Lost Art Assignment (23 page)

Felicity suddenly appeared in front of him, kneeling, trying to look at his arm. “Are you all right?”

“Hell no,” he said, forcing a smile. “This hurts like hell. And my danger signal didn't go away when the dog died. We got company coming, probably only a couple of minutes away. Damn it. I had an idea how I could stop them, but I needed to be able to shoot. The damned mutt took care of that. I can barely move my right hand. You got any ideas?”

“Nope. Your play,” Felicity said. They had long ago agreed to quickly choose a leader in times of immediate action. Morgan, most experienced in combat situations, gave the orders in those circumstances.

“Well, I can just now hear them, feel them in the road.” he said.

Felicity watched Morgan's eyes. He wasn't just feeling the ground. He seemed to be calculating something, mapping a strategy in his mind. She knew he was constructing a pattern in his mind, so the next minutes would flow down a path he chose. It was almost mystical but she never knocked it. Years as a jewel thief had taught her something important, something Morgan also knew. That that something more than skill and daring kept a person from being captured. Much of it was the will, forcing events into a pattern that led to your own success.

“Too much noise at this distance for one car,” Morgan said. “Not enough road to come side by side. They must be driving in a line.”

“I can see a dust cloud,” she said, staring back along the road. “They must be really racing.”

“Perfect to take them out for good,” Morgan said, kneeling. “If I could make that shot.”

“Then what? The woods?”

“Never lose them if they come as a group,” Morgan said. “Afraid I won't be moving real quiet, or real fast. Maybe you can make it if I hang back and delay them.”

“That's not an option. They'd kill you on sight. I won't leave you.” She waited a few seconds, watching Morgan staring down at his hand, realizing the path he had designed for events was now closed. “Well, come on,” she prompted. “What do we do?”

“I…I don't know.”

When Morgan said that, she felt as if her heart had slammed to a halt. Pain seemed to be blocking his mind. She had seen him angry, hurt, surprised, even afraid. She had never seen him unsure or indecisive. This wasn't her area of expertise, but she knew instinctively that they couldn't outrun their fate this time. They had to do something, and soon.

“Okay,” she said, gently holding his injured arm. “You say it can be done with the gun? Okay, then I'll make the shot.”

“What?” Morgan looked up, stunned. “You know damned well you can't do that. Jesus, Red, you're a rank beginner with a pistol. You just don't have the aim.”

“Is there anything to be lost by trying? I think I can maybe do this, if you help me.”

Morgan looked up, and for a long five seconds she held
her partner's eyes. Maybe her confidence had been shaken when Anaconda scarred her, but this wasn't about her confidence. Or courage. Or even her ability. This was about trust. She couldn't let her partner down.

“Now, what do I do?” she asked.

Morgan swallowed hard and took a deep breath. At that moment he realized their partnership might hang on this one act, and somehow that seemed more important to him right then than their lives. He tried to flex his right hand one last time, accepted that he couldn't handle trigger control, and mentally edited his picture of the outcome.

“Okay, partner, let's move back a bit. Then you stretch out over there, face down at the edge of the road.”

“Move back? Are you trying to make the shot even harder?”

“I'm trying to keep us alive,” Morgan said. “I'm hoping that with the added distance, we might not be the first things they see in the road.”

Once Felicity was in place, he drew the four inch long revolver from his boot. He handed it to her, and then straddled her waist. He placed his hands around hers and pushed them together.

“Now focus on the front sight. If you've got that you got a pretty good chance at hitting what you're aiming at.”

While he gave Felicity instructions, Morgan felt her hands tense and knew what she was looking at as she stared down the top of the tiny pistol. A vehicle was rushing toward her.

J.J. Slash stared through the windshield of his Mercedes limousine and gritted his teeth. He couldn't see his quarry, but he knew they were somewhere up ahead. Ripper had
taken off in a straight line when Slash set her loose. He rode in the lead vehicle scanning the road. Daddy Boom drove. Behind him, Crazy Ray 9 drove an open topped Jeep. Ghost sat beside him. Third in line came the Crown Victoria with the twins in the front seat and Ross Davis in back.

Slash vibrated with barely contained energy. His rage overcame everything. He had mentally assembled the jigsaw parts and produced the correct puzzle. But not everyone was so quick.

“How do you know they're together, boss?” Daddy Boom asked.

“Put it together, you moron. I meet two people within days of each other, two people who are crazy good at what they do. They both betray me, and now they both gone. They was both on the scene when my fixed boxing match in Atlantic City went all to hell. And in case nobody else noticed, a couple valuable paintings are gone with them. They got to be partners, working together all along, just to get inside my gang and get to me, just to rip me off.”

“But J.J.,” Daddy Boom said, then hesitated before advising his boss. “Them paintings, they ain't worth all that much. Is it worth chasing around after them?”

“Not the point, nephew. Them two made a fool out of me, Daddy Boom. They played me, and I do not like getting played. On top of that, they had the honor… the HONOR of seeing my Harlem recreation. They sure as hell don't get away alive knowing where my hideout is.”

Slash had been building steam but stopped when he spotted something lying in the road ahead. At first he wasn't sure what it was, but when he thought he recognized the black form he stood, thrusting his head up through the sunroof.

“Ripper!” he shouted. His beloved dog was lying in the road, in a spreading red pool. He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a sharp breath.

Slash knew Daddy Boom was pushing safe speed limits on this one lane dirt track, and they would overtake her in less than a minute. Wait. What was that in the road ahead? Could those bastards have laid a trap? No. It was just the man, Morgan, who was unarmed, and beaten half to death. Was he sitting on the woman? Had he somehow killed Ripper? Slash leaned forward and spoke low into Daddy Boom's ear.

“You see him, right? You roll right over that son of a bitch.”

Felicity's hands began to shake. She understood Morgan's plan, but the gun had been soaking in that toilet tank for hours. Would it even fire? And even if it did, there were only five tiny twenty-two caliber bullets, and the target was so small. Her breathing became jagged. She began to feel her confidence melting into the road below her. The last really dangerous foe she had faced had scarred her terribly. Could she get out of this one unhurt?

“Morgan. Run. Get away. I can't do this.”

“We live or die together on this one, Red,” Morgan snapped. “I can help you but I can't pull the trigger.”

“I can't!”

“You will, because you've got to. I know you can do it.”

“Oh God!” Felicity said behind a sob. “You're going to die because of me.”

“No! We are not going to die.”

Morgan worked to slow his breathing and, in doing so, his pulse. He needed to gather all his confidence, and force
some of it into his partner.

“We are not going to die,” he repeated in a low, but strong tone. “We can do this. I know it, and somewhere deep inside you know it too. You've got to trust me.”

Morgan clamped his eyes shut to focus his emotions before they went completely out of control. He couldn't let it get away from him. He focused on sharing his calm, wanting to force her heartbeat into synch with his own.

Then it happened. He had only felt it twice before, and it terrified him. Suddenly Morgan's hands felt smaller, more delicate, and somehow uninjured. And his angle of view had shifted. A chill rolled down his spine as he realized he was literally seeing through Felicity's eyes and moving her hands as if they were his own. He held the pistol himself, but gently, and he had to be careful of his fingernails.

He didn't know how his nervous system's circuits had gotten plugged into her switchboard, and at that moment he didn't care. What mattered was that Felicity would not have to make the pistol shot. He could do it himself. He slowed his breathing and adjusted his sight picture.

This frightening, eerie experience improved their chances, but it didn't make their success a sure thing. Morgan was betting on a lot of maybes for this shot. First, he was betting on the cars holding a tight formation. Second, he put a lot of trust in his weapon's accuracy. Also, his plan required the drivers involved to be pretty skillful. But with all those variables it was still their best option. There just were not many ways to dispatch seven hardened killers in three moving vehicles with five twenty-two caliber bullets.

Morgan could see Daddy Boom at the wheel of the lead vehicle. That white limo was swerving toward Morgan, who held Felicity's arms outstretched ahead of her on the
road. He knew his gun was too small for his attackers to see. Moving Felicity's right index finger, he gently squeezed the trigger. He heard a dull clunk. He squeezed the tiny gun again, this time getting a sharp crack which the oncoming cars drowned out. He fired three more times in succession, at ground level. Then the shooting was over and he needed to get out of the way.

As he thought that, something broke the connection. Like that, he had snapped back into his own body again. He had stretched out prone over Felicity's body during the shooting.

“Time to move,” he said. He reached under himself, grabbed Felicity around her chest, and rolled to the side, off the road. As he moved, he could see the sequence of events he had caused in his mind's eye.

He had assumed the Mercedes was armored, including puncture proof tires, so he had fired past it, under it. The Jeep, he knew, wasn't so equipped. When its right front tire suddenly blew out, Crazy Ray 9 yanked the wheel left to compensate. He rammed the Mercedes hard on its right rear corner. Daddy Boom was already steering left, aiming at Morgan. Now the car lurched forward, out of control, over the edge of the road.

Morgan froze in the tall grass, staring back down the road. The right things were happening but he couldn't see it all at once. The Crown Victoria slammed into the Jeep, overturning it, sending its two passengers flying into space. The Crown Vic spun left, its front half swinging off the road to become wedged between trees.

The Mercedes flew entirely off the road in a huge plume of dust, wrapping its grill around a fifty year old pine. Morgan's head came around just in time to see the sudden stop. J.J. Slash was screaming, but his scream was suddenly
cut off when his throat slammed forward. The sun roof snapped loose, flying forward into his neck with a crack Morgan could hear even over the noise of the multiple-car crash. Oddly, he caught himself thinking it was a merciful end. Slash's larynx was certainly crushed when he was thrown forward. Without that roof window sliding shut, breaking his neck, he would have died slowly from asphyxiation.

On the other hand, anyone wearing seat belts would probably survive. Had J.J. Slash been sitting down he may not have died at all. Morgan wondered if he had stood simply as a reaction to seeing his precious dog dead in the road.

Dust was settling as Morgan forced himself to his feet and climbed back onto the road. One car's horn was stuck on, but he wasn't going to investigate which. He saw no movement in any of the vehicles, nor did he expect any. Anyone surviving such a crash would be in shock, stunned, probably unconscious. That was good. Physically and emotionally drained, he was in no condition for a fight.

Then Felicity came up over the edge of the road, still shaking, and flew into Morgan's arms.

“You did it. I always expect you to, but I'm always amazed.”

“We did it, not just me. We did it. Together.”

“Yeah,” Felicity repeated. “Together. I could feel my hands but I wasn't moving them. I was looking down those little sights, and I felt you pull the trigger. It was incredible. I mean unbelievable. It was…”

“Lucky.” Luckier than they deserved, Morgan thought. Because the gun had gotten so soaked in its hiding place two bullets had not fired. Exhausted, he slid Felicity's gun back into his boot and tried to stretch his arms and back for
the remaining jog to civilization.

“Wait!”

Morgan jumped. Hearing a voice over the stuck horn, without a danger signal, shocked him. He spun, to see Davis crawling through a car door.

“Ross,” Felicity shouted, running toward him. “Are you okay?”

“Think so,” Davis said, standing with Felicity's help. “When I saw the crash coming I dived to the floor in back there. What happened to J.J.?”

“Slash is dead,” Morgan said, his left hand curling into a menacing fist. “Probably some of the others too. And you, if you make any trouble.”

“No.” Davis walked toward Morgan, with hands spread open and empty. “Please. Take me with you. I wanted to get away from those thugs anyway. If any of them comes to, they'll kill me for letting Felicity get away.”

Felicity and Morgan exchanged a meaningful look. He grimaced. Her brows curled in, forming a pleading expression. He sighed and returned a slight nod. She smiled her killer smile and gave him a peck on the cheek. Then she turned to Davis.

“Come on, lover,” Felicity said. Her arm went easily under Davis' shoulder and they walked forward, knowing they were very near the dirt trail's end.

Morgan thought the last thing they could expect to see was a dust cloud ahead of them. Very soon he was proven wrong. The very last thing he expected to see here, on a dirt road west of Kingston, New York, was Felicity's new BMW 650i. As Morgan stood in stunned silence, Paul, his left arm in a sling, turned the car sideways and opened the passenger door.