Days of Reckoning (19 page)

The neighbor laughed. “Gorilla here’d probably just run away. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thanks. And thanks for your help.”

The neighbor waved and headed back into his house. Sam stepped off of the front porch and started looking in the windows along the front of the house.

#

Miranda couldn’t hear what the people outside were saying. She could tell they were male, and it sounded to her that there were only two of them. That wasn’t so bad. She had already handled twice that many.

A beam of light shone against the small window cut into the top of the door. It was too high for anyone to see in, and the light quickly moved away. She followed it with the barrel of her gun. The slit windows on either side of the front door lit briefly with the beam. Miranda ducked back into the bathroom so she was out of the way. Whoever was looking into the house had the flashlight pressed up against the glass so it wouldn’t reflect as much. She waited for the light to move away before she crept out of her hiding place.

The windows in the front of the house all had blinds drawn, so there wouldn’t be any way for the people outside to see in. That meant they would soon be moving around back, after checking for broken windows and the like. Miranda moved quickly to the back of the house. Doubtless whoever was out there would try the door, just as she had, and would enter when they found it open. Keeping low, she pushed the button on the door that would lock the handle.

“Shit!”

The button would not depress.

She tried once more, then searched frantically for a latch or a chain or something to bar the way. Nothing. So that was why she had been able to get in so easily. She couldn’t believe anyone would live in a house that didn’t lock, but there wasn’t time for speculation or chiding. Miranda reached for one of the chairs in the kitchen and wedged it under the doorknob. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it would give her a few seconds to try and escape or, if it came to it, shoot the people as they tried to breach the barrier. She dreaded having to shoot a police officer, if that was indeed who the people outside were. Part of her hoped they would be Jesse’s friends coming looking for him. That would save her another trip out.

A flashlight beam flared in the window of the television room. Miranda pressed herself beside the door and crab-crawled her way into the kitchen. It looked as though she wouldn’t be able to escape through the back windows. The front door was in the line of fire from the back door, and she didn’t want to get tangled in the window blinds, so she decided to take her chances playing cat-and-mouse inside. She wished she had her MAC, or something else with a little more firepower than the silenced PPK.

The beam of the flashlight moved to the backdoor. Miranda scrabbled into the kitchen and took up position behind the island counter that housed the sink. The light continued to move to the window over the kitchen table. Miranda pressed herself against the counter and held her breath.

#

Sam searched the outside of the house carefully. All of the windows and doors seemed to be intact, but he still felt like something was wrong here. It was difficult to get a good look inside the house. The windows were dirty and reflected most of the light he cast on them, no matter how closely he placed the flashlight against them. Each time he pressed against the glass, he was certain a bullet would come crashing through, so he was damp with sweat by the time he reached the rear of the house.

Someone was in there, he was almost sure of it. He doubted very much that a basement light would be on a timer. Someone had to have turned it off, and if not Jesse or his wife, then who? He thought about calling for backup, but didn’t want to pull anyone off of their normal duties, especially the two officers at the Night Owl. Besides which, he didn’t have enough hands to manipulate a flashlight and cell-phone and still be able to quickly reach his weapon. So he pressed on.

Sam stepped up to the backdoor, wondering if he had the authority to try to get inside. He supposed that a broad definition of “probable cause” would apply, and reached out for the handle. It turned easily, but when he pushed against the door it shifted a bit and no further.

Sam’s senses jumped to an even higher state of alert. Something was blocking the door, and it wasn’t a deadbolt, chain or normal means of barricade. This was definitely unnatural. Sam snapped off the flashlight and pulled his Glock from its holster. Using his shoulder he leaned hard against the door.

It opened with a crash. Something inside toppled over and clattered to the floor. Sam couldn’t see it, since he immediately moved out of the doorway, but he was pretty sure that it was a chair that had been wedged under the doorknob. No gunshots rang out to greet him, so Sam figured that whoever was inside was either hiding or had very good fire discipline. He snapped the light back on and eased it around the frame of the door.

#

Miranda had moved further into the house. She went through the dining room and knelt at the corner facing down the hallway which lead to the back door. The crash of the chair toppling over made her jump, but her finger was resting alongside the frame of the pistol and she avoided giving away her firing position. No one came through in that first confusing moment, so she steadied herself, holding the Walther in a comfortable two-handed grip. Her finger moved to the trigger.

The flashlight came back on outside, its arc slowly making a path through the open door. Whoever was holding it was “cutting the pie,” very slowly making their way around the frame of the door, exposing no more of themselves than was absolutely necessary to survey the area inside. Miranda clenched her jaw. It would be very difficult to get off a killing shot against so small a target as was being presented to her. She also couldn’t tell if they were moving high or low; looking into the beam of light played tricks with her eyes. She knew better than to shoot directly at it. Officers usually held their flashlights away from their bodies so that assailants had a harder time zeroing in on them. She thought about simply shooting through the wall of the house, but it was risky with the subsonic ammunition in her pistol. She made a mental note to always have a 9mm or better within easy reach.
Live and learn, right
?

It was getting to the point where she would either have to fire or move to avoid being seen by the person outside. She opted for the latter course, not wanting to give away her presence until she was absolutely certain she had the upper hand. She pulled back from the corner and stood in a low crouch, listening, wondering which way the intruder would move when he entered.

#

Sam’s least favorite part of a search was entering the building. It was there that he felt the most exposed. He was vulnerable both in the doorway and in the few seconds it took to orient himself once inside. He took this one very slow, letting mere inches of his head move into the opening. Inches that would be fatal if a bullet found them, but he needed to see what lay inside.

He stared down a narrow hallway. The door blocked his view to the left, so he exposed himself a bit more and swiveled his head to the right. Table, more chairs, a counter that would provide cover for an ambusher.…

He made his decision and rushed inside, keeping low, heading for the counter. He moved at an angle, keeping his head, light and gun pointing left, rapidly taking in what lay on that mysterious side as he moved: entertainment center, coffee table, stairs leading up, and a couch under the window in the back of the room.

He knelt by the counter. The back of the house was clear. Lifting the flashlight up over the top of the counter, Sam moved along towards the tiles of the kitchen. He would tackle the stairs later, because anyone who came down them would likely make noise in their descent. He cut the pie again at the corner of the counter, and looked across the kitchen into a dining room. Another doorway to clear.
This is getting old
.

#

Miranda moved down the center hallway, thankful for the carpeting that masked her footsteps. Finding the right combination of speed and silence was difficult, but she was betting that if she moved at the same rate as the intruder, she would be all right, and he seemed to be working in a deliberate and methodical manner. She crept down the center of the hall so that her body wouldn’t brush against the walls. Ambient light spilled through the open door, and for once Miranda was glad that she hadn’t brought her own flashlight; her eyesight was used to the dim interior of the house, where as her adversary’s would be hampered by relying on his flashlight. That small factor might keep him from noticing her movements as she came up from behind.

She glanced around the corner and saw a man crouching, peering through the kitchen. Too easy, she thought, bringing up her Walther.

#

Sam felt the presence beside him. Cop instinct, survival instinct, whatever it was, let him know that he was in mortal danger. He threw himself into the kitchen just as a pistol spat quietly and two bullets smacked into the wall, just about the height where his head had been. He heard someone moving rapidly, towards the backdoor, and managed to rise just in time to see a figure fleeing out into the night.

#

Miranda fired quickly and moved. She saw the man dive, but didn’t have time to adjust her aim before squeezing the trigger. The pistol shots were remarkably quiet, especially for being indoors, and were drowned out by the clack of the weapon cycling for the next round. After firing, she moved at full speed, leaping over the fallen chair and running through the door, hoping to catch anyone outside by surprise. Her gun was up as she ran out, but there wasn’t a target to shoot at. She turned to the right, heading for the yard that wasn’t blocked off by a fence. The roar of a pistol followed her as she left the house.

Raucous barking startled her, and she turned in time to see a dog come charging out of the house next door to Jesse’s. It went straight for her ankles, tripping her up. The animal bit down hard on her calf. Miranda shouted in pain and tried to kick it away at the same time as she tried to avoid a second gunshot fired at her. Ignoring the dog that was mauling her leg, she got her pistol up and fired off a hasty round. She missed, but her assailant ducked back inside Jesse’s house. With that taken care of, she turned and fired twice into the dog, which yelped once and then was still. She shook it off of her leg and rose to run again.

The man in the house fired again, and she went back to ground, using the bulky dead animal as a shield. It wouldn’t stop many bullets, but the rest of the yard was flat and open. She was pinned down. As panic started to rise in her throat, the back door to the neighbors’ house opened and a large man in a robe and slippers strode out. “What the hell’s all the ruckus?” he bellowed.

Miranda hoped that the shooter in Jesse’s house was a police officer. As the robed man strode onto the lawn, Miranda rose up on her knee and fired twice more, first at Jesse’s house, and then at the neighbor. The large man cried out in pain, clutching at his stomach and pitching into the grass. Miranda didn’t watch, however. Her pistol was now empty and she was more concerned with switching out magazines, made more difficult because she didn’t want to leave the empty one behind. The tricky move took an extra second to complete. She pocketed the empty mag, rose up, fired three more times at Jesse’s house and charged for the open back door of the neighbor’s home. No shots sounded as she ran inside.

A woman coming down the stairs screamed in fright as Miranda rushed in. A single round sent her scurrying back up to safety. Miranda sprinted through the house, yanked open the front door and ran into the night. Her leg hurt like hell, and her arm throbbed too. She must have banged it diving for cover. Ignoring the burning in her limbs and lungs, she raced for her car. Sirens were wailing in the distance when she reached it. As she climbed in and turned over the ignition, she glanced in the rear-view mirror and got a look at the car parked behind her. To her horror, she recognized it as Sam’s.

#

Sam was sure he had hit the fleeing woman as she dove for cover. Her bullets kept him from getting a better look, however. He winced when splinters from the door tore into his face, and then swore when he heard the dog yelp as it was killed. None of that, however, compared to the horror he felt when the next-door neighbor came stomping out his back door. Sam wanted to yell at the idiot to get back inside, but there wasn’t time. Another bullet just missed his face, and then the shooter turned and fired once at the civilian. Sam felt sick when he heard the man fall. There was a brief lull, then more shots. After that it was quiet.

Sam knew the woman had made good her escape, but that was now of secondary importance. He was on his feet and running to the injured man, who lay moaning in agony. Sam knelt beside him, trying to keep the man calm. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and pressed it against a growing red stain, wondering just how badly the man was hit. Sirens in the distance comforted him only a little; at least someone had possessed enough sense to call for help. Sam cursed at himself. That was what he should have done in the first place. Instead, he had tried to be some kind of macho hero, and now an innocent person lay bleeding in the grass, with their beloved pet lying dead twenty feet away. The roar of a car’s engine only punctuated Sam’s anguish.

Jesse McClintock was feeling pretty brave after a few more shots of whiskey. He left a generous tip for the bartender, slid from his stool and stumbled out of the bar, hitching up his trousers so they fit more snugly around his waist. It took him a few minutes to remember where he had parked his car, but he eventually got there. He decided that the Night Owl was close enough to walk to, so he pulled the Beretta from under his passenger seat and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans, where it was mostly hidden by his denim jacket.

He shuffled with determination to the Night Owl. That bouncer was going to get it, that was for sure. And that asshole bartender. Jesse couldn’t remember why, exactly, but he knew he was going to get them good. He could hear honky-tonk blaring from the bar as he neared the door.
Fuck
, he thought,
I’m a regular fucking John Wayne
. He grinned widely as he moved closer. He sure hoped that black bouncer was there.