Goodbye Sister Disco (29 page)

“I said, how should I know.”

A definite insolence. Maggie wondered if she should ask them what they had been talking about. They probably wouldn't answer her truthfully. Though all three of them knew it was about the money.

“What's up?” Maggie said, immediately regretting that she'd said it.

Ray said, “Where did Terrill go?” His voice was a little harder than Maggie was used to. Not asking, but questioning, and there was a difference between the two.

Maggie said, “He and Mickey are taking care of the girl.”

“Taking care of her?” Ray said, “Or returning her?”

Maggie gave him a direct look. “What do you care?”

“I don't care if they kill her or not,” Ray said. “But you might have checked with us before deciding.”

Maggie said, “You knew it would come to that.” She was getting impatient now. Ray drawing distinctions when he had already murdered a deputy in Oregon. Maggie shrugged. “Is there a problem?”

Jan started to speak, then stopped. She tried again, saying, “We were just wondering what—what happens next.”

Ray said, “We were wondering where the money is.”

Maggie thought, I knew it. It was just a matter of time. So predictable, all of it. The chickenshits couldn't go right to it, but had to act like they were miffed about the Penmark girl. Like they cared whether she lived. It was the money they were worried about.

“Don't worry about it,” Maggie said. She went to the counter to get a coffee cup, showing them that she wasn't that concerned. But she could feel their eyes on her back.

Ray said, “Are you going to meet up with them?”

Maggie turned around. “Meet up with who?”

“With Terrill and Mickey? Is that what you've got in mind?”

“Man,” Maggie said, “what is this?”

“It just seems funny,” Ray said. “We wake up this morning and the girl's gone and Terrill's gone and Mickey's gone. And we don't know where the money is. That's all I'm saying.”

Jan sensed the hostility between Ray and Maggie. She was on Ray's side, but she felt something coming, so she tried to sound like a mediating voice of reason when she spoke. She said, “We just want to know what's going on, that's all.”

“Shut up,” Maggie said, keeping her eyes on Ray. To Ray she said, “If you think we're trying to double-deal you, why don't you just say it?”

“Did I say that? When did I say that?”

Maggie said, “I think you are saying it.”

Ray said, “Where is the money now?”

“What?”

“Where is the money, Maggie. Did Terrill and Mickey drive off with it? Where is it? Where is the fucking money?”

“What is this? Huh? No. They did not drive off with it. Terrill—they'll be back in a minute. And then we can all talk about what happens next. Like we always do.”

Ray Muller was giving her a long look now, appraising her in a way that she had never quite seen before. Maggie thought about the man she had sent to kill deputies in Oregon. It was the same guy, she thought. The same Doberman she had sicced on a dumb-shit cop, but now the Doberman was looking at her and the usual commands didn't seem to be working.

Ray said, “Like we always do.” Mimicking her, but calling her out too. He said, “Is that really how it works?”

Maggie said, “Man, what is with you?”

Ray went on as if he hadn't heard her. “Or isn't it you and Terrill just telling us what we're going to do? Isn't that how it usually works?”

Shit, Maggie thought. Ray growling now, tensing for a spring. She saw it now, saw it coming, and the man was leaving her little choice. Part of her hoped that Terrill would come back and help her reason with this asshole. But another part of her hoped that Terrill wouldn't come back soon because if he did, he would not have Mickey with him and there would be more questions then. An insurrection was what it was. A fucking insurrection.

Maggie gave out a sigh. “Do you want to see the money?” she said. “It's still here. I can show it to you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ray said, “why don't you do that.”

Christ, Maggie thought. He was
ordering
her now. The dumb shit.

“It's upstairs,” Maggie said.

She began walking out of the kitchen. Then she was in the living room walking toward the staircase. She could feel Ray walking behind her. Not right behind her, but following her into the living room, making sure she wasn't going to try to run out the front door. He stopped before she went up the stairs, though. There was no fire escape, so if Maggie wanted to leave, she would have to come back down the stairs. And Maggie could feel it then. The two of them holding her accountable. My, my, she thought. My, my.

She took the money out from under her bed. It was still in the black bag Mickey had given to Terrill. Maggie set it on the bed. Then she opened the top drawer of the chest and took out a Beretta 9-millimeter semiautomatic. She racked the slide and put one in the chamber. She looked at the bedroom door. It was still closed. She stuck the gun in the front of her pants and then lifted the black bag up in front of her. It was big and heavy and it hid the butt of the gun above her belt.

She was a cool cat, she thought. A very cool cat. Cool and calm as she thought it out. She would be holding the bag with two hands when she went down the stairs. They would be waiting there and when they saw the bag, that's where they would focus their attention. Ray would say something like “ah” or “now that's better” or something else stupid and Maggie would toss it down the stairs, let it land at their feet. Ray would keep his eyes on it and that would be when she shot him. Pull the Berretta out of her pants and plug him in the chest. Maybe see his eyes go wide in that moment when he realizes what's going to happen and that it's too late to stop it … the moment between life and death when he realizes he's been played.

Shoot him and then shoot Jan for siding with him. She would probably cry out some sort of plea before getting hers.
Maggie, no!
Sorry, Jan. You play, you pay, bitch.

Maggie stepped out into the hallway.

“Where are you going?”

Maggie turned and looked down the hall. It was Lee. Christ.

“I'm going downstairs,” Maggie said. Using the tone she generally used with Lee. “Something wrong?”

Lee stood there in the hallway, her expression blank. She took in the bag.

Lee said, “You're going to run away with him, aren't you?”

“Who?” And after Maggie asked that, she saw the revolver Lee was holding down at her side. Using one hand, Maggie began to reach for her Beretta.

“Lee…?”

Lee raised her arm and fired three shots. Two of them took Maggie in the chest and knocked her down. Lee walked to her and fired two more shots into her torso, twitching it, though Maggie's face registered the same initial shock. Lee pulled the trigger three more times on empty chambers.
Click, click, click.

Lee stood over the body. Early dawn now, the Kiowa moon gone.

She looked over to see Ray standing nearby. He had come up the stairs.

Ray Muller looked at the dead body and then over at Lee, still holding the pistol.

“Jesus Christ,” Ray said.

Lee vaguely pointed the spent pistol at Ray. Ray put his hands up. “Lee,” he said.

“She was going to take him away from me.” Lee looked at the gun and tossed it on the floor.

Ray picked it up. Then he took the Beretta that was near Maggie's hand. He pointed it at Lee. Debated it for a moment, then said, “It's okay, Lee. No one's mad at you. Go back to your room. Okay?”

Lee looked at him, her eyes something feral. “Don't tell me what to do,” she said.

She stayed there for a couple of moments, then walked back down the hall to the bathroom. Ray heard the door slam shut.

“Jesus Christ,” he said again.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Protocol was such that they had to alert the U.S. Marshals, the Illinois State Police, and Alton PD. The Springfield PD would have liked to have a piece too, but they were far enough away that they could be left out of it. It was necessary to alert these people so that they wouldn't show up because of reports of shots being fired and local deputies wouldn't mistakenly shoot at federal agents. Still, it was the FBI's show and every law enforcement officer there understood that. The secondary law enforcement was positioned in the rear. Agent Kubiak had left express instructions that he didn't want police cars in the immediate vicinity. If they saw police cars, they might shoot the girl right away.

The Hostage Rescue Team was stuffed into a white Ford van that said
HUDSON ELECTRICAL AND MECHANICAL
on the sides. The slogan on the back read,
QUALITY DOESN'T COST, IT PAYS
! Eight federal agents inside wearing Kevlar jackets and carrying automatic rifles. They had VHF handsets and when they got to the house they would surround it and then commence an explosive entry and move in with stun grenades and tear gas. The hope was that it would go so quickly that there wouldn't be time for the suspects to reach Cordelia Penmark. They didn't want the suspects inside while the HRT were outside and the negotiator tried to talk them out of killing someone they had probably already killed.

About a mile down the road was a line of three cars, two Ford Crown Victorias and a 1987 Jaguar XJ6. Klosterman and Hastings sat in the Jaguar.

They watched as Curtis Gabler walked down to them and opened the back door to the Jag. The door shut and Gabler said, “Cold out this morning.”

“Yeah,” Klosterman said.

There were two shotguns up front. One of them in the stand against the dashboard, vertically positioned. The other one lay across Klosterman's lap, the muzzle pointing to the door.

Gabler said, “Okay. We just got word from the team commander. They've got the house surrounded. But we're not sure Muller is at home.”

Hastings said, “Why's that?”

Gabler said, “Department of Motor Vehicles says that Ray Muller's got a 1991 Volvo 240. But we don't see it there. So we don't know.”

Hastings looked in the rearview mirror. He caught Gabler's eye. “You thinking we should wait till he comes back?”

“I don't know. What do you think?”

“If we think the girl's in there…”

“Yeah,” Gabler said, “that's what I thought.” He drew a cold breath. “Okay.” He got out of the car and walked back to the first Crown Vic.

*   *   *

Jan said, “Maybe we should wait until Terrill and Mickey come back.”

Ray said, “I don't know who's crazier, you or Lee. Terrill finds out Maggie's dead, he's likely to kill us for it.”

“But we didn't—”

“I don't know if he'll believe that. I don't know if he'll believe what actually happened.” Ray sighed. “I'm not sure I do.”

“She's been fucking tweaking for days. If anyone should've seen it, he should have.”

“Well, he didn't. Look, I'm leaving and I'm taking this money with me. You can come with me or you can stay here.”

“But the movement—”

“
There is no movement.
There is no cause.” Ray held the bag. “
This
is what it's about. Terrill and Maggie knew it all along. Don't you see?”

Jan looked around the house. She looked to the stairs, Maggie's corpse at the top. Lee still up there somewhere …

Jan said, “Let me get my coat.”

*   *   *

They walked out the front door, Ray holding the keys to the Toyota. They got about twenty yards from it when they heard a voice calling out to them.

“Hold it!”

And Ray knew it was a cop.

He turned to his left and saw an FBI agent in a blue military uniform. He was holding an M-16.

Ray still had the Beretta in his jacket pocket. He made his face passive and normal and said, “What's going on?”

The agent had his rifle raised, the barrel pointing at him.

Ray kept it up, saying, “What is this?”

The agent's voice was a shout.
“Drop that bag and put your hands on your head. Do it now. You too, lady.”

Ray saw just the one agent. He had the money and the car was near and he figured his odds were good. He took the Beretta out of his pocket and had it halfway raised when the first shot took him in the back. And Jan was screaming when the agent in front of them pulled the trigger and shot Ray in the forehead. A third agent, positioned in front of the house, also took a shot, which caught Ray in the right shoulder. Ray dropped to the ground, dead before he hit.

*   *   *

Within five minutes, the unmarked Crown Vics were racing down the dirt road, trailed by Hastings's Jag. They scrunched to a halt in front of the farmhouse and were out with guns drawn, fearful and anxious even though all the shooting was done. The team commander of the Hostage Rescue Team, a tall man who had been a Marine, kept saying, “Chill, chill,” before some overexcited cop shot another. Two suspects were handcuffed, both female. One of them was crying hysterically, saying they had taken the kidnapped girl someplace she didn't know. The second suspect seemed to be in an almost catatonic state.

Gabler was standing in front of the team commander, saying, “The girl, where is the girl?” Still saying it when Hasting came up nearby.

The team commander said, “She's not here.”

“She's dead?”

“I don't know. She's not here.”

Hastings said, “What about Mickey Seften? Is he here?”

“No,” the team commander said. “Neither is the leader, Terrill Colely. There's a dead body in the house, but we can't find Colely or Seften or the girl.”

Gabler turned to Hastings. “They've taken her out to kill her. Or bury her.”

Hastings said, “A ninety-one Volvo, is that what you said?”