"It was the damn dog, wasn't it?" Howie muttered. When Gage didn't answer, he glared at Nora, gesturing with the Beretta. "I told you I should have killed that stupid animal. Take her outside once to go the bathroom and she ruins everything."
"Please," Nora said. "Please don't hurt him."
Gage saw the furious expression on Howie's face soften, though only a little, a boiling rage percolating just under the surface. Gone was the garrulous, aw-shucks insurance salesman with the glad-to-see-you smile, which was an act, Gage had known from the first, but a very good one.
"Yes," Nora said. "Yes, I'll … How about another backrub? You want that? Or—or something else." She sat down on the futon and patted it. "Come here, Howie. Please. Garrison doesn't matter. This is—this is about us. I want to show you how I feel. Come here."
Gage heard music playing faintly from the stereo. Nora's music. Howie smiled at her, took a step toward the door, then stopped abruptly.
"Oh, how I'd like to," he said. "I would indeed. You know how much I like you, Nora. You've always known. But I can't. There's things to do."
"Sure you can," she said. "Sure, sure, there's no hurry. Do what you always do. If you lock the door, you know I won't escape. Garrison won't go anywhere either. Let's just sit with each other."
She rubbed her hand suggestively up her stocking. Howie leered. Gage, even as he hated watching her debase herself, didn't want to say anything for fear of breaking whatever spell she was trying to cast. There had to be something else he could do. The door was open. As long as it stayed that way, they had a chance. The keys to the handcuffs had to be on Howie's person, or at least somewhere in the house. Gage's ankles may be cuffed, but he could still kick with both legs at once.
But then what? He might be able to take Howie down momentarily, but Gage would still be helpless.
"No," Howie said, with a forceful shake of his head. "There will be time for that later. Right now we have to go."
"But Howie—"
"No!"
His bellow echoed off the walls. He pointed the Beretta at Gage.
"One more word and I shoot him," he said. "You hear me? One. More. Word."
Nora, cowering behind her hands as if she didn't want to see what might happen, said nothing. Gage thought about Howie's ankles. If Gage swung his legs hard at them, maybe Howie would go down. Maybe the Beretta would drop right into Gage's hands. Maybe he could even get off a shot with his hands behind his back.
It was a lot of maybes, too many. Howie, satisfied that Nora wasn't going to defy him, bent down next to Gage.
"Smart guy," Howie said. "You figured it out, I have to hand it to you. When I followed Nora from California to your friend's bookstore, and saw you meeting her, I knew I'd have to deal with you somehow. My little mind games didn't work, did they? But they almost did. You saw her boat explode and thought … Hmm. I'm saying too much again, aren't I?"
He pressed the Beretta against Gage's temple. Gage closed his eyes. If this was it, then this was it.
"I'm not going to beg," Gage said.
"I don't care," Howie said.
The muzzle was pressed harder against Gage's skin, and he felt his pulse taping against the cold metal. Who would have thought he would die by his own gun? Seemed appropriate, somehow. Nora whimpered. Finally, the muzzle relaxed. Gage opened his eyes. Howie was sneering at him.
"I'd like to," he said. "Maybe it wouldn't matter that much. But I don't want your bloody, exploded skull in her mind the rest of her life. We've made so much progress, her and I. We have something special. So I'm not going to do that to her."
"That's very kind," Gage said. "How about letting me go, too? I promise not to tell anyone about your special relationship."
Howie sighed. He stood, slipped the Beretta into the side pocket of his suit jacket, then reached into the inside pocket and pulled out what looked like a walkie-talkie, the homegrown variety with lots of duct tape and a very long antenna.
"Do you know what this is?" Howie asked.
Gage was more interested in the Beretta dangling from Howie's pocket. It wouldn't take much for it to fall.
"Your TV remote?" Gage said.
"It's a transmitter," Howie said. "You see, I always have backup plans, Gage. Always. Did you think I knew Ed Boone's sons were hit men? No. I had to adapt, use a backup contingency. Play along until I got my way. And this device, this is my adapting, too."
"Does it get HBO?"
"I have a special little contraption hooked up next to my natural gas line. When I push this button, the line will be cut and gas will flood the house. Twenty minutes after that, the device will detonate. You know what kind of fireball it's going to create when it does?"
"You planning on having the neighbors over for a barbecue? Count me in. I like a good hamburger."
Howie's skin was so pale that even a bit of pink would be visible, but his flush was a full-on sea of red. "Always joking. Fine, joke away. But see, I get the last laugh. My plan all along was to blow up this house. Don't think I have a nice insurance policy? Of course I do! I'm an insurance salesman! And believe me, the way I've done it, nobody will suspect arson. But I was going to wait. Make sure Nora and I got to know each other better. Make sure I could trust her. Now I have to speed up my plan. They'll never find this little place of mine, Gage. You'll die down here and nobody will even know."
"I already told a few people I was coming here, Howie. Your plan is shot. You'll never get away with the money."
"Oh, I know. I figured I wouldn't get the money now. That's sad, but I still get to blow you up. That's almost as good."
Howie held up the device, his thumb on a silver button. He was grinning. Was he really stupid enough to push the button while he was down here? What if the device misfired? It might cut the line and blow up at the same time. Then he'd die too.
"Listen," Gage said, "you don't have to—"
Howie pushed the button.
There was a loud click. Gage froze, as did Nora.
"Didn't think I would, did you?" Howie said. "But I have confidence in myself. I know what I'm doing. Nancy never understood that about me. She never understood how I could be so sure of myself. But it's just how I am. I see things others don't see. I know things will go a certain way." He shook his head. "Ten years she's been gone, and I still can barely stand to say her name. That's how long I worked on this place down here, Gage. Ten years. A long ten years, but at least I had my work."
"Let's call her," Gage said, trying to sound more confident than he was. "I'm sure she'd like to apologize."
"Shut up!" Howie cried. "No, no, no, I'm not letting you get me angry. I'm saying too much. I know it. I like to talk. It's a weakness, like I told you. But we're going now. In a few minutes you'll start smelling rotten eggs, a smell they put in natural gas that's otherwise odorless just to let you know you should get the hell out of your house. But you won't be able to, Gage. Unless …"
"Unless what?"
"See, this is how it's going to work. If Nora comes willingly and doesn't try anything stupid, I'm going to give her a chance to call the fire department. If we go now, they may still have time to get down here before the explosion. But we have to go now. You think you can do that, Nora? You think you can play nice?"
Nora nodded. Gage had no doubt Howie was lying, that he had no intention of letting her call the fire department, but saw no advantage in pointing it out. Howie was just trying to get Nora to play along. Was she falling for it? Gage couldn't tell.
"Here's what I'm going to do," Howie said. "We can't do things the normal way, since we're leaving. I'm going to toss you the keys to your handcuffs. You unlock yourself, then walk nice and slow right by me out this door. As long as you don't try anything, I'll keep my promise. I'll let you call 911 to help poor Gage here. Try anything else and I'll tase you just like I tased him, then carry you out anyway and let him die. Got it?"
She nodded, glancing at Gage. The Beretta appeared to hang even more precariously f
rom Howie's right pocket. He reached into his left pocket and tossed a ring of keys at her.
It should have been an easy catch, but Nora made a mess of it, not only lunging unnecessarily but actually batting them away from her. They landed with a jangle. Howie groaned. She tried to reach for them, but the chain wouldn't allow her to go far enough. She tried with her foot, stretching, but could only nudge the edge with her boot.
"You did that on purpose," Howie said.
"I didn't! It was an accident, I swear!"
"I don't believe you. You—you are being very bad!"
"I'm sorry."
Growling in frustration, Howie crept forward with great care, keeping his gaze fixed on her and the Taser zeroed in on her chest. He crouched down, and only at the last second did he glance away to locate the keys.
It was during that glance when Nora stuck him in the balls with a club.
That was Gage's first impression, that she'd swung a club straight into his groin, but it wasn't a club at all. It was her left boot. One second it was on her leg, the next it was being gripped by the top half so the thick heel side could be swung as a weapon. Even in the intensity of the moment, Gage had to appreciate both her nerve and her preparation, because she'd obviously loosened the long zipper and torn away enough material to make such a quick grab and swing possible. She'd been waiting for her opportunity.
Howie doubled over and grabbed his privates. Neither the Taser nor the Beretta fell loose, however; the only thing that he dropped was the key ring. It might have all been for naught, except Nora swung the boot again even harder, slapping the hand with the Taser.
It looped high in the air, landing with a thud in front of Gage.
He scooted toward it, an awkward shuffle with his bound ankles. It would be a million years before he got there, and then what would he do, with his hand behind him?
Nora dove for the keys. Howie, having at least slightly recovered, saw what she was doing and lunged after her. She got her hands on the keys but Howie smacked them away. The keys bounced high off the wall and slid to the floor. With a roar, he tossed her back on the bed and climbed on top of her. "You will obey me!" he shouted, slipping his hands around her neck.
Nora grabbed at his hands and bucked about, but physically she was no match for him. Howie went on screaming, telling her he loved her, why didn't she understand, why couldn't she just be nice, all the while choking the life out of her. Gage, still crawling, realized there was a faster way, and rolled end over end until he reached the Taser. He felt for it, fingers brushing against the handle, and finally got it into his grip. Nora was gagging. How the hell was Gage going to point this thing?
It had to be now.
Now.
Somehow he managed to struggle up to his knees, the stun gun in his right hand behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he lined up Howie's back as best he could. There was a good chance that the darts might hit Nora instead, and then Gage would really be screwed, but what choice did he have?
Gage pulled the trigger.
There was a bang. One dart missed the mark completely, hitting the futon mattress, but the other landed on Howie's back. The effect was instantaneous. While the thin cord delivered its clicking pulses of electricity, Howie jerked upright as if he'd been stabbed, then rolled to the left, off Nora and onto the bed. While Nora gasped for breath, his body spasmed and convulsed.
Now the clock was ticking.
They had thirty seconds, maybe less, until the Taser stopped and Howie recovered.
"Get the gun!" Gage shouted at Nora. "Hurry!"
She took big, shuddering breaths but didn't acknowledge Gage. He scooted around to face her, walking on his knees in her direction. He wasn't going to be much use to her, handcuffed as he was. But getting control of the Beretta was the bigger concern.
Twenty seconds.
"Now!" Gage cried.
Coughing and hacking, she groped for the keys with her free hand, misunderstanding Gage or just instinctively wanting to free herself. He shouted at her again to get the Beretta. She reversed course and reached for Howie, trying to find the gun, but his right jacket pocket was buried underneath him. She tried to roll him, but moving a two-hundred-pound slab of flesh would have been difficult for anyone, and especially for a woman who'd just about had the life choked out of her.
Ten seconds.
While Nora struggled to roll Howie, Gage picked up the keys. It was hard enough manipulating them into the keyhole even if he could see, since handcuffs weren't designed to allow a prisoner to unlock them. Without being able to see, it was almost impossible. The first key he got into the hole didn't work.
Five seconds.
Nora had finally gotten to the pocket in Howie's jacket that had the Beretta, but it was snagging on the material. With a howl of frustration, she yanked the Beretta free.
Time was up.
The Taser stopped delivering its charge, falling silent. With anyone, the effects of a Taser weren't exact, and Howard F. Meyer could have taken a lot longer to recover. But in this case, he must have realized what was happening, and he rolled over into Nora just as she was scrambling to point the Beretta at him. With one hand still chained, it wasn't easy.
The Beretta fired.
The boom reverberated in the soundproof environment and Gage felt it right down to his bones. His ears rang. The bullet left a red streak on Howie's cheek. There was the pungent odor of gunpowder. Howie wailed and lunged at Nora, so much bigger than her that the sheer weight of him pressed her down, made it hard for her to aim the gun. He got one hand on her right wrist, her gun hand, and now it was a battle of strength. Half his face was smeared with blood. Howie was pulling her arm toward him even as she torqued herself around, trying to keep the keep the gun from his reach.
There was no more time to mess with keys. Howie almost had the Beretta. He might not shoot Nora, but he'd definitely shoot Gage.
If Gage was going to intervene, he had to do it now.
One chance. It all came down to perfect execution, because he'd be completely helpless if this didn't work. With great effort, he rocked onto his heels, then up, ignoring the pain, staying balanced. No way he could fall now. Then he was on his feet—ankles chained, but on his feet. Howie had the gun. He was turning, bringing the gun around, his face coming into view even as Nora scratched and clawed at his arm.
Howie's face was what Gage was hoping to see.
The human head could either be the most vulnerable part of the body or the deadliest, depending on which part was exposed. The nose was soft cartilage. The upper skull was almost like steel. Gage, pretending for one adrenaline-filled moment that he had the best knees in the world, bent low and propelled his upper skull at Howie's nose.
In the brief span before Gage made contact, the Beretta fired again, ripping through his jacket, but then Gage smashed into Howie like a battering ram. He heard a sickening crunch, and pain vibrated across his skull. They were a mash of three bodies slamming into the corner of the futon.
Howie was yelling and screaming, flailing wildly, and all Gage could do was absorb the blows and try to keep his weight on him. He hoped Nora was going for the Beretta. Then Howie managed to push Gage off him, throwing him onto the floor. Gage bounced off the carpet and rolled over, expecting, through his bleary vision, to see Howie pointing the Beretta at him.
But Nora had it.
She was pointing it at Howie's face.
Everything became very still. Howie was crouched, partially twisted away from her, his face like a half-closed red curtain. Even though her hand trembled, and her arm seemed bent and unsteady, she had her finger on the trigger. Her face didn't even seem like her own. There was something primal about her expression, something bared and exposed that Howie saw right away.
"Please," he said. "I—I will be good to you. You'll see. Neither of us have to be lonely anymore. Just—"
She pulled the trigger.
The bullet went right in the middle of his forehead and blaste
d the wall behind him with red.
For a few beats, while the bang of gun echoed around them, it was as if Howie didn't realize he'd been shot. His mouth kept moving, his eyes blinking, but then it all stopped as if someone had flicked a switch. He fell backward and lay still.
Gage smelled rotten eggs in the air.
Of course. The natural gas.
The bomb.
How much time did they have? Nora was whimpering and crying. Ordinarily Gage would have been more sympathetic, but he couldn't afford such a luxury right now. The keys lay between them on the carpet. He barked at her to get them. She blinked at him.
"Now!" he shouted. "Or we'll die!"
It was enough to propel her into action. She put down the gun and reached for the keys, stretching the chain as far as they would go, and scooped them up. A few seconds later, she'd managed to free her cuffs. Gage was upright by then, and soon she'd freed his hands, too, then his ankles.
"Should—should we call—" she began.
"No time," Gage said. "Go!"
Helping each other, they staggered out of the room. Gage afforded himself one backward glance at Howie, saw that he was a lifeless form in a deepening pool of red on the futon, then they were both into the hall behind the secret room. Then up the stairs. Faster, faster. If Howie wasn't lying—and the foul odor was a good sign he wasn't—this whole place was going to blow.
Once in the daylight basement, they bolted for the sliding door. The sunlight and fresh air were a relief, but they still weren't safe. To the van? No, too far. They headed for the rotting gate and the passageway through the blackberry bushes. The vines scratched at their faces as they sprinted through the tunnel. Were they a safe distance away? They should be, or at least close, though Gage began to wonder if either the device didn't work or Howie was at least partly bluffing.
They were halfway down the hill when the house behind them exploded.
A Lighthouse for the Lonely Heart: An Oregon Coast Mystery (Garrison Gage Series Book 5) Page 32
