The Stalker Ch 21

At five minutes of three I pulled up in front of Gleason’s office building. The same security guard we’d talked to earlier was standing out front. He smiled and walked over when he saw me.

“Get it fixed?” he asked.

“No problem,” I said. “Like I told Gleason, it’s just as good as it was this morning.”

Gleason came out at three. I charged him two hundred dollars, which he paid without complaint. In cash, yet. I gave him a phony bill I’d made up and he took the keys from me, got in the car, and started it up. He drove a few feet, checked the brakes, then pulled out into traffic. I walked back to the van where Moose was waiting and climbed in.

“Noticed that he checked the brakes,” Moose said. “You’d think he’d trust a couple of trustworthy-looking guys like us.”

I handed Moose a hundred dollars.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A bonus for doing a good job today,” I said.

“What do you think he’s going to do when he hears that tape you put in the car?” Moose asked.

The only thing I did to Gleason’s car was put a tape I made up in the tape deck. It was set to run quietly for a while before the message kicked in, so he’d be well away from the building before he heard it. The message said, “We could have gotten you again today, but we didn’t. This is your last warning. Leave Mrs. Wilkins alone or we’ll get serious. We’ve already proved we can get to you any time we want. By the way, have you gotten your place cleaned up yet?”

“I hope he cans this shit he’s been pulling on our client, but I don’t think he will,” I said.

“So that shit you planned for tonight is still on?” Moose asked as he wheeled the van through traffic.

I nodded. “I think what we did to him yesterday and today, added to what he’s going to see tonight, ought to push him over the edge,” I said. “The man is dangerous, so we have to goddamn careful, though.”

“I’m always careful,” Moose said. “My kids would never forgive me if I let anything happen to me.”

“I just need you to know that this guy’s bad news,” I said. “Don’t let the fancy suit and shit fool you. Underneath he’s a scumbag, but a very crazy, dangerous one.”

“We’ll get him,” Moose said. “We’re like the Mounties, we always get our crazy, dangerous scumbags, too.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “Maybe Roscoe ought to put that slogan on his business cards.”

Moose dropped me off at my house and, before I headed for Jennifer’s place, I put a short-barreled riot gun loaded with buckshot in a duffel bag. Then I took a shower, put a new dressing on my shoulder wound, and got dressed. I put on black clothing, my ballistic vest, shoulder holster, and pistol, along with several extra clips. Then I slipped a black cotton windbreaker on and headed for Jennifer’s house. I felt more than a little nervous about what was might happen tonight, but I’d set the wheels in motion and had no choice but to follow through with it.

Moose and Roscoe were waiting for me when I arrived. Roscoe looked a little unhappy. “Moose told me what you’re up to,” he said. “You sure you want to go through with this crazy idea of yours?”

“I have to,” I said, “unless you have a better idea.”

He shook his head. “No, dammit, I don’t,” he said. “I got something for you, though.” He handed me what looked like a pair of bloated binoculars.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Night vision goggles,” he said. “Infared. You’ll be able to see the asshole, anyhow.”

“Thanks, Roscoe,” I said.

He handed me what looked like one of those portable tape players joggers wear, only this one had a microphone attached to the headset. “Take this, too,” he said. “It’s a hands-free portable radio. That way we can keep tabs on you and you can let us know what’s going on.”

“Roscoe, you’re a dear,” I said. “Look, I better go. I want to be in position long before Gleason gets there.”

“Yeah, OK,” Roscoe said.

Instead of driving, I walked up to the spot where I believed Gleason had been when he shot at us. I hoped he’d return to the spot. If he didn’t, this was going to get pretty crazy. Of course, Moose and Roscoe should be able to handle things at the house, but I wanted to take Gleason down personally.

I got settled behind my rock, checked my pistol and shotgun, and the night vision binoculars. Then I gave Roscoe a call on the radio to let him know I was in position.

“Be careful,” he replied.

“Always,” I said.

It was dark, but not full dark, when Gleason showed up. He was dressed in a black outfit similar to mine but he had a hood, like a ski mask, over his head. He was carrying what looked like a medium-sized suitcase. He stopped at the place I figured he was using to watch Jennifer’s house, looked around, then set the case down. He knelt down, opened it, took out something, and began unfolding it. It was the tripod. When the tripod was set up, he took a big telescope out of the case, put it on top of the tripod, and checked out the house. Then he took two halves of a rifle out of the case and put them together. The rifle had a laser scope on it, which I already knew. He checked the house out through the scope, then leaned the rifle against the tripod and sat down.

Gleason and I sat there watching for some time. He was watching Jennifer’s house and I was watching him watch Jennifer’s house. It kept getting darker and darker. Finally, he reached into the briefcase and picked something up. He did something to it and I heard it beeping. It was a cellular phone.

“You’ve had it, bitch!” I heard him say. “If you think those assholes you’ve got bugging me are going to scare me off, cunt, you’re wrong! It ends tonight, bitch! I’m going to end it! Get ready!” He clicked off the phone and threw it into the suitcase.

My heart was pounding and my chest felt tight. I slipped my pistol out of my shoulder holster and eased the safety off. My prey had no idea of the surprise we’d arranged for him, a surprise that, I hoped, would drive him over the edge.

“We’re ready to start,” Roscoe said softly over the radio. “They’re going upstairs now.”

He was talking about a couple who worked for him. The woman, who was built a little like Jennifer, would be wearing a wig that duplicated Jennifer’s hairdo. Even with the telescope, Gleason wouldn’t be able to tell the difference at this distance, I hoped. The plan was for the woman and her husband to feign making love in full view of the sliding glass doors, to put on a show that would send Gleason into a killing rage and force him to take action. He could shoot at them, and probably would, but the bullets wouldn’t get through the armored glass we’d installed. And, the minute he shot, I’d have him. I hoped.

I could see Jennifer’s house from where I sat, and saw the downstairs lights go off. Then the bedroom light came on. I turned my attention to Gleason. He stood up, moved to the telescope and put his eye against the eye piece. I was watching him using the night-vision binoculars and could see him stiffen when he realized what was happening in the bedroom. “That fucking bitch!” I heard him mutter. He grabbed for the rifle, took aim at the bedroom window, and fired a shot.

I dropped the binoculars, stood up and, standing in the combat position, aimed my pistol at him. He fired another shot. Before he could work the bolt action on his rifle, I yelled, “Freeze, Gleason! Drop the gun!”

He stiffened, turned, and continued working the action on the rifle. I fired at him, aiming for the middle of his body. The rifle flew out of his hands and he went over backward.

Moving carefully, I approached him, holding my gun on him. I was pretty sure I’d hit him. I seldom miss what I’m shooting at. He laid there on his back, very still, with his eyes closed. I peered at him, trying to see where the wound was. I couldn’t, so I stepped closer. Too close.

Gleason suddenly came to life. His leg came up quickly, too quickly for me to avoid it, and he kicked the gun out of my hand. The next thing I knew, roaring like a wild man, he was on me, his weight carrying me back, taking me off my feet. When we hit the ground, the wind was knocked out of me and, before I could get to my feet, he disappeared. I heard him crashing through the brush off to my right and headed in that direction.

“Roscoe, he got by me!” I yelled into the microphone as I made my way through the brush after Gleason. “I think he could be headed in your direction.”

“You OK?” Roscoe asked.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m right behind him. I think you better get the cops rolling.”

“Will do,” Roscoe said. “Watch your ass!”

I kept going, being careful not to trip or run into trees. I’d flubbed things up enough for one night.

We’d started down an embankment. There was a house between where we were and Jennifer’s place. It looked like Gleason intended to go right through their back yard. I wondered if he’d considered the chain link fence the homeowner had installed around his property. Climbing over that was going to slow him down some, maybe even let me catch up to him.

“Son of a bitch!” I heard him yell. He wasn’t too far ahead of me, judging from the sound, and it looked like he hadn’t thought about the fence.

I’d have been happier if I had my gun, but I didn’t take the time to look for it before I set out after him, so whatever I did, I’d have to do with my hands. I emerged from the brush and there he was, clambering up the six-foot high fence. I had no idea why this homeowner put that fence in, but right then I was very happy he had.

“Give it up, Gleason!” I yelled. “We’ve got you.” I moved toward the fence. He was nearing the top, so I reached up, grabbed his legs, and yanked on them. He hung on with his hands and tried to kick at me, but I managed to pull him off-balance and he lost his grip. He dropped to the ground on his feet, facing me. There was a streetlight not far from us and I could see his eyes. They looked wild. Gleason was no longer a sane man, and he wasn’t making any effort to hide that fact.

Growling, Gleason lunged for me. I ducked under his outstretched arms and landed the hardest punch I’ve ever thrown to his solar plexus. He grunted and stiffened, but he kept coming. I slipped away from him and stepped back, circling to his right, trying to keep him off-balance. I needed to keep him busy until the cops showed up anyhow. I didn’t think I was going to be able to handle him myself, not in the state he was in.

He lunged for me again, moving a little more cautiously. He almost got hold of me, but I managed to side-step just in time and, as I did, I swept his legs out from under him with my leg. He thudded to the ground, still growling. I’d been in a lot of tough spots in my life, but never had I seen a human being act like Gleason was. It was as if he were no longer human.

Still roaring wildly, he got to his feet almost immediately and rushed me again. This time I didn’t escape him. He swung wildly and his blow hit me square in the chest, knocking me off my feet. It would have been worse, but the ballistic vest I was wearing cushioned some of the force of the blow. Before I could move, he kicked me hard in the ribs. I tensed, expecting more punishment, but none came.

I forced my eyes to focus and saw him running along the fence, headed for the street. “He’s still headed in your direction, Roscoe,” I panted into the microphone as I got to my feet and started after him. My chest hurt like hell and I felt stabbing pains every time I inhaled, but I couldn’t let him get away. I heard another sound, too. At first I thought it was because he’d rung my bell when he kicked me, then I realized it was the sound of sirens. The cops were coming. One way or another, Gleason was all finished. If I didn’t get him, they would.

Gleason was running hard, putting distance between us. It was all I could do to keep going, never mind catch him. He reached the end of the fence and ran out into the street. When he did, he was bathed in bright light from the headlights of an approaching car.

I stopped running and stood there, stunned, watching as the car – the police car I’d heard earlier – slammed into him. His scream of fear was accompanied by the sound of the siren and screeching tires. He flew up into the air, slammed down on the hood of the car, bounced into the windshield, and cleared the flashing light bar off the roof as he flew over it. He crashed to the pavement behind the car, which continued for a few more feet before it stopped. He bounced once, then didn’t move.

“Roscoe, he’s down,” I said as I made my way out to the street.

Two shaken police officers climbed out of the trashed cruiser. One of them walked back to Gleason, bend down, and felt for a pulse. He stood up, looked at his partner, and shook his head.

We spent the rest of the night talking to cops and writing reports. It was almost dawn before we were finally allowed to go home. Lieutenant Harkins headed up the investigation. He walked me out to my car after we finished with the reports. “You guys do things like this all the time?” he asked.

“No, and I’m not sure I want to again,” I replied. “I’ve never seen anyone as wild as Gleason was.” My ribs still hurt like mad. I winced when I opened the door of my car.

Harkins shook his head. “You ought to get those ribs looked at,” he said. “He coulda broke one, kicking you like that.”

“Probably did,” I said. “Maybe I will stop at the hospital and have them checked.”

“You take care,” he said. “I’m not sure I’d have done it the way you did, but you got two prime assholes out of our hair this week. I’d say that’s enough for anyone. Take it easy for a while, OK?”

“You have my word on it, Lieutenant,” I said.

The doctor in the emergency room told me my ribs were seriously bruised, but not broken. “Take it easy for a while and you’ll be just fine,” he said. “And I’d stay away from strenuous exercise for a week or so.”

“Doc, I plan to sleep for a week or so,” I told him.

I left the hospital and drove home. I wanted to see Jennifer, but I needed rest, too, and she probably could stand some rest, too. Once I got home, I took a shower, then I crawled into bed and fell asleep.