Walk the Wire

Chapter 24

The man who had fired the shot at Decker was now sprinting from his concealed position. He had followed Decker to the alley after shadowing him most of the evening. When Decker and his friend had been attacked by the group of thugs the man thought his work might be done by them.

He wasn’t thrilled with having missed, but for some reason Decker had gone down right as he had fired.

As though someone had... Shit. The mission’s been compromised.

He picked up his pace as the rain soaked him. He did this for a living, and his paranoia antennae were kicking into high gear. His weapon was a custom-built .44-caliber pistol with a special long barrel to give it more range. He had the big man right in the crosshairs, pulled the trigger, and gotten zip for all his troubles.

He was irritated. Not only would he not get paid, he might get killed for missing his target. It was just that sort of high-level gig. He had no idea who had hired him, but he’d been doing this long enough to know the presence of heavy hitters.

Yes, one crappy night this is turning out to be.

He reached the rental car. The long-barreled pistol went under the front seat. He climbed into the driver’s side and hit the button to start the engine.

Only it wasn’t there. The button was gone. He was just looking at the mechanical innards behind it. What the hell was—

He stopped wondering when the passenger’s-side door opened and the man who had knocked Decker down and saved his life stood there, his pistol trained on him.

His gaze flicked up and down over this new man on the scene. The eyes were cold, colder than his had ever been, and somehow he didn’t think this was the man’s top range of ice. He was about six feet, lean, wiry, probably strong as an ox without all the muscle mass. Nimble, alert, quick in his ways, a pro. That could be read in the calm features as the rain poured down on him.

“Should I even bother to ask who you are?” he said.

The other man shook his head one time and one time only.

“You fouled my shot back there.”

One curt nod was the response to this statement.

“Full disclosure. I’ve got a lot of juice behind me. You can walk away from this or go down under the wheels. I’m not the only one out there. It’s a good deal. Take it.”

Another brief shake of the head.

“Then what do you want?”

It was then that the man spotted the suppressor on the end of the gun barrel pointing at him.

“You’re making a huge mistake,” he said. “This is a lot bigger than both of us.”

“First thing you’ve said that makes sense,” said the other man.

He pulled the trigger once and drilled a hole in the other man’s forehead. Dum-dum round, it stayed inside. The man slumped forward over the steering wheel.

The other man had a comm bud in his ear and spoke into a mic tagged to his jacket.

He gave the location and situation. He received an affirmative that “cleanup” would commence right away. He put the starter button back from where he had earlier taken it. Then he closed the door without looking at the man he had just shot dead.

He slipped his pistol into a holster that rode on the back of his waistband and sprinted back to the spot where he had left Decker.

Decker was still there lying on his belly in the middle of the alley. With the falling rain he was as soaked as though he had jumped, fully clothed, into a pool.

When Decker saw the man heading down the alley, he called out, “Hey, can I get up?”

“Affirmative.” The man hustled over and helped him up. Decker could feel the strength in the other man’s grip.

“Someone just tried to kill me,” said Decker.

The man pointed to the hole punched in the brick. “Forty-four-caliber steel jacketed with an incendiary, mini-explosive kicker. Someone really wanted to make sure that you would be joining the ranks of the dearly departed.”

“But you saved my ass. Why?”

“It’s my job.”

“Why?”

“That’s it.”

“What happened to the other guy?”

“He was my job, too.”

“And what happened to him?”

“That’s it.”

Decker looked flustered by this odd response. “What’s going on?”

“We’re counting on you to get us there, Mr. Decker.”

“Who’s us?”

“I won’t insult your intelligence.”

“And if I can’t get us there?”

“Not an option. That’s your job.”

“I’m here to investigate a murder. I don’t know about the rest of this. I don’t know about whatever element you’re attached to.”

“We’re on the same team, just a different division.”

Decker looked him up and down. “When did you get into town?”

“Just in time for you, it seems.”

“How long have you been following me?”

“Not long enough to really give you any answers. How did it go tonight other than the shitheads, and the shooter?”

“So you saw the shitheads, too?”

The man nodded. “I would have intervened, but you and your buddy seemed to have it covered, and revealing myself for the JV team was not an ideal use of my time. It would have spooked the guy who took the shot.”

“The shitheads had everything to do with my ‘buddy’ and not with me.”

“But not the shooter. He had everything to do with you.”

“Someone doesn’t want the truth to come out?”

“There’s always somebody who doesn’t want the truth to come out. So what did you learn tonight?”

“I learned about fracking,” answered Decker.

The man studied him. “You consider that a good use of your time?”

“If you’ve got a reason why’s it’s not, I’m listening.”

“Not enough for you not to cover that angle.”

“You obviously know something is going on in this place.”

“I just don’t know the something. I’m not a detective. My talents lie elsewhere.”

“Did you get the shooter?”

“He won’t be bothering you again.”

“We can question him,” suggested Decker.

“He won’t be bothering you again.”

“Are you telling me he’s dead? He could have led us somewhere.”

“He would have led us nowhere. Probably at least four layers between him and where we need to go. Waste of time, and we don’t have time to waste.”

“Did you just kill him?” said Decker.

“Does it matter to you?”

“I’m a cop. Shit like that does matter to me.”

“You let me worry about that. You do what you do. We’re counting on you.”

“If this is such a big deal, how come we don’t have more federal assets here?”

“Stealth, Mr. Decker.”

“Why do I think you didn’t fly commercial into North Dakota?”

“It’s a free country. You can think what you want. I won’t stop you.”

“How do I get in touch with you, then? And you with me?”

“We’ll figure a way.”

“Can you tell me your name, at least?”

The man hesitated, the first instance of indecision Decker had glimpsed in the fellow.

“It’s Robie. Will Robie.”