Authors: Scott Cook
“How did you find out about the Roses’ storage place? How did you know they kept their cash there?”
Palliser laughed. “That’s the funny part.” He looked at Crowe. “I bet you’ve been sitting here wondering which of your boys betrayed you. Believe it or not, it was Duff.”
Crowe frowned. “Fuck off.”
“Seriously! Dumb Fuck Duff! He somehow found out about the cash, and he came to me with the information.”
“Why the hell would he do that?” asked Alex.
“Because he was a fucking moron,” said Crowe. “Let me guess: he thought he’d get a chunk of the money as a reward.”
Palliser shrugged. “What can I say? When opportunity knocks, and all that shit.”
“What about the money?” Alex asked, still fidgeting with his pockets.
“Once I get it into the Caymans, I’m going to set up a charitable foundation. That money will go to help people all over the world.”
Crowe spat a wad of blood onto the dusty floor. “You’re a real saint,” he croaked. “And good luck with the Cayman thing. I speak from experience.”
Tess looked from Flowers to Palliser. “How did you two get together?” she asked.
Palliser smiled. “Flowers and I are like-minded,” he said. “He’s got a bit of a reputation for being pragmatic. It wasn’t difficult to win him over to my way of thinking.”
Sam laughed. “What were you going to tell that dear old mother you were talking to earlier, Flowers?” he asked. “That you won the Irish Sweepstakes?”
“I’m an orphan,” said Flowers. “Parents died in a car crash when I was in my twenties.”
Alex looked at Palliser’s forearms again. “And you’re going to become a whole new person, aren’t you? You’ve already started on the tattoo removal.”
“Of course,” said Palliser. “But I’ll be living in a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Canada. I’m not stupid.”
Alex stuffed both hands in the pockets of his shorts and slid back in his chair. “Now I see why you were so set on me writing a book about the whole thing,” he said. “It wasn’t about me making money, or having a bestseller. You wanted your version of events to become the story of record. Once it was printed, and Hodge was dead, it would become accepted fact.”
Palliser grinned. “Correction,” he said. “Once it
is
printed.”
“What?”
“You’re already halfway through the book,” he said. “I can finish it from here, if need be, then send it to an editor from your email account. We’ve got your laptop in a safe place.”
Alex felt like he’d been punched in the gut, but he clamped down on the feeling and didn’t let it show. “So what does that mean for me?”
“I’d rather
you
finish it, Alex,” said Palliser. “I really would.”
“How could you ever trust me?”
“The same reason you can trust me: mutually assured destruction. Just like the U.S. and Russia back in the ‘80s. Neither side can make a move without destroying itself. What are you going to do, tell everyone your own book is a fake? Remember what happened to that guy on Oprah? Killed his career; the guy’s a punchline now.”
Sam leaned forward in his chair and wiped his palms on his shorts. “I think I see the writing on the wall now,” he said. “Tess and I don’t figure into this plan, do we?”
Palliser looked at him. “No,” he said. “You don’t.”
“You gonna dump their bodies next to mine, you murdering fuck?” said Crowe.
“
You shut the fuck up!
” Palliser snapped. “It’s your fault they’re in this mess to begin with!”
“Too bad you didn’t take us out yesterday at the Rosebush.”
Palliser walked over to Crowe’s chair. “That was supposed to be you alone,” he snarled. “I didn’t want anyone else involved. If you just had the good sense to fucking
die
, this would have all been over, and these two could have gone on with their lives. Anything that happens to them is on your head.”
Sam turned to Alex. “You’re not seriously thinking about this, are you?”
Before Alex could answer, he heard Flowers behind him yell,
“Hey! Where the fuck is the sumo?!
”
Crowe couldn’t believe his luck as Palliser turned away to see what Flowers was yelling about. He mashed his fingers against each other and gritted his teeth, taking advantage of the natural gap that had been created by his Taser-flexed muscles when he was ziptied. Pain lanced up his left arm as the hard plastic tore into the skin of his wrist, but within three seconds, he was free.
He stayed seated as Palliser ran towards Flowers and swept up Shitbox’s shotgun from the desk. Flowers grabbed the other Glock and hobbled after him farther into the building and the grid of offices that lay beyond the foyer.
“You stay with them!” Flowers bawled. “I’ll get him myself! How the fuck is he still alive?”
Crowe could have answered that, but didn’t.
Palliser let Flowers go and turned his attention back to the others. He pumped the shotgun ominously. “Don’t go getting any ideas,” he said.
Crowe made eye contact with Sam. He gave him the smallest of nods and bent his left arm at an angle that would have been impossible if his hands were still bound. Sam’s eyes went wide, but he got the message.
“You sure he’ll be okay?” Sam asked Palliser. “He’s injured.”
“Flowers is tougher injured than most people I know on their best day.”
Alex spoke up. “Let’s get back on track, here,” he said. “You let me go, I write the book. Then what?”
Palliser glanced over his shoulder at the spot where Flowers had been. “Then we live happily ever after.”
“What about these two?” Alex nodded at Sam and Tess.
“Sorry, kid,” Palliser said. “Collateral damage. I’m not taking responsibility for that. I told you I did my best to keep them out of this. If they’d minded their own fucking business, they wouldn’t be here right now.”
Sam snarled. “
Collateral damage?
Is that what Tom Ferbey was, too?”
“Shut up,” said Palliser. “I’m warning you.”
“You’ve got it all figured out when it comes to justification, don’t you? Killing bad guys like Hodge and Crowe is a public service. And me and Tess, well, we know too much; we’re dangerous. But Tom was innocent. That was cold-blooded murder, man, plain and simple.”
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Palliser leapt forward and pointed the shotgun at Sam’s face.
“Hey!” Flowers shouted from the back. “Everything okay?”
“Just find the big, fat dead man that got up and walked away, asshole,” said Palliser. “I’ll take care of this.”
Sam slapped the barrel of the shotgun away from his face. Crowe could see Tess’s eyes almost jump from their sockets.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Sam goaded. “I’m sure you were planning on setting up a trust fund for Tom’s widow and son, weren’t you?”
“His insurance plan paid double for a homicide,” said Palliser. His eyes were flitting around the room. “But if they ever need anything . . .”
“They needed Tom,” said Tess.
Palliser turned towards Alex. “Forget about them,” he said. “What’re you gonna do, kid? Are you gonna keep being a part of this story?”
Alex looked at Sam and Tess, then at Crowe. His hands were still fidgeting deep in his pockets.
From behind them came the thunder of three rapid shots,
tocktocktock,
then a cry of effort mixed with pain. Palliser spun and raised the shotgun as two bodies crashed through the wall of an office in a cloud of dust and ancient drywall some forty feet away. All Crowe could see was a huge silhouette moving in the fine powder floating in the air.
“Flowers!” Palliser shouted. “Flowers, get out of the way!”
Crowe wanted to move, but Palliser was just too far away to reach in time. If he moved now, the ex-cop would see it and drop him before he got within five yards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex finally pull his hands out of his pants. Inside his right palm was something Crowe recognized immediately. He put his hands over his ears a split-second before the world exploded.
Sam grabbed Tess and pulled her to the floor as soon as he saw Alex’s hand move. The stun grenade sailed through the air over their heads and landed right at Palliser’s feet. Sam turned his head towards hers as the flash went off, but there was no way to shield themselves from the hundred-and-eighty-decibel explosion that followed. Suddenly the world was silent, except for a high ringing sound.
Palliser stumbled backwards, rocked by the sheer force of the blast. He landed flat on his back, dropping the shotgun in the process. Sam watched Crowe move across the floor, and clambered to grab the gun before Palliser could get his bearings. But he underestimated the speed at which the ex-cop would recover; Palliser had his hand around the barrel by the time Sam reached the gun’s stock. Palliser yanked it free and turned it swiftly, aiming the barrel right at the top of Sam’s skull.
Sam had barely enough time to feel the stab of fear before something swooped into his field of vision. It was Crowe’s foot. It connected with the shotgun’s barrel and sent it up and to the right. Sam saw a muzzle flash and heard a distant thud as the lead shot opened a saucer-sized hole in the plywood cover of the nearest window.
He tried to scramble to his feet, but his head wasn’t quite in on the game, and he stumbled into one of the desks. He braced himself on the edge, looking up in time to see Flowers fly through the air like a child on a swing. The cop landed on his back on the edge of a desktop, then flopped forward onto his knees on the floor. Shitbox lurched towards Flowers, blood streaming down his vest. While Shitbox closed the gap, Flowers managed to raise the Glock in his right hand and fire, but it missed the mark by several feet. Shitbox got close enough to grab Flowers’ gun hand; he twisted outwards, and Sam watched the wrist bone move at an unnatural angle and ultimately break the skin. The buffalo man reached down and retrieved the gun from the floor. Sam watched him release the clip and rack the single shell from the barrel. Then he went to work on Flowers with his fists. It wasn’t pretty.
Sam suddenly remembered Palliser behind him. He turned to see Crowe wrestling with him, each trying to gain control of the pistol in Palliser’s shoulder holster. On the floor, Tess and Alex huddled behind one of the old metal desks; Alex had Shitbox’s shotgun. Sam crossed the space to where they were and grabbed the gun from Alex’s hands. He dropped to one knee and leveled the gun at Palliser.
Crowe and Palliser were almost mirrors of each other as they struggled for the pistol. Each strike was countered, each twist or lock escaped. Finally, Palliser brought a knee up into the inside of Crowe’s own knee, knocking him off balance. In the split second it took for Crowe to right himself, Palliser managed to yank the gun from its holster. Before he could aim it, Crowe grabbed his wrist and twisted inwards, driving his elbow into Palliser’s chin and spinning him around in a single movement. Palliser was thrown to the floor, sending the pistol skittering across the linoleum.
Sam wanted desperately to shoot, but at this distance, the grouping would be too wide and would hit Crowe as well. He watched as Crowe stomped on Palliser’s forearm, then drove his foot into the side of his face. Blood flew from Palliser’s mouth in a thick clot. Sam handed the shotgun back to Alex and scuttled over to Palliser’s pistol. As Sam bent to pick it up, Palliser came crashing into him, knocking it from his hand and sending him head first into the side of a desk. The world went sideways for a moment; when it fell back into place, he saw Crowe pick up the shotgun, then turn to face him. Crowe shouted, “He’s gone!” The ringing had subsided enough for Sam to hear him.
Crowe took off down the hallway, shotgun at the ready. He started sweeping offices. As Sam’s eyes followed him, he saw Shitbox in the distance. The big man was listing on his feet. Flowers lay in a broken heap on the floor below him.
Sam loped over to Alex and Tess again. He reached down and pulled them to their feet, shouting for them to get their backs to a wall. It was a strange sensation – yelling, but barely being able to hear his own voice. They did as they were told. He turned to see Crowe charging out of the hallway and back into the foyer space. He was shaking his head.
No Palliser
. He stopped to examine Shitbox, who had simply stopped moving. Crowe put the shotgun down, then helped the big man to the floor, dragging him behind a desk. Then he grabbed the gun again and jogged over to Sam.
“He’s got his gun!” Crowe shouted. He motioned for Sam to join the others. They all came together by the chairs in the center of the foyer. They stood for a few minutes, not doing anything, as their hearing slowly returned.
“He can’t get downstairs from where he is,” Crowe said. It still sounded to Sam like he was listening through a wall, but it was better than it had been. “He has to come through here. I want you three to get the plywood off of one of these windows and jump for it.”
Before any of them could speak, Sam heard a voice bellow from the end of the hallway, “Leaving so soon? The party’s not over yet!”
They turned toward the sound, Crowe raising the shotgun as they did. Sam heard him pump the slide as the shadow moved closer towards them through the dust that still lingered in the still air.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Palliser said as he emerged into the light. As he did, Sam could make out another shape in the dust. It was Angie. And Palliser’s gun was pointed at her temple.
Alex felt bile rise in his throat as he saw Angie’s weeping face. She seemed unharmed, at least physically, but still terrified. He wanted to grab the shotgun from Crowe’s hands and blow Palliser’s head into a splatter of blood and bone, but he knew he couldn’t. Even if he had been an experienced shooter, he knew it was impossible without hitting Angie as well.
“Now everybody just calm down,” Palliser said as they walked slowly through the hall towards the foyer. “Let’s talk this out. We want to have a happy ending here, don’t we?”
Crowe lowered the shotgun. His face looked like a war mask, painted in streaks of blood and dust. “There’s no happy ending here,” he said. “You gotta kill us all. Then you have to kill her, because she’ll be a witness. I don’t think you have enough bullets.”