Slash and Burn (34 page)

Sometimes men are at their most dangerous when they see no way out.

He spun quickly, and I caught the glint of steel flashing from under his sleeve. He pulled away from the gun even as he turned to slash at my exposed throat. He was a second away from opening it right up.

He should have waited, because, unlike the others he’d murdered by this sneak attack, I’d anticipated his move. It’s the way to win any game: not by cheating, but by always being one step ahead of your opponent.

I knew that he’d try to cut me. I let him think he was going to. I even let him pull away from my gun because an instantaneous death courtesy of a bullet through his brain was too good for him. Instead I rammed my KA-BAR through the meat of his upper right arm.

Huffman’s mouth went wide in a shout of incredulity. His fingers opened reflexively and I saw four inches of gleaming steel hanging useless from a leather strip attached to his wrist. I ripped the KA-BAR out of his bicep, angled it towards his gut.

Then the world tilted.

There was an incredibly loud bang from below us, coupled with the screech of tortured metal; the balcony lurched upwards, and dropped from beneath my feet. In reaction I grabbed at the door frame, dropping my knife, and held on tightly. Out in the open, Huffman skidded away from me across the planks, hit the rail and toppled over. My first thought was that the fire had eaten away at the foundations of the building much sooner than I’d anticipated, but then I recognised the sound as the impact of a vehicle and knew that Larry had never been running away. Whether or not he’d intended to, Larry had just saved Huffman’s life.

Not for long, though.

Sparks danced around me as my feet scrabbled for purchase on the sloping balcony. My SIG was still tight in my left hand and I shoved it into my waistband. My knife was gone, probably down on the ground where Huffman had fallen. I couldn’t see the bastard, but I did see Rink stalk into the smoke at the front of the house. Rink was going after Larry Bolan, and I wanted to follow him, but first I wanted to make sure that Huffman didn’t sneak away.

The heat from within the building stung the flesh of my fingers. I let go of the door frame, sliding on my heels and backside to the edge of the balcony. Striking the base of the wooden rail, I wedged myself there, then started looking out for Huffman. Rink had gone to the right: I quickly scanned left and caught a flash of Huffman lurching out of sight round the corner of the adjacent building.

I went over the railing and dropped to the ground, tucking and rolling the way I’d learned during parachute training, and came back to my feet. Then I went after Huffman. A figure materialised out of the smoke haze to my left. Harvey, an M16 gripped in his hands.

‘I’m going to kill Huffman,’ I told him. No ifs or buts, just the surety that the bastard would die. ‘Rink’s gone after Larry. He might need your help.’

There was no need for spoken affirmation; Harvey nodded and we passed each other at a run.

Chapter 49

‘The fuck do you think you are?’ Heedless of the Mossberg shotgun aimed at him, Larry Bolan smiled at the man blocking his way.

‘The name’s Rink.’

Larry rumbled a laugh deep in his chest, ignoring the pain throbbing in his ribs. ‘Rink? What kind of pussy
Jap
name is that?’

‘It’s the name of the man who’s gonna kill you.’

‘Are you going to shoot me, asshole? Or are you a bigger man than your punk friend?’

‘I’m gonna shoot you.’

Larry shook his head. ‘No you ain’t. If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it by now.’

‘Didn’t say I was gonna do it yet.’

‘So what you going to do, bore me to death?’

‘You’re gonna get your giant ass kicked first.’

Larry shook with laughter. He lifted a hand the size of a boxing glove and rubbed at the dirt round his mouth. He appraised the man whose head barely reached Larry’s shoulder. ‘You think a midget like you can handle me?’

Through the smoke charged a tall black man. He was holding an assault rifle that he immediately lifted and aimed at Larry’s chest.

‘Shit, how many cockroaches we got around here?’ Larry asked.

Rink and the black man shared a glance.

‘Hunter wants this asshole,’ Rink said.

The black man’s lips turned down and he scowled. ‘We should just kill the mutha.’

‘He’ll die,’ Rink promised.

Larry grunted scornfully. ‘The two of you better make your move; I’m getting kind of sick of standing here.’

Rink waved the shotgun away from the burning building. ‘Take a walk.’

‘Going to shoot me in the back like a coward?’

‘No, when I kill you I’ll be smilin’ in your face.’

Larry walked.

People like Rink and Joe Hunter and this black dude had an intrinsic flaw in their make-up as killers. They laid too much emphasis on all this honour bullshit. With the roles reversed, Larry would have blasted the fuckers’ heads off. Rink especially seemed the kind of man who’d commit ritual
seppuku
before letting anything ignoble get in the way of his code of honour. Larry was kind of counting on that.

He’d only taken three paces when he suddenly stooped low. Neither gun blasted chunks out of him, so he quickly stood back up and spun all in one movement. He was gripping the smoldering corpse of Rourke, and he launched it through the air at the black man. In life Larry had deemed Rourke a pitiful excuse for a human being, but he was worth much more now that he was dead. His charred remains flying through space caused the black guy to step back, his eyes widening in shock, and his intention to shoot forgotten. Larry didn’t go after him, he launched himself at Rink.

Rink was caught in a flux of indecision, but he wasn’t encumbered by a flailing corpse. He began to bring up the gun so that the butt was aimed at Larry’s chin. Even as Larry caromed into him, Rink slammed the wooden stock into his jaw. A jolt like electricity shook Larry, but he’d been hit harder during rough-house play with Trent when they were boys. He snatched at the shotgun, tore it out of Rink’s hands and hurled it from him.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the black man leap over Rourke’s corpse and bring up the rifle, but there was no way he could shoot without cutting Rink to pieces as well. Larry ignored the black man, swinging a fist into Rink’s face.

Rink ducked and Larry’s pile-driving punch missed him. Rink swung an elbow that cracked against Larry’s ribs. Some of that sneaky Jap karate stuff, Larry thought. Luckily the elbow had struck his uninjured side or Rink could have pushed his broken rib into a lung. As it was, the blow barely registered. Larry hammered downwards, slamming his forearm on Rink’s skull. Rink grunted, but his arms grappled Larry’s waist.

The black man rushed in, gun lifted club-like.

Larry leaned over and wrapped both arms round Rink’s back, clasping his hands under the man’s chest. Then he heaved Rink off his feet. He swung at the black man, even as the assault rifle slammed against his shoulder. Rink’s legs knocked the black man away. Then Larry hauled Rink high in the air and slung him down at the floor. Larry wanted to shatter the man’s skull, drive the fragments into his neck, but Rink wasn’t totally unfamiliar with the move and rounded his shoulders at the last instant to take the brunt of the force. A normal man would have still been shattered, but Rink was more powerfully muscled than the norm. Even so, he was a child in Larry’s hands.

Without loosening his grip, Larry dragged Rink up with sheer brute force, intent on repeating the pile-driving move. Rink was limp now. There’d be no avoiding a crushed skull this time.

The black man was fast. Rink’s legs had knocked him away, but he came back almost as quickly. He dropped the rifle which was proving an encumbrance this close in, and he hit Larry a flurry of blows directly in the face. Left-right-left: a blur that would put a pro-boxer to shame. Larry’s bottom lip split at the third punch. He cursed, his eyes becoming slits as he turned to the black man. The guy got his hands on Rink and held on to him, stopping Larry from slamming him a second time. Upside down, Rink dug his hand between Larry’s legs, grabbing for his testicles.

Larry didn’t care. He released his grip, thrust out with his chest and powered Rink into his friend. Both men crashed to the floor, Rink now on top of the black man. They spilled apart, and Rink swung over on to his back, so that both men lay side by side in the dirt.

Larry stood over them, feeling the raging fire behind him.

‘Welcome to hell, boys.’

Chapter 50

Huffman seemed to have a destination in mind. He ran adjacent to the buildings and didn’t look back. I could have shot him and had done, but I wanted him to hurt more than that. I ran after him.

He charged past the outbuildings, past the animal pens, and then swung to the right towards the large tin shed. I was fleeter than he was and had gained on him when I saw him duck into a doorway in the side of the building.

I didn’t want to shoot him dead, but I was otherwise unarmed and there was no way I was entering that building with my gun in my waistband. I drew my SIG, racked the slide, but kept my finger alongside the trigger guard so there was no accidental discharge.

Huffman’s right arm was severely wounded, but he could still use that damn razor. Even so, I went after him without concern for the blade. Immediately inside the building, I put my back to the wall and swept the open space with my gun.

It was dim inside the building. The stench was the first thing that hit me, then my gaze registered the swinging chains and steel stockades, and lastly my ears picked out the rattle of metal and the scuff of feet. I couldn’t see Huffman, but he couldn’t have got too far ahead of me. To my right some of the chains swayed as though pushed aside in his flight. I went after him and the odour of rotting flesh washed over me like a wave.

I’d smelled this charnel house stink before. It was the kind of stench that hung over the village of slaughtered peasants I’d come across in the Indian Ocean or the mass grave I’d discovered in the Balkans. Blood and innards had been spilled here. I was in a goddamn slaughterhouse.

More chains swung slowly on my right, and I veered that way. High up in the walls, just below the corrugated steel roof, were narrow windows. They weren’t there to let in light but to ventilate the building. Instead, I saw creeping tendrils of smoke drifting in. The smoke twisted and coiled like serpents and shafts of dim light were all that illuminated the building, ever-changing strobes between the patterns of smoke.

A clink of metal sounded from somewhere ahead of me, like a door latch lifting and falling. Huffman, the son of a bitch, was trying to give me the slip out of another exit. I rushed in that direction and saw a large silver oblong structure barring my way which I knew instinctively was some sort of industrial-sized cold room. Had Huffman gone in there, hoping to hide from me?

Gun in hand I stepped up to the door. The latch was half open. Cocking an ear to the door, I listened, even though it was a fruitless exercise. The structure by its very nature was surrounded by a soundproofed vacuum. There was nothing for it: the only way of clearing the room was to go inside.

Ordinarily the door would emit a sucking noise as the rubber seal was broken and pressure was displaced in the room, but the door opened without sound. It told me the door had been opened recently, or there was no power to the refrigerated room. I decided I was right on both counts. I peeled the door wide and stared into darkness, my gun poised to shoot. The stench wafting over me was rich with fresh blood.

Something rushed me from the darkness.

Despite my desire to make Huffman suffer, I fired a quick volley of shots into the figure coming at me like a phantom out of its tomb.

Even as I fired, I knew that it wasn’t Huffman. This body had no arms or legs and was swinging from a large hook jammed through its ribs. It looked like Huffman had been there, though, because there was a huge bloodless gash in its throat.

Though I was only a split second in understanding, that was long enough for Huffman to leap out of the shadows at me. He held the razor loosely in his right hand, but that wasn’t my major concern. In his left was a large butcher’s hook. He grasped a wooden handle crossways in his palm, while the gleaming steel hook jutted from between his two middle fingers. It was easily a foot long, giving him a far greater reach than I had. I back-pedalled into the open room.

‘
Gonna kill you!?
’

He slashed at my head and only the barrel of my SIG halted the hook from holing me like a bowling ball.

There was no time for shouting challenges or curses of my own. Huffman was a man possessed by a demon. He rained blows on me with the hook, then slashed at my body with the razor. My gun halted the hook, but there was only a jacket and shirt between me and the razor blade. There was a stinging pain across my abdomen.

I scrambled away, dimly aware that he’d only nicked me. I knew that because my intestines weren’t pooling around my feet.

Chains bounced off my shoulders as I dodged, then my lower spine banged up against one of the steel stock-pens. The bars formed a right angle a yard to my left, blocking my way out. Huffman thought he had me penned in like the animals that once died here, but I just flipped over the bars and landed ankle-deep in cow dung. Huffman’s hook struck sparks from the metal bar. I lifted my gun, but I was still reluctant to shoot. I powered backwards and Huffman followed me, vaulting the stock-pen bars and landing where I’d just been.