WYWH, Chapter 14: The Good Guys Win
At exactly ten minutes before midnight, according to the digital clock in the dash, Alan did as Don instructed. He was reluctant to leave the back seat, where Charlie was stretched out under the coats and one of the two blankets Don had found in the trunk, but he had learned long ago to trust his oldest son. So he made sure Charlie was completely covered, including his face. A tiny bit of his halo of hair peeked out, and Alan made a note to himself to use this against Charlie the next time they discussed haircuts.
As he exited the rear of the vehicle and opened the passenger door, Alan hoped now that Charlie would remain unconscious a little longer. He didn't want to think about what would happen if his claustrophic son woke up with his face covered.
Once in the front, Alan killed the engine, pocketed the keys and climbed over the gear shift. He squeezed himself onto the floor of the passenger side. It was a tight fit, and he had to move the seat all the way back, first. As he awkwardly covered himself with the other blanket, Alan was apprehensive. Although he had never exhibited any tendency toward claustrophobia himself before, he started to wonder if there was a genetic latent gene. He wasn't sure how long he could stand this.
He had actually started to hyperventilate a little when the crunch of gravel underfoot made him stop breathing entirely. He held his breath and felt the car shift a little under someone's weight. A voice he did not recognize filtered inside. "Man, what a mess. I think there's some guy in the back seat. Must be living out of his car, parking in out-of-the-way places to avoid the cops. Probably a drunk."
"Or dead," another voice answered, and in spite of himself Alan shivered. "Even a drunk should've heard us by now." The voice became anxious. "Come on, let's get inside. Penfield is gonna kill us as it is."
The car shifted again as the weight was lifted, and Alan heard more gravel crunching as the men walked away from the car. "I ain't telling him about Pete. You brought him in on this, you have…" The voices faded. Alan began to breathe again, and was suddenly very happy under his blanket.
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Marshall had approached the building from the other end, and was waiting for them at the back entrance. He had seen them at the car and called softly. "Who is that?"
"Nobody," answered the one who had to tell him about Pete. Why go into details? He was in enough trouble already. Just before the two men reached Marshall, the flutter of paper caught their attention. The man who had not used enough care when tying Oswald – or maybe enough bullets – leaned down and picked up a scrap.
Marshall reached in his pocket and pulled out a mini maglite. He turned on the beam as the men pulled alongside him. "Read it," he commanded.
The big one shrugged and looked down. " 'THIS IS A CHAIN LETTER'," he quoted. "'TO KEEP THE CHAIN GOING, YOU MUST…'" He made a noise of disgust, balled up the paper and threw it halfway across the lot.
Marshall shined the flashlight's beam in his face, causing the man to raise a hand to his eyes. "Why did you do that?" Penfield seemed genuinely upset. "Breaking a chain is bad luck! I did that once in college, and didn't get a date for six weeks!"
"You're kidding," deadpanned the hired help.
His partner, unfortunately, had never been quite as quick to catch on. He snorted. "What makes you think that was because of the chain letter?", he started, then grunted when he felt an elbow in his ribs.
Marshall glared at him furiously before he used the dim light to guide a key into the door. "Shut-up, dimwit! Somebody hit the lights . We've got a couple of Eppes on Ice to deal with." He paused in the open door as if just thinking of something, and looked back at the two men. "Where's the other one?"
The men looked at each other. The big one shrugged again, and 'Dimwit' spoke up. "Well, it's like this, see. Pete, he said he wasn't getting mixed up in no murder. Especially two murders, and one of them a cop at that. He hopped a flight to Mexico." He looked at Marshall hopefully. "Tony an' me will split his pay!"
Before Marshall could react, Tony hit the switch, and the warehouse flooded with light. Penfield led the way to the freezer. "Quite a pair you have on you," he mumbled, and 'Dimwit' looked down at his shoes. They were just some old loafers. Scuffed, even. He didn't see what was so impressive. He hadn't figured out Marshall's comment, yet – and had tripped twice – by the time the three reached the freezer.
Marshall looked at his largest employee. He had the only gun, and apparently the only brain, between the two. Besides, he had an impressive scar running down his chin. Marshall liked to think it was from a knife fight. He stepped slightly to the right of the keypad. "Would you like to do the honors?"
While his partner checked out his shoes again, the man looked at Penfield incredulously. "Are you sure you're a genius?", he asked, genuinely wondering. "I've got the gun. Maybe I should be in a position to use it."
Marshall reddened and tried to hide his embarrassment. "You should have used it a long time ago," he huffed, and he savagely hit the combination.
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Inside the unit, Don and Colby heard the activity outside. They had been sitting close to the door, so tightly meshed together that Don would have been embarrassed if he hadn't been so cold. Desperate times called for desperate measures, however. Plus, Granger knew if he ever told a soul about this, he would be cataloging crime scenes every weekend for the foreseeable future. Now, Colby helped Don stand stiffly, and painfully make his way into position. He would be covered by the door as it swung open. Colby quickly drew his weapon and claimed his spot on the wall directly opposite, facing the door.
Marshall pushed the door open and stepped aside, waiting for the gunman to enter first. Don and Charlie should be stalactites by now, but one should never underestimate one's opponents. His eyes widened at the sudden "Holy Shit!", and the sound of a round being chambered. He tried to peer over the big man's shoulder to see what Don and Charlie had managed to get themselves into.
He nearly choked on his own saliva when Federal Agent Colby S. Granger smiled at him. "Think about firing that weapon and I will send you to hell," he promised.
Scarface found himself in a dilemma. He'd kidnapped, drugged and beaten a man, then compounded his crime by kidnapping and beating a cop. It didn't take him long to decide he was in deep shit anyway, and his finger began to squeeze.
Without so much as blinking, Colby buried a round in his shoulder, The gunman screamed and blew back into his partner, knocking them both over. His own weapon emptied an ineffectual round into the roof of the freezer, then flew out of his hand when he hit the floor.
Marshall, enraged, pushed past him. "How did you get in here?", he demanded.; "Where are they?"
At Colby's imperceptible signal, Don shoved the freezer door with more force than either one of them thought he could manage, breaking Marshall's nose and embedding his glasses in his forehead. Penfield howled, and thrust backwards, tripped over the feet of his wounded henchman. He joined the pile of tangled limbs on the floor.
Colby, gun still trained on them, inched forward, while Don hung onto the door, determined to remain standing. "FBI," Granger intoned drily. "It is my pleasure to arrest you. Allow me to recite your Miranda rights. And may I just mention, the next person who breathes finds out just how pissed I am."
Before he could start on their rights, Colby heard Oswald's voice, and saw the young man move into his peripheral vision. "Yeah. I'd pretty much recommend you take that seriously." Oswald shrugged for Colby's benefit, the retrieved gun of Penfield's employee shaking in his hand as he provided back-up. "Sorry. Didn't like it much in that box."
Colby wanted to laugh and at the same time yell at him to drop the gun – the last thing he wanted on his tombstone was "Colby Granger: Accidentally Shot by Geek Superhero." Somehow, he managed to remember that he hadn't given them their rights yet, and while Don managed to make his way over to Oswald, changing places with him, he spat them out. Don had traded Colby's cuffs for the gun, and Oswald obediently trotted up to the stack of idiots.
Finished with the rights, Colby grinned at him. "Go on, kid," he encouraged. "You're an honorary FBI member. Pick someone and cuff him!"
Oswald picked Marshall and twisted his hands behind his back, using the handcuffs with such precision that both Don and Colby wondered how many times he'd been on the wrong end of them himself. "What about the others?", he asked, looking up at Colby.
The gunman was still groaning and moaning as if his shoulder wound was fatal, and his partner just lay dumbly at the bottom of the pile, wishing he had gone with Pete. Once Marshall was secured, Colby advanced a little further and kept the trio under cover. "Assist the gentlemen into the freezer, Mr. Kittner."
Oswald smiled and stood, yanking Marshall up by his skinny arm. He pushed him hard and Penfield fell onto the floor of the freezer. Unable to stop himself with his hands, his broken nose hit the cement and he howled again, curling into a ball. Colby stepped out of the freezer and handed Oswald his gun – the safety was on, but nobody had to know that. Then he used his bulk to roll the wounded gunman inside. The third man, finally relieved of their bodies, didn't even bother to get to his feet. He just begged for them not to shoot, and crawled as fast as he could into the freezer.
Colby stepped up again and grabbed the door. Just before he pulled it shut, he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the howling and moaning. "Relax, Penfield. I may give the local PD the combination."
(Don't worry, not over yet...)