by R. J. Jagger
The words were laced with mockery.
“That’s what you want me to do? Let her go?”
“You got me,” Raven said. “I’m unarmed. I followed your instructions. Just do what you’re going to do to me and get it over with.”
A gun fired.
The flashlight in Raven’s hand exploded and went out with a blue flash. The man with the gun turned on his own flashlight and shined it into Raven’s face. “That’s better,” he said. “Now I’m more comfortable. My name’s Davit Durivage. You don’t know me. You never knew me. You never will know me.”
Raven held his hands up in defense.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“That’s because you’re stupid,” Durivage said.
“Enlighten me.”
Durivage laughed.
Then he got serious and said, “Sure, why not. I guess you deserve that much before you die. There was a woman named Jessica Dent. I gave her a painting to authenticate. She didn’t give it back. She said someone stole it from her. That was a lie. She needed to die.”
“I don’t understand.”
“When you’re in my business you learn how to cover your tracks,” Durivage said. “I called you and said you’d die on Friday. You didn’t follow directions. You tried to catch me. I knew you’d do that. Then I killed Jessica Dent and carved those words in her stomach. You remember those words, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might,” Durivage said. “That was all a ruse. The intent was to make you and everyone else in the world think that the killer was someone you knew, someone from your past, someone who had a grudge against you. In short, someone who wasn’t me. See what I mean when I said you were stupid?”
Raven shifted his feet.
“Just let the woman go.”
“You say that as if she’s some kind of innocent little thing,” Durivage said. “Do you want to know something about her? She’s a hit woman. She came here to Denver to kill me and a woman named Emmanuelle. She was hired by a Greek man named Javin Petracca. Do you know why he hired her?”
Raven said nothing.
“What’s wrong, don’t you like my little story?” Durivage said. “He hired her because me and Emmanuelle stole something from him, a golden scroll to be precise. In the process, his wife—a little flower named Alexia—got shot. It was an accident but Petracca’s not an understanding man. He’s a vengeful one.”
“Good for him.”
Durivage smiled.
“You have some balls, I’ll hand you that.” He flashed the light on Nicole and said, “Getting back to your innocent little friend there, she found Emmanuelle yesterday and killed her. Did you know that? No, you probably didn’t. So, do you still want her to go free?”
“You’re lying.”
“Pull the gag out of her mouth and ask her,” Durivage said.
Raven complied.
“It’s true,” the woman said.
“See?” Durivage said. “You’re probably wondering what she’s doing in Denver. The reason she’s here is because Emmanuelle, bless her heart, double-crossed me after we stole the scroll. She took it and then tried to kill me. That didn’t work. Then she brought it to Denver and gave it to an old friend of hers for safekeeping until the dust cleared. That old friend is named Grace Somerfield.” A beat then, “That’s a nice expression you have on your face. You’ve been trying to find her killer. Well, guess what? You just found him. I’m the one who killed her. Saturday night. All I wanted was the scroll. I gave her a chance to give it to me. She said someone stole it. That’s the same kind of bullshit that Jessica Dent tried to pull on me. I wasn’t in the mood for it and slit her throat. That pisses you off, doesn’t it?”
“You little bastard.”
“That’s good,” Durivage said. “Anger is good. The reason I’m telling you all of this is to get you mad. You’re getting there, aren’t you? Let me know when you’re as pissed as you can get, because when you are, I’m going to put this gun down and let you have your shot at me, man to man, bare fists to the death. So tell me, are you mad enough yet?”
“You’re crazy.”
Durivage put the gun on the floor.
Then he laid the flashlight on a bench and said, “Come on and get me.”
“You’re nuts.”
“You’re afraid. Look at you, you’re scared to death.”
115
Day Four
July 18
Friday Night
Wilde stepped out of the shadows and said, “I’ll take that offer.” Durivage froze and saw Wilde’s gun trained on his face. He was trapped.
“Untie the woman,” Wilde told Raven.
The man complied.
“Now give her your car keys.”
He did but added, “She’s a killer.”
“Too bad.”
“Helping her is a felony.”
“Shut up.”
Then to Nicole, “Go on and get out of here.”
She ran.
“Now sit on the floor, both of you. We’re all going to hold tight for ten minutes while she gets a nice long head start.”
“This is obstruction of justice,” Raven said.
“Shut up.”
They waited without talking.
No one said a word.
Wilde suddenly realized why Raven had been snooping around at night, he wasn’t hiding a woman, he was looking for the killer’s lair.
Ten minutes passed.
Good enough.
“Both of you get back against the wall.”
When they did, Wilde went over to Durivage’s gun and picked it up off the floor. He emptied the chambers and threw the bullets into the darkness. They landed with a metallic ping and rolled.
“Get out of here,” he told Raven. “Don’t go after Nicole. Do you understand? Not tonight, not ever.”
A long hesitation.
Raven said nothing.
Then he walked briskly towards the stairwell.
116
Day Four
July 18
Friday Night
When Everett pulled the trigger the hammer came down with a solid click but a bullet didn’t fire. He kept the weapon trained on Jina’s heart and pulled again.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Suddenly a shot fired but it didn’t come from Everett, it came from Taylor. Everett grabbed his chest and dropped to the ground. He twitched while horrible sounds escaped from his mouth. Then he got deathly silent and stopped moving.
Taylor dropped her weapon to the ground.
Her hands trembled.
Her eyes watered.
Her knees wobbled and then buckled.
Jina grabbed her and broke the fall before she hit the ground. Then she wrapped her arms around the woman and rocked her.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s okay.”
The storm beat down.
It was cold.
Invasive.
“I thought he might try something like that,” Taylor said.
They didn’t get up for a long time.
Maybe five minutes.
Maybe ten.
Then they got to their feet, left the body where it was, picked up the scroll and headed for the car.
117
Day Four
July 18
Friday Night
Wilde kept his weapon trained on Durivage long enough for Raven to get out of the building. Then he emptied the bullets from his gun and threw them into the darkness. He tossed the gun in the opposite direction of the bullets and walked into the middle of the room.
“Come on.”
Durivage immediately charged.
His face was distorted.
Insane.
Hardened with hate.
Wilde balled his fist and connected a violent punch to Durivage’s face, so hard that the man’s head snapped back and took him to the ground.
&n
bsp; He shook for a moment then stopped moving.
No breathing came from his chest.
No twitching came from his limbs.
His eyes were open, unblinking, staring at nothing.
Wilde stood over him with clenched fists and let out a blood-curdling yell.
Get up!
Get up!
Get up!
The man didn’t get up.
He didn’t move an inch.
Wilde waited heartbeat after pounding heartbeat as the frantic air rushing in and out of his lungs slowly got back to normal. Then he slumped down on the floor next to the man and stared at his face.
Alabama was right.
He’d never be clean again.
He closed the man’s eyelids and staggered towards the stairwell.
Suddenly something happened he didn’t expect. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, moving at a dangerous speed in the pitch-black darkness.
He shined the flashlight.
A body swung around the landing into view.
It was Nicole.
He bounded down to meet her and held her tighter than tight.
She buried her face in his chest and cried. Then she said, “I didn’t kill Emmanuelle.”
“I don’t care.”
“Durivage did,” she said. “Come to Paris with me.”
THE END
Copyright (c) R.J. Jagger
All rights reserved
R.J. Jagger is the author of over 20 thrillers and is also a long-standing member of the International Thriller Writers. He has two series, one featuring Denver homicide detective Nick Teffinger, set in modern times; and a noir series featuring private investigator Bryson Wilde, set in 1952. His books can be read in any order. For complete information on the author and his ebooks, hardcovers, paperbacks and audio books, as well as upcoming titles, news and events, please visit him at:
Rjjagger.blogspot.com
[email protected]