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Bursting from the car the partners targeted the fence of The Butcher’s home. Their feet smacked off the ground as they worked their way to the destination for very different reasons. No matter if it was for revenge or money, they both had just one thing in mind, and that was capturing the madman who had turned killing and intimidation to an art form.
The fence of The Butcher's house was large and made of stone, thus easy to climb with many foot holes and grips for the hands. It was built more for aesthetic value than to keep anyone in or out. Falau crouched down and interlaced his fingers so his partner could slip her foot into them quickly to get a solid boost up the wall. He pushed her up with rapid speed, surprised at how light she was.
Dropping to her stomach on the flat top of the wall she reached down, giving her new friend a hand and helped him up. Falau took her hand quickly, seeing her as an equal in this endeavor. Gender meant nothing to him now. She was his teammate, and despite her femininity it all left his mind now they were both in attack mode. Carla was the same in every way to him, and he felt he’d never had a finer partner in his life. It was clear to him that anything he could do, she could do just as well. At least that’s what he hoped.
Over the wall the distance to the house looked a difficult course. There were no trees and at least 100-yards of slight incline to the back of the house. The ground was grass covered and plush with no places to hide.
"No cover at all," said Carla, slowly shaking her head as she examined the yard. Her jaw tightened and her lips pressed hard together in frustration. "I say we just B-line for the doors by the pool. No use trying to hide. He knows we’re here and I'm sure this place is set up with surveillance."
The big man nodded in total agreement and slid down the opposite side of the wall. Right on his heels Carla did the same. At a full sprint, the team of two ran up the grass hill then pressed their backs against the side of the house, waiting to see if there was any reaction from guards, dogs, or even The Butcher himself, but nothing–or no one–came. Just silence.
"I’ll go in by the pool slider doors, but you go to the front of the house. Maybe we can squeeze this rat into a corner by coming at him from two sides."
Falau stared at his partner, unsure if splitting up was the right thing to do. Safety in numbers was always a rule that he lived by. Splitting off alone put them in a situation where they could end up in a one-on-one battle with an extremely dangerous man.
"Are you with me Falau?" snapped Carla.
"Yeah.
"Then stop staring at me and say something. We're kind of in a rush here. Are you good with the plan?"
Nodding his head in agreement the big man said, “Yeah. But if one of us gets in trouble, we yell. Just blow the cover to help each other."
"Done and done. Now go!"
Falau made his way up the embankment next to the house that allowed him a clear view of the driveway. The ground was laid in such a way to make the first floor of the house at ground level in front, and lower to make it ground level at the basement in the back.
Running to the corner he could see the back of the car The Butcher had been driving. The sharp pain of a flashback kicked inside his head.
"Not now!” he grunted to himself, keeping his feet moving and his mind on what needed to be done.
The car wasn’t parked in any intentional way. It was half turned sideways and the garage door was open. The Butcher must've raced up the driveway and stopped the car as fast as he could and ran into the garage. But was he still in there?
Sliding out the .45 caliber handgun from the soft holster tucked into the back of his waistband, Falau held the gun deliberately in front of him and crept forward. He had a clear view of the far side of the garage, but Falau was blind to what lay closest to him, out of sight due to the corner. The garage was three-cars wide and held a Mercedes, a Porsche, and now the crushed BMW.
Too many places to hide, he thought moving forward into the corner. I could walk right into him.
The big man rolled around the corner and dropped to one knee with the weapon straight out in front of him, revealing the closest section of the garage. Nothing.
He moved in and searched in and out of the cars but saw nothing that provided a clue to where The Butcher was. Only one thing was sure, and that was that he was not hiding in the garage.
On the back wall three steps led up to a door that had been left ajar. Sliding to get a glimpse of what lay inside, but still keeping a safe distance, all that could be seen was a tile floor that ran up to the threshold. It was a hallway. People tend not to tile the inside of closets, thought Falau.
Climbing the steps to the door he looked deeper inside and found only darkness. The Butcher was drawing him further into the house. He knew the layout of the house. He knew where the furniture was. He knew the places to hide. In the dark, they would be vigilantes who would have to move at a snail's pace to not bump into anything and give the killer a reference point to shoot at.
Slipping through the door a 20-foot hallway stretched in front of him, and opened into a large kitchen. Try as he might to be silent, Falau still created ample sound in the silence of the house as his shoes echoed off the tile floor. There was door on the opposite wall of the counters. It was glass. Inside the door the steps were covered in carpet, and led down to the basement.
Moving to the far end of the kitchen he found a set of French doors already open, and which led to a sunken living room and a plush carpet to muffle the sound of his footsteps.
The living room was wide open. A sectional sofa lined the back and side wall. There was nowhere to hide in this room. It was designed for entertainment, but could also give a clear shot to anyone moving across it. Keeping to the wall was the safest bet. Walls will cover your back as long as you keep your eyes sharp. Moving in front of the TV, that was laid into the wall with a custom-built entertainment center, the big man could see that the stairs came down as he got to the other side of the room. The steps were covered in carpet, but the chance of them creaking was difficult to assess. Getting caught in the middle of a set of steps was the worst of all situations; nowhere to run or hide. Trapped, with just up or down to choose from while bullets flew your way from those same two directions? No good! There was really no choice. Upstairs had to be searched, and now was the time.
Up two, three, five, eight steps, with all the sound of a church mouse. Yet Falau still feared the creak or moan from the steps would give away his position.
Creak!
From down the steps and around the corner the sound of an un-oiled hinge landed firmly in the ear Falau. "The basement door," he whispered to himself.
But was it Carla coming up, or The Butcher going down? The risk was too big to wait and find out. The big man moved down the steps with purpose, though as stealthy as he could in the situation. Running into a trap filled with gunfire was not what he wanted to do. His feet slid across the living room rug and he stopped at the corner.
If tactics had taught him anything, it would be that The Butcher would be waiting with his gun sited on him as he turned the corner. Taking a deep breath and pressing his back against the wall, he revealed himself as he burst around the corner and dropped to one knee.
"Freeze!" screamed Carla from one floor below.
As the words registered with Falau he heard two shots ring out from the basement. Without hesitation, he ran to the basement door in the kitchen and swung it open. Flying down the steps he could hear the backslider of the basement slam shut and the sound of heavy feet crossing the cement that surrounded the pool and fading into the distance.
The basement was another location for entertainment, with a bar and a pool table, but next to the pool table laid a body, motionless and unmistakably the shape of a woman.
With his heart rate quickening with fear and his vision blurring with tears, Falau moved as fast as he could to Carla. No longer worried about getting shot at or completing the mission, he had only one thing on his mind, and that was saving his new partner.
Sliding to his knees and stopping right next to her he could see her gasping for air as blood streamed from her mouth.
He soon spotted a red spot on her shirt, increasing in size as the seconds wore on. It was on the left side of her chest close to her heart.
"You're okay!" said Falau out of instinct, and he placed his hand over her wound trying desperately to stop the bleeding.
"I will get you out of here! You’re fine!"
"No... I am... not,” said Carla with a faint smile and looking into the eyes of the big man. She placed her hand onto his, the one trying to stop the bleeding. Grabbing it tight she moved it away from the wound and squeezed it. "Make this worth it."
"What?" Falau asked, leaning closer.
"Make this worth it. For my brothers."
Blankness settled on his face as he looked down at his dying friend. She knew her fate and she wasn't fighting. She coughed hard as the blood filled her lungs and shot from her mouth. Falau held her body tight in his arms as she trembled until she trembled no more.