Ash Return of the Beast

CHAPTER 36



One Minute Later…

Harlan paused before the crumbling concrete steps at the bottom of the embankment below the mansion and wiped the beads of sweat off his brow. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He scanned the street in both directions. Still quiet. Apparently even the rich folks were all at work somewhere making money they didn’t need.

He took the gun out of his pocket, released the safety, and held the weapon concealed up inside the bottomless box. Another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the left lens of his sunglasses and blurred his vision. Shit. With both hands occupied, he lowered his head to the side and made an awkward swipe of the lens on the sleeve of his uniform. The attempt only smeared the lens, making it worse than if he’d just left it alone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a police car rounding the corner. Oh, God... He held his breath, and tried to appear calm. As the car got closer, he realized it wasn’t the police. It was a civilian security car with a red and blue light bar across the top. The car slowed to a crawl as it passed where Harlan was standing. The uniformed driver of the car nodded and gave a quick, friendly wave. Harlan responded with a nod and swallowed hard as the vehicle rolled on down the street. Keep going…keep going. When the car was out of sight, Harlan closed his eyes and gasped for air as if he’d just emerged from under twenty feet of water. All right. Okay. He tried to calm his nerves. Let’s do this. He breathed deeply, gave his head a shake, and headed up the stairs.

As he approached the huge front porch he couldn’t help feeling like the old mansion was watching him, its dark window eyes scrutinizing his every step with suspicion.

Finally, standing in the shadows of the porch, he wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe he’d gone too far. But the hesitation vanished as a vision of his precious son blotted out all doubt. He grabbed hold of the tarnished brass knocker, swung it hard against the door and stepped quickly to one side.

Cowl jumped at the unexpected sound and laid the half-smoked joint in an ashtray. Those a*sholes. I told them nine o’clock. Wait. I just talked to Jason. They couldn’t get here that fast. He went to the door and squinted through the peephole but couldn’t see anyone. “Yeah? Who is it?”

“U.P.S. Delivery for Rye Cowl.”

Delivery? What the––? “Hang on.” He opened the door and looked at the package. “That’s for me? Who’s it from?”

Harlan stepped forward, one hand holding the box, the other with a death grip on the hidden gun. “From my boy, you son of a bitch.”

The next few seconds unraveled in a blur of confusion. Cowl reached for the box, tipping it upward at the same time Harlan pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Cowl in the head and he staggered backward into the house and fell to the floor. Harlan panicked, dropped the box and turned to run but then he turned again and grabbed the door and tried several times to slam it shut but it wouldn’t close. He looked down and saw he’d been slamming it against Cowl’s foot. He tried to nudge the foot back with the toe of his polished black uniform shoe but the foot wouldn’t move. Forget it. Go! There were blood spatters on the door. He should wipe it clean. With what? Forget it. Go! Half way down the stairs he stopped. The box! He stumbled back up the stairs, grabbed the box and shot a quick glance at the door. Oh, Christ. The foot was gone. Another layer of panic set in on top of the chaos already swirling around in his head. He bounded off the porch, flew down the stairs of the embankment and hit the sidewalk running. Suddenly, he had the presence of mind to think, what if someone was watching? He looked up and down the street and then toward the porch. The only witness seemed to be the foreboding old mansion still staring down at him with its ominous black window eyes.

He continued on down the block at a brisk walking pace. The block seemed like a mile. He finally made it to the car, got in and pulled out onto the street.

When he came to the corner he hit the brake. Damn it. I should have shut the door. Gotta go back. He slipped the car into reverse and backed into the driveway of one of the neighboring homes to turn around. Then, in his peripheral vision, he thought he noticed someone looking out the window of the house at the end of the driveway. He stole a quick glance toward the window but if someone had been there, they were gone now. Had they seen him? Were they calling the police? Why would they call the police? He was just using the driveway to turn around. People do that all the time. His hands were sweating. He slammed the gear into Drive. Screw it. Get the hell out of here.

Just as he was about to hit the gas, the security car drove by. Harlan’s heart levitated to his throat but the car passed without incident. The driver didn’t seem to notice him.

Harlan swallowed hard and pulled out onto the street. He drove to the corner and waited, watching the security car in his rear view mirror. It cruised slowly down Millionaire’s Row toward Cowl’s place. The closer the security car got to the old mansion the tighter Harlan’s fingers dug into the wheel. He was sweating profusely. Dear God… But the security car cruised on past Cowl’s home and continued down the road until it was out of sight.

Harlan shook his head, breathed a sigh of relief. What the hell are they paying that security guy for, anyway? He eased on the gas and headed toward the Lake Union Bridge to dump the gun before going home.