“Everyone stand down. Just let them go, let them go,” Aaron said, Val translated.
The hand grabbing my collar seemed to take a larger hold and tightened around my neck.
I couldn’t spot Braco, not that I needed to talk with him at the moment. Kerri was cuffed and looked to be unconscious, kneeling on the floor, butt against the coffee table, head on a couch.
The voice behind me growled something.
“He wants you to pick up a bundle of cash,” Val translated as I was pushed toward the coffee table.
I picked up two just to stay on his good side, stuffed them in my pocket.
We made our way into the hallway, across to the elevator, and then inside.
On the short ride down I stared wide-eyed at the reflection of my pale faced image while a sneering Tibor “The Butcher” Crvek held my collar, banged a very large pistol against my head, and giggled insanely.
“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot. Very sensitive situation here,” I pleaded to a group of cops milling around the lobby area two floors down. The Butcher moved us against the lobby wall and snarled something in Russian. Then snarled again.
Footsteps came pounding down the fire staircase. Aaron, Val, and half the St. Paul police force.
The Butcher snarled again.
“Jesus,” I sobbed.
“He wants everyone to back up. Let him get to the other elevator,” Val said.
“We’ll lose him,” someone shouted.
“Stand down, stand down everyone, back up, come on, move,” Aaron commanded.
“Oh fuck,” I whined.
The Butcher moved us against the wall, growled.
“Push the button for the elevator, Dev. Push the down button,” Val translated.
As instructed I pushed the down button and then thought when we get onto the elevator I don’t stand a chance. I’m dead about one second after the door closes.
I looked Aaron in the eye, blinked slowly a few times to signal something, what? Just to signal I guess. The elevator arrived a lot sooner than I had hoped, gave a soft ding a moment before I heard the door slide open behind us. The Butcher grabbed my collar even tighter and began to pull me, half chuckling, taunting the crowded lobby as we backed into the elevator.
Throughout my life I have found abject fear to be a particularly good motivator.
I took two small steps backward as The Butcher dragged me. With the third step I pushed back as hard as I could, bringing my right arm up, hoping to turn out of the way and grab his gun. It didn’t quite work that way, the gun fired before I could completely turn. The roar deafened me but apparently missed as we fell. I rolled off him just as we hit the floor, a number of weapons fired and his body jerked repeatedly.
“Hold your fire, hold your fire,” Aaron screamed.
The Butcher was on the floor, very still, half sitting, leaning to the left and staring vacantly. There was a small hole, surrounded by powder burns along the right side of his nose, a larger exit wound on the left side of his face, just in front of his ear. Blood was pooling on the plush carpet.
My ears were ringing and I could feel a burning sensation on the back of my head and neck just before I passed out.
Chapter 81
I awoke sometime in the middle of the night. I could see it was raining out although I was having trouble hearing anything against the window. The hospital room was empty except for some equipment quietly blinking next to me. There was a soft light on over the bed, and I drifted back to sleep.
When next I woke it was to a nurse looking at a chart as she wheeled a breakfast tray in front of me.
“How’d we sleep?” she asked. What I could hear of her voice sounded muffled, like I was wearing earplugs.
“Okay, I think,” I said groggily, not recognizing my own voice.
“My hearing is screwed up, I think.”
She nodded, said something I didn’t catch, then smiled and left the room.
I devoured a stack of pancakes with bacon, a glass of orange juice, and some coffee. I kept trying to open my ears by yawning and swallowing but nothing seemed to work. There was a greasy substance on the back of my head, a salve I guessed, maybe for powder burns.
I thought of The Butcher on the floor of that elevator, glazed eyes staring, toward what? Maybe the gates of hell. I felt absolutely no remorse.
I attempted to listen to the television mounted on the wall, but I was having trouble hearing it when a nurse came in and turned the sound down, then waggled a finger at me, and mumbled something I didn’t quite understand.
Sometime in the early afternoon a doctor came in and talked to me. I couldn’t hear most of what he was saying, but I caught the part about release forms and going home. I thought about calling Heidi for a ride, but why bother? I wouldn’t be able to hear the phone ring, let alone her response, and my natural aversion to text messaging made it all just a lot easier to climb into a taxi.
Chapter 82
Three nights later I was sitting in the Spot Bar, minding my own damn business, content in a mild and steadily growing alcoholic haze. A bit of a private celebration after discovering two thick packets of hundred-dollar bills still stuffed into my pockets when I pulled on my trousers before leaving the hospital. Compensation from Braco I figured, and justly earned.
I failed to mention the cash in my after-action interview with the police department. They didn’t ask, I didn’t offer. Aaron had fired at least two of the rounds into The Butcher and, according to department policy, had been placed on a mandatory week of clerical work.
“Get you another Jameson, Dev?” Jimmy asked.
A little voice inside my head said Just finish this one and go home.
“Yeah sure, why not?” I replied. My hearing was mostly back. I missed the occasional word here and there but in general it had returned. I could use a phone anyway and the new Jameson made me think I might turn the night into a complete celebration. After a couple more healthy sips to build up courage and with very little reflection I phoned Heidi.
“What?” she answered.
“Whoa, hell of a way to greet a hero,” I said.
“Hero? You haven’t answered any of my calls and I …”
“Did you hear any of the news reports? I couldn’t even hear the phone ring, let alone anything you’d say.”
“Well, I’m a kind of busy right now.”
“Not your gnarly hairdresser pal, again? I thought you…”
“What I said was never mention that piglet to me again. Ever. No, I’m with Keith tonight. He’s an artist, if you must know.”
“An artist?”
“Tattoos actually.”
“Tattoos? You’re getting tattooed?”
“In a manner of speaking, with any luck. Look, I’d love to chat but I have to get going here. I’ll phone you in the next couple of days.”
Yeah sure you will.
“Hello.”
“Hi Val, Dev Haskell. How you doing?”
“Dev, oh good to finally hear from you. Yeah, well, you sort of caught me at a bad moment. I wonder if I might call you back in a bit?”
“Yeah sure, look, I was just thinking I sort of wanted to get your take on everything that happened in that elevator. I’m missing some critical moments, you know. Would you have time to stop by, maybe later tonight say for a nightcap?”
“Oh, I’d love to, but actually I’m out in DC right now. Maybe we could link up later on. If you look on my business card, my email address is on there. Send me an email and I can forward after-action reports to you, let you read through those.”
“To tell you the truth I wasn’t thinking of reports, exactly.”
“Oh, you know in a warped sort of way that’s sweet, Dev. But, things are going pretty well all of a sudden and like I told you once before, you probably wouldn’t be the best career move for me. You know?”