by Andrew Allan
But, the files on the table appealed to me. What was inside ‘em? And, how would I get ‘em?
Smoker released my arm to open a door that I would have presumed was a broom closet. But, inside there were more stairs leading down.
“After you,” said Von.
They didn’t leave much room to escape. So, I took the stairs. One flight later we arrived in a room that looked like they had moved the Air Force base command center into the man cave. Big screens all around. Blips and flashes. I looked up for the periscope.
“You guys must have awesome football Sundays. And, don’t say ‘hardly’,” I said before he could.
Von smiled. Gross teeth.
“Like Razook said on the plane, you fascinate as much as you frustrate us.”
“That makes ours an unhealthy relationship.”
“Don’t worry. We’re going to break up.”
“Nice word play.”
“I’ve done some writing myself,” said Von.
Jesus Christ. Even on the cusp of what I suspected to be my death, someone who knew I wrote was telling me they wrote, too.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “What’s your medium of choice?”
“Obituaries.”
“Here lies Von’s sex life. D.O.A.”
Before he could follow up, I pointed to the video console. “What’s this?”
“A computer.”
“With a big screen.”
“And, flush with access to all kinds of governmental, authority, and media databases. Whatever information we want we can get.”
“This where you’ve been monitoring the search for me?”
He nodded. “And, pushing things in our favor.”
Time to cut the bullshit.
“Von, why the hell do you do this? What’s so goddamn important? And, don’t say Maximum Freedom.”
“Razook is what’s important,” he said.
“He’s just a dude who likes to fuck, blackmail, and wear Nehru collars.”
“Works for me,” said Von with a shrug.
I’d convince an Alabama preacher to perform an abortion before I got through to these guys.
Where did the Smoker go?
Despite the cutting edge tech, tangles of dusty cables sprouted out the back of the hardware and sat sloppy on the floor. The system appeared to be understaffed. There was something less than impressive about it all. Made me wonder if the Kith were more bark than bite. Faking it ’til they made it.
There were two doors at the far side of the room. One had a red light above it. Exit?
“Why are you showing me this?”
“So, you can see what you’re missing out on.”
“I got a glimpse of that at Wint’s.”
“What did you see?”
“Enough.”
“But, you have no proof.”
“Not on me. I did let others know.”
“Who?”
“Hardly,” I said.
He bristled. Von’s patience only lasted so long.
“Your boy Wint’s a blabbermouth. He told me everything I wanted to know. About the new resort. About the locations under consideration. I guess you and the team are just waiting for Hurricane Realtor to reveal your ideal location.”
Von’s lips tightened. A rage was building. “Razook was right. You are a talented individual.”
“Glad he approves. Sorry, I won’t be able to share my talents to help him brainwash the world.”
“He was hoping you would.”
“Proof he’s not as smart as he thinks.” I walked over to the big hunk of technology.
“Razook is a brilliant man,” said Von.
“Some would say enlightened.” I raised a hand to the heavens.
“I would agree.”
“Because you’re supposed to or because that’s what you believe?”
“Because it’s true.”
“I’d have to agree with you. It’s hard to deny what he’s accomplished.” I gestured to the room and the mansion above. “Even better he has ambition. Big, bold plans.”
“That’s how you succeed in life,” said Von.
“It’s like Razook has the ability to cut through all the static, the bullshit that bogs us down.”
“True,” said Von.
I could tell he was wondering where this was going, but still enjoying it.
“By growing the Kith, it’s like he’s trying to enlighten everyone else.”
“That’s exactly right,” said Von.
“Well, a certain everyone else,” I said.
Von’s smile faded.
“Razook likes the rich and powerful. He likes politicians who bend the rules his way. He likes people who can give him something.”
“Don’t we all?”
“I suppose. But, what happens when he gets it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happens when he gets exactly what he wants?”
“Then he has achieved maximum freedom,” Von said with a checkmate smile.
“Which he currently doesn’t have,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well, he has it or he doesn’t,” I said, hands on my hips. “You can’t be partially emancipated.”
Von nodded, willing to play along. “He’s certainly way ahead of us.”
“True,” I said. “But, I gotta tell ya, in infomercials, where I work, it’s all about getting people to buy your product. And, if you can’t say what you’re selling has worked for you, no one’s gonna buy shit.”
Von looked confused.
“You gotta be the real deal. And, if Razook hasn’t achieved maximum freedom yet … he ain’t the real deal. And you’re mistaken for following him.”
“You won’t convince me,” he said.
“Of what?”
“To abandon Razook.”
“Who said anything about that?”
Von flashed worry.
“You put that thought in my head,” said Von.
“I didn’t say a thing about it. Your mind went there on its own. Because, you know what a sham this all is. Just Razook trying to get rich. Building his power on the backs of others.”
“Hardly,” he said.
“Razook is no different than the fake preachers on TV or the jive ass gurus seducing hippie coeds in the Hollywood Hills. Only now you’re the one getting fucked.”
“Von.”
The Smoker was standing there with one of the girls I had seen outside. She was still naked with slit eyes, out of it, but functioning. Looked to be late teens, early twenties.
Von walked over to the girl and brushed his fingers through her hair. She gave a brainless smile, like she’d been trained to do.
“This is a wonderful girl,” said Von. “Tell me who knows about our plans.”
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to insult you. You seem very nice. But see, Von doesn’t understand that I don’t exploit helpless females. Not on the first date, or the second, or ever.”
A gleaming blade stabbed up into her throat and ripped out, spilling blood, arteries, and esophagus mucosa onto her chest. She wilted to the floor.
I staggered back.
Von pointed the bloody knife at me. “Get me another.”
The Smoker hustled out of the room.
Complete horror and insanity.
Von stepped towards me. “You killed her.”
I was speechless.
“And, you’ll kill the next and the next unless you talk,” said Von.
The Smoker returned with the other girl.
Von moved towards her. When he turned back to me I had the rolling chair in my hands. I slammed the wheelbase into his face. Blood spurted out his nose, and he collapsed to the ground.
The Smoker was surprised long enough for me to do my best running back tackle. I laid him out on a pile of cables and ran up the stairs.
Back in the foyer. I grabbed the files and ran towards the rear exit. Down the steps, across the l
awn, out of the hangar, into the rain, to the river, winding through the workers.
They yelled after me. I ignored it.
There was a small power boat at the dock. Keys in the ignition. I untied from the dock, hopped in, and started the boat. Got a few weird looks from the workers. But, that didn’t stop me. I turned the wheel and accelerated. The boat circled and sliced to the top of the surface. I straightened the wheel and the boat roared off down the St. Johns, stormy waters be damned.
39
“…LEAVE YOUR NAME and number and you can bet I’ll call ya back.”
The voice mail beeped.
“Detective Stokely, this is, well, you know who. Listen, you were right. About Green Cove Springs. You should check it out right away. Also, look into Jimmy Tompkins and Gary Gertz. They were there. It’s…it’s a bloodbath. I’ll reach out soon.”
I hung up the payphone and rested my head on it. Shock still had me. Horror still had me.
The monsters.
I was just outside a small town named Hastings, on the east side of the St. Johns, not far from Saint Augustine.
I ditched the boat. Too easy to find someone on a river, especially if the people looking for you have an Air Force base. Hell, they could have a GPS on their boat. I couldn’t keep it. The only way to survive was to change tactics often.
He just ripped her throat out.…
I hated Von almost as much as Razook. Hate could only propel my mission, not complete it.
Palatka had to be ten miles away. Too far to walk. And, the storm was getting bad. You could tell by how quiet the world had become. Ash grey clouds muffled sound. Few people on the streets.
That meant Highway 207 was clear of traffic, and I could cruise down the centerline on the rusty ten-speed bike I “borrowed”. It had been leaning against a potato farm supply shed.
But, it was no joy ride. I needed to focus:
I’d found Razook’s house.
I’d found his transportation base.
I’d found the Kith’s operational heartbeat.
I’d found the one thing that had eluded me all this time—a proper Kith target.
And, there was more. God, yes…I had leads. Juicy bits in manila folder form.
Jimmy Tompkins and Gary Gertz, the two men at Razook’s Air Force base. According to Von’s dossier on them, they both had money and power. Tompkins ran a day labor agency called Tompkins Temps. I’d recalled seeing their offices here and there, always with a line of men hungry for work standing outside. I assumed he was going to provide the brawn and backs to build Razook’s new resort once its location was determined.
Gary Gertz, according to the file, was a Los Angeles based talent agent with access to celebrities. Because everything and everyone was a commodity. Why would the Kith want celebrities? For promotional purposes? Because they could afford the dues? It was just another sign of Razook trying to grow the Kith influence. I had to admit, he was a hell of a marketer.
Both Tompkins and Gertz vibed new to the Kith party. They wouldn’t see me coming. They had wealth or power or both. More importantly, they had something to lose. I could use that as a wedge. To get more of the information I craved. Like a vampire, leads and info were vital to the continuance of my existence.
Stokely could look into them for the moment.
Now, Ilsa.
I reached Palatka and the river without incident. And, I had eyes on the island where Ilsa was supposedly staying.
How does an outlaw biker like DG get private access to that island?
Because he was DG.
40
THE RIVER WASN’T so wide that I couldn’t swim the distance. Problem was the current. It was strong, and if I swam straight out to the island, the current would push me downstream, and I’d miss it. So, I launched about a quarter mile upstream.
What creatures were in the water? And, should I worry about them? Gators? The water was salty. Sharks? The St. Johns fed out to the Atlantic, so it’s entirely possible they could come in from there. After all, gigantic megalodon sharks teeth had been found in the rivers of Gainesville, deep in the middle of the state.
Bring ‘em on. I was ready to see Ilsa or die swimming.
The water was cooler than expected. Much cooler. My chest constricted. My breaths shortened. My heart pumped fast. But, I was right in the middle of the river and drifting towards the island. I let the current take me.
I felt the moment; just floating, rain in my face. If I were the glass-half-full type, I’d look forward to how this mayhem could end up being the greatest adventure of my life and take me to a place, a level, I never would have reached otherwise. If I was the glass-half-empty type, I’d consider these few moments of grace as maybe the last time I’d be able to catch my breath and look back on my life.
I didn’t know what type I was. Maybe a little of both.
I knew great opportunity could come from untethering from one’s normal routine. But, it’s hard to see that in the middle of danger, in the middle of losing everything you love and valued. Sometimes the epiphany comes too late.
Thunder cracked overhead.
The current served me to the shore. I pulled myself up with a mangrove root. Sand squished. My clothes hung heavy with water weight. There was a clearing on the shore, but no obvious path into the scrub. I walked along the island perimeter until I found a narrow trail, just wide enough to fit one foot in front of the other. Long blades of grass were doing their best to obscure it.
I moved quick between long leaf pine trees and palmetto scrubs, until finally I reached a clearing about twenty feet square in size. A cabin stood in the center of it.
I ran for the door and tripped, got a mouthful of mud. My ankle was hung up on barbed wire stretched wide about four inches off the ground. It took me a minute to free up my pant leg.
I stood and looked to the house. Anyone inside? The rain picked up. No lights on. A sickening notion rose within: What if she weren’t here?
“Ilsa?” Louder, but not yelling.
No answer.
I wiped rain from my eyes.
“Ilsa? You there?”
Nothing.
Don’t tell me they lied.
“Ilsa, it’s me. Walt,” I said, louder.
Wood creaked inside the cabin. Footsteps?
Panic hit. What if they had already gotten her? What if it was Kith inside?
The latch lifted.
The door creaked.
No face in the doorway. Just a space about one foot wide.
Was it a trap? Did it matter?
If they had Ilsa, there was only one way to find out.
I walked in.
The room was humid from the moisture outside, no a/c.
A hand grabbed the back of my neck. A knife poked my back. I was shoved forward until my face was pressed against the rough wood wall. Splinters pierced my cheek.
“Don’t move.”
I knew the voice.
“Turn around.”
41
“I TOLD YOU to steer clear, Walt.”
“DG, I have to see Ilsa,” I said.
“You need to spare Ilsa.”
“DG, come on.”
There was a wide, wood bench next to me. “Can I sit?”
He nodded. I sat.
“Look, before you say anything, I know what you’re thinking. Here’s the truth. The Kith killed the Governor. It wasn’t me. It’s a set up,” I said.
“You find yourself in that position a lot.”
“I know. The Kith…they’re doing everything they can to ruin my life.” I was still catching my breath.
He sized me up.
“DG, listen. I just found Razook’s headquarters. It’s up the St. John’s River, at the old Air Force base. It’s exactly what—”
He waved me quiet. “Shut up, Walt. Just shut the fuck up. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s still all the same shit. Your life is complete
chaos because you can’t stop fucking around with them. And again, you’ve brought it on my doorstep. Ain’t happening.”
I dropped my head. The excitement that had buoyed me to the island was hissing out.
DG was right. I felt foolish. I was like an addict not ready to go cold turkey. They come up with excuses and exceptions and bullshit reasoning why they should get their fix. They try to wheel and deal because they haven’t accepted the harsh reality that the only way to turn things around is to forever change your life.
Ilsa was my fix. I needed her bad. But, I hadn’t acknowledged or accepted everything that had to be done. If I had, I wouldn’t have been here.
“DG, please.” Hot tears leaked over my eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Yes, you do. You just keep avoiding it.”
So much for an understanding pep talk.
“I told you the other day don’t come around. Don’t bring that heat. Now, I got two good buddies dead, again. I have the cops poking close to my businesses, again. Why the hell don’t you listen?”
He wasn’t wrong. But, a man can only take so much when he’s down.
“Is that why you brought me here? To lay into me? String me along with Ilsa as bait? Then, punish me?”
“I should beat the shit out of you for what you’ve done. Actually, we’ve reached the point where I should kill you. Then the problem goes away for everyone,” he said.
“Like you did Oater and Wallace? I know how you handle things.”
He shrugged and looked out the window. Rain was pouring now. Gusts of wind howled and bent skinnier trees.
“That’d be great. Problem is, you’re too good a man. I’m not used to dealing with your type.”
“Sorry to complicate things.”
“There’s just gotta be a better way.”
“I’m improvising, DG. With no resources. Just rolling from one near miss to the next.”
He twisted his lips in contemplation. “Don’t think there is another way to do it.”
“How would you do it? If this was a gang war. If this was a cartel moving in on your turf.”
“I’d attack ‘em hard. Kill ‘em before they could even regret what they started,” he said.
“Well, I don’t have bikers to back me up. And, I don’t have an arsenal or weapons. And, I’ve been told to do it without killing. And, I don’t like killing. Because that makes me as bad as the people I need to kill,” I said. “Next suggestion?”