Midnight Rambler_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [105]
“There's the car Perez was driving,” I said.
“Who are those clowns?” Linderman asked.
“Your everyday car thieves.”
“Look for the police chopper.”
My eyes scanned the sky and found the police chopper hovering over a strip center near where the Mustang had been ditched. Pointing, I said, “Over there.”
Linderman pulled into the strip center and parked. It was a slow day, and only a handful of cars were in the lot. We got out, and Linderman waved his arms in the air to signal the chopper. The pilot saw us and dipped down, momentarily eclipsing the sun.
The pilot was a woman with blond hair. She pointed at the anchor store in the strip. It was called Mattress Giant and was going out of business. Linderman gave the okay sign, and she went back up. Linderman got his shotgun from the 4Runner.
“You still have bullets?” he asked.
I touched the bullets resting in my pocket.
“Yes.”
“Good. Go around to the back of the mattress store, and call me on your cell. If things look okay, we'll enter the store at the same time, and trap them.”
“I left my phone back at Perez's house,” I said.
He shot me a disapproving look. Between my marksmanship and not having my cell, I could tell his opinion of me wasn't very high.
“You're in luck. I've got a spare,” he said.
He removed a bright red cell phone from his jacket pocket, and tossed it to me. It was a newer model and reminded me of one my daughter carried.
“I found it on the lawn at Perez's house,” he explained. “I'm guessing it fell out of Cheever's pocket. You have my number?”
I had his number memorized, and nodded.
“Good. Call me when you reach the back. Okay?”
He was talking to me like I was a kid. I said okay, and walked around the strip center with the phone in my hand. I flipped it open, and a greeting in Spanish appeared on its face. Cheever didn't speak Spanish, and I realized it didn't belong to him.
It was Jonny Perez's.
As I came around the strip center, Buster let out a menacing growl. The Rasta stood by the service door to Mattress Giant. He had the machine pistol trained on two male employees, both of whom wore dress shirts and neckties and had their hands clasped on their heads like POWs.
My eyes searched for Perez. Behind the building was a small parking lot, with signs indicating the spots were for employees only. Perez was in the rear of the lot, forcing Melinda into a blue Chevy Nova, his gun shoved into her back.
I went into a crouch and aimed my weapon. I had a shot at Perez, only it wasn't a good one, and there was a chance I might hit Melinda. I thought about what Linderman had said in the car. Then I squeezed the trigger.
The bullet winged Perez in the head. He let out a startled yell and grabbed his ear. Then he pulled Melinda in front of him and turned her into a human shield.
“Stay back!” he shouted.
I kept my gun trained on Perez. The Rasta remained by the service door, his machine pistol pointed at the employees.
“Jack, help me!” Melinda yelled.
“I'm trying,” I called back.
“I love you, Jack.”
“I know you do,” I said under my breath.
Some hostages shut down when faced with death. Melinda did the opposite, and started throwing her elbows and stomping her heels on Perez's toes. It was one of the bravest things I'd ever seen. Perez lowered his hand and put her in a choke hold. His ear was gone, and blood was streaming down the side of his neck.
“Let her go, and I won't come after you,” I called out.
Perez's eyes said he wasn't buying it.
“Come on,” I said.
Perez aimed his weapon at me. I ducked behind the building and heard a sickening thud. I stole a look around the corner. He had knocked Melinda unconscious and was putting her into the Nova.
“Cover me!” Perez yelled.
I came out from hiding. The Rasta had finally found his nerve.
He aimed the machine pistol at me, and we exchanged shots. It was obvious he'd never handled an automatic weapon before, and the bullets sprayed harmlessly into the ground. I kept