KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set (43 page)

Chapter
20

Bye-Bye Love

Stella announces the
winner, "And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to..." she opens the envelope and looks at the card. Seeming a little stunned at first, she gazes out at the audience. Then a big grin takes over her face.

"It's my sexy-exy — Jason Ryder!"

The crowd erupts.

"Stop him," I text Zoya, too late.

Jason stands, leans down and kisses Zoya.

She gets my text and turns to me from her seat, a questioning look on her face.

He's moving down the aisle, shaking hands patting backs and hugging as he goes.

I search the crowd for security. They're doubled up at every exit, including both sides of the stage.

I stand, unsure of what to do.

Jason leaps up the steps to claim his award.
Proximity detector
, I think, as his arms outstretch toward his ex-wife, and she grins back. The watch that Bruno gave him....

"Shi-it!"
I pull out the big, long-barreled .44 and run toward the stage. "Stop! Jason, get back."

I'm sure handguns are appearing from everywhere. But pistols aren't accurate from much of a distance and with me in the crowd of celebrities, I figure I have a few seconds before any will gun me down.

I stop in front of the stage. Jason stops as well and stares at me. Stella's mouth drops open.

"E Z, come on," Jason whispers hoarsely from his damaged throat. "Let's put our personal troubles behind us for tonight. What do you say?"

"Get back, Jason. Stella's wearing a bomb."

Jason glances at Stella's body-tight gown.

"E Z," he says and steps toward me.

I raise the .44, pointing it toward Stella, hoping it is accurate. I pull back the hammer. Slowly, I squeeze the trigger.

A loud
bang
and Oscar's head is gone.

That got everyone's attention. Women scream, men gasp.

I tell Jason, "It might be too late, already." They are fifteen feet apart. "You might be too close, Jason." To Stella, I ask, "Stella, where'd you get the dress?"

"I...I — everyone knows; Jawir Fantini. He's a top fashion designer."

"No, Stella. Who actually gave it to you."

Stella's dumbfounded.

"Was it Ramón? Stella, was it Ramón Peña? Did he insist you wear it?"

She's horrorstruck. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" She glazes down at the gown.

"Stella, Peña had that thing made in Turkey. It's a knockoff design. The fabric — it's explosive."

She smiles affectionately at the headless Oscar, then hugs the statuette, probably realizing this will be the only time she'll ever have him in her arms — the prize she has always reached for, but that has eluded her throughout her career.

I check over my shoulder, quickly calling out to the awe-struck crowd, "Clear out! Get the hell out of here."

The mass of stars, movie makers and people who serve them rise as if one body and race in panic toward the exits. I didn't have to say more. "Evacuate, now!"

They sprint, many tripping over one another for the exits. Human nature at its most basic — its ugliest.

I avoid a couple of men I think might want to become heroes in real life, sidestepping two of today's biggest stars — I won't name names.

Zoya steps by me, ducking my aim, and stops twenty feet up the aisle.

"Jason," I say. "Back away from Stella. Her dress is made of plastic explosives. Back away, slowly."

Stella begins swaying. She takes a couple of tentative steps.

"Stella, don't move."

"But, E Z," she says, "What will I do?"

"Stand there until the bomb squad can get in and disarm the bomb." The big chrome buckle glimmers in the lights and I scrutinize it. "The controls are probably wired into your buckle."

I wonder what brave security guard would try to pop me in the head. I hope he's a good shot. I don't want to become a vegetable.

I consider the possibility that Peña could have a wireless remote detonator. "Is he watching, Stella? Is Peña watching the show?"

She looks at me still stunned, gripping the headless Oscar.

Anger overwhelmed me. My feelings for this woman were so convoluted, I didn't even understand them. "Come on, Stella," I scolded, "tell the truth. Yesterday, it wasn't that you loved or cared a bit for me when you didn't go through with trying to kill me. It was because you were in on your own daughter's kidnapping plot, and you wouldn't have gotten the big payoff money if you'd killed me early. But you didn't know all of what Peña had in mind, did you?"

She stares blankly at me.

I have a change of heart. I don't need to badger her. She is so screwed up, I nearly feel sorry for her. I regain control of my emotions.

"Listen, Stella," I say. "It's going to be okay. But where's Sophie? Where's Sophie, Stella?"

Stella is frowning. She's stepped backward into a world where her brain doesn't need to think. "Sophie?"

"Where's your daughter Sophie? Is she okay Stella?"

She smiles. "Sophie's okay. She's playing with Ramón. She likes him."

"You filthy bitch!" Jason squeaks out, and noticeably restrains himself from going at her.

"Bomb squad!" comes a familiar female voice from behind me.

They rush in, and I let the hammer back on the old revolver and place it on the floor. Within a couple of seconds, I'm lying next to it, getting my hands zip-tied together.

Two of the cops in full body armor briskly rush me away as a couple of others are paused by the stage, waiting to help Jason. We pass a fully-suited Explosives Ordinance officer, looking like the Michelin Man in black.

*  *  *

We stopped as Harper raised her hand as we were about to go by. Zoya stood behind her.

"I'll take charge of him. Need him for an ongoing investigation."

She pulled me away, and we went to a side exit. Outside, Beautiful and Booger were standing next to the Escalade parked by the door.

As Harper cut me loose, I said, "We still have two situations playing out. One at Stella's mansion and one at the marina."

"The marina?" Booger said. "We just left there. Smokey's okay."

"She's not," I said. Then something hit me — something that passed me by without much consideration earlier, and I'd forgotten all about it until this moment. "And I know where Rabbit is. We need to hurry before they kill him — if they haven't already."

The building suddenly shook. The blast pushed hot air, paper and other debris through the exit where we stood, even though we were at least a hundred yards away from where we had left Stella on the stage. There had not been enough time for them to disarm the bomb.

*  *  *

Zoya and I raced to Stella's mansion. I was afraid we'd be too late, Ramón would already be gone — and we'd find Sophie dead.

I'd told Beautiful and Booger to get back to the marina. I was sure the Russian had been waiting for just the right opportunity, and with Harper, Beautiful and Booger away, they would never have had a better chance to get to Smokey and the girls.

On the way, I turned my own cell phone back on and, with second thoughts, I called Booger.

"Dick's hotdogs," he answered. "If you like hotdogs, you'll really love Dick's!"

In many ways, my friend Booker Ratcliff's brain was fried. I said, "Damn it, Booger, listen to me, this is serious. Do not go into the marina without checking it out, first — do you hear me?"

"Sure, E Z," he said. "Whatever you say. You think they've got it wired?"

"I do."

"Okay, E Z. We'll be careful."

"You'd better. And get serious. Enough people have died tonight. Don't take any chances. Use your old EOD skills and make sure nobody's going to get hurt before you go in."

"Roger that, E Z."

I hung up and noticed I had gotten both a text and a voicemail from sometime while I'd had my own phone turned off. As we sped down the lanes of the rich and famous, avoiding Rolls and Maseratis, I opened the text and was amazed at who it was from. It only said, "Help! They have Mom & Dolly! Battery low. Hiding — " and there was nothing more, as if Rabbit had to send it before he was finished.

I was only slightly relieved that Rabbit had been alive at least up until a couple of hours ago. So he had been hiding all this time. And now they had the girls. This mess was just getting worse.

The voicemail was from Judge Hammer — he never left voicemails, so it was sure to be important. I played it.

The Judge said, "E Z, I thought you'd appreciate knowing there is a huge twist — I just learned that Peña has contracted with Al Qaeda through some old connections he made back in Afghanistan. He's going to blow up the Academy Awards for another ten million."

"Bastard," I said into the phone.

What other critical information was he withholding? I wanted to call him back and say,
Too late, asshole,
and then tell him his playing with information — holding it back so that he has leverage — was a very dangerous game. I wanted to tell him I'd be coming for him next and I'd make him tell me who put the hit on my wife. But I didn't. I couldn't let the Judge's pompous actions take my focus away from this moment when I needed it most.

But the Judge's message wasn't finished.

"One last thing — we discovered Peña has recently been in contact with a human trafficking ring in Dubai that specializes in selling young American children to wealthy Middle Easterners."

Zoya took a sharp right and we were momentarily sideways.

"Damn you!" I replied to the recording, wondering how long he knew that one, too.

"Sorry!" Zoya said.

"Not you, sweetheart," I said and patted her thigh. With a glance, she smiled back endearingly. I hadn't intended my words to have an emotional bend to them — but, if I had to be honest, they did. I returned her smile when she took time for another quick glance.

I told her, "The Judge says Pena's been inquiring about human trafficking with a group specializing in children."

Her frown was full of anger and disgust.

I added, "The Judge probably knew that weeks ago."

"Da," she said, "he is bastard — but him betta vith two evil."

I didn't correct her, knowing what she meant. Pena was the immediate kind of evil; he had to be dealt with now and quickly. The Judge was a different story altogether. I had a feeling that sooner or later, the Judge and I would face off. With his resources, he would be a very formidable foe. For now, he benefitted us most as an ally.

Chapter 21

Ramón Peña, Come on Down!

We hit the
driveway sideways, and stopped behind Stella's Bentley. Bruno had parked it at the curb by the front door.

As I got out, I heard what I thought was a helicopter idling somewhere behind the mansion.

"Stay here," I told Zoya, not knowing if she would.

I raced to the big, double front door, found it locked, and took three kicks in the center to bust it open.

Inside, Bruno was standing by the basement door. He had a long KA-BAR knife in his hand.

"Too late, Knight," Bruno said. "Peña's gone."

I glanced past Bruno, through the large dining room, and toward bright lights in the back yard on the other side of the pool. I saw a "Baby Belle" Bell 47 helicopter, but couldn't see that anyone was inside.

"I don't think so," I said. "You're even a worse bull-shitter than I am. I think you're waiting to go with him."

He got into a fighting stance as I approached.

"Do you know he killed Stella?"

The big man flinched.

"Yeah, he set off the bomb. You didn't know she was wearing it, did you? You thought it was in Oscar, I'll bet. Peña might be good, but he's not that good. He couldn't have pulled off that old switcheroo."

Bruno was fuming.

"You were in love with Stella, weren't you — all these years? She led you on, didn't she? She probably told you that all the others were to advance her career and you were the only one that really mattered. You big, dumb chump."

He took a step toward me.

"And you knew she wasn't getting it from Jason. You were good about keeping the family secrets, weren't you, dumbass?"

He took another step.

"Loyal, but dumb as a can of cat turds."

He lunged at me. I didn't have time to be nice.

I grabbed his knife hand as he swung the six-inch blade at me. Pushing the KA-BAR fighting knife and his thick wrist back to the point of breaking, he let go and I took it from him.

Still with his arm securely held against my body, I stuck the knife into his heart.

His eyes mooned.

As I let him fall to the floor, I felt a split second of empathy.

I didn't have time to wait for Ramón to come out of the locked basement door before me. There could be an outside exit I was unaware of, and I couldn't take the time to search for one.

With the full force of my weight, I body-slammed the door.

I went through successfully, and found myself on a landing about six feet down. I lay there amongst splintered wood, Sophie staring at me from the bottom of the steps.

"Uncle E Z?" she said, and began to come to me.

"Stay back!" I told her anxiously, seeing Peña standing beside her, a big grin on his face as if Santa had just slid down his chimney.

He raised his Taurus, Beretta look-alike, 9mm. With the 9mm, he gave up the knock-down power of a .40 or .45, but gained room in the magazine for more rounds, and the 9mm has more penetrating power. Peña always was one who liked to spray his target with bullets, unconcerned about collateral damage.

"I wish we had time to play," he said.

I'd landed with my right arm under my back. I lay against a shard of wood from the door that might have been a couple feet long.

"What were you going to do with her, Peña — sell her to the same Al Qaeda pricks who were going to give you ten million for blowing up the Academy Awards — or to the Dubai perverts? When you realized your explosive little Oscar-night party wasn't working out, you came back for her from the airport didn't you? You greedy prick, you thought you might be able to pick up a couple more million for selling a movie star's six-year-old to some rich Middle Eastern sheik."

He cocked his head. "Well, you're smarter than I thought, Knight."

"But Al Qaeda won't pay you now, will they? You won't get shit. All you did was blow up one has-been movie star," I said and cringed, hoping Sophie didn't know who I was referring to.

"You're forgetting the contract on your head. Another ten million dollars."

"You won't be getting that, either," I said.

I threw myself, tumbling at him down the wide steps.

*  *  *

It is a foolish and desperate effort, but my only chance.

Peña fires twice before I jab him in the side with my overgrown toothpick — at the same time feeling fire in my right thigh.

He steps back and drops his gun.

I shakily find my feet as the sirens blare from outside.

"Run," I tell Sophie. "Run outside to the police."

She obeys, scampering past me.

Peña pulls the wedge from his side. It looks like it penetrated about four inches.

We face off. He doesn't seem to care about the sirens or the money now. He doesn't even care about getting caught or dying. He's bent on getting even with me for spoiling his little party.

He comes at me — a one-two-three punch to the center of my chest. They land and they hurt, hitting the same spot Jason's did. I wonder if they had the same sensei.

But I block the next attack — a snap kick to my middle.

I'm able to grab his foot, and I throw him into the wall.

He comes back, holding the wound in his side.

He throws a straight jab that I dodge, come up with my opposite hand and pull him past me, using his own momentum to direct him into the steps.

He stands again and runs at me, his head down to ram.

I'm moving slower than I want, unable to sidestep in time. When he hits, I barely get in a knee to his face before we fall against the wall.

But I hold on, bringing the knee of my wounded leg up two, three more times. Damn it hurts — but I know I'm hurting him more.

He wrenches away, feeling the beating I'm giving him.

He glances behind to the gun ten feet from the foot of the stairs.

We both race for it, him landing on top of the 9mm, me on top of him.

He raises up and brings the gun out in one hand to point it back at me.

I take it in both hands as he fires a shot that goes wild through the ceiling.

I wrestle the firearm back underneath him.

I feel the gun's slide.

Peña's trying to twist it away, using both hands and his weight against my grip.

But I find the trigger and pull.

With a muffled
pop
, I see the side of Peña's face flinch in surprise.

But he's still moving, and I've lost the trigger. He's only wounded.

He pants out, "Your wife fought harder than this."

Without thinking, I release the gun, quickly grab him by the chin and the back of his head.

Before he has a chance to bring the 9mm weapon to bear on me, I give his head a quick jerk.

His neck snaps.

I am momentarily stunned. He was the one who actually pulled the trigger on Jolene nearly six years ago? It made sense now. What didn't make sense was that my passion overrode good sense, and I killed him before making him tell me who put the contract on her. Somebody had my wife killed and has been trying to torture me for the past six years. I finally had the chance to find out who it was...but no. Peña wouldn't have talked. He knew he'd failed and was going to die. He would have rather died like this; torturing me one last time — pushing me closer to the edge, knowing I would never find out who was ultimately responsible for my wife's murder.

Still there might be one person who knows: Judge Hammer.

*  *  *

When I released his head and looked up the stairway, Harper was gazing back.

"Sorry, Harp!" I told her. "I've got to leave you here to clean up. Smokey needs me."

Sophie hadn't made it far. She came running back down the steps to me. We hugged and she sobbed uncontrollably.

"It'll be okay, now, sweetie," I told her.

I looked up at the landing, where Harper now stood and mouthed, "Jason?"

She nodded reassuringly, and quietly said, "The side of his face is badly burned, but he'll live."

I told Sophie, "Your daddy will be with you soon."

She looked up at me through teary eyes. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Sophie," I told her, wondering if her question could possibly mean
which daddy?
God, had they gotten little Sophie caught up in their lies and turmoil and confused their innocent little daughter as well?

I looked up the stairwell again and pointed to Harper. "That nice lady up there will take you to your daddy."

I led Sophie up the steps, passed her tiny hand off to Harper and limped briskly by the lieutenant on the stairs. I half expected her to try to stop me, maybe even arrest me — especially with the new, unpleasantly cop-like attitude she'd revealed yesterday.

Zoya was behind her, and she followed me through the formal dining room to the patio doors.

I'll drive," I said as we trotted out to the chopper

*  *  *

It'd been a few years since I'd flown a helicopter, and I'd never flown a Baby Belle. Helicopters are more difficult to fly well than the standard, single-engine, fixed-wing aircraft. But the Baby Belle is one of the easiest small helos to control, especially compared to a Huey or a Blackhawk.

After a couple of minutes working on the old learning curve, I got used to the little chopper and flew it straight for Smokey's Marina.

Zoya was silent on the five-minute flight, that would have been twenty by driving — even in a Porsche. I was focused on flying and devising some kind of a plan from what little I knew. No good ones came to mind. All of them involved me racing in and getting shot in the head.

About a block out, I told Zoya, "Get ready for a hard landing — we're going to come in hot and without lights."

Just before flipping off our navigation lights I glanced at Zoya. She was holding her side. Under her skimpy but beautiful gown I saw blood.

"Zoya!" I said. "You're shot?" She hadn't stayed in the car. She must have been upstairs when Peña's gun went off.

"Flesh wound," she said without looking at me.

I hoped she wasn't making an understatement. I could do little for her now, either way. Besides, the police should be arriving soon after we landed and they'd be able to quickly get her medical attention.

"Hang on, sweetheart," I told her, this time not even questioning from how deep inside me the endearment came.

I flipped off the lights, and I placed my hand gently on her thigh.

She leaned against me as I tried to land the little rotorcraft with a minimum of arm movement.

When we touched down in the parking lot across the street from Smokey's with our lights off, Zoya seemed to have regained her strength.

Beautiful and Booger were already there, standing behind some shrubs in the dark.

I shut the Baby Belle down, met Zoya on her side of the helo and assisted her out. Beautiful and Booger ran up to us, ducking their heads from the rotor.

"She's been shot," I told them. "Call an ambulance!"

"Nyet," Zoya said. "Be fine. Flesh wound." She showed us all much more than the wound when she pulled her slinky gown back from her middle. The bleeding had stopped. It was a through-and-through just catching her right side, and probably didn't hit any vital organs. "Can Vait."

Relieved, I shrugged at Beautiful and Booger, and that seemed enough for now.

Still, the injury would need medical attention soon.

"Man, E Z," Beautiful said, "a Baby Belle. Haven't flown one of these in years. You always were the one to ride in style." This coming from a guy who buys a new Escalade every year.

"A long story," I said. "I'll tell you guys all about it over a beer sometime."

He said, "By the way, Lt. Legend just called. Said between the Kodak Theatre being half blown up, all the movie stars and celebrities running scared for their lives, and the bomber taken down in an affluent neighborhood in Beverly Hills, her and the rest of the LAPD were pretty tied up. She told me to call her when we really need her."

"That's good. Right now, we don't want the police to make things any more complex than they already are. But stand by to call her, when we have to."

"You got it," Beautiful answered.

Booger said, "You were right, E Z. The place is wired up like a black widow's web. I don't know how we'll get in there to get everybody out — especially if we have to fight our way in."

"We won't have to," I said. I limped across the street, through Smokey's parking lot and up to the garage walk-through door.

Booger followed me. "What happened to your leg?"

"I caught a bullet, too" I said. "But it's not bleeding anymore. Another through-and-through and another long story."

When I realized I'd left my car keys in my mangled Shelby, I grabbed a chunk of landscaping limestone from next to the sidewalk and broke the lock off with it.