I looked up and Howard was sprinting as fast as he could toward the woods. While Mitchell was bench pressing and Harter was spotting, Howard had hurled a ten-pound dumbbell that hit Mitchell right in the nuts, causing him to drop the three-hundred-some-pound bar and plates violently on his chest. It was perfectly timed because Harter was struggling in vain to pull up the weight to keep Mitchell from suffocating. The bar tipped to one side while the plates flew off and then, like a kid’s teeter-totter, it slammed back in the other direction. There was screaming and clanging and the perfect distraction for Howard’s getaway.
It also ruined my project.
Howard, the man who was the patsy for every crime Gunner committed and a witness to every dirty deed, headed for the thick woods. The meeting with the Caretaker was abruptly closed while everyone ran after Howard into the woods. Howard had a two-hundred-yard head start and a straight forty-foot run to the dense brush while the others had to get around the rock garden and over the training area. By the time they got past the weight area there was already no sign of Howard.
Meanwhile, the Caretaker was pulling out in his Saab, probably figuring that nothing good was going to happen if he were to hang around. Gunner had stopped running and he yelled at Mitchell and Harter to go after Howard. Mitchell, however, couldn’t move yet and Harter was trying to help him. Gunner clearly didn’t want to leave the compound. The problem was, Howard grew up in these woods and it wasn’t going to be any easy trick finding him.
Gunner stepped into the shed next to the weight-training area and came out with two handguns, which he gave to Mitchell and Harter. Mitchell was moving again, albeit slowly, and he and Harter headed to the woods. I was reasonably confident that Howard could avoid them for a while.
Although I had never spent any time in those woods I was even more confident that I would be able to find Howard easily. But I was going to have to head back to the Moody Blue. Howard probably could stay out of trouble for thirty or forty minutes.
Probably.
39
Al greeted me at
the door and I let him know that we were in a hurry. He had a way of sensing when something was important and he quickly settled down. His tail stood straight out on the way to the car, and he sat straight up with his brow furrowed over his brown eyes as he stared straight out the windshield.
I drove like a madman and I was back to the compound in just under thirty minutes. That meant Howard was out there for a total of just over fifty minutes. I hoped it was enough. I drove past the dirt driveway, pulled up just north of the compound, and entered the field just after the weight training area where Howard left the compound and entered the woods. All the cars were gone now and the place was deserted, but I didn’t trust the feeling that I was alone.
I got Al to the center of the field and I identified one of Howard’s tracks. I pointed to it and gave Al the command.
As soon as I said “Go find,” Al was off sniffling and snuffing his way to the woods, knowing where he was going, even if I didn’t. When we hit the real heavy brush, Al paused to sniff and to point his nose skyward. Then he brought it back down and was back working the trail. Before long we were in brush so dense I couldn’t tell which direction we were headed. Al was on his trail but it was absolutely impossible to tell where we were going.
Al stopped and lifted his nose again. Then he stood still while his nostrils flared in and out. While we were standing still I heard a rustling from behind us and it dawned on me that I was in the woods with Al, unarmed, looking for Howard with at least two other armed men who weren’t supportive of my cause. In my excitement, I had forgotten that detail.
Al’s life was Howard’s scent, and he showed no fear. He kept on zigzagging through the brush and sometimes through the mucky marsh. In the moments he stood still, I could hear the rustling behind me but now it was closer. Al went back to work and we headed forward, picking up the pace. The sun was setting and pretty soon we’d be doing this in the dark of night.
Al was on to something and we were now in a full run, heading toward a patch of trees. He stopped to shit, which was usually a sign that he was very close. While he curled his haunches, I could hear the rustling behind us—now it was clear enough to hear actual strides running through the brush. I turned and heard something but saw nothing.
Al finished up and moved toward the patch of trees, gaining acceleration. The sun had set and it was actually hard to control him as he darted in and out of the trees with his nose to the ground. Those short little legs may make some people laugh, but out here they were perfect equipment. He was now humming and snorting, heading to the trees, when there was a flash of light. Actually, it was two sets of lights coming from forty-five degree angles, and Al sprinted to the vortex of the lights.
“Hold it right there, Duffy.”
It was Gunner and he was pointing a gun right at my head. The light was coming from Mitchell and Harter’s SUVs. They both had guns drawn and pointed at me.
Howard was tied to a tree.
Gunner stuck his pistol into his belt and went to Harter’s car. He rummaged for a second or two and then came out and walked over to me. Whatever he was holding shimmered in the cars’ light. I couldn’t make out what he was carrying until he got closer. In one hand was a knife with a blade that was easily over a foot long. The blade was serrated in a zigzag pattern on top. In his other hand was a thin, cylindrical, metal pole, almost like an arrow, though a little bit thicker with a very sharp point.
“I’m going to enjoy spilling your blood, Duffy,” Gunner said with no expression. “Do you know how long it takes to bleed to death when your fingers get cut off one by one?”
“Harter, take the dog and let him play with the pit bull while you watch the product,” Gunner said. “Mitchell, tie the loser up.”
I watched Al get pulled into the SUV and I was powerless to do anything. Gunner was showing me the sharpened tip of his steel weapon.
“Oh, how I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
40
“Too bad you’ll miss
the show your dog puts on with Seagal,” Mitchell said while he duct-taped me to the tree ten feet from Howard. Howard was gagged but I could see the terror in his eyes.
Gunner came right up to my face.
“I’m going to lop off your fingers, Duff, one by one. I’ve learned to do it carefully though, so that you’ll not pass out. I don’t want you to miss the experience. Bet you’re wishing you didn’t throw that cup of coffee at me now, huh?” He laughed and I could feel my stomach wanting to heave but I couldn’t.
Gunner examined my taped-up hands, making sure his knife would be able to have access to my fingers. He congratulated Harter on a nice preparation. My mouth went dry and I could feel my body trembling all over.
“First though, Duff, I’m going to get things going by letting some blood out. This wonderful little device pierces neatly through flesh and lets the blood spill out like a faucet. Then, as I cut off a finger, you’ll be springing leaks all over the place.” Gunner’s face lost expression and he handled the arrow, examining where he would insert it in my side.
“You’re a scumbag, Gunner. Fuck you,” I said and spit whatever saliva I could muster at him.
“You’ll pay for that,” he said, and he reached for the knife. He stuck the tip just under my chin, piercing a hole in my flesh. Being tied up kept me from flinching, which somehow made the pain more intense.
Gunner took a step back to size me up, looking at me like a specimen.
“Now, the fun begins,” he said and then stepped forward.
I felt my stomach start to turn and my chest heave like I was going to pass out. Gunner was workmanlike as he looked closely at my sides. He lifted up my T-shirt and I felt his hands prod the sides of me. He stood back up and looked me in the eye.
“You’re about to pay for your sins,” he said.
There was a whistling sound of movement past my right ear and then a dull
thwack
sound.
Gunner’s feet were together and he stood straight up inches from my face. He gasped and reached for his eye, which was gushing blood. He had something stuck deep into his eye socket, which was now covered in scarlet and torn flesh.
There came another whistling past my ear and another
thwack
. Gunner grabbed his throat, which had a shiny hunk of metal stuck right in its center. His face was a distorted mess with his left eye gone and in its place a shiny hunk of metal. Blood gushed from his eye socket, and in a silent scream he coughed more out of his mouth.
“WASABIIII!!!!!” echoed through the forest. “WASABIIII!!!!”
I felt something slash through the duct tape, freeing my hands, and there in front of me, barely visible in his Nu-Breath Karateka Deep of Night ninja suit was the best karate student a sensei ever had.
Gunner’s face was streaked in his own blood and he fell face down. I could hear him choke on the combination of his own blood and the mud.
“WASABIIII!!!!!”
My head was spinning and I couldn’t control my breathing, but I looked up in time to see Billy heading toward Mitchell, who was still holding the gun. While he was distracted by Gunner’s demise, Billy jumped into a flying spinning axe kick, but he misjudged Mitchell’s distance and fell on his back. Mitchell had raised his arm in defense, and though Billy’s kick landed him on his ass, the bell-bottoms of his ninja suit had caught Mitchell’s hand and he lost the gun.
Now, it was me and Mitchell, just as I had spent the last month hoping for.
“C’mon, motherfucker. You’re about to take a beating from one of life’s big losers,” I said.
Mitchell circled me with his hands in a karate pose. I had my guard up in a boxing stance and ready.
Mitchell skipped in to throw a front kick to my groin. I pivoted left and took it on the muscle of my thigh like I did every day when Al lunged at my nuts. I used the pivot for leverage and drilled a left hand straight down the pipe onto Mitchell’s nose. I heard the familiar crackle of cartilage and he instinctively reached up to hold it. As the blood poured out him, I drilled him with a body combination.
He came back with an elbow to my temple that wobbled me a bit, and he stepped in with a chop aimed at my neck. I recovered in time and stopped him with a jab to his broken nose that I could tell hurt him. I finished with a straight left that he was able to block, and he countered me with his own hook.
This time my recoil was perfectly in place and I blocked it with my left and immediately drilled him on the point of the jaw with that same left. His head snapped around and he was out before he hit the ground.
Smitty would’ve been proud.
41
I told Billy to
cut Howard loose and to tape Mitchell up to the tree, then we all got in the SUV and headed across the brush. Howard looked like he was in shock and he didn’t say a word while Billy was talking nonstop. I didn’t hear any of it because all I could think about was that pit bull’s jaws tearing poor Al to death.
Harter’s cell phone was fastened to the dashboard and I used it to call AJ’s. Kelley wasn’t going to be happy, but this went way beyond pissing him off. The SUV banged and bumped across the muddy field and it didn’t handle the terrain anything like it did on the TV commercials. It was a fifteen-minute ride and my heart was racing faster than the engine was.
I skidded the SUV to a stop in time to hear the fit of barking. I instructed Billy to drive toward town and look for the police. Harter had the lights on and the meditation garden was all lit up. From the distance, I could see that Al was running around and around with Seagal chasing him, growling and showing his teeth the whole way. I ran to the fence and took a running leap onto it and scaled it as fast as I could. I got toward the top and saw the layers upon layers of razor wire that would shred my hands and arms if I went through it.
I heard myself yell “Shit!” and Al stopped to look up at me while the pit charged him with its jaws wide open. At the last split second Al started to run again and for whatever reason, maybe his own sense of flight or fight, he started running all crazy zigzagging around the stone garden. The pit bull was athletic and mean but it didn’t have Al’s ability to change direction and Al had him baffled with his open-field maneuvers. Unfortunately, this just fueled the pit’s anger.
I knew there was no way Al could keep this pace up for long and I struggled to the razor wire, slicing my index finger pretty good in the process. Al was barking and his ears were flapping as he barely evaded the pit’s charges. I looked close at Al as the razors got caught in my jeans, and it dawned on me that Al didn’t look scared and he didn’t look angry. The crazy-ass hound looked like he was playing a game.
Al stopped suddenly and skidded on the stones with the pit bull dead straight ahead of him at a distance of less than ten feet. Al barked, almost baiting him, and waited for his charge. I screamed to Al to run and he waited to the last second, taking off with the pit literally right behind him. Al was heaving for air as he switched directions, and the pit bit the very end of his tail. He was closing ground on Al and snapping his jaws when Al ran around the Buddha.