The Incident (Chase Barnes Series Book 1) (32 page)

              Snap!  And just like that Esteban was free!  He didn’t rub his wrists like they do in the movies.  He didn’t even look at them or wipe up the blood dripping from his scrapes.  Being free from captivity seemed to simultaneously clear up Esteban’s train of thought and just like that, he knew where he should go.

EIGHTY EIGHT

I must’ve been immune to the vibrations because, during the entire shootout, I missed four calls.  One was from Lindsey, checking up on my day.  If she only knew, I thought.  Two were from Fitzgerald, wondering when I was going to stop by like I had told him earlier because he had a meeting to get to shortly.  Sorry, pal, but I’ve been a little busy, I thought next.  The fourth message was a bit surprising.  It was from Dr. Sharper, asking how I was doing and if I’d given any more consideration to continuing our sessions despite the fact that the Paterson Police Department would no longer foot the bill.  Yeah, right, I thought in reply to Shaper’s inquiries. 

I had no idea why I thought that was the appropriate time to check my messages.  Was it out of habit or was it out of desperation for a fragment of time in which normalcy was restored?  The entire time I had my phone pressed to my ear I had my gun pressed on the two thugs I just tagged with bullets.

              It took me a few minutes to regroup and gather my wits about me.  Throwing up in the corner of a storage unit wasn’t a concern for me.  And neither was the wretched smell quickly filling the confined space.  My primary focus was on the one called Source.  Instincts told me to put another bullet through his head and put him out of his misery but I wanted to find his connection to Klein.  Then, eventually find his connection to my son.  My attention turned to him and my eyes were filled with so much fury that I felt as if I could ask him to watch as I ate the flesh surrounding the wound to his leg. 

              “Where’s Klein?” I asked.

              “I don’t know,” was all Source could say through sighs of agony.  “Ain’t you gonna call me a fucking ambulance?”

              I pretended like I didn’t hear his question.  “See, I think you do know because I know you work for him and I know you’re the scumbag motherfucker that likes to kidnap young kids,” I said.

              “Just following orders,” Source said.  He said it so nonchalantly that I assumed the phrase was probably his moniker. 

              “Orders from who?  Klein?”

              The second he seemed to hesitate and not answer my question, I applied the pressure.  Not the proverbial kind that people feel when trying to meet a deadline.  I mean the literal kind that people feel when someone else steps on their hemorrhaging gunshot wound.  I lifted my weight up on one foot on top of Source’s thigh and watched him scream so loud I could hear the metal door to the storage unit shake.  I repeated my question and stepped down.

              “Yessssss, yessssss.  Ah, fuck, man.  Who the fuck are you?  What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Source screamed again.  He was trying to push my foot off his leg but the positioning of his upper body added to the applied weight of my body was too much for him to budge.

              “So where is Klein now?” I demanded.

              “I told you.  I don’t fucking know.  He always tells me and Trigger to chill out here until he gives us the next shit to do,” he said.  I assumed Trigger was the other goon lying dead in the opposite corner from where I threw up.  Kinda ironic.  A guy named Trigger loses a gun battle to an amateur like me.  Maybe he got his name from being a good paintball player.

              I could tell we were getting nowhere with this line of questioning and Source was probably telling me all he truly knew so I started to walk out, planning to leave Source right where he was to bleed to death.

              Just as I stepped out into the corridor, I instinctively turned back.  After I took both of their cell phones so he couldn’t call an ambulance for help or Klein to warn him that I was hot on his trail, I said, “And you want to know who I am?”  I stared straight into Source’s face and he was doing the same to mine.  We locked eyes and I said, “I’m the father of the kid you made me kill.”

              Then I shot him in the face.

EIGHTY NINE

It must not have been a kill shot because I thought I heard Source scream after me as soon as I left.  I didn’t stick around to find out.  Frankly, I didn’t give a shit what happened to him.  Source could lie there for the next month and develop gangrene for all I cared.  Or he could die in the next hour.  Either way, I didn’t give a shit.  I knew I had to get outside to the other storage unit that Klein paid ten grand in dirty money to Jerry Finch to rent.  Working on a hunch, I felt Klein should be still out there after following him here and seeing his car parked around the back.  I remember Finch saying that it was a leftover from the pre- renovation that was out towards the back.  I vaguely remembered seeing a shed of some sort in the described area but didn’t know for sure if it was the same one.  Exiting out a side door, I still wasn’t sure where to go.  When I had done my recon mission, getting the lay of the land on the outside, I must’ve missed this mysterious unit that Jerry Finch was referring to. 

              Looking in both directions, I missed it during my first scan.  Ready to make my way back into the building to cut down the hallway to the other side, the unit got stuck in my vision.  It was neatly tucked away in the far corner of the parking lot.  Strewn about around the perimeter were a variety of landscaping equipment: lawnmowers, weed whackers, gas cans, rakes, and bags of topsoil and grass seed.  I remembered what Finch had told me about Klein specifically requesting the abandoned unit that was being used to house maintenance equipment.  Now I knew why.  It had a heavy covering of treetops hovering above the shed and with the strewn about equipment customers of the facility would never give it a second look. 

              Someone must’ve been having car trouble because I could hear a hefty engine spitting and sputtering from somewhere in the parking lot.  Knowing nothing about cars, I couldn’t even begin to guess as to what might be the problem.  Therefore, I couldn’t offer anyone assistance other than my cell phone to call a roadside service company.  My gun was still in my hand, which I had not realized, and thought I better put it away so I didn’t scare away actual paying patrons.  I’m sure the dozen or so shots fired just a few minutes ago was enough to put the place out of business.  My gun was now tucked back into my waistband.  I couldn’t tell if it was the panic attack still lingering or if I was actually coming down with something because my stomach was still hosting its own roller derby.  My brain still felt a little cloudy but my excessive sweating had begun to subside.  The cool air felt good on my exposed skin. 

              Suddenly, letting my feet guide me as if they knew where to take me and the rest of my body was to follow, I spotted Klein’s sports car.  Still where he left it, which meant he was still creepily lurking somewhere on the premises. The struggling car I heard magically kick started and came rumbling across the partially vacant parking lot.  Headed right in my direction.  It was a black van.  Looked like a van from the mid- nineties and living on borrowed time.  The van was about two hundred feet from me and the driver’s image was gradually becoming clearer.  I could see the slicked back hair.  The more the van accelerated, the more life was breathed into it.  Hair color, body size, and facial features became more visible.

              The man’s image reminded me of someone but I couldn’t place it because the closer the van moved out of the shadows and into the sunlight, the reflection off the windshield faded the clarity.  The guy had a beard that matched the salt and pepper ice rink he called a hairstyle. 

              In a flash, the van zipped by me and peeled out of the parking lot and out into traffic.  I was able to catch a better glimpse of the driver as he flew past me, snagging a quick look through the driver’s side window.

              The driver was Klein himself. 

NINETY

There was a decision I had to make.  Do I bolt to my car and race after Klein or do I check out what’s in store for me behind door number two?  The equipment shed.  If door number two was anything like door number one, I wanted no part of it.  My legs felt rubbery but the blood was beginning to flow through all of my extremities.  I got to my car in what felt like ten seconds but was probably thirty.  By no means am I, or was I ever, a track runner.  Gasping for air, I pulled my gun out from behind me while hopping into the front seat of my Santa Fe.  The engine came to life and I screeched out of my parking space and followed the route Klein took in his van. 

              Out on Prince Street, I had no idea which way Klein had gone.  Left or right.  Instincts usually told me to head to the left but when I looked both ways for oncoming traffic I saw a clouded trial of exhaust fogging up the intersection to my right.  I disregarded traffic coming forth and cut off a trio of cars, all of which wailed on their horns at the jackass that just cut in front of them.  Some were nice enough to show me a finger or two.  I waved my cursory apology and took off after Klein. 

              The van was still out of my sights but, luckily, the trail of smoke was still prevalent, giving me a ghost’s trail to follow.  The horsepower of my Santa Fe was much more efficient than that of Klein’s van so I was able to get him in my sights after a few hundred yards of pursuit.  Prince Street eventually merged into Spring, which came to an end at Green Street.  Klein turned on to Green Street.  Off Green Street, Klein could have chosen to go right towards Jackson Street or left to Railroad.  He went left to Railroad and hung a quick right onto 21
st
Avenue.  Klein was heading out to Route 80. 

              Now where the hell was he going?  Back home or to another location?  Did he have Esteban and the other boys in the back of the van?  I assumed so.  One thing I was certain of was this was the van that was undoubtedly involved in the kidnapping of Esteban when this whole thing started.  The license plate number was etched inside my mind.  I thought about keeping a safe distance but what the hell did I care, Klein had no idea I was behind him.  This wasn’t a recon mission.  This was a pursuit to save lives.  Even if I was made I didn’t care.  I wanted Klein to see me hot on his trail. 

Then I had a thought.  Did I make a wrong decision in choosing to go after Klein in the van and not attack the storage unit?  Did Klein spot me in the middle of the parking lot and use the van as a decoy, assuming I’d tail after him? 

The rear doors of the van in front of me didn’t have any windows so even if I wanted to get close enough to catch a glimpse inside, I wouldn’t be able to see anything. 

              Merging onto the highway, traffic was starting to thicken, which was good.  Thick traffic meant slow cars, which would cause Klein to slow and I was able to keep the Santa Fe within a close distance while blending into the rest of the traffic. We cruised along and my thoughts were distracted by the Beatles song that played through my iPod.  We were heading east on Route 80, which would only take us so far because the interstate highway eventually turned into Route 95 just a mile or so outside of the George Washington Bridge.  At that point, no matter the time of day, there was no place for Klein to go other than get sucked into Route 95 construction traffic.

              It was and has always been a mystery to me as to why traffic was so slow through the series of exits towards Paterson off of Route 80.  Some would chalk it up to the high volume of people that live in the city.  Some might even consider the poorly designed exit- only ramps lined up for each exit off the highway for the city.  My consideration was everyone’s consistent hesitation and indecision about whether to risk their lives and head into town or continue on to safer pastures. 

              I looked down as the traffic began to open up after the series of Paterson exits.  I recognized the AC/DC song that played but didn’t remember the title.  It’s the one thing that irks me about having such an extensive music library.  So much to choose from but so much to remember.  Impeccable timing for important information. I looked up just in time because as soon as I brought my eyes back up to the road, the back doors of the van swung open and two guns opened fire on my car.