Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) (10 page)

“Come on, man –”

“Now I’m not your blood brother, am I? Now I’m just some hick that got a lucky break. Otherwise you wouldn’t have given me the time of day. You and your old pals would still be all tight with each other, and screw everybody else. Except for the little problem of a couple of you dinosaurs getting your wrinkled old asses iced. Now you got a problem. Now you got to put up with a rube like me. Don’t you?”

“Elton – that’s not the way it is, at all.”

“The hell it isn’t. And I don’t really feel like hearing any more about it from you.” He turned back to his beer. “You want Curt’s job? Let your old friends here in the city help you out with that. I’m not doing it.”

Foley gazed at Elton for a few seconds, then slid off his bar stool and headed for the door. When he reached the end of the bar, he looked over at the drunk who’d mouthed off when he’d come in.

“You were right,” said Foley. “I did walk into the wrong place.”

He pushed open the door and stepped out into the night.

* * *

Curt struck a match. I watched him light the kerosene lantern with it.

He looked over at me, after he’d adjusted the flame. “You okay?”

I was lying on the floor of the barn, propped up on my elbows. With the .357 in one hand beside me. I was panting for breath, and had dirt all over my jeans and bits of moldy straw in my hair. I’d had to reload the gun twice – in the dark, digging the bullets out of my backpack – to get all the way through Curt’s little game.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Sure you are.”

“So how’d I do?”

“Not bad.”

He reached down to help me stand up. But I shoved his hand away and got up on my own.

“Got any more bullshit tests to run me through?” I brushed off the front of my jacket. There was straw and other farm-type crap – literally – in my hair. “Or is this going to do it for now?”

“We’re good.” He seemed amused by my show of anger. “For now.”

“So. You’ve seen that I can shoot. And that’s it? There isn’t anything else, that you need to know how well I can do it?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

I was still pissed at him, but I wasn’t going to argue anymore. I was too tired. Besides . . .

At least we both knew where we stood now.

SEVEN

Two in the morning at the White Hawk. Band had been gone since midnight and there was nobody left at the bar except Elton.

“Let’s wrap it up,” said the bartender.

“Yeah . . .” Elton pushed himself back with both hands against the bar’s edge. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“About time.” The bartender ran a soggy towel across the beer rings. “Wish you and your friends woulda said that before.”

Elton smiled – a little wobbly – then slid off the bar stool and headed for the door.

* * *

“I’ll drop you off,” said Curt.

“Nice of you.” Over on the Chevy’s passenger side, I leaned my head back against the top of the seat. I wasn’t thinking of anything right now, except going to bed. It’d been a long night.

“First, though, I want to swing by Falcon’s place.” He one-handed the steering wheel, easily maneuvering through the streets, traffic-less at this hour. “See how the guys are doing.”

“Sure.” I could barely keep my eyes open. “Why not?”

* * *

Earl was still watching the television in the room downstairs. The blue glow from its screen was the only light in the mansion.

He didn’t see whoever it was, moving outside in the dark.

But he heard the gunshot. The window closest to him shattered, spraying him with glass shards. He reacted immediately, diving off the couch and coming up with his gun ready.

Upstairs, Falcon and his wife were awakened by the noise.

“What’s that?” Mrs. Falcon raised her head from the pillow and looked around in confusion.

Her husband had already switched on the lamp on the little table beside him. “Stay there,” he said as he threw the covers back. She pulled the covers to her chin and watched as he pulled open one of the dresser drawers and took out a pistol.

From the top of the stairs, Falcon called down to Earl. “What’s going on?”

Crouching behind the furniture, Earl had only a partial angle up to his boss. “Don’t come down here –”

More gunshots came from outside, shattering another pair of windows. Gun poised, Earl crawled across the broken glass. He was about to peer out past the window frame when he realized that he was silhouetted by the glow of the television behind him. He reached back and fired a single shot at it, plunging the room into total darkness. When he turned around again and looked outside, he saw something moving. He fired off two quick rounds.

As Curt drove the Chevy through the gates, he and I both heard the gunfire. Up ahead, at the side of the mansion, the bright muzzle flashes were visible.

Curt slammed the car to a halt, switching off the engine and headlights. I was already out of the passenger’s side, crouching down with the .357.

“Stick with me –”

I gave a nod as soon as I heard Curt’s instruction. The last thing I wanted was for us to split up in the darkness, then have one of us take a shot at the other, mistaking a crew member for the attacker who had shown up again.

With a hand signal, Curt directed me toward the brick walls framing the mansion grounds. I followed behind him as we crept toward the tall shrubbery there.

Inside the mansion, Earl got off a few more shots at the figure outside. The return fire forced him back to the side of one of the shattered windows.

Circling around, Curt and I finally got close enough to the mansion that we could spot the figure in the shadows. I stayed back to cover Curt as he inched forward across the open lawn.

A shot rang out from the house, the bullet striking the ground a couple of inches away from Curt. He flattened himself, raising only his head to call out. “Earl – it’s me!”

Through the broken-out window, Earl shouted back. “Where is he?”

“Over to your left –”

Earl fired again, the shots hitting farther away from Curt. I spotted the target at the same time and got off a couple of rounds from the .357.

Digging in with his elbows, Curt crawled forward to a spot where he would have an angle on the attacker. A sudden volley of shots struck all around him. He quickly rolled to the side, evading the bullets slamming into the turf. I watched as he reached the partial safety of a low decorative boulder, its top curve reaching not much higher than his head.

I had thought I was hidden from the attacker’s vision, but a bullet suddenly scattered fragments from the brick wall near my shoulder. I dove to the ground, then crawled into the dark at the base of the shrubbery.

Lifting my head, I could see Curt twisting onto his side, looking up at the dark figure standing above, pointing a gun directly at Curt’s head. I swung the .357 up and squeezed the trigger, but the hammer struck an empty chamber.

“Damn!” I yanked my backpack around by its canvas strap and dug inside for ammo.

Before I could reload, more shots cut through the night – not from inside the mansion, but from farther away on the grounds, near the gates. The bullets tore up the grass near the figure standing above Curt. I could just make out the attacker turning his head toward the source of the gunshots. The dark figure swung his gun away from Curt and fired back. Then the figure turned and sprinted into the night, fleeing from the next flurry of shots.

I heard footsteps run past me. A moment later, I saw Foley, gun in hand, reach down with his other toward Curt. He grabbed Curt’s arm and lifted him to his feet.

“You okay?”

Coming up to the two men, I could hear Foley panting for breath.

“Yeah –” Curt nodded. “I’m good.”

Everything across the grounds was quiet now. There was no sign of the attacker.

“Come on.” Curt led us toward the mansion.

We found Earl and Mr. Falcon in the living room, still carrying their guns.

“Is he –” Halfway up the staircase, Mrs. Falcon sat on one of the steps, clutching her robe around herself. “Is he gone?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Curt nodded. “He’s gone.”

“Great.” Falcon wasn’t happy. “I need to talk with you.”

Earl and Foley and I glanced around at each other as Falcon headed to another room, Curt following after him.

Through the sliding doors that Falcon pulled shut, we could still hear their voices.

“What the hell’s going on?” That was Falcon shouting. “I thought you said it would be a while before there was another attempt.”

“I was wrong.” Curt spoke lower.

“Oh,
fine
.” Falcon’s sarcasm etched the air. “Listen, I don’t pay you to be wrong –”

“Excuse me . . .”

The three of us turned toward Mrs. Falcon on the stairs.

“I know it’s silly –” She had stood up, holding the robe close against her throat. “But could one of you go upstairs with me? I’m still a little frightened.”

Foley and Earl turned toward me. “You go,” said Foley.

They probably figured it was a girl thing.

“Sure.” I headed toward the stairs. “I’ll be happy to,” I told Mrs. Falcon.

She held on to my arm as we went up to the bedroom.

“I know I should be used to these things by now.” She was apologizing for gunfire around the house having disturbed her. “Somehow, I’ve just never been able to.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waited as she got back into bed. “Everything will be fine.”

I could still hear Falcon’s raised voice from downstairs. I got filled in later on what he was saying to Curt.

“That was just a little too close,” said Falcon. He jabbed a finger into Curt’s chest. “I don’t want any more screw-ups like this one. Got me?”

What I did hear was the door being slammed open and Falcon stomping away into another part of the mansion.

“He . . . wouldn’t still be out there, would he?” That was Mrs. Falcon, in bed again, with the covers pulled up to her chin.

“I’ll check.” I crossed to the bedroom window, pulled the curtain aside and looked out. I shook my head as I turned back to her. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Oh, thank goodness. But –” Eyes widened, Mrs. Falcon leaned forward. “He couldn’t have gotten inside, could he?”

“Let me check around.” I tried to smile as reassuringly as possible at her. “I’ll make sure everything’s okay.”

She watched as I checked behind all the floor-length window curtains and everywhere else in the bedroom. As I crossed by the big oak dresser, I glanced at the top of it and saw a scrap of paper that somebody had tossed there. I picked it up and looked at. Seemed to be something from a restaurant, the corner of an advertising flyer or takeaway menu, with the restaurant’s phone number and address on it. It didn’t seem important, so I tossed it back on top of the dresser.

I could hear footsteps on the stairs. I figured that was probably Falcon coming up, having finished reaming out Curt.

“Thank you so much, Kathy –” Mrs. Falcon laid her head back down on the pillow. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time,” I said. “Goodnight.”

I stepped out into the hallway, pulling the bedroom door shut behind me.

Falcon bumped into me at the top of the stairs.

“You did a good job out there,” he told me. “Keep it up.”

He went into the bedroom and closed the door. I gazed after him for a moment, then turned and headed for the stairs.

Down in the living room, Curt was grilling Earl.

“So what was Foley doing outside?” Curt peered close into Earl’s eyes, as though searching for something there. “Why wasn’t he in here with you?”

Earl looked uncomfortable, hesitating before answering.

“Uh . . . he heard something. Out there. He went to see what it was.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Curt’s expression tightened. “He’s been around the block enough times to know better. You never split up like that. That’s how you get picked off, one by one.”

“Yeah, well . . . we forgot.”

I stayed out of sight at the foot of the stairs, listening.

“Forgot? Give me a break –”

Curt went silent as Foley came into the room from the back of the mansion.

“Checked all the kitchen and pantry windows,” said Foley. “Everything seems to be locked down tight.”