Ashes to Ashes (31 page)

Chapter 36

The bed was narrow and Ashe had to crowd
Katherine in order for them to both fit. But he didn’t mind being
close to her, he didn’t mind feeling the weight of her, the flesh
of her, against the side of him. She snuggled against his chest,
with her head on his bare heart. He liked it. He loved it. And he
was ashamed of it at the same time. He had come to her house in
order to confront her, to show her how betrayed that he had felt.
He had failed that mission, to once again find himself in bed with
her.

He could see the top of her head and spent
several minutes admiring her shiny, red hair. It looked almost like
flowing fire. Taking his hand, Ashe brushed the top of her hair
with his palm, almost fearful that the fire might actually burn
him. As if Katherine hadn’t burned him enough, already. It felt
good to burn, Ashe admitted to himself.

While they laid there in quiet, he wondered
how his heart sounded in Katherine’s ear. Was it a gentle thump? Or
did it sound like it felt, a fast and solid drumming, from a
mixture of nerves and excitement.

“This isn’t your house,” Ashe told her, as he
stared at the white waves of the ceiling’s plaster. He could hear
rain pouring against the roof.

“Isn’t it?” she replied in a subtle, still
sexy voice.

Glancing around him, he pointed out that
“There aren’t any recent pictures of you in the house…none that I
saw. They are pictures when you were young. A teenager…maybe. With
other pictures are of an older couple. You don’t even sleep in the
master bedroom, but it the smaller room to the side of the master
bedroom. You live with your parents. This is their house? And this
is your old bedroom…from when you were a kid?”

“Guilty,” she said. “But that was an easy
deduction.”

He nodded. “Guilty.”

“I ran into a little debt,” Katherine
admitted. “Had to move back home.”

“Make a bad job choice?” Ashe asked.

“A long line of them,” she replied. “I don’t
put too much thought into my new adventure and then it tends to
blow up and obliterate my cash supply.” She looked up at Ashe. “You
are proof of that. I’m a bit spontaneous and flaky…if you haven’t
noticed by now.” A group of her fingers began to play with his
bellybutton.

“I would never call you…flaky,” he said.
“Crazy. Maybe.”

She playfully hit his stomach and he
pretended like it hurt. The room became silent again, with nothing
but rain and slow breathing to fill the void.

What was he doing?

“You don’t want to be here,” Katherine
stated.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Ashe corrected.

“And yet you are,” she said.

“And yet,” he agreed.

“Do you want to be?” she asked.

He nodded.

His phone erupted to rip apart the building
emotions. Ashe quickly slipped from beneath Katherine’s naked form
and dove for his lying slacks. Reaching into his pocket, he found
and answered the blaring cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Are you wearing pants?” inquired the voice
on the other end.

“
Sure
,” Ashe replied.

“I have some news for you about that powder,”
Ginger said. Ashe was suddenly alert and aware. “Can you meet me at
April’s Corner Café?”

“Yes,” Ashe blurted. “Give me thirty?”

“That will work, my man,” Ginger replied.
“I’m bringing a friend. I hope you don’t mind. He has some news for
you too.”

“Oscar?”

“No, sir,” Ginger assured. “You will
see.”

He reluctantly agreed. Why would Ginger bring
another person into it?

“See you in thirty minutes,” Ashe told
him.

“Not unless I see you first,” Ginger replied
and then hung up without anything further.

“I have to run,” Ashe said, turning back to
Katherine’s form. “Something important has come up.”

“Scott?”

“Yep.”

Katherine nodded.

Once dressed, Ashe chose to kiss her goodbye.
The kiss was long and bothersome and he almost crawled back in bed.
By he fought the urge and managed to escape the house.

Chapter 37

Even though the Browning had been pulled,
Scott kept the barrel facing the ground. He carefully watched the
dangerous men, those that had come out of the park’s bathroom and
into the pouring rain. He had to continuously use his free hand to
wipe away the rain from his eyes, because it threatened to blur his
vision. Patiently, at least in slight patience, he studied the
men’s movements and tried to determine their next steps. Studying
behavior, trying to guess future actions, was always his dad’s
field, not his. At that moment, he wished that some of that talent
had rubbed off on him, because he might have been less nervous,
less shaky.

Or not. Just because he might have had more
insight into the men’s behavior, the danger behind their intent
would still exist. Understanding dangerous men didn’t make them any
less dangerous. A lesson he was sure his psychologist father knew
well.

Scott had to keep his head on, nonetheless.
Who were the men? What were they capable of? He needed to know.

Scott was in good shape but not stupid enough
to believe that he could take on a group of men, some if not all of
them armed with weapons which were most likely capable of punching
bigger holes than his own. Looking closely, which was difficult in
the continuous rainfall, he tried to size up the men. The man from
the yellow Porsche might have a pistol hidden somewhere on him, but
he also might not, leaving the violence to the man at his right,
the large guy holding a yellow umbrella. The man holding the yellow
umbrella was obvious muscle. Scott could make out a brown pony
tail, which poked out from a black baseball cap and ran down below
his shoulders. The man with the yellow umbrella also wore a
matching black t-shirt, with a bulge of what was most likely a
vest.

Bulletproof vest.

Scott sighed.

Through the rain, Scott could barely see a
large object hanging at the waist of the man holding the yellow
umbrella. A gun. It looked large, larger than his own. But it did
appear to be handgun, nothing too powerful, like a shotgun or an
assault rifle. Yet, in the hands of someone trained, any gun, even
a low caliber pea shooter, was more dangerous than something in the
hands of someone like Scott, untrained and shaky.

Scott knew that he could not trade shot for
shot with the killer holding the yellow umbrella.

He would lose.

In front of those two men were three more
men. All three of them were wearing what looked like expensive dark
suits, Armani or something of similar price. The two on the outside
appeared to be from somewhere in the Middle East, Scott made the
assumption based on the fact that their skin closely resembled the
sands of the desert. They were the men in charge, of that he was
sure.

The man in the middle was another obvious
bodyguard, and he too held a large umbrella for the other two, but
the one he held was dark blue, not yellow. The second muscle had
dark skin and a bald head. Scott couldn’t make out a vest beneath
the suit, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if one existed. He
was also pretty sure weapons of some form were hidden beneath the
expensive clothing, but he couldn’t even guess to what size and to
what caliber. That unknowing scared him the most.

He had to be smart before he acted.

Scott was often labeled a jock or an athlete,
but he was far from a moron. He may not be on par with his father
but he had intellect. How could the son of Ashe Walters not have
some kind of brain? So instead of running in guns blazing, he knew
that he had to think his actions through. He had to have a plan. If
he didn’t act on a plan, than he was sure to die in that park, the
rain rolling his blood through the woods.

For a few minutes the men just stood in
silence. And Scott found it hard to breath. When were they going to
do something?

A streak of lightning struck somewhere in the
distance, followed by thunder that seemed to shake the trees. Scott
jumped and almost cried out. He jerked his free hand to his mouth
and caught the shriek before it got out.

One of the Middle Eastern men finally spoke,
his words getting lost in the rain. After he spoke, the other one
added something to it. Lastly, the man from the yellow Porsche made
a comment. The men in charge, yellow Porsche and the two Middle
Easterners, shook hands. Afterward, the Middle Easterners and their
muscle departed, heading back to their SUV, while yellow Porsche
and
his
muscle remained behind.

Scott didn’t consider the turn of events. A
plan suddenly formed in his mind.

The man from the yellow Porsche and his
muscle watched the other men drive off and Scott was happy to see
them go. His enemies had just shrunk from five to two, and he liked
those odds a lot better. It would still be tough and dangerous, but
no longer completely impossible.

Glancing to his feet, Scott found what
remained of a large branch. He reached down and grabbed it. It fit
nicely in his hand. He reluctantly put the handgun in the front of
his pants. He would need two hands for the branch.

The two remaining men exchanged a few more
words and began their walk back to the yellow Porsche. Scott’s
pulse increased its pace as he watched them casually stroll back to
the vehicle. They were casually exchanging dialogue, but Scott
couldn’t make out what they were saying, once again the words were
lost in the rain, which seemed to have increased in its
density.

He wiped more water from his eyes.

Watching the men, Scott knew that his chance
was coming and once he took the first step there was no turning
back, at least not alive.

When the men arrived at the car, Scott sprang
from behind the tree. Sprinting up behind them, he swung the
remnant of the branch with everything he had, planting it across
the back of the big man’s skull. It shattered under the force. The
vibrations reverberated through his knuckles. The big man stumbled
forward but didn’t go down. He didn’t even go to his knees. From a
leather holster, Scott caught sight of the big guy’s handgun.
Before the big man had time to shake away the ringing in his ears,
Scott ripped the man’s gun from its holster and heaved it across
the street and into the woods on the other side. He didn’t want to
have to keep track of two loaded weapons.

Turning, Scott grabbed his own gun from his
waist.

The man from the yellow Porsche was looking
at Scott in surprise, his mouth open. Once he was over the initial
shock, the man from the yellow Porsche would react. In order to
neutralize him, Scott pointed the gun and shot him in the lower
part of his calf. It only grazed the leg and did little more than
remove a chunk of skin, but the man screamed in pain, anyway. The
cry was a mixture of pain and anger.

That would occupy the yellow man for a
moment. Or so he hoped.

While Scott’s attention was on the main
target, though, the big guy had regained his senses and rushed
Scott, taking him to the ground. The Browning fell from Scott’s
hand, but he didn’t let that stop him from acting. With the big guy
was on top of him attempting to subdue him, Scott used his fists
while he still could. He swung, connecting with the man’s jaw, but
the hit wasn’t strong enough. He swung again and again, but the big
man shrugged off the blows. In desperation, Scott rammed his thumb
into the big man’s right eye and felt the eyeball shift.

The big guy’s head jerked back and he groaned
but he continued to fight with Scott’s arms, as he tried to pin
them down. The rain, though, had made Scott wet and slippery and
the big guy couldn’t keep a hold of him. Using it to his advantage,
Scott began to wiggle rapidly beneath the big guy. Finding the
right position, Scott then brought his knee against the big guy’s
crotch.

It was dirty.

But fuck it.

The guy on top of Scott immediately tensed
and Scott managed to slip away. He grabbed another tree limb, one
slightly smaller than the last. Still sitting, facing the big man,
Scott swung another piece of wood and connected with the man’s
face.

That time there was blood.

But the blood coming from the big guy’s lip
and cheek seemed to bring him back to reality and he lunged to his
feet, faster than any reaction Scott could make. The big guy rushed
Scott again, driving him back into the side of tree. Breath escaped
Scott. His lungs emptied. The big man rapidly jabbed Scott again in
his empty lungs, making sure that he could not catch his
breath.

Scott felt momentarily paralyzed.

Finding a fragment of clear thought, Scott
tried to attack. Momentarily forgetting about the vest beneath the
big guy’s black t-shirt, Scott jabbed and tried to steal the man’s
air, but heard his knuckle pop instead.

A yelp flew from his lips.

Scott bent his head in, but not for a
head-butt. Instead he bit down on the big man’s nose and tasted the
man’s blood as it filled his mouth. Leaning back, he then spat the
mouthful of crimson blood into the big guy’s eyes. First the big
guy flinched in surprise. And then he fell back a step as the blood
seeped further into his eyes.

While the big guy began to paw at his eyes,
Scott took the chance to ball a fist and hit the big man as hard as
he could in the jaw. Even though Scott had brains, he was an
athlete through and through, built and muscular, and when he was
able to properly hit someone on the chin it was no surprise when
they went down. And the big guy, the hired muscle, reacted to the
blow by falling backward, his feet slipping on the wet ground. He
went down but remained semi-conscious.

Retrieving the Browining from the ground,
Scott walked over to the big guy and pointed the gun downward at
him. Then…he paused. The man on the ground had been trying to kill
him but the act was initiated by Scott himself. It wasn’t exactly
self-defense. Was it? How could he justify another body, another
dead person by his hand? It wasn’t the same as Owen or the black
guys from the other park.