Assume Nothing

by Gar Anthony Haywood

  Reddick had every reason not to believe him except for the way he was holding the weapon. Sinnott didn’t look like a stranger to it. Rather, he appeared to barely notice it was there, exhibiting a nonchalance about firearms Reddick had seen only in people who owned guns and had no shortage of experience in using them.

  Reddick assessed his options, concluded there was really only one that wasn’t likely to prove fatal. If only to live to fight another day for Dana and Jake, he dropped the Smith & Wesson to the floor, drew himself upright again, and turned around to face Sinnott directly.

  ‘I can imagine what you must be thinking,’ Cross said, easing over to retrieve Reddick’s gun. ‘He doesn’t much look the type, does he? But old Will’s a former army reservist who’s quite the gunslinger on the shooting range. He took me out with him once, and I could barely believe it myself.’

  ‘Shut up, Perry,’ Sinnott said.

  ‘Shut up? Or what? You’ll shoot me, too?’

  Reddick felt like a fool. He should have checked Sinnott for weapons at the door; he’d done that much to Clarke before ordering Cross to drag him in here. He hadn’t seen anything about Sinnott’s military background on Baumhower’s MacBook, but that was no excuse. Judging the man’s threat potential by his benign appearance alone had been an amateur’s mistake, and by right, Reddick deserved to pay for it with his life.

  ‘I saw Ben open his eyes. He isn’t dead but he’s hurt bad,’ Sinnott said. ‘We’ve gotta call nine-one-one.’

  ‘And bring the paramedics here?’ Cross asked. ‘Now? Are you nuts?’

  ‘No, but . . . Look at him! He’s gonna die if we don’t get him to a doctor!’

  ‘So we’ll take him to the emergency room ourselves.’ Cross bent down to pull the tape from Clarke’s mouth, nodded his head at Reddick. ‘Just as soon as we figure out what to do with him.’

  ‘There’s only one thing you can do with me,’ Reddick said. ‘The only question is, which one of you little bitches has the balls to do it?’

  Cross stood up, aimed Reddick’s own forty at his left temple. ‘Actually, I’ll be more than up to the task when the time comes, Mr Reddick, but I’d rather not do you here in my own home. You’ve made quite a mess of the place already, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s not too late to make a deal. Maybe we won’t have to kill you at all,’ Sinnott said.

  Cross looked over at him, incensed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I know who he is and why he’s doing this, Perry.’ He turned his gaze on Reddick. ‘You know why I had this gun on me today? Because I Googled your name last night. I read all the news stories about what happened to you and your first family back in Florida.’

  Reddick didn’t want to flinch, but he did. Somehow, having these fuckers know his history felt like the greatest gut-punch of all.

  ‘What news stories?’ Cross asked.

  ‘It’s none of your fucking business,’ Reddick said.

  ‘He was a cop in West Palm Beach,’ Sinnott said. ‘Nine years ago, some sick fuck broke into his home and murdered his wife and kids. Papers called it the worst multiple homicide in the city’s history.’

  Reddick took a step toward him, found the will to freeze only when Sinnott raised the gun in his hand. ‘I’ll do it, Mr Reddick. I don’t want to, but I will, believe me.’

  He waited to see if Reddick’s compliance was going to hold. Reddick glowered at him with a heat Sinnott could practically feel, but he didn’t move an inch.

  ‘Sit down. On the couch, on your hands,’ Sinnott said.

  Reddick did.

  ‘Of all the people in the goddamn world, Ben threatens to kill this poor devil’s family,’ Sinnott said to Cross. ‘Is it any wonder he’s come after all of us?’

  Cross gave Reddick a lingering look, appraising him anew. ‘All the more reason to get him the hell out of here and kill him,’ he said. ‘And fast.’

  ‘No. We’ve done enough killing.’ To Reddick, Sinnott said, ‘We never meant to hurt anybody. We aren’t murderers. No matter what Ben may have told you, the rest of us would have never allowed him to harm you or your family.’

  ‘Will . . .’

  ‘How much does he know?’ Sinnott asked Cross.

  ‘Everything. Andy told him everything.’

  ‘Then he knows we’re responsible for Gillis’s death and we know he’s responsible for Andy’s. Unless I miss my guess, we’ve even got the gun now that could prove it.’ Sinnott addressed Reddick again. ‘What Ben did to you was wrong, Mr Reddick, and maybe you think all four of us should pay for it. But the way I see it, between what you’ve done to Ben and Andy, you’ve had your pound of flesh and then some. Walk away. Give us your word you’ll leave things as they are and we’ll let you go.’

  ‘My ass we will!’ Cross said.

  ‘It’s the only way, Perry. Because I won’t be part of any more killing unless it’s forced upon me. Unless he forces it upon me.’

  ‘You crazy fuck. You think we can trust him not to come after us again?’

  ‘We can if he cares for his family as much as I think he does.’ To Reddick: ‘I’m trying to give you one last chance to clear the slate. To go back to your wife and son and forget you ever met Andy Baumhower. All you have to do is walk away and promise never to bother any of us again.’ He added, ‘But you have to decide now. Ben may be dying. I need an answer.’

  Reddick was amazed to find himself actually thinking it over. Since Friday afternoon, he’d all but given up any hope of returning to the life he once had with Dana and Jake; every effort he’d made to cover his tracks, both here and at Baumhower’s last night, had been more a product of instinct than any real belief he could get away with murder. And yet here was Sinnott offering him an out, a third fork in the road of his probable future that did not lead to death or incarceration. It sounded tempting.

  If only it were real.

  ‘This is bullshit!’ Cross said, and again he brought the nose of Reddick’s Smith & Wesson an inch from the side of his head. ‘Either you kill this sonofabitch right now, or I will!’

  If it was a bluff, it was a good one. Sinnott took the threat seriously enough to be visibly shaken by it and Reddick braced himself to die. Silence took over the room, Cross and Sinnott locked in a standoff, Reddick trying to decide which armed man he should lunge toward in a last ditch – and almost certainly futile – effort to save himself.

  Then they all heard a small sound at the front door. A key scratching around in the lock.

  ‘Shit!’ Sinnott said.

  Cross brought a finger to his lips to silence him. They heard the door open and someone step inside, trying to be quiet about it. Cross realized who it must be immediately. He shoved Reddick’s forty into the back of his waistband and gestured for Sinnott to stay where he was, with Reddick, then went out into the hall alone.

  Iris was standing at the door when Cross found her, as stock still as a statuette, her eyes glued to the trail of blood on the floor.

  ‘Oh, my God. Is that blood?’

  Cross closed fast upon her, doing his best to block her view. ‘Ben had a little accident. It’s no big deal, but it’s ugly. I thought you were gone for good?’

  ‘I was. I am. But . . .’ She knelt down, plucked something white from a puddle of crimson on the floor at her feet: a chunk of shattered tooth. She looked to Cross for some explanation, but all he did was offer a blank stare in return.

  Now Iris remembered to be afraid, the reason she’d called ahead twice to make sure the condo was empty before coming back to retrieve her ID. But her fear wasn’t enough to staunch the need she suddenly had to know what lay beyond the red streak someone – Ben? – had laid down on Cross’s carpet for her to follow. She tried to push past Cross but he took her by the arm and held fast.

  ‘I’m sorry, Iris, but you have to leave,’ he said.

  She ripped her arm free and was down the hall before he could stop her. He caught up to her at the playroom door, but by t
hen it was too late; the door was open in her hand and she was peering in, transfixed. Horrified. Will Sinnott was holding a gun on a man she’d never seen before and a beaten and bloody Ben Clarke lay on his side on the floor, hands and feet bound with what looked like duct tape.

  ‘This sonofabitch killed Andy and tried to kill Ben,’ Sinnott stammered.

  ‘Andy? Andy’s dead?’ Iris hadn’t yet heard about Baumhower’s death.

  ‘Your friends have got it all backwards,’ Reddick said. ‘Actually, they were just about to kill me.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Sinnott snapped.

  ‘He’s crazy, Iris,’ Cross said, stepping around her into the room to bar her further entrance. ‘We don’t know who he is or what he wants, but he broke into Andy’s home last night and killed him, just like Will says, and this morning he broke in here and attacked Ben.’

  Again she pushed past Cross, this time to stand over Clarke, seeking a better look at his injuries. The big man was semiconscious now but not making a sound. ‘Have you called nine-one-one? Ben needs an ambulance!’

  ‘We were just about to do that when you showed up.’

  ‘So do it! What are you waiting for?’ She flipped open her own phone, started to make the call herself.

  Sinnott gave Cross a look, panic-stricken: Stop her.

  Cross snatched the phone from Iris’s hand and took her by the arm again, intending to steer her from the room back out into the hall. ‘No! We can handle this ourselves. In the meantime, you have to leave. It’s for your own protection.’

  He tried to move her toward the door but she wouldn’t budge. ‘No! I don’t believe you!’

  A tussle ensued between them. Sinnott stood there slack-jawed, watching, barely cognizant of the gun he was supposed to be training on Reddick. In all the excitement, he failed to notice that Reddick was no longer sitting on his hands, and paid no heed to the fact that Reddick’s Smith & Wesson forty, equally forgotten by Cross, remained holstered at the rear waistband of Cross’s pants, right where Reddick could see it.

  Reddick was up off the couch and holding the gun at Cross’s head before either Cross or Sinnott could blink. Reflexively, Sinnott made to shoot him, but he couldn’t pull the trigger. Nothing short of a bloodbath with Iris in the middle would follow if he did, and he knew it.

  Reddick tossed Cross aside to exchange him for Iris, too fast for Sinnott to do anything about it. Everything was coming apart at the seams now and Reddick was improvising, barely able to think straight.

  ‘If you scream, little lady, all hell’s gonna break loose,’ he said. Then, to Sinnott: ‘Put the gun down.’

  ‘Fuck that, Will,’ Cross said. ‘You put that gun down and we’re all dead!’

  Sinnott didn’t need Cross to explain his meaning. Reddick had come here to kill Sinnott and his two friends, and the only thing standing in his way now was the .9 millImeter Beretta Sinnott had pointed in his direction.

  ‘Let the woman go,’ Cross told Reddick. ‘You aren’t really going to hurt her, anyway.’

  ‘You believe that, asshole, come ahead,’ Reddick said. ‘But when all the shooting stops and she’s dead, that’s gonna be on you, not me.’

  He started backing out of the room, dragging Iris with him.

  ‘No, please!’ she cried.

  Neither Cross nor Sinnott moved.

  ‘First man through this door after I close it had better have Kevlar balls,’ Reddick said. And then, just like that, he and Iris were out of the room and gone, the playroom door slammed shut behind them.

  Cross waited for Sinnott to give chase, said, ‘Well? Don’t just stand there, you dumbass – go after them!’

  ‘Me? You heard what he said! The first man out that door—’

  Cross stepped forward to tear the Beretta from his hands and the two of them inched slowly toward the door, pausing at the threshold to listen for any sounds out in the hall. Hearing nothing, Cross gingerly opened the door and poked his head out . . .

  The hallway was empty. Beyond it, the condo’s front door sat wide open.

  ‘Shit!’ Cross spun on Sinnott, blue eyes ablaze. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you shoot him while you had the chance?’

  Sinnott opened his mouth to answer, outraged, only to stop at the sound of gravel being shaken in an iron drum behind him. He and Cross both turned to find Clarke laughing as best he could, down on his right side, eyes half-open, wheezing into the carpet through a mouth full of blood and broken teeth.

  ‘Pussies,’ he said.

  NINETEEN

  Iris never screamed on their way out to Reddick’s car. He’d warned her against it before they’d exited Cross’s building, breathing hard into her ear while pressing his gun to the base of her spine where no one could easily see it, and she chose not to try him. She didn’t know who this man was or what he was capable of, but it was his animal-like desperation, more than his projected menace, that frightened her just enough to keep her silent.

  A couple on beach cruiser bicycles rolled past as they crossed the street, but neither rider gave them so much as a glance. Reddick guided Iris into the black Mustang’s driver’s seat, hurried around the front of the car to get in on the passenger side, and tossed her the keys. ‘You drive,’ he said. When she made to ask where, he cut her off: ‘Just move!’

  She got the Mustang started and drove off, Reddick peering anxiously behind them all the while, watching to see if Cross or Sinnott would appear in pursuit. He was holding the forty loose in his lap, a threat he had apparently forgotten he was supposed to be leveling against her.

  Iris drove in silence for three blocks, then Reddick said, ‘Turn right at the next signal. I’ll tell you where to stop.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Nobody you need to worry about. I’m not going to hurt you. I just needed you to get out of there in one piece, that’s all.’

  ‘They said you killed Andy.’

  Reddick’s eyes narrowed. ‘Andy killed himself,’ he said.

  ‘What about Gillis Rainey?’

  ‘Shut up and drive.’

  A moment passed, then Iris gathered her nerve and asked, ‘Did Gillis kill himself, too?’

  ‘Pull over here and stop the car.’

  Iris did as instructed. They were now on a quiet and narrow residential street just north of Abbot Kinney, where a kid on a skateboard or an old woman towing a shopping cart were the only ones likely to bear passing witness to their presence.

  ‘I need you to do me a favor,’ Reddick said.

  ‘A favor?’

  ‘I need you to give me at least twenty-four hours before going to the police.’

  ‘You’re letting me go?’

  Reddick could barely believe it himself. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you haven’t answered my question yet.’

  ‘Look—’

  ‘Did Gillis kill himself, too?’

  Reddick studied her, saw that beneath all the surface beauty was a bulldog that was never easily moved, once it had sunk its teeth into something. ‘No. Your friends did that.’

  Iris closed her eyes and held her breath for just an instant. It was true. Goddamnit, it was true.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked Reddick again.

  ‘I don’t have time for this, sister. If Cross and his pals don’t send the police out looking for me, they’ll be out here looking for me themselves.’

  Iris still didn’t move. It was gradually becoming obvious to her that the desperation she sensed in Reddick was behind all of this; he was dangerous, yes, but only in the way an abused woman can sometimes become dangerous, finally tortured one too many times. ‘Perry’s my fiancé,’ she said. ‘I need to know what kind of man I’m about to marry. You said they were trying to kill you. Why?’

  Too weary to resist any longer, Reddick surrendered, said, ‘Baumhower and I had a car accident last weekend near the LA River. He’d just dumped Rainey’s body there and they were afraid I’d report it to the police. So Clarke broke into my home, tied my
wife up at knifepoint and drugged my little boy, said he’d kill us all if I didn’t keep my mouth shut.’ Reddick let Iris take this all in, then added wryly, ‘I think I’d reconsider that engagement, if I were you.’

  Iris didn’t speak for a long moment. She’d been fearing the worst but this went beyond any nightmare she could have possibly imagined.

  ‘So you killed Andy and tried to kill Ben.’

  ‘Get out of the car.’ He was pointing the gun at her again.

  ‘Why didn’t you just go to the police?’

  ‘I had my reasons. Open the goddamn door and get out before I shoot you!’

  She finally opened the door and stepped out, but only stood there watching as Reddick climbed over the car’s center console to take the wheel. ‘We can go to the police together. You and me, right now,’ she said.

  Reddick laughed. ‘Why? Because you can prove that anything I’ve just told you is true? Thanks but no thanks.’

  He started the engine but Iris, refusing to take the hint, wouldn’t budge. ‘If I do what you ask – wait twenty-four hours before calling the police – what are you going to do?’

  ‘What I have to do.’

  ‘I don’t want Perry hurt.’

  ‘Yeah? That’s too fucking bad.’ He grabbed the door with his free hand, waited for her to step out of the way before slamming it shut. He rolled his window down and said, ‘You wanna make the call, make the call. I don’t give a damn. But do yourself a favor and stay away from Cross. I’m not the killer here, he is.’

  He threw the Mustang into gear and left her standing in the middle of the street.

  TWENTY

  On Cross’s orders, Sinnott took Ben Clarke to the emergency room at St John’s Hospital in Santa Monica. Clarke was fully conscious now and fit to argue, but in too much pain not to know better than to go. He and Sinnott had instructions to tell the doctors that he had incurred his injuries clowning around on a skateboard and tumbling down a long flight of stairs, and to stick with that story no matter how much skepticism it received.