Dead Men's Harvest (21 page)

‘You deserve more than a broken arm,’ Hendrickson spat. ‘From what I hear, it was your knife that Hunter got his hands on. Maybe I’m blaming the wrong person for the entire fuck-up?’

‘No, sir,’ Baron interjected on Charters’ behalf. ‘I accept responsibility for that. And, yes, as you’ve pointed out, you are paying me a fortune for a thoroughly professional service. I’m sorry for what has gone before, but I promise you: I will not fail again.’

I pictured Hendrickson’s face, dark with anger. Metaphorically, he would be like a pot simmering on a stove, but the flames had just been turned down. I heard him exhale loudly, then there was a metallic clunk. ‘See that you don’t.’

It was as good a point as any to pour more water on him.

I pushed into the room, lifting my SIG.

‘The first man to move dies.’

My face was the last any of them expected. They stood there, dumbstruck. My command had been designed to achieve this. The last thing I wanted was for them to start shouting and bring reinforcements running from above.

Hendrickson was a bigger man than I had imagined. He had strong features, pale blue eyes, and skin dark by heredity rather than holidays in the sun. His chest, shoulders and biceps stretched his suit jacket, and in his day he would have been quite a scrapper. Right now it looked like any fight had gone out of him. Charters shot me a look to curdle milk, while Baron appraised me with that supercilious smile he’d used when last we met. All three men were standing at the far end of the room, Hendrickson facing the other two. Between us were rack upon rack of guns; a good ol’ boy’s dream world, and a potential nightmare for me. I didn’t doubt that any of them were armed already, but just the sight of upward of a hundred weapons gave me pause. It must have shown in my stance because Hendrickson straightened a little.

‘Face me,’ I said. ‘Hands where I can see them.’

They all turned, hands out by their sides. I made a quick scan of the room. None of the rifles or machine guns appeared to be loaded, nor any of the semi-auto handguns, but I couldn’t tell with the revolvers.

Ideally I would have liked for them to drop their weapons, but while they were at it one of them could try to be a hero. I was sure that I could drop any of them first, but the sound of my gun would bring reinforcements and I’d be penned inside this room. Something crossed Baron’s face: realisation that I required silence to get the job done. He opened his mouth to shout, then realised that even if I did get boxed inside, I wouldn’t be the only man to die. I arched an eyebrow at him as he got the point.

‘We’ve a stalemate going on,’ he said.

‘Nah, Baron. I’ve got a gun in my hand.’

Baron was quick on the draw, but nowhere near fast enough when I already had my SIG trained between his eyes. He kept his hands spread.

Charters hurriedly glanced back and forth, seeking direction from his superiors. His right arm was cocooned in bandages, but his left hand was still able to grab the gun tucked in his belt. I eyed him steadily. ‘Don’t try it, Charters. Even with two good hands you were out of your league.’

Hendrickson had taken stock and didn’t like his chances. He held up his palms. ‘Tubal Cain warned me that you were a remarkable enemy.’

‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ I quipped.

‘How about money?’

‘How about you call Cain off my brother?’

I’d made Petoskey the same deal. Hendrickson couldn’t have known that at the time, but he’d have been fully aware of the outcome.

‘I was never in command of that maniac’s actions.’ Hendrickson glanced at Baron as if seeking support. Baron lowered his face.

‘Call him off,’ I said again.

‘I don’t know how to contact him. He calls me, refuses to be on a leash.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s the truth.’

Actually, I did believe part of what he said: the bit about Cain refusing to be on Hendrickson’s leash. But I also believed that Hendrickson knew exactly where he was.

‘Where is he?’

‘Where is your brother?’ Hendrickson sneaked up the corner of his mouth. At my snort, he went on, ‘What I meant was, he’s probably where your brother is.’

I gave him a slow headshake. ‘This is going nowhere. Unless you start talking the truth, I’m going to start shooting.’

‘You may as well,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Do you think I relish the thought of spending the rest of my life in prison? Death would be a better prospect.’

‘I’d be very happy to oblige. Then again, I might just kneecap you and make you easier game in the showers. Try fighting off a gang rape when you’re on all fours.’

Baron slowly lifted his head again. ‘Hunter, if you kill Hendrickson I won’t be paid.’

‘Your point being?’

‘I’m a hired hand. I have no personal stake in this other than the money. Let me go, I’ll walk away.’

I considered his offer for all of a second. ‘You’re forgetting.’ Other than the obvious – that he would try to kill me at his first opportunity. ‘You sent men to capture my girlfriend. You had Petoskey murder Louise Blake. You tortured my best friend. For any of those, you deserve to die. My friend, Rink . . . do you know what I promised him? I swore I’d save him a piece of your arse, but I don’t think that’s a promise I can keep.’

Baron shrugged. ‘Worth a try.’

Hendrickson was looking at him open-mouthed. ‘That had better have been a bluff, Baron.’

Baron merely smiled. Charters was more animated, his eyes flicking between his bosses like he was watching a tennis match. Suddenly his gaze fell on me, and stuck there. He lifted his bandaged arm. ‘Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? I’ve got nothing to do with this! I’m just some poor sap who took a fucking protection job! I didn’t know I was gonna get involved in anything like this!’

Hendrickson laughed. ‘Kill him if you want, Hunter. He’s a fucking coward.’

The man, so tough when he had me at his mercy, wasn’t so tough now. Tears rolled from his eyes and he shook like a wet puppy. Under the circumstances perhaps he didn’t deserve to die. Maybe I would have spared him, but his fate was taken out of my hands. Baron moved, lightning fast, but not for his gun. He grabbed Charters by the back of his neck and propelled him towards me.

Charters wasn’t a major threat. Terrified, he didn’t even try to get me. But he was blocking my view of both Hendrickson and Baron and there was no way that they were standing still. If I attempted to manoeuvre around Charters, he would definitely grab at me, halt me long enough for Baron or Hendrickson to finish me. That made up my mind. I shot him in the throat. The force of the bullet took him off his feet and I now had a clear view of the others.

Hendrickson had swung away from me, but Baron’s hand was going for his gun. At the same time he went into a crouch, making him a smaller target. I fired and knew immediately that I’d missed. Baron’s hand was coming up again. I dipped on one hip, swerving my upper torso to one side, and I felt the air buffet my cheek as Baron’s return fire cut through the space I’d just vacated. Motherfucker was
fast
.

Trying to keep an eye on both of them, I deemed Baron the most immediate threat. Hendrickson still had his back to me and seemed to be leaning on a counter. Baron had taken two steps further to my right, his arm swinging towards me. I shot at him. My bullet struck his side and threw him against a wall. But he wasn’t dead, and I saw his finger pull on the trigger of his gun. There was no way to avoid his shot but go down. His bullet cracked the wall above my head. I’d saved my life, but given up my stability. Down on one knee, off balance, I tried to track Baron but he had already danced a few steps and was parallel to my position. To kill him I’d have to bring my arm fully around. He was as quick on his feet as he was with a gun: he leaped past me and was now almost at the door. I turned, trying to get a bead on him, but it was hopeless.

Baron fired a final round, but he was too busy fleeing to care where it struck. It missed me and hit the inert form of Charters where he lay on the floor. I started to rise. But Hendrickson was also moving, swinging round, and in his hand was a large Colt revolver that glinted silver in the overhead lights. The old-fashioned gun must have been the source of the clunk I’d heard earlier. It had been behind Hendrickson all the time, concealed from my view by his sturdy body.

Shit. I’d wanted to force Tubal Cain’s whereabouts from him before he died. But given the choice of letting him get the drop on me and shooting him there was only ever going to be one outcome. Even a disabling round through his body wouldn’t be enough, because while I dealt with him, Baron might return. As I told Harvey I would, I shot Hendrickson in the face.

The Colt slipped from his fingers and clattered on the floor between his feet. For a second or two Hendrickson defied gravity, then his knees gave out and he toppled forward. The splash of blood reached all the way over Charters to my boots. For all that he was the source of my woes, I gained no satisfaction from his death. Possibly because the way he went was too easy on the bastard. Justice would have been better served if I’d hobbled him as I’d threatened and left him to rot in jail.

Hendrickson couldn’t help me find Cain now, and I barely glanced at him as I moved to the edge of the door. Baron was still up there and the last thing I desired was to start up the stairs and have him fill me full of holes while confined between the two stone walls. Yet I couldn’t stay there. The brief gunfight was bringing Hendrickson’s men running from all corners of the house.

Chapter 29

Deadened by the walls of the basement, the racket caused by our shoot-out wouldn’t have carried beyond the house, so there was no fear that the police would come with blue lights blazing. However, Baron must have found where I’d dropped the Galil because suddenly the house rattled to the clamour of machine gun rounds. I was trapped in the cellar, and even if Baron or the others didn’t have the bottle to come down and finish me off, the cops would be here soon. That’d be me done for: without the backing of Walter I’d be seen as the aggressor and dealt with accordingly. Either I’d be put down or carted off to prison for the remainder of my life.

The cops would have to be a concern for later, I decided.

Some of Baron’s rounds made it all the way down the stairwell and into the basement. They cut chunks out of the floor, throwing shards of concrete and red-hot metal everywhere. Something scored my left shin, and I jumped, slapping down on an oozing wound. I hobbled a few steps away, shoving bodily into a corner nearest the door. The rebounding bullets were still a concern but less likely to hit me now. The last time I’d been in a similar situation my enemy had lobbed a hand grenade at me: this time there was no steel hospital bed and mattress to save me. However, I did still hold an ace card.

‘Harvey, I need your help now!’

‘Wondered what all that hullaballoo was about,’ Harvey said in my ear.

From above there came the retort of a rifle. Someone screamed and I hoped it was Baron. It wasn’t very likely, but at least the machine gun fire stopped as the flow of battle surged to a new front. I didn’t wait to make sure, just bolted up the stairs and into the kitchen. A man was dead on the floor but he was too big to be Baron. The window was smashed. From outside I heard the repeated crack of Harvey’s rifle as he tracked fleeing men through the windows of the house. Someone fired back, but their bullets came nowhere near to him. He continued laying down cover and I went through the kitchen. Didn’t bother with the door, just hurdled out through the broken window and on to the gravel path.

‘I’m out,’ I said.

‘See you, brother.’

I looked for targets but saw none.

‘OK, start falling back.’

We pepper-potted out of there, taking turns to cover and run as we retreated through the garden. The lawn mower had fallen silent, but a new sound carried through the air: sirens from responding police cruisers. From further back in the grounds there was the roar of an engine, and the squeal of a vehicle making a harsh turn. I assumed that, like us, Baron wanted no part of the police investigation that would follow. I would have liked to take him out there and then, but at least this way Rink might get his wish.

We went over the wall with little finesse, just ran at it and leaped, caught the upper edge and swung over. Our rental had gone undiscovered and we clambered inside. Harvey drove, I sat in the front passenger seat, and we talked calmly. We kept to the speed limit; just two guys on a drive. Cop cars screamed past us heading for the front gates of the Hendrickson estate. By the time they arrived, gained entry and discovered what had happened we were well out of range of the cordon they set up around the crime scene.

Apart from Baron, nobody had any idea who was responsible for the slaughter, and it was reasonable to expect that he’d keep his mouth shut. That he’d made his escape was a given, so the chances of the police searching for Harvey and me were very slim. We headed out of town and pulled in at a hotel that was more upper-class than anything normally favoured by those fleeing justice. Cops tended to target the seedier flophouses first; they didn’t expect felons to lie low in five-star comfort. Forward planning meant that Harvey had pre-booked – under false details – so we weren’t like a couple of desperadoes when we turned up and locked ourselves in our room. Harvey even set up a charge account on a credit card, further enhancing our hide-in-plain-sight ethos. He requested a wake-up call and newspaper for the morning.