond to shift my right foot, flick my hip and put all my strength into my abdominals. My fist traveled from my hip to his face in the split second it took to rotate my shoulder.

  His nose exploded and he went reeling, staggering back across the table. The gorilla who had checked me for a wire and taken my weapons gaped, and at that instant, the glass in the window shattered and his head exploded. As his big body folded slowly to the floor, I lunged at him and snatched my Sig.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Twenty THREE

  There are some things you just can’t prepare for.

  Ivory crashed into the table, sending three chairs flying. The headless gorilla folded to the floor among a shower of sparkling glass as the gale howled in through the shattered window. That left four stunned apes shying away from the gaping hole and the flying shards as I seized my Sig.

  I managed to get two rounds off. I double-tapped the guy nearest me, his legs did a funny little dance, and he leaned against the wall and slid down, whispering. “Oh, man…”

  I had a bead on my next target when Bat’s second shot came through the window. He got his man in the head, but the guy was moving, running for the door, and the slug glanced off his skull, ricocheted off the steel frame of the mirror, and embedded itself in my left shoulder. The pain was excruciating. My left arm went into spasm and I missed my shot.

  Ivory was screaming over the noise of the gale, “Get down! Get down! Get down!” as he scrambled into the corner. Next moment, Jackson charged and head butted me in the gut, sending me crashing to the floor. Then he was sitting astride me, plunging his thumb into my wound and wrenching the Sig from my right hand.

  I screamed out, “Kill the bastards! Kill them!”

  But Jackson had realized the place was bugged. He shoved the gun in my face and bellowed over me, “One more shot and I blow the son of a bitch’s head off!”

  We all froze and waited. The wind whistled and groaned. Rain lashed over the shattered glass, drenching the headless corpse. Ivory cowered in the corner. I counted the dead: three. Three more live goons lay on the floor, staring at the gaping black hole in the wall, through which death might enter at any moment. I said, “Three down, five to go.”

  Jackson pistol-whipped me and my head felt like it had been split in half. A warm trickle of blood ran down my face.

  Jackson got to his feet, took a fistful of my collar, and dragged me up after him.

  “Where’s the bug?”

  “Under the table.”

  He turned to Ivory, who was still cowering, watching us. “Get up, you piece of shit! Get the bug.” He turned to the three guys on the floor. “You! Get up! Tie this motherfucker’s hands behind his back.”

  Ivory had found the bug. He got to his feet, staring at it in his hand. The three goons were up, too, and I got a good look at them. One of them, a huge hulk who looked like Godzilla only with less forehead, was removing his dead companion’s shoelaces. He had the kind of still eyes you find in people who are absolutely obedient, and whose minds are completely untroubled by thought.

  The other two had come to grab my arms. The one on my right was about six feet and had the build of a guy who spends a lot of time in the gym. He had a badly cut, shiny suit and insolent eyes. You could tell he thought he was smart. You could also tell he was wrong.

  The one on my left was older than the others, maybe in his late forties. He looked like a family man, a tough guy who’d grown soft. Kids will do that to you.

  Jackson reached out his hand to Ivory and said, “Give it to me.” Ivory handed over the bug and Jackson smirked at me. “That you, Bartholomew? You better come in here out of the storm and lay down your weapons, ’cause your pal here is going to have a real rough time if you don’t. And let me tell you this, friend. Every shot you fire is a bullet I am going to put in Walker’s arms and legs.”

  Godzilla had come up behind me and was tying my wrists with his dead pal’s laces. I said, “He won’t come in. He’s too smart, Jackson. He knows you’ll kill him as soon as he steps through the door.” I laughed. “And if I know Hays, he likes the odds. Five lightly armed morons like you, with handguns, against a guy like him. You don’t stand a chance.”

  I expected another pistol-whipping for feeding Bat information about their number and weapons, but neither Jackson nor Ivory picked up on it. Their minds were on other things. Ivory had grabbed a chair and dragged it across the room where it was out of sight of the window. Jackson seemed to have read his mind, because he grabbed me and shoved me onto the chair, snarling, “Tie his ankles to the legs, and his hands to the back.”

  I frowned up at him, wondering where this was going.

  “What are you hoping to achieve, Jackson? The game is up. The most you can do is kill me, but that won’t stop the process. You’re done. It’s over.”

  The back-hander took me by surprise. It made my head ring and, with the pain in my shoulder, for a moment I was stunned and couldn’t think.

  He snarled, “Where’s Carmichael?”

  I blinked a couple of times and stared up at him. It was a good question. I had half-expected him to be at the Ful
l Moon. But instead of telling Jackson that, I said, “Fuck you.”

  That earned me another back-hander. This one I expected and rode it as far as I could, but it still hurt and still left my head ringing.

  Jackson raised his voice. “You listening to this, Hays? I am going to beat your pal to death unless one of you tells me where Carmichael is.”

  Before he hit me again, I asked him, “What’s it to you where he is? Why do you want to know?”

  His answer was another blow.

  Then he started laying into me methodically, right, left, right, with his fists, adding the occasional jab at my shoulder. Eventually, he paused, out of breath. I could feel my left eye swelling up, and when I tried to spit the blood from my mouth, I realized my lip and cheek were swollen too. The pain in my head and shoulder were extreme. If Bat was planning to do something, he was going to have to do it soon.

  Jackson raised his voice again. “How about it, Hays? Where is he? Where have you got Carmichael?”

  I raised my own voice. “Do what he says, Bartholomew, we’re in a lose-lose situation. Just let him have it!”

  As I said it, I threw myself violently to one side. The strain of the movement made me feel like my left shoulder was being torn off, but it got me out of the path of Jackson’s boot. He’d caught the double message, but just a second too late. The hail of lead exploded through the window, sending chairs spinning, ripping at the table, tearing wood from the walls. The mirror exploded, voices shrieked in panic and there was a stampede for the door.

  Then Bat was through the window and crouching behind me, cutting at my bonds. As I sat up, he handed me my knife. “Still got that, hey? It was on the floor, over by the headless wonder. You’re losin’ your touch, sir, getting old.”

  I snarled at him, “You shot me, you son of a bitch!”

  He frowned. “Really?”

  “It’s a ricochet, I’ll live. Where’d they go?”

  He jerked his head at the door. I counted the bodies on the floor. There were still three. “You didn’t kill any of them?”

  He looked embarrassed. “They all charged for the exit, didn’t they? And I was tryin’ to get Jackson off you. I wasn’t exactly aiming.”

  Before I could answer, Jackson’s voice bellowed from the barroom. “Lacklan! You may as well give it up. You have nowhere to go and you’re just about all out of ammunition. All we want is to know what you’ve done with Carmichael. Give us that, and you can go on your way. We all have a lot to lose here!”

  I stared at Bat’s face a moment, thinking. “Give me a hand here. Kill the lights and help me pull that body over.”

  He doused the lights and we dragged one of the bodies to the door, like it was one of us taking up a defensive position. Meanwhile, I shouted, “What’s the big deal with Carmichael, Jackson?”

  To Bat, I whispered, “Out the window! Go! To the car!”

  He vanished silently, like a ghost. I crouched down and yelled, “If you want him so much, come and get him!”

  Then I let off four rounds and followed after Bat as a hail of bullets tore through the door. The wind almost lifted me off my feet as I staggered across the open ground and fell among the ferns and the trees. Bat was there waiting for me.

  “I told you to go to the car.”

  “Yeah, well you ain’t my captain anymore, are you, sir?”

  I took my cell from my pocket and waited five more seconds till the lights came on and we could see the silhouettes moving across the open window as they stormed the room. Then I pressed # 9. The walls seemed to quiver and there was a smoky flash. Bugs hadn’t been the only thing I’d hidden in the club room. It had only been a quarter of a cake of C4, behind the vinyl bar, but it was enough, and mirrors and bottles make great shrapnel.

  “Come on, buddy, let’s go.”

  We got to our feet and started moving through the swaying, moaning forest. He offered me his shoulder but I shook my head.

  After a moment he asked, “Where are we going, then?”

  “To retrieve my bow and my kit bag, and then to find Carmichael.”

  “What’s the big deal with Carmichael?”

  “I guess that’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Ten minutes later, we sat in the Zombie with the first aid kit and, as I swallowed a handful of painkillers, Bat examined my wound.

  “It’s not very deep. You want me to dig it out?”

  “How long will it take?”

  He shrugged. “Thirty seconds at most. It’ll hurt like fuck, but you’re better off without it.”

  I nodded. “OK.”

  I handed him my Fairbairn & Sykes. He took it, doused it in alcohol, and took a wad of bandage from the box. He looked me in the face. “Ready?”

  I nodded. My belly was on fire. He stuffed the bandage in my mouth and I sat on my left hand. He took a pair of scissors from the first aid kit and said, “Now don’t move or you’ll make a fuckin’ mess of this, sir.”

  I nodded again. He didn’t hesitate. He stuck the blade in, down the side of the slug. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt. I’d sworn to myself that I would not make a noise, but I heard myself screaming through the bandage, and my left arm quivered and jumped like it had a life of its own.

  Bat ignored me and rammed the scissors firmly into the hole in my arm and levered with the knife. His face seemed to clench up, and next thing, he had the slug held between the blades of the scissors, and the extreme agony had subsided. I collapsed back into the seat, grunting and panting. I felt suddenly very cold and started to sweat.

  He dressed the wound and gave me another couple of painkillers. “I drive,” he said. I didn’t argue.

  He came around to the driver’s side and I slid over to the passenger seat. The last thing I remember is him looking at the controls in disgust and saying, “What the fuck is this, anyway?”

  Then I passed out for ten minutes.

  When I came to, for a few moments I didn’t know where I was. All around me there was darkness, and we were motionless. The sound of water drumming on the car and the high whistle of the wind filled my head and I couldn’t think. Slowly, I became aware of Bat next to me, and I began to remember.

  He spoke softly, and I saw that his eyes were on the rearview mirror.

  “You back with the living, sir?”

  “Don’t call me sir. What are you doing?”

  “I’m not sure. I thought maybe we’d picked up a tail. It’s hard to tell in this weather. The trees are bouncin’ around all over the place and you don’t know if you’re seein’ the light from a house, or the headlamps of a car. So I thought I’d kill the lights and sit here for a bit by the side of the road. I think we’re OK.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Crossroads at St. Francisville.” He frowned at me. “So where is Carmichael? I’m guessin’ you have him safe somewhere. And why do these buggers want to get a hold of him so badly?”

  I stared out at the blackness. The street lamps began to take shape, along with the trees across the road in front of the bank, and the shopping mall. It dawned on me that the lights were all out. The power had failed.

  “I don’t know, no, and I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know where he is, you haven’t got him safe, and you don’t know why they want him.”

  I nodded. “That’s right, Bat. Bit of a mess, huh?”

  “We’ve known worse. So what’s the plan?”

  The plan. All I could see was shadows moving in the dark, and all I could hear was a million banshees released from hell, screaming over the fields and the woodlands.

  “I think I might know where Carmichael is, Bat. I think maybe I have been very stupid.”

  “Where?”

  “I think he might be at Solitude, and I think we should go and ask him why Jackson and Ivory are so keen to find him.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “At Solitude? I didn’t think he even knew it existed…”

  I reached in the glove c
ompartment, took a fresh, dry pack of Camels, and started to peel it. “Well, he knows now. Maybe I’m wrong. Let’s go and see.”

  We stopped on the way at the Soniat. It was illuminated by hundreds of lamps and candles that wavered and danced in the drafts and breezes that crept in through the rattling doors and windows.

  We deposited the recordings we’d made with Hirschfield. He insisted he didn’t want to know how we’d got them, and we were happy not to tell him. We left him settling down to a candle-lit meal, alone in the somber dining room.

  Again we crawled through the pitch black, almost feeling our way along the road, with the headlamps barely penetrating the sheets of rain and the dense mist of spray that rose up off the blacktop. We missed Tunica and ended up having to turn around and crawl back, with the window open, searching for the turn off. Eventually, we found it and plunged in among the tall trees, where the howl and whistle became more like the sigh of giant breakers against cliffs in a storm. We crossed the bridge and I saw that Sara Bayou had swollen to a bloated, roaring river, threatening to burst its banks.

  At last, we came to Solitude Road and turned left, and after three hundred yards we made out the big, iron gates and pulled over.

  In the lee of the trees I popped the trunk and took out my second Sig and gave it to Bat. We took spare ammo and I slipped the short-barreled S&W 500 in my waistband. I used it to blow off the padlock on the gate and we silently rolled through and down the drive toward the house. Carmichael’s Jeep was parked out front, and there was the glimmer of lamplight in the windows. As Bat slowed, I pointed down the side of the house. I had a hunch.

  “Leave it out of sight down there, Bat.”

  He nodded. He had the same feeling as me.

  “What are we going to find in there, Captain?”

  He swung around and reversed into the cover of some bushes at the back of the house, with the hood facing the drive, ready for a fast getaway if we needed one. He killed the engine and looked at me, waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t know. Whatever it is, it won’t be nice. You’ve thought it through. You know what I know. It’s bad.”