The Hitman: Dirty Rotters (27 page)

Belsay thought about it for a second
then took the 12 gauge. “I got your backs.”

“
I know you do,” I said. He
looked ridiculous with his head wrapped, trying to look mean and
serious. I looked away to Frank. “We need to get
moving.”

“
Where to?”

My eyes roamed the sky casually.
“We’ll figure it out.”

Frank turned to Belsay and motioned to
the pilot. “Get him back to the plane and tie him down. Hang tight.
We’ll see you around midnight, Belsay.”

“
Don’t worry about me,
Frank.” Belsay gave a nod, then marched the pilot back up into the
plane.

I said to Frank, “Time to
go.”

Chapter 22

We drove around anxiously.

We did a lot of block circling and
clock watching. We did a lot of silent praying and nervous
fidgeting. We did a lot of slow driving past large warehouses,
peering deep into shadows hoping to see a red van and finding none.
We did a lot of wasting time.

The one thing we didn’t do a lot of
was talking.

It was 11:00 p.m. The sky was clear
and the air was chilly. The Red Square on a Saturday night was as
social as anywhere, except that we were in the business area and it
was dead. No trucks unloading. No cars parallel parked. No decision
makers pacing the sidewalks. Anything out of the ordinary would
have been spotted easily.

“
This is a waste. We need
to head back and wait with Belsay,” Frank suggested
bitterly.

“
No. Not yet.”

“
We’re doing nothing. Turn
around.”

“
Not yet.”

“
Now.”

“
No.”

Frank’s huge form turned to me. He
looked like a bull ready to charge. “Let me tell you something
right now. I don’t give a damn about you and whatever wrongs you
need to right. That’s done and over. You can’t change history. This
is not about you! So turn this junk-wagon around and do something
right for once in your life!”

I locked on the brakes. We skidded to
a halt. I stared Frank down hard. “Shut up, Frank!” He made a fist
the size of a coconut. “Turning back now only gives them another
hour or so to do with them whatever the hell they want. And even if
I don’t love Sally the way you do, I am not going to give them
another minute with her. Or Palo. Or anyone else that someone
tomorrow is going to be missing. So sit back and shut up or get out
right now.”

Stare down. Neither of us blinked.
Neither of us budged. Frank was mad enough to punch my head through
the window. I was mad enough to take it.

Finally Frank turned back to his
sitting position. He looked forward and said, “She’s out here. I
can feel it. Keep driving.”

“
We’re going to find them,
Frank. Before it’s too late.”

I stomped the gas again and
left some rubber on the pavement. We were quiet again. I felt the
same way Frank did. Palo was somewhere close by. Scared. Maybe
being abused. Maybe waiting another hour would kill her. I could
almost hear her whispering my name like a prayer.
My Hitman
. I could see
the twinkle in her eyes clouded over by tears.

I pounded my hands against the
steering wheel. My heart ached. It was like the first week after
Pamela had gone missing. It was hell all over again. I was out here
searching in vain while she was busy being transported for sale,
for slavery to a monster. Palo and Sally would suffer the same
fate. Or worse.

I began yelling at God in my head for
letting this happen again, for not giving me the right direction
this time around. It wasn’t fair. Good people were going to suffer
and I couldn’t stop it. I was going to fail again. Dirty Rotters
were going to get away with murder again. And again and again. It
was a viscous cycle that someone needed to stomp to death. I
couldn’t take it anymore. I hated the whole world. I hated life
itself. I’d rather be dead than to live in a world where there was
no hope. Where the helpless went unavenged.

My thoughts were dark and fast. My
blood was boiling. I wanted to scream. My foot sank down hard on
the gas pedal. I turned a corner sharp and Frank’s bulky form slid
almost in to me. He groaned something. But I was mad and I did it
again at the next block. It reminded me of driving Palo around the
previous night.

You are a crazy driver,
Hitman.

Then it hit me.

“
Train station!”

“
What?”

“
The train, Frank. He’s
taking the train.” I did a U-turn in the middle of an intersection
and backtracked with my lead foot. “A midnight run. The train runs
behind the warehouses throughout the Red Square. He’s using the
train!”

Frank said nothing. He held on tight.
I threw caution out the window.

A sense of relief flooded through me.
I knew I was right. It was going to be different this time. My
hands wrapped tighter around the wheel.

God, thank you.

Frank saw the red van first. He
pointed it out and sat poised like a viper ready to strike as we
pulled into the train station and killed the lights. The van was
parked off to the side, away from the tower and close to the yard.
The parking lot had two trucks in it. It wasn’t well lit either. It
wasn’t regular business hours. I assumed anyone there was finishing
up for the night, heading home within the hour.

I parked in the dirt at the edge of
the yard. The ground had a thin layer of mist hovering over it.
There were a dozen rail tracks sweeping into the yard and eight of
them were full of railcars, shot-gunned and facing north, towards
the tower. Past the yard, there were two sets of tracks with a
train on each, lined up in front of the tower and towing at least
twelve railcars. Most were single door boxcars, covered hoppers,
and tankers smothered in graffiti, but there were a few flatbeds
mixed in hauling nothing.

We exited the warmth and comfort the
SS had to offer and stepped silently into the chilly night air.
Midnight was looming like the tower far to our left. Frank’s feet
moved faster than I thought possible towards the van and I
followed. It had no lights on, inside or out.

Our guns were drawn. Frank’s badge was
on his jacket. Less conspicuous this way. He took the driver’s
side, I went around behind it and came up on the passenger side. We
pulled doors open at about the same time, thrusting our guns into
the black interior. It was empty.

We wasted no time turning around and
heading towards the tracks. We cut through the yard, away from the
lights of the parking lot lampposts, and clung to the shadows,
hoping to take them by surprise. The boxcars created somewhat of a
maze. They were connected in long segments, leaving open gaps on
the rails at sporadic intervals. Tracks connected to switches
leading either off into the yard or to the terminal a football
field away. We skipped looking with any interest at the railcars
stationed in the yard. We crept as quietly as we could around the
lines of them, heading towards the tracks. We could hear voices
ahead, somewhere in the dark. A yardmaster speaking with a captain,
perhaps.

Other voices came and went, lost in
the gentle breeze. None were close enough for us to make out any
words. But they were speaking Russian and this wasn’t a Russian
owned territory.

We crouched down and moved quickly
alongside a long line of tankers when one of the trains began
coming to life. We couldn’t see it just then, but we knew we were
close. I motioned with my head towards the sound of the train to
Frank. We moved at a faster pace.

Then a figure materialized out of the
night, heading right for us.

Frank and I turned towards him just
about the same time he saw us. It was an odd meeting. The guy
seemed more than just surprised. He stopped and stood motionless,
wide eyed with a guilty look. He wasn’t Russian. He had a blue
Detroit Tigers ball cap on and dingy blue uniform. His eyes looked
at our weapons drawn then to Frank’s badge, then very obviously at
the large manila envelope in his right hand. His hand pressed the
envelope to his side gently. Out of sight, out of mind.

Then he stepped backward.

It was a universal sign
for
I’m getting the hell out of
here.
But he wasn’t. Frank’s arm extended
real fast and the cannon in his hand aimed at the guy’s head. He
put his hands up and didn’t move again. Another guilty
submission.

“
What are you doing?” I
asked.

His eyes shifted around nervously. He
said nothing.

Frank said. “You got two
seconds.”

The guy looked like he had a giant
secret he didn’t want to share. “Look man, you would’a done the
same thing. Don’t give me that holier than thou
treatment.”

“
What are you talking
about?” I said.

His face changed then, as if it dawned
on him that we didn’t know what he had done. He wasn’t caught. Yet.
He said nothing.

Frank grew angry. “Tell us who you
are!”

“
I run the
yard.”

“
What’s in the
envelope?”

I answered for him. “Money.” Frank
looked at me. The other guy said nothing. “They’re paying him to
look the other way.”

“
Look, I ain’t got nothing
to do with it. Okay? They paid us for the train, we took the money,
no questions asked. Okay? I don’t know nothing.”

“
Where’s the Russians now?”
I growled.

“
On the train.”

He said it like it was the only
obvious answer. I supposed it was. “How many are there and where
are they going?”

“
I don’t know and I don’t
know. They never say. They just show up, hand me the money, take
the train for a ride and that’s it. When I come back in the
morning, everything is here and everything is fine. So I don’t see
the point-”

“
Drop the money and get the
hell out of here,” Frank said in cold breath.

No response. He didn’t
budge.

“
Now!”

The guy bolted. He was lost in the
dark before Frank could exhale in anguish. Frank gave me a hard
look. I shrugged it off. “We have bigger fish to fry.”

“
It’s not smart to let him
go,” Frank growled.

“
I don’t care. We need to
get to the train.”

Frank took a second, calmed a bit,
then agreed.

We crept away at a fast walk along the
railcar, staying in the shadows. About twenty yards somewhere in
the dark past our line of vision, the engine of the train grew
louder and there was a gasping of pressurized air releasing and a
groaning of steal lurching forward. The train was
moving.

“
Go, Frank!”

No more secrecy. We ran. Our footsteps
were loud as we raced away from the sitting railcars into an open
area where the ground was covered in larger gravel rocks. Bubble
wrap would have been quieter. We moved straight to the
trains.

Two trains were on the tracks. The one
closest to us was longer thus blocking the one behind it, the one
in motion. We had to run around it. Running across the rocks was
sloppy and awkward and slow. Almost like running in soft sand. I
could feel time slipping away with every step. But we were making
ground on the train. It was long and not up to speed yet. We were
going to catch it in time to jump aboard.

We cleared the first train and I saw a
shadow out of the corner of my eye moving towards me. I turned in
time to react. I ducked quickly as a man dressed in all black swung
a pipe at my head. It missed and his momentum sent him nearly
spinning to the ground.

Frank was a step behind me and tore
into the attacker instantly. Huge arms swung massive fists faster
than I could follow. The guy went down and didn’t get up. I turned
away from the beating and walked into my own. There were three guys
wearing dark clothes. I was tackled and sent down hard into the
loose gravel. A guy sat on my chest and I fought to get him off. I
heard the sounds of footsteps sinking into the rocks racing away,
quickly followed by Frank’s voice, then the smacking sound of bone
against flesh. The guy on my chest had plans on hitting my face but
I had enough of that already. I blocked his assault and fought him
back with everything I had. He was tough. He was probably used to
working on engines or something. I heard Frank cursing like a drunk
sailor somewhere behind me. The Russians had taken him
down.

I grabbed the Russian’s wrists as he
sought to strangle me and planted my thumbs into the center hard.
His fingers relaxed their grip. I grabbed his hands then and
twisted them around until I heard bones snap. He screamed. Frank
screamed too. It was ugly. I sent my right knee up into the groin
of my attacker and then tossed him off me. He spun around on his
back crying, cuddling his broken wrists to his chest. I stood up
and realized that I had dropped my gun. In the dark, I didn’t see
it anywhere. I walked over to the guy on the ground crying. My foot
hovered over his face. Lights out. His crying stopped.