When the Devil Comes to Call (A Lars and Shaine Novel Book 2) (14 page)

The stench made Shaine nauseous. She recognized the pile of clothes on the landing outside the little indoor office as Bruno’s mother, still right where Lars shot her. The extra layers of blankets, bath towels and a closet full of coats did little to hide the reek of a decomposing body, especially one with a few leaks in it to begin with.

They’d been respectful, relatively. Anthony hadn’t hit her, had barely threatened her outside of holding a gun on her. Even Bruno kept his hands off. Well, hand.

She sat tied to a chair from the dining room set that Bruno placed in the center of the sunken living room, only feet away from the corpse. She wondered how much of the smell wafted down from upstairs. She wondered if dead bodies smelled differently. Would she be able to tell a man from a woman, husband from wife? She had time to think, waiting for Lars to arrive and walk into the trap. A trap where she acted as bait.

But Lars wasn’t one to go walking into a deadly situation without a plan. A good enough plan? She’d have to wait another hour and a half to see for herself.

Anthony stood by the front door, one of only three men beside Bruno she’d seen.

“You know he’s crazy, right?” Shaine said.

“I’m getting that impression,” Anthony answered. She appreciated his honesty.

“So why are you working for him?”

“Show me one guy in this business who isn’t nuts.”

“Nikki ever keep rotting corpses around the house?”

“Can’t say as he ever did.”

Nikki would be a rotting corpse by now if Anthony hadn’t stopped her. She felt like she was really going to do it that time, too. She had her plan and more importantly, she had the will. One minute faster on the plane reservations and she’d have beaten a hole in Nikki’s head, left him to start generating his own odor.

Shaine’s stomach heaved. She let her concentration lapse and she’d almost thrown up.

Bruno entered the room with half a sandwich in his good hand, his other wrapped in a sloppy gauze job with copious amounts of tape. He looked like his hand had been wrapped by a blind man, but it was the best he could manage on his own with one hand down.

“Fucking exciting, isn’t it?” Shaine had to turn away from the food. She thought it looked like a Ruben. “The big showdown.”

She ran down all her options. Every one of them involved getting free from her chair. If she could manage that, every shot she’d taken on this trip would be nothing compared to what she would do to Bruno and his entire crew. Nothing would make her more proud than for Lars to show up and find her standing on top of a pile of bodies.

Nah, maybe on the front porch. Even for the look on his face, the stink wasn’t worth it.

“Been a long damn time,” Ford said. “A long damn time.”

Lars sat and watched him, the steady demeanor, the unwavering gun in his hand. The quiet pride Lars admired. He wasn’t gloating.

They sat in Ford’s home office, a cramped and lived-in space with a layer on top of a substrata of paperwork, magazines, probably old plates with unfinished midnight snacks buried underneath.

“So what do we talk about?” Lars asked. “Is this where you pump me for names and dates?”

“No. I got other people for that. I only want to know one thing.” Ford leaned back in his chair a bit. “Where’s the girl?”

“In quite a bit of danger, to tell the truth. If you let me go I can save her. If you keep me here she’s as good as dead.”

Ford ignored what to him was an obvious ruse. “Why’d you take her? I mean, why add kidnapping to the list?” He sat straighter in his chair, pushed the gun out a little bit further.

“Well, she was going to be killed. I didn’t want that. So I helped her.”

“You took her.”

“I helped her.”

Outside, the mist had turned to rain and the steady drum of water down the gutters filled the space between them. Ford checked his watch.

“I don’t have much time to help her again,” Lars said.

“I think being away from you is the safest place she can be right now.”

“You’re wrong.” Lars struggled to get his breathing in check. He tried to remain calm. His only chance of getting to Shaine would be to stay level headed, but each thud of rain on the roof sounded like a giant second hand ticking away the deadline to whatever Bruno would pull out of his crazy hat next.

“You came here to kill me,” Ford said.

Lars nodded.

“So why should I believe your story about her?”

“First off, her name is Shaine.” Using an old FBI trick against him, personalize the victim. “Second, I was sent to kill the wrong man. Now I know who needs to die, and I should have done it earlier. My sentimental side won out.”

“You have a sentimental side?”

“It’s almost gotten me killed more than once.”

Shaine watched as the two other hired men stepped into the living room where Bruno sat on a sofa, waiting and picking bits of corned beef out of his teeth with his fingernail.

The two men looked like they had to tell him they ran over his dog in the street. Dark skinned Italians, tons of hair product.

“Bruno, we talk to you for a second?” The spokesman was a wide-shouldered Guido with a pinstriped suit cut a size too large.

“What is it?”

“Well,” he threw a nervous look to his partner. “Mark and me, we were figuring we might step out of this one. This is not our scene, you know?”

Shaine knew it was all about the smell.

“The fuck you talking about, Luke?” Bruno said.

“Like, we don’t want to be here anymore. We didn’t know it was this.” He aimed an elbow at Shaine.

Bruno spoke in a mocking tone. “This,” he made an exaggerated gesture to Shaine. “Is all about bait. She’s a fucking lure, that’s all.”

“Still.” They swapped another look to go over their rehearsed speech. “Anthony said . . .” He paused before bringing up a sore subject, “He says that’s your mother.” This time Luke nodded his head toward the pile of coats.

“What the fuck business is it of yours?”

“It’s just . . . well, Mrs. Ramoni, she was always good to us. So was your Pop. I mean, we’d do anything for them, y’know? We kinda feel like . . .”

Shaine enjoyed the bit of theater playing out before her.

“Spit it out, you fuck,” Bruno said.

Mark finally spoke up. “They deserve some more respect, y’know? A decent burial for fuck’s sake.”

Bruno grew a wide smile on his face. “This is about money, isn’t it?”

Mark and Luke exchanged a look. “That’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Tell you what, hold on here.” Bruno stood and walked around the pile of coats and disappeared into the office. Shaine had her eye on the door. She knew, from Mrs. Ramoni arming herself inside, there were guns in there. If she could make it . . . but her arms remained strapped tightly to the chair. Anthony knew his knots like a sailor.

“For what it’s worth,” Shaine said to Mark and Luke, “you do not want to be around when my friend gets here. No matter what Bruno is paying you. You got the right idea. Let’s all get the hell out of here. Take me with you, because this guy is obviously a fucking loony tune.”

She could see in their eyes they did not want to be kidnappers. She didn’t have time to give them the hard sell.

Bruno returned with his good hand clenched into a fist.

“My cash flow is a little tied up right now until we get things worked out on the estate and all. But my dad always kept a little safety net in the safe. Better than cash any day.”

Bruno opened his fist and flung a dozen diamonds to the rug. They caught the light in the facets as they bounced along the floor. Bruno slumped back to the sofa and resumed picking his teeth. He waited as Mark and Luke counted the bright gems on the floor. Shaine didn’t know a thing about diamonds, but they were decent sized like if you saw them in a wedding ring you’d think the couple had some serious money.

They say diamonds are a girls best friend, but those boys were eyeing them like they’d just made a new BFF. Mark and Luke fell to their knees and started scooping.

Lars looked for an angle. His best bet, he decided, would be to give up the idea of being subtle about it. To bum-rush him and try to overpower the trained FBI agent who had easily eighty pounds on him, probably a lot more. Chances were good he’d be shot in the process, but it would be better than sitting and waiting to be arrested and abandoning Shaine.

He measured the distance between and the desk separating him and Ford. The piles of papers and desk paraphernalia—the phone, computer speakers, glass paperweight with a vacation photo from a sunny beach—would get in the way, but Lars might be able to use them to his advantage.

Ford’s cell phone rang. Steady as a rock with his gun never moving from a kill shot on Lars, Ford answered.

“Yes, baby, I’m all right.”

The wife checking in.

“They’re on their way. You need to stay away for another hour for me, baby.”

Lars heard high-pitched sounds coming from her end. She wasn’t happy. She was about to be less so.

Lars jumped. He pushed off from his chair with taut arms like coiled rubber bands. He put his hands out in front of him, palms out and pushed the wall of junk forward and into Ford’s lap.

Ford didn’t have time to react. Lars practically landed in his lap and one hand went immediately to the gun, wrapped around it and held Ford’s arm away and pointing out the window. Lars headbutted Ford and made him drop the phone. More high-pitched sounds screamed into the air as it came away from Ford’s ear.

Lars spun his body, pivoting his legs over Ford’s head and clamping a second hand over Ford’s gun. With a twist he had the government issued revolver in his hand.

Ford leaned back in his chair almost to the point of tipping. His breath heaved his chest in and out and a mixture of surprise and regret moved over his face.

Lars stood straight with the gun on Ford. “Pick up your phone.”

Ford gave him a confused look for a second, then bent down slowly, not needing to be told to keep all movements to a minimum, and lifted the cell phone, his wife’s desperate, shrill cries sounding tiny through the earpiece.

“Put it on speaker,” Lars said. “I want her to hear this.”

Ford obliged. Her voice came sailing through. After getting no answer and hearing the commotion, she had switched to asking help from God.

“Jesus, help him now, lord. Sweet Jesus, help him now.”

“I’m here, Denise. I’m fine.”

“Earl?”

“I’m fine.”

Her tears of fear turned to tears of joy.

“Make her be quiet,” Lars said.

“Denise,” Ford pleaded. “You need to listen. He’s still here. He’s got something to say.”

“Who does?” she asked.

“I do, ma’am.” She went silent. Lars continued. “I wanted you to hear. I’m not going to kill your husband. Someone wanted me to. I was paid to do it, but I’m not going to. He’s not the right one. He’s got a family. Two daughters. He’s got you. He’s not doing anything wrong. I know who I’m going to see next. And I want you to know,” Lars looked at Ford. “I’m going to save that girl and take her away from danger again. Same as you would do. Same as you.”

Lars watched Ford’s face. He didn’t expect any thanks, but the man’s stoicism gave him nothing. “You understand?”

Ford nodded. Denise said nothing, but Lars could hear muted sobs.

“You’ll never see me again,” Lars said.

“I better not.”

Lars took a step back. “She’s safer with me than anywhere else in the world.”

Ford almost opened his mouth, then stopped himself. He nodded slowly and Lars could see a glimmer of belief on his face.

By the clock in Bruno’s car, Lars arrived at Leo’s house with four minutes to spare. He hoped Bruno had the same time inside.

Lars never liked front doors, and now would be one of the worst times to use one. The element of surprise was his only advantage, aside from use of all ten of his fingers. But it wasn’t any gun of Bruno’s he worried about. He worried about the help. Maybe he’d be walking in on a younger version of himself. A hired gun. A guy only there for the money with nothing personal in the game. The most dangerous kind of killer.

Lars parked halfway down the block. As he approached the house, the wind picked up.
Good for masking his movements
, he thought. Lars saw lights on the ground floor in what he knew was the sunken living room, and coming from the side of the house from what would be the kitchen.

He doubted Bruno would keep Shaine in a darkened room, so at least he had it narrowed down.

He scanned the outside of the house. It had been a long time since he’d tagged along on a B&E, but he figured his cat burglar skills might not be too rusty. He liked the look of the chimney running up the side of the house, a rain gutter only an arms length away and a thick tree shielding both from street view.

Lars scaled the impromptu scaffold to the second floor. His thin body moved quickly bracing himself with one hand on the brick and one hand on the gutter. He wedged his feet in tight enough he could take one freezing cold hand away from the brick and work on the window to the darkened bedroom.

He reached behind him, drew his gun, and hammered out a small pane of glass. He gently reached a hand in to unlock the window and raise it up. Sliding in from there came easy, though he kept a watchful eye for any broken glass so he didn’t slide over it.

He fell to the carpet and paused, listening to see if he’d been noticed. The smell almost drove him back out the window, like he’d broken into a grave. Even with the lights out, he knew where he stood. Bruno hadn’t removed the bodies yet.

Without thinking too hard about it, Lars decided to use the situation to his advantage and create a distraction. He turned on the small bedside lamp. If anyone looked at the door, they’d see the strip of light coming through, but he didn’t expect anyone to be upstairs. Not with that smell.

He could see the shape of Leo still under the covers, all of the pillows on the bed now covering his face. Flies buzzed around where his head was buried under down feathers and silk pillowcases.

Lars went for the bottom of the bed and lifted the sheets. He grabbed Leo’s body by the ankles and pulled. The corpse slid easily on the silk sheets. The body was stiff, but as it moved the joints started to loosen again.

Lars eased Leo to the floor, opened the door to the hallway and started dragging Leo by the ankles across the carpet. Lars was surprised to see he didn’t leave a wide stain. All the blood on Leo was dried and the rest had bled out into the mattress.

Leo’s pajamas had popped several buttons as his stomach had bloated with gas. While most of the body was rigid and clay-like, the stomach bounced and bobbed like a water balloon.

Lars reached the top step and pulled Leo to the edge. He could hear voices coming from downstairs, one of which he thought sounded like Bruno.

Lars pushed. Leo’s body began to slide down the steps. Five steps down and Leo’s heel caught on step number six and his body contorted. Leo’s head hit a row of spindles on the railing. He bent at the waist and jackknifed into a turn that moved him from feet first to head first down the steps.

The balloon popped. Already distended and stretched thin, Leo’s belly tore during the violent change of direction. In addition to the thundering sound of a body coming down the stairs, an explosion of fetid body fluids splashed the walls and carpet of the stairs. Urged on the by the waterfall of death fluids, the body picked up momentum.

A wave of smell hit Lars as he retreated back into the bedroom. The stench inside a rotting body was—unbelievably—even worse than the smell outside of one.

Lars heard the final crash of Leo’s body landing as he made it back to the open window to head out.