by Robert Brown
It was the muscle man who had been guarding the door. He held a heavy hunting knife.
Heinrich yanked on the chain. It broke free of Muscle Man’s leg, but put him off balance long enough for Heinrich to swing again, this time taking the guy in the face.
Muscle Man screamed, staggering back and clutching his ruined features.
Heinrich was about to finish him off when he took a punch straight to the kidney.
Oh yeah, those other two guys.
Luckily, the punch had been a weak one. Many of the men in the room looked like degenerates—most likely, porn actors or film crew—and probably hadn’t been in many fights. Their numbers were in their favor, though.
Heinrich swung the chain in a big arc, hitting the guy on the left, who had enough presence of mind to bring up his hands to block. He squalled in pain, and his partner grabbed at the chain. Rather than get into a tug of war against a pair of porn stars, Heinrich let go and gave each man a one-two punch. Both went down like the weaklings they were.
A beer bottle bounced off his shoulder and Heinrich let out a grunt of pain. Another followed a second later, smashing against the wall. Two more degenerates, scrawny but full of venom, stood at the wet bar, grabbing bottles and throwing them as fast as they could.
Heinrich ducked and took another bottle in the right elbow. The impact numbed his arm. He took refuge behind the sofa and reached into his crotch for his sap.
In the next three seconds, he saw three things:
Muscle Man recovered from the chain to his face and approached him, knife at the ready.
Britt whipped an opponent into submission, then flew sideways as a flying whiskey bottle smashed into the side of her head.
And Anders and the twins came through an open doorway leading to the rest of the house. The twins wore their brass knuckles.
All four of his opponents converged on him. They were all on the same side of a large wooden sofa behind which Heinrich was hiding to shield himself from the fusillade of bottles.
Heinrich decided the bottles would be less dangerous than these four and vaulted over the sofa. He kicked off from the coffee table and made a flying leap at the two standing by the wet bar.
Both were scrawny and had pink hair. Heinrich took them for subs.
While they had frightening aim, Heinrich’s bold charge momentarily paralyzed them. They’d obviously never been in a fight before and thought they were safe lobbing bottles from the far end of the room. They hadn’t thought of a Plan B.
Heinrich didn’t give them time to create one. He swung the sap at the one on the right and heard his jaw crack as he went down. Unfortunately, Heinrich’s hand—still numb from the impact of the bottle—lost its grip on the sap, which fell to the floor. Heinrich gave the other bottle thrower a left jab. The guy’s head whipped back, cracking against the cabinet above the wet bar. Heinrich followed with a backhand that scraped his spiked wristband across the guy’s face, digging bloody furrows through the flesh.
Heinrich grabbed the nearest weapon—a vodka bottle—and turned, thinking he’d throw it. However, Muscle Man was already on him, raising his knife for a killing blow, his ravaged face twisted with rage and pain.
Heinrich made that face even worse by smashing the vodka bottle across it.
Muscle Man went down for the count. However, Heinrich had to back off the next instant, as one of the twins swept a beefy arm at him. He managed to dodge the brass knuckles and ready the jagged remains of his bottle.
The twin tried to punch him again. Heinrich met his punch with the broken glass. The rest of the bottle shattered with the impact of the brass knuckles. Shards flew back to cut Heinrich’s cheek and forearm, but the twin got the worst of it. He howled, clutching his hand. Several chunks of glass stuck out of it as blood spattered the floor.
The other twin came at Heinrich, taking care even though Heinrich was now unarmed. The leather Heinrich wore made him sweat. He was panting like a dog in summer, and the mask felt like it was constricting his head.
He didn’t know what was going on in the rest of the room. He had eyes only for his opponent. This twin was bigger and stronger than Heinrich was, but also slower and untrained. Those brass, knuckles, though…
…shot out like a meteor, straight for his face. Heinrich dodged, only to get the twin’s other fist in the ribs. That fist didn’t have brass knuckles, but the punch it gave still hurt like hell. All Heinrich could do was dance out of reach and avoid the next swing of the brass knuckles.
The twin followed him. Heinrich gave him a quick jab to the face and backed away from a roundhouse punch that would have knocked him out cold. Heinrich gave the twin a one-two punch and dodged back before the guy could respond.
He knew this couldn’t last. It was all he could do to keep the twin at bay. As soon as one of the others got off the floor, he’d be in serious trouble.
That happened sooner than he expected.
Because he had forgotten about Anders.
Heinrich prepared to give the twin another combo when, to his surprise, the guy backed off, glancing at the other side of the room.
Heinrich ducked, expecting another thrown bottle. Instead, a crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wall next to him.
A fucking crossbow bolt?
Heinrich ran, making it only three steps before one of the degenerates lying on the floor had the presence of mind to trip him.
Heinrich fell flat on his face. He scrambled to his feet just in time to give the twin an uppercut that made him cartwheel back. The guy who had tripped him kicked him in the shin. Heinrich stomped on his face.
He turned to face Anders.
The film producer cocked the crossbow and loaded another bolt from a quiver clipped to his belt. He stood on the other side of the room. There was no way Heinrich could reach him before he fired.
Anders raised the crossbow and aimed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I think we’ve had quite enough of your antics, Mr. Müller,” Anders said. “That is Mr. Müller in there, isn’t it?”
Heinrich unzipped the mask and peeled it off. On the other side of the room, Britt moaned and staggered to her feet, clutching her head. Her face was swollen where the bottle had hit it.
“You got us.” Heinrich sighed. “Is Satyr Studios just a front?”
Anders nodded. “In our business, it’s smart to diversify. It helps you ride out changes in public taste and sometimes leads to unexpected benefits. Casey, the dumb bitch, didn’t know she was signing up for the same company she had fled.”
“But what you do is legal. Why kill Wanda? Why try to kill me?” Something clicked in Heinrich’s mind. “That girl with the pigtails, the one in the movies you tried to erase. Something happened, didn’t it?”
Anders’ mouth formed a grim line. He didn’t respond as the others slowly picked themselves off the floor. The twin helped his brother pull the pieces of glass out of his hand, eliciting a grunt as each one came free.
“Where’s that girl?”
Anders didn’t respond. Heinrich looked around the room. The twins gave him smug smiles. The others—the actors and film crew—had varying reactions. One wore a perverse leer. Others avoided his gaze. A guy with purple hair down to his shoulders trembled, grabbed the nearest glass, and drained it.
“You killed that kid, didn’t you? Did something go wrong with the shoot? And what happened to her parents? Did you kill them, too? Is that why she wasn’t reported as a missing person, because her parents never got the chance to report her missing? And those external hard drives—you were going to destroy them so that you could get rid of the last of the evidence, but you didn’t get the chance to do that before I stole them.”
Anders gave him a cocky look down the length of the crossbow. “They’re destroyed now.”
“What do we do?” asked one of the others in Dutch. He looked worried.
“Take care of them like we took care of the others,” Anders replied.
“No!
” Purple Hair moaned. He ran for the wet bar but found no unbroken bottles there. Casting about, he found a beer bottle lying on the floor. Only a few drops were left in it, but he downed them anyway.
Everyone paused to watch this personal disintegration. Anders brought them back to attention. “Grab these two and take them down to the cellar. Heinrich, you were interested in Little Miss Pigtails and her parents. Well, you’ll get a chance to spend some time with them soon enough. Yes, quite a bit of time.”
Most of the men looked unsure of themselves. Heinrich studied them. Drugs and booze and porn were one thing; murder was something else entirely. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.
But Anders and the twins showed no such compunction, and they dominated these people.
The twin whom Heinrich had cut stalked up to him. His hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked handkerchief.
Even expecting the blow, Heinrich wasn’t able to dodge quickly enough. The man’s fist glanced off his head and Heinrich stumbled. Before he could recover, he took a gut punch, and then a cross square into his face.
Blearily, he realized he was on the floor. He felt strong hands pick him up. Another punch to the head nearly made him lose consciousness. Distant, distorted voices argued in Dutch, but he couldn’t make out the words. Britt screamed and Heinrich heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh.
By the time he regained his senses, he was in another part of the house, being carried down a hallway, a twin under each arm. One twin noticed his eyes open and gave him a jab in the ribs. Heinrich grunted and half closed his eyes again, hoping that would stop another blow from coming.
They came to a door that someone opened. A light flicked on and Heinrich saw stairs leading to a cellar. A muffled voice came from below.
The twins pushed him down the stairs.
Heinrich managed to get his hands out in time to avoid breaking his neck. Even so, by the time he made it to the bottom, he had several more cuts and bruises and what felt like a sprained wrist. Luckily, the cellar floor was dirt, not concrete; otherwise, he would have broken it for sure. At least he’d hurt his “off” hand. He swore he’d get a few more punches in before he went down.
Britt came down the stairs, Anders pointing the crossbow at her back. At least they didn’t throw her down. Very gentlemanly of them.
“Are you OK?” Britt asked, rushing over to him.
“More or less,” he grunted. “Mostly less.”
He took a look around. A few farm tools lay not far off, but the cellar was mostly bare. Johan sat with his back to one wall, handcuffed and gagged.
Anders nodded toward him. “This idiot has to die for squealing. That’s the word in English, right? Squealing?”
“Your English is impeccable,” Heinrich grumbled. “But wasn’t he leading us into a trap?”
Anders shrugged, then winced in pain. Heinrich allowed himself a smile. That cut he had given Anders on the chest would probably mean a few stitches.
“No. I was hoping to elude you until I got rid of Casey and Arizona. More bodies are always more trouble, as you say.”
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to let my friend here go?”
Anders laughed in response.
“I didn’t think so,” Heinrich said.
“I’ll let her go if I can put a couple of crossbow bolts through her,” Anders said with a smile.
“What is it with you and medieval weapons?”
Then he noticed two more details about the cellar—two horrible details. A pair of shovels leaned against the wall, dried earth clinging to them. The floor nearby looked like it had been dug up and tamped back down in an area about three feet wide and six feet long.
“You’re not covering your tracks very well,” Heinrich said.
Anders smiled. The uninjured twin passed him on the stairs, as did a couple of the others.
“Who would think to look for you here, or the little bitch with the pigtails? No paperwork connects Satyr Studios to 666 Entertainment. And my distributor for the Cut and Paste movies is another company entirely.”
“Why did you kill the other girl?” Britt asked.
“One of our cameramen got a bit, shall we say, overexcited. The kid complained to her parents. They were junkies eager for her earnings, but even they drew the line at that. They pulled her out of the company and threatened us with the police if we didn’t give them a big payoff. So here they rest, causing no more trouble.”
Britt shook all over. “I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”
Anders chuckled. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”
A couple more Satyr Studios employees came down, escorting a weeping Casey and Arizona. The twin and one of the employees took up the shovels and began digging.
Arizona yanked herself out of her mother’s grip and rushed over to Heinrich, clinging to him.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
Heinrich looked at Britt out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was preparing to spring. He made a quick calculation. Britt would leap at Anders and take the crossbow bolt. Heinrich could then duck to the left, to where that rusty scythe leaned against the wall a few feet away. It was a big and cumbersome weapon, but he could cut down at least a couple of these bastards before Anders had time to reload and kill him.
Death was coming anyway. Heinrich might as well greet it with a weapon in his hand.
He clutched Arizona while tensing his muscles to push her away. Britt waited for her chance, obviously hoping Anders would glance away for a moment. Seconds stretched out, seeming like hours. The only sound in the cellar was the scrape of shovels in dirt.
Heinrich heard the sound of breaking glass upstairs but didn’t think much of it. The misfit with the purple hair was probably still having a freak-out.
A thud a few seconds later made him curious.
But he didn’t really expect any help to come until a louder thud sounded from the top of the stairs. The twin with the bandaged hand rolled down, head over heels.
Anders turned around just in time to see who had bowled him over. The twin hit him with the force of an avalanche. Anders’ crossbow went off, the bolt lodging in the wooden ceiling.
Britt sprang on him, grabbed a bolt from the quiver at his hip, and jammed it through his eye, straight into his brain.
Anders didn’t even have time to scream.
Heinrich shoved Arizona away and rushed to grab the scythe.
The remaining twin let out a bellow and rushed him, swinging his shovel. Casey threw herself on the floor to get out of the way. One of the Satyr Studios employees wasn’t so quick and got knocked on his ass.
The twin didn’t seem to notice. He charged at Heinrich, eager to make a kill.
Heinrich lifted the scythe and blocked his opponent’s swing. The wooden handles smacked into each other. The pain from Heinrich’s injured wrist shot through his arm like a jolt of electricity, nearly making him drop his weapon. He backed off to get some more room to swing, but the twin didn’t give him any. Instead, the twin lunged forward, jabbing at Heinrich’s foot with the shovel blade. He managed only a glancing blow to his shin, but it nearly made Heinrich fall.
He stumbled back, barely able to stand and barely able to lift the scythe. Sensing victory, the twin wound up for a massive swing. Heinrich had just enough strength to make a swing of his own. He lodged about two inches of the rusty scythe tip into the twin’s belly.
His opponent gasped, but the wound wasn’t enough to stop the shovel from finishing its swing and taking Heinrich on the shoulder. Now he really did go down. Heinrich looked up, helpless, as the snarling twin yanked the scythe blade out of his side and raised his shovel again.
David Murphy appeared behind the twin and thwacked him upside the head with his sap. The twin staggered. Heinrich’s foot to his crotch made him stagger even more. Another blow to the head with the sap finally took him down.
Heinrich looked around. Britt had taken care of ev
eryone else in the room. She was loading the crossbow with the air of someone about to go hunting.
“Grandpa!” Arizona cried, hurrying over to him. The minister picked her up and kissed her. Casey lay on the ground, her face in her hands, ignored.
Heinrich took a minute to get to his feet. Britt headed upstairs.
“Don’t,” David told her. “The police are on their way. Let them handle this. But please stay there and feel free to shoot anyone who shows themselves at the top of the stairs.”
“They’re probably running by now,” Heinrich said.
“They already were when I came around back,” David replied. “When I saw the sentry go in after you, I knew there would be trouble. I peeked through the window and saw the fight, then snuck around to the back door. It was locked, but there was a window on the door that I broke with the sap. I was able to unlock it. Someone came to investigate the noise and I knocked him out. By then, the rest of those evil men were running out the front door. I had to take care of only that big fellow at the top of the stairs. He was looking down at you in the cellar, so it was easy to sneak up on him.”
“You came just in time,” Heinrich said. “Mr. Murphy, I think I owe you a discount.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It took several days for the police to let them go. The detectives had a lot of questions for each of them, and even more once they dug up the bodies in the cellar and rounded up all the employees of Satyr Studios and 666 Entertainment.
Mr. Purple Hair ratted out his friends to the cops in exchange for a lighter sentence. He told them everything, fingering one of his fellow employees as the molester and the twins as having done the killing. The police spoke with Detective Fowler of NYPD Homicide, who filled them in on Wanda’s murder and vouched for Heinrich.
Finally, they were allowed to leave The Netherlands—all except for Casey. She was a prize witness and the police hadn’t decided whether to charge her with endangering a child and a host of other crimes. David Murphy, with all his money, had declined to hire a lawyer for her, so the state had to provide an attorney. Heinrich hoped he was a bad one.
