Chapter 15
I jumped in the Impala, started the engine up, and immediately rummaged through the glove box. I found the screwdriver I kept inside. I got back out of the car and unscrewed the plates on the back and front of the car. Since I had done this many times before, it only took a few seconds. I then got back inside, threw the plates on the passenger seat, and slammed the transmission into drive. I took off in a mighty squeal of burning rubber and a trail of smoke. I zoomed past startled pedestrians who were probably busy cursing me. When I got to the bottom of the ramp, there was a line of cars waiting to pass by the parking ramp attendant and the wooden gate that he controlled. I had no time for such pleasantries. Instead I drove through the entrance, breaking the barrier like a twig.
I burst out on to the street, nearly colliding with another car. The driver understandably panicked, hitting the brakes hard enough to make the nose of his car squat. I ignored the rude gesture he gave me and floored the gas, bringing the speed up to nearly triple-digits. I zigzagged through the traffic, thankful it wasn’t rush hour. This is not the type of driving I recommend for cities, but I needed to get back to my apartment before Keith did. I knew the only reason he hadn’t continued shooting at me was because he had run out of time. The sound of a rifle going off inside a hospital would be sure to quickly draw some attention, limiting the number of shots he could take. That was one reason I wasn’t currently lying dead in a pool of my own blood.
The light far ahead turned red. The cross traffic here on this main artery was thick. I slammed on the brakes and managed to just stop in time. As the car jerked to a stop, I looked in the rear view mirror. Slipping past the traffic was a large SUV – a Chevy Suburban. It was a good fifty yards away now. Instead of speeding up, the truck seemed to be accelerating; heading straight toward the rear of my car. It was either someone looking for a race, or Keith out to finish the job.
Stepping on the accelerator, I lurched ahead, trying to find a hole in the wall of vehicles. After some nasty horns and the slamming of brakes, I pushed through the traffic, clipping the bumper of one car and getting tagged in the rear door by another. Looking in the rear view mirror again, I saw a large chrome bumper and a long hood. Behind the windshield I could see the face of Keith, his jaw set in a ghastly grimace. The SUV hit me hard, catapulting my Impala forward with neck jarring rush. But at least I was free of the intersection. I pulled ahead, quickly outpacing the heavier vehicle. The race was on. While I had speed and agility, Keith had weight and durability behind that truck frame. If I slowed down enough, or, God forbid, stopped, then it would be all over.
I sped up, trying to get as much distance as I could. The next intersection was a red light, already stacked with cars. Since there was nowhere else to go on this side of the road, I veered into the lanes of oncoming traffic. Cars dived left and right. I turned a sharp, skidding left, all the while cursing the heavy nose of this front-wheel drive buggy. Sure, it had plenty of power, but on the corners the damn tires were fighting me the entire way.
Glancing in the rear view mirror, I saw the Suburban go through the hole I had made. He couldn’t take the corner as hard as I did, and I saw the rear of the SUV fishtail wildly before he sloughed off enough speed to regain control. Once again I accelerated, blowing through the next intersection. As I went past the waiting cars, I saw something that made my heart freeze – a Dodge Charger police car was there. The red and blue lights came on as it turned to follow me. But the police officer was concentrating so hard on my car that he did not see the oncoming Suburban. The heavier vehicle struck the patrol car right on the door, sending it spinning in an explosion of twisted metal and plastic fragments. The Suburban front end was a mess now, but the truck frame had protected any vital parts from getting damage. Though temporarily slowed down, it still plowed on like a wounded beast.
There were still a few blocks to go before I reached my apartment. I had to get their before the helicopters – either police or news – came out for the hunt. The patrol cars weren’t that much of a worry since it would take a few minutes for them to marshal their forces. That would buy me enough time to get my car down in the garage, hidden from view. But I still had Keith to deal with.
As we neared the Strip the traffic became thicker, forcing me to slow down as I blew the horn and tried to find a way past. This allowed the pursuing Suburban to close the gap to only a few feet. In the rear view mirror I saw that Keith was in a rage now, the redness of his skin quite apparent. With one hand on the steering wheel, the other popped out the side of his open window. It took me a second to realize a large automatic was wrapped inside his fist. The first shot shattered the back window and the slug went into the heater controls, hopefully not damaging any important parts. I swerved as the next shot came. I don’t know where it went but I wasn’t going to let myself wait around for the next one.
This time I jerked the wheel hard and pulled up on the emergency brake at the same time, locking the rear wheels of the car. Turning completely around, I slid out of the way just as the Suburban roared past, the very edge of his bumper striking my rear fender with a hideous grating noise. I accelerated away, wondering how much longer this car would last after this kind of abuse. I then turned as soon as I could, keeping the speed up as much as I dared. I then turned yet again, running a red light, and then squeezed the Impala down an alleyway that ran behind a number of small businesses. Dodging past the trash cans and a delivery van, I exited and found myself on the road that led to my apartment. I had used this way before.
I slowed down a little. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my cellphone and dialed Pauline’s number. She picked up after two rings, sounding a little testy as she said hello.
“This is Devon. I need you to meet me down in the garage. Don’t bother to pack anything, just go!”
“What’s going on?” she demanded to know.
“No time to explain. Just meet me there.”
I hung up the phone, hoping she understood the urgency of my request. I left the snarl of traffic and turned down the alleyway leading to the garage. I hit the remote and slid under the gate as it opened. I pulled in next to the truck and parked. After shutting the engine off, I got out. Taking a quick walk around the Impala, I saw the poor thing was in no condition to go anywhere – the rear bumper was crumpled, the metal of the trunk was bent, and the door had a huge dent. The front didn’t look that bad, mostly scrapes and a few dings, but this car was going to be hot for the next few days. There were plenty of witnesses who could describe the car and even the damage it had received. Taking it to a body shop was out of the question. Instead I would have to take it out of the city and have it scrapped.
Pauline came running up with her purse tucked under her arm. She looked worried.
“What happened to the car?” she asked, her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage.
“I had a little run in with Keith. He’s on his way here. Get in the truck.”
It was obvious that she was filled with questions, but got into the passenger side of the truck without any further complaint. I opened the door on my side, unlatched the secret compartment, and removed the shotgun. I slid it under the seat and then got behind the wheel. I started the truck up and pulled out, shutting the gate behind us. I drove slowly out of the alley and then turned on to the street, trying to blend into the traffic.
We didn’t have long to go before I saw a helicopter flying overhead. The cars in front of me stopped since there was nowhere to go. We were in a traffic jam. My guess was that the police had cordoned the area off, and were busy looking for an abused silver Impala and a Suburban with a missing front end. It would have been amusing if Keith had been caught in this clumsy trap, but he was too clever to be outwitted by the bungling boys in blue.
My thoughts were interrupted by Pauline. She asked, “How do you think he found out where you live?”
I shrugged. “The Green
Berets work closely with the CIA. I’m sure Keith still has plenty of contacts there. A search on the license plate of this truck, which was at the resort, would turn up that I was the owner. It would take some further intelligence work to gather all the buildings I own and try to figure out which one is my residence. Or there is a simpler solution: he tagged this truck with a GPS device.”
“You mean he could be tracking us right now?”
“The thought just came to me. Once we’ll clear of the roadblock ahead, I’ll check.”
“W-w-what would have happened to me if you hadn’t beaten him back to the apartment?” she asked, licking her lips.
“Keith may know where I live, but I bet he is afraid of tackling me there since it’s my home territory. He knows I’m dangerous and would be armed. That’s why he tried to kill me out in the open at the hospital. Once I was dead he would have gotten inside the apartment and killed you,” I replied. “Just like he killed Cleora.”
Pauline let out a gasp. “That was the woman you were working for. She was at the hospital, recovering. What happened to her?”
“Maybe Cleora isn’t really dead, but she might as well be. She had a heart attack, probably from some drug that Keith gave her. He did it to stop her from testifying against him and. There is no brain function left. Her sister, Kim, is deciding what to do. It’s either a life as vegetable of living on a machine or else she’s going to die. It’s that simple.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah.”
“What are we going to do next?”
“We? I’m driving you to a hotel. And then I’m going to go take care of Keith. He’s caused enough trouble already.”
The traffic inched forward. It was some time later that we passed through a line of police cars. The cops here were decked out in tactical gear, looking as if they were expecting a war to break out. Of course it was a silly show of force since it wasn’t like Keith was going to come driving through here guns blazing. Instead he would have ditched the Suburban and gone on foot until he found another car to take. That would slow him down enough to take the heat off of me. He made a mistake. It would be his last.
I drove a few more blocks and then pulled over into a pizzeria parking lot. I motioned for Pauline to stay inside. I got out and began to run my hand along the fenders and bumpers, working my way around the truck. When I found nothing, I dropped to my knees, leaned over, and began to peer at the frame under the bed. I thought of when Keith would have had the chance to plant a tracker on my vehicle. If he had known I was there the first night, then he would have had a long time to place such a device in such a way that it would be hard to find. On the other hand, if Keith did the job after swimming away from the sinking boat, then he would have been in a hurry. There would be nothing clever about the placement.
I guessed on the latter idea. I stuck my hand along the back frame rails, a safe place from the elements. There was nothing there. The other obvious place was the spare tire which was tucked under the truck bed, held in place by a ratcheting chain. I slid my hand along the rubber tread and sidewalls. There was nothing there. But then my hand touched something metallic that placed against the inner rim of the tire. With some difficulty I pulled it out. The GPS tracker was nothing but a black plastic square box with a magnetic backing. It had a vaguely military look.
With a mischievous grin, I spied a car with a pizza delivery sign mounted on top. I walked by and, as I passed the rear fender, tucked the tracker under the wheel well. I then went to door and pretended to study the hours of operation. After a few seconds of this, I returned to the truck and got back inside.
“What’s so funny?” Pauline asked after catching my expression.
“If Keith tries to find us by using his little trick tracker, he’ll be running after a pizza delivery boy.”
She merely nodded a response, obviously not finding any humor in the situation.
I started the truck up and then turned onto the street. I drove until we were out of the city limits. The conversation was nonexistent. Pauline was obviously deep in thought, ignoring my attempts to break through her self-imposed silence. I ended giving up and turned my concentration to the road. I soon found a hotel with a crowded parking lot. I turned in and pulled in next to the front entrance. Without saying a word to Pauline, I went in and got a room, paying with cash. When I had returned to the truck, she was ready to speak.
“When this is all over, I’m leaving, heading back to Maryland to be with my family again. I’m going to sell the condominium and won’t be coming back to Vegas.”
This confession stabbed me in the heart. I felt a greater sense of despair than I expected. “Okay,” I managed to say.
She caught the emotion in my voice. “Oh, Devon, you know that I love you. Of course you know that.”
“Do I? Then why are you leaving?” I thought about adding something to the effect that I didn’t give a damn, but instead held my tongue.
“Because I can’t stand being locked away while you’re off risking your life. I know what Keith is capable of. Even if you beat him today, there will be someone in the future that you won’t be able to handle. You have a death wish, my darling. And that’s one wish I don’t want any part of. If you could change your life and give this all up, then maybe I could stay with you.”
I slowly nodded, letting her sharp words dissipate like a blow to the body. I said, “This is what I do. I didn’t become rich by sitting back and letting the world run me. I take these chances because I want to.”
“You take those chances because you need to. You get a thrill out of risking your life, don’t you?”
“I suppose I do,” I admitted.
She opened the door and stepped out of the truck. “When you’re through playing these games, you know where I will be, okay? Don’t forget that I love you and care for you. At first I was happy that you were going after Keith because I wanted him hurt for what he had done to me. But now that’s all changed. I just want you. I don’t give a damn about him anymore.”
I had enough of this conversation. I was hurting inside but didn’t want to show it. Instead I growled, “Shut the door. I have to go.”
“Don’t go. Come to the hotel room with me. We’ll both go to Maryland.”
“No thank you,” I snapped back as I started up the engine. I jerked the transmission into drive and slowly edged away.
She began to run next to the truck. After a few steps she angrily slammed the door. The air was full of curses.
I accelerated out of the hotel parking lot, leaving a smoky patch of burnt rubber as I turned on the road. I wanted to open the engine all the way up and tear past the slow traffic. Instead I rolled down the window and let the hot hair buffet my face. I poked along, heading toward Heartland Pawn, which was on the other side of the city. There was no rush to get there since I didn’t want to stakeout the place for hours before Keith was supposed to arrive for his meeting with Weis. However I didn’t have anything else to do, so, in less than an hour, I found myself on Oakwood Street, slowly driving past the establishment in question.
This area was the low-rent district – rent to own furniture stores, plasma donations, used cars of questionable quality and no money down, and quite a number of thrift stores with their mothball smell. This is where the failures scrabbled to make a life, more often than not failing all the way until their dying day. Heartland Pawn was just another shop among many. It had a yellowed canopy with green lettering and drawing of diamonds and dollar signs. The front window had a neon sign indicating that the business was open. Behind the glass were a pair of massive but cheap stereo speakers, a pair of bicycles, a large television, and a set of metal bars to protect the junk from a smash and grab thief. The sidewalk here was cracked and the parking lot on the side was empty except for a trash dumpster in the back and a single car, an electric blue Monte Carlo with massively oversize
d rims. The door to the store faced the parking lot. Behind the building was the wall of a warehouse, and the sides of the property were enclosed by a tall fence made with tightly-fitted vertical wooden slats.
Traffic was thick here. Behind me, an impatient Toyota driver beeped his horn. Ignoring him, I took the next right and meandered through a few industrial blocks. After wasting a few minutes driving by a plastic injection company and a die shop, I headed back to take another pass down Oakwood Street. I didn’t see anything that I didn’t notice before but the details made a better impression. I began to get a glimmer of an idea how to get to Keith.
I drove until I found a greasy spoon restaurant. Going inside, I ordered a cup of coffee along with a steak, a side of broccoli, and a small baked potato. The waitress had a face like a broken watch but was fast with the food and kept my cup filled. I left a generous tip.
Back in the truck, I headed toward the pawn shop. I passed it again and saw nothing out of the ordinary. I took the first turn and parked only a block away. I shut the engine off. Rolling down the windows, I listened to the rush of the traffic and the voices of the few pedestrians who came this way. I was just a guy in a truck, waiting for his shift to begin. So I sat there, trying not to think of Pauline. I didn’t have much success. What I felt for her wasn’t exactly love, but something that was damn close. But no matter how I felt, I wasn’t going to go crawling back to her, pleading for my case. She knew, as well as I did, that I wasn’t going to change for anyone. This was my life and my way of doing things.
I checked the clock. It was just after seven. Night was just around the corner. I put the radio on and spun through the dial, trying to find some news. I found an announcer, who was clearly excited, telling the story of a high speed chase in the heart of the downtown. Shots had been fired but no one had been killed. The suspects were still at large but the police were closing in quickly. That made me laugh since here I was, feeling quite free. But still, Keith would be feeling the heat and would be moving quicker than he should. That’s when he would start making mistakes.
The darkness of night finally came. Taking my cellphone out, I put it on the seat next to me. I knocked the rear view mirror free from the windshield. With my other hand, I pulled the shotgun out from under the seat and got out of the truck. I stuck the mirror in my pocket, shut the door and began to walk along the sidewalk toward the pawn shop. I kept barrel of the gun close to my thigh, letting it swing in time with my legs. When I hit Oakwood Street, the glare of the oncoming headlights made me blink. The drivers were too concerned with getting to their destination to bother to look at me, just a quick blur of a shadow.
I went past the lit sign of the pawn shop and strode into the parking lot. There was another vehicle, a Ford Explorer, here. I ignored this and headed straight for the dumpster. There was a small place here between the brick wall of the warehouse and the metal side of the container. Shoving the shotgun in first, I clambered into the space. I took the mirror out and placed it on the ground, angling it so I could see the entrance of the pawn shop. And then, ignoring the cramps in my legs, I sat there on my haunches and waited.
In a few minutes someone came out of the store. I felt my heart race and then sink. It was just a young kid with a computer tower under his arm. He got into the Explorer and left.
I adjusted my position, wishing the minutes away. It seemed like forever until I heard another car pull up. It was a black Honda Accord. The headlights went off and the car door opened. Out stepped Keith. He had a backpack in one hand. He looked suspiciously around, saw nothing, and then went inside the shop. I could have taken him there but decided to wait until the deal was done. That meant I would get cash instead of having to deal with raw gold. That would mean less trouble for the Kinney family.
I pulled myself up and turned so I could see down the edge of the dumpster. In a short moment, Keith came out. He had a pistol in one hand and the backpack in another. Before he could gain the safety of the car, I rose and fired the shotgun. In the confines of the parking lot, the sound was deafening. It took the blink of an eye to turn Keith from a human being to a wounded animal. Covered in blood, he began crawling for cover, trying to get behind the tires of the Honda. I never gave him the chance. I fire the shotgun again.
And then I was up. A few steps later I grabbed the bloodied bag and pulled it free from his hands. He was dead. Only a leer remained on that damaged face. I began walking quickly along the road, heading for the truck. It was over.