Abel Baker Charley (50 page)
“How am I to believe that, Duncan?” Sonnenberg's voice
was low and hoarse. Biaggi swallowed hard. Now he was sure he knew that sound.
was low and hoarse. Biaggi swallowed hard. Now he was sure he knew that sound.
“Dead, damn you.” Duncan Peck's face was wild. A near-
hysterical glee swept aside any thought of guns or fish or
thermite. “He died of arrogance. He died of a very hard bul
let from a very soft gun. Can I assume that has meaning to you, Marcus?”
hysterical glee swept aside any thought of guns or fish or
thermite. “He died of arrogance. He died of a very hard bul
let from a very soft gun. Can I assume that has meaning to you, Marcus?”
“Duncan . ..”
“If you hurry, Marcus, you might salvage something yet of your creation. If you rush out to Greeley quickly enough and can scrape enough brain tissue from the door of Boley's
lunchroom and then scurry back to the street corners of
Harlem, perhaps you can find another—”
lunchroom and then scurry back to the street corners of
Harlem, perhaps you can find another—”
“Goodbye, Duncan.”
Ed Burleson heard the click. He dropped his weapon and
flung Duncan Peck toward the doorway in a single motion. Biaggi's reflexes were just as fast. Slapping Sarsfield aside, he dove at the door and was airborne as the second click
sounded. The room exploded into light. It seared the hair on
the back of his head and came down like a lash across the
back of his legs as he landed heavily on the body of Duncan
Peck.
flung Duncan Peck toward the doorway in a single motion. Biaggi's reflexes were just as fast. Slapping Sarsfield aside, he dove at the door and was airborne as the second click
sounded. The room exploded into light. It seared the hair on
the back of his head and came down like a lash across the
back of his legs as he landed heavily on the body of Duncan
Peck.
“Jesus!” Harrigan jumped at the funneled blast of heat that slapped him back against the wall of the well. He gasped, choking on the smoke that followed it. Half-blinded, he
punched Baker's arm. “Let's go.” He pointed upward.
punched Baker's arm. “Let's go.” He pointed upward.
Baker reached for the wooden grid above his head and
heaved against the weight of the potted plants it supported.
heaved against the weight of the potted plants it supported.
“baker.”
“Shut up, Abel.”
Baker boosted Harrigan to the surface and scrambled up
behind him, rolling to the grass out of reach of the toxic
fumes. Harrigan, gun in hand and wiping tears from his eyes, crouched behind the well, his weapon trained first
upon the sliding doors of Sonnenberg's living room. He saw
men on their hands and knees below a rolling black curl. One crawled to the door and began smashing at it with a
chair. He'd be busy awhile. Harrigan punched Baker again
and pointed to the door cut on the stockade fence. Half-
crawling, Baker reached it, but stopped at the sound of feet
running on grass and the clacking of wood against wood.
behind him, rolling to the grass out of reach of the toxic
fumes. Harrigan, gun in hand and wiping tears from his eyes, crouched behind the well, his weapon trained first
upon the sliding doors of Sonnenberg's living room. He saw
men on their hands and knees below a rolling black curl. One crawled to the door and began smashing at it with a
chair. He'd be busy awhile. Harrigan punched Baker again
and pointed to the door cut on the stockade fence. Half-
crawling, Baker reached it, but stopped at the sound of feet
running on grass and the clacking of wood against wood.
“baker.”
“No time, Abel.”
The running man came into view, a golfer, his clubs
dancing wildly in the bag on his shoulder. Attracted by the
fire, Baker thought. He pushed past him and moved onto
the fairway. The golfer spun around, startled, then slipped
the golf bag from his shoulder and groped inside as if se
lecting a club. A wooden clubhead exploded at his touch,
and the golfer slammed backward into a towering rhodo
dendron. Its branches seized his arms and hung him there
half-standing. Baker stared at a spreading stain on the
golfer's chest until Harrigan seized him and threw him into
the sparse cover of a boxwood.
dancing wildly in the bag on his shoulder. Attracted by the
fire, Baker thought. He pushed past him and moved onto
the fairway. The golfer spun around, startled, then slipped
the golf bag from his shoulder and groped inside as if se
lecting a club. A wooden clubhead exploded at his touch,
and the golfer slammed backward into a towering rhodo
dendron. Its branches seized his arms and hung him there
half-standing. Baker stared at a spreading stain on the
golfer's chest until Harrigan seized him and threw him into
the sparse cover of a boxwood.
“What just happened?” Baker blinked.
”I was about to shoot him. Someone else did.”
“For what?” Baker flared. “For running to see what's
burning?”
burning?”
Harrigan grunted in disgust. “I'm beginning to appreciate
the beastie more by the minute. Where the hell is he, by the way?”
the beastie more by the minute. Where the hell is he, by the way?”
”I can handle this, Harrigan.”
“In a pig's ass.”
Another running golfer rounded the fence at the far end of Sonnenberg's property line, a short shotgun incongruous
a
g
ainst his Izods. His eyes met Harrigan's and seemed to
widen in recognition. Then they winced, and the golfer
pitched forward soundlessly onto the turf.
a
g
ainst his Izods. His eyes met Harrigan's and seemed to
widen in recognition. Then they winced, and the golfer
pitched forward soundlessly onto the turf.
“We got covering fire.” Harrigan scanned the treeline on the far side of the fairway but could see nothing. He pointed
to an elevated green near the clubhouse parking lot and
shoved Baker in that direction. “Low and fast.” He rose into
a runner's stance. “Let's get us one of those cars.”
to an elevated green near the clubhouse parking lot and
shoved Baker in that direction. “Low and fast.” He rose into
a runner's stance. “Let's get us one of those cars.”
“Roger?” In a grove of pin oaks partly hidden behind the thirteenth green, Melanie Laver placed a hand on the thigh
of the man sitting on the golf cart next to her. “Roger,” she
repeated, “you're all right, aren't you?”
of the man sitting on the golf cart next to her. “Roger,” she
repeated, “you're all right, aren't you?”
“Sure,” he answered. Hershey broke apart his rifle with the turn of a screw and slipped the two halves under the windbreaker on his lap. His eyes, Melanie saw, were fixed upon Sonnenberg's house, but they were dulled as if their focus was inward. Her hand stayed on his leg.
“It's right what you did, Roger,” she told him gently.
“You know they were ready to shoot Jared.”
“You know they were ready to shoot Jared.”
”I know.”
“But it bothers you.”
“Yes.”
“You killed a lot of men when you were Captain Berner.
Was that so different?”
Was that so different?”
”I can kill like he killed. But I can't forget like he could
forget.”
forget.”
Melanie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You're a
much nicer man than he was, Roger.”
much nicer man than he was, Roger.”
Roger Hershey nodded. “I'm a nice man who kills peo
ple. There's something so wrong about this, Melanie.”
ple. There's something so wrong about this, Melanie.”
She took his hand. “It'll be over soon.”
Duncan Peck, singed and shaken, clung unsteadily to Son
nenberg's front gate as Ed Burleson dabbed a handkerchief
against a cut on his forehead. He heard sirens, police sirens,
close by and the klaxon of a fire truck not far behind them.
nenberg's front gate as Ed Burleson dabbed a handkerchief
against a cut on his forehead. He heard sirens, police sirens,
close by and the klaxon of a fire truck not far behind them.
“Burn,” he muttered.
“Sir?”
“Let the house burn, Edward. Keep them away.”
Burleson frowned. ”I can probably keep the local police
out, sir, but I'm afraid even your credentials won't stop the firemen. They'll drive their hook-and-ladder right over this gate. My suggestion is that we don't interfere with the fire
men but otherwise quarantine the property.”
out, sir, but I'm afraid even your credentials won't stop the firemen. They'll drive their hook-and-ladder right over this gate. My suggestion is that we don't interfere with the fire
men but otherwise quarantine the property.”
Peck considered Burleson's suggestion and nodded. “The
quarantine will include the press, of course?”
quarantine will include the press, of course?”
“Yes sir.”
“What are our losses, Edward?”
“Two men shot, sir, presumably by whoever was hiding in the well. The cover's been thrown off, and there's a tun
nel leading from the basement room. And Sarsfield died in
the blast.”
nel leading from the basement room. And Sarsfield died in
the blast.”
“The bodies?”
“In our van, sir. Except Sarsfield. The thermite probably
won't leave anything of him at all.”
won't leave anything of him at all.”
”A pity.” Peck sighed. ”A brave young man.”
“Yes sir. May I ask what you intend about Biaggi, sir?”
“He did save my life.”
“Respectfully, sir, it's more likely that you got in his
way.”
way.”
“Hmmm.” Peck acknowledged the possibility. In fact,
he had no doubt of it. Nevertheless, a person of Bi
aggi's . . . flexibility . . . could occasionally be more use
ful than, say, an Edward Burleson, whose loyalty was
beyond doubt but who would be just as loyal to a more sen
ior government official should one choose to question him in the future. And one certainly would, particularly if the
gunman in the well turned out to be the unendurably tire
some Connor Harrigan. Who else? Certainly not Sonnen
berg, who'd have trouble climbing out of an automobile,
let alone a two-foot tunnel and a six-foot well. And proba
bly not Baker, at least where the shooting is concerned.
Baker strangles, pummels and impales but he doesn't
shoot. That's neither here nor there, however. The subject at hand is Michael Biaggi.
he had no doubt of it. Nevertheless, a person of Bi
aggi's . . . flexibility . . . could occasionally be more use
ful than, say, an Edward Burleson, whose loyalty was
beyond doubt but who would be just as loyal to a more sen
ior government official should one choose to question him in the future. And one certainly would, particularly if the
gunman in the well turned out to be the unendurably tire
some Connor Harrigan. Who else? Certainly not Sonnen
berg, who'd have trouble climbing out of an automobile,
let alone a two-foot tunnel and a six-foot well. And proba
bly not Baker, at least where the shooting is concerned.
Baker strangles, pummels and impales but he doesn't
shoot. That's neither here nor there, however. The subject at hand is Michael Biaggi.
”I choose to take the charitable view, Edward,” he an
swered finally. “Even if it's misplaced, our losses are such
that Biaggi's value even as cannon fodder should not be
minimized.”
swered finally. “Even if it's misplaced, our losses are such
that Biaggi's value even as cannon fodder should not be
minimized.”
“Yes sir.”
“The other business, Edward.” Peck dropped his voice.
“The subject of Peterson's most welcome note. Our people
in New York are certain they have their man?”
“The subject of Peterson's most welcome note. Our people
in New York are certain they have their man?”
“Yes sir. Our people report that he's uncooperative, but I've authorized questioning with prejudice.”
“You're a very good man, Edward.”
The smoke from the house stayed low. It rolled over the
stockade fence like curls of dirty cotton and settled just
above the close-cut grass. A growing ring of bystanders,
neighbors and golfers, gathered at the edge of the property. A shame, Melanie thought. So many lovely things inside. “Will he be coming soon?” she asked.
“Sonnenberg? Yes,” Roger answered. “Soon now.”
“Which house? It's that big gray one, isn't it?”
“The Dickerson house, yes. They're away. They're open
ing their Palm Beach house this week.”
stockade fence like curls of dirty cotton and settled just
above the close-cut grass. A growing ring of bystanders,
neighbors and golfers, gathered at the edge of the property. A shame, Melanie thought. So many lovely things inside. “Will he be coming soon?” she asked.
“Sonnenberg? Yes,” Roger answered. “Soon now.”
“Which house? It's that big gray one, isn't it?”
“The Dickerson house, yes. They're away. They're open
ing their Palm Beach house this week.”
Palm Beach. She smiled. Palm Beach would be nice. In
some ways nicer even than St. Croix, except that the people
wouldn't be as much fun or as happy. In Palm Beach she
could be a youngish socialite divorcee and learn to snort
lines from silver trays with one pinkie in the air. And douche
with Dom Perignon. Well, maybe not. Maybe Seattle would be better after all. A clean city. Clean and cold. At least too cold for a legitimate year-round tan. And running the book
store Sonnenberg bought for her would be exciting in a gen
tle kind of way. She'd miss writing her column for the St.
Croix newspaper, but she could always write a bookstore
newsletter. Every month. And someday a nice, quiet, good-looking man would come in to find a book and he'd like her,
and he'd start finding excuses to drop in more often. That
was another nice thing about bookstores. Lots of reasons to
drop in and stay awhile. Her name was going to be Molly.
Molly Barrett. Hey! How about Wimpole Street for the name of the bookstore? Molly, the Barrett of Wimpole
Street. What a gas!
“Roger?”
some ways nicer even than St. Croix, except that the people
wouldn't be as much fun or as happy. In Palm Beach she
could be a youngish socialite divorcee and learn to snort
lines from silver trays with one pinkie in the air. And douche
with Dom Perignon. Well, maybe not. Maybe Seattle would be better after all. A clean city. Clean and cold. At least too cold for a legitimate year-round tan. And running the book
store Sonnenberg bought for her would be exciting in a gen
tle kind of way. She'd miss writing her column for the St.
Croix newspaper, but she could always write a bookstore
newsletter. Every month. And someday a nice, quiet, good-looking man would come in to find a book and he'd like her,
and he'd start finding excuses to drop in more often. That
was another nice thing about bookstores. Lots of reasons to
drop in and stay awhile. Her name was going to be Molly.
Molly Barrett. Hey! How about Wimpole Street for the name of the bookstore? Molly, the Barrett of Wimpole
Street. What a gas!
“Roger?”
”Umm?”
“Are the Dickersons real? I mean, have they always been
the Dickersons?”
the Dickersons?”
“They're real.” Hershey grinned. “Sonnenberg says only
a vengeful God could make an Allison Dickerson. The house
comes in handy, though. Doc went in to set up an intercom
security system for them, and their kitchen ended up look
ing like Mission Control.”
a vengeful God could make an Allison Dickerson. The house
comes in handy, though. Doc went in to set up an intercom
security system for them, and their kitchen ended up look
ing like Mission Control.”
“It's good to see you smile, Roger.”
“Yeah.” The smile faded.
“Nuts! I made you self-conscious, didn't I?”
Hershey touched her hand reassuringly, but for several
minutes he didn't speak. Then, “Melanie?”
minutes he didn't speak. Then, “Melanie?”
“Yes, Roger?”
“Do you ever think you're crazy?”
“No.” She turned to look into his face. “I'm not crazy,
Roger. Neither are you.”
Roger. Neither are you.”
“You never feel as if you're not real? Like you asked
about the Dickersons?”
about the Dickersons?”
“Oh, Roger.” Melanie slipped an arm around his shoul
der. “All that happened is we took different names and
changed a few habits. And we learned to use our minds a lit
tle differently than those people.” She gestured toward the
men and women who stood watching the fire's progress.
“Look at them, Roger. What do you see?”
der. “All that happened is we took different names and
changed a few habits. And we learned to use our minds a lit
tle differently than those people.” She gestured toward the
men and women who stood watching the fire's progress.
“Look at them, Roger. What do you see?”
“Just people.”
“Ordinary people, Roger. Bored people. Quiet despera
tion people. Most of them are miserable and half of them
would leap at a chance to be like us. To be almost anything
they would want to be. To start whole new lives without ever
looking back.”
tion people. Most of them are miserable and half of them
would leap at a chance to be like us. To be almost anything
they would want to be. To start whole new lives without ever
looking back.”
“Melanie?” Roger Hershey gave her a squeeze.
“Yes?”
“You know that's a bunch of bullshit, don't you?”
“Yes.”
17
It was almost five. Manhattan's homebound traffic crawled
northward in fits and starts while the southbound lanes were
nearly empty. Connor Harrigan drove slowly nonetheless,
unwilling to risk being stopped for a speeding violation in a
car lately stolen from the parking lot of the Westchester Country Club. Two hot-wired ignition cables swung freely
below the dashboard. He eased the accelerator further at the
warning sign for the Ninety-sixth Street exit and allowed the car to drift into the right lane of the FDR Drive. Baker, peer
ing forward from the passenger seat, had pointed in that di
rection.
northward in fits and starts while the southbound lanes were
nearly empty. Connor Harrigan drove slowly nonetheless,
unwilling to risk being stopped for a speeding violation in a
car lately stolen from the parking lot of the Westchester Country Club. Two hot-wired ignition cables swung freely
below the dashboard. He eased the accelerator further at the
warning sign for the Ninety-sixth Street exit and allowed the car to drift into the right lane of the FDR Drive. Baker, peer
ing forward from the passenger seat, had pointed in that di
rection.
“You got any particular destination in mind?” Harrigan
asked.
asked.
“Just the park.” Baker answered with a squint of annoy
ance, as if his concentration had been interrupted. “Go down York Avenue and then cut crosstown to the Seventy-second
Street entrance.”
ance, as if his concentration had been interrupted. “Go down York Avenue and then cut crosstown to the Seventy-second
Street entrance.”
“While you're talking to your pals, ask them whether
Peck got his ass blown off in that fire back there.”
Peck got his ass blown off in that fire back there.”
Baker shrugged, indicating that he didn't know and they
wouldn't either. Nor did he much care. He had Tina on his
mind. Tina and Tanner Burke.
wouldn't either. Nor did he much care. He had Tina on his
mind. Tina and Tanner Burke.
“What about the message Peck got that made Sonnenberg
decide playtime was over?”
decide playtime was over?”
“Ben Coffey?” The sadness of that news had barely
struck him in the rush to escape the smoke and the guns. It
was hard to imagine that Howard—Ben—was dead. So
much talent. So much torment. So much waste. So little in common between them and yet so much. He was the first,
perhaps the only one until Tanner,
to whom Baker could
talk. The only one who understood the loneliness that came with the talent. The sense of being apart.
struck him in the rush to escape the smoke and the guns. It
was hard to imagine that Howard—Ben—was dead. So
much talent. So much torment. So much waste. So little in common between them and yet so much. He was the first,
perhaps the only one until Tanner,
to whom Baker could
talk. The only one who understood the loneliness that came with the talent. The sense of being apart.
“No,” Harrigan answered, ”I mean the second part. Peck
read that and acted like he had something big going for
him.”
read that and acted like he had something big going for
him.”
“What about it, Charley?”
”i don't know.”
”I.. . Charley doesn't know,” he told Harrigan. “All that
means is that it wasn't about me or Sonnenberg. Charley
would have heard.”
means is that it wasn't about me or Sonnenberg. Charley
would have heard.”
“You're sure?” Harrigan raised an eyebrow. “How could
it not be about Sonnenberg?”
it not be about Sonnenberg?”
Baker shrugged again and returned his concentration to
Tina. They were on York Avenue headed south but barely
moving. A sewer maintenance crew at Ninetieth Street
caused a bottleneck that brought traffic almost to a halt.
Tina. They were on York Avenue headed south but barely
moving. A sewer maintenance crew at Ninetieth Street
caused a bottleneck that brought traffic almost to a halt.
“Baker, stop with the shrugs,” Harrigan snapped. “I'm
trying to anticipate the guy if he's still on his feet.”
trying to anticipate the guy if he's still on his feet.”
”I don't know, Harrigan,” Baker answered patiently.
“Then help me figure, for Christ's sake. What did you do,
give up thinking when you got Charley and the beastie?”
give up thinking when you got Charley and the beastie?”
”I happen to have something more important on my
mind, Harrigan.”
mind, Harrigan.”
Connor Harrigan ignored the answer. “It's not you, it's
not Sonnenberg, and it's not Coffey because they covered
him in part one. Could Peck's people have nailed whoever helped you down at the Plaza?”
not Sonnenberg, and it's not Coffey because they covered
him in part one. Could Peck's people have nailed whoever helped you down at the Plaza?”
“No.” That was Roger and Melanie. Baker wasn't sure
whether Harrigan knew their current names or what good the knowledge might do him. But there seemed no point in
volunteering it. “It's the same two who were covering us on
the golf course. They're probably safe. They won't go back
to the lives they had before.”
whether Harrigan knew their current names or what good the knowledge might do him. But there seemed no point in
volunteering it. “It's the same two who were covering us on
the golf course. They're probably safe. They won't go back
to the lives they had before.”
“Okay, scratch five. Who does that leave?” The car
moved forward into the intersection. A line of buses blocked
most of the next street.
moved forward into the intersection. A line of buses blocked
most of the next street.
“Isn't there a faster way to get to the park? Turn right
here, Harrigan. Try Second Avenue.”
here, Harrigan. Try Second Avenue.”
“Where in the park, by the way?”
“Sonnenberg only said the park.”
Harrigan heaved a sigh and swung onto Ninetieth Street,
headed west. “That park is five miles long, Baker, and
maybe two miles across. What do you say we get a little
more specific.”
headed west. “That park is five miles long, Baker, and
maybe two miles across. What do you say we get a little
more specific.”
”I told you. Seventy-second Street.” Baker said this as if
he had a reason. There was none. Only that the Seventy-second Street entrance had led him once before to Tanner
Burke.
he had a reason. There was none. Only that the Seventy-second Street entrance had led him once before to Tanner
Burke.
“tanner burke”
“What about Tanner, Charley?”
“go slow, baker”
“Charley says slow down.” Baker tapped Harrigan's arm.
“What for? The wimp sniffs out radar too?”
“He's not a wimp, Harrigan. He's my friend. Slow down. I think he hears something.”
Harrigan rolled his eyes but slowed the car to a jogger's
pace.
pace.
“Charley, is it Tanner?”
”i think so. keep thinking tanner, baker, i think she hears when you think tanner.”
“What about Tina?”
Baker's fingers dug into the padded
dashboard.
Baker's fingers dug into the padded
dashboard.
”i don't know, there, baker, i heard tanner, she's calling
you, baker.”
Harrigan turned left onto Second Avenue. He watched Baker, fascinated. Baker's eyes were open but they
seemed sightless. The car reached Eighty-sixth Street.
you, baker.”
Harrigan turned left onto Second Avenue. He watched Baker, fascinated. Baker's eyes were open but they
seemed sightless. The car reached Eighty-sixth Street.
“no, baker, she's behind us now. she was on that street
with trees.”
with trees.”
“Harrigan.” Baker blinked. “Take your next right and go
back. Tanner's here someplace.”
back. Tanner's here someplace.”
“You're shitting me.”
“Just go right.”
Harrigan signaled onto Eighty-third Street toward Third
Avenue. His eyes closed, Baker directed two more right
turns and then, with a waving motion of his hand,
told
Har
rigan to slow and then stop. He opened his eyes to see a red
brownstone with a closed antique shop on the first floor.
Baker's face brightened.
“She's here,” he said, reaching for the door latch. Harrigan grabbed his shoulder.
Avenue. His eyes closed, Baker directed two more right
turns and then, with a waving motion of his hand,
told
Har
rigan to slow and then stop. He opened his eyes to see a red
brownstone with a closed antique shop on the first floor.
Baker's face brightened.
“She's here,” he said, reaching for the door latch. Harrigan grabbed his shoulder.
“Wait a second.” Harrigan's face was disbelieving. “You
mean she's here? Right here in this red dump?”
mean she's here? Right here in this red dump?”
Baker nodded and shook off his hand. “Let's go,” he said.
“Hold it,” Harrigan insisted. ”I don't want to sound neg
ative or anything, but don't you think this is a little bit in
credible? I mean, we drive into a city this size looking for a dame we're not even sure is here and we go almost straight
to her address?”
ative or anything, but don't you think this is a little bit in
credible? I mean, we drive into a city this size looking for a dame we're not even sure is here and we go almost straight
to her address?”
”
What about that, Charley?”
What about that, Charley?”
“you mean what i think?”
“Please, Charley”
”i think sonnenberg knows where she is. sonnenberg
knows we can hear if we get close enough, sonnenberg
knows when he says go to the park there's only this way”
knows we can hear if we get close enough, sonnenberg
knows when he says go to the park there's only this way”
“Thank you, Charley.”
Baker understood.
Baker understood.
“thank you, baker, it was nice what you said about how i'm your friend.”
“You're welcome, Charley.”
Baker turned to Harrigan.
“It's not so incredible. I'll explain later.
Charley, is she
alone?”
Baker turned to Harrigan.
“It's not so incredible. I'll explain later.
Charley, is she
alone?”
“she doesn't know, she thinks so. there's a thing on her
eyes so she can't see, but she knows you're here, she's
yelling 'jared'
but not out loud in case someone's there.”
eyes so she can't see, but she knows you're here, she's
yelling 'jared'
but not out loud in case someone's there.”
“Let's go.” Baker stepped to the street.
Harrigan, his gun drawn, followed Baker up the narrow
stairs leading to the only apartment on the second floor.
“Shit!” he muttered, noting the heavy metal-clad door with three different locks cut into it. “Half this goddamned town
is like a fort these days. That bottom lock is for a cane bolt on the other side. Your friend Charley got us this far, see if
he can dig up a set of keys.”
stairs leading to the only apartment on the second floor.
“Shit!” he muttered, noting the heavy metal-clad door with three different locks cut into it. “Half this goddamned town
is like a fort these days. That bottom lock is for a cane bolt on the other side. Your friend Charley got us this far, see if
he can dig up a set of keys.”
“Abel?”
”i can open it, baker.”
“If there's no one inside to hurt us, Abel. I want you back before Tanner sees you.”
“she saw charley. now you like charley.”
“It's not the same, Abel. Just open the door. No more.”
Baker looked at Harrigan and then at his revolver. “Don't get nervous with that ,” he told him. “Abel's going to let us in.” Harrigan's lips parted and he shook his head. He under
stood Baker's words, but their meaning was slower to pene
trate.
stood Baker's words, but their meaning was slower to pene
trate.
“Abel. Come out, Abel.”
Harrigan fought his impulse to move out of Abel's reach.
At last he was seeing it. All of it. And still his mind could
not believe it. He watched as a man he's come to know, even
like, was changing before his eyes into something else in
steps that were impossible to describe because they were so
very small. Nothing changed, yet everything changed. The
effect was staggering. Now there was a different man, a man
Harrigan neither knew nor liked, a man who made Connor
Harrigan wish he could turn and run. The man smiled at him
and nodded once. A greeting. Harrigan shivered.
At last he was seeing it. All of it. And still his mind could
not believe it. He watched as a man he's come to know, even
like, was changing before his eyes into something else in
steps that were impossible to describe because they were so
very small. Nothing changed, yet everything changed. The
effect was staggering. Now there was a different man, a man
Harrigan neither knew nor liked, a man who made Connor
Harrigan wish he could turn and run. The man smiled at him
and nodded once. A greeting. Harrigan shivered.
Abel turned from Harrigan and placed both hands over
the tarnished doorknob. He lifted slowly. Harrigan heard a
grinding sound above the door and looked up. The lintel was
buckling. Splintering. Thick chips of layered paint came
away and fell over Abel's shoulders. A growing strip of light
appeared at the base of the heavy door. Abel released the knob, now half-crushed and bent on its spindle toward the ceiling. Stepping away, he smiled again at Harrigan, then
raised one foot and smashed it against the door. It reeled in
ward under the blow, tearing loose from its hinges.
the tarnished doorknob. He lifted slowly. Harrigan heard a
grinding sound above the door and looked up. The lintel was
buckling. Splintering. Thick chips of layered paint came
away and fell over Abel's shoulders. A growing strip of light
appeared at the base of the heavy door. Abel released the knob, now half-crushed and bent on its spindle toward the ceiling. Stepping away, he smiled again at Harrigan, then
raised one foot and smashed it against the door. It reeled in
ward under the blow, tearing loose from its hinges.
Abel bowed toward Harrigan, still smiling terribly, and with a sweep of his arm invited Harrigan to enter. Harrigan returned a show of teeth and stepped past him. As he looked
away, he felt a small sting on the fingers of his right hand.
Harrigan glanced down. The fingers of his gun hand met.
The hand was empty. Harrigan crouched and spun, his arms raised in a defense he knew was futile against the hands that
had snatched away his weapon so quickly that he'd sensed
no motion. But there was no attack. There was only Abel
smiling at him, the revolver held out on the flat palm
of one
hand. Harrigan swallowed and took back the weapon Abel
offered, then stepped through the door, struggling to ignore
the chill on the back of his neck.
away, he felt a small sting on the fingers of his right hand.
Harrigan glanced down. The fingers of his gun hand met.
The hand was empty. Harrigan crouched and spun, his arms raised in a defense he knew was futile against the hands that
had snatched away his weapon so quickly that he'd sensed
no motion. But there was no attack. There was only Abel
smiling at him, the revolver held out on the flat palm
of one
hand. Harrigan swallowed and took back the weapon Abel
offered, then stepped through the door, struggling to ignore
the chill on the back of his neck.
A room on the left, the kitchen, was empty. A short hall
way, dark with faded beige paint, led to an even darker liv
ing room and a series of doors at the other end. The first one Harrigan reached was a walk-in closet. Harrigan noted a cu
rious mixture of clothing inside but turned away. The second
door was a bathroom. The light from a small opaque win
dow showed fixtures stained by years of dripping faucets
and pink tiles cracked by the building's settling. He found
Tanner Burke behind the middle door.
way, dark with faded beige paint, led to an even darker liv
ing room and a series of doors at the other end. The first one Harrigan reached was a walk-in closet. Harrigan noted a cu
rious mixture of clothing inside but turned away. The second
door was a bathroom. The light from a small opaque win
dow showed fixtures stained by years of dripping faucets
and pink tiles cracked by the building's settling. He found
Tanner Burke behind the middle door.
She was taped to a chair. More packing tape, with a folded washcloth underneath, covered her eyes. Another
strip covered her mouth. She cocked her head fearfully at the
squeak of the floorboards under Harrigan.
strip covered her mouth. She cocked her head fearfully at the
squeak of the floorboards under Harrigan.
“It's Connor, miss. I'm with Jared.” He reached first for
the blindfold.
the blindfold.
“get
back, abel. quickly”
back, abel. quickly”
“Mmmph!” Tanner's head bobbed up and down. Her
chest heaved in relief. Harrigan pried loose a corner of the
blindfold, enough to grip. 'This'll sting, lass. Hold on.”
chest heaved in relief. Harrigan pried loose a corner of the
blindfold, enough to grip. 'This'll sting, lass. Hold on.”
“abel!”
Harrigan tore at the tape. Tanner's eyes winced at the
pain and the light but flashed gratefully at Harrigan. Now
they found Jared Baker and struggled to focus on his face.
pain and the light but flashed gratefully at Harrigan. Now
they found Jared Baker and struggled to focus on his face.
Abel moved forward. With one hand he reached for the
remaining tape that gagged her and stripped it brutally from
her mouth. He grinned at her. He grinned until Baker was far
enough back to cover his face with his hands.
remaining tape that gagged her and stripped it brutally from
her mouth. He grinned at her. He grinned until Baker was far
enough back to cover his face with his hands.
Tina Baker wondered dimly where they'd taken her this
time. She knew she should be concerned, and that Tanner... Liz
...
got all upset when she was being carried out, but it
was just too hard to keep her mind on anything. It was fairly
far, across a bridge and back partly toward Connecticut.
Westchester someplace. A big stone house at the end of a
long driveway. A big couch in a room that was too cold and
too dark. Stanley knew she was cold. He'd put his jacket
over her, and now he was trying to start a fire in one of those
big carved fireplaces like they had in castles.
time. She knew she should be concerned, and that Tanner... Liz
...
got all upset when she was being carried out, but it
was just too hard to keep her mind on anything. It was fairly
far, across a bridge and back partly toward Connecticut.
Westchester someplace. A big stone house at the end of a
long driveway. A big couch in a room that was too cold and
too dark. Stanley knew she was cold. He'd put his jacket
over her, and now he was trying to start a fire in one of those
big carved fireplaces like they had in castles.
Other books
Una virgen de más by Lindsey Davis
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet by Veryan, Patricia
Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen by Henrik Ibsen
Bride of a Bygone War by Fleming, Preston
Hook & Jill (The Hook & Jill Saga) by Jones, Andrea
Don't Let My Baby Do Rodeo by Boris Fishman
Moloka'i by Alan Brennert
Ain't No Wifey by J., Jahquel
Poison by Sarah Pinborough
Dead Vampires Don't Date by Meredith Allen Conner
