Gray Area (17 page)

Above all, Robert August was worried about ending up just as dead as
Jason Randall and Marianne Simpson.

At the moment, though … not
that
worried.  

“Suck it,” August moaned, as Timmy began to unzip his trousers.

The front door opened without sound as Robert August’s head lolled back,
face up to the ceiling, with Timmy’s face buried to the hilt in his
crotch.  Two men, dressed in fine Italian silk, entered the room silently
and were immediately followed by a tall man dressed in simple jeans and a
sports jacket. 

The two suits were as different as night and day.  One was tall and
blonde, with a scar across his lip; his compatriot was half a foot shorter,
completely bald, and wore a sardonic smile that never seemed to increase or
diminish.  They looked like stock characters from Bad Guys, Incorporated. 

Preston Giles, last to enter, closed the door behind himself and cleared
his throat.
 

“Excuse me,” he said softly.  “Forgive the intrusion.”

Timmy snapped his head around, leaving August’s dick throbbing and waving
in the wind.

“Oh, my god,” Timmy sputtered.

August, lost in the moment, recovered and looked at his three guests.

“What the hell is going on?” August snarled.

“Mr. August?” Giles said, offering something akin to a courteous smile.

“Mr. Robert August?” the smaller suit echoed.

Robert August knew inside of half a second that he was in some major
horseshit.  He watched the two suits produce their weapons in full view of
himself and young Timmy.

“Listen,” August fumbled as he tried to stand while shoving his cock back
into his pants. 

Timmy grabbed two cushions, hugging them close to his body as he began to
cry.

“We’re not paid to listen, sir,” Giles said … a vague tone of remorse in
his voice.  “But I would like to introduce myself.  Preston
Giles.  These are my associates, Mr. Caston and Mr. Majors.  We are
representatives of Arc-Link Industries.  I always like introductions
before … well, you know.”

August
did
know and didn’t like anything about it.

“Sorry,” Majors said suddenly, then fired his gun three times into Timmy’s
chest.  Timmy was dead before he hit the ground, not even having the time
to scream in pain.

August’s only thought, which seemed to come from some place far away, was
how quiet the gunshots had been.  Silencers, he realized.  And these
were professionals.

August began to back away from the sofa, staring in numb astonishment at
dead Timmy.

“You’ve become a liability, Mr. August,” Giles said with no malice in his
voice.

Without fear, August turned toward the suits and Giles.  He figured
he had lived a good life.  And even though he had of late been an on-fire
faggot guzzling The Lode (hell, no one’s perfect) … he was from good Catholic
stock.  But more than that (and this would have surprised August had
anyone told him before now) … he was, at heart, a courageous man. 

“You can all go straight to hell,” he said, his eyes locked with those of
Giles.

“You first, sir,” Giles said, then nodded to Caston and Majors.  “Do
this quickly.” 

Giles opened the front door and glanced in either direction with calm
interest. 
Always good to be cautious
.  He then exited
August’s condo and closed the door softly behind him.

Castor and Majors moved toward August in tandem.

Robert August eyed them both contemptuously.

Right to the end.

TWENTY-TWO

The building was 2069 Century Park East, a damn impressive skyscraper
filled with condos that had a luxurious terrace attached to every one. 
Robert August had done well for himself.  As did all the lawyers at his
brother’s firm, Diamond thought, recognizing the snide mental undertone—which
he immediately felt guilty about.

He parked the car illegally on the side street and looked up at the forty
story building.

Just in time to see something that looked like a body begin to fall from
a top terrace.  Something that looked like a body ... no, it
was
a
body, Diamond realized a second later.  A body screaming and squirming in
the still air as it plunged toward the ground.

He had to actually dodge the falling human projectile. 

The body of Robert August slammed into the sidewalk with a sickening
crunch, bouncing once, then still forever.  What used to be Robert August
was now a twisted heap of flesh and protruding bone.  The face was still
discernible, albeit mangled and pulpy with lacerated blood vessels and shorn
tissue.  Diamond tore his gaze away from the pitiful remains of Robert
August and looked up at the origin of the young lawyer’s tragic demise.

It was thirty floors up, but he could see two men standing on the
terrace, looking down.  They were distant stick figures against the dim
moonlight, but it was enough for Diamond.

Diamond ran to the double doors of the building nearly knocking the young
doorman to the ground.  It only took one quick look for Diamond to know
that the pale and frightened kid had also witnessed Robert August’s swan dive.

“Call the police,” Diamond snapped, not slowing his pace through the
doors.

The elevator banks were all monopolized, the center one fixed on the
thirtieth floor—where Robert August had lived just a few minutes ago.

Diamond glanced to his right and left, looking for a stairwell.  He
didn’t relish the ascent of thirty stories, but it might be the fastest way up
given the circumstances.  It had been a long night already and he might be
courting a heart attack but fuck it, he thought.  Robert August’s
murderers were still in the building, probably ransacking the apartment or
contemplating leaving the building.  At a stiff sprint, it might take him
five minutes.  He was wasting time thinking.  He headed for the
stairwell and unholstered his .38, all in the same move.

The first ten stories were a breeze.  By floor twelve, he was
panting.  By fifteen, he was wheezing.  The twentieth floor brought
on cramps that made him pause to take in huge gulps of air.  Move, he
urged himself silently; move now, die later.  He moved.  Barfing once
along the way, but moving nevertheless.

He reached the thirtieth floor, feeling faint with an enormous desire to
yark once more.  But his gut held and he pushed through the inner fire
doors, glancing either way down the halls.  Snorting and wheezing like an
old steam engine, Diamond went down every door, scanning the names on the
Plexiglas face plates.

He found Robert August’s name on 30C.  The door was ajar and he
quickly kicked it in and crouched low with his .38 aimed directly ahead.

He did not see Preston Giles in an adjacent hallway watching him. 
Giles smiled to himself; wonderful, he thought.  Target One came to the
party.  Sans invite, of course, but my, oh my, how very, very
accommodating.  He took a step forward, then froze as several doors in the
hallway opened at once.  The noise from Diamond’s door-kicking escapades
had attracted attention.

Shit
, Giles thought to himself, annoyed.  He would have to
bide his time a bit longer.  Caston and Majors were already on the roof,
ready for pick-up.  That was good.  In and out, clean.  For this
relief, much thanks, Giles thought humorlessly. 

Diamond studied the scene before him.  August’s apartment had been
torn apart.  The terrace doors were still open and the white, chiffon
curtains flapped eerily in the light breeze.  Young n’ suckin’ Timmy lay
sprawled, bloodied and dead on the sofa.

A noise made Diamond wheel around, gun up and ready to fire.  He
found himself staring at an elderly woman in a purple nightgown, her eyes wide
with fear.

“Please don’t shoot, mister,” she said quickly.

Diamond said nothing, but glanced again into August’s residence. 

“If you’re looking for the others, they went up to the roof,” the woman
offered.

Giles couldn’t help but overhear.

You old bitch
, he thought, now angry. 

Diamond looked at her and stepped forward.  “Others?  Who?”

“The ones who were in there with Robert.  Two men and one other—”

Diamond shot a look to the fire escape, then ran in the direction he had come. 
The roof was two stories up.  A hop, skip and a jump after scaling Everest
just a few minutes ago.

The roof door was wide open and Diamond’s combat instincts kicked into
Defcon Five.  They were up here, just as sure as snake shit. 
Oh,
yeah … that simple
.  He moved toward the open door then gingerly
stepped out onto the asphalt.

He was greeted with a strafing line of automatic fire which missed him by
a half inch but succeeded in slamming some chipped cement into his cheek. 
He snarled as the pain radiated from his face to his temple, but was grateful
for the shock.  It made him angry, and when he got angry, the fear
evaporated.  He waited for the volley to stop, then stepped out and found
his target.  One man, holding what appeared to be an Uzi machine gun,
began to run after yet another man, also armed.

Diamond took aim, then took an extra second of time to cool his
anger.  He fired.  The shot was true.  Diamond heard the Uzi gun
carrier, the tall blond man, scream in pain and astonishment as the bullet
slammed into his back. 

The remaining gunman, the bald fuck, turned and watched his companion
fall as the Uzi clattering harmlessly on the roof, then over the side of the
building. 

Diamond fired again at the last gunman but missed as the man ran toward
the opposite ledge, out of range and out of sight.  There were only three
dim roof lights and Diamond could barely track the fleeing man who seemed to
have no interest in resuming hostilities.  Diamond fired again—once, twice,
missing wildly.  Nevertheless, he hoped it might make the sonofabitch
freeze on instinct and give himself up.  Fat chance and buggers to that
idea, he thought.  Whoever these guys were, Diamond surmised, they weren’t
the kind to give up, thank you much. 

Finally, Majors stopped at the edge of the south end of the
building.  Diamond was now a hundred feet away, a clear shot of the man
finally afforded. 

All fine and dandy, except for one thing:  the helicopter that
seemed to appear out of nowhere.  The chopper rose from behind the
building, directly in front of Diamond.  Majors turned as the helicopter
hovered momentarily.  Diamond could tell at once that it wasn’t a police
chopper—which did not bode well, he added as an afterthought.

Giles had arrived at the roof door exit a minute earlier.  He had
seen Diamond dispense with Caston.  Very impressive.  He wanted to
see how all of this played out.  Sure, he could end it now, take Diamond
down … but this was good theater.  And Diamond was beginning to fascinate
him.

Majors waved at the chopper then fired his automatic pistol at Diamond.
 Diamond, startled by the helicopter, had momentarily forgotten about
Majors.  He dove in the nick of time behind another stairwell
bunker.  When he rolled and tried to spot Majors, he saw only the
helicopter, still hovering and now sporting an enormous spotlight which blinded
the surface of the roof.

Diamond got to his feet and moved around the corner of the stairwell
bunker.  Majors slammed a steel girder into Diamond’s ribs.  Diamond let
out a silent grunt, his body racked by paralyzing pain.  A boot smashed
against his head.  Stars and agony entered his world but he remained
conscious and, again, rage filled every fiber of his being.  He responded
to the attack with one powerful blow to Major’s jaw, which sent the smaller man
down to the rooftop. 

Diamond reached for the girder that Majors had used against him. 
Majors was up now and reaching for his weapon.  Diamond pulled the girder
back, then thrust it forward with all his might.  Majors screamed in
horror and pain as the girder tore through his midsection.

He clutched onto the extra appendage protruding from his belly and did a
strange half circle walk, before falling on his knees, fighting for breath.

Bullets smattered into the rooftop from the helicopter, a few feet from
where Diamond was standing, or more accurately, staggering.  The volley
tore into Majors, ending all pain forever.

Diamond hugged the stairwell bunker barely missing the helicopter
attack.  The chopper circled on itself, clearly preparing for another
run.  Diamond’s vision had returned and he took careful aim at the
chopper’s blackened pilot windows and fired.  Five shots, one after the
other.

All five shots connected with the windshield, shattering it
inwards.  The chopper suddenly careened, right, then left, then began to
rise almost vertically.  It stalled a few seconds later and began to
fall. 

Directly toward Diamond.

Diamond ran, finding breath from some secret reserve.  He did not
waste time looking up.  The chopper came smashing down on the roof and
separated into a thousand flaming pieces.  The impact threw Diamond an
additional ten feet into the air, right over the lip of the building.  He
caught a security railing with one hand, as the rest of this body began to
drop. 

He looked down—a mistake.  Vertigo and terror immediately gripped
him.  After a few paralyzed seconds, he managed to grab the railing with
his other hand and drag himself over the top. 

He closed his eyes, not glancing at the flaming ruins of the
chopper.  For the moment, he knew that the battle had been won.

Problem still remained: 
Who
, exactly, was he fighting?

TWENTY-THREE

Bravo, Giles congratulated Diamond mentally.  Bravo, my intrepid
friend. 

He could end the cop now, Giles thought.  Finish it right and easy,
and make LeMay a happy camper.  But his dignity wouldn’t allow it. 
There was a protocol at stake here.  Unspoken rules.  Honor.