Deadly Treatment (5 page)

Littered around the walls were photos of iconic firemen and fire scenes, many donated by fire departments, some from other states, and some internationally, but most were local images. For Scott and Vince, this was the biggest drawcard of the place; not only were the photos dramatic and in some cases breathtaking, but each one told a story. They’d found that if you gave a fireman enough alcohol, amazing and informative stories would soon follow.

On the opening night, they’d subtly wandered around the room looking for any photos of their own work; it didn’t take too long for them to find one. It was an action- packed image, flames and black smoke poured out of every available window and door from the small apartment block. Three firemen were in a row holding the hose between them, which in turn was pumping gallons of water in a looping arc onto the building.

The two men remembered the job well. It was one of their earlier pieces together, and to be frank, not their best work. The rundown apartment had been recently acquired by a developer who recognized the potential in the land and not the building. Once acquired, the developer had set about making the building more uninhabitable for the few tenants that lived there. He’d used the usual strategies such as not keeping up with the repairs and maintenance and taking two to three days to respond to basic plumbing and electrical problems. He also let the trash build up and posted a ‘waiting for parts’ sign on the broken elevator – which in turn had become a toilet so pungent that even the taggers wouldn’t enter.

Finally, the tenants moved out and Scott and Vince made it look like tramps had moved in. Over several nights, they took in oil drums, shabby blankets, and bottles of methylated spirits and alcohol. However, in their desire to do a good job, they took in far too much accelerant so that when they finally started the blaze, it burned so ferociously that had it not been for the prompt attendance from the LAFD, the fire could have easily taken out the whole block.

Apparently, the developer was very happy; not only did he get the insurance, but he saved on some of the demolition costs as there wasn’t much left to pull down. Since that fire, the partners had taken more time and effort in perfecting their trade. Their knowledge had grown to such a degree that not only could they contain the fires they lit, but often their work bemused some of the most seasoned arson investigators.

Being early week and mid-evening, the bar was relatively empty. The business folk had finished their after-work drinks and snacks and the night shift of serious drinkers had yet to arrive. The two men said hello to the barman and went and stood behind the Please Wait to be Seated sign. It had been a slow and boring day, and they were looking forward to dinner.

The waitress finished setting up the table she had just wiped down and greeted the men. ‘Hi guys — table for two?’

‘Booth for three, please,’ Vince answered.

She led them to a booth, handed out menus, and asked if they wanted a drink.

‘I’ll have a Coors,’ Vince said.

‘Make that two,’ Scott added.

Both men knew the menu inside out, but scanned it anyway. Most of the items had a fire theme to them, from the Hot Wings and Ring Burner Nachos to the Towering Inferno T-bone and Backdraft Burger.

Their contact, Mr. Tims, arrived late as usual. He was a tall, wiry man with thick round glasses, an unnatural head of hair, and he was dressed in a black suit. Originally, both men had wondered what he did for a living — aside from being the source of their arson work, but when questioned, Tims always sidestepped and managed to avoid answering their questions. So, they’d done their homework on him, and found out where he lived and worked, and that his real name was Harrison, ‘Just in case,’ Vince had said.

Since Tims aka Harrison had no idea they knew his true identity, Tims remained the name they all used.

He slipped into the booth, and placed a folder down on the table.
‘Gentleman, how are we tonight?’ he started.

‘Great, Mr. Tims, all good,’ they both replied.

The waitress appeared with the beers and asked if they were ready to order.

‘I’ll have a sizzling salsa salad,’ Tims said, not bothering to look at the menu, ‘and a club soda.’

‘Towering T-bone for me. Rare,’ Vince ordered

‘Yeah, I’ll grab one of them too, but medium, and a Backdraft ‘n fries to go.’

Tims raised his eyebrow.

‘Don’t ask,’ Scott replied.

They waited for the waitress to leave.

‘Nice work with the toy factory. Client is very happy.’

Both men nodded and picked up their beers, taking a drink.

‘This job is urgent please,’ Tims said tapping the file on the table.

‘They’re all urgent, aren’t they?

Tims smiled, knowing that generally, jobs given to them only took a few days to be completed, and if they were basic torch ‘n run jobs, they could do them within a day.

‘Well, it’s a bit complicated, and I have no idea how you’re gonna do it; but the client specifically wants it logged as accidental too.’

‘It’s going to cost you.’ Vince added.

‘Funny you should say that, there’s a fifteen percent bonus available if all the boxes are ticked and the client is happy.’

Scott and Vince smiled at each other.

At the end of the meal, they shook hands and the waitress brought over the burger they’d ordered to go. Once again, Tims raised an eyebrow, but neither Vince nor Scott offered any explanation, so he turned and left.

‘
S
o, let me get this right, for the past few decades you and your company have been against my work and all I stand for — using court injunctions, threats, manipulation, and public character assassination plus a whole lot more to stop me, but now that — according to you — you don’t have much longer to live, you want my help?’

With his chest puffed out, Dr. Turnbold leaned back in his office leather chair and crossed his hands on the top of his head.

‘What if this is just another of your tricks to screw me over?’ He added.

‘Do I look like I’m playing some fucking trick on you?’ Anthony wheezed.

Brad Turnbold looked across the desk at the bald and frail looking Anthony Cain; then he exhaled and dropped forward to his desk.

‘I have to admit, this would be an elaborate set-up, even for you.’

With the ice finally broken, they both laughed; Cain ended his in a bronchial coughing fit.

‘Do you want a glass of water?’ Turnbold asked.

‘Please,’ Cain nodded.

Turnbold buzzed his secretary on the intercom and ordered a couple of glasses of water; then he hung up and turned to Cain to ask, ‘So, what do you want me to do?’

Cain flicked through the folders he was holding and placed one of the thickest on the desk.

Cain arrived in Albuquerque exhausted. He’d been on the run for many days now; the drugs he’d taken with him were running out, and his illness was taking full effect. After the meeting with Dr. Turnbold, he’d grabbed a few hours’ sleep in a very dodgy motel before making the long drive to the Albuquerque
medical facility.

First, he needed to find a payphone to make an appointment to see the chief of staff; then, he’d have a choice to make. Should he head south of the border to Mexico and on to the Playas de Rosarito for a potential cure, or should he head on in to LA and finish his mission? Both destinations were fraught with danger, and both had their appeal. He checked his roadmap again to see the distances and time it would take to get to each of them –
What would Steve McQueen do?
he thought to himself. The ever-increasing, near vomit inducing cough made the decision for him — LA was closer, so LA was where he headed.

Elwood got word that his prey Anthony Cain had been to see Dr. Brad Turnbold, a health activist in Texas. According to the information he received from his boss, Turnbold had been a general pain in the Corporation’s ass, but had recently been smothered with the use of heavy litigation. Now, the last thing they wanted was for him and his ego to refresh his campaigning. Before Elwood could make his way to Dallas though, he had to take care of this Ohio job. Seemed that this company had manufactured some kind of magic potion or lotion that they’d been unwilling to sell to the Corporation; this was not a huge issue as the Corporation had many ways to handle this type of thing. But now that Cain had been to see them, Elwood’s boss Paxton felt sure they would need to be re-dissuaded from taking seriously anything he’d told them. So, armed with photos of the CEO’s children, Elwood jumped out of his SUV and went in to start the one-sided negotiations.

Arriving back at the house, Scott took the burger and fries to Joshua while Vince went off to his room to relax. Vince loved to have time to himself; he was a sociable guy to a point, but there were times when he just needed to be away from everyone and everything.

As he reclined on his bed, he thought about the conversation he’d had with Scott about what to do with the kid. Life had thrown him many curve balls in the past, and he had managed to take them all in his stride; would he be able to take care of the kid? Damn right he would!

His thoughts returned to his brief time in Iraq. LA was his home, a place he loved, a safe place — well relatively, and it was the place where his love of burning things had grown from starting simple fires to working as a full-on contract arsonist who, wherever possible, loved to tinker around with explosives. But in Iraq, all gloves were off; there’d been no place like it for Vince. He was in a territory where some of his biggest and greatest loves were available to him twenty-four hours a day. Fires were fun, starting them and watching them burn would always give him a thrill. But explosions were where the real fun was to be had, and Iraq was full of them. At school he’d messed around with a few chemicals, but little pops in controlled environments were never going to be enough for him. He had enjoyed experimenting with things like sulfur, charcoal, starch, and magnesium — in fact, any stuff he could find either in the science labs or in his mother’s cleaning cupboard. But all of these too resulted in small
pops
with very little damage.

He remembered making his first pipe bomb: ripping open the shotgun shell and emptying the black powder into an old sink drainage pipe. He closed both ends, added a fuse, and voila he had a fairly unsophisticated, but loud and effective bomb. He’d read somewhere that the most serious effect of a pipe bomb was the shock wave because it ran off at twenty–three-hundred meters per second, but to the young Vincent standing some distance away, watching the shrapnel fly and hearing the boom was the best fun.

It didn’t take him long to progress from low explosives to high explosives. Things like TNT could be easily obtained if you knew who to talk to. Aside from the chemical reaction time, the main difference he found between low and high was the damage.

To Vince, fires, bombs, and explosions were like drugs to addicts. The more he did, the more he wanted to do, which was probably why he’d signed up for a tour in Iraq. Firing lead bullets from machine guns brought temporary smiles of glee to Vince’s face, but throwing grenades into disused mud huts that were once people’s houses was much better. So, when he wasn’t firing guns, he was letting off grenades — Iraq, what a place!

Then came the unfortunate incident. In his mind, his defense was simple; he’d been told by one of the NCOs — or maybe it was one of his buddies — that the buildings were empty. Hence, he’d lagged behind so he could let off some firecrackers aka grenades. Once his unit was safely out of the way, he lobbed a firecracker into a wreck of a house. He watched as the grenade bounced on the concrete steps leading down to its basement, the familiar sound of metal clinking on stone, then oddly and abruptly it stopped. To his horror a young boy appeared coming up from the basement smiling and clutching the ball of explosive. Vince dived for cover as the device went off. Without the normal shrouding of the building, to Vince the boom was both deafening and beautiful. As he emerged from the cover of the wall he’d managed to throw himself behind, he looked over to where the boy had been standing. A funny feeling came over him as he looked at the dip in the ground — surprisingly, it wasn’t remorse but a sort of suppressed elation.

Scott knocked on his door and brought him back to reality. ‘We should get to work.’ He’d finished with Joshua, and it was time to have a look at the job Tims had given them.

They emptied the contents of the folder from Tims onto the table. As usual, the files were complete and the details were thorough. The first file contained photographs of the building from all angles including an overhead satellite view downloaded from Google Earth. It was a small office complex in Culver City. They spread the photos out and viewed them left to right beginning with the view from the front. The immediate problem was the building’s proximity to the ones that surrounded it. Nothing they hadn’t encountered before, but it always added time to their preparation.

The next file had the details on the building’s security system and blueprints.

Once again, these were positioned under the photos on the table. Added to this were basic photos of each room. And finally, there were the staff details and work roster. Thankfully, the staff levels were low, and more importantly, low paid and with no budget for overtime. To both men, it meant that no one would work past their normal working week.

The only other vital ingredient they needed to add while they planned this job was the client’s insistence that it must look like an accident. On the whole, most of their jobs went that way, but when it was demanded by the customer, they generally went the extra mile.

‘Would you look at that,’ Scott said as he pointed at the photo of the front of the building.

‘Damn!’ Vince said as he looked closer at the picture. Both men were looking at the security company emblem on the building next to their job.

‘Shit, we’re gonna need to scope this out more than normal. Let’s have a look at this one together first.’

‘Man, I hate it when you can’t just burn ‘em when you want to.’

‘When do you want to take a look?’

Vince checked his watch. ‘No time like the present.’

Making sure that Joshua was asleep and secured, they took the freeway west to Culver City and slowly drove past their target. It was a very unassuming grey building.

‘We’re doing it a favor by leveling it.’

‘You say that about all our jobs.’

‘I do not.’

‘You do, and we have the same argument about it every time.’

‘Yeah, yeah. But look at it, this place is a mess.’

‘Good or bad, the place is toast. More importantly, what are we gonna do about that?’ Scott was nodding in the direction of the security company building to the right of their job.

The sign on the building boasted Secure Security Services - Your protection - 24 hours a day. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the sign on the garages attached to the security company added — Beware! Security dogs on site.