Ash Reckoning Page 3

  Chapter 7

  “I love Jennifer Logan,” Deanna said, snuggled up against Ash as they walked. “She makes the best romantic comedies.”

  “That was supposed to be funny?” Ash asked. “I spent the whole movie stressed out over Joey’s yearning for her, while she was being wined and dined by that rich jerkoff. Joey should’ve kicked Derik’s ass first thing.”

  “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?” she asked, shaking her head.

  “That’s romance? Putting that poor guy through hell is romantic?”

  “He proved his love for her, and that’s how he won her heart.”

  Ash held his tongue. The movie, and his empathy for the male lead, Joey, stressed him out. Jennifer Logan’s character, Jennifer Bailey, looked gorgeous the whole time, which as a man he could appreciate a lot more than Deanna needed to know. Yet, despite her beauty, and her character’s loving heart and soul, she was an idiot to be with Derik to begin with. It made her look like a gold-digger, since he didn’t have a single redeeming quality. Just thinking about it stressed Ash out.

  But Deanna loved the movie and that was all that mattered.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” he said, hoping she’d let him change the subject.

  It was warm, with a clear moonless sky. Since they’d both had to visit the restroom after the movie, they were alone in the parking lot. Deanna’s high heels clattered and scraped on the concrete and she looked amazing in a pale blue print dress. He really liked it when she had her long, dark hair back in a ponytail, too.

  Deanna giggled. “Yes, it’s perfect date night. May is my favorite month.”

  It was the first date they’d enjoyed in two weeks. Bad weather had Deanna working six days a week, with lots of overtime, at the ER. She’d been too tired to do anything but hang out a few hours at home. He remembered their last date which had ended with the excitement of Desmond’s attempt to take out his wife’s killer.

  Thankfully, the police never came around to Desmond’s place asking questions. He did know that Walt was back in his apartment. Whether that meant no charges were filed, or that he was out on bail, Ash didn’t know. But since he was out, and knowing Desmond, Ash had been keeping an eye on his new friend.

  Worse, Desmond wanted Walt to come after him, just so he’d have an excuse to shoot him dead. The pawn shop owner did have a concealed carry license. Ash worried Desmond hadn’t thought out what killing another man would do to his psyche. He could only imagine how it would affect such a devout Christian.

  A sharp, oddly muted sound, like metal on metal, caught his attention. Deanna remained oblivious. Must be nice to be that innocent. Every sound or sudden movement caught his attention, putting him on full alert. Even after three months of peace and quiet out of the vigilante world, he hadn’t lost his hard-won instincts.

  A woman’s scream filled the night air.

  Ash reached for a pistol he wasn’t carrying. His eyes searched out the source of that cry of terror.

  “Carjackers!”

  He’d been so distracted that he had failed to spot the danger. Two young men were beating a middle-aged man down next to an open car. The woman stood on the other side of the car and watching in horror.

  “I’m calling 911,” Deanna whispered. “Don’t get involved.”

  She wanted him to just stand there and watch?

  Ash pulled Deanna behind a minivan. The 911 operator answered and her attention focused on the call. This allowed him to peek around the corner. One of the carjackers was going after the woman.

  “No,” he whispered, taking off running toward them. “Stop! Don’t do it, man. Just take the car and go.”

  The carjacker whirled around on him, holding a hunting knife. Ash held his hands up, letting him know he wasn’t a physical threat.

  “It’s just a car, man. It’s not worth hurting anyone over,” Ash continued in a reasonable tone. He glanced at their male victim. The poor guy was face down and jerking. “The car is yours. Take it.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” the other carjacker shouted, waving a pistol at Ash.

  Ash had a moment to remember saying something similar to Desmond two weeks earlier. And really, he was wondering what was wrong with him, too.

  The gun-wielding carjacker marched up to Ash, pistol held sideways. In the darkness, Ash hadn’t been able to tell much about the two carjackers, except that they were wearing jeans and dark-colored hoodies. Up close, he saw they were tough looking white men, early twenties, one with a goatee and the other unshaven whiskers.

  “Well, Mr. White Knight, you’re about to get shot in the face for your efforts,” the carjacker growled, pistol just inches from Ash’s face.

  “Ash!” Deanna screamed.

  “Jack, go grab his bitch.”

  Ash didn’t hesitate. His left arm swept the pistol to the side. The carjacker pulled the trigger in his surprise, blasting Ash’s face with residue. Ash pounded a right into the guy’s ribs, before trying to knee him in the nuts. The carjacker twisted and avoided the nut-cracking knee, but Ash’s left came back to rabbit punch him.

  The carjacker dropped the pistol and fell back, clutching his aching throat. Ash dropped to one knee, snatched up the pistol, and pivoted toward the other carjacker. Jack was running toward Deanna, knife in hand.

  Pap. Pap.

  Two shots, one in the butt, the other in the shoulder. Jack went down screaming, but the first man was back up and attacking with fists and feet. Ash expertly blocked every punch and kick, before going into the attack. He drove the carjacker back to the car he’d tried to steal.

  “You’re dead meat,” the carjacker snarled. “I’m going to—”

  Ash didn’t let him finish. He slapped the pistol across his face, and then pistol-whipped the young man down. Within seconds, he lay unconscious at Ash’s feet.

  “Deanna! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” her tiny, frightened voice came out of the night. “Is it over?”

  “Yes. It’s safe.”

  “You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”

  He had to check Jack to ensure he was alive. Jack laid unconscious, hunting knife still clutched tightly in his hand. Ash gave the blade a wary look, and kept his distance.

  “Of course not,” he said. But thought, Unfortunately.

  Adrenaline finally stopped pumping. He started to tremble. Taking deep breaths, Ash tried to calm his nerves. Yet, it wasn’t fear or dread riling him up. He realized the whole encounter had been thrilling.

  What have I done to myself?

  There were a few times while hunting and killing his family’s murderers that he’d felt that kind of battle joy. Mostly, though, it’d been a sense of grim satisfaction that filled him during those times. And then he realized he’d felt a lesser, but similar excitement helping Desmond.

  I have a lot of work to do before I’m back to normal. I wonder if I’m suffering from a form of self-inflicted PTSD?

  Deanna, being a nurse, was hardwired to help. He had to hold her back from the bad guys, directing her over to the beating victim instead. The victim’s wife soon joined them, moments before the police arrived.

  Dealing with the police after a gunfight was a whole new experience for Ash.

  Chapter 8

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I want Saint Nicholas Children’s Hospital to be the preeminent facility for the treatment of our society’s most precious treasures!”

  The board room remained quiet following Joel Steinberg’s announcement, but the men and women around the long table all had big smiles. They knew what was coming next.

  “And Steinberg Holdings is prepared to donate whatever it takes to achieve that dream.”

  His personal assistant, Fiona, caught his attention when she lifted her phone to her ear and frowned. The young redhead then crossed her legs the other way, which was never a good sign.

  He’d worked on his vision for Saint Nicholas’ expansion and modernization for the last eig
hteen months. He’d already bought up the surrounding land in preparation. Soon, a new luxury hospital would be constructed next to the existing structure.

  Once completed, they’d tear down the original hospital, replacing it with state of the art facilities, including a park for the kids, a residence for the families, cafeteria, shops, basically everything the patients, medical staff, and families could hope for on site.

  “The scope and scale of your plans are terribly, uh, ambitious, Steinberg,” Oscar Richards said. The middle-aged retired millionaire chaired the hospital board. “We’d love to execute that plan, but I worry that the economy could take a downward turn and the money would dry up in the middle. We’d be left in quite a predicament. We can’t afford to have half a hospital. The kids can’t afford it.”

  “I’m willing to personally guarantee the funds, even if they come out of my own pocket,” Steinberg said. “But, at the same time, I’ll personally take up the responsibility of drumming up support within the ranks of my friends and business partners. Together, we’ll ensure this hospital accomplishes its goals and takes exceptional care of our beloved patients.”

  “Do we really need a natatorium?” Board member Dr. Nancy Michaels asked. “I mean, I understand water-based therapy, but building an entire aquatic center…”

  “No, but how amazing would it be for the kids?” Steinberg asked. “And I’m all about making these poor, sick kids as happy and comfortable as possible. We owe them that. It’s no secret that many of these children are not going to be cured. I want to make sure we put smiles on their faces while we have a chance.”

  Once again, everyone beamed with pleasure. Steinberg got the warm fuzzies. It was going better than he ever dreamed. But then Fiona stood and hurried out of the boardroom, the phone still at her ear.

  “Wonderful,” Chairman Richards said. “The board needs to discuss your proposal, sir. Thank you for your time and offer. We’ll let you know the board’s decision as soon as we can.”

  Steinberg shook hands with everyone, exchanging a few friendly words and jokes. Then he departed. He was feeling good when his eyes fell upon Fiona. She wasn’t on the phone anymore, but was definitely waiting with bad news.

  “Let me hear it,” he said.

  “Ashley Wexler is back,” she said.

  His breath caught. Panic welled up, but he swiftly suppressed it. Grabbing Fiona’s arm in a viselike grip, he rushed her into a nearby empty room.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “What do you mean he’s back?” Steinberg whispered, face pressed in close to hers. “Here? In LA? Has he said anything?”

  Fiona jerked her arm free and rubbed it, giving him a wary look.

  “Not here. Not LA,” she said. “Mr. Wexler is in Dallas.”

  Texas? Why would anyone want to live in Texas? That seemed an odd choice, especially for someone who’d lived his entire life in Southern California.

  Steinberg pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He carefully extracted a cigarette and lit it with a solid gold Zippo lighter given to him by his grandfather. He inhaled the hot smoke deeply, held it a second, before releasing it straight at Fiona. She made a face and stepped back.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “Nothing. Yet.” Fiona backed away from him another step, waving her hand through the smoke, before pausing to compose herself. “There’s nothing to indicate he even realizes anything, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  He damn sure wanted to know. Wexler had vanished five years back, taking everything with him. Surely, if he realized what had happened, then he would’ve come forward before now. But Steinberg didn’t like loose ends.

  “Call Carpenter,” he said, turning to the door. “We’re going to use a professional to get rid Wexler this time.”

  Chapter 9

  “Masks,” Carpenter said, pulling down a cheap plastic Guy Fawkes mask over his face.

  The other three men in the 2016 BMW M5 pulled identical masks over their faces. The car’s tinted windows shielded them from casual view as they turned into an alley behind a high-end strip mall. Kurt drove. Eddie sat in back with the new guy, Lopez.

  All four men wore dark suits, white shirts, and red ties. Driving gloves protected their hands and ensured they didn’t leave fingerprints behind. Carpenter had planned the job meticulously. After all, it was more a test to ensure Lopez was a good fit. He didn’t let just anyone join the crew.

  Except for Lopez, they were all ex-Marine Scout Snipers and war veterans. Lopez had served with the Army, in Iraq. At least Lopez was Airborne, so not a common grunt.

  Kurt pulled up behind a white Lexus LS. Carpenter’s eyes narrowed, double-checking the license number. It was the owner’s car. Everything looked right, felt right.

  “This is a simple job, boys,” Carpenter said. “Just a simple smash and grab.”

  While Carpenter seized the overweight, sixty year old owner, Frank Mainz, forcing him to open the safe, Kurt and Eddie would smash the glass display cases and take the jewels and jewelry there. Lopez had the easy job. He just had to hold the two female employees, a middle-aged security rent-a-cop, and any customers at gunpoint to ensure no one decided to be a hero. The store employed only the one security guard.

  They got out. Carpenter looked up and down the alley. Empty. He glanced up at the security camera and smiled behind his mask. Lot of good that would do them. The four of them looked much the same: tall, dark, fit in their suits. The car had been stolen, so the cops would get very little useful information from the security footage.

  “Eddie.”

  The big, muscular man hurried up to the back door. It was a steel door, but not high security. There was very little crime in that upscale neighborhood. The jeweler was notoriously cheap and therefore hadn’t upgraded it to a reinforced door. Eddie was the biggest and strongest of them and his crowbar popped the locked door open.

  Carpenter checked his watch, noted the time, and then led the other inside in a rush. The access corridor to the showroom was empty and dark. They passed two closed doors: maintenance closet and bathroom. The jeweler’s shop was accessed via the showroom.

  “On the floor!”

  They waved pistols at the two saleswomen, a lone customer, and the security guard. The elderly woman perusing the merchandise let out a shriek, but otherwise cooperated by lifting her hands. The two saleswomen huddled in the corner behind the display cases, holding each other and shaking.

  “On the floor!” Lopez shouted. “Now! Make sure I can see your hands!”

  Carpenter promptly turned into the owner’s jewelry shop, catching him before he could escape. Lopez quickly disarmed the guard, while Kurt and Eddie headed for the display cases.

  “No one moves,” Kurt said. “No one gets hurt. Go.”

  Eddie and Kurt began smashing the glass displays. Gloved hands expertly scooped up the valuables scattered in the shattered glass shards. Meanwhile, Carpenter forced the jeweler over to the safe.

  “Open it.”

  “I can’t. It’s on a timer.”

  Carpenter leaned in close and spoke slowly and clearly. “No, it’s not. I did my homework.” He pressed his pistol to the man’s head. “Open it or die.”

  The shop owner nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. Trembling fingers began spinning the dial. Carpenter glanced through the small window into the shop. He could clearly see the man and women lying face down on the floor, with Lopez holding a pistol on them. Kurt and Eddie were halfway through the cases. It was going down exactly as he planned.

  And then the guard shifted.

  He just moved his arms a few inches. Carpenter noted it, dismissed it as inconsequential movement, and started to turn back to the safe. But Lopez turned his pistol on the guard. He pulled the trigger. Three times.

  The women all wailed in terror.

  “Don’t move,” Lopez shouted. “I will kill you.”

  The corners of Carpenter’s mouth twitch, eyes narrowing slightly. He turned back to the
jeweler. The shots froze him, terrifying the poor guy so much that he couldn’t continue. Cold-blooded murder had that effect on innocent civilians.

  “Calm your ass down, Frank, and open the safe,” Carpenter said.

  The owner nodded, took a deep breath, and started over on the dial. Carpenter watched him intently, noting the combination. Five. Twenty-nine. Sixteen. Seven. Fifty. The safe clicked. He pushed the jeweler aside, opened the safe, and swept the contents into his sack. He cleaned it out in just a few seconds.

  “Face down. Count to one hundred, and don’t get up until you do.”

  The shop owner did as ordered, beginning to count. “One hundred, ninety-nine…”

  “Slower.”

  Frank started over. Carpenter listened until he reached ten. Kurt and Eddie had finished and were headed to the car. Lopez was backing away from the women on the floor. Carpenter paused to note the pool of bright red blood oozing out from under the dead guard.

  He noticed Lopez’s finger on the trigger and frowned.

  “Go,” Carpenter said.

  Lopez didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran out to the waiting car in back. Carpenter arrived to find the trunk open, Kurt and Eddie already seated inside. He tossed his sack into the trunk, shut it, and watched Lopez slide into the backseat. Then he took his seat next to the driver.

  Carpenter checked his watch. Three minutes. Too long.

  Kurt calmly spun around and drove away. Carpenter listened for sirens, but never heard any. They quickly vacated the area, with some evasive turns to ensure no one was following. Then Kurt turned toward their destination.

  They pulled into the long abandoned body shop on the outskirts of town. They parked behind the corrugated steel building, before Carpenter personally collected the three bags of loots. He followed the others into the dark structure.

  “That went well,” Lopez said, a big grin on his face.

  “Took too long,” Carpenter said. “You rattled the shop owner when you killed the guard, so it took him longer to open the safe.”