Shoot the Woman First (23 page)

“What money?”

“That the way you're going to play it? Marquis's money. Did you think it was going to be that easy to keep it?”

She lowered her hands, watching him.

He dragged a chair over, sat, the shotgun across his knees, still angled at her. “You recognize this? I got it from your buddy Cordell.”

She looked at it, saw it was the Mossberg 12-gauge she'd used in Detroit. And the Mini Glock Roy had would be hers as well, the one she'd dropped in the driveway when she and Larry had run from the house.

“He held on to it all this time,” the man said. “Not sure why. Had a bag of guns and a bag of money in his girlfriend's apartment. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, I'm thinking. But he did outsmart you and your partners, right? So you have to give him some credit.”

“You work for Marquis?”

“People keep asking me that.”

“What happened to this Cordell you're talking about?”

“What do you think?” The Mossberg shifted on his legs. “And just so you know, there's 12-gauge buck in here, double-oh. You try to get up and I'll take your leg off at the knee before your ass even leaves that cushion.”

“You need that much gun for this?”

“Can't be too careful, all the shit I heard about you. Besides, man's gotta respect a shotgun, right? Woman, too. It cuts to the chase. It's that noise it makes when you rack it, lets people know you mean business.”

He opened his coat to show her the butt of a gun in his belt. “Now, that's for up close and personal.”

“I see.”

“Anyone else you want to ask me about?”

“No.”

“You sure? How about Ferron, the one you shot? You fucked him up good. Can't blame you, seeing what happened. Though it's still hard to believe a couple of numbnuts like that took down a crew of pros. Or at least I thought you were pros. Seeing you here now, I have to wonder. What are you doing here anyway? What was Black to you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not much, I guess. I found you, that's what counts.”

“If you don't work for Marquis, who do you work for?”

“Formerly for the Detroit Police Department. That was a while ago, though. My new profession pays a hell of a lot better, at least recently. I took a chunk of change off your friend Cordell. He didn't have time to spend much of it. But I knew there was more out there somewhere. And that's how we've come to the place we are right now.”

She nodded toward the other room. “And you trust him to help you with that?”

“He's something, isn't he? But he has his purpose. Doesn't like you much, I see. In fact, you just seem to piss people off everywhere you go.”

He got a pack of Newports from his jacket pocket, shook one loose, got it between his lips. The other hand stayed on the shotgun. He put the cigarettes away, got out a lighter. “You want me to tell you how this is going to go?”

“How's that?”

He lit the cigarette. “You've got money, maybe as much as a hundred and sixty thousand, from what I hear. And you've probably got some of it with you. That's what you're doing here, right? Delivering your partner's share to his family? Admirable. But in this case, not too smart.”

He put the lighter away, blew out smoke.

“Way it's going to go is, you're going to hand over that money to me. Or if it's not here in this house, you're going to take me where it is, while Shithead in there stays with the women. And if you give me the runaround, I make a call and he starts doing them one by one until I tell him to stop. The little girl, too.”

“You think he's got the stones for that?”

“We'll find out. And when that collateral is used up, you get a chance to decide how much your own life is worth. Is it worth a hundred and sixty thousand?”

“There was never that much.”

“Oh, no? Then how much was there?”

“It doesn't matter. You're not going to let any of us live anyway.”

“That's where you're wrong. All I want is the jack. You think I want to be in here waving a shotgun around, scaring women and children? You think I want to be down here at all? I take your money and leave you alive, what are you going to do anyway? Call the cops? Come after me? That would be a foolish thing.”

“I don't even know who you are.”

“That's right. And better that way.”

“Marquis will want his money back. Sooner or later he'll hear you found it.”

“Fuck Marquis. He thinks he's some sort of criminal genius. He runs a few ghetto blocks in the most fucked-up city in the country. Marquis can do what he wants. He can't touch me.”

Roy came out into the living room, the gun in his belt. “What's going on?”

“We're talking,” the man said. “Go back in there.”

“She tell you where the money is?”

“There won't be any money if one of them gets away, finds a phone. I told you, don't leave them alone.”

Roy looked at Crissa. “Don't trust her.”

“Go on back. Keep an eye on them. I'll come in in a few, let you know what the deal is.”

Roy went back in. The man looked at her, said, “You've got some balls. But brains, too, I hope. Because all four of you can walk away from this like nothing happened. I might even let you keep a piece of that money yourself.”

“I'm supposed to believe that?” she said.

“Believe what you like. But I've always considered myself a reasonable man. One of my virtues.” He blew out smoke.

“Like I said, it was never a hundred and sixty.”

“How much, then?”

She shifted in her seat. He moved the shotgun to cover her, his finger on the trigger.

“Larry's share was only half that,” she said. “Eighty thousand. And some of that got spent already.”

“What happened to your cut?”

“It's laundered and gone.”

“I guess I expected that. So where's the other eighty?”

“I told you, it's less than that.”

“Where is it?”

“Close by.”

“There, see? Now we're getting someplace.”

She nodded at the other room. “What about him?”

“He's got nothing to do with this.”

“He thinks he does.”

“He can think what he wants. This is between you and me.”

Crissa looked down the hallway to the kitchen, the brightly lit yard beyond. No one at the back door. So maybe it was just the two of them, and there was a way to play them out of the house with no one getting hurt.

“What do you say?” the man said. “Comes down to it, way things are right now, you don't really have a lot of choices.”

“I don't care about the money. I care about the little girl.”

“Then that makes the choice simpler, right?”

“It's in the house, but you'll never find it on your own.”

“Don't push me,” he said. “Especially when we're just starting to make progress. I could kill all of you, then spend all night looking. I'd find it eventually.”

“You might. You might not. And Nancy”—she lifted her chin toward the other room—“is a nurse. She was due at the hospital an hour ago. They'll call at some point, to check. And if they get no answer, they'll send someone out. So you may not have much time.”

He frowned. “Shit's never easy with you, is it?”

“Get rid of him.” She pointed at the other room. “And I'll get you the money.” Wanting them separated. Better odds if an opportunity arose.

“What difference is it to you?” he said.

“Way I want it. I don't trust him around the girl.”

He looked at her for a moment, dropped the cigarette on the carpet. He stood, the shotgun at port arms, ground the butt out with his heel, and said, “Mapes, get out here.”

“What?”

“I said get out here.”

Roy came out into the living room, the gun still in his belt. The man took keys from his jacket pocket, tossed them. Roy caught them in the air.

“Go get the car,” the man said. “Bring it up the driveway.”

“Why?”

“Because we're not staying long, and I'm not walking all the way back through those woods when we're done. Just do it. Leave the engine running.”

Roy went out the front door. The breeze moved the balloon along the ceiling.

“I don't think he'd mind if you had a bullet in your head when we left here,” the man said.

“He's not much of a partner for someone like you.”

“He isn't. Now get the money.”

“I want to check on them first.”

“Forget it. Get up.”

She rose slowly, not wanting to spook him.

“Which way?” he said.

“Upstairs.”

“Let's go.”

She felt the shotgun muzzle against her lower back. Wondered if she could turn fast enough, sweep it out of the way with an elbow, get ahold of the stock, pull it from his hands. But if it didn't work, she'd be gut shot or dead. And he wouldn't leave three witnesses to a murder. She needed to bide her time, keep her eyes open.

She went down the hall and up the stairs, the man close behind.

“So Cordell's dead,” she said.

He poked her back with the shotgun.

“And his partner, too?”

“Shut up. Walk.”

She went into Nancy's bedroom, pointed at the closet.

“Go on,” he said.

She opened the sliding door, pulled the light cord. He stood a few feet behind her, the shotgun at waist level. She pushed clothes out of the way, reached up with both hands, got fingertips on the panel there, pushed it up and slid it over.

“Anything comes out of there except money,” he said, “and your insides are going to be all over that wall.”

She reached until she felt nylon, hooked one of the bag straps, pulled it toward her. She used both hands to bring the bag down out of the hole.

“Just the one?” he said.

“Just the one.”

“Put it on the bed. Open it.”

She unzipped the bag, pulled it open.

“Dump it out,” he said. “Let's see what we've got.”

They heard tires in the gravel driveway, saw headlights through the bedroom window. Roy coming back with the car.

She spilled the banded cash onto the bed, stepped back. He came closer, the shotgun still on her, picked up one of the money packs, fanned the bills with a thumb, dropped it back with the others.

“That looks about right,” he said. “I'll take your word for how much is in there.”

“That's all that's left.”

“Put it back in the bag.”

She replaced the money, zipped the bag shut. They heard the front door open.

He stepped forward, put the shotgun muzzle to the left side of her head. “I could do it now. Just like this.”

“Then you'd have to kill all of us.”

“I could do that, too.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw his finger tighten on the trigger. She closed her eyes.

“Burke,” Roy called from downstairs. “Where are you?”

“Asshole,” Burke said under his breath. He took the shotgun away. She opened her eyes.

“Just fucking with you,” he said. “Go on, get the bag.”

She picked it up, went into the hall, felt him behind her as they went downstairs.

Roy was in the living room. He looked at the bag, said, “That it?”

Burke ignored him. He moved to one side, looking at Crissa, and she knew he was thinking it through, what to do next.

“You got what you came for,” she said to him. “Take it. No one will come after you.”

“That's the last thing I was worried about, to be honest,” Burke said. “But you're right, it's just about the money, isn't it?”

“What are you saying?” Roy said. “You can't let her walk out of here.”

“Anybody ask your opinion?” Burke said. He'd moved to Crissa's left, let the barrel of the shotgun drop. He was right-handed, so to fire he'd have to shift awkwardly, bring the gun around. It might give her the few seconds she needed.

“If it wasn't for me,” Roy said, “you wouldn't—”

“Here,” Crissa said. “You want it, take it.” And threw the bag at Roy's face.

He reached up instinctively, caught it with both hands, and she moved in fast, yanked the Glock from his belt, shoved him backward, spun, and came up with the gun in a two-handed grip, pointed at Burke's chest.

The bag hit the floor. Roy fell back, tripped over the edge of the couch, landed on the carpet. Burke swung the muzzle of the Mossberg toward her. She held the front sight of the Glock on his chest, aiming for center mass, finger tight on the trigger.

They stayed that way for a long moment. Then Burke grinned.

“Well, here we go,” he said. “You trust yourself to get a shot in before I take off your head?”

“I won't have to,” she said. “My body will do it for me. A spasm in my finger'll be enough. At this range, I won't miss.”

He shook his head, still grinning. Roy got to his feet.

“What I should have done,” Burke said, “is just taken your head off the minute you walked in the door, then searched the house myself. Sooner or later, I'd have found the money, saved myself a lot of aggravation.”

“Why didn't you?” Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“I don't know. Curious to talk to you, I guess. After everything I'd heard.”

“Now you have.”

“Do it,” Roy said. “Shoot her.”

“You could do that,” she said. “But then you'd have a real mess to clean up, wouldn't you? And all you really want is the money.”

“Don't listen to her,” Roy said.

“There's your money right there,” she said. “Take it. Walk away. Nothing's stopping you.”

“I don't know if I can,” Burke said. “After all the trouble you put me through.”

“Would killing me make you feel better?”