Dead Six

“I suck at this stuff,” Reaper whined. “I keep getting shot.”

“You’ll be fine,” Valentine said flatly.

“Bob, I need you to get these guys out of here before the cops show up. They need medical attention. Think you can handle it?”

“No problem,” my brother answered. I knew that he’d been some sort of medic in the National Guard, an 18 Delta he’d called it. “But I think you need a hospital.”

“It’s better than it looks,” I lied. There were deep lacerations on my face, scalp, and down my arms. My hands were a blood soaked mess. I had first degree burns on much of my body, and from the throbbing nerves down my back and legs I knew that there were some spots that were much worse. I couldn’t stop coughing.

But there was no way in hell Eddie was going to get away.

“Holy shit!” Reaper suddenly freaked out. “Look at this! Look at this!”

“Crap. What?”

“I think it’s Eddie’s tablet!” he exclaimed.

“So?”

“He’s logged in!” Reaper cackled in glee. I was too out of it to see the significance. Gunshot wound forgotten, Reaper madly started fiddling with the little gizmo. “Oh, now this, I am good at!”

The car died as we rolled into the rest stop. I jumped out and started toward the stolen Explorer. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jill asked.

“After Eddie.” I opened the door. “He told Gordon that he’d flown into a nearby airport.”

Valentine spoke up. “There’s only one around here. It’s not far.”

“You’re injured! You need medical attention!” Jill insisted. She was right, of course. I was running on nothing but adrenaline and anger now.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll hook up with you later.” I didn’t want them with me. Gordon had probably notified the authorities, and surely word would reach the cops in Quagmire about the massacre at the old work camp. I grabbed the wheel. My vision was blurred and my head was swimming. Bob was helping Reaper into the back of the G-ride Suburban.

Valentine tossed the keys to his Mustang to Jill. “Follow Bob,” he told her. “And take good care of my car.”

“Lorenzo . . .” Jill trailed off. She was filthy, stupid pink outfit splattered with blood, her hair tangled with dirt, hanging like a dark shadow over half her face, a stolen handgun dangling from one hand.

She was beautiful.

“I know,” I rasped.

Valentine opened the passenger-side door and slid in, maneuvering the big German machine gun to fit between us.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just drive.” He slammed the door.

I pushed the Ford up to a hundred and five. It wouldn’t go any faster. The highway was virtually deserted, and I had the gas pedal floored. I wasn’t worried about being pulled over. God help the stray Highway Patrolman that got between me and Eddie.

Valentine held onto the oh, shit! handle as we barreled down the road. I passed a slow-moving semi truck like it was standing still, pulling back into the right-hand lane just in time to avoid hitting another car head on. The Explorer was vibrating like hell.

“We’re almost there,” Valentine said. “This airport has been closed for years. Your guy must’ve had his boys come pick him up. There’s nothing there but a few run-down buildings.”

In the back of my mind, I wondered why Valentine came with me. I doubted he’d tell me if I asked. Just then, my cell phone vibrated, disrupting my thoughts. I pulled it out of my pocket and hit the talk button.

It was Eddie, sounding as shrill and oily as ever. “Ah, Lorenzo. Just checking. I thought that was you I saw standing on the side of the road back there. Did I kill any more of your friends with my little drive-by? It was so invigorating! Like one of your American rap-music videos!” The psychopath giggled.

“No, Eddie, you’re a lousy fucking shot.” The sound of his voice made me push the gas pedal that much harder.

“You certainly are hard to kill.”

“You won’t be,” I promised. “What do you want?”

He laughed, somehow managing to sound girly and sadistic at the same time. “To taunt you, of course. My plane is taking off as we speak. I imagine that you’re trying to catch up with me, but you will be too late. As soon as I hang up, I’m going to ring one of my associates, and then the fun will begin. I’m not just going to have your loved ones killed, I’m going to have them tortured first. I’m going to take your little nieces and nephews, and I’m going to have them raped in front of their parents. I’m going to make them watch. I will —”

I ignored Eddie’s ranting. “Where do we turn?”

“Right here, right here!” Valentine said, pointing.

“Hang on!” I’d nearly missed the turnoff. Hitting the brake, I cranked the Explorer to the right, nearly putting it up on two wheels.

“Ow! Damn it!” Valentine snarled as the heavy machine gun slid over and struck him. We sped down a narrow. deserted road. The airport wasn’t far. After a minute or two we shot through an open gate on a rusted chain-link fence and careened onto a wide-open paved area. I smashed the brake, making a tight turn as we crossed a parking area, passed the dilapidated remains of a hanger, and sped onto the tarmac. The airport obviously hadn’t been used in years. The runway and taxiways were cracked and faded, with weeds springing through splits in the pavement. Eddie’s car, now empty, was parked off to the side.

“There!” Valentine shouted, pointing down the runway. At the far end was a speeding Gulfstream jet. Its engines screamed as it built up speed.

Eddie was still going on, screeching like a lunatic. “—you hear me? Nobody crosses Big Eddie! Nobody! I’ve got to make an example out of you, Lorenzo. Everyone needs to know the consequences of my displeasure!”

The Explorer skidded to a stop, leaving a trail of rubber. Valentine leapt out, pulling the machine gun with him as the jet jumped into the air. He set the barrel over the junction of the door and frame, crouched down, and squeezed the trigger.

The MG3 roared, sending a stream of tracers down the runway after the climbing jet. He hosed the rest of the belt, at least fifty rounds, at the target. Bullets streamed into the air, but fell short. The jet was just too far away. The MG3’s bolt flew forward on an empty chamber. That was it.

“That’s the best you’ve got, Lorenzo?” Eddie cackled. “Not a scratch on me!” I stuck the phone in the front of my armor.

“Shit!” Valentine shouted. “I’m out! He’s gonna get away!”

“No,” I stated calmly. While he was shooting, I had limped around to the back door. I opened it, ripped the concealing blanket aside, and pulled out the portable surface to air missile that I had stolen from the Chechen border jumpers. “He’s not.”

“What the . . .” Valentine said, observing my weapon in awe.

I set the heavy tube on my shoulder, took one step around the Explorer and looked through the scope. I had read the instructions earlier, and it seemed relatively straightforward. I found the red and green flashing lights of Eddie’s jet, centered them in the circle, and hit the lock button. It took a few seconds for the sensor to read. It made a noise like a microwave oven saying that the hotdogs were done.

I pulled the heavy trigger.

FOOOOOM!

The concussion was horrendous. The initial charge threw the missile straight out. A split second later the rocket engine ignited in a massive gout of flame and soared after the jet with a shrieking noise like some obscene bird of prey. The impact staggered me. I pulled the phone out of my armor with my shaking left hand.

“—should have just given me the scarab. I’ll—”

I cut him off. “Hey, Eddie . . .”