A Week In Hel (11 page)

“
Stop, Police,” Commanded
the heavily accented voice of the impostor below.

“
Keep going Candi,” I said,
as the first gunshots cracked below.

She screamed and cowered as
the bullets hit the steel frame of the fire escape. I reached her
and put an arm around her to shield her as another round of bullets
ricocheted past.

“
C’mon, we gotta go all the
way up. The door will be open.” My husky voice in her ear seemed to
reassure her, and she looked into my eyes and smiled as she drew
herself up the next step.

“
Get up there,” the Hispanic
accented voice ordered someone below.

I pressed Candi to hurry.
"We gotta beat them up there.”

She nodded and started
sprinting.

I drew my gun and cracked
off two shots at Rosales, who wisely hunkered down. I saw him
pointing at something and a moment later, I heard the ladder
rolling down again.

“
Damn.” I took off after
Candi, who’d hunkered down at the eighth floor to wait out another
round of gunfire. When I got to her, she was sobbing.

“
I can’t,” she said
feebly.

I was instantly pissed. It
was because of that crooked little minx that I was in this
mess.

“
Get that jinxy little ass
moving.” I grabbed her arm and started up the stairs. Good damned
thing she decided to follow, I’d have dragged her.

To her credit, she didn’t
even flinch when the next round of gunfire showered us with sparks
and shrapnel. She was crowding more to the inside and trying to use
me as a shield. Fine by me, I didn’t want her too damaged, because
I was considering warming up to her later.

One more flight. I started
taking steps by twos when I heard footfalls coming up from
below.

On the tenth floor landing,
Candi bent to catch her breath and I went to the door. I grabbed
the old knob and gave it a squeeze.

“
God Bless old men with
selective hearing,” I said to nobody, and pushed the door
open.

An old toolbox and a couple
of small crates slid way as we entered. I pulled Candi inside,
slammed, and then bolted the door. I noticed an old refrigerator
standing in front of the window as we made our way through to the
main door. I reached for the doorknob and remembered my keys were
in my jacket pocket, locked in my apartment down on the fifth
floor.

I looked over my shoulder
for the key box and didn’t see it. I went to the center of the room
and peered around. Over between two upright cabinets I found it
minding its own business.

I hurried over and opened
the metal box. Nothing. It wasn’t a key box at all, just an old
breaker box that hung on a hook. I rummaged through one cabinet,
and another, until on the third try I found two key boxes hung on
the inside of the cabinet door. I opened both and started scanning
for 5J among the key tags.

Outside, I heard feet
stomping up the fire escape. I scanned faster, damn. Some mook
started beating on the door.

“
Got it.” I snatched the
key-tagged 5J out of the box and Candi and I rushed out of
there.

We left just as he was
giving the door the shoulder. I pulled the front door shut behind
us and noticed the old padlock hanging in the hasp. I lifted the
lock, put the hasp in place, and then slipped the lock in the
opening. The old lock refused to yield, but from the inside it may
as well have been the vault at Fort Knox.

“
Let’s hit the stairs.” We
ran to the exit sign and gave the door a shove. It opened faster
than I thought it should and I pulled up short to listen… It was
quiet so we gently let the door close behind us and started down
the stairs at a pretty good clip.

I was wondering what had
become of Rosales. I knew he wouldn’t have given up that easy. I
patted my hip and was happy for finding my old Smitty right where
it belonged.

When we passed the sixth
floor I heard a door open and close several floors above us, but I
didn’t hear any footsteps on the stairs. It struck me odd until I
was almost laid low by the fifth floor exit door.

The door swung in fast and I
grabbed it with one hand, while drawing my pistol with the other. I
cocked the hammer and jammed the barrel right into the mouth of the
head that darted around the door.

Dick Weeks almost pissed his
pants. “Oh, Shit!”

“
Damn it Dick, I almost let
the air outta your melon.” I lowered the gun. “Where are
they?”

“
I don’t know. I came to see
about you. The one that says he’s a cop smells like the mash room
at the brewery. The other three are just a bunch of street punks,”
he offered.

“
Go to your apartment, lock
the door, and call the cops,” I ordered, as I led Candi past him.
We made for my place at the end of the hall, but quick.

I pulled out the tagged key
and jammed it into the lock. I turned the key and we
entered.

I got my keys and turned
around. Candi was standing just inside the door, but she had one
eye screwed onto the hallway. She was something to look at, but
like every broad of her type—not entirely trustworthy. Something
about her just wasn’t making sense. I went to her and looked out.
The hall was clear so we made for the elevator.

I pushed the button and we
waited. After a minute or so, I looked up and saw the glowing B on
the indicator panel above the elevator door.

“
Damn, well here we go
again,” I exhaled and turned in the direction of the
stairwell.

Just then, my punching bag
from the basement came out of the stair well along with another
punk. The punching bag held a length of two by four, but the other
punk had an automatic pistol.

I whipped out my roscoe and
cracked off two rounds. The punk with the lumber hunkered down, but
the other one didn’t even flinch. As he raised that pistol, I
grabbed Candi.

I shoved her in front of me
and we ran toward the other end of the hallway. I pressed her into
a shallow door opening as two bullets whizzed past my
head.

I had fired four shots. I
had two left. They had to count.

The punk fired his last
three rounds and dropped the magazine. I raised my gun and shot him
right through the left kneecap.

Two things happened just
then—the punk dropped his pistol and fell to the floor screaming.
Then that punching bag with legs dropped his two by four and
charged me.

I gotta give credit to the
sonofabitch, it was a ballsy move. Stupid, but ballsy.

He started having second
thoughts when I stuffed my fist into his busted nose. My second
punch connected with his chin and dropped him like a brick. Candi
and I lit for the stairs.

Just then, I heard a phone
ringing back in the direction of my apartment.

“
I hope that’s Dick Weeks
saying the cops are on their way.”

“
No kidding,” she
huffed.

We weren’t taking our time
hustling down the steps. It was all I could do to slow down enough
not to go ass over handlebars.

“
I hope that’s the last of
it,” Candi said with a sigh, as we rounded the landing at the third
floor.

I nodded my agreement.
“Yeah, but I got a feeling we’re not out of this yet. Rosales or
one of his goons is still around here someplace.”

Half way down the next
flight Candi turned her ankle. If I hadn’t caught her, she would
have ground in her face.

“
Ow-Och-Ouch! Damnit!” She
cried, as she limped down the last few steps to the second floor
landing.

Candi braced herself against
the wall and tried her weight on the ankle.

“
I just... “She broke
off.

I tried to support her, but
she shoved me off.

“
I just need a minute,” she
winced, as she put her weight down on it.

The joint looked okay, a
little puffy, and red, but she was only putting weight on the side
of her foot. She hobbled around the landing on it a little with
tears on her cheeks.

“
That looks painful,” I said
and started toward her.

“
I’ll be fine. I just need a
damned minute please,” she hissed. She gave me the predatory glare
of a harpy.

I gotta hand it to the gal,
she had sand. She was working that ankle pretty good after a couple
of minutes. It was starting to swell up like a bastard and she
could put more weight on it, even if it didn’t bend so
good.

“
Okay, let’s go before I
lose my nerve.” She hopped over to the staircase and we were on our
way. We were moving slower, and I was carrying most of her weight
for her, but at least we were going.

Along that time, I was
really wondering what had happened to Rosales. It seemed like too
much to hope for that he’d given up and gone home. That protection
racket had been going on for a long time. Protection stiff-armed by
the very same mob that the law was supposed to protect people from.
It was a cash cow until Candi had started squirreling away some of
their money.

“
Y’know the police are
supposed to protect you, not the mob. Not the Joey Catanza’s and
Angelo Delapina’s of this world,” I said, for no reason other than
to make her ankle throb.

“
No shit, Sherlock,” she
spat her spicy retort.

We limped our way to the
bottom of the last flight of stairs at the ground floor landing.
The exit door loomed in front of us. I let go of Candi and she sat
on the second step, massaging her swollen ankle a bit.

“
It really feels a lot
better,” she whispered in a halfhearted attempt at being
optimistic.

“
It’s swollen to the point
of numbness, just like when a boxer breaks a bone in his hand
during a fight. It hurts like hell until it swells, then he can
beat you stupid and never feel a thing. That is until the swelling
comes down.”

“
Great, thanks a lot,
Jerk-face.” She must have been feeling a little better because she
batted her eyes at me again. It still annoyed me, but not as
much.

“
All right, let’s go wait on
the cops,” I said, and pulled the door open.

“
Yeah, let’s.” It was the
tin gravelly machismo of Rosales.

“
Hey asshole, I thought I
smelled something.” I started for him, but he waved me off with a
rather ominous looking .45 with a long slide and high chrome
finish.

“
Candace has something that
belongs to a mutual friend of ours. The friend would like to have
their property returned.”

The slick little bastard had
no idea that I knew what he was talking about.

“
Okay, c’mon Candi.” I went
to her, and as I helped her up, I whispered in her ear, “Back my
play.” She nodded into my neck and I pulled her to her
feet.

“
Whoa, what is this?’
Rosales demanded, “Let her go and get out of here.”

I supported Candi more than
I needed to and she limped more than she had been, but she wasn’t
acting out the wincing or the fresh tears.

“
Dry up cupcake, our friend
says to smoke you once I get his money back. But, what say you and
me go have us a good time on his dime? I’ve seen that pretty little
ass in the air a couple of times. I’d treat you real
good.”

I reached for him again and,
if I hadn’t been holding Candi, I would’ve gotten him. Instead, he
jammed the gun in my face and says, “All right, pokey bait, you try
that again and I’ll blow you away, and drag that crippled piece of
ass out of here by her hair.”

“
Okay,” I said, and turned
Candi to the door.

“
Take me to the money and no
funny business,” he spat.

“
Okay Rosales, I don’t want
any trouble. I’ll return Angelo’s money. Just leave me alone,”
Candi said softly, defeat thick in her voice. I hoped my
bone-headed play was gonna work.

“
Take him to the money.” She
gave me a trusting look.

We left the stairwell and
walked or hobbled up the hallway and across the lobby. I saw Dick
Weeks sprawled over the front desk as we passed.

“
You Sonofabitch,” I spat,
giving Rosales a dirty look.

I led them to the bank of
mailboxes nearest the door to the mailroom.

“
What’s this?” Rosales
asked, confused.

“
You want the money, I need
my key to the mailroom,” I said flatly.

He was a little close with
that .45 for my liking, so I unloaded Candi in his direction. She
collapsed right into him, throwing him off balance.

Danger quick, I pulled open
the mailbox marked Security, reached inside, behind the key ring,
and closed my hand around the handgrips of an ancient .32 caliber
revolver.

Rosales shoved Candi to the
ground and raised his .45, as I brought that old .32 to bear. The
cavernous marble lobby crackled with gunfire.

He fired two
rounds.

I fired only one.

That slow moving raw lead
.32 tore a dime-sized hole through his neck, severing the carotid
artery on its way through.