Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) Page 15

  “Where’d you get this?” Frank said when the video had ended.

  “From an associate,” I said. “One night he broke into Bare Assets, that strip joint over on Norton Road . . .”

  “I know the place.”

  “. . . and he stole some stuff, including the video security system. When he got home he watched the security video, recognized Viper and Big Red, and decided to make a DVD copy of the video. He was going to sell it online as a snuff film, but I told him I had a better idea, so he gave it to me instead.”

  Frank curled his hands into fists and studied his thick knuckles. He studied them for a while. Then he tapped them on the desk and looked up at me.

  “I never liked Big Red that much anyway,” he said, and shrugged.

  It was a lie. The United States Marshals Service had trained me to read body language. Frank’s words said one thing but his body language said something else. He was playing his cards close to his vest. He didn’t want to give away his hand. He wanted me to believe that nobody would try to avenge Big Red’s death. But I knew better.

  “Why’d you bring me this?” Frank said.

  “Thought you’d want to see it,” I said.

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “Reward money?”

  Frank’s laugh was husky and explosive.

  “Reward money,” he said, and looked at his bodyguards.

  They laughed too.

  When the laughter had died down Frank looked at me again. His mood changed. He was dead serious now. He leaned forward in his chair and raised his eyebrows.

  “Listen, you little fuck,” he said, pointing his forefinger at me. “I’m not giving you a dime. Not one fucking dime. You hear me? Nice to see you. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

  The bodyguards started toward me.

  “Hold on,” I said, holding up my hand.

  Frank snapped his fingers and the bodyguards froze.

  “Okay,” I said. “The DVD’s not worth anything to you. That’s fine. But I have something else that might be.”

  “I’m listening,” Frank said.

  “Viper’s always moving around. Makes it hard for his enemies to find him. But I know where he’s going to be at midnight tonight. That worth something to you?”

  “You got this information how?”

  “I know some people.”

  “You know some people. I see.”

  “You want the information or not?”

  “How much you want for it?”

  “Five grand. I figure it’s worth at least that much.”

  “Five grand? Five grand? Get the fuck out of here. You don’t know shit about Viper. You’re lying through your fucking teeth.”

  I rose from my chair.

  “See you later, Frank.”

  “Sit down, Axel. Let’s talk.”

  I resumed my seat.

  “Five grand,” Frank said. “You got a deal. Okay? Now tell me about Viper.”

  “At midnight tonight Viper and his crew’ll be in a remote house in the woods. It’s on Galena Drive. The address is fifteen twenty-two.”

  While Frank wrote on a slip of paper I reached into my pocket and took out the big bag of Hershey’s milk chocolate eggs. I opened the bag. With my right hand I reached in and scooped up a handful of eggs.

  When Frank had finished writing he looked up from his desk. He smiled at me. Then he pointed to me.

  “Kill him,” he told his bodyguards.

  I kicked my chair back and stood up. With all my strength I hurled the handful of eggs against the wall. Right away I dropped to the floor and rolled in the opposite direction.

  The explosion thundered.

  Thick smoke. Dust. Fragments of plaster everywhere.

  The force of the explosion threw Frank from his chair, slammed one bodyguard back against the wall, and propelled the other bodyguard across the room.

  The big bag of Hershey’s milk chocolate eggs was something other than what it appeared it be. Originally it contained individually wrapped chocolate eggs. I had removed each egg from its colorful foil, replaced it with mercury fulminate, and then wrapped the foil in the shape of an egg again.

  Mercury fulminate is a primary explosive. Primary explosives are less stable than secondary explosives. They are more sensitive, more easily detonated, which is why they are generally used to trigger secondary explosives like TNT and dynamite. This trigger process is called an explosive train. Explosive trains exist in blasting caps and detonators and fuses.

  Mercury fulminate is extremely sensitive. It can be detonated by friction, heat, or shock. Or even a wayward glance.

  Mercury fulminate is easy to make. You dissolve mercury in nitric acid, add ethanol to the solution, and then exercise extreme caution.

  It was dangerous for me to carry the mercury fulminate on my person, but it would have been even more dangerous to enter Frank Romano’s office without some kind of weapon. I knew they would search me for weapons. Guns would have been a problem. Knives would have been a problem. But a bag of chocolates? No problem.

  I had anticipated that Frank would want to kill me once I had told him about Viper. I was somebody who could testify against Frank. I could tell the court that he had motive to kill Viper. To Frank I was a loose end that needed tying up.

  My ears were ringing from the concussive blast. I got to my feet. Through the gray smoke I could see the three stunned men rising from the floor. Frank glared at me.

  “KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER.”

  One bodyguard reached for a gun, the other reached for a knife.

  I gripped the big bag of explosive eggs and raised it over my head. There were maybe eighty eggs remaining in the bag. Enough to blow the roof off the building. Enough to kill everybody in the room. I was like a suicide bomber ready to die.

  The threat held the bodyguards at bay. They took their hands away from their weapons and started to back away from me. Frank backed away too.

  I took six steps toward them.

  “Nobody fucks with Axel King,” I said, and rattled the bag.

  The three men cowered.

  I stepped backward toward the office door. When I reached it I slammed it open and turned to run.

  Outside the pool hall I set the bag of explosive eggs on the hood of the white Hummer. Then I sprinted down the road toward my motorcycle. My tires spun and my engine growled as I sped off into the night.

  The seeds had been planted. The real Axel King was screwed. The Romano crime family would put a hit out on him now. Axel would have to elude a hit man as well as law enforcement. Viper and his crew were screwed too. At midnight they would get a deadly visit from the Romanos. The remote house on Galena Drive was going to be a slaughterhouse.

  I had to get there first. I had to get Carlos out.

  The clock was ticking.

  CHAPTER 62

  ELEVEN TWENTY-ONE P.M.

  I cut the engine and sat listening to the night sounds. Rasp of crickets. Grinding drone of distant trucks. Whispering breeze. High hum of a jet.

  Galena Drive had no streetlights, no house lights, no headlights. Not a single light of human invention. But there were natural lights. Sky spangled with stars. A pale sliver of moon. Blinking fireflies.

  The paved road was dappled with the moon shadows of trees. I could see where it met the gravel driveway that led up to the house.

  Taking the driveway would be risky. Somebody could be waiting in ambush. So I decided to cut through the woods instead.

  I opened my saddlebag and took out my backpack. From the backpack I retrieved my weapons. Then I armed myself. Glock Twenty-two in belt holster. Glock Twenty-seven in ankle holster. Magazines in pocket. Pepper spray in pocket. Taser between the small of my back and my pants. Backpack on my back.

  After I stashed my motorcycle in the woods I began to make my way toward the house. Insects buzzed around me as I crept through a thicket of dense foliage. They sounded like wasps, though it was too dark to tell. I had brought a
long a pocket flashlight, but I didn’t want to use it unless I had to. Stealth was critical.

  As fast as I could I moved through the woods with cautious steps. No leaves crunched underfoot. No branches snapped.

  In the distance a dog began to bark. I stopped to listen. The sound came from behind me. Far behind. The barking stopped. I went on.

  Here and there patches of moonlight filtered through overhead branches and splashed onto the ground. I avoided those areas and stayed in the shadows.

  After a while I stopped on a hilltop where I could see the house. Lights glowed behind curtained windows. No shapes moved behind them. The place was dark outside. No lights, no activity.

  My hand went into my backpack and came out with infrared binoculars. I held them up and focused them on the house. It needed paint. The roof sagged. Shutters hung crooked.

  There were two parked cars in the gravel driveway. One was a Lincoln Town Car, the other a Pottsland Police Department patrol car. They were parked some distance from each other, maybe thirty, forty feet. The Lincoln was green. Its license plate said VIPER.

  The two cars were a good sign. It meant that at least two of the bad guys were in the house. Maybe all four of them.

  Gun in hand, I circled the house, assessing the situation. Two floors, no basement, an attic. One front door, one back door. Five windows in the front, three in the back, four on either side. A crawl space beneath the house.

  The windows were too heavily curtained to see inside. I needed to know who was inside. I needed to know the layout. And I needed to know soon.

  The crawl space seemed like my best option. Crouching low, I crept toward the house, eyes alert. For several steps I edged crablike along the side of the house until I reached the opening for the crawl space. The opening was small.

  I dropped to my knees, grabbed the handle, and lifted the hinged wooden board. As I wormed my way into the crawl space I angled the flashlight beam toward the ground. The dirt was thick with weeds. Spiderwebs stretched everywhere. Exposed nails lanced down here and there. The musty smell was strong.

  Feet sounded noisily on the wooden floor above me. Muffled voices spoke. A TV played loudly. A toilet flushed. The woosh of water sounded like Niagara Falls.

  Inch by inch, foot by foot, I wriggled forward until a sliver of light speared the darkness above me. A tiny hole in the floor. Just what I was looking for. I thumbed off my flashlight.

  In my backpack was a snake camera. I took it out. I inserted it through the hole and glanced around the living room. I could see four men watching Tom and Jerry cartoons on TV. Carlos was tied to a chair. The two cops, Officer Miller and Officer Brown, were seated on a couch. Needles, chewing on a toothpick, stood leaning against the wall. He kept chuckling at the cartoons on TV.

  Viper was nowhere in sight. His car was parked outside, so I knew he was close by. I had to wait several minutes before he appeared. He walked into the living room and stopped within inches of my camera. He yawned. He scratched his butt. His voice was very loud.

  “Hey, Needles, whyn’t you go make up the bed for Carlos’s sister. And make it nice and neat. She ain’t gonna feel sexy banging all four of us in a messy bed. Ain’t that right, Carlos? Maybe we let you take a poke too. Just you and your sister. How’s that sound?”

  As soon as Viper took a step away from the camera I withdrew it. I had heard enough. And seen enough.

  There were four of them. They were the four men who had tried to kill me. Four was too many to handle at once. I needed to divide and conquer.

  I crawled out from under the house. A green plastic garden hose lay coiled on the ground like a serpent. Beside it stood an empty bucket. With my knife I cut two lengths of hose. I dropped them into the bucket, took hold of the bucket’s handle, and made my way to the front of the house.

  Squatting beside the patrol car, I slid my credit card into the gas door, pried it open with my fingers. I unscrewed the gas cap and very gently slipped a length of hose into the tank. As if the hose were a considerate Casanova. I tilted the free end of the hose over the bucket.

  A petty thief once told me how to siphon gasoline without getting intimate with the hose and ending up with a mouthful of flammable liquid. It was a valuable lesson. I was going to apply it now.

  I took the other length of hose, the shorter one, and fed it into the gas tank. It fit snugly beside the other one. I got a rag from my backpack and wrapped it around both hoses where they entered the mouth of the gas tank. Holding the rag in place with my left hand, I gripped the shorter hose with my right. My lips wrapped around the end of the hose and I blew into it. Nothing happened. I did it again.

  Gasoline flowed through the longer hose and into the bucket. The flow eventually slowed to a trickle. Then it stopped. There was maybe a gallon in the bucket. It was all I needed.

  I removed both hoses from the gas tank, screwed the gas cap on again, and shut the gas door.

  Walking backward, tipping the bucket, I began to drizzle gasoline on the ground. When I was done the gasoline trail led from the patrol car to the edge of the woodline.

  Viper’s green Lincoln Town Car stood on the other side of the gravel driveway. I went to it. Peered inside. A little red light flickered on the dash. A car alarm. Perfect.

  As soon as I nudged the side of the car the alarm began to scream and the headlights began to flash on and off like Morse code. I dropped to the ground and slid under the car.

  Pretty soon I could hear voices above the whooping and whining of the car alarm. Flashlight beams played along the ground. Shoes scuffled on the gravel driveway. I lay motionless.

  The alarm went quiet. The headlights went dark.

  I figured Viper had disabled the car alarm by pressing the button on his key fob. I wondered what his next move was going to be. I was about to stick my head out to take a look when I heard voices again.

  “You think somebody’s out here?”

  “Probably just a deer or something.”

  “Wind can set off a car alarm.”

  “Hey, moron, there’s no wind tonight.”

  “Just saying, is all.”

  “Get the fuck inside. I’m gonna go check my car for damage.”

  “Watch out for the killer deer, Viper.”

  The screen door creaked open and thwacked shut.

  The main door banged shut.

  Shoes crunched on the gravel driveway.

  Moments later a pair of black alligator shoes stood beside the car. They were maybe three feet away from me. It was my opportunity.

  My hand reached out from under the car, placed the Taser against an ankle, and squeezed the trigger.

  Electrodes exploded from the Taser. The electrical charge flooded Viper’s body with fifty thousand volts. He flailed wildly. His knees buckled and he slumped to the gravel. His eyes bulged. His tongue lolled. He lay trembling like a beaten dog. Then he stopped moving altogether.

  When I got out from under the car I took Viper’s phone from his pocket and pitched it into the woods. Then I used his key to open the car door. In the car I shone my flashlight on the fuse box. My forefinger and thumb reached into the box and pulled out the alarm fuse. I didn’t want the car alarm to go off again.

  For a long moment I stood staring at the unconscious man’s limp body, the arms and legs sprawled, the mouth slightly agape, the eyes half closed. This was Viper. This was the man who had beaten me with a baseball bat and left me for dead. This was the man who had ruined my vacation. This man was going to die within the hour. He was going to be murdered. But not by me.

  I superglued his lips together, the palms of his hands together, his shoes together. Grabbing him by his pants, I dragged him across the gravel until his body lay half under the car and half out. Next I let the air out of the tires. The car sank lower, pinning Viper to the ground. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  It took me less than twenty seconds to remove the VIPER vanity plate from the car. I superglued it to Viper’s forehead. The Romano crime
family would have no trouble identifying him.

  “One down, three to go,” I said, and brushed my hands together.

  CHAPTER 63

  ELEVEN FORTY-FOUR P.M.

  My match flared and hissed angrily. I knew how it felt.

  I flicked the match out into the darkness and watched it arc through the air and land in the flammable liquid. Flames streaked along the gasoline trail. Within seconds the patrol car was engulfed by a blazing inferno. Glass shattered. Black smoke billowed. Flames roared.

  My eyes stayed glued to the house.

  The main door swung open. The screen door flew back on its hinges. Three men burst out.

  Now Carlos was alone inside.

  I sprinted for the back of the house. Nobody saw me. The back door was locked. With the heel of my boot I kicked in the door. Glass tickled. Wood splintered.

  Carlos, tied to a chair, turned his head to look at me. Before he could speak an explosion boomed.

  “Gas tank caught fire,” I told him.

  “Who are you?”

  “Anna sent me.”

  My knife sliced through the thick ropes that bound his hands. He rubbed his wrists as I cut the ropes on his legs. When I was done I bent down and lifted the Glock Twenty-seven from my ankle holster.

  “Carlos, you know how to use this?”

  “Yes but . . .”

  “Here, take it, you may need it.”

  “Don’t you need it?”

  “Got one right here on my belt, see?”

  “Yes but . . .”

  “My motorcycle’s hidden in the woods at the bottom of the driveway. I want you to go there now. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Go.”

  He slipped out the back door.

  I crossed the living room and looked out the front window. The patrol car was swallowed up in black smoke and flame. The three men were buzzing around the yard like agitated bees. They needed water to put out the fire but the water bucket was missing and the garden hose was cut in half.

  Officer Brown raced into the house. I met him at the front door. As soon as he stepped inside I threw my fist into him. It made me smile. His nose bled. I hit it again.