Danse Macabre

by Kory M. Shrum

  With each ragged breath, the tape over his mouth swelled and sunk against his lips.

  At least the girls were alive and untouched for the moment. King had that much to be thankful for.

  Footsteps came into view. Thick brown boots stopped shy of his own. He expected that boot to pull back and swing, kicking him in the face. But instead, strong arms seized him and hauled him up to the post. His back was forced against the cold metal. He searched the edges with his hands, looking for a sharp place to rub the tape against, but the pole was smooth all the way around.

  He groaned.

  “You want to talk?” the man asked, stooping down to peer into King’s face. “Dmitri, I think this one wants to talk.”

  King wasn’t sure the accents were Russian. Ukrainian perhaps, or a different sort of Slavic language. But he couldn’t be sure. It had been a long time since he’d heard anything of the sort. Back in the 90s he’d been assigned to a KGB case for a while, but that had been a lifetime ago.

  “Robert King,” the man named Dmitri said, pulling up the metal chair. He dragged the legs across the concrete floor, emitting a screech that made King’s flesh crawl.

  And he wasn’t the only one. Piper and Mel came to full consciousness this time, no doubt roused by this god-awful sound. When Piper pushed herself up onto her knees, King saw another body beyond hers. A slumped lump of a girl. The blonde hair was matted to her swollen face. The blood in it stopped King’s breath cold.

  “Are you the same Robert King I’ve been hearing about?”

  King flicked his eyes to the metallic tape covering his mouth.

  Dmitri laughed before he dipped his head in acquiescence. “My apologies.”

  He looked into King’s eyes as he grasped the edge of the tape. This close King could smell his cologne. There was too much of it. It reminded him of the aftershave his grandfather used to splash on in the mornings before taking off to spend ten hours in the butcher shop.

  He’s going to enjoy this, King thought. He likes to see others in pain.

  King’s mouth burned as the tape ripped free. Heat and blood rushed to the area, warming it. His lips swelled, feeling raw against his probing tongue.

  “Yes,” King said. “I’m Robert King. Though it’s a common enough name.”

  “You worked in the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

  “I did.”

  “You spent years dedicated to destroying my business.”

  King said nothing. He cut his eyes to Mel and Piper, hoping they were okay. They were sitting up now, their backs against the cinder blocks serving as one wall of the garage.

  “How much trouble you’ve caused me.” Dmitri bent, slipping a hand under his chair. When he pulled it into the light, the Smith and Wesson SD40 sat snug in his grip. “I should put a bullet in you for that reason alone. I love shooting DEA agents, actually. I enjoy watching the surprise that crosses their face as they die.”

  King still said nothing. Irritation flickered in Dmitri’s eyes.

  “Is it true you knew Jack Thorne?”

  “Yes.” King was hard at work training his captor. When he asked King a valid question, he received an answer. Cooperation. When he taunted and threatened, he got nothing. He hoped the dynamic would hold. They only needed to keep him talking until Lou arrived.

  She would end this. He was counting on it.

  “And is it true that Angelo Martinelli was the one who pulled the trigger and took his life?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she was there?”

  “She who?”

  “His daughter, Louie.”

  “Yes.”

  “But Angelo was working on his father’s orders,” Dmitri said.

  “He was working on Chaz Brasso’s orders, who in turn was taking his orders from someone else.”

  Dmitri arched both brows before nodding. “You see, that’s the problem with you Americans. You blame everyone else for your problems when it’s almost always a fox in your own house.” He tapped the gun against his leg. That unblinking eye bored into King’s until he shifted an inch to the left, removing himself from its line of sight.

  “A man took her father, and now she takes the lives of men?”

  “Yes.”

  He fell back against the chair. “And how many must she have to be satisfied? How many lives do you think Jack Thorne is worth?”

  “To her?” King asked. He wanted to keep Dmitri’s attention trained on him. He could do nothing for Dani, who might already be dead. Her body was so still and lifeless. But he had Piper and Mel to think of. They needed him to do this right.

  “You see, she took someone from me. My son,” Dmitri said quietly, retraining the gun on King. “So there is no reason why I shouldn’t kill every single one of you.”

  Piper shifted nervously in his periphery.

  Don’t move, he thought. Don’t remind him that you’re here.

  “She took from me, and I should take from her. In her world, that’s justice, isn’t it?”

  King had no answer for this.

  “And that’s the problem. It never ends. When will the dance end? Her danse macabre.”

  No one spoke.

  Dmitri leaned forward, closing the distance between their faces. “And if I were to tell her this, when she comes for you, do you think she’ll listen to me?”

  “How do you know she’ll come?” King asked, staring into those ice blue eyes.

  Dmitri pressed the gun barrel against King’s jaw, so hard that it made his mandible creak. “Pray she does.”

  28

  Lou flipped the latch on her kitchen island, and the side separated from its base, revealing stairs. Konstantine followed her down into the inner chamber, reaching overhead to pull the string and flood the room with light. Wooden steps gave way to a sawdust floor and three walls of weaponry. The shelves were built of unfinished wood, but on them was an arsenal fit for a king. The room smelled of lumber.

  “Take what you need,” she said, as Konstantine seemed to be waiting for permission. She liked him more for that.

  He wasted no time. He pulled down one of the vests from its hook on the wall. Then he chose a pair of Browning pistols and a matching holster. He disregarded the blades, Kevlar sleeves, and tear gas canisters. But his eyes lingered on the grenades.

  She surveyed her options, too.

  He saw her hesitate, and pulled her father’s vest from its hook. He thrust it at her.

  She could only look at it.

  “Put it on,” he insisted.

  She took the vest and peeled back the collar to see the word Thorne scrawled in black ink on the tag.

  “Why won’t you wear it?” he asked.

  Sawdust shifted under her boots. “Why should I?”

  “In case you’re shot.”

  “No,” she said and tossed the vest back at him. “Why? Why should I?”

  He tightened the Velcro across his chest, his face pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  She wanted to rip the guns from the shelves. She wanted to tear this place apart.

  “They kill me or I kill them. It doesn’t matter.”

  I don’t have a reason to be here.

  His jaw clenched shut. He thrust the vest at her again. “It matters to the people who are waiting for you.”

  In her mind, she saw Piper first, her puffy red eyes and quivering lip. Then she saw King on his hands and knees, a cut in the side of his head bleeding. She saw Melandra’s dark and accusing eyes.

  Maybe she didn’t deserve to be here. Maybe she’d served her purpose when she dragged Ryanson’s corpse onto the shores of La Loon and Nico was an afterthought. But it didn’t change the fact that she’d avenged her father, and there was no reason for continuing like this. She had no family to live for. She had no reason to go on. What she’d set out to do was done. All the men she’d wanted dead were dead.

  That’s why she’d seen her father’s face in place of the boy’s. That’s why her thirst and hu
nger refused to rise in her. It was done. She was done.

  But that left Dmitri.

  Her father had failed, and it got him and his wife killed. Lou would not make the same mistake. She was the reason Dmitri was in New Orleans. She would face him. She would finish him so that he didn’t hurt the others. And then…

  Game over.

  “They’re waiting for you,” Konstantine said again, as if hoping to pull her out of her inner turmoil.

  She slipped on hip holsters and her twin Berettas, but she took nothing else. She returned her father’s vest to its hook.

  That isn’t the life I want for you, Lou.

  Then you shouldn’t have died, she thought.

  In addition to his own vest and her Browning pistols, Konstantine threw a belt of grenades over one shoulder. He eyed her flamethrower with longing.

  “Take it if you want it,” she said and mounted the stairs. “But let’s go.”

  Konstantine squeezed her shoulder. “Your friends are counting on you.”

  Friends.

  She saw Piper’s brilliant smile, heard her shy laugh. Louie Thorne, I’m going to be your first friend.

  Inside her living room, Lou looked at the moonlit river once more. She watched a bird land gracefully on its surface before tucking its wings in tight.

  A foghorn blared in the distance.

  She wondered if she would ever see this place again and stepped inside her closet. She pressed her back against the wooden wall, making room for Konstantine.

  He slid inside, taking up the remaining space. She felt his warm breath on her neck as his steady hand went around her waist.

  “I’ll handle Petrov and his men,” she said and pulled the door closed. “I want you to focus on getting them out.”

  “You could try to get them out one at a time before he notices.”

  “No,” she said. “The second he sees me move one, he’ll kill another.”

  “They won’t die,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  I’ll be right here, her father had said the night he died.

  How easily promises were broken.

  Konstantine’s warm hand cupped her cheek. He ran a thumb over her skin. But whatever he meant to say or do next was eaten by the darkness as Lou pulled them through to the other side.

  29

  Piper felt like death. No, she felt like death scraped off hot pavement, put in a blender, and then declared disgusting, thrown through the garbage disposal for another whirl.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the hit to the back of the skull, but her head throbbed in a way it never had before. If she saw some pink brain goo slosh out onto the cold concrete floor right now, she wouldn’t even be surprised.

  The room around her spun. Light smeared across her vision, red starbursts sparking every time she tried to lift her head.

  I’m going to be—she turned and puked, expecting it to splash onto the concrete floor.

  Only she didn’t have much left, which was good because it had nowhere to go. It hit the back of the duct tape, and she was forced to swallow it back down.

  Nose burning, she groaned. Somehow, she got herself up into a sitting position. Then the spinning only intensified, so she leaned back against the cold wall and breathed. Christ. She probably had a concussion. Or you got too drunk, you freaking idiot.

  The room stopped spinning.

  The woman beside her stirred. Piper thought it was Mel on her left, but now that her vision was clearing, she saw Mel lay on her right. On her left was someone else.

  She leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the woman’s face and realized the woman wasn’t wearing Mel’s red scarf. That was blood. So much blood that it had matted her hair to her head.

  She moaned through the tape.

  A badly beaten Dani lay motionless on the floor. In addition to the blood-soaked hair, her face was purple. The eyes were crusted shut.

  They’ve killed her, she thought. Oh my god, they’ve killed her.

  “You’re awake.”

  Piper turned toward the voice and found a man, maybe in his fifties, looking at her with mild interest. She wasn’t sure if she should curse him or piss herself. Her emotions were vacillating somewhere in between.

  “If I take off the tape, will you tell me your name?” he asked, pivoting in his chair. He’d been facing King a moment before.

  She nodded.

  He bent forward and tore the tape from her mouth. Moistened by her vomit, it came off easily.

  First order of business, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. God, what she would’ve given for a huge glass of water.

  “Piper,” she said. Only after the name was out of her mouth did she wonder if it was a bad idea to give her real name to a man like this. He looked like the sort of guy who would kill her whole family while they slept, or at the very least a beloved dog.

  “Piper, do you know this woman?” He gestured toward Dani.

  She suppressed the urge say, Yes, you fucking monster. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spit in this asshole’s face. If she were alone with him, maybe she would. Henry often accused her of having a self-destructive streak and no sense of self-preservation.

  Piper disagreed. But she definitely didn’t want to give this guy a reason to hurt King or Mel.

  “She’s your journalist,” Piper said, trying to moisten her tacky lips.

  The man arched his eyebrows. “My journalist?”

  “She’s working for you to get information on us.”

  “You’re mistaken,” he said, lacing his fingers in his lap. “I didn’t hire this woman.”

  Panic seized Piper’s chest. Her heart beat wildly. If Dani was innocent, that meant that she had no reason to be angry with her or feel betrayed. Or maybe Piper was missing some key part of the story here.

  “Her boss sent her to get a story on a young woman, yes,” he agreed. “But she had no idea why.”

  “Oh,” Piper said. So, Dani was using her to get information, and there was still plenty of reason to feel betrayed. “Then why did you hurt her?”

  “I want to know all there is to know about Louie Thorne. And she was reluctant to tell me.”

  Piper liked her a little more for that. But her heart fell at the sound of Lou’s name. So, this guy did know about her. But how much?

  “What do you know about Louie?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Piper said.

  The man’s eyes darkened, cutting to Dani’s beaten body. “Do you want to look like that?”

  “No,” Piper said. But I will if it means protecting Lou from you.

  “Then tell me what you know.”

  Piper searched the room. She saw men on the edge of shadows. She wasn’t sure how many lingered, but she knew they were there. Likely blocking all exits and ready to put a bullet or knife in her at the first opportunity. Or worse…keep her alive for other things.

  She would have to be smart about this. She knew Lou would come. She needed to buy her time. “It isn’t that I don’t want to tell you, Mister…”

  “Dmitri.”

  “Mr. Dmitri, it’s just that I don’t know what to say. Lou is such a private person.”

  He regarded her as if trying to discern a lie.

  “I saw them in the bar together tonight,” a man said from the darkness. He inched forward, exposing the tips of his steel-toe boots. But the majority of his face remained hidden. She didn’t recognize him. In fact, none of them looked like the guy she vomited on. Had they changed guard?

  “Yes,” Piper said. “But plenty of people have drinking buddies. It doesn’t mean they know each other.”

  “They kissed.”

  Piper looked at the man standing on the edge of shadows. “Really?”

  Petrov’s clenching fist stole her attention. “Do you know where she lives?”

  Piper looked nervously at that clenched hand. “Not here in New Orleans.”

  “Where she works?”

  “I don’t think sh
e does.”

  “Whether or not she fucks Konstantine—”

  Piper flinched. “I hope not.”

  It was true that kissing Lou had felt like putting a pistol in her mouth. It was exciting and made her stomach drop in the way a forty-foot free fall might have. But while Lou hadn’t seemed disgusted by the kiss, she also hadn’t swooned. Her face had remained placid, unreadable.

  The connection wasn’t running both ways.

  Even if Lou could be cajoled into some mutually satisfying sex, was that what Lou needed?

  Have you ever had a friend?

  Piper didn’t think so.

  After all, she didn’t think a girl could watch her parents get killed and spend the remainder of her life cutting up criminals because she felt loved and needed. Nothing about Lou said vulnerable or broken. Anyone could see that Lou Thorne was a force. But Piper would’ve bet a thousand dollars that Louie also had some major issues.

  Don’t we all, Piper thought, her mother’s face flashing in her mind.

  “You are thinking a great deal,” Petrov said. He stood and dragged the chair closer to her. The scraping sound set Piper’s teeth on edge.

  “Yeah,” Piper admitted. There was no point in pretending otherwise. “Who is Konstantine?”

  His lips pulled into a sneer. “You must know more than this woman.”

  Petrov pointed to Dani.

  “Well, I didn’t know she was running around with some guy named Konstantine.”

  Petrov grabbed Piper by the hair and dragged her into the center of the room.

  King’s and Mel’s outcries were immediate and visceral.

  He dropped her in the center of the floor. This close, the man smelled like aftershave and something else. Something acrid. But she also caught the scent of her own vomit.

  When she felt his ice-cold fingers on hers, her heart rocketed. The throbbing killed her head. The pain obliterated all thought, as it seemed a hammer slammed repeatedly against the inside of her skull. Elves pushing out her mother always called it. Some desperate bastard in there was trying escape.

  The tape binding her wrists popped free. Piper knew it was too good to be true that this guy was just going to let her go.