by M. A. Lawson
OH, GOD, KAY THOUGHT. It was Shirley Brown, and she sounded drunk. Her damn Prius was so quiet that Kay hadn’t heard it approaching Billy’s house. Shirley stepped into the living room and when she saw Kay, her eyes widened in shock.
Kay pointed the Beretta at her and was about to tell her to sit down on the couch next to Billy, but then Shirley did the very last thing she expected.
“You bitch!” she screamed—and she charged at Kay.
It had never occurred to Kay that the damn woman would do something so stupid. She had less than a second to react; less than a second to decide if she should shoot Shirley. But she hesitated and then Shirley smashed into her, knocking her backward into a wide-screen television that was on a low table. She heard the television crash to the floor, and then she lost her balance when the back of her knees hit the table. Now she was on the floor with Shirley on top of her, and Shirley took a swing at her face. Kay was able to move her head enough so that the blow hit her on the side of the head instead of in the face, but it still hurt.
As soon as Shirley slammed into her, Otis and Billy came at her like a couple of linebackers blitzing a quarterback. Kay tried to aim the gun at Otis but didn’t have a chance with Shirley pummeling her. Otis clamped one big hand over her right wrist and ripped the Beretta out of her hand. Shirley, still cursing, hit Kay again—this time on her left cheekbone—but before she could swing again, Billy pulled Shirley off her. When Kay looked up from the floor, Otis was pointing her own gun at her.
“Okay,” Otis said. “Now you go sit on the couch.”
• • •
PRESCOTT DIDN’T KNOW exactly what was going on but it sounded like Hamilton was in trouble. A minute later, Prescott was positive she was.
• • •
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” Otis said.
Kay thought about lying, but she had her wallet in the left-hand back pocket of her jeans with her driver’s license, and they would find it if they searched her. In the other back pocket of her jeans was the cell phone Prescott had provided. “My name’s Hamilton,” Kay said.
“Who do you work for?”
“Callahan. The guy you shot.”
“What are we going to do with her, Otis?” Billy said. He was holding on to Shirley’s upper right arm, restraining her from attacking Hamilton again.
“I don’t know,” Otis said to Billy.
“Well, I think we oughta dump the bitch into the river,” Billy said.
“Not until she unfreezes my bank accounts,” Shirley screamed, and then she made a move toward Kay, but Billy yanked her back.
“Goddamnit, Shirley, settle down,” Otis said. Then he added, “And you gotta knock off the boozing. Now go sit down over there in the rocking chair.”
• • •
WHEN BILLY SAID, “We oughta dump the bitch into the river,” Prescott thought: Hamilton, you should have answered when I called.
• • •
OTIS COULDN’T DECIDE what to do.
If John had told him the truth, Hamilton was a cog in a big machine and his troubles wouldn’t end by simply killing her. But at the very least, he needed to know how much she knew and who else she’d told.
“I’m not going to lose my house because of her,” Shirley said. Then she screamed at Kay, “I’ll get a knife and cut your fucking nose off if you don’t unfreeze my money. You won’t be so pretty then. In fact, I’m gonna get a knife right now.”
Shirley got up out of the rocking chair and Otis hit her in the chest with his open palm, pushing her back down.
“Shirley, knock it the fuck off. I gotta think.”
The night was supposed to have been about splitting up the cash, but the situation was quickly unraveling. It got worse when Hamilton said, “You guys have stepped into a national security shit pile. There were classified documents in Callahan’s safe.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Otis said, but he wondered if she was telling the truth.
Someone was lying, either her or John, but which one? John had said this was a private sector thing, one big company going after another. Otis had always assumed John was American—Chinese-American, but American. But now he wasn’t so sure and had the horrible feeling that the person telling the truth was Hamilton.
“Otis, what about my bank accounts?” Shirley screamed. “What about my house?”
Otis had to get Shirley out of there. He couldn’t think with all her screaming. He also didn’t want her to see him kill Hamilton if it came to that. He didn’t want Shirley to be an accomplice to murder, but more important, he didn’t want her to be a witness to a murder.
“Billy,” Otis said, “I’m going to take Shirley to a motel in Lorton, and then you and I will deal with this.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Shirley said.
“Yeah, you are, Shirley. You gotta lay low someplace. Nobody’s looking for you, but the way you’re drinking, you’re a problem for me and Billy and an even bigger problem to yourself. And you don’t need to worry about your house or your bank accounts. That’s being taken care of.”
“How?”
“I’ll explain on the way to the motel. I’m driving you because you’re too fucking drunk and the last thing we need right now is you getting pulled over. Billy, you got any booze in the house?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Get a bottle for Shirley.” Otis figured that Shirley would drink until she passed out, and that was the best condition she could be in right now. He would take her cell phone when he dropped her off.
Otis handed Billy Hamilton’s Beretta. “Keep that gun pointed at her while I’m gone. She tries anything, just fuckin’ shoot her. And I mean it. Just shoot her.”
“How do you know a SWAT team isn’t going to come through the door any minute now?” Billy asked.
“That’s not going to happen. If she had backup, they would have been with her when she came into the house. She’s on her own. We’ll find out why and what she knows when I get back.”
But Otis was already starting to think that maybe the smartest thing to do at this point was run. This whole thing was getting way out of hand.
• • •
PRESCOTT WAS THINKING that if she wanted to, she could send in a team to rescue Hamilton. She could have an armed NSA security force in a helicopter in five minutes and they could probably be in Lorton in less than half an hour.
But there was no way she was going to do that.
How could she possibly justify sending NSA agents into Virginia for a civilian who had no official connection to the agency? And what would she do with Otis and Billy if they were captured? Everything she could do to save Hamilton could result in exposing herself and her connection to the Callahan Group and she couldn’t allow that.
She also no longer needed Hamilton. As far as she was concerned, it didn’t really matter that the men who shot Callahan would never be brought to justice. She wasn’t in the justice business. Nor was she in the revenge business.
It was really a shame about Hamilton, but she’d gotten herself into this situation and had no one to blame but herself. She also couldn’t help but think that if Hamilton was killed, she wouldn’t have to worry about her ever talking about Prescott’s connection to the Callahan Group. Yes, it was regrettable, but it would be best for everyone if Hamilton was gone.
21
DAY 3—11:45 P.M.
Billy was a good-looking guy: short blond hair, two or three days of stubble, solid pecs, big biceps, tats on both arms. He seemed completely relaxed—probably thanks to the pot he’d been smoking—but he was also alert. He made Kay think of a happy guard dog, but one that would still bite your head off if you made the wrong move.
Kay pointed at the money sitting on the coffee table, the stacks of gold bars and cash. “The smartest thing you could do right now is take that money and leave before Otis gets back. There must b
e over a million there. Throw it in a suitcase and split. Buy yourself a nicer place on a nicer river far away from here.”
Billy laughed.
“The people I work for don’t care about the money, so if you take it, we’re not going to come after you. All I want is the name of the guy who hired you.”
“We killed a couple of people,” Billy said.
“But are you the one who killed them?”
“No. I didn’t kill anybody. I tried to kill you after you shot Quinn, but you ducked into that room before I could.”
“The point is, Billy, if you’re telling the truth, you didn’t kill anyone. And even if you’re lying, I don’t care. This thing you stepped into is bigger than murder. It’s bigger than the money. So take the money and run, but before you do, give me a name.”
Billy smiled. “That’s not going to happen, honey.”
She could see she wasn’t going to convince him, and she’d better come up with something soon. Otis could be back any minute.
She needed to get closer to Billy, close enough to hurt him. She also needed some kind of weapon.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said.
“Nah, you can hold it.”
“Come on, Billy. Are you afraid of me? You’re the one with the gun. All I want to do is take a pee. Do you want me to pee on your couch?”
Billy hesitated for a second. “Yeah, okay. But if you try anything, I will shoot you.”
“Trust me when I tell you that the last thing you want to do is shoot me. The people I work for will track you down and throw you into a hole for the rest of your life. There won’t even be a trial.”
• • •
IN HER DARK OFFICE, Prescott muttered, “Oh, Billy, you fool.”
• • •
KAY ROSE TO HER FEET. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Billy pointed to a hallway that she assumed led back to the bedrooms. He stayed about five feet behind her as she walked, which wasn’t good. He needed to be closer for her to do anything. She reached the bathroom and started to step inside when he said, “Hold it.”
She stopped and he came up behind her and placed the Beretta directly against her spine. “I want to make sure you don’t have another gun. I’d feel kinda stupid if you shot me.”
He ran his left hand over her body. When he felt the phone in her back pocket, he removed it and put it in one of his pockets. He finished frisking her, paying particular attention to her lower legs, making sure she wasn’t wearing an ankle holster.
“Okay,” he said.
Kay stepped into the bathroom and walked over to the toilet. She started to undo the top button on her jeans, then stopped. “Close the door,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
“I never figured you for a pervert, Billy. Are you going to stand there and watch me? Or maybe you’re one of those golden shower guys, and what you’d really like is if I peed on you.”
Billy’s face reddened, not from anger but from embarrassment. He started to pull the door shut, but before he closed it, he said, “The window doesn’t open and if you break it and try to get out, I’ll hear you and I’ll shoot you in the back. I use an electric shaver not a razor, so there’s no point looking in the medicine cabinet.”
He closed the door.
Kay pulled down her jeans and peed, figuring Billy would be listening at the door. She used toilet paper, stood up, buttoned her jeans, then pulled the toilet paper dispenser out of its recess in the wall. She put the roll of toilet paper on the window ledge next to the toilet, flushed the toilet, walked over to the sink, and ran the water so Billy would think she was washing her hands. While the water was running, she disassembled the toilet paper dispenser.
It was a standard dispenser consisting of two pieces of hollow aluminum tubing and a spring. She dropped one half of the dispenser and the spring into the wastebasket next to the toilet and palmed the other half. She turned off the water and opened the door. She didn’t think Billy would notice the roll of toilet paper sitting on the window ledge because she’d be blocking his view as she came out of the bathroom.
Billy was down the hall, to her right, when she stepped into the hallway.
He again stayed four or five feet behind her as she walked back toward the living room. She had to get closer to him. As soon as they stepped into the living room, she stopped abruptly and pointed with her left hand at the television set lying on the floor.
“Sorry about your TV, Billy,” she said. “It looks like the screen’s cracked.”
But she didn’t move—and then he did just what she wanted him to do: He prodded her in the back with the barrel of the Beretta and said, “Go sit back down on—”
As soon as the barrel touched her, she swung around fast, right arm extended, and hit him on the right side of the head, on the corner of his right eye.
When the tube hit him, Billy screamed in pain and staggered to his left from the blow. By now Kay had completed her spin and was facing him, and she struck again with the tube, hitting him again in the face. She aimed for his left eye, hoping to blind him completely, but missed and hit his forehead.
Billy staggered backward and raised the Beretta, but Kay hit him one more time in the face with her fist. She hit him hard on the nose and heard a satisfying crunch. Billy was now almost blind and his nose was bleeding, but he was still holding the gun, so Kay did the only thing she could do: She ran.
She ran through the living room to reach the corner that turned into the kitchen. She prayed that Billy wouldn’t shoot her in the back. He shot, but his shot went high and to the right, just missing her head. Kay reached the corner, barreled through the kitchen, and banged through the back door.
But she didn’t run when she got outside. She figured that Billy would be right behind her, and if he could see her at all, he’d shoot. So she stood to the side of the back door, her back against the wall, and when Billy came running through the door, she stuck out her foot and tripped him. He fell face-first down the concrete block steps and hit his head hard on the last step.
Kay jumped off the porch and kicked him in the head as hard as she could. But she didn’t knock him unconscious as she’d been hoping to—Billy had a hard fucking head. Although Billy was dazed by the kick, he was still holding the gun. So she kicked him a second time, then stomped hard on his hand and reached down and ripped the gun from his hand.
She backed up so she was five or six feet from him. She’d just beaten the shit out of him, but he still wasn’t finished. He started to get to his feet—maybe he was so dazed that he didn’t realize she was holding the gun—and Kay yelled, “Stop! Stay on the ground.”
But Billy didn’t stop. The damn guy got to his feet, staggered a bit, then lunged toward her—and she shot him in the chest. No hesitation at all this time.
• • •
PRESCOTT DIDN’T KNOW what was going on. She’d heard Hamilton tell Billy to close the bathroom door and the idiot did. The next thing she heard was Hamilton say something about Billy’s television screen being cracked, and then she heard someone cry out in pain. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded like it came from Billy, not Hamilton. After that, she heard what sounded like a fight, someone being punched, and then a gunshot. Then there were more punching sounds, and finally Hamilton said, “Stop! Stay on the ground”—and then another gunshot.
• • •
KAY WAS BREATHING HARD as she stood looking down at Billy’s body. She stood until her breathing slowed and she could think clearly. She bent down, pressed the barrel of the Beretta against Billy’s head, and checked for a pulse. Nothing. For a brief moment she felt sorry for him. Then she thought about Callahan and his people, and stopped feeling sorry.
She would wait for Otis to come back and make him talk. She grabbed Billy by the feet and dragged his body around the side of the house so Oti
s wouldn’t see it when he drove up. She started to go back to the house, then remembered that Billy had her cell phone. She found it in one of the leg pockets of his cargo shorts.
She walked back into the house and did her best to remove her fingerprints while she waited for Otis. She washed the blood off the half of the toilet paper dispenser she’d used on Billy, wiped down the other parts of the dispenser, then reassembled it and put it back where it belonged. The only other things she’d touched in the house were the flush handle on the toilet, the bathroom doorknob, and the back-door doorknob. She wiped them all down.
She glanced at her watch. Otis ought to be back soon.
22
DAY 4—12:15 A.M.
Kay studied Billy’s house the way a general would analyze a potential battlefield, trying to figure out the best way to use the terrain to her advantage. Off to the side of the kitchen was a laundry room. She stepped into it and partially shut the door. Ten minutes later, she heard Otis open the back door.
Otis walked into the house and Kay could see him through the crack in the laundry room door as he passed through the kitchen. She heard him call out from the living room, “Billy! Where are you?”
Kay stepped out of the laundry room and walked into the living room. Otis’s back was to her; he was looking down at the pile of gold and cash on the coffee table. Then he turned—and she shot him in the left knee. He dropped to the floor, landing on his side, and started to reach behind his back as Kay said, “If you pull out a gun, the next bullet is going to be in your head.” Otis stopped.
Kay walked over to him, keeping the gun pointed at his face. “Roll over onto your stomach,” she said.
Otis rolled over and she pulled out the .45 he had in the waistband of his jeans and tossed it on the couch.
“Okay,” she said, “now roll back over so you can look at me.” Otis rolled onto his back.
“Where’s Billy?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Otis’s eyes were closed and his face was contorted because of the pain. Kay could recall banging her kneecap a couple of times—and it always hurt like a son of a bitch. She wondered how much worse the pain would be from a bullet.
