The Hitman: Dirty Rotters

  I was stunned.

  For several months after Pamela came up missing the terrible image of her frightened face would own me. I would lie awake unable to rid the awful image from my mind. Eyes so beautiful that they could break my heart, now were filled a fear so deep that it strangled the air in my windpipe.

  I tried over and over again to convince myself that the image was false. That I had created it out of my own fears. Of course I failed; I had always thought the worst. That helpless look, full of terrifying uncertainty, never left me.

  Frank wore that look.

  For a split second it was Pamela I was staring at.

  Confusion led to uncertainty and then wonder as he recognized me. He had no idea what to think then. Baffled, just like Andrik was watching the cop pray. His nose was bleeding and around his eyes were darkened, bruised and swelling. A strip of shiny grey tape covered his mouth. He was sweating hard. He was fighting to keep a shred of dignity.

  As softly as I could, I whispered, “Trust me.”

  I punched him in the gut quickly. He doubled over with a groan. The surprised look in his eyes instantly changed to anger. I had to make a good show of it to gain trust with my new comrades. As I walked away from Frank, the other four watched me close. Distrust was in their eyes. I was an outsider. They were there simply to make sure things went as planned. I had to earn their trust. Frank took one for the team.

  “Put his foot in there,” I told Andrik’s men.

  Three of the four Russians removed the cop from the device and turned him around, setting his left foot in position under the weight. The fourth Russian stood watching them struggle. He gave orders and direction. The others obeyed without comment.

  It wasn’t a smooth transition. The cop’s hefty size made things difficult for them. They were working hard and sweating freely. The cop had both hands on his head and crying. He looked like a headache commercial in Mexico.

  Finally they had his foot in and secured it. One of them went to work turning the wheel. The squeaking was hurting my ears. I said to them, “Stop.”

  The wheel man turned to look at the lead Russian for approval, then to me in unison with the other three. The leader didn’t like me. I could see it in his beady eyes. And if he didn’t like me, the other three were sure to follow.

  The leader spoke to them in Russian and the wheel man went back to work. He was told to. He was told not to listen to me. He was told to do the job and no more stopping.

  “I said stop.” I stared the leader down hard.

  “Nyet.”

  “Da.”

  He shook his head. He gently tapped his machine gun. I said, “I want the cop to do it. He’s going to kill his friend. After that, he’s all yours.”

  He stared at me. I heard Frank mumble something behind me. I didn’t turn. My eyes held on to the penetrating gaze of the leader. The wheel man kept turning. The weight was about six inches from the cop’s foot. A slow process. It was called a torture device for a reason. You were meant to endure a great pain, not die quickly.

  “Andrik put me in charge.” I said. I stepped closer to him. I stopped within a foot. His eyes were green. His eyebrows were blond. He had several small scars on his face. Maybe someone slammed his head into a pane of glass. Maybe it would happen again in a few minutes.

  I pulled out my right hand from my pocket. My fingers were wrapped tightly around the nine millimeter, finger on the trigger. I pointed it at his chest. I gave him a look like I was ready when he was. His rebellious look turned a short moment later. He told his man to stop. His gun lowered. He gave me a look that said go ahead.

  I said, “Where’s the cops’ guns and belts?”

  “In the car,” the leader said.

  “Take his handcuffs off.” I motioned to Frank, but I kept my eyes on the leader. He looked away, said something in Russian to his men, then the short one raced outside. He ran back inside a moment later with two belts in his hands, two guns, a set of handcuffs, and somewhere in the mess were the keys to unlock Frank.

  He handed the items to me. I didn’t take them. I made him set them on the floor. He followed orders. But he didn’t like me. I wasn’t going to win them over. That was fine with me though.

  “Let the cop kill his comrade,” I said. I smiled to the Russians.

  I turned to Frank. “Come here. Put your hands on the wheel and start turning it. You move, and I’ll shoot your knee caps off.”

  One of the Russians, the short one, the one who ran outside, moved over and behind Frank with a set of keys. He unlocked the handcuffs, removed them, and stepped back quickly with a smile. Frank didn’t move. He only stared at me.

  “If you don’t do this, then you’re going to die.” I said.

  The Russians held their guns pointed at him. They formed a circle around him as he moved closer to the device. I stepped back and away. With the slightest movement of my left foot, I nudged the gun belt close to the cop with a growing migraine. He looked up at me. He didn’t know what to think. I had never met him. For all he knew I was one of the bad guys. Maybe the baddest guy.

  I looked at him like get the gun now. My eyebrows raised quizzically as if to ask him what the hell was he waiting for? My foot slid it right next to his hand as if to emphasize the instruction.

  All eyes were on Frank. His big hands wrapped around the wooden wheel and clutched it tight as if he were trying to snap it in half. If he had tried, it didn’t work. All he succeeded in was gathering more attention. I saw his eyes look down for a split second, then up to me. He knew. He also knew enough to keep the focus on himself. So he grunted and carried on as if turning the wheel was nearly impossible for him. He moved slowly though, and that fooled no one.

  The leader stepped closer to Frank. He was suspicious. He stared at Frank as if he were a riddle and the answer was someplace right in front of him, but he couldn’t put a finger on it quite yet.

  I stole a glance down quickly. The cop had his gun out, a fourth generation Glock 17. I saw the Gen4 rollmark on the slide. Sally had two in her bedroom. I took one. It was in my hand. He had his snug against his side. He was quiet. His breathing was calm. He was ready.

  I stepped away from him, talking loud, coming to Frank, opposite of the leader, who was eager to unload twenty rounds into Frank’s chest. I had my gun out already. I held it head level and stepped close to Frank. This was it. Win or lose.

  “Turn that damn wheel! Do it!” I screamed. I gathered attention. No one else heard the safety switch on the Glock click off. “I am going to start shooting on three!”

  Frank did nothing.

  The Russians were anxious. They looked jumpy watching the show.

  “One…Two…” I said. Frank closed his eyes. “If you don’t move you’re going to die.” I saw Frank’s eyes turn to me. I nodded. “Three!”

  Frank stepped back just as gunfire erupted.

  I wasn’t sure if the cop fired before I did or not. Frank’s head ducked back and I saw the look of surprise in the leader’s eyes right before I fired. The Glock kept firing. Two shots to my one. Then three. Then four. Then five. About ten rounds from a machine gun went off in a second. Bullets ripped through the vast space and then into the walls tearing into the sheet metal. The echo was loud.

  I fell onto Frank. I used my body to cover him. Chips of cement exploded right beside us. But the shooting stopped. Just as fast as it all started, it ended. No bullet holes in me. No stinging sensations. I could still see and breathe. I was fine. Frank was too.

  I turned back over my right shoulder and looked for the other cop. He was sitting upright, Glock held tight, barrel smoking, eyes alert and scanning quickly. He was shaking terribly. But he was fine. He was alive. Dead Russians surrounded us.

  “Get this damn thing off me!” he said.

  I scrambled up to my feet. Frank did the same. He was trying to talk at the same time he was peeling back the tape from his mouth. I went to work on the wheel, but Frank pushed me aside with ease and t
ook over.

  “Go!”

  “He’s getting away!” the other cop yelled.

  I did a count. There were three dead Russians. One was missing.

  I turned in a circle. I saw no one. The warehouse was empty. The cop with the headache pointed to the door we walked in through. I raced for the door and left the two cops together. By the time I reached the door I heard the Escalade’s door slam shut five yards past the entrance. I opened the door. Bullets sprayed instantly into the building beside me. I dove back and hit the floor, rolling aside, then springing to my feet. Bullets ripped through the door in a fast explosion of lead and aluminum. Then it went quiet. He’s out of ammo, I thought.

  I raced to the door. I couldn’t let the Russian make a phone call to Andrik. One call would end everything in a hurry. I pressed against the bullet-riddled door and pressed it open, just far enough to peek out. I saw the Escalade. No shooter in sight.

  I paused. My heart was in my throat. I figured that if he had reloaded then he would have kept shooting. So then I figured he must have run out. Without the keys to the Escalade, maybe he ran off on foot. I could see that. A wiser decision than sticking around. There were plenty of abandoned buildings and shops to hide in and make the call. Chances were that we would never find him.

  I stepped out. I had the gun out ahead of me, ready to fire, aiming in all directions, eyes scanning for any trace of movements. There was nothing to be seen though. Save for the black Escalade.

  I walked right for it. Weapon aimed right at it, in case a head popped in the window or a door flew open and gun fire erupted. I was ready. My trigger finger was itchy. I would have shot a mosquito if one swept past me.

  I made it to the Escalade without incident. I opened the front passenger door, weapon drawn. But it was empty. And it was clean too. Shiny clean. The type of clean that makes you wonder if anyone had ever been in it. I stepped around to the back door, opened it, and got the same results. Nothing.

  I figured then that the short Russian had fled. My only hope then was that he didn’t carry a cellular telephone like the rest of the planet did.

  I exhaled in defeat and turned around.

  I thought about the human brain then. It is just amazing how fast it can react, calculate, and instruct. It can take a second and stretch it out to feel like three or four.

  But all I had was about a tenth of a second. It was all I needed though.

  As I turned away from the shiny black leather seats of the Escalade, I saw the short Russian appear, swinging a two-by-four at my head like a woodsman sending his axe down to split a chunk of oak. I saw a nail in the wood, as well as the letters GR stamped against the side. Probably from the mill that processed it. I saw the angry eyes of the Russian. Further back from him I saw the building door fly open and Frank charging out.

  Then I saw stars.

  Then a swirling blackness was devouring my sight.

  My eyes closed against a sharp, stinging sensation.

  All in a fraction of a second.

  I woke up with a throbbing headache. The first thing I thought about was the cop with his head stuck in the crushing device. I had nothing to complain about. I would live. I had a bump that would heal in a week, no major damage.

  I was lying on the ground exactly where I fell. I was staring up at the grey-clouded sky. The air had a chill to it. I’m guessing the temperature was dipping below the fifty degree mark that it was during lunch. I did a test on all my limbs to see if everything was working. I was fine.

  I sat upright and heard the screaming right away. Loud and painful, bellowing out of the warehouse. Frank and the other cop, I thought. The Russian must have somehow taken them hostage again.

  I stood to my feet quickly. Well, I did the best I could.

  I had no gun. What I did see lying there beside me was the two-by-four. I bent and picked it up and regretted it immediately. My head banged harder, like someone was driving a railroad spike into it. I grabbed the wood plank and stood slowly. I walked to the warehouse door in the slight rush I could muster. The pain in my head crippled me from running an all-out sprint, or even a dash, or even a trot. I couldn’t even mall-walk. But I made it to the door. I opened it. The screaming was loud inside.

  I stepped in expecting to see a slight variation of what I had walked into earlier. Instead, I saw Frank. He punched me in the gut.

  I gasped for air and doubled over, wheezing and letting the two-by-four slip free to clank against the cement floor. I stood gently upright, fighting off the waves of pain in my head, and looked Frank in the eyes. He looked pissed off.

  “Returning the favor,” he said.

  “I had to earn some trust from them. I thought you’d understand.” I said, gasping in between words. “I was saving your life.”

  “We wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.” Frank said, then walked forward, nearly pushing me out the door.

  So we went outside.

  “What do you mean? I had nothing to do with you guys getting-”

  “Sally asked me to do some snooping around. She didn’t come right out and say it, but I know it was for you.”

  More screaming from inside.

  I motioned to the warehouse. “What’s going on in there?”

  Frank shrugged. His voice was a deep growl. “How would I know? I’m out here.”

  “You were just in there.”

  No response.

  “Why the attitude?”

  Frank stared me down hard. He was protecting his partner in there. The one crushing the Russian’s head in like a spatula bleeding out a hamburger. Frank didn’t like me. I could see it in his eyes.

  “I don’t like you,” he told me. “Ever since you showed up things have been going bad.”

  I said nothing. I knew he was talking about whatever personal life he had with Sally Rhode. Maybe they were dating. Maybe lovers. Maybe more. Sally was a friend of mine only. He had no reason to be jealous of me.

  The screaming stopped. A vast silence enveloped us.

  Frank and I turned to the building behind him. A moment later the door opened and the other cop walked out. He didn’t look happy. Considering that his head was nearly flattened, I guess he looked just fine.

  Frank gave him a questioning look. The other simply shook his head. I heard Frank groan. I guessed that they had attempted to get some answers out of the short Russian. I guessed that he knew he was dead either way so he didn’t talk.

  He walked right up to me and shook my hand. He had a hard look about him. I imagined he had quite a headache too. “You’re Sally’s friend?”

  “Michael Lynch.”

  “I’m Sally’s brother. Belsay Rhode.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know Sally had a brother. There was an awkward silence then as they both just stared at me like I was supposed to say something. So I did.

  “What was Sally looking for?”

  “Sally asked me to do her a favor. She came in this morning with a handwritten note and wanted prints off it. Said it was real important. She looked scared. Sally never looks scared. So I asked her about it. She told me the note was stuck to your car, in her driveway.”

  I nodded. Frank didn’t care to think about my car being in Sally’s driveway. The look he gave me made it quite obvious. I said nothing. He continued.

  “So I did what I could. I got the prints. I gave her the information. But then someone started asking questions. The Russian cops don’t like to be left out of things like this, and this was something I was leaving them out of for sure. But one of them saw the name of the print. Word spread like wildfire. Next thing you know, all hell is breaking loose. Me and Belsay here were rushed out on some phony call and picked up by those maniac Russians.” Frank motioned his hand towards the warehouse. “They wanted to know why we were looking for this guy. They wanted to know who wanted the information.”

  “But we live by a code,” Belsay said, brimming with pride. “We told them nothing.”

 
“Who wrote the note?” I asked Frank.

  “I never saw. The file was printed and I put it in an envelope and sent it to Sally. If she wanted me to know, then I would have known.” Frank paused to reflect then added, “They were going to have to kill me.”

  The note. I had forgotten all about it.

  Noon or else!

  “You need to get Belsay to a hospital and get his head examined.”

  “While you do what?” Frank said.

  “I need to get back to Sally and see what information she has.” I turned for the Escalade then stopped. “We need keys.”

  The three of us turned as one to the warehouse. We began our search through the Russians’ pockets looking for the set of car keys. Frank found them on the leader, of course. Frank drove, I sat shotgun, and Belsay laid in the back. Frank didn’t trust the Russian cops on the force enough to go back to work right away and press charges against Andrik. I advised him not to. I talked him into waiting through the weekend before coming out and making statements. By then I would have things wrapped up. Neither he nor Belsay had a family back home waiting, which made things a lot easier. Despite their desires to seek revenge on Andrik, the two weary cops agreed that lying low was their best move. For now, anyway.

  Frank took me to the recycling business to pick up my car, then they were heading out of town to ditch the Escalade, to rent a car, then to a hospital nowhere near the Red Square. I advised them to stay low for a day or two.

  “Just be gone when I come back,” Frank said.

  Chapter 14