Authors: Robert Ellis
Chapter 77
“I’m gonna be late, honey. Better cancel that dinner reservation and see if you can make it for tomorrow night.”
It was a voice, a male voice, babbling in the background like some kind of idiot.
“There’s been a shooting at the Capitol,” the man went on. “Some guy went nuts and shot the place up with his girlfriend. We’ve got four bodies here and the boss says I’ve gotta stay.”
The man sounded like a robot, his voice droning on and on. He hated listening to the voice. He hated everything about it.
“Yeah, we know who did it. That lunatic in the papers. That political consultant the president fired. The boss says he wants to get things cleaned up in a hurry.”
Raymond opened his eyes. The overhead lights were on and he squinted at the brightness of the lobby. He saw a G-man with his back turned, leaning his shoulder against the wall and talking into a cell phone like he was on a fucking coffee break. He was saying something about a man being stuck on the Capitol dome they couldn’t get down. A senator named Helen Pryor had found her chief of staff murdered with a guard and had called the police.
Raymond tried to remember what had happened. He’d seen Frank reach the gun first. After that, everything went fuzzy. He must have been unconscious, but he wasn’t now. His eyes slid across the polished floor. When he saw the blood, he concentrated on his pulse rate and tried to slow it down. He’d been hit and would need time. Before trying to move he made a mental assessment of the damage. He felt a stinging sensation in his left cheek. A dull pain taking over his right shoulder. His upper left leg was beginning to go numb. The rest of his body felt weak, almost as if it were in a deep sleep.
His eyes moved back to the G-man and he sat up, wondering if he might not be dead. He could feel the blood caked on his face and he brushed it away from his eyes. Lifting his pant leg, he pulled the ten-inch blade out of its sheath and stood up. He felt dizzy, weak. He waited a moment and it seemed to pass. Then he inched his way toward the G-man, still on the phone with his back turned. Raymond knew that his survival depended on preserving his strength. He had to make this quick and get out of here. Gripping the knife with both hands at his waist, he turned the blade upward and stopped. He was close. Within an inch or two, thinking himself a dragon and letting his fiery breath drift across the back of the G-man’s neck.
Time to wake up, shithead, and earn your pay
.
The G-man suddenly stopped talking and turned. He let out a gasp and dropped the phone, the horror working over his face as if taking massive jolts of electricity. Raymond smiled at him through all the blood on his face, thrusting the knife upward. It was a gut shot, just beneath the ribs and driving toward the heart. The G-man’s body shuddered and then stiffened, flopping onto the floor like a dead cherry tree.
Raymond thought of yelling “timber,” but didn’t. Instead, he picked up the cell phone and listened to the woman on the other end of the line. She sounded hysterical. He closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket. When he noticed the blood dripping off his hand, he took a closer look at the gunshot wounds in his shoulder and leg. If he didn’t do something, he’d never make it out of the building.
Wrapping himself in the G-man’s suit jacket, he pulled it over his shoulder wound and tied the arms into a tight knot across his chest. Then he used his knife to strip away a piece of the dead G-man’s pants. As he lashed the material over his leg wound and noticed the bleeding slow down, he spotted the gun strapped to the G-man’s shoulder.
Raymond primed the gun and started down the hall, surprised that it was a Glock rather than the Beretta he’d expected. He took stock of his chances, deciding to retrace his steps into the tunnels and make his exit as far away from the Capitol building as he could. G-men worked in packs like dogs. It was a safe bet that there were more of them around.
The walk was long and grueling, much of the time spent in a dream-like trance with the G-man’s cell phone ringing in his pants like a vibrator. Eventually the ringing stopped and he passed through a door, finding himself outside in the rain.
He moved away from the building, trying to stay focused. Across the street, the police had swarmed the Capitol. When he turned away, he saw a cab approaching and noticed Union Station just ahead. He waved the cab down and it stopped. Opening the door, he climbed in leading his way with the Glock. The cabby’s eyes lit up and went nuts. Raymond waved the gun at him and said he wanted to go to the mall.
It was a fast ride with lots of bumps in it—sirens and flashing lights streaming by in a jumbled blur. The gun felt like it was gaining weight. Propping his wrist on the back of the front seat, he kept the Glock pointed at the cabby’s head.
The mall. He had to get to his car at the mall.
Raymond checked his shoulder wound. The G-man’s suit jacket was soaked through. Raymond couldn’t tell if it was blood or just wet from the rain. The pain had lost its edge. He guessed that this wasn’t a good sign. When he sat back and looked into the rearview mirror, he caught the cabby staring at him as if a bird of prey. This didn’t seem like a good sign either.
They pulled into the garage and Raymond told the cabby to follow the ramp down to the next level where he would find pictures of bears stenciled on the walls. The cabby gave him a dirty look. As the cab breezed by his Honda, he shouted at the man to stop. He sat there for a minute or two, gazing at his car and gathering his strength. He looked up and down the aisle and didn’t see anyone. Then he managed to get the door open and crawl out.
He could hear tires screeching. He staggered over to his car and leaned against the trunk, watching the cabby escape up the ramp. Fumbling with his keys, he got past the lock and behind the wheel. As he turned the key in the ignition, he felt the gun slip out of his hand but left it on the floor. Reaching beneath the seat, he slid out his audio book and gazed at the cover. He needed something to listen to on the drive home. He pulled out tape 6, his absolute favorite in the series, and hit FAST-FORWARD until he reached side 2.
Making a killing without feeling guilty
.
It’s your big day
.
Welcome to the winner’s circle
.
Raymond adjusted the volume. The words felt familiar and soothing. The sound of the author’s voice and what he was saying. When Raymond’s eyes drifted to his lap, he realized that he was bleeding out and looked away. Time was slowing down, the world through his windshield growing darker. He heard doors opening and the sound of voices. A woman was just stepping into the garage from the mall with her young daughter. They were dressed in bright colors and seemed to have a glow about them as they carried their packages down the aisle. Raymond knew when the woman spotted him and saw the bullet hole in his face. Her smile dropped out and she reddened with fear, grabbing her daughter’s hand and rushing to get into their car two spaces away. It was a Volvo wagon speeding off. The same model Raymond had planned on giving his wife for Christmas. After they were gone, Raymond settled into his seat and turned back to the door. He could see the shops through the glass. He was on his way home now, and he wondered if he had time to buy his wife a small gift.
Chapter 78
Frank pushed the doors open, crashing Merdock’s election night party on campus with the gun stashed in his belt—all roughed up with death in his eyes. He could see Merdock on stage under a spotlight before the drawn curtain, alone like an easy target.
The theater had gone through a makeover since the debate just a few days ago. The house lights were down, the room packed with cheering people, fifteen TV cameras lined up in a neat row, and a live band set off to the side. Huge monitors with Merdock’s smiling face hung from the ceiling, towering above all the political crazies who laughed and chanted Merdock’s name in the gloom.
Merdock gripped a microphone in his hand and shouted, “Hey, everybody! We did it!”
Frank’s eardrums vibrated, the cheers deafening. When a man wearing twenty campaign buttons gave him a funny look, Frank pushed him aside and disappeared into the crowd. Through the faces he could see Merdock eating it up and still shouting into the mike.
“Hey, everybody! We
really
did it!”
Frank noticed three old women crying in happiness as they gazed at Merdock standing over them. Frank looked around, but didn’t see Juliana. He turned away, bulldozing more bodies out of his way until he reached the exit and stepped into the hall. As he moved down the steps into the passageway, he noticed that he couldn’t feel his legs or feet any more. His heart was beating in his ears and he had a horrible churning in his stomach. Nothing mattered except wiping the slate clean, getting rid of his mistake. He saw the stairs leading up to the stage, that red light blinking on the wall. He thought about what Merdock’s victory had cost him. His business and reputation, maybe even his freedom. His best friend’s life. And what about Eddie and Olson? Ingrams and Stockwell? Helen Pryor’s chief of staff and the guard? Everyone dead—the body count rising like a flood tide just so that Mel Merdock could be a fucking U.S. Senator.
The dressing rooms were dark. He felt for the gun at his waist and pulled his hand away as he rose up the stairs. When he reached the top step, his zombie eyes moved to center stage. A TV was set before a coffee table and five empty chairs. Behind the TV, the curtain was drawn with Merdock’s gigantic silhouette caught in the spotlight and raking the material from the other side. Frank took it in without emotion, guessing this was as good a vision of hell as he had ever seen.
And then he saw her. Juliana.
She was on the other side of the stage having her picture taken with a beaming man in a plaid sport jacket. Although the photographer’s back was turned and Frank couldn’t see his face, he could tell there was something wrong with the shot. After a moment, the photographer pulled a Merdock campaign button out of his pocket and handed it to Juliana. She smiled and nodded, pinning the button to her dress. The camera flashed and everyone laughed. When it was over, the photographer walked the beaming man around the curtain and Juliana was alone.
She crossed to center stage, watching Merdock play to the crowd on the television. She must have felt Frank’s presence—his dead-man stare—because she turned and looked directly at him. She took in his appearance. His bloodstained shirt and khakis, ripped and frayed and still wet from the rain. The cuts and scratches on his face and hands. His disheveled hair. He could tell that she found him amusing. She was victorious, the triumphant puppeteer.
“You look beaten, Frank. You need to learn how to take it with style. Winning isn’t everything, you know.”
He held it all in. He watched her turn back to the monitor—Merdock waving at the stupid crowd.
“I want to say something,” Merdock shouted into the mike. “Please... thank you... I have something I’d like to say...”
Frank poured the shattered DVD onto the coffee table, Olson’s pictures and the evidence against Merdock reduced to small pieces of useless plastic glistening under the stage lights.
“It looks broken,” she said. “What is it?”
“What you’ve been looking for.”
Her eyes rose from the table slowly. “Did you get a chance to look at it, Frank?”
He nodded.
“By the way,” she said. “The U.S. Attorney called. He’s looking for you and said you might stop by. Something about you murdering four more people at the Capitol and now eyewitnesses are involved.”
“You think me going down will work, Juliana?”
“It’s a start,” she said.
She noticed the gun. She stepped closer, taking another look at his appearance with her wheels turning.
“I’m wondering if it’s safe to talk to you,” she said, pulling his shirt away from his pants. “You’re not trying to pull anything, are you?”
He didn’t answer. He stood before her in ruin, letting her run her hands over his chest and around his back. She bent down, feeling her way up his pant legs until she reached his crotch. Her hands lingered there, feeling him with her eyes fixed on the gun.
“Is this really how you want to be remembered?” she said.
He didn’t answer, his mouth dry. Besides, he wasn’t wearing a fucking wire.
“You smell like a car mechanic,” she said, dropping her hands finally. “You’re all used up, Frank.”
He watched her turn back to the TV. Merdock was yelling into his mike again. Something about promises and how he planned on keeping them. The crowd was going crazy. The band played
Happy Days Are Here Again
.
“Let me guess,” Frank said in voice devoid of life or emotion. “Your husband has a problem with women.”
“He’s weak. I told you that before.”
Frank watched her dig into her bag and pull out a cigarette.
“He murdered Beth Williams,” Frank said. “That’s what this was about. That’s what Olson didn’t know. It wasn’t about the affair, or that your husband beats women. He killed her.”