Show No Mercy Page 2

  The singer-and-piano combo on a raised platform in the corner kept the music going, the young women in sequined blue currently in the middle of an up-tempo number. Dane absently tapped his foot, his mind on what waited for him upstairs.

  The armed guards Park kept at his McMansion weren’t evident in the ballroom. They were spread out around the property and probably upstairs too.

  Great. The job was never easy.

  Dane finished the second martini and placed the glass on the bar.

  He strolled along the wall and slipped through a doorway. Signs pointed to restrooms with a branching hall blocked by a velvet rope. Dane stepped over the rope and continued down a dark hall leading to the main entryway. Staircase ahead. Dane went up the stairs and unbuttoned his jacket. He stopped at the second-floor landing.

  “You’re not allowed up here.”

  The tuxedoed guard had a chrome dome and goatee sprinkled with gray. The tux did not conceal his bulky chest or the pistol under his right arm.

  “Go back.”

  Dane kicked the guard in the groin. The big man let out a small squeal, the steel toes in Dane’s shoe delivering the desired effect. Dane swung a right into the man’s jaw and the guard went down for the count. Dane stepped over the man to open a nearby closet and grabbed the guard under the arms. He pulled and grunted, straining like he was moving a couch. Dane dragged the man into the closet and shut him in. He leaned against the wall a moment to catch his breath. He hoped there weren’t any others.

  Dane continued down the hall. No lights. He felt along the wall until he came to a set of double doors. He tried the knob because sometimes people left doors unlocked. Not in this case. He took out the key. The lock snapped back. Dane opened the door, went inside and turned the lock behind him.

  He left the lights off and used the cell to light his way to Park’s desk, eyeing the curtained window close by. Hello, exit. He eased behind the desk. A keyboard and monitor sat on the desktop, the screen blank. A tap of a key brought the screen back to life. A box in the center prompted him for a password.

  Dane took a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and typed the password with one finger. As he moved the finger to the enter key, he hoped the girlfriend hadn’t forgotten a character. He pressed the button and the screen cleared. Bingo.

  Dane consulted the paper again and selected the needed file folder. The thumb drive from another pocket went into the USB port on the box under the desk. Dane dumped the files onto the thumb drive. The status bar made a slow crawl from left to right.

  Dane glanced at the office door. Still closed.

  He pulled back the drapes and unlatched the window. Raising it all the way, he started to detach the screen. Cold air rushed in. Sweat trickled down his neck and the shirt stuck to his back despite the cooling breeze.

  Dane placed the window screen on the carpet and returned to the desk. The status bar showed 30%.

  He glanced at the door again.

  The cummerbund slipped off quickly and Dane uncoiled the rope from around his waist. He removed a spike from under his left arm and looped the rope through. He slammed the spike into the wall below the window. Laughter drifted up from below. Female voices. More laughing.

  Dane returned to the desk, his pulse quickening. 52%. Come on! Another look at the door. He should have taken the guard’s gun, but one of his goals was to avoid shooting, despite what Lucas said. The last thing he wanted was a fight with a ton of civilians in the way.

  56%.

  If Park had a Mac, Dane would be gone by now.

  He tapped a beat on the desk. He looked around. One wall was lined with books; a map of the world on the opposite wall. Push pins in the map probably identified places where Park had operated, or where police interest made him no longer welcome.

  Finally, the status bar cleared and Dane pulled out the thumb drive. He returned it to the pocket from whence it came. Then he clicked on the Lucas folder, as well as others, and dragged them to the trash. He deleted the trashed items.

  Then keys rattled the lock and the knob turned.

  4

  Dane raced to the window and grabbed the rope. The door swung open. Dane couldn’t make out the face of the man entering, but the new arrival said, “Hey!” and clawed under his coat.

  The lights snapped on and Dane winced at the sudden brightness, swinging one leg out, then the other, bracing both feet against the outer wall. He quick-stepped down the wall. Dane dropped into the yard and flashed a smile at the trio of sloshed women as he ran to the wall across the yard. Their chatter stopped and they stared at him.

  As he ran, he heard the voice of the man in the window yelling into a radio.

  Dane scaled the wall, tearing his pants as he rolled over the top. The ground below was not only soft but sloped. He landed wrong and fell, jumping up to run down the slope, dodging trees, the low branches stabbing at him.

  Park’s troops would be quietly mobilizing for pursuit.

  Dane tripped on a fallen branch and fell headlong into the dirt. Winded, he spat dirt from his mouth and started again. Getting killed by Mother Nature wasn’t on his bucket list.

  He cleared the forest and reached a road. A car waited fifteen yards ahead. Dane completed the dash in seconds.

  The car was a rental, a generic white Chevrolet Impala and the engine fired. The lights snapped on as Dane approached. He dropped into the passenger seat. The woman behind the wheel wrapped slender pink-tipped fingers around the gear lever and pulled it into Drive.

  “Success?” she said in her Russian-dusted accent.

  “I tore my pants.”

  “Did the baddies see your boxers?”

  “I think we’re okay.”

  “The photos?”

  “I got them, honey.”

  The glow of the dash highlighted Nina Talikova’s smile. Her face sparkled. She was the love of Dane’s life. Muscles in her forearms flexed as he gripped the wheel and followed the twisting road. She wasn’t dressed for a party, wearing jeans with running shoes and a blue tank top.

  “Company coming,” she said.

  “How many?”

  “Looks like one car with its high-beams on.”

  “Typical.”

  Dane reached under the seat and pulled out a small box. He extracted a stainless-steel Detonics Scoremaster .45 auto, recently rebuilt with new internal parts since Dane used the weapon as much as he did. His gunsmith had suggested an upgrade to an entirely new gun, but Dane refused. The gun let out a loud chuh-chink as he chambered a round.

  Nina braked for a sharp turn and accelerated out of it.

  “They’re gaining.”

  “They know this road better than you,” he said.

  “I’ll manage, honey,” she said. Then: “Mind your head.”

  Gunfire crackled behind them and the bullets smacked the Impala’s body. Dane rolled onto the back seat and powered down the passenger window. Another shot nicked the rear window and left a spider-crack behind.

  Dane leaned out and fired twice in return. The enemy car swerved across the opposite lane and Dane crossed to the other window. Another shot shattered the rear window entirely. Shards of glass peppered Dane. He leaned out but lurched to one side as Nina took another sharp turn. The road straightened once again. Dane fired as the enemy car cleared the corner. Nina pressed on the accelerator and the Impala surged ahead, putting significant distance between them and the other car. A muzzle flash winked and one of the rear tires exploded, bits of hot rubber pelting Dane in the face. The car fishtailed as the steel rim shrieked on the asphalt. The force of the fishtail jammed Dane against one side of the window frame and he almost lost his grip on the .45. Nina slowed the car and pulled off the road.

  “I hope you brought a bazooka,” Dane said. He and Nina scrambled out and took cover at the front of the car.

  Nina drew a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield from a holster behind her back. Her pink fingernails clashed with the flat black of the pistol’s frame.

/>   “The gun shop was smack out of bazookas. I put my name on a waiting list, though.”

  “Good thinking.” Dane slammed a ten-round extended magazine into the Scoremaster. The enemy car skidded to a stop perpendicular to them. They started to rise when somebody stuck a machine pistol out the side window. Dane and Nina dropped as the full-auto burst raked the Impala. Two gunners jumped out of the car during the blast. Dane fired and one of the shooters let out a scream.

  Dane and Nina zeroed on the side window as the machine pistol fell silent. Their handguns cracked in quick succession. The rounds scored. The gunner in the car fell back, his weapon clattering on the ground.

  Dane and Nina reloaded. The feet of the last gunner shuffled under the car.

  “Stay put,” Dane said. He scooted around the side of the Impala, crawling along the dirt shoulder. He reached the back tire and stayed flat.

  The last gunner peeked over the hood and fired at Nina. She returned the shot. Dane fired once. The top of the last gunner’s head exploded in a sheet of red. He fell back with a thud.

  The echo of the shots faded. Dane and Nina waited. When no further threats emerged, Dane rose and went back to Nina.

  “You’re a mess,” she said.

  Dane’s tux was not only torn but covered with bits of glass and road grime. He tucked away his gun, opened the driver’s side door and popped the trunk.

  “The car is a mess too,” Nina said.

  “Hopefully the spare isn’t damaged.”

  Dane lifted the trunk and handed her the jack stand and unlatched the spare from its hold.

  Nina raised an eyebrow. “Did you sign for the extra insurance?”

  Dane turned off the shower. It was well past three a.m. but he was still keyed up from the night’s action.

  The rush was always stimulating, but Dane carried scars to remind him someday the “rush” might be the end of him. He started to dry off. The worst of the damage was along his right arm and part of his chest, the flesh puckered and warped. During his days as a CIA agent, on a mission in Central America specifically, his Blackhawk had crashed. As he and others pulled the injured from the wreckage, leaking gas splashed on Dane, then part of the chopper exploded. The flames lit him up like a candle. He rolled in the dirt, others assisting to put out the flames, but the damage had been done. His team had to carry him through the jungle for two days before they arranged extraction, then he spent the next six months in a hospital. It could have been worse, but the scarring reminded him while he had survived the worst, he was not invincible.

  He carried other scars, too, not visible. He’d seen a lot of victories, but also his share of defeats. Friends had been killed supporting his efforts. Some of the violence hit close to home too.

  But he’d survived. The scars and tragedy had not stopped him from living life to the full, to the very edge. A lot of guys weren’t as fortunate as he.

  Dane later cut loose from the CIA to form his own mercenary unit, the 30-30 Battalion. It was an opportunity to take charge of his life and forge his own destiny. A skirmish in South Africa netted him controlling interest in a diamond mine and he disbanded the unit. He was still for hire, but also found time to fight for those who couldn’t afford his fee. He enjoyed bringing a fight to the predators who sought to exploit the defenseless. Idealistic, yes. He could afford to be idealistic.

  Dane pulled on a robe and dropped the towel in the corner.

  He found her sitting up in bed, a glass of chilled vodka in hand. Her hair was tied up, stray strands falling alongside her slender neck. Nina had once been a highly decorated agent with the Russian FSB. She and Dane met when Dane was in Europe investigating the possibility that a pair of Anastasia’s jewels had showed up on the underground market. The “possibility” had been a ruse, the jewels nothing but a pair of really good fakes, but as Dane sought the items for his own profit and Nina for her country’s history, their genuine chemistry assured both they would soon pledge all of their remaining days to each other.

  They occupied a top floor two-room suite at the Hyatt near the Embarcadero. The bedroom was smaller than Dane would have liked, but the larger living room had a huge 60-inch screen mounted on the wall. All the comforts of home, plus room service.

  Dane picked up his cell phone from the dresser and called a number. The call went to voicemail. No normal people were up this late.

  “It’s Dane. We have the pictures. We’ll meet you tomorrow at one at the mall, Market Street entrance.”

  Dane put down the phone.

  “Couldn’t wait till morning?” Nina said.

  “I’d have been thinking about it the rest of the night.”

  She finished her drink and put the empty glass on the nightstand. “Help me up.”

  He put some force behind the pull and she yelped as her body slammed into his. Her arms snaked around his neck. He undid her robe and drew his hands along the curves of her hips, up her back, pulling her closer. Her bare skin was not only soft but hot to the touch. He leaned down to kiss along the edge of her neck. Her shoulders tensed and she let out a gasp.

  “Your stubble tickles.”

  “Mmmm-hmmmm.”

  “It’s time for bed,” she said.

  “If you say so.”

  She dragged her fingernails down his back. “I say so.”

  5

  Time to get paid.

  They had to take a cab to the Westfield Shopping Center on Market Street, as the rented Chevy was abandoned in an alley off Battery. Dane wasn’t worried about fallout with the Impala. He’d signed for the car under an alias matching the name on his passport, driver’s license, and MasterCard.

  Traffic barely moved. Pedestrians walked faster than the cars rolled. The tall steel-and-glass buildings up and down the street blocked the sun, and there was a chill in the shade.

  Dane paid the cabbie and he and Nina found a bench in the shade of the mall’s entrance. He wore his usual dark suit, white shirt, with a red tie. Usually only the color of the tie changed. Black shoes, polished, steel-toed. Pistol under his left arm, the jacket tailored with extra space so the gun didn’t show.

  Nina looked terrific as usual in a green skirt and black top with flats, her hair cascading down her back and shoulders. She wore a small purse cross-body. Inside the purse was her S&W pistol.

  Even at noon, the place was busy. Shoppers went in with nothing and exited loaded with bags to join the massive flow of people on the sidewalks. More shops waited, along with a smattering of restaurants, some with sidewalk seating. Homeless sitting up against the wall were for the most part ignored; there were a lot of them up and down the street, some stretched out over sidewalk grates where warm air from the underground transit system wafted.

  Dane removed a cigar tube from the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a Montecristo. He lit the foot with a Vector triple-torch lighter and took a few puffs.

  Nina yawned.

  “Long night?”

  She punched him in the arm. There was a soda machine near the entrance. Nina went over to it and returned with a bottle of Coke.

  “I can’t wait till we get home,” she said. “No more jobs the rest of the year.”

  “You’ll get bored within a week and start bugging me to find work.”

  Her gaze lingered on the variety of activity around them, the passing people, the cars and the construction down the block.

  “This place is one extreme or the other,” she said.

  Dane puffed his cigar. A passing woman in a tan overcoat gave him a dirty look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The smoke Nazi bitch for one,” Nina said. “You have the tourists ogling everything like they’ve never seen a chain store before. Over there the Wall Street-types who live in another city, probably. The girl over there with the green hair and oh my God those pants. Looks like her girlfriend vomited on her. Walks right by the Brooks Brothers and they don’t even bat an eye.”

  “It’s eclectic.”


  “It’s strange.”

  Dane shrugged.

  “Come on, you know I’m right. We’re in a nicer spot, too. Go over a block and the homeless crap on the sidewalk.”

  “Shall we?”

  “Not in these shoes,” she said.

  Dane let out another stream of smoke. “You have a point, but as somebody once said, I wouldn’t squeeze it too hard. It’s the way it is here. A lot of people like it. Not every city can be Paris.”

  “Paris isn’t even Paris anymore.”

  “We won’t be here much longer.”

  “I’d rather be in Nicaragua up to my tits in leeches.”

  “That I’d like to see.”

  She jabbed him in the belly with a stiff finger, the sharp nail digging into his skin.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Serves you right.” She took another drink of her Coke.

  Ray Lucas broke from the flow and removed a pair of aviator sunglasses. He held a tablet computer in his left hand. He and Dane shook hands.

  “Nina, this is Ray Lucas, the client.”

  She yawned again before shaking hands. “A thousand pardons, late night.”

  “So I hear,” Lucas said. “Our connection said . . . well, she mentioned a thing or two. Park is clearing out.”

  “And the girlfriend?”

  “Not my concern.”

  “I was wrong about her,” Dane said. “The information provided was 100% accurate.” Dane held the Montecristo in the right corner of his mouth while he took out the thumb drive. Lucas plugged it into a tablet computer and scanned the contents of the folder.

  “Okay,” Lucas said. He traded the tablet for a smart phone and Dane produced his own phone. A few screen taps later and the million-dollar fee was electronically transferred to Dane’s Swiss account.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dane.” Lucas shook his hand again.

  “I was there, too,” Nina said.

  “I appreciate your effort, ma’am.”

  Lucas donned his aviators and walked away.