Donovan Creed 11 - Because We Can! (9 page)

13.

Ryan Decker.

“THERE’S ONE WAY in and one way out,” Decker says. “This road goes 70 yards and turns into Goodman Circle, an exclusive neighborhood with eight magnificent homes. And yes, it’s an actual circle.”

Decker and his three lieutenants are standing near the entrance to Goodman Circle, in Brookfield, Kentucky. They’re dressed in work uniforms with matching helmets.

“I thought it’d be more secluded,” Martin says.

“It’s actually quite secluded, considering it’s less than a quarter-mile from the interstate that divides Brookfield from Louisville’s East End.”

“How big are the lots?”

“Five acres each. And the circle’s surrounded by woods and a golf course. If we park the semi here, we can isolate the entire neighborhood.”

“We’ll need two semis for the motorcycles, equipment, and manpower.”

“Noted.”

One of the other men, Corrigan, says, “What are these houses worth?”

“Two to six million.”

“They’ll have alarms.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, it’ll force us to strike with speed and precision. Second, we’ll generate maximum publicity.”

“Why?”

“When you frighten the rich, you terrify the poor and middle class.”

Burroughs says, “It’s a perfect target. But a big step for us.”

“For you, yes. But I blew up half of Leeds Road in Willow Lake, Arkansas, last night. That was a logistical nightmare. This mission’s a snap compared to that one.”

An elderly resident slows to a stop and asks, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Decker says. “We’re just finishing up.”

She points at his helmet. “What does BWC stand for?”

“Brookfield Water Company.”

“There’s not a problem with our water, is there?”

“No ma’am. This area has the highest-quality, best-tasting water in the entire country, thanks to dedicated field men like these,” he says, indicating his lieutenants.

“Well, keep up the good work, then,” she says.

“Will do. Have a nice day.”

When she drives off Martin says, “Nice lady. Think she’ll survive?”

“We’ll know soon enough.”

14.

Milo Fister, Faith Stallone, Maybe Taylor.

MILO’S PHONE RINGS. “It’s her. Let’s go.”

Faith says, “I can’t believe we’re meeting a contract killer in your parking lot in the middle of the morning.”

“Her first choice was a secluded rest stop in the middle of the night. Which do
you
think is safer?”

“Neither.”

Milo’s office is on the eighth floor of what locals call
The Flashcube Building
, which is the centerpiece of a large suburban Louisville office complex. He and Faith climb in their respective cars and drive to the farthest corner of the parking lot, where they park, leaving an empty space between their cars, as directed.

Milo gets out of his car and approaches Faith’s Mercedes.

She lowers the window.

He says, “What if she asks us to get in her car?”

“We’ll say no. What’s she going to do, shoot us in the parking lot? In broad daylight? What’re we, fifty yards from Shelbyville Road? Nonstop traffic? She’d never chance it.”

“Okay. Let’s make a pact. We don’t get in her car under any circumstances.”

“I thought I just made that clear, Milo.”

“You did. I’m just thinking out loud. I do that whenever I’m about to meet a stone killer face to face.”

“You think she’s already killed Byron Zass?”

“No. She said she’d give us proof.”

“His dead body in the trunk would be proof.”

“She’d have to prove he’s dead. Not passed out, or drugged.”

“And what medical background do we possess that would help us make that determination?”

“None. Which is why she’ll need to prove it, somehow.”

Faith says, “What made you choose Byron? You just met him once, at dinner.”

“That’s the first reason. I don’t know him. But the second is, he’s dating Lexi, right in front of her husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“They’re separated, not divorced.”

“A technicality.”

“Maybe so. But it’s way too soon to bring him into the group. You saw how it affected Brody. I half expected him to slit his wrists in his car after dinner.”

“Killing Byron won’t make her go back to Brody.”

“Probably not. But it’ll make Brody feel better to know Lexi lost someone that was important to her.”

“You’re being awfully hard on Lexi. She may have stopped loving Brody, but at least she never cheated on him. That’s more than I can say for your wife and my husband.”

“Did you see the way Zass smirked at Brody when I said she was faithful? I guarantee you they were having an affair before she and Brody separated. By the way, we’re both supposed to be out of our cars, standing in front of your hood. And our hands have to be empty.”

“Whatever.”

Seconds after Milo and Faith get in position, a nondescript black sedan starts moving slowly toward them, and parks in the vacant space between their cars. A young woman gets out.

“That can’t be her,” Faith whispers. “She’s a child.”

Milo shrugs.

The girl says, “Call me Maybe.”

“Like the song?” Faith says.

“I came up with that name
months
before the song came out,” Maybe says, indignantly.

“I don’t know,” Faith says. “That would be a big coincidence.”

“Faith?” Milo says, with a warning tone.

She ignores him. “If I were you,” Faith says, “I’d change it.”

“Maybe I’ll change it to Lexi,” she says.

Milo and Faith exchange a look.

Before Milo can say, “Why Lexi?” Maybe says, “Come closer, but don’t scream.”

They do, and Maybe pops open the trunk.

There’s no reason to scream.

Nothing to see but plastic tarpaulin, which is everywhere. There’s so much tarp it’s bulging out of the trunk. Maybe grabs a corner piece and lifts it high enough for them to see Lexi’s face.

Lexi’s
face?

Lexi’s. And she’s clearly not alive.

Milo and Faith don’t need proof. What they need is an explanation.

After looking around to see if anyone’s watching, Milo says, “I told you Byron Zass. Not Lexi Lynch.”

Maybe motions them to the other side of the trunk, lifts up another section of tarp.

“You asked, I delivered. Say hi to Byron.”

Byron’s past communicating. And again, Milo and Faith don’t bother to ask for proof. The fact that Byron is dead would be obvious to even the most casual observer. Nevertheless, Maybe says, “In case it crossed your mind he might be asleep, drugged, or playing possum, I will now demonstrate he’s 100% dead.”

She fishes a butane lighter from the trunk, clicks the flame on, and says, “Milo, run your finger over the flame to verify it’s hot.”

“I-I don’t require proof, Ms. Taylor.”

“I insist.”

Milo puts his hand above the flame a second, then pulls it away. “It’s quite hot.”

“Faith? Your turn.”

She puts her hand over the flame and confirms it’s hot.

Maybe says, “This is an authentic butane lighter. Not methane, or propane, which top out around—I’m going to give you round numbers here—2,700 and 3,000 degrees, respectively. Butane will hit temperatures as high as 3,600 degrees. Not that it matters much, since human flesh starts to burn at 140 degrees.”

She puts the flame to Byron’s cheek and roasts it for fifteen seconds, creating a plume of smoke with a vile stench.

She says, “If he were playing possum, he’d have twitched by now, don’t you think?”

Milo and Faith are unable to respond, since opening their mouths would be enough to induce vomiting. While Faith’s gagging, her eyes are rimmed with tears. “I can’t believe you killed Lexi. She was our friend.”

Maybe says, “Burning flesh smells a bit like pork in a frying pan, but the outer skin has a rancid odor, don’t you think?”

“Please stop!” Faith says, through gritted teeth. Both she and Milo have turned away. They’re covering their noses with their right hands.

“You’re convinced he and Lexi are dead?” Maybe says.

“I can’t speak for Faith,” Milo says, “but I was convinced the moment I saw there were no bodies attached to the heads.”

“Well, I didn’t want there to be any doubt. Hold out your hands.”

They do, and Maybe drops two objects into each of their hands.

“What’s this?” Milo says.

“Souvenirs. Lexi’s nipples for you, Byron’s testicles for Faith.”

Faith retches, and allows her souvenirs to fall to the ground. Milo inspects Lexi’s nipples, then sniffs them. The look of disgust he receives from Faith is worse than the one she gave Byron’s testicals.

Maybe closes the trunk and says, “You’re going to need iron-clad alibis. It’s best if you’re both out of town on the same night. In different cities.”

Faith says, “Assuming we give you the go-ahead, when would it happen?”

“Whoa,” Maybe says. “
Assuming
you give me the go-ahead?” She laughs. “The go-ahead for killing your spouses is in the trunk of this rental car. There’s no turning back. You’re in now, both of you. You can change your mind about Jake and Lemon, but you’re going to pay me whether I kill them or not.”

“We understand,” Milo says. “When will it take place?”

“What works best for you guys?” Maybe says, as casually as if planning a dinner date.

They look at each other. “We’ll get back to you,” Faith says.

“No. You’ll decide right now, by the time I get back.”

“Where are you going?” Milo says.

She points to the hardware store on the other side of the parking lot and says, “I need to make a copy of your house keys.”

“I don’t think so,” Faith says.

“Think again.”

Milo says, “I thought you’d be able to pick the locks.”

“It’s a lot easier to use a key.”

“But if you’re staging a home invasion, wouldn’t you break the door down?”

“
Afterward
, Milo
.
You stage the crime scene
after
killing the marks.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t know exactly what will happen before going in. When they’re dead, and everything’s set up exactly the way I want, I’ll walk out, lock the door, kick it in, run away. Doesn’t that sound easier?”

“Makes sense,” Milo says.

“If you’re going to kill them in Milo’s house you shouldn’t need
my
key,” Faith says.

“We don’t know whose house they’ll be in that night. They might go to a hotel, for that matter. You’re paying me to do a job. To do it right I need to be prepared.”

“I understand that. It’s just—”

“I can pick your lock, Faith. I’d just prefer not to. Do you really want to piss me off over a fucking house key?”

Faith frowns, produces her key ring, removes her house key, places it in Maybe’s palm. Milo does the same.

“I’ll be right back,” she says.

Ten minutes later she says, “What have you worked out?”

“How do we pay you?” Milo says.

“Glad you asked. She fetches two small canvass bags from her back seat, hands them over. “You’ll start assembling the cash immediately. Every few days you’ll cash checks for various amounts. No single check can be more than $9,900, but they have to total at least $20,000 a week, every week, till I’m paid in full. You’ll collect the money in these bags and place them in your attics every Sunday night. I may pick them up every week, or let them accumulate. I might not pick them up for a year. Don’t worry about that part. Just do your part.”

“How will you get in our attics?” Faith says.

“Don’t worry about that part. Just make sure you keep putting the cash in the bags every Sunday night before going to bed. And don’t make the mistake of trying to fuck me over.”

“Week after next,” Milo says. “I’m playing in a weekend golf tournament in South Carolina. I’ll be leaving Friday morning.”

“Friday the 13
^th
? I like it. Start gathering your cash today.”

“What about me?” Faith says.

“Call your sister, the one who lives in Denver.”

Faith’s expression shows she’s not happy a killer knows where her sister lives.

Maybe says, “Tell her you’re coming to see her on the 13
^th
. You’d like to stay a couple nights. “She’ll say yes, don’t you think?”

Faith nods.

“Send an email to follow up on the conversation. Buy a couple of presents for her kids today, and wrap them. The trip and presents will be on record. If you’re both out of town it’s highly likely Jake and Lemon will get together that night, don’t you think?”

“It’s a certainty,” Faith says.

“If they hook up, I’ll kill them together. If not, I’ll kill them individually. It’ll either be a home invasion or a murder-suicide.”

“What’s the motivation for that?”

“Someone will know about the affair. It can’t be you guys, but trust me, someone will know. When the cops find out, the pieces will fall into place. You might be suspects, but your alibis are excellent. And they won’t find out about me unless you tell them. And that would be a mistake.” She pauses a minute, picks Byron’s nuts off the pavement, puts them in her jeans pocket. Then says, “Any questions?”

Faith and Milo look at each other.

No, they don’t have any questions.

15.

Donovan Creed, Joe Penny,

Jack & Jill.

JACK TALLOW LOOKS like shit. He’s juiced up with pain meds and antibiotics and writing stories about Jill’s husband that are impossible to believe.

Writing them on a yellow legal pad, since he can’t speak.

Bobby Dee had a doctor remove his vocal cords so he wouldn’t make too much noise while being tortured. But he didn’t have time to be tortured too badly in the basement because Bobby had his goons dump Jack in a pen full of wild hogs near the Blood River. From what I’ve pieced together, Jack’s escape involved killing two guys and stealing a truck. But the details are sketchy, and I’m not interested enough to question him further.

If Jack’s to be believed, Bobby has a number of prisoners chained up in the basement of his antebellum home in La Pierre, Louisiana. And now he’s insisting I spare the prisoners.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the prisoners,” I say. “And if they look as bad as you, I expect they’ll welcome a swift death.”

Jack writes:

Some of them are kids! The prisoners are part of the state’s witness protection program. Bobby sells the snitches to the mob and rapes and tortures the family members.

“I can see why you didn’t get along,” I say. “He sounds like a shitty host.”

You have to save them. You can’t just blow them up.

I look at Joe Penny. “I want this done tonight. Any way to keep the prisoners alive while blowing up the rest of the house?”

“I haven’t seen the house, but if it’s as big as Jill says, the prisoners have three ways to die and only one way to live.”

“Elaborate.”

“They could die in the initial blast, be crushed by the rubble, or suffocate from the dust.”

“And their chance for living?”

“Pure luck.”

“Give me odds.”

He looks at Jack. “Are any of them chained to the corners of the basement?”

Jack shakes his head, no.

Joe says, “Then the odds are pretty much zero.”

I nod. “Sorry Jack. I’ve got a country to save.”

Jill says, “That’s not good enough. I won’t have innocent deaths on my conscience.”

She looks at Frank and says, “You need to talk to him.”

I hold up my hand. “Save your breath, Frank. Jill, I’ll remind you the only reason I’m killing Bobby is because that was part of our deal.”

“Well, saving the prisoners is our new deal.”

Frank shuts his eyes. He doesn’t believe the shit that comes out of Jill’s mouth any more than I do.

Joe Penny’s sitting closer to the limo driver than me, so I say, “Tell our driver to make a circle around the block and ignore whatever happens. And ask him to raise the privacy panel.”

Joe tells him what I said.

When the panel’s up and the car’s moving, I say, “Jill, look at me. I don’t
have
to kill your husband. I’m perfectly willing to
force
your cooperation.”

Jack starts to puff up like he’s going to get physical, but his intentions are interrupted by a wheezing attack.

“You’re bleeding,” I say, pointing at his thigh.

Jill says, “I won’t cooperate if you allow the prisoners to die.” She gives me a look of defiance. “Hit me all you want, but it won’t make me change my mind.”

My first strike crushes Frank’s Adam’s apple. I had intended to simply slap Jill’s face hard enough to show her I’m serious about saving my country, but Frank saw it coming and started to make a move. He’s a good man, extremely capable with his fists, so I couldn’t afford to let him follow through with his attack. I don’t know how Jill flipped him against me so quickly, but like I say, he’s a tough guy, and a big one, as well. He shakes off the pain and swings for the fences, but as he does, I’ve got my hand against his chest, pushing him back, so his punch falls short of the mark. I come back at him with a palm strike that shatters his nose.

There’s nothing I hate more than losing a good man, so I apologize to Frank and say, “I hope she at least let you fuck her.”

He tries to mount another attack and I hit him as flush and hard as I ever hit a man, and I can practically hear the blood filling his brain pan.

Jill’s scream pierces my ears.

She didn’t wait till Frank was dying to scream, it’s just that Frank was dying before she had time to get the scream out. I go ahead and give Jill the hard slap she earned earlier. While her head goes flying backward, I backhand Jack, who stopped coughing long enough to attempt an assault of his own. I watch Jill’s head slam against the wall of the limo and wonder how she feels about that.

Turns out she feels woozy.

Her head caroms off the window and nearly falls into Joe Penny’s lap.

I survey the situation. Joe’s horrified, Frank’s dying, Jack’s out cold, and Jill’s trying to scratch my eyes out.

I sigh.

Who the hell
are
these people?

When under attack, I have the ability to see things in slow motion. Jill’s tougher than I expected. She’s coming at me with both hands, trying to slash my face. If she gets close enough she’ll try to bite me. I consider grabbing both her hands and crushing them, but as I think on it, a part of me respects her for caring so much about the prisoners in Bobby’s basement, so I decide to let her retain the use of her hands. At least for now.

I know what you’re thinking.

I’m going soft, right?

I slap Jill’s hands away and catch her in the temple with my fist, taking enough off the punch to keep from killing her, while keeping enough in it to knock her out for a full minute.

Frank’s dying slowly, suffering.

I hate that.

This would be the perfect time to smash his nose bone into his brain and kill him instantly, like the martial arts guys do in the movies. But I can’t do that, because it’s a complete myth. The nose isn’t made of bone, it’s cartilage. And even if it were bone, it wouldn’t be strong enough, or long enough, or sharp enough, to penetrate the skull and enter the brain.

Frank’s dying from internal hemorrhaging. If we went to a hospital immediately we could save his life and possibly prevent permanent brain damage. But that’s out of the question. I can’t allow a dangerous guy like Frank to live after he’s turned on me. I give him another hard smack on the temple, but my heart’s not in it.

By the time Jill regains consciousness, we’ve circled the block and parked again, and I’ve secured her wrists and ankles with plastic zip ties.

It takes her a moment to focus, and when she does she yells, “Frank!”

“Don’t think for a moment I won’t kill you,” I say.

She screams.

Jack wakes up. He’d come at me if he could, but I’ve secured his wrists and ankles, too.

Jill screams a second time, so I try Callie’s move of squeezing her throat with my thumb and forefinger to squelch it.

That doesn’t work, so I slap her again.

I think about how easily Callie stifled Abbey’s scream in the tent this morning. But all I managed to do was piss Jill off. Maybe it’s technique. Or maybe my hands are too big.

Now she’s crying, and I think I liked her better when she was screaming.

I watch her with interest, and come to the conclusion Sheriff Cox was right: Jill’s a fine looking woman. I’d peg her age at 30, and give her face and body a nine. The crying adds an air of vulnerability she probably doesn’t deserve, based on how she’s treated Jack since he got out of jail. But she’s got something going for her. Remember, this is a woman who got Jack’s house, money, and credit cards, and turned Frank against me in a matter of minutes.

Her clothes are a mess, but I can overlook that. I like the way her jeans cling to her legs. At the moment, her legs are splayed, the view enticing. Picture Callie’s leggings from earlier today, except that Jill’s sitting down which enhances the camel toe. I probably shouldn’t stare at her crotch like this. It makes me just as bad as the Willow Lake police force, but what can I say? It’s, you know, right
there
.

If I wasn’t in love with Callie I’d be all over Jill. I’d try to hit that triangle a time or two.

But you’re right. I’ve gone soft. I can’t cheat on Callie.

Not that Jill’s offering.

Frank’s death, plus the latest slap I gave her seems to have finally made an impression on her attitude. She’s still crying, but it’s muffled. Jack’s hissing at me like a stuttering snake, and hissing at her the same way. I assume he’s mad at me and trying to comfort her, but it all sounds the same, and she’s not happy with him anyway. In fact, I bet she regrets asking me to save Jack. I’m almost certain she would have run off with Frank.

I get my cell phone out and call the sketch artist and learn she’s been waiting at the police station. Then I realize I can’t put her in the car with a dead guy, so I cancel her and call my geeks and tell Curly to arrange for a sketch artist to meet me in New Orleans, at the Rose Dumont Hotel. I ask if he and the others have had any luck finding Ryan Decker.

“We’ve found hundreds of Ryan Deckers,” he says. “But that’s probably not his real name. We need that police sketch. If it’s good enough we can run it through law enforcement, social media, and motor vehicles.”

“I’m working on it,” I say.

We dump Frank’s body outside Carville, in a rice field that’s been converted to a crawfish farm. Then we ride past Bobby Dee’s house in La Pierre, so Joe can get a good look at what he’ll be blowing up, assuming Jill still wants to go through with the plan.

I say, “We can’t guarantee the prisoners will live, so I’ll let you make the call. I’m willing to blow Bobby and his men up tonight if you want, or we can forget about it. Either way, you’re going to cooperate with the sketch artist when we get to New Orleans.”

She and Jack exchange a look.

He nods.

She says, “We want you to kill Bobby.”

“Maybe some of the prisoners will get lucky and survive,” I say, cheerfully.

My phone rings. It’s C.H., the elf, calling me with bad news. After hearing the details I look at Jill and say, “I should have beaten that sketch out of you the moment we met.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Terrorist attack.”

Jill knows I’m on edge. She’s frightened. Defensive. Says, “You can’t just assume Decker’s responsible for every terrorist attack that takes place.”

I tell her to shut the fuck up. Then I call Callie.