by Blair Howard
“Well,” Bob said, “the good news, if there is any, is that we know they’re after you. We’ll be ready. I think maybe I should come and stay up at your house until this thing is done, maybe Jacque too. Together we stand, divided we fall, right?”
I thought about it, and in part I agreed with the idea. There were a couple of problems, though. One of them was Amanda, the other my father.
“I can’t have my folks and Amanda knowing about any of this,” I said. “I don’t know how we could hide it from them if you two are up at the house.”
“Not a good idea, boss,” Jacque said. “Don’t you dare lie to Amanda. Tell her the truth. They all know what you are and what you do. They’re used to it. They’ll understand.”
I thought some more, nodded, and said, “Okay. It’s a plan. But before we leave we’ll put Heather in the picture. She’ll have to hold down the fort while we see this thing through. Now, let’s get prepped.”
We left my office and headed down the corridor, past Tim’s cyber world to the small strong room where we kept the weapons and… other things. I entered the code on the touchpad and spun the lock.
I grabbed three large, black canvas holdalls from one of the shelves and dumped them on the steel table in the center of the room.
“Vests first,” I said, reaching for a Point Blank Spider Tactical vest I thought might fit Jacque and handing it to her. “Try that on. It needs to be snug, but not too tight.”
She stripped off her jacket and slipped it on: perfect. Mine and Bob’s were on hangers. All three vests went in the bags, one in each.
“Jacque, I think maybe a Glock 19. It holds fifteen rounds. And a Glock 26. It only holds ten, but it’s small and light.”
I handed the two weapons to her along with an Appendix carry holster and a Blackhawk ankle holster. She slipped them into her bag.
Bob picked out a full-size Sig .45 1911 to go with compact model he usually carried. Both had been fitted with Storm Lake threaded barrels to accommodate suppressors, as had most of the weapons in the closet, including the ones I’d just handed Jacque.
Me? I dumped my M&P9 in favor of a matched pair of Sig full-size .45 1911s with standard seven-round mags. I also grabbed three twelve-round extended mags. Those I would carry with me.
I looked at Bob. “Long guns?”
He nodded and reached for a Remington 870 shot gun with a pistol grip. I put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Too noisy. We don’t want to attract attention.”
He nodded and reached instead for a Tavor IDF16 semi-automatic rifle fitted with holographic sights, the Israeli “Bullpup.”
I nodded approvingly. I loved that rifle. It was short, only twenty-six inches long—the chamber was way back inside the stock. The standard mag held thirty rounds of .223. It was short, light, and deadly, and it was my choice too. Three sets of night-vision goggles, five Surefire LED flashlight/laser units for the handguns, and we were done. We packed everything away in the bags along with extra mags and suppressors for all of the weapons, and then I had a thought. I grabbed a half dozen units of Freeze+P spray and threw them into my bag. You never know. We grabbed the bags, closed up the strong room door, and then headed out into the parking lot, stopping only to loop Heather Stillwell in and put her in charge of the company.
But it wasn’t quite that simple. Jacque’s partner, Wendy, had to be appraised of what we were about to do. I offered to do it, but Jacque insisted on doing it herself.
“Besides,” she said, “I have to get clothes and toiletries.”
I nodded. “Clothes you need, toiletries you don’t. Amanda has enough stuff up there open a store.”
Bob had no such responsibilities. He got the easy task of heading up the mountain in his ancient Jeep Grand Wagoneer, which was good, but I needed to get there first. I had some serious explaining to do before my little army arrived. So I asked him to stop off on the way for thirty minutes or so and grab a coffee while I did the deed. And he did.
As I drove on up Scenic Highway toward home, I tossed what I was about to say around in my head, trying to come up with a way to tell them that wouldn’t cause them too much concern. It was a stupid exercise. Nothing I could think of made it sound good. In the end I decided to just come right on out with it. I parked the Maxima in the garage and went through the house to the patio at the back, where I found them sitting together. The ladies were sipping fruit cocktails; the old man had his usual gin and tonic.
“I need to talk to you all,” I said, dumping myself down in a wicker chair beside Amanda. Oh yeah, I needed to get this off my chest, and quickly.
I explained everything I’d learned just as it had been told to me, even the contract Greene had put on my head, and I watched as the looks on their faces grew more and more horrified, and then I told them about the plan. How Bob and Jacque had insisted on joining me, and that they were on their way up the mountain even as we spoke, and I was relieved to see the looks of horror turn into looks of concern. They didn’t know Jacque that well, but they did know Bob.
Amanda, now somewhat mollified, took my hand and led me into the house. Nope, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. All she wanted to do was hold me, and I wanted nothing more either. For maybe five minutes we stood together, talking, and then we heard Bob’s old Jeep rattle onto the property.
He jumped out, grabbed the holdall from the back, and carried it over his shoulder into the house. Bob’s an ex-marine and a one-time cop, but sometimes I can almost forget it because he’s so quiet. But watching him come into the house then, I remembered.
Amanda showed him to one of the guest rooms, and less than five minutes later she was showing Jacque to hers.
And that was it. All we had to do after that was wait for Benny to call. And wait we did.
We had lunch outside on the patio—salads all around, much to Bob’s disgust.
“Grazing, that’s what it is,” he growled. “You got any decent bread? I’ll make myself a cheese and onion sandwich.”
So that was what he had, and after we ate we sipped sodas by the pool and waited some more. The conversation was sparse. We were after all an eclectic bunch, and we were all trying to watch what we said in front of Rose and my father.
Finally, Bob got to his feet, stepped to the edge of the pool, and said, “Well now. I’m not gonna waste an opportunity like this. You got spare trunks or do I go in in my shorts?”
“In the pool house,” Amanda said. And then, smiling, “Although the shorts might be—”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “That’s enough. You’ll find spares in the pool house. Jacque, there are several that will fit you too.”
They went off together, to find something suitable, I assumed. Rose watched them go and then got to her feet and went into the house; Amanda followed her. When they returned a few minutes later, I was a little surprised to see that Rose was wearing one of Amanda’s bikinis.
She walked down the steps into the pool and then swam with long, slow strokes to the far end, where she stopped, put her elbows on the tiles, and laid her head on her arms.
I looked at Amanda quizzically, but she just shrugged and went back into the house. Bob and Jacque joined Rose in the water, and I left August staring vacantly out toward the horizon where the cooling towers of the Sequoya Nuclear Plant were just visible, shimmering in the distant haze.
I met Amanda in the kitchen. She was in a pensive mood, quiet, thoughtful.
“Hey,” I said, tilting her chin up a little with my finger. “You all right?”
“No, you ass. Of course I’m not. I don’t want you to do this, Harry. They’ll kill you.”
“Me?” I asked lightly. “Not hardly.” I leaned forward and brushed her lips with mine. She turned her head away.
“I can’t stand it,” she said in a low voice.
“I know, honey, but I don’t have a choice. The Greenes want me dead. My only chance is to beat them to it. A good offense is the best defense, right? As soon as Benny tells me what I need
to know, we’ll go after them. Take them by surprise. Hell, Amanda, I have Bob, the best defense any man could ask for. You can attest to that. And I have Jacque, too. So don’t worry. It will all be over in a couple of days.”
She stood there, staring into my eyes, her own watering. Then without a word, she took my hand and led me into our bedroom… and she made love to me that afternoon as if there would be no tomorrow.
Maybe there wouldn’t be.
Chapter 6
Tuesday, Mid-Afternoon
That Tuesday afternoon dragged on like no other. We sat around, waiting. No one wanted to talk. Jacque and Amanda sat by the pool. Bob prowled the gardens like a restless tiger. August and Rose disappeared into the house. Me? I was as restless as Bob. A half dozen times I was tempted to call Benny, but I knew it would be pointless; he would call when he had something.
I looked at my watch. It was a little after two thirty. Jeez, I can’t stand much more of this. I have to do something!
I went into the house and changed clothes—tan pants, black golf shirt, and a lightweight tan golf jacket to hide the twin shoulder rigs housing the two 1911s. I slipped my Talon expandable baton into my pants pocket and then walked through the house, into the garage, and unlocked the Maxima.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Bob was standing in the open garage door, his bulk almost filling it.
“I thought I’d go get something for dinner,” I told him. “Save the girls having to cook.”
“Dinner? Wearing that double rig?”
I glanced down. The jacket was open just enough to reveal the grips. “It’s not what you’re thinking. There’s a contract out on me, right? Be kinda stupid to leave ’em here, don’t you think?”
“You’re so damned full of it, it’s a wonder you don’t bust wide open.” He walked into the garage and climbed into the passenger seat of the Maxima. I shook my head.
“Well,” he said through the open driver’s-side door, “we going or not?”
I said nothing. I climbed in and hit the starter button, reversed out, shoved the selector into drive, and spun out of the driveway, almost hitting the still-opening electronic gates in the process.
I’d barely reached Scenic Highway when the interior of the car virtually exploded with noise. An incoming call. Damned Bluetooth—I never could remember to turn the friggin’ sound down.
I hit the button to take the call, and Amanda’s voice boomed out from the speakers.
“Where the hell are you going, and why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I’d go get some dinner for everybody. I know you don’t want to cook.” I looked at Bob. He grinned back at me. I shrugged.
“Your damn guns are missing!” she yelled. “Jacque checked!”
“That’s true, sweetie. You know I never go anywhere without them,” I said.
Bob rolled his eyes.
“Listen,” I said. “I can’t talk. I’m heading down the mountain, and you know what the road is like. I won’t be long, I promise.”
“If you’re just going to get dinner, why is Bob with you?”
“I was bored,” Bob said. “I needed out for a little while.”
Amanda was silent for a moment, and then said, “Okay, but be careful. Drive safely.” And then she hung up.
“You know you’re gonna pay for that lie, don’t you?” Bob asked.
“Yeah well. What she doesn’t know ain’t gonna hurt her. And I will bring dinner home. But before that, there’s someone I want to see.”
I stepped on the gas, screeched around the hairpin, and roared off the feeder onto Cummings Highway. Ten minutes later I was downtown shoving quarters into the meter outside the Tower Building.
Chapter 7
Tuesday Afternoon 3pm
We rode the elevator to the top floor of the building, but we didn’t go in immediately. For a moment I stood in front of the door, Bob behind me, remembering. Back in the day, this suite had been the world headquarters of Congressman Gordon “Little Billy” Harper’s spurious empire. I thought of the people he’d ruined, and those who’d died because of him: the beautiful Charlie Maxwell, Olivia Hansen, and Michael Falk, whom I had never met, but most of all I remembered Tabitha and that moment I’d met her on the Walnut Street Bridge, and my blood boiled. Was Little Billy Harper in some way responsible for what had happened to Henry? If he was… if he….
It was no more than a few seconds until I looked around at Bob. He knew what was going on in my head, and when he nodded I barged straight in, past the startled receptionist, through the double doors, into the Greenes’ inner sanctum. As I pushed open the doors I had another of those moments where actions long forgotten come flooding back. I’d come through those doors just the same way about two years ago. In my mind’s eye I could see Harper sitting there behind the huge glass desk, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. To his right, Jackson Hope, his bodyguard-cum-financial-advisor, had been seated at an incongruously small writing desk.
The two desks were still there. Harper and Hope were not. Instead Harper’s daughter, Kathryn Greene, had taken his place behind the glass desk, and her husband Jonathan Greene—lawyer, lobbyist, now seemingly head of some sort of homegrown crime family, and all-around worthless piece of garbage—was seated where Hope had once fiddled the books for her father. This time, though, the desk was a little bigger, even if the man wasn’t. And he was quick. Too quick for me to stop him when his right hand flashed out and hit the button on the side of his desk.
“Bad move, Johnny Boy,” I said as I stepped to the right, out of line of sight of the door behind me. Bob moved quickly to the left and took up a position with his back to the window facing the big glass desk. My move had put me against the wall maybe eight feet from Greene’s desk.
Quick as we were, we had barely made it before the doors burst open and two gorillas barreled in. When I say gorillas, maybe I was exaggerating just a little. One was tall, skinny, and white. The other was not so tall, nor was he skinny; he was also Hispanic.
“Whoa,” Bob said lightly, waving one of his 1911s in their faces, the hammer already cocked. “Slow down, boys. You’re not going to miss anything, I promise.” And they did slow down. In fact, they froze. I almost smiled. The two of them reminded me of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner—you know the scene. They’re both running flat out and then suddenly they’re frozen in midair, legs outstretched. These two gorillas were leaned forward, arms extended, and if the situation had been different it would have been downright funny. As it was… well, it was not.
“Easy Jason, Miguel,” Kathryn said, holding up her hand.
“Yeah,” I said as I slid behind them. “Very easy.” I relieved them of a total of five handguns: two Glocks, two revolvers, and a tiny Derringer I found sticking out of the top of one of Miguel’s boots. Then I stepped back to the window, opened it, and looked down. Ten floors below I could see an open dumpster. I tossed the five pieces out and watched as they clattered into the empty bin. I closed the window, turned, and walked toward Kathryn. Johnny swiveled his chair and rolled across to join his wife. His face was white; he was angry, but hers… well, she didn’t seem to be the slightest bit perturbed. Or maybe she was, and just better at hiding it than her husband.
“You boys need to step over there,” I said to Wile E. and the Bird with a smile. “Go stand in the corner ’till I say you can come out.” Slowly, with hands held high, they did as they were told, Bob watching every move. His 1911 never wavered.
“Now, Kathryn,” I said, dragging up a chair and sitting down. “It seems we have a little problem. Eh, several problems, in fact, and none of them really little.”
She glared at me, as did her husband, but said nothing.
“No comment?” I asked. “Well then, let’s discuss things, shall we?”
Again, they didn’t answer.
“I understand that you’ve taken over Little Billy’s empire.”
No answer.
“Now look,” I said.
“It’s very rude not to answer when you’re asked a direct question. I don’t like rude people, and I know Bob doesn’t. Right, Bob?”
He nodded once, never taking his eyes off Wile E. and the Runner.
“So, I’ll ask you once more, and if you don’t answer, I’ll hurt your husband Johnny here.” I waved my hand in the general direction of the now chalk-faced Jonathan Greene. “So what’s it to be?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she snarled.
I reached into my pocked, flipped open the Talon baton, and slammed it down on the back of John Boy’s hand. It wasn’t that hard of a blow, but he howled like his namesake—Coyote—standing in the corner. He jumped up from the seat and backed up to the wall, nursing his hand. I collapsed the baton, though I didn’t return it to my pocket.
“Yes! Okay, yes.” She spit it out through clenched teeth. “I’m running my father’s business until he gets out on appeal.”
“That’s much better,” I said. Then, lightly, “So it has come to my attention that one Lester Tree, known to one and all as Shady, is back in town and working for you. Isn’t that right?”
No answer. I began to rise slowly to my feet—
“Yes!” Greene said, his voice an octave higher. “That is, no—I mean yes. He’s back, but he’s not working for us.”
I sat down again. “But if he’s not working for you, as I have been assured he is, who the hell is he working for?”
“He works for us,” Kathryn said, so quietly I could barely hear her.
“And in what capacity would that be?”
“No capacity,” she said. “He just fills in when we need him. Nothing official. He’s… casual labor, I suppose.”
“Hmmm. I wonder if he knows that,” I said, more to myself than to her. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands together in front of me, the baton between my palms. “The problem is, you see, that either Shady, or one of his low lifes, killed my kid brother. But you knew that, yes? Yes, I can see by the looks on your faces that you did.