CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Frazer crouched behind the parked Cadillac, his ears straining. He couldn't see the man who had the gun and dared not poke his head up over the car. He hoped the corollary was true and that he himself couldn't be seen. He looked back to where he had left Dief, when he began chasing his hat. The wolf was on alert, ears pricked up, clearly aware that there was something amiss, though he couldn't have heard the chambering of the weapon.

Fraser, using hand signals, told him to stay quiet and conceal himself in what little cover the scrub around the edges of the parking lot provided. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a man with a loaded gun in his hand. A little voice in his head was warning him not to jump to conclusions. This was America where gun ownership was considered an inviolate constitutional right. Perhaps, the man was merely here to practice his aim in the safety of an unpopulated setting. If that was the case, there was little difference between that and what he himself had done Thursday last at the target range.

Fraser took a breath when he heard footsteps moving away from his position. Then, a rough voice said:

"Joey, what the hell you doin in there?"

"Whaddya think?!" came the exasperated reply. The voice was muffled. Obviously, "Joey" was the occupant of the portable toilet. There was a groan. "I think it was that burrito I had at lunch."

"Well, hurry it up! It's your turn. The guy with the dog left. The kid's alone. Don't know how long he's just gonna sit there."

Fraser's heart sank. The admittedly remote hope that there was a perfectly ordinary and nonviolent reason for the gun evaporated. He was dealing with two gunmen with murderous intentions toward young David Everett.

"Hurry it up, he says?!" said the voice from within, the sarcasm coming through loud and clear. "Ya think I'd be sittin' here freezin' my balls off if I could help it?"

"OK, OK," the gunman said, contritely. "Sorry." He paused. "I'll do the kid."

"Thanks, man," came the reply. "I owe you one."

Fraser lifted his head, cautiously. The gunman had his back to him. The weapon, an automatic, possibly a Glock, was in his left hand; that arm hung down, close to his side. He walked unhurriedly across the beach on the diagonal to where David sat looking out at the water, oblivious to his danger. Fraser thought, quickly. He spotted Dief in the brush, and beckoned. Then, he crept out from behind the car and keeping low, moved carefully toward the portable toilet. He took up position at the back, opposite the door, which shielded him from the view of the man on the beach. He put his ear to the cold surface of the unit. He winced in sympathy as he heard a groan, then the unmistakable sounds of a man in the throes of lower gastrointestinal distress.

Dief nudged his leg. Fraser looked down. He mouthed his words, emitting no sound. "Circle around to David. Keep close to the water. I will create a diversion here. Get David away. Be quiet. Be careful. Go."

Dief went. Fraser watched as he circled around the beach, then trotted over to water's edge to the east of David's position. The wolf was careful to keep out of the line of sight of the gunman. Satisfied, Fraser contemplated his diversion. He examined the portable toilet's engineering. It was a solid piece of molded plastic. The unit was set on a concrete pad, but not anchored in any way that he could see. He braced his shoulder against the outer wall of the unit, judged Dief's position as close enough, and pushed.

Several things happened at once: there was a sharp gust of wind; Fraser, grunting with effort, tipped the port-o-let on its far edge; Joey, inside the unit, let out a shout of alarm; the gunman whirled, looking back at the leaning toilet; Dief raced to David; David turned his head, curious at the sound. For a moment, the tableau seemed frozen in time. Then, the portable toilet reached the tipping point and went over, landing door-side-down.

There was a scream from inside, then a huge sloshing sound, then Joey screamed even louder. Fraser, who had ducked and rolled behind the long length of the toilet as it fell, lay on the ground snugged right up against the plastic cubicle. He breathed shallowly through his mouth. Even though he had a high tolerance, the smell on the outside was appalling. He couldn't imagine what the inside was like. Based on Joey's hysterical yelling and banging, he didn't want to.

"Vinnie! Vinnie! Get me the f— outta here! Vinnie!" Joey coughed and gagged between screams.

Fraser peered around the edge of the port-o-let. The gunman - Vinnie, by name - had turned around and was gaping at the sight of the toilet containing his screaming partner, lying supine on the ground. From that vantage, he couldn't see Fraser lying parallel on the ground next to it.

David stood, staring at the overturned unit. Dief yipped at him and pulled at his sleeve, trying to get him to go. The boy, in his confusion, resisted.

Vinnie looked back at David and Dief and raised the gun. David froze in place. Dief was too far away from the gunman to make a move. By the same token, the gunman was not at optimal range to shoot the boy or the wolf. The man trapped in the toilet was making an unholy racket. Vinnie stood there, indecision written on his face and in his body language.

He shouted, "Joey, shut up!" Unlike his partner, Vinnie was trying to keep his wits about him. Of course, Fraser figured it was a lot easier to do so when you weren't trapped in a dark, cold, foul-smelling box, wallowing in human waste. The gunman hadn't seen Fraser yet; he was probably wondering if the blustery wind could have actually tipped the toilet over. In a moment, Fraser was sure he would formulate a course of action that involved shooting Dief first, then David, then freeing his trapped companion, before fleeing the scene. It was time to make his presence known.

"Run, David," he said, popping his head over the edge of the toilet. As he had hoped, Vinnie swung the gun back toward his voice. "Go with Dief! Now!" Fraser shouted, then ducked as Vinnie fired at him. The bullet went through the toilet taking a piece of plastic with it, but missed Fraser.

A scream erupted from the toilet. "Somebody's shootin at me! Vinnie! Vinnie!"

Vinnie held his fire. Fraser peeked around the toilet. Dave and Dief were running down the beach, putting distance between themselves and Vinnie. He gave chase, but his dress shoes gave little purchase on the shifting sand. Dave and Dief, running on the firmer packed sand at water's edge, were outpacing the middle-aged gunman. He fired at them, getting off two shots, but they kept running.

Fraser called to him, trying to draw fire away from Dief and the boy. "Vinnie! Drop your weapon and give yourself up!"

It worked. Vinnie spun and fired twice more at Fraser. He pressed himself into the ground. The bullets impacted the portable toilet but missed him.

"What the f— is happening?! Vinnie, get me outta here!" Joey screamed. "I can't breathe! Vinnie!"

Vinnie seemed to gather control of himself, and shouted, "Joey, shut up! We have a situation out here!"

"F— the situation! Get me outta here!"

Fraser peered around the top of the toilet. He spoke loudly and clearly. "He can't do that, Joey. Not as things stand." He paused. "Vinnie, throw the gun down. Together, we can get Joey out of the toilet. I'm afraid prolonged contact with the effluvium is hazardous to his health."

If possible, the panic in Joey's voice escalated. "There's fluviums in here?! Vinnie, get me out! Now!"

"Who are you?" Vinnie yelled, keeping the gun pointed at Fraser's position. "A cop? And, what? A K-9?" He paused. "But, if you're a cop, you're off-duty," he said, thinking out loud, gaining confidence as he went on. "Yeah, yeah, you got no car here, no radio, no backup. I bet you ain't got no gun!"

"Any gun," Fraser corrected, automatically.

"What?"

"Never mind," he said. Summoning a mental image of Ray, he laughed brashly and called, "Don't be ridiculous! What kind of off-duty cop doesn't carry a gun? This is Chicago, for crying out loud!" He paused, then said with more conviction. "It may interest you to know that I re-qualified my firearms proficiency at the shooting range only last week!"

Joey wasn't interested. "Just shoot him, Vin! You're flapping your gums with this guy while I'm in the shitter with wild fluviums swimmin around! Get me outta here!"

"Ah," Fraser explained, "but your friend can't just shoot me, Joey. He has to shoot through the toilet to get to me, and he might hit you. Now, even if he decided that was an acceptable risk, what's to stop me shooting him?

Vinnie cocked his head to one side. "If you had a gun, you'd have shot it by now, I'm thinking."

Fraser, still channeling Ray Vecchio, laughed scornfully. "Oh, yeah? Why don't you come on over here and see, Mr. Smartypants?"

Vinnie stood, chewing his lip, but his gun arm never wavered. Fraser knew if he broke cover, Vinnie was unlikely to miss. Still, he needed to give Dief and David as much time to escape as possible.

He called, "The longer this stalemate goes on, Vinnie, the more likely that someone will come on the scene. Perhaps, a park official. Or, even a police officer. The beach closes at sundown. It's getting close to that time. Someone must come and lock the gates."

Vinnie shouted, "Joey! Shoot the cop right through the wall!"

There was a pause, then the sound of a gunshot and a piece of plastic exploded from the port-o-let inches from Fraser's head. Covering his head with his arms, he scuttled backward as Joey fired another round near the first. And a third.

"Gotcha!" Vinnie gloated. He had moved while Joey was shooting. He was standing not ten feet away near the roof of the port-o-let, his gun trained on Fraser, who was crouching at the base of the toilet. Another shot rang out from inside the toilet, near the roof. Vinnie flinched, then shouted, "Jee-zus, Joey! Stop shootin! It's me!"

"Get me outta here!"

Vinnie spoke to Fraser. "Stand up!"

"I can't," Joey wailed.

"Shut up, Joey! I'm not talkin to you!' Then, to Fraser, "Stand up! Hands where I can see 'em."

Fraser did as instructed. If he was going to be shot, he preferred to do it on his feet, not crouching beside a reeking, leaking johnny-on-the-spot. That last shot had peppered him with bits of plastic. He hoped the wetness he felt on his cheek was blood from a cut.

Vinnie gestured with his weapon. "Where's your gun?"

"In my apartment," he admitted.

"I knew it!" he said, triumphantly. Then, he jerked his head at the toilet. "Get him outta there!"

"I can't do that." he said, calmly.

"Do it or I shoot you!"

Fraser looked him in the eye. "You're going to shoot me anyway."

"Shoot him, Vin!" Joey urged.

Vinnie stared at Fraser, judging his resolve. "OK, have it your way. This one's for you, Joey." He took aim. Fraser braced himself, preparing to launch in what he knew would be a futile effort to grab the gun. At least, he'd go down fighting.

Suddenly, Vinnie jerked and grabbed his face. He stumbled back, but he still held the gun out. Blood dripped from between the fingers of his right hand where he clutched his eye. Fraser started for him, but stopped when Vinnie recovered enough to point the gun at his face. He was bleeding profusely from a gash over his right eye. He pulled the trigger.

Fraser's head jerked as he felt the bullet whiz past his ear. Vinnie's depth perception was off. Vinnie, realizing his mistake, rubbed the blood out of his eye. With both eyes open, he took aim again. A second stone hit him in the shoulder, jerking him back. He screamed, "Joey, shoot out the bottom of that thing!" Another shot rang out from the port-o-let, striking the earth near Fraser's feet. Fraser didn't hesitate. He turned and ran toward the scrub where Dief and Dave crouched. Dave held a stone in his hand, and launched another round at Vinnie. Judging from the yelp behind him, Fraser concluded the stone had struck the target.

"Run! Run!" Fraser shouted, as he raced toward them. They turned and ran. He heard Joey wailing for Vinnie to get him out. He risked a look over his shoulder. Vinnie had started after the fleeing Fraser, then stopped. He turned back to the port-o-let. He holstered the gun, placed both hands on the side of the toilet, and began pushing.

Fraser raced to catch up with Dief and Dave, who were heading across the scrubby field for the access road, where it looped back around before eventually exiting the park. They only had a few minutes before Joey was extricated from the port-o-let, then there'd be two gunmen racing after them. And not on foot. Fraser wished in vain that he had disabled the car when he'd had the chance. He had thought about it, then decided against it. In a shooting situation, the Cadillac could have made the difference between life and death, if any of them had been shot in such an isolated venue. Wrong call.

"David, stop!" he yelled, but Dave kept going. Dief, of course, didn't hear him. Fraser put on a burst of speed and tackled the boy.

"It's Fraser," he said into his ear as the boy struggled beneath him. He stilled and Fraser let him go. He crouched low, keeping Dave down, and explained, "We have to stay off the road."

"But, it's faster," he protested. The scrub was hard-going, and tore and twisted at them as they moved through it. Dave's face was bloody from the thorns and brambles. His clothes were torn. Dief's fur was matted with prickers and there was a long scratch on his muzzle.

"They have a car. And guns. We can't outrun those on the road," Fraser pointed out. They hunkered there, catching their breaths. He met Dave's gaze. "Good arm. Thanks."

"Who are those guys?" Dave asked. "Why are they after you?"

"I should be asking you that."

His surprise was total. "Huh?"

Just then, Fraser heard the whine of a car's engine. He pulled Dave flat. Dief hunkered low. Fraser risked a quick peek over the cover of the weeds. The car moved slowly, the occupants looking out both sides for signs of their quarry. He grabbed Dief's muzzle and enunciated clearly, in low tones, "Do not move. No noise."

The car inched forward. Vinnie was at the wheel. His face was bloody, but it seemed it was minor damage. His expression was one of grim determination. Despite the cold, all the windows were down. Fraser could make out Joey in the passenger seat, a gun in his hand, half-standing out of the passenger window. Despite the circumstances, he felt a ripple of amusement. The air must be pretty ripe inside the vehicle.

He looked up. Sunset would be soon. They could outwait Vinnie and Joey. There was too much ground for them to cover to search every inch, by car or foot. The gunmen needed to flush out their quarry. If they stayed under cover, they had a chance. Darkness would be to their advantage.

Just then, a gull squawked loudly directly above their heads. Fraser looked up, sharply. It hovered there in that impossible way that gulls do. He saw the big black spot in the middle of its back. It kept cawing. He looked at Dief in exasperation. The wolf managed to look sheepish.

"There they are!" Vinnie shouted, pointing out the window. The car accelerated toward them.

Fraser spoke quickly, "I'll draw their fire. Dief, you and Dave run –!" He stood and raced away from their position.

The car was barreling down the access road. Vinnie jerked the wheel and turned into the scrub, aiming for Fraser. Just as he did, a siren sounded in the distance. Vinnie heard it, too and pulled the car back onto the road. Fraser heard a howl of protest from Joey, but Vinnie accelerated. Joey popped up out of the passenger window. He was a sight. Even as the car raced away, he uselessly emptied his gun at Fraser. The car disappeared, leaving a stream of profanity-laced threats and exhaust in its wake.

Fraser sighed in relief. Dave joined him. Dief chased the gull, almost getting it with a nearly vertical leap, as it cawed raucously at him. Fraser flagged down the patrol car that sped down the access road a minute later.

"You, Fraser?" one uniformed officer asked him.

"Yes," he said, surprised to be called by name.

The cop noticed. "Vecchio sent us. Anybody hurt?"

Fraser smiled. "No, we're fine. Thanks to you." He had just finished giving them a description of the car and occupants for the BOLO when a 1971 green Buick Riviera squealed in behind the patrol car, siren and lights flashing.

Ray approached quickly. "You OK, Benny?"

"Yes, Ray. Thanks." He guided him over to where Dief and David stood on the side of the access road. Ray wrinkled his nose as Fraser came close.

"Ray," he said, "this is David Everett. Dave, Detective Vecchio."

They nodded warily at each other. Dief yipped a greeting.

"What happened here?" Ray asked, taking in the tattered and torn appearance of all three. He sniffed again. Yeah, that smell was definitely wafting off Fraser. He took a step upwind.

"It's a long story," Fraser said, then added with a twinkle, "dude."