OIL TO ASHES
Part 2
'TRUCE'
A Linc Freemore Story
Lee Brait
PUBLISHED BY:
Copyright © 2014
1st Edition
www.LeeBrait.com
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No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.
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'TRUCE'
It started as a faint drone, barely audible over the thumping pistons and raging wind as he pushed the lumbering Harley as fast as he dared. As it drew closer Linc could hear the strain of the motor. Like a lawn mower laboring through long grass. He searched the sky. Nothing ahead. Nothing to the right. He scanned left and found it. A small plane. A Cessna or Piper. Flying low, only a couple hundred feet or so. Dragging its weight through the dirty afternoon sky, a dark vortex tumbling from the tip of each wing. The pitch of the engine lowered as it crossed in front of him, a mile or so away. Somewhere near the industrial area and marina.
A cylindrical object fell from the plane. It was followed by three more in quick succession. They wobbled and spun psychotically and disappeared below the horizon of houses. Linc felt the shock wave before he heard the "WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP". A ball of black smoke and thick red flame billowed in the distance. It grew and climbed and consumed the sky until it dwarfed the retreating aircraft, now a faint drone once again. No longer laboring under its heavy load.
Linc pressed both brakes until the tires began to lose their fight with the blacktop. He powered into a right hand bend, clipped the apex, opened the throttle full and let the big V-twin roar.
The smoke glowed, red and angry and dirty. It rolled and mauled its way upward and grew to a column that seemed to intensify the rushing acrid air. The largest of eight columns, supporting the weight of the bloated black sky. Each column thickened the haze and thinned the chances of a lasting truce. Each day they say will be the day they put pen to the truce agreement. But each day the pens seem to be replaced by more swords.
The haze fattened and glowed, fed by the spreading fire which was obscured by rows of speeding houses. Like a smoldering sunset in the middle of the afternoon. Linc could not tell whether they'd hit a storage tank or a well but they didn't care, the effect was the same. They drop their improvised bombs or launch mortar rounds from an SUV and keep the targets random. Oil tanks or wells, even the odd home. So long as it disrupts the oil supply and escalates the panic and confusion.
Linc smoked the tires into another corner. Then twisted the throttle and the bike responded with its throaty growl, stretching his arms against the handle bars and accelerating past the playground. Empty. Swings and seesaws and carousels. Normally bustling with the after school rush.
His wing mirror swallowed the playground. This one had been his stomping ground back when he was still keeping up his end of the bargain. Angie did the feeding and he takes care of the endless array of accessories that come with a new baby. Managing car seats and strollers, refolded baby beach-shades and keeping the little guy from getting sun burnt. As much as was possible at least. It seemed like a chore at the time, but what he would give now to complete the job. And be present for the years that followed. The ones he'd missed.
"No time for day dreaming," he growled at himself. "You're not letting them down this time."
He passed a long and low office building, wrapped with dark gray mirrored windows. The constant roof line seemed to last forever but the rooftop air conditioners and satelite dishes that zipped by gave his speed away. A cluster of Mercedes and BMWs lay claim to the parks nearest the shiny front doors. Further from the entrance were modern Toyotas and Fords and Crowns, until at the far end lay the beat up wrecks of the working men and women. Peeling paint and broken headlights. Even shrapnel holes.
Linc threw the hulking machine around a corner faster than was safe and powered into the straight. He skidded to the verge and dumped the bike on the grass. He sprinted half a block and paused at the gate to fumble for the latch.
He shoved it open one quarter, just short of the creak in the hinge. He squeezed through and eased it shut again. He hurried silently along the right hand side of the house, through the sweet perfume wafting from Angie's roses and put his weight on the stable side of the wobbly paving stone that Ryan had laid. He'd never fixed it, how could he?
He came out into the back yard. It was empty and the back door ahead and to his left was shut. He stayed on the path and passed under the tree where he'd built Ryan's tree house, heading toward Jim and Mandy's place next door. The upstairs bedroom window was open and a lace curtain blocked any view of the room. Linc and Jim had planted a privacy screen of trees along the boundary but they were some years from blocking the view of Linc's yard. Even good friends don't want to be staring at each other.
He followed the path around to the left and up to the back door.
"Angie?" He called. "I'm here!"
Muffled voices in the house.
Foot steps.
The door opened and Ryan came onto the stoop. A guy with gray flecked hair and a dark brown beard stood behind him, a firm grip on Ryan's collar and a hunting knife in his right hand. His leather jacket and blue bandanna were similar to the ones Shane wore.
Linc felt weak. Like on a training run when he kept running after he'd burned all his reserves. He steadied his knees. It was one thing to know a thug had a knife at your son's throat but it was another to see it.
He wasn't built for this. He was a family man. At least he tried to be. When he was able to escape the damned office. Just a regular guy like any other husband and father. He'd already got away with one miracle today. How could this happen again? How long would his luck hold? How long before Ryan and Angie's luck runs out?
"Where's my brother, asshole?"
His eyes were narrower than Shane's and somehow more weasel-like. Linc saw no point in playing dumb. His brother had obviously called him and filled him in. Must have been while he was passed out, tied to the tree.
"He's out Clayton Road," said Linc. "With the rest of those clowns that tried to kill me."
"I tied them up but they're fine," he lied.
"Give me my son and I'll tell you where."
Linc backed up two paces.
"I'll give you nothing till you give me my brother alive and well, asshole!"
He shoved Ryan in the back of the neck.
Pushed him forward, down off the stoop and took two steps forward.
Angie gasped from in the house. She was standing back in the lounge. Trying not to lose it. Trying not to get Ryan hurt.
The brother stopped and jerked back on Ryan's collar. Brought him to a halt too. At ground level now, he glared down at Linc from roughly an inch higher.
"Okay, okay. Just don't hurt him. I'll tell you where he is."
"No, you will..."
THWIP
The burning weasily eyes flashed to confusion, then surprise and disbelief. The knife fell from his hand and his
body went slack.
Jake sprang past Ryan and caught the brother as he fell. He dragged him away and laid him on the lawn.
"Dad?"
"Dad? What happened to him?"
Linc fumbled for the words. He's dead. He was shot right in front of you. Don't look at the corpse son.
"He's sick son."
"You go inside and I'll take care of him."
"Go on, quickly. Go to your Mom."
Linc paused and added "OXXX".
Ryan backed up and was plucked inside by Angie. She slammed the door and peered through the glass.
Linc checked up at the bedroom window. Jim stood in front of the curtain with his rifle in his hand.
He checked the brother again. No pulse. Lifeless.
"What the hell's going on Linc?" she was shrieking. Starting to lose it now.
"Take Ryan upstairs, Angie!"
"Not until you tell me what just happened!" Her best fish wife voice.
"Get him out of here first. I'll tell you everything as soon as I can but don't let him see this."
Reason broke through anger for long enough. Feet thumped up stairs. A door slammed.
Angie could be as mad as she wants. She could go bat-shit crazy for all Linc cared. She was alive and so was Ryan and that's all that mattered.
Jim appeared between the trees on the boundary.
"My boy is here," said Linc.
"Of course. Let's get him in to my garage."
"Thanks Jim. I owe you everything."
"Nonsense. We're square."
As they carried the body Linc thanked his lucky stars for what ever piece of fine print had cost him his bonus that particular