The office lights were on. The drapes were open. DeVries wasn’t hiding. He’d already sent the police the wrong way. All he needed now was the getaway money and he’d make good his escape. He had two out of the three mercenaries left to protect him and a five-year-old girl for insurance.
McNulty stopped outside the patio doors and held the bags out to either side, as high as he could, given the weight. Ten million dollars is a lot of paper. The bags strained the muscles of his shoulders. The door clicked open and he lowered his arms. A gun poked out through the opening, waved McNulty forward, then withdrew inside the office.
Birds sang a dawn chorus in the trees and the boundary hedgerow. A squirrel darted across the lawn, paused mid-stride like a frozen statue, then disappeared into the shrubbery. McNulty took a deep breath of sweet morning air, nudged the door open with his foot, and went inside. The office was more like a wood paneled library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along two walls. Tilly was sitting in a big, ornate chair in front of the fireplace. Despite it being July, a tangle of logs blazed in the hearth. The second gunman stood behind her with one hand on her shoulder, the other hidden behind the carved wood and fancy cloth of the backrest. The first gunman stepped behind McNulty and shut the patio door. One eye was bloodshot and the side of his face was grey with smoke damage.
McNulty winced and sucked in his breath. “Ouch. That must sting.”
The man raised the gun from McNulty’s chest to his face. “You want to find out?”
McNulty shook one of the bags. “You want to make sure I brought the money first?”
Smoke Face lowered the gun to center mass. “I want to make you squeal like a pig.”
McNulty smiled. “Duelling banjos. Takes me back to the Cloverleaf Boys.”
Smoke Face didn’t return the smile. His face hurt too much. “And look how that turned out.”
McNulty let the bags dangle from each hand. “They didn’t have the money.”
DeVries stepped away from the bookcase where he’d been watching the pissing contest and stood beside the chair, careful not to block the girl or her captor’s aim. “We didn’t have the girl.”
McNulty let out a sigh and looked at the man responsible for his sister’s adoption. The businessman with fingers in many pies and tentacles that spread all the way to Crag View Children’s Home and McNulty’s childhood. Somebody had once asked McNulty to describe his childhood—a psychologist or mind doctor or the like. “Short,” had been the answer. Cut short had been the truth, with the swing of a Bible and a broken nose; the last time he’d seen his five-year-old sister, before he’d even known she was his sister. Until Harlan DeVries brought her to America and McNulty followed. Too late to save her childhood. Too early to form a special bond. And here he was again, with another five-year-old girl in another headmaster’s office.
“The girl’s the only reason I brought the money.”
DeVries kept the strain out of his voice. “Then all is right with the world.”
The security lights clicked off as daylight triggered the sensors and dawn became daytime. Two miles west of the I-95 three SWAT teams breached the Linwood Country Club and secured the premises—the wrong place to rescue Tilly Carter but the right place to distract the entire Waltham PD. McNulty glanced at the daylight streaming in through the patio doors, then turned to face the man whose nose he wanted to break. “Not yet it’s not.”
DeVries took another sideways step so McNulty had a good view of the girl in the chair. The gunman squeezed her shoulder but kept his other hand behind the backrest. Smoke Face moved in front of the fireplace and waved his gun at the sports bags.
McNulty tightened his grip on the handles. “You don’t get a penny until the girl’s out the door.”
DeVries looked disappointed. He shook his head. “This is America. We don’t deal in pennies.”
McNulty braced himself. “And I’m a Yorkshireman. I don’t deal.”
DeVries tilted his head and sighed. “Two against one might not be terrible odds. But bringing a sports bag to a gunfight makes them seem a whole lot worse.”
McNulty hefted the bags to show their weight. “Two bags.”
DeVries nodded and both gunmen brought their guns to bear. “Two guns.”
McNulty glanced at Smoke Face but focused on the other gunman. He still had one hand squeezing Tilly’s shoulder but now the other hand rested on top of the backrest. The gun was the same as his colleague’s. Both were out in the open where McNulty could see them. He did an exaggerated sweep of the room as he looked from Smoke Face to the man behind Tilly. He made a quick detour to take in Harlan DeVries then focussed on Smoke Face. He was the main threat. He was the nearest, and after having been shot in the face with a blank cartridge, he was also the most committed. This time Smoke Face didn’t wave the gun; it was pointed straight at McNulty’s chest.
“The bags.”
McNulty tried to keep calm but his heart was pounding in his chest. The pulse sounded so loud he was sure everyone could hear it. He wondered briefly if they could hear it down the other end of the line, if the sound on a video call was different to a voice call. He glanced at the phone in his breast pocket to make sure the camera lens was still visible. Smoke Face stepped forward and raised his gun.
“Bags.”
McNulty let his shoulders sag. The sigh was full of resignation and surrender. He held the bags out in front of him and dropped them on the floor. Both guns were pointing at him. Nobody was aiming at Tilly. That was good. Kind of. He wanted to keep them pointing at him but would prefer to reduce them by one. “I suppose you want to count it.”
DeVries nodded. Smoke Face lowered his gun and knelt between the bags.
SIXTY
This was the awkward part. McNulty didn’t want Smoke Face paying too much attention to the fastenings when he unzipped the bags. He tried to time his intervention to keep everyone’s attention on him. He spoke in the general direction of the room but the words were meant for DeVries. “You’re going to need a shitload of superhero anti-Kryptonite to bring you back to life after this.”
He put his hands on his hips, thumbs hooked into his belt. The kneeling man glanced at DeVries then turned to McNulty. McNulty shrugged. “Like Spock in that Star Trek movie.”
DeVries couldn’t resist showing his superior knowledge. “Star Trek isn’t superheroes.”
McNulty moved one hand around his back. “I had to explain that to Larry.”
All eyes were on McNulty. DeVries snorted a laugh. “Larry Unger? The porn king?”
McNulty’s hand was almost there. “Ex-porn king.”
DeVries let out a bored sigh. “This from an ex-cop from Yorkshire.”
McNulty’s fingers snaked around the pistol grip. “You’re never an ex-cop. And you’re always a Yorkshireman.”
He drew the gun from the back of his trousers to get everyone’s attention. It had the desired effect. Nobody was looking at Tilly. Neither gunman looked worried but it did focus their attention. Smoke Face looked at the gun and smiled. “You going to shoot me with a blank like before?”
He reached down and grasped the zippers of both bags. McNulty tried to give Tilly a calming nod and a wink. DeVries didn’t realize what the nod meant until it was too late. The second gunman glanced at the sports bags to see what ten million dollars looked like. Then the zippers rasped open and snapped the fuses.
There’s a mistaken belief that in moments of stress and immediate action, time slows down. That everything happens at once, but in slow motion, so the mind can recall every detail in its own compartment of time. That’s not true. What happens is the mind sharpens and pays more attention but time doesn’t get longer. Try counting thirty seconds on your watch. A lot can happen in thirty seconds.
What happened in the next thirty seconds was this:
The zippers opened the top of the sports bags. The special effects detonators sparked into life and the release of pressure tri
ggered the jack-in-a-box spring that sent millions of dollars flying in the air. The phosphorous charge exploded in a display of sparkling light that makes movie explosions look more spectacular than the real thing, usually augmented by gallons of petrol and sacks of Fullers Earth powder. The phosphor burned bright and fierce and incinerated half the currency before dancing like flaming butterflies around the library.
The bang made everyone jump. Not the exploding money but the VFW gun that McNulty had borrowed from one of the veterans. Not firing blanks. Not aimed at center mass. He went for the next best target, lower middle where the Kevlar vest rode up when you crouched. Even if he missed, he was guaranteed to hit something, either the groin or the thigh or the lower body. Smoke Face was jerked back by the movie explosion and dropped to the floor by being shot in the leg. He went over backward into the blazing log fire.
Tilly understood what the nod meant and acted instinctively. She dived sideways out of the chair and away from the bags of burning money. The ornate backrest was wide and empty and barely covered the gunman standing behind it. The sparkling explosion snapped his head one way and the gunshot snapped it back to McNulty. He swung his own gun but the distraction had bought McNulty vital seconds. He fired three times through the back of the chair and knocked the gunman back against the wall. Kevlar vest or not, three bullets will knock the wind out of you and send you sprawling.
Tilly hit the floor rolling.
Harlan DeVries couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Then the patio doors burst open and two armed cops came in with guns raised. Jon Harris came through the office door and jerked DeVries’s arm up his back. He jabbed a knee into the back of the businessman’s leg and dropped him to the floor, then knelt on him.
Burning money floated in the air like the closing explosion in a Star Wars movie. The open bags fizzed with white light as ten million dollars burned fierce and hot. McNulty tossed the gun onto the chair and snatched a fire extinguisher from the wall. He pulled the pin and squeezed the trigger and the room disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The fire took some effort to put out but eventually the money stopped burning and the smoke drifted out through the patio doors.
Thirty seconds. A lot can happen.
Harris cuffed DeVries while the other cops secured Smoke Face and the second gunman. Smoke Face had more than smoke damage to think about this time. Tilly Carter got up off the floor and looked at the uncle she hadn’t known she had. Harris put a reassuring hand on her shoulder then looked at McNulty holding the fire extinguisher. “You sure you were a cop or a firefighter?”
IT’S A WRAP
“Nobody likes the Kung Fu Panda look.”
—Amy Moore
SIXTY-ONE
Titanic Productions wrapped Dead Naked two weeks after the movie set shooting and one week after Vince McNulty incinerated ten million dollars. Larry Unger was still angry with McNulty over that. “You had to burn it all?”
“The Monopoly money didn’t work last time.”
“But ten million. With half that we could have upgraded to a superhero movie.”
“I thought you wanted to keep it real.”
Larry huffed and blew out his cheeks. “Five million gets plenty of real.”
McNulty looked at his producer. “More real than all that sci-fi bullshit?”
Larry turned to McNulty and narrowed his eyes. “You actually said that to him? About the anti-Kryptonite thing?”
“I was trying to take his mind off the money.”
Larry snorted a laugh. “Yeah well, keep trying. Because it’s not working on me.”
The crew were setting up the final scene, a tracking shot through the middle of Waltham Common with Alfonse Bayard’s detective leaving City Hall after tossing his shield to the ground. Another rip-off from a different detective movie, but hastily rewritten to include the Fourth of July Parade in the background to match footage of the real parade. About as real as Larry Unger was ever going to get.
It was another sunny day in Massachusetts and Waltham was recovering from the traumatic events that had disrupted the parade and the news that their greatest benefactor wasn’t so great after all. The town had been inundated with news crews covering the story. McNulty kept a low profile but the publicity boosted Titanic Productions’s standing while ignoring Larry Unger’s connection to the court case that would reconvene next week. Larry managed to steer questions toward the movie company’s help in exposing a child sex ring and the rescue of seven young girls. There were several questions that went unanswered. Lots of pieces that didn’t seem to fit.
Larry watched Amy touch up Alfonse’s makeup then turned to McNulty. “They ever say how they took the Arriflex?”
McNulty looked at Larry. “You mean are we going to get it back?”
“That as well. The footage would be interesting.”
“You got the stuff from Randy’s phone.”
Larry waved the thought aside. “But they came back on set and stole the camera.”
McNulty watched Amy finish with Alfonse. “Misdirection. To get everyone looking somewhere else.”
“Yeah, but how’d they do it?”
“How do they make sure nobody dies in superhero movies?”
“They cheat.”
McNulty looked at the head of Titanic Productions. “Well, these guys cheated. If you want to know more ask the police. At the moment, nobody’s talking.”
Amy finished with Alfonse and glanced across at McNulty. McNulty jerked his chin to one side and she nodded back. Lights, camera, action. Larry walked over to watch the final tracking shot and Alfonse Bayard became a true detective for the camera. He was getting pretty good at it. He didn’t walk like a duck anymore. At least McNulty had got one thing right. He looked around the park but there was still no sign of the person he wanted to see. He sighed and crossed to the location caterer for a milky coffee.
“I can do something about that, you know.”
Amy sat next to McNulty in the catering tent. “About what?”
Amy stirred sugar into her Styrofoam cup and looked at McNulty’s battered face. The cuts and scratches had scabbed over and the nose brace had been removed but his face was still a map of different colored bruises and black eyes. “The Kung Fu Panda look.”
McNulty smiled, and it didn’t even hurt anymore. “Maybe I like the Kung Fu Panda look.”
Amy frowned. “Nobody likes the Kung Fu Panda look.” She tilted her head as she examined his face. “A bit of makeup here and there. Some eyeliner.”
McNulty took the hand that was exploring his injuries and stroked her fingers. “Yorkshiremen don’t wear makeup.”
Amy smiled. “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”
McNulty leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss. “That was a different conversation.”
Amy noticed his distracted look. He kept glancing through the tent flap. “I can help you with that, as well.”
McNulty let out a sigh and looked at Amy. His eyes explored her face and knew what she was offering. Susan hadn’t visited the set or contacted her brother since he’d returned Tilly to the house on Kirkstall Road. Not the one near Crag View Children’s Home, but not far from it, either. Not in real terms. Not in life measures. He kissed Amy again then sat back. “No. This is something I’ve got to do myself.” He pushed his cup away and held out a hand. “Can I borrow your car?”
The curtains were closed, despite the late afternoon sun. McNulty parked in the driveway under the basketball hoop and looked up at the house. Nobody came rushing out to greet him. No curtains twitched in curiosity. The house was still and silent and empty. The FOR SALE sign hammered into the lawn explained some of that, but as far as he knew his sister hadn’t moved out yet.
He got out of the car and rested a hand on the trunk while he scanned the windows. The path along the side of the house was clear of children’s toys. The picnic table, just visible around the back, was clean and tidy
. It didn’t look like he was going to be offered lemonade today. He didn’t think Tilly was going to run down the path to her favorite uncle, either. He doubted he was anyone’s favorite uncle right now. That hurt almost more than his sister’s avoiding him.
Pain, guilt and anger. They were emotions he’d have to learn to live with because he couldn’t see himself changing anytime soon. Anytime at all. Forget about, Out of strength came forth sweetness. He reckoned sweetness was something he had forsaken in his journey from boyhood to being a man. Susan was right, there was no getting rid of the angry-man survivor guilt, and now he had more reason than ever to embrace it. After putting his niece in harm’s way and his sister through the wringer.
Birds sang in the trees. A distant jet took off from Logan International. A dog barked farther along Kirkstall Road. He half expected to hear the sounds of children playing but laughter was in short supply these days. A harsh electric hum invaded the tranquil setting and one of the garage doors began to open. A pair of legs slowly became visible. Ankles. Knees. Thighs. Then Susan stood in the opening but didn’t come out. She was alone. Understandable, considering the last time McNulty had seen Tilly.
Susan hugged herself and stood in silence. McNulty pushed off from the back of the car. They looked at each other for a long time but neither of them wanted to be the first to speak. McNulty didn’t want this to end as an awkward moment so he stepped forward and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He waved a hand to include the house and the girl inside but mainly the FOR SALE sign. “About everything.”
Susan looked at her brother but didn’t speak. McNulty became aware of the tea chests and cardboard boxes stacked in the shadows of the garage. Each box had a label pasted on one side, Kitchen, Living Room, Tilly’s Room. A house awaiting the moving truck. A life in flux. Two lives.
Tracking Shot Page 21
