The Whole Truth (37 page)
“Then keep walking.”
They approached the house. About ten men, all holding mean weapons, watched. Every face seemed to hold the hope that he could be the one to do the honors, to blow Steve away when the order came.
Axel took him into the house, down the hall, and into the library where Steve first met Eldon LaSalle. Now it was Johnny standing by the fireplace, alone.
He smiled. “Leave us,” he said.
Axel withdrew and closed the door behind him. Johnny folded his arms and faced him. “You are one crazy dude, I got to give you that.”
“Crazy?” Steve said. “Or am I anointed?”
Johnny said nothing. For once his blazing blue eyes, so secure and confident every other time Steve saw them, had a thin glaze of doubt.
“How'd you do it?” Johnny said. “How'd you get back here?”
“You really care?”
“I just want to know.”
“Like you said, a miracle.”
“Now that's funny, because we're going to need more of 'em. There's going to be some shooting soon. There's going to be a little apocalypse here.”
“Let the hostages go.”
“It's too late,” Johnny said.
Steve went to him, within arm's length. “Let me help get you out of this.”
“Out? You think there's going to be an out?”
“There can be.”
“In your dreams, Brother.”
“What happened here?” Steve said. “How'd it get to this? What happened to Eldon?”
Johnny looked into the fire, smiling ruefully. “Oh, man. One never knows, huh?” He put his gaze on Steve. “Let me clue you in on a little something. Our father, our real father, didn't kill himself. Eldon did it, set up a fake suicide.”
Steve's blood went cold.
“Listen,” Johnny said. “You have to make it on your own in this world, and if they try to stop you, you have to stop them. The official story is that Eldon shot himself yesterday. That he was afraid of the feds. He showed weakness. And now I have stepped in to save Beth-El.”
“What do you mean the official story?”
“I think a clever lawyer like you can figure that out.”
Steve said, “You did it. You killed him.”
“Hey, you really are clever, aren't you?” Johnny started laughing. A lost laugh. The laugh of a dead man.
Steve waited for the laughing to stop. When it did, Johnny just breathed slowly, watching flames. Watching the fire under that grotesque bas-relief of the stoning of the man. It all reminded Steve of hell.
“Johnny,” he said, “listen to me now. Do you remember Cody Messina?”
Johnny looked at Steve, frowned. “Whoa. Yeah. I haven't thought about him in . . . where'd you come up with that?”
“Don't you remember that day you saved me from Cody Messina? He was going to pound my head down my neck if I didn't give him my Mountain Dew, that's what he said, and then all of a sudden he got a Mountain Dew can to the head. You threw it at him, Robert. Then you told me to run and later I found out you jumped on him and bit him good.”
Johnny looked off, seeming to remember. “You called me Robert again,” he said.
“Do you remember that?”
“Yeah, now I do. I do remember that. And it's funny.”
“What's funny?”
“I still drink that stuff. Got cases of it.”
“You were my hero then. You were on the right side then. You were my protector. I loved you more than anything when we were kids. That's been killed. That's what I hate the most. I hate that it was taken away. You took it away.”
“Me?”
“You sent me off to die. Just like that.”
Johnny peered into Steve's eyes. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn't send you off to die?”
“You, Eldon, whoever. You didn't stop it.”
“Would you believe me if I told you that wasn't true?”
“No.”
“Eldon ordered it, but I got to Neal. I told him not to do it. He was going to take you a long way away. He wasn't going to slab you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
Johnny met his eyes. “Yeah. I do. After I took over, I was going to bring you back. Steve, yeah, I used you. I tried to buy your loyalty. Then I had to guarantee it when you started getting cool feet around here.”
“So you guaranteed by having Mott plant coke in my car, just so you could pressure me into staying.”
“Then Eldon got all whacked over you.”
“You could say that.”
Johnny said, “But Steve, I want you to know something. In all of this, man, I really did want to see you again. I did want my brother back. Can you believe that much?”
“I don't know, Johnny,” Steve said, “but I do know you need somebody to talk to the feds, be in between for you. We'll get out of this together.”
“I'm not giving myself up.”
“Just the hostages. Give them up and I'll stay. You made a deal to let two go. Let them all go. Show good faith. Do that much, one step at a time. And that includes Sienna.”
Johnny shook his head. “She wants to be with me. I'm sorry about that.”
“Let her go. Let them all go. We can get it back, Robert. The way we felt about each other. Don't do this thing. I'll stick with you. I'll be your lawyer and your brother.”
Johnny shook his head. “I'm not going back to the joint. And you know that's the only place I'll be going.”
“If you do this, if the women here die, there's something worse that's going to happen. There's a justice out there that's going to rain down on you.”
“My brother, are you getting godly on me?”
“Listen to me! I don't know what it all means, but there has got to be something like that for something like this.” Steve paused and looked hard into Johnny's face and knew he was talking to himself now. “I don't want to lose you again, not this way. I want to get you back. I want to make it right. I didn't call out when they took you. I let it happen. I want to make it right . . .”
Johnny did not answer. He looked into the fireplace, the flames flickering in his eyes. He stood like that for a long time.
Then the door opened, and two men with guns drawn came in. One was Axel. The other was Bill Reagan.
“What's up?” Johnny said.
Reagan walked up to Steve and hit him with the butt of his gun.
Steve hit the floor.
“Whoa, whoa,” Steve heard Johnny say.
“He killed Rennie,” Reagan said. “Rahab helped him. She shot Neal. She's down there spilling her guts right now!”
Steve's head was spinning in a tight spiral. The left side of his face felt numb.
“Let me do him,” Axel said.
“No, me,” Reagan said. “Downstairs. In front of the women. Let them see.”
“Shut up, both of you,” Johnny said. He grabbed the front of Steve's shirt with both hands and pulled him up.
Steve blinked a couple of times.
“Is that true, Steve?” he said.
“How would he know?” Steve said. Then he knew. “Mott. You've got Mott down there monitoring everything.”
“Let me!” Reagan said. “Let's get rid of him now!”
“Steve,” Johnny said. “Is it true?”
“Yeah, it's true,” Steve said. “So what? It doesn't change anything.”
“See?” Reagan shouted.
“Shut up,” Johnny said.
“We do him now!” Reagan said.
“You want your chance? I'll give it to you. But when I say, not before. Got it?”
“But â ”
“Got it?”
Reagan heaved a breath, then snarled, “All right.”
“I'm sorry it has to be this way, Steve,” Johnny said.
Darkness and cold.
The darkness Steve could partially understand. He had a hood over his head. A black hood like they gave to Saddam before he was hanged. Like they used to do all the time when hanging was the punishment meted out in these good old United States.
The cold was the cold of a stone basement. A prison cell maybe. Or dungeon. They had marched him down here and he heard a door lock. Hands cuffed behind him.
So much for heroic stands. So much for his influence over his long-lost brother. So much for his life finally amounting to something more than the day-to-day quest for a buck or a fix.
He tried to feel his way around the enclosure, kicking out with his foot. He thought all sorts of things might be waiting for him. Bear traps. Rats. All the finer things of life set up here by Eldon LaSalle. And now Johnny.
Brother love was not all it was cracked up to be.
He heard some crackling. Like major electric wires. Popping sounds.
No. Not electricity.
Gunfire. Distant but clear.
We're all dead now
, he thought.
He tried to gauge the time as the shooting continued. Ten minutes or thirty? More? He couldn't tell.
Then the sound stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
Back in silence, he wondered if this was just some calm before more storm. Or something worse. What if the feds lobbed in gas or something? Or bulldozed the place with tanks?
If that happened, what could he do with his head bagged and hands shackled?
More time passed. Not good. He was starting to feel the internal pressure of nature's call. A final indignity before death?
Then something at the door. Someone trying to get in?
“Anybody in there?” a voice shouted. “This is ATF. Agent Larson. Anybody inside?”
Steve moved toward the sound, shouting through his hood. “Yeah! One guy!”
“Can you open the door?”
“No.”
Pause. “Stand back.”
Steve heard a grinding of some kind. Someone cutting through steel. Then a chinking sound, like chains falling off. And a burning smell wafting in.
He heard the door open.
“It's all right,” the voice said, and there followed the sound of footsteps, maybe three sets.
Then his hood was removed.
It was dark in the room, with faint light coming through the open door. Three silhouettes stood in front of him, guys with helmets.
“Conroy?” the man said.
“That's me,” Steve said.
“Good to see you.”
“What's happened?”
“The place is secure.
“The place is secure. Let's get you out. And get those cuffs off.”
They checked Steve out and had him sit in the back of an ambulance. He couldn't see anything outside but bursts of activity from federal agents, a blur of dark jackets with
ATF
in yellow on the back. It was now about six p.m. The smell of guns had finally dissipated in the wind.
Issler came by, looking tired but relieved.
“How many got out?” Steve asked before the agent opened his mouth.
“All the hostages. Thank God they were in a bunker, like you.”
“What about the men?”
“Three custodies. The rest, no.”
“Johnny?”
Issler shook his head. “This has the marks of death by agent. They fired the rounds. We had to go in. Bethany helped enormously. We still don't know why the women were unharmed. Or why you don't have a hole in your head.”
Steve said, “Mott. Sheriff Mott. You need to â ”
“Mott's dead.”
“What?”
“One of our guys went with your DA, Meyer, to question him. He took off. They caught up to him heading south. He pulled over and ate his gun.”
Steve said nothing. His hands shook. “Talk to a woman named Joyce Oderkirk. Her husband worked for Mott. Mott, or one of the LaSalleites, took care of him when he started asking questions about an autopsy.”
“Anything else?”
“Is one of the women Sienna Ciccone?”
“We don't know all the names yet. Who is she?”
“Someone you'll want to talk to.”
Issler nodded. “There's one more thing. I can't let you have it because it's evidence, but there was a shoebox we found inside that had your name on it and something inside. We thought maybe you could explain a rather cryptic message.”
“I'll try.”
Issler stepped away from the ambulance for a moment, then came back holding a gray shoebox. On the box lid was a yellow sticky note with the words
For Stevie from Robert.
Issler removed the lid. In the box was a single can of Mountain Dew.
“So what's that all about?” Issler asked.
“I think â ” Steve had to pause. Hot tears pushed against his eyes. He took a long breath. “I think it means my brother saved my life.”
Issler requested Steve wait in the ambulance. Might have some questions to be answered.
Steve didn't have any pressing plans at the moment. His body was buzzing with what he supposed was post-traumatic stress. Like he couldn't believe it was over, really over.
That Robert was dead. And Eldon LaSalle. And most of the others.
He decided small-town life was not for him. LA was a lot safer.
At some point he dozed off on a gurney.
Issler woke him up. “We have a sticky little situation here.”
“How's that?”
“There is a Sienna Ciccone.”
“You talk to her?”
Issler shook his head. “She said she won't talk to us until she talks to you. She wants you to act as her attorney.”
Steve blinked a couple of times to clear his head. “Now there's a twist.”
“Yeah, you want to explain it?”
“I better talk to her.”
“Tell me what this is about first.”
“Agent Issler, I hate to pull lawyer-client privilege, but there you are.”
“What privilege? You're not even â â ”
“It's
Gideon v. Wainwright.
It's the US Supreme Court. You get to have the attorney of your choice before you talk, and right now that's me. You don't want to run afoul of the Supreme Court now, do you?”
Issler sighed. “I need a vacation.”