‘That won’t do you any good,’ Ira called. ‘It’s a crypt. There’s no way out.’
‘Except in a coffin,’ Tomás yelled.
There was a sudden, deafening explosion as Ira fired down the steps. The bullet hit the floor, ricocheted off into the brick wall, then up into the roof of the crypt, sending down a shower of dust and dirt. Lauren screamed, slapped her hands over her ears. Evan pulled his head down into his shoulders, knowing they were right.
‘Fish in a barrel,’ Ira called, the laughter in his voice cutting through the reverberations from the gunshot.
A second shot exploded in the cramped space. Aimed downwards at the side wall of the stairwell, it ricocheted around the corner and buried itself in the floor two feet from Evan’s left foot.
Then they both fired together. Trapped in the claustrophobic crypt, it felt as if twenty rounds zipped and pinged, cutting through the stale air, kicking up dirt and dust, shattering stone, sending sharp fragments hunting for soft flesh. Evan and Lauren threw themselves into a huddle, Lauren burying herself in Evan’s body. It was only a matter of time before a stray round hit home.
Evan put his hand in his pocket to grab Spencer’s gun. He knew it was empty before it was halfway in. He knew exactly where it was too. At the bottom of the stairs there was a round drain, not a covered drain, just a simple hole in the ground two feet wide. He knew the gun had fallen into it when he fell down the stairs, drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet.
Without warning, the flashlight beams snapped off, plunging them into darkness. Lauren screamed before the next shots were fired, the muzzle flashes from the top of the stairs lighting the crypt for a split second before the rounds cut through the darkness.
Lauren screamed again, higher, louder as a round ricocheted off the wall and grazed her upper arm. In the pitch black it was impossible to know how badly she was hit, her hysterical shriek drowning out the triumphant yell from the top of the stairs.
‘Enough!’ Evan screamed, adding to the manic cacophony. ‘We’re coming out.’
A disappointed silence came from above, like a couple of excited kids being told it really was time for bed now. Then the flashlights flicked back on. Lauren sat rigid, blood flowing from a flesh wound on her upper arm.
‘It looks worse than it is,’ she whispered. ‘Hurts like hell but I can still move it.’
‘On your face at the bottom of the stairs,’ Tomás shouted.
Evan put his mouth to Lauren’s ear, dropped his voice to a whisper.
‘My gun’s in that drain.’
She nodded slowly. The wound on her arm was only superficial, but there was a lot of blood. It had soaked her sleeve, was running down the back of her hand. Evan took hold of her wrist and wiped the blood from her hand on the side of his right calf, the side Tomás and Ira would see when he came into view. Then he gently placed his hand on her arm, covering it with her blood. He wiped that on his leg as well. It wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny but from the top of the stairs and with the poor light it might look as if he’d been hit too. He was a big, brave boy who hadn’t cried out, that was all.
He stood and limped cautiously from the relative safety of the darkness into the flashlight beams illuminating the ground at the bottom of the stairs. He dipped to the right and let out a sharp hiss as if his leg had given way.
‘Looks like we got ‘em both,’ Ira said, the words riding out on a satisfied chuckle, like they’d had an unexpected but welcome windfall.
Evan was acutely aware they might decide the situation would be a whole lot easier if they just shot him and came down for Lauren. It made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle to think that his only hope was that they thought shooting was too good for him.
He lowered himself onto his front, half falling as his leg gave way again. He ended up lying across the open drain, his arms beneath him. Something lightweight landed on his back, bounced off. He turned his head, saw a couple of heavy-duty zip ties.
‘Put those on him,’ Tomás called to Lauren, still hidden from view.
She didn’t move. Tomás put Evan’s fears into words.
‘We can shoot him if you like, then come for you.’
Still she didn’t move. It was as if she was deliberately prolonging the moment. He dropped his left hand into the drain, his right side facing the stairs, towards Tomás and Ira. The bulk of his body put his left side in deeper shade, hiding any movement in his left arm.
‘I’m shooting him on the count of five,’ Tomás shouted, the irritation in his voice loud and clear. ‘Five.’
Then, a scrape on the dirt floor behind Evan. He let out the breath he’d been holding as he heard her start to crawl towards him.
‘Four.’
His breath caught again. They couldn’t hear her moving from the top of the stairs, couldn’t see her either. He swept the hole beneath him with his hand, felt a shallow ledge running around the side. Below that it dropped away into the hidden depths.
‘Three.’
There was no way to get out of their line of fire in time if they didn’t see her soon. What the hell was she doing?
‘Two.’
‘Okay, okay. I’m coming, give me a chance. Some bastard shot me in the arm.’
Evan followed the ledge with his fingers. His hand froze as he brushed the grip of his gun, balanced half on, half off the ledge.
‘Hands behind your back. Now!’
Evan’s fingers closed carefully around the grip. It didn’t do him any good. Caught in the flashlight beams, they’d shoot him before he had a chance to raise his arm. He couldn’t stuff it down the front of his pants—his jacket was open, they’d see it immediately.
‘I said now! I won’t say it again.’
Evan let the gun slip gently from his fingers, felt it come safely to rest on the ledge—safely so long as a heavy-handed person isn’t trying to find it by touch in the dark, that is.
He pulled his arms out from under him, put them behind his back. He shifted his body towards the bottom stair as he did so, revealing a six-inch slice of the drain. It was visible to Lauren but hidden by his body from the top of the stairs.
‘There’s a narrow ledge,’ he whispered. ‘The gun’s on it. Be care—’
‘Shut it,’ Tomás called. ‘Put the zip ties on him.’
‘I can’t see them,’ Lauren yelled back. ‘Move the beam around so I can find them.’
Tomás played the beam back and forth until he highlighted the black plastic ties. Lauren scooped them up, dropped one of them again, fumbling the catch. It dropped into the drain.
‘Shit.’
She leaned into the drain. Evan felt her tense, knew she’d found the gun. For one, long moment he thought she was considering grabbing it, firing up the stairs as she dived back into safety, leaving him a sitting duck for the shower of bullets that would instantly rain down on him.
‘What the hell are you doing,’ Tomás shouted, sounding as if it wouldn’t be long before he just shot the pair of them out of sheer annoyance. He stepped down the first step.
‘I dropped it. What’s it look like asshole?’
Evan closed his eyes. He hoped she had a plan, wasn’t antagonizing him for fun. Tomás took another step down.
‘I’ve got it, fuckwit.’
Lauren waved the zip ties in the air. Nobody breathed, nobody said a word. Then Tomás laughed.
‘Nice try but it’s not gonna work, bitch. Not if you think I’m coming down there before you’ve got him tied up good and proper. You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough.’
He climbed back up the steps as he talked, sounding pleased with himself. Lauren slipped one of the ties around Evan’s wrist, pulled it tight, then looped the other one through it and did the same with the other wrist.
‘Good and tight,’ Tomás called, more relaxed now the situation was getting under control.
‘Do it,’ Evan whispered under his breath. ‘Tight as you can. They’ll check anyway.’
Lauren hesitated, then did as he said, cinched them tighter.
‘Now get up,’ Tomás called to Evan.
Evan wriggled half-heartedly on the ground, hissed loudly as if in pain.
‘I can’t.’
‘Help him up,’ Tomás yelled.
Lauren shuffled up next to Evan, grabbed his right shoulder and turned him onto his left side, his front facing the stairs. He brought his knees up in front of him, then she jammed her hand under his left shoulder and pretended to try to heave him onto his knees.
‘He’s too heavy.’
‘Try harder. You make me come down there, I’m going to shoot the pair of you, get this over with.’
She tried again, grunting and gasping, then collapsed, lying across his body.
‘It didn’t help, you shooting me in the arm.’
‘I didn’t ask for excuses. Last chance.’
She pushed herself off Evan, got her hands under his shoulder and heaved again. He threw his weight sideways to help, ended up on his knees in front of the drain, chest pointing up the stairs. Lauren was hidden behind him, the drain between them. She collapsed forwards, her head banging into his back, sliding downwards until her forearms rested on the ground either side of the drain. Her right hand flopped limply into the hole as she pretended to recover.
‘You ought to lose some weight, pal,’ Ira laughed. ‘On your feet. And stay where I can see you.’
Then Evan heard a sound that made him want to cry. Not the cocking of the hammer on a pistol or maybe Tomás’s irritated voice as he said, fuck it, I’ve had enough of this.
No.
Just a hissed expletive.
Followed by a dull thud.
Their last chance had just gone down the drain. Literally. Lauren had knocked the gun off the ledge.
He pushed himself to his feet, feeling as if he was raising his head above a thick cloud of anger and shame that radiated from Lauren’s slumped body. He almost forgot to gasp in pain at his supposedly injured leg. He put his foot on the first step.
‘No, you first,’ Tomás said, waving his gun at Lauren.
She slipped past Evan, not meeting his eyes. He thought he might have heard a whispered sorry, maybe not. He waited at the bottom as she walked slowly up the steps, clutching her injured arm. If she thought the gesture would stop them from cuffing her, she was mistaken. Ira grasped her roughly by the arms. She winced as he pulled them behind her while Tomás slipped more zip ties around her wrists.
‘Now you,’ Tomás called down to Evan.
Evan limped up the stairs making a big fuss of it. At the top he got his first look at Tomás since the fight in the mall parking lot. With his broken nose taped up but not properly set above the cut and swollen lips, and with his breath whistling noisily through his busted front teeth, he was a mess. It was a good start as far as Evan was concerned for the bastard who’d sewn up Arturo Rivera’s mouth. He hoped he’d get the chance to finish the job.
‘Look what just rose to the lip of the bowl. How’s the nose?’ He put a lot of nasal emphasis on it, making it sound like doze. ‘Maybe you need a stitch in it. I’ll do it for you if you like.’
Tomás showed him more of the broken teeth, his eyes bright and mean.
‘Yeah? Won’t be enough thread left, the amount I’ll need for your mouth.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Lauren. She tried to push her face into Evan’s but Ira pulled her away.
‘What’s he talking about?’
Evan shook his head at her, wishing he hadn’t said anything, as Tomás slipped his gun into a concealed carry holster on his waistband. He grabbed Evan’s arm and turned him around, jerking his arms upwards to inspect the zip ties. Evan dipped forward with the pressure. He tried to straighten up, the strain on his shoulders intensifying into a sharp, burning pain. Tomás wrenched his arm again like it was a game, higher than before, the twisted grin on his lips growing wider as he increased the pressure.
Lauren was staring at him, wouldn’t let his words go. She pulled away from Ira and kicked Tomás on the ass.
‘Hey! Retard! What were you talking about?’
Tomás dropped Evan’s wrists in his surprise. He spun around to face her, his arm already rising to backhand her across the mouth. Ira pulled her back again out of his reach.
‘Christ’s sake, Tomás, I can see the ties cutting into his flesh from here. We haven’t got time for games. Someone will have heard the shots.’
Tomás looked like he was going to spit, but then his face broke into a smile, a smile of such genuine pleasure it turned Evan inside out. What lay behind it was sick and evil but it warmed Tomás to his core. He pinched the flesh along Lauren’s jaw, squeezing it, as he puckered up his lips and stuck them in her face.
‘You’re going to regret that mouth. Just like him. Except, maybe . . .’
Lauren screwed her eyes shut, turned her face away. Revulsion was her guardian angel. She didn’t see him run his eyes down her body, moving over her breasts, settling further down. Didn’t see him swallow thickly, his eyes bright with things you didn’t want to imagine.
But Evan saw it, felt his blood run cold.
Tomás threw her head to the side, then walked quickly away as if he could barely contain himself. Can you see excitement, anticipation in the way a person walks? Evan saw it then in Tomás’s step.
Ira pushed them after him, brought up the rear.
‘What were you talking about?’ Lauren hissed at Evan.
Ira hit her on the back of the head with his flashlight. ‘Shut it.’
You said it, Evan thought as they trudged after Tomás.
***
THEY DROVE THROUGH downtown Baltimore in the car Tomás had stolen earlier that night, then took Route 151 heading east. Leaving the highway, they skirted the banks of the Back River. Looking left out of the car window, Evan couldn’t see anything but trees and the river beyond that. But he knew what was on the other side of the river. And he knew that’s where they were headed.
He looked at Lauren, huddled in the corner, leaning away from him as if he was the one to be scared of. She felt his gaze on her, looked up to meet his eyes. Did she have any idea where they were going? He didn’t think so. He’d have seen something very different in her eyes if she did. He’d have smelled the fear coming out of her pores, knowing how close they were to Ira Waits getting what he wanted. He gave her a small smile—what else can you do?—and she scowled at him, went back to staring out the window.
After the conversation with Guillory where she told him David Eckert’s jump plane had taken off for destinations unknown, he’d stopped at a truck stop and searched on his phone for small airports close to Baltimore. He’d found the Essex Skypark Airport on the banks of the Back River, about a quarter mile as the crow flies from where they were now. Small, with a single runway and enclosed on all sides by dense woods, it was the perfect place for a surreptitious night flight to pick up two unwilling passengers.
A minute later they turned left into a small marina, deserted at this time of night. They drove through, past the gray clapboard clubhouse and parked at the far end next to the jetty. A small motorboat was tied up halfway down waiting for them.
Tomás and Ira jumped out and hauled them out of the back. The wind was fresh, blowing off the water, driving the rain into their faces. It was a welcome change from the oppressive, dusty atmosphere of the catacombs and crypt. Evan wanted to sprint to the end of the jetty, stand with his face into the wind, feeling it in his hair, drawing it deep into his lungs. Without their hands tied he might have grabbed Lauren’s hand and done exactly that, dived off the end into the cold dark water, taken their chances.
Tomás jabbed him between the shoulder blades with his gun, prodding him towards the jetty. One thing was for sure. Unless something happened in the short hop across the river in the boat, the events of twenty years previously were about to be re-enacted.
Then they’d get more fresh air than th
ey could ever have wished for.
Chapter 54
IRA CUT THE SPEEDBOAT’S ENGINE, beaching the boat gently on the sandy bank on the other side of the river. Tomás jumped out into the shallows and hauled it all the way out. Evan had spent the five-minute journey face down in the bottom of the boat with Lauren sitting on his back, squashing him into the wet deck while Tomás kept his gun on her. Nothing would prevent them from being loaded onto the plane now. They tramped up the sandy beach to a taxi lane cutting through the trees from the beach to the main runway. At the top they turned left onto the runway. At the far end Eckert’s Cessna jump plane waited patiently for them.
Evan felt Lauren’s stride break momentarily as she saw the plane, realized what Ira and Tomás had in mind.
‘That’s—’
Ira hit her again with the flashlight, harder this time, forcing a grunt past her teeth.
‘Recognize it, eh? Of course you do, it’s a Kincade family heirloom. Something that’ll outlast you all.’
Evan glanced at her, saw her mouth set in a tight line, the muscles in her jaw flexing. When she looked back at him he balked, wanted to look away from what he saw in her eyes.
Ahead of them, the plane was parked sideways across the runway as if Eckert had got bored halfway through turning it around. The name Jumpin’ Jakes emblazoned on the tail fin seemed like a joke in very poor taste. As they approached it became clear this was no random positioning. The main exit roller door was already up, facing them, and Tomás had been busy preparing a display for their edification.
It looked like a crucifixion.
Or the Angel of Death welcoming them with open arms.
Eckert was suspended from the grab rail, arms outstretched, secured by the wrists with more heavy-duty zip ties. His head hung limply between his shoulders, his ribs showing through his shirt clinging wetly to his body, dried blood streaked down his front like stigmata.
He pulled himself upright as they approached. When he drew back his head to look at them, Evan recoiled as if a cadaver, overlooked on Ivanovsky’s autopsy slab for a week, had raised its head off the cold metal.
Resurrection Blues Page 31