Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (63 page)

Ben saw the gun in
Renfroe’s
right hand and clawed at it as the larger man rolled over him.
 
Ben got a grip on
Renfroe’s
thumb and pulled it toward him with all his strength trying to loosen
Renfroe’s
grip on the weapon.
 
Renfroe
screamed again.
 
He tumbled over the top of Ben and the gun came loose.
 
The two men scrambled for it like football players diving for a fumble, the gun bouncing hard on the wooden planks of the balcony.
 

Ben landed on it first, the butt of the gun pressing into his side.
 
He couldn’t get his hands free because he was busy fighting off
Renfroe’s
charge.
 
Then the gun slid free.
 
Renfroe
launched at it with his left hand and Ben blocked him with his right knee.
 
Just when it appeared that
Renfroe
might have the gun within reach, Ben swung his leg around and swept it under the railing and over the side.
 
Renfroe
made one last desperate lunge for it like a sprinter leaving the starting gate.
 
As he dove over Ben’s midsection and toward the railing, Ben bucked his legs and kicked at
Renfroe’s
body with his feet, sending the Protector crashing into the damaged railing.
 
Renfroe
scrambled to hold on.
 
Ben kicked at
Renfroe
again, until the wood splintered and finally gave way,
Renfroe
screaming and flailing his arms as he somersaulted headfirst toward the sidewalk below.

Ben heard, but did not see,
Renfroe
hit the ground with a large crack.
 
Gasping for breath, shards of broken glass biting him in his side, Ben rolled over to the edge of the balcony and peered down at
Renfroe’s
body laying still on its side, one leg bent awkwardly beneath him.
 
Renfroe
did not appear to be breathing.
 
Ben couldn’t see the gun.

Ben pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet.
 
The screen door hung on one hinge, swaying gently in the breeze.
 
He looked at it, then back down at
Renfroe’s
body below.
 
He looked dead.
 
How could it all come to this?
 
A dead husband and father down there on the walk.
 
All this because he didn’t want anyone to know the truth.
 
Ben stretched his back and felt a stabbing pain in his side, just like he did the night he was attacked a couple of months earlier.
 
He looked down and saw a small shard of glass sticking out of his shirt.
 
It was poking him in the side.
 
He gently pulled it out and dropped it in a pile of broken glass before pulling the door open and going inside.

As he walked downstairs, Ben took inventory of his parts.
 
He felt a trickle down the right side of his face, touched it and looked at his fingers – blood.
 
He felt more small cuts on his face and was sure he had a couple on his back as well.
 
His right hand was scraped pretty
good
too.
 
His knee felt a little funny as he came down the stairs, but all in all, he had emerged okay, certainly better than he could have.
 
Certainly better than
Renfroe
.

He walked through the copy room, reached the door to the outside and stopped.
 
The hallway to the garage, where his keys and cell phone were located, was to his immediate right, but Ben figured he’d better find the gun just in case.
 
Rubbing his jaw, he pushed through the door to the outside and saw
Renfroe
rolling onto his right foot, his left leg dragging behind him, the gun on the ground right in front of him.
 
“Shit,” Ben said and jumped back as it registered.
 
He couldn’t believe it.

Renfroe
had heard the door open.
 
He looked to his left, saw Ben and grabbed the gun, firing wildly in Ben’s direction as he fell over onto his side.
 
Another window shattered above Ben’s head and off to his left.
 
Ben barely heard it over the roar of a freight train now rolling by the building.
 
Ben ducked back inside the building and
Renfroe
fired again.
 
More glass shattered behind Ben and he burst through the doorway and ran out toward the garage, slamming the door behind him.
 
That was at least three shots, Ben thought as he ran.
 
How many more did he have?
 
He locked the door even though he knew that would only hold
Renfroe
for an instant.

Once back inside the garage, Ben searched for a weapon of his own.
 
He scanned the walls.
 
The buffalo head and horse’s rear end were of little use at the moment.
 
Then he looked up toward the ceiling.
 
There, on one of the beams crossing through the center of the room, hung two Civil War-era infantry sabers.
 
Ben jumped on one of the chairs, then atop the conference room table, and yanked at one of the swords.
 
It was fastened tightly and wouldn’t come off at first.
 
Finally, Ben wrenched it free just as he heard
Renfroe’s
lumbering footsteps in the hallway outside over the sound of the passing train.
 
He turned back toward the door as
Renfroe
hit it for the first time.
 
Renfroe
hit the door a second time and a third time before the door finally gave way and he barreled into the room, gun drawn.

Ben leapt from the table and swung the sword over his head at the instant
Renfroe
crashed into the room.
 
But
Renfroe
saw the attack coming and turned to shield himself while trying to get off another shot.
 
Ben’s blow caught the Protector on the shoulder, forcing the gun down and the shot harmlessly into the floor.
 
Although the sword was not sharp, it was heavy and dealt a powerful blow.
 
Ben swung it again like a left-handed hitter attacking a high outside fastball.
 
Renfroe
ducked out of the way, his right arm coming up to protect his head, and Ben caught him solidly on the right bicep, the sword bouncing down his arm, the gun flying out of his hand and skidding across the floor.

The strength of Ben’s blow forced
Renfroe’s
weight over onto his damaged left leg and he toppled over onto his side.
 
Ben immediately went for the gun.
 
He tried to get around the fallen
Renfroe
, who swung around and kicked at Ben with his good leg.
 
The kick caught Ben in the hip and sent him reeling into the corner of the table, knocking some of the wind out of him.
 
Renfroe
kept at it, swiping Ben’s legs out from under him with another kick.
 
Ben went down onto
Renfroe
and the two men wrestled and fought on the floor.
 
Renfroe
tried to wrest the sword away as Ben jammed his elbow into
Renfroe’s
neck.
 
As they struggled,
Renfroe’s
gun was kicked under a nearby
rolltop
desk.

They fought over the sword, Ben on top and the Protector thrashing beneath him.
 
Although
Renfroe
was the bigger and stronger man, Ben had greater leverage and eventually managed to wrest the sword from
Renfroe’s
grasp, the latter seeming to let go.
 
In doing so, Ben fell back against a couple of bankers boxes.
 
He quickly scrambled to his feet and raised the sword over his head, only to discover the reason that
Renfroe
had given up so easily.

Renfroe
rolled over and pulled himself up to a sitting position.
 
In his right hand, he held the gun.
 
Ben froze.
 
“Drop it!”
 
The Protector screamed.
 
Ben looked around searching for an alternative, finding none.
 
Renfroe
was at least ten feet away and had the gun firmly leveled at Ben’s chest.
 
It wasn’t a tough shot and Ben was too far away to get a jump on him.
 
“I said, drop it,”
Renfroe
repeated.
 
Ben paused, then placed the sword gently at his feet, never taking his eyes off of
Renfroe
.
 
“Nice try,” Renfro said.
 
“That’s too close.
 
Kick it away toward the door.”
 
Ben did so and backed slightly away from
Renfroe
in the process.
 
He wanted to get around the conference room table if he could, to get something between himself and his pursuer.

The Protector was on to him, however, and wagged the gun at Ben as he pulled himself to his feet.
 
Ben stopped.
 
Renfroe
sneered.
 
Covered in sweat, his hair matted with blood from an oozing wound on the side of his head, his left leg apparently almost useless,
Renfroe
looked more like a wild animal than a man.
 
“You’re pretty tough little shit, aren’t you?
 
Greenfield wasn’t nearly this tough.”

Ben tasted blood and wiped at his mouth with the back of a fist.
 
“Greenfield probably didn’t see it coming, did he?”

“You think you know all the answers, don’t you.”

“Enough of them.
 
Greenfield figured it out too.” Ben said.
 

“He had an idea, let’s put it that way.
 
Fat lot of good it did him.”
 

“When did Sally first begin sleeping with him?”
 

“Not sure exactly.
 
Probably around the same time as Megan.
 
Then, obviously, for a time afterward.”
 

“Just long enough afterward,” Ben interjected, “for her to get pregnant with his child.”
 
It was a statement not a question.

The Protector nodded.
 
“Yes.
 
At least that long enough, but not much longer.
 
He decided he was through with her by then, before he realized that she was pregnant with his child, with his son.
 
But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”
 

“No, I guess not.”
 

Renfroe
paused, suddenly lost somewhere in the past, remembering.
 
Ben glanced around trying to find something that would help him.
 
He inched a little bit further back.

Renfroe
started speaking from his memories.
 
“That’s where I came in.
 
Sally and I had been friends for a long time and when she was pregnant, she didn’t know where to turn, except to me.
 
She was scared.
 
I told her that I would marry her and raise her son as my own, and I’ve done that.
 
He is my son now, not Daniel Greenfield’s.
 
I’m proud to be married to her, and I’m proud to be David’s father.
 
Sally is my best friend in the whole world, and she’s done more for me than anyone else ever could.”
 

Ben said nothing.
 
He just looked at the other man.
 
They endured a nervous silence,
Renfroe
still seemingly lost in his memories.
 
Finally, Ben said, “Then Greenfield started figuring it out.
 
What happened?
 
Did he find out she had a son when she joined the Reunion Committee?”
 

Renfroe
snapped back and Ben regretted speaking.
 
“Something
like
that.
 
Actually, I think someone mentioned to him a couple of months before that they had run into Sally and that she had a nine-year old child.
 
Eventually, he must have started wondering.”
 

“And what about Megan?
 
Look what you’ve put her through.”
 

“I think he may have wondered about her too.
 
She was on the list.”
 

“Yes, I’ve seen the list,” Ben said.
 
“It’s funny though, the police never found Greenfield’s copy.
 
I suppose you took it?”
 

The Protector nodded. “Yes.
 
He had some notes written on it about both Megan and Sally, notes that were very incriminating and might very well have proved that he knew that Megan’s son was not his own, and that David … well, you know that already.
 
I thought I could reason with him, but that didn’t work.
 
He wanted a paternity test, a DNA test.
 
He was obsessed with having another family, with having a son, and once he thought that our son might really be his, he wouldn’t let go.
 
I tried to reason with him.
 
I didn’t want to kill him, but I knew I had to do whatever it took to protect my family.”