Night Strike
A Short Story Compilation
Rodney Mountain
Smashwords Edition
Night Strike
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
Compilation Copyright 2004 by Rodney Mountain
Expanded Edition Copyright 2011 Rodney Mountain
All Stories Rodney Mountain on the below dates
Night Strike Copyright 2002
The Campground Copyright 2000
Free Fall Copyright 2000
Kara's Last Day Copyright 2003
The Highway Copyright 2002
Stone's Justice Copyright 2002
The Cocktail Party Copyright 2004
The Crazygal Copyright 2004
Searching for Bolantine Copyright 2002
The Cop, The Whore and Eight Bottles… Copyright 2003
Madfest Murder Copyright 2002
Bolantine's Folly Copyright 2002
They Were Lovers, Weren't They? Copyright 2002
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Other Titles by Rodney Mountain
Immortal Universe Novels
The Healy Murders
Durell’s Insurrection
The Accidental Immortal
Undercover
The Killer Strikes
Anoki's Revenge
The Immortal Progression
Corporate Immortality
Not With a Whisper
The Mullinix: Ascension
The Mullinix: Redemption
The Mullinix: Resolution
Other Works
The Black Fossil
Dedication
This is to all of the people who have been reading my stuff for the years that I've been writing it. Without you none of this would have been possible.
Table of contents
1. Night Strike
3. Free Fall
5. The Highway
8. The Crazygal
10. The Cop, The Whore and Eight Bottles of Jack Daniels
11. Madfest Murder
13. They Were Lovers, Weren't They?
Foreword
This compilation was originally done during my first round of publishing back in 2004. I'd taken a number of the stories I'd written and simply slapped them together into a quick compilation, figuring that it would look good alongside the full novels I'd written, I think it was a whole four or five at that time.
I republish this now more as a curiosity than anything else. Some of the stories have held up, some of them simply haven't, but all of them show the process as I learned my craft better.
A few of them also show off the first person style I originally used for The Healy Murders, The Accidental Immortal and the first third of Undercover. If you've read any of those you know that I took the time to completely rewrite them in a third person perspective that works much better for the stories.
It was during Undercover that I figured out that I'd written myself into a corner and that my style wasn't working. So I took the time to figure out how to work the third person narrative and finally got annoyed enough with the first two books that I completely rewrote them.
The first version of Immortal is gone forever (Or So I thought until I happened across a copy while putting this version together), but a bit of that style remains in the very odd Mason Stone short Free Fall that is included here. Some of the other stories are related to the larger novels and pieces of them may have ended up in other stories as well.
This edition of this compilation has been freshly edited to at least polish the grammar and typographical errors that were rife in the 2004 version, but other than that these stories are the same flawed creations that I wrote back in the day.
I actually took time to write notes for these stories back then and those are included here for the novelty. I have also added new bits that show my perspective after all the years. Those notes will be italicized at the bottom of the note page introducing the short for the stories that were in the original version.
If you are one of the four people who read the 2004 version of this compilation then you're in luck, there are a few more stories here. The quality varies, but hopefully you'll find enough entertainment to qualify for the price of admission.
-Rodney Mountain 7/30/2011
Night Strike
This story was the result of a long couple of nights and some indecision of what to do between books. I had come up with the concept a while earlier, but it had never fleshed out to the point of a full novel. The characters were good and I did like this short story.
The character of Mark Copeland should be familiar to anyone who has read the completed version of Durell's Insurrection, as he was integrated into that storyline at some point in his life after the events in this story. This, despite the fact that some things in this story would be anachronisms in the time period Durell took place in.
The biggest comment I received on this one was "Why didn't you just make it a Mason/Karen/Jim short?" The short answer was that I was burned out on them after writing Foundation 51 (now known as Corporate Immortality). That's probably why I never wrote another one of these shorts. Mason and company are better at this.
Chapter 1
Mark Copeland walked into the room, his head pounding from the generous helping of alcohol he had had the night before. He maneuvered his large six foot two inch frame onto the overstuffed couch that Claire had picked up at goodwill earlier that year. It was the single piece of furniture in the apartment that Mark could actually sit in comfortably.
"Did you get the plate of the truck that hit you?" Claire asked him, "You look like hell, tiger."
Claire Ryan plunked herself down in a smaller chair across from where Mark was sitting. She was only an inch shorter than her best friend was, but her frame was quite a bit smaller. She brushed her brown hair back out of the way and looked at Mark as he rubbed his temples.
"I should have quit drinking," Mark grumbled.
"When?" Claire asked him.
"About 9:30 last night, I’d judge," Tracy grinned, plunking herself down next to Mark, "Did you actually finish that bottle of vodka, Mark?"
Mark glared at Tracy Stillwell, Claire’s longtime roommate. Tracy was nearly dwarfed sitting next to him, her five foot six inch body taking less than half the amount of space his did. She giggled at him and gave him a quick hug to make it all better.
"You really need to go easier on the sauce," Claire admonished Mark, "You really do look like hell."
Claire and Mark had had an on again, off again affair going for several years. They cared for each other deeply but they were never able to settle on much. The nature of their line of work did not do much to make their lives anymore stable. They were always on the razor’s edge of the law, knowing that they could be brought down at any time.
"I’ll be ok, Claire," Mark said, "Do we have a target in mind for today?"
"Yeah," Claire nodded, "I scoped them out while you and Trace were drinking yourselves silly."
"Hey," Tracy replied, defending herself, "We invited you to come along too. You didn’t want to go though."
"It’s all right," Claire smiled, "I think we hit the mother lode. I’ve got the digital stills in the computer."
Tracy followed Claire over to the computer, but Mark was not able to get that interested in anything yet. Tracy picked up the remote from Claire’s desk and turned on the large screen television, which she then immediately turned to the computer input so Mark could watch what they did.
"I took these out on the strip last night," Claire said, "I got myself dressed up all nice and sexy and took a walk."
"Mmmm," Tracy grinned, "You should have come with us. You wasted sexy on a walk on the strip?"
"While I was out there," Claire said, smirking at Tracy, "I happened across some old friends of ours. Remember these two?"
A digital photo appeared on the screen of two shady looking characters. The same photo appeared on the large television screen in front of where Mark Copeland was sitting. Mark squinted at the photograph trying to bring a recollection through his muddled brain as to who the people were.
"I recognize them," Tracy said after studying the picture on the monitor for a bit, "But I’m lousy with names."
"They were soldiers for an outfit we hit last year," Mark said, "The Cardozo brothers, if I remember correctly. I thought those two idiots were run out of town months ago."
"They’re back," Claire said and went on to the next picture, "And they’re well funded. I saw them making the rounds from a Cadillac convertible. I’d say they’re pulling in at least ten grand a night. Maybe more."
"That could keep us going for a few months," Tracy said, "My car payment is due next week too."
"What are they selling?" Mark asked her.
"Crack and Heroin," Claire said, "I bought a bag of the H just to see what the quality was."
"Please tell me you dumped it before you came home," Mark said.
"Traded it to a junkie for information," Claire smiled, "Seems they’re spreading the cash out well. Always have a bankroll on them. They are always there between eight and midnight as well."
Mark was finally interested enough to sit up a little and take a better look at the photographs. Claire smiled at him and flipped to the next picture. This one showed two large hulking men that had large bulges under their jackets. Mark figured that they were carrying probably Mac 10 submachine pistols.
"They are open," Mark said, "But it’s going to be a wet one. Those two goons are going to have to be taken down. We try a bloodless robbery it’s not going to be pretty."
"I doubt it’ll be much of a loss," Tracy said, "I recognize one of them. He has a rap sheet as long as my arm."
"Definitely a crew that the street can do without," Claire agreed, "While I was out there I witnessed no less than a dozen assaults."
"Are they always out in the open?" Mark asked her.
"They retreat to this alley when they want to get ready," Claire said as she put the shots up, "I didn’t dare to photograph them there, but I got a few shots of the alley itself later."
Mark, always the tactician of the group, looked over the shots carefully. The alcoholic induced fog had lifted from his mind and a plan was beginning to form. He got up, stifling a groan as he did so, and took control of the keyboard away from Claire. She smiled and let him have the chair, moving behind him and rubbing his temples.
Mark flipped through the photographs and studied them as he figured out the best place to hit them. He knew it was possible for the three of them to do it, but it would have to be a hit and get. It was also going to be a rather bloody one, meaning they would have to lay low for a while after it.
"This one is going to irk the cops," Mark said, "I don’t see that we can do it without killing at least four people."
"Do we have the resources for the job?" Tracy asked them, "This one sounds hairy."
"We’ll need silenced pistols," Mark said, "No car, too easy to trace. We’d have to steal one for it to be of any use."
"Too dangerous," Claire agreed, "We’ll have to go in on foot and melt away afterwards."
"It’s too dangerous to go in cold," Tracy observed, "Maybe two of us should go in and take down the creeps and the other creates a street diversion?"
"What type of diversion?" Claire wondered.
"Something simple," Mark said, "Cheap would be nice too. We’re going to lose the weapons we use on them. Too hot to hold."
"It’s the beginning of July," Tracy said, "Fireworks should be easy to get."
"A couple sets of firecrackers should do pretty well," Mark agreed, "How much do we have left in operating cash, Claire?"
"Two hundred," Claire said, "That last bad job didn’t help much. Cost us two guns as well."
"We still have the two silenced 9mm pistols," Tracy said, "Should be fine for head shots."
"You want to do the diversions, Claire?" Mark asked her.
"Sure," she nodded, "Tracy is better on the draw anyway."
"Besides," Tracy said, "These are drug dealers. I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger on them."
"I want clean kills," Mark reminded her, "I know you hate drug dealers, but if you toy with them it’ll get us caught."
"You got it," Tracy nodded, smiling, "I guess we should go shopping for fireworks."
"You can go ahead," Mark said, "I think I’m going to rest a bit. I want my head clear if we hit tonight."
"I’m going to stay with him," Claire said, "You mind doing this alone?"
"Not a problem," Tracy chuckled, "Just make sure you help him get his head straight for tonight, ok?"
"I think we can arrange that," Claire smiled, "Don’t you, Mark?"
"I think it’s a possibility," Mark chuckled, seeing the look in Claire’s eyes.
"Try to finish up before I get back, all right?" Tracy smiled, "I really don’t want to walk in on you two again."
"We’ll try to be more considerate of your delicate morals," Claire said dryly, knowing that Tracy was no more innocent than she, "Enjoy your shopping trip."
"Always," Tracy said as she took half of the remaining cash, "Don’t get too tired now."
"Remember," Mark said with a chuckle, "We’re looking for loud, not dangerous."
"Right," Tracy nodded as she went over and hugged both of them, "I’ll be a good girl."
"I won’t," Claire said as Tracy slipped out the door.
"You won’t, huh?" Mark asked her as he leaned back on the couch, "Just what do you have in mind?"
"Hmmm," Claire grinned as she reclined in his arms, "You know how I get before a job…"
"Well," Mark said as he pulled her close and nibbled on her ear softly, "I can think of worse ways to cure a headache…"
Chapter 2
Claire Ryan smiled dreamily as she lay back against Mark Copeland’s chest. Her brown hair spread out over him, tickling his nose. Mark brushed it away from his nose and kissed her softly. She smiled up at him and slid up further for a deeper kiss.
"Did that help your headache?" She asked him, a mischievous grin forming on her face.
"Yeah," Mark chuckled, "I think it did. It made me forget how much it hurt at any rate."
She rested her head down on him and held on to him. The position was mostly comfortable, though her feet were hanging over the edge of the bed. She was nervous, just like she always got before a job. The sex was just one of her ways of dealing with the tension.
"I’m worried about this one, Mark," Claire told him, "Tracy is too excited about it."
"She loves the drug dealer jobs," Mark shrugged, "She’d kill every one of them if she could."
"She’s been this way since Charlie died," Claire said, "She never really got over it."
"We all have our reasons for doing this," Mark reminded her, "Hers is Charlie and mine is my sister. I’m sure you have your reasons as well."
"My mother was an addict," Claire said, remembering watching her mother shoot heroin as a child, "She overdosed when I was fifteen."
"Exactly," Mark said, "I’m sure you’re not going to shed any tears at these four’s demise."
"She just looks like she takes pleasure in it," Claire said, "That’s what worries me. We’re supposed to be doing a public service and making a little money, not becoming serial killers."
"At least we’re choosing a deserving class of victim," Mark smiled, "Don’t tell me you’re getting second thoughts about this?"
"Not about the thefts," Claire said, "Not sure I like the bloodlust."
"Yeah," Mark nodded, "I don’t know what else to do though. If we leave them alive they’re just going to continue terrorizing people."
"I’m the one who scoped it," Claire grinned, "I’ve got no problem with taking them down. Just watch Tracy on this one, ok? Make sure she acts professionally."
"Tracy is a pro," Mark said, "But if you’re worried, we can put her on the firework detail and you can frontline with me."
"No need," Claire said as she crawled up and kissed Mark some more, "She won’t hesitate on the trigger. I might in my current mood. Besides, I already did the hard part on this one."
"True," Mark grinned, "It’ll go fine though."
"Let’s hope so," Claire said, "We don’t need a mess right now."
"We should probably get dressed before Tracy gets back," Mark told her, "No need to get her making anymore jokes."
"Right," Claire said, "No need to get her worked up anymore than she already is."
Chapter 3
They were mostly dressed by the time Tracy walked into the door carrying a large bag full of fireworks and another one with Chinese takeout. She set the bags down on the kitchen table and chuckled as she looked at the dressing lovers. She quietly pulled out her box of Lo Mein and started eating with chopsticks.
"Did you have fun shopping?" Mark asked her as he went over to start poking in the bags of explosives, "And did you leave any petty cash left?"
"Still have a hundred in the box," Tracy said, "Figured we should get some food in us before we left. I knew damn well neither one of you would be cooking."
"We cooked plenty," Claire smiled, "Just not on the stove."
"Right," Tracy chuckled nervously, "Anyway, I got food for you too."
Claire went for her General Tso’s chicken and sat down with Tracy. Mark looked at the bag full of chain explosives and firecrackers. He pulled out a few and looked at them, especially the M80 firecrackers. He smiled at the assortment, knowing that Tracy had gone overboard, but knowing that it was well intended.
"Eat something, Mark," Claire said, "You’ll need the energy."
"Right," Mark nodded and sat down, pulling open his carton of sesame beef, "You’re the best, Trace. You remembered what I like."
"What do you think of the fireworks?" Tracy asked him.
"I think you went overboard, kiddo," Mark chuckled, "Enough to do two or three jobs."
"I figured I’d get enough for the fourth," Tracy told him, "Besides, I didn’t know what would be good for this."
"The 400 pack of firecrackers will be perfect," Mark told her, "Should sound like a war zone if placed in an alley across the street."
"I’ll take two of them," Claire said, "I’ll hit two of the alleys."
"Good idea," Tracy said, "Should give us plenty of time to hit."
"Claire," Mark said between mouthfuls of food, "Did you walk the alley?"
"After they left," Claire nodded, "It connects behind the tenement next door."
"What address?" Tracy asked.
"156 Cross," Claire told her, "Two blocks from where we did the Robbins job last year."
"I know that place," Tracy said, "It used to be a crack house. We used to have to pull my brother out of that hell hole."
"Remember the layout of the place?" Mark asked her.
"Sure," Tracy nodded, "Straight shot through. Used to take Tommy through the side to avoid seeing more of his addict friends."
"Good," Mark said, "That’s how we’ll do it. Go through the tenement when and out the side when the fireworks start."
"Quick in and out," Claire said, "I’m all for that."
"How do we disguise ourselves?" Tracy asked, "Sexy or like street people?"
"You went sexy last night, right Claire?" Mark asked her.
"Yep," Claire smiled and winked at Mark, "Too bad you missed it."
"I’ll miss it again tonight," Mark said, "I want you to go polar opposite. Get dirty. Really dirty. I want you to play a street girl tonight."
"What about me?" Tracy said, "You and I playing street people?"
"I’m going with a t-shirt and jeans combo," Mark said, "You can go ahead and put on that tight skirt of yours. They’ll think twice about shooting you if you look good."
"Right-o," Tracy said and turned to Claire, "I’ll help you dirty up if you help me primp up, deal?"
"Sounds like a plan to me," Claire grinned, "You realize Mark that you’ll have to help me clean up later."
"Right," Mark chuckled, "I’ll get the weaponry ready. Come get me if you need me."
The girls giggled and went off to get themselves ready. Mark spent the better part of the next hour preparing the pistols, making sure they were clean of fingerprints, right down to the bullets themselves. Having cleaned them off he put them in cloth bags, bags that would serve the dual purpose of concealment and shell collection.
Mark then picked up a canvas bag for Claire to carry. He unwrapped the firecracker packs and rolled them up so they would be easy for her to lay out, light and go. He looked through a desk drawer and found his old Zippo to put in the bag for her as well.
Satisfied with his work, he sat back on the couch and turned on the television, flipping channels idly while he waited for Tracy and Claire to emerge. He stopped on some reruns of the three stooges and laughed for a few minutes until they came out. It was all he could do to keep from laughing his head off when he looked at Claire.
"Holy shit," Mark said, chuckling, "You look like you spent the night in a dumpster, hon."
"I thought that’s the idea," Claire smiled, "To look like I belong."
"It is," Mark nodded and then took a look at Tracy, "Very nice, Trace."
Tracy was dressed up in a style that the three of them had dubbed early prostitute. She was a very well proportioned young woman, and the dark form fitting clothes she was wearing very much affirmed that fact. Claire, who was also very well proportioned, was much better hidden under the layer of dirty clothes that made her look very much like a street person.
"I guess I win the cuteness battle for tonight," Tracy grinned mischievously.
"That’s all right," Claire told her, "I’ll just convince Mark to help me wash off later."
"You get to have all the fun," Tracy chuckled.
"It’s getting dark," Mark said, "It’s time to get moving. Park the car over on third and walk over?"
"Fourth," Tracy told him, "They’ll ticket your ass on third."
"All right," Mark nodded, "Let’s go. All ID is on the table?"
"Yep," Claire nodded, "I’m an unperson."
"Me too," Tracy said, "I’m assuming you’ll leave your license in the car?"
"Right," Mark nodded, "We get pulled before the job we cancel it if we can get away without being arrested."
"Check," Claire nodded, "Let’s get this over with."
"Let’s go," Tracy said, taking her bag.
The three of them went out to Mark’s old, beat up dodge and drove slowly down to Fourth Street. He was careful not to break any traffic laws and went with the flow of traffic. He found a poorly lit parking place and expertly parallel parked the car. He looked at the girls and smiled.
"You two ready for this?" he asked them.
"Ready as I ever am," Claire shrugged, "How about you, Trace?"
"It’s hunting season," Tracy smiled, "Just let me at them!"
"Don’t fire until I give the ok," Mark reminded her, "Once the first shot is fired there’s no going back."
"Right," Tracy nodded, though her excitement was evident, "Let’s go!"
"Keep it calm, chickie," Mark said to Tracy, "Claire, you go first. Scope the area. If you see something out of line signal us and we’ll abort."
"Check," Claire nodded, "See you on the flip side guys."
Claire climbed out of the car and started stumbling around a little, making herself into one of the street people. That type of person rarely had any discernable pattern, something that Claire knew and took care to avoid. She did her best to look like she had no aim in life. She was moving slowly down the street as Mark and Tracy watched from the car.
Chapter 4
"How long do we need to wait?" Tracy asked Mark, "I’m getting edgy."
"It’ll take Claire some time to work her way down the street," Mark said as he leaned back, "Relax Trace. We’ve still got time yet."
"Maybe not," Tracy said, "Cop is coming and looking at us closely."
"Shit," Mark said, "Last thing we need is to be questioned."
"Come here," Tracy said and pulled him to her, "Kiss me before he starts asking questions."
Mark looked at her for a second and recognized the dodge. He put his arms around her and starting kissing her deeply. She got into the act as well, giving a good enough show that the cop smiled a little and passed them by. The police officer figured they weren’t hurting anything and that he’d only say something if they were still at it later. They continued until the cop was safely away.
"That was close," Mark said, "Good idea."
"I’ve had worse," Tracy admitted, smiling a little, "Now I see what Claire sees in you. You’re one hell of a kisser."
"Funny," Mark chuckled, "Now let’s get moving. Claire should be just about in position."
"No sense of humor," Tracy chided, "Ok, let’s get this over with."
They got out of the car and walked lazily over to Third Street. Claire was almost to the alley that she planned to use to light off the fireworks.
Mark kept his eye on Claire to make sure that her end was going well. Claire barely even noticed them, however, as her eyes were mainly street level, just like the average street person’s eyes are.
"Looks good on her end," Mark said quietly, "I want you to go scope out that back route into the alley. I’m going to do a quick walk by and see if they are there yet."
"Right," Tracy nodded and increased her speed a little.
Mark rubbed his temple a little and walked quickly by the alley, his peripheral vision taking in the five people that were dividing the illicit proceeds of the night’s drug trading.
Claire’s descriptions had been accurate, they were there and not paying too much attention. He knew that if Tracy was right about the back way they stood a good chance of taking them all without a shot fired in return.
He walked back towards the tenement and met Tracy out front. She was smiling and nodding silently. He knew that meant that it looked good to her. The door was still open. Mark turned towards where Claire was examining some trash. She looked at him and he nodded to her. All three of them knew that the job was a go.
Chapter 5
"Let’s do it," Mark told Tracy.
Tracy merely nodded and led the way into the dank and dirty building. They both put on their gloves and Mark pulled the two pistol bags out of his jacket. He handed Tracy one of the bags and they got ready to attack. They were waiting for Claire to start the fireworks.
"You take the two on the left," Mark said, "I get the ones on the right. I want quick headshots. These are silenced 9mm pistols. Body shots may give them time to retaliate. I’d prefer to avoid that. If the leader doesn’t draw a weapon, let him live for a bit until I question him."
"Right," Tracy nodded, not caring much. She was itching to get moving.
Claire stumbled into the alley and pulled out the first batch of firecrackers. Mark had worked up an elongated fuse, so she had plenty of time to light it and stumble out of the alley. She was nearly thirty feet away when it started going off.
"Go!" Mark exclaimed as he heard the first crackers go.
The two of them went out the door and their silenced pistols started firing. The two in the back went down before they knew anything else was wrong. Two more silenced shots from Mark’s gun brought down the one next to the front. Tracy fired three moderately well placed shots, taking down the fourth guard. The leader turned around quickly and thought about getting his gun, but Tracy stopped that idea cold. She fired a single shot into his left knee, sending the drug dealer down to the pavement.
"I told you not to kill him, Cowgirl," Mark said testily, "I want to talk to him."
"He’s still breathing," Tracy said dryly, "So talk."
"Don’t kill me!" the drug dealer almost shrieked, "Please don’t kill me!"
"I’d suggest answering my questions," Mark told him, "Then maybe you will live."
"You’re going to die for this!" the dealer said, "My boss will have you tortured for this!"
"What boss is that?" Mark asked the bleeding man, "Quickly, so I’ll know who to quake at before you die."
"Fuck you!" the dealer said, "I tell you that and he’ll kill me!"
"If you don’t tell me," Mark said quietly, "Cowgirl here will kill you before he has a chance."
The cold look in Tracy’s eyes was enough to make the wounded dealer want to talk. She was a pretty girl, but Tracy’s hatred for anyone dealing in drugs was overpowering. The man lying in the dirt was less than a worm to her, someone that she’d rather see dead than walk away.
"Walker Robinette," the dealer said, deciding that if he was going to die his boss was going with him, "He put us out here and said no one would bother us."
"That son of a bitch," Tracy said, "I knew we should have killed him last time."
Walker Robinette had a major reputation as a high-level drug dealer. Mark, Claire and Tracy had nearly killed him a year ago, but had held off because they were still a little squeamish about killing at the time. It was a mistake they had long come to regret, as they had taken out several of Robinette’s groups since then.
"Where are the drugs?" Mark asked him.
"What is left is in the trunk," the dealer said, "Along with the weapons that seem to have done us no good."
"Thanks for the information," Mark said, "You can finish him off now, cowgirl."
"Wait!" the dealer said, "I can get you Robinette!"
"How?" Mark asked him.
"I’m supposed to meet him in an hour," the dealer said, talking fast trying to save his life, "I meet him along with his uptown dealers every night to hand over money and pick up product."
"Where?" Mark asked him coldly.
"State Street!" the dealer exclaimed, "We park in the Roosevelt Hotel’s lot and make the trade. It’s a quick in and out."
"Thank you," Mark said then pulled the trigger, ending the dealer’s life quickly.
"Spoilsport," Tracy said.
"We’re running out of time," Mark said, "Search the bodies. Take any cash you find. I’m going to pop the trunk."
"Right," Tracy nodded, "Let’s do this quick."
Mark quickly popped the trunk of the car and found the remains of the drugs. He sliced the packets with a knife found in the trunk and dumped the packs into a barrel. He then looked at the weapons and let out a low whistle.
"Good lord," Mark said, "These assholes were loaded for bear."
"Anything good?" Tracy asked him as she rifled bodies and collected cash.
"Sniper rifle," Mark replied, "Might be a good thing to take down Robinette with."
"Any cash up there?" Tracy asked, "I’ve found some, but not enough."
"Yeah," Mark nodded, "A briefcase full. We’ll take the case and the rifle."
"Good," Tracy said, "Let’s get out of here then."
"Do any of them have lighters?" Mark asked her.
"This one had a Zippo," Tracy said.
"Light it and toss it in the barrel," Mark said, "We’ll leave the same way we came."
"Right," Tracy nodded and followed instructions, setting the flammable narcotics ablaze.
"Let’s book," Mark said, tossing Tracy the case of money, "Keep good hold of that."
Tracy smiled and followed Mark. They walked normally through the building and out the front door. People were still looking at the alley where Claire’s fireworks went off. The bodies were not public yet, which was good news for them. They saw that Claire was most of the way back up the block.
"Walk quickly," Mark said, "But don’t run. We don’t need the attention."
"Right," Tracy said, her adrenalin still up, "God, that was a rush."
"It’s not over yet," Mark said icily, "We’re going to go get that son of a bitch Robinette once and for all."
"He’ll have guards," Tracy said quietly as they walked.
"I have a sniper rifle," Mark countered, "I doubt they’ll be prepared for that."
"Let’s hope," Tracy said, not liking how fast this was going.
They managed to get to the car without incident and found Claire waiting there for them. Mark unlocked the car and the three of them got in quickly. He fired up the engine and pulled out of the parking space quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief as they drove out of the area.
"Did you actually do it?" Claire asked them, "I saw no signs of movement from there."
"In and out," Mark said, "Five down, we burned the drugs and took the cash."
"Piece of cake," Tracy nodded, "Though I think Mark wants to do something else tonight."
"What?" Claire asked him, "Did you find out who their boss was?"
"Walker Robinette is back," Mark said, "He’s meeting some of his cronies on State street in an hour."
"A frontal attack on him is madness," Claire said, "His goons will be armed to the gills."
"Open the long case," Mark said, "Just keep it low."
Claire did so and whistled at what she saw. It was a high-powered sniper rifle, one of the high dollar models that are usually used by police and military snipers. Claire had never seen one, though she had heard Mark describe it in the past.
"They had this?" Claire asked him, "Christ."
"So what’s the plan?" Tracy wondered, "We find a place and just whack him?"
"Not worth it for that," Mark said, "We hit them and take the cash."
"How?" Claire asked.
"We go into the old Clayton building," Mark said, "They have a doorman, but no security cameras. We can slide in the back."
"Not going to have time for all of us to go up and down," Claire said, "One of us has to stay low to collect the loot."
"I’ll do it," Tracy said, "I’m in the mood for more."
"I can carry more," Claire said, "Besides, you’ve taken enough risks for one night, Trace."
"Why don’t we both go?" Tracy asked.
"I need one of you to spot for me," Mark said, "I can’t watch the whole scene with a scope like you can with the binoculars."
"You sure you can use that thing?" Claire asked him, "Have you ever fired anything that large."
"I've used hunting rifles. It’s a good weapon and a short distance," Mark said, "I should be able to get kill shots fairly easily."
"She’s not really dressed for this," Tracy said, "She still looks like a street person, who will stick out like a sore thumb up there."
"You’re not much better dressed," Claire reminded her, "And I can carry the stuff better."
"You’ve also got good eyes," Mark said, "Claire can do the street run better than you can anyway. You go into the building with me."
"You’re the boss," Tracy grumped, "You want my pistol, Claire?"
"Keep it," Claire said, "I’ll take Mark’s. You’ll have to watch his back anyway. He’ll be wide open while he’s aiming this monster."
"Put gloves on and reload it," Mark said as he handed the bag to Claire, "There’s a clean box of shells under the seat."
Mark drove quickly and pulled into the deserted parking lot next to the Clayton building. He took the rifle from Claire and smiled at her. She grinned and just shook her head at him. Tracy looked around nervously.
"How do we do this?" Tracy asked.
"They do it in the Roosevelt lot," Mark said, "We’ll break into an office on the south side that gives us a full view of the lot. Claire, you may want to take a position by the dumpster. When they all go down grab any cases you can and get out of there. We’ll pick you up and get out of the area."
"Right," Claire nodded, "No worries there. Have no intention of being there when the cops come."
"If I screw up stay put and melt into the alley," Mark said, "Don’t engage them yourself unless you’re forced."
"Stop worrying about me and get yourself psyched," Claire smiled, "Take care of him, Trace."
"Will do," Tracy nodded, "Let’s get in place before Robinette shows up."
Chapter 6
Mark slipped the lock in the back of the Clayton building and the two of them took the stairs up to the third floor. This building was old enough to still have windows that actually opened, which made setting up much easier for them. They let themselves into an office and set up in a perfect window, one that allowed Mark to have a complete field of fire over that parking lot.
"Robinette and his crew should be here at any time," Mark said, "I’m going to get into position. Keep watch for me, eh, Trace?"
"Right," Tracy nodded and started peering through the other window, "Claire is in position. No sign of Robinette yet."
Claire Ryan sat down behind the dumpster, knowing that her best defense lied in the fact that she looked like she belonged there. She was able to see the parking lot and was praying that Robinette would show up soon so she could get out of the dirty clothes she was in. It was a relief when the two cars pulled up.
"Two cars," Tracy said, "Robinette is in the expensive one."
"Good," Mark said as he rechecked his rifle and pulled it to the window, "Let’s hope I can get them all before Claire is in danger. How many of them?"
"Four in one," Tracy said, "Two with Robinette. Seven total. They are getting stuff out. Probably going to make the switch."
"Probably trying to figure out where the ones we iced earlier are," Mark said idly, "Let me know when they get the cases out."
"They’re out," Tracy said, "Robinette has one in his hand."
"I’ve got Robinette sighted," Mark said, "I’m going for the kill."
"Goodbye," Tracy said as Mark pulled the trigger.
The high velocity bullet screamed through the air, destroying Walker Robinette’s head before anyone in his gang heard the shot. Mark had already moved and fired a second shot before anyone began to realize what happened.
The others tried to figure out where the shots were coming from, but it was to no avail. A few better-placed shots took most of them down. A final shot removed the skull of the last remaining bad guy.
"One clip expended," Mark said, "Are they all down?"
"Dead as doornails," Tracy said, "Claire is moving."
"I suggest we follow her," Mark said, "Cops will be here in five."
Claire wasted no time in scrambling across the parking lot. She had to step around the rapidly forming pools of blood, but she managed to get the three cases without getting any of the blood on her. She then made a break for the car, beating Mark and Tracy by mere seconds.
"Let’s get out of here," Claire said, "Cops will be here any minute."
"Crack the cases," Mark instructed her, "Tell me what’s in them."
Claire cracked open the first one and found it full of papers, most of them Robinette’s personal accounts and papers that would have put him away for probably the rest of his life, had he survived the attack.
"Nothing valuable to us," Claire said, "Feds might want it though."
"We’ll consider dropping it somewhere," Mark said, "I’ll look at it later."
"This one is dope," Tracy said, "Probably enough to supply the downtown area for a week."
"I think a bonfire is in order," Claire said, "Let’s see if there is any cash in this one."
Claire opened the last case and let out a gasp. She closed the case and thrust it at Tracy, unable to speak. Tracy looked at her, cocking her head and taking the case. Mark looked at them quickly and continued driving. Tracy put the case in her lap and undid the latches.
"Holy shit," Tracy said as she opened it, "Mark, you’d better take a look at this."
Mark looked at the case and nearly crashed the car. The case was filled with packets of 100-dollar bills. Whatever Walker Robinette had been into it was paying handsomely. The case contained over one million dollars in cash. It seems that their foray against Robinette had paid off handsomely. Now the only question for them was what to do with the cash.
The Campground
This story was the product of about four days sitting on the back porch at my in-laws' house in New Mexico. It was the first year I was married and the result of having little to do for a long thanksgiving weekend.
J. Michael Coleman was a character that I'd come up with and messed around with shortly before the first version of The Accidental Immortal. It was one of the last complete stories I did in the first person format, as I finally figured out how to do third person correctly on Undercover, which followed this by a few months.
A few elements of this story have made it into others, especially Mason's history The Accidental Immortal, but mainly it is an interesting and tragic tale that mirrors my warped views of the music industry. It also borrows liberally from the life of Kurt Cobain and other similarly tragic music figures.
In some ways it is my vision of what might have happened had Kurt lived and decided to leave the music business and take off from Courtney. At least that's what it looks like reading it again from a removed view at three thirty in the morning… (Original 2004 notes)
Note: This story shows just how screwed up my head was during that time period. I put Coleman through hell during this story, evidently throwing every rotten thing possible into this man's background. He's a tragic character in a way, and this story is hard to read ten years later. Even so, this is probably the best of the stories I wrote in first person format, mainly because I used the old convention of an outside narrator.
-Rodney 7/27/2011
Chapter 1
The strange camper pulled into the parking lot of the office at around two in the afternoon. Its occupants made a strange sight when they climbed out, looking as tired and haggard as truck drivers after a long haul.
The man looked to be in his mid forties, with graying hair and probably a three-day growth of beard. The woman was young and beautiful, twenty-five if a day, with silky black hair.
She too looked like she had been on a long journey, though she showed it less than her companion. Most likely she had slept some while he was driving.
"Good Morning," I said from my usual chair on the porch, "Been a long drive?"
"Yeah," the man said with a smile, "I think it’s been about a week since we’ve stopped for more than a few hours of sleep."
"Ouch," I said, remembering a few such journeys back when I was younger, "Well, I hope you find the trip worth it."
"It’s all in the traveling," the man said with a shrug, "I like to travel, don’t stay anywhere for long anymore."
"Are we going to stay for a few days this time, Mike?" the young lady asked him, speaking for the first time since leaving the camper.
"Depends on the rates they charge around here," Mike said, "And if they can accommodate the beast over there."
"I reckon that we can handle it," I said, "Though I don’t know if we can provide the power that puppy probably eats."
"Just so long as you sell diesel, it has its own generator that I run for a few hours when the batteries get low," he said with a smile, "Just need some sewer facilities and a big enough place to park."
"You can have the space closest to the building here for 30 bucks," I said, not knowing why I let the odd pair have the space at the tent rate, "Any further out and you’ll block the view for the other campers."
"That works," Mike agreed, "Especially if you can recommend a place to pick up a good cold beer."
"Not a bar for about forty miles," I told him, "But my wife Myrna sells ice cold brews in the store here."
Mike smiled and walked up to me. The young lady, who still had not been referred to by name yet, walked up with him. The closer he got the more I realized I should know his face from somewhere. Now, I kept a look at the wanted posters Myrna kept in the store, though I doubted that he was on the run with the rig he was driving.
I got up and motioned them into the store so we could fill out their registration. He seemed to know the drill and came inside. Myrna looked upon us, but said little. She and I had been on the outs for ten years, but continued together. She ran the store, I ran the campground and that’s the way it’s been. But this isn’t about me. I handed him the card and he began filling it out.
"Amy," he said to the girl while filling it out, "Pick out some provisions while I’m filling this out and paying, OK? If there’s anything you need, grab that too."
"How long are we staying?" she asked him, "If I’m going to be able to grill, I need to know how long."
"We’ll call it a week," Mike said, "I think this will be a pleasant place to stay for at least that long."
He then proceeded to fill out the card. J. Michael Coleman was his name, or at least the one he filled out for us. Surprisingly, his license was from Tennessee from all places, despite not having a lick of a southern accent.
I’m still not sure where his accent was from, evidently it had been muddled by lots of travel. He pulled out a platinum visa card to pay with, though we waited for Amy to finish shopping before I ran it through the system.
Amy finished with her shopping, and Mike Coleman picked out a case of longneck Budweiser to keep them company. I helped them bring out the purchases to their rig, and Coleman opened the door. I wanted to take a look inside of this large machine and see what it had. It shocked me, really. I was expecting to see a more or less normal Winnebago style camper. This was something truly out of science fiction.
The bed, probably about the size of a queen, extended over the cab and the meager kitchen area. The kitchen consisted of little but a refrigerator, a half stove with what might be considered a toaster oven, and a microwave. What I had perceived from the outside as being a total lack of windows turned out to be false. The entire outer shell was made of a one-way view Plexiglas type of material that let the light in.
The centerpiece of it was the sitting area, featuring a double computer terminal, both with 19 inch screens built in to the wall. It was all secured for travel, and looks like it cost a mint.
The ceiling was lower than I expected, and was the only part that I couldn’t see through. Mike grinned when he saw me looking around curiously. He told me that the communications gear was in that foot or so of space missing at the top. I whistled, realizing that the entire rig must have cost him at least a quarter of a million, maybe more. While I was still gawking at the impressive setup, Mike went into the area under the bed and pulled out a decent size cooler, surprisingly, not one of his namesake ones.
I put the stuff down, and Amy put it away. Mike also dragged out some chairs. He emptied the ice into the cooler and put the beer into it. I helped him carry it outside, figuring that it was the neighborly thing to do. Amy set up the chairs. Surprisingly she set up three, while Mike began the fire.
"Would you care to join us for a while?" Coleman asked me, "Amy makes a mean hamburger and there’s plenty of cold brew."
I thought about it for perhaps half a second before agreeing to join him. Myrna was a singularly horrid cook, and my company was about as welcome to her as a pack of rattlesnakes as of late.
I watched Mike sit down into one of the chairs and pull a beer out of the cooler, handing it over to me. I gratefully accepted and figured I could watch for newcomers just fine from thirty feet away. He pulled one out for Amy, tossing it over to her, and then finally took one for himself. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull of it.
I’ll spare you the conversation of the night as it was mainly getting acquainted stuff, interspersed with a few beers and a lot of cigarettes. It wasn’t until the next evening that I found out who Mike Coleman really was, and that, my friends is where this story truly begins.
Chapter 2
The next day went like most others, Mike and Amy kept to themselves, with her spending most of the day sitting outside reading the latest Stephen King novel, and him staying mostly out of sight, most likely working or playing on the computer station inside the camper. Amy seemed to be the chief chef for the pair, as Mike didn’t touch the food until he ate it.
Coleman came into the store around six in the evening and bought another twelve-pack of beer, since the three of us polished off most of the first case the previous night. Myrna looked at both him and me coldly as she rang up the sale, but said nothing as I went out and sat with Mike and Amy for a second straight night, especially since it got me out of her hair.
I was still trying to place him at this point, I knew for sure that I recognized him from somewhere but it still was drawing blank to me. It was not until the second beer of the night that I got up the courage to ask him where I might have seen him before. Both of them laughed at the question. It seems that it was one that they’d heard numerous times before.
"Probably back in my previous life," Mike said with a smile, "It’s a long time past, and thankfully fewer and fewer people remember it very well. I guess the gray goes a long way towards making people forget about you."
"It often does," I agreed, "Even my own kin seem to have forgotten about me. I see my son maybe twice a year."
"I haven’t seen anyone in my family for about ten years," Mike said, "Don’t think I have much interest in seeing them again. I’m not sure they want to see me either. I was always the black sheep of the family."
"My Dad died years ago," Amy said, "Mom does little now but drink and bring men home from the bar. But you make your own family as you go along."
"Just have to be careful," Mike said with a sigh, "Because even a self made family can often blow up in your face."
It was just about then that one of the local kids pulled into the parking lot, the radio blaring on that station that plays the best of the 80’s, 90’s and beyond. I recognized the song, but I’ll be damned if I can place the title.
I did remember the band as it was my son’s favorite all through high school back in the early 90’s. I could see that Mike recognized it too. The song was loud and not much to my taste, but I could see that it was stirring up something for Mike Coleman.
Coleman was mouthing the words and playing air guitar, though it was obvious that he actually knew the chords for the song. It was right then I knew where I had recognized him from.
I used to sit in the room reading while the kids watched MTV. One of their favorites was a band called "The Inquisition", led by a young man with long stringy blonde hair. Put a blonde wig on Coleman, take off about twenty years and the gray, and you had the lead singer.
"You’re Justin Cole, aren’t you, Mike?" I asked as the song ended and he came back to reality.
"I didn’t figure you’d remember," Mike said with a wistful smile, "Most people don’t put the old and graying me together with the bleached long hair I wore until just about a decade ago."
"It took me a while," I admitted, "My kids worshipped you and your band when they were in high school. Played your CD’s constantly."
"Yeah," Mike said, "The early 90’s were banner years for me, at least professionally. Personally it was a nice black hole, but then again, the last few years haven’t been a picnic either."
We sat there for a few minutes sipping on our beers. I looked over at him as he lit a cigarette, wondering what made him leave the spotlight the way he did. I considered asking him to tell the story if he was willing, but it took another beer to make me do so. I hadn’t been this social with any of our campers since we bought the campground back in 94, a year after our last kid graduated high school and joined the Army.
I was pondering asking him to tell the story of his success and downfall, but didn’t want to push him. I mean after all, free beer is free beer, and I didn’t want to piss the guy off. Luckily for me Amy decided to ask him for me. It seems that she didn’t know the whole story either, and was just as interested as I was.
"You know, Mike," she said, using the name he signed in with, "You never told me the story of your life either. We’ve been traveling together over a year now, spit it out."
"Sure," he said with a sigh, "I guess it’s time to let you know some things about the man you’ve been traveling with. I’m not sure if you’re going to like it."
"As messed up as my life has been?" She said with a smile, "It’ll probably be a relief to hear stories about someone who was actually successful."
"Success is a double edged sword, babe," he said, "It feels good at first and then comes up and bites you in the ass."
I listened to this exchange with a smile, wondering just how interesting it would be to hear about such an interesting life right from the lips of the man who lived it. If nothing else, it was going to be a good way to keep away from Myrna for a while.
Chapter 3
"My early life was nothing really special," he started in a rather bland fashion, "My father was a police officer with a nasty drinking problem and a horrid temper. By the time I was 18, I was looking to get out of the place. I had one real passion at that point in time, and that was the music. I knew three instruments by that point."
"How many do you know now?" Amy asked him. I just stayed silent and listened.
"Several types of guitar, keyboards, drums, xylophone, accordion and a bunch of others," he said, "Back then, however, my main ones were guitar, keyboard and drums.
"I auditioned for one of those cookie cutter bands back in early 79, just as I was finishing high school. The name of the band was inconsequential, and I’d prefer to forget about it, seeing as it turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life." "How’s that?" I asked him, "Didn’t it get you into the music business?"
"Yes," Mike conceded, "But the price wasn’t worth it. I was tied into the band for five years according to that contract. The music was complete bubblegum pop. We were pretty much Monkees light for the late 70’s. The only hit song the group ever had was a little ditty called "Right on, Duckie" which still makes my skin crawl to hear."
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