by Thomas Scott
Gordon thought it was time to get the upper hand. He pointed his finger at Westlake. “I want you and these men you’ve brought here out of my house and off my property.”
“Consider it done, Kreg,” Westlake said. “Once we’ve taken care of a few things we’ll all be gone. Out of your hair forever, you might say.”
The meaning wasn’t lost on Gordon. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Get away with what, Kreg? The fact is, I haven’t done one single thing wrong.” He paused, then said, “Well, that’s not entirely accurate, is it? I’ve done a number of things wrong. But I haven’t done anything illegal. Nothing that can be proven, anyway. I should know. I’m a lawyer.” He stood, slipped into his jacket and walked toward the door. “I’m going to leave now, Kreg. I think some very bad things are about to happen here…things that if I were to witness or have direct knowledge of might put me in a rather compromising position. We can’t have that now, can we? Historically speaking, the people I work for have never been very forgiving, as I suspect you’re about to discover. Maybe. Like I said, I have no direct knowledge of anything.” Two well-dressed, hard looking men stepped into the room. They didn’t speak or even look at Westlake.
“I have a family,” Gordon shouted at him.
Westlake tipped his head just so as if he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. Gordon was sitting behind his desk, the heels of his hands pressed tight against his forehead. When Westlake didn’t respond, Gordon began to beg. “We can work something out. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Take it up with these gentlemen. I don’t think they’re willing to negotiate, but who knows? I hope you’ll forgive me for the lack of introductions. The fact is, I don’t even know their names. In any event, your business is with them now. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do have to be on my way.”
Westlake turned and walked out of the library. When Westlake stepped out of the room and into the hallway, one of the men pulled out a silenced handgun and shot him in the back of the neck, the cycling action of the weapon louder than the shot itself.
Gordon yelped like a dog, then choked out a noise that was either a laugh or a sob. He did it with relief, his hand over his heart, trying not to hyperventilate. When he could finally speak he was surprised that his voice was an octave higher than normal. The words he spoke spilled from his mouth without control. “Dear God, I thought you were going to shoot me. Did you hear that idiot with his win some lose some bullshit? That’s why you needed two cars, right? You’re going to put his body in one and, what, take it somewhere and burn it or something? Isn’t that how these things get handled?”
“Sometimes, yes,” one of the men said. His english was good, his accent vaguely Russian. The gun in his hand hung loosely by the side of his leg. “That is one way it is done. But there are others as well. Do not worry about that right now. You have other problems, my friend.” He raised the gun and pointed it at Gordon’s head.
Gordon tried to run. He never even made it out of his chair.
Decker was only vaguely aware of what the governor was saying on television, but he’d processed enough information to know that he was in serious trouble. He opened the back window, kicked the screen out of its moorings and tumbled awkwardly on the ground. He stayed low and crept along a path that kept his line of sight away from both the other trailer and the front entrance. If he could make it to the back of the trailer park he had a chance. Maybe. There was a wooden privacy fence he could bust through—the fence was absolute shit—and beyond that a shallow ravine with overgrown vegetation that would provide some cover. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He wouldn’t get far on foot…not with his prosthetic leg, that much he knew for certain. He’d have to find a car, and quick.
He stumbled through the ravine, pushing the weeds and brush away from his face as he went, the branches and brittle vines slicing his face and hands with tiny incisions that stung like paper cuts. The going was tough and despite the cold, sweat was already pouring across his face, chest, and down his back. When he reached the end of the ravine he was about a quarter-mile away from the trailer park. He wiped the sweat from his face and his hand came away bloody from all the little cuts. He was surprised by the level of pain. The sweat flowing into the cuts hurt like a bitch. Pussy, he thought.
He pushed the discomfort to the back of his brain and tried to think. He needed to concentrate.
The trailer from where they’d been watching him was completely out of his line of sight because of the fence, but the water and sewer truck wasn’t. He turned and brought the binoculars up and focused on the park entrance. The men posing as city workers were still there, but something had changed. Another man who Decker had not seen earlier was standing there and it looked like he might be giving direction to the other men.
Decker couldn’t tell who it was…his back was turned, but he knew a command presence when he saw one. He was about to lower the binoculars and keep moving when he saw another vehicle pull up and stop by the sewer truck, the entrance to the park now completely blocked off. When the group of men turned to look at the truck, so did the man who had his back turned. Murton Wheeler. The same Murton Wheeler who was supposed to be in jail.
And the one who’d just arrived? The one who got out of his truck smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world? The one who was keeping him from his boy and his money? It was that cop who didn’t know when to quit, Virgil Jones.
He revised his thought process. He wasn’t in serious trouble…he was absolutely fucked.
Now what? Decker was so miserable he almost gave up. And he was tired. He was so tired that he thought if he were to lie down he could fall asleep right there in the weeds. It reminded him of all the times his father used to come home drunk and start screaming and shouting at him. It didn’t really scare him all that much. It simply made him tired. He never did understand that. Maybe it was his body’s way of tuning it all out…by shutting down. Maybe it was more than his body…maybe it was his soul.
Whatever. Enough with the thinking, all ready. Maybe he should simply stand up, wave his arms and start walking their way. When he got close enough he’d pull out his weapon and they’d shoot him down and the whole thing would be over. Suicide by cop. But the more he thought about it the madder he became. His plans for the boy and the money and everything else vanished in an instant, replaced with something primitive, primal. He knew his life was over and it looked like he wouldn’t get what he wanted or what he deserved. But Decker never did anything half-assed. He learned that particular lesson the hard way, a long time ago. Thanks a pant-load, Dad, you miserable piece of shit.
If he was going out, he was going to do it on his terms, not theirs. He wasn’t going to give up or give in. He was going to fight and make them pay. And he knew exactly how to do it. You don’t go after the ones who have hurt you. There was very little satisfaction in that, and it was short-lived. So what do you do? How do you repay the ones who would destroy your life and keep you from your own son? How do you give them a lifetime of pain and suffering and regret? For Decker, the answer was simple.
You go after the ones they love.
When Becky showed up to collect Jonas for the afternoon Sandy led her into the kitchen, out of earshot.
“How’s the little guy holding up?” Becky asked.
Sandy didn’t answer her right away. She took her time thinking about the past week and everything Jonas had been through. “I think he’s doing pretty well, all things considered. The one thing he needs right now more than anything, I think, is some outside stimulation…even if it’s only for a day. I’m so grateful that you’re willing to do this for us, Becky.”
“It’s my pleasure. Really. I’m going to take him to the office, so Delroy will be there. That’s enough stimulation for anyone.”
Sandy laughed, holding her stomach. “I know. He was here with him the other day, last week…the day Pam was killed. They were having a great time together, u
ntil that happened, of course. Since Virgil and Murt are out picking up this Decker lunatic and Delroy couldn’t get away, I didn’t have anyone else I trusted to keep him. Virgil’s going to meet me later, either at the doctor’s office if he’s done in time, or at the bar. Either way, we’ll pick him up there when we’re finished.”
“That sounds fine. Take as long as you need. Besides, if things keep going the way they are with me and Murton, who knows? I might need the practice.” Then, Becky saw something that frightened her. “Hey, hey, what is it? You look like you’re about to faint. You’re as white as a sheet.” Sandy had one hand on her stomach and one hand pressed flat against her chest at the base of her throat. “Sandy, are you okay? Is it the baby?”
Sandy swallowed hard and tried to wave it away, but Becky wasn’t having it. “Talk to me, Sandy.”
“It’s nothing. You caught me off guard is all.”
“Caught you off guard with what? What are you talking about?”
“What you just said…that whole ‘I might need the practice’ thing. I think I said almost those exact words to Pam the day I went over to see her. I asked her if I could have Jonas for the night. It was the last time Jonas or I ever saw her alive.”
“Ah, jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Maybe you should sit down for a minute or something.”
Sandy looked at the clock. “I’m okay. Really. Plus, if I don’t get moving I’m going to be late for the doctor. I made that mistake once before.” She puffed out her cheeks, then said, “I won’t do that again.” She walked over to where Jonas was waiting, turned the television off, then helped him into his coat and hat. “You’ll be a good boy for Aunt Becky?”
“I want to go with you,” Jonas said.
“I know you do, sweetie. But it’s just for a few hours, then me and Mr. Virgil will pick you up and we’ll all go out to dinner tonight. How’s that sound?”
Jonas shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Hmm. You don’t sound too excited. How about ice cream, too?”
That got her a small smile. “Ice cream and cookies?”
“Tell you what…we’ll have boaf,” Sandy said, already aware of the fact that she was mastering the bribery part of parenting. She kissed him and gave him a hug that lasted so long he got squirmy. When Becky and Jonas walked out the door, Sandy stood on the porch and watched them until they turned out on the road and were out of sight. All she could think of was the message Mason had given Virgil over a week ago.
Everything matters…
Then her phone rang and her schedule changed. The call was so matter of fact she didn’t give it any more attention than it deserved. But still, it changed everything.
28
Virgil and Murton moved around to the public side of the water and sewer truck, out of sight of the park entrance. They leaned against the side of the vehicle with the rest of the entry team, all of them now relying on the trooper in the stake-out trailer for observation reports.
The SWAT commander was going over the entry plan with everyone when Virgil’s phone buzzed at him. Sandy. He stepped away to answer. He didn’t need the hard details of the entry—SWAT would handle that by themselves. Virgil and Murton were there only for the official arrest and to provide transportation…or to assist in a chase if necessary, though that was unlikely given everything they already knew about Decker.
“Hey baby. I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“Not at all. You know I wouldn’t answer if you were.”
“Is that right?”
“Well, yeah,” Virgil said. “You know how hard it is to shoot and run at the same time. Throw a phone call into that mix and I’d be dusted.”
Sandy chuffed. “Virgil, I’ve seen you shoot standing still. If you try to shoot and run that would probably be defined as a public health hazard. Someone should report you.”
He smiled through the phone. Virgil was an excellent shot and Sandy knew it. A master marksman herself, she’d improved his technique over the last two years by spending time with him at the range. They both enjoyed it tremendously, blasting away at the paper targets. “I see the pregnancy hasn’t affected your sense of humor. If you were any funnier I’d probably wet myself. Seriously though, we’re about to grab Decker. The briefing is happening right now. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, baby. Just wanted to let you know that I got a call from the doc’s office. She had to run to the hospital and cover for another O.B. I guess she’s handling some sort of emergency—which I don’t even want to think about—so my appointment is going to be delayed.”
Virgil was relieved. He’d felt sort of rushed and now he could take his time. “Did they say how long?”
“She’s already on her way back, but now she’s about an hour behind schedule. Just wanted to let you know.”
The SWAT commander caught Virgil’s eye, his palms turned upward in a ‘what gives’ gesture. Virgil ignored him. This was his show and SWAT could wait. Decker wasn’t going anywhere. “Tell you what, Baby, I think the timing will work out. We’ll just arrest him slow.” Virgil strung the vowel out on the word ‘slow.’
“Virgil?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t do that.”
He smiled into the phone. “I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”
“That’d be great. Becky has Jonas at the office. I told her we’d pick him up after the appointment.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Hey, Virg?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Be careful.”
“Always. Besides, nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m surrounded by cops.”
Had Virgil known the way things were going to turn out, he would have told Sandy he loved her. No, that’s not quite right…had he known how things were going to turn out, he would have dropped everything and gone straight home.
After Decker got clear of the trailer park he ran as well as he could with his bad leg. It pissed him off, the leg. They had Olympic runners with prosthetics competing in sprints and marathon races, yet he found himself hobbling along like a lame horse in desperate need of an emergency farrier and some equine hoof care. That’s what’s wrong with the entire half-assed country, he thought. A champion athlete gets the best of the best and goes on to fame and fortune. Lose part of your leg in combat with the rag-heads fighting for your country’s freedom and you get an ill-fitted piece of shit from the V.A., one that in all likelihood Captain Ahab would have tossed back into the sea.
He passed by a small nondescript warehouse of some sort and found that it backed up to a quiet residential area. He cut through a backyard and wound up on a street that ended with a cul-de-sac at the ass end. The houses were modest, built sometime in the late seventies or early eighties, he thought. The trees were mature, the streets needed to be repaved, and the sidewalks were buckled here and there, but overall it seemed nice enough. He didn’t see any bicycles or basketball hoops in the driveways, which meant an older demographic, and that was good for what he needed.
It was almost exactly the type of neighborhood where he’d lived before his bitch wife gave him the boot over a year ago, forcing him into poverty, despair, and the dump where, he suddenly realized, he’d never be able to go back to. It might have been a dump, but it was his dump. The thought of it depressed him to no end. It also deepened his resolve for revenge against the cops, one cop in particular.
He moved toward the end of the street and made his way back between two of the houses at the end of the cul-de-sac and noticed an elderly woman in one of the backyards. She wore an ugly purple parka that went down to her knees and rubber boots that met up with the bottom of her jacket. She had a small bag of birdseed and was filling a feeder as he came up behind her.
Decker was a mess and knew it, so he did the only logical thing he could think of. He played the hand he had. “Excuse me, Ma’am?”
The woman turned, saw his face and hands, the cuts and dried blood from hi
s mad dash through the ditch and dropped the bag of seed. It landed with a dull thud and the seed spilled everywhere. She made no sound, put her hands to her face…not out of fear, but surprise. “Oh dear,” she said. Decker didn’t know if her statement was about him or the bag of seed that had spilled across the ground, or both.
He thought the woman must have been at least eighty. Perfect, he thought. Then he remembered the struggle he’d had with the Esser bitch and remind himself to be careful. He put a little whine in his voice. “I’m sorry if I’ve startled you. There’s been…I mean, I’ve been in an accident. May I use your phone? Mine was broken in the crash.”
“Oh dear,” she said again. She looked at her house, then back at Decker.
“I understand your concern. You can’t be too careful these days. I can wait out here if you like. Maybe I could sit down? Would that be all right?”
The woman turned and looked at her house again. “I don’t have a cell phone, the buttons are too small. My phone is mounted on the wall. Your face…did you go through the windshield?”
Decker touched his face with a dramatic wince. “No, but I smashed it pretty hard. It cracked the glass. I guess that’s how I got all these cuts. I’m not feeling too well. Could I maybe get a drink from your hose over there?” He limped a few steps in that direction.
“Is your leg injured as well?”
Decker shook his head and pulled the bottom of his pant leg up. He put a sad look on his face and simply said, “The war.”
That did the trick. He knew he was good to go when he heard the magic words: “Thank you for your service.” What a crock of shit, he thought. Every time some idiot thanked him for his service he wanted to remove his prosthetic leg and beat them to death. “Just doing my job, ma’am. Protecting our country.”
“Come on in. The phone is right here in the kitchen,” she said as she led him inside. “Maybe we should call an ambulance. You don’t look well at all.”