The Last Detective (27 page)

25
            

time missing: 54 hours, 12 minutes

T
he dingy kitchen tilted steeply and the back of my head pulsed where Fallon hit me. I tried to stay on my feet, but the room tilted the opposite way and I hit the floor hard. I tried to get up, but my arms and legs bobbed on a greasy vinyl ocean.

Ben.

A faraway voice said, “Come on, asshole.”

The kitchen blurred, and then I fell again, thinking that my gun was in my hand, but when I looked down it wasn't. When I looked up, I wasn't in the kitchen any more. A dark tower swayed over me and two blurs huddled against the far wall. I tipped forward, but caught myself with my hand as the world focused. I think I smiled, but maybe it only seemed that way.

“I found you.”

Ben was ten feet in front of me.

Behind me, Fallon tossed two pistols into the pile of money, then spoke to Ibo.

“He had Eric's gun. I've gotta go see what happened.”

Ibo stared at me.

“He keel Eric?”

“I don't know. Put him in the bathtub and use your knife. The shotgun's too noisy. Then take care of them.”

Ibo pulled out a long curved knife as voices screamed within me. Roy Abbott shouted at me to suck it up. Crom Johnson yelled for me to Ranger on. My mother called my name. Nothing but Ben mattered. I would bring him home even if I was dead.

Ibo took one step toward me, just as Richard Chenier looked into my eyes as if he were seeing me for the first and only time that he would ever see me, and then he heaved up from the floor. Richard did not move fast or well, but he charged across the tiny room with the commitment of a father desperate to save his child. The shotgun exploded over my head. Richard hit Ibo from behind as the first shot punched into his side. He drove Ibo into me and me into Fallon as the second blast wrecked his thigh. I reared up into the shotgun as Ibo spun toward Richard with the knife. The shotgun exploded into the ceiling as Ben ran for the door.

I threw an elbow, but Fallon pushed my arm past and snapped the shotgun down across my face. I hooked my arm over the barrel, and jerked the shotgun close, but Fallon hung on. We bounced off the wall, locked together with the shotgun in a furious demon dance. I butted him, and his nose shattered. He snorted red. Fallon pulled hard on the shotgun, then suddenly let go, and I lost my balance. I fell backwards with the shotgun as Fallon grabbed Schilling's pistol from the money. All of it happened in milliseconds; maybe even faster. Ben screamed.

Pike

P
ike swung around the corner of the house with his gun in a two-hand combat grip, cocked and ready to fire. The backyard was clear. Pike slipped to the back door and glanced into the kitchen. He expected to see Schilling, but the kitchen was empty. Pike didn't like not knowing Schilling's position, but Fallon would kill Cole in a matter of moments.

Pike stepped inside and moved toward the hall, gun up and ready, though his shoulder burned and his grip on his pistol was not firm. The floor popped with his weight, but Pike didn't dare stop. He glanced at the back door to check for Schilling just as Fallon's shotgun went off twice—BOOM BOOM—so loud and heavy that the shots rattled the house.

Pike moved even faster, crossing the hall to enter the bedroom, all reaction now because thinking would slow him down. Fallon and Cole twisted together in a tight embrace, then Cole tumbled backwards with the shotgun. Pike drew down on Fallon in that same moment, finger tightening to drop the hammer, owning Fallon with a dead-on head shot even as Ibo screamed—

“Eye havh dee boy.”

Ibo held Ben in front of his head as a shield, with a knife to Ben's throat.

Pike jerked the .357 around at Ibo, but the shot wasn't clean and his hand wasn't steady. Fallon saw Pike in that same heartbeat and brought up his own handgun, inhumanly fast, as fast as Pike had ever seen, and Pike swung his .357 back onto Fallon, knowing in that hyperfast moment that Fallon had him cold, but Fallon hesitated because Cole brought up the shotgun, Cole screaming to pull Fallon's attention, and then all of them were caught in that instant between beats when the human heart is still.

Schilling

T
he gunfire and screams jolted Schilling with the certainty that he was about to die. He woke in Africa. He thought government troops were shooting his men in their sleep. He grabbed for his rifle and tried to roll into the bush, but his rifle wasn't next to him and he was on a driveway in Los Angeles. He crawled into the shrubbery beside the adjoining house.

Schilling thought,
fuck
. Then he puked.

His head cleared, but he felt drunk and woozy. He realized that Ibo, Fallon, and Cole were shouting. He wasn't in Africa; he was in L.A. They were in the house with the money.

Schilling felt the ground for his weapon, but couldn't find it. Fuckit. He crawled toward the house.

Cole

T
he three guns weaved like snakes poised to strike. I covered Fallon, then swung back to Ibo. Fallon's gun jumped from Pike to me, then back to Pike, and Pike shifted between Fallon and Ibo. Ibo held Ben high to protect his head and chest. If anyone shot, everyone would shoot, and all of us would be consumed by gunfire.

Ibo shouted again, making himself small behind Ben's dangling body.

“EYE HAVH DEE BOY!”

Richard groaned.

Ben struggled to break free. He was oblivious to the knife or maybe past caring. His eyes were on Richard.

I aimed at Ibo's legs. I could cut off his leg with Fallon's shotgun, but that wouldn't stop the knife. I edged to the side, looking for a better angle. Ibo backed into the corner, holding Ben higher, a seven-foot nightmare peeking past Ben's ear.

“Eye keel heem!”

Pike and Fallon were locked on each other, holding their pistols with two-hand grips, arms tight.

Fallon said, “Look at the knife. Shoot me, and he'll bleed out the kid.”

Pike said, “He won't see it happen. Neither will you.”

I said, “Joe?”

“I'm good.”

“Eye do eet!”

“Can you get him, Joe?”

“Not yet.”

I swung the shotgun to Fallon, then back to Ibo. The little room was humid with sweat, and close as a crypt. I shouted at Ibo.

“Put him down. Put him down and walk out.”

Fallon edged toward the money, and Pike moved closer to Ibo. Pike was on one wall, me on the other; Ibo between us where the walls met. Ben struggled harder, and seemed to be reaching toward his pocket.

Fallon said, “We want the money, you want the kid. We can both walk out.”

I swung the shotgun back toward Fallon.

“Sure, Fallon, good, let's do that. You and Ibo put down your weapons, then we'll put down ours.”

Fallon smiled tightly, and shifted his aim back to Pike.

“You should drop yours first.”

Richard tried to pull his legs under him but he slid in his own blood. I didn't know how much longer he would last.

Ben screamed then, his scream wailing and strange.

“Daddy!”

I edged closer to Ibo.

“Stay bahk!”

Ben struggled harder, and his hand slipped from his pocket. I saw what he held, and knew what he was planning to do.

Fallon shifted his aim from Pike to me. Sweat dripped from his hair to splash on the floor.

“He'll do it. We'll both do it. Give us the goddamned money and we'll give you the kid!”

“You'd kill him anyway.”

All of it happened in milliseconds, or maybe even faster. They had us and we had them, but Ben was caught in the middle.

I said, “Ben?”

Ben's eyes were white with fear.

“I'm taking you home. You hear me, buddy? I'm going to bring you home. Joe. You on Fallon?”

“Yo.”

I lowered the shotgun.

Fallon shifted his gun back to Joe, then came to me again. He didn't know what I was doing, and the not knowing scared him.

“Mazi!”

“I keel heem!”

I held the shotgun with the muzzle up, showing them that I wasn't going to shoot, and placed it on the floor. I straightened, watching Mazi, then took one step toward him. Fallon shifted his gun again.

Fallon shouted, “We'll kill him, Cole! We'll fuckin' kill you, too!”

I moved closer to Ben.

Ibo screamed,
“I do eet!”

“I know. You and Fallon would both do it. You're animals.”

My voice was quiet and conversational, like I was making an everyday observation about which brand of coffee they preferred. I stopped an arm's length from Ben. Fallon was behind me with the gun, so I couldn't see him, but Pike was behind me, too. I smiled quietly at Ben, the smile telling him that just as I trusted Joe, he needed to trust me; that he would be fine because I had come to bring him home, and would.

I said, “Any time you're ready, bud. Let's go home.”

Giving him permission. Saying, do the thing you're thinking, and I will back your play.

Ben Chenier brought the Silver Star up like a claw and raked the medal into Ibo's eyes. Ibo was focused on me, and Ben caught him off guard. Ibo flinched, ducking his head, and that's when I moved. I jammed my fingers behind the blade and twisted the knife from Ben's throat as gunshots exploded behind me. The knife cut deep into my fingers, but I held tight and rolled Ibo's hand backwards over his wrist, turning the knife toward him. Ben tumbled free. Another shot rang out, then another. I didn't know what was happening across the room. I couldn't look.

Pike

W
hen Cole put down the shotgun and started toward Ibo, Fallon had the advantage. Pike wouldn't shoot so long as Ben was in danger; if he shot Fallon, Ibo would kill Ben; if Pike shot Ibo, Fallon would kill him in that same instant, then swing for Cole. Pike decided that if he got a clean cortical shot on Ibo, he would take it even though Fallon would kill him. Fallon would shoot Pike, then swing for Cole, but Cole might be fast enough to scoop up the shotgun before Fallon got turned around. But Ibo wasn't stupid, and seemed to sense what Pike was thinking; Ibo kept Ben high like a shield with Ben's head protecting his own. Pike had no target. He shifted his aim back to Fallon.

Pike watched Fallon's eyes flick back and forth as Fallon weighed his own options: He could wait to see what Cole did, or shoot Pike, then take his chances with Cole. The first way, Fallon would be reactive; but if Fallon shot first, he would drive the event and have a measure of control. Cole's face was bloody and his eyes were dazed. Fallon would be thinking about that. He would be thinking that with Cole hurt he had a free shot to put down Pike, then he could still beat Cole. Pike wondered if Fallon knew about the damage to his arm. Fallon was Delta. He would use whatever weakness he found.

Pike thought,
He's going to shoot first
.

Fallon's forehead floated above the tip of Pike's gun. Pike's gun wobbled. His heart pounded, and sweat leaked down the sides of his face. Fallon had his gun up, too, aimed at Pike as Pike was aimed at him, but Fallon's gun was steady. Fallon could easily see Pike's gun wobble. Pike sensed an awareness in the man. Fallon saw his weakness. Their guns were only inches apart.

Fallon's gun came up another half-inch. Fallon had decided that he could win. He was setting himself to fire.

The boar snapped its jaws. It was setting itself to charge.

Pike glanced at Elvis. He glanced at Ben. The pistol's wood grip felt slippery, and his breath came fast, but this wasn't about the bear, and never had been.
His mother crawled under the kitchen table, crying and bloody as his father kicked her, eight-year-old Joe helpless to act; the old man chased down his defenseless son, broke the boy's nose, then used his belt; that's how it was, night after night
. It was about protecting the people he loved no matter the cost: nothing was worse than doing nothing; not even death. The bear might beat you, but you still had to stand. Joe Pike would stand.

He braced himself for Fallon's bullet, then glanced again at Ibo, hoping for a shot, but Ibo still hid behind Ben. He glanced back at Fallon. The rock-steady gun.

Pike thought,
I'll kill you before I die.

Then Ibo grunted in a way that neither man expected. Pike glimpsed a sudden movement as Cole and Ibo grappled. Fallon glanced to see, and Pike had his chance. He squeezed the trigger just as Eric Schilling charged out of the hall. Schilling slammed into Pike's back, driving Pike into Fallon. Hot pain flashed through Pike's shoulder, and the .357 boomed harmlessly past Fallon's ear. Fallon moved inhumanly fast. He rolled Pike's gun to the side, trapped Pike's gun arm, then whipped his pistol toward Pike's head. Pike slipped to the side, but Schilling punched him hard in the neck, then hooked Pike's bad arm. More pain flashed in Pike's shoulder and made him gasp. He dropped to his knees to slip Schilling's grip, wrapped Schilling's legs with his bad arm, and lifted. His arm screamed again, but Schilling upended. In the same moment, Fallon cracked his pistol down hard on Pike's face, then pushed the gun into Pike's shoulder. Fallon was fast, but Pike was fast, too. He trapped Fallon's wrist as the gun fired. Pike held on. He had Fallon's wrist, but his bad arm was weak. Fallon was slipping away. Fallon butted Pike hard on the cheek, then kneed him in the groin. Pike took the pain. Across the room, Cole and Ibo were locked in a motionless death struggle, but Ben had gone to his father. Schilling heaved to his knees, then scrambled for a gun that was lying in the money. Fallon kneed Pike again, but this time Pike caught his leg, held it, then swept Fallon's remaining leg out from under him and pushed him over. They crashed to the floor. Fallon's gun flew free with the impact. Two feet away, Schilling came up with the pistol and wheeled toward Pike. Pike rolled off Fallon, came up with his gun, and fired from the floor. He shot Eric Schilling twice in the chest. Schilling screamed, and fired wildly into the wall. Pike fired again, and blew out the side of Schilling's head. Pike rolled back toward Fallon, but Fallon caught the pistol in both hands. Both of them had the gun, and the gun was between them. Fallon's two good arms against Pike's one. Sweat and blood ran from their faces as both men tried to turn the gun. The burning in Pike's arm grew as his shoulder slowly failed. Fallon grunted with his effort, his grunts like a wild boar rooting in the dirt,
uhn, uhn, uhn
. Pike strained harder, but the gun slowly came toward his chest.