A Rush to Violence (32 page)

“Do you want me to hold your gun?”

“I’m using my gun.”

When she spoke, the concern in her mother’s voice was clear. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to shoot one of the cars on the sidewalk. It should cause its alarm system to go off. Then I’ll shoot another. And another. People will hear the gunshots. People will hear the sirens. Someone will call nine-one-one. As soon as I’m finished, so will I. I’ll tell them I don’t know where I am, but it shouldn’t matter. They can trace where I am by the location of his cell phone. I’d do it now, but they’d ask too many questions and I need to act. Put your arms around my legs. Quick. Lift me up.”

The problem with the window was that it was dirty. A gray film of dirt, dust and a hive of cobwebs covered it to the point that Beth couldn’t see clearly through it. When her mother lifted her, she swiped away the cobwebs with the butt of her gun and watched a nest of spiders scatter across the window like a moving blanket. It wasn’t perfect, but now she could see cars lined up along the sidewalk. The key was to connect with them in such a way that their alarms would go off. A bullet slamming into a door would do it.

At least, she hoped that was the case.

The window was recessed to the point that she could rest her wrist on the granite that surrounded it. Just outside was an expensive-looking car that resembled an Audi. A car like that would have an alarm. She poised her gun near the passenger-side door just as someone came outside and down the steps to her left. It was one of the men. He was carrying a box and started down the street. He stopped at one of the cars parked curbside, opened the trunk and put the box inside.

Do it before he turns around.

She gripped the gun tightly, took aim and, holding her breath, she quickly smashed the window, pressed her hands through the bars and shot the side of the car. The man on the sidewalk whirled around and reached for his gun just as the car’s alarm started to screech into the night air. With its head- and taillights flashing, she could see better now. He was crouched down low, moving carefully toward her, his gun held directly in front of him, poised to shoot.

Upstairs, she created pure chaos. No time. She swung around and brought the man into her sights. She fired one shot, but it didn’t hit him because her mother was only so strong. She was having difficulty holding her up and she moved a little when Beth pulled the trigger. Instead of hitting the man, the bullet sank into the car beside him, but in such a way that Beth couldn’t have imagined.

The bullet either struck the car’s gas tank or it hit a gas line within the car. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter because it did the job.

The car exploded with such force, it lifted itself off the pavement and incinerated the man moving toward her just as its gas tank erupted with its largest explosion yet.

Windows shattered.

Debris shook down from the beams above her.

The light from the explosion seared Beth’s eyes and she lifted a hand to shield them from the rolling fireball turning inward in the middle of the street.

Her mother was losing her grip, but before she did, Beth was able to see the ruined car fall on top of the car behind it—the one that belonged to the men upstairs—and then she heard the most welcoming and terrifying sounds of her life.

The alarms from a dozen surrounding cars started to scream to life just as people from the neighboring buildings stepped out of their homes and warily onto the street.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Did you hear that?” Camille asked Sam.

They were on Fifth and Sixty-Eighth, next to the Mary Ellen Winston building and just two houses away from her brother Scott’s townhouse. Ahead of them, traffic was carving down Fifth. A light breeze had picked up, which was a welcome gift given how hot it was, but it lifted Camille’s hood, exposing her for a moment before she pulled it back over her head.

“I heard it.”

Camille’s heart raced. A ribbon of worry threaded through her. Who was doing the shooting? Was Emma all right? “It was muffled, but it was a gunshot. No question. She’s in there. We need to get to her now.”

“Keep walking,” he said.

They scoped the building. Bars on the basement windows. A filigreed iron door that was shut, likely locked and through which they’d never be able to break. Two first-story windows with no obstructions other than glass, which they could shatter, but that would expose them. On the second level, there were three French doors with iron Juliet balconies. And then, what almost caused each of them to stop was on the left side of the building—a service entrance. It was protected by a low iron fence and covered by a green canopy.

And the gate was open.

They kept walking. Eyes scanning. No one on the street. No cars swinging onto Sixty-Eighth from Fifth. They looked at each other, saw their moment, turned casually around and slipped down the stairs.

Here, it was dim. The only light was from the street and from the few illumined windows shining above them. The alley between the two buildings was about eight feet wide. Due to the humidity and the stuffed bags of trash piled high at the end of the alley, the smell of rot and decay was enough to make even the most hardened person want to choke. But Camille and Sam pressed through it, looking for a door. They found one near the end of the alley. It was locked, but could they bust through it? And if they did, they would be heard, which would compromise them.

“We need to get inside,” Camille said. “I’m scared for her. She doesn’t have our skills. We need to get to her.”

“If I break down the door, they’ll know.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“The only other choice we have is if you knock on the front door. If Emma is in control, she might answer the door, thinking that a concerned neighbor heard the gunshot. If she does, I’ll come up beside you and we’ll be able to take over the situation. If she isn’t in control, then the others will absolutely answer the door because they’ll also know somebody heard something that sounded like a gunshot. Once again, you’re the concerned neighbor. They’d say everything was fine. You must have heard something else. You’d peer inside to see if everything is fine.”

“And they’d keep the iron door locked. My concern would turn to suspicion. I’d ask if I could come in and have a look around. Would they let me?”

“Maybe. They might think that having you off the street and in their hands would allow them to control the situation. They’re that arrogant.”

“Is this what you want to do?”

“I don’t see another option.”

They started for the exit while, at the end of it on the street, a cab stopped in front of the house. They heard a door open and shut. Footsteps on the pavement. A man talk to the driver.

“It’s Michael,” Camille said. “That’s his voice.”

“He’s also our way in,” Sam said. “Hurry.”

* * *

Through the lifting fog, Emma heard voices. And in those voices, she learned part of the truth.

“What do we do with her?”

“She killed Sophia and Scott. What the hell do you think we do with her? I want her dead and I want her delivered to her mother in a body bag. Camille deserves it. Here’s her gun. Shoot her in the head.”

“I’m no murderer.”

“Oh, please. Then explain what happened to our father.”

“I was outvoted on that. You were there and you know it. His blood isn’t on my hands.”

“Really? Then why didn’t you stop it? You knew what was happening. You knew about Pamela and the deal we struck because of her connections. You could have stopped it when we presented it to you. But you didn’t.”

“That’s a lie. Everyone always bulldozes over me. I argued against it.”

“No, you didn’t. You said nothing that day. And by saying nothing, you essentially agreed to it. You wanted that money just like everyone else did. By keeping your mouth shut and by not stopping it, you agreed to it.”

“Michael didn’t want any part of this either.”

“I’ll give you that. At least he was vocal about it. But did he stop it? No. Neither of you did. We’re all broke. We all want that money because we need it.”

“I didn’t want it this way. I didn’t want my father dead.”

“Bullshit.”

“Really? Is that what you think? Sophia and Scott also agreed to go through with this and now they’re dead. Is that what you wanted?”

“Of course not.”

“I doubt that. Because with them dead, you’re now going to get a larger share of the pot.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not if I die. And I doubt you’ll be crying if that happens. It’ll just be more money for you. That’s all you care about.”

It was murky. Confusing. Their voices sounded thick and far away. But in the heat of their argument, their voices, often raised to the point of being shrill, kept cutting through the fog until she was able to surface from it.

She opened her eyes a millimeter. They were standing above her. Tyler at her feet. Grace to her left. Laura to her right. Nobody was looking down at her. Her vision wasn’t clear. She couldn’t tell who was holding the gun.

She closed her eyes, drifted. It was difficult to breathe. Her body ached, especially her chest. But why did it ache? Why was she on the floor? Her mind reached out and searched for the reason, but there was no memory to latch onto. At least not now. Would it come? She didn’t know. They continued to argue. Grace shouted at Tyler. Laura hammered back.

And then a knock came at the door.

It silenced them.

The knock came again, harder this time. “It’s Michael.”

“Take her into the dining room. Rest her against the table, but keep her sitting up. If she’s bleeding internally, I don’t want her to choke on her own blood. There’s a gun upstairs in Scott’s dresser. Use it if you have to.”

It was Laura’s voice. Or was it Grace’s? She couldn’t be sure, but she felt hands slip beneath her armpits and someone start to drag her out of the room. The pain she felt in her chest was excruciating. She did everything she could do to keep it from showing on her face, to keep her body limp and not tense with pain. She managed, but just barely. As she was pulled away, she listened.

“Why are you removing her?”

“He knows about Scott. He doesn’t know about Sophia. Eventually, Emma will come to and start running her mouth with a fistful of lies. Once we get him past the shock of Scott and Sophia, we’ll tell him that she’s here and what she’s done. At that point, I’m betting he’ll finish her off.”

“I doubt it.”

“Really? Well, I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

They arrived on Ninety-Third Street sooner than they expected, but when they turned onto it, it was clear that they already were too late.

Car alarms pierced the night sky. Fire raged from one car, which somehow was sitting on top of another car. People were in the streets, most on their cell phones, others just standing in shock at the sight of that burning car. In the distance, Marty could hear the faint wail of approaching police cars.

They weren’t close enough. He couldn’t wait for them to come. If he was going to help his family, he needed to act now.

“Pull over here,” he said to the driver.

The driver did so. Jennifer started to get out, but Marty held her back. “I need you to stay safe. I don’t know what’s happened inside and I can’t worry about you when I’m there. This is your story. Report what you know and what’s about to unfold, but promise me you won’t become part of it. Remember what happened last time with Wolfhagen. You almost died. It could happen again.”

Her disappointment was clear, but she nodded.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Marty kissed her hard on the lips before he left the car and started to run down the street, which was thick with smoke, bright with fire. He removed his Glock and held it close to his side. He looked for the townhouse with the red door, found it and silently thanked Camille Miller for giving him that detail. “Police,” he shouted at the crowd. It was a lie, but when they saw his gun, they’d panic otherwise. “Has anyone come out of the house?”

“No one.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

“I need all of you in your houses. That burning car could cause others to explode. Inside. Now.”

The crowd receded, Marty ducked low behind one of the cars across the street and tried to make sense of the situation in spite of the alarms, which made it almost impossible for him to concentrate.

As far as he knew, his family was in the basement. If Decker and the others hadn’t left, he could be looking at a hostage situation, though that would be a challenge for them since they knew there were guns in the basement and people eager to use them.

So, what was he looking at? What were they thinking? When the car blew, they’d know it was only a matter of time before the police arrived. Did they escape without being seen? It was possible.

He pulled out his cell, called Detective Mike Hines and briefed him on the situation. “If they haven’t snagged a cab, they’re on foot.”

“They also could be inside that house.”

“Understood.”

“Wait for the police.”

He wanted to say that earlier, he asked Hines for police to be stationed outside each Miller house, but he didn’t. Best not to piss him off. “No time. I’ve got burning vehicles. My family’s in there. I’m going in. Get the word out that they might be on foot. If you can, close off the surrounding area. I know this isn’t your district, but get someone here. I’ll be in the house with the red door, parallel to the burning cars. They’ll see it, but make sure they know I’m inside. Tell them what I look like and to proceed with caution.”

He clicked off the phone, shoved it in his pocket and peeked around the back of the car so he could look across the street. No movement. No one in the windows, though lights were on. Were they inside? Maybe. He didn’t know, but he had to take the risk.