This is a ***revised*** version of the story. The story hasn't changed. I removed the typos and rewrote some of it. If you've already read this story, you don't need to read it again.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Mannix or Emergency characters. They belong to someone else. I thought I'd just play with them for a while.
Rating: T
Dedication: This story is dedicated to my friend, Laura. I love Mannix and she loves Emergency! I thought it would be interesting to see what happens when you mix the two shows. Happy Birthday, Laura!
Under Fire
by
BJ Thompson
This is one of those times he wished he didn't speak English so well, Doctor Menendez thought. Harder to play dumb.
"I do not have the supplies to take care of injuries such as his," the doctor said. "The burns on his face alone require special dressings I do not have."
"Just tell us what you need. We'll get it."
The doctor glanced at the dark haired man and then at the burned and tattered clothing on the injured man lying on his treatment table. The men had brought him to the doctor's clinic in Tecate's barrio. He was dressed in the remnants of a uniform - a brown military-style shirt with epaulets, black trousers and boots, and a black Sam Brown belt. His clothes were partially burned off the upper left side of his body leaving first and second degree burns exposed on his arm and upper torso. The blonde hair and the mustache on the left side of his face was singed off. Second degree burns scarred him from his left ear down the side of his cheek and neck. His left lower leg was broken and had been crudely splinted. He bled from both ears.
The other men, the dark-haired one who had spoken and the blonde man with thinning hair, positioned themselves across the treatment table from the doctor. Disheveled and dirty, their clothing was ripped and scorched in several places. Their faces were marked with soot and blood. The blonde man kept his hands in what was left of his jacket pockets. The dark haired man stood like a soldier with his hands behind his back. The doctor wondered what army they thought they belonged to.
He tried again. "Why not just take him back across the border to an American hospital?"
The injured man coughed and then turned his face toward the doctor. His voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Tell them what you need."
"But . . ."
He motioned for the doctor to come closer. As the doctor bent over him, he grabbed the doctor by his shirt and jerked him down.
"Just tell them what you need," he said in the doctor's ear. He released the doctor's shirt. "Tell them!"
Doctor Menendez realized he no longer had a choice. Reaching for paper and a pencil, he scribbled the list of medical supplies he would need.
vvv
Two months later . . .
She hears calliope music. Calliope music punctuated by explosions and gunfire. She shuffles around the bend of a dark and muddy mountain road and sees a merry-go-round. The calliope music originates from there. On the merry-go-round instead of horses and carriages, she sees soldiers carrying the litters of wounded. She runs to help. The music crescendos; an artillery shell explodes. She ducks and covers her head. She stares again. The litters of wounded transforms into ambulances. She halts. Rifle fire kicks up the dirt around her urging her on. She runs ducking and dodging bullets and explosions. She reaches the merry-go-round. The ambulances transform into coffins. She stops and screams. She arrives too late.
She whirls around and sees Uncle Sam in his white top hat, blue jacket, and red-and-white-striped pants. He beckons her to his booth, waving her to him. She notices the moving targets circling behind him. Ducks and eagles and round bull's eye targets move suspended in air. Behind them she sees no framework to hold them up. Looking through the targets she recognizes the South Korean mountains of Chowon.
"Step right up, little lady," Uncle Sam says. "Try your hand at the duck shoot. Any hit on a target wins."
"What do I win?
"The life of the wounded." Uncle Sam hands her a North Korean AK-47 rifle. She cradles the rifle awkwardly and stares at him.
"But I'm a nurse."
"Just take aim."
"You don't understand. I'm a nurse. I help people." Uncle Sam directs her attention to the targets. The targets alter into a North Korean soldier. The North Korean soldier she killed. She glances at Uncle Sam.
"Ready, aim, fire!" he shouts at her. The North Korean soldier advances closer and closer.
"No! No!" Without her finger being on the trigger, the bullets burst from the rifle. The North Korean soldier explodes into blood, body parts spraying. She struggles but her hands are wedded to the stock. Blood covers her as bullets rip through the flesh of a long dead enemy again and again and again . . .
vvv
Kelly Brackett stirred from his sleep. Dixie McCall lay next to him tangled in bed sheets and twisting and muttering, "No, no . . . stop." He sat up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rocked her in his arms. Another nightmare, the third in as many nights.
"You're safe. You're home," he whispered to her. "Shhh. You're home." Her body became wracked with sobs. He rocked her and reassured her.
"Oh, Kel," She buried her face in his chest remembering the feeling when she pulled the trigger. seeing the North Korean soldier's body jerk at the impact of the bullet, watching the body fall to the ground, trying to administer first aid, but knowing that it was already too late. She cried.
Kelly knew her nightmares were connected to her tour of duty in Korea as a nurse with the 8055th MASH, but she would never tell him what the dreams were about.
He kissed the top of her head, pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and handed it to her. She wiped her face and laid her head back on his chest. After a few minutes, he felt her body relax in his arms.
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." She clung to him as if he were her life preserver in her sea of nightmares.
"Want to talk about it?"
Her body tensed against his. She didn't answer, but she didn't move away as she usually did when he tried to get her to talk about her recent nightmares. He was tempted again to mention the group therapy sessions for returning Vietnam vets and nurses. Since she wouldn't talk to him about it, he hoped she would talk to somebody.
"Relax, relax." He stroked her back. "Whenever you're ready, I'm here."
"I know," she whispered. She didn't close her eyes the rest of the night.
vvv
Frank Olin pulled the Chrysler Imperial to the curb and watched as Joe Mannix parked his 'Cuda and entered the O Club Bar. As soon as Mannix was out of sight, Olin surveyed the area. He spied an abandoned three-story apartment building down the block past the bar.
He drove to the building and parked in the alley beside it. He noticed the alley provided an escape route by going through to the next street. He glanced around the surrounding area for witnesses. From the trunk of his car, he retrieved his M-16 rifle with the night sniper scope. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed up the fire escape.
vvv
Tonight she had wanted to meet at the O Club Bar, mainly because of its name. Joe Mannix remembered he had first met her in a bar in Tokyo named the O Club. He was a fighter pilot on a three-day pass and she was a nurse on her way to her first assignment in Korea. She was with two other nurses enjoying a few days of heaven before they were reassigned to hell.
Joe saw her enter from the street side door. So did the other men in the bar. Talk stopped and, a few of the men stared. Her blonde hair flowing loosely on her shoulders, she wore a simple, light blue blouse and a dark blue skirt with black pumps and a purse. Women like her didn't usually walk into a rundown bar like this.
As she approached his table, he stood. He would always stand when she entered a room. Dixie McCall is the woman who saved his life in Korea.
"Hello, Dixie." He smiled and held the chair for her.
"Hi, Joe." She didn't know how he did it, but Joe grew more handsome each year.
"The usual?" he asked. She nodded and he signaled to the bartender. He studied her face and saw the sadness of war in her eyes. Some called it the thousand-yard stare. He observed that look on the faces of many combat soldiers, but to recognize it on a woman's face made him shudder. The Korean War had not been kind to Dixie.
The bartender delivered their drinks and retreated.
"I don't know where to start," she said.
"Take your time." He wondered when they were going to talk about this. As she had requested of him long ago, he had never mentioned to anyone what had happened to them that night in Korea. He knew this must have upset her for years. He hadn't talked to too many people about Korea. Neither had she. Maybe it was about time. "Having nightmares?"
Dixie glanced into his brown eyes remembering how once she'd become lost in them. She still saw the young, hot shot flier brought down in a barrage of bullets from the enemy and rescued by the soldiers he had been sent to help. He ejected out of his F-86 Sabre jet fighter a few hundred feet off the ground, gotten tangled up in his parachute and landed badly. As he lay on the dirt floor of the battalion aid station in pain from his broken leg, he joked about being the clumsiest pilot in the United States Air Force. He also insisted that he should be treated last. There were others whose wounds were far worse than his.
As a reflex she reached into her purse for her cigarettes, then she remembered she was trying to quit. She had been doing well until the nightmares began again.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who cares about you." He had seen her reach in her purse and then stop. She had started smoking in Korea; so had he.
"Now you're starting to sound like Kelly."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She swirled the ice cubes around in her glass. "I thought the nightmares had stopped. Hadn't had one in years. When does it let you go?" she asked. "When does it stop?"
"I don't know, because I still have nightmares from time to time. Sometimes I'm still in Korea escaping down a road that never ends."
"I keep . . . seeing his face. I keep remembering . . . what happened that night like it was yesterday. Lately I feel like I've never left Korea."
She took a long swig of her drink. She could really use a smoke right now.
vvv
Olin sighted through the scope and estimated the distance to Mannix's car, which was well within the range of his weapon. He noted another car, a red Mustang, was parked across the street from Mannix's car. Probably arrived while he was picking his way through the trash to get to the front of the building.
Wiping the sweat from his hands on his pants and he made himself as comfortable amid the garbage of the deserted apartment. He pulled a dark blue knit cap from his coat pocket and covered his blond hair. He inspected and reinspected the ammo in the 9-round clip. He knew what he had to do and he would need only one shot. One more dead private eye wouldn't make any difference to the Feds.
vvv
In a living room, lit by a single table lamp, Dave Travers reflected. With his dark hair and squat body, he was not the picture of the Nazi ideal. But in this walled hacienda off a side street in Tecate, Mexico, he didn't have to be. He only had to be patient.
"Brix . . ."
"Mein fueher," Brix snapped. "You will address me as 'mein fueher'. Don't forget again."
Travers wearied of trying to show the proper respect to the crippled, pathetic psychotic that Leonard Brix had become. But he needed him a little longer. Just a little longer.". . . of course, mein fuehrer . . . ah . . . that's what I wanted to speak to you about. Olin is one of your best men. He has been with you from the beginning to serve the Reich, but . . . " He checked his watch. He knew Olin was setting the trap waiting for the moment the prey would step into his sights. Travers set his own trap.
Brix, no longer dressed in the tattered uniform of the Reich, stopped his crippled pacing near the draped window. He pulled aside the curtains to peek out. What was he looking for, Travers wondered.
The window had an interior view of a gray stucco wall.
"But what, Dan? What's taking so long?"
"I'm not sure he's with us anymore."
"What do you mean by that? He has been with me since the beginning." Brix said peering through the curtains.
"He has been sneaking out late at night. I followed him to a phone booth. I questioned him about it."
"What gives you the right to follow my men? Who gave you the right to question my men? Don't you know that's the only thing that standing between me and death? My men. They protect me and keep me from harm. They are all I have! Don't you know I'm the phoenix? Who else could be blown up in a house full of explosives and survive? Tell me. Who else?"
"No one but you, mein fuehrer."
"Yes, I am the phoenix and don't you forget it." Brix limped back and forth across the room mumbling.
"I am the phoenix. I am the phoenix. Yes, I am the phoenix . . ."
Travers cleared his throat. "Mein fueher?"
"Yes, yes, what is it?"
"We were discussing Olin's recent behavior."
"Oh, yes . . .continue."
"He said he was calling a woman friend of his to make, ah, arrangements."
"A prostitute?" Brix faced Travers. "What is wrong with that?"
"It's just that why would he sneak away to use the phone. He could use the phone here."
"Maybe he wanted to keep his affairs private," Brix said. "But still that's not like him. Could there be something else he doesn't want us to know?"
Every pained step Brix took reminded him of the explosion that nearly took his life and focused him on the man who brought down his plans for a Fourth Reich. He dreamed of nothing but how he could repay Joseph R. Mannix.
"Mein fuehrer, I have taken the precaution of having Olin followed tonight."
Brix limped back to the window and resumed his vigil. "Good. Then I shall see who is the traitor here."
vvv
Parked in a dark sedan half a block behind Mannix's car, Jameson waited. Following Olin on Travers' orders, he had to get the proof that Olin was a traitor to the Reich. He watched Olin's car disappear into an alley past the bar. Taking a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lighting it, Jameson relaxed. He could be here a while.
vvv
"So what triggered this? Your nightmares?"
Dixie avoided Joe's gaze by staring into her drink. "Rampart is partnering with the Veterans Administration on group therapy sessions for returning Vietnam vets and nurses. I was asked to speak about what it was like for me when I returned from Korea. I refused."
"Any particular reason why?" He knew why, but he also knew she had to talk to someone about it. He was here to listen. That was the least he could do.
"When I left for Korea, I had a nursing position all lined up for when I returned. I never took that job. After that night in Korea, I was angry. I was angry at the army. I was angry at the North Korean soldier who made me kill him." She paused and frowned at her hands. Both were tightly balled into fists. "I was angry at you."
Joe wasn't surprised. He had guessed he and that night were a bad memory.
"I see you got over that."
Dixie relaxed her hands. "You know I couldn't stay mad at you. Anyhow, I had to get away. Somewhere no one knew me. Somewhere I could figure myself out. All my life I had wanted to be a nurse. All of a sudden I couldn't stand the thought of it. I was lost and I chose San Francisco to be lost in. I took an office job for a couple of years. Thank God, my mother made me take typing in high school. I wasn't good at it, but it payed the rent. I'd be fine for a while and then the nightmares would return in waves. At times I was afraid to go to sleep." She held up her empty glass.
"Refill?" Joe asked. She nodded and he signaled to the bartender for more drinks. "So, what got you back to nursing?"
"I was shopping in Chinatown when a man collapsed on the sidewalk. No one else knew what to do. For a second I had a flashback to Korea and then the nurse in me took over. I kept him breathing until medical help arrived. I saved his life. That made me realize I was born to be a nurse and I was wasting my time doing anything else, so I reapplied for my license and got a nursing job at San Francisco General. By the way," she took a sip of her drink, "the man's life I saved has a brother who owns a restaurant. If you're ever in Chinatown in San Francisco, go to the Golden Dragon and tell them Dixie sent you."
"Maybe we can do that sometime," he offered.
"Oh, anything for a free meal." She laughed. "As much as I'd like to, I'm with Kelly Brackett now."
He loved to see her laugh. "Yeah, I know. Can't blame a guy for trying."
"Funny thing, though, after I saved that man's life, I never had another nightmare until now."
"What brought you back to Los Angeles?"
"It was time I came home." She thought for a moment. "I had finally come home from the war."
Joe understood. He had struggled with that, too. War will do that to you. He placed her hands in his. "Tell you what. If you decide to go to those group therapy sessions, I'll go with you."
She gazed at their hands. "What are you going to do, Joe, hold my hand?"
"You might wind up holding mine."
She chuckled. Joe always had a way of lightening her mood. "I'll let you know if I change my mind."
"Okay."
She noticed he glanced at his watch. "Past your bedtime? Probably past mine. I'm working tomorrow . . ." She looked at his watch, " . . . I mean, today." She grabbed her purse.
Joe stood and held her chair for her. He offered her his arm and felt her body lean against him. He wrapped a protective arm around her.
"Next time, don't wait so long." He escorted her to her car and held her car door open. As he bent over and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead, he said, "Thank you."
"I should be thanking you, Joe."
He smiled at her. "I know. Thanks, anyway." As he stepped away from her car and watched her drive away, he fished his car keys out of his pocket.
vvv
Olin followed Mannix and the woman through the night scope. He waited. She drove away and Mannix headed for his car. He squeezed the trigger. Crack! Olin watched Mannix fall to the ground. He flung his rifle on his back and found the ejected bullet casing.
vvv
Jameson heard the shot and saw Mannix collapse. Right about now, he knew Olin would be exiting the area. He would remain to confirm the kill, that Mannix was dead. Travers would want the kill confirmed.
vvv
Dixie heard a sound. A sound a person who had served in a war zone could never forget. She glanced into her rear view mirror and saw Joe crumple to the ground. She barely stopped her car before she jumped out and ran to Joe's prone body.
The bartender stepped from the bar entranced followed by a couple of the patrons.
"What the hell . . . ," the bartender started.
"Call 9-1-1!" Dixie told him. "And get those people back inside!" The bartender ushered the men back into the bar.
Dixie checked Joe's pulse and then began to search for a wound. She found it on his left temple. Joe groaned and tried to move.
vvv
Johnny Gage had just gotten back to sleep when the klaxon sounded. He heard Roy DeSoto mutter a curse. Busy night for Squad 51.
Squad 51, shots fired, man down. 309 Angeles Way. 3-0-9 Angeles Way, cross street Fairmount. Time out 00:36.
By the time they were dressed and to the squad, Captain Hank Stanley had acknowledged the call and handed the address to Roy.
"Be careful, shots fired. Let the deputies give you the all clear before you go in."
"Don't have to worry about that, Cap," Johnny said.
Stanley opened the bay door and watched his men go into harm's way.
vvv
"I'm fine, Dix."
"Yeah, you're doing great for someone who got shot in the head."
After checking for other wounds, Dixie helped Joe to move to cover behind his car. Hearing sirens, she peeked around another parked car to see a police cruiser brake to a stop. She observed Deputy Vince Howard exit the vehicle. As he came toward her, he unholstered his weapon pointing the gun barrel to the sky.
"What's going on, Dixie?"
"A shot came from down the street." She vaguely gestured down the street. "Could have come from anywhere. . . I'm not sure."
"Any other shots?"
"One was enough."
"Stay down. I'll check it out." Deputy Howard maneuvered down the street staying close to the walls and probing the buildings for unlocked doors. Another police cruiser exited the alley further down the street by an apartment building. Howard holstered his gun and joined the deputy at the cruiser to find out if he had seen anyone.
A few moments later, Squad 51arrived behind Howard's police cruiser.
"Look," Johnny pointed up the street to the two deputies about a block away.
"Who got shot?"
"Over here!" Dixie waved her arms and stood up on her toes high enough to be seen.
Captain Stanley's warning forgotten, Roy and Johnny reacted to her summons and gathered their equipment. They stayed low in case someone decided they would make good targets.
"Dixie?" Roy was as surprised as Johnny to see her kneeling next to the man lying on the ground.
"What we got, Dix?" Johnny asked.
She moved aside. "Forty-year old male with a gunshot wound to the head. Breathing is shallow. Pulse is slowing." Johnny set up the biophone and Roy began taking Joe's vital signs.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Roy joked.
"I'm fine, fellas." Joe struggled to sit up. Dixie pushed him back to the ground.
"Shut up, Joe." she said. Roy and Johnny continually took peeks at Dixie while they worked. Johnny relayed Joe's vital signs to Rampart.
"You know him?" Roy asked.
"Yeah, fortunately for him." Dixie shook her head. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."
"Thanks, Dix," Joe said.
"For what? Just doing my job."
"Like Korea?"
"Well, not exactly like Korea."
Deputy Howard returned as the ambulance arrived. "Whoever fired the shots is long gone. Can I get statements from the both of you, Dixie?"
"Sure, Vince. You know where we'll be." Dixie watched the ambulance attendants load the gurney with Joe on it. "Johnny, do you mind if I ride in with him?"
"No problem, Dix."
Dixie pointed to her car. "Could you drive my car to Rampart? The keys are in the ignition."
Johnny nodded and assisted Dixie into the ambulance. After the ambulance departed, he helped Roy load the equipment back in the squad.
"Hey, Vince, who's that guy with Dixie?" Johnny asked.
"I'm surprised you haven't run into him before. That's Joe Mannix, the private detective."
"Where does she know this Mannix guy from?"
"Korea."
"Really?" Roy slammed the compartment door on the squad closed. "I heard her say something to him about that."
"I don't know the story, just that they both served in Korea," Howard said. "Yeah, see you guys at Rampart."
"Right behind you, Vince."
vvv
The next morning, Peggy Fair sat at her desk warming her hands on a mug of hot coffee. She shivered even though the temperature was eighty-five degrees outside. Last night had been another close call. She dreaded the phone calls in the middle of the night. Always reminded of the night her husband, Marcus, had been killed in the line of duty, she had no desire to receive a phone call like that about Joe Mannix.
LAPD Detective Art Malcolm cruised into the office.
"Hi, Art."
"Hi, Peggy, where's Joe?"
"Upstairs. Getting dressed."
"Shouldn't he be in bed or something? He just got shot, for chrissakes."
"You know Joe."
"Yeah, unfortunately." Art traveled through the downstairs office to Joe's upstairs apartment taking the steps two at a time.
"Hi, Art. To what do I owe this visit?" Joe stood in the middle of his living room with his hands resting on his hips pondering every object in the room.
"What happened last night?" Art noticed the small bandage on Joe's left temple.
"I walked out of a bar and someone took a shot at me. What's to tell?" Joe stalked the coffee table and opened the carved box sitting there. He shut the lid, scrutinized the room once more and checked behind and underneath the cushions on the couch.
"Don't be so casual about this. I could be identifying your body at the morgue right now."
"Look, Art, I have no clue who shot me. I can't think of anyone who would want me dead." Joe stepped into his kitchen, opened the cupboard doors and rummaged through the contents. "At least not this week."
"How'd the shooter know you'd be at that bar?"
"Search me. Maybe someone's been tailing me, waiting for the chance to take a shot." Next he opened the refrigerator and glanced in.
"Well, lay low for a couple of days. I'm working with Los Angeles County detectives on this one. That bar was right on the county/city line." Art watched as Joe searched among the books on the bookshelf. "What are you looking for?"
Joe scanned the room and then headed downstairs to his office. "Art, you know me. I don't do 'laying low' well. What have you got?"
Art trailed Joe down the stairs. "Basically, a whole lot of nothing. No prints, no shell casing, nobody knows anything. Shot at you from a building down the street. Clean getaway. The lab guys are still looking for the bullet. No telling where it went after it grazed you."
"Okay, Art, now what do you know that you're not telling me?"
"What makes you say that?"
"I've been shot at before and you didn't come over to see how I was doing and you didn't come over to tell me to lay low for a few days. So what's up?"
"What? Can't I be concerned for an old Korean War buddy? You make a lot of enemies. Besides, like I said, I don't want to be identifying your body at the morgue."
"Yeah, right." Joe zipped open the pockets of his golf bag and felt inside. "Damn." He found nothing but golf balls and tees.
"Gotta go, Joe. Got criminals to catch." As Art passed by Peggy, he asked, "What's he looking for?" Peggy smiled and sipped her coffee.
"Later, Art." Joe called from his office.
"Yeah, Joe, later."
Joe slipped behind his desk, dragging open the drawers and examining the papers on his desk. "Peggy!"
She peeked around the door frame into his office.
"Okay, where'd you hide them?"
"Them?"
He strode into her office. "My cigarettes."
"I thought you were going to quit."
"Well, getting shot at just changed my plans."
vvv
"You have failed your mission. Mr. Mannix lives."
Olin's eyes narrowed; he stood uneasily in front of Leonard Brix. He shifted his gaze to look at the man he didn't know and then back to Brix. Had he been followed? "Listen, Brix . . ."
"You will address me as mein fuehrer! And stand at attention when you talk to me."
Olin jolted to attention. The Fourth Reich leader rose from the couch to stand only inches from Olin's face.
"One shot, Frank? You didn't even stay long enough to confirm the kill."
How could he know that, Olin thought. Without moving his head, his eyes again traveled to Travers and the stranger.
"Look at me!" Olin's eyes snapped back to straight ahead. Brix turned his back to Olin and walked away. "You disappoint me." He nodded to the stranger. "You may go, Jameson."
"Yes, mein fuehrer." Jameson came to attention, bowed his head slightly in Brix's direction and then marched from the room. Travers closed the door after Jameson left.
Olin was convinced by Brix's constant blathering about being the Phoenix that it was time to get out. He was working on a deal with the Feds to get Brix back on American soil.
"I've known you a long time, Frank. You don't miss unless you want to." Brix rested on the couch with a sigh and began massaging his left thigh. "What am I to do with you? You have served me well all these years."
"Mein fuehrer . . ."
"No excuses, Frank." Brix regarded Olin. "I have another assignment for you."
"Mein fuehrer," Travers spoke up, "I don't think that's necessary. Doctor Menendez . . ."
". . . knows who I am. He is a threat to the my success. He must be silenced!"
"Mein fuehrer . . ."
"Travers will give you your new orders tomorrow." Brix then motioned for Olin to come closer." You will not fail me a second time," he whispered.
"Yes, mein fuehrer."
"Dismissed."
Olin, too, bowed slightly to Brix as he left the room. Knowing Jameson was detailed to watch him gave him little choice but to await Travers' orders. Orders that once completed he knew would be sealed with a bullet to back of his head.
Travers waited for Olin depart. "Mein fueher, I have an idea about how to get rid of Mannix."
vvv
Sleep was elusive that night. She exiled herself to the living room couch to keep from waking Kel again. Finally she fell into a restless, disturbed sleep. She only had to close her eyes for a moment to see the events of that night in Korea again. Her talk with Joe had fueled her nightmares. She tried to remember her army service with pride, but she was still haunted by the one life she took. In her head she knew Joe was right. That North Korean soldier would have killed him and then her if she hadn't killed him first, but that didn't make it any easier to live with.
The smell of coffee woke her. Kelly was seated on the floor next to the couch dressed for work with a mug of coffee in each hand.
"What time is it?" She stretched, sat up and grabbed one of the mugs. She gulped the coffee. It was a long drive to Tecate and she felt like hell.
"A little after five. I've got the early shift and you're going down to the Tecate clinic today. Thought maybe we'd have breakfast before you left."
He had that do-you-want-to-talk-about-it look on his face. She definitely didn't want to talk. Not about Korea, not yet to him.
"I'll pass, Kel."
"Okay." Disappointed, he took his mug to the kitchen and drained it in the sink. When he returned he was buttoning the top button on his shirt and adjusting his tie. "Why is it I can tell you everything that's bothering me, you'll listen, help me understand, but when I try to be here for you, you turn me away? Why won't you talk to me?"
"It's not that simple."
"Explain it to me then."
"I . . . I can't . . ." Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her temples.
"Trust me. I care about you." He knelt beside her and raised her face to his. "Let me help."
"I will. Just let me get there, okay?"
"I'll be here. Whenever."
She hugged him and whispered in his ear. "Hey, what was that you were saying about breakfast?"
vvv
Olin didn't smoke, but for the last hour he had been trapped in a stolen car with Jameson. He waved the smoke away from his face as his passenger lit another cigarette. With darkness beginning to settle on the narrow, dusty street, the glow from Jameson's cigarette did nothing to warm him.
Jameson tapped him on the shoulder. "About time," he said, pointed up the street to the clinic. Doctor Menendez was locking the door; a woman stood next to him.
"She's a nurse." Jameson informed Olin. "When you shot Mannix, she kept him alive until the paramedics got there. Name's McCall. Travers has plans for her." He stubbed out his cigarette. "Let's get this over with. Start the car."
Olin followed his orders and flipped on the headlights. Both the doctor and the nurse jerked around to see the source of the sudden bright light.
"¿Quién es?" The doctor attempted to block out some of the brightness of the headlights with his hand. "Who's there?"
"Now!" Jameson ordered.
Olin hesitated. Shooting from a distance or blowing people up was his thing, not running them over. "Go!" Jameson slammed his foot against Olin's.
The engine roared. The sudden jump in power was almost too much to handle. Olin spun the wheel swerving to miss a stucco wall. Before he could make another move a body flew across the hood and cracked the windshield. He heard a thump and a gasp as the body hit the ground.
"Got him," he heard Jameson say as they sped away. Olin glanced at the rear view mirror; he saw nothing but darkness.
vvv
"How's your head, Joe?" Dixie asked. She was perched in the client chair in his office. Peggy entered carrying Joe's morning cup of coffee.
"Thanks, Peggy." Joe accepted the cup. "Coffee?" he asked Dixie.
"No, thanks."
Peggy left his office and closed the door. Although everything she heard was kept in confidence, she sensed this meeting was more than a professional visit
.
"I've had worse headaches from hangovers. But you didn't come to my office to make a house call. What's wrong? Is it about the other night?"
"No, it's about Doctor Menendez. Last night he was killed in a hit and run accident . . ."
". . . and you don't think it was an accident."
"The car didn't try to avoid him. Barely missed me."
"Are you sure? What are the police doing about this?"
"The Tecate Policia are treating it like it was nothing. They're not even looking for the car. I gave them a description."
"Write that down for me. Probably stolen just for the accident." Joe came over to Dixie's side of his desk and handed her a pad of paper and a pen. "How long have you known this Doctor Menendez?"
"I've been volunteering at his clinic for a couple of years. Every couple of months I'll bring donations of almost expired medications, bandages and other medical supplies. And I'll help him with the patients."
"Does he have any enemies? Someone who didn't like his treatment? Someone he treated died lately? Has he changed?"
"Thinking about it, he seemed nervous, jumpy even. Like he was waiting for something to happen. Like he was looking over his shoulder."
"Apparently he was right to be nervous. Did he say anything to you about what was bothering him?"
"I had the feeling he was afraid of someone."
"Afraid of whom?"
"He never told me. Before he died he kept babbling something about bricks."
Couldn't be . . . "Brix? Leonard Brix?"
"Maybe that was what he was trying to say. Who's Leonard Bricks?"
Joe grabbed the phone and dialed Art's number. "Brix . . . B-R-I-X. The Fourth Reich leader. Remember the Pete Panelli helicopter accident a couple of months ago? Well, what happened was Pete saw Leonard Brix being smuggled back into the country from Argentina, so Brix had him killed. Short version is that Brix was supposed to have been killed in that explosion in Woodland Hills." Joe turned his attention to the phone. "Lieutenant Malcolm . . . when's he supposed to be back . . . can you get a message to him . . . no . . . have him call Joe Mannix immediately." Joe slammed the handset down. "Your doctor probably recognized Brix. That's why the hit and run. You're probably in danger, too."
"Me? I don't even know who he is and I never saw him."
"Yeah, but Brix is a psycho. He'll think the doctor told you who he was. Look, I'm going to Tecate. See what I can find out." Joe snatched his sport coat from the back of his chair. "Now the other night makes perfect sense. Probably one of Brix's Fourth Reich goons trying to get even. Are you working today?"
"Yes, I'm filling in for another supervisor."
"They won't bother you at Rampart. Too many people around. I'll talk to Art about giving you an escort home when your shift is over and police protection until all this is over."
"I don't think all that's necessary."
"Hey, I don't try to give you medical advice, do I?"
"Well . . . I don't have any choice, do I?"
Joe opened his office door for Dixie. "You're welcome."
vvv
Joe Mannix drove south on State Highway 94. He was a little past Jamul, California. This stretch of highway was isolated with a few farms, orchards and not a lot else. In less than an hour he would be in Tecate, Mexico searching for Leonard Brix, the man who had risen from the ashes of a three-story mansion.
For a second time, he glimpsed a car in his rear view mirror, a blue Chrysler Imperial with a black vinyl top. He wasn't positive, but he knew he'd seen that car before. His car phone buzzed.
"Mannix," he answered.
"Hey, Joe, what's up?"
"Art, Leonard Brix is alive."
"We know. His body wasn't found in the rubble."
"Why didn't you tell me that? What did you think I would do? Lead a one-man crusade against the Fourth Reich again?"
"Hey, I didn't find out until a couple of weeks after, a need-to-know basis."
"They're shooting at me. Don't you think I 'need to know'?"
"Joe, I can't do that. You know how the Feds are. Their informer's in enough danger as it is. After your near miss, Brix may be suspicious. Can you just cool it for a while until we get this thing wrapped up?"
"It's not you they're trying to kill. Brix won't stop until I'm in the ground." Joe glanced again in his rearview mirror. He glimpsed two heads in the car behind him. The Chrysler was keeping pace with him. He sped up.
"For once, let us handle this."
"It's not only me. Dixie McCall may be in danger, too. Brix is a paranoid son-of-a-bitch. He probably thinks Doctor Menendez told her Brix was his patient."
"Dixie McCall, the nurse? How'd she get mixed up in this? Doctor who?"
"She volunteers at a clinic in Tecate – a Doctor Menendez's clinic. She was there when he was killed in a hit-and-run accident and she's been bugging the Tecate Police about it." The Chrysler inched closer. "Art, can you make sure she gets home safe? She's working at Rampart today."
"I'll take care of it personally."
"Gotta go, Art. Got Nazis to catch."
"Joe . . . Joe, where are . . ."
Joe hung up his car phone and pressed down on the accelerator. He remembered where he had seen that car before.
vvv
His head felt like someone was stomping grapes on it. In the dim light, Mannix opened his eyes and then squeezed them shut. Pain. When he moved, he groaned. More pain. He had bruised his ribs against the steering wheel when the driver of the Chrysler had run him off the road. He tried to move his arms and legs, but discovered he was roped to a chair.
He examined what he could see of the building he was in. Smashed wooden crates and other pieces of lumber littered the concrete slab floor. Steel trusses held up the roof and connected the concrete walls. The paned windows were high on the walls but let in little light. Bare electric bulbs hung from the trusses. A doorway was about a fifty yards in front of him.
Voices and footsteps echoed in the cavernous building.
". . . charges are all set?" A different voice. " . . tonator is radio-controlled . . ." The voices and footsteps echoed closer. " . . . message for her to come here."
As the voices got nearer, Mannix slumped forward and faked unconsciousness. A hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head back. A moan escaped Mannix's lips at the aches the sudden movement caused in his chest and head.
"Surprised to see me?" When the hand released his hair, Mannix focused his eyes through the pain as a man hobbled into his view. The face was disfigured by burn scars and the hairline had changed, but he knew he was staring at Leonard Brix.
"You are a hard man to kill, Mr. Mannix. And as you can see, so am I."
Standing behind Brix he recognized Travers and Olin, the two men who were following him to Tecate. Before this, they had locked him in the basement cell of the Fourth Reich's Woodland Hills hideout.
"Some people don't know how to stay dead." Mannix said.
"Remember I am the Phoenix. I rise again from the ashes." Brix smiled at Mannix and, without taking his eyes from him, held his right hand out to Travers. "Your weapon, please."
Travers hesitated. "Of course, mein fuehrer." He pulled the revolver from his belt and handed it to him.
Brix turned away from Mannix to face Olin, leveling the revolver at Olin's chest.
"But you will not rise again. You betrayed me. You think I don't know you've been talking to federal agents! Don't you think I know of your plans to betray the Reich. To betray me!" Brix cocked the revolver. "Your weapon, Frank."
"Mein fuehrer . . . Brix . . . what are you doing?" Olin stepped back. "I would never betray the Reich . . . you . . ."
"Your weapon, Frank." Brix repeated. "Now!" Olin removed his pistol slowly from the waistband of his trousers. "Thumb and finger, Frank. On the floor. Kick it toward me." Olin did as instructed and watched the Reich leader bend down to pick up his pistol.
"The Reich has eyes everywhere. I will not be denied my rightful destiny to rule. Will I, Travers?"
"Mein fuehrer?" The shot was a clap of thunder in the concrete building as Travers collapsed to the floor.
"Do you think me a fool?" Brix shot Travers again. "Don't you think I knew what you were doing? You forgot you were dealing with the Phoenix! I die but I rise again from the grave!"
Olin backed away from the crazed Reich leader. Brix swung the barrel of the revolver toward his chest.
"You disappoint me, Frank." He emptied the remaining bullets into Olin's head and chest. He would never disappoint Brix again.
Mannix strained against the ropes that held him to the chair. He had to be next on Brix's hit list. Brix circled behind Mannix's chair and placed the cold muzzle of his gun against the private eye's neck.
"Of course, you won't survive what I have planned."
vvv
The Rampart Emergency Room was swamped with stabbings, broken bones, and other ailments from the time Dixie arrived on duty. Going from one treatment room to another didn't give her time to think about Joe's warning. Half way through the shift the flow of people and emergencies slowed. Later she finally had time for a cup of coffee and a sandwich. As she returned to the nurse's station, Carol, one of the other nurses, called to her.
"Oh, Dixie, I was looking for you. I left an urgent message for you at the nurse's station. Some guy named Joe Mannix."
"Thanks." Dixie headed for the nurse's station to retrieve the message. Carol had scribbled an address, Joe Mannix and urgent. Her shift would be over in less than an hour. Maybe she could get off early. The worst that could happen would be Kelly saying no. She knocked on his office door.
"Come in."
"Hey, Kel, I know I'm filling in for Betty today, but could I take off a little bit early?"
"I don't see why not. It's a little calmer around here." He knew that the group therapy session was tonight. Something earlier in the day he tried to tactfully remind her of. "This about the therapy session?" He noticed Dixie's brow furrow. "Sorry."
"You wouldn't ask if you didn't care. Just meeting with Joe Mannix."
"Oh, now I'm jealous." Brackett grinned. "I've got a rival for your affections."
Dixie leaned over his desk and gave him a quick kiss. "You have nothing to worry about."
vvv
Art Malcolm walked into the Rampart Emergency Room. No one rushed about saving lives or splinting bones. The admitting nurse and one dozing person occupied the waiting area. An orderly strolled the hallway. Art strode toward the nurse's station. He recognized Doctor Brackett standing by the desk writing in a medical chart. He searched the hallway and didn't see Dixie anywhere. He hoped he hadn't missed her and she'd already gone home.
"Is Dixie McCall around?" Malcolm asked.
Brackett shifted his attention from the patient chart. He didn't place the face immediately but he remembered seeing him in the emergency room a few times. "Do I know you?"
"Lieutenant Art Malcolm, L.A.P.D. I'm here to escort Miss McCall home."
"Is there some reason she needs a police escort?" Brackett's hand shook a little as he replaced the medical chart in the rack.
"I'm doing it as a favor for a friend – Joe Mannix. She may be involved in a case I'm working on."
Brackett relaxed. "She's not here. In fact she got off early to go meet Joe. She got a message from him."
"A message? From Joe? Who took the message?"
Brackett spotted one of the other nurses walking by. "Carol, do you know who took the message for Dixie from Joe Mannix?"
"I did. Something wrong?"
"How did you know it was Joe Mannix?" Malcolm asked.
"The man said he was Joe Mannix and he wanted to leave a message for Dixie. He left an address and said it was urgent that she meet him there."
"Do you remember the address?"
"I think it was Hillside . . . 218 Hillside."
Malcolm grabbed the phone on the desk and dialed the phone number to 17 Paseo Verde. "Joe's been missing since early this afternoon. I've got CHP checking Highway 94 for him." Art placed his hand over the receiver. "About what time did she get the message?"
"Maybe about an hour ago." Carol answered.
Malcolm heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line.
"Mr. Mannix's office."
"Peggy, it's Art. Joe back yet?"
"No, I haven't seen him since he left this morning with Dixie." She dropped her purse and keys back on her desk and sat down. She had been locking up the office for the day. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not sure yet. Maybe nothing. Call me if you hear from him."
"First thing, Art." Like Joe, she knew that Art Malcolm didn't stop by to visit or call on the phone without a reason. The reason was usually not a healthy one for Joe.
Malcolm replaced the receiver on the cradle. "About how long has she been gone?"
Brackett frowned at his watch. "Maybe about twenty . . . thirty minutes."
"218 Hillside. I'll check it out. Do you know what kind of car she drives?"
"Yeah, a red Mustang."
Malcolm rushed from the emergency room.
"Hey, wait!" Brackett stripped off his lab coat, tossed it on the counter and raced to catch up with the police lieutenant. As far as he was concerned, his shift had just ended.
vvv
Dixie arrived at the address in the message left for her. A vacant warehouse, that couldn't be right. She didn't see Joe's Barracuda and wondered where he was. She parked her Mustang in an empty slot near the front of the building. She noticed a Chrysler parked across the street. No one else seemed to be around. She checked again that the address on the door matched the one in the message. His message had said urgent.
The warehouse loomed gray and desolate. She sat in her car a moment wondering whether she should wait there or go in. Joe's earlier warning rang in her head. She twisted around to survey the area. As far as she could see no other people were here. She hesitated a moment more and then decided she was being silly. Joe would never put her in danger.
Dixie walked through the partially open door. "Joe?" She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few yards in front of her she saw a body tied to a chair. The head was slumped forward. "Joe?"
She stumbled over something – a body. A pool of blood surrounded the upper torso. She checked for any sign of life. She found none.
"Joe . . . Joe!" Dixie untied the ropes that held him to the chair. She steadied him before he could fall to the floor. She saw another body laying behind him face down in its own blood.
"Dix? . . . Dixie, get out!" He tried to push her away. She grabbed his arm to help him up. "Go . . . run . . . bomb . . . building . . ."
"Bomb? In this building?" She dragged Joe along with her.
"Save yourself."
"Not without you." She helped Joe as they stumbled toward the door.
vvv
He had been only hours away from leading a coup against the American government. Mannix had destroyed his plans and almost killed him. Now it was Mannix's and that McCall woman's turn to see what it was like to be inside a building when it exploded. Brix pressed the detonator button.
vvv
The shock wave blasted through the building knocking Joe and Dixie to the floor. An orange-yellow fireball erupted in smoke; the flames scorched their clothes. Fragments of wood and concrete pelted them. Wood debris became smoking cinders that stung their skin.
Joe low-crawled ahead of Dixie and reached the exit first. He stood and rammed his shoulder into the wooden door. As the smoke and dust thickened, he pounded again and again until the door yielded. He shoved Dixie through first and then followed.
They staggered away from the flaming pile of rubble. As she looked back at the building that could have been their tomb, Dixie said, "You weren't kidding when you said this Brix guy is a psycho."
Joe coughed and strained to bring fresh air into his lungs. He leaned against the driver's side door of her car. "Yeah, well, I keep spoiling his plans."
A shot echoed. The bullet penetrated Joe's left shoulder and spun him down to the ground. Dixie froze. An artillery shell rockets overhead . . .
"Dixie!" Joe snatched her to safety behind the front of her car. "You alright? What's wrong?"
"What . . ." For a moment she was standing on a muddy road. In Korea. ". . . I'm fine. Let me take a look at that." She saw the blood staining his jacket. As gently as she could she peeled it open to examine his wound; he still gasped.
"Clean through. Lucky you." She used a handkerchief from his pocket as a makeshift pressure bandage. "I haven't had this much excitement since Korea."
"And this is a slow week." Joe peeked over the hood. Brix was limping towards them. "He's coming. And he knows I don't have a gun." Joe hunted for something to use as a weapon. Nothing but rubble from the explosion. He opened the passenger side door. "Hide behind this," he told Dixie.
"Where're you going?" She stooped low enough for the door to cover her.
"Just a little hide and seek." The best he could hope to do is keep the car between Brix and himself until Brix ran out of bullets.
Joe searched the debris. He needed to distract Brix. "Dixie." Joe pointed at some of the concrete rubble around her car. He mimicked a throwing motion. She nodded her understanding and grabbed a hand-sized rock. He scooped up a handful of smaller rocks. Without taking aim, Dixie hefted it over her car. The rock landed a few feet from Brix. Mannix sprang from the cover of the car to pelt Brix with rocks.
Dixie heard a shot. She peered around the rear of her car. She saw Brix had stopped his advance toward them and was wiping at the blood on his face. She choose another rock.
"Now!" Joe yelled. Dixie leaned around the car and flung a rock at Brix as Joe popped up again. Joe hurled a couple of more smaller rocks at Brix hoping to knock the gun from his grip. Brix roared in pain. Joe launched his body over the hood of the car.
vvv
Neither of the men had spoken since leaving Rampart. Malcolm weaved the unmarked police car through the traffic with practiced ease. Brackett clutched the dashboard praying that whatever was happening Joe could keep Dixie safe.
Both men heard a boom and saw smoke rise in the distance.
"Tell me that's not Hillside," Brackett said.
Malcolm didn't answer. He pulled the radio mike from its holder.
"Dispatch, this is 4-KING-41. Explosion and fire emergency at 218 Hillside." He stomped on the gas pedal.
vvv
Dixie heard them scuffling. She moved around rear of the car to see Brix push Joe away and search the ground. He must be looking for his gun, she thought. She began searching, too.
Joe bounced back with a swing at Brix. Brix took the punch and staggered back from the impact. Joe followed up with another punch. Brix fell to the ground but jumped up with a large chunk of concrete in his hand.
Joe swung at Brix but missed. Brix countered by slamming the rock into Joe's left temple. Joe staggered back, dazed by the blow. Emboldened Brix struck Joe again in the head. Joe fell to his knees. He battled against the pain to stand up again.
"Stop!" Brix turned to the voice and saw Dixie pointing his pistol at him. Shakily, she held the gun with both hands. He saw a blank look come to her face. "Stop," she whispered.
The distant pounding of cannon fire. Smoke and fire and rubble. A muddy road in Korea. Rifle in her hands she looks down at the dead North Korean soldier laying in a pool of blood. She trembles. Her entire body shakes. She can't stop.
"Dixie. No!" A familiar voice . . . it's Joe. Where are you, Joe? Help me, Joe.
vvv
What Brackett saw at 218 Hillside made his heart stop. Dixie was pointing a gun at a man and Joe was on his knees. Behind them, a warehouse was on fire.
Malcolm skidded the police car to a stop. With only a second to decide, he drew his gun as he exited the car, aimed and fired.
A look of surprise then pain danced across Brix's face. He dropped the concrete rock. His body twisted and contorted as his crippled body collapsed to the ground.
Brackett leaped from the police car and dashed to Dixie's side. Trembling, she still pointed the gun at where Brix had stood. Korea came back to haunt her again.
"Dixie . . ." She hears the cries of the wounded and dying.
". . . Dixie . . ." She felt a warm hand cover hers. ". . . Dixie, let go." She turned her head in the direction of the voice. " . . . let go." She recognizes the voice. What's Kelly doing in Korea? She relaxed her grip on the pistol. He removed the pistol from her hands and passed it to Malcolm.
She blinked and refocused. She heard the cry of the sirens and the bellow of a fire truck air horn. Staring at Brix's body lying on the ground, she moved toward him. Brackett realized she was going to try to render first aid. He stopped her.
"I'll do it." He steered her to the injured private detective. "Go help Joe."
Joe struggled to his feet. "It's okay, Dixie. You didn't kill him. Understand? You didn't kill him."
He wrapped his good right arm around her and they limped together toward her car. As they leaned against the fender, she began crying. Joe held her as he had twenty years earlier. Just like Korea.
Arriving at the scene, Roy jumped out of the squad and began hauling medical equipment from the compartments. Behind him, he heard Captain Stanley issuing orders to Chet and Marco and calling for additional fire units.
Johnny grabbed the oxygen and biophone. He found Doctor Brackett kneeling by a man laying motionless. Another man stood near with his gun pointed at the ground.
"Hey, Doc, how is . . ."
Brackett rose. "Code F."
"I'll get the coroner and lab guys out here," Malcolm said as he placed his gun back in its holster. He headed for his police car to make the call. Brackett noticed his shoulders slump.
"Lieutenant, you did what you had to do." Brackett didn't want to think about what could have happened had the police lieutenant not acted. Taking a life was never a problem he had to wrestle with. "Thanks."
Malcolm nodded and continued to his cruiser.
"Dixie, are you alright?" Roy asked.
The nurse took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. "No, I'm not, but Joe's a lot worse." She gently pulled open his jacket to show the blood-soaked handkerchief covering his wound. "He could use a little paramedic magic right about now."
"Joe, why don't you lay down for me? I'm going to take your vital signs and see what we can do about that gunshot wound and your other injuries." Roy pulled the stethoscope from the kit.
"Dix, why don't let Johnny check you over? I'll help Roy with Joe," Brackett said.
Johnny touched her hand. "Come on, Dix."
"Wait." She knelt next to Joe. "See you at the group therapy session?"
"I'll be there."
"Mind if I bring Kelly with me?"
"Nope, but I was hoping I might have you to myself." He flirted and she laughed. He loved to hear her laugh.
Dixie let Johnny lead her away. He helped her to the ground and had her lean against the squad. She her shoulders sagged as she closed her eyes. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't worried about nightmares.
The End