Ghosts In the Heart. Michael J.D. Keller

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СКАЧАТЬ his chest and onto the darkened floor of the Escalante.

      “Damn!” Mckenzie expelled an audible curse and leaned over to feel the floor in search of his errant cell phone. There are times in life when coincidence, the random convergence of events, can sweep life in unforeseen and often undesired directions. Fumbling in a darkened automobile, Alexander Mckenzie did not realize that such a moment was about to occur.

      CHAPTER 6

      Mckenzie was not alone in failing to recognize the catastrophic effect that could result from the collision of unguided fates. Lurking behind the Asian Market, Donny Scarborough, a gritty and ill-kempt street hustler, sometime petty thief, and full time druggie was preparing to up his game to armed robbery. The cheap nickle plated Saturday night special pistol in his jacket pocket reflected his novice stature in his newly chosen trade. A more experienced gunman would have carried a better weapon.

      Donnie had realized, however dimly, that he would need some assistance in carrying out his newest project. Back up, accomplice, stooge, whatever you called it, he wanted another gun, someone to watch his back in case his easy score proved not to be as easy as he expected. Piotor “Petey” Strelkski, a second generation Russian immigrant, was not his first pick. The hulking Russian was tough, violent, and dumb enough to take orders from someone like Donnie. Unfortunately, he was also a spaceman, susceptible to wild rages, and, when he lost his temper, crazier than a sack of cracked peanuts. Still Petey had a gun, a stolen Glock, of which he was obsessively proud, and he was willing to work with Scarborough. That was the deciding point.

      As the two men slipped along the darkened side of the market, Donnie mentally reviewed his master plan. It was cool. All crazy Petey had to do was keep his gun on the clerk who should be alone at this time of night. Make sure he didn’t get too antsy and did exactly what he was told, empty the register and the safe behind the counter. Three - four minutes at most. They would have the money and be gone. The only real problem involved figuring the best way to stiff Petey out of as much of his share as possible.

      Walking around the corner and spotting the grey Escalante in the parking lot, Donnie sourly realized that his plan would have to be changed. The clerk wasn’t alone; there was a customer. Shit Donnie thought. Who buys chink food at 2:00 in the morning?

      He took a quick breath. Ok, he thought as he reviewed his options. It would still work. He couldn’t let Petey think he was bothered. Looking at the SUV at almost the precise moment that Alex was fumbling on the floor for the dropped cell phone, Scarborough decided that the car was empty. He turned back toward Strelkski and tried to present an image of undisturbed confidence. “Ok man” he said, unable to suppress the squeak of excitement in his voice. “There is a customer and the clerk in there. We do just what I said. Keep everyone under control and grab the money.” He swallowed then asked “You ready?”

      Strelkski towered above Scarborough. Dark, greasy hair hanging loose over his forehead, once hard muscles now covered by a thick outer level of fat, and an expression of emotional indifference completed the portrait. Pulling back his faded blue jacket to reveal the Glock jammed into his waistband, Strelkski actually flashed a quick smile before the curtain of bland stupidity fell back into place. “Piotor is always ready.”

      Donny nodded silently and then pushed open the poster-encrusted door into the market. As he stepped inside, he pulled the cheap pistol from his pocket, trying with only partial success to keep his hand from shaking. Behind him he heard the comforting thump of the big Russian’s footsteps and from the front of the store the light tinkle of a woman’s voice. Scarborough took a deep breath as he edged toward the money.

      After a few seconds of futile fumbling in the darkened automobile, Mckenzie’s hand tightened around his cell phone. With a sigh of released frustration, he raised back up into his seat just as Strelkski followed Scarborough into the store. Some skills cannot be quantified. The interplay of observation, intuition , and finely developed instincts gave Mckenzie the solution before someone else would have even grasped the problem. In the instant that he saw the man in the worn jeans and cheap jacket go through the door, he knew something was terribly wrong. The man’s body language, his aura of menace, and the sense of danger were as visible to Mckenzie as the big man’s physical form. Then he saw the Glock as it was pulled from under the man’s jacket.

      For the briefest of instances, a millisecond or less, Alex Mckenzie felt a nauseating wave of despair surge through him. Then he drove it away, banished it to a distant world where it could no longer touch him. He required absolute clarity of thought; he would tolerate nothing else. Once again, he extracted his cell phone from his jacket pocket and punched in the speed dial code. The answering voice sounded tired and perhaps a little bored. “Detective Del Rio.” Mckenzie’s authority crackled into the air. “This is Mckenzie - Major Crimes Unit.” At the other end of the conversation a barely audible gulp preceded a response that was now devoid of any tint of boredom.

      “Yes Lieutenant Mckenzie.”

      “I am outside the Asian Market on Webster Street. There is an armed robbery in progress - at least one, probably two perpetrators.”

      “We will roll back-up immediately, Lieutenant.”

      “Inform all units that Prosecuting Attorney Peter Stewart and his wife are in the store. Back up needs to come hard, quick, and quiet. I’m going in now.”

      Detective Del Rio, obviously thought Mckenzie’s last statement was ill-considered but the Iceman’s reputation prevented direct opposition.

      “Lieutenant, you might want to wait until . . .” Mckenzie cut him off.

      “You just tell the uniforms that there is a plainclothes officer on scene. Now move.”

      Mckenzie snapped off the phone without waiting for Del Rio’s response. Bending forward, he pulled the snub nose 38 from his ankle holster. It wasn’t a particularly accurate weapon so he would have to get close. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with air and wrapping himself in the cloak of measured poise that had always carried him through moments of danger. For some reason, he could not quite achieve the serene self confidence that he sought. What had Brenda said? “We don’t give up our friends without a fight.” Well neither do I, Mckenzie thought with an unexpected sense of surprise. When had he ever had friends?

      Ready now, he thought. Quick and quiet. The interior lights of the car would come on when he opened the door. It wasn’t likely that the perps inside would be looking outside at that moment but he still needed to minimize the chance of being seen. With one fluid motion, he lifted the door latch and rolled foward. His momentum carried him out of the car and onto his knees on the pavement. With the faintest of clicks, he pushed the door closed. The light inside the vehicle flickered off.

      The door to the market posed the next challenge. Did it have a chime, a bell, or a buzzer to alert the clerk that someone had entered? Mckenzie fervently hoped not. If the big man with the gun he had last seen had any warning of his approach, this would all get very interesting ,very quickly. Still he had no choice, the only way to find out was to open the door.

      Extending his right arm, holding the 38 at the ready, Mckenzie took carefully measured steps. Careful, he reminded himself. No errant sound from a heedless stumble. With his left hand he pressed firmly on the glass door feeling it swing open. He strained his ears for a betraying chime or a metallic ring, but there were none. Unannounced, he crept into the store.

      The market was basically a simple rectangle. Long shelves ran the length of the store, stacked almost to overflowing with boxes, cans and wildly colorful bags all bearing labels in a variety of languages other than English. The well-worn faded gray linoleum floor reflected the passage of a multitude СКАЧАТЬ