Ashes to Ashes (44 page)

Oscar would never accept his gratitude. He
was that kind of man.

Ginger had found out that the house had once
belonged to Eustace Barrett, formerly Eustace Stead, the
grandmother of Lucky Barrett and the great grandmother of Amber
Barrett. Ginger explained that Eustace Barrett and her parents had
moved into the house when she had been a young child. The house had
remained in the family, becoming one of the many homes that the
Barrett empire owned. It was no mansion or castle or penthouse in
the city, like most of the richer members of the family lived in,
but for some reason Eustace Barrett had held onto to it her entire
life. Even after her death the house remained in her name, perhaps
due to some sentimental factor, or small writing at the bottom of
her most-likely thick final will and testament. Whatever the
reason, the house stuck around long enough for Amber Barrett to
take over residence.

While moving up the driveway, across the
bushes that lined it, and along the sidewalk that led to the front
porch, Ashe tried to get a quality look into the nearby windows.
Through what was most likely the living room windows, a slight
light could be seen. He wanted to get closer to those windows so
that he could take a peek into the building. But he stayed quietly
behind Oscar, patiently stepping in unison with the detective.

The concrete walkway that connected the
driveway to the front porch was also lined with thick bushes,
expertly trimmed and snipped.

Ashe and Oscar took gentle steps up and onto
the porch, trying not to make any unwanted ruckus. Luckily, it
didn’t squeak under the pressure of the two men’s girth. The porch
seemed strong and sturdy and spanned the entire front of the house.
It had a wooden swing and a narrow wooden table with wooden chairs
that seemed to be made of the same dark wood as the porch. Even
though the siding and windows of the house was modern and mass
produced in some factory, the craftsmanship of the porch, swing,
table and chairs was old school and beautiful, as only classically
and passionately sculpted pieces of woodwork could be. Ashe
couldn’t help to admire the art. He then tried to picture how the
building had looked when Eustace’s family had first moved in, many
years ago.

Behind the swing were a set of low lying
windows, the ones that Ashe had been eyeing. The living room
windows, or so he assumed. The curtains had been drawn tight, but
the dim light, the one that had caught Ashe’s attention, could
still be seen, barely.

Ashe parted from Oscar, who had snuck up
beside the closed front door. Ashe took a couple seconds to slouch
down and attempt a peek through the windows, hoping to catch sight
of someone inside. The curtains were a little thick, but the fabric
was not dark in color, allowing the little bit of light, which
appeared to be coming from a lamp, to help Ashe make out vague
shapes and outlines. He could barely make out a person, who seemed
to be standing in front of a bent over figure. The figure was most
likely sitting in a chair or on a couch. He couldn’t tell. Ashe
also could not hear any voices or sounds from within the house over
the pounding rain, which was slamming full force onto the roof and
across the concrete of the road and sidewalk. He couldn’t make out
any sounds from within, no matter how hard he strained to
listen.

“I think I see Scott,” Ashe whispered to
Oscar. He wasn’t sure if his words made it through the rain. “I
can’t tell, though. I see what might be two people. I’m not
sure.”

The subtle light of the lamp was suddenly
extinguished, leaving the windows as dark as the others. It was
unexpected and strange. To Ashe, something instantly felt off about
the sudden plunge into darkness. While he was watching, neither of
the figures had appeared to move. Who turned off the light, then?
And why? Whatever the reason, it could not have been a good
one.

“Something is not right,” Ash told Oscar. And
then he saw a quick flash toward the back of the darkness. During
the brief moment of the flash, he saw a shadow rushing away. “A
gunshot? I think I just saw a muzzle flash, Oscar.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Oscar replied.

“Silencer? We need to get in there. Now,”
Ashe insisted while already moving off the porch and toward the
corner of the house. Oscar began to take up the rear, following the
psychologist that time. It was a change but Ashe didn’t care. He
couldn’t have stopped to give the police officer point but refused.
He had to get to his son. He had a gut feeling…and he long ago
learned to listen to his gut instincts when it came to certain
types of situations.

Being quick and being soundless rarely went
hand-in-hand, but Ashe tried his most damndest to accomplish both.
Around the side of the house was a tall wooden fence, crafted from
same expertise and dark wood as the porch and porch furniture.
There was a gate and Ashe immediately inspected the lock that held
the gate closed, which was a common metal lock that clamped shut
and unlocked with a small flimsy key. Even though the little lock
was holding the gate closed, it was not engaged.

In a low voice, Ashe pointed out that
“Someone cut the lock.” He switched off the safety of his gun and
advised Oscar to do the same. Without Ashe realizing, Oscar’s
Browning had already been drawn and the safety had been flipped
off. The detective had also smelled trouble, his nose being bread
and buttered for the scent. It was in the air like a thick
musk.

Hoping the hinges wouldn’t creek, Ashe
completely removed the useless lock and nudged the gate forward
slightly, only enough so that he could steal a glimpse behind the
gate. Thankfully, the hinges remained silent, never alerting the
two men that were standing directly beyond the wooden fence. He
could barely make out their forms. From what Ashe could tell, the
men were dressed in all black, from their boots to their jackets to
their hats to the long barreled handguns in their clutches, which
were obviously tipped with metal silencers. The men were looking
away from the fence at the back of the house. Upon seeing them,
Ashe’s stomach tightened at the sight of the silencers.

Professionals, he knew

Who were the men? Lucky’s men must have
located him somehow and they have come to get their boss…and kill
Scott and Bam in the process. Ashe refused to let that happen.
Refused. The only way that his son and his son’s girlfriend, Ashe
told himself, were going to die was if he went along with them,
fighting the whole way down.

Pushing himself back away from the gate, Ashe
held two fingers up to Oscar, letting him know about the men.
Armed,
he mouthed. Oscar nodded his understanding and held
his pistol at attention, the barrel pointing forward. Ashe did as
well. It was hard for him to breathe and harder for him to think
clear, but Ashe knew he was going to have to put his thinking brain
to bed and rely only on immediate actions and reactions, those
would be what would save their lives and save his son. Trying to
think his way through a gunfight would get him shot in the face,
and he wasn’t about to die, not just yet.

Oscar edged his way to the gate, trading
positions with Ashe. He would act first and Ashe would follow the
lead, which was the way it should be. They would have surprise over
the two professional assassins, but only for the first initial
seconds. Once those seconds were gone, Ashe and Oscar would either
be dead or alive.

Without giving Ashe a signal, Oscar was
inching his body through the gate, Browning still at the ready.
Ashe knew to be on his friend’s back, mirroring the experienced
detective’s movements. Ashe had had previous confrontations, ones
where force and artillery were needed, but Oscar would always be
the superior in combat. Ashe would simply be his shadow, his mimic,
hoping not to get dead in the process.

The two men were a couple of feet from the
fence’s gate and Oscar remained crouching, quiet and nimble, as he
lurked up from behind. Oscar became a blur of movement as he
swiftly rose and stuck the killing end of his pistol to the back of
the nearest assassin’s skull. Following suit, Ashe swiftly had his
own gun to the back of the other man’s head.

“Police,” Oscar informed them in a voice that
was near to a whisper. “Drop the guns. If you do not comply, I will
empty my entire clip into your brain stem and my friend will empty
his into your partner’s. Don’t worry…we have other clips. We may
even go ahead and empty those into your dead bodies for shits and
giggles. Do you understand?”

The man nodded. His gun dropped to the
grass.

“Make sure your partner understands me as
well,” Oscar added. “Or else you will both die right here, right
now.”

His partner’s gun dropped to the ground, as
well.

“What are we going to do with them,
Detective?” Ashe asked, without revealing any names.

“I’m still considering killing them both,”
Oscar answered.

Chapter 52

Scott bolted up the stairs faster than he
knew he could move. Fear could speed up even the slowest legs, he
guessed. Within seconds, he was sprinting down the hall and into
the master bedroom. He leapt through the door and immediately
slammed it shut behind him. He tried to find a locking mechanism,
but there wasn’t one. God damned old houses. He at once dismissed
the idea of locked doors. They wouldn’t do much, anyway, he
figured.

The room was dark, but his eyes were swiftly
adjusting to the lack of light. He easily saw the bed, which held
the still sleeping form of Bam. She stirred. The slamming of the
door must have startled her awake. Scott rushed over to her and
began to force her to a sitting position. “You have to get up. You
have to get up now, Bam.” Holding her hands, he was trying to pull
her to her feet, but she moved sluggishly, still partially asleep.
“Wake up, Bam. Some bad people are here. We have to move.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Cops?”

“No,” he answered. “Someone else…for your
dad.”

Bam suddenly became awake and aware, out of
the bed and onto her bare feet. She instantly understood what the
words meant, that some people had come for her dad. It also meant
that those people had come for them as well. That could not be
good. “That ain’t good,” she said, speaking her mind. “We have to
move. But where are we going to go?”

Scott snatched the handgun from stand at the
side of the bed. He checked it, making sure that it was loaded, off
safety, and primed to shoot at people. Pointing it at the closed
door, he considered standing his ground right there. The door was
the only entrance and exit. He could shoot at any one that
attempted entry into the room. But would that work? He didn’t know.
He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t a soldier. He was just a college kid.
And he couldn’t risk having a shootout in such tight spaces,
especially with Bam in that same tight space. She would most likely
get hit during the exchange of bullets.

Instead, he went to the room’s single window.
Through the glass, the night was laid out before him, calm and
seemingly harmless. Scott couldn’t see anything suspicious at the
front of the house. There was only the peaceful street, the other
homes, and the neighbors well kempt lawns. No black SUV. No armed
men standing and aiming assault rifles up at him. Only pouring
rain. Only the illusion of safety.

He was sure that the safety was fake, but
Scott knew that he had to take a chance.

He reached out his hand to Bam. “Let’s
go.”

“Out the window?” She took a step back from
him.

“We don’t have a choice,” Scott urged her.
“Men with guns will be at that door any second.” Unlocking the
window, he slid the glass upward and then waved Bam over. She came
to him and then peered out. Her nerves were on edge and her fear
was written in sweat and goosebumps all over the surface of her
skin. Scott handed her the pistol, forcing her to grip its butt.
“If we get separated…I want you to have this. Don’t argue. No
time.”

Before Bam could attempt to hand the gun
back, Scott took a hold of her waist and began to help her in
climbing out. He slowly managed to lower her down onto the slightly
arched top of the porch, which sat three feet below the window.
While finding footing on the wooden surface of the porch top, Bam
tried to keep the gun close to her chest.

A loud gunshot exploded from behind the
house. The shot startled Bam and her bare feet, which had just
touched down onto the top of the slick porch, started to slip and
slid on the wet wood. She tried to regain her composure in order to
gain a solid stance, but the smooth skin of feet couldn’t find a
grip. She stumbled atop the slight arch of the porch and fell
sideways toward the ground.

“Bam!” Scott shouted, cringing as his
girlfriend, his love, hit the concrete of the wide sidewalk.

Scott went to put one leg out of the window
but never got the chance. The door behind him busted open. He
turned as a darkly clothed assassin, dressed in black from head to
gun, entered the room. Before the assassin could fire his weapon at
Scott, Scott went into action. He jumped to the bed and grabbed a
thick pillow. Without stopping, he tossed the pillow at man’s face.
The man flinched with uncontrollable reflex, granting Scott a
fleeting advantage. Scott lunged his full body at the assassin, but
the professional killer recovered in a fraction of a second and
intercepted Scott’s attack by using the butt of the gun as a blunt
weapon. He struck Scott across the face, causing Scott to
immediately stumble backward. The man didn’t shoot Scott, as Scott
expected, but kicked him swiftly in the stomach. Breath was forced
from Scott’s lungs and he couldn’t stop himself from falling to his
knees. He tried to get back up and strike with a punch, but the
assassin easily batted away Scott’s attempt before putting a
left-cross to the side of Scott’s head, causing Scott to become
dizzy.