Chapter 12
"Think we got him?" Joe asked as he popped an empty magazine out of the machine pistol and slammed in another one.
"I don't know." the other man said, as he also reloaded. They peered into the darkness, not even seeing the fog. Only knowing of its presence by feel and scent.
"Go to the next tree." Joe said. I'll cover you."
"Screw you, Joe. We both go. You take that side of the tree and I'll come around the other side. If both of us see the flash of his gun, he's dead."
Susan waited only seconds after the firing had stopped before she raised her head, placing the shotgun against her shoulder, aiming at the partially hidden green glow of the two men through the trees. They had moved closer, much closer than the 100 feet that Brad had given her as a firing range.
She focused on the figure that was the most exposed, the one on the right. Remembering to put the butt of the gun firmly against her shoulder, she released the safety and waited for what seemed minutes, but was only seconds. She could see the heat signature of the two men as each rounded the tree and came towards her quickly, guns pointed directly at her, but she was focused on the one on the right, and he was now completely exposed. She fired, the flame from the barrel licking the night with a deafening explosion. Ignoring the jolting pain from the recoil, she pumped the empty shell out and chambered another one, firing again. The man appeared to jump back with the first shot. The second shot hit him so hard that he flew backwards, hitting the ground dead.
A spray of bullets pitter-pattered all around her. She let out a short scream as one found its mark, a burning fire like she had never felt exploding from her left shoulder, making her completely forget about the pain in her other shoulder from the gun recoil.
"It's the chick." she heard the man say as he ran towards her.
"You're dead, bitch." He fired another burst as she dropped the shotgun and grabbed her shoulder, feeling the sticky blood seeping through her shirt into her hand. She suddenly felt dizzy from pain in both shoulders, shock starting to overcome her as blood ran down her arm. She tried to fight the nausea and sense of blackness enveloping her mind, knowing she had seconds to live as the sound of the man grew nearer, the chattering report of the weapon grew louder. She groped for the shotgun with her right hand, touching it just before oblivion wrapped her mind in it's touch, eating her awareness into nothing, the voice of death, feet away, dissipating to silence.
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When Susan awoke she had no idea where she was. The green lighted world of damp fog that had melted to nothingness when she had passed out had been replaced by a soft golden light that cast upon a wood ceiling. She laid on a soft bed, naked from the waist up, her aching shoulder wrapped in a thickness of gauze and medical tape.
Hearing a clanking sound, she turned her head to see Brad at the wood burning stove. The smell of coffee permeated the air.
"Am I alive, or is this where I go when I die?" she croaked softly.
Brad turned his head towards her and smiled. "You're alive, but you lost some blood. Don't try to move around too much."
He turned with two cups of coffee in his hands and put them on a foot stool next to her, then crouched below the mattress, pulling a shirt from a drawer. “Here.” he said.
She sat up and grimaced as she started to lift her arm to slip on the shirt.
“Okay, that's not going to work.” Brad said as he watched her. He opened the drawer and pulled out a t-shit.
“This is a little big for you, so it should slip easily over your shoulder with less pain.” He stood, holding the t-shirt spread between his hands.
“Put your hands in front of you on your lap so it doesn't hurt.” She did as he said. He bent down next to her and slipped her hands through the arm holes, gently bringing the t-shirt up to her shoulders, and the large neck hole easily over her head. “Lean forward a little.” he said softly. He pulled the shirt down her body as if she was ripe fruit that might bruise, then fussed with the arm sleeves, Susan felt an electrical charge from the closeness. Even though the grazing of his hands against her body as he covered her was not meant to be sexual she could not help but feel her skin rise to each touch.
As Brad pulled the shirt to her waist, she put her hand on his and pulled it to her cheek. He sat behind her and put his other arm around her, his face pressed to the hair at her temple. She leaned back against him and sighed. All the tensions of the day caught within her escaping breath and released itself into the air. The lantern light cast it's golden glow on the peaceful silence that they had found in such a simple embrace. It's perfection could only be changed, if not destroyed, by any other physical action. Both of their souls seemed to calm within the long moment, sending the horrors of the night and confusion of the day out of the scenario. This was not a space in which negatives could thrive, for the two of them were the nucleus of souls caring as one, of love, renewal and contentment. In their quiet holding of each other, nothing else could exist.
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As the first light of morning ate the darkness and tucked the twinkle of stars into the folds of a new day,Brad and Susan moved across the meadow into the forest below the cabin. As they came to the small clearing where the final battle of the night took place, Susan could see the heaps of the two men, one of them very close to where she was when she passed out from the bullet wound to her shoulder. She stopped short. “I can't.” she said.
“I understand.” Brad said. “Stay here.” He walked over to each body and rifled through their pockets, pulling wallets from each of them. He pulled out their I.D.'s and studied them before dropping the wallets on top of their corpses.
“What happened last night?” she asked as he came back to her.
"The guy who shot you exposed himself as he was coming towards you and I got him, but not soon enough. He still managed to hit you.
“Luckily, it was a flesh spot and didn't hit any bones. Had your arm been an inch lower he would have missed you. You were bleeding pretty bad, so I got you to the cabin, cleaned the wound and put a tourniquet on it as quickly as possible.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“These two guys -” Brad said, nodding to the bodies behind him “are Joe DeMilo and Jesus Amillio. Their names don't mean anything to me, but I know someone who would know who they are if they are in the system at all.”
As they exited the forest at the back of Brad's house, they could see the two men laying at either corner at the back of the barn. When Susan saw the man with the bolt sticking out of his throat, and the other man covered in dried blood, she started to feel sick to her stomach again.
“Oh, God, Brad. What have we done?” she said, holding her stomach.
“Survived against men who were trying to kill us.” He replied as he took her by the hand and led her into the house.
Susan sat down on the couch, holding her hands together tightly, feeling drained and hollow inside as Brad picked up a phone on the dresser and dialed a number from memory.
“Armando.” he said into the phone. “This is Brad Wilson.” He paused as the other man spoke. “It doesn't bother me too much. I've discovered using it for karate kicks is a bad idea, but I'm functioning fairly well.” He paused again as Armando spoke.
“It wasn't your fault, Armando. In fact, if it wasn't for you giving me cover I probably would have been captured and tortured to death.”
As Susan listened to the conversation between two old friends, a more clear picture of who Brad once was came into focus. His coolness and focus of action through the desperation of the previous night started to make sense. Most people would have ran terrified into the forest and kept on running, but Brad didn't do that. He turned and attacked. He did what a professional warrior would have done, and she could see now, that's exactly what he was.
“I've got a problem, Armando. Last night, six men attacked my house. They're after a lady friend of mine, who was with me, and why they are, is a mystery to her.” He paused again.
“Yes, but we were able to get out of the house before they attacked, and then we had sort of a running battle that lasted most of the night. I got names off of two of them, and I wanted to have you run them through Homeland Security database for identification.”
He gave Armando their names, paused as he listened and then said. “Her name is Susan Jenkins.” another pause. “Sure. I'll wait.”
Moments later Armando came back on. “The two guys were easy to find. They're definitely in our scope. “They're two low level hit men for hire. Joe is a transplant from New York to Florida with some Mafia influences. The other guy, Jesus, is the Florida version of the same thing, with Cuban-American gang affiliations.”
So, somebody put a team together out of Florida to get Susan. Brad thought for a moment. Into the receiver he said, “Sounds a little overboard, doesn't it?”
“Well, yeah .“ Armando said hesitantly, “Unless Susan Jenkins is who I think she is.”
“What?” Brad said.
“Is she related to a man named, Jeff Jenkins?”
“Yes.” he said simply.
“I was afraid of that.” Armando said. “The agency thought we could make the possible danger to the Jenkins family go away with the disappearance of Jeff, consequently the item that Jeff stole from them.
“We knew there was a mole in the agency feeding them information, so we – let's say, got rid of Jeff, giving the impression that what they wanted was lost at sea with him.”
“What was the item?” Brad asked, not sharing his suspicions about the jewelery box at Susan's house. “What happened to Jeff?”
With the sound of her brothers name, Susan came to her feet.
“I can't tell you any of that at the moment, Brad. All of the information that you just gave me about last night raises the situation from one that was sort of put to bed to one with red flags on it.
“Give me the lay-out of your property and the locations of the bodies.”, which Brad did.
“I assume you don't want me to contact the local authorities about this.” Brad said.
“No.” Armando replied. “Let's keep this out of the news until we see what we have going on, and then we'll see what we want to release and what kind of spin to put on it.”
“Okay.” Brad said. “We're not going to be here. I have to get a step ahead of these guys.”
“Right.” Armando said. “There will be clean up crew at your place in about two hours, and I want you to stay in contact with me – keep me appraised of what you find out.
“Take my cell number and give me yours.” Armando requested.
“I don't have a cell, but Susan does.” He recited Susan's number as she gave it to him and jotted down Armando's number.
“Be careful out there, Major.” Armando said. “They may not know who you are, but they will know that you are dangerous and will probably send out a much higher caliber hit team next time. If and when that happens, refrain from killing all of them. We could use a live one for information.”
“Yes, Special Agent Martinez.” Brad said formally with a grin in his tone.
As he clicked off the phone, Susan asked about her brother. “Is he alive?”
“He wouldn't tell me that, but the possibility appears strong that he is.”
Susan almost fell back on the couch in shock. “My God, I can't believe it.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I thought I had no family left.
“Why wouldn't he tell you?” she asked.
“He can't tell me anything at the moment. Apparently this is classified. He wouldn't even tell me if Jeff is a good guy or a bad guy. All I know is that Homeland Security and the ATF knows who he is.”
All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.
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