“I’m flattered.”
“As well you should be, for it was a match made in heaven, Mr. Ellis and myself. Here I was, searching for a way to rebuild my organization, and along comes a man in your backyard with a reasonable financial network.”
Shelby almost laughed. “Financial network? What the hell kind of financial network could an Ellis have?”
“It seems unlikely, I know, but even while incarcerated, Mr. Ellis had a reasonable stream of revenue coming from his prostitution and smuggling ring. It’s nothing compared with what I’m used to having, of course, but we must all begin somewhere. Once out of prison, he had a tidy nest egg of cash and goods from which to draw. His mistake, of course, was keeping the two operations intertwined.”
“As crime goes, I’m guessing it’s best not to let the right hand know what the left is doing.”
“Precisely. For example, he was foolish enough to store his smuggled goods where his prostitutes lived. It no doubt seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but then again, don’t they all.”
That explains the missing high-priced merchandise, Shelby thought. Darkmore had probably been looting every cache of goods Scott Ellis had stored up over the years.
“And you’re telling me that you asked him for it…and he just handed it over?”
Darkmore chuckled. “Oh, hardly. It’s an investment. Although my taking revenge on you seems like a fitting end, it is really just a beginning. All this is aimed at rebuilding my operation. It is, of course, necessary to remove you first. I can’t risk having you show up again at some inconvenient time and ruin things again, now can I?”
“And you thought kidnapping my daughter would be a good move? I don’t have to remind you how that went last time.”
Darkmore smiled darkly. “I shouldn’t have to point out that things are very different from last time.”
Shelby shifted his feet, aware that his every move could precipitate a hail of weapons fire. “Darkmore, why don’t you just tell me what the hell you’re talking about so I can get on with the business of killing you?”
“Ah yes, the famed Shelby bravado, laughing in the face of danger, defying death with dry, sardonic wit. It would be impressive, if not so utterly stupid.”
“Listen, you maniac. It sounds like it’s really me you want. Why not just take me and let’s get you and your goons out of here?”
Darkmore shook his head. “I’m afraid we’re long beyond that now. You see, Alexander, you destroyed everything I had. And now I feel it only fair that I do the same to you.”
“If you lay a finger on Leslie’s head—”
Darkmore burst into a peal of demonic laughter. “You still think this is about your little girl? Oh, it’s much bigger than that. It’s about winning, Alexander, winning! And with that, my rebirth, rising from the ashes of your utter destruction.”
Shelby’s face darkened and his voice dropped an octave. “What the hell are you talking about, Darkmore?”
“I told you. It’s about rebuilding my operation, coupled with revenge. If I can do both at once, why wouldn’t I?”
“More riddles? You begin to bore me.”
“It’s about reputation. You ruined mine, and so I must rebuild it. The best way to do that is by staging a successful comeback. Once I have done that, I will be able to leverage all manner of investment. Recruitment will go through the roof. Within a year, I’ll be more feared than ever before.”
“That would have to be one hell of a comeback,” Shelby said. And then those little hairs began prickling on his neck. A long finger of ice ran up his backbone. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a dry rasp of anger forced out between clenched teeth. “What are you planning, you son of a bitch?”
Darkmore smiled, the expression closely resembling that of a grinning corpse. “Contrary to what you might think, Alexander, I am a great believer in justice. I adhere to the biblical ideas of justice.” And here Darkmore began quoting in a deep, sonorous voice, “‘And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.’ You see, Alexander, you committed grave sins against me and therefore must repay in kind.”
“Interesting verses,” Shelby said.
“Oh? Do tell. I can’t wait to be educated in Scripture by the great Shelby Alexander.”
Shelby dug deep into his past and from there dredged up Exodus 21:22. “‘If men strive and hurt a woman with child, so that her fruit depart from her, and yet no misfortune follow, he shall be surely punished according as the woman’s husband will lay upon him; and he shall pay as the judges determine.’”
Darkmore applauded. “Very good. I assume you’re talking about that little incident with your daughter at my mansion some time ago. And yet you’re not her husband—you’re her father. Unless I’ve misjudged you entirely. Do you have a perverse side, Alexander?”
Shelby measured the distance between his own clenching hands and Darkmore’s throat. He’d never make it. He eyed the shotgun and knew he could probably grab it, aim, and fire before being taken out—but would only get Darkmore, leaving the armed goons free to riddle him with bullets. The prospect didn’t frighten Shelby enough to dissuade him—he’d take a thousand bullets to save Leslie—but the sacrifice would solve nothing. Leslie would still be trapped. No—there had to be another way.
Gunfire erupted from the back of the house.
“It would seem your little pal is up to mischief,” Darkmore said. He gestured to a couple of the men. “Take care of that, would you?”
The men nodded and hustled away in the direction of the shots.
Darkmore turned back, smiling once more. Shelby tensed, bracing himself against whatever came next.
All at once, Sheriff Hammer’s voice rang through the night air.
“All of you! Weapons down! Now!”
Shelby looked over in horror to see the sheriff step from the trees, her gun pointed at Darkmore.
“Stop and get on your knees! On your knees!”
Darkmore began chuckling, a joyless sound that grew and swelled until he was practically bent over in a paroxysm of mirth.
“Oh! This really is too much.”
“Get on your knees,” Hammer repeated.
Blam!
Hammer sent a bullet into the ground at Darkmore’s feet.
Darkmore stopped laughing and his face took on an expression of extreme annoyance. He looked at the ground as if seeing something ridiculous and then turned his gaze back toward the sheriff.
“Did you shoot at me, madam?”
“It was a warning shot,” Hammer said. “The next time, I’m taking you down.”
“You should know, Sheriff, that I very much dislike being fired upon, no matter the intent behind it.” He began chuckling again. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s only that your dramatic arrival is so perfectly timed for what’s about to happen.”
“You’re not going to do anything,” Hammer said. “Put down your gun and instruct your men to do the same. Otherwise, I’m putting a bullet through your head.”
Darkmore feigned a pout. “Now that would only ruin the fun. You wouldn’t want to be a party pooper, would you?” He took out his phone and pressed on the screen, then looked up in mock surprise. “Are none of you even curious? Come on, now. Show a little interest.”
Humor him, Shelby reminded himself. Keep him talking.
“What the hell are you up to, Darkmore?”
“Ah! Mr. Alexander to the rescue, always knows the right thing to say. Well, I’m glad you asked. The phone I now hold in my hand is linked to a pair of explosive devices, each in a different location. All I have to do is call the number of my desired target and Boom! it goes up in smoke.”
“Now it’s my turn to laugh,” Hammer said. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Ask Alexander if you don’t think I’m capable of such a thing.”
&
nbsp; Hammer looked at Shelby, who shrugged.
“I don’t doubt he’s that evil,” Shelby said. “It’s a matter of whether or not I believe he has the resources to pull that off.”
“At the risk of sounding overly modest, it wasn’t as difficult as one might think,” Darkmore said. “Explosives are easily obtained or manufactured, especially given my knowledge and contacts.”
Shelby assumed an air of skeptical superiority, carefully calculated to annoy the other man. “Still, I did quite a number on you. It’s a wonder you aren’t serving out several consecutive life sentences as someone’s prison bitch.”
Darkmore glowered and Shelby knew his remark had hit home.
“It would serve you well to be a measure less smug, Alexander. Let’s not forget what is at stake here.”
“And just what is that, Darkmore? Where have you planted those bombs?”
Darkmore cocked his head and held a hand to his ear, as if listening to a faraway melody. “Wait—what is that? Do I hear the sweet sound of little children singing?” He made a show of checking his watch. “I do believe the choir club is giving one of their popular concerts at the school auditorium.”
“You’re crazy,” Shelby said, and the words weren’t a mere dismissal, but a sincere observation. He’d known the man had screws loose—no one in their right mind could have done the things in Darkmore’s past—but things were now at an entirely new level. “You are completely out of your goddamn mind.”
“Crazy like a fox. Ah, but that is only one bomb. Any guesses where the second might be?”
Shelby didn’t have to guess. He understood how Darkmore’s mind worked, and knew exactly where the bomb was hiding.
Darkmore chortled with glee. “I can see by your face that you know what I’m talking about. That’s right—it’s in the house. The house where your daughter is even now chained to a metal pole—that same one that held you, as a matter of fact.”
“I know you have some kind of game in mind, you piece of shit,” Shelby ground out. “What is it?”
“You’re right, Alexander, we’ve gone on too long and it is now time for business. I am giving you a choice. That’s the game. You, Shelby Alexander, get to choose which bomb I detonate. The one in the house where your daughter lies helpless…or the one in the auditorium where dozens of children and their families are even now singing and applauding.”
Darkmore’s finger hovered over the phone. The gunfire from the rear of the house, which had increased briefly, now stopped suddenly. Darkmore nodded in satisfaction. “And that does it for your friend. Take notice of how you’re feeling at this moment, Alexander, because it’s going to be the best part of your night.”
Shelby took a step forward, a move met by weapons being shouldered. “Darkmore, stop this now. Whatever I did to you was an effort to save what was mine. Surely your code of conduct understands that.”
“I only understand one thing. Those who transgress against me will pay tenfold.”
“But the innocent—how does their fate factor into our dispute? I’m more than happy to meet you on common ground, face to face and man to man. Let’s leave everyone else out of it.”
“So you can pound me into a pulp with your fists? Hardly. I’m a man of culture, Alexander, not some brute hardened by combat in the ring. I have pride, but, unlike you, it doesn’t make me into a fool.”
“Darkmore!” Hammer’s voice cut through the night. “One more tap on that phone and I’m sending a bullet into you. Put the phone down!”
Darkmore motioned dramatically in Shelby’s direction. “Are you going to stand for that, Alexander? The sheriff is toying with your daughter’s life. Oh, and this would probably be a good time to mention that both explosives are on a short timer, which can only be disabled by yours truly. So if anyone does get it into their head to shoot me, both bombs will still go off. Make your decision quickly, Alexander, or the clock will make it for you.”
The situation was the most extreme example of dick measuring Shelby had ever had the misfortune to witness. He’d known guys in the ring who could never get over a loss, who spent the rest of their lives eaten up with hatred at the man who had bested them. It was a macho, prideful thing, and this revealed in sharp relief something else Darkmore had said just moments before: “I have pride, but, unlike you, it doesn’t make me into a fool.” It was an almost Shakespearean moment of unnecessary protest. Shelby was no psychologist, but Darkmore’s grandiose demeanor and insistence on superiority was telling. It wasn’t entirely out of character but was intensely amplified.
Shelby’s eyes pierced into his enemy, searching for any weakness. “One thing,” he said, buying time. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
“Are you asking me for a demonstration? I could blow up the kids. Would that convince you?”
“You won’t do that. Not yet anyway.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“Because, while this may be about reestablishing yourself in the crime game, it’s also about revenge and proving something to yourself. It isn’t merely your sense of drama that led you to stage this little performance tonight. It’s your psychopathic need to prove that you’re more of a man than I am. That’s why you’ve put me in a situation where I can’t possibly win. If I spare my daughter, I have to live with the knowledge that I allowed a school full of kids to die, not to mention that would ruin my name for good. If I save the children, I sacrifice my own—and how does a parent live with that?”
Darkmore nodded, unmoved. “You’ve summarized nicely. Now. What are you going to do? Time is short, Alexander. Making no choice is, in itself, a choice for death.”
As he said the word “death,” a shot split the night and Darkmore dropped suddenly to his knees, his eyes wide and disbelieving.
Shelby glanced back and saw Mack standing just beyond the house, his pistol still raised. Then his eyes flicked back to Darkmore, who was falling sideways onto the ground, the phone still in his hand. He was focused on the screen, trying to make his fingers work…he was dialing a number.
Shelby lunged forward, even as the clearing erupted in gunfire. He landed heavily on his chest, his hands reaching for Darkmore’s phone, and close enough to see the dying man’s thumb press “Send.”
21
Shelby grabbed the phone and stabbed the red button that said, “End Call.” Then he was being knocked backward by a blast of superheated air. The blast shook the ground and Shelby looked over his shoulder to see the Ellis house exploding in a ball of fire and shredded building material. The windows burst, sending glass outward in a hail of shards, and a mushroom of black smoke billowed upward.
“No! Leslie!”
Without even making the conscious decision to run, Shelby was on the move, charging across the clearing. The house was now on fire, blazing like a torch, the crazily dancing light from the flames transforming the surroundings into a picture of hellishly red horror. Mack and Hammer resumed firing, giving Shelby cover, but he scarcely heard the shots.
“Leslie!”
Shelby felt the heat growing ever stronger, waves of it washing over him like an unseen, burning ocean. The fire itself rushed upward toward the black sky, while sparks and bits of flaming debris rose wildly in the air, caught in the inferno’s whirlwind.
“Shelby!”
It was Mack, looking singed and burnt but still alive, standing in the open, impervious to the bullets now flying around him, waving at Shelby to stop. He lurched forward, arms outstretched.
“Shel, stop! It’s too hot!”
Shelby heard his friend shouting, but his running steps never faltered.
The porch had collapsed in the blast, so Shelby charged full-tilt through the opening made by the explosion. The heat was terrific, singing the hair on his arms and making his clothes feel as if they might burst into flame at any moment, which indeed they could. A crater gaped at him from where the kitchen used to be. With any luck, the blast would have also opened an easy route to t
he basement, but of course, Shelby’s luck was delinquent. Instead of blowing apart, the floor had simply collapsed, creating an impenetrable web of smoldering floorboards and old linoleum.
Keeping close to the skeletal remains of the outer wall, Shelby edged toward the basement door. Once there, he gave the doorknob a twist—and heard his skin sizzle as the superheated metal knob scorched his bare skin. Ignoring the pain, Shelby pointed the shotgun at the lock and gave two quick blasts. The lock remained largely intact, but the old wood around it, damaged by the blast, gave way easily and the door swung open.
Shelby scrambled down the steps. The basement was like a furnace, full of swirling smoke and scorching heat. He heard coughing somewhere and waded into the smoke, his hands groping. Then it was too much and he was forced to lie flat on the floor for respite. He sucked in the clearer air and then, through streaming eyes, saw two figures ahead. They appeared to be chained to the same pillar he’d experienced during his own stay in the basement. He crawled forward.
And there she was—Leslie. Her chin rested on her chest and Shelby couldn’t tell whether or not she was breathing. All at once, the nightmare of the morgue came back to him, filling him with a desperate determination to avoid that fate at all costs. He lunged forward and then had his daughter in his arms.
Shelby looked at the second figure, a limp form that looked more like a broken doll than a person. He took the woman’s lolling head and turned it to look at the face. As expected, it was Angel. New injuries had been added atop the old ones and it was clear she had been beaten again. Shelby struggled to focus, becoming lightheaded from the smoke and heat. He felt Angel’s throat for a pulse, but it was either too weak to detect…or she was dead. There would be no time to save both women—and, as gut wrenching as that knowledge was, there simply was no debate about which he’d rescue.
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