Chapter One (part 2)

Large pieces of timber from the door frame exploded in a cacophony of sound and devastation as he jumped in behind the man. Kicking the entry shut with the toe of his boot, Avery dove for the floor. “Get down!”

His shout was a mere whisper as bullets tore through the door. In the glow of a faint nightlight, Avery watched the woman, dressed only in a see-through silk nightgown drop behind the bed. The man with the .357 lay on his back, kept motionless by his raw fear of what awaited him.

Avery rolled to his back. Automatic gunfire continued its assault on the entrance. How badly did Jocko want the couple dead? Would he and his partner risk coming through the door? His gaze went to the thick drape cloaking the room’s large window. It looked like a curtain that should be hanging from a performance stage. One of the men would eventually begin shooting through the window sending in not only bullets but glass which could prove to be just as deadly.

Keeping the shotgun aimed at the door, Avery hit the still frozen man on the leg with a hand. “Get behind the bed!” When the man hadn’t reacted, Avery dragged him closer by the pants. Much slower but with more ferocity, he repeated, “Get… Behind… The… Bed!”

That time the man complied, rolling onto his stomach, crawling crablike joining the woman.

Shifting the shotgun toward the wall that separated the room from Jocko’s, he fired two shots into the drywall. The shooting outside stopped, obviously dumbfounded by what was going on inside since he hadn’t seemed to be returning fire. A large uneven hole wide enough to stick a basketball through showed that the next room was empty, as Avery had known it would be.

He looked at the man with the .357. “Is that gun loaded?”

“Shit, yeah! What the fuck are you doing, man?”

“Keep them distracted!” Avery shouted without explanation. Glass from the window exploded inward as bullets erupted through. Erratic pinprick patterns in the thick curtain left smoking holes. Getting to his feet he rushed toward the damaged wall. “What are you waiting on? Return fire!”

The man did as he was ordered. The magnum was deafening.

The woman screamed in conjunction with the roar of the gun.

That was good. The nosier, the better, Avery thought.

A cumbersome entertainment case lodging a television much too small for it, provided ample covered for Avery. For a short while anyway. Though bulky, the case would not stop a bullet from passing through. It was only a matter of time before the killers decided to force their way in. He had no time to think about that. Inspecting the hole he’d created, he had weakened the wall enough to tear off more of it with his hands. Reluctant to let go of the shotgun, he whirled it around, slamming the butt stock hard against the remaining drywall. Avery continued this until he realized the sound of the .357 had stopped as had the woman’s screams.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God,” the man kept shouting.

Avery whirled around and saw the reason for the man’s urgent pleads. The woman’s body sat motionless, in a macabre doll-like position, propped against the far wall beside the bed. Blood and brain matter drained down the side of her milky skin from the large opening that used to be the left side of her forehead. The woman’s eyes were wide, mouth agape, her face forever trapped in the shape of sheer terror.

Avery wanted to feel something, remorse, anger, even fear. But there wasn’t any time for that. “Keep shooting!”

The man turned away from the woman, toward him. “There aren’t any bullets left. I’m empty.” He looked back at the girl. “I didn’t even know her name.”

Call-girl came to mind. Avery took the time to look at the woman once more. Someone’s daughter quickly replaced his first assessment. She should be remembered for who she was, not what she was. The whoosh sound of newly lit flame snapped him out of his thoughts. The drapes were on fire. The hit men weren’t going to come in after all. They intended to burn Avery and the man out.

“Can you make it over here?”

The man shook his head frantically. “Are you insane? They’re still shooting!”

With little patience, Avery pointed the shotgun at the man. “Let me rephrase! Get over here!”

The man’s eyes turned even larger with dread. “How?”

“Stay on your belly. Crawl!”

“Who are you? The police?”

Avery waved him on with an angry hand. “Stop your jawing! Crawl!”

On his stomach, empty .357 still clutched in his hand, the man dragged himself toward the entertainment case. The fire began to spread to the carpeted floor. Avery worried that the flames would reach the man long before he made it to their escape route. The drapes had completely burned away. The shattered window gave an inside view of the room. The small plug-in nightlight emitted an unwanted but dim view of the belly-crawler.

Outside, a small blue, orange flash revealed the ethereal face of Jocko. He smiled. Behind it, Avery suspected that the killer’s mirth was brought on more by wickedness as opposed to joy. It was a lighter that he held. Jocko brought it down to something he held in his other hand and lit the fixed rag that hung securely around the mouth of a bottle.

The bottle of Absolute.

Christmas! It’s a Molotov Cocktail. Avery shifted his gaze back to the man on the floor. “We got to go now!”

The panic in Avery’s eyes made the man forget all of his qualms about crossing the room with the killers shooting. He got to all fours, running like a dog with a humpback toward the wall.

The makeshift incendiary device flew through the window hitting the far wall just passed the queen-sized bed where the dead woman sat. It exploded, soaking the room in flammable liquid. Her face which all the while had been pointed straight ahead at the window, flopped over sideways in their direction, as though her mouth had been hooked by a fisherman’s rod. Her cold, lifeless eyes--Avery saw that they were light blue under the flame’s ember—gazed at them accusingly.

Together both men whispered with almost practiced precision, “I’m sorry.”

The man was near enough. Avery grabbed him, pulling him upright, behind the cover of the entertainment case. “Climb into the other room.”

“But that’s their room?”

Avery looked at him incredulously. “At the moment, it’s not occupied, since they’re outside your room trying to kill us. Now climb through before they figure out what we’re doing.”

Black smoke filled the room--the smell of burning flesh, pungent. The hole was large enough only one to crawl through at a time. Losing all patience, using one hand, Avery grabbed the man by the rear of his pants, pressed him hard against what was left of the drywall, and lifted him up with all the force he could muster.

The man screamed in agony as he was hoisted through the opening.

“Stop bellyaching! I’m sure it’s the worse wedgy you ever experienced, but at least you’ll be alive!”

The loud thump told Avery the man made it to the other side. Tossing the shotgun through the hole, he followed close behind. The other man was on his feet, headed to the front door.

“No,” Avery commanded.

The man stopped and stared anxiously back. “What?”

“Are you stupid? They’re out there, remember?”

The man looked at the door, then back at Avery. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, they’re still out there.” He brought his hands to his face. “What are we going to do?”

Picking up the shotgun, he pointed it toward the door that led to the other hit man’s room. “We go in there.”

“Then what? We’re still inside the building.”

“Don’t worry I have a plan.”

“Who are you?” the man’s voice was panicked, high like a woman’s, no longer tinged with the tough Jersey roughness.

Avery needed to calm him, so he kept his tone even as he said, “My name is Hudson. That’s all you need to know, now move.”

They ran into the next room. Avery grabbed the large bag from the closet, throwing it once again on top of the bed.

“What’s that?”

“Our way out.”

Opening the bag, he retrieved the dissembled parts, and began putting them together. To get himself and this man out alive, he needed to do something desperate. He’d hoped the police would have arrived by now, but he knew he should have known better. The motel was in a bad neighborhood, and at that time of night, they’d be lucky if the police came at all.

“My God, how did you know that was there?”

“I paid the room a visit before I appeared at your door. That’s how I knew they were out to kill you.” It was then the question arose in Avery’s mind. “Why do they want you dead?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Continuing his work on the sniper rifle, he said, “Mister, I don’t even know who you are. I didn’t come here to help you. I was after one of your would-be assassins.”

The man looked surprised. “My name is Stuart Denton. Well, at least, I used to be Denton. I go by Barley now.”

Avery stopped. Thought about what Denton had said, recalling the name. “I read about you in the paper. You were a mob accountant. Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“As far as the world was concerned, I was supposed to be.”

“You were a federal witness, testifying against your employers.”

“Right. The Feds gave me a new identity,” Denton answered, scorn lacing his words.

“Not a very good one, obviously.”

“You have to protect me.”

“That’s what I was doing.” He continued assembling the rest of the rifle. “Jocko will start to wonder what happened to us soon.”

“Won’t he think we were burned in the fire?”

“Without screaming in pain or trying to fight our way out of the room? I seriously doubt it.”

“Won’t the other guests be outside by now? All the noise and the fire, won’t the authorities be here soon? Surely the killers will be gone by now!”

Avery connected the high-powered scope to the rifle. “Wishful thinking. The motel will be burnt to the ground before emergency services arrive. In this neighborhood, people are smart enough not to stick around and those who have stuck around, will conveniently act as though they’ve never seen a thing.” He looked up at the man. “Isn’t that exactly why you were here tonight, for the discretion?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “The call girl.”

“The woman,” Avery corrected. “Crack the front door open.” Dropping down to a prone position on his stomach near the door, he had the rifle on a bi-pod.

Denton opened the entry just a hair. As predicted, the parking lot was empty except for the confused looking hit men. Jocko had another lit Molotov Cocktail in his hand, readying it for another throw.

The second killer had kicked opened the door to Denton’s bedroom and disappeared inside the smoke. Not long afterwards he reappeared, coughing heavily. “They’re gone,” the killer gasped.

Avery put the scope on his target.

The killers had turned to look at Jocko’s room door, followed by loud curses.

“Open the door wider,” Avery commanded.

Denton did so but protested. “Shit, what are you waiting for?” he yelled.

Jocko’s eyes squinted hard as he looked in Avery’s direction. From his surprised gaze, it was obvious he saw that the door was ajar.

The sniper rifle fired once. It’s roar muffled by the attached sound suppressor. The glass in Jocko’s hand exploded. Combustible liquid spread across the lot, spraying both hit men. Night suddenly changed to day as the two flaming killers zigzagged here and there in the lot, setting everything they touched on fire. Their screams echoed through the retreating darkness.

Avery rose from the floor, his expression somber. “You’re going to need another identity. Make sure the Feds give you a better one this time.”

The color had drained from Denton’s face. Pale as a ghost, eyes wide with trepidation, he asked, “What the hell kind of monster are you?” He pointed outside toward the killers. “Can’t you at least put them out of their misery?”

Indifferent, Avery answered, “Where their souls are headed what’s happening now will seem merciful.”