Last Man Standing by David Baldacci
and throwing Web down. Web quickly rose and took a side kick on the forearm. It stung like hell, but better his arm than his head. The two feinted and parried a few times more before
Toona caught Web with a flying spinner and he went down again, but he bounced right back up.
“Is that all the shit you got, Toona?” taunted Web. “Man, you got me by fifty pounds and fifteen years. If I was you, your ass would be out for the count by now.”
Toona dropped his smirk and hit Web with an old-fashioned right jab but ate a hard left cross to the head in return. Toona didn’t seem to like his face getting marked, something Web was quick to pick up on.
“Hey, Toona, a screwed-up face isn’t the end of the world. With no ladies eating up your paycheck, you can probably really put some bucks away for retirement.”
“You going down, man,” said Toona. “And you staying down.” “Not from some pussy like you, I’m not.”
An enraged Toona lunged at Web and caught him with a sharp punch right to the kidney. Web almost went down from the blow, but he wrapped his arms around Toona’s middle and started to squeeze. Toona hit him with two more shots to the head, but Web held on. Like a constrictor, each time Toona took a breath, Web would squeeze a little bit more, not letting the man’s diaphragm return to its original position.
More head shots and more squeezes and Web could start to feel the bigger man wavering, his gasps of breath so pleasant to hear. And then Web loosened his grip just a little, and it was enough for Toona to get his own clench on Web, which was what Web had intended. The two men swung each other around, panting heavily, their rivulets of sweat meeting each time their bodies did.
Toona tried to throw Web off, but Web held on, because he had other plans. Finally, Toona swung Web around and Web’s grip was broken and he went sprawling. Actually, he did a controlled forward roll, grabbed Toona’s pistol where he had left it on the ground, came upright, lunged forward, put a neck lock on the stunned Toona and placed the gun to his head, all in a blur of motion.
“You have to get yourself some better security,” Web said to Big
F. “Ain’t that right, Toona?”
Big F raised his pistol and fired. His shot hit Toona dead center in the forehead. The man dropped and died without making one sound. Most gunshots to the head had that effect, Web knew, the ability of the victim to speak gone before the brain could dial up the scream. Bullets and flesh were like ex-wives. They just never mixed that well.
Web stared as Big F casually slipped the gun back in his waistband as though he had just disposed of an irksome mole in a vegetable garden. Big F’s men looked as stunned as Web. Toona’s demise had obviously been on only Big F’s agenda. Macy, however, just stood there, his gun trained on Web; the sudden violent death of a colleague didn’t seem to interest him at all. He was all cool and professional, standing there in a classic Weaver firing stance, his gaze riveted on the gun in Web’s hand. Web wondered where the guy had received his training. Probably some paramilitary outfit staffed by ex-good-guys who, for some reason or other, had slid to the dark side.
With his hostage gone and multiple guns pointing at him, Web dropped the pistol.
“Good help,” said Big F to Web, “I can’t find it. I give my crew cash, clothes, cars and bitches. Show ’em the ropes, teach ’em the bizness, ’cause I ain’t be doing this shit all my life. Cash in my chips, lose myself till I kick living. And you think that makes ’em loyal? Shit, no. They just keep biting the hand that feeds ’em. Toona making his own action on the side and think I ain’t know it. Skimming dollars and dope off all the time. And he thinking I stupid and don’t check that shit. But that ain’t the dumbest thing he done. Dumbest thing the boy done is he be using the products. You put that shit in you, you talk to anybody ’bout anything. He be high on that shit and he be mouthing off to a whole crew a DEA and his ass not even know it. Sell us all down the river. Well, I ain’t going down no river. I ain’t being no drug kingpin working my bizness from the inside with no chance in hell of ever getting on the outside again. Uh-uh. No way, baby. No way. That ain’t how it ending for me. I eat me some bullets before I go to mighty whitey’s house.”
He glanced sharply at his men. “You just gonna leave Toona there or what? Show some damn respect for the dead.”
“What the hell you want us to do with him?” said one of them, his arms spread wide, his features angry, though Web easily sensed the fear he held for his boss. Web was certain Big F could smell that fear too. He no doubt counted on it in running his “bizness.” If he wanted to teach his people loyalty, they had one very compelling reason lying right there in a growing red pond. And taking out Toona had probably been meant as a warning to Web too. Well, he felt incredibly warned.
Big F shook his head in obvious disgust. “I got to tell you every damn thing to do like you a little baby or something? I smell me water and so can you. Throw his ass in the river. And tie something to it, so it ain’t come up!”
The men gingerly picked up their fallen comrade, bitching the whole time about getting blood and other Toona bits on their fine Versace. Macy stood in exactly the same spot. Apparently, Web thought, he was inner circle and thus was allowed to stay for extra innings.
When the others had disappeared down the trail, Big F eyed Web. “See what I mean ’bout good help? Can’t get none. Everybody wants to get rich overnight. Nobody wants to work for a damn thing no more. Start at the top. They all wanta start at the top. I started at eight years old running dollar bags of white rock. Worked my ass off for over twenty years and these brothers today be thinking they deserve every dime I got ’cause they be doing this shit for a coupla months. New economy, my ass!”
If Big F had been sitting in a maximum-security prison cell wearing Hannibal Lecter ready-to-wear and Web was safely on the other side of the bars, Web might have started laughing his guts out at this capitalistic tirade. Yet right now all he was wondering was when Big F would finally focus on the fact that Web was an eyewitness to murder.
“Now, Toona, he must’ve killed five or six people. So I just saved you the trouble of frying his ass. Ain’t gotta thank me.”
Web didn’t. In fact, he said nothing. He probably could have made some smart remark, but witnessing the cold-blooded murder of another human being, no matter how much he might have deserved it, was not a great lead-in to humor for Web.
“I guess everybody got trouble.” Big F wiped at one of his eyes. “But the Lord done showered me with some extra helpings. I got me family coming out my ass and every one of them looking for cash. Got me a ninety-year-old great-aunt I ain’t even know I had coming round talking like this.” His voice rose higher. “‘Now, Francis, can’t you take care of my eyes? Got me the cataracts, honey, can’t see to play the Bingo no mo’. Do something about it for me, will you, honey? Used to bounce you on my knee. Used to change your shitty diaper.’ And I peel off some cash and there you go. And she back a week later ’bout her damn cat what got female problems.” He looked at Web incredulously. “A fucking cat with female problems. ‘And it only be a thousand dollars, Francis,’ she says, ‘that all it be, honey, and remember I wiped your shitty diaper while your mama was down the river or else shooting herself up with that little needle of hers.’ And you know what I do? I peel off ten hundreds and give it to her and her cat.”
“The F stands for Francis?”
Big F grinned. And it seemed to Web that he saw for the first time signs of little Kevin in this hulking, murderous adult.
“Yeah, what’d you think it stood for?”
Web shook his head. “No clue.”
Big F took out a small box, unwrapped a pill and put it in his mouth. He offered one to Web, who declined.
“Tagamet, Pepcid AC, Zantac,” said Big F. “I eat ’em like peanuts. Had me an upper GI done. Damn belly looks like a mole’s been through it. This shit’s getting to me, ain’t no lie.”
“So why don’t you retire?”
“Easy to
“Sorry to tell you, but the cops never stop looking.”
“The cops I can deal with. It’s some folks in the bizness what giving me the pain in the ass. They think if you want to quit working you gonna rat ’em out. They can’t understand why’d you walk away from a life like mine. Money out the ass, ’cept you got to keep hiding it, and you got to keep moving around, and you’re still always wondering when somebody, like maybe your bitch or your brother or your cat-loving great-aunt, is gonna put a hole in your head while you sleeping.” He grinned. “Now, don’t you worry ’bout me. I be fine.” He popped another pill and then closely eyed Web. “You one of them guys from HRT?”
“I am.”
“I hear you dudes are some serious shit. When you hit me the other night, boy, that hurt. That’s rare, little man, let me tell you, that’s rare. You guys must be some bad shit.”
“We’re actually really lovable when you get to know us.”
Big F didn’t crack a smile at Web’s remark. “So how come you ain’t dead?”
“Guardian angel.”
Now Big F smiled broadly. “Right, that’s good shit. Tell me where I can get me one.”
Big F shifted his bulk along with the direction of the conversation. “You want to know how them guns got in that building?”
Web stiffened. “You willing to testify to it?”
“Yeah. I come on down to the courthouse. You go on ahead and wait for me.”
“Okay, how’d they get the guns in there?”
“You know how old them buildings are?”
Web’s eyes narrowed. “Old? No. Why?”
“The 1950s. I ain’t old ’nough to remember, but my mama was. She told me.”
“Was?”
“Too much coke. Not the soda pop. Yeah, 1950s. Think, HRT. Think.”
“I’m not getting it.”
He shook his head and looked over at Macy and then back at Web. “I thought you damn Feds all went to college.”
“Some colleges are better than others.”
“If you can’t fly the shit in through the roof and you can’t take it in the front door, what you got left?”
Web thought for a moment before it hit him. “Under. The 1950s. Cold War. Underground bomb shelters. Tunnels?”
“Damn, you smart after all. There you go.”
“That’s still not much to go on.”
“That’s your problem. I gave you something, now you tell your folks to back off my ass. I ain’t got no reason in the world to waste a buncha Feds. You go back and make sure they understand that.” He paused and rubbed some pine needles with his huge foot, and then he looked directly at Web. “You guys ain’t playing games on me and got Kevin but ain’t saying, are you?”
Web considered how best to answer that. Ironically, given his present company, he decided that the truth was the best approach. “We don’t have Kevin.”
“See, local cops I don’t trust as far as I can throw ’em. Too many brothers end up dead when the local cops get to ’em. Now, Feds ain’t worth too much in my book neither, but you guys ain’t killing people for no reason.”
“Thanks.”
“So other things being equal, see, if you guys got Kevin, then I know he be all right. And maybe you boys just hold on to him for a while till this shit blows over.”
The way the man was half looking at him, Web could tell Big F really wanted Kevin to be in the custody of the FBI, where he would be reasonably safe.
“I wish we did have him, but we don’t. I’m playing it straight with you.” Then he added, “But I think Kevin might have been involved somehow.”
“Bullshit,” roared Big F. “He a kid. He ain’t done nothing. He ain’t going to no jail, no way is he. Not Kevin.”
“I didn’t say he knew what he was doing. You’re right: He’s just a kid, a scared kid. But whoever took him is behind what happened. At least that’s what I think. I don’t know why Kevin was in that alley, but his being there wasn’t a coincidence. I want him just as bad as you do. And I want him safe too. I saved him once in that alley, I don’t want it to be for naught.”
“Right, so he can testify and then spend the rest of his life in witness protection. Some life.”
“At least it’s a life,” Web shot back.
Big F and he had a prolonged stare-down until the big man finally looked away.
“I’m going to do everything I can to get Kevin back safe and sound, Francis. I promise you that. But if he knows something, he’s going to have to tell us. We’ll protect him.”
“Yeah, sure you will. Done a real good job of that so far, ain’t you?”
They heard the other men returning. “A name would be nice to go with the tunnels,” said Web, but Big F was already shaking his head.
“Ain’t got none to give.”
When the two men came into sight, Big F motioned to one of them. “Make sure the two-way in the car ain’t working.”
The man nodded, slid into the front seat of Web’s car and fired two bullets into the government-issued radio and then ripped out the hand-held microphone. He also popped the ammo clip out of Web’s gun, fired the round that was chambered into the dirt and handed it back to him. The other man pulled out Web’s cell phone from his pocket, ceremoniously smashed it against a tree and then handed it back to Web with a broad smile. “Ain’t making ’em like they used to.”
“We got to be going now,” said Big F. “And in case you thinking ’bout coming after my ass for pulling the trigger on Toona, think ’bout this.” He paused and stared grimly at Web. “Anytime I want you dead, you dead. Anytime I want any of your friends dead, they dead. You got a pet and I want it dead, it dead.”
Web eyed the man steadily. “You don’t want to go down that road, Francis. You really don’t.”
“What? You gonna kick my ass? You gonna hurt me bad? You gonna kill me?” He unbuttoned his shirt and stepped closer to Web. Web had seen a lot in his line of work, yet he had never seen anything quite like this.
The man’s chest and belly were covered with knife wounds, bullets holes, thick, angry-looking scars, burn marks and what looked to be tunnels of ripped flesh badly healed. To Web it seemed a painting collectively produced by an insane world.
“One hundred and twenty in nice little tidy-whitey years,” Big F said quietly. He closed the shirt and his face held, to Web’s thinking, a look of obvious pride at surviving all that those scars represented. And right now, Web couldn’t deny the man that.
Big F said, “You come after me, you better bring something to do the job right. And I’ll still cut off your dick and stuff it down your throat.”
Big F turned away and it was all Web could do not to leap on the man’s back. Now was not Web’s time to settle this, yet he couldn’t just leave it like this.
He called after Big F. “So I guess you’re grooming Kevin to inherit your empire. Your brother-son. I’m sure he’s real proud of you.”
Big F turned back. “I said Kevin’s not your bizness.”
“We shared a lot back in that alley. He told me lots of stuff.” It was all a bluff, but a calculated one, if Web was reading the signals right. Whoever had switched Kevin out might be Big F’s enemy. If that was the case, then playing one against the other might not be such a bad idea. Web was thinking that Big F was not above lying about not being involved, but that didn’t mean the street capitalist hadn’t done a joint venture with somebody else to knock off Charlie Team. If so, Web wanted everybody. Everybody.
Big F walked up to Web and looked him over, as though gauging either his guts or his stupidity.
“If you want Kevin back, I expect some cooperation,” said Web. He hadn’t mentioned what Big F had told him. He figured Big F wanted to keep the information about the tunnels under the target building between him and Web, which was why Big F had sent the two men off to give Toona a burial in the river.
“Expect this,” said Big F.
Web managed to partially block the blow with his forearm, but the impact of Big F’s bowling-ball fist and his own arm against his jaw still knocked him on top of the hood of the car, where his head smacked against the windshield, cracking it.
Web woke up a half hour later, slowly slid off the car hood and staggered around holding his arm and rubbing his jaw and head and cursing. Calming down, he discovered that his jaw, arm and head did not appear broken and he wondered how that was possible. He also wondered how many more concussions he could endure before his brain fell out of his head.
And then Web whirled and pointed his gun at the man who had just emerged from behind a stand of trees. The man was pointing his own gun at Web.
“Nice try,” said the man, “but your gun doesn’t have any bullets.” He stepped forward and Web got a better look at him.
“Cove?”
Randall Cove put his gun away and leaned up against the car. He said, “That dude is one seriously dangerous person. Him blowing away his own guy like that, that was a new one even for me.” He looked at Web’s face. “You’re gonna have some good bruises tomorrow, but it’s better than a visit with the coroner.”
Web put his empty gun away and rubbed the back of his head. “I take it you had a ringside seat. Thanks for the assist.”
Cove looked at him grimly. “Look, man, I’m a fellow agent, under-cover or not. Carry the same creds, took the same oath, work through the same bullshit you do at the Bureau. If they’d tried to take you out, you would have known my presence. But they didn’t and