The Blade Itself

by Marcus Sakey

  But there was no body.

  Rage and relief surged through him. Relief at not finding her dead; seething, sun-blind rage at her violation. The animal part of him rose up, made the blood ring in his ears, his vision blur. He forced himself to breathe, one hand gripping the counter as he gulped oxygen. There wasn’t time for this. He had to be able to think. Had to get the anger under control. Had to harness it, to make it a tool he could use.

  A weapon.

  He closed his eyes and forced himself to count, banishing visions of Evan holding a gun to Karen’s temple. He couldn’t waste time or energy. He needed his faculties at 100 percent. With every breath he pictured his chest filling with cool blue air, and with each exhale forced it all clear, till his lungs were down to their dregs.

  Think.

  He walked out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom. The bedspreads were tangled from last night, when they’d made love and then dropped off to sleep. Her pillow still had a crinkled indentation. He dropped to the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands.

  Think!

  He didn’t know where Evan lived.

  He didn’t know where Evan was.

  He knew the meet would be tonight, but not when. Evan would probably wait for dark, but twilight already bruised the sky outside their bedroom windows.

  Debbie wouldn’t help him.

  Patrick was dead. Murdered.

  Karen was a hostage.

  He stood up, kicked the bed frame savagely, the pain ringing up his leg. He was going in circles. He couldn’t afford to keep following the same arguments.

  He had to remove himself. Think of it in purely strategic terms.

  See the whole situation.

  See not just the problem, but the constraints that defined it. Not just the attack, but the weaknesses it was intended to capitalize on. Like those black-and-white drawings of faces and candlesticks, where the negative space was a different picture from the positive.

  Ignore the faces. See the negative space.

  And then it hit him.

  There was another person who knew where the meet would take place.

  41

  The Easiest Thing in the World

  Danny put the car in park and killed the engine. As his headlights faded, darkness rushed in to fill the void. Outside the passenger window, the house looked as he remembered, red brick with an elaborately shingled roof that peaked like a cathedral. But now he felt like the house was somehow watching. Judging. The rest of the neighborhood blazed with light, silhouetting groups of kids running from porch to porch with winter jackets over Halloween costumes. Richard’s home hunched silent and dark.

  The last time Danny had been here, he’d crossed the line from citizen to criminal. The last time, he’d picked a lock and crept in the back door as a thief. Now he had to walk up to the front door and confess.

  The prospect made his palms sweat. Not because there would be no going back – he’d already crossed the point of no return – but because he had to face Richard, look him in the eyes, and admit to being the architect of his sorrow. Admit to taking the most important thing in the man’s life.

  And then, somehow, convince him he was here to help.

  The dashboard clock read seven. No time to waste. His mind was cloaked in static as he stepped out of the car and started across the lawn. The laughter of the trick-or-treaters seemed haunted, foreign, part of a world he didn’t belong in. A reminder of his sins. On the way over, he’d tried to plan what he would say to Richard, to anticipate the man’s response. But now, as his sneakers carved canyons in the dew-wet grass, everything vanished.

  He stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell. The windows on either side of the door showed blackness. He prayed he wasn’t too late, that he hadn’t missed Richard. He rang the doorbell again. Nothing.

  Danny cupped his hands and put his forehead to the glass. Faint ambient light silvered the edges of furniture, gleamed off the hardwood, but there were no lamps on, not in the foyer or in the hall beyond. He felt a burning sickness. If Richard was gone, this whole drama was over. He leaned on the doorbell, holding it down, eyes intent on the inside. The chime rang Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong-Ding-dong.

  He had almost given up hope when he saw a flash of motion down the hall, as though someone had leaned out of the darkened kitchen to check the door. Releasing the bell, he yelled, “Richard!” He banged on the door, shouting his boss’s name again and again, conscious of the stares from a group of children, the wary look from the father escorting them. He didn’t care. He’d bang until neighborhood security took him away.

  Finally the shape moved down the hallway. Danny stepped back, hands at his sides, his heart roaring. The door swung open. Richard’s eyes were sunken, and a three-day growth of beard shadowed his cheeks. “Now isn’t a good time.” He started to shut the door, but Danny moved faster, snaking a hand in to catch the edge.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Later.” Richard pushed against the door.

  “I know why you can’t talk.” He kept his gaze level, meeting his boss’s eyes. “I know where you’re going. Trust me. We need to talk first.”

  The pressure against the door eased, Richard staring back at him. Finally, he glanced at his watch, cursed, and opened the door. “One minute.” He stepped back into the hallway.

  Danny stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He stood opposite his boss. The man looked like a wreck, and sour guilt corkscrewed in Danny’s stomach.

  “What did you mean,” Richard said slowly, “when you said you knew where I was going?”

  Danny swallowed, the spit going down hard. “I know about Tommy.” The words dropped like stones. “I know he’s been kidnapped.”

  Richard gaped at him. “How do you know that?”

  Danny took a breath, forced himself to meet Richard’s eyes. “Because I helped do it.”

  Total silence fell humming across the room. Time slowed, and Danny found himself noticing incredible detail in things. The individual hairs of Richard’s beard. The grain of the hardwood. The clammy trail of a bead of sweat sliding down his side.

  And then Richard lunged, his arms up, his pupils wide. He swung wildly, fists flailing, an angry growl coming from his mouth. Danny held his hands at his sides, taking the hits, letting Richard drive him back. “Stop!”

  His boss ignored him, throwing an awkward punch that set Danny’s bruised ribs singing.

  “I’m here to help,” he said. His foot caught on the edge of a throw rug, and he staggered against the wall. Richard stepped forward and wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat.

  His mind raced. He could stomp the heel of his foot down on Richard’s arch. He could punch him in the throat and drop him, gasping. He could lean forward and drive his knee into the man’s groin. Breaking an amateur choke was the easiest thing in the world.

  But he held still and let his boss squeeze, the pressure on his throat growing. The pain was surprising, blunt and ragged, and he fought to suck air down his windpipe. Automatically, his hands clenched into fists, but he made himself loosen them. Richard leaned close, his face right in Danny’s, the man’s breath sour with coffee and anger. Fairy dots danced in Danny’s vision, the darkness of the hallway throbbing with his pulse. He kept his eyes on Richard’s, trying to put it all into them, the pain and regret and fear, willing Richard to let go, let him help, knowing that Richard had an animal right to do what he was doing.

  Finally, summoning all his strength, he managed to whisper, “Tommy.” For an instant, nothing happened, and then the grip slackened slightly. He spoke again, the words sandpaper on the inside of his throat. “I can help you save him.”

  Richard leaned forward, his nose almost touching Danny’s. Then he gave a last squeeze, grunted with frustration and anger, and let go. Danny dropped to his knees, gasping for air. The hardwood swam. He fought for balance, every pump of his heart sending his head spinning. Richard stalked back and forth, his steps lou
d.

  When he had his breath back, Danny rose, keeping his hands at his sides.

  “Where’s my son?” Richard’s eyes glinted in the darkness of the hall.

  Danny shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yes.” He paused, forced himself to speak the truth. “At least, he was yesterday.”

  Richard’s hands balled into shaking fists. “What do you mean?”

  Danny swallowed. An electrical storm raged across the inside of his throat. “We don’t have a lot of time. But there are some things you should know.” In broad strokes, he told Richard about his past, about Evan, how Evan had come looking for him. His boss stared at him, his mouth open.

  “You kidnapped my son because this man asked you to?”

  “I had no choice. He threatened Karen, jumped her in an alley last week.” He paused, made himself meet Richard’s glare. “Evan is impulsive, rash. That’s what makes him dangerous. I knew he’d do it either way. If I didn’t help, he would have hurt Karen. And I thought that if I were involved, I could protect Tommy.”

  His boss glared, turned away, then back. “So why are you here now?”

  “Because if you deliver the money alone, Evan is going to kill you and Tommy both.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He’s killed two people since he got out. One of them was my best friend.” He saw the flicker in Richard’s eyes. Danny was reaching him. “The other was a guy who overheard his call to you. This is his big score. He won’t take any chances.”

  Richard turned away, hid his head in his hands. Danny heard a sound like a sob, quickly choked off.

  “I’m here to help.” Danny stepped forward. “I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

  Richard looked up at him, anger in his eyes. “You’ve lied to me for years.”

  “Yes.” There was no point in softening it.

  “Why should I trust you now?”

  “It isn’t just Tommy. He-” His voice broke. “He has Karen, too.”

  Richard snorted. “That’s why you’re really here. Not for me, not for Tommy.”

  Was that true? Would he be taking these risks if Karen’s life wasn’t also at stake?

  He hoped so. Sometimes that was all you had.

  “No. I’m here to set things right.” He gambled, put a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “I’m here to get your boy back.”

  His boss stared at him, a complex mix of emotions in his eyes. Pain, rage, and hatred. But Danny thought he also saw something else. Maybe hope.

  “Evan called you today,” Danny said, hoping to draw him out.

  Richard nodded slowly. “An hour ago. I only know his voice.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s nice to have a name to hate now.”

  “When is the meeting?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Danny shook his head. “Evan took your son and disappeared last night.”

  Richard stared at him, the calculations clear on his face. Danny knew this was the moment of truth – either Richard would trust him, let him help, or else it was over. The seconds ticked long and slow.

  “Nine o’clock. At the Pike Street construction site.”

  Inwardly, Danny groaned. Of course. The irony had appealed to Evan so much, the idea of using Richard’s own space to hide his son. How much better, how much crueler, to have the meet there? He should have guessed.

  “What are you supposed to do?”

  “Drive in, park my car facing out, and leave it running.” The words started to come more easily. “Walk into the building with the money in a duffel bag. He said he’d take the money and my car, and leave Tommy with me.”

  Danny shook his head, one hand massaging his sore neck. “He’ll check the money, and then he’ll shoot you.”

  “We should call the police.”

  Danny turned fast. “No.”

  “You said he’s going to kill me, kill Tommy. What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Believe me, Richard, you bring the police, Tommy and Karen die. Evan will be watching. You’d save your life, but it will cost your son’s.”

  “What if it was a specialist, or a SWAT team, something like that?”

  Danny snorted. “It doesn’t work that way. You call now, you’ll get squad cars, maybe a couple of detectives. They’ll be noisy and they’ll be slow. As for deploying SWAT teams, well, that only happens on TV.”

  Richard looked like he wanted to argue, then sighed. He leaned against the wall, let himself slide down to sit on his heels. “All of this only happens on TV.”

  Danny felt for the guy. Like his own, Richard’s whole life had been ripped away. In some ways, it had been worse for Danny because he had watched it happening, had to suffer every moment of it. But at least it had left him in a world he understood. Richard was lost.

  But understanding this world didn’t change basic facts. Evan held the position of strength. If they were going to stop him, they needed an edge.

  “You don’t,” Danny asked, “happen to own a gun?”

  “With a kid? No way.”

  Danny nodded, tired. It was the first time in his life he’d wanted the answer to that question to be yes. “Okay.” He sat down against the wall beside Richard. In the silence, he could hear the faint ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the living room.

  “Why is this happening?” Richard’s voice was faint.

  Danny took a long moment to collect his words. He knew the answer. He’d known, on some gut level, since childhood. It had defined the way he’d grown up, the choices he’d made. Even after he’d gotten out of the life, the consciousness of it had haunted him. It was the true reason behind his monthly nightmares, the reason he always looked over his shoulder.

  “Because you have something. Your life is blessed. Nothing is out of reach. People like Evan and me, we grew up differently.” He paused, shrugged. “It’s not complicated. It’s happening because you have something and others don’t. And that’s all the reason some people need.”

  “People like you.” Richard’s voice was flat.

  Danny sighed. “Once.” He thought of Karen, that day at the zoo. His head in her lap as he watched her smile dance against wild blue sky. They’d talked about having children, and he remembered the rush of sweet possibility he’d felt. “Now, all I want is to earn what I’ve got.”

  There was a long pause, and then Richard turned to him. “What’s going to happen?”

  I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.

  But what he said was, “We’re going to get your son back.”

  “How?”

  How indeed? Richard was a civilian, certainly willing to fight for his son, but of limited use in a scrap. Danny had been in a dozen serious scuffles by ten, but he still didn’t like his chances against Evan. The man was a prison-hardened killer. He’d learned to fight in the Golden Gloves and honed his lethal edge with a maximum-security sentence. He was strong, fast, ruthless, and armed. Plus, he was expecting them.

  Wait.

  Not quite.

  “You know what?” Danny turned to look at his boss, a hint of a smile on his lips. “We’ve got one advantage.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m coming.”

  It took a moment, but Richard managed a smile back.

  42

  A Treacherous Place

  Richard was upstairs changing when Danny saw the duffel bag. Black with a dull silver zipper and padded handles, it looked like any other gym bag.

  But Danny knew different.

  He hefted it, surprised at the weight. Thirty pounds, maybe more. The zipper pulled smoothly over thick teeth, a quality item like everything else in Richard’s world. Danny eased it down slow, not to tease himself, but out of respect to a certain deadness he felt toward the bag and its contents. Once, this would have fired his heart and set his mind racing. Once, he would have been planning how to escape with it, envisioning the things he could
do.

  Now, as he stared down at the neatly bundled currency, all those Jacksons, Grants, and Franklins staring up at him, he felt only a vague nausea. Paper. Stacks and stacks of green paper. After all the discussion, after all the philosophy, that was what this came down to. These were the answer to Richard’s question. These were the lives of the people they loved, the futures of the people they worked with, the prime movers of darkness. Fate had borrowed the scales from Justice, set blood on one side and these dirty slips of paper on the other, and judged them even.

  He thought of Karen’s brown sugar smell, the wet sparkle in her eyes when she laughed, the soft curve of her back. Acid soured his stomach. He zipped the bag and stepped away from its gloomy gravity.

  Richard’s footsteps sounded down the stairs. He’d done as Danny asked, changed into loose, dark clothing: jeans and an old sweatshirt.

  “You have any black tennis shoes?” Danny asked, gesturing at the white Nikes, their reflective swoosh bright even in the dim light.

  Richard shook his head. “Just these.”

  “All right.”

  The doorbell rang, kids yelling, “Trick-or-treat!” They ignored it, their gaze locked. The bell rang again, and then the kids moved on to the next house, a parade of normalcy.

  “Should we bring a weapon?” The question sounded bizarre coming from Richard.

  A knife block stood in the center of the kitchen island, and Danny slid an eight-inch chef’s out, feeling the weight. German steel, well balanced and heavy. Perfect for chopping. He tried to imagine slipping it into Evan, blood spilling over his hands like soup.

  He put the knife back in the block. “It will just get in the way.”

  For a moment Richard looked like he was going to argue, but finally shrugged. “What time is it?”

  Danny looked at him. “Time.”

  The garage looked the same, and Danny swallowed a wave of guilt as he remembered Evan carrying Tommy’s limp body in his arms. Richard heaved the money bag in the back of the Range Rover and climbed into the driver’s seat. Danny joined him, feeling the first tingles of fear knit his stomach.