Motion to Kill

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Mason took his first good look at Julio, amazed that he hadn’t killed himself when he tried to run over him. With his thick neck, heavy muscled arms, and concrete body, Julio could have played nose tackle on the all-steroid team.

He bound Mason’s and Sandra’s hands behind their backs and wrapped another length of rope around their waists, leaving them sitting on the floor, tied back-to-back.

“Check the rest of the warehouse. Make sure it’s buttoned up tight,” Camaya told him, leaving with the rest of his crew as the rain swelled to a pounding downpour.

“Help me tip us over on my right side,” Sandra whispered as soon as Julio was out of sight.

Mason didn’t know what she had in mind, but he was open to suggestions. They rocked side to side until their momentum carried them over. Mason still wasn’t sure if this was progress.

“Put your hand inside my jeans,” Sandra said.

“Great idea, but I hate getting aroused when I’m all tied up.”

“Do what I tell you, and we might get out of this!”

It wasn’t easy, but he was able to slip three fingers inside her jeans. No underwear. No surprise.

“Lower!”

Her demand reminded him of an old joke he was about to repeat when he felt a slender object wrapped in tin foil pressed against her rump.

“Pull it out!”

It was enough to make him forget that he was about to be killed.

“It’s coming, it’s coming!”

Sandra dug her nails into his back, convincing him to shut up.

“It’s a number-ten surgical knife blade.”

Mason didn’t need any more instructions. He peeled the foil, felt the razor-sharp edge, and sliced into the first rope he could reach. It was an awkward angle to wield a blade. Sandra flinched when he caught her skin, but she didn’t complain when he cut through the rope on his next pass, pulled his arms around in front, and cut the rope around their waists.

They scrambled to their feet and headed for the door. Exploding thunder muffled the sound of Julio’s return. He tackled Mason for the second time that night just as Sandra opened the door and vanished into the storm.

They rolled across the floor and crashed into a workbench, showering them with tools. Julio straddled Mason, hands clamped around his throat, lighting a fire in his lungs and blurring his vision. Mason grabbed a pipe wrench from the tools that had fallen on the floor, aimed for Julio’s temple, and opened a gusher that rained down on him. It took two swings, but Julio’s fingers relaxed, and he fell off, stunned but still conscious.

Gasping, Mason crawled to his feet. Julio was kneeling between him and the door, blocking his escape. He took another swing with the wrench as Julio pulled a gun from his waistband. He adjusted his aim for Julio’s hand, knocking the gun to the floor. When Julio dove for the gun, Mason threw the wrench at his head, missed, and ran into the darkened aisles, searching for another way out.

“Gotcha!” Julio shouted when he turned the lights on and opened fire.

“Not fair, asshole!”

Mason ran down a junk-filled aisle in the middle of the warehouse, zigzagging as bullets ricocheted around him, until a bone-rattling blast of thunder shook the walls and a lightning strike lit the windows and knocked out the power. He tripped in the dark over a pallet of five-gallon cans, banging his head on the way down. Rolling to his knees, he felt something warm and sticky on his forehead, guessed it was blood, the only question whether it was his or Julio’s or both.

He knew he couldn’t hide from Julio forever in the rows of junk and that the power could come back on in an instant. He had to find a way out, which meant getting to the exterior wall and feeling his way toward an exit. The lightning’s unpredictable strobe light guided him.

The building was square shaped. Mason groped along the wall, hunched over to shrink Julio’s target. If he didn’t find a way out, eventually he’d get back to where he started. Julio would figure that out too and would be there, waiting for him.

He made it to a back corner and felt the wall jut out as his hand bumped into a doorknob. He drew a deep breath, quietly opening and closing the door. Stale, sour urine. He was hiding in the john, a wooden partition separating the sink and stool.

The power returned, the flash of the naked bulb dangling from the ceiling blinding him for an instant. He turned the light off and stood astride the stool with his back pressed against the wall, his heart pounding against his ribs.

He had trapped himself. Julio would check the exits to make certain they were still locked. He’d walk the aisles and not find him. The bathroom would be next. Julio’s footsteps slapped against the concrete floor and stopped outside the door, making him a prophet.

“Come on out, man. I won’t hurt you.”

Mason was surprised that Julio’s voice was soft, almost feminine, but he wasn’t tempted.

“Have it your way, man.”

Five shots smashed through the door, splinters flying, Julio kicking the door off its hinges. Mason lifted the porcelain tank lid off the back of the stool, lowered it in a two-handed grip, counted off the two steps from the door to the partition, and swung for the fences, catching the center of Julio’s face, driving his nose into his brain.

Julio crumpled as Mason’s swing carried them forward into a heap, Mason on top, Julio not moving. Mason pushed himself to his feet and turned on the light. Julio’s eyes were wide open and fixed. His nose had vanished into his face, blood trickling from his ears and the corners of his mouth.

Mason heard more footsteps running in his direction. Julio’s gun had skidded beneath the sink. Mason reached for it, hoping there were a couple of rounds left, giving up when he heard a familiar voice.

“Freeze, shitbag!”

Blues stepped into the bathroom, gun drawn.

Mason looked up at him and smiled. “Sorry. I forgot to tell you. I’ll be late for dinner.”