Kim Oh 2: Real Dangerous Job (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (22 page)

I halted at the end of the corridors, peered around its corner, and saw that I’d come to the reception area at the front of the offices, now completely filled with the smoke pouring from the elevator doors. Keeping my head down, I crept out to the receptionist counter. I could hear someone else nearby, but couldn’t see them. A shot rang out, the bullet passing just inches above my head as I dove for the floor and rolled behind the counter.

Now I heard another noise from outside. A helicopter was approaching the building. The noise of its blades got louder, blowing the smoke away from the window I had shattered with a bullet from the empty floor below. I raised my head enough to see the police helicopter revealed through the window, banking and turning. With the smoke suddenly dispersed, one of the security guys was silhouetted by the searchlight beam that the cops turned toward the empty window.

That give me a clear shot. I stood up behind the receptionist counter and got off one quick round before the guard could react. It struck him in the center of the chest and knocked him out through the window frame, his arms splayed wide. His body came within inches of hitting the police helicopter. In a couple of seconds, I heard it land with an ugly thud on sidewalk below.

The last thing I wanted was for the police in the helicopter to see me. I crawled away from the spot, scanning from side to side for any sign of the other security guy. I froze when I heard the tiny crackling sound of somebody behind me, stepping on the broken glass from the overhead lights I had shot out.

I rolled to the side, as gunshots traveled up the center of the hallway. On my back, I raised the assault rifle and squeezed the trigger. A short burst drove this one backward, slamming him against the wall. He slid down in a sprawling heap, a red smear above his head.

That had been close. Dazed, I got to my feet. I’d lost track, not knowing if there any other security guys left –

The click of a handgun being cocked sounded right behind my ear.

“Drop it.” McIntyre’s voice sounded behind me. “Right now.”

I let go of the assault rifle. It fell to the floor.

McIntyre kicked it away.

“You know, Kim . . .” He sounded hoarse, as if it had taken an effort to collect his breath. “I’m really disappointed in you.”

I could feel the tap of the gun muzzle against my skull. His hands were shaking.

“It’s better to forget . . . that’s what I told Michael . . . just forget about people. That’s what you should’ve done, Kim. Just forget . . . and then go away and don’t cause any trouble . . .”

“You’re right,” I said. “That’s what I should’ve done.”

He didn’t see it – but I did. From the corner of my eye. At the base of the smoke-filled corridor, a bloodied hand was reaching across the carpet. Reaching for the rifle McIntyre had kicked aside.

“Then why didn’t you!” McIntyre’s voice trembled with anger. “I told you –”

His words broke off. I could feel him shifting away from my back, looking toward what I had just spotted.

I turned my head as well. And saw Cole there. Crawling forward with one hand digging into the carpet, the other holding the assault rifle.

He really looked like hell now. His face was blackened with smoke, smeared wet with the blood trickling from his brow. His gaze narrowed as he looked up at McIntyre –

Who screamed in fear and rage, the gun lifting in his hand as he fired off a shot.

It wouldn’t have mattered if he had fired off a hundred.

The bullet caught Cole in his shoulder, as he rolled onto his side, while he raised the assault rifle in the crook of his other arm. His face contorted with pain, but he still managed to squeeze the trigger. The quick burst struck McIntyre, dropping him in front of me.

He was still alive. I could see the labored rise of his chest and the red bubbles at the corner of his mouth.

I stepped over and took the rifle out of Cole’s grasp. Head nodding forward, he let go of it without a struggle, fingers trailing across the stock.

McIntyre looked up at me as I set the barrel of the rifle against his forehead.

“Take your shot . . .”

I heard the voice coming from behind me. Cole’s voice.

Turning my head, I looked back at him. He’d dragged himself into a sitting position, his back against the corridor wall. He was dying.

“Come on, Kim . . . it’s what you wanted . . .”

The smoke had cleared a little. I could look farther back and see the other bodies scattered about. Everything it’d taken to get to this point. Then I looked back down into McIntyre’s agonized gaze.

“He’s right there in front of you . . . gotta see him . . .”

Cole’s voice becomes low and soothing. My hands steadied as my gaze locked on the target.

“Right there in front of you . . .” The voice started to fade. “Looking back at you . . . and he’s smiling.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. And could see it.

“Just the way he was . . . last time you ever saw him . . .” A whisper. “Said that you were shit . . . you were nothing . . . throwing you away like a sack of trash . . .”

I opened my eyes.

“What . . .” Silent now. Except inside me. “Are you going to do . . . about it?”

I knew what I was going to do.

“Mr. McIntyre?”

Eyes wide, he looked up at me.

“You know that job you offered me?”

McIntyre didn’t say anything.

“I decided not to take it.”

I squeezed the trigger. McIntyre’s head slammed against the floor. I lowered the assault rifle, then turned and walked over to Cole.

“I did it.”

Cole’s eyes opened partway, looking up at me.

“Big deal,” he said. “Anybody . . . could’ve made that shot.”

His eyes closed and his head nodded forward.

I stood gazing down at him. What was left. Until I saw something from the corner of my eye –

A small red light glowed through the drifting smoke. Somebody stepped toward me. It was Ibanez. The red light was on the video camera set on her shoulder, focused on the scene before her. The red light went off and she lowered the camera.

“You’re right,” said Ibanez. “That’s a good story.”

She opened up the video camera, took out the tape cartridge, then tossed it to me. I caught it awkwardly with my free hand.

“Keep it.”

* * *

When we reached the bottom of the stairwell and stepped into the parking garage, Ibanez handed the video camera to me.

“Believe me,” she said. “It’ll come in handy.”

I was puzzled at first, then realized what she meant. “Thanks.”

The whole building was cordoned off, with police teams swarming all around and traffic diverted for blocks around. Beyond the street barriers were the broadcast vans from the other news stations.

“Hey!” A cop spotted us as we emerged into the service lane at the side of the building. “What are you doing?”

I still had the video camera poised on my shoulder. The TV station logo on Ibanez’s jacket was proof enough that she was a media type. The cop came over and grabbed us, shoving both Ibanez and me to the other side of the nearest barrier. Where the other cameramen and reporters were covering the action.

The cop angrily jabbed a finger at us. “Now stay out of the way, or I’ll bust your ass!” He turned away and went back to his duties.

Ibanez glanced over her shoulder, watching me as I carefully looked around. I stepped back into the middle of the cameramen and reporters, then to the rear of the pack. None of them could see me now. I set the video camera on the pavement, then turned and walked away.

TWENTY-ONE

I had to walk all the way back to the warehouse. To collect my motorcycle. And take care of some other unfinished business.

There was no way I could get back into the parking garage and drive out in the TV van, the one Cole and I had arrived at the building in. Even if I had wanted to. Better to just leave it there and get as far away from the scene as possible. And probably not a good idea to climb aboard a bus, to get out to the wharves – I didn’t want to be close enough to anybody that they might be able to catch the scent of gunfire and smoke and explosives from me. So hoofing it was the only option.

Long walk – it took me over an hour from the downtown financial district. But out on the street wasn’t a lot quieter than where I’d just been. I figured that back there, the police were already in the building’s lobby and carefully working their way up to the top floor where all the action had been going on. They weren’t in any danger – not now – but they were definitely going to find some grisly evidence. They could have it, as far as I was concerned.

When I got to the warehouse, I didn’t just pull on my helmet, fire up the Ninja, and speed away. I went on inside.

The place seemed really quiet now. Nothing going on, and its animating spirit departed. I could see Cole everywhere I looked, or at least the traces of him – the empty cigarette packs and ammo cartons scattered around the blood-soaked mattress, the bullet holes pocked into the wall, that sort of thing. Everywhere he had ever gone, he had probably left stuff like that behind.

I knew there would be the other stuff I needed. He had a pair of portable electrical generators among his various pieces of equipment. In one of the back areas of the warehouse, there were a couple of cans of gasoline for the generators. I unscrewed the lids on both of them, picked them up and walked backward through the warehouse, pouring out their contents.

The gasoline fumes stung my eyes as I tossed the empty cans aside. I found one of Cole’s lighters near the mattress. At the door of the warehouse, I flicked the lighter on and tossed it into the center of the wet floor.

It only took a few minutes for the warehouse to be engulfed in flames. I got on the motorcycle and started it up. I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to be anywhere near the place when the fire reached whatever ammo and other lethal bits and pieces might have still been tucked into the warehouse’s corners.

As I rode away, the flames and black smoke mounting into the sky behind me, I knew that burning the warehouse to the ground didn’t get me entirely off the hook. The police had all that fancy high-tech forensics stuff, like you see on the TV shows, where they can pull your fingerprints and DNA and every other thing about you just from finding a broken-off fingernail or a strand of hair in the rubble. I supposed I would just have to deal with that when it happened – if it happened. After all, how likely was it that they would connect me with what had happened over at McIntyre’s offices? Before the TV reporter and I had booted out of there, I had wiped off the assault rifle I’d used, then the door-jammer device out in the stairwell. If there were any other fingerprints around, so what? I’d worked at the place for over a year.

A little while later, I was sitting at the table in our apartment, with my brother Donnie pulled up next to me in his wheelchair.

He’d heard my slow, dragging steps coming from downstairs. He’d known it was me. There had been plenty of times before, when I’d come home so late from my job – that other job, the one I’d had a long time ago – and he’d pull the front door open as soon as I reached our floor, so I didn’t have to fumble for my keys.

There’d be time later, I figured. To tell him everything that’d gone on. Not like he didn’t know there’d been something going on. By the time I’d gotten home, he’d had the news on the TV. It was a big local story, with the police starting to search the building floor by floor. The building, Donnie knew, where I used to have my job. A long time ago.

“You okay?” He laid his hand on top of mine. Leaned forward to peer into my face.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Job’s done.”

Then I laid my head down on the table and burst into tears. With deep, racking sobs, my face buried in my arms as Donnie stroked my hair.

“It’s okay, Kimmie –”

“No, it’s not. It’s not.” I raised my head and wiped my nose with my jacket sleeve. “I don’t even
like
guns. And now I’ve got one with me all the time. And I’m doing stuff with it that I never thought I’d have to do.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know how I got here. It’s not like it’s someplace I ever wanted to be.”

Donnie sat back and gravely regarded me. “Kimmie –”

I finished rubbing my red, wet face. “What, honey?”

“When you came to get me . . . I was really glad you did. I knew if I just waited long enough, you’d be there.”

I didn’t even know which time he was talking about. Whether it was that stupid amusement park, or when we’d gotten split up when we were kids. But somewhere that little girl was still trudging head-down through that snowstorm. She always would be.