William Bernhardt - Dark Justice

“What the hell is it you want?” Vincenzo barked.

Loving tried to choose his words carefully. “What makes you think I want anything?”

Loving felt a sharp blow against the side of his head. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole. You think I’m a fool?”

“No,” Loving said, trying to keep his voice level. “I don’t think you’re a fool.”

“You think I haven’t seen you? Skulkin’ about? Tryin’ to follow me? I got eyes everywhere, asshole.” Loving felt another cuff on the side of the head. “Now stop screwin’ with me and tell me what I want to know!”

“I work for Ben Kincaid,” Loving explained. “He’s the lawyer representing George Zakin, the man who’s been accused of killing Dwayne Gardiner. Except Ben doesn’t think he did it. And neither do I.”

“So?” Vincenzo growled. “Why have you been watchin’ me?”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” Loving answered. He was trying to twist around subtly, to improve his defensive position, but Vincenzo had him pinned down like a fly.

“Like what, asshole?”

“Like whether you knew Gardiner.”

“And what if I did?”

“Was he a customer of yours?”

“What the hell is it to you?”

“I think he was. I think he was hooked on your designer drug big-time.”

“You’re full of shit. You don’t have nothin’ on me.”

“Maybe not now. But I’ve worked with Ben before, and I know that he won’t stop looking. If you were involved in Gardiner’s death, he’ll find out. Doesn’t matter what you do to me. He’ll keep pounding away till he uncovers the truth.”

“I can’t allow that,” Vincenzo growled, and all at once, Loving felt those viselike hands leave his chest.

Loving turned and saw Vincenzo had the baseball bat reared back, ready to swing. Loving lurched off the bench, but Vincenzo knocked him over. Loving tumbled down to the pavement.

Vincenzo sprang up like a jaguar; a second later, he was on the bench, hovering directly above Loving. He raised the bat over his head, then began the swift downward blow. Loving saw the bat coming, but there was nothing he could possibly do in time.

Tess felt utterly used, drained, and helpless. Three times the whip had cracked, and three times she had felt the searing pain on her back. She heard Maureen crying somewhere behind her, begging the man to stop. But her own voice was silent. She didn’t have the strength. Not even enough to beg.

“How ya feeling there, sweetheart?” the leader asked. “Think you’re ready to dance the hokey-pokey with me yet?” A brief pause. “No? Well, here we go again.”

Tess heard the crack of the whip. Reflexively, her eyes clenched shut.

Wait a minute. That was something different. That wasn’t a whip. That was a gunshot. Somewhere behind her.

“All right, freeze !” The voice sounded mechanical, like it was coming through an electric bullhorn. “This is the sheriff. Nobody move.”

All at once, the seven masked men scrambled for cover. They moved in every which direction at once, diving into the nearest available brush.

“I said freeze !” The gun fired again, somewhere over their heads. An instant later, there was not a masked man in sight.

“Damn.” She heard the sound of movement. A few seconds later, Sheriff Allen came into view.

“They’re getting away,” Tess murmured.

“I know that, damn it,” he said. “But I think it’s more important that I get you folks some medical attention.” He glanced at her exposed back, then winced.

“Rick,” Tess whispered. It was still hard to muster the energy to speak. “He’s in bad shape.”

“Worse than you? Hell.” He jogged over to Rick, then saw the damage. “Damn. Damn !” He jiggled the cuffs pinning Rick to the tree. “I don’t suppose those boys gave you the keys?”

Rick didn’t respond. He didn’t appear to be conscious.

“Didn’t think so. I’ll be right back.” Allen darted off into the darkness.

About a minute later he returned, this time carrying a small hand axe. “Good thing I had this in my truck. Brace yourself.” He swung the axe around hard, severing the chain between the two handcuffs. Released, Rick tumbled to the ground.

“Thought that’d work,” Allen mumbled. “Cheap plastic cuffs, anyway.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tess saw the sheriff heading in her direction. Thank God, she thought. Her arms ached with the thought of being released, of being free again. The nightmare had been real, but now, at last, it looked as if she was about to wake up.

Loving thought he was a goner; there was no way he could survive another blow from a baseball bat direct to his head. But just before the bat cracked his skull, Vincenzo hesitated.

Loving didn’t know why, and he wasn’t going to stop to ask, either. He rolled away, out from under Vincenzo, then pushed himself to his feet and ran. He felt embarrassed-like a damn chicken, but Vincenzo would’ve been a challenge for him even when circumstances were equal. When Vincenzo had a baseball bat and Loving was still recovering from a bad blow the night before, circumstances were hardly equal. The smartest thing he could do was run, so he did.

He raced down McKinley, hearing Vincenzo close behind him. He didn’t dare look; even a momentary decrease in his speed might be fatal. He rounded the corner, spiraling out onto Main, where he saw a patrol car heading his way. Thank heaven-who said you can’t find a policeman when you want one? Loving began flailing his arms, desperately trying to get the man’s attention.

The deputy driving pulled the car over to the side of the road. “What’s the trouble?”

“There’s a man following me with a baseball bat, that’s what. Trying to kill me.” Loving turned, but Vincenzo had disappeared. “He must’ve ducked down that alley. Don’t let him get away!”

The deputy jumped out of the car and pulled his weapon out of the holster. Loving and the deputy both headed down the street, Loving leading, the deputy close behind. They rounded the corner and ducked into the alleyway, not breaking their speed. Loving tried to look every which way at once, checking all the side alleys, the doors, the windows. Finally they made it back to the bench where this disaster had begun.

Vincenzo was gone. In the blink of an eye he had vanished. Like he’d never been here at all.

Loving saw the deputy looking at him quizzically. “He was here,” Loving said. “He was.”

It was then that Loving spotted it, tucked just behind the bench.

The baseball bat. The thick length of pine that had almost shattered Loving’s skull.

Vincenzo had left Loving something to remember him by.

Sheriff Allen took Tess, Maureen, and Rick to the Magic Valley Hospital. Tess’s wounds were washed and dressed. They were serious, and they hurt every time she moved. But there was no reason for her to remain in the hospital.

Rick was a different story altogether.

“This is a hell of an avocation you folks have,” Allen remarked. “Just when your one friend looks like he might get out of the hospital, your other friend is going in.”

The lacerations on Rick’s back were severe, traumatizing. He had regained consciousness, but he was unable to move, and the chance of infection was great. The doctors wanted him to remain under observation, at least for a few days.

Once Rick was deep in the throes of Seconal sleep, Sheriff Allen escorted Maureen and Tess out of the hospital. He made the two women fill out a complaint, although he admitted the chances of tracking down their assailants, when they hadn’t seen any faces or recognized any voices, was remote.