Last Call - A Thriller (Jacqueline "Jack" Daniels Mysteries Book 10) (35 page)

A
fter the guard started the chainsaw, he dropped it in the sand at Phin’s feet.

Another guard did the same, next to Phin’s opponent. Then all of Luther’s armed men backed off of the field.

Last call for bets, last call for bets…

The stands were empty, except for men stationed at the two mounted M60 machineguns with their bulletproof shields. Luther and Lucy were in the balcony, clad in purple robes.

Phin looked at the man he was about to fight. He’d never seen him before. New guy. Short, but with a muscular build. Blood soaked his head, and shirt, indicating an injury.

Even so, Phin knew his odds were the worst he’d ever faced. He wasn’t even sure how he could still stand up. He still had a low fever. His injuries were so numerous, he couldn’t even count them all. He was exhausted.

All around, gunfire crackled. Phin had no idea what it meant. He couldn’t say he cared much, either. Even the best case scenario; the government had sent in armed forces to liberate the prisoners, didn’t mean much to Phin, because he was going to be sliced in half within the next thirty seconds.

The real tragedy here was he had never gotten a chance to get his hands around Luther’s scrawny, diseased throat.

The gong sounded.

Neither combatant moved.

A few seconds passed, and Luther gave some sort of hand signal. The M60 on Phin’s left fired into the arena, punching 7.65mm wounds into the sand between the men, the sound so loud Phin flinched.

“You have five seconds,” Luther yelled. “Four… Three… Two…”

The short guy picked up his chainsaw and began to approach Phin. As he came into sharper focus, Phin realized how muscular he actually was. He looked like one of those He-Man dolls Phin had played with as a child.

He-Man shouted something at him, which Phin couldn’t hear above the roar of the chainsaw engines. His opponent looked very determined, and tougher than a box of nails.

Okay, then.

This is how it ends.

Last fight.

Last stand.

Last breath.

Last call.

Phin bent down, picked up the chainsaw, and said, “Let’s do this.”

He put his finger on the trigger, revving the saw, and then thrust it forward, putting his weight behind the attack. He-Man parried, spinning blade hitting spinning blade with a force that made Phin’s whole body shake. Phin ducked down and turned, letting centripetal force carry the saw in an arc, going for He-Man’s knees.

The short guy jumped over it,
actually flipped sideways in midair
, and landed lightly on his feet, his weapon still pointed Phin’s way.

Impressed as Phin was, he continued to advance, sweeping the chainsaw sideways, missing, but twisting his body around and following up with a spin kick at the man’s head.

Phin was fast. This guy was faster. He ducked Phin’s kick, so quick it looked like he’d disappeared, and came up on Phin’s other side, giving him a firm tap in the kidney and yelling something.

Phin doubled over, and He-Man shoved him backward, hard. Phin’s ass hit the sand, and he brought up the chainsaw to block the death blow he knew was coming.

The death blow didn’t come.

Phin guessed what was happening. This guy didn’t know how these battles worked. He was as reluctant to kill Phin as Phin had been reluctant to kill every opponent he’d fought in these insane gladiator games.

But He-Man didn’t understand the rules. Only one of them would survive this. And if this guy—who was stronger, faster, and a much better fighter than Phin was—wanted to show him mercy, Phin would gladly accept that gift.

Phin dropped a shoulder, and mindful of the saw blade, he used momentum to roll up to his feet.

He-Man dropped his chainsaw and raised both hands.

Phin hesitated.

Then he thought of Luther Kite. If he won this, he could get a chance at Kite.

Was it okay to kill one defenseless man, if it saved countless others? If it saved Jack and Sam?

No. It wasn’t okay.

But Phin was going to do it anyway.

He lunged.

I
watched as they dragged Harry inside the mission.

Herb was captured a few moments later.

Gunfire continued to ring out from all directions.

“They’ve got Herb and Harry,” I said, pushing my earpiece in deeper. “Who’s still out there?”

“I don’t have a shot from here,” Val said. “I can try driving the RV closer.”

“Copy that, hold your position.” I couldn’t tell if it was Chandler or Fleming talking.

“I can get closer.”

“You can hold your goddamn position. You and Fleming are the only reasons we’re not all dead yet. Fleming, what’s your count?”

“Five down. Four more incoming.”

“Copy. Val, do you see the men at the top of the arena? They’re manning those mounted M60s.”

“I can see them.”

“Take them out.”

“Kill them?”

“No, take them out for coffee. Hell yes, kill them!”

I held my binocs to my face, zooming in on the man standing behind the biggest machinegun I’d ever seen.

“I can’t hit him,” Val said.

“Goddammit, Val, if you’re pulling some pacifist shit in the middle of a firefight—”

“She’s telling the truth, Chandler.” It was Fleming. Obviously. “The gunners are behind polycarb. I’ve already tried. Our rounds won’t penetrate.”

Polycarbonate. Bulletproof glass.

“Jack, you’ve got men coming at you,” Val said.

I looked, and saw ten guys running my way.

“Copy that,” Fleming said. “I don’t have a shot.”

“Val?”

One went down, clutching his leg.

The rest of them ran toward the only shelter around. The shed I was hiding behind.

I had all of three seconds to make my decision.

“Hold fire!” I yelled. Both at my teammates, and at the approaching guards.

Then I dropped my guns, put my hands over my head, and surrendered.

T
he short guy sidestepped the thrust, spinning like a matador, and backhanded Phin in the jaw.

Phin narrowed his eyes. Being punched was one thing. But a backhand was so…

Condescending.

Phin was really starting to dislike this cocky little bastard.

He came at him swinging, and He-Man cartwheeled out of the way. He tried to rush him, and He-Man did a back handspring.

This guy was harder to hit than a speed bag. So Phin did something he wouldn’t expect.

He threw the chainsaw.

The man’s face registered surprise, and as he ducked the spinning blade Phin let fly with a roundhouse that actually connected with his side.

It was like hitting a tree.

He-Man popped the jab, catching Phin in the shoulder, and Phin followed with an elbow that glanced off of his jaw.

The short guy said something, just as Phin was in the middle of a kick. His foot bounced harmlessly off the man’s chest, and Phin didn’t hear what he said. He followed with an uppercut, and then He-Man tied him up in some complicated arm lock and pulled Phin to the ground.

“Jack Daniels.”

Phin began to thrash, and then the guy’s huge leg was wrapped around his neck, threatening to snap off Phin’s head.

“I’m here with Jack Daniels. This is a rescue.”

Phin didn’t stop fighting. “You asshole. Why did you let her come here?”

“It’s Jack. How was I supposed to stop her?”

Phin let his body go slack, and he was struck by a wave of realization. “You’re a gymnast.”

“Yeah.”

“Is your name Tequila?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice to finally meet. Jack has said nice things.”

“Keep struggling, so they don’t catch on.”

Phin was then on his side, his arms pinned behind him. Even if he had been struggling, he didn’t think he could have prevented the move.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Plan A was for me to break you out of your holding cell. But you weren’t there.”

“Plan B?”

“Let myself get captured and find you that way. I swallowed some lock picks.”

“Was there a Plan C?”

“Radio for backup. Including Jack, we’ve got five others helping.”

“Have you done that yet?”

“The radio was in my ear.”

Tequila’s ear was gone, only a clotted hole remained.

“This was a shit plan,” Phin said.

Tequila rolled again, forcing Phin onto his back. “I’m going to pretend to snap your neck, then get up and rush Kite’s balcony. When I draw their fire, you grab a saw and head for the guard to my left. Then get out the way you came in.”

“How are you going to get out?”

“I’m not,” Tequila said.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve done some bad things. This is a chance to do a good thing. Go to your wife.”

Phin wasn’t sure what to say. He had to settle for, “Thank you.”

Tequila released him. “I have a dog. Rosalina. Jack knows where she is.”

Phin nodded.

Tequila torqued his body, and Phin went limp.

After getting up, Tequila broke into a sprint. He made it ten steps before the machineguns began to fire, chewing up the sand around his feet.

Luther and Lucy backed up, out of view.

Phin sprang to his feet, grabbed the saw, and beelined for the guard, catching the unaware man in the shoulder, then tearing the machinegun from his hands and spinning to help Tequila.

Tequila was turning and flipping across the arena, hand springs and cartwheels and twists and jumps and bullet after bullet tore through his body. When he reached the end of the arena, he launched himself into the air and managed to catch one hand on the lip of the balcony as Lucy and Luther retreated in apparent surprise and fear.

Tequila hung there for a moment. There was so much blood coming out of him he looked like a sponge being squeezed.

And then the M60s cut him down, and his lifeless body kissed the arena floor, and Phin said a silent goodbye to the bravest person he’d ever met.

Then he went to go find Jack.

W
e were on our knees, hands cuffed behind our backs, rope binding our wrists to our ankles, Harry on my right and Herb on my left, lined up along a wall in a room filled with instruments of torture. We’d been stripped of our gear, belts, and shoes. Harry’s eye was swollen, and Herb had dried blood on his chin from a rifle butt to the nose.

Two armed guards stood at the door. I couldn’t hear gunfire anymore, and wondered if the room was soundproof.

But there could have been another reason for the lack of sound. Maybe my friends had retreated.

Or been killed.

“Can’t you pull your fake hand off?” Herb whispered to Harry.

“It’s grafted to my nerves with bioelectric sensors, or some shit like that. I don’t pay a lot of attention when I see my orthotic surgeon. That guy can
talk
.”

“But if you pull hard enough—”

“Yes, Jumbo, I can pull it off. Then I’ll quickly untie all of us with my stump before those guards ten feet away from us notice anything funny.”

“I’m sorry I got you both into this,” I said.

“It’s not your fault, Jack.”

Harry snorted. “Bullshit. It’s totally her fault. You’re a cop, Herb. I was a cop. How many lunatics from our pasts come calling on us? Answer: zero. Jack attracts psychopaths like dog shit attracts flies. No offense, Jack.”