Hook and Shoot (13 page)

A shape moved on the roof of the RV next to
Lou's. It was a man, crouched at the edge and bringing a long tube up to his face.

I pushed off the stairs and drove my shoulder into the side of the RV. It rocked, and I heard thumps and a clatter on the roof.

Burch aimed up there, came back down, dragged the beam across my face. It smacked into my eyes like a baseball bat. I clamped them shut and made a stupid face and tripped over the RV steps, almost went down and slammed backward against the RV door. I turned to my left and tried my eyes, watched a black shape slip out of Lou's wheel well and scamper toward me.

Something, maybe an arm, pressed across my chest and held me against the RV. Burch's flashlight beam pinned the Japanese guy in black clothes to the asphalt. He turned his head and raised a dagger to block the light. Burch shot him in the top of the head, the impact louder than the shots.

Burch moved away. “Watch our six.”

“I can't see anything.”

“Quiet down. Keep up.”

Footsteps going away and whimpering, Burch stomping and Eddie getting pulled along. I staggered after them, my eyelids like hummingbird wings until something hit my shoulder. I elbowed it in the face and wrenched it off its neck, then felt the domed shape of a rearview mirror in my hands and dropped
it. When I squinted one eye and closed the other I could see silhouettes, Burch shoving Eddie into the back of the limo and looking toward the gate.

“They closed it.”

“Can you get through?”

“Stop shouting and get in.”

I headed toward the voice and flinched at two coughing bursts, bullets slapping into metal and splashing through glass. “Who's shooting? Is that you?”

“Yeah, God bless these fools for not using guns. Fuckin' idiots, the lot.”

“Who made that flashlight? The sun?”

I fell into the back of the limo and heard the door close. Eddie was somewhere in there, wheezing and swearing. I cupped my hands around my eyes and blinked at the carpet. The limo jumped forward and picked up speed.

“Fuck me,” Eddie said. “Hold on.”

I felt around and found Eddie's ankles.

“Ah! Let go.” He tried to kick free.

The limo rushed forward, a lot of horsepower pulling a lot of weight. There was a slight tug in momentum when Burch went through the gate, and I rolled around on the floor until he corrected the fish-tailing. The tires locked up, and I braced between the seats for the turn onto the road, then more speed in a straight line.

I crawled onto the rear bench seat. Oncoming headlights stabbed through the open privacy panel. I blocked them with a hand and spread out, held on while Burch drove around sparse traffic, fast but not dangerous. I hoped he was watching the rearview; I sure as hell wasn't going to look back and risk my head exploding.

“Was Lou in there?” Eddie said.

“Yeah. They killed him.”

“Fuck. Well, there goes my deal.”

“And Lou's dead.”

He didn't say anything to that.

I blinked out the side window. My sight was returning, but the skin around my eyes felt numb.

“What the hell is this?” Eddie said.

The interior lights popped on. I yelled and tried to kick them.

“Are these darts?”

I peeked through slits. There were three red blossoms sticking out of his laptop bag. He plucked one out and stared at the three-inch stainless needle.

“There's something on the tip.” He held it out, looked up at me, and froze. “Shit. Hold still.”

“What? Why?”

“Burch, we need some help.”

I slapped at wall panels until I found one with a mirror and blinked at it until it made sense. One
of the darts was threaded along my eyebrow, the red plume above the bridge of my nose and the needle point sticking out above the corner of my right eye. The shaft was buried. “I can't feel this side of my face.”

“Burch,” Eddie said.

The limo slowed, turned into a grocery store parking lot and slammed into the base of a light pole. Eddie fell back into his seat. I tipped forward out of mine, had to catch myself on the bench.

Eddie sprang up. “What the fuck?”

In the front seat, Burch leaned to his right and stayed there, two red plumes sticking out of his neck.

Burch was still breathing but the rhythm was off, lots of dramatic pauses and gasps. Eddie and I leaned through the privacy panel and watched him and the darts in his neck.

“Shit,” Eddie said. “Is it safe to pull those out?”

I pulled them out.

“Whoa, man. What if he bleeds to death?”

Two beads of blood rose from the pinholes and shimmered in the dash lights.

“Stand back,” I said.

Eddie looked at the cars rolling past. “Are they chasing us? How many were there?”

“I don't know but we have to move. Can you drive?”

“I think so, yeah.” He tried to take the laptop bag off, flapped his hands around until he found one of the seat belts and tugged on it. He was in shock, his motor skills shot.

“Forget it.” I jumped out and squinted at the traffic, didn't see any truckloads of assassins. The limo's front bumper was dented around the base of the light pole, but there wasn't any frame or body damage I could see. No crumple zones here; let the rest of the world cave in.

I shoved Burch over and got behind the wheel.

Eddie said, “You know the way to the hotel?”

“We can't go there.”

“If we make it to the penthouse, we're—”

“Dead. Somebody's talking. Maybe Vanessa, maybe somebody on the staff. We can't trust it.”

“It's not Vanessa. She didn't even know where we were going. Nobody did.”

“But she knew we were leaving.”

“Then what? They guessed we were headed for the RV lot, leapfrogged us, and set up an ambush?”

I avoided the fact that he had a point by backing the limo off the pole and rolling it toward an exit along a dim side street. I parked under a ficus tree, lights off, where we could watch for any followers flashing past. The limo was the only vehicle on the street and blended into the suburban scenery like a
bullet on a cupcake.

Burch muttered something and started to spasm.

Eddie put a hand on him. “Is he dying right now?”

“Maybe. So they got to Lou. Did he sound strange when you planned the meet?”

“It was all texts. We gotta do something for Burch, man.”

“Shit. I bet they tracked Lou after the first meet, maybe even grabbed him while that little guy was trying to choke you. Once we were headed for this one, they stuck him. We got Lou killed. We should have told him.”

“Fuck that. He woulda run from the Elite deal.”

“Yeah, this is better.”

“Burch needs a hospital,” Eddie said.

“We can roll him into the ER and leave him. Way things are going, my guess is he'll get stabbed before he wakes up.”

“I can't let him die.”

I watched the traffic go by. There were about a dozen people I could call to work on Burch and tuck us away, and I didn't trust any of them. Between their greed and the Yakuza's reach, we wouldn't last the night.

That left the people who trusted me.

The person.

Years of honesty, respect, and love between us, and I was going to repay all of that by bringing death
to his door.

I hit the lights and pulled forward. My face was numb and I was glad; I'd never liked the feel of tears.

Gil walked through the gym's back door a little past midnight, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around: Burch sprawled on the sectional couch, unconscious, the machine gun still strapped across his chest.

Eddie holding an ice pack on Burch's face to keep it from burning off.

Me standing in the door to the kitchen with a glass of milk and a dart sticking out of my forehead.

“Coffee,” he said.

The Hole was the room at the rear of the gym where Gil's fighters hung out and sometimes slept during training camp. It kept us under his thumb and out of trouble—mostly—though every now and then he'd
measure the doorways to see how many bricks he'd need to seal us in for good. The room had a big screen TV, game consoles, foldout cots, the black leather sectional deep enough it had an undertow, foosball, and a card table. One corner was walled off and had four showers and a small steam room.

Gil kept his face blank, nodded at Eddie, and walked toward me. Not the door at the other end of the wall I was holding up, the one to his office, where he dished out the prime ass chewings. This was good. He got close enough to put a knuckle against my sternum and drive me backward into the kitchen while he stared at my throat.

This was not good.

He closed the door behind him. I opened my mouth and he put a finger up.

I closed my mouth.

The coffeepot was loaded and ready for the morning. He hit a button and got it chugging, then leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. “What the hell is in your face?”

“A blow dart.”

“Well, take it out. It bothers me.”

“I can't. There's something on the tip of it. It's making my face numb. If I pull it out, I might end up like Burch in there.”

Gil stepped close, frowned at it. “Hold on.” He
went into the hallway that ran the width of the building, separating the back area from the gym. I heard him rooting around in the bathroom and the utility closet, then he returned with cotton balls, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a pair of side cutters.

“Wait.”

“Shut up and hold still.” He wiped the upper half of my face with the alcohol.

The fumes burned my eyes, and scrunching them shut pulled on the dart. “Ah, man.”

“Relax your face. I don't know what this is going to feel like, but it'll probably be weird.”

I felt him tugging on the tip of the dart, wiping the toxic residue off. It was a distant sensation because of the numbness—no pain but it wasn't pleasant.

“Now don't move.”

I still had my eyes shut. Between Burch's flashlight and Gil's first aid I'd qualify for a Seeing Eye dog. The dart pulled a bit, twisted, then there was a snap.

“All done.” Gil pressed a towel into my hand. “That scar tissue finally did you a favor.”

When I opened my eyes the dart was in two pieces on the counter. Just a needle with a red plume on the back end. I ran cold water on the towel, wiped my face and neck. The skin around my eyes felt heavy, like it was drooping off the bones. I could feel the pressure of the towel but not the texture.

“Okay, so now I get to hear the story about how you got shot in the face with a dart. Again?”

“Nope. This is a first for me.”

“Goody.”

I told him from the penthouse to when I'd called him on our way to the gym. By the time I finished he was killing his second cup of coffee, reaching to pour a third. “Dare I ask if anyone called the police?”

“About which part?”

“Any. All.”

“Nobody called.”

“So poor Lou's still sitting in that RV?”

“I'm sure they took the body. If not, some mechanic will find him in the morning.”

He stared into the corner. “You know, I used to be a law-abiding citizen. Now, you tell me a story like this, the first thing I think about is how to make sure my ass is covered. Somebody ought to call the police, but I don't want them here asking a bunch of questions. Because that's bad for business. A guy's dead and I'm worried about appearances. What's that say about me?”

“It says you don't have anything to do with this, and I dragged you in anyway.”

“I met Lou a few times. He was kind of an ass but harmless enough.”

“I'm sorry.”

“And I believe you. Doesn't change the fact we could all go to jail.”

I thought about the photo in my jacket pocket of me carting another dead guy toward a freezer, wondered if that would get me a room on death row out at Ely State Prison. First chance I got I'd shred and burn it. No need to keep it around to convince Eddie things were serious. I think he was up to speed.

Gil said, “What happens now?”

“This is the only place I know is safe. If we can stay here until Burch gets back on his feet, I'll work on cutting you out of the loop.”

“Do they know you're here?”

“Maybe. They seem to know where we are all the time, but I can guarantee you nobody followed us here. Nobody can see the limo from the street.” I didn't tell him they knew about Marcela, must know about this place, and might have had it under surveillance before we showed up. Any justice in the world, the floor would have opened and let me drop to the circle of hell I'd earned.

Gil's halo didn't even flicker. “That Burch guy looks bad.”

“He is. Needs somebody fast. Who's that old hippie Angie brings in sometimes to cleanse the place?”

“You'll have to be more specific.” Angie was Gil's wife. She ran yoga and Pilates classes in the gym, tried
to get the fighters to stretch and breathe more.

“Wears a kimono, chants around with those smoking branches.”

Gil pulled a face. “Christ, that guy. Denny. You think he can help?”

“He's got that pouch hanging off his belt. Every time he comes in he'll look at somebody, reach in, and hand them a tea bag or something. Tell them, ‘Eat more lemons' or whatever.”

“I don't know. If Burch was awake, what would he want?”

“He'd shoot himself in the foot, let the poison drain out, then grimace at the bullet hole until it closed.”

“My kind of guy. I'll find Denny's number. We'll see what he can do.” He topped off his mug. “Nice suit, by the way.”

“It won't fit you.”

“Yeah, I'm shaped like a human being. Well, kinda.”

I went back into the Hole. “How's he doing?”

“Ragged,” Eddie said. He still had the ice pack on Burch's head, though now it was a water pack. Burch was twitching and muttering. His shoes were off, and his toes were bunched into fists. “What are you doing?”