The big lady fell like a meteor. She struck the chandelier, scattering crystal baubles just as a bright flash of lightning flooded the house. The woman fell among the glittering diamond rain. Woman and chandelier crashed at the bottom. It sounded like the apocalypse.
Nikki hung from the second-floor ledge, groped for the remains of the railing, and found a grip. She heaved, pulled herself up. She lay there, her legs still dangling over the edge, breathing heavily. If there were any more attackers, she didnt care. There was no fight left in her.
Nikki heard the shotgun blast and remembered the old man.
41
Mike gritted his teeth to hold in a moan. The pain burned along his spine. He lay awkwardly on his side, a white-knuckled grip on the shotgun. He had one shell.
Make it count, little brother. Im not there to bail you out this time. His brothers voice echoed in his head. In the old days, Mike and his brother always went in as a team. Now Mike was alone. Is this how Danny had felt when Mike left him?
Sorry, Dan. My bad.
He couldnt hear much over the wind and rain. Had the girl come out of it okay? Mike lay behind an overstuffed leather chair. It provided cover, but meant he couldnt see anything.
As quietly as he could, Mike scooted out from behind the chair. If a lucky bolt of lightning lit up his foe, Mike needed to be ready to take his shot. He tried to heave himself into a sitting position. A mistake. More pain.
He elbow-crawled under a table, and rolled onto his back, breathing hard and clutching the shotgun against his chest. He glanced to both sides, tried to see feet in the brief lightning. If he had a shot, hed take it, but he saw no sign of the intruder. Mike lay perfectly still, watched, and listened.
Directly above him, the wooden table creaked, the sound of a man shifting his weight.
Mike pointed his shotgun up, made his best guess, and squeezed the trigger.
* * *
The shotgun blast plowed through the highly polished wood, and Sprats left ankle exploded in blood and fragments of bone and blinding pain. He dropped the knife, tilted and went down screaming, his foot barely attached to his leg with a few strands of skin and sinew. He writhed on the tabletop, scattering the decanters.
He managed to raise his head, still looking for his adversary, rage and revenge boiling up through the pain.
None of this was really turning out like Sprat had hoped.
* * *
Mike tossed the shotgun aside. He knew his shot had found its target. The guy was still groaning and whimpering and thrashing above. Time to get the hell out of Dodge. He crawled on his side, not wanting to roll onto the knife still stuck in his leg, pulled himself toward the doorway with his elbows and hands. If he could get to the hall, maybe he could pull himself up on a table or something. If he could just get outside, get to the Cadillac
It was slow going, the pain still rippling along his spine. The grunting and crying had subsided behind him. Maybe the guy had passed out, or maybe he was dead. Mike didnt know how badly hed hit him. He hoped to hell the guy was dead.
Mike could tell his nephew to go home. It was safe. Maybe he could repair the vineyard. He could rebuild. Mike had insurance. He could pick up where he left off. Sure. Ten more feet and hed be out the door. He wouldnt look back. Blood dripped warm and sticky down his leg. Hed been so close to death. But hed lived. Hed made it and
Something grabbed his ankle from behind.
Not so fast, fucker. The voice behind him was shaky, strained, but also angry. A thick accent.
Oh, hell. Mike tried to crawl faster, jerk his leg away, pain from his wound sending a wave of nausea through him.
You motherfucker. Im c-crippled. He grabbed Mikes ankle with the other hand too, pulled himself onto Mikes legs. You shot my f-foot off.
Mike tried to shift, twist around, get into any kind of position to fight the guy off. It was no good. The guy was punching him in the ribs now. Mike grunted, remembered the pistol in his pants but couldnt reach it. He took more punches to the ribs and the back of the head.
His attacker reared up, brought the point of his elbow down with his full force into the middle of Mikes back. Mike screamed
But
Something shifted, fell into place along his spine. Mike rolled onto his back. The agony had drained away, replaced only by a dull ache.
The attacker grabbed the knife in Mikes leg and jerked it out. Mike grunted.
Ill slice your bloody throat. Another flash of lightning. Mikes attacker had the knife high over his head for a death strike, eyes wild, the blade gleaming in the sudden light. Teeth clenched in an animal grimace. The man looked like something from a comic book coverMacabre Tales.
Mike drew his foot back, kicked hard, caught the guy in the teeth. He flew backward.
Mike climbed to his feet, stretched. He felt the furniture around him, groped in the dark until he found something heavy and ceramic.
The guy was moaning and mumbling. Mike followed the noise, found his head, and brought the ceramic vase down with everything he had. Vase and skull cracked open.
Mike backed away, breathing so heavily he was wheezing. He grabbed at the pistol in his belt and drew it, backed up against a wall.
Come on. Who else? What else you gonna throw at me? Lets go, you sons of bitches.
Mike stood with his back against the wall for a long time. Or maybe it was only a few seconds. It was difficult to tell. He was in a daze, exhausted and numb. The .38 hung loosely in his hand. He hunched over, slapped a palm over the leg wound. It wasnt bleeding too badly, but it hurt like hell.
When he saw the soft flickering light, he thought at first he was hallucinating. Didnt they say you saw a light when you were dying? Or was that a tunnel? Mike couldnt remember.
Nikki appeared in the doorway, and Mike lifted the revolver.
Its just me, she said quickly. She held a candle, which lit her bruised face.
Mike nodded, too tired to talk. What was there to say?
She took three steps toward him, glanced at the dead body on the floor, looked at the pistol in Mikes hand. Her gazed shifted to his face. Youre hurt.
Ill live.
Follow me into the kitchen, Nikki said. Ill clean you up.
42
To Mike, Nikki Enderss kitchen didnt fit with the rest of the mansion. It was modern and chrome, space-age appliances gleaming in the candlelight. He leaned against the long island in the center of the kitchen. It was covered with pale wood, an enormous cutting board.
Nikki used the candle to light a large oil lamp. This is supposed to be decorative, but I dont feel like looking for any of the flashlights. The lamp brightened the room. She pulled open a drawer, came out with a bandage and hydrogen peroxide.
There was something stiff in the way Nikki moved, Mike thought. Awkward. Tense. Why not? Dead bodies all over the house. Maybe she was still worried about her mother. How is she?
Nikki cut the bandage into long strips with a pair of scissors. Mothers room is on the third floor, so she was out of harms way.
Thats good.
She looked down at the pistol in his hand. I dont think you need that anymore.
Mike hadnt realized he was still holding the .38. Right. Sorry. He stuck it back in his waistband.
There was a large bread box on the island counter. Nikki put her hand on the lid. Theres some good Jewish rye in here. I can make you a sandwich before you go. Are you hungry?
Mike shook his head. No thanks. He was too exhausted to eat.
If you dont mind, Im going to fix a sandwich for myself. Im starving. She opened the lid to the bread box.
Strange, Mike thought. It didnt really seem like an appropriate time to
He grabbed the .38 out of his waistband, pointed, squeezed the trigger. The shot caught Nikki Enders in the gut. She flew back against the refrigera
tor, slid down into a sitting position, her eyes wide. He face pinched with pain, both hands going to her belly.
Mike leaned across the counter and reached into the bread box. It was under the rye, a .25 caliber automatic. Mike put it in his jacket pocket. He kept the .38 trained on Nikki even though he realized it was out of bullets.
Nikki coughed, blood staining her teeth and bottom lip. How did you know I was going for a gun? Her voice was small, far away.
Mike shook his head. Stupid. So fucking stupid and useless. But of course shed had to try. Nikki had to be certain Mike wouldnt cause her any more trouble, and the only thing certain is death. And hed killed her sister. What he said was, Its what I would have done. He hated to admit it, but it was true, and he was ashamed. If their positions were reversed, Mike would have killed her.
She convulsed, coughed again. Goddamn you son of a son of a Her eyes rolled back, and her neck went limp, head tilting to the side.
Mike took the bandages and tied up his leg. Sloppy but good enough. He picked up the candle, backed out of the kitchen. Time to find his way out of this death house. In the hallway, he held the candle up, looked each way and tried to get his bearings. It was a big house. He started walking.
Nikki erupted from the kitchen, a hoarse, feral scream ripping from her throat. She held one arm across her midsection, the oil lamp held over her head with the other hand. She charged.
Mike drew the bread box .25 from his pocket, squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty. Nikki was at the far end of the hall. The little automatic was made for close range, and Mike would be lucky if a single shot landed. Every bullet missed Nikki.
But the final shot shattered the lamp, sprayed Nikki with flaming oil. It spread over her entire body. Nikki Enders became a writhing, screaming thing of pure fire. She bounced between the walls of the hallway. A chair caught fire. A drapery went up in flame. Soon the entire hall burned. Nikki was now a small lump in the middle of the inferno.
Mike backed away, horrified.
The flames blocked his way to the front door. Forget it. Hed find a back way, bust out a window if he had to.
Then he remembered the mother. Damn. The old woman was nothing to him, but could he leave her up there to burn? The answer was no. He started for the stairs.
Dont be a sap, said Dannys voice. Get out of there. Sticking your neck out for civilians is how you get killed.
Shut up. Were not going to do things like that anymore.
He climbed the stairs, got to the second floor, and his knees were screaming. He ignored the pain, kept climbing. He glanced over his shoulder. The flames roared through the first floor, crept toward the staircase.
Hurry, you old bastard.
Up to the third floor, clenching his jaw all the way. The pain went up through his legs and into his hips. He checked two rooms, found the old woman in the third.
She looked up when Mike entered the room. Her expression was confused, but then she smiled knowingly, nodded after looking at Mike for long seconds. So youve finally come home.
Mike said, Lady, your house is burning. Ive got to take you out of here.
She seemed not to hear. I waited. All these years, waited to tell you what youve done to your family.
I think youre making some kind of mistake, Mike said.
I loved you, and you left me. Left all of us, gallivanting all over the world. You werent a husband. You werent a father. You were just some ghost we caught glimpses of at holidays.
Oh shit.
Was she drunk? Senile? It didnt matter. There was no time. Sorry, lady, but I guess Im going to have to drag you out of here. He took three steps toward her.
She leapt from her rocking chair, and Mike had a split second to be impressed. So fast, graceful. She lunged in perfect fencing form, arm outstretched.
And thrust the knitting needle into Mikes gut.
Mike froze, shocked. The needle was thin but long, and had found its way under Mikes rib cage. His mouth fell open; he didnt know what to say.
She pulled out the knitting needle, stepped back, looked at him with strange new eyes as if hed just walked into the room.
Mike stumbled back. You dumb bitch.
Told you so, Danny said.
Cant you just shut up? Mike thought. But he wasnt mad. He wasnt anything. The pain in his belly seemed like something distant, abstract. This made sense. This is what hed had coming, what hed deserved all along. He wouldnt argue with fate. The image of a pink sock flashed through his brain, then Keones bullet-torn body. Sure. He had it coming. They all did.
Better this way, Danny had said. Better than cancer. You get to go out fighting.
Theres no good way to go out, Mike had told his brother.
He turned his head slightly, saw the flames dancing up to the third floor. It looked so pretty and orange.
He pulled his hand away from his gut. The bleeding was light, such a small hole. The blood wasnt dark. He didnt think shed punctured any vital organs. He prodded the area with three fingers. Not much pain.
Mike was going to live.
I have to go, said the old woman.
Wait.
She didnt wait, she walked out of the room, down the hall toward the stairs and the flames. Smoke billowed. Mike coughed. Are you crazy? he yelled after her.
But of course she was.
Mike crossed to the other side of the room, threw open the window. Wind and rain lashed him. He stuck his head out, looked down. A three-story drop.
Hell.
Out of the bedroom. No sign of the old woman. He turned away from the flames, limped down the hall as fast as his knees would let him, ignoring his throbbing wound. Another room. Another window. He looked out and this time had some luck. A rooftop below. The mansions third story was smaller than the rest of the house. He swung a leg out the window, then the other leg. He eased himself out and down, hung from the windowsill, and dropped eight feet. Pain shook his knees when he landed. He slid down the wet rooftop and tore a fingernail digging into the shingles to stop himself. He managed to stop himself just in time, feet hanging over the edge. He belly-crawled until he found a drainpipe at the corner of the house, shinnied down, slipped, lost his grip, and fell the final six feet, landing hard on his back.
Mike lay there, sucked for air, rain stinging his face. Above him the windows of the house glowed orange.
He stood up, limped around the house to the gate, found the Cadillac. He looked back at the Cornwall mansion one more time.
Outside, thunder shook the sky and rain battered the earth.
Inside, there was fire.
43
In an old brick building in the bad part of Budapest, the man with the voice shoved sensitive documents into a paper shredder. He also stuffed an attaché case with computer discs and other documents he needed to keep. Hed already erased three computer hard drives. He was in a hurry but didnt dare leave a trail.
The man with the voice had disappointed some dangerous people. Hed received no confirmation that Enders had been terminated, and Ortega would not even return his phone calls. A seemingly routine matter had blown up in his face.
Shotgun Opera Page 23