At Their Own Game (27 page)

I moved without thinking. First, I grabbed the edge of the small table between us as the gun in Ozzy’s hand barked. A burning sensation creased across my ear.
 

I hurled the table upward. It crashed into Ozzy, knocking him backward. Without hesitation, I stood up and drew my gun. I scurried backward, away from the chair and the overturned table.
 

I pumped five rounds through the table at Ozzy. The gun bucked in my hand and the concussive force of the rounds bounced around the small basement room.
 

In the corners of my vision, I saw Randall and Damon reaching for their weapons. I wheeled toward Randall first and fired twice. He let out a cry and both hands flew to his leg. He toppled to the ground with a grunt. Then I trained my gun on Damon. He’d managed
to get his hand wrapped around the handle of his pistol, but it was still in the holster.
 

“Don’t,” I growled at him.
 

He released his hand and slowly raised both of them in the air.
 

I turned my attention to Brent, who had been fumbling for the gun in his back pocket. He froze when I pointed the muzzle at him.
 

I stared at him, trying to figure it all out in the heavy silence of that basement room, amidst the smell of cordite and blood. I waited for him to say something, but he only stared back at me.
 

“Why?” I finally asked him.
 

He didn’t answer.
 

I decided it didn’t matter. I slapped the trigger twice, sending two bullets into his chest. He fell backward into the wine rack and slid to the ground, dislodging merlot bottles as he fell. The bottles shattered on the floor, splattering red wine all around his body.
 

Damon twitched slightly when I fired. I brought my gun back to him. “Listen carefully,” I said, my voice low and deadly. “Use your left hand, and only two fingers of that left hand, to take out that gun on your hip. Slowly.”
 

He hesitated for just a moment, then reached slowly across his body with his left hand. He unsnapped the gun and pulled it from the holster.
 

“Drop it,” I instructed.
 

He let it clatter to the floor.
 

I motioned with the barrel of my gun for him to stand near Randall. He kept his eyes on me, calm and appraising, but he walked slowly across the room. Next to him, Randall pressed hard on the wound to his upper leg and grunted heavily in pain.
 

“His gun, too,” I instructed Damon.
 

He reached down slowly, pulled Randall’s gun from its shoulder harness and held it up for me with his thumb and forefinger.
 

“Throw it over.”
 

Damon gave it a light toss toward me. It clattered and slid most of the way to my position. I left it there.
 

Keeping my gun pointed at the two of them, I sidestepped toward the overturned table. My ears were ringing and the right side of my head burned. When I reached the table, I stopped. On the other side, I could hear a gurgling noise. Carefully, I peeked over the top of the table.
 

Ozzy stared up at me with a weak, hateful glare. His hands twitched slightly and his breath came in gurgling rasps. Blood coated the front of his body, and I could see ragged, torn flesh at his throat.
 

He was finished.
 

But I wasn’t.
 

TWENTY-EIGHT
 

I stepped away from the table, focusing my attention on Damon and Randall. “How’s his leg?” I asked.
 

“Shot,” Damon replied, his voice flat.
 

I turned to Randall. “What’s it to be, Randall? Are you going to die on me?”
 

Randall glared up at me, grunting in pain. “No. Not from this.”
 

“Help him,” I told Damon.
 

“Why?” Damon asked. “If you’re just going to kill us –”
 

“I don’t want to kill either of you,” I said. “So don’t be a stupid fuck about it, and help him.”
 

Damon stared at me for a moment longer, then turned to care for Randall.
 

I kicked both of the guns to the opposite corner of the room, then watched Damon as he worked on Randall.
 

It turned out Randall was right. The bullet wound was going to need some serious treatment, but he wasn’t going to die from it. After about ten minutes of working the wound, Damon reached for Randall’s belt to snug the bandage down on the injury.
 

“Don’t make that too tight,” I said.
 

“I know.”
 

“If you make it too tight, he’ll lose his leg.”
 

Damon looked up at me. “I said, I know. I was in the Army. I know first aid.”
 

I shrugged. “Then carry on.”
 

He finished bandaging Randall. Randall looked pale but he didn’t have that sickly look that people tended to get when they were close to dying. It looked like he was going to make it.
 

I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that or not.
 

“Did they hear this upstairs?” I asked Damon. “Because if the cops are on the way, we’re all fucked.”
 

He shook his head. “Between the jukebox and the soundproofing, they didn’t hear shit. And so what if they did?”
 

I thought about that for a second, then decided he was right. This was a hard neighborhood to start with, one in which people excelled at minding their own business. And anyone who knew anything about what lay behind that door next to the bar would probably just assume that Ozzy was taking care of some loose ends. Better to ignore things than to risk being a loose end themselves.
 

“If you’re going to shoot us, just fucking do it,” Damon said. “We’re not going to beg, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
 

“I don’t want to shoot you,” I said. “And I don’t want you to beg. I’m not that kind of guy.”
 

He glanced over at Ozzy’s still gurgling body, but didn’t say anything. Randall leaned back against the concrete wall, still breathing through gritted teeth. He didn’t meet my eyes.
 

I considered both of them. They were both scared. Who wouldn’t be? But neither one gave into that fear. Neither one betrayed.
 

I thought about that for a while. Damon waited without a word, his implacable expression watching me. Randall fought the pain in his leg, but didn’t let out anything louder than a grunt.
 

While I thought, I reached out and grabbed onto the chair I’d been sitting in earlier. Had that been just fifteen minutes ago? It seemed like a lifetime, or like it was another person who sat down. But it wasn’t. It was me.
 

I dragged the chair toward the center of the room, away from the overturned table. Behind that table, Ozzy had ceased to make noises and had gone still.
 

Once the chair was where I wanted it, I sank into it with a heavy sigh. Already, the adrenaline dump was fading, and I felt a weariness settling in. I wiped at my brow, surprised at the sweat I found there. Blood dripped from my ear every once in a while.
 

That’s when it occurred to me that I’d been shot in the head.
 

I switched the gun to my left hand, then reached up tentatively with my right and felt around. Damon watched me wordlessly as I explored the side of my head. I was relieved to find only a minor scrape behind my ear. Then I discovered that the ear itself was missing a chunk about the size of a dime.
 

All in all, I was better off than everybody in the room, besides maybe Damon. And he still wasn’t sure if I was going to kill him or not, so advantage me.
 

Satisfied I wasn’t hurt badly, I turned my attention back to Randall and Damon. I thought about it for another minute or two, then I made my decision.
 

“I have an offer to make,” I said. “I can offer you life, or I can offer you death.”
 

Randall didn’t reply. He didn’t meet my eyes, either. He just stayed focused on his injured leg. So I focused on Damon instead.
 

He didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “Any fool would choose life.”
 

“Are you a fool?”
 

“No. But I’ll take life over death any day.”
 

“There’s a catch,” I said.
 

“I figured.”
 

I pointed at Ozzy. “There’s the old boss,” I said. Then I pointed at my own chest. “Meet the new boss.”
 

Damon considered, his gaze not wavering. But Randall chuckled a little bit before his laughter turned into coughs, then he grimaced in pain.
 

“Something funny?” I asked him.
 

“Yeah,” Randall gritted. “You as a drug boss.”
 

“Why’s that?”
 

“You aren’t a drug guy. You’re a goddamn fence.”
 

I shrugged, then motioned at Ozzy and Brent’s still forms. “I guess people can change.”
 

He grunted.
 

“Your leg hurt, by the way?” I asked him.
 

Randall didn’t reply.
 

I turned back to Damon. “Your call,” I said.
 

Damon stared at me while Randall avoided my gaze. I could sense the turmoil both were struggling with. After a few moments, I raised the stakes.
 

“Let me sweeten the pot,” I said.  “If you choose, life, I’ll give you each twenty-five percent.”
 

For the first time, Damon’s eyes showed some reaction. “Twenty-five?”
 

“Each.”
 

He glanced down at Randall, but the older man didn’t respond.
 

“One-time offer, gentlemen.” I waved the gun barrel. “And the time to decide is now.”
 

Damon looked at Randall one last time, then returned his gaze to me. “Twenty-five percent of all of it?”
 

“Yeah. Twenty-five net.”
 

He considered for another moment. “I’m in,” he said.
 

“Good. Randall?”
 

Randall’s jaw was set, though how much of it was pain and how much of it distaste, I couldn’t begin to guess. He didn’t answer me right away. I waited. After a long minute, I decided his lack of an answer was his answer.
 

I leveled the gun at his chest.
 

“I’m in,” he finally grunted, not looking up.
 

I lowered the gun. “Good.” I turned to Damon. “Your first job will be to clean up this mess. Get rid of all the bodies. Don’t just dump them somewhere, either. I want them dismembered and buried with lime or in acid. You get me?”
 

“I know the drill,” Damon said.
 

“I’m sure you do. Second, get Randall to a doctor. Nothing official. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds, and the cops know who Randall is with. I don’t want them getting interested in Ozzy’s disappearance any sooner than they already will be. Do you have a doctor on payroll already?”
 

“No, but I know a guy we can use. A vet.”
 

“You knew him in the Army?”
 

Damon shook his head. “No, not that kind of vet. A veterinarian.”
 

“Oh.” I considered that, then shrugged. “Well, do it, then.”
 

Damon nodded that he understood. His eyes still held some vestige of contempt for me but I saw some measure of newfound respect, too. Either way, I was going to be fighting an uphill battle with both of them.
 

One thing at a time, I told myself.
 

“We won’t talk for a week or two,” I said. “Keep selling whatever product you have on hand, but don’t take on any more from current suppliers. I’ve got my own supply coming. We’ll meet in a week or so to iron out the details.”
 

“All right,” Damon said.
 

“Do you see there being any trouble when you cut off the current supplier?”
 

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Damon said. “They’re independent. Besides, we’d talked before about whether or not to keep with them.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Ozzy said he got another offer.”
 

“Does that happen a lot?”
 

Damon shrugged. “Seems to happen every so often. But he’s pretty happy with our supplier. They make a good product, and since they’re not with the bikers or any other gang, we get a good price. Plus, we can control them.”
 

“So he turned down the deal, then.”
 

“Yeah. He thought this last one over for a while, but he turned it down just like all the others.”
 

Something chimed at me from the back of my mind. “What made this one special?”
 

“He said it was a better offer than most.”
 

“Who was the supplier?”
 

“I don’t know exactly,” Damon said. “Some Mexican guy out of Arizona. But it was his woman who brought us the offer.”
 

TWENTY-NINE
 

I left Damon to his work.
 

When I exited the door beside the bar and walked out of the Livermore Tavern, I didn’t get so much as a sidelong glance. I guess he’d been right about the sound.
 

The rental car started easily. I drove away mechanically, my mind exhausted, my body drained from all the emotion and adrenaline over the past several hours. I was careful to obey every traffic law. When I approached the Monroe Street Bridge, I rolled down my window and slowed down. I remembered the dozens of marijuana pipes and other pieces of irrelevant evidence that I’d seized when I was a cop and then threw over this bridge into the Spokane River below. The criminal didn’t get charged and I didn’t have to book the evidence onto property, so everyone came out a winner.