Tempest (Playing the Fool #3)

by Lisa Henry

  This would have been the perfect time for a one-liner worthy of the smartass sidekick, but what came out of his mouth instead was a shaky, plaintive, “M-Mac.”

  Mac dropped to his knees beside him. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Henry.”

  He was pretty sure it wasn’t fucking okay at all.

  Mac looked around. “Where’s Flora?”

  “Where’s Cory?” Vi demanded, climbing onto her knees.

  “Isn’t she with you?” Ana’s voice rose with panic.

  “She was going to go warn you.” Henry shut his mouth. No way did he want to explain to Mac’s parents that he’d abandoned the kid. Or, more specifically, had approved her plan to go out on a roof in a massive storm, slide down a gutter pipe, and pass a few armed psychopaths on her way to the main house. He tried to move, and winced as pain ripped through him.

  Because he’d seen it done a lot in movies, he placed his hand on the spot to see if his fingers came away bloody.

  They did, but the rain quickly washed the blood away.

  But hey, look at him. He was out in a storm, and he wasn’t panicking—at least not about the thunder.

  “Mom, give me the gun.” Mac held out his hand. “You only got Bixler with the car. Flora’s still around here somewhere.”

  “Nonsense, Ryan, you’ve never known how to shoot this thing. Now somebody find my granddaughter!”

  There was a high-pitched howl from somewhere behind Janice’s black car.

  “Cory!” Ana raced for Bixler’s car, carrying the shotgun.

  Ana reached the car just as Flora Rasnick staggered out from behind it, holding Cory by one arm, her gun pressed to Cory’s temple.

  “Looking for someone?” Flora asked.

  Flora was limping, and blood ran down her shin. One shoe was missing, and her yellow hair was plastered to her head.

  Cory stared at Ana, eyes wide. She clutched her folded blue-and-white umbrella.

  “Drop the gun,” Flora ordered Ana.

  “Let her go!” Ana shouted. “Or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  “Ana!” Ian held his hands out, palms forward. “Do as she says.”

  “Cory!” Viola tried to crawl forward, but Henry stopped her. She writhed, lashing out at him, but he held on.

  “Last chance,” Flora snapped. “Drop your weapon.”

  Sobbing, Ana dropped the shotgun.

  Flora jerked Cory’s arm. “You too.”

  Cory let go of the umbrella. Even Vi fell still.

  “Now.” Flora looked at the group. “How very nice to see the whole McGuinness family together.” She glanced at Henry and Vi. “And friends of the family. You have no idea how much easier this is going to make my job.” She stepped forward. “I’d like you all to line up. Side by side. Except you, McGuinness. You can stand by me and watch.”

  Henry’s guts twisted. A one-woman firing squad.

  He couldn’t do anything to stop what was about to happen. It was going to be Vi’s accident all over again. Lying there, watching, helpless. Knowing it was his fault.

  “Now, please,” Flora said. “If you all cooperate, I’ll do Mr. and Mrs. McGuinness first so they don’t have to watch their son and granddaughter die.” She pressed the gun hard into the side of Cory’s head, and Cory closed her eyes.

  “Nana! Papa!”

  Henry took Vi’s hand and squeezed.

  “Please,” Ana choked out. “Please, not Cory. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  Flora fired a warning shot into the air. As if in answer, lightning flashed over the hill. “Line up!”

  Vi clutched Henry’s hand and helped him up. It hurt. Why the fuck couldn’t she just shoot him on the ground like a decent person? He sobbed and leaned on Vi as he stumbled to his feet. The noise was carried away by the storm.

  This.

  This was why he was scared of storms.

  Bullshit.

  He was scared of storms because they were loud and frightening, not because he’d known he’d die in one. It was coincidence that Flora had turned up in a storm, not prescience. Not everything was fucking fate. Not everything was written in the stars. Not everything was Shakespeare. But he couldn’t shed the idea that his entire life had been leading to this, the moment of his death.

  “I don’t know what to do, Mac,” he said frantically. “I really fucking don’t.”

  “Shh, wait.” Mac touched his arm, then stepped forward. “Flora. I’m the one you want. Even Jimmy didn’t kill needlessly.”

  Um, Henry was pretty sure that was a lie.

  Mac continued. “I worked his case for years. I know he killed the people who wronged him. He didn’t kill bystanders. He didn’t kill children.”

  Just paid to fuck them.

  Mac took another step forward and held up his hands. The wind covered him with a torrent of rain, like someone had tossed a bucket of water on him. “I’m the one you have a problem with. So do what Jimmy would do. Kill me. And let the others go.”

  And now Mac was totally laying on the movie dialogue. If that was the way things were gonna be, Henry should probably throw a You’ll never get away with this! in Flora’s direction while he had the chance.

  Flora laughed. “I loved Jimmy very much. But the man was a ball-less wonder.” She took the gun off Cory for a second to point it at Mac, who was still approaching. “Stay back.”

  Henry felt a jolt of hope. Was it possible Flora didn’t want to kill Cory? Why point the gun at Mac? Why not shoot Cory, or Henry, or Ana, or Ian, to show Mac she was serious?

  And then Henry didn’t have time to think anymore, because everything happened all at once.

  Cory turned and bit Flora’s hand, then twisted out of Flora’s grip as Flora howled in pain. Mac rushed forward. Flora snapped back toward Mac and fired a shot, and as she did, Ian dove for the Subaru, fumbling around Janice Bixler’s body until he found her gun. But by the time he had it in hand, Mac had tackled Flora, and Ian clearly couldn’t tell where to aim.

  “Don’t take the shot!” Henry yelled at Ian, as Mac and Flora wrestled. He reached out and caught Cory’s shoulder as she darted forward. Pushed her back into Vi’s arms. “Run for the house,” he told them over his shoulder. “Run as fast as you can.”

  Vi and Cory took off, and Ana scrambled to reclaim her shotgun.

  “Ana!” Ian shouted, as Flora stuck her arm out of the fray and fired at Ana. Ana gave a cry of pain and went to her knees, but she continued crawling toward the shotgun and picked it up.

  Mac pinned Flora’s gun arm, and Flora struck him hard with her other fist.

  “Mac!” Henry yelled, moving forward. “You’ve got her!”

  He was breathing hard, and didn’t feel pain in his hip so much as a numbness, spreading slowly.

  Flora struck Mac again, and Mac lost his hold on her arm.

  Henry looked up at the sky. At the dark clouds and the droplets of water hurtling toward him. Maybe it wasn’t so scary to die. Maybe he’d become the wind or the rain, or a ghost. And Ana and Ian and Mac would take care of Vi. He just needed to make sure they survived.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a bad last moment, either. Finally facing the storm.

  He took a breath, his head light, the shapes of clouds, people, trees blurring together.

  Oh yeah. This was going to hurt a lot.

  He charged forward, piling onto Mac and Flora, focusing on what he could see of Flora’s face.

  Go for the eyes.

  Or the throat. Yeah, go for the throat.

  He wrapped his hands around Flora’s throat and squeezed.

  He felt an enormous gust of wind, and heard a sound louder than thunder.

  He looked up and saw a chopper descending, buffeted by the storm, but still making steady progress toward them.

  And even over the rain, he could hear Val’s voice on the megaphone: “FBI. We’ve got you surrounded.”

  He didn’t let go of Flora.

  “I wouldn’t say you had us surround
ed,” Mac told Val.

  They were outside his mom and Henry’s hospital room. The two were sharing since they and the rest of Mac’s family were under police protection until it could be determined if Flora had any accomplices still at large.

  Val raised one eyebrow. Shit, he had to get her to teach him how to do that. “No? How do you know?”

  “I mean, it was only the one chopper.”

  “You’re lucky we even got the chopper. We called in the SWAT team, and they told us it was too unsafe in those conditions, but I, um . . . insisted. Luckily, the pilot—you remember Denny Metzger? He wants experience flying in all weather. He was all over it.”

  “You did look like you were gonna hit that oak.”

  “Oh, shut up. It all worked out, didn’t it?”

  “Pretty damn well, considering.” He glanced at the door to the room. It was open a crack, and he could hear his mom and Henry talking inside. “Sounds like they’re both awake.”

  “Yeah, but I think yours is more badass than mine,” Henry was saying. “Because yours is where Mac’s is—the ribs. That’s noble. Mine’s practically at my groin. A little tall-tale treatment, and pretty soon the story’ll be that I got shot in the balls.”

  Val’s other eyebrow lifted. “I can’t believe he’s talking to your mother that way.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s Henry.”

  They heard Mac’s mom giggle. “Oh, Henry, stop. It hurts when I laugh.”

  “It’s crazy though, isn’t it?” Henry’s voice. “How we both got shot but then we just kept on fighting. Like in the movies? They ought to cast us in action films, instead of Arnold Schwarzenegger and that guy with the head like Mac’s . . .”

  “Vin Diesel?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one!”

  She laughed again. “I’ve always said he and Ryan have the same head!”

  “Comparing battle wounds,” Mac muttered. He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, Val behind him. His mom and Henry had the curtain between their beds pulled back so they could see each other. “All right, you two. Break this party up. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

  Henry glanced at him and grinned. “We’re waiting for the nurse to come back and, I don’t know, give us some more pills, do some more tests—what did she say, Ana?”

  “I forget.”

  He didn’t know which one of them to hug first. Then some remnant of his fear decided for him. Not just his fear from the night before, but every single fear from his childhood suddenly magnified when he’d heard his mom cry out in pain. Hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d been his rock. Always.

  Mom.

  He leaned over her bed and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

  “Oh, honey.” She hugged him back as best she could. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “I’m fine too, Mac.” Henry’s tone was bright and teasing. Too bright.

  He released his mom and turned to Henry. “I was saving you for last.”

  “Like dessert?”

  “Yep. Like dessert.” He bent down and pecked Henry on his dry lips.

  Henry was having none of that. He wound his arms around Mac’s neck and pulled him closer. Mac grabbed the sides of the hospital bed so he didn’t end up on top of him.

  “Been saved by the FBI twice now,” Henry whispered when he finally let him go. “Suppose I’ll have to go straight or something.”

  Mac hoped that wasn’t a joke. “Yeah?”

  “Well, I can hardly pull a con in Indianapolis anymore, can I?”

  “I guess not.”

  “And who wants to commute from out of state every time I want to visit my boyfriend?”

  Warmth spread through Mac’s chest. “You raise a good point.”

  “I’d probably be on some FBI Most Wanted list in a heartbeat, wouldn’t I?”

  “Does mine count?”

  “Oh, Mac.” A smile tugged at the corners of Henry’s mouth. “That was incredibly corny. We should write that down and use it as the closing line in our Mac and Cheese movie screenplay.”

  “Oh, it’s a movie screenplay now? I thought it was a television series.”

  “Go big or go home, I always say.” His smiled faded. “Where’s Vi?”

  “Dad took her and Cory to the airport. Libby and Brian’s flight lands soon.”

  “Your brother-in-law is Brian? And you’re Ryan? Brian and Ryan. How come that never occurred to me before?”

  Mac nodded at the drip in his hand.

  “Yeah, these pain meds are gooood. You have to press this little button whenever you need a hit, right? It only works every five minutes though. This morning I had to press it a lot to get through some televangelist.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to change the channel?”

  “I couldn’t reach the remote. Only the drugs. I worked with what I had.” Henry’s expression hardened. “Didn’t want to hear all that bullshit about fornicators and sodomites not getting into the Kingdom of God.”

  Mac stroked his hair back from his forehead, and thought of Remy. “It is bullshit.”

  “Yeah. So how long until I’m out of here and we can get back to fornication and sodomy anyway?”

  “You’ve met my mom, right?” Mac asked. “And Val. My boss.”

  “Hi, Val. Nice to see you again.”

  “Hi, Henry. Nice to see you more or less in one piece.”

  Mac sat down in the chair beside Henry’s bed. He rested his arm on Henry’s mattress, and Henry held his hand. He wished they were alone so he could tell Henry how brave he’d been. Tell Sebastian. So they could talk, and make plans for whatever came next without his mom, or Val, listening in while he laid himself bare.

  Promise me you’re not kidding about staying. Henry. Don’t run this time.

  Promise me, and I’ll believe you.

  Henry’s gaze was fixed on Val. “Tell me that Rasnick bitch won’t ever get out.”

  “She won’t,” Val said.

  “You believe in destiny, Val?” Henry settled back. “Like big destiny?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like something Shakespearean.” Henry’s fingers twitched against Mac’s. “Like whatever you do, you can’t avoid it. Like it was the Rasnicks’ destiny to ruin my life from before I was even born.”

  “I think that’s bullshit.”

  “I am fortune’s fool,” Henry said. “Or fortune’s bitch.”

  “You won, Henry.” Val shook her head. “And I know it doesn’t feel like it, and maybe it never will because of your friend, but you won. That crazy bitch tried to kill you, and you didn’t die.”

  “Huh.” Henry’s fingers were still shaking. “Can I go and visit her in prison every year just to taunt her?”

  Mac squeezed his hand. “If she’s sharing a cell with Bixler, we’ll make it a double date.”

  “Yeah.”

  He gently peeled Henry’s fingers away from the button that delivered his hit of pain meds. “So you’ll have to hang around to testify, I guess.”

  “I guess,” Henry echoed.

  “Could take a while before it comes to trial. Years, even.”

  “Years.” Henry smiled slightly. “That is a long time.”

  “Give you time to work on that screenplay.”

  “Yeah.” Henry’s smile grew. “I suppose it will.”

  The funeral home was in Warren Park. Henry, walking in with Mac and Val flanking him, felt like he was under arrest. He hadn’t expected anyone else to come, not really. The ad had run in the paper as part of the package deal from the funeral home—another expense Henry couldn’t exactly afford, but couldn’t not pay either—but he hadn’t thought anyone would see it, let alone turn up.

  “Stacy!” His voice cracked when he saw her.

  She folded him into her arms. “You okay, kid?”

  He didn’t know. Not really. But it didn’t seem like she was really expecting an answer.

  “You came,” he said at last.


  She leaned back, still holding on to his arms. Looked him up and down, and then gazed at Mac and Val. “Was that dumb of me?”

  “They’re here as friends.”

  “You have strange friends, kiddo.” She blinked quickly, and he had the impression she was only just holding her tears at bay. He’d never seen Stacy cry. Today seemed a fitting day for it. “The others are in the chapel.”

  “The others?”

  “Jo and Gerald. And Carson.”

  “Carson’s here?” He clenched his fists. Carson had been nothing but a prick to Remy. Laughing at him, mocking him, and looking down on him.

  Stacy sighed. “It’s . . . it’s complicated, hon. You leave him alone, and I’ll make sure he leaves you alone, okay?”

  Leave him alone? Henry wanted to punch him in the face. He shook Stacy’s grip off. “Whatever.”

  “Is Viola okay?”

  “She’s with Mac’s parents. Vi doesn’t get funerals.”

  Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. He just hadn’t wanted her to see him break down.

  The chapel of the funeral home was neat and spartan. The carpet was a little worn, and the wallpaper was a little faded. The place had been decorated with all the impersonal touches of a chain hotel. The decor was bland and unimaginative, made sinister by its purpose. Henry’s skin crawled.

  The coffin sat at the front of the room, underneath an arched window with the cross etched into it. It bothered him suddenly because Remy hadn’t been religious. Hadn’t believed in all that rubbish, not when they were stamping their feet on street corners to try to stay warm, and not even when they were snuggled together under a comforter, exchanging kisses and whispers.

  Guilt stabbed him.

  Was it wrong to remember Remy’s kisses when he was here with Mac?

  Was it wrong to worry about being disloyal to Mac when he was at Remy’s funeral?

  “Hey, Henry.” Jo stood up and gave him a hug. “You okay? They treating you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So sorry, Henry.” Gerald’s hug smelled of aftershave and bourbon. “So sorry. To lose him like this . . .”