I'm No Angel
Chapter 14
Okay, my little savages; you wanted whump, you got whump. I know it took forever to get this posted but blame it on Husband. In case you didn't know, hospitals are not the best places to hang if you want to avoid catching the flu . . . trust me. To those readers who work in the health-care profession – you guys are BRAVE! Thanks so much for being there.
SPNGran looked at the first four drafts of this but Imaginary Beta did the final one. Sorry about that.
Disclaimer: I don't get paid for this. It's just a way to deal with insomnia and frustrating dreams of tall, dark, handsome guys with long eyelashes and tats.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
Red
Lightning zig-zagged across a graphite sky and thunder shook the stairwell as the light over the landing blinked out. The hurricane's back wall is now sweeping over the island. Intermission over, Alika has returned with a vengeance.
He hadn't felt the blade but he knows what she'd done – slipped it between his ribs; angling it to go through a lung to pierce his heart. It's what he himself had been trained to do. He wonders why he's still alive.
Turning to stagger back out into the rain, he grabs for the weapon still on his hip. His fingers close around its grip but, as the Sig clears the holster, he loses his balance and goes down hard; elbow slamming onto the roof.
The force of the collision numbs his fingers and he loses his hold on the gun. "Fuck!" he grunts as it skitters across the wet, asphalt-covered, roof. Blinking furiously against the wind-driven deluge, he braces his hands against the surface beneath him and tries to get to his feet. The effort is to no avail. It feels as though he has a hundred-pound pack on his back.
It's raining hard enough to pin me down! he thinks; brain working no better than his uncooperative body. It's hard to take a breath. A soggy rattle in his chest tells him that Marie was at least partially successful – his lung is filling with blood.
He's somehow aware she hasn't followed. Squinting against the water hammering face and body he risks a quick glance over his shoulder and sees her watching from the roof access doorway. Probably waiting for blood loss to finish the job, he thinks. As though to prove the theory, a deep hack produces a crimson spray that disperses into the torrent. He tries to swear but liquid only bubbles at his lips. On hands and knees he crawls after the gun as air rattles in his chest and the taste of salt and copper fills his mouth.
…..
She stood watching her former lover as he fought to stay on his feet before crashing down and losing his gun. Unable to get up, he'd resorted to crawling.
He won't get far, she thinks. He should have been gone almost instantly but the tip of the blade had obviously missed his heart. She's disappointed in herself for failing at something she'd done successfully so many times before. Having long ago perfected her skills, she'd wanted to make it as quick and painless as possible for him – the sailor deserved that much at least.
It was a different method than the one she'd used on the Lozano job. The Rios had wanted to make their message clear – that the kid's father needed to keep his mouth shut. A severed carotid certainly made the point but she'd wanted death to be kinder to the sailor. By inserting a blade at the precise space between his ribs there would have been little pain before his heart would stop. It was a kindness she could do for him. There was no need for him to suffer.
….
Locating it more by feel than sight, his hand had landed on the Sig. Fingers closed on the wet grip as he gathered every ounce of remaining strength to lurch to his feet.
Though now it's nearly invisible through the blasting water, he'd earlier noted the maintenance shack at the far edge of the roof. Staggering toward it he stumbled halfway there and almost went down again. He knows his feeble burst of energy won't last long but if he can get to cover he can make a stand.
…..
She continued to observe as, despite her belief that he's at death's door, the sailor somehow managed to regain his feet. Unfortunately, he'd also managed to pick up his gun again.
Shit!
She does admire his determination. She has no idea how he's managed to persevere. The man who continues to stagger onward despite sustaining a wound that will inevitably prove to be fatal is/was a more than worthy adversary.
At the restaurant she'd told that Rio de Muertes sleazeball she'd consider doing the job but she hadn't yet given the cartel her answer. They'd offered her a lot of money but, for reasons she was at a loss to explain even to herself, she was reluctant to take the assignment.
They wanted to kill the leader of the State of Hawaii's premier law enforcement agency as a warning to back-off their investigation. She'd told the moron that it didn't work the same way in the US. as it did in other places. Commander McGarrett's assassination may not accomplish anything other than to stir a hornet's nest. Rather than scaring them off, it would make them even more zealous in their pursuit of anyone involved in halting the bridge project.
But, of course, the toton wouldn't listen. She'd recognized his smug disdain, (it wasn't her first rodeo). In his mind he'd already dismissed her as a useful but inconsequential female; her skills limited to killing; not analyzing the politics of a situation. Without bothering to demonstrate her annoyance she'd thanked him for the meal and walked away thinking, Oh, well. At least I scare the crap out of them.
Alika howls in triumph as her wind-speed increases and debris hurtles across the nearly barren expanse of rooftop. It's become ever more perilous to be out in the open. Whatever hadn't been blown away during the hurricane's first assault is in serious danger of losing its hold on the earth during her second.
"Perhaps it's time to put him out of his misery." she sighs to herself. She would do him that kindness. When maman had gotten so sick, she'd done the same for her. She didn't stab or shoot her of course. The woman was so weak that all it took was to briefly hold a pillow over her face. It was the one last thing; the only thing; she could do for the sole human being who, despite her failings as a mother, had ever given a damn about her.
He's not that far away but she can barely make him out through the squalls dancing across the rooftop. It looks as though he's managed to make it all the way to a small maintenance structure of some sort.
She'd decided to remain philosophical about the situation. Though she was hesitant to do the job and it hadn't been deliberately planned, McGarrett's death would result in a bigger payday.
Taking a deep breath, she pulls the hood of her already soaked jacket tightly around her face and steps out into the storm.
Funny how things work out sometimes.
….
With Kono driving like a bat out of hell through the city's flooding streets, they'd finally reached the intersection of King and Bishop; the location Steve had yelled into the phone.
There are three buildings on this corner, the fourth being taken up by a sort of mini-park; trees and foliage whipping about in the wind; some of them flattened. Steve's pick-up, blue emergency lights blinking, sits in front of the concrete and glass structure diagonally across from the Bank of Hawaii. As it comes to a halt behind the Silverado, the SUV's occupants pour out to dash to the shelter of the building's recessed entryway.
Danny, ventures into the open to stand on the walkway. Hand shielding his eyes from the downpour, he stares up at the office tower eerily lit in silhouette when lightning splits the sky above it. Rushing back to the relative shelter of the doorway he exclaims, "If he's up there, he may be in trouble in more ways than one. This storm is causing all hell to break loose. I hope he's not out in the open on that rooftop."
Yelled Chin into the din of the storm. "We don't even know if it's the one he's on but it's got a clear view of the bank's front door so it's the most likely. I know that Capwell's CEO is supposed to be here today. A few minutes before we left HQ, I'd called to talk to him but he wasn't at his office. His admin said he had an appointment to meet with one of the bank's officers at two o'clock."
Danny wiped water from his eyes to glance at his watch. "It's two-thirty. Maybe the meeting's been canceled because of the storm. That would've been the smart thing to do." In the detective's opinion, anyone who'd voluntarily go out in this weather is monumentally stupid.
But, even as they stood looking like drowned rats, a large town car pulled up to the curb in front of the bank. Its driver quickly got out to open the passenger door and hold an umbrella over the VIP as he or she exits. The device is no match for the wind and, caught by a strong gust, quickly turns inside out. The driver struggled with it but the storm won. He finally gave up; releasing his grip to let Alika take the ruined umbrella to wherever she would.
Two more men, bareheaded and beefy, had come to stand on either side of the emerging passenger. Obviously bodyguards; their eyes narrowed against the wind to rove across their surroundings. One of them leans into the vehicle and says something to its occupant. Shortly, his bulk enveloped in a trench coat and pompadour whipping about in disarray – a section of it lifting off as a clump to flap in the wind - their charge emerges from the town car. Trumble J. Donaldson had arrived.
In a display of purchased devotion, one of the guards whips off his raincoat to hold over his employer in an attempt to shield him from the deluge. It didn't really help. Though the storm's force is partially blunted by the structures of the concrete canyon surrounding them, a gust nearly tore it from his hands.
On the other side of the street Danny yelled to Kono, "Get over there and get that dickhead out of sight! Whatever Steve's onto has to involve him! Like Chin said, this building has a clear view of the bank!"
Though it's doubtful that anyone would attempt a shot through the chaos of the storm, the Hawaiian woman splashed across the flooding street. Donaldson's guards pull their guns at the sight of someone rushing toward them but Kono has her badge out and is identifying herself as Five-0 before anyone does something rash.
Danny waves Chin toward the multi-story structure on the other corner as he himself charges into the building they'd parked in front of. Rushing across the lobby to the elevator bank he punches the button for the top floor.
…...
He'd finally reached shelter. Thankfully the door hadn't been locked but, when he pulled it open, the wind caught it and slammed it into the side of the metal shack. He fell into the opening and collapsed onto the floor as the wind howled around the small building. He could hear debris bouncing off its sides.
Coughing uncontrollably, bright red splats land on the shed's plywood flooring. Trembling with the effort he grabbed onto the shelving next to where he lay to pull himself upright. He has to keep it together long enough for his team to find him. It's only then that his hazy mind registers that his cell must still be in his pocket. Still holding onto the shelving for support, with the other had he shakily patted over the pockets of his soaked pants until he felt the oblong shape of his phone. Concentrating mightily so that he wouldn't drop it, he finally managed to pull it free from the wet cloth. Shaking so badly that it takes more than one try to punch speed dial, he presses the phone to his ear as shivers roll through him hard enough to upset his balance.
There seems to be an interminable delay, (possibly the result of the storm), before the device makes the sound that says he's accomplished an outgoing call. Objects, some of them sounding quite large, continue to clang against the sides of the metal-walled shack and he nearly misses Danny's frantic greeting.
"Steve! Where the hell are you!" he hears through the staticy link.
"Danny" croaks McGarrett, "I'm in the . . . " a cough interrupts him, "the main'nce shack on th' roof!" Another coughing spasm doubles him over as blood fills his mouth. The slippery qualities of water and blood have made the phone nearly impossible to hold onto and it slips from his weakening grip. Previously intermittent black spots gather to blot out his vision almost completely as he continues to hack out frothy splats of red onto the floor. He hopes Danny heard him.
"You are certainly a tough one, mon loup." comes a voice from behind him.
…..
Even the din of the storm can't be heard in the elevator. The ascending box is silent for all but an instrumental version of 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head'. Nerves already stretched tight, the inanity of the tune irritates the crap out of him and it's all Danny can do to control the urge to draw his gun and use it to execute the speaker mounted in the ceiling panels. He'd be totally fucked if the power to all of downtown goes kablooey like it has in other parts of the island. Besides exacerbating his barely under control claustrophobia, the loss of power would delay any assistance his partner may need. Being trapped in an elevator would be a nightmare.
Well, at least I won't have to listen to that friggin' music! he thinks in an attempt at self-consolation.
The sound of his phone ringing in the enclosed compartment seems extraordinarily loud and it startles him. It's a wonder there's even a signal in here but the building probably has a cell tower on its roof – at least for now. Judging by news reports, winds are wreaking mayhem on the island and Alika may carry it off any moment now.
Slipping the device from his pocket he sees the caller ID – a photo of his peripatetic partner. Nearly dizzy with relief, he exclaims, "Steve! You schmuck! Where the hell are you!?"
Between alarmingly wet sounding coughs accompanied by someone banging on an aluminum garage door with a shovel, he hears the words, 'shack' and 'roof'.
"Steve! What's going on! Steve!" he yells into the phone before it goes dead. He tries not to panic. Maybe the storm interrupted cell service. Concentrating on his breathing, he tries to stay to calm as he stares up at the indicator above the door. Finally, the chime tells him he's reached the 28th floor and the doors are about to slide open. There should be quick access to the roof from this top floor.
Rushing from the elevator he mutters, "You better be okay when I get there, dammit!", as he draws his H&K from its holster and thumbs off the safety.
Thunder rolls in the distance.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
Sorry to end on such a cliffie and I know I've said this before but I'm planning on one more chapter. As usual, a story got away from me and it's far longer than intended.
Note: To those whose watch-lists I'm now on because I've Googled subjects like: 'how to kill with a knife', 'best sniper rifles', 'high-rise buildings in Honolulu', etc.; I'm not planning any mayhem. All are safe from one too lazy to get off her butt to cause trouble.
Reviews would be much, much, much appreciated.