by Tom Fowler
“Good for you.”
“Let’s settle this, then,” Anderson said. “You and me.”
“Sure,” Tyler agreed. “Step out so I can shoot you.”
“I mean the old-fashioned way. Like men. We put our guns down and see who’s better.”
“Yeah, sure. And then your asshole boss shoots me. I’ll pass.”
“I won’t interfere,” Braxton said. “In fact, I’ll wait outside. If Ryan wins, he and I drive away. And if you win, Tyler, then you and I finish this once and for all.”
Anderson stepped out into the open. So did Kent Maxwell. It was just like him to wait to show himself. At least Maxwell would be a worthy opponent. He’d been loyal to Braxton, but he was his own man, too. Both held their guns at their sides. Maxwell, as usual, looked annoyed. He never seemed like he wanted to be anywhere. Maybe the proximity to a toady like Anderson made him sour. “Maxwell,” Tyler said with a small nod. “You have some failure to make up for.”
“Piss off, Tyler.”
“You want to take Anderson’s place in his deal?”
“Sure,” Maxwell said. “I’ll give you a better fight.”
“Anderson,” Tyler said, “you’re big and dumb. Did you kidnap my daughter?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What of it? Guess what else I did while I carried her inside?”
Before Anderson could answer his own rhetorical question, Tyler shot him in the head.
“Goddammit!” Braxton hollered as the body slumped to the concrete floor. “You didn’t have to kill him.”
“You didn’t have to kidnap my daughter, Leo. Get over yourself. You’re better off without such a turd, anyway.”
“Same deal, sir,” Maxwell said without turning to address his former commander. “You wait outside. Tyler and I will settle this.”
“But Anderson . . .”
“We can hire an accountant.”
Braxton’s sigh filled the empty space. “Fine. I’ll be outside. Kill this prick.” The backdoor creaked open, and Braxton walked into the night. Tyler considered shooting him in the back. It would leave him open to Maxwell, however. An unacceptable risk; the man wouldn’t miss at this range. A slam echoed in the room a moment later.
The idea of this fight was ridiculous. Why even consider it? Despite his sensible objection, Tyler pondered the idea. Maxwell was younger, slightly bigger, and probably stronger. Less so in all three areas than Anderson, but he still held advantages over Tyler. But he probably wasn’t better. Tyler could take him, and then he’d walk outside, empty the magazine into Braxton, and go on his way. The alternative meant continuing this standoff. Two against one. Unless Braxton called anyone else. Then the odds could get much worse.
On top of it all, Tyler welcomed the thought of beating Maxwell’s ass in a fight. Like most officers—especially those of the Leo Braxton Finishing School—he could stand to get knocked down a few pegs. “Fine,” he said. “I have two guns, and I’ll drop them one at a time. You so much as look at me funny, I shoot.”
Maxwell still held his pistol at his side. He regarded Tyler with a wolfish grin. “You and me now, old man.”
“Throw down your gun,” Tyler said.
“You first.”
Tyler set one down and nudged it behind the pallets. “One is all you get. I’m not leaving myself unarmed against you.”
“Fine,” Maxwell said. He set down the pistol he’d been holding and kicked it across the room. Then he unholstered a revolver at his ankle and pushed it in the same direction with his boot. “Now your other gun.”
Tyler pondered shooting Maxwell where he stood, but he’d already done it to Anderson, who deserved it a lot more. He set his other pistol down and sent it the way of the other one. “All right, Maxwell,” he said. “You think I’ve been overrated all this time, too?”
“I think you’ve always caused a lot more trouble than you’re worth.”
“Fair enough. Let’s dance.”
Maxwell advanced.
Maxwell was still fairly young . . . probably forty by now. He was a little taller and broader than Tyler, and his physique told everyone he kept himself in shape after leaving the service. A lot of people caught up in Braxton’s web made involuntary exits from the Army; Tyler wondered if Maxwell earned the chance to leave on his own terms. If not, it would make the man’s devotion to Braxton all the more puzzling. Why stay in league with someone who torpedoed so many careers through simple ambition and lies?
When Tyler knew him, he’d been a captain. He heard Maxwell got promoted to major just after Tyler left the unit and went on terminal leave. It didn’t take long for everything to fall apart from there. Maxwell’s dark hair remained untouched by gray, and in his time in the private sector, he’d discovered the joys of growing a goatee.
Tyler took a few steps forward and set himself, presenting his side to his opponent. Maxwell would be a trained fighter, too; he wasn’t some chump like Bobby who got by on size and a mean glare. The two men circled each other, neither making a move. Maxwell broke the stalemate with a punch, which Tyler turned aside. Next came a kick, also repelled.
They weren’t his best efforts. Tyler knew Maxwell was feeling him out. He tried not to show too much. Maxwell came in for another strike, but Tyler recognized the feint and extracted his arm from the nerve hold before Maxwell could get the necessary grip. Tyler launched a basic kick, turned away by Maxwell, then a volley of punches. A few connected and rocked the larger man back.
Maxwell answered with an elbow in Tyler’s gut. He recoiled and sucked in a breath while his opponent pressed the advantage. A flurry of punches, elbows, and knees came in. Tyler couldn’t stop them all. He staggered back yet couldn’t gain any separation. As soon as he tried, Maxwell closed the gap. Tyler went for a headbutt, and Maxwell lunged away, leaned back in, and clobbered Tyler with a strong right hand. It spun him around and sent him crashing to the concrete floor.
Tyler only had time to raise himself to all fours before Maxwell was on him. He squatted over Tyler, putting his body weight on his opponent’s back while cinching in a rear chokehold. Tyler struggled to keep from collapsing flat onto the floor. Maxwell got the hold in good. Tyler tried to pry the brawny arm away to no avail. Blackness crept in on the edges of his vision. His chest burned. He needed to free himself from the hold.
He tried to stand, but Maxwell’s weight kept him in place. He knew how to use his mass and leverage. The grip made it impossible to roll over. Stars flashed before Tyler’s eyes. His fingers fumbled for his belt buckle, undoing it and holding a short length in his right hand. Tyler snapped his wrist back, driving the metal into Maxwell’s head. He grunted but didn’t let go. Tyler did it again. And a third time. He put all he had left into the fourth. The buckle struck Maxwell’s head with a satisfying crack, and he slumped to one side.
Tyler scampered free. His lungs drank in fresh air in a huge gulp. He needed a couple more breaths before he could roll over. Maxwell sat on the floor, bleeding from above his temple. He shook his head to clear it and rose to one knee. Tyler did the same. He wrapped the notched end of the belt around his hand and swung it in a wide, violent arc. The metal slammed into Maxwell’s head with another satisfying crack, spiraling him once again to the concrete.
Maxwell didn’t move. Tyler steadied his breathing. His lungs no longer felt like he’d stood at the edge of a volcano. He rose, wobbled a step or two, then found his footing. Maxwell stirred. Tyler held an end of the leather strap in each hand, crouched, and wrapped it around Maxwell’s neck. He pulled it tight with all his strength, crossing his forearms behind his foe’s head. Maxwell’s hands tugged at his arms, but Tyler wouldn’t let go. He understood how to use mass and leverage, too.
Maxwell made a few more attempts to pry his way loose but nothing more. The buckle to the head took a lot of the fight out of him. He succumbed to the strangulation, and Tyler let his body slump to the concrete. He rolled off and sat. Braxton waited outside. He’d kept his word, at least. Tyler stood, grabbed
his M11, and headed for the warehouse door.
40
Braxton remained outside the whole time. Tyler put his hand on the knob. Would the disgraced colonel be an opportunist, waiting outside to shoot him? The door looked to be made of steel. It wouldn’t stop a respectable bullet. Tyler glanced around the area. He found a metal pipe and carried it to the exit. With one hand on the knob, he crouched and used the pipe to push the door open.
No gunshots greeted him. He studied the rear of the building on his exposed side. No sign of Braxton or anyone else. Tyler inched into the opening. He tossed the pipe back inside, let the door stop against his knee, and drew his pistol. He held it before him in a two-hand grip, his right arm bent a little, and his left arm across his midsection. Leading with the M11, Tyler peeked around the door. He didn’t see anyone. Tyler maintained his crouch and moved out onto the loading dock. He hugged the wall and kept searching for Braxton. The man had to be around somewhere.
Tyler took a few cautious steps to his left. With the sun behind the clouds and many shadows around, dimness prevailed behind the building. Even though the area lacked obvious hiding places, the low light would make spotting an adversary difficult. Braxton possessed the advantage—if nothing else, he heard the door open and knew Maxwell didn’t walk out.
Something caught Tyler’s eye. Movement? He raised the M11, but it was too late. A gunshot blasted the stillness from the air and slammed into Tyler’s lower left arm, which had been across his midsection. He cursed and dropped to the concrete. Pins and needles preceded numbness up and down the length of his arm, and moving his fingers proved impossible. Tyler ignored his arm, pointed his pistol where he thought he saw movement, and fired.
Silence was the only reply for a few seconds. “Did you think it would be so easy?” Braxton. Every time life took a shit on Tyler, Braxton was there. “I taught you well, Tyler. Did you really think I taught you everything I know?”
“Come over here, Leo. Let’s end this.”
“You took out Maxwell,” Braxton said. Tyler couldn’t locate his voice. “He’s stronger and younger than either of us. I don’t like my chances.” He paused. Tyler felt exposed lying in the open with no cover. He needed to move, but doing so would require getting up and making himself an easier target. “I’d rather pick my spots.”
“What happened to being a man?” Tyler taunted. He breathed in and out. The arm was broken. Ignore it. Don’t go into shock. “You used to talk about it a lot. Was it just bullshit like so many other things you said?”
“You’ll have to do a lot better to bait me. Guys in Leavenworth were pretty good at it.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Tyler kept looking around. Where was Braxton hiding? And why didn’t his voice give him away? It was hard to pin down, almost like it carried an echo.
Producing such an effect required specific spaces. The building walls on either side of the access road weren’t tall enough. A small dumpster sat across the pavement. The fight with Maxwell afforded Braxton plenty of time to find an advantageous position. The small, enclosed area would certainly distort a voice and create the echo Tyler heard.
He leveled his pistol and fired five shots down the length of the dumpster. The high-pitched wail of bullets hitting the metal surface made Tyler wince. Even with his ears ringing, Tyler knew Braxton remained silent. Did those shots take him out? He lay on the concrete a minute. Nothing. Tyler got to his feet, not using his left arm at all. He hopped down from the deck. As he started toward the dumpster, he heard a noise behind him.
When he turned, Braxton clobbered him with a plank of wood.
Tyler hit the pavement hard, and the M11 clattered across the asphalt. The left side of Tyler’s head and face throbbed. Stars danced before his eyes. He shook his head but couldn’t clear the cobwebs. “Good guess,” Braxton said. “I thought about hiding in there, but then I realized I didn’t want to be in a goddamn dumpster. Funny thing. Little gap between the buildings there? You stand back a few feet, your voice echoes off the walls. I discovered it by accident but figured I could use it against you.” Braxton strode up and hammered Tyler in the gut with the two-by-four. “I was right.”
The vest took a little of the blow, but it was designed to stop high-velocity projectiles. It wouldn’t be much good in this situation. Tyler tried to get to his feet, but Braxton battered him repeatedly. After a particularly hard shot blasted the wind from his chest, he sagged to the pavement and stopped trying. Maybe Braxton would start talking again. Tyler waited for an opening.
“All you had to do was walk away, John,” Braxton said. “None of this happens if you mind your own business. But you’re drawn to me. Maybe it’s because we’re so much alike.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. “I’m nothing like you.”
Braxton’s first response was jabbing Tyler in the side with the two-by-four. A fresh wave of pain cascaded throughout Tyler’s body. More of him hurt than didn’t. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken such a beating. “You’re a lot more like me than you want to admit,” Braxton said. “How did playing mechanic work out? You know who you are. Hate me all you want, but you know who you are.”
“Go to hell, Leo.”
Braxton raised the plank again and brought it down on Tyler’s midsection three more times. Even breathing hurt at this point. “I probably will end up in hell,” Braxton said, “if it even exists.” He tossed the two-by-four down and took a gun from the back of his trousers. “But you’re going there first.”
41
Lexi made her way back down Dundalk Avenue. The light at Holabird turned red, but she ignored it and barreled through to make the right turn. Some guy in a tiny car honked his wimpy horn in protest. Lexi ignored him and kept driving. A minute later, she turned into the parking lot.
She cruised past the front of the building and saw no activity. It made sense. Most of the men hung out in the large receiving area. She turned the SUV around and drove it as fast as she could toward the rear of the structure. Tires squealed as she made the first right turn, so she slowed a little for the second.
Ahead, she saw two figures on the access road. One raised a wooden plank and bludgeoned the other with it. As Lexi drove closer, she realized the man on the ground was her dad. “You are not killing him, you piece of shit!” she said to the empty passenger spaces. She cut the headlights and kept going. Braxton stood over her dad, tossed the two-by-four down, and replaced it with a gun. Lexi stepped on the accelerator, and the electric motors responded. She had to get there on time.
She veered a little to the left as she approached. Braxton half-turned. Lexi cut the wheel to the right. He pivoted all the way around, and his eyes got as big as Frisbees before the Tesla’s smooth grill plowed into him. Lexi made sure to steer around her dad and hit the brakes. Braxton flew onto the windshield, cracking it in several places, then rolled off the hood, tumbled onto the asphalt, and lay still.
Lexi looked at the two fallen men. Her breaths came in rapid gulps. She’d just hit a man at high speed and sent him flying. Was he dead? She’d never thought of herself as a killer. Her father sat up, wincing the entire time. He kept his bloody left arm close to his body as he struggled to one knee. Lexi opened the door and sprinted the short distance to him. She hugged him harder than she’d ever hugged anyone before. “Oh, my god, Dad, are you all right?” Tears slid down her cheeks as her father gripped her tightly with his right arm.
“I thought I told you to leave,” he said. She pulled away. He smiled at her. “I’m glad you came back. Thanks. Help me up, will you?” Lexi held out a hand, stepping rearward to pull her father to his feet as he grimaced through the pain it caused. He looked around and hobbled over to a pistol.
“Is he dead?” Lexi said.
“If not, he’s about to be.” Her dad approached Lexi and gently put his left arm around her. He kissed her forehead. “Thanks a lot, Lexi, but you don’t need to see this.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. The edge in her voice surpris
ed even her. “That bastard kidnapped me, and now he almost beat you to death. I want to watch him die.”
After regarding her for several long seconds, her dad nodded. “Have it your way.” He walked to Braxton, and Lexi trailed behind him. “You alive down there, Leo?”
Braxton stirred and grunted. His right leg lay at an awkward angle, and he bled from many cuts and scrapes. Leaving him here was probably enough to kill him. If someone heard anything and called 9-1-1, however, the bastard might live, and Lexi didn’t want that.
“I’ll take it as a yes.” Her father pointed the gun at Braxton. “Goodbye, Leo. I probably will see you in hell, but you’re getting a head start.” Lexi covered her ears as eight shots thundered into the fallen Braxton before the slide locked. Blood poured from new wounds and pooled under the body. Lexi helped her dad limp to the SUV where he leaned against the hood.
“You need an ambulance,” she said.
He shook his head. “Too many questions.”
“You’ve been shot, and he beat you half to death. You need to go to the hospital.”
Her dad looked at her but didn’t say anything. His eyes took on a faraway look. When they glassed over, Lexi reached out and caught him before he slumped to the pavement. She sat him down against the front of the car, found his cell phone, and dialed 9-1-1.
Tyler heard the beeping before he woke up. His eyes opened. He lay in a hospital bed. Something pumped oxygen into his nose, and an IV bag stood at the right side of the railing. He checked his left wrist for handcuffs and found none. Score one for the good guys. Of course, the cast on his arm probably earned him a pass. Tyler’s eyes settled on the guest chair where Lexi sat. She smiled and leaned forward. “Hey, Dad.”
“You called the ambulance,” said Tyler.
“You didn’t give me much choice when you passed out.”
Tyler nodded. The movement of his head sent waves of nausea rippling up from his core. “I guess you’re right. How long have I been here?”