Doc Ford 19 - Chasing Midnight (29 page)

Both eyes open, I kept the rifle steady and also watched Odus as he started toward the door, which was on the opposite side of the room. I was still thinking of a way to use the concoctions I’d made if Geness didn’t appear. Only one of the jars contained an incendiary. It was a last-ditch offensive weapon that I had made to maim or possibly kill. The other two jars, though, were potent but not lethal. They contained a chemical combination that might be as effective as tear gas—theoretically, anyway.

I was thinking,
If it’s the incendiary jar, the spray might reach the candle,
but knew the odds weren’t good enough to risk it.

As I waited, Tomlinson was closing on the porch, still summoning attention, calling, “Stop everything, I found Kazlov!” while I sent him a telepathic reminder even though I don’t believe telepathy:
No closer than ten paces, damn it!

At the same moment, Kahn and Trapper appeared from behind the dining-room wall and crossed in front of the scope’s crosshairs. Neither man carried a weapon, which suggested that the helicopter’s arrival had scared the hell out of them and they were done trying to prove they were killers. Instead, Kahn had something else in his hand. It took me a moment to figure out that it was the same amorphous object I had been unable to identify with thermal vision.

It was the third jar.

Kahn had taken the thing from the photographer’s vest and left the other two. Now, as he followed Neinabor toward the door, he continued to bounce it in his hand just as he had in the VIP cottage.

For an instant, I looked away from the scope, toward the bar, where I hoped the second twin would materialize. Geness not only didn’t appear, he still hadn’t responded to his brother, who was now only a few steps from the entranceway, where, as I had anticipated, he would disappear briefly before exiting the front door. I’d also known that Tomlinson would be unprotected for those very dangerous few seconds it would take the Neinabors to cross the porch—which is why I’d told him to stop where I could keep an eye on him. The risk had seemed manageable, but only because we expected the twins to be together.

The danger wasn’t manageable now, though. Geness—and his manic alter ego—could be anywhere, armed with a pistol or a rifle, watching Tomlinson. I decided I had to shift gears and change the momentum because our plan was falling apart.

I glanced to my right and saw Tomlinson stop where he was supposed to stop, ten strides from the porch, hands above his head, in darkness. Then, inexplicably, the man resumed walking toward the lodge and vanished from my view.

What the hell is he thinking?

In a rush, I pressed my eye to the scope and swung the crosshairs toward Odus. I had to shoot him. Killing the man was suddenly my only option—but I was too late. I got just a glimpse of his back before he disappeared into the entranceway, already reaching for the door.

Simultaneously, a spotlight from the second floor came on, and I could only imagine it isolating my pal in glacial light, as a voice boomed, “Where is Ford? He’s hiding somewhere. Tell us or I’ll shoot you where you stand!”

It was Geness Neinabor’s monster voice. Brother Abraham was back.

In one motion, I drew the semiautomatic pistol, took a giant step to the corner of the building and swung the pistol toward the spotlight. Yelling, “Over here—leech!” I fired two rapid shots that caused Geness to drop the light and duck for cover—but not before he’d gotten off two rounds, one of them splintering wood a foot above my head. I took a third shot at the darkened window, aware that Odus had retreated inside and that Tomlinson was on his belly, facedown.

Had he been shot?

No… Because when I moved toward him, calling, “Hey! Are you hit?” he jumped to his feet and sprinted toward me, sounding hysterical as he yelled, “He’s crazy as ten loons! That midget tried to
shoot
me, the Buddha can kiss my pacifist ass!”

I was already charging toward the side window, the rifle still in my left hand but the pistol ready in case I saw one of the twins coming toward the ladies from Captiva.

Behind me, Tomlinson dived behind the corner of the building, still yelling, “Goddamn bullet came
this
close to my ear.”

At the window, I shielded my eyes to look. No sign of the twins, but I could see Kahn standing over shards of broken glass and steaming liquid, a pained expression on his face. Instantly, I perceived what had happened. It was confirmed when the man recoiled from the mess, tried to fan it from his face and then ran toward the bar’s back exit.

The gunshots had caused Kahn to drop the jar he’d been toying with.

As I watched, steam emanating from the chemicals began to assemble as an ascending fog. Not quickly, as it was supposed to do, but
it was definitely spreading. One jar, though, wouldn’t be enough to evacuate the entire lower floor. So I leaned the rifle against the wall, then tapped on the window to prepare Sharon and her friends for what was about to happen. When I had their attention, I used the pistol to shatter the window, ready for the screams of surprise from inside.

“Sharon, it’s me, Ford. Your ears, cover your ears. Do it now!”

It took three shots to shatter both jars, spattering glass and liquid across the barroom, then I called to the women, “If your eyes start burning, it’s harmless. We’ll get you out.”

Sharon’s cry of relief—“Awwwww, it’s Doc!”—followed me as I grabbed Tomlinson’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

“You’re not hurt?”

Tomlinson was slapping sand off his shirt, his hands, the man’s expression a blend of rage and indignation. “
This
goddamn close, I’m telling you. And the lunatic was grinning at me. Like shooting me was fun!”

I told him, “Calm down. I need your help,” but he was too mad to listen.

“I saw the freak’s eyes when he fired! Yellow goat’s eyes—slits like a damn snake—and horns, too! Satan’s been after my ass for years, now it’s time to turn the tables on that son of a bitch!”

I levered the pistol’s safety and slapped the weapon into Tomlinson’s hands. “We’ve got to get in there. Use this to cover my back—only six rounds left. Can you do that?”

The man was saying, “Damn right—” but his words were swallowed by the gasoline
BOOM
of a fireball that shattered windows from inside the bar.

I
could hear Winifred screaming from inside, so I hollered to Tomlinson, “Get Sharon and take them out the window,” then ran into the lodge and turned toward the bar.

Fumes from the incendiary had caused the explosion, but pools of flaming liquid had yet to ignite the wooden floor. There wasn’t much smoke, but, as I approached the bar, I slammed into a wall of capsicum gas so potent that it almost knocked me down. Capsicum—the alkaloid that gives chili peppers their heat. It’s the key ingredient in tactical tear gas, as well as my homemade version—compliments of Tomlinson’s Amazon habanero sauce.

I stopped, cracked the door so I could grab a breath and then crawled into the bar area on my hands and knees to avoid the fumes.

Densler didn’t appear badly hurt, but she was in shock. She’d been thrown from her chair and now sat among the flames, knees cradled against her chest, sobbing childlike as she rocked. Her eyes were closed against the searing sting of the gas, but she stirred when she heard me enter.

“Markus… is that you? I can’t see! Help me, Markus!”

The woman’s hair was singed—I could smell the stink—and part of her blouse had been torn away. But her face wasn’t blistered, so I doubted the explosion had blinded her, although it was possible.

When I was close enough, I took her wrist and tugged gently. “We have to get out of here, Winifred. Follow me, you’ll be okay.”

The woman tried to pull away and shrieked when I refused to release her arm. “Who are you? Get away from me!”

I was tempted to do exactly that. To my left, I heard someone running and got a blurry glimpse of Geness Neinabor as he scrambled down the hallway, presumably headed for the rear exit. He carried Trapper’s rifle in one hand and used the other to cover his mouth and nose with a towel.

Above me, I could hear people running, too, and the sound of panicked voices. Maybe staff members were reacting to the gunshots and the explosion, but I suspected the capsicum gas was spreading faster than I’d thought. The fishing lodge had been built in the 1800s, so it still had the old floor vents for heating.

“Winifred, listen to me. The place is on fire. It’ll burn to the ground if I don’t put it out now.” I tugged at her wrist once again. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

I saw the woman’s eyes open into slits, and then close. “My God, it’s
you
. Am I dreaming?”

“Come on. Get on your knees. We have to stay low.”

“Why are you trying to help me after all those terrible things I said? Is this some kind of trick?” She shuddered and began to cry.

Maybe it was shock, or all that vodka, but the abrasive Ms. Densler was suddenly behaving like a remorseful child.

“We have to go
now
.”

“But I can’t! My God, I’m blind, I’m telling you! And I can’t walk!”

In old films, heroes slap women to save them from their own hysterics. True, the thought of belting Densler had some appeal, but I’m no hero nor can I rationalize any reason to hit a woman. Instead, I pulled my shirt to my mouth before taking a full breath, then I swept her up in my arms. When I squatted to retrieve the rifle, I also noticed the woman’s beach bag–sized purse, so I grabbed it, too, then headed for the door. As I passed the opening to the dining room, I saw Tomlinson helping the last of Sharon’s friends out the window.

I yelled to him, “The twins went out the back. Keep that pistol handy.”

Tomlinson hollered back, “See his horns?” as I shouldered the door open and hustled the woman outside.

Because the lodge was built on the island’s highest shell mound, a stone stairway led down to the water, where there was a service dock and a beach. At the entrance to the stairs was a corniced balustrade, hip-high. I sat the woman on the ledge, placed her purse within easy reach, then stripped my shirt off.

“Use this on your eyes. But pat at them, don’t wipe. That’ll just spread the”—I’d almost said “alkaloid”—“it’ll spread the chemical that’s making your eyes burn.”

As Densler took the shirt, I touched a hand to her thigh. “When Tomlinson and I were gone, who did the twins shoot? I heard two shots.” I was looking over my shoulder, seeing firelight echo through the broken window as I gauged the speed of the flames.

“I don’t know. But you have to promise me you’ll tell the police I had nothing to do with this.
None
of this was supposed to happen. It’s all because of those crazy Neinabor fuckheads. Do you promise?”

My dislike for the woman had begun to soften, but her self-obsession confirmed my first impression—she was a neurotic ass. I asked her again, “Do you know what they did with Umeko? The Chinese woman.”

“I don’t know anything. Remember that! That’s what you have to tell the police because it’s true.”

When I failed to respond, Densler cracked one crimson eye, then recoiled, frightened by the expression on my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I was pissed off and it showed. “I’m picturing you handcuffed to some bull dyke at Raiford. Now tell me what the hell they did with Umeko.”

The woman sat up straighter. “You don’t have to be nasty. She’s the one who lied about being that Chinese gangster’s daughter.”

“What?”

“They found out the truth. So they dragged her down the hall, and that’s the last I saw. I told them not to do it—ask anyone.”

Because I didn’t trust myself to say anything else, I replied, “I’ll need that,” and yanked my shirt from the woman’s hands, then put it on as I jogged toward the flames that were now wicking their way up the window frame.

The woman’s indignant voice tracked me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go off and leave me! Ford?
Ford!
”

My attention had shifted to Tomlinson, who was calling to me from the shadows near the corner of the building. “You want me to check upstairs?” He had one arm wrapped around Sharon Farwell and another around her friends.

I hollered, “Stay with them,” then leaped onto the porch and stepped inside, holding the rifle at waist level.

The place appeared to be empty. The downstairs, anyway. I could smell woodsmoke, which meant the floor had ignited, but that wasn’t all bad because heat was now venting the capsicum fumes upward.

For a moment, my eagerness to go after the twins battled my obligation to save people from being trapped in a burning building.
Reason won out, so I found an industrial fire extinguisher behind the bar and emptied it on the flames.

There was another extinguisher on the dining-room wall and I used it, too. Ironically, as I doused the last of the flames, the bar’s sprinkler system came on, soaking me and everything else in the room.

My shoes creaking like squeegees, I ran down the hall to the office where I’d last seen Darius Talas.