Nothing Short of Dying (23 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

A
s I stood shivering next to the road, water and oil and grease dripping off my sodden clothes, I formed a semblance of a plan. I pulled a phone from my coat and called Alvis.

The call connected, but he didn't answer right away. Just panted into the phone. I hoped the hard, ragged breathing was from packing.

“I've changed my mind,” I said.

“So nice to hear your voice, Barr,” Alvis said, his voice communicating the opposite. “What have you changed your mind about?”

“About that idea you had of dropping my sister off. I'm too tired to come get her. How about Stocker Stadium? The park just south of there? I'll be there at noon. Drop her off on North Avenue, have her walk to the park. I'll pick her up and you can keep running your business in peace.”

There was a pause while he tried to figure out how dumb I was. “That sounds feasible. Noon it is.” He hung up.

I got back on the bike, having no intention of being at Stocker. But if Alvis played it safe, I'd have less to worry about when I got to his place.

The road that led to Alvis's house ran straight south along
the edge of the golf course, then curved past ponds ringed with Russian olives and tamarisk. These ponds were once gravel pits used to build the interstate, but this close to the river the developers simply let them fill with water and then built fancy houses around them.

One of which would be Alvis's. The address I had put his place at the end of 19 Road, just north of the Colorado River. Made sense. It would be secluded, with road and river access. Twenty bucks said that Alvis would have a boat tied somewhere on the water. He'd also have guards and maybe a few layers of security surrounding the house.

I stopped the bike at a pond and parked it under a low-hanging olive, getting ripped by three-inch thorns in the process. As cold as I was, I didn't feel any pain. Then I pulled the pistol, left the road, and hiked into the jungle of olives, fallen limbs, and tangles of vines that ran between the river and the road.

I ended up crawling most of the way. Following the animal trails, which were more like tunnels, I had to duck and wallow underneath the large lower branches. Mosquitoes congregated and drilled my exposed skin. The black greasy mud covered me from head to toe. I smelled of rotten vegetation and motor oil.

Five minutes of slopping later, I arrived in a small opening close enough to watch the house at the end of the road. The opening was dense enough to hide me from anyone looking out of the building, but I was far enough back that I couldn't hear any sounds from the house.

The crawling had warmed me up, and I'd stopped shivering. The rain had gotten worse, however, filling the air with a roiling wetness that made it hard to make out what was going on in front of the colossal three-story adobe. Two black
SUVs were parked next to the Land Rover, and through the misty air I watched five men walk from the house and climb into the SUVs. They drove off in a hurry.

As I was about to stand and try to circle the house, my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out and pushed OK.

“Stocker Stadium will not work for me,” Alvis said, calmer this time, his voice steady. “We'll have to change the location. And time. Two o'clock at the Botanical Gardens.”

I delayed answering to make him think I was calculating how to make my play at the Botanical Gardens. “Okay,” I said grudgingly. “I just want my sister back.”

“And you shall. She'll be waiting for you in the lot.”

He had no intention of bringing Jen there. Just like I had no intention of going to Stocker. He was a smart guy, and he figured I wasn't. Alvis's thinking went like this:
Barr wants a meet at noon. He picks the place and gets there early to ambush. So I'
ll call back, change the time and location, and have my guys already on the way when I call. That way, no matter how early Barr is, I'll take him down.

Nice try. He had no way of knowing where I was. And it meant that most of his goons would be at the Gardens, waiting a long, long time for a man who'd never show.

“Wait,” I said.

“Yes?”

“Let me talk to Jen. I need to make sure she's still alive if I'm going to meet your men.”

A pause, and then some shouting in the background. Finally Alvis's voice came back on the line. “Here,” he barked. There was another pause, and then I heard Jen's trembling voice. “Clyde?”

“Are you okay?”

“Better. Still fuzzy, but better. Where are you?”

“Coming. I need you to be strong, Jen. Starting right
now
. I need you to do what we did every time someone hurt us in our old house. Right now,
okay?”

She breathed into the phone, confused at first, then said, “Yes. Please hurry. We're leaving and after—”

There was the sound of a slap, and Alvis got back on the phone. “Two o'clock, Mr. Barr.” For a moment I heard the sounds of scraping and struggling. Then Alvis hung up.

I wasn't sure if Jen had caught my meaning or even had the ability to do what I asked. I wasn't sure under what conditions she was being held. But I thought back to all those terrifying nights when she would use her dresser to block the door, and decided it was worth the try.

How many of Alvis's men were still in the house? I figured at least one, prayed there were no more. Resigned to just trying my best and hoping luck was on my side, I checked the pistol, made sure a round was in the chamber, then stood and worked my way closer to the house.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

A
s the heavens unloaded more cold rain, I crawled and crouched my way through the jungle, circling around the house. Although it was hard to be completely certain due to the rain, I was reasonably sure there was only one guard patrolling the grounds. And when his route took him to the back of the house, I made my move to the front. I ran across the clearing, boots squishing in the grass, and ducked behind the engine of the Land Rover. No shots fired.

I eased to the driver's door, found it unlocked, and opened it. Then I popped the hood. I went back around, staying low, and pulled up the hood another foot. Though I don't know much about fixing cars, I've disabled a few, and it didn't take more than a minute to pop off the spark plug wires and rip the fuses and relays from the fuse box.

After I closed the hood, I went back to the door and crawled inside. I checked for a rifle, weapons, anything I could use once I went inside to find Alvis. The vehicle was clean. No weapons.

I got out, eased the door closed, and listened. No shots. Nothing but the steady splattering of rain. When my lungs had stopped heaving, I pushed away from the Rover and
took off for the house. Water streamed off my hat and beard as I ran to the side of the building. There, I slowed to a walk and cautiously went toward the back, where the guard was currently patrolling.

Before I got around the last corner, the raindrops turned twice as fat, and lightning flashed in the east. The first giant thunderclap boomed as I eased around the corner and scanned for the guard. He had his back to me, fifty feet away, searching the nooks and crannies between the trees. Likely he was noticing last night's deer beds, and maybe, if he was good, the tracks I'd made as I circled the house.

A bright blue bolt of light arced from the clouds and hit the top of a ridge just about a mile away.

Which was the break I was looking for.

I raised the pistol, braced my arms against the corner of the house, and counted to five. When I hit five, I squeezed the trigger. The thunder cracked at the same time my pistol bucked, masking the sound, and the guard fell to the ground.

I wanted to run over and take the man's rifle, ammo, and vest, but just then I heard what sounded like a scream from inside the house. Jen might have just decided to do what I'd asked her to. On an impulse, I moved toward the back door. Finding it unlocked, I slipped inside.

The house was bigger than Deb's but similar. The ground level looked to be all great room, offices, kitchen, and dining room. Sparse but expensive decorations broadcasted the owner's wealth. A large statue of Mars stood guard by the door, across from a larger statue of Apollo by the stairs.

The stairs would lead to the bedrooms, where Jen would be if she'd done what I'd asked.

After a second of listening for another soldier roaming
the building, and hearing nothing, I mounted the stairs two at a time, my pistol held low and ready. Halfway up the wide stairs, I heard the pounding, then Alvis yelling, “Open the goddamned door, bitch!”

I topped the stairs and swung around the corner, into a long, wide hallway. Alvis was halfway down the hall, trying to kick in one of the doors. He must have seen me out of his peripheral, because he spun immediately to face me.

I didn't get a chance to pull the trigger, because two things happened at the same time. A pistol appeared in Alvis's hand as if by magic. He was good, and he was fast. Also, plaster flew off the wall next to me. Someone had fired shots from below.

I fired once at Alvis and missed, and he went prone and fired a quick double tap my way that also went wide.

Then I was moving. Down the steps, firing twice at the soldier by the Mars statue. He took cover behind the god, and I vaulted over the rail, falling for a second before crashing into the hardwood near the center of the great room. My injured leg gave out. I crumpled and rolled, reacquiring the soldier with my front sight.

The jump had hurt, but it had put the stairs in between me and the soldier. When I rolled, I became visible to him again, and he shot, but too high. I fired twice, hitting him in the upper leg, and he went down screaming. Blood from his femoral spurted onto the floor, and a few seconds later he passed out.

I crawled across the floor, aiming to take the man's rifle, and was almost there when Alvis started shooting from the railing. Wood chips flew, and I rolled away from his line of sight toward the kitchen.

The shooting stopped and the pounding started again, fol
lowed quickly by a scream and Jen yelling my name. Before I could get to my feet, Alvis had managed to drag Jen down the stairs and position her in front of me. His pistol was pressed hard against her temple.

“Drop the gun, Barr,” he said. “Drop it or I kill her.”

I saw Jen's frightened eyes. But I'd already entered that place I went to at moments like this. Instinct took over and I laughed.

At first Alvis didn't know what to make of me. Jen also looked confused. Alvis glared at my pathetic body sprawled on the floor and seemed to take satisfaction in seeing me clutch my injured leg as I limply held a pistol in the other hand. “Why the hell are you laughing, Barr?”

I smiled. “Because you're
not
going to kill her. You need her for that big score you're counting on. Today is D-day, right?”

While Alvis's mind worked to process how much I knew, Jen used that moment to stomp on his insole. “Fucking bitch,” he said, pulling his arm back to pistol whip her. That's when I decided to take a chance. Though my arm was shaking with pain and exhaustion I sighted along the end of my pistol's barrel and pulled the trigger.

I missed.

Or rather, I missed the head I was aiming at, and hit the arm holding the gun. At the elbow. My first love, Lady Luck, hadn't forsaken me.

Alvis grunted, dropped the pistol, and tried to pull Jen to the door with one arm. It didn't work. I was on my feet limp-running toward Alvis when Jen jabbed a hand in his face. She curled her fingers, got one in an eye, and scratched her nails down to his chin.

Alvis grunted again, pushed her away, saw me coming, and took off for the front door. He threw it open and ran to the
Rover. I lurched toward the door, tripped over a sofa, then got up and followed him out.

Alvis was sitting in the Rover, pounding on the steering wheel. In his side mirror he saw the reflection of me coming and jumped out. He ran south, toward the river, cradling his bleeding right arm.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I
followed, heading down the trail toward the river as the thunder boomed nearby. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. For now. I limped as fast as I could and paid close attention to the ground.

Alvis's arm was destroyed, and my leg was close to the same, so he covered ground almost twice as fast. But he left tracks. Blood spots and footprints. I followed them across the clearing, onto a path through the trees that would lead to the river.

The blood spots were bright red, meaning highly oxygenated blood from an artery. And they appeared more and more frequently as we got closer to the water. That told me he was slowly bleeding out and wouldn't make it to the boat that was surely tethered somewhere on the bank.

The truth was, I had no idea what I'd do if Alvis took off down the river or if he had a cache of weapons on the boat. I tried devising some alternative plans, limping as fast as I could down the trail. Soon it occurred to me that he was doing what every seriously wounded animal does. They head downhill, or toward water. They also become erratic, and when I thought of that it brought me back to the trail I was following.

There was blood on
both
sides of the trail. Before, the
red stains had only been on the right side, because they'd fallen from Alvis's injured right arm. I stopped abruptly and listened. Not hearing anything over the splattering of rain and the occasional thunderclap, I pulled the magazine from the pistol and checked the remaining rounds. The magazine was empty.

So I had one round left. And sometime, while I was deep in thought, Alvis had doubled back. He was somewhere to the side of the trail, either circling wide to the river or lying in wait. It depended on whether he considered himself prey or predator.

I turned, intent on following the backtrack, when I saw a bare-chested apparition with a rock in his hand lunge out of the brush.

I shot, low from the hip, and missed.

Alvis swung for my head with his good arm, intent on crushing my skull, and I ducked under. I hit him hard in the solar plexus, causing him to bend over slightly, then I slapped my useless pistol to the side of his head and jumped back.

In what seemed like a long drawn-out moment but was only a slice of a second, I took in the man before me. He'd pulled off his shirt and tied it around his ruined elbow, then cinched his belt above the elbow as a tourniquet.

He should have been dazed. I'd hit him hard twice, and he'd suffered significant blood loss. But he seemed weirdly calm and collected.

“I was wrong about you, Barr. You're
worse
than an irritant. You're a nasty, hairy, nosey cockroach, and I'm going to stomp you.”

“Bring it,” I said, eyeing the rock he still held in his hand. I began raising my pistol, counting on him not to know I was out of ammo.

But he was twice as fast as me and had closed the gap before I got the gun to chest level. Instead of swinging the rock, he slammed it on my foot and tagged me with an uppercut that lifted me to my tiptoes.

I didn't fall. Not until he put a foot behind mine and shoved my chest. Then I went over his leg, hit the soggy earth, and he was on top of me. My lungs accordioned inward, but I got my legs up and hooked my ankles over his back. He punched me once in the jaw, and then his good hand wrenched the pistol back, nearly breaking my trigger finger and wrist.

As he ripped the pistol away I grabbed his bad elbow with one hand and dug my fingers underneath his makeshift bandage and squeezed. He screamed and tried to head butt me, but I lowered my chin into his chest, ducking under him. I might have heard footsteps coming down the path then, but I was too busy pulling Alvis's head toward me so I could get my teeth on his neck. When I did, and bit down hard, Alvis screamed even louder.

In one last spasm Alvis's hand brought my pistol up and fired it at my head—with no effect, of course. That's when I lit into him. I rolled him under me and pummeled him with everything I had. Punches. Head butts. Palm strikes. Eye gouges. With each hit, I thought of my mom . . . and Allie . . . and all the women and children I'd laid to rest on three continents over the years—innocents in a world of evil.

I wore myself out trying to replace the back of Alvis's head with his face. I pictured the human being under me as a fleshy effigy, and I would have kept hitting until Alvis was pulp if it weren't for the sound of my sister's voice pleading.

“Stop it, Clyde,
please
, STOP,” she was begging. At that moment I probably didn't seem human to her; I probably
seemed like a monster. Vaguely, I felt her arms pulling at my shoulders.

“It won't
help
, Clyde. It won't bring them back.” She was sobbing hard now.

I slowed my punches then, knelt back, and dazedly accepted Jen's embrace. She put her arms around me then and we both cried.