Josh came out of the bathroom with his T-shirt in his hand. His bloody footprints were lost in the dark blue carpeting. Bob spoke on the onboard telephone. Trent was gone. Josh stripped out of his jeans and slipped into the young man's clothes. The shirt fit fine, but the jeans were too tight in the waist and an inch too short in the leg. He would make do.
"Okay, Mr. Tyrell," Bob said and hung up the phone.
"Who's that?"
"Dexter Tyrell. He's the VP in charge of viatical settlements."
"Are we meeting him?" Josh asked.
Bob nodded. "Do you want a drink?"
"Not if it's paid for by Pinnacle Investments."
Crashing into another of the ample seats, Josh tilted it back and swiftly fell into a deep sleep. Although deep, the sleep wasn't peaceful. Images of Kate and Abby haunted him--their bodies ravaged by flames in the wreckage of their house, their clothes seared away, calling out to him while he watched them burn. Josh tried to help, but he was frozen to the spot. The conflagration took hold of their bodies and they melted into the flames, although their dying screams didn't. A fist struck him and he found himself pinned to the ground by a bullet-ridden John Kelso as Bell fired a gun into Josh's limbs. As Bell fired a final round into his head, Josh found himself at the controls of the crippled Cessna with Mark Keegan. Keegan screamed obscenities and accused Josh of betraying him as Josh uselessly fought with the disobedient controls.
The jet touched down onto the runway, jerking Josh awake. He inhaled and rubbed his face. A thin veneer of sweat coated his body. He tilted the seat upright and stared out the window. An unknown landscape rushed past. The Lear jet shuddered to a stop before it taxied over to the apron.
"I thought I'd let you sleep," Bob said.
"What time is it?"
"It's eleven-fifteen." Bob paused. "Are you ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Josh thanked Trent for the clothes as they disembarked.
He promised to give them back on the return flight.
The airport was small. Not a soul wandered the terminal.
As they stepped out of the airport, the Pacific Northwest chill bit into Josh. A taxi fired its engine and the lights came on. The sedan pulled up in front of Josh and Bob. The front passenger window retracted and the driver leaned over to address them.
"Bob Deuce?" the cabby asked.
"Yeah," Bob said and got in.
"Pinnacle Investments, right?" the cabby asked.
The cabby was a white-haired man in his sixties. He looked like he'd been driving a taxi since he was a kid.
He hunched over the wheel with what seemed to be a permanent stoop. It looked doubtful he could stand upright.
He glanced back at his two passengers in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah, as quick as you can," Bob said.
"No hotel then?"
"No," Bob said.
"Business is it?"
"Yeah," Bob said.
"You must be pretty important people to be flown in at this hour for a business meeting. What's the emergency?"
"That's our business," Josh said.
The cabby held Josh's stare in the mirror, his old face wrinkled into a sneer. He mumbled a curse under his breath. He didn't speak for the rest of the journey.
There was silence except for the occasional crackle from the CB radio transmissions.
The taxi pulled off the highway into a wooded area that swiftly opened up into a secluded business park. A portion of the woodland had been harvested to house three clinical-looking tinted glass and brick blocks.
Each three-story building was a clone of the other two, but each had different corporate logos glued to the outside.
Pinnacle Investments occupied the center building.
Floodlit parking lots capable of holding several hundred cars surrounded each building. A few minutes before the witching hour on a Saturday night, the parking lots were bare.
The cab stopped in front of Pinnacle Investments's reception with a squeak from the brakes. Bob reached for his wallet, but the disgruntled cabby shut him down with a raised hand.
"The tab's been picked up by this place," he said sharply as he flicked his head in the direction of Pinnacle Investments's building. "They paid more than enough."
Bob stuck his wallet back into his pocket and he and Josh opened the rear passenger doors. They started to get out of the car, but the cabby interrupted them.
"Do you want me to wait?"
"No, you can go," Bob said.
The cabby nodded curtly. He barely waited for Josh and Bob to close the doors before he tore off into the night.
The two men walked up the concrete steps past the manicured landscaping. The lights in the reception illuminated the area from behind the darkened glass. Two security men manning the reception desk watched them approach the front doors.
One security guard, a streetwise looking black man in his mid-thirties, got up from his seat and met Josh and Bob at the doors. He looked as if he had experienced a few unorthodox events in his life. They waited for a moment while the guard opened the door and poked his head through, his face a question mark.
"Dexter Tyrell is expecting us," Bob said.
"Your names, please?"
"Bob Deuce and Josh Michaels," Bob said.
The guard opened one of the glass doors wide and Josh and Bob entered. He locked the doors after them.
The guard went back to the reception desk. "I'll tell him you're here."
The other guard, an overweight white man a good ten years older than his coworker, looked up from his magazine and nodded an acknowledgment to the visitors.
Josh and Bob nodded back.
The black guard picked up a phone from the switchboard and dialed a number. After a moment his call was answered.
"Mr. Tyrell, I have those gentlemen you were expecting."
The guard paused and listened to the response.
"I'll send them up, sir. Thank you."
The guard put the phone down and pointed in the direction of the elevators. "If you would like to take the elevator to the third floor, Mr. Tyrell will be waiting for you."
Josh and Bob did as they were told. Josh pressed the button for the elevator and they got in.
"Right, Josh, we're here. Play it cool. We may know what he has done, but we have no proof. I want to get out of here in the shortest period of time possible and still be alive. Remember what this guy is capable of, okay?"
Josh pursed his lips and nodded.
Bob grabbed Josh's arm. "You're with me on this, right?"
Josh shook Bob's arm off. "I know exactly where we stand," he said, sharply.
The imitation bronze elevator doors, polished to reflect a distorted image of the occupants, opened. Dexter Tyrell stood on the other side to meet them. He looked as if he'd just stepped off the nineteenth hole. He flashed a shark's smile and welcomed them into his lair.
Tyrell ushered the two men off the elevator car.
"Welcome, gentlemen, do come this way."
Tyrell led them along the thick pile-carpeted corridor and directed them into his office.
Josh's hatred for Dexter Tyrell boiled inside. Up until then, he'd sunk into a pit of self-pity and self reproach for his own actions. But now, he was face-to-face with the devil himself, the man who had ordered his death. This monster would be sorry for what he'd done. Josh didn't care what Bob said. Tyrell wouldn't be allowed to escape scot-free. His family was dead because of this man's command.
"I hope the arrangements were satisfactory to you both." Tyrell followed them into his office.
Bob turned to Tyrell. "Yeah, great. A nice way to travel. Private jet, I mean."
Josh nodded his agreement.
"Yes, it's a charter firm we use now and then. A reliable outfit." Tyrell took a seat at his desk. He gestured to the leather club chairs in front of him. "Please, take a seat."
"I prefer to stand," Josh said, remaining in front of Tyrell's desk.
Bob had moved toward the chairs, but stopped when Josh made his decision to stand. He took a step to one side and stood by the bookcases. "So will I,"
Bob said.
"As you prefer." The courtesies over, Dexter Tyrell got down to business. He leaned back in his high backed leather chair. "So, Mr. Deuce tells me you want to reverse your viatical settlement."
"Yes, I do." Josh fought the desire to launch himself over the desk and throttle Tyrell's smug smile from his face.
"Well, I have given the subject great consideration since speaking to Bob and I have decided that it won't be possible, Mr. Michaels."
"What?"
"You see, we have made a substantial payment to you and we have been paying your monthly dues over the last eighteen months. We've placed a significant investment in you and I personally would prefer to see a return on that investment."
"I can pay you your money back."
Tyrell interlaced his fingers, brought them up to his lips and feigned contemplation. "No, Mr. Michaels. I think I'd prefer to collect. There's no profit for Pinnacle Investments if we give your life policy back. We aren't a charity."
The vice president's sickly sweet manner was cloying.
It made Josh sick. He couldn't stick to the plan any longer. He grabbed the chair back in front of him and sunk his fingers into the soft fabric. He wished it was Tyrell's throat.
"Look here, you son of a bitch. Let's cut the bullshit.
I know what you did. Your company was going to the wall because of this viatical shit." Josh waved a dismissive hand in disgust for the viatical principle. "People stopped dying when you wanted them to, so you started killing them. You sent a man to kill an old woman and me, and God knows how many others.
How many are there? How many have you killed?"
"Hold on, Josh," Bob said. "This isn't what we agreed."
"Not enough." Tyrell replaced his business smile with a hateful leer.
Tyrell's candor amazed Josh. He'd just called Tyrell's bluff and the man didn't give a shit. Dexter Tyrell gave the impression he was bulletproof. What did the executive know that he didn't?
"You bastard. What gives you the right to kill people for profit?"
Tyrell unlocked his fingers and pointed at Josh.
"You do. You and all the others like you, who coming rushing to this company, to me, and ask to be saved.
Those with AIDS who fucked one too many times with the wrong John. The sick that are hoping for the miracle cure that will never come. And people like you, who rustle up a shit storm so big, only money can buy them out.
"But I solve all that for them. They just sign a piece of paper and all the bad stuff goes away. I grant them a second chance. The opportunity to live out their days in fine style until I decide they die."
"Until you decide they die," Josh said.
"Yes, me. And you wouldn't believe how many are willing to sign up."
"You disgust me," Josh said.
"Why? You're all going to die anyway. It's inevitable.
Once you've made a settlement, your life is no longer your own. It belongs to me and it's my decision when it should end."
"Oh, bullshit. People weren't dying as quickly as you liked so you started wiping them out to balance the books."
"Admit it, Josh, you don't care about the other people, only about you. You're pissed that your life has caught up with you."
"My wife and child are dead because of you."
"No, your wife and child are dead because of you, Mr. Michaels. Your problems killed them."
Josh went for Tyrell, throwing the chair aside and sending it crashing into the one next to it.
Suddenly, a bullet turned the corner of the desk blotter into confetti and a chunk of wood exploded from the table, taking a pen with it.
Josh froze in his position.
Tyrell smiled.
"Josh, you should have played along," Bob said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dexter Tyrell's grin broadened by the second. It was a winner's smile. His cold eyes sparkled with delight.
Josh could see it, anybody could see it--he had lost to Tyrell. Josh shook his head in defeat and turned to his friend. Bob pointed John Kelso's semiautomatic pistol at Josh. His fear evident, the gun trembled in Bob's hand.
Not Bob, it can't be Bob. How long has he been involved? He couldn't believe his best friend had sold him out. When had Bob's part started? When John Kelso turned up in California? Or had Bob known Josh had signed his own death warrant when he made the viatical settlement? No wonder Tyrell hadn't looked concerned at Josh's accusations; he already knew the game was rigged in his favor. A week ago, he would have hated Bob for his betrayal, but now, he had no more hate left.
He was prepared for the executioner's bullet.
"Bob," Josh said.
Bob swallowed hard. "Shut up, Josh. I'm not too good with guns and I don't want to shoot the wrong person."
Josh braced himself for the next shot to rip through his brain. He didn't fear his life ending; he welcomed it.
He couldn't wait for that bullet to pierce his skull and end his misery. Josh had lost everything he held dear--his wife and child burnt alive in their home, one friend murdered and the other a betrayer. All he had left was his life. Now the betrayer had him in his sights. It would be a fitting end for Josh--he'd done everything for the right reasons, even the bribe had been for the benefit of his daughter, but every decision he made had only wreaked more havoc.
Tyrell laughed. "Oh, dear, Mr. Michaels, you're not a good judge of character. I bet you didn't see this one coming. You're always putting your trust in the wrong person."
Josh ignored him. "Just do it, Bob, if you're going to."
"Josh, you don't understand," Bob pleaded.
"I don't care why you did it. I just hope you were well paid," Josh said, defeated.
"Don't worry, Josh, Bob will be well looked after.
He knows when there's a good offer on the table. I think that's part of your problem. You don't know a good opportunity when you see it. If you'd done the right thing and drowned in your car, just think of all the destruction that you would have saved your family and friends. A lot of people wouldn't be dead, if you'd thought this through."
"Just order it done, Tyrell. I don't need to listen to your crap."
"Oh, good God, no. You don't think we're going to kill you here, in my office? What do you take me for, an idiot? We'll take you somewhere," he said.
"I " think you're an idiot, Mr. Tyrell," Bob said, the gun still aimed in the direction of the other two men in the office.
Bob's remark knocked the smile off Tyrell's face.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry, Josh. I had to do it this way. He offered me a deal and I took it. It was the only way to get this close to the man. I was meant to come here to make a deal after you were killed, but I couldn't let him do it.
Once I found you and you told me Kelso was dead, I made a change of plans. I told him I was bringing you here to get rid of you."
Josh felt as confused as Tyrell. Bob's rambling was going straight over his head.
"Kate and Abby aren't dead," Bob added. They're alive? Josh heard the revelation, but it was too much for him. He buckled at the knees and slumped against Tyrell's desk to catch his fall.
"What are you doing, Bob?" Fear and caution were evident in Tyrell's question.
Bob produced a small tape recorder from his pocket.
The spools were revolving and the record button was depressed. "It was the only way I could see us trapping him," he said to Josh.
"You're making a terrible mistake, Bob. Give me that tape and we'll forget all about this," Tyrell commanded.
His hand edged toward the phone.
"Shut the fuck up before I shoot you." Bob's hand shook. If the gun went off, the bullet could go anywhere.
Like a gunslinger in a shootout, Tyrell reached for the telephone on his desk. Reacting to the draw, Bob instincti
vely aimed and fired. The bullet went wild. The vice president grabbed the handset. Bob fired again.
Tyrell screamed as the second bullet pierced his hand, splitting the handset in two. The receiver exploded and electrical sparks sizzled amongst the keys as they scattered like broken teeth. Tyrell clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.
"Don't make another fucking move." Bob looked as shaken as Tyrell did.
Tyrell whimpered and clutched his injured hand. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and bound it around his palm. Bob wasn't taking any chances and kept the gun trained on Tyrell.
"Kate and Abby are alive?" Josh asked.
Bob's eyes flicked from Tyrell to Josh and back to Tyrell. "Yeah. I made the deal with this son of a bitch and he told me Kelso was planning to blow up the house. I got there before Kelso did and I got them out.
I know I should have told you when I caught up with you, but I needed you to help make a convincing story.
I'm sorry."
Josh didn't care about Bob not telling him. He could be angry with his friend later. He wanted out of this place, as far as possible from Tyrell and his filthy company. He wanted to go home to his family and fix everything, put everything back the way it used to be. But then he remembered that life could never be the same, not now that Bell had told him about her disease.
"You
two won't get away with this," Tyrell said.
Sweat clinging to his forehead, Dexter Tyrell's face was a mask of pain, but he didn't feel the pain Josh felt.
Josh lunged for Tyrell in his chair. The vice president flinched, anticipating a beating. He turned his head away and raised his hands up to his face. His body collapsed into a fetal position. Josh held a fist above the executive's head, ready to strike, but hesitated when he saw the picture on Tyrell's desk.
Josh snatched up the framed photograph. It wasn't a picture of his wife or a loved one, but the cover of some business magazine featuring Tyrell. Josh smashed the picture frame down on the corner of the desk. The frame shattered and pieces of glass and broken wood fell from Josh's grasp. Josh dropped what was left of the frame. He picked up the largest of the pieces of broken glass and held it like a knife.
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