Kim Oh 2: Real Dangerous Job (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (19 page)

“From now on,” he said, “you’re going to be a good boy. You’re going to stay right here and not go out and make trouble for other people. You got me?”

He stood up and gazed down at Cole.

“You see,
that’s
the deal I made.” He pointed to the ruined wheelchair. “Believe me, pal, I would’ve loved to have done a lot more. But if I off you now, then McIntyre finds out I did it, he’d be even more pissed. Because then he wouldn’t be able to find out if there’s somebody backing your play. And who it is. So you’re off the hook for right now.”

Michael ground his heel on Cole’s shoulder.

“But dig it,” he said. “If there is somebody you’re working with, and I find out who it is, I’ll take care of them. So they won’t cause any more trouble. And that’s when I’ll come back and take care of you. So think about it, pal. Maybe the smartest thing for you to do would be to shut down whatever punk-ass little operation you’ve got going on. Just lie back and watch some TV – and don’t get into my shit. That make sense?”

Michael didn’t wait for an answer. He took his foot off, then turned and walked away. He picked up the duffel bag and headed toward the door.

“Hey –”

He heard Cole’s quiet voice behind him. When he stopped and looked over his shoulder, his eyes widened.

“I don’t keep all my gear in one spot.” Cole was holding the ugly black .357 he had just pulled out from under the mattress’s blanket. He aimed it straight at Michael’s head. “And I don’t have to go out to make trouble.”

He didn’t give Michael time to say anything. He lowered the gun’s muzzle an inch and unloaded it in a tight pattern into Michael’s chest. The body collapsed in a heap that looked like a pile of dirty laundry.

There had been somebody standing in the doorway behind him. It was Monica.

“You told him.” Cole lowered the gun. “That we were planning something.”

“What if I did?” Monica stepped around the body. She reached over to the wall and switched on the overhead light. “What’s wrong with that?”

She stood at the edge of the mattress, looking down at Cole.

“So I made a deal with him – so what? What was I supposed to do? Huh? You tell me.”

Cole didn’t answer. He had found an ammo box with a couple of bullets rattling around inside it. He opened up the .357 and slid in the bullets.

“I was supposed to just stand around and watch you get yourself killed?” Monica’s voice rose in pitch. “I feed you and wipe your ass, and what do I get out of it? Okay, so I’m stuck with half a man – better than none at all. That’s the deal I made, all right. I’m willing to settle for that.”

Cole gazed into her eyes as he raised the gun.

“You know . . . I could do this,” he said quietly. “It’s not a problem for me.”

Monica nodded. “I know.”

After a moment, he spoke again. “Why don’t you take a walk?” He lowered the gun. “There’s nothing here.”

“I guess I know that, too.”

She turned and headed for the door. When she reached it, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Take care of your –”

Her words broke off, her eyes widening as she froze in place.

They both heard the metallic noise sounds of an ammo magazine being slammed into an assault rifle. Michael, lying where he fell, shakily raised the weapon he had pulled out of the duffel bag.

“Deal’s . . . off . . .”

He got off a quick burst from the rifle, the shots stitching across the mattress.

Cole rolled to his side, then raised the .357 and fired once. The other man’s forehead burst red, the assault rifle clattering to the floor.

Monica ran over and knelt beside Cole. She put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him onto his back. There was blood leaking from under one arm.

Grimacing with pain, he gathered up the blanket and held it tight against his body.

“Didn’t – you hear me –” The words came through gritted teeth. “Just go –”

She pulled her hand back as he swung the trembling gun in her direction.

“I told you – it’s not a problem –”

Monica got to her feet and backed away. She finally broke and ran for the door. The sound of her footsteps faded outside the warehouse.

The gun dropped from Cole’s hand as he slumped back against the wall. He looked down at his bloodied torso.

“Shit –”

Keeping the red-soaked blanket tight against himself, he crawled over to Michael’s body.

“Goddamn,” he muttered as he prodded open the jacket and spotted the body armor. “Forgot about the Type 3.”

He searched the jacket’s pockets and came up with a cell phone. He was close to passing out as he punched a number into the phone.

“Cole?” That was me answering on the other end. “Is that you –”

“Get over here,” he said. “Now.”

EIGHTEEN

When I saw him, I thought he was dead.

I ran across the warehouse, to the blood-soaked mattress where Cole was lying.

He opened his eyes when I knelt down beside him.

“We gotta get you to a hospital –”

A weak laugh sounded from him. “Yeah . . . right . . .” He rolled the back of his head against the wall behind him. “We don’t . . . have time for that.” He nodded toward the other side of the warehouse. “In that box . . . there’s some spare sheets. Start ripping them up.” His eyelids lowered a bit. “We’re going to need . . . some bandages . . .”

I don’t know how long it took, but I finally had the strips of cloth wound around his torso. Red was already starting to leak through.

With my own bloodied hand, I wiped my sweating brow. “That’s not going to last,” I said.

Cole had managed to hunch himself higher against the wall. His hand fumbled blindly across the mattress, until he found his cigarettes. When he got one lit and took a drag, he coughed painfully enough to drain his face white.

“Probably not.” Cigarette in hand, he had lowered his chin so he could look down at himself. “So I guess . . . we better get moving.”

“Get moving? What are you talking about?”

Another drag on the cigarette, another shuddering cough. “We got a job to do.”

“You’re crazy –” I stood up from where I had been kneeling beside the mattress. “You’re not going to make it.”

“Did I ever say I wanted to? But we gotta move now.”

“But . . . what about our plans? We spent all this time figuring out the best time . . . our best chance for pulling it off.”

“Screw the plans.” Cole crawled over to Michael’s body and pulled the assault rifle away from it. “According to that schedule you worked up, McIntyre always comes in late on Tuesdays, to review the overseas numbers before they go out to the branch managers in the morning. So he’s going to be there tonight. Plus, we caught a lucky break just now –”

“Lucky break? What the hell are you talking about? You’re about dead!”

“Maybe so, but McIntyre’s head of security actually
is
dead.” Cole tilted his head toward the corpse. “That’s one major sonuvabitch who’s not going to get in our way.”

“Okay, but there are plenty of others. Michael had a whole crew, just like him – and we still gotta get in –”

Moving awkwardly and painfully, Cole dragged over the duffel bag and started going through it.

“Yeah, getting in’s still going to be a problem. If we can’t get in, we can’t get a shot at McIntyre.” He looked up at me. “Got any ideas?”

I had to think, on top of pulling myself together. Seeing Cole like this was nearly as bad as when he’d been in the hospital. Maybe worse – when he’d been messed up before, all my plans in this world hadn’t revolved around him.

“Yeah . . .” I nodded slowly. “Maybe I do . . .”

I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell phone. I flipped it open and scrolled down the numbers, to one I’d put in there a while back. Before I’d started making plans with Cole.

* * *

Waiting outside the warehouse, I finally spotted the camera van from the local news station.

The van pulled up at the curb. The only person in it was Karen Ibanez, the TV reporter who I’d talked to before. More than once, the last time being when I’d put the .357 up under her chin. She was the one I’d called.

“So what’s this all about?” She leaned her elbow out the side window and looked at me. “Whatever it is, it better be good.”

“It will be,” I said. “I promise.”

“Nice neighborhood.” The TV reporter swung her gaze around the area. “So why’d you want me to sign out a camera van and bring it here?” She turned her face toward me again. Her eyes went wide when she what I was holding in my hand.

“Kim,” she said. “You don’t have to do that. I thought we had an understanding.”

“We do. I’m just making sure you still understand it.”

“Totally unnecessary –”

“Just get out.” I kept the .357 steady on her. “And you’ll see what the deal is.”

I steered her into the warehouse, keeping the gun on her from behind. She was cool enough to stay quiet, her spine stiffening just a bit, as she spotted Michael’s corpse and the blood-soaked mattress.

“This the one?” Cole sat with his back against the wall. “I don’t recall ever seeing her on the TV.”

“Sure you do,” I said. “She covered the story when Braemer and the other equipment dealers got blown up.”

“Huh.” He peered closer at her. “Maybe you’re right about that.”

“What’s going on?” Ibanez looked over her shoulder at me. “Who’s this person?”

“Right now,” I said, “he’s the boss. Do what he says, and we’ll all be fine.”

I could tell she was seriously doubting that, but she didn’t say anything.

“Let’s get going,” said Cole.

“You’ll need to help out.” I pointed toward him with the gun. “He’s got some problems standing up and walking.”

Using Ibanez as a crutch, his arm slung across her shoulders, Cole managed to get outside the warehouse. Still holding the .357 in one hand, and with the canvas strap of the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I opened up the back of the TV station van, so she could lay him down between the racks of remote broadcast equipment.

“I don’t know what you think you’re up to –”

“I told you. Don’t worry about it.” I dropped the duffel bag in with Cole, then slammed the rear doors shut, using the gun to wave her toward the side. “All you need to do right now is drive.”

On the passenger’s side, I kept the gun low enough that no one would be able to see it from outside the van. Ibanez put it into gear and pulled away from the curb.

“You sure about that?” She raised an eyebrow when I gave her the directions to where we were going. “That’s the middle of the city.”

“You said you wanted an exciting story.” I kept the gun on her. “We’re going to give you one.”

A little while later, she drove the van up to the entrance of the underground parking garage. The one below the building where McIntyre had his company offices.

“Use this.” I handed her the plastic card that I had dug out of Michael’s wallet.

She ran the card through the reader device at the garage entrance. The barrier arm lifted, and she drove on inside.

“Down the ramp,” I told her. “To the bottom level.”

Before she could do that, a uniformed guard popped out of the little office near the elevators.

“Hey! Hold it!” The guard walked toward the van.

I didn’t have to worry about the parking garage guard spotting my gun. Behind the seats, Cole had crawled forward, holding his own .357 toward the reporter’s head.

“Just tell him what we told you to say.” I tucked my gun inside my jacket, keeping a hand on it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” At the side of the van, the guard held up the clipboard he was carrying. “It’s nearly 6:00 p.m. Everybody’s gone home.”

Ibanez glanced over at me before replying.

“We’re here to do an interview,” she said. “We already cleared it with the publicity office.”

The security guard flipped through the papers on his clipboard. “You’re not on the visitors list.”

She held up the swipe card. “They sent us a pass.”

“I don’t know . . .”

From the passenger side, I leaned across the reporter. “Why don’t you call Mr. McIntyre’s head of security? He’ll vouch for us.”

The guard nodded and headed back to his office. We could see him looking for the number on the list taped to the office’s window, then dialing the phone on the counter. A moment later, Michael’s cell phone rang in Cole’s hand.