Jeff Sherratt - Detour to Murder

How do I get off this hill? Which way to go?

Headlights jumped out at me.

A car had turned onto the road at the far end of the oil field and was speeding toward me. Ducking back into the building, I flattened myself in the shadows against the wall next to the door. Could it be Danny and Rollo? That thought filled me with dread.

The car neared, then stopped right on the other side of the wall. Someone killed the engine. I heard the car door open. The rats had come back-the two-legged kind.

Quickly glancing around, I spotted a three-inch diameter pipe about four feet long resting on the floor a few feet away. The end of the rusty pipe stuck out from under a jumbled mass of cable. I moved fast, tugged on the pipe a few times until it came free, then darted back to my hiding place.

I heard Danny outside. “Hey, Rollo, shit! The bastard busted loose!”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at the goddamn door. It’s all banged up.”

“Do you think he’s still in there?”

“He’s dead if he was dumb enough to stick around,” Danny said.

“You gonna kill him?”

“Yeah, the boss said to get rid of him this time. He ain’t gonna tell us nothing.”

“What if he’s gone?” Rollo asked.

“We’ll go to his goddamn apartment and kill him there.”

“Can I cut him up? You said I could cut him up.”

“Come on, Rollo.” I heard the terrifying sound of an automatic weapon being ratcheted.

Wiping the sweat from my palms one hand at a time, I gripped the pipe like a baseball bat.

Danny stepped cautiously through the doorway, holding a gun straight out in front of him.

I stepped forward, took a hard swing, and connected. His face exploded like an overripe watermelon. Blood gushed. His knees buckled; he went down. His gun skidded across the floor.

In the dim light, Rollo bellowed and came at me with his knife. But I’d anticipated his move and spun to my left. The blade nicked my right arm. I dropped the pipe, but didn’t feel the cut. Adrenaline took over and blocked all pain as it pulsated through my system. The powerful drug gave me strength and agility. I felt invincible.

I had learned at the police academy that when a bad-ass comes at you with a knife, it’s not a fight-it’s murder. And to come out alive you had to remain focused. I braced and locked onto Rollo.

His eyes blazed and he rocked on his toes. I kicked at the knife in his hand, missed. He charged me again. I dropped and rolled.

He stood above me. I kicked him in the balls. He doubled over and moaned, but didn’t drop the knife. I sprang to my feet.

Our eyes met. “You motherfucker! You’re dead!” Rollo shouted and lunged at me again.

I sidestepped the blade, which missed by inches. With both hands I grabbed his arm, the one holding the knife.

He jammed his free hand in my face, clawing for my eyes and tearing open my wounds. Warm blood ran down my face. I tried to twist his arm, break the knife free, but the bastard was strong.

Suddenly, I let go of him, made a fist and punched him in his gut with all I had left. His eyes bulged. He made a noise that sounded like an imploding pressure cooker.

Rollo dropped the switchblade. I hit him again, harder. Then again, one to the jaw.

He staggered backward and I picked up the knife.

We both saw Danny’s automatic at the same instant, right at Rollo’s feet. He took his eyes off me, went for the gun, came up and fired. But I wasn’t there.

He didn’t see me in the shadows, standing behind an upright beam.

“Where are you, goddammit?” He fired again. The report echoed around the building. He moved slowly, closer to where I stood, peering intently into the shadows. When he saw me, he swung the gun around, fired wildly, and missed.

I dove, grabbed him by his shirt, and thrust the knife blade deep into his belly.

With a startled look, he dropped the gun. He stood there shaking, the unmistakable rattle of death. His face turned white. He clutched his stomach and whimpered, “You fucking killed me.” Blood seeped though his fingers. Three seconds later he fell forward and didn’t move.

I tossed the knife into the puddle of blood that ran from under his body.

Someone shouted, “Danny! I heard shots. You didn’t kill him, did you? I don’t want any part of this. We gotta get outta here.”

Morelli, backlit from the moonlight, stood in the open doorway.

I picked up the automatic pistol and walked toward him, aiming it at his heart. “There’s been a change of plans, Morelli.”

“Oh, God!” He threw up his arms. “Hey, man, don’t shoot! I’m unarmed.”

“Gimme the car keys.”

He tossed me the keys to the Buick. I caught them with my free hand.

“Who do you work for?” I asked.

“I work for Danny. Is he dead?”

I kept moving closer. “Yeah, he’s dead. Who’d Danny work for?”

“Some rich guy. That’s all I know, honest.”

“Yesterday you called someone to tell him about me.”

“Just-just some number Danny gave me. A guy answered. I-I told him Danny took you to the oil patch. That’s what Danny said to tell him. That’s all I know, honest, mister. He was… he was going to pay me to drive him around a couple days. I didn’t know what he was planning. Honest to God, I didn’t know!”

“Tell me the phone number.”

“I don’t remember, 213-2 something. He wrote it on a paper. I threw it away like I was told to do.”

Morelli was scared shitless and I felt he was telling the truth. I wouldn’t get any more out of him, and he hadn’t done anything to me. He was just a flunky, Danny’s errand boy. I didn’t want to haul him to the police station. I’d be there all night, probably forever while cops asked me tough questions as they filled out a million forms. They’d lock me up until it was all straightened out.

“Get the hell outta here, Morelli. If I see you again, I’ll shoot you.”

He ran out of the warehouse, moving at about a hundred miles an hour.

I stood there for a moment and took several deep breaths, exhaling slowly. Did I feel any remorse for taking two lives? No, these weren’t human beings at all. They were cruel, inhuman monsters with not an ounce of humanity between the two of them. They slaughtered a defenseless old lady for money, and probably many other helpless people. They deserved what they got. The sun would shine tomorrow and the world would be a brighter place without them. No, killing them didn’t bother me at all.

At the doorway, I turned and took one last look at Danny and Rollo lying in their own blood.

I heard them first, the high pitch of their squeals. Then I saw the red, shining eyes of the albino and the others as they squeezed through the opening. More flooded into the building, dozens, sniffing and moving slowly toward the bodies.

“Rats-A-Roni,” I said, and left.

I climbed in the Buickand popped open the glove box, looking for a registration or anything that would help ID the owner of the car. Nothing, no documents of any kind. In fact, the Buick was spotless, no telltale signs that anyone had even been in the car. The thugs were pros and didn’t leave a clue as to who they were or whom they worked for. I put the gun inside and closed the glove box.

Winding my way through the oil field, I drove down the hill and caught the 405 Freeway, heading back to Downey. The ride was smooth and at this late hour the traffic was light. I felt invigorated, glad to be free of the nightmare I had just endured.

But by the time I made the turn onto the 605 about ten minutes later, the adrenaline effect had begun winding down. I started to feel fatigued and listless and my body started to hurt.