Blind Justice. Don Pendleton
1
Seattle, Washington
“Okay, I know we can’t kill him,” Ken Brenner said. “Doesn’t mean we can’t make the bastard suffer. Put a bullet in him to slow him down. He’s got something the senator wants and Kendal is a mean son of a bitch to say no to.”
“Yeah? You know what pisses me off? That hard-faced mother he keeps at his side all the time. Stone.” Steve Dunn hawked and spat with deliberate force. “Follows Kendal around like a fuckin’ guard dog.”
“Well, that’s what he is. Senator Kendal’s pet rottweiler.”
Dunn folded his arms across his chest, hunching his shoulders against the chill rain sweeping in across the city. He was cold and he was wet, despite the supposed all-weather coat he was wearing. They had been waiting for almost an hour, watching the seedy hotel where their quarry was said to be staying. Brenner’s informants had come up with the location earlier that afternoon, so he and Dunn had staked out the place and were waiting for their man to show.
“Jesus, Ken,” Dunn complained, “why couldn’t we have waited in the car?”
“We’ve been through this. If Logan sees our wheels parked on this street he’s just liable to turn around and leave. He’s a cop, Steve. A fucking good cop. He’d spot a car like ours with his eyes shut. Wrong vehicle for a deadbeat street like this.”
“Yeah. Well, if I get a chill from this rain I’ll send Kendal a bill for my medicine.”
Brenner chuckled. “Good luck with that,” he said.
“Hey, Ken, isn’t that Logan?”
A man was walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Brenner recognized him instantly. He watched Ray Logan as the cop headed for the hotel entrance. He tapped his partner and they crossed the street, coming up behind Logan.
The cop must have sensed them behind him. He turned, fixing his gaze on them. Brenner was shocked at Logan’s appearance. His unshaven face was pale, cheeks sunken, his hair in need of a trim.
“Hey, Ray, where you been hiding?” Brenner asked. “You never call. You don’t write.”
“What the hell do you want, Brenner?”
“Isn’t so much what we want, Ray,” Brenner said. “It’s Kendal who wants to have a talk with you.”
The moment he heard the senator’s name, Ray Logan threw himself at Brenner and Dunn. His move caught them off guard. They had expected him to run, not attack. His left shoulder rammed into Brenner’s chest, taking his breath and knocking him off balance. Logan’s right foot lashed out, catching Dunn in the groin, drawing a howl of agony from the man. As Dunn clutched at himself, Logan drove his fist into his face, drawing blood from Dunn’s mouth.
“Get that bastard,” Dunn said.
Logan had turned and now broke away from them, cutting across the street and making it to the dark mouth of an alley.
“Let’s go,” Brenner yelled, taking off after Logan, yanking his handgun from its holster.
Dunn followed, pawing at the blood oozing from his torn lip. He pounded after his partner, splashing through standing pools of water.
“Don’t you fucking lose him,” he called.
Up ahead he could see the dark outline of Logan, framed at the far end of the alley. There was a moment when it looked as if he had stopped running, half turning to look back at his pursuers.
Then he broke into motion, plunging out of the alley and into the street beyond.
THE MAN CAME OUT of the alley, cutting directly across the rain-swept street and was caught in the glare of the SUV’s headlights. Tires squealed as the heavy vehicle violently braked, the forward motion arrested briefly as the rear end cycled around, the driver working the wheel with strong hands. It came to a rocking halt, the driver’s-side window level with the fleeing man. There was a frozen millisecond where the two men held face-to-face.
The sharp crack of an auto pistol was followed by a blinking muzzle flash, a second shot was fired, and the fleeing man was slammed against the SUV’s door. He tumbled away, going to his knees as the driver shoved open the door and exited the vehicle. He stood over the fallen man, a weapon filling his hands, and he returned fire in the direction of the two shadowed figures at the mouth of the alley. Whatever they might have expected, someone shooting back at them was not it. The shooter’s slug slammed into the brickwork at the mouth of the ally, splinters peppering them, and without continuing the attack the men fell back into the dark maw of the gap between buildings.
Wind gusted in the deserted street, driving the rain forward in chilled sheets. It was close to 1:00 a.m. and the backstreet area of the city, never heavily congested even in daylight, was devoid of pedestrians in the early hours.
The SUV’s driver leaned over and helped the wounded man to his feet. He opened the rear door and eased him inside the vehicle. He climbed back behind the wheel, dropped the lever into Drive and took the SUV away from the alley, making a fast turn, and headed for the city center.
“You okay back there?”
The wounded man had pulled himself to a sitting position. Pain from his wounds was starting to make itself known and it took him a moment to speak.
“Been better,” he said.
His rescuer glanced into the rearview mirror. He saw a gaunt face, eyes deep-set and dark-ringed. The hair plastered to the skull. Whatever had happened to the man had started well before the shooting. The problem was of long-standing.
“You need a hospital?”
“No hospital.”
“You’ve got a couple of bullets in you,” the driver said.
“Can’t risk a hospital. They have to report gunshot wounds and details go on computers.”
“You wanted by the police?”
The hoarse laugh from the rear seat held a cynical undertone. “Not in the way you might believe.”
“How do I interpret that?”
There was a silence as the man reached inside his rain-soaked jacket. He held an object the driver could see in the mirror.
It was a black leather badge holder, and the streetlamps reflected off the metal of a shield that identified the Seattle Police Department.
“I’m a cop,” the guy said. “The pair trying to bring me down were cops, too. Dunn and Brenner. I have something they want. My own squad captain, Fitch, is in on it, too. I was working undercover, on my own, and gathered one hell of a package of incriminating evidence against a guy named Kendal. Tyrone Kendal. And get this. He’s a U.S. senator. Powerful man. Ruthless bastard. All started with a few rumors I got from one of my informants. Tied in with a case I was already working. So I turned my attention to Kendal and some of the lowlifes on his payroll. Didn’t realize what I was into until I’d worked myself in deep. Spent a couple of months on it. Started to get results. Pictures. Video. Telephone voice recordings. Even managed to get into some of Kendal’s computer files. The guy is into real nasty stuff. Blackmail. Bribery. He has a number of influential people by the balls. Other politicians. Business executives. Those three cops are banking payoff money—big bucks, too. One of my informants calls and tells me to get the hell out. Said I was blown. Next day they pulled his body out of the water. He’d been cut to pieces. I put my information together and checked into a hotel. Called my wife and told her to lie low until I had things sorted. I tried to bring one of the squad heads in on what I had. He reacted weird. I got the feeling he was working me. That was Fitch. Proved out when I found I was being followed. I managed to lose the tail, then realized the son of a bitch was working for the people I’d fingered. So I went off the grid. I’m trying to stay one step ahead while I try to figure out what to do. Who to trust now. When I called Rachel she warned me to stay