Ashes to Ashes (49 page)

A voice spoke up. “Yes. Who am I speaking
with?”

“Lead officer Wiles has some requests of you
and your men,” Oscar continued. “He would tell you himself but he
is tied up right now. So I am speaking on his behalf. He wants your
men planted on the rooftops across the street. He wants your scopes
to be continuously pointed at that house. You never know when an
opportunity or a life-saving shot will arise.”

“Who is this again?” the deep voiced shooter
asked.

“Am I clear? Or should I tell Officer Wiles
that you aren’t following his lead?”

“I read you loud and clear, sir,” the voice
in the phone replied.

“Did you hear that, Wiles?” Oscar asked while
handing back the young man’s phone. “The accurate guns are about to
put their scopes on the front of the house. Sound good to you?”

“Yes,” Wiles said. “But I don’t know how much
good it will do. That house is as dark as a deep cave.” He took the
words straight for Oscar’s brain. “And the curtains are still drawn
tight. We can only barely make out that single light. Nothing else.
Snipers can’t shoot if they can’t see anything. They are no good
without a target.”

“I know,” Oscar agreed. “But I want them in
place in case a target presents its smiling face.”

Oscar became quiet for a few seconds.

“Get this parameter tight,” Oscar moved on,
pointing at the barricades that were being placed a little ways up
the street in order to close off the roads. He knew that more
barricades were being set up on other streets, forming a solid
parameter between the outside world and the situation at hand.
“Make sure no one gets through without credentials. I know there
aren’t many onlookers now but the word is spreading as we speak and
the gawkers and reporters will slither out from under their rocks
in no time.”

Wiles yelled orders into his phone, demanding
several more bodies to man the barricades. “Get those things
squared away…now!”

“Let’s get the evacuation to move faster,”
Oscar barked. “Bystanders are a big risk with these houses being so
close together.” The two-story buildings that sat adjacent were too
near for his comfort. Stray bullets have been known to penetrate
nearby walls and injure innocent children while they slept in their
beds. Oscar motioned to the adjacent residences, “I want these
people gone. I also want the houses across the street to be emptied
as well.” He considered the back yard, which he had been in for a
short second. The house’s yard seemed to put a good amount of
distance between it and the home behind it. But he had to be safe.
“I want the house directly behind cleaned out too. Along with the
ones diagonal to the scene as well. I want the civilians far away
from any possible crossfire. And don’t take no for an answer. I
know you said you were getting some resistance, but if you explain
to them why they have to leave, and by blunt about it, they are
more than likely willing to obey. Sound good?”

“Yep.”

“In fact,” he quickly added. “Tell Sheldon
that I want a man placed on that back house as soon as the
occupants are clear. We need an accurate gun pointing at the back
door, as well. I would like to get snipers on the sides too, but
those houses are too damn close. It doesn’t matter. If anyone
decided to exit the house unauthorized, they would be seen from
either the front or the back at some point. You understand,
amigo?”

Wiles nodded.

“Then get those orders out there,” Oscar
demanded. “They need to hear my voice as little as possible. You
are in charge in their eyes, remember?”

“Of course.”

The Youngstown Detective listened as the
young officer relayed the wishes. He added just enough authority to
get it done without overdoing it. He was trying not to rub the
squad the wrong way, was a smart move. The kid had good
instincts.

“Ashe is still in there,” Detective Harrison
muttered to himself, loud enough that Wiles could hear as well.
“And he has had plenty of time to make some kind of move, whatever
that might be. Don’t count him out, just yet. He has his own way of
doing things, but he gets results. Maybe I will show you the case
files containing the work my friend and I have done over the years.
The man used to pull stuff out of his ass at the drop of a dime.
Never seen anything like it. He has been out of the game for a
while, I will have to say. Rusty. I even stood in his way for
minute. But he has gotten back into the groove and I think his mind
is finally fully oiled, loosened, and at top performance.”

“I’ve heard the name before,” Wiles admitted.
“Every cop in Northeast Ohio, maybe even all of Ohio, from low to
high, knows about what happened to his wife.”

“Don’t hold that against him,” Oscar
asked.

“No one does,” the young officer clarified.
“We empathize with your friend. Some of us even hope to be the one
who finally catches that psychotic asshole. But we won’t arrest
him. No. We will hand feed that son of a bitch to Dr. Ashe Walters
ourselves, just to be present when Ashe gets the chance to rip that
man apart from nose to toes.”

“Good. Excellent. Then you must have
recognized my name as well…you little prick.” Oscar smirked,
shaking his head. He wanted to pursue his gripe further, but
instantly changed the subject. It didn’t matter that the young man
had played dumb and gave him a hard time. That was behind them and
unimportant. He might bring it up to the young man later down the
road, though, by giving him a stern kick in the ass. “SWAT on
ready?” Oscar asked, nodding to the black van that had just
recently arrived on scene. He already knew the answer. They were
antsy for some action, as SWAT teams often were. They may get their
adrenaline fix soon enough. “Never know when we may need to go in
there,” he told Wiles. “When we move…I want it to be fast and
without mistake. You understand?”

Wiles once again showed that he did.

“Okay,” Oscar stated. “If we have to force
our way into the house, it will be in a hurry and it will most
likely be messy. Are you ready for that, in case it does go down
that way?”

Officer Wiles was without a doubt ready, even
if his hands were trembling. Oscar noticed the shaking limbs, but
decided to give the man some slack. Not everyone had the nerves to
handle certain kinds of circumstances. Especially the unique type
of shit in which they were currently buried chests deep in. When
things exploded, which they were probably going to sooner than
later, Oscar would pay close attention to how young Wiles handled
himself. Because the current mess was exactly the type of situation
that showed a man exactly how thick his spine was. And what it
might take to snap it like a twig.

Chapter 59

Lucky Barrett continued to sweat and
fidget.

Inmates in Wilson Maximum were forced off any
drugs they may have been using on the streets before being
incarcerated. It was always unpleasant for everyone involved, from
the user to the medical staff. Even though Ashe never really had a
role in the detoxing of inmates, because it was usually done using
outsourced professionals, both medical and psychological, who
specialized in the process, he had had enough experience with
former addicts, those who never honestly wanted to be off their
drug of choice, to notice the signs of a user who wanted badly to
use.

“Are you sure that your precious pill tells
you the truth?” Ashe asked. “Or could it be like any other
hallucinogen…causing you to put stock in things that are not real?
I’ve seen a lot of drugs in my career,” he slightly lied, “and at
the base they are similar. Boringly so. Even your pill. I said it
was complex, which is true, but at its molecular level…it is the
same as everything else.”

“It is
the
truth,” Lucky growled. “It
opens my eyes to things that normal people will never be witness
to. When I take it, I stand on the shoulders of giants and from
there I can see further than those forced to remain at ground
level.”

“The future?” Ashe asked. He came to the
conclusion that Lucky Barrett saw the pill in the same way that
Scott had seen it, as a way to prophecy. But how could that be? How
could different users have the same exact type of hallucinations?
Hallucinations should differ from person to person, as it does with
those who trip on acid. One user might see evil penguins with razor
teeth while another may witness a delicate flower growing and
blooming up from the floor of their apartment. It was always a
personalized experience. Or it should have been, even with the
white pill.

Or did the pill do exactly as they seemed to
believe?

Lucky had also explained how Amber had also
bore witness to the images of her death. And the man was entirely
certain of its validity. He viewed it as gospel, containing not a
single thread of doubt, like the ancient pages of the Bible,
itself. It was a direct link to the mind of God.

Ashe was again confused. He refused to submit
to the idea that a plain, white pill, a drug like any other, gave
the users a vision of their own deaths. It wasn’t possible…outside
paperback fiction.

“Not just the future,” Lucky lectured. “It
shows something that is on everyone’s mind all of the time.
Death.”

Death? It was the same thing that Lucky’s
brother had said. It had shown him death.

“Not just any death,” the madman continued,
“but their own. We all wonder how we are going to die. When. Where.
Will be it be expected, like the ending to a long fight with
cancer? Or will it be out of nowhere, like a car wreck? It is in
our nature to wonder and fear that day…the one day that will come
for us all no matter what we do or what steps we try to take to
avoid it. Or so most people think. What if we could see exactly how
we will die? Then we could avoid it, even if only a single time.
Cheating death once is still nothing short of a miracle.”

“You could become immortal?” Ashe inquired,
knowing the statement to be absurd. Natural cause will always kill
in time. Death will eventually creep into the person’s old and
tired body, removing whatever life had once been there. Not even
Lucky Barrett could stop that sort of death.

Ashe glanced at his son, who had remained
silent. He wondered how his son was absorbing the conversation.
What was he getting from it? Could Scott still be reached? Scott
had cried for Amber. He had apologized to his father for the mess
he had caused. The regret and guilt was authentic. And the hope
that stirred up from those moments still remained alive and active
inside of Ashe.

No matter how strong the mental illness was
that slithered through someone’s mind, Ashe knew there was always
hope, even when none seemed to exist. That was one of the reasons
he worked in the professional field that he did. Everyone, from
psychotics to pedophiles, could be helped and the illness that
drove their behavior could be cured or at least closely
managed.

No one was beyond hope, not even criminals,
even though most of the world condemned them as monsters and would
rather see them wiped from the Earth instead of helped. Ashe chose
to fight the good fight on the behalf of the criminals, while most
of society spit on the notion of their very existence.

However, Ashe knew the difference between the
mentally ill and those who just chose to commit crimes based on
greed or vengeance or some other selfish, destructive reasoning.
There was a difference. Like there was difference between night and
day, dogs and cats. Those men and women deserved whatever
punishment they were handed by the court of law and its officials.
Often times those men and women clearly deserved to fry at the
hands of an unknown switch puller.

Which one was Lucky Barrett?

Which one was Franklin Barrett?

Were they one or the other?

Or were they both?

“Immortal?” Lucky chuckled. “I am not
immortal. Death with get my ass, eventually. You can only dodge the
shark for so long before it gets to your midsection and takes you
under. You know what I mean?”

Ashe did. The symbolism of a shark must be
highly present in the Barrett family. Or only between Lucky and his
little brother Franklin. “Absolutely,” he conceded. “What about
your brother?”

Lucky laughed. “What about him?”

“You gave him the pill, didn’t you?” the
psychologist asked. “Why? If you know the pill…if you are in
control of the pill…then you knew what Franklin would do. Right? Or
did you? Maybe you were simply experimenting on him. But I think
not. I think not…because I know about the other times you slipped
others your magical pill.”

Even in the dimmed room, Ashe could see
Lucky’s smug sneer. “Others?”

“Competition. Enemies. An innocent young man.
Your own brother,” Ashe clarified. “Franklin told me about the
sharks. You know about the sharks. The Barrett shark pool. Eat or
be eaten. Why did you want your brother to be eaten?”

The gangster snorted. “A shark? Franklin was
never a shark. He was always food, a fish spilling a trail of blood
for the real predators to sniff out.”

“He doesn’t think so.”

“Some fish believe they are sharks, Dr.
Walters,” Lucky replied. “Do you believe yourself to be a shark or
a bloody fish, Dr. Walters?”

“I’m a fisherman,” the psychologist told
him.

Lucky howled with nervous delight. “I don’t
know about all that. I think you…are…a fish…one with a shark
already on your scent…circling you from afar.”

“Steven Reynolds?” Ashe considered the name
again and its link to Franklin Barrett and possibly Lucky Barrett.
He had been grinding his gears over the past couple of days, trying
to connect the Barretts and Steven Reynolds, but only coming up
with friction. But suddenly the gears shifted inside of his
head.

Sharks.

Circling.

And circling.