Ashes to Ashes (45 page)

Another strike with the bottom of the
assassin’s gun caught Scott at his right temple, causing
consciousness to leave the overpowered college student.

Chapter 53

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

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

The onslaught of rain seemed to grow more and
more intense and Ashe worried about the handgun slipping away from
his wet grip. Tightening his fingers, he pressed the weapon harder
against the back of the man’s scalp. The psychologist was never
quick to use guns. Instead he tried to use his intellect to solve
dilemmas, but, like the current situation, there have been quite a
few moments were brain power fell short and the need for firepower
seemed to be unavoidable. However, even in those dire, those
desperate circumstances, Ashe still regretted the need of a gun,
the need of violence in order to end violence.

Did that make him weak? Ashe wondered. Should
he, as a man, feel comfortable with a gun gripped in his palm? It
didn’t matter. No matter how many firearm classes and training
programs he completed, he would never feel comfortable while
pointing a gun at another human being. It should never happen.

And yet, Ashe found himself pushing the
barrel of the 9mm harder and harder into the scalp of the assassin,
one hired to find and possibly kill Scott, his son, along with
Amber Barrett, Lucky Barrett’s own daughter. Considering his son
and what had brought him to that backyard, he chose not to lower
the gun or pull it away. He continued to shove it harder and deeper
against the assassin’s vulnerable flesh. Anger swelled up in the
arms and face of the peaceful psychologist. He aggressively desired
to push and push the gun until the man was forced to cry out in
pain. He wanted to make it hurt. He wanted to make the man hurt
very badly.

Glancing at Oscar, Ashe wondered why his old
friend had pulled his weapon nearly a foot back and was currently
positioning the barrel of the Browning behind the other assassin’s
head, instead of against the skin, as he was doing. He then
remembered why. But the mistake dawned on him too late to correct
it.

The killer in black put the weight of his
head back against Ashe’s gun and then spun his head and body
promptly sideways. In reaction, Ashe’s finger flexed against the
trigger, firing the weapon. But the barrel of his gun was suddenly
facing an empty space where the man’s head once had been, causing
the bullet to ridiculously miss its intended target.

The shot echoed and caused ringing in Ashe’s
ears.

The unexpected discharge of the gun surprised
Oscar, taking his attention from the killer in front of him. The
killer elbowed the detective with a quick thrust, causing Oscars
arms and his gun to swing out wildly. Oscar tried to bring the gun
back around, but the killer twisted his torso and kicked Oscar on
the top of his knee, causing the detective to crumple down to a
kneeling position. Another well-aimed kick tossed the gun several
feet out into the backyard. The assassin then jabbed twice at
Oscar’s face, hitting him both times in the jaw.

In nearly a second of time, as Ashe watched
from the corner of his eye, his old friend was effortlessly put to
the ground by the expert killer. Within that same second, Ashe
tried to strike out against the one that had easily dodged his own
attack, trying to recover from the blunder, but the killer was
ready. After slapping Ashe’s punch away, the assassin grabbed onto
Ashe’s wrists, twisting it painfully until the handgun fell away.
While the gun dropped lifeless toward the grass, the man in black
kicked at Ashe, but the psychologist had a surprise for the
killer.

Ashe forcefully grabbed hold of the killer’s
ankle and immediately twisted it in an awkward right angle. Sliding
his foot outward, Ashe was able to knock the assassin’s other leg
out from under him. The killer dropped in surprise and Ashe stomped
hard onto the nearest leg, planting his foot down onto the side of
knee as hard as he could, cause the man to cry out.

The sound was glorious.

Just because Ashe didn’t like violence,
didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of any. Franklin Barrett was
correct. Everyone is capable of violence. With Steven Reynolds
always in the back of his mind, he never stopped training, whether
it was at the gun range or martial arts dojo. He would be prepared
wherever and whenever his wife’s killer returned. And against his
own nature, Ashe would kill Steven Reynolds in many violent and
painful ways.

From the side he heard the rushing of the
other trained killer. Ashe let gravity take him to his butt, where
he knew he would find the silenced pistol that had been dropped.
But the killed that was running at him had also retrieved a pistol
from the grass. It too was capped with an elongated piece of metal,
used to silence the tell-tale sound of exploding gunpowder. The
killer and psychologist raised their guns as if they were about to
play a modern version of joust. Or a messed up version of an old
west style duel.

Both men aimed and fired.

Ashe felt the impact of two bullets against
his vest. His own shot had missed. Holding a deep, strained breath,
Ashe pushed away the pain and fired again immediately. The trained
killer was nearly on top of Ashe when his face was jolted back by
the impact of Ashe’s quiet bullet. Ashe continued to pull the
trigger in rapid succession until all the was left was the clicking
of an empty weapon. Blood and flesh from the assassin’s face back
splashed against the surface of Ashe’s blue windbreaker, speckling
it with streaks of blood and specks of skin. Swiftly rolling to the
left, Ashe was able avoid the killer’s lifeless, faceless body as
it took a dive onto the wet ground.

Still holding his breath, Ashe turned to the
other killer, hoping that the leg he had stomped would have kept
the man down. But Ashe knew better and was not surprised to see
that the assassin was back on his feet and close to the 9 mm that
Ashe had lost. Before the psychologist had a chance to aim his new
weapon at the killer, Ashe saw a shadow spring to life. Oscar
sprinted and tackled the remaining hired killer, throwing his
shoulders against the man’s pelvis. After taking the killer down,
Oscar scrambled on top and began to hit the man in the face. Again.
Again. And again. He stopped long before the man was dead, but
there was still a good deal of damage to be seen.

Using his strong arms, Oscar flipped the
killer over to the stomach. He brought the man’s hands behind his
back and restrained him using a police-issued zip tie that he
quickly pulled from his waist, from his belt. “You are under
arrest,” Oscar mumbled. “You have the right to shut the fuck up and
bleed.”

The killer was unconscious. He didn’t resist
the arrest.

Oscar stumbled over to the psychologist. “You
okay, Ashe?” Oscar helped him to his feet. Ashe then dropped the
empty, useless weapon.

Ashe didn’t have time to respond. A series of
approaching lights, flashing blue and red, drew their attention.
Oak Hill PD were arriving and they would need an explanation, what
little bit that Ashe and Oscar could put into short and swift
words. It would be hard to get any outside law enforcement to
understand all the things that was taking place. They would have to
keep it simple and exact. Straight forward.

“We need to go to them,” Oscar told Ashe. “We
should brief them. We can figure out a way to breach the house once
we establish a foothold.”

“It’ll take too much time. That will put
Scott in more danger,” Ashe replied.

Glancing at the unconscious killer, Oscar
insisted, “How could he get into any more trouble? This is serious
shit. These are serious guys. I am not going in guns blazing…from
this point on…I mean. It was a mistake trying to be a hero. We have
no idea what is going on inside that house and I’m pretty sure that
our surprise advantage is long gone. Are you with me?”

“You’re right,” Ashe said. “This was dumb.
But I can’t help but to rush in when my son is in trouble. People
are dying. I don’t know what to do, Oscar. There doesn’t seem to be
any answers.”

“We can make a plan,” the detective said. “We
just need to stop and think.”

While pointing to the still living but
unconscious assassin, Ashe asked, “What do we do with him?”

Reacting to Ashe’s question, Oscar tied the
killer’s legs with another zip tie. “He won’t be going
anywhere.”

Ashe nodded. “Do you have any more of those
ties? They seem to come in handy.”

Oscar handed him a couple, which he slid into
a pocket of his jacket.

“Right behind you,” the psychologist said. He
let his old friend take the lead. Once Oscar had crossed through
the gate, he slammed it shut. He hastily slipped a zip tie through
a board of the fence and one of the gate. Pulling hard, he heard
the teeth of the tie as they gripped, locking the gate in place.
“This isn’t your fight, my friend.”

“Damn it,” Oscar swore, watching as Ashe put
the other zip tie into place, all while thinking about the sharp
knife that he had at his waist.

A spree of gunshot suddenly roared to life
from the front of the house.

“Damn it,” the detective swore again,
forgetting about his knife. “I hope you know what you are doing,
Ashe,” Swearing one last time, Oscar turned and ran off toward the
shooting.

After Oscar was out of sight, Ashe went to
the back door, on the way grabbing the other silenced weapon. The
door had a very small window, one that was curtainless. Ashe was
able to see through it and into the kitchen. The darkened area was
empty, no assassins standing guard. He checked the knob and found
it unlocked, which he had expected. He listened but didn’t hear any
voices coming from the other side of the door. Carefully, he turned
the knob and let himself in. He immediately heard voices in the
distance. He also saw a new light coming from the next room…most
likely the living room.

Chapter 54

Bam was disoriented. The rain was still
falling when she opened her eyes. Confused, she tried to remember
where she was and how she got there. It was all jumbled together
inside of her throbbing head. Trying to gain her bearings, she
attempted sitting up, but the world swam and made it difficult.

She tried to shake it away.

Flashing red and blue lights reflecting off
the vinyl siding of her home caught her attention and sent panic
into the cheeks of her face. Police cars began to skid to a stop
along the street. Bam didn’t hear the car doors open or the police
men and women shouting at her. Their voices didn’t penetrate the
wall of rain and fear. The only thing that she knew for sure was
that the red and blue lights were swirling around and around.
Around and around.

She struggled and managed to awkwardly rise
to her feet. The police men and women began to scream louder and
louder, but she still couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Bam went to raise her hands up high, admitting surrender. But she
didn’t remember the gun, which was still in her hands. She had
forgotten it entirely. When her hand moved, the gun gleamed with
light from one of the street lamps.

She instantly wanted to cry
out…
NOOOOO
…but her confused mouth wouldn’t function quickly
enough. She never got out the plea and the police men and women had
no choice but to fire at their attacker. They had no choice. Bam
was hit hard in the chest and stomach, ripping apart her heart and
guts. She died seconds after returning to the concrete of the
sidewalk. And as her life left her, her mind and sight were filled
with a combination of confusion and the swirling red and blue
lights.

Chapter 55

“The cops just shot your daughter dead,
boss,” Ashe heard from the living room. The kitchen was completely
obscured due to lack of light. He used the darkness to conceal his
presence from the men in the other room. He didn’t know how many
men there were and he didn’t believe that he should announce
himself until he was sure he could whatever waited for him.

“Bam is dead?” Scott cried out. Ashe heard
what sounded like the legs of a chair beginning to bang and scrape
against a wooden floor. His son was throwing a fit at the stated
death of his girlfriend. He was bouncing on a chair which Ashe
immediately assumed his son was bound to. Or else Scott would
simply stand to express his anger. Instead, Scott continued to
squirm and cause a violent racket. “I’m going to fucking kill you.
This is your fault you fucking bastard.” What came next was a
guttural wail, one that sounded more animal than man. Ashe could
hear the pure agony in the bellow.

Ashe’s heart broke right along with that of
his son.

Someone from the left side of the room
laughed at Scott’s pain.

Lucky Barrett, Ashe ascertained.

The psychologist edged closer the
entranceway, the open space dividing the living room and the
kitchen, trying to get an eye or two on what was going on. He
inched. He inched a little more. He inched another step, coming to
the corner of the fridge, which sat to the immediate left side of
the tall connecting corridor. He peeked around, the silenced gun
gripped tight. He forced himself to remember keep his finger clear
of the trigger under he was ready to kill. With the amount of
tension in the muscles of his hand, the hair trigger would surely
be brushed and the pistol would prematurely go off. The men might
not hear the silenced explosion, but Ashe was positive that they
would see the muzzle flash, like he had witnessed it while peering
through the house’s front windows.

The lack of light in the kitchen created a
heavy blackness, one that was ominous and foreboding. Ashe had
little doubt that the power had been disabled, either it was cut or
simply turned off somehow, either by the men outside or by whatever
men had breached the house.