by Ben Sanders
There was something happening at the front door, but he couldn’t make it out. He blinked to clear his vision, and shadow puppets changed to plainclothes cops, two of them. They both had guns. One guy was aiming up the stairs, covering his partner as he checked the contents of a black duffel bag.
He wiped blood from his eye and saw cash, bundled bills. Seven figures, easy.
The cover man was screaming ‘Freeze,’ but there was no hope of that, even though he wanted to.
Marshall was falling.
He woke up in a car, his head against the cold window, nighttime Brooklyn streaking past outside. He turned in his seat and saw two men up front, another beside him in back.
He felt leather and smelled air freshener. A smooth, upscale vehicle.
Marshall said, ‘You guys aren’t cops.’
The man beside him said, ‘No. We’re not cops.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Hospital. If that’s all right with you.’ He was about fifty, and spoke with a slight accent, maybe Chinese. He said, ‘You look like you’ve been to war, my friend.’
Marshall touched his head, felt the duct tape. He could still only see with one eye, the lid flagging already, fluid in his vision. He said, ‘Did you call an ambulance?’
‘No, but I’m sure your friend will be seen in due course. If she’s still alive. But I thought you deserved the premium service.’
He tried to look out the back window, but he couldn’t raise his head above the backrest.
‘Don’t look so worried. You didn’t owe her anything. No innocents in this business.’
If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t need telling. But with Chloe his feelings were different, and they weren’t rational. She’d tried to kill him, but he didn’t want her bleeding out on Ludo’s floor. Their history trumped the misdeed. There was nothing he could do now, though. He said, ‘Who are you?’
The man said, ‘Your saviours, I suppose. Not that we planned it.’ It seemed for a moment like he’d leave it there, but he drew a breath through bleached teeth and said, ‘Dexter Vine owed me a lot of money, and he wasn’t going to pay.’ He turned to look at Marshall in the dark, his features shadowed in a hazy yin-yang. ‘We showed up planning for an ugly evening, but you obviously beat us to it. So in that sense I owe you.’
Marshall didn’t answer. He thought of what he’d seen from the top of Ludo’s stairs, the guy going through the bag of money. Chloe’s payment, the bounty for killing Marshall. Settling a debt for business he had no part in.
The man said, ‘I’m not sure what we just walked in on, but I don’t need to know. All I care about is reclaiming what was owed.’ He looked out the window and then turned to face Marshall again. ‘Is that going to be an issue?’
Marshall said, ‘It’s not my money.’
The guy nodded slowly. ‘All right. You just bear that in mind. I don’t want you having a change of heart, thinking you’re owed something because you’re the last man standing. I could’ve changed that. I could’ve killed you as well.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘Well. Fairness, I guess. You wrapped up a problem and saved me a lot of money. I think that’s worth getting blood on the leather.’
‘And what about Dexter Vine?’
‘He’s already dead. Though it wasn’t as tidy as this. It’s not often you open a door, and there’s the bag of money that you’re owed.’
Marshall didn’t answer. Reality hadn’t registered. He knew it was over, but there was no relief. Something would hit later. It had to. He’d shot Chloe Asaro. It must be something more than data.
There was blood on his cheek from the cut across his eyebrow, the city lights blurred by speed and foggy vision. He knew he was fading out, but he said, ‘So what now? I didn’t see you, and you didn’t see me?’
‘Yeah. You’re a man after my own heart.’
Marshall said, ‘I hope not. But maybe you’re right.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to everyone at St. Martin’s Press in New York, in particular Thomas Dunne, Peter Wolverton and Andrew Martin, for transforming this story from manuscript to bound book. It’s been a pleasure working with you over the past couple of years. I’m especially grateful to my editor, Brendan Deneen, and my agent, Dan Myers, for going up against Marshall in early draft form.
Many thanks also to Jane Palfreyman, Melanie LavilleMoore, Abba Renshaw, and the rest of the terrific team at Allen & Unwin, for all your hard work on the Australian/New Zealand edition.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ben Sanders is the author of The Fallen (2010), By Any Means (2011) and Only The Dead (2013), all of which were New Zealand fiction bestsellers. His first US-based novel, American Blood, was a bestseller in Australia and New Zealand. Ben lives in Auckland, New Zealand.
