Logan stepped into the doorway, and looked quickly around the room, ready to help his friend. Prep table, food storage racks, sink, dishwasher, stove, walk-in refrigerator, a stack of empty milk crates, Tooney’s small desk.
But no Tooney, and no man. No anyone.
As silently as possible, he walked to the doorless opening that separated the kitchen from the front of the café. But there was no one there either.
Where the hell—
He heard a voice, muffled and indistinct, to his left. He whirled around, his arms cocked, ready to strike. But there was no one there.
As the voice spoke again, Logan realized it was coming from inside the walk-in refrigerator.
He raced over and yanked the door open. A flood of chilled air poured over him, but he barely noticed it. Three feet inside, Tooney was kneeling on the floor, facing him. Between them was a man in a dark suit, pointing a gun at Tooney’s head.
Before the man could turn all the way around, Logan wacked him hard in the arm with one of his improvised clubs. The man let out a groan of pain as he sidestepped past Tooney, and moved further into the refrigerator, away from Logan.
Logan slashed at him again, hitting the man’s shoulder, and scraping the end of the metal rod across the man’s neck.
“Son of a bitch!” the guy yelled. He twisted to the right so he could bring the hand holding the gun around toward Logan.
In a quick, double motion, Logan swung the rod in his left hand at the man’s head, then struck downward with the one in his right at the gun. The man leaned quickly back to avoid being gashed across his cheek, but doing so caused his gun hand to drift upward a few inches, right into the area Logan had aimed at.
Just as the rod hit the gun, the man pulled the trigger. A bullet raced by Logan’s hip, then slapped into the wall of the refrigerator. Logan struck at the man’s hand again until the pistol, a Glock, tumbled to the floor.
Unarmed now, the man staggered back, bleeding from both his neck and his hand.
Logan stood in front of him, ready to strike again. “Tooney,” he called out. “Can you get up?”
“I think…” Logan heard a foot scrape across the floor. “Yes…I can.”
“Go call nine-one-one,” Logan told him.
The would be attacker laughed. “You’re not going to do that. Are you, Tooney?”
Logan sensed the café owner hesitate. “Tooney, now.”
That seemed to break the trance, and Tooney shuffled out the door.
“Who the hell are you?” Logan asked the intruder.
“Why don’t you ask Tooney?”
Logan stared at him for a second. “Get comfortable. It takes the Sheriff a little while to get out here, and you’re going to be pretty damn cold by then.”
The guy began to smile. “I can handle a little cold. Can you?”
The last word was barely of out of the man’s mouth when he charged. Logan whipped a rod through the air, smacking the man in the side of the head, but it didn’t stop him. With another step, the guy had moved inside the range of the clubs.
Logan quickly let go of them, then grabbed the man by the shoulders and tried to guide the attacker’s momentum passed him, not through him. He was only partially successful, though, deflecting the man away from his chest, and into his shoulder.
The man staggered, then started to go down. Reaching out, he latched onto one of Logan’s belt loops, and they both ended up tumbling to the floor.
Logan found himself on his back, with the man on top of him. He threw a quick punch into the man’s ribs. But instead of responding in kind, the man shoved Logan in the shoulders, and pushed himself up.
As soon as he was on his feet, he started searching the floor, obviously looking for the gun, but Logan spotted it first. He kicked the man in the hip, knocking him sideways into a stack of egg crates, then got his foot on the gun, and kicked it toward the open door.
The moment it passed through the opening, Logan realized that was a mistake. He jumped to his feet, but the man raced outside first.
Almost immediately the door began to swing shut. The guy was doing to Logan what Logan had been planning to do to him.
Logan pressed his hands and arms against the door, trying to stop it from shutting. But the man had the leverage, and the door kept getting closer and closer to sealing Logan in. Then, with just a few inches to go, it suddenly jammed to a halt. For several moments, the man continued pushing, trying to close the remaining gap, but the door wouldn’t budge.
There was a grunt of frustration, then the pressure from the other side ceased. Logan pushed the door open just in time to see the man grab Tooney and throw him into one of the storage racks, then race outside.
Stepping quickly out of the refrigerator, Logan spotted what had kept the door from closing. The Glock had caught between the door’s lower lip and the refrigerator frame. He scooped it up, and started for the rear exit, but a moan stopped him before he could get there.
Tooney was trying to get off the floor, but wasn’t having much luck. There was blood on the side of his head, and a dazed look in his eyes.
“Stay down,” Logan said as he knelt beside him. “I’ll call for an ambulance and let the Sheriff know what’s going on.”
Tooney jerked under Logan’s hand. “No,” he said. The look in his eyes wasn’t fear. It was terror. “No police. No ambulance. I be okay.”
Outside, the sedan’s engine started.
“Tooney, you’re hurt.”
Tooney sat up. “I’m okay. Just cut. Can clean myself. No problem. No police. Please, Logan. Don’t call them.”
Logan stared at the old man, confused.
“Please,” Tooney said again.
Though Tooney was injured, nothing looked fatal. Logan thought for a moment, then grabbed the keys he’d spotted earlier on Tooney’s desk, and headed toward the back door.
“What are you going to do?” Tooney asked.
But Logan was already outside, so even if he had an answer, Tooney wouldn’t have been able to hear it.
2
There were only two ways out of town—either north or south, both on the Pacific Coast Highway. North was the tourist direction, the scenic route. It went past Hearst Castle and then up a long, winding road through Big Sur to Monterey. It was a slow drive with few outlets for a hundred miles or more. The one to the south led to Morro Bay, then over to San Luis Obispo and the 101 Freeway. From there, the whole country opened up.
Logan barely paused at the red light before turning south. It was the only way Tooney’s attacker would have gone. Once on the highway, he jammed the accelerator to the floor, then pulled out his cell phone. But as hard as it was not to, he didn’t call the Sheriff or an ambulance.
“Jesus, Logan. What time is it?” his father asked, sounding half-asleep.
“Get over to Tooney’s café right away,” Logan told him. “Have Barney drive you. He used to be a doctor, right?”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“You’ll need a first aid kit.”
“Logan, what happened?” Whatever sleep had been in Harp’s voice was gone.
Logan hesitated. “Tooney’s had an accident.”
He could hear his father throwing back his covers. “My God. Is it bad?”
“He didn’t think he needed an ambulance.” Logan knew it wasn’t exactly answering the question, but it was the best answer he could give.
“I’ll call Barney…Wait. Aren’t you there?”
“Not any more.”
“Why not? Where are you?”
“Just hurry, Dad,” Logan said, then hung up.
Nearly four minutes passed before he spotted the Lexus’ taillights climbing up the other end of the valley past the tiny town of Harmony. At least he hoped it was the Lexus. It was about the right distance away, and he couldn’t see any other lights further along.