GRAVE WALKER_A gripping noir thriller Page 8

  I hated to waste ammo, but I knew I had no other choice. Without even looking, I raised my Glock over the tombstone and fired off two shots. I brought my hand back down and counted two seconds before they returned fire.

  I looked down to Zoe and saw that her face had been cut by the shattered fragments of tombstone. “Zoe…when I start shooting again, I need you to run back the way I came. Head down the hill to the parking lot, fast. I’m driving a black Honda. Don’t stop running until you’re inside it. You understand?”

  She nodded and tried to let out a Yes that morphed into a cry of despair.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  She nodded again, tears coming down her eyes and blood trickling from the cut in her forehead.

  I knew we didn’t have much chance. Zoe and I weren’t exactly Seal Team Six.

  More like a has-been and a never-was.

  Still, I knew the goons with the hand cannon had one problem. Huge caliber handguns had monstrous kick-back. This made the accuracy suffer. If Zoe and I were fast, we had a chance; a slim one, but a chance.

  Very quickly, I stuck my leg out on the right side of the tombstone and then drew it back in immediately. Still, it achieved its effect. The goons started shooting right away.

  At the sound of their gunfire, I came up on the other side of the tombstone. I saw the man in the sports jacket peeking out from behind his own cover and fired twice. I’m pretty sure I hit him. It was hard to tell. If I didn’t get him in the shoulder, he at least got a face full of blasted concrete from the top of the tombstone he was hiding behind.

  “Go!” I shouted to Zoe.

  I retreated backwards, still firing as I went. Zoe needed no encouragement. I heard her steps as she bolted behind me.

  I alternated firing at the attackers; one shot towards the man in the sports coat and another to the man in the tee shirt. My Glock wouldn’t take a limb off like their weapons, but it was enough to keep them in cover. When I had managed to get both men back behind their hiding spots, I turned tail and followed Zoe.

  Weaving behind a stone edifice, I raced behind another row of tombstones edging closer to the parking area. Two more shots boomed from behind me, and I stumbled as one almost hit my ankle. I scrambled back to my feet and staggered down the hill to the car, aware the men were close behind.

  I reached the car without any further shots fired, relieved to find Zoe cowering inside. I threw myself inside and cranked the engine to life. With a screech of tires the Honda roared out of the parking lot. Another boom sounded as an attacker took a potshot at the escaping car. Beside me, Zoe was still crying, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What the hell is going on?” she shrieked.

  “I don’t know,” I said, swinging the car into the road. “But someone wasn’t keen on our little meeting.”

  I checked the mirror to make sure no one else was coming out of the parking lot behind us. It seemed we were in the clear.

  But I knew how men like Lem worked, they were ruthless…and thorough. If I had been followed from the prison, chances were good that someone already knew that we had escaped the graveyard.

  With my eyes peeled for any further attacks, I buried my foot to the floor.

  This wasn’t over yet.

  EIGHTEEN

  My first thought was to get Rey on the phone. But before I could even think to get my cell phone out, I knew that was a bad idea. This situation was my mess, and I’d be damned if I were going to put anyone else’s life at risk because of it. For now, my best bet would be to head back to the station and sort things out. At the precinct, Zoe and I could lay low and figure out our next move.

  Of course, things are never that easy.

  As I took a left onto busier roads in an attempt to blend in, I saw two motorcycles in my rearview mirror. They pulled out of a parking lot side by side. Yamaha sports bikes, pitch black. The riders were also dressed in black—pants, jackets, and helmets. This, I knew, made them hard to identify.

  I’d been known to be paranoid before and the booze certainly didn’t help, but deep down I was certain the bikes were tailing us. When they weaved through the traffic behind me, my mind was made up. They were not being discreet, and they were moving quickly; professionals.

  They would hit hard and fast before disappearing, the bikes giving them the perfect getaway vehicle. I’d heard about mob hits like this before. They were usually reserved for VIP’s and politicians.

  Somehow I wasn’t flattered.

  “You might want to buckle up,” I told Zoe. “This could get ugly.”

  “How?” she asked. “H - How could things get any worse?”

  The first rounds of gunfire sounded out only seconds later.

  “You had to ask,” I grimaced

  There was a slight ding as one of the shots pelted the back of the car. I looked back into the rearview and saw that the motorcycle riders were carrying smaller firearms, making it easy for them to drive and shoot at the same time.

  Yeah, pros for sure.

  “Get down, stay low,” I told Zoe as I took a sharp right turn at the next intersection, tires screaming for traction.

  I punched the gas, and the speedometer leaped higher, but the bikes matched every move.

  I knew that there was a choice to be made: lure the bikes into heavier traffic where there was a much better chance of getting another cop car or two involved, making my chances of escape all the better—or driving into a less crowded area, minimizing the chances that pedestrians and motorists would get hurt.

  I opted for the latter…I wasn’t about to endanger people going about their everyday lives.

  The assassins started firing again, and this time the car was filled with the musical tinkling of glass as the back windshield glass was cracked by three bullet holes. Zoe screamed. The window held in place, but it wouldn’t take much more punishment.

  I swung the wheel hard, throwing the Honda down a three-lane road bridge.

  The bikers easily matched my route on the nimble machines. I realized I wasn’t going to out-maneuver these two.

  I checked the side-view mirror and saw that the motorcycles had gone into single file. The leader was closing fast. There was a single vehicle between my car and his bike, and he was currently in the process of navigating around it.

  The bikes roared like angry hornets as they swerved between the cars. The leader was going to flank me, and then, I assumed, just fire directly into the car.

  An idea formed in my mind. I’d never done anything quite as…ill-advised, but we were out of options. Sometimes the instinct to survive was the mother of invention.

  Fighting against every instinct, I took my foot off of the gas, forcing the car behind me to slow down. The lead motorcycle sped past it, the rider’s gun in clear view. He got closer, closer…

  “Zoe,” I said, “Buckle up.”

  “What are you– Oh, my God!”

  I slammed on the brakes and simultaneously flung open the driver’s door.

  The quick screech of motorcycle brakes lasted only a second, but it was too late.

  The lead biker hit the door at almost 40 miles per hour, tearing it from the hinges.

  The shredding sound of metal on metal filled the car, and through the sparks and shattering glass, I barely saw the driver go flying from the bike. He caught at least ten feet of air before smashing into the side of a taxi roughly twenty feet away. He slumped to the ground, motionless.

  The crumpled mess of door and bike dropped to the road as I buried the throttle—all too aware of the second biker now catching up. The traffic was grinding to a halt now all around as shocked drivers braked to avoid the carnage. Vehicles began to swerve as horns blared. It would slow the second biker down, but not by much.

  I maneuvered the door-less Honda around the ruined bike and floored the accelerator.

  “Are you insane?” Zoe screamed, trying to be heard over the roar of engine noise and wind now barreling around the cabin.

  “The jury’s
out on that one!” I replied, looking over my shoulder.

  The other bike kept coasting forward, creeping around a truck and a trailer now hanging across both lanes. He was coming directly for us—apparently, none too happy about his partner’s demise. He brought up his gun and started firing wildly. One bullet struck the trunk, but the others seemed to have gone wild, striking other cars.

  I cut hard to the left to get around an SUV, then right to get around a scared-looking family in a station wagon.

  All around, terrified drivers were halting their cars at the chaos in front.

  No, keep moving, I willed, but it was no good.

  We made no more than a hundred feet before gridlock on the bridge forced our car to stop.

  “Goddamn it!” I slammed the wheel in frustration. “Out, let’s go,” I indicated the door to Zoe.

  “On foot? Are you nuts?”

  “Yes, we’ve already established this. Now go.”

  Zoe and I climbed from the car, and I pulled my Glock, pointing over the traffic at the direction we had been traveling. “That way, go.”

  The end of the bridge was close by, and an intersection with a main road was directly ahead. If we could make it over there, we might find some cover or a place to make a stand.

  Zoe ran ahead, and I followed close behind, jinking between the stopped vehicles, hoping to put some distance between us and the second rider.

  In the distance, I heard the familiar angry buzz of a bike engine and knew that our would-be assassin was having the same problems we were, but he was closing fast.

  A Coca-Cola truck hissed to a sudden stop in front of us. I grabbed Zoe, ducking beneath it to emerge on the other side, hoping for a little cover. Glancing back, I saw the biker weave around the ruin of his comrade and now bear down on the route we had taken.

  “Come on!”

  Zoe and I sprinted the final fifty feet to the crossroads. We reached the edge of the intersection, and while the bridge behind was now gridlocked, vehicles were flying past this crosswalk with no obstructions, yet. With no time to waste, we ran across, barely missing several cars and earning angry horn blasts.

  The other side had a warehouse and some industrial lots but little real cover. I tried the doors—all bolted shut. Despite what you see in the movies, I knew shooting the lock would do nothing but waste ammo.

  “Shit.”

  “Blume?” Zoe said, panic rising in her voice.

  “I know, I’m thinking.”

  “No, Blume, look!”

  I glanced across the road and saw that the biker had now rounded the Coca-Cola truck. And he was revving up, gun in hand, to bear straight down on us. With a squeal of tires, he raced toward the end of the bridge. And us.

  We had nowhere else to run.

  I pulled my Glock free and fired a couple of shots at the biker, but he was too fast, and the shots went wide. By the time he was in range of me, we would be in range of him. I was short on ammo, and he was a pro. It wasn’t good.

  As the Yamaha flew towards us, I saw that the bike was not going to slow up at the intersection either. It was going to blast through the red light, weaving its way through crossing traffic, and gun us down right there on the street.

  I scanned left and right, praying for an idea.

  As I spotted the traffic careening across the intersection, an idea formed…but it seemed crazier than my previous one. Perhaps by this point it had been so long since I'd seen a good idea, I'd forgotten what they looked like.

  I took my sights away from the bike, knowing it was futile to try and hit him. The target was too small and too fast. Looking to the right, I spotted something that I thought might work if I timed it right.

  The bike raced closer and closer, howling as it closed on us.

  The rider raised his gun.

  I raised my own.

  “Blume?!” Zoe yelled.

  Now!

  I suddenly pivoted on one foot and swung my gun away from the biker to the huge truck about to barrel through the intersection. I emptied my magazine into the space where I thought its front wheel was.

  I heard the tire explode from where I stood. The truck reacted as I expected. It suddenly veered to the left as the driver tried to wrestle control. But at that speed, it was no good.

  The biker had anticipated the intersection and the traffic, but not a jackknifing juggernaut. When the motorcycle shot through the intersection, I don’t think the truck driver even saw it.

  A crunch.

  The screeching truck swatted the racing bike aside as if it weren’t even there. A sickening wail sounded as the mangle of man and bike was flung across the intersection into the barriers. The biker’s body twisted at an impossible angle, half draped over the railing. He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, if ever.

  All around us, people were screaming, and horns were blaring.

  My heart pounded as I grabbed Zoe and ran.

  ***

  Zoe and I made it two blocks before hailing a taxi and heading away from the chaos.

  Apparently, I’d stumbled upon something big—something so big that Victor Lem thought enough to have me rubbed out. It made me think that finding this Walker character was more important than I had originally thought.

  “You okay?” I asked Zoe as we flowed back into normal traffic. I kept glancing around, half expecting more attackers. However, for now we seemed safe.

  “I think so. I’m not hurt, anyway.”

  “Good.”

  “So who were they?”

  “Apparently friends of the men at the cemetery. And listen…for right now, I think it’s best if you come with me back to the station.” I grimaced and added, “I guess I’d better call this in.”

  I saw that Zoe looked a little uncomfortable with the idea of going to the police station. I guess she’d gotten her fill of authority types over the last few days as she’d handled the death of her sister.

  By the time we got back near the center of town—the tops of the trees in Central Park emerging like a green lighthouse in the midst of the other madness—I had managed to get in touch with Rey. I filled him in as well as I could, and when he responded, I noticed the anger in his voice. There was concern there, yes, but he also seemed strangely pissed.

  Zoe fell silent in her seat, staring out to the afternoon as Manhattan rolled by. The streets we drove down felt familiar, like I had never left them behind for London. Yet, at the same time, there was the overwhelming sense that I had no idea where they were taking me or what waited for me at the end of them.

  As I got closer to the station, something started to feel wrong. Maybe I’d been a detective for too long, working on my own and growing fond of not having to answer to anyone. I knew how this would all play out if I went to the station with Zoe.

  More chaos, a gunfight on a public road…and more bodies.

  I’d get my ass chewed by Kinsey. Hell, she may even take me off the case this time. As for Zoe, she’d be tied up in so many interviews that it would make her head spin. Looking to the woman, I felt bad. I had dragged her into this mess, and as if dealing with her sister’s death wasn’t hard enough, she was now dodging bullets. Bullets meant for me.

  She reminded me of Darcey, even with the darker hair and eyes red raw from tears. There was just something about her.

  I suddenly knew that the precinct was not the best place for us right now. We needed to lie low and figure things out. We needed somewhere to go where Kinsey, Rey, and the weight of everything that had happened this afternoon would not crush us.

  “Zoe,” I spoke softly. “I think we should stay away from the station right now.”

  “But I thought that’s where we were heading?”

  “Yeah, change of plans. I think it’s for the best.”

  “Ok, but where do we go then?

  “I’m not sure,” I replied, staring through the window at the city, hoping for inspiration. The city felt dangerous, and we were alone. There was nowhere we could turn.
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  But that was a lie. I knew a safe place we could go. A place I had been avoiding ever since I had returned to this city.

  It wasn’t ideal, but nothing over the last two days had been.

  I turned back to Zoe. “I know somewhere.”

  NINETEEN

  It was after seven o’ clock when I parked the rental car along the side of a street that I had once walked down just about every day. Zoe had rightly pointed out that we would be better with our own vehicle instead of taxis.

  We were in Hoboken, an area I had never thought I’d see again, and it felt both warmly familiar and alienating all at the same time. It was a nice neighborhood, all things considered, quiet but close enough to the city. The leafy sidewalk was well-tended and felt welcoming, but I found myself checking left and right, wondering if another visit from armed goons was inevitable.

  When all seemed quiet, I led Zoe a block over to a low, red-brick building and a familiar green entrance.

  This was it; the place I had tried to forget.

  It felt like a lifetime ago since I had been here.

  After Sarah and Tommy had died, I’d never been able to bring myself to sell the apartment, although I knew the day would come when I’d have to—either for the sake of moving on with my life or the cash.

  I didn’t have a key on me, but I hoped the spare would still be hiding in the old spot. If not, I knew I could likely get in by buzzing one of the other occupants. Hoping that I wouldn’t have to deal with any neighbors, we made our way to the door. I could still feel adrenaline surging through my veins. I tried to calm myself down as I approached the loose brick in the wall where Sarah and I had kept the spare key hidden. I had to wiggle it a little harder than usual, but the brick came free.

  I saw the key inside and a lump instantly formed in my throat. I reached into the hole slowly and took it.