One to Go (34 page)

“Why me? I don't know you. I ain't done nothin' to you.”

“You killed a man and got away with it.”

Williams became animated. “B. Chop? You talkin' 'bout B. Chop? Man, that was self-defense. He pissed I took his woman, and he say he gonna double tap her and my son to teach me a lesson. So I seen him comin' down the street toward my house. He sees me and reaches inside his jacket. I drew first and he went down. That's it, man, I swear.”

Tom figured the man was probably lying, but it made no difference, right?
Right?
He felt his eyes well up. “Sorry.” He pressed the blade against the man's throat, drawing blood. One quick slice. That's all he had to do.

Now,
DO IT NOW!

“
Shiiiiitt!
”

He tossed the knife into a nearby shrub and shuffled back to his car.

“You better run, motherfucker!” shouted Williams. “You cut me? You cut
me?
” The man crawled to his feet and ran into the house. Tom reached the Ford, jumped in, and drove off, just as Williams emerged with a gun in his hand. He fired wildly at Tom's car as it sped away.

A part of Tom wished the bullet had found its mark.

There was no way Tom could sleep. He had less than twenty-four hours to save his daughter. He knew he couldn't kill again, and he hated himself for it. His own—cowardice?—wouldn't allow him to take the life of an unarmed, nonthreatening man, no matter what heinous crimes the scumbag may have committed. He knew now, even if he had a gun and could distance himself from the act, he couldn't do it.

Which left—what? He rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. He had to get some sleep.

After carrying a highball glass to the fridge and filling it with ice, he added three fingers of whiskey. He took a healthy sip, then hesitated. What would Eva think? Wouldn't she want him to get his rest?
Shit
. He dumped the rest of the whiskey into the sink.

He found the remote, slumped into the kitchen chair, and channel surfed. At that hour, the pickings were slim. After a few minutes, he turned off the TV.

Looking at the double casement windows, he still found it nearly impossible to believe that days earlier he'd been tied to the brass handles and subjected to an exorcism. It was crazy.
Crazy
. Maybe he was the one going nuts. He could still see Matt and Sister Irene chanting their verses while the demon twins were screwing right in front of them.
Holy water my ass
.

The priest. Tom paused while a thought tried to form in his mind.
The priest
.

He'd assumed Chad and Brit had kept Janie until last to
motivate him. But there could be another explanation. The priest. What if Janie had been marked a week ago? What if she'd been the one at risk instead of Emma 2? Maybe she wasn't selected because the priest was outside watching over her. Sort of like Passover. The angel of death passed over those families whose homes were marked with goats' blood. Could the priest have acted in the same capacity? Could the demons have passed over Janie because she was protected by the presence of a man of God?

He got up and fumbled through his pants pocket for his phone. After six rings, he was about to hang up, when he heard Matthew's slurred voice.

“Hello?”

“It's Tom.”

“You have any idea what time—?”

“You're my last hope.”

“I win!” Janie shouted. She looked over the back of the couch to Tom sitting anxiously at his kitchen table. “I beat Uncle Ziggy!”

“She got lucky,” Zig said, sitting next to her. They'd been playing Madden NFL '15, the iconic NFL video game, for a couple of hours. Tom had imbued his daughter with a love of football, and she'd become a devoted 'Skins fan. He'd taught her how to play Madden, and she'd become so adept that Gayle had complained their daughter was spending too much time in front of the TV instead of playing outside.

Tom had arranged for Janie to spend Saturday night at his apartment, and Gayle offered no objections. The temporary absence would allow her and David to spend some quality time with Angie, who'd begun to exhibit manifestations of depression, the impact from the loss of her parents now slowly kicking in. When Zig popped in unexpectedly, Tom's original thought was to tell him this wasn't a good time, but she'd responded so enthusiastically to the sight of her Uncle Ziggy, he decided his good friend could provide a diversion for his daughter until the priest arrived.

If
he arrived. When Tom had conveyed his theory on the phone, Matthew had sounded skeptical and responded coolly to Tom's entreaty that he spend the midnight hour with them. When Tom explained the alternative was roaming the streets searching for a random innocent to kill, the priest reluctantly agreed. But Tom worried that Matthew, with the benefit of a clear head unclouded by sleep deprivation, might change his mind and not post.

At almost ten p.m., everything seemed so normal. No threatening clouds, no howling winds, or ominous music, or wisps of smoke rising from the floor. Just a normal fall night in the nation's capital. Weird.

“Can I play again, Daddy? Please? Please?”

“You don't want to make your Uncle Ziggy feel even worse, do you? Now go brush your teeth and get in bed, and I'll come in to tuck you in.”

“Just one more game?”

“Better listen to your daddy,” said Zig. “If we play again, you'll win and that'll make me sad. You don't want to make me cry, do you? Give me a hug and scoot off to bed.”

She wrapped her arms around Zig, gave him a quick hug, and scurried into the bathroom wearing her Redskins pajamas. Tom's mind flashed to the image of Emma 2 in her pink pajamas, the blood drained from her skin.

A minute later, the bathroom door opened, and Tom followed Janie into his bedroom. In their familiar ritual, she stood against the wall, Tom yelled “Hike!” and she ran toward the bed. In a single leap, she was on top of the bed, scrambling to get under the covers.

“Touchdown!” they shouted in unison.

He hugged his daughter so tight he heard her grunt. “Sorry.”

“Daddy, why are you crying?”

“I'm not crying, sweetie. Just allergies.”

She reached up and gingerly touched his nose. “Your nose doesn't look as fat as before. Does it hurt?”

“When you touch it, all of the pain goes away. Listen, a good
friend of Daddy's, a priest named Father Matt, might come over to talk to me tonight, so if you happen to wake up and see him, don't be scared, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too, Baby.”

He kissed her again, then exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him, then stopped in the bathroom to pop three ibuprofen. The medicine had done a good job in reducing the pain in his ribs.

When he entered the living room, he heard his cell phone ring. Matthew? Telling him he wasn't coming? If that happened, Tom had a contingency plan. He'd take Janie to a church and keep her there until midnight passed. Would the demons pass over a church? Who the hell knew?

“You going to answer your phone?” asked Zig.

Tom saw from the screen that it was Eva.

“Hi.”

“A bit of news, Tom. My cousin works for PD labs, and that partial on the gun? I'm afraid it's no longer a partial. They were able to lift the rest of the print. Faint, but identifiable. It's yours.”

Of course it's his print. It was his gun he was planning to use to kill a young mother. “Thanks. Let's talk about it tomorrow.”

“Uh, all right. Are you okay?”

“Janie's here, and Zig. Didn't mean to be short.” Tom realized he needed to try to sound normal. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Just sipping a glass of wine here alone at home. Listening to Ravel's
Bolero
, enjoying the city skyline. Look, I'll let you go. And Tom, don't worry about the print. We'll still mount a strong—”

He interrupted her. “Hold on.” It hit him. “Skyline.” He stepped over to the computer, logged on, and quickly found Zig's doo-wop list.

“What's up?” asked Zig.

“When Eva said ‘skyline,' it reminded me. The Skyliners. In the car with Jess, I remember the DJ mentioning the Skyliners.” He ran his finger down the list of groups and their hit songs.

“Tom, what's going on?” asked Eva into his ear. He put the phone on speaker mode.

“Here. Let's see.
‘Since I Don't Have You,' ‘This I Swear,' ‘Pennies from Heaven,' ‘When I Fall,'
”—He looked up from the list. “
Pennies from Heaven
.”

“I know where Jess hid the phone.”

“Where?” asked both Zig and Eva in near unison.

“‘
Pennies from Heaven
.' What's on the back of the penny?”

This time Zig beat Eva to it. “The Lincoln Memorial.”

“The phone's behind the statue, in the fold of Lincoln's robe.”

“Not sure I want to know how you know that, but I'm on my way,” said Eva. “Have Zig stay with Janie and meet me there.”

At that moment, Tom couldn't care less about the phone. “It's been there all this time, it'll be there tomorrow.”

“I'll go get it,” said Zig, reaching for his overcoat.

“I'm closer,” said Eva.

“Just bring it by tomorrow morning,” said Tom.

“I'm not waiting.” She hung up before Tom could respond.

Tom checked his watch. Where was the priest? He probably ought to ask Zig to leave. Who knew when Matt—?

“Get your coat.”

Tom turned to see Zig standing by the door in his overcoat. In his quivering hand, he held an automatic pistol with a silencer.

And it was pointed at Tom's head.

The gun shook so violently that Zig had to steady his grip with both hands.

“I'm really sorry.” His voice trembled, beads of sweat formed on his brow.

Tom felt surprisingly calm as he tried to wrap his brain around the image of his best friend pointing a gun at his face. A gun with a silencer.

His mind flashed back to waiting in the holding cell, prior to entering the Fuhrer's courtroom. Zig had brought him a business suit to wear.
A suit from his closet
. Which meant he had a key to the apartment. He'd forgotten. When he'd moved in, he'd given Zig a key in case of an emergency. “You? Jess?”

“Man, I'm so sorry.”

“Stop telling me you're sorry.” Tom checked his watch: 10:37. “Look, Zig, I'm sure you got a story, and I'd love to hear it but—”

“We need to go to the memorial and get the phone.”

“I don't care about the phone. You go. Get the phone. You heard me tell Eva where it is. What you do with it, I don't care. Burn it, throw it in the Potomac. Just leave me alone with Janie for a couple of hours.”

“Eva will likely get there before we do, so I need you to call her and tell her to wait for us before she does anything.”

“Zig, please, I know you, and I know whatever you did, you had good reason. Please, I'm begging you—”

He was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Who's that?” asked Zig, not attempting to hide the alarm in his voice. Tom noticed his gun hand had gotten even shakier.

“A friend, a priest.”

“A priest? You're not even Catholic. Get rid of him.”

Tom paused for a moment; he had an idea. “Okay, here's how it's going to work. I'm going to let the priest in. He's going to take Janie and leave. I will not give any indication that you are armed.”

“No, just open the door and tell him—”

“And if you don't play along, I will not accompany you. You can shoot me, but I won't call off Eva, and she will get her hands on the phone and be miles away before you even arrive.”

Another knock, this one louder.

Zig paused only a second before nodding his assent. He stuck the gun into the deep overcoat pocket. Tom had no doubt the barrel was pointed at him.

Tom opened the door and motioned Matthew to enter. He introduced Zig as his best friend, and couldn't help a sideward glance to see Zig's reaction. Zig purposely avoided Tom's eyes.

When the priest extended his hand, Zig had to pull his right hand from his pocket. For a brief instant, Tom considered tackling Zig to the ground, but the handshake was perfunctory, and the right hand returned to the pocket before Tom could react.

“Good news, Father. We think we've uncovered evidence that will clear me. We're heading off to retrieve it now. Be back shortly. Janie's asleep, so make yourself at home. Beer and soda's in the fridge, leftover chicken—”

“You're leaving?” Matthew's eyes locked on Tom, the unspoken message clear: You're leaving, when in less than two hours, there's a good chance an otherworldly force will attempt to kill your daughter?