Night Victims n-3
Page 37
He fired his pistol again, then rolled to his left. He had to fire with his right hand to have a chance of hitting anything, and his arm was aching more with each shot, with each roll. “The area’s sealed off!” he shouted. “State police have you surrounded!” Lie to the bastards!
Another burst of fire, over his head and to the left.
“You don’t have a chance unless you surrender!” He moved again. Fifty-fifty, right or left. They’re gonna guess right.
No blind shots at the sound of his voice this time. Neither one of these guys wasted ammunition.
Not like I’m doing.
Staying as low as possible, he reloaded.
“Hit bad?” Kray asked in a whisper.
Vine’s voice was tight with pain. “Fucker got me in the thigh. Lucky it wasn’t my knees.”
“Will the leg take your weight?”
“I think so. You figure we’re really surrounded?”
“Hell, yes. We knew they were here when we arrived.” Kray scooted over closer to Vine. He could see blood glistening on his left thigh. Goddamn moonlight.
“Let’s go for the cabin,” Vine said.
Kray couldn’t help feeling a rush of pride. His men were the finest. “You know she might not even be in there.”
“God help whoever is!” Vine said.
Several shots came from the direction of the dark woods.
“Prick must have reloaded,” Kray said. “Give him something to chew on and let’s move!”
The woods came alive around Horn with the crackle of 9mm slugs snapping through leaves and branches. He knew it was covering fire, and as soon as it ended he raised his head and saw them making for the cabin. One of them was lagging, limping from the shot in the leg.
Not the knee, though. Running too fast. Tough fucker.
Horn moved beyond the edge of the woods and got off a shot, feeling the recoil up his bad right arm. The arm started to pulse. “You don’t have a fucking chance! Give it up!”
He began to give chase. One of the fleeing figures turned slightly and rattled off a few shots, obviously not caring if he hit anything. They were making for the cabin.
To finish their mission. That’s how they think. To make the kill.
“Me first!” Kray said to Vine as they ran. Planning while on the run. Attacking! No questions. Attacking! They were closing fast on the cabin. “I’m right!”
“Left!” Vine replied through clenched teeth.
Behind them, Horn stopped running and stood watching, firing his remaining rounds into the night sky. Holding his breath.
Kray was up on the plank porch, automatic weapon slung low, getting off a burst at the knob and lock as he went.
He stopped firing the moment before he lowered his shoulder and slammed into the door, forcing it to fly open.
As soon as he was inside he rolled to his right, then sprang to his feet, weapon at the ready.
Vine was a second behind him, rolling left, and regained his feet shakily because of the wounded leg. He knew instantly that the cabin was unoccupied.
Kray scanned the cabin’s interior, sweeping the gun barrel in an arc. In a crazy way it felt wonderful. Doing business again. But something. Something. .
And he realized his right ankle had met resistance as he’d burst into the cabin.
Trip wire!
His last act was to turn to see if Vine had somehow realized the danger. If he could get out in time. Like brothers. .
Not a chance!
It was all in slow motion, like the opening moments of a space shuttle launch. Horn saw the cabin lift off its slab foundation. From the moment Vine and Kray entered the cabin, he knew they had three seconds to live before the bomb he’d planted exploded.
The sides of the cabin flew outward, unable to contain the expanding orange fireball that rolled and rose into the dark sky. An instant later came the roar, and a shock wave surged across the meadow, bending tall grass and pressing Horn back a step, making him stagger.
Neither man had gotten out.
Paula had followed Horn’s instructions to the letter in rigging the trip wire for the bomb Beiner had given him, the bomb Horn had secured beneath the cabin’s floorboards.
Just inside the door.
A quarter of a mile away on the county road, Paula and Larkin heard the explosion and glanced at each other in the night. In the corner of her vision, Paula was aware that Bickerstaff and Wunderly were climbing out of the cruiser where they’d been sitting and waiting.
Paula knew what had happened wasn’t exactly police work. In fact, unless Horn revealed that she’d set up the trip wire, the police weren’t exactly involved. After all, Horn was a civilian acting as an advisor.
After delivering Anne to the cabin, letting her believe, so everything would look real to anyone observing them, Paula had returned and spirited her away. Most of the trip back to the city Anne lay in the backseat out of sight. She’d been sent safely away and was with her brother in Philadelphia.
Horn had acted alone as much as possible. Paula knew he’d take the responsibility but wouldn’t talk-couldn’t be made to talk. And Larkin, he’d learned of Horn’s plan too late to do anything about it, even if the truth did leak out somehow, which it wouldn’t. This time, no leaks. Bickerstaff was retiring again this week or the week after, and Wunderly still wasn’t clued in. If he needed clueing in, Larkin would see to it. Wunderly might find himself promoted to sergeant with a promising future. Maybe Paula would even find herself promoted.
Paula smiled. Fucking politics!
“We probably won’t be charged with anything other than disturbing the peace,” Larkin said beside her. “The noise.”
“Yes, sir,” Paula said. “Should we go find Horn? See if he’s okay?”
Larkin looked genuinely confused. “Horn? Is he here?”
54
Eighteen months later, Paula was eating dinner with Harry and some of their friends on the West Side, when she thought she spotted Horn sitting alone on the other side of the restaurant. She had to look twice, being patient until a waiter had moved, to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.
She excused herself and wove through the crowded restaurant toward his table.
When she got closer, she saw that he looked slightly grayer but not a year older. He was wearing a tan tweed sport coat over a black turtleneck sweater. A wrapped cigar stuck out of the coat’s breast pocket. She was pleased to note that he hadn’t diminished even slightly with age; his bulk made the table look like a miniature.
She noticed something else. Though he was sipping a glass of white wine and sitting alone, the table was set for two.
He looked up at her and gave her his slow and genuine smile. The one he sometimes gives to suspects.
“Paula Ramboquette. You look wonderful!” He stood and grasped her in a firm hug. “Sit down, please.”
“No, I have to get back. And you’re waiting for someone.”
“Sit, Paula.”
She grinned. “That sounded like a command.” She sat down across the table from him.
“You’re plainclothes now,” he said. “Lead detective, with a recent commendation. A rising NYPD star.” He winked. “The one to watch.”
Paula was surprised and pleased that he’d followed her career. “You seem to be doing very nicely yourself. You look terrific.”
“Just another old cop, Paula. Heard anything from Bickerstaff?”
Paula nodded. “He phoned last Christmas Day. He had a bad cold, but he was going ice fishing anyway.” She could imagine a heavily bundled Bickerstaff sitting and sniffling, hunched over a hole in the ice, maybe a dead fish or two next to him. Fun. Really fun.
“Paula?”
“Sorry. Thinking about Bickerstaff.” She suddenly felt ill at ease. “How is-” Remembering the impending divorce of last year, she bit off her words.
“Anne? She’s fine. Still working at Kincaid Memorial. She’s engaged to a corporate attorney.”
Paula s
ensed someone beside her and looked up to see Marla Winger. Marla looking glamorous and sophisticated in a simple navy blue dress with a pearl necklace.
“Paula,” Horn said, “you remember Dr. Winger. .”
“Damn it, Horn, you know I do!” Grinning widely, Paula stood up and she and Marla hugged. Paula caught the scent of expensive perfume.
“It’s wonderful to see you both,” Paula said. “Really!” She couldn’t stop grinning and was beginning to feel awkward about it. Like Frankenstein’s bride with the giggles. “Listen, I’m interrupting. . I’d better get back to my table.”
She muttered a few more polite inanities and turned away, wishing like crazy that Bickerstaff were there. She was unable to control what she was thinking: Corn muffins!
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-b7a379-35ed-1c42-9c88-8aff-e732-00d68b
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 18.01.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.13, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
John Lutz
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon’s FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it’s usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/