Gun Church

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  Rush hour driving in New York is a nightmare under the best of circumstances and, with a steady rain falling, it had taken me two hours to get this close to where they were keeping Amy. My phone started ringing just as I was coming off the ramp from the Van Wyck onto the Whitestone Expressway. When I saw it was Renee’s cell number flashing on the screen, I almost smacked Isaac’s right fender into the concrete railing. I wanted to pull over to talk to her, but there was no place to do it. I flipped the phone open and put her on speaker. That’s when I got even a bigger surprise.

  “Hey, Kip.”

  “Jim? What are you doing on Renee’s-”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Why do you sound so funny? You better not have other people listening.”

  “No one’s listening. I’m in a car. You’re just on speakerphone.”

  “You better not be lying to me.”

  “I swear. No one else is listening.”

  “You shouldn’t have done it, Kip.”

  “Done what?”

  He ignored that. “Why couldn’t you have just gone along with it? Why can’t you just be happy? I gave you everything you ever wanted.”

  “You murdered people in cold blood, Jim. How could I just be happy with that?”

  “What if you didn’t know?”

  “But I do know.”

  “But what if you didn’t?”

  I didn’t answer. I said, “You mentioned that I shouldn’t have done it. Done what? What’s the it I shouldn’t have done?”

  “You went to the police. They’re watching Amy.”

  With the mention of Amy, I lost focus and nearly rear-ended the car in front of me.

  “They’re not cops. They’re private security. And what did you expect me to do after you threatened her?”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt her … not directly.”

  “How could I know that, Jim, especially after the things you said to me on the boardwalk?”

  “You love her that much?”

  “It’s more complicated than just love. I owe her.”

  “How about Renee, Kip? What would you be willing to risk for her?”

  “Let me talk to-”

  “Don’t give me orders. Why couldn’t you have done what you were supposed to?” It was a rhetorical question and I thought I could hear him crying on the other end of the line. “Why did you have to ruin everything?” He was crying. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry, Jim. Can I please speak to Renee?”

  “What’s that word … indisposed?” I could hear him fighting back his tears. “She’s indisposed.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “Not yet, but I’m going to.” He was crying hard now. “Unless you do what I say, I’m going to do things to her that made the beating I gave that fag editor seem tame. She’ll be begging me to kill her, Kip. That’s a promise.”

  “How do I know you haven’t already hurt her?”

  “You don’t. You’ll just have to believe me. You didn’t believe me the other night, but you believe me now, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I saw the headline. You really did make Renee lure that poor kid out of the bar.”

  “She did it to protect you.”

  “What did Mabry ever do to you that you had to kill him?”

  “Your idea, Kip, not mine.”

  “Remember, I’ll hurt Renee if you don’t do what you’re supposed to.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “I’m almost as mad at you for pissing her love away as I am for the other stuff. She risked her life for you.” His crying had calmed, but the tone of his voice was a toxic mix of anger and self-pity.

  “Don’t hurt her, Jim. Please. I’ll do anything you want me to, but don’t hurt her.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “I’m listening. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Don’t worry, Kip. Amy will know.”

  “Amy? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “Maybe everything.”

  “Jim, this is-”

  “Shut up! Just shut up and listen. Don’t tell those security guys we spoke. You tell them, you’ll be signing Renee’s death certificate. Someone else’s too. That will be more blood on your head, Kip.”

  “Someone else?”

  “You just worry about Renee for now. Promise me you won’t tell those guys.”

  “I promise.”

  “Say it to me. Say the words.”

  “I won’t tell them. I promise.”

  “You ruined everything, Kip. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

  “I know you think that, but what’s Amy-”

  “Get to wherever she is and you’ll understand. See you in a few hours.” And with that, he hung up.

  I never felt more pressed for time than I did at that moment. Every foot gained took an eternity. Flashing brake lights taunted me. I weaved the car in and out of traffic just to give myself a sense of progress, to stop me from completely losing my mind and bolting from the car in a dead run. I called Amy’s cell four times, only to get her voice mail. I thought about breaking my word and calling Tony or Tom McDonald, but Jim had put the onus on me. Up until this point, the blood on my hands was naive blood, blood that Jim had put there. Not anymore. The illusion of deniability, such as it was, had been stripped away. From here on out, if there was blood to be spilled, I would not be able to keep its stain at arm’s length.

  Forty-Nine

  The Last Easy Thing

  The address belonged to a red brick building. Only the knowledge that Amy was inside distinguished it from the other houses on the block. There was a silver Chevy Malibu parked in the driveway. I drove around the block a few times before parking and going up the front steps. My heart was pounding as I forced myself to knock.

  “Who is it?” I thought I recognized Tom McDonald’s voice.

  “Kip Weiler.”

  The door pulled back, but there was no one standing on the other side. I’d taken a step forward when a hand latched on to my wrist, yanked me hard inside, and forced me face-down onto the carpet. My arm was being held immobile by a wrist lock when the door slammed shut behind. I was pulled up onto my feet, arm still behind me, something hard-the muzzle of a gun, no doubt-stuck in my neck. A thick-necked, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, dark, suspicious brown eyes, and a neutral mouth stepped out of the shadows. He patted me down so thoroughly that there would never be secrets between us. He removed my wallet from my back pocket, opened it, and alternated his gaze from my face to my driver’s license. All of it, from the knock on the door to this, took no more than twenty or thirty seconds.

  “It’s him, Tommy. It’s Weiler. Let him go.” My arm was freed. “I’m Tony Dee,” said the man in front of me, offering me his right hand. I shook it. “And that guy behind you with the map of Kerry on his face is Tom McDonald.”

  I turned around to see a silver-haired man about my size with sparkling blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, a disarmingly crooked smile, and a Glock pointed square at my belly.

  “What was the name of the woman who contacted our firm?” he asked, politely but firmly.

  “Meg Donovan.”

  He holstered the Glock.

  “How do you like your coffee, Mr. Weiler?” he asked.

  “Hot.”

  “Tony, why don’t you get him some coffee while we have a chat.”

  We sat down at an unremarkable kitchen table. It was wood, had four legs, and four chairs. The entire house, at least the parts of it I could see, was decorated in like fashion: functional, not fancy. Tony Dee brought me a cup of coffee and told McDonald he was going to catch some sleep while he could. I took a sip of the coffee. It was hot. That was the best thing I could say about it.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s a little freaked and pissed, but that’s normal. She’s in the other bedroom resting.”

  “Can I go see her?”

  “In a minute,” he said. “First I want to know
what happened that made you push the panic button. And before you answer, remember that if the danger to your ex-wife has increased, the danger to me and my partner has increased too.”

  “I understand.” And I did, but I had to be careful not to say too much until I saw Amy. “I came across some information that led me to believe that the threats made against Amy were real.”

  “Have you considered going to the authorities? Our firm can make that easier for you. We can hook you up with a top-notch lawyer, have someone meet you here if you’re afraid of being spotted contacting the law.”

  “I’m thinking about it, but I can’t do it yet. I need to see Amy, okay? I need to discuss this with her first.”

  “I see. Go ahead. Down the hallway to the right.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “Wait until you get the bill before you thank me.”

  I stood up from the table, taking the coffee with me. I didn’t want to drink it, but it made a good prop, made me seem more relaxed than I actually was. I walked down the hall past the bathroom and the bedroom Tony Dee was using. I knocked on Amy’s door, but didn’t wait for her answer. The time for acting cool and relaxed was over and I didn’t want to waste any more time than I had to.

  Amy was sitting on the bed, head in her hands, an unwatched TV playing in the background. When I approached, she looked up. Her face was completely drained of color and her skin showed every wrinkle, line, and mark. It was as if she were aging before my eyes. As I opened my mouth to speak, she put her index finger across her lips to quiet me. She tapped in something on her BlackBerry, then handed it to me.

  “Listen,” she whispered.

  I put the phone to my ear. “Amy, this is Peter. Please do as I ask and do it the way I tell you to do it.” It was Peter Moreland. He spoke breathlessly, his voice was cracking, struggling to say the words. “You must get out of wherever you are and come with Kip or I’ll be killed. When you get on the road, start heading north on the New York State Thruway. When you get close to Stewart Airport, call this number. If you go to the police or are followed, he’ll kill me and he says to tell Kip he will also kill Renee. He’s serious, Amy.” Then there was some static.

  “That’s right, Amy, I’m not kidding,” Jim said. I pictured him grabbing the phone away from Moreland. “Do what your sorry excuse for a husband said to do. How could you leave a guy like Kip for a cowardly piece of shit like this guy? My respect for you has taken a nosedive. Oh, yeah, to prove to you I’m serious … ”

  There was a brief pause, a gunshot, Peter Moreland screaming, then nothing. I handed the phone back to Amy.

  “How long ago did you get that message?”

  “Half an hour ago.”

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I said.

  She didn’t move. “Is Renee-”

  “Yes, the girl from the restaurant.”

  “Do you think he killed Peter? It sounded like he-”

  “No, not yet, but he will. He’s killed before.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to Peter on my account.”

  “Too late, Amy. We need to try and make sure nothing else happens to him.”

  “Kip, who are these people? What the hell is going on? What does Peter have to do with-”

  “Jim, the guy who’s got Peter, was a student of mine. He and Renee were in the class when the other kid took us hostage. We got close after that. Jim got me back in shape, taught me how to shoot. It’s complicated. I thought he was harmless, but … ”

  “Harmless! He has Peter and god knows what he’s done to him.”

  “I know. I know. That’s why you’re here. He threatened you and I had Meg hire these guys.”

  “They got me out of bed at four in the morning, knocking on my door, saying they were the fire department.”

  “I had to do something to protect you.”

  “You want to protect me? How about staying the fuck out of my life?”

  “After today, I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Fine.”

  “I have to get out of here, Amy.”

  “I’m coming too.”

  I knew better than to argue. “Just follow my lead,” I said.

  We came out of the bedroom and found Tom McDonald still sitting at the table. He seemed surprised to see us and a bit wary.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  “No, the guy, Jim, who’s after us, he just called me.”

  McDonald tensed. “Yeah?”

  “He says he’s got a rifle trained on the back of the house and I don’t think he’s lying. He described how far the shades were pulled down, their color and everything.”

  “Did he mention the girl, Renee?”

  “She’s there with him. She got on the phone after he was done talking.”

  His hand went right to his holster. “There’s only the two of them, right?”

  “Just Jim and Renee, that’s right,” I said.

  “Okay, you and Amy get down low and stay here while I get Tony Dee up. Don’t move. You got me?”

  “Clear as a bell.” Amy nodded in agreement.

  As soon as McDonald tapped on the bedroom door and stuck his head inside to wake his partner, Amy and I took off. We had a little trouble with the front lock and that gave McDonald time to figure out what was going on. He screamed for us to stop and as we finally got outside, I heard his footsteps coming up behind us. The door closed in his face and that gave us the time we needed to get down the stairs and into Isaac’s car ahead of him. We were pulling away just as he reached us. I took a peek in the side view mirror. McDonald looked pretty pissed off.

  I waited until we were nearly back to the highway before speaking. “Listen, Amy, Jim’s dangerous and he will do the things he says he will. He killed Haskell Brown.”

  “Oh, my god!”

  “None of this is about you, really. You and Peter are involved only because you are connected to me and Peter to you. Saving Renee is only part of why I’m going. Jim is my personal nightmare. I have to go. You don’t. I can go by myself. Maybe I can talk Jim down. He does have this worship and adoration thing about me and maybe-”

  “Will he kill Peter if I don’t go?” she asked, her voice sharp as a razor. “The truth.”

  “Maybe, but he might kill him anyway.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “Are you sure? All you need do is say the word and I’ll drop you off. You’ll be safe.”

  “Of course I’m not sure. Who would be? But I’m coming just the same.”

  The rain had let up and the traffic had thinned. I pulled onto the Whitestone Expressway and moved easily into the flow of traffic. It was probably the last easy thing I would ever do.

  Fifty

  Headstones

  It was around noon when I pulled off the main road and onto the thin strip of crumbled blacktop leading to the abandoned bungalow colony. Overgrown hedges, their leafless and twisted branches like tangles of natural barbed wire, scraped against both sides of the car. The approach was eerily similar to that of the old berry farm down in Brixton. I had a sense that whatever was about to happen would produce more damage than a concussion and wounded pride. Writers have a knack for the endgame. That’s how many of us begin our books, knowing the end. Then we write to it. There was no scenario I could envision that left any of us-Amy, Renee, Moreland, or me-alive, let alone unscathed. Jim had painted all of us into a corner, himself most of all.

  Up to that point, we had done exactly as we’d been told. As we approached Stewart Airport-like Hardentine, an old Air Force base-Amy called her husband’s cell. It was Jim who answered, and Amy got hysterical when he refused to let her talk to Moreland. She had been okay during most of the ride, her fury directed at me keeping the bleakness of the situation at bay.

  “Did you hurt Peter? Please don’t hurt him. Please! I’ll do anything,” she was screaming when I pulled to the shoulder and took the BlackBerry out of her hand.

  “Jim, w
e’re not driving another inch until you tell me whether or not you killed Moreland.”

  Amy gasped at the bluntness of my ultimatum. I could almost hear Jim thinking through the phone. I knew he hated to be bossed around, but we had leverage. He needed us and he had gone through too much trouble to ruin it now.

  “I blew off two of his fingers. What a pussy. He cried like a baby. I had Renee wrap up the wound.” He then gave me directions to get onto Old Route 17 leading into the Catskill Mountains and another landmark from which to call. “After you get there and I give you that second set of instructions, toss your cell phones. You show up here and I hear a ring or a buzz, Moreland will lose more than a few fingers. And Kip,” he said, “no more threats.” Then there was a gunshot, more screams. I clicked off, hoping Amy hadn’t heard that last part.

  I handed the BlackBerry back to her and told her that Peter was alive, but scared. I neglected to mention the gunshot and the screams. She was already wound so tight, I didn’t want to risk her completely unraveling. If there was any chance at all of us coming out the other end of this, we needed to hold it together as long as we could.

  The sun had broken through the clouds by the time we made the second call and the temperature had to be around forty degrees. It was then, after Jim had given us the new set of directions, that I had a decision to make. I knew I still couldn’t risk calling the cops. They might get to where we were going before we could and that meant I would be sacrificing both Renee and Moreland. There was no doubt Jim would murder them before the cops got within a hundred yards. And if they killed Jim in the process, I was fucked. There was the issue of Haskell Brown’s murder. I could no longer pretend that Jim was blowing smoke about having the Beretta he had used stashed away. My fingerprints were all over that gun. I’d fired it so many times, gotten my skin caught in its slide, that it probably had my DNA on it as well. The gun, the toll record, no alibi, and my publishing contract made me look like suspect number one. I didn’t even want to think about what he’d done with Stan’s body.