Kings of Midnight (25 page)

She put the penlight away; the moon was bright enough to work by. She folded the metal
M
over on itself, slid it around the locking bar of the padlock, forced it down into the mechanism. She jiggled it until she felt the metal teeth engage the tumblers. The lock popped open. She took it off the latch, set it down on the roof.

The door creaked loudly when she tried it. She drew the Glock with her right hand, pulled at the door handle with her left. The hinges were stiff, and she had to jerk the door to get it open. Bits of rotten wood fell away from the jamb. She pointed the Glock in. A short flight of unlit stairs, then an open doorway and a corridor beyond.

She tried to swallow, couldn't, her mouth too dry. She started down the steps.

*   *   *

When Longo had all the money laid out on the floor, Taliferro looked at Perry and said, “Go on in. You can pick up your share when you're done.”

“Now that's what I call a good deal,” Perry said. He went out into the hall. Benny closed his eyes.

Longo was crouched over the money on the floor, counting it again, mouthing silently.

“One million, one hundred and fifty-nine thousand,” he said when he was done.

“What's that work out to per man?”

“Straight split?” Longo said.

“Why not?”

“Shouldn't you get more, Danny? I mean, you made this whole thing happen.”

“Nah,” Taliferro said. “I couldn't have done it without you guys. Five-way split is fair. What's that, about two-forty each?”

“Closer to two-thirty. Nowhere near what we were expecting, though.”

“Still,” Taliferro said. “Not bad for a few days' work, is it?”

“Not bad at all,” Longo said.

*   *   *

She moved down the hall. There were two doors open ahead, light spilling onto the floor. She could hear voices. Two men, maybe three, Taliferro one of them.

Through the second door, she caught a glimpse of tile. A bathroom. At the far end of the corridor, stairs led down. There could be others down there, waiting for her.

At the first door, she heard scuffling inside, a muted groan. She put gloved fingertips against it, eased it open, more of the room coming into view. A mattress on the floor, a scarred spool table, a floor lamp in one corner. On the table was a box of condoms, a leather slapjack, and a chromed automatic.

She opened the door wider. Perry had Marta pinned facedown on the mattress, arms bound behind her, knees on the floor. She was fully clothed, but gagged. She was fighting him, trying to throw him off her, but he was laughing. He pushed her face into the sheet, reached around with his other hand, unsnapped her jeans.

Crissa stepped into the room, tapped the Glock twice against the doorjamb. He froze for a moment, then turned. She aimed the gun at his chest.

“Hoped I'd see you again,” he said.

Marta pushed back against him, and he slid into a sitting position on the floor. She twisted away on the mattress, eyes wide with panic. He was still grinning.

“Stand up,” Crissa said.

“What if I don't?”

“Then I'll shoot you where you are.”

He looked past her, into the hall. “I don't think so.”

“You ready to find out?”

He got to his knees, then stood. “Maybe you don't realize the situation here.”

“Stay where you are.”

Marta rolled off the mattress, scrambled to her feet. Crissa looked at her, then back at Perry. He'd taken a step closer to the table.

“If you're going to reach for that weapon,” she said, “go ahead.”

“I'm not going to do anything. Except wait. Even if you kill me now, you'll never get out of here alive. You want to shoot me? Go on.”

He was right. A shot in here would bring the others, and she had no idea how many there were. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Your move,” he said.

*   *   *

Longo was dividing up the money. “I may need to break up some of these packs, to make it even.”

“Go ahead,” Taliferro said.

Longo looked at Benny, winked. “See, if you hadn't been such a greedy prick, you could have had a piece of this.”

“That's what I told him,” Taliferro said.

When Longo had the money in five piles, he stood, looked down at them. “So, that's what a million dollars looks like.”

“That's right,” Sal said, raised a revolver from his side, and shot him in the head.

TWENTY-FIVE

Crissa jumped at the shot. She twisted to look back into the hallway, and then Perry dove for his gun, took the table over with him. She turned back, and he was moving fast, kicking the table away, rolling clear. He came up on one knee, his gun in a two-handed grip, aimed at her chest. She shot him in the throat.

Blood sprayed the mattress. He dropped the gun, went over on his side, hands at his neck. Gasping, he tried to roll away, his face contorted. She kicked his gun into a far corner.

The threat would come from behind her now. To Marta, she said, “Stay here,” then went into the hallway, the Glock up. Sal Bruno was coming out of the bathroom, snub-nosed revolver raised. No surprise in his eyes, no expression on his face.

They fired at the same time, the sound of the shots filling the hall. His first bullet splintered the doorjamb by her face. She threw herself back, squeezing the Glock's trigger again and again, casings flying. His left shoulder jerked as if on a wire, and the next two shots hit his chest, pushed him back.

Her feet tangled, and she went down, still firing. Her last two shots went high, one into the wall, the other the ceiling. He took three drunken steps back, face still blank, then fell into the open stairwell.

She rolled onto her knees, then her feet, breathing hard, ears ringing from the shots. How many more of them were up here?

She swung into the bathroom doorway, gun up, took it all in. Benny bound on the black-and-white tile floor. Taliferro standing over him, holding an automatic to his head. Longo slumped facedown near the duffel bag, blood on the wall above him. Money on the floor. Moonlight coming through a window.

Benny met her eyes. She saw the plastic sheeting on the floor, the straight razor and toolbox on the sink, the saw and knives.

Taliferro gripped Benny's collar, twisted the muzzle of the gun into his temple. His knuckle was white on the trigger. She aimed the Glock at his chest, her hands steady.

“I knew you'd come back,” Taliferro said. “Knew you wouldn't leave your partner behind.”

“That's got nothing to do with it,” she said, and fired twice.

The first shot drove him back. The second took him high in the left side of the chest, turned him. He hit the sink, knocked over the toolbox, dropped his gun. He reached out at the last moment, caught the edge of the sink to keep from falling.

He wavered there, looking back at her, and she saw the realization in his eyes. She lowered the Glock. His hand opened slowly, and then there was nothing in his eyes at all. He fell back onto the floor.

She let out her breath.

Benny said, “There's another one downstairs.”

She bent, picked up Taliferro's gun, set it on the sink. He lay still, eyes open, unblinking.

She took the razor from the sink, opened it. “Turn around.”

Benny rolled to his feet, looked over his shoulder. She sliced through the flex-cuffs.

“Marta,” he said.

“In the other room. She's fine. Stay here, until I—,” but he was out of the door and down the hall, calling her name.

She went to the stairwell. Bruno lay halfway down the steps, facing the wall. She stepped over him, stooped to get his gun, took the rest of the stairs two at a time. A corridor at the bottom, a doorway on the right that led into the dim bar.

She put the revolver in her pocket, went in with the Glock up, felt the breeze. The front door was open wide. Footsteps outside, slow and clumsy.

She went to the door. A man on crutches was clambering down the sidewalk. She could hear his labored breathing.

He rounded the corner, making for the town car. She followed him. He had his back to her, was fumbling with the crutches, pulling a set of keys from a pants pocket, trying not to fall over.

“Stop,” she said, and raised the gun. He froze. A crutch clattered to the street.

Without turning, he said, “Don't shoot me.”

“Lose that other crutch. Then come around slowly. Lean back against the car.”

He raised his right arm, and the second crutch fell away. He turned and slumped back against the trunk of the Lincoln. He was powerfully built, but his face was pale and wet. She held the front site of the Glock on the
V
of his open shirt, where a gold cross nestled in chest hair. She could see the butt of a gun in his waistband.

“Not like this,” he said. “Please.”

She closed the distance, keeping the Glock on him. “Take that out. Slow.”

With his weight on the trunk, he pulled the automatic free with two fingers.

“Lose it,” she said.

He tossed the gun into the gutter. The chrome finish glinted in the moonlight. She kicked it into a storm drain.

“Any more of you around?” she said.

“What?”

“More of Taliferro's crew. More like you.”

His shook his head. He was trying to catch his breath. “Just me.”

“Put your hands on the car.”

He turned awkwardly, leaned on the trunk. She came up behind, patted him down with her free hand, took the keys from his fingers.

“Danny was going to kill us all,” he said. He drew in breath. “Him and Sal. They wanted the money for themselves. No way was he going to split it with us. I knew that.”

“You were right.” She backed away. “Turn around.”

He faced her. “The others?”

She shook her head.

He looked away, weary. Up at the moon, then back at her. “Go ahead.”

“Here's the problem,” she said. “If I leave you alive, sooner or later, you might decide to come after me, come after that money.”

He shook his head. “I won't.”

“That's right, you won't. Which leg were you shot in?”

“What?”

“When Roth shot you. Which leg?”

He exhaled, resigned. “Left.”

She lowered the Glock, shot him through the right calf. He cried out, went down hard into the gutter. The echo of the shot rolled up the empty street.

She bent, picked up the shell casing. He was moaning, holding on to his leg with both hands.

“Two ways this can go,” she said. “I call the paramedics when I'm done here, get you some help. Or I come back and finish it. It's up to you. Understand?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, water leaking out.

“Understand?”

He nodded, face tight with pain. “I understand.”

“Then stay where you are. And be quiet.”

She looked up and down the street. Dark buildings, shuttered doors, a no-man's-land. No light but the moon high above.

She went back inside.

TWENTY-SIX

Upstairs, Benny and Marta were in the hallway. He was holding her tight, her head against his shoulder, their faces pale in the overhead light.

“You two all right?” Crissa said.

Benny said, “I think so. Where's Dominic?”

“Outside. He won't bother us. You wait here.”

She went past them, into the bedroom. Perry lay where he'd fallen, the floor around him dark with blood. His eyes were open, but there was no movement, no breath.

She knelt, turned her face away, went through his pockets. She found a keychain, drew it out. Ford keys, for the Explorer.

The shell casing from the Glock lay alongside the mattress. She put it in her jacket pocket. Out in the hall, she found six more.

To Benny, she said, “Take a good look around, see if there's anything up here that belongs to either of you. Make sure you get your cell. We don't want to leave anything behind.”

She went into the bathroom, stepped over Longo's body, found the last two shell casings. They clinked in her pocket.

The Glock in her belt, she went back downstairs. There were about a dozen liquor bottles on the mirrored rack behind the bar top. A pool table in the middle of the room, cover stretched over it. A dark jukebox in the corner.

She went out, searched both vehicles, looking for anything that would tie them to Benny or her. Dominic had propped himself against the back tire of the Lincoln, was holding his leg, watching her.

In the Explorer, she found two guns in an overnight bag, an envelope full of cash in the glove box. She thumbed through it. Ten grand, maybe. Their traveling money. She left the guns, took the envelope.

No money in the Lincoln. She found another pistol in the trunk wheel well, along with a roadside emergency kit. She opened it. Inside was a can of Fix-A-Flat, two road flares, and a flashlight. She took the flares, shut the trunk.

“What are you going to do?” Dominic said.

She dropped the Lincoln keys into his lap.

“I changed my mind,” she said. “You're on your own. Sooner or later, you might be able to get up the strength to get in that car, figure out a way to drive out of here. If not, you can wait for the police. I don't care.”

“What do I tell them?”

“That's your business. But if we cross paths again, you'll wish you were back in there with the others. Got that?”

He nodded wearily. “I got it.”

She tossed the Explorer keys into the storm drain, left him there, went back inside.

Benny and Marta were down in the bar. He had his arm around her shoulders. They were huddled together as if for warmth.

“Where's your car?” he said.

“Aren't you forgetting something?”

“I can't go back up there,” he said. “She won't go, and I can't leave her alone.”

“Are you serious?”

“Please. We're cold.”