The Garden of Betrayal

38

The man with the scar stepped forward silently. Reggie and Joe Belko were immediately behind him, guns drawn.

“You heard?” I asked, reaching around to the small of my back and unclipping Claire’s phone from my waistband.

“Everything,” Reggie said, removing the Bluetooth earpiece he’d been wearing to monitor our conversation from the next room. He looked at Mohler. “How about it? Is this the guy who broke your hand in the drawer? Is this Mr. Smith?”

Mohler was staring at the man with the scar like a rabbit transfixed by a snake, seemingly unable to speak.

“These guys are with me,” I assured him. “Your friend likes to keep tabs on other people’s e-mail. We were expecting you to be followed. There’s nothing for you to worry about as long as you tell the truth.”

Mohler nodded jerkily, the color drained from his face.

“How about you, Mark?” Reggie asked. “You seen this guy before?”

“Twice that I know of,” I confirmed, the recollections popping in my memory. I pulled the gun from my pocket, the elation I’d felt at the success of our plan giving way to rage. “Once at the counter in the diner, when I met with Gallegos, and once in the lobby of the Four Seasons, just before Rashid was killed.” I pointed the gun at the man who called himself Smith and put my finger on the trigger. “So, how about it? Who do you work for?”

“Whoa,” Reggie said, holding up a hand. “Hang on there. First things first. This is way too small a room to risk any crossfire. Mark, you come around over here and stand between me and Joe.”

I edged wide around the man with the scar, eyes locked on his face. He looked bored, like a guy waiting for a bus. I wondered how much more interested he’d seem if I pistol-whipped him in the side of the head.

“Better,” Reggie said, when I’d positioned myself as he’d suggested. “Basic rule of any shoot-out is to have all your weapons pointed in the same direction.”

Mohler staggered sideways, as if convinced the shooting was imminent.

“Now,” Reggie continued, addressing himself to Mohler and Smith, “I want you guys on your knees, backs toward me and hands behind your heads.”

Both complied, Mohler starting to cry, Smith still wearing his mask of indifference.

“Good,” Reggie said. He holstered his gun under his shoulder and reached for my weapon. I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head firmly. He checked the safety and then dropped it into his coat pocket. Bending forward, he began frisking Mohler. “Either of you guys give us any trouble and my partner there will put a bullet through your knee. Nobody’s even going to notice a single shot in a place like this.”

The tears were running down Mohler’s face freely.

“Clean,” Reggie concluded, moving from Mohler to Smith. “But what have we got here?” He pulled a gun from beneath Smith’s coat and held it up to examine it. “Ruger 40 S and W.” He removed the clip and then ejected a bullet from the chamber. “Hollow points. Nice.” He thumbed the loose bullet back into the clip, passed both pieces of the gun to Joe, and resumed his search. His hand came out of the coat again a moment later, this time holding a walkie-talkie.

“Joe,” he said, frowning. “Do me a favor and go to the window and tell me if you see anything.”

Joe took a step backward and lifted the edge of the curtain an inch with the barrel of his weapon.

“Red Explorer,” he reported tersely. “Wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Backed into a spot on the far side of the lot. No plate visible. Two guys in the front seat. I can’t get a good look at them.”

“My associates,” Smith said, speaking for the first time. His English was unaccented, but his clipped diction made me think he was foreign. “Both carrying HK53s. It’s a military weapon. Fully automatic assault rifle. Gets through an extraordinary amount of ammunition. They’ve both got extra clips in tactical bags.”

My heart began racing again. We’d worked up contingency plans in case things went bad, but none that anticipated going up against guys with machine guns. The only exit from the room led to the exterior gallery, and the gallery was lined by a simple rail-and-post balustrade. There wasn’t any way out of the room without the guys in the parking lot seeing us, and once they’d seen us, we were completely exposed. Reggie and Joe had suggested the motor court in part because of good sight lines. But sight lines worked both ways.

“You want me to call 911?” I asked hoarsely. Secrecy was less important than not getting killed.

“No time to roll the right firepower,” Reggie said tersely. “And I don’t want a couple of sleepy patrol cops to get shot to hell. Don’t worry. We’ve still got options.” He took a half step forward, pivoted delicately on the ball of his left foot, and kicked Smith hard in the side of the chest. Smith tumbled sideways, smashing his head on the corner of the bed frame. Blood gushed from a gouge in his forehead as he lay stunned on his back. Reggie dropped the walkie-talkie onto Smith’s chest, unholstered the gun from beneath his arm, and then pointed it at Smith’s face.

“You tell your buddies to stand down, or you’re dead.”

Smith lifted himself on one elbow, wheezing. Blood ran diagonally down his cheek and was channeled to his mouth by the scar. He licked his lips and smiled, a sheen of blood on his teeth.

“I thought you were the good cop,” he sneered. “The one who didn’t hurt people.”

Smith must have heard my conversation with Reggie in the car after our trip to Queens. He’d been the one eavesdropping on me, the guy who’d been in my apartment. If the circumstances had been different, I would have kicked him, too. I didn’t want to interfere, though-I was praying Reggie could get us out of the mess we were in without any shooting.

“Unless they threaten me,” Reggie barked. “And right now I’m feeling very threatened. You need another demonstration of my willingness to hurt you?”

“Not going to make any difference. I walk out of here with Mohler or we’re all dead. My ‘buddies’ have explicit instructions. I don’t come out within five minutes, they blow everything and everyone in this room straight to hell, including me. Nothing I say now can change that.”

“Bullshit,” Reggie said. He cocked his revolver with his thumb, the cylinder rotating to put a loaded chamber under the hammer. “I’m going to count to three.”

“Count to any number you want. But you might want to take a moment to say your prayers first. You’ll be killing yourself as well.” His gaze shifted from Reggie to me. “Could be a good time for you to put in a last call to that wife and daughter of yours. They’re at the Meridien, aren’t they? I was looking forward to seeing them again. Your daughter’s gotten very attractive. Too bad for me. My associates will have to send along my regards.”

I started toward him, but Joe grabbed my collar from behind and dragged me back. Reggie took a two-handed grip on his gun and spread his feet slightly.

“One,” he said.

I shook myself loose and peered cautiously out the window. The two men were still in the front seat of the red Explorer.

“We got any hope against these guys?” I muttered to Joe.

He rapped a knuckle against the exterior wall, eliciting a hollow thud.

“Depends. If Smith’s telling the truth, we’re fish in a barrel. Bullets will go through this wall like cardboard. One guy stays in the parking lot and hoses the room high. The other guy runs up the stairs while we’re all hugging the carpet and hoses the room low. Game over. Different story if they want Smith back. They try to come through the door, we might give them a few surprises.”

“What if we open up on them now, when they’re not expecting it?”

“Fire a handgun through a car windshield at thirty yards and you got deflection and penetration problems. Maybe one chance in ten of hitting your target, even for a top marksman. More likely to just make them mad.”

“Two,” Reggie continued, eyes locked on Smith’s.

“Listen,” Joe whispered, leaning toward me. “There’s a window in the bathroom. You should be able to get out that way. You got Claire and Kate to take care of. No reason for you to hang around and take chances.”

“What about you and Reggie?”

“I’m too old to be climbing through windows, and Reggie’s too big. We’ll make our play here.”

A low groan made me glance toward Mohler. Urine was spreading from the crotch of his pants. Dying in a crappy motel room was bad, but not as bad as abandoning my friends.

“I’m staying,” I said. “Give me a gun.”

Joe reached into his coat pocket with his free hand, pulling out Smith’s Ruger and the loose clip. I rammed the clip home and flipped the safety off with my thumb, just like Reggie had shown me.

“You got to pull back on the slide to load the first shot,” Joe instructed, pointing to the top of the gun. “Shooting starts and you hit the floor and wait for a target. Aim low and count your shots. You got a ten-round magazine. Try not to let go of your last round until you absolutely have to.”

I nodded and looked back to Reggie. The tendons tightened on the back of his arm as he began to apply pressure to the trigger. I believed he was about to fire, and also believed that we’d all be equally dead shortly thereafter, just as Smith had said. I felt terrified and calm at the same time, one half of my brain screaming to run and the other half analyzing my situation. I needed to get in touch with Claire, to warn her to leave the Meridien and to tell her how much I loved her. I reached for my phone.

“Guys getting out of the car now,” Joe announced from behind me. “Both look to be wearing body armor. I can’t tell about HKs, but they got some kind of assault rifles.”

“Last chance,” Reggie crooned softly.

Smith laughed. Reggie took a deep breath, his chest expanding.

The staccato hammering of automatic gunfire from outside made me dive to the floor, both arms locked over my head in an instinctive effort to protect myself. Mohler shrieked, and I figured he’d been hit, but I realized almost simultaneously that I wasn’t hearing any impact noise from bullets. Somebody was shooting at something, but not us. I lowered my arms as the firing ceased and saw Mohler scuttle, crablike, into the bathroom. Reggie, Smith, and Joe were all frozen in the same postures they’d been in a moment ago.

“What the fuck happened out there?” Reggie demanded, his eyes still glued on Smith.

“White delivery truck on the east side of the lot,” Joe responded urgently. “Rear door rolled open and some guy opened up with a weapon on a tripod. Maybe a BAR. Both bad guys down. Shots penetrated right through the body armor. Had to be large caliber. Truck’s pulling out now.”

“Plate?”

“Obscured. Writing on the side reads west end storage. Also a slogan and some kind of phone number that I can’t make out.”

I got up unsteadily and joined Joe at the window, ebbing adrenaline leaving me shivery and nauseated. His description hadn’t done justice to the scene below. Smith’s men had literally been ripped to pieces. A blood-soaked leg had come to rest almost immediately beneath us, a brown construction boot still neatly laced to the foot. I gagged and turned away as a woman began screaming in one of the downstairs rooms.

“Our lucky day,” Reggie said, his voice clipped. He sounded amazingly composed, and I wondered how he did it. He tipped his gun toward Smith. “Who shot up your pals?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Smith said, sounding a lot less confident.

“Watch him,” Reggie said to Joe, stepping over Smith’s legs and heading for the bathroom. He pushed open the door and swore. “Mohler’s gone.” He went inside, reappearing a moment later. “Skinny bastard must have wormed his way through the window and jumped. There’s a Dumpster right below. Probably half a mile away by now.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Joe asked.

“Secure the area and call in the cavalry,” Reggie replied, stooping to cuff one of Smith’s wrists to the bed frame. “All we can do. We fucked up, and now we got to deal with the consequences. We straight on our story?”

Joe nodded and I followed suit, trying not to betray how unsteady I felt. We’d rehearsed a version of events that minimized the illegalities on our part, anticipating the likelihood that capturing Mohler and whoever might be following him would end the cowboy phase of our investigation. I was sorry we’d lost Mohler but glad to be alive, and particularly glad to still have Smith. There were some things I wanted to talk to him about.

“Okay, then,” Reggie said as he straightened up. “Joe, you cover me. I’m going to head below and take charge of the scene.” He glanced at the Ruger still dangling from my hand. “Thanks for sticking it out with us, Mark. You got to lose that gun when the reinforcements arrive, but for right now, why don’t you keep an eye on Smith?”

“No problem.”

“Be careful,” he added in a lower voice, brushing past me on his way toward the door. “Keep your distance. I want your finger off the trigger and the safety on. We don’t need any more accidents. We have enough explaining to do already.”

He patted me on the shoulder and vanished outside. Joe stood guard in the open doorway, his back to the hinged side of the frame, eyes sweeping from Smith to the parking lot below and back. The woman downstairs was still screaming.

“I’m okay here,” I said to Joe. “You keep watch on Reggie’s back.”

He nodded hesitantly and moved to the gallery railing. I squatted down in front of Smith, the gun in my hand concealed from Joe by my body. My finger was on the trigger, and the safety was off.

“See my wife and daughter again, you said,” I hissed to Smith. “When have you seen them before?”

Smith wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand, his cold, gray eyes fixing on me.

“Tough guy,” he snarled. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Because I didn’t run out on my friends?”

“Because you already lost one kid. And now you’re risking the other.”

I tilted the gun by my hip, pointing it at his face.

“You know something about what happened to my son?”

“I know what’s going to happen to you and the rest of your family.”

The urge to pull the trigger was overwhelming. But Smith dead wouldn’t be able to tell me who was responsible for murdering Kyle or provide me with the information I needed to protect my family. I forced my hand to relax, flipped on the gun’s safety, and jabbed Smith in the mouth with the butt.

“Consider yourself lucky that I need you alive.”

He shook his head like a boxer tagged by a punch and then spit blood and a broken tooth onto the floor.

“Difference between us,” he said, giving me the same vermilion-hued smile he’d given Reggie. “I don’t need you for anything.”

A siren sounded in the distance. I glanced toward the door and Smith lunged forward, snatching the gun cleanly from my hand. He spun the weapon upside down and had the barrel to my throat before I could react. I grabbed his wrist, feeling his thumb scrabble for the safety. A shot rang out as I twisted sideways, the bullet missing me by inches. I threw my body on top of his, pinning the gun flat between us. He fired twice more before I could get a clean hold on the weapon, each shot giving rise to a burning pain in my side. We struggled for what seemed an interminable time, Smith with a death grip on the gun despite having one hand cuffed to the bed. I wondered where Joe was. I finally worked the weapon free, hearing it fire a fourth time as I wrenched it from Smith’s grasp.

“Freeze,” Reggie screamed. He was standing over us, gun out and pointed straight down. I rolled onto my back and let the Ruger slip to the floor. Smith lay beside me lifeless, the wound in his chest just beginning to bleed.