Whistler's Angel (63 page)

A man’s voice called out from inside the house. He said, “Carla? Let’s get out of here.
Now!!”

Aubrey saw that this woman had only one shoe. In one hand she was holding an oddly shaped firearm. She held a long thin knife in the other. She
said, “Felix…last chance. Where’d they take her?”

He must have asked who she was talking about. It did seem that he spoke the word, “Who?”

This one, the small one, peered at him very closely. She asked, “Are you still with us, Felix?”

He heard himself answer, “Yes, I think so. I’m here.”

He then paused to listen to the sound of his voice. Aubrey knew that he had just spoken those words and yet they’d almost seemed to come from some other place.

The woman said, “Felix, snap out of it.”

“Yes.”

“Where is she? Five seconds. I’m counting.”

He said, “She’s with Kaplan. She came here with Kaplan. She hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s there.” He raised a hand and pointed. He was gesturing toward that bedroom. It was over there someplace. Or it was a while ago. “She’s there,” he repeated. “No one took her.”

She held up her knife. She touched it lightly to his face. She said, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He didn’t.

She said, “See this knife? Take a look at this knife. Will it help if I show you where you’ve felt it before? Is it starting to come back to you, Felix?”

He felt himself beginning to weep. Again, he wasn’t sure why. It was as if some sad and distant memory had returned, but he couldn’t think what it might be.

“Look at me, Felix. Don’t say nobody took her. Two seconds, Felix. Last chance.”

He heard himself say, “Kaplan. She was only with Kaplan. Ask Kaplan. He was with her. Where is Kaplan?”

She was peering again. She said, “Shit. You’re not acting.” And that man’s voice was calling again.

She said, “Well, I have to go. I can’t miss my ride. I guess it’s time to say goodbye to you, Felix.”

He didn’t respond. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. All his thoughts, all the sounds, drifted farther away. He was vaguely aware that she had touched him with her knife. He felt nothing. No pain. He wanted only to sleep.

Very soon, this dream faded. Then nothing.

THIRTY SIX

Whistler had driven the Taurus half a block past the house. He had doubled back on foot to the privacy fence with the Ingram carried low against his hip. He had listened for a moment and was ready to scale it when he heard a shot fired from inside the house.

In almost that same instant, he heard the truck coming. He looked over the fence in time to see it swing wide to the right and then make a hard left as it took dead aim at the house. To his horror, he saw Claudia. She was bracing herself and she was covering her eyes as the fuel truck plowed through the front wall. He was over the fence in one bound, gun in hand.

He had entered through the hole that the fuel truck had left. He saw none of the men whom he’d expected to be there. All he could see was the truck, still moving forward. He heard a burst from the Calico. Carla had fired. Because she was on the far side of the truck, he couldn’t see who she was shooting at. He heard a second short burst. A male voice gave a yelp. He assumed that at least two were down. He saw Claudia as she jumped from the cab, scanning the wreckage with the shotgun at her shoulder, calling out, “Leslie, where are you?”

There was no answer.

He said to her, “Don’t turn. I’m covering your back. You check those two rooms on your right.” He did cover her back, but he was looking for Lockwood. He would have killed any of the six men on sight, but he wanted Lockwood especially.

Suddenly he heard a tearing of metal and what sounded like the squeal of car tires. He looked toward the hole that the fuel truck had left and he caught a glimpse of the van. It was careening, in reverse, back out over the curb. He hadn’t heard the engine of the Dodge van start up because of all the noise from the truck.

He heard Claudia say, “She’s not here. I can’t find her.”

“Check the closets. Under beds. She must be here.”

“I did. I saw where I think they taped her up. She’s not there anymore.
No one’s back here.”

“Then they have her in the van. Let’s get out of here now.”

These words were barely out of his mouth when he heard a dull “whoomp” and saw a blinding white flash. It came from the far side of the truck. Flames spread over the ceiling and were searing the truck, but the truck kept on moving through the house. It was pushing through what looked to the wall to the kitchen. He heard more ripping and tearing, but not all from the kitchen. Some of the din seemed to come from the garage. He glanced out toward the street. He saw a second car leaving.

This one, the green Pontiac, had its bumper hanging off it. The driver’s side door had been bent back almost double. Its muffler and exhaust pipe had been torn away. The Pontiac was dragging them behind it. He could see the driver clearly. It could only be Crow. Whistler wheeled and aimed, but he had no shot. All that he would have hit was dangling siding. The Pontiac was gone, but he could still hear Crow. Crow seemed to be screaming as he drove.

He said. “Claudia, get out. That fuel truck can blow.” He called Carla’s name. There was no answer. The house was filling with rolling black smoke.
He called again. He shouted, “Carla, where are you?”

She answered, “I’m busy. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

From the sound of her voice, she was outside the house. He said, “Carla…
Now
. This place is going.”

He took Claudia by the arm. She said, “Not without Carla.”

He said, “Trust me. Bad penny. She’ll turn up.”

Claudia, reluctantly, had let him lead her out. They hurried down the street to retrieve the Ford Taurus. Whistler drove it back to the front of the house where he called Carla’s name once again.

“I see her,” said Claudia. “Here she comes.”

Carla had appeared from behind the garage. She seemed in no particular hurry. She was walking with the Calico cradled in one arm as she sheathed her knife up her sleeve. Her free hand held what looked like two wallets. She’d apparently collected souvenirs.

“Adam, she’s been burned,” said Claudia, watching her.

Whistler could see that she’d been blackened by the smoke. Her hair, on one side, had been singed to its roots and the sleeve that held her knife was still smoldering. He wanted to say, “Serves her right,” but he didn’t. The damage, in any case, seemed more cosmetic than painful. She did not walk as if she were hurting.

Whistler heard police sirens. He called to Carla, “Now or never.”

She broke into a jog and climbed into the Taurus. Whistler stepped on the gas before she’d closed the rear door, ignoring the smattering of staring faces that had emerged from the neighboring houses. Several were even approaching on bikes, attracted by the rising column of smoke.

Carla’s first words were, “That could have gone better.”

Whistler didn’t trust himself to speak or to look at her. He very badly wanted to strangle her. But what he needed for the moment was to find a side road by which they might avoid the police.

Carla said, “Take a right. You’ll come to some woods. It’s just pines. You can probably get through them.”

She must have checked it out earlier. He took her advice. He swallowed and asked her, “Did you see Leslie Stewart?”

“Uh-uh, but she got out. That’s what Aubrey thought, anyway.”

“You found Aubrey?”

“Uh-huh.”

She had chosen not say how she’d left Felix Aubrey, probably in deference to Claudia. Whistler needed to know, but that discussion could wait. He asked her, “Got out how? With Lockwood? With Crow?”

“Neither one. A man named Kaplan. She might be okay.”

“Might be?”

“According to Aubrey, Kaplan’s not like those other two. The way to bet is she’s okay.”

“Yes, but how did they get out? And if they did, they’re on foot.”

“Through the window,” said Claudia. “That window was open. It’s the room where I told you I thought they had put her. There was duct tape…used duct tape…and a towel with more duct tape. It was all on the floor. It had been cut with a knife. Kaplan must have cut her loose and let her go.”

Out the window, thought Whistler. He supposed that was right. He had come over the fence on that side of the house. There was no open window at that time. He’d rounded the house and he’d gone in behind the fuel truck. That was when they could have climbed out. And if she’d been cut loose, she could have run; she might be hiding. More than likely, though, this Kaplan still had her.

Carla said, “That big flash back there was a bomb. Not a good one, but hot. Almost melted my sweater. Someone tossed it the house from the garage.”

“That would have been Crow. He got away.”

“And Lockwood, too?” She mouthed the word
shit
. She said, “This really could have gone better.”

Whistler had tried to bite his tongue long enough. He said, “Damn you, Carla…”

She said, “Adam…that’ll keep. For now, see those woods? See those tire tracks going through them? That’s our way out. Move this thing.”

He was still going to strangle her. But she was right. It would keep. Those sirens were getting much closer.

Carla said, “Hey, those tracks. They look funny to you?”

They did. Most were old. But something had gouged a fresh furrow between them. “I would bet that’s the Pontiac,” said Whistler with a nod. “It was dragging some hardware when it left.”

“He’s also dragging something else. Someone shot him in the ass. He was down, so I didn’t waste time on him.”

“Then where could he go? Not far, I would think.”

“Well, if this guy, Crow, is as nuts as they say, the way to bet is he’ll head for the hospital.”

“In his condition? He’ll try for Ragland again?”

“How would I know? I’m a rational thinker.”

“Yeah, right.”

She said, “Okay, Adam, get it out of your system. Ask me why we plowed into that house.”

“We?”

“Yes,
we
. As it happens, it was Claudia’s idea. She heard the first gunshot, thought they might have shot your friend. Except Claudia was ready to bust in there on foot. You said don’t let her get hurt. I respected your wishes. That was why we went in armor-plated.”