Lighting a cigarette she sucked in deep, tossed a flimsy robe over her shoulders and sat back in her chair. She let the muffled clatter of the club’s noises wash over her. She closed her eyes, letting the smoke fill her lungs and absorb the tension from her neck and temples. A line of coke right now would be heaven, but she would need to keep her head straight until the events of tomorrow night played out.
She felt sad that Sammy and Enrico had to die; she didn’t like the word or the idea, they were so final. She wished for another way, but Cinnamon was nothing if not a realist. Both men were wonderful in so many ways, but both were dangerous, and neither would ever willingly let her go. And of course, there was the money.
So, what had to be, had to be and she could live with that.
Never again would anyone — man or woman — have control over her. She would please herself as she pleased and allow no one to master her. With four and half million dollars she could live the life of luxury she deserved. And if things went wrong tomorrow — well — three and a half million dollars would do. She wasn’t greedy, she just wanted it all. Was there anything wrong with that?
Her life had not been easy. She’d had to fight and work and sacrifice just to survive. Her innocence and childhood had been stolen from her by people who were bigger and stronger, but after tomorrow that would never happen again.
A vision of her new life swam beneath her closed eyelids; images of sun soaked beaches with white capped waves breaking green-blue against smooth sand; boys with nut brown skin bringing her tall cold glasses of exotic liqueurs and trays of fresh oysters and lobster tails.
Yes, life would be good.
She let out a deep breath and opened her eyes. She undid the lock on her locker and pulled out her purse. Inside she saw the silver frame of the five shot revolver. She let her small fingers caress the cold steel. Heavy, with an oily slickness that on a subconscious level conveyed a feeling of lethality. It felt like what it was, an instrument of destruction.
Enrico would kill Sammy — or Sammy would kill Enrico — or best of all they would kill each other. She hoped it would happen like that. She’d never killed anyone before. But que sera sera and all that Doris Day crap — whatever will be will be and brother wasn’t that the truth.
All her life she had done what she needed to do to survive. Tomorrow would be no different.
60
Sarah Hampton
* * *
Sweet Release
* * *
Cats everywhere. They lined the streets outside the hospital. They filled the hallways. They prowled back and forth outside the doorway to John Doe’s room, meowing and purring and hissing, daring her to come out to them. Safety existed only inside the room. The cats couldn’t come in here; even they were powerless over the comatose man, but outside was different, outside they were stronger, bolder. They no longer hid or ran from her. Since last night when she’d missed the cat with the car something had changed. No longer the hunter, she’d become the hunted and if they caught her she’d be through. They would drag her back to the asylum — back to Hell.
Dominic thought her crazy; she’d seen the look in his eyes, the way he stared at her when she grabbed the steering wheel — and after. She didn’t blame him, not really, she knew she was acting crazy, but that’s because he didn’t know the real story. He didn’t know about the missing evidence or the conspiracy of the cats to destroy her. He didn’t know about her mission. If he did he would understand and then he would know that she wasn’t crazy at all. That everything she had done and was doing made sense. But she couldn’t tell him, not yet. He wouldn’t be able to understand until she completed her mission and saved John Doe. Once completed everything would make sense to everyone just like it did to her. The cats would be gone and she would be safe from the asylum and the doctors and orderlies and their tortures. She would be safe from the ice baths and the drugs and the grief of losing her father and the straightjackets and the rooms full of blood and severed hands that looked like mittens and white hot electricity that burned through her mind and body like a living thing raping her soul and making her into someone she was not and was never meant to be.
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the unmoving form of the mutilated man. She cried for him and for herself and for what might have been between her and Dominic but could never be because the cats were too strong and she finally understood that they were going to defeat her, they were going to win and she would be doomed forever and ever. Once again she had failed and failure had consequences.
Her fingers twitched next to her gun and a part of her mind that felt very far away and spoke in a soft, almost imperceptible voice, urged her to take it out, raise it to her ear, sneak it carefully behind the lobe and aim it in a slightly downward position. To click back the hammer with her thumb, reducing the trigger pull so she would be less likely to flinch and jerk the shot and maybe only wound herself — leaving a vegetable body and trapping her mind in a numb motionless wall of flesh that would be powerless to end its existence — and then to squeeze ever so carefully until the bullet exploded her brain. No more pain, no more grief, no more fear. She didn’t believe in God, despite Dominic’s arguments, and so had no fear of Him or of Hell. There would only be sweet release; the eternal quiet of the grave — of nothingness. She was so tired — so tired of fighting and of being afraid. How wonderful the idea of nothingness — of nonexistence — to just be gone — to be — not.
The gun weighted her hand; she didn’t even know how it got there. She didn’t remember the physical action of pulling it out. She looked down at it, felt its weight, saw her tears drip to the tiled floor. If only things had worked out between her and Dominic. He seemed so much like the white knight of her childhood dreams. If only he’d been able to save her. It wasn’t his fault, life isn’t a fairytale. In life there are no happy endings. There is only blood and grief and suffering and death.
And cats.
They were louder now.
She looked outside the room and saw they were all standing still, staring at her, glowering at her, urging her to do it — to kill herself. Their voices were united as one, purring her name in a haunting chant that rippled her spine. Together they were a power, an order, a demand so strong she felt incapable of resisting.
Sarah Sarah Sarah.
A frightening song that reverberated inside her skull urging her to lift her arm — to liberate herself — to give in — to surrender.
Sarah couldn’t do it — wouldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair to John Doe. She had to complete her mission, she had to save him. She had to find who had done this horrible act. Once she knew the responsible person she would kill him and in so doing right the terrible wrongs that had been done to John and to her.
Sarah slipped the gun back into its holster and left the room. Gatling Gams opened tonight and although the mere thought of the place sent a cold chill through her, she somehow knew that the answers she needed would be found there, in that evil building; that her mission would find its completion — its end — in the place where it all began.
Steeling herself she walked through the sea of cats to the elevator. Time for work.
61
Dominic Elkins
* * *
The Deal
* * *
“You wanted to see me?” Dominic looked down at the detective sitting behind the desk. The man looked ten years older than the last time he’d seen him.
“Yes, Officer Elkins, I wanted to see you and here you are.”
“As ordered,” said Dominic.
“As ordered,” echoed the detective. He closed his eyes as if thinking then opened one in a squint. “Do orders have any meaning for you, Officer Elkins?”
Dominic paused before answering. His last meeting with Detective Rothstein hadn’t gone very well. He’d rather this one went better. “Yes, of course they do. That’s why I’m here.”
Rothstein grinned and it looked a little scary. “Oh really
, is that why you are here?” Before Dominic could answer, the detective flipped open a file on his desk. “Or maybe there’s another reason. Maybe you’re afraid I figured out your little secret and decided to come along so you could see just how much I know.”
Dominic felt a cold lump form in his belly. “I don’t care what you know.”
The detective wagged a long index finger at him. “You’re lying, Officer Elkins.” He pointed roughly in the direction of Dominic’s throat. “Now everyone’s different, but I’ve noticed that when you lie your heartbeat speeds up twelve beats a minute. I can see it pumping along your carotid. Also your cheeks flush and you rub the index finger and thumb of your left hand against each other exactly three times — not two — not four — three. Not only that, but your blues bisect your yellows at the exact center of your solar plexus as proved by Pythagoras Theorem. And once the yellows accept the William Tell Overture there can be absolutely no doubt. So lying to me is useless. Do you see?”
Dominic’s heart did feel like it had sped up and he noticed that he was rubbing his finger and thumb together. As far as his yellows and blues and all that other stuff, he had no idea. The guy was acting loopy as all get out.
“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
Rothstein shook his head slowly. “Don’t change the subject. I know what happened on that rooftop in Khost.”
The cold feeling in his belly spread outward with alarming speed. Save us — save us from the butters. “Okay, so what happened?”
“You killed the officer in charge of the mission and he shot you twice — the two chest shots.”
Dominic shook his head. “He was killed by enemy fire.” A vision of Nasiff’s face as he pulled the trigger floated through his mind. He felt sweat break along his hairline. “And I was wounded by the enemy.” Dominic saw the detective’s eyes dart to his left hand and he realized his finger and thumb were rubbing again. He forced himself to stop. Rothstein just grinned.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Dominic.
“It means everything. I can hear the numbers.”
“Numbers?”
Rothstein closed his eyes, shook his head, smiled.
“What do you want?” asked Dominic.
“Two things; your help and the truth about what happened up there; the whole story — everything.”
“What do you want my help with?”
“Someone’s going to try and steal a million dollars from Gatling Gams’ opening tonight. I need your help to stop it.”
Dominic’s head swam, what was this all about? “You’ve got an entire police department and a score of surrounding agencies to help you, why do you need me? I’m not even out of training yet.”
“There are reasons. This has to be kept quiet. Only the two of us can know exactly what happens tonight.”
The detective showed classic signs of fatigue and paranoia. Dominic had seen plenty of it in the war, but how or why he was in this state he didn’t know. What’s going on around here, first Sarah and now Detective Rothstein? “Who’s robbing the place — you?”
“No,” whispered the detective. “No — it’s not like that at all. We, you and I, will stop the robbery. But the man who will be trying to do this is a very bad — a very capable — a very dangerous man — perhaps the most dangerous man in the world. Less than a week ago he slaughtered over forty people in Chicago; Gangsters, Mafia. He killed them all and blew up a mansion to boot.”
“The gang war at the Marko compound?” Dominic had read of it on the internet.
“It wasn’t a gang war.” The detective held up a single finger. “One man.”
“And he’s here?”
“Yes.”
Dominic remembered reading about all the people that had been killed, the maids and butlers and other hired help. “A lot of innocent people were murdered.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure he’s here?”
“I’m sure.”
“And you think the two of us can take him?”
“I know we can.”
Dominic considered for a moment, but of course there was only one possible answer. A mission is a mission, Marines or cops, either way the good guys had to win and the bad guys had to lose. “Okay, count me in.” He held up a finger of his own. “On one condition. Unlike Vegas, what happened in Khost really does stay in Khost. You never ask me about it again. That conversation is over forever between us.”
The detective stared at him with such fevered intensity it felt like Superman’s heat vision burning holes through Dominic. Finally he closed his eyes and nodded his head. He held out a hand. “Deal.”
Dominic shook, surprised at the strength in the grip. “So what do we do?”
The detective told him the plan.
Part VIII
62
Chuck Creed
* * *
Justice
* * *
Sgt. Chuck Creed checked over the plan a final time. Everything looked perfect. He’d set up the security, the rout for the transport, the pick-up and delivery, the staging area. He’d been surprised at how little space a million dollars took up when stacked in one hundred dollar bills. Ten thousand one hundred dollar bills weighed in at less than twenty-five pounds and fit inside a slightly oversized briefcase. The briefcase itself was aluminum on the outside, with ballistic shielding and heat resistant insulation, equipped with a nine-digit combination lock. Even Chuck didn’t know the combination, only the club manager.
Looking at his watch he saw it was nearly seven, the grand opening was set for eight, the money due to arrive at seven-thirty and the winner to be announced at ten.
Dressed in his police uniform he waited at the back door with two big bouncers. Strippers walked back and forth in various stages of undress. Most were beautiful, the rest unbelievable. Gatling Gams had certainly laid out the big bucks for this shindig. The star attraction was a midget named Cinnamon Twist. Chuck had heard of her; that she was working at Elephant Guns until GGs opened, but he’d never seen her until tonight. He’d been stunned. He’d seen some pretty gorgeous women in his time, but no one like her. She looked like a vamped up version of Grace Kelly in her prime. Perfect build, perfect face, perfect skin, perfect everything…except her size.
Chuck had never been a fan of women taking their clothes off for money. He had two daughters of his own and had seen firsthand over the years the destruction women in that line of work wreaked upon their lives. Drugs, prostitution, alcohol, abuse, rape, suicide, murder; a hard life, one he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Even the thought that his daughters might be so corrupted filled him with fury. A lot of girls started out dancing because they needed money and it seemed like an easy way to get a lot of it fast. But one thing inevitably led to another and sooner or later they’d get hooked up with a pimp and drugs and all the rest.
The fact that his own indiscretions had led him down a different but equally destructive path did not completely elude him. Gambling was an unforgiving mistress and completely indifferent to the needs of a wife, a mortgage, and two kids in college.
One of the bouncers pointed at a topless stripper as she walked past. He made a comment and wagged his eyebrows. Chuck looked away. The woman was beautiful, but he felt shame for her. Someone’s daughter, he thought.
He looked up at the security camera in the corner. If it had been hooked up the partially naked girl’s image would have been forever captured in cyber space, but the security system, like many other features of the club, remained nonoperational. Gatling Gams had been plagued with problems, starting with the mutilation of the man Sarah had found and going right on through to tonight. The robbery of the million-dollar prize would fit in with the club’s cursed reputation.
Chuck had half the force working different security details around the club and knew all their positions. He’d been sure to keep Sarah clear of Gatling Gams tonight. He knew the place still spooked her. Besides, if things went wrong he didn’t want her in da
nger.
A million bucks. Chuck thought he’d be nervous, but he wasn’t, almost the opposite. A sense of calm assurance, as if absolutely nothing could go wrong, permeated his being.
Taking a million bucks from perverts; providing for his family and ending the Vigilante Clubber’s career all in a single night, it just felt right.
Chuck listened to another off color comment from the bouncer about a redhead walking past in a G-string. The bouncer was big, some of it fat but a lot of it muscle. Now him — him Chuck wouldn’t mind sapping.
63
Cinnamon Twist
* * *
Insurance
* * *
Cinnamon saw the big cop at the back door. He was older but he looked tough. Not only that, but there were cops outside in the parking lot and police cars at each corner. She knew there would be police, but she hadn’t counted on so many. Sammy had told her about the one that would be inside, but not about the others.
She took out her cell phone and called him.
“Hello, Cinnamon.”
“There’s cops here.”
“I know.”
“I mean there are a lot of them.”
“I know. It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
“I’m scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. The smells are loud, but I’ve got them under control. Everything will be fine.”
“The what are what?”
“Never mind, you wouldn’t understand. Is Enrico there?”
Gil Mason/Gunwood USA Box Set Page 96
