Bad Ending (Agent Juliet Book 5) Page 2

  “Who you calling?” I asked.

  “I know Whiskey said not to trust anybody,” he said, “But I’ve got a cousin who can get us back to the city—assuming the dumbass is still alive.”

  *****

  After Bravo got ahold of his cousin, Gio, we started walking. We found an old logging road and followed that another twenty minutes before it connected to a gravel road with a sign. Bravo called his cousin back and gave him the road number.

  “I fucking told you not to take the GWB,” Bravo said. He held the phone away from his mouth and looked at me. “He’s stuck in traffic on the bridge. There was an accident. Probably be a couple of hours. Want to keep walking or wait here?”

  “It’s too cold to wait,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “We’ll keep you posted,” Bravo said into the phone. “Call when you make it to the freeway.”

  He hung up.

  We headed off down the road. The moon was high enough now that we could see pretty clearly, but neither of us suggested running. I think, like me, Bravo was just happy to still be moving forward.

  I felt like I should be making some kind of plan, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I knew Della went to preschool weekday mornings and Eva stayed with Ms. Baker. Where Della’s preschool was or what time she got out, I had no idea.

  “What day is tomorrow?” I asked Bravo.

  He took a long breath and blew it out, then watched the cloud dissipate.

  “What day did we leave for Afghanistan?” he asked.

  “Saturday,” I said. The day after I’d gone out with Romeo and gotten stupid-drunk and everything went to shit. Felt like a hundred years ago.

  “So we came back Sunday night, left for Rio, landed in Brazil at sunup Monday, got our asses kicked—”

  “I didn’t get my ass kicked,” I said. “I complied.”

  “Okay, so I got my ass kicked. You surrendered like a bitch. I bet you were the guards’ favorite little suck-up in prison.”

  “I was never actually in prison,” I said.

  Bravo looked at me.

  I shrugged. “Whiskey busted me out before I made it to lockup. And the first time I was fixing to go, my brother hired some fancy lawyers who got me probation and electronic monitoring instead of time inside.”

  “What’d you do?” Bravo asked. “The first time.”

  “Pretty much everything, but they were really good lawyers.”

  It was quiet for a while, just the sound of our boots on the gravel and one of the magazines in my pocket clinking against the brass knuckles.

  Then Bravo said, “I used to have this buddy who got so pissed off at shit like that—being overseas fighting a war for a country full of people who were just going to fuck each other over and get away with it.”

  I took the brass knuckles out of my pocket so they would stop clicking. Tried them on.

  “I was—am an alcoholic,” I said.

  “That’s your excuse?” Bravo said.

  I shook my head. “Nah. Just never said it out loud before.”

  “Deathbed confession, then,” Bravo said.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  *****

  The rural road eventually came out on a blacktop. Bravo gave his cousin the highway number. Gio said he wasn’t far, so we got off the road, over in a stand of trees and waited.

  Half an hour passed. The cold had plenty of time to sink into our bones before a pair of headlights finally showed up.

  “About damn time,” Bravo said. He called his cousin back. “Flash your lights twice if you’re rounding the curve right now.”

  The lights flashed and the vehicle stopped.

  Bravo took a step toward the road. “What the—”

  It was a lime green Hummer. Even at night and halfway blind from watching the headlights, I could tell what it was.

  The driver door opened. A guy popped his head over the roof of the truck and yelled, “B?”

  “This is inconspicuous to you?” Bravo waved his arm at the Hummer. “That fucking thing’s visible from the space station.”

  The wind changed directions and I could smell Axe body spray.

  “Luke wouldn’t let me borrow any of the Bone Squad cars,” Gio said.

  “So, what, you stole some chick’s H2?” Bravo said. “You fucking goon.”

  “You want to walk instead? So, walk already.”

  “Ah, fuck you.”

  “Fuck you, bro.”

  Bravo looked over his shoulder at me.

  “You coming or not?” he asked.

  *****

  Once we started driving, not even Gio’s body spray stinking up the inside of the Hummer could keep me awake. I was dead to the world until we rolled over a set of boom strips at the toll plaza in front of the George Washington Bridge.

  The sky was turning orange behind us. Too bad about the traffic. I wouldn’t be able to make it to Ms. Baker’s before she took Della to preschool. Maybe I could scope the place out for a while and try to come up with a plan. I could make sure there weren’t any NOC-Unit guards hanging around, wait for Ms. Baker and Eva to bring Della back from preschool, then bust in and grab the girls.

  But what if the girls didn’t want to come with me? The last time I’d talked to Eva, she had said she didn’t love me and I didn’t love her. Which was bullshit. Pretty much every fucking thing I’d done in the last five months had been for her and Della. But what if Ms. Baker had been telling the girls that it was me letting Dr. White do experiments on them?

  “Where do you want out?” Bravo asked.

  “West Eighty-Sixth and Riverside,” I said.

  I jiggled my legs. Traced the outlines of the extra magazines through my jeans. Took out the brass knuckles, turned them over a couple times, tried them on, then put them away again. The closer we got to the Manhattan side of the bridge, the more that antsy, shaky feeling I usually got on ops intensified.

  I didn’t know what kind of resistance I would meet. I didn’t know where I’d take the girls if I managed to get out of there alive. I didn’t even know if I had enough ammo.

  This was fixing to be bad.

  *****

  Bravo and Gio dropped me off just after seven-thirty. I took W 86th down a few blocks, then followed a cross street over.

  The wind had picked up enough that the cold actually hurt. On the one hand, it gave me a good reason to have my hood up. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure how I could manage to wait six or eight hours in this without dying of hypothermia.

  Turned out, I didn’t have to worry about waiting until Della got off preschool. When I made it to a spot across from Ms. Baker’s, a box truck was backed up to her building and a pair of heavyset guys were packing a pink and white desk down the front steps. And guess who followed them outside, talking their ears off the whole way?

  When they came back out of the truck, the guys laughed at something Della said. She did a spin-kick that was actually pretty good for a four-and-a-half-year-old and yelled, “Judo! Chop!” just like she always used to when her and Owen were playing. One of the guys pretended to be scared. The other guy clapped.

  “Della!” Ms. Baker hollered from the doorway. “Get in here and help me find your scarf.”

  Della cocked her hip and said something I couldn’t hear. I recognized the attitude, though.

  “Now, young lady,” Ms. Baker said. “Our cab will be here any minute.”

  Della slumped her shoulders and slogged up the steps inside. The movers followed, still grinning at each other about her.

  “Shit,” I whispered. I stuck my hand through the hole in my hoodie pocket and tapped my thumb on the grip of a Sig. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  They were leaving. Moving.

  “Shit.” I jogged across the street.

  The outer door to Ms. Baker’s building locked electronically. It would only open if you knew the code or if someone buzzed you up. I stood off to the side and waited. Somebody had to come out eventually.

  It t
ook a couple minutes, but the door opened. The somebody was one of the movers, carrying a box marked CLOTHES – EVA in black Sharpie.

  I pulled a Sig and opened the door the rest of the way for him.

  “Hey, thanks, pal.” Then he saw the gun. “Fuck! What the fuck is this?”

  “I got a limited number of bullets and I need to conserve my ammo,” I said, not really sure why I was telling him that. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if you don’t get the hell out of the way.”

  “Okay, yeah.” He nodded, but didn’t move.

  “Go,” I yelled.

  He dropped the box and took off down the block.

  I turned around just in time to see the word BOOKS coming at me. Then the box it was written on smacked me in the side of the head.

  I staggered backward. Missed a couple steps, but managed not to fall on my ass.

  The other moving guy. He let out a scream and raised his fists. He looked scared to death, eyes wide-open and crazy.

  “Get out of here,” I yelled.

  The guy took a step closer.

  I pointed the gun at his chest and yelled, “I’ll shoot you. I don’t want to, but—”

  He jumped down the steps and swung at me. I ducked. Felt the wind from his fist. He was a big guy, but that box of books to the head had really slowed me down. He kicked. I dodged again, just in time. Straightened back up and pistol whipped him.

  His eyes rolled back. I got out of the way and let him fall.

  My heart was pounding. My head throbbed. At least that box had hit me on the left side of the face. If it’d hit my broken cheek, I probably would’ve passed out. I took a second to regroup.

  Then I heard the yelling.

  “He just killed Terrell!” The first moving guy was crouched behind a parked car near the end of the block, hollering into his phone. “My boss. Yeah, I fucking want you to send somebody! Send everybody. Send every cop in the city. This psycho’s got a gun.”

  *****

  I ran up the stairs to the second floor. Ms. Baker’s apartment door was open. Eva was sitting on the threshold, trying to pull a fur-lined snow boot on backward.

  “Uncle Jamie?” she said.

  “Shh. We got to go, Babygirl.” I crouched down beside her, took the boot away, and put it on right. “Where’s your sister at?”

  Eva slapped at me and yelled, “I can do my boots all by myself!”

  “We’re in a hurry,” I said.

  One of Eva’s slaps connected with my broken cheekbone. It wasn’t very powerful, but it sent lightning bolts zinging up into my eye socket.

  “Ow!” I grabbed her wrists. “Quit that. You can put them on all by yourself next time.”

  She grunted and made a face. I knew what was coming next. I prayed to Jesus that just this once, she wouldn’t throw a fit.

  She started screaming and kicking her feet.

  “Eva,” I tried to talk over her without yelling. I don’t know why. People in the next state probably heard her. There wasn’t any reason for me to be quiet. “Be still, Eva! We—”

  Something moved behind her.

  I saw the .357 first and the guy holding it second. I jumped up, thinking he would keep the gun trained on me, but he didn’t. He steadied the gun with his free hand and pointed it at Eva.

  “Drop your weapon,” he yelled. “Don’t make me shoot the girl.”

  “Easy.” I put both hands up, held the Sig away from my body. “I’m complying.”

  Eva had finally stopped screaming and kicking. She looked from me to him and back.

  “Drop the gun,” the guy said.

  I tossed the Sig back toward the stairs.

  The guy started inching closer to the doorway. I recognized him from the gym at the NOC-Unit barracks. He was a junior operative, like me.

  “Now, lay facedown on the ground,” he said. “Hands behind your head, cross your ankles.”

  I got down on my knees.

  “The cops’re coming,” I said. “The movers called 911 right before I came in.”

  “Facedown on the ground,” he yelled, taking a big step forward and jabbing the .357 at Eva.

  “Jesus! I am. Just fucking be careful with that thing.” I laid down on the floor. The Sig that was still in my waistband pushed up into my stomach and made it hard to breathe. I tried to act normal. “I’m down. Get that fucking gun off her.”

  “Put your forehead on the floor. If you break contact with the tile, she’s dead.”

  I did what I was told.

  “Uncle Jamie?” Eva sounded like she was about to cry.

  “It’s a’ight, Babygirl,” I said. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”

  She whimpered.

  Somehow, I managed to keep my forehead down. The wood flooring in Ms. Baker’s apartment creaked under the guy’s boots. When he stepped into the hallway, the sound was dull and clunky.

  A black rubber sole appeared in my peripheral vision. The guy knelt on my back.

  I bit the inside of my lips together, but a wince still got out. Felt like the butt of the Sig was stabbing the bottom of my heart. It jumped in time with my pulse.

  The guy grabbed my right arm and twisted it up behind my shoulder blades. A plastic loop zipped tight and bit into my wrist—a flex-cuff. You can’t work flex-cuffs with one hand. That meant he had to have taken his gun off Eva.

  I pushed off the floor with my free hand and tried to roll.

  “Hey, that’s my Uncle Jamie. Get off him,” Della said.

  It was too late to stop.

  “Della, get down,” I yelled. At the same time, I heard Ms. Baker yell, “Della, get back here!”

  I kicked a leg out and shoved us the rest of the way over. The guy banged against the neighbor’s apartment door. I jerked the Sig out of my hoodie. We both squeezed off a shot.

  My shot hit him center mass. The guy’s chest gushed blood. He tried to raise his gun again, but his fingers wouldn’t grip it anymore. The .357 dropped. He opened his mouth, but only a high-pitched wheezing sound came out.

  I kicked the .357 away from him. My ears were ringing like crazy. I couldn’t hear anything, but the girls were probably crying with all that blood everywhere. I turned around, fixing to tell them not to look at the guy and that everything was okay.

  Eva lay on her back in the doorway, a pool of blood slowly growing around her head and shoulders. The entry wound was just above her right eyebrow.

  His shot had been perfect, too.

  *****

  When my brain started making sense of stuff again, I was holding Eva on my lap, pushing her hair off her face. It didn’t feel right. Usually her hair was so frizzy it crackled when I touched it, but the blood made the texture all wrong. Slick and sticky.

  Della was standing in the blood beside me, talking, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.

  Ms. Baker stepped over my legs, into the hallway. She went to the edge of the landing, held onto the railing for support. Her knees popped as she stooped to pick up the Sig I’d thrown down earlier.

  She stood back up. Pointed the gun at me. Her old-lady hands shook.

  Della ran for Ms. Baker.

  I pushed Eva off. Got one leg underneath me, but I couldn’t move fast enough to grab Della.

  “Don’t,” Della yelled. She grabbed Ms. Baker’s wrist just as the old bitch pulled the trigger.

  The round hit the doorjamb to my right.

  Ms. Baker tried to yank her arm away, but Della set her feet and wrenched. Her other little hand shot out so fast I almost missed it. Ms. Baker coughed and grabbed her side. Della kicked. Connected with Ms. Baker’s knee. Bone snapped.

  Ms. Baker dropped, screaming. Della twisted the Sig out of her hand.

  “What the shit?” I grabbed the gun away from Della. “What the hell was that?”

  “Disrupt, disarm, incapacitate.” Della looked at me like I should know what she was talking about. “To stop the bad guy?” She shook her head. “Jeez, Uncle Jamie, did y
ou even go to preschool?”

  “My head hurts,” a little voice said.

  I spun around. Eva was sitting up, rubbing her eyes.

  That was what convinced me that I had lost it.

  *****

  “Uncle Jamie,” Eva said. “My head hurts a lot.”

  I crouched down beside her. Touched her face, the back of her skull.

  All intact. She was fine. Except for the blood in her hair and on her clothes, there wasn’t any sign she’d been shot. Not even a scratch.

  The siren snapped me out of it. Sounded like it was parked right outside.

  I stood up. Wiped my hands on my jeans. The hallway looked like a scene from one of those torture-porn horror movies. Ms. Baker was still wailing, clutching her knee.

  “Shit, we got to get out of here.”

  I picked Eva up, hugging her maybe a little too tight, and looked at Della.

  “There any other way out of this building?” I asked.

  “There’s always another way out,” she said like I was stupid.

  “Well, let’s go, then, Miss Know-It-All. Lead the way.”

  Della ran down the stairs and I followed. The first floor hallway was still deserted.

  A door slammed. I flinched and swung around, Sig-first, trying to find a face to go with the noise.

  “It’s just Mr. Koch,” Della said. “Gramma says he likes to keep an eye on everybody’s business.”

  She turned again and led us down another flight of stairs to the basement. The closest door opened into a tiny, grassless yard behind the building. A concrete wall ran around the yard with cast-iron spikes going around the top. I probably couldn’t get both of the girls over before the cops caught up to us.

  At the other end of the basement, a bunch of trashcans sat next to a door, waiting to be taken out. But that would lead right out to the cops. If they had the front covered—

  Upstairs, the security door banged open.

  “NYPD! Residents, please remain inside your apartments. Keep your doors closed.”

  I grabbed Della’s hand and ran for the trash door, praying to Jesus to keep us from getting gunned down.

  I pushed the door open. Waited. Nothing happened.

  I stepped out, pulling Della along with me.

  A cop was standing on the steps, sidearm drawn and pointed inside, covering her partner. We only got a couple steps before she swung around and drew a bead on me.