Closing the circle, p.19
Closing the Circle, page 19
part #1 of Ania Series
Jan shook his head. “He wants her.”
“I’ll pay you double. Triple.”
Jan stared back at him, stoic.
Ania reached out and touched Hightower’s shoulder. “I’ll go with them,” she said. “It’s the only way.”
“No,” he said weakly. His hands dropped to his side.
“It’s the only way,” Ania repeated.
We all stood quietly for a moment. I glanced over at Wendy, who sat in her chair, sobbing silently. Then Jan said, “All right. Let’s go, then.”
Ania took a step, then stopped. “Your house and car keys,” she said to Hightower. “I should return them.” She reached for her purse, sliding her hand inside.
To my left, the door burst open.
Hell and fire broke loose.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Andros
I approach the front door quickly, crouched down slightly with gun ready. I try to look through two small windows on each side, but the blinds are all shut, and there is a Closed sign on the window pane of the door. A precaution by Jan, I’m sure. While I was gone.
Still, though.
I put my ear to the door and hear muffled voices, but I can’t make out who or what is being said. I quietly check my clip and safety.
Something is not right.
I put my left hand on the doorknob, turn and shove it open, all in one big rush. My gun is straight out in front of me, and I come in low.
Sometimes, these kinds of situations can happen very fast. Double, even triple time. But most of the time for me anyway, they go in slow motion. I also, almost always, seem to lose a good part of my hearing. As if I’m in a vacuum. It’s very unusual, but I believe it’s a gift, that it helps me. There is no distraction. I simply kill before I’m killed.
This time, it is no different. Every sound is almost completely muffled out, and everything moves slowly.
A man is on my right, but I don’t turn to him because he is not the danger. I don’t know how I know this—I just do. He is standing fifteen feet away and crouches down instinctively with the surprise of my entry.
Maybe twenty feet away and almost straight ahead of me in a small grouping are Jan, an older man who must be Hightower, and the little suka herself, Ania Kozak. The woman, Wendy, is rising up with some effort from her chair.
They all look at me in shock, mouths open in surprise. All except Ania, who looks over at me with no expression at all.
Ania continues what she was doing, pulling a gun out of her purse, smooth and deliberate. I stop, take aim and fire, but she takes a step backwards at just that instant and she fires as well. But not at me.
Jan is knocked backward and slides down a wall of shelved wine bottles that cascade down around his crumpled form. He’s looking at the bitch and tries to raise his gun, but his arm drops. He turns his look to me. He’s alive, but confusion and disappointment are stitched on his face. I know him, and he feels that he let me down.
I shoot again, but it is wild and mainly meant to buy myself time. I dive to my left, away from the man I don’t know and toward a large leather couch. Ania Kozak swings around fast but in control and fires at me twice. One shot tugs at the shoulder of my sport jacket as it passes by.
Behind the couch now, I look at the man on my right who is kneeling behind a large barrel. He’s looking straight at me. He’s shouting something I don’t hear. I see a piece of the wood barrel splinter off in front of his face as Ania sends a shot his way, too.
I peek around and see her still standing there. She’s looking at Hightower, who’s holding his hands out, palms up, outstretched to Ania. Pleading something. He’s crying, screaming something to her. The bitch turns her gun on him now. Her eyes are dead and hold no emotion. The eyes of a shark.
I know what will be, before it happens. Wendy lurches between them and Ania fires twice, in quick succession. The woman is pushed back into Hightower by the shots, and he loses his balance, still holding Wendy. They both fall to the floor.
Ania glides the gun over smoothly and centers her aim squarely on my eyes. I fire twice anyway and duck back as a big corner edge of the sofa disintegrates where my head had been. Stuffing and pieces of wood are everywhere.
Scrambling to the other end of the couch, I decide to bull rush to the far end of the counter to flank her. I will be exposed, but I also know pistol fire. Even at close range, it can be difficult and very inaccurate in a live, running gun battle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the mystery man rise and fire in Ania’s direction. I don’t know or care who he is, but he has not fired at me yet. He will die too—he has to—just not yet. He’s useful at this point.
I dart a look around the other end of the sofa and then pull back. Ania is shooting in the direction of this other man. I see her gun buck.
At that moment, I’m caught off guard.
Something very strange has just happened. Motion has speeded back up again, and the sharp cracking gun noise fills my head. I hear Ania screaming as she fires. It’s a primal scream, not fearful in the least.
I’m not sure if this change in sound and speed is good, but it has no bearing on what must be done.
I rise and run for the far end of the counter. As I go, the store explodes in gunfire again. I fire three or four shots in her direction, just to cover myself. Then two more rounds. I shoulder over a display of accessories and find the end of the counter.
A late bullet thumps into the wall about a foot behind me as I find cover. I edge a look down the length of the counter and see her pop around and out of the backroom door. Another crack and another thump in the wall behind me, higher up this time.
My ears are ringing but other than that, there is a stillness in the room.
Seconds tick by.
Still nothing, and I think that she might be running.
Then she angrily yells something, and another two cracks come from the backroom, breaking the momentary quiet, but these two shots are in the direction of the other man.
I decide now is the time. I rise again and take aim at the corner of the backroom door. I give a quick glance over to the other man, and now he has a gun trained on the door too. He just stares at me.
“Back off. She’s right there. I’ve got a better angle.” His voice is calm, professional even, but I hear something else too. I think he’s trying to protect her for some reason. Yes, he will definitely need to die, too.
My attention swings back to the doorway. I walk steady but cover the distance with purpose, straight down the line of the front counter. I’m ready for her.
I hear Jan grunt something. He’s still on the floor, propped up against the wall in a large pool of blood and wine. His knee raises up and then drops.
“An…Andros…”
I put a finger to my lips.
As I reach the side of the open doorway, and my finger is already starting to press the trigger, something gets knocked over back there in the dark.
I dart a look around the corner, and there’s just a flash of her shoulder going around a supply rack. I fire twice more, and I might have hit her because I hear a yelp. I follow carefully.
The entire backroom is then illuminated with a bloom of sunlight, and there she is, framed in the bright doorway, frozen by the moment. On a platter. I squeeze off the easy shot, and the metallic empty click of my gun is loud. Her gun fires, and the bullet pings off a supply rack. I hear it whine and whiz over my head. She disappears out the door.
I get up and run after her while reaching for the inside breast pocket of my sport coat. I feel the second clip, and as I shoulder the back door open, I’m slapping it into the butt of the gun.
The clip catches at an angle and jams as I’m running down the four steps of the back porch. I can’t dislodge the clip. I see her up ahead. She’s very quick on her feet and at the door of her Miata already.
I pull hard on the jammed clip. When it comes free, I lose it for a second in the air, then manage to grab it, but I drop it again and it skids about five feet away on the paved parking lot.
I hear the Miata start up, and it’s like a replay of earlier this morning. Except that it’s not going to happen again. Two quick steps, and I kneel to get the clip. This time, I pick it up and clack it into place all in one smooth motion.
I have time, and she is done. I pivot on one knee. I bring the gun up with both hands in the direction of her car.
The roar of the engine is loud and sudden though, and the car is on top of me, far quicker than I expected.
All I see is a grill and two headlights. Two rushed shots and then a frantic dive sideways is all I can do. I’m spun around violently in mid-air. The red side of the car shoots past, inches from my face, and my entire left leg is in immediate, mind-numbing pain. Blue flame, searing hot.
I raise my head through the fog of bone-deep agony and see her car fishtail around the corner of the building. Then I see nothing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
John
When the large Polack named Andrew barreled out the back door after Ania Kozak, I lowered my pistol to the low ready position. I scanned the room for threats but saw only the dead and the dying.
I made my way over to where Jan lay propped against the shattered wine bottles. The fruity odor of spilled wine mixed with cordite and blood hung in the air.
Jan stared up at me with a fixed gaze. A red bubble of mucus sprouted from his mouth. His chest was still.
I turned to the tumble of bodies that was Hightower and Wendy Cunningham. Hightower’s eyes were frozen in panic, but where Jan’s had been fixed and fading, Hightower’s gaze found me, and he let out a whimper.
“He-elp,” he murmured.
I reached out with my left hand and pulled Wendy toward me. I thought she was dead, too, but she yelped and jerked in pain when I moved her.
“Come here,” I growled at Hightower, holstering my gun and tearing at Wendy’s blouse.
Hightower stared at me.
As soon as I had her blouse off, I could see the holes in her abdomen. Dark blood gurgled out with each shallow breath. I slapped my hands down onto her wounds and pressed hard.
Wendy let out a cry, but it sounded too weak to me. I didn’t know if she was going to make it.
“Get over here!” I snapped at Hightower.
He scrambled to his knees and crawled toward me in a rush. I grabbed his hands and pushed them onto her stomach.
“Push here,” I told him. “Hard. And don’t stop.”
He nodded, licking his lips. His eyes held a feverish tint.
I rolled her onto her side and searched her back for the exit wounds. There were none.
“The bullets are still in her body,” I said. “Remember that. When medics come, you need to tell them that there are no exit wounds.”
“Okay,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and said with more clarity, “I understand.”
I checked her pulse. It was weak, but steady.
“We have to call for medics. Where’s the phone?”
He motioned with his head toward the wine bar. I glanced up and saw the phone hanging from the wall, the receiver dangling from its cord.
Then the hulking frame of Andrew reappeared in the door, his gun at his side.
TWENTY-NINE
Andros
My vision comes back almost as quickly as it had gone dark. All I can think of is that I must have come close to passing out.
My leg is still unbearable, and I pound the ground with my fist, yelling angrily at Ania’s red car that is now gone. I’m hissing through my teeth to not scream from the pain, but I have to go, have to move. I yell out again, trying to use my anger to push myself.
Propping myself up on one shaky arm, I start dragging myself toward the wall of the building. The blacktop is hot already, and I leave a small trail of blood from my pant leg.
Leaning heavily against the wall to come to a standing position, I get dizzy and almost fall over. There is blood dripping down into my right eye and off my chin as well. My forehead feels like it has been cut. I must have hit my head on the pavement when I dove out of the way.
She’s gone again, but I swear I will make the little bitch pay. I will catch her. She will pay.
Coming through the backroom now, I lose my grip and drop my gun. Weaving backwards, my balance is not good. A supply rack stops me from going over. Reaching down slowly to pick up the gun, a fresh lightning bolt of exquisite pain runs the entire length of my left leg.
I close my eyes and stand still for a moment as the red-hot wave passes over me. After a moment, I move to the door leading out into the main room. The smell of gunfire still hangs in the air, but it’s quiet.
In front of me, kneeling, is the stranger. My vision blurs, and he becomes two. I raise my gun, but I don’t shoot him, and I don’t know why. It makes me frown. Does not matter. I have to get Jan, and we have to go after her.
Along with my vision, my thoughts are scrambled, too, but I do know we have to get after her. Now.
“Do not move for your gun,” I rasp.
The man’s gun is on the floor beside the woman, Wendy. He looks at it and then me. His hands are covered in blood. “This woman is dying, and your partner is already dead, I think. I tried to help him, too. I need to call nine-one-one.”
“No. You need to slide that gun over to me with your foot.”
“Hightower and Wendy here are no threat to you.” His voice is tight, but calm. “And I intend to help them. We won’t try to stop you.”
“Slide it over. Do this now.”
He pauses but then does as I instructed.
“I’ve got no skin in this game, your part of this anyway. I don’t care, and after what happened here…” He waves his hand across the room. “I hope you fucking get her. Hope you put her down. I’m not the law.”
Hightower is speechless and shaking, holding his hands over the woman’s wound. Wendy is not moving, but I do see her chest catch and then rise.
I bend over to pick up his gun, and again, I become very wobbly. I see the man tense and rise, but only slightly. I have no choice but to recover quickly. Pointing my gun at him with a false look of control, I’m steady now.
“Don’t.” My breath catches with more pain, but I have the trigger halfway pulled. He knows it.
“You’re in no shape to go after her, you know. Your foot is sideways, and your entire leg is probably jacked too.”
“You will stop talking now, or I will kill you.” My thoughts are only on Ania. It’s all I can think of. I thumb the safety of his gun and stick it in under my belt.
“Car keys. Both of you. And Hightower, you get the woman’s keys from her purse.”
The man reaches in his pocket slow and careful, his eyes locked on mine.
“Toss to me nicely.” And he does.
Hightower looks in shock. His eyes float from me to Wendy and then drift to the other man.
“Hightower! I tell you. Do this now!”
Hightower raises himself up and goes to Wendy’s purse on the counter.
I swing my gaze back over to the man kneeling on the floor. My eyes focus and then blur.
“You say my man is dead?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
I limp over toward Jan. As I pass, Hightower hands me his car keys and the keys from the purse.
Jan’s eyes are glazed and empty. A large chest wound that probably hit his heart. There is no doubt. Jan is gone. He was a good man. Loyal, strong, and smart. I reach down, very shaky, and grit my teeth with the effort. His billfold and cell phone can’t be left behind. When I rise back up, my head swims.
“Can I make that call? She’s going to—” the man’s voice from behind infuriates me.
“YOU!” I yell at him and turn sideways with great pain. “YOU will say no more about this woman while my man lies dead.”
Even in my anger, and I have no idea why, I am not going to kill these two men. The woman will surely die though, she has no chance. I would have killed her…but she is as good as dead already.
Maybe because the man helped me before, maybe because Hightower didn’t do anything wrong except trust the little wench. My thoughts are not clear, all jumbled up, but I know I must go after Ania.
“You. What is your name?”
“Pearse, John Pearse. I—”
“Where did she go, Pearse? Where would she have headed?” I aim the gun at his head from about ten feet away. “It is true, I am hurt badly, but I am an excellent shot even now.”
There is a loud crash to my right as Hightower tumbles into a high chrome chair and table. He flops across the chair and falls to the floor. He lies motionless. My gun goes back to Pearse.
“Fainted. Finally.” Pearse looks back over to me calmly and then adds, “Best Western. Just go north on Route 12 heading out of town. It’s just off Route 12 on Madrone Road. You can see the sign from 12.”
I look down and press my chin into my chest as another wave of pain hits me. I see a small amount of blood has pooled where I’m standing.
“Do you know the way?”
“Yes, yes, I know Route 12.”
The room is silent except for the soft gurgle of labored breathing coming from the woman.
“What’s your name, anyway? Your partner called you Andrew. Andrew what? I told you mine.”
“You don’t need that information.”
He shrugs. “She was using room 317. Can you even drive?”
“I can. My right leg is good.”
“I know…but Jesus, why the hell is she so important?”
“She? She? The little bitch is of no importance to me. It is my promise to someone, someone that is now gone, but it is still a promise, and that’s what is important.”
He nods at me. “I understand.” A pause, then, “Shoot me for asking, but I got to. Let me call for her.” Pearse looks at me with no fear and hooks his thumb to Wendy.
I like him—he has guts. He is a man, not a mouse. We seem to be of the same make-up.
