Bad Radio (20 page)

He sailed in a graceful arc up the stairwell until his trajectory was interrupted by the concrete wall at the landing where we started. He hit with a nice meaty slap and dropped like a rock.

I raced up the stairs and pounced on his prone form. My fingers dug into his flesh, desperate to crush and tear. My face was inches from his, my eyes drinking in his terror. Blood began to well up under my hands.

The urge to hook my fingers through his ribcage and tear him in half faltered. Begging and sobbing registered in my consciousness and I became aware of the acrid smell of urine and the tight muscles in my face and jaw.

I let go of him and stepped back. Tried to focus on what he was saying.

“Elevator. By the elevator.”

Information. I wanted information. I took his wallet and cell phone.

“How many? Of you?” I focused. “How many of you are there?”

“Three. Just three. One by the elevator and one in a car in the parking lot.” His eyes searched my face in terror. This was obviously not the first time he’d volunteered this information in the last few seconds.

“The guy who hired you. Dominic. Where can I find him?” The words came easier now.

“Downtown Boulder, in Colorado. Dom has a front there, a real estate office. It’s called Coyote Realty. He’ll go back there, I promise. He will.”

“Don’t make any sounds. Don’t leave the stairwell.”

He shook his head violently up and down. Looking at him I could see that he was badly injured. One arm and one leg were clearly broken, and from the sound of his breathing I had probably damaged his ribs.

He wasn’t leaving under his own power any time soon. Remorse touched me. I hoped that the staff found him before too long.

I wiped my hands clean on his clothes, then took the stairs down to the next floor and exited into another, identical hospital hallway. Getting close to the guy in the car would be difficult, so I decided to handle the one at the elevator first.

I took some deep breaths and tried to calm down. I was doing the right thing. I was in control. Henry was wrong. Those three thoughts chased themselves around my head in a loop.

I needed to focus on what I was doing. I walked down the corridor and took the elevator up, back to the floor I started on. I couldn’t approach a sentry stationed near the elevators by coming at him down the hallway, that would give him plenty of time to get out his cell phone. Or worse, grab a hostage from the nurse’s station next to the elevators.

But if I popped out of the elevator ten feet away from him, I could get to him before he could react. I needed to contain him before he could pull his gun on me. For both of our sakes.

The bell chimed and the doors slid open. Elevator guy was wearing a windbreaker, jeans, and cowboy boots. He looked a hell of a lot more like a real hospital visitor than the thug in the stairwell, as long as you didn’t count the bulge under his left arm.

I came out of the elevator at a fast walk and sat down next to him on the visitor’s couch as he looked up from his magazine. His eyes went wide with surprise.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I said loudly for the benefit of the two night nurses at the desk behind us.

He answered me in a much quieter voice. “Mr. Griffin, you need to return to your room. There are still thirty minutes left on the clock.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

He went for his gun. I clamped down on his forearm as it went into his jacket. He strained against me to get that last few inches to the holster, but it was pointless. He might as well have been a small child for all the good it did.

“Be still, or I’ll break your arm.” I had to squeeze until he gasped to make my point. I ignored the thrill that small sound gave me and forced myself to stop increasing the pressure.

I reached into his coat with my other hand and pulled out his gun, careful to keep it lower than the back of the couch. It was a blue-steel .38 revolver, a workman’s tool, reliable and lethal.

“Time to stretch our legs.” I guided him up off the couch and back to the elevator, keeping him in front of me and the .38 between us.

We rode up to the fifth floor, which was the top. I nodded pleasantly at the night nurse on duty, but it was a wasted gesture. She never looked up from her work.

Elevator guy was quiet and cooperative as I herded him into the stairwell at the end of the hall and up the last flight to the roof entrance.

I was grateful for the cooperation. I had managed not to kill the guy in the stairwell, but I didn’t want to test myself again so soon.

We pushed out of the last set of doors and into the cool, breezy night. Our shoes made scraping noises on the gritty concrete of the roof.

“You’re doing good. This is almost over. Just help me out with one more thing, and I won’t have to do you any permanent damage.”

“You’re not going to do me any permanent damage no matter what I do. You fire that gun up here, and people are going to come running. So you can go to hell.”

“You’re right about the gun.” It went into my pocket.

I hit him in the gut hard enough to lift his feet off the ground. I stepped to one side to keep from being splattered as he threw up all over his feet. My breath quickened, but stepping back helped me stay focused on what I was doing.

I pulled his wallet out of his jeans while he was catching his breath and flipped it open to read his ID. Jesse Smith. No doubt fake.

He put his hands on his hips and sucked air through his teeth.

“Son, I’ve been doing this a long time. If you think roughing me up a little is going mean diddly-shit to me, then you’re in way over your head. Just walk away, and I’ll make sure you don’t suffer when the time comes. Last chance.”

I hit him again. He grabbed my arm as he doubled up, and then he showed me how overconfident and stupid I was. With his other hand he stabbed me in the stomach.

21

T
he blade was cold in my guts but hot against the edges of the wound as it came out. I grabbed his wrist before he could plunge it into me again and squeezed until the bones cracked. The knife clattered to the concrete.

I kept hold of his wrist, but I stopped squeezing. He glared murder at me and sweat popped out on his brow, but that was the only sign that he was hurting. Tough son of a bitch.

I clamped my other hand over the wound in my stomach. The blood was a warm thread dribbling out between my fingers. An image of myself crouched over the man’s still and bleeding body tantalized me for a second, pulling at me, but I resisted with everything I had. Animal need crested inside of me, but I held on and it receded.

Nonetheless, the pain was a constant goad weakening my self control. I needed to end this quickly.

“Use your other hand to take out your cell phone, and tell your friend in the car to come up to the roof. Tell him you have a problem and you need everyone up here right now. Say anything different, and I’ll kill you before you can hang up.”

“I’m not … doing shit. You want to kill me? Better do it quick before you bleed out. Getting dizzy yet?”

My guts were on fire and my legs were starting to feel distant. Worse, I was having trouble remembering why I was fighting so hard not to tear bloody chunks out of this guy with my bare hands. The only way I could think to save his life was to shock him out of his bravado-fueled sense of control.

I let go of his wrist, leaned forward, and drove my fist into his left thigh. Thigh bones are far thicker than any of the bones in your hand. For anyone else, this would have resulted in one shattered hand and one bruised thigh.

But I’m not anyone else. His thigh snapped with an ugly crunching sound and the leg collapsed, dumping him onto the ground. I knelt fast and clamped the hand that wasn’t on my wound over his mouth to muffle the screaming. His face was red and his eyes wild where they showed over the top of my hand.

It hurt like hell and one of my knuckles was already swelling up, but at least I hadn’t killed him.

When the screaming stopped, I pulled my hand back and dug the phone out of his jacket. He was breathing hard and blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Call now. Say you’re hurt and you need help up on the roof.”

He grabbed the phone out of my hand and dialed with his thumb. It took a minute, since his good hand was attached to a broken wrist and his other hand was trembling. I could hear it ringing faintly, and then quit as someone picked up.

“It’s me. I’m hurt. You need to get out of here right now and …” I slapped the phone out of his hand, but it was too late. I could already hear a car starting down in the parking lot.

“No!” If the man in the car got away, Leon and Henry were dead.

I let go of my stomach, grabbed elevator guy with both hands, and ran to the edge of the roof. Five stories down, I saw headlights flick on.

The third man was parked right next to my car, about fifteen yards away from the side of the building. A white flash flickered through the wash of red brake lights as he threw the gear selector past reverse into drive.

I no longer cared about the lives of the two hit men. I lifted Elevator Guy over my head with an inarticulate roar and hurled him downward with everything I had.

His terrified shout stopped abruptly when he impacted the windshield in an explosion of safety glass. Small glittery pebbles rained down through the car’s headlights as the nose dove down on its springs.

The car idled slowly forward until it bumped into the rear of the car across the parking lot aisle.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. I clamped my teeth together to keep from screaming out in triumph over my kill. Laughter bubbled out instead. It took long seconds for me to calm down and realize how wrong that was. How wrong I was. I dropped to my knees and concentrated on my breathing until I could think clearly again.

I rode down the elevator and hurried out of the building to check the car. One nurse stopped me before I left the main lobby, concerned about the mess on my clothes, but I just smiled and lied that it wasn’t my blood. She gave me a sympathetic nod and walked off.

I walked around the side of the building to the now demolished car. Both men were dead.

From the looks of it, the man in the car died from a broken neck when the roof caved in on him. The side windows in the front of the car had blown out when the roof had partially collapsed, so it was easy to reach in and grab Car Guy’s wallet.

I then wiped down the guns I had taken as best I could and tossed them into the car. There was no way I wanted to be caught with the guns of professional killers in my possession.

I moved my car to a spot across the lot so that it wouldn’t get caught in the inevitable police cordon, grabbed my clothes bag from the trunk, and went back up to Henry’s room.

Before I went inside I tried to collect myself and shake off the giddy sense of euphoria that was still with me. I tried to concentrate on the pain from my wound. That helped.

I entered the room and closed the door behind me, then tossed my bag of clothes on the floor. “There were three of them, but we’re clear now.”

Henry fixed me with a cold stare, taking in my blood soaked shirt. “You killed them.”

“The first one is fine. I left him in the stairwell with nothing a little first aid and some traction won’t fix.”

Anne frowned at me. “Traction? He’s in the stairwell with broken bones?”

“He’s alive.”

“What about the second one?” asked Henry.

“He was fine until he stabbed me and tipped off his buddy in the parking lot.”

“And then?”

“He stabbed me!”

“And?”

“And then I had to throw him off the roof.”

“And the third guy?”

“Second guy landed on him.”

“Of course he did.”

“I had no choice, he was getting away.”

Anne crossed her arms and looked sick. My friends seemed to care a lot more about three hired killers than they did about me. I tried to remind myself that they were just worried about my state of mind, but it still stung.

“Henry, I swear to you that I didn’t kill them because I wanted to. I tried to be reasonable.”

“I believe that you tried. I also believe that you couldn’t help yourself and you failed. Everyone told you to let them go if it came down to it.”