Pyramid Deception (21 page)

Cindy's head snapped back. “What? You think Hannibal did this? Are you high? He was working for the man.”

“You stupid bitch,” Nas said, waving his gun back and forth between Hannibal and Cindy. “He wasn't working for Wash. He was working for that white bitch, Irene. We thought we got there in time, but I guess she got to the tough guy here before we got to her.”

“That was you?” Hannibal asked with genuine surprise. These three didn't feel like drive by shooters or barroom sneak attackers. “What the hell? Irene wasn't a client. I met with her to get information about Wash…”

“Yeah, to kill him,” Eddie said, taking a menacing step forward. “First she squeezes Mama out, then she figures to take Papa Wash out and get all his money.”

“Whoa!” Cindy shook her head in surprise. “Mama? You guys are Sarah's boys?”

“I can't believe she set us up,” Hannibal said. “Does your momma know she raised a pack of thugs?”

Eddie reacted to Hannibal's remark with a hard backhand slap that sent his Oakleys spinning off into the darkness. Hannibal staggered but refused to fall.

“Ain't that some shit?” Darryl said. “A hit man calling US thugs. Well, maybe we have moved some drugs and helped get some losers to repay their debts, but none of us ever killed nobody for money.”

“You are on drugs,” Cindy said. “You idiots think Hannibal's a killer? He was only talking to Irene to…”

“To set up the hit,” Darryl said. “We know how these white girls do. She hung with Wash until she found herself a young lawyer, then she figured to get Wash out of the way. But we got ahead of that shit. They had to go.”

“You gunned her down,” Hannibal said through clenched teeth. “Right in front of me.”

Cindy's mind went elsewhere. “Jason. You assholes killed Jason, didn't you? He never did a thing to you but you murdered him just for kicks. You bastards!”

Cindy had gotten past her anger, perhaps too far past it, Hannibal thought. He needed to get the brothers' attention.

“It wasn't for fun, was it, Darryl? Jason needed to die to cover up the murder, and make me out to be a liar.”

“Yeah, that was pretty slick, wasn't it?” Darryl said, nodding. “We had to make out like Irene just ran away with her boyfriend,
so he had to disappear. Had the cops going there for a while, didn't we?”

“Enough bullshit,” Eddie said. “Let's just get them in the ground.”

Hannibal gave it one last shot. “You guys don't have to do this. I'm pretty good at reading people and I think I got to understand your mother during our little chat. She might accept you breaking the law from time to time but trust and believe she would not want her boys to be murderers. And I swear to you, I didn't kill Wash. If you kill me you'll think it's over and you'll never find out who really did it.”

“Shut the hell up,” Darryl said. He pulled a small automatic out of his coat and a screw-on silencer from his pocket. “Drag your ass over there in what's left of the garage and we'll do this quick and painless. If you've been doing this for a while I'm sure you know how this works.”

“Not really. And I suspect you don't either.”

Hannibal had been waiting for an opportunity, any small distraction that would give him a chance at survival, or at least offer Cindy a chance. Fate had always thrown him a bone when he needed it, and that was all he prayed for now.

The slim chance came in the form of a car turning the corner toward them. For an instant, headlights racked across the brothers' backs. They would ignore it if allowed to. But Hannibal was ready to make something out of nothing.

“Cops!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Three men spun to face the light. Two raised their guns. Hannibal spun and charged for the trees. He could hear Cindy's footsteps to his left and slightly behind him.

In his mind the scene played out like a film in slow motion. Three men faced what they assumed was a threat. One second: looking for a target. Two seconds: focus on the car moving past them, looking hard to see if it bore the lights or lettering of an official vehicle. Three seconds: looking at each other, realizing they had been fooled. Four seconds: turning back, guns raised, staring into the darkness, wanting to kill their captives but not to
fire shots that might get neighbors' attention unless they were sure they would hit their targets.

By then Hannibal and Cindy were thirty yards away and opening the gap with every step. That was a long shot with a handgun even in daylight with a stationary target. After a full five seconds the brothers finally decided to give chase. By then, Hannibal was past the first trees and into the wooded area.

“Left,” he whispered to Cindy. Two steps later he said, “Down,” and dropped into the dead leaves and moss. On his belly on the damp, cold ground he held as still as possible. Beside him, Cindy did the same. He leaned to get his mouth as close to her ear as possible.

“Do you still have your heels on?”

She nodded, still panting but as quietly as she could.

“Throw one. To the right. Hard as you can.”

Hannibal tried to relax into the shadows. Cindy's clothes rustled. She gave a short grunt. After two seconds of silence he heard the desired crash through the trees, followed by three sets of footsteps. A simple deception, but he was betting that his pursuers had never gone camping or hiking.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Just scared to death. What do we do?”

“First, can you get a tear going in this tape around my hands? “

Cindy gave no verbal response but he heard her squirming around and then felt her breath on his arms. Her teeth did the job and once the duct tape was torn he was able to rip it and free his hands with little effort.

“Now?” she asked.

“Nearest house.” Hannibal got to his feet with as little noise as possible. He kissed Cindy's cheek, then moved in a quiet crouch toward the back of the house on the right of George Washington Monroe's death site. First they stepped past the tree line onto the well-tended grass. Then Hannibal led his woman along the tree line until they stood facing the neighbor's
sprawling deck. He dropped to his knees, she followed suit, and they moved toward the gate at a fast crawl.

By the time they reached the wooden steps Hannibal's knees were soaked and he figured Cindy's knees were sore. She must have regretted wearing a dress, but he was very glad they both wore black. Even if the Thomas brothers spotted their movement they would be darned difficult targets.

Were they in fact the Thomas brothers? Even as he crept up onto the hardwood deck, Hannibal wondered if the boys with different fathers had all taken their mother's name.

Cindy crawled up onto the deck and stopped beside Hannibal, leaning against the sliding glass door. Automatic lights glowed in the floor of the deck, but a large gas grill shielded her from outside eyes. For a moment they seemed safe. Hannibal jiggled the door handle.

“You going to knock?”

“I doubt I'd be heard,” Hannibal said. “There are no lights on the main level. They're either downstairs in the media room taking in a movie, or upstairs in bed early. Either way, they wouldn't hear a knock on the back door.”

“Can you force the door?”

“Maybe, but I'd rather break the glass.” Hannibal glanced around the deck, then decided to raise the grill lid just enough to grab a section of the heavy cooking grate.

“With a house this fine, won't they have an alarm?” Cindy asked.

“Sure hope so,” Hannibal said. “A nice loud one, that's connected to one of those services that sends the cops running in nine point eight seconds. Believe me, I want to get caught breaking in here. The Three Stooges will scatter but we can always find them later, when they're not the only ones with guns.”

Hannibal waved Cindy away. Holding the iron grate with both hands he raised it overhead and swung it down, slamming a corner into the glass. He was anticipating the scream of an
ear-splitting alarm. What he got was the muted crackle of safety glass being pierced.

Cindy smirked. “No alarm.”

“I'm betting they've got one and are just too lazy to set it when they're home.”

“They might be even lazier,” Cindy said. “What if no one's home?”

“Well, nothing says we can't go inside and call the police the old fashioned way.”

Grateful for his gloves, Hannibal reached into the hole and flipped the lever to unlock the glass door. He slid it open and stepped inside, waving Cindy behind him. Sliding it closed, he locked it again, mostly by habit. Then he went to the bottom of the steps to the second floor.

“Hello, upstairs. If you're armed please don't fire. We're being pursued by muggers but you're safe if you stay where you are. Just let me know you're there, and then call the police.” Greeted by silence, Hannibal opened the door to the lower level and made the same announcement.

“Looks like we're alone,” Cindy said. “And it's kind of spooky in here. Can I turn on a light?”

“Not a good idea,” Hannibal said. He pulled a mini Maglite from his jacket pocket. “Let's just find the phone and call for help.”

Cindy followed him as they explored the house. The layout of the main level was very open, but two rooms had doors and Hannibal looked in both. One was clearly used as an office. If there was a phone he would have expected to find it there.

“Not seeing a land line. Maybe they just have cell phones.”

“Nothing weird about that,” Cindy said. “I don't have a land line in my place. But we do have the computer. I'll just send a series of tweets and Facebook everyone I know. Somebody will have to be at the keyboard.”

Cindy sat down and turned the computer on. It was up and ready in less than two minutes, but after a few tentative taps at the keys she dropped her hands.

“So much for that idea,” she said. “Password protected.”

“What? Who the hell puts a password on their computer at home?”

Cindy slowly raised her hand. “Pretty much everybody but you. So, on to the next house?”

“Maybe.” Hannibal went to the dining room window and eased the curtain back. He saw Eddie's bulky form lumber past. He had a gun now too.

“They're still wandering around out there,” Hannibal said. “I think it's safer to stay here and make this place our fortress.”

“For how long?”

“Well, when the owners come home we can get them to call the police,” Hannibal said. “That's the safest option.”

“With our luck they'll be out of town.”

“In which case we'll leave in the morning,” Hannibal said. “I doubt those three will roam the neighborhood all night. Even if they do, morning will bring safety. They're not going to gun us down in broad daylight.”

With Hannibal in the lead they explored the lower level of the house, still partly hoping in vain for a telephone or unsecured computer. He also hoped the residents were hunters but there was no sign of any firearms, just fishing equipment in the storage room. He also found some basic tools and thought a hammer might be a handy last-ditch weapon, so he stuffed one into his belt.

The rest of the lower level was one big room the owners must have used for entertaining, with a guest room setup at one end and an exercise space at the other. It would be a safe place to hole up, but offered little concealment and only one door easily blocked. Besides, Hannibal wanted to be able to see outside so they moved back up. He detoured to the kitchen in search of a snack. After gathering cheese, crackers and a couple of sodas he turned to go and noticed Cindy leaning on the island with both hands.

“Tired, babe?”

“Exhausted. I'm sure it's more emotional than physical. Burned a lot of nervous energy.”

Hannibal threw an arm around her. “Actually, you're doing really well. A lot of people just collapse after having a gun pointed at them. Once we're upstairs you can collapse. Can you take some of this stuff?”

Cindy took the two soda bottles. Hannibal reached to the professional looking knife block and slid out the biggest blade, a cleaver. Just in case.

“Hey, don't I get one?”

“Are you expecting to stab somebody?”

“No,” Cindy said with a smile, “but I never expect to stab somebody.” Hannibal nodded, and pulled out the second biggest knife as well.

Upstairs Hannibal looked into each room, making sure no Goldilocks was sleeping unaware of their presence. After some consideration he decided to bypass the cavernous master bedroom and settle in the second biggest of the four available. The room was decorated in muted pastels, as generic as any hotel room. In fact, he would have sworn the pictures on the wall were stolen from a hotel. Night tables on either side of the queen size bed held silver lamps. A dresser with a big mirror stood against the outside wall. He went in, dumped his food and weapons on the bed, then went back out and turned to face into the room.

Standing in the doorway he faced a window in the opposite wall. There were two windows in that wall, with the dresser between them. If he was oriented right, that was the east wall. They would get early morning sun. The wall to his right, the south wall, held a closet and the wall-mounted television. The door was at one end of the west wall. The head of the bed was pushed against the north wall. One could roll off the side of the bed to the east and hide from someone in the doorway.

“Relax here for a minute, babe,” Hannibal said. “I've got an idea. Got to run downstairs but be right back.”

Hannibal jogged down to the basement but on his way back up again stopped in the kitchen. He found a nice bottle of white
wine chilling in the refrigerator and grabbed two glasses from the china cabinet and found a corkscrew in a kitchen drawer.

When he got back to his chosen room for the night he found Cindy propped up on two pillows on the bed just sitting in the dark. One of the kitchen knives was clutched tightly in her right fist.