Читать книгу Samurai Code - Don Easton - Страница 7

2

Natasha hurried from the clinic, stopping briefly at the employee parking lot to get a sweater from her car before going to the deli. Her silver Nissan Altima was parked next to a van and she consciously looked around before approaching her car. The clinic was located in a high-crime area and being cautious was second nature. She didn’t see anyone, so she retrieved her sweater before locking and closing her car door. The light scrape of grit from a man’s shoe behind her told her she was not alone.

She spun around and saw a man step out from behind the van. It was difficult to see his face, silhouetted by neon lights from behind, but she could see he had long hair and a beard. His hand was tucked inside his dark nylon raincoat. Raincoat? Hot for this time of year. And it hasn’t rained in over a week.

“Who are you?” demanded Natasha, hoping the authoritative tone of her voice would hide her fear.

The response was an unintelligible whimper and he scurried out of sight behind the van. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief and she recalled a patient she had last treated months earlier.

“Melvin, is that you?” she asked.

There was no response but Natasha could hear him panting as his fright level increased. She made a wide arc around her car and came around the side of the van so that the lights were behind her and she could see his face.

“Melvin Montgomery! It is you! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Melvin glanced furtively about.

Natasha knew that Melvin was neither an alcoholic nor a drug addict. His many illnesses were psychological. Among them, anthropophobia, also known as fear of people and fear of society.

With some people, anthropophobia would come and go, but with Melvin, it was a constant presence. He had a morbid aversion to human contact. It caused him panic attacks, shortness of breath, rapid breathing, irregular heartbeat, sweating, nausea, and an intense feeling of dread.

By nature, Melvin was gentle and much too afraid to seek help or remain in any environment where people were nearby. It was not an easy life. A life that forced him to live in a doorway in an alley, his existence dependent upon a few select Dumpsters behind the area restaurants.

Natasha had encountered and befriended him before. The first time she had helped him, he had made it as far as the entrance to the waiting room, but when he saw the other patients, he wouldn’t come in. The receptionist became alarmed at the sight of a vagrant with an old green sleeping bag draped around his shoulders loitering outside. She notified Natasha, who went out and discovered he was suffering from an infection caused when he was bitten on his chest by an injured cat that he found. She allowed him to enter through the rear fire-escape door.

A few days after that, Melvin returned after someone roughed him up and stole the antibiotics she had prescribed. His trust for her had grown enough that he had stepped inside to let Natasha re-examine his chest in the corridor. Maybe tonight will be easier, she thought.

“It’s okay,” said Natasha. “I see you’ve been waiting for me. I’m here now. It’s okay. Are you hurt?”

Melvin stared at Natasha for a moment before slowly taking his hand from his raincoat and holding it out. Blood seeped from a dirty rag wrapped around his hand.

“Looks like I better take a look at that,” said Natasha. “What happened?”

“I fell,” mumbled Melvin. “In a Dumpster. A piece of tin,” he added for explanation.

Natasha sighed, not so much at the injury as to the predicament that caused it. “You should come inside so I can have a better look. You might need stitches.”

Melvin looked at the clinic and shook his head, retreating farther into the shadows as two people strolled by on the sidewalk.

“It’s okay,” said Natasha. “There is nobody inside the waiting room. I’ll walk ahead and make sure we’re not bothered.”

Minutes later, Natasha had achieved some success as Melvin followed her into the clinic, but before she could examine him, he sought refuge in the rear washroom.

As the minutes ticked by, Natasha heard the receptionist talking to some newly arrived patients.

“Melvin?” she said quietly. “You have to come out. You can trust me. I’ll make sure nobody hurts you, but you —”

The door unlocked and Melvin stepped out. He glanced around and saw Natasha was alone. “I wasn’t hiding from you,” he whispered, glancing nervously down the hall. “I saw you were scared of me when we were outside. I know I don’t look so good. I’m sorry.”

Natasha saw that Melvin had wet his hair and slicked it back from his face in an attempt to look nicer. She smiled and said, “You did scare me, but that was before I knew it was you. I don’t need to be scared of you, do I?”

Melvin looked concerned, shaking his head, then caught Natasha’s smile. He gave a small smile out of embarrassment at the irony of the situation and lowered his head.

“Think you could handle coming inside an examination room with me?” asked Natasha.

Anguished, Melvin looked into the small room, but nodded and entered. Once inside, he allowed Natasha to treat his injury.

Natasha spotted a clump of cat hair on Melvin’s coat and said, “By chance, that wouldn’t happen to be from the same cat who bit you before?”

Melvin shyly nodded and said, “I adopted him. I call him Winston.”

“Good name,” replied Natasha. “Last time we talked you mentioned he had just lost his front leg. How is he doing?”

“That was when we first met. He had crawled up into the engine compartment of a parked truck to keep warm. When the guy came back and started his truck and drove off, I think Winston caught his leg in the radiator fan, but he’s better now, thanks.”

“You said he took off after he bit you. Did he come back again later?”

“No, it took a few days of looking but I found him a few blocks away. He didn’t mean to bite me. He was just hurting. We’re friends now.”

“Does he have trouble getting around?”

“He can run faster than me,” replied Melvin. “He is also afraid of people. Especially cars and trucks.” Melvin smiled at Natasha and added, “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Winston and I are kind of the same.”

Natasha’s smile revealed that Melvin had read her thoughts correctly.

“At night, he crawls into my sleeping bag with me and sleeps curled up on my chest.”

“The piece of tin you fell on left quite a cut,” said Natasha, changing the subject. “I’m sure it’s painful.”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I won’t bite you,” grinned Melvin.

***

Mad Dog scanned his rear-view mirror one last time before pulling in behind the warehouse and parking. Snake and Looner, who were in the car in front of him, had also parked. Mad Dog shut off his headlights and sat for a moment, peering around in the darkness. He lowered the car window and listened. He saw Snake get out of his car and stand scanning the area, as well. Looner was less cautious and gave Mad Dog a friendly smile as he approached.

“Let’s do it,” said Looner.

“Shut the fuck up and listen for a moment,” said Mad Dog.

Looner listened briefly and said, “I don’t hear nothin’.”

After a pause, Mad Dog replied, “Me either, but after this afternoon, I ain’t takin’ no fuckin’ chances. You search ’im good?” asked Mad Dog, with a nod of his head toward Snake.

“Yeah, real good,” replied Looner. “He ain’t gonna rip us. It’s only you and me that got pieces,” he said, patting the butt of the .44-calibre semi-automatic pistol stuck in his waistband. “Besides,” added Looner, “I trust him. Can’t say as I feel the same about Pete and Bongo, though.”

Mad Dog tried to qualm the rage he felt in order to think. It had been a bad couple of days. Less than three weeks out of prison for serving most of a four-year sentence for armed robbery and he was nearly arrested again yesterday afternoon. What the fuck happened?

He replayed yesterday’s scenario over again in his head. He had already picked up his stash of killing machines. Two Mac-10s with silencers, two Uzis, and three Desert Eagle .44-calibre magnum semi-automatic pistols. As planned, he was to deliver them to everyone two hours before the armoured truck arrived.

Mad Dog was on his way when things fell apart. He spotted the same car that ran a red light behind him the day before. Checking a piece of paper in his pocket confirmed that the number he had scrawled down was the same plate. He exchanged eye contact with the pig driving the car. The pig knew he had been burned and tried to cut him off in traffic. Mad Dog knew he had been extremely lucky. Lucky that I got a good memory for numbers. Lucky to get away.

Immediately he called Snake and Looner on their cellphones. He was in time to warn them. Pete and Bongo were not so lucky. So how did the pigs find out about it?

The plan to rob the guards from the Brinks armoured truck was something he had thought about constantly during his last year in jail. It was all he and Looner had talked about. The other men were hand-picked later. Looner had been released two months ahead of him. Did Looner say something to earn an early release? Then again, he’s so stupid, he could have let it slip accidentally.

Then there were Snake, Pete, and Bongo. Snake came recommended through Ophelia, a hooker he knew and trusted. Pete and Bongo were guys he had met in a bar. Both said they were addicts. He believed they would want the money as much as he did. Were they really arrested? Or was one of them the rat? There was his own girlfriend, Julie. She had visited Mad Dog regularly when he was in jail. Was it her? Had she found someone else when I was inside …? Naw, the bitch loves me.

Mad Dog warily glanced at Snake and Looner. Now it was every man for himself. Unlike Looner, he didn’t trust anyone … including Looner, who was too stupid to know the pistol Mad Dog gave him wasn’t loaded.

Snake was another story. He was smart and Mad Dog knew he hadn’t earned his nickname by being nice. Now survival was the name of the game … and being around someone like Snake made him nervous.

No place was safe and he was broke. Except for one thing. He had a trunk full of a very valuable commodity. With luck, he and Julie would get enough cash to slip into the States and make their way to Mexico. Snake knew some bikers willing to pay top dollar. The trick is to sell the guns and get the money without being shot or robbed by either Snake or the bikers.

Mad Dog was happy with the scenario that had been negotiated. Julie and Snake’s girlfriend would both wait in a motel. Snake would pick up Looner, who would search Snake and his car, just to keep him honest. Looner would take Snake to meet Mad Dog, who would give him the guns, except for two Desert Eagles that he and Looner carried. He would keep one for his run to Mexico. Looner would keep the other.

When Snake got the guns, he was to call his girlfriend, who would then call the bikers to bring the money to the motel. Julie would turn over the ammo for the guns and the bikers would take Snake’s girlfriend as a hostage until Snake delivered the guns to them.

Mad Dog glanced up at the sky as he walked to the rear of the car. There was a full moon, which pleased him. He knew a remote road behind Cultus Lake that would take him close enough to an area where he could walk through the bush and cross the border into the States. It would be better if he didn’t have to use a flashlight. He had used the route before when he had helped his brother import cocaine. With luck, he and Julie would be in the States within the next couple of hours.

He and Looner were to part company near the U.S. border. Looner would drop him and Julie off and take the car. Looner’s plan was to hide out with a girlfriend in Prince George. Mad Dog knew Looner would be caught sooner or later, but it would help him if the cops didn’t find a stolen car ditched near Cultus Lake and put two and two together.

Snake wasn’t talkative about his plan to escape. Likely crawl back into the same hole he came out of and wait until the heat died down.

Mad Dog took a deep breath before popping the trunk as Looner and Snake gathered around to look inside.

“As promised,” said Mad Dog, fingering the butt of his .44 as Snake bent over to examine the guns.

A woman’s voice screamed behind him, “Police! You’re not going anywhere this time!”

Constable Sophie White saw three men spin around to face her. She gasped when she saw two of them were pointing pistols at her. One man straightened his arm to shoulder height, aiming it at her face as his finger started to squeeze the trigger.