Chapter 33
As Brad and Susan rushed from the bedroom towards the kitchen they could hear the footsteps of the two men on the front porch.
“Shit!” Brad said. “We don't have time.” Pulling the gun with the silencer from his belt he turned towards the front door. “Run. I'll slow them down.” There was no time for argument or debate. Susan rushed through the kitchen to the back door as she heard the front door crash open. Though the pistol that Brad fired had a silencer on it, the report was loud enough to leave no doubt in the invaders minds that they had just been shot at. Two bullets hit the door jam inches from their faces, forcing the two men to move back, hiding behind the walls on either side of the door. They would enter more cautiously now, allowing Brad time to run out the back door after Susan. As he exited through the back he turned and fired one more shot. The report of the gun was a little louder, which made the men back off again. Brad ran through the opened back yard gate, surprised to see the third member of the surveillance team grabbing at Susan ten yards down the trail. Before Brad could rush to her rescue she had spun around, twisting the man's arm into a breaking position behind his back. At the same time she kicked him in the throat. As he put his free hand up to his throat, his mouth gaping silently, she kicked him in the sternum. The man fell, gasping for air that would not come.
“We have to get off the trail.” Brad said as he came up to her. “Up here.” He said. They took off at a full run into the thick woods behind the line of houses. They ran a hundred yards, enough to be fairly well obscured by the thicket of trees before turning and running parallel to the back yard fences towards Main Street.
“We should come out of the woods roughly at the back of the Broadway Bar and Grill. Once on Main Street we'll be safe.” Brad said as they ran.
The two men burst through the fence gate, looking up and down the trail. Seeing their third man next to the trail they went to him and turned him over from the sprawled position that he was in, laying face down in the dirt. He was desperately sucking in short gasps of air, his eyes wild and unfocused.
“Where are they, Bill?” one man asked.
Bill gasped and tried to speak, but nothing came out. The men stood and looked up and down the trail again, ignoring their gasping partner. They looked up at the forest line and saw nothing. One man flipped open a cell phone and hit a fast dial number.
“Spike? Yeah. They got away.” The man pulled the phone away from his ear as Spikes screamed through the receiver. “Don't get all worked up, man. It looks like they came here to get something, but we got inside before they could get it and they had to run. Considering the chance that they took, I'd say what you're looking for is right here inside this house.”
He listened as Spike talked. “How the hell would I know where it is? They got away so I couldn't ask them. I doubt if they would come back just for a change of clothes. It has to be here.”
“We take any damage?” Spike asked.
“Yeah. The hippie beat Bill up pretty bad.” He looked at Bill who still sat on the ground trying to talk, squeaky whispers escaping from him in short breaths. Bill stopped his attempts to talk and looked up at the man with the phone and then put his hands to his face. “What, Bill?” the man asked him. Bill shook his head and pointed as his throat. He decided right then that he would never reveal who had beat him up so badly, and if he ever ran across that lady again, he would make sure she couldn't say anything either.
Turning back to the phone, he said, “I think Bill might have some throat damage. He's having a hard time breathing and his voice comes out in squeaks.
“Yeah, I know where there's a hospital. I'll drop him off there.” He listened again. “Yes, we'll stay close by. The chick and the hippie are in the area. So, we will be too.
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Dragging his leash behind him, Recon jumped into the back seat of the Land Rover. Susan and Brad quickly followed as they slid into the front seat. Brad started the vehicle and pulled out before Susan had her seat belt on.
“Well.” She said with a release of breath. “That was exciting, wasn't it?”
“I'd say that's about as positive a twist as you could put on that experience.”
“You know me.” she said. “I'm always looking for the bright side.”
She noticed that they had turned around and were now leaving Los Gatos proper and crossing the freeway towards Blossom Hill Road. “Where we going?”
“I thought we should get out of this neighborhood, but I want to go somewhere we can sit down. I've got to call Armando or Ted and let them know the stick is planted.” He turned to her. “Are you hungry?”
“Actually, I'm a little nauseated. Beating people up doesn't enhance my appetite.”
“Okay. Well, I could use a cup of coffee. Let's go to the Pruneyard and get an espresso.”
“That little intense fiasco didn't even effect you, did it?” Susan asked with a tone of astonishment.
“Of course it did. I need a cup of coffee after that.” he said matter-of-factly. He looked over at her and could see she was shaken. He put his right hand on hers. “I'm sorry, Susan. I'm sure this is very traumatic for you. Excuse me if I seem insensitive, but this type of tension used to be just part of the job for me.”
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Loading there injured partner into the back of the SUV, the two men got in and pulled away from the curb. The man in the passenger seat asked, “Where are we taking him?”
They dropped their man off at the ER entrance of the hospital. As they swung from the curb the driver said, “Let's get something to eat. We've been sitting surveillance all damned day and I'm hungry.”
“Sounds good to me. Where do you want to go?”
“There's a place called the Pruneyard just down the street from here.”
“Pruneyard?” the passenger said. “I don't want to eat prunes. I want a steak.”
“They don't have prunes at the Pruneyard. It's just the name of the complex.”
“Then why do they call it the Pruneyard?” he asked suspiciously.
“How the hell would I know? It's just the name of the place. The name of a place doesn't have to have anything to do with what they have. Santa Clara valley used to be nothing but apricot orchards, and they don't call it Apricot Valley.”
“Why not?”
The driver looked over at his partner with a furrowed brow then turned back to the street in front of him. Instead of answering him, he said, “I know of a place in the complex that serves a pretty decent steak. We'll go there”
The cell phone that Brad had was set up with two direct speed dials. One to Special Agent Armando Martinez and the other to Director Ted Warner's private phone. He hit the one that called the Director. When Ted answered, Brad said, “It's done.”
Ted's response was, “Roger.”, then they both hung up.
Brad slipped the phone into his pocket and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He looked around as if for the first time since they had sat down at the outside table. They had found a small espresso shop at the back of a patio that separated two large restaurants. The flooring was old brick, six tables with matching chairs beckoned with old world comforts to people passing at the front of the patio. Umbrella's opened broadly with Italian colors and paintings of steaming coffee cups over each table. The street in front circled the Pruneyard complex, cars passing by, the occupants looking for a particular establishment or a parking space in the far parking lots. Directly across the street, a well manicured lawn surrounded an elaborate granite fountain of abstract design. A ribbon of water shot from the top and cascaded over perfectly formed globes into a moat of water. Beyond the parking lots, tall trees grew, blocking out the surrounding commerce, giving the illusion that all of this luxury sat by itself in a peaceful wilderness setting. For Brad and Susan the illusion was working. The tension of their encounter with Spikes goons at Susan's house eased from both of their bodies as they let the ambiance of their surroundings effect them.
Susan also leaned back in her chair. Looking at Brad with a slight grin she said, “Just another average day in our lives. Deal with a bunch of armed men who want to kill us, escape, go have a cup of coffee.”
Brad laughed. “Yep. Just another boring couple having a quiet day. It's just what I was hoping for from my retirement.”
She placed her hand on his and said with an exaggerated tone of sincerity, “I'm glad I could be the one to help you fulfill your dream of a quiet life.”
“Me too, sweetheart.” he said with an equal tone of insincerity. “After this maybe we could go over to the little island out in front where the fountain is and watch the grass grow.”
“Oh, Brad.” she said. “You're just trying to excite me.”
They both laughed as Brad's gaze went to the street out in front. His eyes met those of a passenger in a black SUV that was passing by. The smile still lingered on his face from his and Susan's joking banter, but his eyes suddenly hardened. Susan noticed.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“I think our moment of boredom is about to pass. Spike's goons just drove by, and one of them was looking straight at us.”
“Did he recognize you?” she asked.
“I don't know. We kind of blend in with all the tourists. It might take him a moment to register that it was us. Our problem is extremely limited alternate escape routes. We're sitting in a cal-d-sac here.”
Brad stood and reached his hand out to Susan's. “I hate to rush us when we're having such a nice moment, but maybe we should get the hell out of here before things get unpleasant.”
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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