No way out

Chapter Seventy-three

There was a small porch on the front of the house, a V-shaped portico above the door the only protection from the elements. The windows on either side were far enough from the porch that I could hide between one of them and the door after I knocked, giving me some protection if my greeting was answered with gunfire.

Holding my gun against my leg, I rapped on the door and moved to the side, rapping again when no one answered. A window shade moved an inch, but I had the angle, concealed in the dark. I knocked a third time.

“Who’s there?” Roni asked without opening the door.

“It’s me, Jack.”

She kept her voice low, hissing, “Go away!”

“Too late for that, Roni. Open up. It’s either me or Quincy Carter.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, opening the door enough to step outside, arms crossed over her chest.

“What do you want, Jack? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

Two gunshots echoed from the back of the house, Roni muffling a scream with one hand over her mouth.

“That’s why!”

She ran into the house. I tried to grab her, but she slipped out of my grasp, stumbling, slamming the door at me. I caught the door with my shoulder, bulling past it and into the house. There was a stairway in front of me and a room to my right, no furniture, just a dozen or more duffel bags stacked like sand bags against the far wall. I glanced up the stairs. The second floor was dark, muted scuffling sounds coming from somewhere above me, quick and soft enough to be squirrels in the attic roused by the gunfire.

A center hall split the house in half, leading to the back. There was another room to my left, the one with the light on. It was empty, a swinging door on one wall closed, not moving as it would have been if Roni had just passed through it. I took two tentative steps, stopping and listening, not hearing anything until Terry’s voice broke the silence.

“Come on and join us, Jack. Things are getting mighty cozy back here. Roni and I are having a regular reunion, but Brett isn’t having quite as good a time.”

I let out a sigh and a shiver, holstered my gun, and covered the last steps to the rear of the house, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen. Brett Staley was lying on the floor, facedown, blood trickling from beneath his body, pooling in a depression on the warped linoleum floor.

Terry Walker was standing a few feet away, his back to the rear door, one arm locked around Roni’s middle, her eyes wide and wet, the muzzle of his gun pressed against her throat. I started to kneel so I could check Brett’s pulse.

“Don’t bother,” Terry said. “He’s dead or will be in a minute.”

Brett’s arms were extended from his body, both hands empty. I looked around the room, not seeing a gun on the floor, table, or counter.

“He wasn’t armed. You didn’t have to shoot him.”

“Not how I saw it. Roll him over.”

I turned Brett onto his back. There was a Ruger. 44 Magnum Redhawk sticking out of his waistband.

“Now don’t get stupid. I need you to pick up Brett’s gun and yours, one at a time, by the butt, lay them on the floor and kick them over to me. Two fingers or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

I did what he said.

“What’s it like,” I asked him, “to come home and kill the children of people you grew up with?”

“Don’t waste your time, Jack. I left these people behind fifty years ago and never looked back. Nothing but a job brought me back, and nothing but bad luck got them killed.”

All I could do was keep him talking, hoping he would drop his guard and give me an opening. Roni was trembling, glancing back and forth from Brett’s body to me.

“You work for Nuestra Familia or one of the other cartels?” I asked.

“I don’t work for nobody but me,” he said.

“And you just happen to handle shipments of guns to Mexico. How’d you find out about this one?”

“Old friend of mine from Matamoros. Him and me done a lot of business over the years, and he’s close to one of the cartels. He called me last week, said there was a load of guns supposed to go to Nuestra Familia, but Cesar Mendez couldn’t close the deal because the seller was trying to hold him up for a last-minute premium.”

“Law of supply and demand.”

“My friend said there was a play to be made. If I could get the guns he could move them. He said Mendez was dealing with a boy named Brett Staley. I figured he had to be related to the Staleys I grew up with and that would give me an in. I’d pay what needed to be paid, say hello to my old friends, and be on my way.”

“Then why kill Frank Crenshaw and Nick Staley?”

“Didn’t want to. Tried not to. I tracked Brett down at the grocery last Saturday, told him I wanted to make him a fair offer. He brought Frank and Nick in on it, and they laid the whole scheme out trying to impress me, real proud, telling me that Jimmy was part of it, like that’d make me want to pay more. I made my offer, and Brett said he would get back to me, that he had to talk to someone else.”

“Mendez?”

“Had to be. I figured Brett was going to ask him if he would beat my offer. So I said, ‘Okay but don’t take too long.’”

“And the next day, Frank killed his wife, and Roni shot Frank.”

“Which turned a simple business proposition into a cluster fuck. I should have known better than to bother with those boys. They were losers, just like everybody else in Northeast always was and will be.”

“Frank was looking at the death penalty. The only chance he had was to trade his life for you and Cesar Mendez.”

“Not a deal I could let him make, not with those guns sitting out there somewhere ripe for the taking.”

“How’d you convince Roni to give you her gun?”

“I didn’t!” Roni said, struggling against Terry’s grip.

He jerked his arm up, clamping it around her neck, her face reddening.

“She’s not lying.”

“Then how’d you get it?”

“I was visiting Lilly when Roni called to tell her about shooting Frank. Lilly asked if I’d stay in case Martha needed anything while she went to get Roni. I like to carry a gun in my line of work, but I didn’t have one because I had to fly here on short notice, so after Lilly left, I went looking to see if there was any more guns in the house. I found the one Roni kept in her dresser drawer. When she and Lilly came back, I went to the hospital to see if I could get close to Frank.”

“You were lucky that Roni and the nurse got into a fight and the cop guarding Frank left his post.”

“I’ve had my share of luck, good and bad. I was checking out the setup on Frank’s floor when she got off the elevator. I ducked into an empty room when I saw her. The next thing I knew, she got into it with the nurse and that cop came running. I knew it was going to be my only chance, so I took it.”

“And you threw the gun in a Dumpster on your way out. That was sloppy. Your Mexican friends wouldn’t be impressed.”

He bristled, the first reaction I’d gotten. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He didn’t like being made fun of.

“It was smart. If the cops found the gun, they’d check the registration and go looking for Roni, not me, and that’s what happened.”

“You got rid of Frank, but you still couldn’t close the deal even though you told the cartel that you had the right connections to make it happen. They must think you don’t know your ass from third base. What happened? Was Brett screening your calls?”

His face flushed, and his eyes narrowed.

“The little shit showed me no respect. I went to see Nick yesterday, told him his boy better meet me at the store last night. Nick was there, but Brett wasn’t. He pulled his gun, tried to scare me off, but I don’t scare. We fought, and his gun went off. I waited all night for Brett to show up, but that damn Mexican kid came snooping around and that took care of that.”

“It must have been hard to explain to the cartel that you’d fucked up again.”

Terry jammed the gun deeper into Roni’s neck. “Why do you keep yanking my chain when I’m the one who had faith in you even if Lilly didn’t? I saw that I could sit back and let you lead me to the guns. So who’s the fuckup here? You or me?”

“How many people are you willing to kill for those guns?”

He tilted his head toward me, then at Roni, counting. “Two more ought to about do it.”

“You’d kill your own granddaughter so some asshole drug dealer in Mexico can use them to kill another asshole drug dealer?”