Cut and Run

24

Scream, Tasha thought. He won’t shoot you. Scream your head off.

‘Not a word,’ Whit whispered to Tasha. He kept the gun steady on her but his scalp sweated, the skin along the back of his legs prickled.

He heard the downstairs voices rising in anger, Bucks saying, ‘How hard is it to follow a goddamned car? Isn’t he a high-school graduate?’ Then a pause.

‘Call Paul,’ Frank Polo said. ‘Right now. Or I will. You’re the one who messed up, Bucks.’

Whit moved to the broken window, saw that the roof sloped down to the covered walk between the house and the garage. Thumbed the latches, pushed it open. Heard footsteps treading up the stairs, Frank’s voice, rich like chocolate, still arguing with Bucks to get Paul on the phone.

Whit lowered the gun and went out the window, stepping onto the shingled roof. Tasha ran out of the room and screamed ‘Bucks!’

He skidded down the shingles, glancing up to see a man’s startled face at the busted window. Whit jumped onto the walkway’s roof then dropped down on the wet patch of cool green lawn. In the backyard a brick path snaked through the grass. The back windows were curtained, no Bucks yanking open the drapes to fire on him.

The yard was fenced; with another house on each side, close up against each property line. He ran to the fence on his right and a big dog barked angrily. He cussed and ran to the other fence. A back door opened behind him. He didn’t look back.

Whit jumped onto a trellis dense with ivy. A thweet popped on his left and the ivy shredded as a silenced bullet pocked the fence. Whit hauled himself over the fence with a huge pull. Another thweet and the passing bullet yanked his windbreaker’s back; he smelled a puff of burnt nylon as he dropped down into the neighbor’s driveway.

Not shot. He sprinted past a parked BMW, pulled himself over the black iron fleurs-de-lis that topped the driveway gate. Frank’s house was on his left now, and he ran at full steam toward the L intersection where Timber Lane met Locke Lane and the narrow green of River Oaks Park lay.

He heard the thock of tennis balls against damp courts at the near end of the park but he couldn’t see the players, and screaming for help was no good. Gooch’s van was another thirty feet away and Whit measured out his life in those steps, his sneakered feet slamming against the street, thinking he’ll have to chase me down the street but how far can his gun reach? He ran and as he turned onto Timber Road a gray Mercedes barreled down the street at him.

He risked a glance behind him and saw a young man with white-blond hair – not Bucks – chasing him onto Locke, gun in hand.

Whit angled to get the van between him and the man and he heard the crack of the gun, the silencer off, sure, to let the bullet fly farther. He was ten feet from the van… five… the gun fired again and heat passed his throat like an angel’s wing.

He thought he was hit. He rounded the corner of the van as the Mercedes accelerated, revving in sweet German force, and thundered past Whit.

Whit glanced back, saw the Mercedes aiming at Blondie. Saw Blondie turn and run and the Mercedes clip him. Blondie went over the windshield. The Mercedes spun out, its front crashing into a modest little Honda parked at the intersection of Locke and Timber, and Blondie fell, went down on the other side of the car.

Gooch. In Eve’s car.

Whit scrambled to his feet. Felt his back, his arm. No wound although a sting lay across his neck; there was no gush of blood.

Gooch yelled through an open window. ‘Go!’

Whit ran, got the key into the van, started the engine. He watched in the rearview.

The Mercedes was gone. Blondie stood, staggering past the street corner, gun still in hand.

Whit floored the van. Shots fired in River Oaks; the police would be here in ninety freaking seconds. He headed fast down Locke Lane, squealed onto Claremont, then ran a red light and drove past Westheimer. He stayed straight, heading all the way back to the quiet of West University Place.

They could stop Paul Bellini dead in his tracks now. Get Eve to review the CD, identify the most incriminating files. They could be sent, anonymously, to the DA’s office or the FBI or whoever would descend on Paul like a pack of wolves fastest. He’d have to check evidentiary law, decide who would be best to approach. But the win was in their grasp. A negotiated safety for his mother, and they could be in Port Leo by tonight or tomorrow. At the light at Bissonnet he turned left, checking his neck in the rearview mirror while he waited for the arrow to go green. A graze, nothing worse. A millimeter the other way and his carotid artery would be sprayed all over the manicured green of River Oaks Park. He breathed hard but steadied his hands.

He took a circuitous route through the quiet, narrow streets of West U, driving past the fancy blue street signs, but there was no sign he was being followed. After ten minutes of driving and watching his rearview he pulled the van into Charlie’s garage. Charlie was gone; he had left this morning for his stand-up gig in San Antonio, with them promising him to lie low and do nothing untoward or illegal. As soon as Whit parked, Eve was at the back door, opening it, worried.

He ran in, she slammed the door behind him.

They shot at me, nearly hit me. Gooch saved my ass.’

‘Whit, oh no, baby, here, sit down.’

It did not even bother him that she called him baby. He collapsed on the couch. She examined his neck, got a damp cloth. He told her about Tasha, their discussion, her attempt to shoot him, the blond guy’s chase of him.

‘I hope Gooch broke the son of a bitch’s legs,’ Eve said. ‘That’s Gary, one of Paul’s thugs. Not bright, but a good shot.’

‘Gary wasn’t with Frank and Bucks when they left,’ Whit said. ‘He must’ve followed them back.’

Eve ran the washcloth along his face. This stops now,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘I don’t want you hurt.’

‘It does stop now. I got the CD Tasha was burning of your laptop’s files. Files Paul wanted. If it’s got the goods on Paul we can tell him we’ll show it to the police unless he leaves you alone. And then we’ll show it anyway.’

Eve stopped wiping. ‘Let me see this CD.’

For an instant Whit didn’t want to give her the disc. In case she didn’t want to show it to the cops, didn’t want to implicate herself.

‘We’ll wait for Gooch. I want him to see the data, too.’

‘Don’t you trust me, Whit?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, not knowing if it was true. ‘But we’ll wait a minute for Gooch, okay?’

She sat next to him, doctoring his graze. They waited. But Gooch didn’t come back.