No Going Back (30 page)

Never one to worry about consequences, he joined the much-dwindled queue for a cab and told the driver to take him directly to the hotel where Doug Stodghill had told him the girls had been holed up since Friday.

On the journey over he caught the cabbie glancing in his rear-view mirror, paying him too much attention for his liking. On the second occasion he stared back and the driver’s eyes returned to the road.

Ahead of them Samuel caught sight of the Tipi Hotel, though much of his view was obscured by tall swaying trees. ‘No, I’ve changed my mind. Don’t stop here. Go another couple of blocks.’

Further along the strip Samuel indicated a less luxurious place. This motel looked like it had only recently been saved from demolition, but its new owners hadn’t progressed that far with the renovations yet. It was a place he was familiar with, but the new staff would not know him – he vaguely recalled that they were out-of-towners. ‘Pull in here.’

He gave the driver a handful of notes taken from Roger Hawkins’s wallet and got out of the cab on to the high sidewalk. The driver lowered his window and leaned out. ‘Hey, mister!’

Samuel felt a bubble of anticipation pop in his chest. Had the man recognised him? Surely he wouldn’t be calling after a wanted killer? He wondered if he could drag the driver out of his window and silence him before he attracted too much attention. No, there were a couple of guys hanging around on the opposite corner.

‘What is it?’

‘Your bag,’ the driver said with a nod over his shoulder. ‘You’ve left it on the seat back there.’

Samuel relaxed. He retrieved the attaché case, then peeled a couple more dollars from his roll and handed them to the driver. ‘Thanks, buddy. Important meeting coming up. I’d have been lost without my notes.’

The driver wasn’t interested in his bogus story, and Samuel realised that his concern had been unfounded. He hadn’t been recognised: the guy was probably in the habit of checking out his passengers, making sure they weren’t the type to run off without paying for the trip. Or the type to mug him.

From where he stood, Samuel could see down Central Avenue to the Tipi Hotel, marked by the swaying trees. He pinpointed the landmark and as soon as the taxi was out of sight began walking towards it. He maintained a steady pace, but he was wheezing slightly by the time he stopped on the sidewalk. Usually fit and strong, he knew the laboured breathing was a result of his injuries. Had his wounds become infected? Did it matter now? He shook off the prickle of concern. Through the trees he peered across to where Jay was staying, trying to decide which of the rooms might be hers. He had no way of knowing. He gave up on the idea, and concentrated instead on peeking around, wondering if this was some sort of a trap and if, in the next few seconds, NCPD uniforms would flood the area to take him down. It didn’t happen, and he walked across the road and stood at the base of the steps leading into a brownstone building decked out with hanging baskets at every window. He lifted the newspaper, as if reading it, but was in reality staring back across the way at the hotel he could now see beyond the trees.

A couple strolled by; a thickset man with a brush cut and smoking a cigarette and his wife who appeared unsteady on her feet. The man offered her his arm. They were locals judging by their accents but he didn’t recognise them. They didn’t give Samuel as much as a glance. He took that as a good sign, and didn’t believe anyone else would pay a man in a suit any undue attention. The way in which the man had lent a supportive arm to his wife made him think of Joe Hunter – Jay’s protector – and he wondered if the Englishman had indeed retreated to Florida, or if he was inside awaiting his arrival. Samuel hoped so. He was going to enjoy killing the fucker this time. But what were the chances? Like he’d already thought, three times was the charm. Twice Hunter had beaten him to date, but that was as lucky as he’d get. If the saying held true, then next time they met it would be Samuel who walked away the victor.

He watched a little longer, considering heading directly for the hotel, knocking hell out of the lobby staff and checking the records for Jay’s location. After that it would be a case of smashing into her room and doing to her what he’d planned all along. But something held him back, and it took him a moment or two to recognise the alien sensation of fear. What if Hunter was inside? He knew the term for his physical condition:
congenital insensitivity to pain.
Although he was incapable of feeling the neurological effects of pain it didn’t make him superhuman. It gave him greater staying power in a fight, but the truth had never escaped him: a bullet to his heart or brain would kill him as easily as anyone else.

Recently he’d considered that he could be walking into a trap. The same feeling was with him now. Going into that hotel was tantamount to suicide, because he’d be heading directly into the sights of a gun, but this trap wouldn’t involve the police. If the cops had genuinely expected him to turn up at the Tipi Hotel he’d be in handcuffs by now. Somebody else was waiting in there for him and he knew who.

Did Joe Hunter think he was dealing with some ignorant hick?

He thought back to his conversation with Doug Stodghill and how the mechanic had told him that the private investigator had supposedly returned home. Stodghill had obviously been misinformed, and likely on purpose. He realised now that Joe Hunter had been laying plans for a rematch. Well, if that’s what the asshole wanted then that was what he was going to get. The difference being, Samuel wasn’t about to go charging in like some mad bull. It was time to change his approach and show Hunter just who he was dealing with.

37

That’s the only thing that will make you happy? When you kill Samuel Logan . . . or he kills you?

I was in the lobby of the hotel, observing the comings and goings of guests and workers, watching for one man in particular. I’d been there since dawn, and was beginning to attract the attention of the lobby staff. They knew why I was there, but still they persisted in giving me funny looks: maybe my presence had them on edge, thinking that I would attract danger rather than deter it. They weren’t wrong. I didn’t want to cause them worry, but thought I’d give it a little while longer, because on a stake-out you have plenty of time for thinking.

I was mulling over what Jay had asked me last night, and admit that it was a troubling notion. I can’t pinpoint why, but I did feel a need to redress things with her. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t offered the best argument. In fact, my words cheapened me somewhat, made me sound like a manic depressive bent on self-destruction.

Or worse . . .

Jay had left without comment, retiring to her room again. I liked her, and the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was some sort of demented thug with a death wish. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

When I was with Arrowsake I did see and do some terrible things but at the time they had been a necessary evil. I’d hunted and killed men who were mass murderers, torturers, sadists and thieves working under the guise of freedom fighters and soldiers. They were neither; they were terrorists who made the lives of others unbearable. I’d had no qualms then about killing them, and the same remains true to this day. I feel justified in saying they deserved what they got.

Maybe I’d tell Jay so.

It wasn’t those bastards who haunted me; it was the innocent people I’d failed to help soon enough to make a difference. The military designated them as
collateral damage
; but that didn’t change a thing. It was the brutal murder of innocent people whatever euphemism they attached to it. Those were the deaths that preyed heaviest on my mind, and those I now worked so hard to avenge. I know I was juxtaposing one problem with another, and that facing Samuel Logan wouldn’t help any of those who had already died. Yet the point persisted: if I could stop even one bad man from hurting others then it went some way to redressing the balance. There was no room for animals like Samuel Logan, not when good people had perished to allow him his place on earth.

I would only be happy when the bastard was dead and buried, and if that also meant my death then so be it. But that was what was troubling me now. When Jay asked her question I hadn’t answered because I couldn’t: I’d have been speaking for the both of us, and I didn’t have the right to map out her fate as casually as I did my own.

It made me think about what the hell I was setting up here. I was inviting a brutal man to come after the women for my own selfish reasons. However well meaning, I was actually putting Nicole and Jay at risk, their parents as well. I almost left the lobby to call the group together and move them out before Samuel Logan showed up. But I didn’t. I wondered how remorseless an enemy Samuel was. Would he ever stop hunting the women?

It was better to wait here and finish things as soon as possible, I decided, rather than subject them to constant fear while he was still on the loose.

I only wished the madman would get a move on.

38

There were three of them, Native American boys though you wouldn’t think it to look at them. They didn’t embrace their heritage the way others of their generation did, but rather the Goth scene that had boomed in the past decade. Even in the sultry heat of the evening they were dressed in leather coats, heavy boots and eyeliner. One of them had a shaved head and enough metal piercings in his face to make him top heavy. The other two had long black hair, worn so that it concealed one each of their eyes. One had his hair parted to the left, the other the right. When they stood shoulder to shoulder they looked like mirror reflections.

Samuel had been watching them for some time as they haunted the doorway of an abandoned shack in the back streets of Holbrook. Other kids came and went, their visits to meet with the Goths short and sweet. Cash changed hands for small bags of white powder. Samuel had tried cocaine on more than one occasion and had liked the effects but that wasn’t why he was interested in the small group.

Arizona has a relaxed gun law: so long as a firearm isn’t loaded you can carry one without recrimination or fear of prosecution. That made Samuel’s task so much simpler than if he’d been in a more liberally minded state. He could possibly have picked up a weapon without much problem, but he wanted something that was ready to go, and chances were that the young hoods trading drugs in this shanty area were prepared to defend themselves from others who might have the idea to move in on their business. Once, as he’d watched them from the shadows of an alley opposite, he’d seen the bald one delve in his trouser pocket for a pack of cigarettes; his heavy leather coat was an encumbrance that he swept back out of his way and Samuel had recognised the semi-automatic pistol jammed in his belt. In all likelihood the other two would be similarly tooled up.

Could he take three armed men?

Damn right.

These young punks had no idea. They were so open about their trade that they had grown sloppy. Customers regularly arrived without any of the gang checking them out first.

A pale blue sedan car pulled up at the kerbside and a young white girl leaned out of the window. She waved a handful of dollars at the group, and Samuel watched as one of the mirror men went to her to deal through the open window. He could hear laughter. The car pulled away and the youth went back to join his buddies in the doorway. Samuel moved from the shadows of the alley and walked across the street towards them. Only the baldy saw him approaching as the other two were sharing a joke, probably at their recent female customer’s expense. The Goth didn’t seem perturbed by his sudden appearance, and his study of Samuel was cursory. He would see a middle-aged man in a suit and think he was some businessman suffering executive stress and seeking release for the evening.

Maybe the bald one was more aware than Samuel initially gave him credit for because he suddenly hissed something to his friends and they turned quickly to face him. Of course, Samuel realised, another reason that a guy in a suit would approach them would be if that guy was a detective.

‘Relax, guys,’ Samuel said showing them his open hands. ‘I’m no cop.’

The three eyed him up and down. They seemed interested in the bruises on his face. Maybe they thought he was an easy target for a mugging. That suited Samuel because it would make them underestimate him. They were tall guys, although enhanced by their thick-soled boots. Nevertheless Samuel barely stood as high as the shortest one’s eyeliner.

‘What do you want?’ The bald one was the elected leader.

Samuel raised his brows, opened his palms by his sides. ‘I think that should be obvious.’

‘Show us the money,’ Baldy said.

‘I don’t have any money.’

‘Say what?’ The three shared incredulous glances. Then the baldy stuck out his hand and shoved Samuel’s shoulder. ‘Get the fuck outta here man, wasting our time.’

Samuel glanced down at where the hand had touched. He dusted himself off. The three Goths made a loose semi-circle around him, puffing out their chests. Baldy had felt how solid he was under the suit, but the others hadn’t yet. Samuel peered directly at the bald one. ‘I don’t have money, but I still want to deal. Give me what I want and when I walk away you’ll all still be alive.’

The mirror men laughed, their long hair swinging. The baldy pushed Samuel’s shoulder more forcefully this time. ‘Are you fucking insane?’

Samuel grunted. ‘Yeah.’

The laughter suddenly went brittle. His forthright answer was the last they expected.