Vengeance is Mine - A Benjamin Tucker Mystery (31 page)

“I’m tellin’ ya, Tucker, he’s obsessed with you, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you … at least for now.”

Dr. Dacosta had me perform a series of movements with my fingers and wrist to ensure there was no damage to the underlying tissue and tendons. By the time he’d finished, I had eighteen sutures closing two major gashes on both sides of my arm.

“I did the best I could,” he said, “but it’s likely you’ll have some scarring.” You might want to consult a plastic surgeon to see what he recommends to minimize scar tissue formation. They’ve got some new techniques that work pretty well these days.” He gave me prescriptions for antibiotics and pain pills, and wished me good luck.

 After Dr. Dacosta left, a nurse came in and gave me printed instructions describing how to take care of my wounds. Then she helped me put a hospital gown on backwards to cover my back. I was still wearing the Kevlar vest.

Officer Perez offered to drive us back to the estate. He was nice enough to stop on the way at an all-night pharmacy, so I could fill my prescriptions and pick up supplies to dress my wounds. I also bought a package of white Hanes crew neck T-shirts and ditched the hospital lingerie.

It was almost four o’clock in the morning when we finally arrived back at the estate. News people were crawling all over the place and descended on us as soon as we opened the car door. Netter and most of the Holly Springs police officers were long gone, but Wake County Crime Lab technicians were still processing the scene. We walked briskly to the guesthouse because the main house had been taped off.

One of the newswomen asked, “Why does Jack Plum keep making contact with you?”

She shoved her microphone in my face. “I don’t know. I have no further comment.”

We walked past her and through the front door of the guesthouse while Officer Perez herded the reporters back to the street.

We put our weapons away and checked our messages. Nothing. While we waited for the lab techs to finish up at the main house, we decided to get cleaned up. We looked each other over to decide who was filthier. I won. Not by much.

Twenty-five minutes later, investigators told us they were releasing the scene.

The early morning air felt good, and we could hear crickets as we walked across the courtyard and entered the breakfast area. When we walked into the great room, my jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ!” I said. “Look at this place. It looks like a damn war zone.”

I went to the kitchen, picked up the phone, and dialed Marcus. He answered hoarsely on the fourth ring.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, Marcus. It’s Ben. I have a, uh, situation.” I briefly described the night’s rampage and told him there was a
smidgen
of damage at the main house. He yawned and said he’d be right over.

The large window overlooking the back yard was gone, and there were tiny glass fragments all over the place. Fingerprinting residue was everywhere, and some of the furniture was askew. I saw several bullet holes in the walls and places in the woodwork where bullets had splintered the wood. There were a few broken
objets d'art
and one dead lamp.

 I described the battle to Lainie. “I landed here, and Plum was over there by the fireplace, kind of where you are now. I lost the night vision goggles and just started firing in that direction.”

“Well, he was definitely firing back,” she said. “There should be shell casings all over. The crime lab guys must have packaged them as evidence.”

“Mine would have been over here.” I bent down. “Here’s my speed loader.” I picked something else up and studied it. I looked up at the ceiling. “And a piece of the chandelier. Shit, I need a drink.” I got two glasses from the kitchen and set them on the counter. “Scotch?”

“I think we need some bigger glasses.”

I filled the glasses with ice, but I didn’t have the strength in my right hand to pull the top from the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. I handed it to Lainie.

She filled our glasses a third full. I took a gulp and continued evaluating the damage.

Lainie pointed at the painting hanging over the fireplace. “Who’s that?” she asked.

“That is the great Henry Marshak,” I said, “Maggie’s father. He died a few years ago, and his memory is sacred around here … like he’s a god. No one dares say anything negative about the great Henry Marshak. No sirree. I think of him as
Saint
Henry.”

She walked over and looked at the painting.

I examined the grand piano. “No damage that I can see to Nora’s piano. Thank you, god!”

“Ben?” Lainie asked.

I examined the sofas. “Two bullet holes in the back of one of the sofas. The other one got away unscathed.”

“Ben?”

“A broken Lladró ballet dancer.”

“BEN!”

I spun around and faced her. “What?”

She had pulled a step stool over to the fireplace and was standing on it looking at the large portrait. I walked over and looked up at the painting. In the center of Henry Marshak’s forehead was a bullet hole.

“It’s a large hole,” Lainie said. “Yep, .44 caliber. Ben, you shot Maggie’s father in the head.”

I rubbed my weary eyes. “Fuck … fuck, fuck, and fuck!”

CHAPTER 42

I plopped down on the damaged sofa and put my face in my hands. “It’ll be Roberta who kills me,” I muttered. “She’ll probably use that twelve inch carving knife.” I slowly lifted my head toward Lainie. “You should see that thing. It’s got Benjamin Tucker written all over it.”

“Quit sulking,” Lainie said, “no one’s going to kill you.”

The doorbell rang as I took a very large swig of scotch. “That’ll be Marcus,” I said. “Shit!”

I looked out the drawing room window to confirm that Marcus’s Mercedes was, indeed, parked in the driveway. I opened the door and let him in. He looked at my bandaged arm, hesitated, about to say something, and then walked past me to the great room.

He stopped in his tracks and surveyed the damage. He looked from me to Lainie, still standing on the chair, holding a glass of scotch in one hand and touching the portrait with the other.

He wiped a hand over his face and finally spoke. “Margaret loves this house … and so do Nora and the rest of the family.” He focused on the image of Henry Marshak with the bullet hole in his head. “You’re a dead man, Ben.” He took a deep breath and pointed to my glass. “You better get me one of those … a large one.”

Lainie poured Marcus a tall glass, half full.

After further assessment, he said, “Let me get somebody to come over right away and cover that window.” He went to the drawing room and made a short phone call.

A few minutes later he returned. “A guy is on the way. Name’s Johnny Walker.” He lifted his glass. “How ironic is that?”

Marcus looked around the dining room and the foyer to see if there was more damage. “Looks like it’s pretty much confined to the great room. Too bad we didn’t have that damn security system in place. What’s the status?”

“I think they’re ready to install the fence panels. They might start working on the main house system tomorrow.” I looked at the clock. “Make that later today.”

Marcus shook his head. “Wouldn’t ya know it?” He returned to the fireplace and looked at the painting again. “This portrait was created after Henry’s death from family photographs. Maggie gave it to Nora on what would have been her fortieth wedding anniversary. I believe the man that painted it is still around.” I watched as Marcus transformed into damage recovery mode. “I can’t remember his name, but I probably have it at the office. I’ll have him contact you to see if it can be repaired.”

We decided to search the house, starting upstairs and working our way down. When we got to Nora’s bedroom suite, the door that led to her verandah appeared to have been pried open. This was where Plum had gained access to the main house, and I silently thanked the Lord that Nora was safe out at Larkspur.

We went back to the great room to refill our glasses.

“Doesn’t look like anything was stolen, does it?” Marcus said.

“He’s not a thief, Mr. Bradley,” Lainie said. “He’s a killer.”

“Please, call me Marcus, Ms. MacKenzie.”

She smiled, “Lainie.”

The telephone rang, and I looked at the clock. “It’s almost five o’clock in the morning. Who would be calling at this hour? Netter would call my cell.”

“It’s probably Walker,” Marcus said. “I gave him both your cell and landline numbers.”

I picked up. “Hello.”

“Hello, Ben.” It was Plum! “I’m glad to hear your voice. You looked pretty bad a few hours ago. How are you?”

“I’ll live.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “You almost caught me earlier. I have to admit our relationship has developed even better than I had hoped.”

“Look, we don’t have a relationship. Why don’t you just turn yourself in? You’ve made your point, and this has gone far enough. No one else needs to get hurt … or killed. I can help you, if you’ll let me. Let’s meet … just the two of us … and we’ll go in together.”

Lainie had quickly realized who I was talking to and dialed 911.

“I’m not a fool, Ben,” Plum said. “Your buddy, Netter, would have someone pick me off before I even walked through the door.”

“Not if we were dressed alike,” I said.

There was a long pause, as if he was actually thinking about what I said. “You’re a good man, Ben. I believe you’d really try to help me. But no, I still have things I need to accomplish. I have a list, and I’m just getting started. When I’m done, you and I will leave this earth together.” There was another pause. “It’s our destiny.”

Plum hung up.

I looked at the log of recent calls on the phone, surprised that he’d called from a phone that didn’t have caller ID blocked. I gave the number to Lainie, who was still on the line with the 911 dispatcher.

Johnny Walker pounded on the front door, and the three of us almost jumped out of our skins.

I opened the door, and he hesitated uncertainly when he looked at my face. “You were expecting me, right?”

I smiled. “Yes. Please come in. It’s been kind of a crazy night.”

He followed me into the great room and whistled. “So I see.”

Lainie hung up her phone. “The call came from a pay phone at a gas station in Raleigh. They’re sending a patrol car over now. But he’s gone.”

“Look, Ben,” Marcus said, “you and Lainie have had a rough night. Why don’t you guys head off and get some sleep? I’ll get Mr. Walker started.”

I looked at Lainie. She was exhausted. “Okay. Thanks, Marcus.”

He smiled. “Ya know, Ben, things were pretty dull around here before you came into the picture. It’d be kinda nice to get it back that way.”

Back at the guesthouse, I got Oscar out of his crate and took him out to pee. “Big action last night, buddy. Next time I stay in the crate and you go.” He looked at me and wagged.

I locked us up tight when we came back in. Lainie yawned and said, “I’m so tired. I’m not getting up until noon. And I’m sleeping with you tonight.” I snapped around to look at her. “Not like that. We made a deal. But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

We set our weapons on our respective bedside tables, and climbed into the bed in the master bedroom, fully clothed.

“How’s your arm?”

“Starting to throb.” I reached over with my good arm and turned off the lamp.

CHAPTER 43

It was a man’s voice coming from outside.

“Fire in the hole!”
KABAM!

Lainie and I shot out of bed, grabbed our weapons, and aimed them: hers at the bedroom door; mine at the french door leading out to the courtyard. Oscar was in a barking frenzy, racing back and forth.

“What the hell was that?” Lainie shouted to me in a whisper.

“I don’t know. Sounded like a gunshot.”

“Fire in the hole!”
KABAM!

Lainie jerked her aim toward the French door. I slowly crept over to the shuttered door with Pure Reason raised in front of me. Oscar was under the bed, shaking. I put my ear to the door and listened, and then carefully opened the shutter a crack and peered out. I lowered my weapon.

“It’s the Brackus guys,” I said, continuing to look out the door. “Looks like they’re using explosive anchors to install the fence panels.”

“For Christ’s sake!” Lainie said as she lowered her weapon. “What time is it?”

I looked at my watch. “8:15.”

“Fire in the hole!”
KABAM!

She was furious. “I just want some damn sleep! Could this possibly get any worse?” She returned her weapon to the nightstand and threw herself back on the bed.

“Fire in the hole!”
KABAM!

Each time, Oscar would go ballistic, shooting back sharp, ear-piercing barks.

“Tucker, do something!” Lainie was beside herself.

“Like what?”

“You have an armory here! Go shoot them!” She covered her head with her pillow.

I set Pure Reason on my nightstand and crawled back into the bed. Fortunately for the Brackus guys, the explosions lasted only another fifteen minutes or so.

We had just drifted back asleep when my cell phone rang at eight forty-five. The murderous look on Lainie’s face made me decide to take the call in the living room.

I returned a few minutes later and pushed open the bedroom door. “It’s Netter,” I said softly. “He wants to know if you’re going to make this morning’s meeting.”

Lainie bolted up. “I just want some damn sleep! Tell him to fuck off!”

I winced, closed the bedroom door, and walked back to the living area. “Sorry, Lieutenant. She said to please accept her apology, but she’s not going to make it today. It seems she has a headache.”

The sun was streaming in the kitchen window as I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took an antibiotic pill. My arm hurt like hell, but I loathed taking drugs of any kind and opted not to take the Vicodin. At nine o’clock, I received a call from Dimitri Ezzel, the artist who created the injured portrait of Henry Marshak that hung in the great room. I asked him how long it would take to paint an exact replica. A month.