Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(71)

Then, where Randy was supposed to be stationed at the mouth of the alley, came a shout: “Seattle PD. What’s going on back there?”

Axel felt himself get lit up by the cop’s powerful flashlight. He couldn’t yet see the cop because of the bright light, but he could hear static coming from the man’s radio. Axel’s eyes adjusted and he could make out the form of the policeman coming straight down the middle of the alley. The man had his hand on the grip of his sidearm.

Axel had been the leader of his unit because he could adjust on the fly to changing situations on the ground. His men valued him for the ability and trusted his leadership. Axel Soledad didn’t panic. Instead, he adapted to the situation.

And this was a situation, he thought. But it was also an opportunity, given the players. Planets suddenly aligned.

If the homeless men were protesters on the street, it would be better. But this would do.

With one smooth motion, Axel raised his Glock and fired at the cop. He fired off three rounds low to hit the man in the front of his thighs and then he swung the gun up and put three more in his face and neck. Axel avoided firing center mass since it was likely the cop was wearing an armored vest.

The cop went down hard as the concussion from the shots echoed throughout the alley.

To the Blade, Axel said, “Bring me his gun.”

For a second, the Blade was stunned by what he’d witnessed. Then, as he had in the field, he obeyed.

Axel swung around and bathed the two homeless men in the light of his flashlight. “You two—freeze where you are.”

The men were frightened and confused. The bearded one hopped almost comically from foot to foot.

“We don’t mean no trouble, man,” the other one said. “Tell me you didn’t just pop a cop.”

The Blade appeared with the downed policeman’s service weapon. Another .40 Glock 22 with fifteen rounds in the magazine.

Axel executed the two men with three shots each from the cop’s gun, then handed the weapon back to the Blade.

“Wipe it down and put it in the cop’s hand.”

The Blade hesitated a moment, then a crooked grin formed on his mouth. “Oh, I get it,” he said.

Axel tossed his own weapon toward the bodies of the two men. It clattered on the pavement and slid into the bearded victim, where he lay in a heap.

When the Blade reappeared, Axel said, “Let’s load up the cache and get the hell out of here.” Then: “Where in the hell did that weasel Randy go? I’ll kill him if I find him for deserting his post.”

Axel threw open the back of his van and the birds inside erupted. He didn’t care. He and the Blade started stacking the middle aisle with guns.



* * *



—

Randy passed the Asian bodega and glanced inside. The man was still behind the counter, but Randy didn’t want to ask to use his phone.

No doubt the man had heard gunfire seconds before. No doubt gunfire at night wasn’t all that unusual.

On the street, a large white van hissed by. Water sprayed out from beneath its tires and Randy sidestepped to avoid getting splashed. He looked up in anger and recognized the van from the trail cam photos he’d seen earlier. He could see two figures inside through the rain-smeared windshield. One Black, one white.

Painted on the side of the van was:


YARAK, INC.

We Make Your Problems Go Away



The van slowed and turned into the Gum Wall alleyway.

Randy froze where he stood.

A minute later, the night was ripped open by rapid gunfire punctuated by several heavy booms and the snapping staccato beat of semiautomatic rifle fire. Orange flashes from weapons lit up the dark walls.

Then the van reappeared, backing out of the alley at a speed too fast to be safe.

Randy began to run. As he did, he ripped away the plastic bag and left it behind him on the sidewalk.



* * *



—

Randy ran until his lungs ached. Two blocks at most. He heard an engine racing behind him in the street, coming his direction.

He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to determine it was the Yarak van.

Randy ducked into the lit alcove of a FedEx Kinko’s. Although there were two employees inside behind the counter, the front door was locked. Randy rattled it and pounded on the glass to get their attention. A young Asian employee in a FedEx polo glanced up and their eyes met. The employee shook his head.

“Let me in!” Randy hollered. His voice was hoarse from running.

He saw the FedEx staffer silently admonish his colleague to stay where he was and not open the door.

“Damn it,” Randy said as he hit the glass hard with the heel of his hand. It did no good.

Randy tried another door of a darkened shoe store. Also locked.

Suddenly, the van raced up behind him and turned so its nose blocked the sidewalk. A beat later, the back doors blew open and there stood the huge Black man he’d seen earlier. The man hopped down to the pavement.

“Randy Daniels,” the man said, his mass of dreads swinging from side to side as he approached.

“How do you—” Randy began to ask as the man reached out and grabbed him by his collar. He was strong, and Randy was tossed without effort into the back of the van.

With the doors slammed shut, Randy recovered to his hands and knees. He was in the middle of the vehicle surrounded on both sides by empty wire cages. Just like Axel’s van—except without the live birds.