by Tim Stevens
The shadow was that of a man’s head, distorted by the angle.
Venn extended his arm, taking careful aim with the Beretta. Ricochets were near impossible to control, and it was genuinely impossible to judge the precise sweet spot. But if he fired several times in succession, he’d improve his chances.
“What do you say, Drake?” he continued. “You want to show yourself so we can get this over and done with?”
On the final word, Venn squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. Three and four times. He aimed at the wall into which the window frame had been embedded, varying the angle a fraction each time.
In the instant the cry came, Venn swore he saw the shadow of the head change shape. Blood speckled the wall. Beyond the window, a heavy thump suggested the dropping of a human body on the ground.
One down.
“Son of a -” yelled a voice from the bay window. The last word of the curse was drowned out by the eruption of automatic fire.
The man’s aim was wild, and thrown by Harmony’s immediate raking of the air in front of the bay window with her own gunfire. Nonetheless, Venn felt the ferocious power of the high-velocity rounds pummeling the piano, felt it jerk and shift against his body. He crawled round toward the front of it to shield him from the onslaught, winced as one of the bullets penetrated straight through the piano and ripped through the wood in front, close by Venn’s shoulder.
His ears suddenly registered the most welcome sound they’d ever known. Namely, the clicking of the hammer on emptiness.
He had seconds, at most, before the man with the rifle shoved in a fresh magazine. Without thinking much about what he was doing, Venn rose upright from the piano’s cover and faced the bay window and fired.
The man out there snapped aside with a yell, disappearing from view. Venn discounted him for a moment and swung through ninety degrees to cover the half-open door. He fired twice into the gap, not assuming he’d hit the man waiting there but wanting to keep him back.
Harmony, still flattened beneath the bay window, screamed: “Venn, to your right.” Venn snapped his head round, brought the Beretta across.
Gene Drake burst through the far door leading into the depths of the house. He stopped, aiming his handgun side-on across his body in the classic Weaver stance.
Venn lowered his gaze, sighting down the Beretta at the middle of Drake’s chest.
On the periphery of his vision to the left, he saw the door they’d come through swing open and a man step in. He was aware that the man was aiming his own gun toward the bay window, and he assumed Harmony had a bead on him in turn.
A double Mexican standoff.
*
Drake aimed the Kel-Tec at a point between Venn’s eyes.
To Drake’s right, Herman stood at the door, his gun trained on the black cop down on the floor beneath the window. She was flat on her belly, her piece covering Herman.
Drake had noted the blood on the window frame to the left, and from that and the silence beyond the window, he knew Walusz was dead.
Outside, the sirens were getting louder, and more numerous.
Without taking his eyes off Venn, Drake called: “Skeeter. You okay?”
He was answered with a yelp from beyond the bay window. “I’m hit, man. Christ.”
“How bad?” said Drake.
He watched the lank-haired man stagger upright at the bay window, hefting the M16 with his teeth gritted. One shoulder of his denim jacket was ragged and bloody, and Drake thought Skeeter probably had a bullet lodged in his flesh and bone.
Without looking round, Venn murmured: “He shoots me from behind, Drake, and I’ll know. In the final split-second, I’ll know. I’ll pull the trigger. You’ll be dead along with me.”
Venn cocked his head as though listening. “Those sirens are getting closer, Drake. They’re nearly here. Better get this over with.”
Through the bay window, Skeeter was starting his little hop from foot to foot, his eyes rolling. “Do it, man,” he hissed. “Waste him. And the bitch. Then let’s get outta here.”
Venn said, “You realize, don’t you, Drake, that these people will never let you get away alive? And I don’t mean the cops who’re about to arrive. I mean the people who helped you escape. Who manipulated you, played you like a puppet. Got you to kill Paul Brogan for them, and now me. All the while making out that they were doing you a favor by handing you access to two of the guys who helped put you away for life.”
Drake grinned. “God damn speeches. They won’t save you, Venn. Yeah, of course the guys who sprung me have motives of their own. But I could care less. This way, I get what I want, and they get their wishes. Everybody’s happy.”
“But you’re a loose end,” said Venn. “You and your cronies here. You’ll turn your masters over to the cops and the Feds. They can never allow that to happen. Why, I’ll bet they have things in motion as we speak, to ensure your silence.”
Drake felt a tightening in his face, his gut.
No. He wasn’t going to think about that.
*
Venn saw it, the infinitesimal change in the muscles around Drake’s eyes and his jaw. And he knew he’d hit a nerve.
What could it be? Drake wasn’t stupid. He’d know the people who’d gotten him out of prison would try and dispose of him once he’d done their work. So it wasn’t as if anything Venn had just said came as a surprise to Drake.
No. There was something else. Some leverage they had over him.
If he could stall until the sirens reached the perimeter wall, it would be over. Drake would be arrested, or more likely gunned down, along with his friends. But Venn, and Harmony, would die too.
Unless he could find out what pushed Drake’s buttons.
“Gene,” he said, his voice a little lower. “Whatever it is, however they’ve managed to get you by the balls, I can make it go away. I already know the story with these guys. How they’re selling human organs on the black market. You probably didn’t know that, and you probably don’t care either. My point is, I’ve got these guys. They can’t escape. If they’re blackmailing you, I can put it right.”
From behind him, the man with the rifle, the man Venn had shot, screeched: “The fuck’s this guy talking about, Gene? Waste him. Or we’re all dead.”
Drake kept his eyes on Venn’s. Beneath the taut mask of his face, emotions, and calculations, churned.
Behind Venn, the rifleman muttered, “Ah, the hell with this.”
Venn saw Drake’s eyes widen, his gaze flick to a point past Venn’s shoulder.
The Kel-Tec shifted just a fraction to one side. It barked, once. Venn felt the shot whine past his ear.
Behind him, there was a shriek, then a crunch of gravel and a heavy clatter as the rifle hit the forecourt.
Drake said to Venn: “You were saying.”
From over to Venn’s right, the man who’d come through the door, the one in the standoff with Harmony, said, “Don’t do it, Gene. Don’t let him fool you.”
Without looking at him, Drake said, “Shut up, Herman. Or you’ll be next, so help me.”
Venn risked a step forward, his Beretta unwavering. Drake held up his free hand.
“Uh uh. That’s close enough.”
“Keep the gun on me, by all means,” said Venn. “You’d be a fool not to. But as soon as the cops get here, which I reckon will be in sixty seconds or so, put the gun down and raise your hands above your head. I’m not gonna kill you then. Not in front of a bunch of cops as witnesses. We’ll work something out. This whole thing is big, Gene. Big, as in political. You’ll plea-bargain your way down. Not completely out, but maybe down from a life sentence. If you don’t, you’ll end up dead, one way or another. Plus, whatever it is that these people have over you, will come to pass.”
“He’s lying,” said the other man, the one Drake had called Herman. “I’m leaving.”
Herman took a step backward to the doorway. Then another.
Behind Venn, Harmony growled, “No furth
er. Or I’ll shoot. And you heard your boss. He’ll shoot you too.”
“Wrong,” said Herman calmly. “If you shoot me, I’ll fire straight back. And Drake won’t shoot me. Will you, Gene? Because the moment you take the gun off Venn, he’ll blow you away.”
He took three further steps, with increasing boldness. Then he was through the door. It swung shut after him.
“Dammit.” Harmony was on her feet and heading for the door.
“Harm,” said Venn. “No. Let him go.”
She glanced at Venn and Drake, and understood. Two against one. Drake was through.
A startlingly amplified voice, coming through a loudhailer, blasted up the lawns from beyond the perimeter wall. “Police. Drop your weapons. Come out with your hands raised.”
“You heard, Gene,” said Venn. “It’s over. Put the gun down.”
“You’ll shoot me.”
“If I wanted to do that, there are two of us now,” said Venn. “We’d have done it.”
The door Herman had recently gone through hadn’t closed completely, and it swung open. All three heads - Venn’s, Harmony’s and Drake’s - whipped round.
“Assholes,” rasped the apparition in the doorway. It was the guy with the rifle, Venn knew, though he’d only glimpsed him before as he’d shot at him through the bay window.
The left side of the man’s face was a bloody mess. His skull on that side was slightly concave, part of the bone shot away by Drake’s Kel-Tec. He lurched rather than walked. In his hand, instead of the rifle, he hefted a handgun that looked too big for his scrawny arm.
“Should of left you to rot in jail,” he grated, and fired.
Harmony was the first to hit him, the shots from her Glock punching the raddled body backward through the doorway. Venn saw Drake stumble and fall to his knees, his hands clasped across his belly and disappearing under a bubbling crimson flood.
Then the first of the cops came through the door and over the sill of the bay window, screaming and threatening, and Venn dropped his gun and held up his hands before they shot him.
*
He crouched beside Drake, whom he’d lowered to the floor on his back. The man’s face was a rictus of agony, his legs jerking spasmodically. The bullet must have damaged his internal organs, probably perforated his bowel. Maybe even wrecked his spinal column.
“Medic over here,” roared Venn, as the cops swarmed all around them.
He bent his head so that his mouth was close to Drake’s ear.
“What have they got?” he hissed with urgency. “What do these people have over you?”
Drake’s teeth chattered, his breathing coming in ragged gasps punctuated by groans of pain. “My... my kid,” he managed.
“You have a kid?”
“A boy... eight years old. Driscoll has him...”
Venn leaned in close to make sure he was hearing correctly. “Driscoll? Douglas Driscoll?”
Drake nodded rapidly, unable to speak.
Venn pressed on, even as the paramedics charged into the room carrying a stretcher. “Is Driscoll the man who set this all up? Sprang you from Horn Creek?”
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.
“Okay.” Venn stood up as the paramedics moved in.
As the gurney was racked up onto its wheels, Venn said, “Drake, we’ll get your kid back. You have my word.”
Harmony stood by Venn’s side and they watched Drake being wheeled out the door.
Chapter 40
By the time Venn and Harmony made it back to Manhattan, it was after eleven in the morning. The hours in between were a blur of questions, phone calls, statements, both at Soper’s place and at the station house nearby.
Soper’s house swarmed with people: cops, crime scene techs, ambulance crew. Apart from Venn and Harmony themselves, Drake was the only one left alive. Venn checked out the body of the bald-headed man outside the window, the one he’d hit with the ricochet, and recognized the driver of the SUV from last night.
Soper himself was out back, dead. He’d taken an ax in his chest. The weapon had been chopped back into the block where it belonged afterward, so that the surface of the block was sticky with blood. Venn thought there was something sick about that.
He and Harmony repeated their account of how things had gone down to the local cop in charge of the scene. The cop scratched his jaw.
“Doesn’t add up,” he said. “The numbers are wrong. Who killed this guy with the ax?”
“There must have been another one of them out back,” Venn said. “Whoever it is, is long gone.”
Harmony said: “The woman. Last night, outside Beth’s apartment. The man who shot at me and Beth from the car is the guy Drake called Herman. But there was a woman in the car with him.”
The crime scene cop frowned. “A woman ax killer? You reckon?”
Venn said: “You find any vehicles out there?”
The cop shook his head. “No. Way I figure it, they parked way down the street. This guy who got away, this Herman, probably went over the wall into the forest, then took the car and got out of here.” He tilted his head. “Drake’ll give him up, anyhow. We’ll get him.”
“If Drake survives,” said Venn. “He’s gut shot. They can go either way.”
One of the first things Venn had told the cops was to get an arrest warrant for Douglas Driscoll, and to look for a missing eight-year-old boy. Drake might have been making that part up, but Venn didn’t think so.
He also called Fil at the office, brought him up to date, and asked him for the license plate numbers on the trucks that were regular visitors to the Bonnesante Clinic. Fil said he’d already arranged for an APB to be put out on the trucks.
After the interviews at the Newark station house, Venn and Harmony took her Crown Vic back to Manhattan. Neither of them said a lot on the journey. There was too much to process.
At one point, Harmony said: “So Vincenzo must’ve called Driscoll right after we paid him a visit. Driscoll told him to feed us Soper’s name, then sent Drake to ambush us.”
“Looks that way,” said Venn.
Shortly before they arrived at the office, Venn took a call from his FBI contact, Dennis Yancy.
“Joe. God dammit, man.” He sounded euphoric.
“This is the last time I’m doing your job for you, Yance.”
“You ever consider joining us?”
“The Feebs?” Venn laughed. “No chance. I’ve seen what they’ve done to you.”
“Listen, I just got a call five minutes ago from the Feds in Albany,” said Yancy. “That’s where Douglas Driscoll lives. They arrested him.”
“Great,” said Venn. “Any lead on the kid?”
“They’re working on it,” said Yancy. “But it seems Drake wasn’t bullshitting. We’ve tracked down the boy’s mother, in Ohio. A woman Drake had a fling with, not long before you arrested him all those years ago. Seems the kid was abducted from outside his school yesterday afternoon. Drake’s never actually met the boy, and doesn’t correspond with him at all. But he clearly feels paternal enough about him for Driscoll to have been able to use him as leverage.” Yancy sighed. “Who’d’ve thought. Even an asshole like Gene Drake has a human heart beating inside him.”
*
The four uniformed cops were still there in the office, together with Beth and Fil. Both of them looked worn out.
Beth got up and took a step toward Venn when he and Harmony came in. There was a time, Venn thought, when she’d have flung herself into his arms.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“Yeah.” He felt weariness begin to drag him down like a canvas tarpaulin. “Yeah, I’m all right, Beth. You did good. You too, Fil.”
Venn sagged into a chair. Beth drew another one up and sat down, close, but not intimately so.
“Is it over?” she whispered.
“It’s over,” he said.
Venn thanked the four uniformed officers and told them they could leave. He looked at his watch. Ele
ven fifteen. He hadn’t had breakfast.
“Feel like a bite?” he said to Beth.
She glanced at Fil and Harmony, as if wondering whether the invitation included them. “I’ve eaten, but –”
“We should talk,” Venn said.
She gazed at him, then nodded.
On their way out, Venn caught Harmony’s eye. He saw something there. Something suggestive, almost lewd.
No. She had it wrong. He was going to tell Beth they needed to make a clean break. That they couldn’t have anything to do with one another, ever again.
She’d come to him for help, and yet again she’d almost gotten killed. He was radioactive, and she needed to stay away.
Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring it up, given how fatigued they both were, how rattled by the events of the past couple of days. But Venn felt a pressing need to resolve this, and now.
They stepped out into the cold October morning sunshine. Across the parking lot at the rear of the building was a diner which served good brunches, and Venn turned in that direction.
Two things happened next, almost simultaneously.
He registered the black Toyota SUV, surging across the parking lot in a howl of rubber on tarmac.
And he cannoned sideways into Beth as the gun sticking out of the passenger window began firing.
Chapter 41
Beth slammed against the side of the nearest parked car and dropped to the tarmac, barely managing to break her fall with her outstretched hands.
For an instant, she couldn’t breathe, shocked by Venn’s sudden shove and by the impact with the ground. And by the paralyzing noise of the gunshots.
Yet again, the gunshots.
It wasn’t over. It would never be over.
Dazed, Beth rolled on her back. She saw Venn crouched down behind the next car along, his gun out.
Without looking at her he gestured wildly with his free hand, urging her away, further on down the line of cars.
Half-sitting, Beth scrambled away.
She watched Venn duck his head to peer under the car he was behind, then extend his gun arm beneath the car and fire.