Midnight Rambler_ A Novel Of Suspense Part 43

"Screw this," Linderman said.

He drove onto the shoulder and hit the gas. I held on to my dog while looking for the getaway car. Less than a mile up the highway, a black Mustang convertible sat abandoned. Three tattooed guys with crowbars were in the process of dismantling it.

"There's the car Perez was driving," I said.

"Who are those clowns?" Linderman asked.

"Your everyday car thieves."

"Look for the police chopper."

My eyes scanned the sky and found the police chopper hovering over a strip center near where the Mustang had been ditched. Pointing, I said, "Over there."

Linderman pulled into the strip center and parked. It was a slow day, and only a handful of cars were in the lot. We got out, and Linderman waved his arms in the air to signal the chopper. The pilot saw us and dipped down, momentarily eclipsing the sun.

The pilot was a woman with blond hair. She pointed at the anchor store in the strip. It was called Mattress Giant and was going out of business. Linderman gave the okay sign, and she went back up. Linderman got his shotgun from the 4Runner.

"You still have bullets?" he asked.

I touched the bullets resting in my pocket.

"Yes."

"Good. Go around to the back of the mattress store, and call me on your cell. If things look okay, we'll enter the store at the same time, and trap them."

"I left my phone back at Perez's house," I said.

He shot me a disapproving look. Between my marksmanship and not having my cell, I could tell his opinion of me wasn't very high.

"You're in luck. I've got a spare," he said.

He removed a bright red cell phone from his jacket pocket, and tossed it to me. It was a newer model and reminded me of one my daughter carried.

"I found it on the lawn at Perez's house," he explained. "I'm guessing it fell out of Cheever's pocket. You have my number?"

I had his number memorized, and nodded.

"Good. Call me when you reach the back. Okay?"

He was talking to me like I was a kid. I said okay, and walked around the strip center with the phone in my hand. I flipped it open, and a greeting in Spanish appeared on its face. Cheever didn't speak Spanish, and I realized it didn't belong to him.

It was Jonny Perez's.

As I came around the strip center, Buster let out a menacing growl. The Rasta stood by the service door to Mattress Giant. He had the machine pistol trained on two male employees, both of whom wore dress shirts and neckties and had their hands clasped on their heads like POWs.

My eyes searched for Perez. Behind the building was a small parking lot, with signs indicating the spots were for employees only. Perez was in the rear of the lot, forcing Melinda into a blue Chevy Nova, his gun shoved into her back.

I went into a crouch and aimed my weapon. I had a shot at Perez, only it wasn't a good one, and there was a chance I might hit Melinda. I thought about what Linderman had said in the car. Then I squeezed the trigger.

The bullet winged Perez in the head. He let out a startled yell and grabbed his ear. Then he pulled Melinda in front of him and turned her into a human shield.

"Stay back!" he shouted.

I kept my gun trained on Perez. The Rasta remained by the service door, his machine pistol pointed at the employees.

"Jack, help me!" Melinda yelled.

"I'm trying," I called back.

"I love you, Jack."

"I know you do," I said under my breath.

Some hostages shut down when faced with death. Melinda did the opposite, and started throwing her elbows and stomping her heels on Perez's toes. It was one of the bravest things I'd ever seen. Perez lowered his hand and put her in a choke hold. His ear was gone, and blood was streaming down the side of his neck.

"Let her go, and I won't come after you," I called out.

Perez's eyes said he wasn't buying it.

"Come on," I said.

Perez aimed his weapon at me. I ducked behind the building and heard a sickening thud. I stole a look around the corner. He had knocked Melinda unconscious and was putting her into the Nova.

"Cover me!" Perez yelled.

I came out from hiding. The Rasta had finally found his nerve.

He aimed the machine pistol at me, and we exchanged shots. It was obvious he'd never handled an automatic weapon before, and the bullets sprayed harmlessly into the ground. I kept firing and saw him go down.

I sprinted across the lot with Buster hugging my side. Perez had jumped into the Nova and was backing out. He spun the wheel like a professional driver, hopped the curb, and headed down a connector road toward 595. I could do nothing but watch.

The back door of the mattress store opened, and Linderman hustled over.

"Jack, are you okay?"

I stood helplessly with my Colt dangling by my side.

"He's getting away," I said.

Linderman found the chopper in the sky and waved the pilot down. He pointed at the interstate, and the pilot took off after the Nova. We walked back to the store, and Linderman addressed the two employees.

"Whose car was that?"

One of the employees was short, the other tall. They both lowered their hands.

"Mine," the taller one said.

"What's the tag number?"

"It's in my wallet."

"Where's that?"

"Inside."

"I need to see it."

They started to go inside. I looked down at the Rasta. Shot in the waist, he was barely alive, his eyes blinking rapidly. If anyone knew where Perez was headed, it was him. Kneeling, I pulled his head into my lap and shielded his eyes from the sun.

"What are you doing?" Linderman asked.

"Maybe he can help us," I said.

"Don't hold your breath," he said.

They went inside. As the back door closed, the Rasta gazed up at me.

"You the boyfriend?" he whispered in a Jamaican accent. he whispered in a Jamaican accent.

"What boyfriend?" I asked.

"Jonny said his woman was cheating on him, and he wanted to teach her a lesson."

"Is that why you kept her in your house?"

The Rasta nodded weakly.

"Jonny is a killer," I said. "He lied to you."

The Rasta shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Will you tell me something?" I asked.

The Rasta's eyes opened, but he did not answer me.

"Where's Jonny taking her? You must have some idea."

The Rasta looked through me, his face losing its strength.

"Jonny was going to leave you behind," I said. "He didn't give a rat's a.s.s about you. You don't owe him anything."

The Rasta thought about it, then spoke.

"Jonny's taking her to the ocean. He said he was going to surprise you."

"Surprise me how?"

"I dunno, man."

"Was he taking her to a boat?"

The Rasta blinked in the affirmative. His right hand was hovering over his pants pocket. I stuck my fingers into the pocket and pulled out a plastic key ring from which a single key dangled. I held the key up to the Rasta's face.

"Is this your boat?" I asked.

"Jonny's. He let me use it sometimes."

"Did he keep it in a marina?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know which one?"

"Don't know the name. It's on one of the ca.n.a.ls."

There was a roar of sirens, and I lifted my gaze as six police cruisers pulled into the lot. The cruisers surrounded us in a tight circle. Twelve doors opened simultaneously, and more guns than I could count were pointed at my head.

"Don't shoot," I said.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

A pair of cops threw me against a wall. I told them an FBI agent was inside the store who could explain everything, and the cops told me to keep my mouth shut. While I was being patted down I glanced at Buster. My dog was parked in the building's shade with a concerned look on his face. pair of cops threw me against a wall. I told them an FBI agent was inside the store who could explain everything, and the cops told me to keep my mouth shut. While I was being patted down I glanced at Buster. My dog was parked in the building's shade with a concerned look on his face.

Then Linderman came out and set the cops straight. There were times when I wanted to hug the guy, and this was one of them. Linderman convinced the cops to give me my Colt back. As I slipped it into its pocket holster Buster came out from the shadows and pressed up against my leg.

By now the Rasta was unconscious, and two cops were doing their best to keep him breathing. I stood over him for a minute, then realized he probably wouldn't be opening his eyes for a while.

I followed Linderman into the mattress store. Once we were inside, he turned around and put his hand on my shoulder. It wasn't a gesture I expected from him.

"I've got s.h.i.tty news," Linderman said.

I braced myself.

"The police chopper lost the Nova."

"How is that possible?"