Part 8:

Some Things Are Worth Fighting For

Ignoring the shouts of protest from his partner, Park ran across the gravel and climbed into his squad car. Throwing the car into drive, he peeled out, riding close on the bumper of the wailing ambulance as they both sailed down the dirt road. Nearing the end of the road that lead out onto the main street, both the ambulance and Park were forced to swerve to miss the oncoming police cars that raced one right after another up the dirt road towards the warehouse.

Park slammed on his brakes, sliding sideways, almost hitting the pickup truck that was still parked by the side of the road, headlights on and engine running. Exiting the police car, gun drawn, he could see that the last three police cars turning onto the dirt road were following his lead, coming to a halt near his own squad car.

“What’s the situation, Park?” Officer Mulroy, one of the officers from his unit, approached the truck where Park now stood.

“Man down at the warehouse from some pretty fresh gunshot wounds. He is on his way to the hospital, and I believe the suspect is still somewhere in the area.”

Two of the other officers advanced on the truck, allowing Park, Mulroy, and the other three other officers to continue forward into the woods.

***

Rain streamed down from the blackened sky as Nick burst up through the waves, choking and gasping for air before going back under again. His arms thrashed wildly, trying to grasp onto to anything. He was fighting for his life; he didn’t want to die yet; he just wasn’t ready. Coming up again, he tried to scream, but the salt water filled his lungs, and he was forced down again.

***

Park made his way around the trees, observing the broken branches and footprints in the dirt. He followed the trail, knowing that whoever had been coming through these trees was being chased; otherwise, the person would have taken a more direct route, instead of the zigzagging pattern which he now followed. Leaning down, he shined his flashlight on the footprints, noting from the tread, as well as the size, that there were at least two different sets of prints.

Mulroy, the officer from Park’s unit, walked the trail behind him, as the other three men fanned out in different directions to survey the area and search for the person or people who had shot the kid in the warehouse. Moving his flashlight from side to side, Park stopped.

“Shit,” he groaned, as they moved into a small clearing.

The body of another young man lay face-up on the ground, a fresh, gaping bullet wound in his heart. Beside the younger man was an older man with a bullet hole between his eyes and a gun in his hand.

“Looks like some sort of a murder-suicide,” Officer Mulroy said, crouching down beside the older man. “The gun is still warm.”

Park dropped beside the younger man, trying desperately to find a pulse, as Mulroy felt around the neck and wrist of the shooter for a pulse.

“Mine’s dead, Park, what about yours?” Mulroy said in the calm voice of a police force veteran.

Shining his flashlight down into the face of the young man, Park silently apologized for being too late as he gently pulled Brian’s blue eyes closed for the last time and replied,

“Yeah… mine’s dead, too.”

***

Nick broke through the surface of the water for a third time, pinwheeling his arms through the waves in frustration, until finally, he hit something solid with the tips of his fingers. Forcing his eyes open against the rain and wind that temporarily blinded him, he expected to see the girl with the dark hair, but instead, it was Brian.

Brian’s face was serious, his eyes dark. Nick was thrashing about in the water, trying to stay afloat, while Brian was somehow able to stay shoulders above the water with no effort at all. Nick was screaming, while Brian said nothing. Nick feared the waves, yet Brian seemed to fear nothing at all.

“Give me your hand.” Brian’s mouth did not move, but Nick heard the words; he knew that he heard the words. Pausing for a second, Nick pulled his arm out from beneath the heavy water that ebbed and tided all around him and reached out to Brian. A wave attempted to overtake Brian from behind but instead broke around him, never touching his body. What the hell was going on? Shaking his head furiously, Nick pulled his hand away before their fingertips could touch.

“Get away from me!” he yelled into the raging wind. “Get away from me; you’re not Brian!” He turned and tried to swim away, but the undertow pulled him right back where he was.

“I’m here to help you.” Brian’s calm voice carried over the storm while his lips stayed pursed. “Just let me help you, you idiot.”

Nick stopped and turned, his legs working wildly underwater to keep him afloat. “What?” he asked, pushing the water from his eyes. “What did you say to me?”

“I said, just let me help you, you idiot. Sometimes you can be so stubborn, it pisses me off.” Again, Brian’s mouth did not move, but Nick heard the words so clearly, and they were wonderful words to his ears. Things only Brian would say to him.

“Brian?” Nick asked, as Brian reached out his hand, nodding his head in response.

“Yes, Nick, it’s me. You need to take my hand.”

So Nick took Brian’s hand.

***

The EMTs had already alerted the staff at a nearby hospital that they were bringing in a young man in his late teens, early twenties, with multiple gunshot wounds. When asked his condition, they radioed in that there was significant blood loss and a thready pulse. Condition critical.

The nurses and doctors that hovered in the lobby knew that there wasn’t a second to spare, as the EMTs broke through the emergency room doors with Nick on the stretcher, tubes dangling from his body, an oxygen mask over his face, and blood everywhere. Nick was quickly hooked up to machines, as doctors and nurses traded medical jargon with the EMTs, rushing Nick through the double swinging doors to the OR.

One of the nurses, who kept a quick pace, holding onto the metal bars of the stretcher as they turned left, walking towards the first operating room, was watching the young man’s face for any sign that he was alert as to what was happening. His skin was a pale, bluish white, and his eyes, which were closed, fluttered wildly beneath the long lashes. At one point, he sputtered something from beneath the mask, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to breathe. The nurse reached down as they continued walking and pulled the oxygen mask from his face.

“I think he is trying to say something,” she said, as they turned the stretcher into the OR room and stopped. Once in the OR, they wheeled the stretcher close to the operating table and, on three, they lifted Nick onto the table, wasting no time hooking him up to monitors, as nurses rushed about, readying things for surgery, and two of the hospital’s tops surgeons entered the room.

“B-B-B-B-Brian… h-h-h-e-l-l-l-p… me.”

The nurse who had removed the mask looked up to one of the other nurses, as the surgeons stepped in to assess the damage. “Who is Brian?” she asked. The other nurse shrugged.

Again, Nick sputtered out Brian’s name. “B-B-B-Brian.” His chest rose and fell slowly, and then there was nothing.

“We’ve lost him,” one of the doctors said in a raised voice. “Flatline…………………………………”

***

New York

At the very moment that the bullet tore through Brian’s heart, Leighanne felt a pain in her own heart so sharp and so deep that she clutched her chest and screamed out loud. She was afraid she was having a heart attack, as she fell to the floor, unable to move or breathe. But as quick as the feeling of pain came, it was instantly gone.

And she felt so empty inside.

***

The police roped off the wooded area around the two bodies, as the EMTs loaded both the body of the young man and the body of the older man onto stretchers. Park had checked the pockets of both men, hoping for some key to their identity, but was unable to find a wallet or anything that would help.

The other officers up at the warehouse were going through the same motions, looking for some sort of clue as to who these people were and what had lead them to the warehouse where so much violence had taken place. There were no registration papers in the glove compartments of either the pickup truck or the Excursion. There was a set of rental agreement papers in the Excursion, but the name scrawled on the signature line was slanted and sloppy. They figured they could probably call the car rental company and request records on who had rented the vehicle, but for now, it was still a mystery.

Park was leaning back on the hood of his police cruiser, watching them load the bodies into the ambulances, when a call came through on his radio.

“Hey, we found a cell phone up here.” It was Martin, who was still up at the warehouse.

“Where?” Park asked.

“It was over to the side of where the body was. It was in the blood, so we must not have noticed it. The battery is dead on it, but it looks like the kid must have used it because his bloody fingerprints are on it. He must have tried to call someone. They are bagging it up for evidence right now.”

Park nodded to himself, as the back of the ambulance doors slammed shut with the dead bodies inside. “Didn’t Sergeant Cox say something about a call coming in from someone on a cell phone?”

“Dunno. Where the hell is Cox?” Martin looked around the warehouse, scanning the faces for their sergeant.

“When he radioed in to us, he gave us the warehouse address and said he got it from dispatch. I think I remember that he said something about the lead coming from a caller on a cell phone. Call in to dispatch and see what you can find out. Maybe whoever called them talked to the kid on his cell phone before he was shot and can tell us who he is?”

***

Mo ran fast and low through the woods, the Kentucky baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, his hands sweating beneath the leather gloves. Thank God for the California haze, he thought, looking up to the still pale sky that was trying to break with morning but chose instead to hold onto the night a little while longer. He figured he had gotten himself a good distance from the scene in a short amount of time, and now he needed a plan.

Running his hand over his back pocket, he checked for Brian’s billfold, which was still in place, along with the sunglasses. He wore the Rolex on his wrist and Brian’s gold wedding band on the pinky of his right hand. He thought of the things he had touched at the scene, leaving his fingerprints: the car door and glove compartment of the Excursion, and the chains to the garage doors at the warehouse. He also thought about the cut on his forehead from his collision with the steering wheel, and he wondered how much of his blood had spilled in the truck. He just hoped that he had left a convincing enough display in the woods that nobody would think twice that Gus had not pulled the whole thing off himself and there would be no need for further investigation.

Now he would need to find a ride and get back to his apartment, where he could gather up Nick’s items, get to the location where Gus had stored the BMW, change the plates, and get the hell out of dodge. Once he got to Mexico, he could sell the car, make a tidy sum, and just disappear into the sunset.

Moving out towards the edge of the woods, he ran parallel with the main road, watching for a passing car that he could flag down for a little help.

***

Howie checked his watch, nervously tapping the cell phone against his leg as he leaned forward over the driver’s shoulder.

“How much longer?” he asked, turning the cell phone over, trying to decide whether to call Brian’s cell phone again or Leighanne.

“Not much longer, sir. I would say another fifteen miles,” the driver said in a polite tone, as Howie sat back in the seat and punched in the digits of Brian’s cell phone.

Looking up ahead, the driver saw something by the side of the road. It looked like a person, but he couldn’t be sure. As they drew closer, he could definitely tell it was a man. He was wearing all black and a baseball cap, and he was flagging the town car down with desperate, waving arms.

***

Mo saw the headlights down the road and made his move. Walking out onto the side of the road, he made his way into the middle of the road and began waving his arms wildly, hoping to convince some kind sap that his car had broken down and he was in need of a lift. As the car came closer, he could see it was a fancy, plum-colored town car with gold mag wheels and tinted windows, and he could also see that it was slowing down.

***

Howie could tell that they were slowing down. Leaning forward again, he tapped the driver on the shoulder.

“Why the fuck are we slowing down?” he said in a not-so-pleasant tone. “Did I not explain to you that this was a matter of life and death and that speed was of the utmost importance?”

“Yes, sir, but there is a guy in the road, waving us down. He looks like he needs help.”

Howie glanced up into the road, where he could see that there was indeed a man in the middle of the road, and he was walking right towards them.

***

“Brian, I can’t do it,” Nick sputtered, as Brian tightened his grip on Nick’s hand. “I’m too tired; I just can’t do it.”

“You always give up so easily,” Brian replied, struggling against the current as he made his way closer to land, Nick in tow. “You have to learn that some things are worth fighting for.”

“You don’t understand, Brian.” Another wave crashed over Nick, pushing him down and filling his lungs with water. Brian dragged him up above the water again with a grin. “Brian,” he coughed, grabbing for Brian’s hand again. “You don’t understand. I’m hurt.”

“That’s right, Nick, you are hurt. You’re hurt really bad. And like I told you, there are some things worth fighting for. So I am fighting for you, and you are going to fight for your life.”

***

The town car came to a stop in front of the man, who dropped his arms and ran to the back door, yanking it open.

“Thanks so much for pulling over. I’m in trouble; my car broke down a few miles back, and I really need a ride to the next town up. If you could just turn around and head that direction,” Mo said, sliding into the backseat beside Howie, who started to protest.

“Look man, I don’t think we can help you right now. I’m in a big hurry; a friend needs my help, and I can’t spare a second.”

Mo put on his best disappointed face and sighed. “Please man, you don’t understand. I’m all alone out here. You are the first car I have seen in miles.”

Sighing himself, Howie looked around. “Okay, look, if you want to come with us, we can take you where you need to go after I find my friend.”

Mo was pissed. This little son of a bitch was not going to tell him what to do. But he decided that it might be worth if he could catch a ride and get off the road. Besides, if this guy took too long helping his dumbass friend, then Mo could just take the car and strand them in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah, okay, man,” he said to Howie, trying to look sincere. “I really appreciate the help.”

Both men sat back in their seats. Howie looked over at Mo and noticed the Kentucky baseball cap on his head. “I have a couple of friends that are from Kentucky,” he said, making small talk.

Mo smiled at him, fiddling with the brim of the cap. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” he replied, as Howie gave him a small smile back.

As the driver started the car up again, Howie’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“Howie, it’s Leighanne. Something terrible has happened; I just know it.” She was hysterical and crying, and Howie could barely make out the words.

“Calm down, baby, it’s okay. I have the police on the way, and I am almost there. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Have you talked to Brian?”

“No, no, I haven’t been able to get a hold of him, but I am sure he is okay.”

“No, Howie, he isn’t okay. Nothing is okay. Something terrible has happened.” She was hyperventilating now.

“Leighanne, calm down, baby, just calm down. I am going to find Nick and Brian, and everything will be okay. I promise.”

At the mention of the names Nick and Brian, Mo’s blood ran cold.

***

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