Slash and Burn (11 page)

But Larry wasn’t finished. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head to one side. He curled his other fist.

Huffman grabbed Larry’s bicep.

‘Enough, Larry,’ he said. Softer this time. ‘I mean it.’

Any other man laying a hand on Larry would have his fingers torn off one by one. But Huffman was another story. Larry nodded.

‘Killing her isn’t going to help,’ Huffman said. ‘It won’t bring Trent back.’

‘No . . . but it will make
me
feel better, boss.’

Larry had fantasised about killing his little brother more times than he could keep count. Since they were small children and he’d first considered smashing his brother’s skull with a rock, the thought had plagued him. As they’d grown older, his thoughts had persisted, only now his choice of weapons had grown to include guns and knives and axes. He had dreamed up all manner of ways to end Trent’s life, each more inventive than its predecessor. He had never thought that he’d see his brother die before
he
actually served the coup de grâce.

Watching the Englishman blow away Trent’s knees, gouge out his freak eye, then put two holes in his body large enough for Larry to push his fists through, had never been the way he’d imagined his brother’s demise. The bastard had robbed him of his lifelong wish. But that wasn’t why Larry was in a cold rage.

He’d never have done anything to harm Trent, despite his daydreams to the contrary. As much as someone like Larry Bolan could love, he loved Trent. They were brothers. More than that, they were twins and shared a special bond. Sure, Trent had that twisted eye and an equally twisted mind, but he was still Larry’s little bro. Being the older – and, in Larry’s opinion, the much wiser – it was down to him to take care of his sibling.

Their useless mother had been no good. All she cared about was where her next drink was coming from. She ended up on some street corner up in Louisville, then God knows where after that. Their daddy – for all his anger at the world – loved his sons, but little good that had done the boys when he was carted off to the electric chair after he raped and beat two women to death when he was high on ’shine from his backwoods still. The boys were taken into the system. Wayward and violent, they’d been unadoptable, going from one orphanage to another. Juvenile detention came next, then the Big House. Throughout all those years it had been Larry’s responsibility to keep Trent safe.

And he hadn’t failed.

Until now.

‘Alive she’s of use to us,’ Robert Huffman reminded him. ‘She can help us find her sister.’

‘She isn’t going to tell us anything, boss.’ Larry finally released Kate’s hair and her head lolled on her chest, semi-conscious.

‘Maybe not. But we’ll use her to bring her sister to us.’ Huffman clapped the big man on his uninjured shoulder. ‘She’ll also bring this man to us. Why go to all this trouble when he’ll walk right into our hands?’

‘ ’Cause it feels good.’ To emphasise his point, Larry shoved Kate’s head backwards, his fingers twisting her jaw.

Huffman stepped between them and Larry turned his face away in disgust.

‘I said leave it be, Larry,’ Huffman said, and this time the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn’t going to repeat himself.

Larry stared at his boss. Huffman returned his gaze, and the hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. Larry Bolan was good at hurting people, but so too was his boss. Huffman hadn’t always been a property developer.

Larry’s eyes flickered away. He pushed a hand through his hair, felt a clot of something and wondered if it was some of Trent’s blood from when the man shot him. He studied his fingers, but couldn’t tell if it was Trent’s or his own from when the same bastard pistol-whipped him in the woods. He was a mess. A good excuse to make his retreat without losing face. ‘I need a shower.’

‘Good idea.’

Larry was unsure whether he was referring to the shower, or that he’d backed down. But he wasn’t about to ask. All the stories about Huffman were true: his viciousness was legendary. He wouldn’t get to kill the Englishman if he gave Huffman cause to cut his heart out.

Behind him, Huffman watched the big man leave the room. Then he turned and gazed down on Kate. The woman rolled her eyes up at him. Reflected in their wetness was the glint of the cut-throat razor Huffman held cupped in his palm. Huffman slowly slid it back into its holder on his wrist, pulled down the sleeve of his Versace suit jacket.

Huffman smiled.

He could tell by the look on her face that she wished Larry would come back.

Chapter 16

‘Do not – I repeat – do not try to follow us,’ Sheriff Aitken shouted over the police radio channel. ‘No outside interference. We must keep this situation
self
-contained.’

Aitken’s commands to his men wouldn’t mean an awful lot. Despite warnings not to follow, the officers would be frantic to find their leader. They would call in back-up. State troopers, or maybe even big city cops from Frankfort. There could even be a call put through to the nearest FBI field office. That would complicate matters and shorten the window of opportunity for getting Kate back.

Aitken seemed more afraid of outside interference than he was of the gun I pointed at him. He exhorted his troops to back off, then changed tactics, shouting and making threats if he even got a sniff of any form of pursuit. It saved me the problem of forcing the same commands from him.

Some police vehicles were fitted with transponders or GPS tracking devices, but Little Fork’s law enforcement budget probably didn’t stretch to such things. The falling snow gave cover from aerial pursuit, effectively grounding helicopters and light aircraft. The only way we’d be found was if a local spotted Aitken’s car and called it in. But that wasn’t very likely. The snow was now coming down in blizzard quantities and we were five miles out of town at an old mining camp abandoned ten years earlier.

The cop car was partly hidden under a lean-to next to a decrepit wooden cabin so faded with age it was almost as pale as the snow. I led the sheriff inside, getting out of the cold. The cabin had been stripped of anything of value, and all that remained was a single broken chair and an equally broken table. Setting the table top against a wall, I smashed it in two with a kick, ending up with a rough plank which I set against the wall. Then I made the sheriff reach his arms round the back of it and I used his own cuffs to link his arms together. The measure wouldn’t halt a determined effort at escape, but it would slow him down.

‘If that plank falls over, I’ll shoot you,’ I said, giving him something to occupy his thoughts. It caused him to stand rigidly to stop the plank from sliding beneath him.

Pushing my SIG into my denims, I kept the Magnum in plain view. The shiny steel gun looked more intimidating.

‘It’s time, Aitken. Are you still useful to me?’

‘I’ve told you, I don’t know where the woman is. I took her and handed her over to Huffman. Where they went after that, I don’t know. I got the call that you’d showed up at the motel and high-tailed it back there.’

‘Where did you leave her?’

‘There’s this restaurant in town . . .’

‘French restaurant?’ I asked, remembering the discussion I’d had with Kate earlier. At the time I hadn’t given it much credence. However, it was obvious once I thought about it. The restaurant had been purchased by new owners. Huffman and his business partners were buying up pretty much all the property in and around Little Fork. It stood to reason that they were the buyers, and that they would set up residence at a central location. The restaurant – le Cœur de la Ville – was literally at the heart of town.

‘Yeah . . .’ He gave me a funny look. ‘Place called le Cœur.’

‘Where is it?’

Aitken described the location.

‘This Robert Huffman. Tell me about him.’

‘Tell you what?’

‘First off: his description.’

‘So you know who to kill?’

‘Yes.’

He was perfunctory. Cop speak. ‘White male. Tall, about your height . . . six feet maybe. Two hundred pounds. Athletic build, though. Aged early fifties. Short grey hair, well groomed. Designer suit. You know the type.’

‘Right. Now tell me something about him that isn’t obvious.’

‘Like what? What do you want me to say?’

‘While you’re speaking, you’re not dying, Aitken. Think about that.’ I tapped his barrel chest with the muzzle of the gun.

Seeing sense in my words – maybe even a way out of this predicament – he said, ‘He first showed up about three years back. He brought big money with him. An investor in all the land development around here. He hails from Texas, heads some business outfit out there.’

‘What kind of outfit?’

Aitken’s face went flat.

I cocked the hammer on the Magnum.

‘You know what I’m talking about!’

‘Organised crime?’

‘Of course.’ Aitken sneered at me. ‘You don’t know what you’ve stepped into here, buddy. You’re only one man: what do you hope to do against someone like Huffman?’

‘What I need to do.’

‘You’ll die.’

‘Maybe.’

‘There’s no maybe about it,’ Aitken said smugly. ‘From what I’ve heard, many men have tried to kill him, but he’s still around. They aren’t.’

‘Many men have tried to kill me, too.’

The smugness dropped off him. My words must have resonated; now he was just a frightened man. ‘Best thing you can do is forget all about Robert Huffman. Pack up, buddy. Go home, wherever that is.’

‘First I get Kate back,’ I said. ‘How many men has Huffman got at his disposal?’

‘Local boys? Eight or ten.’ He snorted in derision. ‘Did have a dozen until you showed up.’

Nodding at him, I said, ‘Yeah.’

‘They’re just local punks. When Huffman sends real men after you, things’ll be different.’

‘By real men you mean the Bolan twins?’

‘The Bolans? They’re nothing, man. I’m talking about men who do this kind of thing for a living. The Bolans – they’re just thugs.’

‘Were,’ I corrected him. ‘Trent’s dead.’

Aitken’s eyes went wide. I noticed a bubble of saliva crack as his lips parted. ‘You killed Trent? Holy shit . . .’

‘He was trying to kill me. So were the men on the mountain.’ Prodding him in the chest, I added, ‘So were you.’

‘You’re trying to justify your actions?’ Aitken asked. ‘Trying to look for a way out of this, son? Maybe we can come to some kind of deal, huh?’

‘I’m not justifying anything, Aitken. Just telling you how it is.’ Placing the muzzle of the gun against his gut, I added, ‘Just so you know what kind of man I am. People fuck with me, I fuck right back. You understand, right?’

His eyebrows drooped. ‘Yes. I understand.’

‘So . . . go on. Finish what you were telling me about Huffman.’

‘You’re going to kill me anyway,’ Aitken said, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘Why should I tell you anything?’

‘There are easy ways of dying or we can make things very, very hard. Larry Bolan explained what you
all
did to Sheriff Devaney. I’m sure I can be as imaginative if needs be.’

‘I had nothing to do with Will’s death.’

‘You didn’t try to stop it. That’s tantamount to the same thing, isn’t it?’

‘It was Will’s own fault.’ Dejection brought his chin down on his chest. He knew how flimsy his excuse sounded. ‘If he’d listened, everything would’ve been fine. He should’ve taken the money like the rest of us and then got the hell outa here.’

‘He died because he wasn’t about to let some criminal walk into town and take over. That was his job, Aitken. It was your job, too.’

‘There was more to it than that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Huffman and Judge Wallace had made a deal.’

‘A judge is involved?’

‘Yes. The judge had to be part of it or Huffman’s plan would fail.’

‘Tell me what’s going on between them.’

‘Huffman invested in the town, got it back on its feet, but then he started buying up everything. No one else got a look in. If Huffman saw something he wanted, Wallace would rubber-stamp any applications that he sent through his office. Between them they were raking in land worth millions at resale. Will got wind of their deal and threatened to blow them both out of the water.’

‘The sheriff was putting a case together?’

Aitken snorted. ‘No. He was blackmailing them.’

‘He wanted in on the deal?’

‘Just hard cash. If they paid up, Will said he’d disappear, leave them to their scam.’

‘But Huffman set him up. He sent you and the Bolans instead of the cash.’

‘Wrong, again! Huffman did the deal. He paid Will off and told him to leave. Will – pig-headed fool that he was – didn’t. He stayed on, flaunting his position as sheriff. Maybe he thought he had Huffman over a barrel. That’s when the Bolans went to speak to him.’

‘What are you getting out of this deal?’

‘My family owns land down by White Rapids; Huffman wants to pay me good money for it.’ He shrugged as best he could in his awkward position. ‘I was also promised the position of sheriff once Will was out of the way.’