Authors: John R. Maxim
Molly entered. She recognized Yuri by his size. Carla
was already at his side. Molly walked past. She looked
down at the face of the second man, at the hideous grin,
eyes staring. Her nose told her that his bowels had let go.
She returned to Yuri.
“
He's still alive
,”
said Carla. Care
f
ully, she opened
his mouth. The jaw, broken, made a crunching sound. One
cheek was gashed, one eye swollen shut, a bit of his ear
had been shot away and a dozen splinters of blond oak
peppered one side of his face. She blew into his mouth, hard, to clear his air passages. His chest bubbled.
“
Help
me
,”
she said. She reached for the broken right arm and,
with Molly's aid, rolled him onto his shattered left rib. It
did more damage there, but she hoped to keep the good
right lung from filling.
Molly straightened his arm. She used her scarf to stop
the blood flow. Carla, opposite, gently pried the revolver from the fingers of his left hand. At least two were broken
but not cut. And yet, oddly, the thumb and fingertips were
bloody. She saw flesh under the nails. She examined the
gun. The cylinder was missing, the metal deeply gouged.
It looked as if it had stopped a bullet. The shape of the
gun, she saw, roughly matched the marks on Yuri's face.
She found the cylinder on the rug nearby. Three chambers were empty.
The sirens stopped outside.
Strobing lights flashed through the room, some red,
some blue, from several vehicles. Sounds of running feet.
“
We live in the building
,”
Molly whispered to Carla.
“
We don't know Yuri
.”
She stepped to the door where the tenants had gathered, still afraid to enter. She approached the black man.
“
What
happened here
?”
she asked.
”
I don't know
,”
he sighed. ”I heard someone yelling.
Minute later, I heard three shots
.”
“
Three? There are four holes in this door
.”
Two policemen bullied past, their hands on their weap
ons. Two paramedics, with satchels, followed. Then two
more police, one a sergeant. Molly held the man's atten
tion. She touched the door, noticing for the first tim
e
the
smile traced in blood. She gripped a loose splinter and
pulled it free.
“
You didn't hear this
?”
He shrugged.
”
I heard a little hammering, maybe, like
someone hanging pictures. A little crashing around
.
.
.
like the man hanging pictures maybe fell off his chair. I
didn
'
t pay much attention till we heard the shots. My daughter poked one eye into the hall. There's two men,
one
could hardly walk, bleeding real bad from his throat.
They
ran out. My daughter here walks down, looks inside,
starts screaming. I called the cops
.”
The policeman with sergeant
's
stripes approached.
Even he seemed stunned.
“
Who called nine one one
?”
he
asked.
“
This man
,”
Molly pointed. Suddenly, she sagged, gripping the black man's arm.
“
Oh, God. I'm going to be
sick
.”
She shouted it, almost hysterically.
Ca
rl
a heard. She stepped around the paramedics.
“
I'm a nurse
,”
she told the policeman.
“
We're just below. Let me take her downstairs
.”
The sergeant nodded. The black man raised an eye
brow, as much at Molly's sudden loss of composure as at
the reference to the apartment downstairs
.
He said nothing.
The sergeant asked the black man's name. Carla guided
Molly to the stairs.
They reached the building's entrance, stepped out into
the air. Another uniformed policeman approached. Molly
began retching. The policeman hesitated. Molly lunged for
the curb where spectators had gathered. They made room.
Ca
rl
a patted her back. A second ambulance came, dis
tracting the policeman.
“
Our car
,”
Molly whispered.
“
It's blocked in
.”
“
Screw it
,”
said Carla, easing her toward the specta
tors. ”I took Yuri's keys
.”
The moment of greatest danger, Weinberg felt, would
come as they stepped through the main door of the ch
a
teau
and onto the terrace. There would be guards, braced and
ready, on either side. They would try to snatch or tackle the Dunvilles, then others would cut down the rest.
He swung the doors wide as the tethered Dunvilles
waited. He sensed movement to his right. Weinberg tucked
the MP-5 under his arm and slid the unsilenced Ingra
m—
he wanted nois
e—b
etween door and frame and fired a
burst into a thick stand of acacia. He heard a squawk,
more of fright than of pain. He turned the Ingram on
Ca
r
leton the younger
’
s white Mercedes and emptied the clip into its gas tank and rear tires. The Mercedes sagged like a sitting dog but the tank did not explode as he had
hoped. Still, he had their attention.
“
Here is what you will see
,”
he said into the night, reloading.
“
Both Dunvilles will appear first, guns at their
necks, my wife directly behind. The guns are tethered to
them. A head shot will kill my wife but she cannot help
but fire as she falls. Nellie Da
m
eon will be directly behind.
I will follow. I have two machine pistols. I will fire at
anyone, armed or not, whose hands I cannot see
.”
A long silence.
“
Mr. Dunville
?”
came a voice.
Barbara poked Dunville the younger.
“
You know your
lines
,”
she said.
“
Don't shoot
,”
he croaked.
“
Say, get out where we can see you
,”
she prompted.
“
No guns
,”
he improvised.
“
You'll kill us all
.”
That would have to do, she supposed. She jabbed them
forward. The elder Dunville, eyes bulging, tried to raise
the suitcase he carried so that it covered his chest. Barbara
did not deny him that comfort.
She steered them toward Carleton the elder
's
car, also
a Mercede
s
but black and, therefore, preferred. They
stopped at the trunk. Dunville fumbled for his keys and
opened it. Weinberg led Nellie to the front passenger seat.
The Dunvilles loaded the trunk and closed it. Weinberg covered her as she herded them to the rear right door. He
opened it, taking the keys from Dunville
’s
fingers. His
wife guided Carleton the elder in first and herself into the center. Young Carleton backed in last, Weinberg helping. Barbara straightened her arms, forcing their heads forward
and against the opposing windows. She nodded to her
husband.
Weinberg stepped around to the driver's door and
placed the key in the ignition. Standing, he lowered all
four windows, then straightened. He turned his one eye
back toward the ch
a
teau. He spotted the Dunvilles
’
secu
rity chief, the goon named Darby, and waved him forward
with the Ingram. Darby had an assault rifle in his hand
but it was at his side. He stepped closer.
“
Let it fall, please
,”
Weinberg said.
“
Come talk to them if you wish
.”
Darb
y
hesitated. Defiantly, he kept his weapon. But he
walked to the Mercedes.
”I asked you to drop that and you didn't
,”
Weinberg
said quietly.
“
You're still alive because I'd prefer not to
upset Miss Da
m
eon. It is not an overwhelming pref
erence
.”
Darby smiled. Contemptuously. He raised the rifle,
slowly, and pressed the safety. Taking it by the barrel he
held it out, at arm's length, pointing the stock toward the
shadows of the ch
a
teau. He called a name. Another man,
unarmed, came forward. He took the rifle from Darby and then retreated.
Weinberg grunted. A harmless show of bravado, he
decided. For the good of the troops. He would forgive it.
“
Down to cases
,”
he said.
“
Do you see any way of
killing us without killing them
?”
“
You won't get off the grounds
,”
Darby answered.
“
The gate is blocked
.”
“W
hich means we drive down to it and just sit
?’'
“
That's up to you
.”
Weinberg backed into the driver's seat.
“
You drive
,”
he said to Darby.
“
I'll sit in the middle
.”
Darby folded his arms. That smile again.
Weinberg lowered his voice.
“
Three seconds, Mr. Darby, and you'll have no knees
.”
“
Darby
,”
Ca
r
leton the younger shouted.
“
Get in the
damned car
.”
The security chief spat. But he obeyed.
At the foot of the long winding driveway, the Mer
cedes headlights washed over a maintenance truck,
parked sideways, that blocked the exit. Weinberg told
Darby to stop. He could see most of the gate. Through it, he could see two expensive homes, well lit, on the other
side of Tower Road. One seemed to be entertaining guests.
Weinberg saw no guards near the gate but he knew there
would be at least four, two on each side, hidden in the
sugar pines.
“
Do they have silenced weapons, Mr. Darby
?”
he
asked.
No answer.
Weinberg turned to address Carleton the younger.
“
Tell
him why I ask. Those houses should give you a clue
.”
“
Darby
,”
Dunville said through his teeth.
“
We cannot
have shooting here
.”
Weinberg nodded
.
“
Tell him what I'll do if they
have silencers
.”
“
He will fi
r
e at that house, Darby. The one giving a
party. The people inside will notice. They will call th
e
police
.”
Darby chewed his lip. Weinberg brought the Ingram to
his ear.
“
Do you need more time to think
?”
he asked.
Darby closed his
e
yes.
“
Mr. Dunville
?”