A Ghost of Justice (17 page)

38

He
stared back, frozen in place, fear and confusion in his eyes.

A sound drew their attention to the hill above them.  They both looked to see Eric, gun in hand, crab-walking down the slope.

Glancing back at Hardy, Emily saw him cough twice, great hacking wet sounds.  She sensed he was becoming unfrozen.  He was going to bolt.

She made a decision.  Darting forward, she tackled him just as he raised his foot to take his first step.  Catching him with her left arm, she wrapped it and her right around him and they fell, twisting, down onto the pavement.  She tightened her grip, grasping one hand with the other and squeezing his chest.

James Hardy shouted, "John!  No!"  He started to run toward them.

Eric reached the lane and jumped ahead of him.  "Stay back," he shouted in a snarl.

The elder Hardy kept coming.

Eric took one step to intercept him, taking the man by his coat and shoving him roughly back.  Then he swiftly came over and grabbed John's collar.

Emily watched as her father held Hardy that way for a moment.  He wasn't bringing the gun up.

“Shoot him," she said, so close to Hardy that she felt her breath blow back from against his cheek.

Eric still didn't raise his gun.

"Shoot him!" she screamed, not caring that John Hardy flinched.  Indeed it gave her a certain pleasure.

Slowly he brought the gun up.

James Hardy stood back, hands up to the sides of his face.  "No," he pleaded.  "Please don't."

Emily smiled as Eric brought the muzzle level with John's eyes.  She waited for the blast.

It didn't come.  Incredulous, she watched the gun lower.

In the next second she found her voice.  "Shoot him!" she repeated.  "Goddamnit! Kill him!"

The hand holding the gun went down to Eric's side.

She couldn't believe any of it.  They
had
him.  "Kill the bastard!  Kill him!"  The heat radiated from her flushed cheeks.

Her father still gripped the young Hardy's collar.  He jerked on it, shifting his weight.  Looking at her, he said, "Quiet, Em."  There was a hard edge to his words.  "It's not right.  Not yet."

Emily denied her smarter self, ignored the edge.  "Why not?" she shouted.  "This is what we've been--"

"Shut up and go get the car," Eric's voice cut through, still low, but with an iciness added to the edge.

"But--"

"Get up and go."

Finally the look in his eyes registered on her.  She moved.  Shoving herself away from Hardy as if he were some filth, she scrambled to her feet.  The tears waited until she whirled away.  They burned hot on her cheeks, heedless of the frigid air.  Her eyes fell on the steel metal of her mother's pistol, lying in the snow, another bout of coughing in the background from Hardy.  She stopped and picked it up, turning it over in her hand, thinking back to the lampshade and how she had wished it had been Hardy.  Now they
had
him and she held the gun.  She looked over at Hardy and her father.

She could tell by his face Eric knew what she was thinking.

He shook his head and motioned for her to keep going.

Jamming the pistol into her jacket, she spun around with a scowl and stalked away.  Lower lip quivering, she rounded the bend.  Spying a rock on the road's edge, she picked it up and flung it with all her might aimlessly in the general direction of the river.

The cold gun barrel again pressed against him, this time on his neck.  John felt his collar tighten, then there was a powerful hauling on him that he couldn't ignore.  He struggled to get his feet under him.

His captor was at least twenty years older than himself, probably more.  Yet he was far stronger.  Especially now.

He hazarded a glance at his father.

"Thank you," James said weakly, taking a step forward.

"Don't move," the man ordered harshly.

The cold metal left his neck and John felt a shifting.  The man must have been pointing his gun at James.  "This isn't over."

"But you didn't--"

"I haven't killed him.  So you presume I won't."  The man paused, shaking his head slightly.  His voice was less harsh as he added, "I don't know what I'm going to do yet.  And I can promise nothing."

His father held out a hand.  "You could let him come with me."

The man didn't answer, except to shove the muzzle back against John's neck and push him ahead, away from his father.

'What are you going to do?" he heard James call after them.

"I'm going to satisfy myself about all this," the man said.  "You'll know when I've done so."

John was kept moving under a series of shoves.  His father called out several times, even after they were out of sight, but the man never answered.  He kept to his feet even as another round of coughs wracked him.

39

"No
answer," Eric said as he closed down the PDM's com program.  He'd let it seek a connection for a full two minutes without success.  He looked at the message from Bob again and said for the third time, "I wonder what Joan Devereux would want to talk to me about that couldn't wait."

And, for the third time, Emily sullenly ignored his words, listening to the shower water running in the bathroom, punctuated by the frequent cough or sneeze.  She just watched as he went through his suitcase, selecting fresh clothes in an almost casual manner.  She sniffed and wiped her cheeks.

“I just don't understand you," she finally said in a strained voice.

He glanced her way and walked out from between the dresser and bed.  Leaning on the bedpost, he said, "I know.  I have my reasons for doing this."

She shook her head emphatically.  "I can't think of any possible reason you could have for…"  She brushed her bangs back, running her hand over the top of her head.  "For…for not killing him.  What is it?  What
reason
kept you from shooting him?  I'd really like it if you'd share that with me.  We had him, Dad."

Eric looked at her without speaking for a long moment.  He broke the silence saying, "We still have him."

She felt the sensation return, the one from the first day on the road.  Only now it was intense.  It had definition to it.  She felt compelled to voice the question riding on it.  "Do you not have the nerve?"

"The nerve?" he shot back.  He took a step toward her.

The sensation fed her doubts.  "Well, that's how it looks.  Or do you just not care enough?"  That question was out before she had thought it over, before she had taken time to not say it.

"It's all I've been able to care about since we first learned about it.  My God, Em!"  He whirled away, then back to face her, leaning a little toward her.

Intimidated by his posture but defiant, she held eye contact, blinking back tears.

His cheeks glowed red and he glared as if to burn through her with his eyes.

"Then if you care so much, why didn't you blow his brains out," she cried.

He rocked back slightly, shifting his weight.  Some of the fire left his face, but the glare remained.  "Because."

"I'm not six years old anymore.  That won't work.  Goddammit, you
owe
me an explanation!  For days all we could think of was catching this filth and paying him back for what he did.  Well, we've got him, but we haven't killed him.  Why the hell not?"

"I'm not ready yet.  That's all."

"Well, if that's it, then give me back my gun.  I'll be glad to do it.  I'm all loaded up with
ready
," she said, gripping the arms of the chair.  "He killed my brother."  She blinked and felt tears squeeze out and run down both cheeks.

Eric leaned against the post.  “He killed my son.  You are--"

"Which only makes it impossible for me to understand why you didn't do it," she blurted out.

He continued doggedly.  "You are my daughter.  That gives me certain privilege and responsibility as a parent."

"What the hell does that mean with respect to all this?"

Eric sat heavily on the bed, sighing.  "Maybe Steve would understand."

"That man in there," Emily shouted, thrusting an extended finger at the bathroom, "he robbed you of that possibility.  As you just pointed out, I'm your daughter.  I'll have to do in Steve's absence.  Or would you rather it had been me?"

Swifter than she could imagine, her father was standing, leaning on the table so that he towered over her.  Again, the low, intense voice said, "Now you be quiet and listen to me."  He aimed a finger at her nose so close it almost touched.  "What I mean about Steve understanding was strictly from the point of view of
being
a parent.  There are just some things you don't want your children to do, or have to do, ever, no matter how old they are.  And I'm simply not prepared to see you become a killer."

"Me?  He's the one--"

"I said be quiet!" Eric snapped.  Then, back to the intense voice, he went on.  "There is something you need to learn.  I never talked about it because it was…I didn't want to remember, but now I have no choice.  First of all, I want to set your mind at ease on this matter:  If I, in the course of the next day or two, become convinced it is right to execute John Hardy, I will do so without delay.  Now, I want no further discussion of that particular subject.  What I need to tell you…is why I haven't done it yet."  He sat back on the bed.

Emily wiped more tears away, but kept her silence.

"Being certain is only a part of it.  A very important part, but not the whole.  The rest of it is a little more basic.  It has to do with taking a
life
, Em.  You remember I said there was more to my time in Bagdad than shooting that child?"

She nodded.

"Right after, I went a little crazy, I guess.  If the colonel had known what I was doing, I'd have been court-martialed.  It was a complete violation of orders.  I got things switched around so that I was always off duty at night.  No one knew, except this one guy, a buddy of mine.  He let me out through his guard post.

"You see, everyone in the post, all of us, were confined to our bases after dark.  It was that bad out in the city.  Even the Green Zone was considered too dangerous for a lone American.  At least while I was there.  But I was angry, crazy.  I didn't care about that anymore.  I…I don't know.  I guess it was 'cause I'd been forced to kill a child.  I guess I was looking for something.  Some way to pay for it.  Or something that would bring some sense to it.  But…nothing ever happened.  I went looking for trouble, but none really came.  There must've been plenty around, but none of it came my way.  To this day I don't know why.  You'd think someone would've seen me and wanted to do something to me because I was an American.

"I guess the thing I'm trying to tell you is that it is dreadfully serious to take a life.  Serious in ways you have no way of knowing yet.  Once it's done, that's it.  You can't reverse it.  It's over.  I know I had no choice when I shot that little boy.  Believe me, I've rationalized it over and over, but I still feel the guilt.  It'll be with me until I die; I know that.  Because, you see, I killed.  No matter the reason, I killed.  And I wish to God I hadn't.  I…ended a life, Em.  One barely started.  And there is no amount of rationalization that can fully justify it to me.  There should have been another way.  Even if it wasn't anything I could do, it doesn't matter.

"The sanctity of life is paramount.  I know that sounds like a cliché, but I believe it.  I'll still do it, if I need to.  But it wasn't necessary in the cemetery today.  We can do it… anytime."

"I'm ready now," Emily said.

"I know.  But it's not time.  And I'm not going to let you find that burden I've had for more than thirty years.  Not if I can do anything to keep it from you.  If anyone is going to kill John Hardy, it will be me."  Eric sighed, leaned back on his arms.  "You're going to drive."

"What for?"

He ignored her.  "Hardy is going to sit up front and I'll be behind him.  He won't be able to do a thing.  We're going straight home.  No stops."

"The hell with--"

"That is what we are going to do, like it or not.  It is not up for negotiation."

The water stopped in the shower.

Eric got up and went over to her jacket.  He pulled the little eight-millimeter out and removed the clip.  Checking the chamber, making sure it was empty, he then removed the bullets from the clip.  Pocketing them, he replaced the clip and handed the pistol to her.

"What good is it if the damned thing's--"

He interrupted her by holding up his hand.  He whispered, "He doesn't know that and I don't trust you with it loaded.  I haven't had a shower in a few days myself and I'm going to take a quick one.  I'm sure you can keep him cowed by exuding all that goodwill you feel for him."

Emily watched angrily as Eric tossed the clothes in to Hardy and told him to hurry it up.