The Fixer Read online

  Over the wall the distance to the house looked a difficult course. There were no trees and at least 100-yards of slight incline to the back of the house. The ground was grass covered and plush with no places to hide.

  "No cover at all," said Carla, slowly shaking her head as she examined the yard. Her jaw tightened and her lips pressed hard together in frustration. "I say we just B-line for the doors by the pool. No use trying to hide. He knows we’re here and I'm sure this place is set up with surveillance."

  The big man nodded in total agreement and slid down the opposite side of the wall. Right on his heels Carla did the same. At a full sprint, the team of two ran up the grass hill then pressed their backs against the side of the house, waiting to see if there was any reaction from guards, dogs, or even The Butcher himself, but nothing–or no one–came. Just silence.

  "I’ll go in by the pool slider doors, but you go to the front of the house. Maybe we can squeeze this rat into a corner by coming at him from two sides."

  Falau stared at his partner, unsure if splitting up was the right thing to do. Safety in numbers was always a rule that he lived by. Splitting off alone put them in a situation where they could end up in a one-on-one battle with an extremely dangerous man.

  "Are you with me Falau?" snapped Carla.

  "Yeah.

  "Then stop staring at me and say something. We're kind of in a rush here. Are you good with the plan?"

  Nodding his head in agreement the big man said, “Yeah. But if one of us gets in trouble, we yell. Just blow the cover to help each other."

  "Done and done. Now go!"

  Falau made his way up the embankment next to the house that allowed him a clear view of the driveway. The ground was laid in such a way to make the first floor of the house at ground level in front, and lower to make it ground level at the basement in the back.

  Running to the corner he could see the back of the car The Butcher had been driving. The sharp pain of a flashback kicked inside his head.

  "Not now!” he grunted to himself, keeping his feet moving and his mind on what needed to be done.

  The car wasn’t parked in any intentional way. It was half turned sideways and the garage door was open. The Butcher must've raced up the driveway and stopped the car as fast as he could and ran into the garage. But was he still in there?

  Sliding out the .45 caliber handgun from the soft holster tucked into the back of his waistband, Falau held the gun deliberately in front of him and crept forward. He had a clear view of the far side of the garage, but Falau was blind to what lay closest to him, out of sight due to the corner. The garage was three-cars wide and held a Mercedes, a Porsche, and now the crushed BMW.

  Too many places to hide, he thought moving forward into the corner. I could walk right into him.

  The big man rolled around the corner and dropped to one knee with the weapon straight out in front of him, revealing the closest section of the garage. Nothing.

  He moved in and searched in and out of the cars but saw nothing that provided a clue to where The Butcher was. Only one thing was sure, and that was that he was not hiding in the garage.

  On the back wall three steps led up to a door that had been left ajar. Sliding to get a glimpse of what lay inside, but still keeping a safe distance, all that could be seen was a tile floor that ran up to the threshold. It was a hallway. People tend not to tile the inside of closets, thought Falau.

  Climbing the steps to the door he looked deeper inside and found only darkness. The Butcher was drawing him further into the house. He knew the layout of the house. He knew where the furniture was. He knew the places to hide. In the dark, they would be vigilantes who would have to move at a snail's pace to not bump into anything and give the killer a reference point to shoot at.

  Slipping through the door a 20-foot hallway stretched in front of him, and opened into a large kitchen. Try as he might to be silent, Falau still created ample sound in the silence of the house as his shoes echoed off the tile floor. There was door on the opposite wall of the counters. It was glass. Inside the door the steps were covered in carpet, and led down to the basement.

  Moving to the far end of the kitchen he found a set of French doors already open, and which led to a sunken living room and a plush carpet to muffle the sound of his footsteps.

  The living room was wide open. A sectional sofa lined the back and side wall. There was nowhere to hide in this room. It was designed for entertainment, but could also give a clear shot to anyone moving across it. Keeping to the wall was the safest bet. Walls will cover your back as long as you keep your eyes sharp. Moving in front of the TV, that was laid into the wall with a custom-built entertainment center, the big man could see that the stairs came down as he got to the other side of the room. The steps were covered in carpet, but the chance of them creaking was difficult to assess. Getting caught in the middle of a set of steps was the worst of all situations; nowhere to run or hide. Trapped, with just up or down to choose from while bullets flew your way from those same two directions? No good! There was really no choice. Upstairs had to be searched, and now was the time.

  Up two, three, five, eight steps, with all the sound of a church mouse. Yet Falau still feared the creak or moan from the steps would give away his position.

  Creak!

  From down the steps and around the corner the sound of an un-oiled hinge landed firmly in the ear Falau. "The basement door," he whispered to himself.

  But was it Carla coming up, or The Butcher going down? The risk was too big to wait and find out. The big man moved down the steps with purpose, though as stealthy as he could in the situation. Running into a trap filled with gunfire was not what he wanted to do. His feet slid across the living room rug and he stopped at the corner.

  If tactics had taught him anything, it would be that The Butcher would be waiting with his gun sited on him as he turned the corner. Taking a deep breath and pressing his back against the wall, he revealed himself as he burst around the corner and dropped to one knee.

  "Freeze!" screamed Carla from one floor below.

  As the words registered with Falau he heard two shots ring out from the basement. Without hesitation, he ran to the basement door in the kitchen and swung it open. Flying down the steps he could hear the backslider of the basement slam shut and the sound of heavy feet crossing the cement that surrounded the pool and fading into the distance.

  The basement was another location for entertainment, with a bar and a pool table, but next to the pool table laid a body, motionless and unmistakably the shape of a woman.

  With his heart rate quickening with fear and his vision blurring with tears, Falau moved as fast as he could to Carla. No longer worried about getting shot at or completing the mission, he had only one thing on his mind, and that was saving his new partner.

  Sliding to his knees and stopping right next to her he could see her gasping for air as blood streamed from her mouth.

  He soon spotted a red spot on her shirt, increasing in size as the seconds wore on. It was on the left side of her chest close to her heart.

  "You're okay!" said Falau out of instinct, and he placed his hand over her wound trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

  "I will get you out of here! You’re fine!"

  "No... I am... not,” said Carla with a faint smile and looking into the eyes of the big man. She placed her hand onto his, the one trying to stop the bleeding. Grabbing it tight she moved it away from the wound and squeezed it. "Make this worth it."

  "What?" Falau asked, leaning closer.

  "Make this worth it. For my brothers."

  Blankness settled on his face as he looked down at his dying friend. She knew her fate and she wasn't fighting. She coughed hard as the blood filled her lungs and shot from her mouth. Falau held her body tight in his arms as she trembled until she trembled no more.

  Chapter 18

  AS CARLA’S HEAD WAS laid to rest on the carpet of the basement floor, the sound of the creaking door and footst
eps coming down the steps signaled Falau The Butcher was coming.

  Falau picked up Carla’s Ruger SR9C 9mm handgun and tucked it into his waistband for safe keeping.

  Ducking behind the pool table, he held his pistol tight.

  Bang!

  A shot cut through the air, ricocheting off the slate top of the pool table and embedding in the wall.

  "Who are you? What do you want with me?" questioned The Butcher with more hate in his voice than confusion. "You know how many cops I've killed? You think I'm afraid to kill a cop? If you run now you may have a chance to get away. I am not as fast as I once was."

  "I was sent to offer you a deal."

  "The kind of deal where you attack me? I'm not a fool. You are here to kill me."

  The sound of footsteps retreating back up the steps and was clear as day. The Butcher wanted a game of cat and mouse. He could work the room, drawing his prey into the open.

  If he had a cell phone with him, Falau was sure that guards would already be on their way. The time to make a move was now, or the moment would slip away forever.

  Arriving at the steps he used his gun to sweep across, making sure they were clear. The door had been left open at the top of the steps. Falau stopped shy of running through it and held back. He knew better, and took his time again. He started at one side of the room and worked his way across, looking through the site of his pistol.

  Bang!

  A shot splintered the door frame on the far side where Falau stood. Checking the angle of the impact into the doorframe, he worked out the shot had come from the living room. Falau finally turned the gun around the corner, firing two shots to provide himself with cover. After firing the shots he slid across the floor behind the kitchen island. His location was blown by the simple sound of his shoes hitting the tile floor, but the island provided more secure cover.

  "You should not have killed her. That was a big mistake! It changes everything,” said Falau, trying to draw a response from the killer so he’d give up his position.

  "Why? Did you love her?"

  Pausing and quickly putting together his thoughts, he knew the answer was not that clear-cut. It was not love or hate, or anything so juvenile. It was deeper, despite the limited time he knew her.

  "No. Much worse than love. I respected her," Falau called back, feeling a lump in his throat. It had been so long since he had respected anyone, including himself. His life has been filled with a series of rejects and losers for the last five years. Carla had changed that. She had purpose, honor, and passion for what was right, even if she had to do the wrong thing to make it right. "You’re going to pay for what you have done."

  Reaching down he removed his shoes, placing them on the floor behind the island. Inching forward to the front of the island, his eyes started to adjust to the darkness, his footsteps now silent with nothing but a sock touching the floor.

  The Butcher was not on the right side of the living room. "Too bad you are not smart enough to run. But it is survival of the fittest. The stupid must die for us all to get stronger,” called the voice now coming from the far side of the living room.

  Quickly moving to the edge of the double doorway Falau again started to cut the room with his gun. Slow and methodical, checking every inch. No mistake could be afforded now he was this close. Despite The Butcher's words he knew that this night would end up with one of them dead. He would fail in his mission, but maybe he could avenge Carla’s death.

  He stepped down to the living room, training his gun at the banister that ran down the wall next to him, ending at the far end of the room. If the chance of a shot came, he would take it. Shoot him dead. One shot, two shots, three shots... it didn't matter. Just end the sorry son of a bitch's life and be done with it.

  "Never thought a guy called The Butcher would run and hide. Such a coward,” called out Falau, waiting for a response. But The Butcher was not saying a word, keeping his location hidden.

  Getting down low, Falau crept close to the wall below where the banister came down. The killer’s voice was not coming from above... his last words were from the adjoining room, waiting for the big man to show himself and walk straight into the line of fire, Falau was sure that The Butcher was waiting for him.

  Suddenly, from over the banister flew a man with a great scar running down his cheek, and The Butcher crashed down, knocking Falau to the ground and causing Falau’s gun to fly from his hands.

  The Butcher quickly wrapped a cord around Falau’s neck, and tightened it as hard as he could. Falau forced his fingers into the loop, slipping them under the cord and trying to keep the blood flowing to his head.

  "You’re going to learn why they call me El Carnicero! No easy death, not like with the girl. I am going to put you on display for everyone to see."

  His face pressed hard into the side of Falau’s face, as spit shot from his mouth and sweat dripped from his face.

  The feeling of panic started to overwhelm Falau from a lack of oxygen. He’d felt this way once before when he was a young boy. He went swimming in the ocean and was pulled under by the waves, looking for air when there wasn't any there.

  He tried to throw his elbows back at his attacker and kick him, but it had little effect. The man was too strong and the cord was doing its job.

  The cord started to cut into his neck. His fingers were doing nothing to prevent cutting off the circulation. The big man's eyes started to roll in his head and his world began to turn gray.

  "I'm not going to kill you now. I am going to keep you alive and just kill you a little bit each day in my basement. Let you look at that whore of a friend. This is what happens to people who want to confront The Butcher. You will be lucky to have died by my hands."

  The sound of a gun cocking stopped the words spilling from The Butcher’s mouth. His grip loosened. Falau pulled the cord away from his neck and dropped to the ground on his hands and knees, gasping for air. Color flooded back into his vision and his head felt clearer again.

  "Get up and stand against the wall with that piece of trash," commanded the voice.

  "Who the hell are you?" asked The Butcher, pointing his finger at the man.

  "My name is Carlos Rivera, with the National Police Special Operations Commandos. Now shut up the hell up."

  Falau pulled himself up and looked at the man from the National Police. He was young and brash. Falau immediately liked him.

  "You're a cop?" he asked.

  "National Police."

  "Sorry. I'm kind of in the same line of work that you are, but more of a bounty hunter. I have some people that want to see this guy on trial for all the drug running."

  "That's fine, but you two are going to jail until I find out who killed the girl. Somebody's going to pay for that."

  "Let me take the sick freak out of here, and I can make sure he pays."

  "Shut up!" demanded Rivera. "You really think I will let the two of you walk out of here?"

  "I have $1million in cash and will give it to you now if you let me leave. Do with him what you will," interjected The Butcher.

  Shaking his head Falau again turned his attention back to the National Police man.

  "Can I shut this guy up for us?"

  "Sure."

  Removing the small injection kit from his shirt collar–just where Tyler said it would be–he jabbed it into the neck of The Butcher, causing the killer to lash out at him. Rubbing his neck, the killer pulled the needle from his neck and he fell to the floor.

  "That's better,” said Falau.

  "Why do they want him? The people you work for?"

  "He has killed a lot of people with the drugs he’s smuggled. He cuts it with Carfentanil. They want to give him another trial which is not so public."

  "You know I can’t just let him just walk away."

  "I understand,” replied Falau, rubbing his chin with his thumb and finger. "But what if I could give you something more valuable than this jerk. What if I can hand you the biggest drug bust in the history of
Colombia?"

  The National Policeman stood still and trained his gun on Falau. He was weighing his options and deciding if he could trust him.

  "It's a simple choice. You could shoot me or you could be a huge hero. It's up to you."

  Carlos Rivera lowered his gun and smiled. “Tell me what you know."

  Chapter 19

  PULLING DOWN TO THE loading bay, the hearse backed up, bumping its backdoor against the rear entrance to McGinty’s Funeral Parlor. The engine shut down and the driver slid the door open.

  Stepping from the hearse Falau looked up to the sky, seeking few stars. "Miami, you kill the stars with the streetlights."

  Walking up to the door he knocked in the specific pattern he had been instructed to by Tyler. Knocking out the signal let the men inside know it was him. Slowly the metal door slid open, revealing two large men who stepped forward and opened the back of the hearse without saying a word.

  "Hey old friend,” chirped Tyler inside the doorway. "Congratulations on your first successful mission.”

  "Thanks,” Falau responded in a somber tone. "There was a heavy price to pay."

  "I heard. She was one of the best. My guess is he hit her with a lucky shot."

  "Not lucky for her."

  "No."

  Tyler held his hand out, making sure Falau knew he was happy with the work he had done.

  "You did an amazing job. Carla knew the risks but wanted to be part of this one. She would be proud of you. You made him pay for her death and the deaths of a lot of other people."

  Falau looked to the floor and grunted in passive agreement. He was not sure how he felt about the whole thing. People were now dead and nothing could bring them back.

  "Come inside."

  “I'm just going to head back home."