2 Last Diner Standing

by Terri L. Austin

  “My boyfriend beat me up. I need to find Kyle.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Sullivan shake his head. I had to repeat myself three times before the old man heard me.

  “Haven’t seen Kyle today.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  He leaned toward me, ear first. “What?”

  “Thank you.” I enunciated.

  After he shut the door in my face, Sullivan returned to my side. “You’re a good liar.”

  “Um, thanks? Anyway, bust in. This guy will never hear you and there wasn’t a light on next door. I noticed the windows were dark when we walked into the building.”

  He raised his brows at me.

  “What?” I asked. “I’m observant.”

  “Yes, you are.” He swiftly kicked in the door.

  I dug into my purse and pulled out the last of the latex gloves I’d taken from the diner. “I only have three.” I handed him two and slipped one on my ungloved hand.

  I flipped on the light switch and Sullivan and I stood in silence, gazing around the room.

  “Damn it. I’m always too late for this shit.” The place had been ransacked. “This is the second time this week and it’s pissing me off.”

  “Let’s go.” Sullivan flipped off the light and shut the door. Then he removed the gloves and shoved them in his pocket.

  We got back in the car. “You said this was the second time this had happened. Who else?”

  “Marcus. Someone’s looking pretty damn hard for that money.”

  “Wished you’d told me this sooner.”

  “Why?” I glanced over at him. A look of intense anger blanketed his features.

  “I think whoever’s looking for the money is the person trying to kill me. So Marcus is off my list.”

  “I didn’t know he was ever on your list. And he’s still on mine. What if he killed Sheik for the cash? What if he killed Crystal because she wouldn’t tell him where it was?”

  “Ro—”

  “Marcus is my number one suspect. He was with Crystal the night she talked to Freddy Libra about the money. He pawned her earrings the day after I found her murdered and stuffed in her trunk. He took the tow truck Sunday night and I was shoved off the road.”

  Sullivan clamped his lips tight, took a deep breath. “I have other things to do if Marcus isn’t in on this hit. I’m taking you home.”

  Once inside my apartment, I tossed my phone on the table next to my pink Christmas tree and plugged it into its charger. I didn’t bother taking off my jacket before I made for the futon and curled up, my head throbbing so hard, my eyes watered.

  Sullivan heated up a piece of lasagna that Janelle had brought. God, Janelle. How could I help her?

  “Let’s talk this out,” I said.

  “No, you need to relax.”

  “I can’t relax unless I talk this out.”

  Before he could sit down, there was a knock on the door. Sullivan froze, then pulled a gun out of his coat that he’d tossed over the back of chair. I should have figured he had a gun, I just never thought about it. Henry, yes, I couldn’t see him brushing his teeth without a gun strapped to his side.

  Sullivan stared out the peephole. “It’s Goedecker.” He slid the gun into the back waistband of his pants before opening the door to Mike, who wasn’t in a uniform, but dressed in civilian clothes—jeans and a leather jacket.

  “Hey, sorry to bother you, but I’ve got some news.” With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, he smiled at me. “How’s the head?”

  “It’s been better,” I said, and managed to sit up.

  Sullivan opened the door wider to allow Mike to enter the apartment. “What’s the news?”

  Mike slammed the door shut with his foot and pulled a gun from his pocket. He thrust it in Sullivan’s face. “You’re a dead man. Hands where I can see them.”

  “No!” My heart plummeted and I leaped to my feet.

  “Sit down, Rose.”

  Slowly, Sullivan raised his hands.

  I sat on the futon. “What’s going on?” I felt like I was in a play. Nothing was real except the throbbing in my head.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Mike’s the hit man.” Sullivan’s voice was cool and calm. I took a deep breath and strived for the same. How could he sound so in control when he had an automatic six inches from his brain?

  “Who’re you working for? Clay?” I asked.

  “Give the girl a prize. She finally figured it out.” Mike didn’t take his eyes off Sullivan as he patted him down with one hand. “Turn around.”

  Sullivan slowly turned his back to Mike. “Hands behind your head, fingers laced.” Mike removed the gun from Sullivan’s waistband, then pulled a pair of cuffs from his pocket and tossed them to me. He slowly stepped back, and kept both of us in his view, the gun trained on Sullivan. “Cuff him, Rose. And don’t try anything stupid. If you do, I’ll shoot him, just enough to wound him. I’m not ready for him to die yet.”

  Terror crept its way into my chest. I stood and walked toward Sullivan. He slowly placed his hands behind his back. With trembling fingers, I cuffed his wrists, then squeezed his hand. His skin felt dry and cool to the touch. My palms were a clammy mess.

  Mike shoved me aside, grabbed Sullivan by the back of his sweater, and stuck the barrel of the gun against his head. “Here’s the plan, we’re going to get into Sullivan’s Mercedes, and you, Rose, are going to drive where I tell you. If you deviate from the plan or try anything cute, I’ll shoot him. Now get the keys out of his pocket.”

  I kept my gaze locked on Sullivan’s as I reached into his front pocket and yanked out the keys. I swallowed the knot that had lodged itself in my throat and raised my chin. We were going to get out of this. Any other outcome was not acceptable.

  “Let’s go,” Mike said. “Rose, you first.”

  I preceded the men out the door and down the stairs, my head pounding with every step I took. I walked out to the Mercedes.

  “Unlock the doors,” Mike said.

  I hit the button on the fob. Snow flurries dotted the night sky. The temperature had dropped and the wind was biting. Sullivan didn’t have on a coat, but I was glad I still wore mine.

  Mike opened the front passenger door and did the cop move where he covered Sullivan’s head and helped him into the car. “Now your turn,” he said to me.

  I slid behind the wheel, adjusted the seat and mirror, and started the engine while Mike climbed into the backseat directly behind Sullivan.

  “Drive to the cigar bar,” he said. “And remember, don’t deviate or I’ll shoot your boyfriend.”

  I turned up the heat because of Sullivan’s lack of a coat, and because, although I had a bad case of the flop sweats, I was shivering.

  Eddies of snow swirled across the road as I drove the speed limit and nibbled on my lip, trying to come up with a game plan. Unfortunately, my head was killing me and I couldn’t think straight. I slid a glance at Sullivan, but he kept his eyes forward.

  All too soon we arrived at Penn’s. By the parking lights, I could see the soot-coated brick near the windows and doors, stained from the fire.

  “Pull around back,” Mike said.

  I did as he ordered, parking next to the back door and shut off the ignition. Mike thrust his hand toward me.

  “Give me the keys.”

  With stiff, icy fingers, I handed them over. Think, stupid brain, think. I hoped to God Sullivan had a plan, because I was empty.

  “You get out first, Rose, and walk to the door.”

  Once again, I followed his directions and stood next to the back door of Penn’s. Crime scene tape X-ed the doorway.

  Mike got out of the backseat and held open Sullivan’s door, waved the gun toward the building. “Nice and slow.” He kept his distance
from Sullivan, but the gun never wavered. “Tear off the tape, Rose.”

  I tugged at the tape affixed to the door, wadded it up, and threw it on the ground. Then with his free hand, Mike pulled a key from his pocket and tossed it to me, gesturing to the padlock on the makeshift plywood door.

  I opened it and led our little parade inside. In the murky depths of the club, I could make out black debris on the floor. There was definite damage to the place, but most of the lead glass windows stayed intact. The bar stood, but the tables and chairs were scattered, broken, turned upside down. The smell of smoke was overwhelming, and layered over that, was a moldy, damp scent. My breath hung visibly in the air.

  “Down the hall to the office,” Mike said.

  “Did you set this fire?” I asked as I slowly walked.

  “No, I had Stuart do it. I’m the one who shot at the both of you that night.” His cockiness frightened me.

  I opened the door to Sullivan’s office and shuffled inside. The round table, where I’d sat with Sullivan, had been tossed against a wall, but the heavy desk stood upright. It was wet and ruined, but in one piece.

  I glanced around the room, lit by four portable LED lights that gave off a too-bright glow. That artificial light felt like daggers shooting into my eyeballs. I blinked and held up one hand to shield myself from their brightness. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but then I noticed we had cellmates. Who weren’t moving.

  “Walk,” Mike said.

  Sullivan remained silent as I moved us farther into the room. Marcus and Kyle. Both sported a bullet hole between their eyes and they took a beating before they died. Fuck. Nausea settled in my stomach and I swallowed convulsively as I looked away. We were going to die here. I would never see my friends or family again.

  I blinked back tears. Mike said he wasn’t ready to kill Sullivan yet. What the hell did that mean? He obviously had no compunction about killing people, so what did he want?

  The money. He was still looking for the money. But I didn’t know where it was. Could I string him along? Keep Sullivan and myself alive long enough to break out?

  Mike grabbed an overturned chair and placed it upright. “Sit.” He pushed on Sullivan’s shoulder, forcing him into the chair. Then he lifted Sullivan’s arms up and draped them over the back.

  I’d never seen Sullivan’s face so impassive. He was devoid of emotion, he wouldn’t look at me.

  Mike waved the gun in my direction. “Over there, next to Marcus.”

  I glanced down at Marcus’ slack face and took a deep breath of acrid, smoke-scented air.

  “Sit next to him. You’re going to wind up just like him if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

  I stepped on an ice puddle—water from putting out the fire had frozen—and slipped as I made my way to Marcus. I sank down on the wet floor next to him, but I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t. It freaked me out too much. I’d seen too many dead bodies lately. And I was probably about to join them.

  Mike gazed at me and smiled. “I want to know where the money is.”

  My eyes skittered to Sullivan. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  “I don’t know where it is,” I said.

  Mike tsked. “Wrong answer.” Then he bashed the gun handle into Sullivan’s face.

  I gasped at the bloody gash on his cheekbone.

  Mike looked at me with mock pity. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started. I will cut off his balls and feed them to him if I have to.” His face became a frightening mask. “I want my money!” he screamed, saliva shooting out of his mouth. Then he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  He took a deep breath and regained control of himself. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “I see you’re going to need a little convincing. No problem.” He shoved the gun in his coat pocket as he walked toward me. When he reached me, he jerked me up by my ponytail then slammed the side of my head into the wall. The same side as the goose egg on my forehead.

  I thought my skull would burst open, my brain was too big for my head. I was pretty sure I had concussion this time because things were kind of fuzzy. “I haven’t been looking for any money,” I said.

  He pressed his face close to mine and kept hold of my hair. “I just don’t believe you, Rose.” He threw me to the ground and I landed on my back. Then he stuck his boot on my chest, pushing me down. I gasped for breath, but he kept applying pressure. The floor beneath me was littered with wet, broken pieces of furniture that dug into the backs of my legs.

  I tried to bat at his foot, tried to pull it off me, but he reached down and slapped me across the face. “You will tell me what I want to know. If you tell me right away, I’ll kill the both of you quick. But if I have to beat it out of you, well, it’s going to hurt.” His eyes glittered with anticipation. He got his rocks off on this. “It’s going to hurt a lot.”

  Chapter 28

  Mike removed his foot, and reaching down, grasped me by the lapels of my coat. He wrenched me up until I was standing once again. Then he backed me up against a wall and placed his forearm across my throat. In vain, I tried to push at his arm. He increased the pressure and my eyes watered from the pain. I gasped for air before he let up a little, allowing me to breathe.

  “Where’s my money?” he asked, calmly.

  I clung to his sleeve, kept trying to push his forearm from my neck. “I don’t know,” I wheezed.

  He sighed. “That’s too bad.” Making a fist, he let go of my neck and punched me in the stomach, knocking all the air from my lungs. Fire burned in my midsection. I tried to double over with pain, but he held me up. “Yeah, this is going to get really painful.”

  “Stop!” Sullivan yelled.

  Mike released me and I slid to the floor, clutching my belly. “He speaks.” He stalked toward Sullivan. “Tell me where it is.”

  “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Mike. I would have paid you double on whatever the hit was.”

  Mike smirked. “It’s not just about the money. It’s about getting to the top. I would never be anything more than a soldier in your army. But Clay’s going to make me a general. When I heard he was putting a contract out on you, I jumped at the chance to prove myself. I do this for Clay, and in return, I get a little extra cash on the side. You have no idea how much a cop’s salary sucks.”

  “I didn’t know you wanted to move up in my ranks,” Sullivan said. He spoke like he was having a conversation about the weather. Casual. Detached.

  “You never asked.” Mike circled him, kicked shards of broken wood out of his way.

  “Sheik stole your money?” Sullivan asked.

  When Mike had his back to me, I struggled to sit up. My stomach cramped from the punch and my head and neck ached with intense pain.

  “Yeah, he stole it,” Mike said. He made another trip around Sullivan and when he saw me trying to sit up, he laughed. “Is this the part where the bad guy tells all? Well, let me confess my sins. First of all, I hit Sheik.” There were equal amounts of pride and derision in his voice. “Right after he argued with that crazy bitch ex of his, I snuck in the back door and he and I had a little talk. But he wouldn’t give up the cash. I lost my temper, hit him on the head.” He frowned and scratched the tip of his nose. “Going to have to kill him if he ever comes out of that coma,” he said, like he was reminding himself to buy a gallon of milk.

  He continued to pace around the room. “Then Freddy Libra called Clay, said Crystal was looking for the money, too, threatening to call the police.” He shrugged and propped his hands on his hips. “See where we’re going with this, kids?”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice croaky from his chokehold. “Why not just shoot them? Why did you hit them?”

  He looked at Sullivan, but pointed at me. “Is she always this stupid?”

  His eyes met mine
and he walked toward me, kneeling down in front of me. “Because those hits weren’t planned. See Marcus and Kyle and the great big bullet holes in their heads? I had time to sweat them out, gave them the opportunity to tell me what I want to know. And I have time to get rid of the bodies.”

  He leaned closer, his face an inch from mine. “But the thing is, neither one would tell me about the money. And I’m obviously willing to kill to get it, so maybe you’ll be smarter than either of them. But I’m not holding my breath.”

  “Why did Sheik have it in the first place?” Sullivan asked.

  Mike held my gaze a moment longer before rising. “Stuart put the money in a clean car that I was going to use so you wouldn’t recognize my truck. And since you seem to be slow to figure things out, Rose, that’s the same truck I used to run you off the road the other night. You were supposed to die, by the way.

  “Anyway, Sheik stole my clean car. Dumb luck, huh?”

  I didn’t know if he was talking about Asshat’s bad luck or his own. Didn’t really care because I was worried about my own misfortune just then.

  Mike planted himself in front of Sullivan. “Now, enough chitchat.” He slammed his right fist into Sullivan’s nose. “I want. My fucking. Money.” He punctuated each phrase with a punch to Sullivan’s chin, jaw, and gut.

  Sullivan breathed hard through his bloody nose. He finally looked at me, rage and hatred burning from his eyes.

  Mike straightened. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and walked behind the desk. He opened the bottom drawer, pulled out the bottle of brandy, and shook it. “Still here, even has a few swallows left. You always kept the good stuff for yourself.”

  Before he could uncap it, a ring tone broke the stillness. Mike pulled out his phone and glanced at it. “Shit, I’ve got to take this. It’s work.” He seemed conflicted as he looked back at Sullivan. “If you two don’t keep quiet, I’ll cut out your tongues. And Rose, if you’ve moved an inch when I get back, I’ll turn what’s left of your brain into spaghetti.” Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him.