by Leigh Barker
Jimmy tried to move behind the boy, but there was a coffee table blocking that escape. He licked his lips and stared at the woman.
“Don’t worry, James, the man’s just bluffing. He won’t let the boy die just to save himself.”
Winter chuckled and the sound froze everyone in the room.
“Shit,” Winter said, “I don’t know that kid. And Gunny and his woman are young enough to have another.”
Gunny nodded once. “Might be fun.”
“So tell you what,” Winter said. “You and Jimmy here, you stroll on out and we’ll say no more about it. How’s that sound?”
“I’ve had enough of this,” the woman said and brought her Glock up into line with Winter’s head. “Shoot the kid.”
Jimmy’s brain was still processing the sudden change when a nine mil round broke his collarbone and staggered him away from the boy. Gunny put two in his chest and one in his forehead and ended his thinking. Gracie was still firing from the open doorway with her eyes closed. Another round punctured Jimmy as he fell, but he didn’t feel it.
Winter did as he’d promised and put a round into the woman’s face, below her eye. He didn’t see the result because the impact spun her around to slide face first down the white-painted wall, leaving a red smear all the way down.
It looked like the big Glock’s recoil was something special because it staggered Winter backwards and sat him in the straight-backed chair next to the door.
Gunny jumped to his feet, kicked the gun away from Jimmy’s dead hand and took the Sig off Gracie, who was still pulling the trigger against an empty chamber.
He started towards the woman but saw Winter. “Hey, you tired from all the excitement?”
Winter raised his head slowly and licked the blood from his lower lip. “She did good.” He looked past his friend to Gracie staring at Jimmy’s body.
Gunny caught Sally’s eye and snapped her back into the world, then tilted his head towards Gracie. Sally got up quickly and ushered the teenagers out of the room.
Gunny crouched and opened Winter’s canvas jacket. There was blood. Too much blood. He looked back at the doorway and put it together. “Gracie.”
Winter put his hand on his friend’s arm. “The kid saved us from an embarrassing situation. That’s all she ever needs to know.”
Gunny nodded once and stood up. “I’ll call 911.”
“Now that would be exciting. And pointless. We don’t need cops. And…”
Blood ran in a crimson line from the corner of his mouth.
“Shit, I didn’t want to get old anyhow.”
Winter’s arm slipped from his lap and the Glock clattered onto the polished oak floor, scratching the fine grain.
Ultimatum
Ethan was driving an ancient VW camper van he’d found abandoned outside an apartment block off M Street. The owner—or the former owner must not have wanted it, because she’d left the keys above the visor, and everybody knows that translates as please take my car.
Andie was sitting on a bench at the edge of Lafayette Square and didn’t even glance at the rust heap on wheels with its flowers and zodiac signs all over it. Until she saw Ethan grinning at her over the fur-covered steering wheel.
She didn’t move, not because she didn’t believe it was him, but because she was afraid the killers might see her get into that pile of crap. She got up slowly and looked around at the joggers and walkers looking at the monstrosity, shaking their heads and moving on. What was he thinking? The man had no style at all. A hippie bus, for Christ’s sake.
She looked around slowly again, but there was no sign of the killers, so no chance they’d shoot her before she got in that thing with everybody watching. Thank God her sainted mother was away and not able to see this. She prayed there was no TV in rehab.
Ethan blew the horn, a sound like a constipated duck. He leaned over and opened the passenger door, which creaked and clunked loud enough to wake the dead.
“Look what I found,” Ethan said as she climbed in. “Cool wheels or what?”
“What,” she said, sinking down as low as she could into the split and lumpy seat.
The wagon stank of something. Please, god, don’t let it be marijuana; that would be too freaky, temporal displacement to the sixties. Groovy, man. But it was cat pee and she was probably sitting in it. She breathed a sigh of relief. Cats. What was it with people and cats? They hate people and they eat birds. And piss on car seats. It was a conspiracy by therapists. Big up the vicious little shits as friendly and cuddly, then charge two hundred an hour to make owners feel better when their little friend tries to scratch their eyes out.
“You lost the Cherokee, then,” she said, and shifted across the seat to try to stop mopping up the pee.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, crunching the gears and moving out into the traffic at a little faster than walking speed. “Blown the excess. Should’ve taken out the waiver.”
She stared at him. The Secret Service, the FBI, Homeland, the police, and kiddy crossing guards were looking for them to shoot their heads off and he was talking about insurance as if it were a Sunday drive. She sniffed the air again, but still didn’t detect any dope, so it wasn’t that. So he really had lost his mind.
“Did the owner make you take this heap of shit at gunpoint?” She shifted across the seat again, but it wasn’t helping.
Ethan handed her a bright orange Indian blanket. “I always wanted one of these when I was a kid.”
“Right, course you did.” She sniffed the blanket, flinched, but lifted off the seat enough to push it under her damp pants.
“Freedom. I’d see these rolling across the Arizona desert or out in Africa or someplace exotic and think that was how to get the hell out.”
Yes, definitely lost his mind. A long time ago.
She decided to change the subject before he started telling her about the good old days of free love and rock ’n’ roll. They didn’t even have internet back then. Cavemen.
“While you were out stealing this heap of shit, I found something that will rock your socks.”
Ethan reached down beside the seat and brought out a pair of sunglasses with round orange lenses with a sort of Y design on them. He grinned and put them on.
“Okay, I’m ready for anything now.”
She stared at him. And completely lost the thread. A couple of hard blinks and a shake of her head and she’d pulled it back together. Almost.
“You were saying you found something.” At least he’d stopped grinning, though still wore the ridiculous shades.
“Err…” She shook her head again. That did the trick. That and not looking at him. “I got a look at what Orpheus has been playing at recently.”
Ethan took off the sunglasses and dropped them back beside the seat. He glanced at her then back at the road before the VW wandered off on its own.
“Have you heard the news today?”
Ethan tapped the radio collapsed back into the dash. “This hasn’t worked since it played The Troggs ‘Wild Thing’.”
“It’s scary. The US and Russia have ordered China to stop exporting coal and steel. Or else.”
“Else what?”
“They didn’t say.”
“They didn’t need to. But what the hell is the US doing cozying up to the Kremlin?”
“It’s a…new alignment of geopolitical strength.”
“Okay,” Ethan said. “Bullying from the big guys on the block.”
“China won’t back down.”
“No. They do and they’ll get pushed right back to making vases and living in bamboo houses.”
“Japanese.”
He glanced at her with a frown.
“Japanese lived in bamboo houses. Chinese used mud blocks.” She saw the look and shrugged. “Vases though. Yeah, I get that.”
“Thanks.”
“Point is,” she said quickly, “I took a look at Leonard Hofmann’s computer.”
“Leonard who?” He nodded. “Orpheus.”
“Right.”
“And you hacked his computer?”
“Thing about having a tech services, they feel they have to do stuff.”
“And what stuff did the geeks do?” He unhooked the two white fluffy dice off the rearview. Too much.
“They synced everything for him. Laptop, desktop, phone, watch.” She shrugged. “Everything.”
“Give geeks their head and they will mess with you.” He smiled quickly. “Not that you’re a geek.”
“Gee, Sarge, thank you for thinking I’m normal.” She shook her head.
“Never said normal.”
She cut her eyes at him. “I was saying. They synced everything, so when I took a peek at his system—”
“Easy as that? Don’t they have fire things?”
“Walls. Yes, but they’re using Oracle and Microsoft, which is like hanging out a sign saying come on in.”
“Heard of Microsoft.”
She frowned at him again, but couldn’t decide if he was serious.
He was.
“Point is, our man Orpheus is orchestrating the whole thing. There’s a recording from his phone. Him and the president—he calls Dicky.” She sighed. “These two in the Oval Office setting up the new friendship with Russia, ready for the confrontation with China. And a lot more.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” He drummed his fingers on the fur-gloved steering wheel. “But it gives me an idea.”
“Right. Thought it would.” She gave him a second, but nothing. “You’re going to shoot him. Cut off the snake’s head.”
He was silent while he maneuvered the van through the evening traffic on H Street.
“If you’re not going to shoot him,” Andie said, “how are you going to stop him? It looks like he owns the Secret Service and FBI.”
“That’s the problem. I shoot him, and God knows I wouldn’t get all loose bowels about it, but nothing will change. His people will still have the reins of power. And President Dick and the Russians will still take us into a nuclear war to feed their egos. And because they’re just stupid.”
“Then what? It’s just us two.” She looked out of the side window at the people heading out for dinner or just taking a walk. No idea their world was about to end. “Against everybody.” She shook her head. “In a firefight, it’s easy.”
Right, easy.
“All you have to worry about is not getting shot. But you know where the bad guys are, mostly. This is different. The good guys are the bad guys.”
She opened her laptop and tapped the keyboard. Just to be doing something. What else was she going to find that was worse than this? Orpheus is Satan’s long-lost son?
She looked up as the wagon slowed and stopped with a squealing of raw metal on brake drums.
They were back under the tree across the street from Parallax Ascension Inc. Orpheus.
“You changed your mind?” she said without taking her eyes off the building.
“Nope.”
She turned in her seat to face him. “Then why are we here, to cheer him on?”
He tapped the sleeve of the tatty beige canvas jacket he’d found in the wardrobe in the back of the van. “You ever seen the pretty stripes I wear here on my dress uniform?” He got one nod as an answer. “They’re the insignia of a marine master sergeant.”
Shrug this time. So what?
“You’re a petty officer.”
She raised her eyebrows higher than they should go. “What? You’re pulling rank now? This time tomorrow we’ll be the same rank. That being nuclear ash.”
He chuckled and opened the door.
“Where you going?”
“I’m going to tell Orpheus to stop being a dick and call off his presidents.”
“Oh, right. That’ll work.”
The door creaked and groaned as he closed it. “I’ll say pretty please.”
“They won’t even let you in through the front door.”
He was gone, jaywalking through the traffic to the sound of car horns and shouted abuse. In his element.
She watched him go. Slipping and sidestepping the traffic, he didn’t look too bad. Old as he was, he moved okay. They’d shoot him as soon as he stepped into their marble foyer.
They didn’t shoot him as he entered the sumptuous foyer of Parallax Ascension Inc and let the door swoosh closed behind him, but the three security men over by the elevator clocked him the moment he entered. Somebody was on the ball. He glanced at them but let them be. They’d do what they were going to do, him looking or not.
He stepped up to the huge round reception desk and smiled at the nearest receptionist. She didn’t return it, and the other two young women stared at him as if he were wearing a perv’s raincoat.
“I’m here to see Blofeld.” He smiled again. Same response. “I can see from the warm welcome he’s expecting me.”
The receptionist looked back over her shoulder at the three guards approaching the desk and spreading out a little.
Ethan glanced around. The foyer was deserted except for the three guys with uniforms straining over their pumped muscles. Eight at night. Maybe the office was closed for business. Maybe it was just a quiet day. Right. Or maybe it was because everybody had been cleared out so they wouldn’t get dead when the shooting started. I’ll take shoot the marine not the customers for eight hundred dollars, Alex.
Without any get set, Ethan pushed off the desk and strode right up to the big guard in the middle of the three. The fast and easy way he moved and the big smile stalled them in mid step. They’d expected him to turn tail and run, but here he was strolling up to them and wanting to shake the man’s hand.
The guard had his right hand on the butt of his gun in its belt holster, but the impulse was completely automatic. He put out his hand.
Still smiling, Ethan took the offered hand, snapped him forward off balance and stepped behind him, taking his gun as he moved. Now he was behind the linebacker and had the man’s Glock resting on its owner’s shoulder, pointing at his ear.
The trap that they were going to spring came apart, and more grey-suited guards appeared from behind pillars and doors and secret hidey-holes around the foyer. Lots of them.
“Well,” Ethan said into the big man’s ear, “now we see if you’ve pissed any of these guys off.”
He backed off towards the elevators, holding the guard’s collar with his left hand while his right kept the Glock where his buddies could see it. So far none of them wanted to be a hero. So far.
They reached the elevator with security forming a loose semicircle across the foyer. Ethan tapped his captive’s shoulder with the Glock, just to remind him he had a 9mm next to his chin, released his collar and pressed the elevator call button. Then stepped off to the side, his hand back on his captive’s collar. Good chance when the doors opened, a platoon of grey suits would spill out all over him. If he was stupid enough to stand there and wait.
The doors opened. Nothing. No grey suits spilling out, nobody jumping out and shouting boo!
He leaned a little and glanced inside. There was somebody in there. An old bent guy with a mop in a bucket on wheels. Not likely to be the jumping-on-him kinda guy.
The old man glanced at the Glock and then at Ethan. “You going up?”
“If there’s room,” Ethan said, and backed into the elevator.
The captive backed in with him. Obedient.
Ethan gave him a shove. “You can go play with your little friends now.”
The huge man with the straining suit turned slowly and stared at him with a look that promised a world of pain if he got the chance.
Ethan released the Glock’s magazine and pulled the slide to shuck the round out of the chamber. The guard was frowning now, and that just got deeper when he was handed his weapon. Unloaded, but back home.
He registered that Ethan had given him his gun just as the doors slid shut and his captor was gone. He ran to the next elevator and jabbed the call button.
“You’re
thinking the gorilla’ll come up right on your ass,” the old guy said, and wheeled his bucket back and forth without thinking about it.
“Yeah, crossed my mind.”
“What is it, eight o’clock?”
“Something like that.”
“Cleaning crews’ll be riding the elevators.” The old guy shrugged. “Breakin’ the rules, but who the hell’s gonna lug this shit up twenty flights?”
Ethan nodded once and watched the floor indicator clicking away as they rose towards heaven. “This go to the top floor?”
“Figured you were here to see King Hof.” The old guy shook his head. “Naw. He’s got an elevator for his own self.” He shook his head again and looked for someplace to spit. That being where he’d have to clean it up. He gave up on that idea.
“You comin’ to kill the miserable bastard?”
Ethan shrugged. He hadn’t really decided. “Probably not. Unless he gets all heroic.”
“Not likely. He pays people to do that kinda stuff.”
“Yeah, been on the receiving end.”
“That why you here? Him sending somebody to cap your ass.”
Ethan laughed. He couldn’t help it. “You watch a lot of cable?”
“Some.”
“This private elevator King Hof uses.”
“It don’t stop on any other floor. I guess he don’t think he needs to mix with the working stiffs.”
Ethan watched the floor lights. Eighteen.
“He’s on twenty?”
“Naw. Twenty-one.” The old guy wheeled the bucket a little more and then grinned, toothless and loose cheeked. All he needed was some chaw and a spittoon and he’d be right at home in a saloon. “Stairs though.”
“To Hof’s floor?”
The old guy nodded. “From twenty. Where his chief ass kisser’s got his office.”
Twenty. The doors started to slide open.
Ethan pushed the old guy back against the wall as much out of the line of fire as it was possible to get in a six-foot-wide elevator. He pulled his Colt from its holster and pressed up beside the door. Same side as the old guy to give him a bit of cover. It wasn’t his fault he was in harm’s way.
Still nobody. He shook his head. They’d expected to ambush him on the ground floor and had done nothing to address the possibility he’d slip out of the noose. Gym jockeys with undersized suits and oversized egos.