by J E Higgins
It was nearly six o’clock when Sauwa found herself standing outside an old apartment building. She leaned against the wall of the building directly across the street and innocently looked about. She was checking for anything that looked remotely out of place. With the police combing the city, it was a sure bet that someone like the man she was about to see would be a person of interest.
The streets were quiet with the exception of a few older folks who seemed local. There were none of the signs that indicated any surveillance was on the ground. As an added precaution, she walked up the sidewalk a short distance before crossing the street and doubled back until she was, again, facing the apartment building.
Armed with a cup of ice cream she had picked up at a shop around the corner, she pretended to be just another bohemian traveler visiting the different pockets of the city. It was an answer that readily explained her presence to the locals and made her easily forgotten. It also explained the strange act of her leaning up against the wall and staring up at the window sills of the apartments across the way. To any observer, they would assume she was just enjoying the historical architecture. In actuality, she was studying each room to look for signs that someone was watching the street ─ either the police or the local old battle axes with nothing better to do. Satisfied that no one seemed interested in the slightest, she finally entered the building.
It was a different location from where she had gone when she first met Mr. Larky a week and a half ago. The first location had been an office building on the other side of town. It had been professionally set up with photography equipment and other machines needed to make documents. The whole operation offered quality goods but could be taken down and, if necessary, destroyed in a matter of seconds.
The building she was in now was a sharp contrast to Larky’s previous location. This structure dated back to the nineteenth century, and looked like something out of a historical movie. On the lower floor, there was a creepy display of lights from the early age of electricity against dark wood paneling.
All Sauwa saw was the perfect location for an ambush, if this turned out to be a betrayal. The darkened shadows lined the hallway and nestling next to the stairwell would make it hard to see anyone hiding, even with the use of a torch. She aware that someone could shoot or stab her through the open slits of the stair railing as she ascended. She had learned through her training and personal experience that when working at night or in the dark, it was best to rely more on hearing, smell and touch than on sight. She closed her eyes as she listened for any alien sounds alerting her to someone lurking.
Proceeding down the hall, she kept her hand touching the handle of the weapon wedged between her bergen and her back. Creeping the short distance to the staircase, Sauwa could sense nothing out of place. She believed she was alone as she started up the staircase. Three flights of steps later she was on the third floor looking down another darkened hallway with only a few wall lamps providing minimal lighting. The old warped boards creaked loudly beneath her feet as she stepped forward.
Reaching the door marked Room 314, she knocked. The sound of someone thumping about on the other side was distinctive. Slipping to the other side of the hall, she grabbed her weapon. Concerned about the possibility of a trap, she wanted to give herself every advantage. Standing a distance from the door meant an attacker would have to race out the door and cross the hall to attack her. Bullets fired through the door would be less likely to hit her.
After what seemed like forever, the door cracked open to partially reveal the thick, rounded face of a man. It was Mr. Larky. He stood looking at her for a moment. With the darkness of the hallway and the number of clients he dealt with, it took him some time to recognize Sauwa. By his own behavior, she could only guess he was holding the same suspicions of her. Neither of them lived in a world where trust was a lavish commodity.
Seeing her arm tucked behind her, the old man could guess what she was holding. Flinging back the door, he stepped aside allowing her to have a full view of the room. She could see no viable place for someone to hide. As she prepared to cross the threshold, she looked through the crack of the door’s hinges and saw that no one was waiting behind the door. Much like the rest of the building, the place had poor lighting. She was thankful her night vision had returned on her way up the stairs. Reciprocating the courtesy, she lowered her hands to her sides as she prepared to enter.
Inside she turned to keep continuous sight of the man. A heavy-set figure, in his mid-sixties who seemed to have trouble moving about, Mr. Larky didn’t pose much of a threat. He shut the door and ushered her into the next room; it was set up as his office space. Again, as a precaution, he entered first with her close behind to ensure he would be protection from any aggressors.
Like the entryway, the office was empty except for a few Spartan pieces of furniture and just enough random items to give the place the appearance of being used. Like the office building, this place was another one of the man’s business fronts. If the police or someone more dangerous were onto him, he could walk out the door and disappear. Thinking about it, Sauwa realized the logic of the setup. It was an old neighborhood with a homogenous community of long-established families and older people. It would be hard for anyone to watch the place for long without attracting attention from suspicious and inquisitive locals creating an informal security warning system. His clients were prepared in one location where people coming in for long appointments would not be out of the ordinary. Then they were handed the finished products in this low-key place where someone popping in and out of an apartment could be delivering a package to anyone in the complex or visiting friends and relatives. Short trips could be explained, long-term visitors, not so much.
Mr. Larky waddled his way to an old couch that was sagging in the middle and promptly flopped into it. “Everything’s been paid for by your benefactor, so you don’t owe me anything,” he said as he slid the rest of the way over until he was able to access a weathered cabinet off to the side. Opening the small door, he struggled to bend over and reach inside. He sat upright, giving a deep moan as if he had just run a marathon. In his hands, he held a thick, yellow envelope. He extended his arm in her direction to hand it to her.
Retrieving it, she opened the envelope immediately. Inside was a collection of documents: a passport, driver’s license, birth certificate and other viable records all in the name of one Deidra Tory. Flipping through the passport, she saw her picture done up in what looked to be an authentic British passport.
“This should help get you into any country you have to go through,” Mr. Larky spoke up. “Included is another set of documents for Australia ─ the country you asked for ─ in the name of Carly Renford. These papers should allow you to escape into a new life when you finally get to where you want to settle.”
The Australian documents were every bit as professional and authentic looking as the British ones, though she had never actually seen Australian documents. “Thank you,” she replied in a quiet tone. She was about to burst into tears. The very idea that she was holding her new life and her freedom in her hands seemed like a dream she never thought would come true. “What about all the negatives and other materials you used to create these?” she reminded herself suddenly, her professional instincts activating.
Emitting another groan as he bent over, the old man reached into the cabinet and came back with another envelope; this one was much larger than the first one. “Everything is here.” He handed her the package. “When you leave here today, there will be no record of our ever having done business together.”
She took the larger envelope. Checking inside, she saw that Larky had been true to his word. Everything denoting Sauwa Catcher was stuffed into it. She resisted the urge to hug the grandfatherly figure as she maintained her stoic disposition. Folding the package, she tucked it into her bergen. She was about to throw it over her back when the phone rang.
Mr. Larky wrestled to stand up and shuffled a few feet to answer it. The cal
l lasted only a few seconds before he placed the phone back in its cradle.
“We have company,” he said. “I’m the only person on this floor. I have a guy just below who I pay to watch the stairway when I’m here and let me know when someone’s coming up. He just told me two men are walking up the stairs. You go and hide. I don’t want to have anyone catch you here.”
Sauwa took up her bag and hustled into the kitchen and heard a pounding at the door. Placing her bergen in one corner, she lowered herself to her knee in the shadow of the wall, peeking to see who was there. Mr. Larky waddled his way to the door and opened it. Two grimacing men ─ a large, brawny man, and a smaller, bullish man with red hair — pushed Larky back, forcing their way in.
“I’m Detective Galligan. This is Detective Curly of the Irish Garda,” the larger man said gruffly. Both produced their police credentials. “We need to speak to you, sir.”
Sauwa watched as Mr. Larky retreated into a nearby chair. She heard him flop down with his all too identifiable groan. “What can I do for you gentlemen? I don’t normally get calls from the police.”
“We need to ask you some questions, sir,” the red-haired detective said as he tucked his credentials back into his jacket pocket. “We understand that you are known to be somewhat of an associate of one Rudy Sheehan.”
“Rudy Sheehan?” Mr. Larky asked, confused. “I’m afraid I don’t know that name.”
“Really?” the bigger cop cut in. “You see, we have it on good authority he has had serious dealings with you. Serious enough he dropped everything while running a very high-end nightclub just to make his appointments with you.”
“I have no idea who you’re referring to,” Larky gushed. “Do I look like the sort of man nightclub owners come to visit?”
“Well, let’s ask this a different way,” the larger detective was curt. “We’re also looking for a woman ─ this woman.” Sauwa watched as he pulled a picture from his coat pocket and handed it to the older man. “She’s in her early twenties, sounds British but is South African by nationality, and goes by the name of Sauwa Catcher.”
Instantly, Sauwa’s eyes lit up. She had hoped this was an entirely unrelated issue. At the very least, if she were discovered, she could have played the role of an innocent girl looking to use the bathroom or visit an old man she knew. That these policemen were here looking for her and had a photograph of her, the peaceful option was no longer available. She wondered how long Larky was going to hold out. From the sounds of his incredulous response to the cops, it seemed he was not one for cooperation. However, their intelligence seemed thorough.
“You mind if I look around?” Galligan asked as he started to move into the adjoining office. Larky didn’t have a chance to respond before the cop was through the door. Galligan was casual, as he sauntered into the office.
Preparing for the possibility of battle, Sauwa slowly slipped her shoes off leaving her in stocking feet. She looked about and saw a cutlery holder on the counter a short distance away. The soft padding of her socks masked the sounds of her movements across the hard kitchen floor. Retrieving one of the longer cutting knives from the holder, she crossed the room quietly and climbed onto the counter located next to the doorway in order to give herself some height against her much larger opponent. The dismissive nature of the detectives made them oblivious to any slight creaking she made mounting the counter and took up a fighting position. As the apartment was very dark, she still enjoyed the concealment of the shadows. Her immediate hope would be that with his attitude, he would pass right by her.
“Hey, you’re starting to sweat some,” the red-haired detective remarked as he spoke to Mr. Larky. “You got something or someone around here you don’t want us to know about?”
“Ah, no,” Larky responded. His nervousness was becoming quite apparent. “By all means look away. I have nothing to hide.”
At that moment Sauwa could see Gallagan perk up and become more alert. She watched as he took a more tactical stance and drew his firearm from his holster. He began to move more cautiously.
Though they were police officers who carried guns, they were detectives and went for long periods without firing them. Normally, they were more focused on interrogating witnesses and writing reports. She guessed that most of their weapons usage amounted to shooting on controlled ranges at paper targets and cleaning the weapon afterward.
For Sauwa, it was easy to tell the man was out of his element as he moved around. His tactical movements were unwieldy and academic ─ not instinctive and natural that came with the experience of one who belonged to a military Special Forces unit or police tactical squad. That his partner opted to stay with Larky in the next room as opposed to joining in a search of the quarters further demonstrated their inexperience. Neither man even considered trying to find more lighting, further displaying their inexperience. Instead of keeping the weapon tightly to his chest or his hip, Galligan extended his arms well in front of his body.
The way the larger detective entered the darkened office showed he still was only partially concerned. Lowering herself as he neared her position, she clutched the kitchen knife and the sharp steel blade she had retrieved from her bergen. A few deep breaths had calmed her as she closed her eyes and concentrated on the creaking boards. She opened her eyes when she could hear him on the other side of the wall.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She watched as the weapon appeared around the corner, extended arms gradually following. With her weapon raised, she waited. Somehow she fought back the pounding of her heart as she took deep breaths. She saw the elbow as it crossed into view. With her arm raised enough for the needed momentum, she thrust the steel blade down with all the force she could muster driving it deep into the meaty, muscle and tendons of his elbow joint.
Even in the dark, she could see blood spurting profusely. She barely heard the man’s screams of pain and terror before she robotically grabbed the carving knife sitting next to her. Rotating the blade in her hand, she thrust the knife deeply into the soft tissue of the man’s jowl. It had all taken place so quickly, the detective barely had time to register what had just happened before he felt the sharp blade cut through his jowl line. Sauwa drove the blade through layer upon layer of tissue. She could feel it hit the hard bone as she made the kill.
Releasing her hand, she leapt catlike to the ground as she heard the gun drop. She lost her balance and fell when she tripped over the flopping leg of the detective thrashing about in his final death throws. She landed on her side with a painful thud, feeling a lancing pain in her shoulder. She could hear the shouting of the other detective, who realized what had just happened. He began delivering a litany of obscenities in her direction. She knew she had only a short time to act.
Detective Curly forgot everything in his astonishment. The shock of seeing his partner suddenly drop to the ground after howling wildly left him confused. His mind raced in all directions as he struggled to think. He had never drawn his weapon in such a circumstance. Frantically, he was trying to remember his weapons training. He fumbled for his sidearm and clumsily fought with the snap on his holster.
It took Sauwa a few seconds of muddling in the dark before she could feel the cold steel of the gun’s muzzle and then the warm rubber of the grip where the Galligan’s hands had been. She turned back over on her side just in time to see the other detective as he tried to process what had just happened and fumbled for his own gun.
Carefully, she gripped her weapon, her fingers feeling around for the trigger and the safety. As she was steadying herself, she heard the explosion of a shot echo in the hall. It was immediately followed by the intense velocity of a bullet whistling by. It passed near her, and she could hear it crash into the wall just above.
The detective had his gun out and had fired the first shot. She continued undeterred and aimed her weapon. He fired two more shots in rapid succession. As with the first shot, they were wild and well away from hitting her. She judged he was making the mistake co
mmon in the heat of battle. Though he was holding his weapon in the proper firing position, he had failed to line up his rear sight aperture sight with the front post and was foolishly looking solely beyond his front post causing his shots to go high.
Often a shooter firing under combat circumstances would expend half a magazine firing wildly before beginning to line up his weapon properly. Another two shots fired well above her head hit high on the wall and ceiling again. It was a safe guess that between the low light and his excitement, the detective had no idea where his shots were going.
With the weapon now firmly in her hands, Sauwa was back on her side to stabilize herself with more of her body weight. Her body’s endorphins kicked in as she felt the strain on her shoulder gradually subside. Having spent no time on this particular weapon, she was unfamiliar with how accurate it was. To compensate, she leveled the weapon toward the center of the chest cavity which gave her the widest target and margin for error. She found the V of the rear aperture first. From there, she guided the gun until the front side post lined up in front of the V. Calmly, she sighted in toward the center of the detective’s shadowed silhouette. She could see he was trying to take up a tactical posture based on his training. It was the common stance of moving one foot far behind the lead leg and stabilizing his arm. This was done both to create a steadier shooting position and to turn the body to limit the silhouette offered to the enemy shooting back.
The detective had tried to limit his silhouette but had not moved as far as he thought. His stomach and chest were still wide and visible to her. If she shot high it would hit his throat or head, low it would hit the stomach and abdomen. She was positioning the shot while trying to dodge the incessant kicks from the larger detective thrashing as he choked on his blood.