Mars grabbed the base of his erection, pointed it at Lindas face. For the first time she was glad for the strip of tape across her mouth.
Mars said, Maybe I take the tape off, eh? Put something in there. No, I want to get to that pussy, I think.
Mars sized up the situation, decided he couldnt get at her in the chair. Im going to get you out of the chair, then tape your wrists again to the bedposts, spread you out nice and comfortable, yes? But you dont fight. Make trouble and I break your jaw. Try to get away and I twist your arm, break that too. żComprende? You understand what Im saying?
Linda nodded.
He used the meat cleaver to saw through the tape binding her right wrist. Her right hand was free, the hand with the nail file. No. Wait. Not yet. Let him cut the other hand loose. She didnt like that Mars held the cleaver again. Hed slice her throat in two seconds flat if he thought she might pull something.
He cut the tape on the other wrist. Both hands were free.
Mars knelt in front of her, began sawing at the tape around her ankles. In a fraction of a second, Linda had to decide. If she waited, her legs would be free, but if she did it now, it might be her best chance. He knelt right in front of her, his neck naked, exposed. It was right there. A voice shouted in her head. Now. Do it now. Right NOW!
She raised her fist and brought it down with all her strength on Mars, the nail file sinking two and a half inches into the side of Marss neck. She pulled it out. Blood. She struck again, another neat hole next to the first like a vampires bite.
More blood gushed. Mars lurched away from her, his free hand going to his neck, blood spurting between fingers. He screamed, a long, high, endless shriek. He danced in panicked circles.
Linda tried to stand, immediately sat down again. Her legs were still taped to the chair. Marss howl triggered something in Linda. She started screaming too, brandishing the nail file in front of her like a bayonet. But Mars had lost interest in her. His attention was entirely on the blood draining out of him at an alarming rate.
He ran naked from the bedroom, screaming in Spanish.
* * *
Lizzy and Andrew looked at one another, eyes wide.
What the hell is that? she said.
Andrew ran from the kitchen. Linda!
He ran through the living room and toward the stairs, slammed on the brakes when he saw the naked, screaming, bleeding Mexican charging right at him. Andrew also noted the meat cleaver.
Andrew did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He squealed like a frightened bunny.
Mars plowed into him, eyes blazing, blood spraying. Mars tried to hack at Andrew with the cleaver and keep one hand over his neck wound at the same time. Andrew grabbed Marss wrist with both hands, halted the cleaver an inch from his nose. Shit. Help!
Lizzy erupted from the kitchen, leapt over the couch, and planted herself in front of Mars. She took up a boxers stance and punched Mars in the ribs, three rapid, sharp shots. Mars grunted, shoved Andrew away so he could face the girl.
He jabbed, and she blocked it, punched him in the gut. He swiped at her with the cleaver, but she ducked low and punched him again in the gut. He got mad, growled. Mars wasnt used to a little girl giving him trouble. He swung the cleaver again, and she leapt aside.
Mars moved in close, brought up his knee, caught her in the chin. Bells went off in her ears, and she sat down hard. He lifted the cleaver over his head. He was going to split her skull.
No! Andrew jumped on Marss back. They spun in a circle, Mars trying to swing the cleaver back over his head. They banged around the living room, obliterated a lamp, knocked a picture off the wall. Mars spun until Andrew was dislodged and landed in a heap next to a disoriented Lizzy.
Mars towered over them, blood dripping down his neck and over his heaving chest, meat cleaver poised to strike. His face stretched in a savage grimace.
Andrew gulped. He was going to die.
The room shuddered with the explosion, and a hole opened in Marss head, brain and bone spraying the walls and floor. Mars went stiff for two seconds, then toppled over backward to lie sprawled in a puddle of his own fluids.
Linda stood halfway down the stairs, legs apart in a shooters stance. She held a smoking revolver with both hands. The expression on her face was all business. She was still naked.
She descended the stairs slowly, stood over Marss body, and pointed the gun at his chest. She pulled the trigger five more times, Andrew flinching with each blast. Linda looked at the body, nodded approval, and dropped the gun.
Andrew stood, helped Lizzy to her feet.
Linda began to shake all over. I th-think I need to s-sit down. She dropped onto the couch and started to cry.
Ill get you a blanket, Andrew said.
Theres a r-robe on the back of the b-bathroom door. Linda shook so violently, Andrew was afraid she might be having some kind of seizure. He ran upstairs to fetch the robe.
Lizzy lit a cigarette, puffed nervously.
G-give me one of those, Linda said.
Lizzy gave her a cigarette, lit it for her.
Linda sucked in smoke, exhaled a long gray stream. Her shaking subsided slightly. She puffed again, looked at Lizzy. Who the hell are you, anyway?
PART FIVE
35
The rain slashed, and the wind tore at the banners along Canal Street on the border of the French Quarter. Mike pulled the Caddy into the Marriotts parking garage. His back and neck hurt so much, he was nearly dizzy, and the drive from Dallas had exhausted him. He felt like an old man. Even a long, hot day working the vineyard had never been like this. His whole life and all the years had caught up to him at last.
He checked in and took the elevator up to his room on the fifth floor. He thought about calling an escort service again for a girl to work that spot on his back, but he knew he wouldnt be able to stay awake until she arrived. He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. He was fast asleep within three minutes.
His dream was a confused tumult of unpleasant sensation. All was dark. The only awareness he had of his own body were floating patches of pain. And somewhere in the nightmare realm he heard the voice of his bother Danny calling for help. Where was Mike? Why didnt he respond to his brothers pleas?
Mike groped, shifted, tried to move his bodiless existence toward Dannys voice. But always there was the pain, blocking him. He had no body, but still he felt paralyzed. He strained to open his eyes, to end the darkness. It was as if his eyes were glued shut. He fought to pry them apart.
When Mikes eyes popped open, he was back in the hotel room. He glanced at the clock. Hed slept almost three hours. He still ached but felt somewhat better. He found the remote control and flipped on the television, surfed until he hit a local station.
A weatherman said the storms would get worse before they got better. People were advised to stay indoors. Power outages here and there throughout the city, trees falling into power lines, lightning strikes. Flooding in some of the lowlands.
It didnt make any difference to Mike. He wasnt going to wait for sunshine. He was going to see this thing to the end. Tonight. Come hell or high water.
* * *
Although the first team of killers had been little more than clumsy amateurs, they had still served as a wake-up call for Nikki Enders. She rechecked the mansions security system and planted firearms in specific locations for easy access bedroom, library, kitchen. She hoped her mother wouldnt find one of them and take a sudden dislike to the paperboy.
She made a point to keep her eyes open, her radar up, which is why she noticed the sedan parked across the street. It had been there the day before too. Sometimes it was farther up the street, but it was definitely the same car. It might be nothing, or it might be trouble. At the moment, everything made her suspicious. She had a trick up her sleeve that might work on the sedan but decided to save it for later.
It also
worried Nikki that she hadnt heard from either of her sisters. Shed long ago accepted the possibility that something untoward had happened to Meredith, but shed expected Lizzy to check in long before now. Nikki felt the mansion had become a fort. She was afraid to go out, and no news was coming in. It bothered Nikki to be on the defensive, an unfamiliar and uncomfortable position.
Nikki found her mother in the library, knitting her scarf in the shadow of her husbands portrait. Lightning in the windows. A clap of thunder rattled the windows.
Why dont you go to bed, Mother?
The storm will keep me awake. The click of her knitting needles was lost in another sharp crack of thunder.
Nikki looked at the portrait, back at the old woman. I always thought the eye patch made him look cool. Do you miss Daddy, Mother?
Tonyas smile was enigmatic. Hell be home soon enough. Back from his mission.
Nikki shook her head. Usually she steadfastly refused to indulge Mothers delusions. But not tonight. Nikki didnt have the energy or the heart to force reality. What will you do when he gets home, Mother?
The old woman sighed. Murder the son of a bitch, I suppose.
* * *
The storm battered the nondescript sedan parked across the street from the Garden District mansion. Jack Sprat sipped tepid coffee from a styrofoam cup and checked his wristwatch. Soon. First Mavis would cut the power and the lights would go out. The outage would probably get blamed on the storm. Then theyd go in. He felt bad about the old girl out in the rain, but there was nothing for it. She had to be in position to handle the alarm. He glanced at his watch yet again.
Soon.
36
The sleepy Marriott desk clerk told Mike getting a taxi would be tough. Two in the morning and the worst storm of the year. Neither man nor beast was out and about. Mike found the Cadillac in the parking garage and checked the trunk. Shotgun, shells, pistol, and a New Orleans Saints rain poncho hed picked up at a tourist shop on the way into town. In addition to keeping the rain off him, it would serve to hide the shotgun. He put some extra shells into his pocket.
Mikes plan was simple. Hed drive to the place and kill the person who set the hounds on Andrew. If anyone got in the way, Mike would sweep them aside with the twelve-gauge. The shotgun had always been Dannys weapon of choice, but Mike knew how to use one too. He preferred the jitterbug dance of the tommy gun, the .45 caliber scat. The shotgun was more of a bass drum boom, the thunderous punctuation for some fat ladys song.
So be it, thought Mike. It was a time for thunder. He drove the Caddy out of the garage and into the storm.
* * *
For a moment, Nikki thought the sedan had gone, but she spotted it up the street, almost to the next block. She knew in her gut there was somebody in the car, watching the place, somebody she would probably not like and maybe even need to kill. It was time to use the trick with the phone.
She picked up the phone, dialed in a special code before calling 911. An emergency operator answered.
Theres a suspicious car parked in my neighborhood. I think hes dealing drugs. She described the sedan and told the street to the operator.
Whats your name?
I dont want to give my name, Nikki said. Im afraid of the drug dealers. I want to remain anonymous. She hung up.
Years ago her family had rigged up a switchboard for just such calls. To the police dispatcher it would appear as if the call came from a pay phone three blocks away. It was less suspicious to use the pay phone than for no number at all to appear to the dispatcher. Also, by saying the person in the car was a drug dealer, the cops were more likely to approach the sedan with caution. They might even search it. In any event, it would get rid of the sedan at least temporarily.
From her upstairs window, Nikki kept watch. In the brief flashes of lightning, she could almost make out somebody sitting in the drivers seat. She watched until the red-and-blue lights appeared at the end of her street and headed for the sedan. She looked at her watch. Four minutes since shed called.
It was nice to live in an upscale neighborhood.
* * *
Jack Sprat saw the cop car heading right for him and spat every curse word he knew in a long stream. This could drop the plan right into the toilet. The squad car pulled within a foot of Sprats sedan. A cop got out of the drivers side, rain battering his yellow slicker. The cop would probably be in a pissed-off mood, having to shake him down in the thunderstorm. Thats all Sprat needed was an angry, soaked, fucking flatfoot screwing things up right before everything got started.
The cop went around back, noted his license plate. Sprat glanced at the big knife between his seat and the door. He could chuck it right into the coppers chest, then stash the body. His hand eased toward the knife as the cop came up to the drivers side.
The passenger door of the squad car swung open, and another cop climbed out, stood in the rain, watching Sprat. The cops hands were low. He might have been holding a pistol, or he might have been scratching his balls. Sprat couldnt see.
Bloody hell.
Sprat put his hands on the steering wheel at ten and two. He didnt have a play. The second cop could splatter him through the windshield before Sprat could even twitch. Hed have to ride this out, play nice like a normal citizen.
The first cop tapped on his drivers-side window with the tail end of a long black flashlight. Sir.
Sprat rolled the window down three inches. Problem, Officer?
What are you doing around here?
Keep it simple. My hotel isnt too far, but I got lost. I didnt want to drive in the storm. He had to shout for the cop to hear him.
You cant loiter. Wheres your hotel?
Sprat told him which hotel. He tried to emote harmless cooperation. He really didnt need the cop getting suspicious, busting his balls and searching the car.
The cop pointed. Two blocks that way, then turn left on St. Charles. Youll see where you are.
I was hoping to wait until it let up a little.
The cop shook his head. Keep it slow, and youll be fine. Theres no traffic.
It was no use. Any more protests, and hed be pushing his luck. Sprat started the sedan, waved at the cop, and pulled away. He got two blocks and took out his cell phone, thumbed the speed dial as he turned onto St. Charles at ten miles per hour.
Its me, love, Sprat said. Were going to push it back twenty minutes.
Mavis chattered on the other end.
Local constabulary telling your boy to move along. Ill swing back when theyve cleared off. And remember not to cut the alarm until the last second. We dont want to tip our hand.
Sprat hung up and began the long, slow circle back to the Cornwall mansion.
* * *
Nikki watched from the bedroom window. The sedan turned on its headlights and pulled away. The cops sat in their squad car for a minute before they too drove away. Nikki nodded, satisfied. Shed check again in an hour, and if the sedan returned, shed take more direct action.
She left the window, curled up on the bed. She felt suddenly so very tired. She lived in a big house she couldnt enjoy, had money she didnt spend. Her mother lived in a fantasy world in which her dead father would come walking through the front door any moment. And her sisters. Where were they? How had this become her life?
Shotgun Opera Page 20
