The Silver Gun

by L. A. Chandlar

  Eliza looked at me and smiled, then whispered something in Donagan’s ear. He grinned and nodded.

  “Actually,” said Donagan, “I think it’s time we truly test the mettle of our friend Finn, here.”

  Oh, God.

  Daley Joseph nodded a quick come here to Finn, and Finn walked over to him. “I agree. I think that you have feelings for Lane. I think it’s time we find out exactly which side you’re on.”

  I looked at Eliza, and she smirked in triumph.

  My guard moved away from me, leaving me alone, abandoned. I looked at Roarke, but the bodyguard had him around the chest, holding him back. He shouted savagely, “No!” I looked at Roxy, her eyes wide with horror.

  I slowly, slowly turned my eyes to Finn’s. Those deep, dark eyes that I loved. He said with a smirk, “Sorry, love. I have to keep with the plan.” He slowly raised his gun. And pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 35

  Someday death will take us to another star.

  —ML

  In one shocking instant, I was hurtled backward as I violently grabbed my chest. I saw the red stain oozing out through my white blouse, I felt the wetness. I heard a muffled scream from Roxy, a raging, “You bastard!” from Roarke, and a delighted cackle from Eliza. I crumpled to the floor, my eyes slowly closing.

  Daley Joseph gurgled a disgusting grunt of approval. I thought I heard Donagan clap Finn on the back like he had just accomplished a noble feat. Someone said they’d let the guards finish up, and then Daley, Donagan, Eliza, and Finn left.

  Luckily for me, the bodyguards didn’t move too fast. Their bodies lumbered just as slowly as their brains did, so Eliza and her crew had plenty of time to get to their car and depart before they got around to me. I could hear Roxy crying and Roarke swearing. The guards had been debating about how to go about finishing us off, arguing the points of what would take the least amount of effort and cleanup. They hadn’t decided on anything, but the one guy came over to check on me while the other topped off his drink at the bar. I could hear the glasses tinkling.

  The hardest part was trying not to look like I was breathing. I needed the element of surprise if this was going to work. At one moment, I think I moved my hand a hundredth of an inch too fast and I thought I heard Roarke gasp, but then . . . nothing.

  My hand finally made it around my dad’s dagger, which I’d been wearing in a hidden slit I made in the inside of my wide belt, the sheath going down into the top of my skirt. The dagger was small, but deadly enough. I’d had to practice this about a hundred times with Kirkland to make sure that I fell to the ground exactly right. Finn knew they couldn’t let me live. He would manufacture a way to be the one to do it, but Lizzie ended up making it easy. He would use a rubber bullet, smashing the blood pellet taped to my chest with a metal backing. The bullet hit with such force that I didn’t have to fake reeling backward. I had to keep one hand over the blood stain and the other where I could then reach the dagger hilt. All while trying to look natural.

  The guard came over to me and bent down, putting his big head within inches of my own. I abruptly rolled over, moving directly under the big guy, and with my right hand I poked my dagger painfully into his throat. His heavy weight was against him; if he made any false move, my knife would do significant damage. Also, happily for me, this guy was a bit smaller than the other one, who hadn’t noticed anything as of yet; he was too busy getting another drink. I carefully moved to a crouching position and took Meat Loaf’s gun without moving my dagger from his tender throat.

  That gasp from Roarke turned out to be exactly what I had thought: He had seen me move and must have been ready for anything. Because by the time I got the gun securely in my hand, he had the other guard around the neck in a headlock, slowly knocking him out from oxygen deprivation. He must have been really angry to get the force needed to squeeze that giant neck into submission. But he did. After the meatloaf was out cold, he used the guy’s tie and belt to bind his hands and feet. Then he came over to me, and together we did the same to my stunned and ashamed opponent.

  Then Roarke swung around and shook me by the shoulders, shouting, “I could . . . I could . . . throttle you!” Then he hugged me so tightly I thought I might join the guy on the floor. “You’re bleeding; it’s fake, I take it? A blank in Finn’s gun?”

  “Rubber bullet. Yeah, yeah, it’s fake,” I said, still out of breath. “A big blood pellet I had taped to my chest. Mr. Kirkland helped me with it. And gave me my dad’s dagger to use.”

  Roarke coughed and said, “Unbelievable.” We both went over to Roxy and took off her gag and the ties on her hands. She just sat there looking numb. Maybe shock was setting in.

  I was feeling good that this part of the plan was going all right and that we were still alive. But when things like this happen in the movies, what they don’t show is the massive amount of mental strain and drain that completely taxes your body. My limbs were heavy with exhaustion. My head was throbbing. It was like every nerve in my body was on fire. I was worried about Finn. And I was worried about the next phase of their plan. Where did we go from here?

  Then I heard a sound that I will never forget as long as I live: a door being broken down with a great and mighty crash, yelling, barking, and then . . . Was that a trumpet? Before we thought it was humanly possible, the door to the parlor was rammed down. And in poured . . . everyone. Evelyn, Fio, Kirkland, Valerie, Ralph, Pete, and even Ripley. Ralph?

  I was so stunned that I couldn’t utter a single word as they all piled in the doorway. But they stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the gruesome blood on my white blouse.

  I yelled out, “It’s okay! It’s fake! I’m all right!” Relief flooded every single one of their faces as they came in and took a good look at the situation. Kirkland knew the bullet was a fake, but a chest full of blood looks pretty terrifying even if you’re in on the plan.

  My eyes devoured these amazing, wonderful, glorious friends. All of them looked like they were about to start talking at once. It took the short one with the trumpet to bring us all to order.

  “Fio,” I said. “You brought your trumpet?”

  “It just seemed necessary, Lane, my girl. And you know how it worked with the Artichoke King.” He waggled his eyebrows in pure enjoyment and then started leading like only he could. With screechy bellowing.

  He got us all into order, first having Aunt Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland look at and pat me over thoroughly. I gave Mr. Kirkland a quick rundown of how this part of the plan played out, and he patted my back. Very similarly to how he patted Ripley’s head the night he chased out the burglar.

  “Nicely done,” was all he said in his gravelly voice, but his beaming face spoke volumes. Evelyn had been shooting us both deadly darts with her eyes, and I knew we’d both be in the doghouse for not giving her more of the details. But we could never have been sure who might be on the scene when the plan went down. And for it to work, every single emotion had to be utterly authentic. She’d forgive us . . . at some point. My crazy family had even brought the dog. I got right down to Ripley’s level and gave him a big, strapping hug, his huge shepherd head over my shoulder.

  Once Aunt Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland were finished with me, Valerie came running over and almost knocked me down as she wrapped her arms around me. She wiped a tear from her eye, but all she said was, “I brought you some clothes.” Which made me laugh and then almost cry, too.

  I said, “Hey, ah . . . could you . . . ?” I motioned to the stunned-looking Roxy still sitting on the couch by herself.

  “Yes, absolutely,” said Val. She walked carefully over to Roxy and sat down. She said a few soft words, and Roxy remained silent. But then she slowly, slowly laid her head on Val’s capable shoulder.

  I ran into the other room to quickly change into the blissfully clean clothes that Val had brought: my best navy blue suit with trousers. Thank God. Something practical. Somehow, I knew this night was not over, and who knew what would be in store?

  W
hen I went back in, things were calming down and Evelyn had passed around some medicinal whiskey to everyone. I looked around and couldn’t believe they had all found us. Pete and Roarke were talking intensely to each other.

  “Ralph? What the . . .” I blurted out. I could not figure out his presence for the life of me.

  Val spoke up. “I’ll explain later.” Ralph remained quiet, sitting by himself in a corner. His usually wide smile was nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t look anything like his happy-go-lucky self.

  “All right,” began Fio, calling us to order again. “We have a lot to put together here if we’re going to figure out where this substantial threat is for tomorrow—well, actually today. And we need to work fast. Listen up people, we can do this. We have to do this!”

  Roarke and I were completely unaware of exactly how much time had passed since our capture. It was shockingly well after midnight, practically the early hours of the morning. It was officially August tenth. We didn’t have a lot of time. Roarke and I quickly filled everyone in on what had happened over the last couple of days. When I talked about Finn and the rubber bullet in the gun, I couldn’t help but flash a look at Pete. He kept his face tight and controlled.

  Pete then took the ball. “Finn got your message, Lane, but a day later than you had sent it. The idiot messenger had forgotten about it. I thought Finn was going to . . . well.” He passed a hand behind his head, rubbing his neck. Was that a small smile? “From your note, we knew you had been to see Venetti and that you were going to the Meatpacking District, as it was the only place you could think of to try to find a clue. Plus, you’d mentioned Roxy, and maybe you’d be able to locate her since you were worried.” When he said Roxy’s name, she darted a surprised look at me, and I gave her a small, self-deprecating smile back. Pete kept going. “Finn knew he needed help and came to find me. Finn had to get back to his undercover operation, so he told me the location of the place in the Meatpacking District. I took a few of my best officers to the abandoned warehouse, but we didn’t find anything.

  “Finn hadn’t known the exact address of this place. I guess it’s Eliza’s place of business?” I nodded. “He had just heard Daley speak about it vaguely, so he gave me what information he could, and then I did some digging and discovered a new high-end escort service had sprung up, and I started putting two and two together. My crew and I arrived right when everyone else did.”

  Fio had been bouncing up and down from his seat on the couch, enthusiastic about telling us his part in everything. His constant motion garnered a scowl from Aunt Evelyn as she gracefully vacated the seat next to him for a more sedate place to sit. “Okay, I’m next!” Fio yelled happily. “I started thinking more about Roxy’s disappearance, and then when Lizzie ended up calling in sick, I began looking at the case from different angles and asking myself questions about who might be behind everything. When I went to the press guys and asked about Roarke, I found out he hadn’t shown up for work. I knew then and there that you two were together. Just like Pete, I had also found out about a new madam in town; her standout characteristic was a mane of red hair—Lady Red.

  “I knew right where to go to get more information. I found the whereabouts of this . . . establishment by pressing one of the government officials whom I figured would be first in line for Lady Red’s place. And I was right; he had absolutely been first in line, and he divulged the address. I will be attending to him later,” he said darkly. “Then, Evelyn and Kirkland and I rejoined, piled into a car, and here we are.”

  By cosmic design or the hilarity of fate, everyone had arrived at the same time. It took a tense moment or two to figure out if they were all good guys or not, and then they all came bounding up here.

  Lastly, Fio turned to Val. “Ah, Valerie. Was that car you came in . . . er . . . Was that who I think it was?”

  All heads whipped to Valerie as she blushed a deep crimson, right to the roots of her golden brown hair. “Ah, yes. It was.”

  She filled us in on what she’d learned from Ralph. She shuffled in her seat a little, like she was avoiding something. “Well, I was at my wit’s end. I didn’t know where anyone was, and gosh, Lane, I was certain you were in danger. So . . . I knew only one person who might be able to find the target for tomorrow as well as where Lane might be: Louie Venetti.”

  Pete uttered, “Oh, dear God,” and put his head down on his clasped hands. Roarke chuckled silently.

  Val told us, her stunned audience, “I was so mad! I traipsed right in and announced to Venetti that I knew who had killed his nephew, Danny Fazzalari.” I barked out a loud laugh, which no one understood, and they looked at me in confusion. Val smirked and said, “Louie told me that Lane said the exact same thing to him the day before.”

  Aunt Evelyn slowly closed her eyes, shook her head, and rubbed her temple with her index finger. Valerie told us that Venetti did, indeed, have an idea of where they had Lane and agreed to bring her and Ralph over here. When they saw the rest of the posse on their way in, his driver dropped them off.

  Then she paused, her face taking on a very serious expression, and said, “Most importantly, Venetti did do as you asked, Lane. He discovered exactly what is planned for today.”

  Suddenly the room, which had held an air of jubilant victory, was once again a room of war strategy. We all took a deep breath.

  “The target for the bombing is the Triborough Bridge.”

  CHAPTER 36

  I am doing my very best to make every effort because I am longing so much to make beautiful things. But beautiful things mean painstaking work, disappointment and perseverance.

  —ML

  This was now certainly official police business, and Pete joined Fiorello in an intense discussion on what was to be done. Pete had brought four of his best officers, and they formed a formidable rank around Fio. One of them was the officer who’d been with Peter when I had tackled the purse-snatcher in the subway. He kept darting incredulous looks at me, and his grin made it clear that he was absolutely delighted to be part of this action.

  Valerie started a quiet discussion with Roxy. I knew I would have my own heart to heart with her at some point, but for now my mind was consumed with trying to help in any way I could. And with finding Finn.

  Mr. Kirkland came over, and whether to keep me distracted or because he truly wanted to revel in the facts, he had me go over exactly how we had worked The Plan. When I told Kirkland about rolling under the assailant and jabbing my knife to his throat and then carefully taking the gun away from him, his eyes shone with amusement and pride as he slapped his knee and chuckled his raspy laugh.

  “You know, Lane, you are just like your mother. She gave your father a lot of grief over the years. They were a team, but after their feelings for each other became apparent, it was very difficult for him not to take care of her, to let her do her own work. Yet, he wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, reminiscing.

  I never felt more a part of my parents’ story than I did at that moment. Their story was my story. It wasn’t some painting that I looked at and admired from afar, as a stranger admiring beauty with an outsider’s perspective. I was right in the middle of it.

  I must have had a stunned look on my face, because Mr. Kirkland’s dreamy look of reminiscence was brought back to the present in an instant. “Uh, Lane? Did I say something that . . .”

  “Oh, no, you said one of the best things I could ever hope to hear.” I put my hand on his tough, sinewy shoulder. “Thank you.”

  I got up and made my way over to the police team and Fio. “So, do you have any idea of where to start looking for an explosive device? And can we shut down the bridge?”

  They had already sent out one of the officers to shut down the bridge on the pretense of maintenance. (On the newly constructed bridge, just opened this very summer . . . Well, we’d just have to figure out the press on that later.) Then they were going to put teams in place looking for the bombs. Roarke went off with them, performing his journalistic
duties. The officers also sent out descriptions of the Schmidt brothers—they’d have to be showing their faces soon—and Lyle, the guy I talked up at that God-awful country bar. They also gave descriptions of Daley Joseph and the elusive Donagan Connell as well as Eliza.

  So, what to do now? The police, Fio, and Roarke all had to run off to complete their various tasks. I wanted to help in the worst way, but in most novels I’ve read, the pushy woman who feels that the police can’t possibly do their work without her just ends up getting in the way, and they end up needing to rescue her. So I was fine with them doing their job. But it was achingly frustrating and anticlimactic.

  Valerie ended up taking Roxy home. I had a few minutes aside with Roxy before she went, neither of us knowing what to say. We just looked at each other like we were both complete strangers. Which we were. I thought I’d been so clever and intuitive. But I had made many assumptions, and the truth had eluded me. Well, at least for a while.

  I just looked at Roxy, tried a tentative smile, and then settled for a big sigh. She looked at me, and I knew we had reached a silent understanding. There was something in her eyes that showed exactly how I was feeling. We may never be best friends, but perhaps a truce could be arranged.

  That left Evelyn and me, eyeing each other from across the room. I still held my tumbler of medicinal whiskey, and I rolled the cool glass between my two hands like a large, heretical prayer bead.

  She said with a resigned, wry look, “So . . . you and Mr. Kirkland have been working on this plan of Finn’s together, eh?”

  I looked closely at her wise, bright face. Her eyes were alive with fire and yet . . . was it amusement? “You knew all along!” I just about yelled, dumbfounded.

  Her laughter peeled through the room. “Not really, honey. But when I was painting, I did see you two working with your dagger and pretend jousting, or whatever you call it. I knew you were up to something.”