Between Right and Wrong Page 10
Phil went to the door and listened. Nothing.
He needed to act quickly before someone came back up to the floor. He had to know where Pam was located. Phil pulled the sweatshirt off of Teresa’s head and brought his mouth to her ear and whispered to her. “I am going to ask you some questions and I need a quick answer. If you yell or cuss or say anything but the answer to my questions, you are going to find out what I did in the military.” Phil pulled out a knife hidden in his belt. It was a razor sharp knife made with an arched blade somewhat like a skinning knife. Phil pulled a tuft of her hair in front of her face where she could see it and cut it off. The knife was so sharp, the loose hair of the tuft fell to the floor as he slid the knife over it. He could see the fear show and then disappear from her eyes. He hoped she would talk without further persuasion. As he reached up to pull the sock from her mouth, he asked her where he could find Pam.
As the sock came out of her mouth, she stared at Phil with a hateful look. “I have no reason not to tell you.” She spit. “You are a dead man anyway. Just because you came this far, means nothing. You will never get out of the building.”
Phil was already tired of her. He reached back and grasp the chain of the handcuffs and picked up on them. Teresa let out a cry. “Remember what I told you Teresa. I have no reason to let you live either. Choose your words wisely.”
She stared that hateful stare again. He knew she wanted spew venom at him but somewhere inside her was enough fear to overcome her hate.
“The truth is I don’t know.” She smirked. “If anyone knows, it’s Paul. Go try your threats on him. You didn’t do so well last time. All I know is she isn’t here.”
Without a word, Phil opened his bag and brought out his zip ties and duct tape. He knew most cops could get out of handcuffs if given enough time, so he zip tied her arms and ankles, leaving the cuffs on her, duct taped over the zip ties and placed duct tape over her mouth. He turned to go, then thought better of it and went back over to Teresa. Pulling off another five inch piece of duct tape, he placed it over her eyes and eyebrows, knowing when it came off it would pull her lashes and brows off with it. Phil couldn’t help chuckling to himself as he pictured her with no brows.
He stopped and sent out a text.
Phil turned off the breakroom lights and let his eyes get use to the darkness. Slipping out the door he went back to the stairs, sure he would have to go to the first floor or basement to find the rest of the men in the building; grabbing his duffle bag as he went. He had never known them to be armed before tonight, so they must have expected to use force on him or kill him and Mickey when they showed up. He was about to step on the landing to the fourth floor when the exit door suddenly opened. The two armed men were as surprised as he was, but Phil reacted quicker, shoving the two into each other to get them off balance. He had no other choice as they were almost face to face when the door opened. As he shoved, the nearest man raised his arms with the rifle over his head to try to catch his balance. Dropping the duffle bag, Phil swung a hard punch to the man’s armpit and the shock to the nerves sent the man whimpering on the floor. As Phil stepped over him, he kicked him in the jaw, knocking him out. The second man was running down the stairs. Phil scooped up the first man’s rifle, his duffle, and jumped over the railing onto the second man. They crashed to the floor with Phil on top. He heard a terrible crack as the man’s neck snapped with the weight of the two forcing his body into the corner. Afraid the noise alerted someone, Phil dashed down to the first floor, hesitating to listen for movement. He still had his bag over his back and the rifle in his hands. Through the small window in the door, he could see another armed crew member running toward the staircase. Phil stepped back and let him swing through the doorway. As he cleared the door, Phil swung the butt of the rifle up and broke his jaw, knocking the man unconscious. Gun shots rang out as bullets penetrated the door and ricocheted on the concrete wall of the staircase. Phil sat back on the stairs and pulled the man on top of his body to protect him. The gunshots ceased as someone yelled at them to stop shooting.
The door was opened an inch and Phil could see at least 2 men pointing their rifles at the doorway. Paul was behind them speaking softly. Suddenly two of them trotted over to the freight elevator. Phil knew they meant to go up to the second floor and trap him. He checked the rifle clip. It was full, at least 20 rounds. These men may be dangerous but the fact they were standing out in the open without cover to protect them told Phil they were not trained. At least not well. He wasn’t going to wait to get caught in a crossfire.
Phil waiting until Paul was talking again; using the barrel of the rifle, he flipped open the door. A quick three shot succession brought down the closest man and the two by the elevator. He swung back to the left to engage Paul, and a shot rang out from behind some freight. Phil double tapped the area, putting two rounds through the boxes on the pallet where the shot came from. Immediately he swung to picture Paul in his sights. He was just in time to see him running through the doorway leading to the basement. Phil sprang across the open area past the dock doors, hoping he had taken out the perp behind the pallet. No shots rang out as he got to the door. Remembering Paul liked to hide in shadows, his mind brought him back to his training in clearing buildings. He pushed the door open and stood back. No shots. He peeked into the staircase quickly and then back out and safely behind the door frame. No shots. Quickly he spun from outside the doorway to inside. The staircase turned to a landing as you entered the area and Phil used the concrete stairwell wall for cover. Quickly peeking down the stairs, he noted the staircase was empty and he could see the door at the bottom leading into the basement area. Phil scurried down the stairs to the door. It was locked, but Phil remembered it had modern crash hardware on it and he knew with a strong kick, it would push the door and lock past the strike. He gathered his thought and tried to remember how the room lay out. He knew the freight elevator would be to the far right. He had shot the two trying to use it as the door opened and one of them died in the doorway, making the freight elevator useless. The space was open except for the columns. The mystery door was also to his right and there was a heavy metal table close to that door. He did not want to kill Paul. He didn’t want to kill any of them. They had given him no choice and his drive to find Pam kept him from thinking about ways to make them surrender. If anyone knew where Pam was, it would be Paul. He needed Paul alive.
Phil took a deep breath and kicked the door open. It swung hard and Phil stayed back out of sight. He kicked it open again but still didn’t move. No shots came, no sound of anything moving. For all he knew there was 10 people in that room. He checked his rifle. How many shots had he taken? Five, he had shot five times. Fifteen rounds left. He wished he had scooped up an extra magazine from one of the dead, but hindsight is 20/20.
Phil dropped his duffle so he could move quicker. He kicked the door again. As it swung back shut he jumped and rolled into the room running to get behind a building column. The room was lit, but it was dim. Peeking around both sides it appeared the room was empty. No sounds, no movement. He used the column for cover and scanned the room. The mystery door was open, lock hanging from the hasp. There was only one way out and it had to be that door. Or it was a trap. Phil had no choice. He had to find Pam and hoped she was still alive.
He darted to the next column: no movement and no sound. Scanning the room again, he was sure Paul had entered the mystery door. Phil positioned himself where he could move to the door while keeping his back along the wall. If anyone was lurking inside the door, waiting; they would have to come out to shoot at him. As he moved down the wall he passed a work table. There was a flashlight there and he picked it up, placing it in his off hand. He also picked up a wrench and stood behind the door- as it sat ninety degrees open. The flashlight worked and he kept it off but held it where he could scrape the switch down the fore stock of the rifle and turn it on. Taking the wrench in his right hand, he threw it through the doorway. It landed on the concrete floor
inside the next room and echoed a ringing sound. Phil jumped around the door, the rifle pointing into the darkness until the flashlight came on. Nothing, no one and nothing. The flashlight was only so bright but he could see there was no one inside the room.
There was a noise behind him and he turned in time to see Paul swing a pipe in a chopping motion at Phil’s head. Phil reacted using the rifle to block Paul. The pipe crashed down on the rifle destroying it but preventing the pipe from hitting Phil. Phil used the rifle and Paul’s momentum to carry him to the side. Dropping the rifle, Phil grabbed Paul by the wrist and twisted his arms back up and to the side. The move disarmed Paul and sent the pipe flying across the room. Paul tore away from Phil’s grasp and took a boxing stance. Phil stepped back, arms at his side.
“You will regret coming after me. I am going to take you apart.” Paul had an evil smile, a confident smile.
Phil did not say a word, but inside he was glad the fight would be hand to hand. The big man was three inches taller than Phil and looked to outweigh him by at least forty pounds. Paul stayed in a boxing stance and circled to Phil’s right. He looked to be playing with Phil. Waiting for Phil to punch, so he could counter. Phil feinted as if to punch. Paul overextended, striking with all his strength. Phil‘s footwork brought him outside the punch and it only caught air. Paul’s face showed anger. As Paul reset his feet Phil delivered a low kick to the outside of Paul’s lead knee. The powerful kick buckled Paul’s knee. He could feel the structure give way and knew it was a crippling blow. Paul almost fell. He yelled a ferocious yell and dove at Phil, arms outstretched and hands open to grab at Phil’s neck. Phil stepped back in a circular motion executing a cross grab of Paul’s nearest wrist, using the momentum to force him downward, then swinging his arm across in front of him and twisting his wrist backwards. Paul let out a yelp and he landed on his back; Phil standing back and ready for Paul to stand back up. Paul’s face was crimson red now. He obviously was not accustom to losing and his eyes darted around the room as is to look for something to use for a weapon. Nothing was in reach. He stood up slowly. This time Phil took an opposing boxing stance and it gave Paul confidence.
“You got lucky, you piss ant. You think…” Paul sprang at Phil, going low trying to tackle him. Phil was ready and hit him with a stiff uppercut. It stopped Paul in his tracks and stood him up. A left hook landed in Paul’s ribs and he gasp for air. Turning, he backhanded Phil, but now Phil was through playing and he walked through the punch crashing left and right into Paul’s ribs and mid-section. The big man gasp, moving backwards by the force of the blows. Paul tried to swing for Phil’s face with a right cross, but Phil ducted it and came back up with a left uppercut that weakened Paul’s knees. Paul grabbed at Phil’s neck but Phil held Paul’s hand down and snapped his elbow with a powerful blow. The arm bones loudly cracking as they broke and Paul fell on his knees. The pain taking over his body. He tried to stand again. This time Phil sent an inside leg kick to his knee and it buckled sending Paul to the ground. Phil was on top of him, knee in his back and Paul’s good arm in a shoulder lock.
Quietly, Phil spoke, “Where is the red head you took?”
Paul was in pain and panting. Phil was tired of being hit and shot at and on the defensive. He didn’t know how much time Pam had and his patience had run out.
Phil took the arm he had locked down and whipped it first toward Paul then away. Much more force and he would have torn all the ligaments in Paul’s shoulder. He needed to save that pain in case Paul didn’t talk.
“Where is she?” Phil’s anger was starting to be evident. He twisted hard on the shoulder as he drove the knee into the nerves of Paul’s back.
‘In my pocket,” Paul cried. Phil could see tears in his eyes.
“Bullies,” Phil thought. “Most of them are the biggest pusses on the planet.”
Phil reached down and pulled out the note from Paul’s shirt pocket. It was a note written to Paul with an address and phone number. It said “Call me and let me know he’s dead. Then come take this bitch out and sink her in the lake.
Phil knew he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Paul had a broken arm, one shoulder that would probably need surgery, and a leg to match. He let go of him and retrieved some electrical wire from the work table. Taking Paul by the good arm, he dragged him over and tied his arms together and to the table leg. The table was bolted to the floor.
Turning Paul over, he unbuckled Paul’s belt and pants, pulling his pants and underwear down to his ankles. Paul tried to resist. “What are you doing? What the hell!”
Pulling out the knife from his belt, Phil stepped on Paul’s bad knee and bent down. “Paul, we are going to call your friend and you are going to tell him I’m dead and you are coming over to get the girl. Unless you want to be Pauline, you had better sound happy and convincing.’ Phil pulled Paul’s phone out and dialed the number; before hitting send, he placed the knife at the base of Paul’s penis. The knife was sharp enough to trickle blood.
“Paul, if you think I won’t cut your little sausage and nuts off, then you better remember how I just dismantled you. And you’d better be praying there is not a hair moved on her head, or you’ll think today is a school dance compared to the hell I will put you through.” Phil hesitated to watch Paul’s face.
Paul gulped as if to compose himself.
“Let me hear you practice what you’re are going to tell your friend.” Phil was still holding the knife in position.
“You’d better let me talk in my normal voice. He knows I am not ever happy.”
“So let’s hear it.”
“RJ, it’s me. He’s dead, be there in about a half hour to finish up.” It sounded business like.
“Ok Paul, remember this could be the last conversation you have as a man, if I even think you are trying to signal him or if you say the wrong words.”
Phil dialed the phone and Paul spoke to the man in an even business like tone. Phil was close enough to hear RJ tell Paul to hurry up as he had somewhere to go. They hung up. Phil kept the phone. He wanted no chance of Paul getting this guy any message. Leaving Paul’s pants where they were, Phil found some duct tape and secured Paul’s hands and feet, then placed tape over his mouth.
Phil pulled the Colt Officer’s model .45 auto out from his behind the hip holster. He was always glad the gun was handy and carried it almost every day. He would need it, not knowing if any perps were still active. Phil looked at the open mystery door and hesitated. He had looked in the room but was so focused on finding Paul, he could not picture what else he saw. For so long he had wanted to know what was behind that door, but Pam’s safety was at stake so he sprinted across the room and went up the stairs after retrieving his bag on the stair landing. He exited the door on the dock, hesitating briefly to insure no one was going to take a shot at him. As he stepped out he could see Mike driving down the alley with the response team van closely behind. A soft car horn honk made him glance left and saw Tom sitting in an unmarked car, motioning him over. Phil trotted over, through his bag in the back seat and slid into the passenger seat.
“Got your text Phil, where to?”
“Near DFW” everyone in Dallas/Ft. Worth knew that meant the airport.
“We’ll use the radio to let Mike know.”
“Already gave him a heads up, Tom.”
Tom opened up the radio communication as Phil gave Mike and the team the target address. Before Tom could get going, Mike jumped in the back seat. “You guys don’t think I’m going to miss this do you?”
“Wait a minute.” Phil put his hand up. “We don’t know how this is going to play out. The house could be guarded.”
“What do you have in mind, Phil?” Mike was thinking about it too.
“Paul’s truck. That’s who this RJ is expecting, so we will use it. Can you guys follow at a safe distance in case I need help?”
“I looked inside the building here before you came out, I don’t reckon you’ll need us,” Tom chuckled.
CHAPTER 13
Phil arrived at the street where RJ had directed Paul to go. Traffic was heavy and it had taken him much longer than he had wished. After looking at the layout on Google Maps, he drove slowly down the street and pulled into the drive as if it was his house. He had the sun shades down to block as much of his face as possible. There was no sign of anyone. He reached back to feel the Colt. Pulling it out, he lay Paul’s jacket over it as he walked up to the front door. He stood to the side and knocked. No answer. Phil could feel the sweat roll down his back. It was chilly weather. He was sweating for Pam.
Cautiously he walked down the drive to the back of the house. Finding a side door that was partially inset and not obvious from the street, Phil knocked again.
An irritated voice from inside spoke, “Dammit Paul, you idiot, why do you go to the front. I…” As the door opened the man was met with a .45 barrel to his forehead. This wasn’t the same voice Paul had spoken to so he imagined this was one of RJ’s henchmen. As Phil stepped in he signaled the man to keep quiet by placing a finger to his lips. Phil nodded as if to ask “do you understand?” The man reciprocated.
Phil’s posture and composure told the man this was no joke as he turned the man around by the shoulder and stepped closely behind him, placing the gun behind the man’s ear and the other arm grabbing his collar. “How many people are in the house?”