The Witches’ Bane
by Edward Ahern
Chapter 12: The Evening Visitors
The rope held the door in place long enough for Gordon to drop down onto the floor on the far side of the bed and fire a round through the cracked wood. There was a satisfying scream. The gun was loaded with hollow points; whomever that slug had hit would be nicely torn up.
The screaming kept on. Gordon heard muffled curses and shuffling; three men, he guessed. He pulled the nightstand down onto the floor next to the bed and got as much of his body as possible behind it before they started shooting. Handguns, judging by the noise and rate of fire. They might have been aiming well but, by the time the slugs got through plywood and pressboard, they were tumbling around like balls in a Pachinko machine. The faux wood of the headboard shattered, spraying veneered pressboard fragments. Maybe twenty shots got fired, so two automatics. Then silence.
The screaming and shooting had made too much noise. Room lights began to flash on, spraying light into the parking lot. Gordon guessed rightly that they’d haul ass rather than reload and fire again. He waited three minutes, then hit the overhead light. The room badly needed redecorating. When he looked down he saw that his thigh was bleeding from a shard of the headboard. He pulled out the jagged fragment of wood, turned the nightstand back onto its base, and stuck the gun in its drawer. Then he dialed 911. Local cops this time.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“Somebody tried to break into my room, then started shooting at me through the wall.”
Gordon gave them the location and hung up. He put his clothes back on, then untied the rope and swung open what was left of the door. The cold air conquered the room in less than thirty seconds.
He watched as two sirening cop cars swerved into the parking lot. A bald head emerged from the cruiser on the right: Tassie. Gordon thought of Buddha again. He stood in the doorway and waved the cops back as they approached. “There’s a lot of blood outside the front door. You should probably step around it.”
Tassie and two local cops came into the room. They paid Tassie the kind of deference Gordon could only wish for from AJ.
“Busy night, Lormor?”
“Engrossing. Two or three guys tried to bust down the door, then started shooting into the room. I shot back through the door and hit one of them. You’ve seen the carry permit for the piece in my wallet.”
“Yeah. Where’s the gun?”
Gordon pointed at the nightstand, and Tassie waved the two cops over to get it. “What were they after?”
“Dunno. Only a few people even knew I was here. Harrowgate was one of them. Maybe a smash and grab gone bad? How’d you get here so quick? Are you on Lormor watch?”
Tassie scowled, but said nothing. A panel truck with two technicians arrived and began circling the bullet holes with crime-scene lipstick.
“You were lucky, Lormor.”
“Says who? My clothes got torched earlier today, I just got shot at, and you’re going to confiscate my gun. At least tell me you’re making some progress about Judy’s murder.”
“I heard about the fire. I also heard how you’ve been snooping around. Leave the investigation to the professionals; you’ll just screw things up. And no, I don’t have anything I can tell you about her death.”
“Tassie, you’ve got to figure whoever used me as target practice must be involved in Judy’s death.”
“At this point I’m figuring nothing, just gathering evidence.”
“The baby that was kidnapped in St. Johnsbury—”
“What about it?”
“I told you I thought Judy was involved in witchcraft. At its worst it practices infant sacrifice. I might be able to find something out.”
Tassie’s Buddha image shifted into an avatar both feral and vicious. “Don’t get in my way, Lormor,” he snapped.
They stood in silence for a moment, watching one of the technicians swab up a blood sample from outside the door, and another mark the location of shell casings before retrieving them. Tassie turned back to Gordon. “You’re going to meddle anyway, aren’t you? Okay, if you find out something, give me a call. And, just so you know, I still like you for her murder.”
The couple that ran the Stay-A-While wanted Gordon out, but after he threatened them with a lawsuit and bad Internet publicity, they gave him another room. The new room was as dumpy as the first, but it was heated and had a serviceable bed. AJ picked up on the first ring. “I hope you have me on speed dial.”
“Somnus interruptus. Three guys tried to break in, then rapid-fired their way through their clips.”
“You okay?”
“Yup. Got one of them, dunno how bad. I need to have you pull the Glock from the office safe and ship it up to me in St. Johnsbury, along with a box of ammo and extra clips. Hollow points.”
“Cops took away your toy?”
“Yup. Oh, and send me the pouch of needles from my third left hand drawer. What news?”
“Your shitty little sample went out for testing. The guys should have the possible locations and historical stuff tomorrow morning. Get the hell out of there; you can do your sleuthing from Jersey a lot more safely.”
“But not as well. If I goad the bitches a couple more times, they’ll come out where I can stick a pin in them.”
“Huh?”
“The coven has kept itself well concealed for a long time. I’m guessing that the three guys that shot at me were hired by the ladies. But if I snarl up their knitting society, they’re going to have to face me directly.”
“And get you ready for a body bag.”
“Good news, bad news. If they try and take me out, they’ll probably use a potion or a spell, so your Camden pipe swingers wouldn’t do me much good. Oh, and put another $5,000 into the checking account.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
“And you love me for it. I’m going to spend tomorrow making preparations for their next moves, then get back to bitch-baiting. Goodnight, AJ.”
Copyright © 2018 by Edward Ahern
