Callie’s Last Dance

19.

TIME SLOWS TO a crawl when you’re lying on the floor of a coat closet in a strange house waiting to torture and kill the residents.

Callie’s trying to drift asleep, but something’s tugging at the edge of her awareness. Something that won’t go away, drowsy as she is. Something about…Something she’s forgotten.

The closet is pitch black, and has a musty odor from winter clothes that haven’t been worn for at least five months. She wonders about silverfish. Centipedes. Spiders crawling around her, possibly on her.

She doesn’t like spiders.

If she had her way, there wouldn’t be any spiders in the world. If she could somehow lock them all in a giant closet, and blow it up before they have a chance to…

And there it was.

The thing she forgot to do.

The thing Creed taught her all those years ago. The thing he made her always promise to have in place before getting into position.

An escape plan.

A second way out, in case something goes wrong.

She’d made herself a sitting duck.

No problem, she’ll just-

Her thoughts are interrupted by the rumble of a garage door opening. The De Lucas’ garage door. Which gives her what, thirty seconds? A minute to create an escape plan?

Not a full minute. No way.

The smart thing would be to stay put. In the eight years she’s killed people she’s needed an alternate escape plan exactly how many times?

None.

She chose the hall closet for two reasons. One, it contains winter clothes. Who comes home from an all-day Fourth of July party, dinner, fireworks, and checks their winter clothes?

No one.

Reason number two, it’s centrally located. The garage, laundry room, kitchen, dining room-are on one end of the house, the master bedroom and bath on the other. The foyer, powder room, and den are close by.

It’s the best possible location to hear anything happening in the whole house. The perfect place to hide and wait.

It’s ten-twenty at night in the middle of the summer. The De Lucas are tired and hot. They won’t open the winter clothes closet. And even if they did, she’s on the floor, covered up, with a gun in her hand. She could blow them away before the surprise registers on their faces.

She’ll be fine.

Unless Frankie invited his crew members over for a drink!

Half his gang was in town for Sal’s party. Why wouldn’t he have them swing by for some late night drinks, maybe run a little strategy session? The wives could chat in the kitchen, the guys could meet in the den or basement.

Callie shakes her head in disbelief. How could this have gotten past her?

She’s holding a single gun, seven rounds. Has a vial of lens spray in the back pocket of her jeans. If things go south she’ll have to move quickly, rush her shots. Four guys caught unaware?

She’s Callie Carpenter. Likes her chances.

Five guys? Too close to call.

Seven? Out of the question.

There are worse places to die than Frankie’s house, worse ways to die than a mob shootout. What sucks is how easily she could have avoided this predicament.

She tells herself not to worry. It’s late. The De Lucas have partied all day. They’ll be alone.

But what if they’re not?

If the entire crew’s here, she’ll die tonight.

If Frankie’s crew shows up.

If they find her.

It all comes down to the dog. If he wakes up, he’ll sniff her out.

She hears the garage door closing again, hears car doors slam. How many?

Two doors. One car.

So far so good.

And where do mobsters meet, anyway? In the boss’s home?

No.

They meet in clubs, offices, strip joints.

Except when their wives are in town.

In which case this is exactly where they’d come.

Shit!

Is it likely Frankie’s crew is coming?

No.

But what if they do?

Callie always provides for every possibility.

Always.

But not this time. True, she didn’t come to Sal’s party expecting to kill a mobster and his wife tonight.

But still. How basic is this?

A fucking escape plan in case things go wrong.

She’s made mistakes before, obviously, but none like this. She’s clearly off her game.

Which reminds her of something else that happened today. Something monumental. Something she thought couldn’t happen in a million years.

She found a weakness in Donovan Creed!

A weakness that could be exploited.

Angie’s in the garage now, making loud baby talk. Like she’s teasing the dog, expecting him to squeal with delight that she’s home. It’s the sort of baby talk women do when they have an audience.

Callie’s mind goes to warp speed. If she had created an alternate escape plan, what would it be?

She wills herself to focus…

And gets it.

If she had a mere minute to prepare, she could do it.

But she doesn’t.

She’d place explosive disks at strategic places in the house, waist-high, and program her cell phone to blow them simultaneously. The disks have a sticky backing that adheres to walls, and offers a kill zone of six feet. Using the hall closet door as the center point, she would set two disks in the hallway, twelve feet apart. They’d blow outward and sideways, and wipe out everyone within twenty-four feet. The closet door and interior walls would provide enough protection to keep her unscathed.

Four other disks could have been set along her escape route. The sudden carnage would kill anyone in the hallway, and injure or stun anyone between her and the back door.

That’s what she could have done, but didn’t.

She hears the garage door open. Angie cooing, “Are you hungry, honey bear? Is mama’s little baby hungry?”

Frankie, still in the garage saying, “What, you expect him to answer? Yeah, mama, I’m hungry! I’m so fuckin’ hungry, mama!”

Is he showing off for his crew members? Callie strains to hear outside laughter, but only hears Angie say, “Oh, shut up, asshole!”

Which allows her to relax. Angie would never speak to him like that if others were present.

Making a mental note to be more careful next time, she puts her head back down, covers it with a coat, and eases into her deep relaxation zone, which she’ll maintain till the De Lucas are sleeping soundly.

Everything seems great. Until Angie screams.

“What the fuck?” Frankie yells.

“Call the cops!”

“What?”

“Call the cops!”

“Why?”

“Someone’s in the house!”