Indelible Ink (16 page)

42

“Please tell me you have an escape plan,” Harper said. She knelt behind a desk and looked to the door for the men that she knew were on their way.

While Stanley’s plan wasn’t nearly as thorough as he’d believed. He certainly had one thing in place. “I have a key card for the freight elevator. It’s locked down on this floor and waiting for us. We should be able to jump on and take it all the way to the bottom without stopping.”

“And then?” Harper

Stanley was confused. “We run out the door. Marsh doesn’t own the whole building. His men wouldn’t try anything in full view of everyone.”

“Wouldn’t they? You’ve worked for him for a while. You know better.”

Stanley knew his boss took serious efforts to make all of his businesses look legitimate and keep a buffering layer between the criminal aspects and himself. But that most likely went out the door when he kidnapped Harper and held her so close to his headquarters.

“We could take the elevator down.”

“To the parking garage? And where from there? If the gates are locked, nothing gets in or out,” Harper said.

“No vehicles. We could still leave through a side entrance.” Surely it would be easy to slip out in the crowds of innocent people that came in and out of the building daily. Harper didn’t look convinced. “How long will it take your sister to get here?”

Harper’s brows fell. “We can do this without her.”

“But it would be easier
with
her, right?”

Down the hall, a number of voices began mumbling at each other. More of Marsh’s men had come to investigate the sounds of gunfire.

“Deena is a couple of hours away. It sounded like she had her own problems.”

It was hard to tell from the side of the conversation he’d heard, but it sounded to Stanley like Deena had more than just ordinary problems. It sounded like she had the same kind of problems he and Harper were currently experiencing. “Can’t we find a place to hole up in this building for a couple of hours? It might be easier than running.”

“And what do we do when she arrives? They could kill her and then get back to finding us. It might only prolong the inevitable.”

“Or give us time to come up with a new plan.”

Harper went through all of the dead men’s clothing, looking for guns and ammunition. She made sure to hand Stanley a pistol. He figured she’d chosen it because it was the easiest to use and reload. Point and shoot. She filled up one of his coat pockets with extra bullets. He watched as she tucked a gun in her pants behind her back and loaded a second weapon. “Stay behind me and watch where the hell you’re shooting that thing. We’re going to head out to the hall, check to see who’s coming and then make our way to the elevator. Got it?”

They both looked down at the gun in Stanley’s hand. It shook as Stanley tried to come to grips with what was happening and what he might have to do. Harper looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe you shouldn’t be behind me after all.”

“I can do this.”

“You’ve worked for Marsh for how long, and now you’re getting squeamish about killing?”

Stanley tried to force his hand to stop, but it wasn’t working. “I do spreadsheets. I make appointments. I have nothing to do with killing people.”

“Don’t you?” Harper asked. They poked their heads into the hallway. Voices could be heard coming from the right.

“We can head left to get to the freight elevator,” Stanley whispered. Harper motioned him on and followed, watching their backs. They quickly arrived at the elevator without encountering anyone and stepped in.

Harper kept her gun ready as she backed into the elevator. They could still hear voices further down the hall, and Stanley imagined they’d be approaching the office. “See?” He smiled, satisfied that he’d managed to affect a daring rescue despite his obvious lack of action hero skills and training. “We’ll be fine from here.”

Harper didn’t look convinced.

Stanley pressed the button for the third floor. “He shouldn’t have any men on three. We can figure it out from there.” He leaned against the back of the elevator and crossed his arms. “There’s a couple of storage rooms we could hide in.”

The door didn’t close.

Both of them stared at the numbers above the door and then at the button that was lit up for three. Stanley laughed nervously and leaned up and pressed three again. When the doors didn’t close, he pressed the door close button numerous times.

The door still didn’t close.

“Shit,” Harper said.

The voices in the hall sounded closer.

“Don’t you have to push the key card all the way in for it to work?”

Stanley looked over at the buttons and knew she was right. He’d left it in the lock position, so the elevator wouldn’t take off until they were ready. He reached up and switched it, then pressed the third floor button again. The door slowly slid shut and the elevator began to move again.

“Sorry,” he said.

43

Deena knew the longer she was trapped, the better the chances were that reinforcements could show up to help the thugs and make things much worse for her. She crouched, tried to stay as still as possible, afraid the noise would give her movements away. There were large chunks of the mirror littered across the tile and Deena took one in her hand. She slowly leaned forward, jutting the shard into the hall, using its reflection to see where the men were. Both of them had stuck their heads out to see her as well. They opened fire on her and she ducked back into the room. At least she had managed to find out the men were in the living room on opposite sides of the hall entrance and neither of them were far away. It wasn’t a happy thought.

She started to move forward again and her foot accidentally nudged something on the floor. The shotgun. She looked at it for a moment before deciding on her course of action. If they weren’t going to come to her willingly, maybe she could push them along.

She placed the pistol on what was left of the sink and quietly checked the shotgun’s ammo situation: six shells. Plenty. She stepped away from the wall and pointed the gun near the corner of the room. She tried to gauge exactly where the assailant was on the other side of that wall. She turned her head a little to try to avoid any shrapnel and pulled the trigger.

The blast was loud in the small room and Deena’s ears started ringing immediately. Plaster, drywall and other scraps pelted her from the impact. A light layer of dust flew up and when it cleared, she saw that while the shot hadn’t penetrated the wall, it had torn away almost everything on her side.

She racked the slide and tried again.

The results were better this time. When the dust and debris faded, she could see light streaming through the wall from the other side. One of the men let out a scream and she saw his shadow move past the light, followed by footfalls leading toward the front door.

She racked the slide again. She felt like she was trembling, but when she looked down the gun was steady. Her right hand was black; the dark tattoo-like blemish had spread out during the action. What appeared to be sharp ridges had formed on her knuckles and she hadn’t felt a thing. She whispered the opening of a calming mantra she’d developed from a stupid exercise show she liked to make fun of when she didn’t feel like getting off the couch. The floor creaked as one of her attackers approached in the hall.

Her assailant’s shadow across the floor clued her to his exact movements and she waited for him to show himself so she could fire and have it done with. His shadow lingered and she gave him credit for not running headlong into a room with a girl holding a shotgun. As she finished mouthing her words, she heard his breathing. He hadn’t been running, or lifting or anything else that required exertion but he was breathing heavily. He was scared. The man had seen what had happened to his friends, and he didn’t want the same thing to happen to him. There were coins being tossed inside his head to decide if running was the better idea. After a few beats, Deena heard him move closer. It seemed his better judgment was on the losing end of the toss. Stupid.

She was staring at the open door, waiting for the right second, but unable to stop looking back at the man lying dead in a pool of blood in the hall. She yelled out to the man that was still alive. “Are you looking at the same thing I am? Are you looking at your buddy out there bleeding on the carpet, all full of holes?” She paused and listened to his ragged breathing a little more. “Are you thinking, ‘That’s not going to happen to me?’ or are you wondering if you can run out the front door and still save face?”

It was quiet enough that Deena could hear the man lick his dry lips.

“Your other friend didn’t seem to have any trouble running off,” she said. The words caused her to involuntarily look back at the hole in the wall where she’d clipped the other man. She could see a form block the light there and a pistol appear near the hole. The runner had returned.

Deena started moving just as the pistol let out a roar that chipped the tile behind her. She dropped the shotgun as she charged the doorway, watching the shadow in the hall start moving again. The man appeared with his own handgun ready to point into the room, but she managed to grab it before he could get a shot off on her. They struggled and it was quickly evident to her that the man was taller and much stronger.

She used what skills she had to duck under the man’s arms and punch him as hard as she could. He howled in pain and she punched again. Her hand felt wet and she was suddenly aware the other man was there too, his arms reaching out for her. She was thrilled that the first goon wasn’t impeding her at all as she swung at the new target. She didn’t look at this one’s face, or stop to size him up, she just kept going.

After half a minute, Deena couldn’t be sure if the men were even swinging back at her. The rest was a flurry of her own fists wildly flailing. She stepped back, and the men slumped against the wall and fell to the floor.

She looked at the three men lying motionless on the floor. The two she’d just fought were covered in scratches and gouges, all bleeding. She looked at her fists and found the ridges that had formed had risen even more, like seashells, jagged and sharp. They were dark with blood and the ink beneath them. She could feel her hands returning to normal slowly. They pulsed with retreating energy.

As she got hold of herself and calmed down, she noticed a small pile of debris in the middle of the men. She leaned closer and discovered it was her cell phone. It must have fallen from her pocket in the fight and gotten trampled or shot in the melee. So much for calling Harper back.

In the silence, she listened for the telltale sounds of anyone else coming for her. A silvery glint caught her eye. One of the shotgun blasts had blasted away part of the wall behind the shower. Deena tried to look into the hole to find the source of the light, but couldn’t make anything out. She grabbed the crumpled tile and plaster and pulled, making the hole larger. She tore away enough to stick her head through and see a staircase leading downward.

In all the years she’d lived there, she hadn’t known about a basement to their home. She looked up and guessed that the entrance had to be somewhere behind the living room closet. Deena broke more of the wall away, tucked a gun into her waistband and climbed over the debris to step down onto the wooden steps.

There was light coming from a bare bulb hanging above her.

44

The treehouse was safer than Morgan had expected and made a great vantage point from which to watch all of the proceedings at the house. He could have joined in and helped Marsh’s men as they stormed the house to get the girl, but he figured that would have just gotten him killed like the others. They entered the home like it was just an average criminal proceeding. They had no idea what they were opening themselves up to. Each did things their own way, rather than working as a team. That’s what got them killed. It was a small house. They could have easily covered every side and waited for more of Marsh’s men to come and make it a slam-dunk.

But no. They made pigs of themselves in order to have the bragging rights. The One Who Brought Down The Witch.

So Morgan stayed out of it. He set up his rifle and focused the scope wide, to take in the whole house. He couldn’t see the back from the treehouse, but anyone leaving would have to run for a few seconds in the open and he could nail them then.

“You just going to let those guys have all the fun? All the glory?” Brandt asked. “You’re sitting up here with your fucking thumb up your ass. It doesn’t look good. You look like a pussy.”

“This is what I do. You know that. I prefer the long distance call. Let those guys get their hands dirty and their faces bloody,” Morgan said. “If they are lucky and grab the girl? I’ll just pop them in the head and take her for myself.” Morgan felt pretty pleased with himself until he realized who he was talking to. “Now, who’s the pussy?”

“Look, you can rationalize it all you want. You’re still afraid to do anything yourself. Can’t handle a little physical contact. Never could.”

Morgan’s college girlfriend pulled her way up the crude ladder. “You can say that again. He had trouble with all kinds of physical contact back in school. Technically, I guess I had trouble getting any contact in school, if you want to be honest.”

Morgan rolled back over his stomach and repositioned himself and his rifle. He peered through the scope and refocused it on the door, then pulled out so he could see the whole house. Once he had both framed the way he wanted them, he focused back in and then out, getting used to going from one extreme to the other quickly. He settled on the wide view where he could see everything. He wanted to be ready just in case the girl and her friends tried to sneak out the back or if there was a car parked that he couldn’t see.

“What if they go out the back and head through the weeds into the low trees? You’ll never see them. You’ll be sitting here all Goddamn night and never know they’ve gone,” Brandt said. “There has to be a better spot. Hell, go lay in the tall grass. Better than this shit.”

The smell of the trees and the swaying grass filled Morgan’s head. He did city jobs. He liked city jobs. Concrete. Exhaust fumes. City smells.

“Aww. Is Morgan getting homesick?” Mr. Hector sounded genuinely concerned. “Maybe we should just go home. You can take a nice hot shower and crawl into bed. It’ll all be better in the morning.”

Morgan took a deep breath and focused on the scope in front of him. He stayed as silent as he could and strained, but he could faintly hear the traffic from the highway as it zipped by on its way to anywhere that wasn’t here.

“He probably could use a nap, the pansy,” Brandt said. “You gonna fall asleep waiting for any action to come your way clear out here? You’re going to be waiting a good Goddamn long time, I can tell you that.”

Mr. Hector walked up to the barrel of the gun and leaned on it. “Is that what you need? A little rest?”

“Fuck off.” Morgan listened for the traffic and it pulled him back into the now and grounded him in what he had to do.