Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  Two minutes until Henry arrived. Assuming Henry valued promptness, which Kerry figured he did.

  Kerry checked his pockets to make sure he had everything, noting with no real surprise that his hands shook. He checked the safety on his pistol, then replaced it in his waistband. He glanced around the unit, making sure everything was in its place.

  He thought about his grandmother and wondered whether he’d be reunited with her in death before the day was over. He thought about Jayne—

  A car pulled up outside. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Checked the ticking clock:

  One minute.

  Please, God.

  He reminded himself that he had a plan and had been trained in emergency medicine. He was good in tricky situations. There was no reason for him to lose his head.

  A sudden calm flowed through his blood.

  Footsteps outside. Only one set, thank God. And the jangle of tags.

  Kerry took a deep breath.

  Knock-knock-knock.

  He thought of Jayne again, and his hands steadied.

  He opened the door.

  Henry, who had a Reds cap pulled low over his face, probably to thwart all the overhead security cameras around there, came inside, bringing a surge of crisp air and his dog with him. He wore latex gloves. He gave Kerry a grim once-over and turned to face him as Kerry shut the door.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Henry said by way of greeting.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Sorry about the Taser.” Henry flashed the firepower he wore in a holster strapped to his side. “I didn’t want you to see my car or follow me. No offense.”

  Kerry managed a smile that felt pretty crooked. He thought about his probable concussion and the way his head continued to throb. “None taken.”

  Henry dropped the leash. The dog sniffed Kerry, then trotted off to explore.

  “I don’t appreciate you picking a place that’s lit up with cameras,” Henry said.

  “It’s where the flash drive is.”

  “Whatever you say, genius. I need to frisk you. You understand.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Kerry stood next to the safe, spread his legs and put his hands on his head. Henry patted his shoulders, arms and torso, clearly checking for wires, then went to work on his back. Then he found Kerry’s pistol.

  “Are you carrying on me?” Henry snapped, snatching the pistol out of Kerry’s waistband and ejecting the clip. “I thought I told you not to do anything stu—”

  Kerry lunged sideways, reached up behind the clock and pulled out the Taser. He had just enough time to register the look of absolute shock on Henry’s face before he aimed the red sight at Henry’s torso and pulled the trigger. There was a pop and a streak. Henry shrieked. Kerry dropped the Taser and caught Henry just as he started to fall, pressing him into the chair.

  Henry’s body spasmed wildly, which made it hard for Kerry to duct-tape his arms and legs to the arms and legs of the Stickley chair, but he managed.

  The dog, meanwhile, raced over to bark and bare his teeth at Kerry.

  “Hey, Kramer,” Kerry said soothingly as he finished with the tape and reached into his pocket. “You’re a good boy.”

  The use of his name seemed to throw Kramer for a loop. He whimpered, backing up a step.

  “Here you go, Kramer,” Kerry said, hoping he wouldn’t have to use the Taser on the dog. Henry deserved what he got, but the dog was innocent. “You’re a good boy.”

  With that, he flipped Kramer a treat from his pocket. Kramer caught and crunched it. Kerry tossed him another. Kramer wagged his tail. Kerry patted his head and retrieved his pistol, which Henry had dropped, and replaced the clip. Then he put the pistol back in his waistband, walked to the card table he’d set up and went to work on the next part of his plan.

  By that time, Henry was beginning to recover. “Y-you f-fucking fuck!” he shouted, his entire body still trembling. “I’m going to k-kill you for th-that!”

  “It’s pretty nasty being Tased, isn’t it, Henry? I don’t recommend it.”

  “Wh-what are you doing w-with that gl-glass?”

  “This here? This is a solution of water and baking soda. These are electrodes. This is a power source—a battery. These are clamps and this is—”

  Grim laugh from Henry, who jutted his chin. “You think you’re going to shock me? I’ve been tortured by better men than—”

  “Oh, I’m not going to torture you,” Kerry said, looking around in surprise. “Where’d you get that idea? I like to science things.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’m going to get rid of this. It’s caused me more than enough trouble.”

  He held up the green strip of chip-studded metal, the only remnants of the flash drive once he pried the case off.

  Henry went completely still and the color drained from his face. “What’s that? The W-80 formula? What’re you doing?”

  Kerry attached the positive terminal.

  “Don’t do that! That’s probably not even the real flash drive. It’s probably just a backup. Hang on, now! Let’s talk about this. What’re you trying to do?”

  Kerry used a hemostat to attach the negative terminal to the end of the flash drive.

  “Hang on. Don’t destroy it. He’ll kill me if you destroy it! My guy’ll kill me if I don’t get the formula. I have a wife, you fucking fuck! She’s got Alzheimer’s. She needs me. My wife needs—”

  Kerry paused and looked over his shoulder at Henry. “You mentioned her the other day.”

  Henry’s face sagged with relief. “I wanted to retire and be with her, but I keep getting pulled back in. You think I want to be doing this shit at my age?”

  “Is she in a facility?”

  “Not yet. Neighbor looks in on her when I’m gone.”

  Kerry flipped on the battery, which began to hum. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

  “Wait! We were talking here. Don’t!”

  Kerry picked up the hemostat and submerged the flash drive in the solution.

  Henry shouted with dismay.

  Sparks flew.

  The liquid sizzled.

  Kerry dunked the flash drive a couple more times, just to be sure, then lifted it out of the solution and held it up for their mutual inspection.

  The thing was a scorched strip of nothing.

  Henry gasped.

  Kerry laid it on the table, feeling reborn.

  “You fuck!” Henry roared. “You fucking fucker. You’ve just killed me and my wife!”

  “Let’s make a deal, Henry Gustavson. Am I pronouncing it right? Gustavson? Retired military guy from Phoenix? Who works for David Martin out of Miami? That you?”

  Henry went purple, all but gagging on his surprise.

  It took him a minute to recover, but he eventually found his voice again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “Sure I do. You’re the guy who killed Arnold Walker in Memphis ten years ago, aren’t you? They found a partial print at the scene. Sounded pretty gruesome. Something about curare? That’s pretty distinctive, isn’t it? You know who else got killed with curare not that long ago? Rickey Hughes in Cheyenne. Weird coincidence, huh?”

  Henry had by then developed a pretty good poker face, but the corner of his right eye twitched.

  “And your boss,” Kerry continued. “He’s got a nasty record, too. Something about a shooting in New York City twelve years ago. They have prints. They just never had anything to compare them to.”

  Henry’s eyes had widened to the size of softballs. Kerry could see the question on his face, but Henry was too stubborn to ask.

  “Remember that bologna sandwich you had in the wisteria garden? The one Kramer got hold of and you threw away? I found it in the trash can,” Kerry explained. “The plastic bag had a nice, clear print on it, Henry.”

  Henry made a stricken sound.

  “Most disgusting thing I ever did, rummaging through that trash,�
�� Kerry said.

  “You think we won’t kill you for this?” Henry asked quietly. “You think you’re going to get away with this?”

  “As someone who’s hog-tied and whose boss has now been identified and probably has eyes on him right this second—”

  Henry swore.

  “—I don’t think you’re in a position to threaten me. I think we can help each other. We have a lot in common. I think we can both walk away from this if we’re smart about it.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You work for someone you hate that’s got you by the short hairs. I worked for someone I hated who had me by the short hairs. You want to be free to live your life. I want to be free to live my life.” Kerry shrugged. “I have a proposal for you.”

  Henry’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Let’s hear it.”

  Kerry took a deep breath. Sent up another silent prayer. “I have eight hundred large right here, in a duffel bag, and another two-point-one mil in offshore accounts. I’d planned to get rid of all of it anyway—”

  “Get rid of it? What the fuck for?”

  “Because I don’t want blood money on my hands.”

  Henry all but gagged on his indignation. “Why not? You earned it, didn’t you? Why not reap a couple rewards?”

  “No, thanks,” Kerry said flatly.

  “You’re insane.”

  “Maybe. But I have this money to get rid of—”

  “Is it marked?”

  “Does this look like amateur hour?” Kerry asked, outraged.

  Henry settled down.

  “And your prospects are pretty bad right now. If you want to continue working for the boss you hate, you’ve got a couple problems. You don’t have the formula because you let me destroy it—”

  “I didn’t let you—”

  “You think your boss’ll see it that way?” Kerry asked quietly.

  Henry shut up again.

  “Plus, your boss has been made by the feds, so he may not be in a position to employ anyone anymore. And I wonder if he’ll keep his mouth shut about his organization if and when he gets arrested, or whether he’ll cut himself a deal. What do you think, Henry? You think he’ll show you the same loyalty you’ve shown him?”

  Henry blinked, his unfocused gaze sliding away.

  “You want to hear my offer?”

  Henry frowned. “What is it?”

  “Take my money. Take your wife and Kramer and disappear. Forget you ever laid eyes on me and I’ll extend you the same courtesy. As long as you do it all immediately, while you still can. If you stick around, the feds will grab you. If you ever come back, the feds will grab you. All you have to do, for the rest of your life, is go somewhere far away and pretend you don’t exist.”

  Henry barked out an incredulous laugh. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. The end.”

  “And what about the feds?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “And what do you get out of it?”

  “Peace of mind,” Kerry said. “I could have led the feds to you today, but then I’d still have a target on my back because you and your guy would always want to come after me. But with my plan? You and I both fly under the radar and live our civilian lives like we’ve always wanted to do.”

  Kerry waited. Held his breath.

  And watched as a slow smile spread across Henry’s face.

  47

  “The boss’ll be here in a minute,” Albert said the next night, setting the pot of tea, cup and saucer on the side table by the desk. “Did you get Andromeda settled again?”

  Henry looked around from the tank, where Andromeda was busy exploring the back corner, making the leaves rustle. “I did. She seems happy to be home. I don’t think she likes long car rides.”

  “Can’t blame her for that. I’m taking off.”

  “Who else is around tonight? Just in case the boss needs anything else?”

  “No one. It’s Thursday, so we all have the night off.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Henry said. “Well. Have a good night.”

  “See you later.”

  Albert left. Henry wandered over to the window and took a minute to enjoy the lights glittering on the bay. It was clear tonight. No sign of clouds. A good night to be alive and without a care in the world.

  This last little goodbye with his boss was not, strictly speaking, part of the deal he’d struck with Kerry, but he was hoping Kerry would understand when he found out about it.

  There was a footstep behind him. Schooling his features, he turned in time to see the Llama bustle into the room. Henry grinned. If he’d ever been happier to see his boss, he couldn’t remember when.

  “Henry, Henry.” The Llama reached out to shake his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

  “I didn’t expect to finish up so quickly, to tell you the truth. Things went more smoothly than I’d thought.”

  “Wonderful.” The Llama went to the side table and poured a cup of tea. Slurped and replaced his cup. “That’s wonderful news. So you were able to get the formula?”

  “The formula?” Henry snapped his fingers as though the whole project had slipped his mind until now. “Oh, no. I didn’t get the formula. Sorry.”

  The Llama blinked. Frowned. “Excuse me?”

  Henry stared him in the face.

  “No. Formula. For. You.”

  The Llama cocked his head and squinted at Henry with those bug eyes as he walked around the desk to his chair and started to sit. “Why would you speak to me that way, Henry? Don’t you know that I—”

  A loud hiss filled the room, the sound of a tire being punctured.

  “Andromeda?” the Llama asked, startled. He looked to the tank, so he didn’t see the moment a large and glorious brown snake rose up from his chair.

  But Henry did.

  The snake, who didn’t take kindly to being sat upon, struck the Llama’s arm.

  And struck.

  And struck.

  The Llama screamed, covered his arm and lurched away from the snake, who dropped back into the chair. Then he looked to Henry with astonishment and fear.

  “Henry?” he said, imperious even in death. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Grinning, Henry pulled on his heavy snake-handling gloves, went to the corner for the hook and deftly retrieved the snake from the chair. Boy, she was a beauty, six feet long with the prettiest brown-black scales you’d ever want to see. There was another loud hiss, but he stroked her body and she settled right down.

  “This,” Henry said, gently holding the snake’s head up so the Llama could see it, because a guy deserved to know what was going to take him out, “is Athena. I got her from the guy who sold you Andromeda, and then I— Well, I don’t want to waste your limited time with all the details about how I made a false bottom in Andromeda’s carrying case and smuggled her into the house. I’ll get right to the point now that time is of the essence for you. She’s a Taipan from Australia. Every bit as venomous as your friend Andromeda there. I’m told her venom will clot your blood right in your veins and arteries. Now, I don’t know what that means, but it sounds excruciating. So you’ve got about an hour to live. I didn’t bother with any anti-venom.”

  The Llama made a pitiful little gurgling sound and lunged for the phone, which was on the desk on the other side of Henry. Henry shifted the snake to one hand—she had a little weight to her—picked up the phone and tossed it aside. With a roar of frustration, the Llama decided to pivot and make a run for it. Henry sighed and stuck out a foot to trip him.

  It wasn’t even that hard.

  Maybe the venom was already kicking in.

  The Llama hit the floor in a painful sprawl and yelped. Henry stepped over him and walked over to the case. He gently set Athena inside, closed the lid and locked it.

  Then he turned back.

  The Llama had managed to flip himself over, so Henry got a good look at the wild eyes and sweat-stre
aked brow. It was a lovely sight. Damn near gave Henry the first non-Viagra-assisted hard-on he’d had in a while. He’d been right to come back here. Right to tie up this messy loose end so that both he and Kerry could enjoy fear-free lives from now on. Normally he had a sad moment or two for his victims, thinking that no one deserved to die a violent death, no matter what misdeeds he or she had done.

  Not this time.

  “You can’t do this to me, Henry!” the Llama shouted, but his voice already sounded a little thready. Still, he levered his way to his elbows and tried to get one foot under him. “You think you’re going to get away with this? You think you’re just going to walk out of here scot-free?”

  “Yeah.” Henry planted a foot on his shoulder and pushed him back down. The Llama’s head hit the floor with a hard and satisfying thunk. “I do.”

  “You’re not going to get away with this. You call 9-1-1 right now! Right now, Henry!”

  Since the Llama showed every sign of trying to get up again, Henry planted that same foot on his shoulder, ignored his struggles and held him down.

  Time for his speech.

  “My wife says hello,” Henry told him. “The DEA will be here soon, so they say hello. All the people you had me kill—remember them? They say hello, you fucking fucker. Go with God.”

  “Right now, Henry! You call 9-1-1 right now!”

  Sighing, Henry increased the pressure on his foot.

  Then he smiled.

  He thought about being retired, free and rich. He thought about the boat that was waiting for him out at the dock—yeah, he could see it through the window—and after that, the car that would drive him to the airport. He thought about the private jet that would fly him to Iceland (they had a good medical system for Alice and were a little loosey-goosey on complying with U.S. extradition requests, assuming that Henry’s fake ID failed, which seemed pretty unlikely given he’d bought it from the best and paid top dollar), and how he’d rendezvous with his wife and Kramer, who were already on their way via another private jet. He thought about how he could soon build all the birdhouses he could ever dream of. He really looked forward to spotting the Arctic Tern and the Atlantic Puffin.