Absolution (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Zack
had reached a point at which the pain in his hands was no longer an issue.  It was mind over matter, and his mind was now as clear as a mountain stream.  He was a born optimist, and was certain that the situation he was in was little more than a temporary setback.  Logan would be taken down when Carlos and his men arrived.  Carlos was highly intelligent, and loyal, and would have formulated a plan to ensure that Logan would not survive this night.

Logan drew the combat knife from its sheath and cut the rope between Zack’s ankles.  “Get up,” he said to Zack. “Your boy will be along in a few minutes.”

Zack rotated his ankles several times to regain circulation, and then surprised Logan by almost springing to his feet.

Zack grinned as he saw Logan’s grip tighten on the handle of the knife. “Don’t worry, Logan,” he said.  “I won’t give you the slightest excuse to kill me.  I’m injured and unarmed.  If you murder me it will be in cold blood, and you know that doing it makes you no better than an out of control vigilante.”

Logan said nothing.  Maybe he
was
a long way from being right in the way that he dealt with people that threatened, intimidated, hurt or killed others.  His actions were in many instances outside what some – including law enforcement agencies – would deem a quality of being in accord with rightful conduct.  But he had never been able to let what was legally correct take precedence over what was morally right, even during his years as a cop.  Turning the other cheek was not in his repertoire.  He did what needed to be done to protect those incapable of defending themselves against lowlife’s like Slater.  He was able and capable in body and mind to make a difference, and so that is what he did if the circumstances he found himself in dictated that he become involved.  He found it impossible to stand back or turn away from events that should not be taking place.  Many people were not equipped to do what was right.  They could somehow look the other way and ignore another person’s predicament.  A prime example of that came to mind: Logan had been twenty-one, in the army but out of uniform, on a weekend pass and heading to New York City on a half empty late night Greyhound bus.  Three young guys had started harassing a young woman, and it was obvious that she was under undue stress and becoming fearful for her safety.  The verbal abuse and physical proximity to the woman was out of order, but none of the other passengers or the driver said or did a thing.  Logan had politely asked the guys to leave her alone, and they had turned their attention to him, prodding and pushing him and threatening him with violence.  He had responded.  And what was later deemed self defense had rendered two of them unconscious and the third with a broken nose and right arm.  He was cheered by the other passengers, but felt ashamed of them for not having the guts to stand up and be counted.  It illustrated that crime would always prosper if it was allowed its head by the sheep like response of society at large.

“Walk outside and get in the front passenger seat,” Logan said to Zack.

“And if I don’t, what will you do, kill me?  How will that get you the bitch back in one piece?”

Logan shot out his left hand and straight-armed Zack in the chest, knocking him back against the planks of the wall and causing one to split as a cloud of dust erupted from the dry timber.

“There are much worse things than dying, Slater,” Logan said as he pushed the point of the knife between Zack’s lips, cutting them.  Do you want to live with no tongue or eyes?  Think about it for all of three seconds, then start walking or suffer the consequences of being a cretin.”

As the blade was withdrawn, Zack licked at the warm blood running from his now gashed mouth and headed out into the street.

Carlos drove slowly along the bumpy and uneven surface of the winding dirt road that led through bluffs of red rock into the remains of Absolution.  It took his deepest reserves of mental strength to refrain from stopping, turning the car round and heading back to the safety of the main road.  There was no way of knowing what Logan would do.  Taking the cold, matt-black SIG Sauer pistol from the glove box and placing it on the seat between his legs, Carlos still felt at risk from what may be waiting up ahead.

He drove between the deserted buildings that lined both sides of the dusty street and stopped ten yards back from the small car that was parked at the foot of a spindly windmill.

Large spots of rain smacked against the windshield, and Carlos switched on the wipers and leaned forward in an attempt to see if anyone was in the vehicle that was lit up in the glare of his headlights.  He could see a figure in the front, behind the steering wheel, but the sudden desert storm denied him the ability to make out who it was.

His cell was hardly audible for the drumming of rain on the BMW’s roof.  He picked it up and accepted the call.

“So far, so good,” Logan said from where he was crouched behind the crumbling remains of an adobe wall.  “Where’s Andrea?”

“In the trunk,” Carlos said.

“Who else is on the way here?”

“No one.”

“Okay. Leave the key in the ignition and open your door.  If you’ve got a gun, toss it on the rear seat, then get out and stand still.  Do it now.”

Carlos followed instructions.  The gun was of no use to him because he had no idea where Logan was, but had no doubt that a weapon would be trained on him.

As he stood next to the car, the sky came alive with a chain of lightning that was followed by the crack of thunder.  The dead town was illuminated for two or three seconds, and Carlos looked about him but saw no movement.

“Help Andrea out of the trunk and let her get in the driver’s seat.  Make sure that she is not bound, and then let me speak to her,” Logan said loudly into the phone to be heard above the noise of what was now a deluge.

“What about Zack?” Carlos shouted.

“He’s at the wheel of the Kia, and he’s alive.  Go a little nearer and make sure if you want to.”

Carlos walked ten paces towards the small sedan and recognized Zack through the rivulets of rain that cascaded down the windshield.  He could even see that his boss had tape across his mouth, and that his hands were also taped to the wheel.

“Happy?” Logan said.

“What do you think?” Carlos said as he returned to his car and opened the trunk as he talked.  “I can think of a thousand places I’d rather be than here.”

“You’re a part of everything that Slater does,” Logan said.  “You know how he makes the blood money that you’re happy to take from him.”

“It’s never that simple, Logan,” Carlos said as he opened the trunk and helped Andrea out of it.  “I was coerced into working for him, way back.”

“But you’re here, making a deal for his freedom.  If you want you can just get back in the car and drive away.”

Carlos said nothing.  The invitation to leave was appealing, but he knew that the sheriff was most likely nearby, and so thought that his best chance was to wait and see what happened in the next few minutes.

“Hand the cell to Andrea,” Logan said, once she was inside the car.  He stood up and made his way around the wall he’d been behind, and walked through the now soaked bunch grass to within thirty feet of the BMW.

Carlos could see that Logan was holding a weapon that appeared to be a short-barreled SMG.  He could not make out Logan’s features in the downpour, until another flash of lightning briefly revealed him in stark black and white.

Carlos noted that the man was huge; not just well above average height, but broad and powerful looking.  His face was set like hard planes of granite, without a trace of expression.

After passing the phone through the partly open window to Andrea, Carlos just stood in the heavy downpour with his arms hung loosely at his sides.  His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes were sodden.

“Are you okay?” Logan said to Andrea.  “Did they hurt you?”

“I…I’m not hurt,” Andy said.  “But Fran is―”

“Fran is alive, in hospital and being tended to,” Logan said.  “I want you to reach over and pick up the gun off the rear seat, and then start the car, turn it round and drive out of town.  Stop a half mile away off road and out of sight.  I’ll be along soon.”

Andy started the car, but kept it in park as she he saw a figure appear through the gloom.  “There’s some one behind you,” she said to Logan.

A distant rumbling sound combined with the thunder to produce a continuous roar as the nearby creek bed was subjected to a vast amount of water.  A flash flood had formed as the runoff from the mountains and mesas rushed down into deep slot canyons, gullies and shallow creek beds with a ferocity that swept rocks, branches and all manner of debris along at a pace that even many buildings would not have been able to withstand.

The low banks of the creek collapsed into the spume, and the rear wheels of the Ford Explorer spun in the spray-filled air.  The driver knew that to go into the river would almost certainly be the end of him.  More than half of the fatalities attributed to flash floods are due to people being swept away in vehicles as they try to cross them.  As little as two feet deep fast moving water is enough to carry away most SUV-sized vehicles.  Infrequent storms in arid areas deliver an enormous amount of water in a very short period of time.

He did not hesitate.  Just opened the door with his left hand, grasped an object from the passenger seat with his right and jumped out of the Explorer, to land on his butt and scoot forward, away from the edge as the rear of the 4x4 dipped and lurched to the left, to be greedily consumed and carried away on its side.  He heard the shriek of metal against boulders, but could see nothing in the darkness.  The large vehicle was now just more flotsam to be borne out into the desert, to where in a few hours it would be left dented and beyond repair, to bake on what would once again be a bone-dry riverbed.

Drawing his Glock from its holster, he headed for the nearby ghost town, walking through almost thigh-high grass that clung to the legs of his uniform pants.  The roar of the flood lessened as he moved away from what had once been called Furnace Creek, and the rain eased as he approached the dead town and saw the two vehicles parked at the end of the street.

Even as Andy told Logan that someone was behind him, a straw cowboy hat soared through the air, to land on its brim and roll for a few feet like a kid’s hoop before coming to a stop and tipping over less than two yards from Logan.

“Don’t make any sudden move.  Just drop the weapon and the phone,” Clay Manders said.  “I’ll resolve this situation.”

Logan wanted to leap to the side, to roll over in the gloom and open up with the SMG that he was holding one-handed.  But Manders would start shooting, and however small, there was a chance that a stray bullet would find Andy.  He dropped the phone and the submachine gun and slowly turned to face the sheriff of Madison Bend.

“Let me guess,” Logan said.  “You’re the cavalry, here to return my hat and arrest Slater and his sidekick.”

Clay laughed.  “You know different, Logan.  I’m here to save Zack from a psycho that abducted him and was about to kill him.  Carlos will be my witness, and you’ll be dead.”

“Let the girl go,” Logan said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Clay said.  “She doesn’t figure in this scenario.  Her body will never be found.”

“Why?” Logan said, trying to buy time.  “I thought that you were clean.”

“Everyone does,” Clay said.  “Even my deputy, Lance, had no idea that I was a good friend of Zack’s, and as you know, he was working for him.  You have to compartmentalize and appear to be what people expect of you.”

“You need to review the situation, Clay,” Logan said.  “I’ve already contacted Pierce Lovell in Ajo and told him what’s going down out here.”

Clay walked to within ten feet from Logan and aimed the gun at his chest. “That’s bullshit, Logan,” he said.  “I daresay you suspected that Lovell was on the take from Zack.  You’re a lone wolf.  You poked your nose in and almost took Zack down, but almost counts for nothing.”

Logan looked down at the cell phone on the ground between them.  “Check the cell, Clay.  Seeing is believing.  Lovell is on the way.”

Clay searched Logan’s face.  Looked him in the eye and saw no glimmer of a lie or trace of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” Clay said.  “Even if you’re telling the truth, it won’t change a damn thing.”

A lightning bolt
did
change everything.  As the night sky was floodlit with a burst of photoflash brightness, Logan dropped to the ground and rolled sideways, over and over until he was off the rocky ground and concealed from view behind the long grass that encroached on the town.  He heard shots that amalgamated with thunder, and knew that Andy had opened fire from the BMW.

Clay hunkered down as he heard one of the rounds pass by his head; a lucky shot.  At that range in the dark with a handgun was asking a lot.  He returned fire, heard glass shatter and hoped that he’d hit the bitch.  His eye had only been off Logan for a split-second, but as he whipped his pistol round to shoot Logan and be done with him, he experienced a paralyzing pain in his chest.  He was frozen in place, convinced that he was suffering a major heart attack, until he looked down and saw the hilt of a knife protruding from his shirt.

Logan had not hesitated.  In one smooth move he had withdrawn the knife from its sheath, took aim and thrown it with all his force.

Clay remained standing for over five seconds, immobile, just staring wide-eyed at Logan, powerless to raise his gun and pull the trigger.  He was finished, and knew it.  He coughed once, and his throat immediately filled with blood, which sprayed from his open mouth, looking like old, black engine oil in the semi-darkness.

Logan waited, and was relieved when the rogue sheriff finally dropped to his knees and then toppled back to become still in a position that reminded Logan of some gymnastic maneuver.  He walked over to him, but did not touch him, just kicked the gun away from his limp hand, looked at the raindrops bouncing off his open eyes and knew that he was dead.