The Lethal Bones Page 8

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  "I'll be back this evening, and we'll figure something out, okay? Don't lose faith. I got your back on this."

  “Yeah. Thanks, Lucas. I appreciate it.”

  He leaned forward and clapped Ben on the shoulder a couple of times. Then, as he stood up, the sound of glass breaking came from a back room. A quick crinkle, then a few seconds of silence followed.

  Lucas turned in that direction. He cocked his head into the hallway, and Ben had a feeling. He didn’t know how he knew, but a tidal wave of dread came over him. Something was about to change. Something bad.

  Ben stood. “Lucas, don’t —”

  But he didn’t get to finish the sentence. The sound of three chirps filled the room. Like three car doors slamming, all within one second. Three rapid whiffs of air into the room.

  The first bullet entered Lucas' chest, and the next two went into his head.

  At this angle, Ben saw the third bullet blow out the back of Lucas' skull. A cone of red sprayed the framed Peyton Manning poster on the wall. Ben heard it hit the glass, a sickening wet sound.

  Lucas collapsed like a puppet whose controller had dropped the strings. On the floor, he jiggled once, then stilled. His eyes were glassy. Dead, in an instant. Just like Kenny in the alley, a spasm followed by eyes gone blank.

  A scream came from the other corner of the room. Ben swiveled his head to see Marietta standing under the arch leading to the bedrooms, her eyes wide, unbelieving. She was holding a laundry basket in front of her waist.

  Ben tried to open his mouth, tried to tell her to move. To get out. He wanted to scream and yell at her and fight back and run all at the same time, all in the same moment Lucas fell to the floor, and the blood began pooling around him.

  But Ben couldn’t force a word out. He froze, feeling helpless to stop this onslaught.

  Another bullet sailed across the room to her, striking the laundry basket. A puff of feathers from a down pillow ejected into the air.

  Ben looked back to see a short and thin white guy standing at the end of the hallway. He was creeping forward, holding up a pistol with a long noise suppressor on the end of it. Ben recognized him from the alley. Not Dalton, but one of the four guys who had chased him to the storage place.

  Ben reacted then, finally. He snatched a heavy dinner plate from the table and flung it, frisbee style, at the intruder. The disc soared through the air and nailed the man in the forearm. He yelped and dropped the pistol. But he quickly recovered and leaned down, reaching for his weapon.

  Ben sprung into action then. No time to plan another retaliation, but he did notice that the shooter hadn’t taken out Lucas’ wife. Marietta was still standing in the archway — the bullet had not struck her. The laundry basket and down pillow had saved her life. Somewhere in the pile of folded towels and bedsheets, between the plastic frame of the basket and her stomach, the bullet had slowed and stopped.

  He raced toward her as she screamed, staring down at Lucas on the floor. She seemed to be frozen in time, paralyzed, only her mouth moving and her shoulders heaving as she sucked in air to fuel her wails.

  As Ben ran, the attacker made contact with his gun and got his fingers around the grip. Ben crossed the room in a fraction of a second. He snatched Marietta by the hand and dragged her into the hallway. The laundry basket tumbled to the ground, and a collection of linens spilled out of the open end.

  Back toward the bedrooms. There had to be a window — a way to escape, away from this man.

  Ben patted his pocket and found his truck keys there. The bedrooms were on the front side of the house, and his truck was parked in the street just beyond the small front yard. If he could get out a window, maybe there was still time.

  “Lucas!” Marietta shouted, pointing back toward the living room.

  “He’s gone,” Ben said as he dragged her down the hall. “We have to go. If we get to my truck, we can escape.”

  Ben set his sights on the room at the end of the hall, but a new figure jumped out of the bathroom. Ben recognized him immediately. A second guy, another of the men from the Five Points Branch Ben had seen in the alley. Pistol in hand, dark skullcap pulled low, almost covering his eyes.

  But the guy’s gun was not raised, and Ben decided to take advantage of that fact.

  Not anymore, he thought. I’m done being chased and shot at.

  Ben kicked as hard as he could, planting his foot directly into the guy’s groin. The man grunted, sucked in a quick breath of pain, and stumbled back, bumping into the wall. A couple of framed pictures rattled, and one fell on top of his head.

  Ben was still moving when the guy started to recover. Ben grabbed the man’s skullcap, digging his fingers up and under the edge of the cap for leverage, and then he pushed his head to the other side of the hallway. The momentum caused the man to follow his own head, smashing his face against a small end table outside the bedroom. Blood sprouted from a spot on the guy’s temple.

  He wasn’t dead, and Ben thought about going for his gun but decided against it. The assassin in the kitchen would be here in another second.

  He pulled Marietta into the bedroom. The window that led to the front yard was open, the drapes on either side swaying in the breeze. No screen, a straight shot outside the house.

  Ben pushed Marietta through the open window as he yanked his keys from his pocket.

  Twenty more feet to the truck. Twenty more feet to freedom.

  If they could make it that far without catching a bullet in the back.

  15

  Ben stood by the window at their room at the Motel 6, peeking through the curtains. The night sky held no stars, a stark change from his time wandering the Midwest. The glow of the streetlights illuminated a parking lot full of cars. Dormant, waiting for their owners to come back and operate them.

  He thought he'd done a decent job of leaving Lucas' neighborhood unseen, but he couldn't be sure. He wasn't an expert in espionage and car chases or losing a tail. He wasn't an expert in any of it, really. From the bear attack to the fire to Yellowstone to Rocky Mountain, Ben had been a passenger so often he didn't know how to to take control. His whole life had been a cruel joke played on him by The Fates.

  As the sun finished its descent below the mountains to the west, he realized he'd seen two people shot to death directly in front of him. In a single day. The second was one of the best friends — and one of the only friends — he'd ever had.

  Killed in his own home, in the same room as his new wife, who'd seen everything. He'd been holding a plate of Ben's unfinished chalupas in his hand. Three quick bullets and the light went out of him. No more.

  Ben knew nothing about the murdered young man Kenneth, but he'd clearly had no intention of dying today. He was in that alley as part of his normal routine of going about life, making choices, experiencing joy and pain, love, and loss.

  A bullet to the head had erased him forever.

  Ben didn’t know if he would ever get used to seeing death. Maybe it wasn’t possible.

  Behind him, Marietta wept softly. He hadn’t turned around to look at her in several minutes. It wouldn’t matter. She hadn’t spoken for at least an hour. Not since Ben had taken up a position next to the front door, staring out as the sky morphed from blue to red to purple to gray. Now black.

  When he took his phone out of his pocket, he caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral. She was sitting on the bed, texting on her phone. He wanted to ask her who she was texting with, but it didn’t seem right to question her.

  He tapped the number on his phone to call Ember. After several rings, it finally went to voicemail. "Hey, it's me," he said. "Calling you again. I could really use some guidance here. We don't know what to do. I don't think we're safe and we need options for next steps. Please call me as soon as you get this. There's no one else for me to go to."

  When he couldn't think of anything else to say, Ben ended the call. He put the phone back into his pocket, then just stood at
the door for a full minute. Finally, he acknowledged Marietta."I — I know this is terrible right now," he said to Marietta without turning around. "I'm all messed up, too."

  “You’re all messed up?” she said. “You have no idea.”

  “He was… my friend.”

  “He was my husband, Ben. I —” she started to talk, but then she sucked in a few quick breaths, staggering through each of them. Still, somehow, she was able to speak. “B — but I’m the one who has to plan his funeral and… and figure out all his stuff. I mean, we didn’t even have wills. We thought we were too young for that. We discussed going to a lawyer to get that done, but we figured, what’s the rush? We were still settling into our house.”

  He considered crossing the room to comfort her but found he couldn't even turn to face her. Besides, I don’t know anything about any of that stuff, anyway. I’d be no help to her.

  And then, before he could stave it off, the real thought fell into place in his head. And you’re the one she’s going to blame, too. You’re the one who brought this on Lucas.

  Outside, lights flashed in the window from a car that was pulling into the lot.

  His skin began to crawl. He took a step back as the danger warnings pulsated all over his brain. “Marietta,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “Get your things.”

  “What?”

  He finally turned to find her already standing, holding her phone. Wiping tears from her eyes. She looked ready to leave.“That — that’s my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She’s coming to pick me up.”

  “Wait a second. I don’t know if that’s a smart idea. If you walk out of here, I can’t protect you.”

  “You can’t protect me now.”

  “Those people could still be after us.”

  She stomped across the room and squared up against him. “You. They’re coming after you. They were never coming for me. They were never coming for Lucas, but my husband is dead because of what you did.” Her lip quivered as she delivered the next line. “The funeral will be the day after tomorrow. You can come, but don’t talk to me. Now get out of my way.”

  He felt as if a knife had been plunged into his chest. “Can I at least get your phone number? I need to make sure you’re going to be safe.”

  “No. I have yours. I’ll text you about the funeral.”

  “But…” the words stalled in his mouth.

  With a glare he thought might singe his eyebrows, she brushed past him, pushing him out of the way. The door slammed closed behind her.

  And, just like that, Ben was alone.

  His body wanted to collapse, but he managed to find the corner of the bed to sit. All this chaos. Was he really responsible for Lucas’ death? If not, who? Ember? She would be easy to blame for all this, but it didn’t seem right.

  His pocket buzzed, and he took it out to see Ember's number on the screen. He held the phone up to his ear but didn't say anything. His erratic breathing filled the silence for a few seconds.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Where have you been? I’ve called about ten times.”

  "Sorry about that. I haven't been able to listen to my messages yet. I have not forgotten about you, I promise. I know you need help, but the best thing you can do is hide away until I can get some things taken care of. The world has turned into a crazy carnival right now. The events of this morning are going to have some far-reaching… I don't know how to explain the shit-show that's going on out here in the Club. It's bad for everyone right now."

  "Bad for everyone? I watched my best friend take a bullet a couple of hours ago."

  “Wait. What?”

  He opened his mouth to recount the tale for her. Once the words started, he had trouble keeping them in. It all flowed out him, like sitting on the therapist’s couch.

  “Back at Lucas’ house, men came for us. At least two of them. I recognized them both from the alley. One of them killed Lucas with bullets to the head. Just like Kenneth. They tried to get Marietta, but I dragged her down the hall and out an open window. Lucky I already had my keys in my pocket, or they would have gotten us.”

  Ember was silent on the other end.

  “You there?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “That… that was quick thinking. You saved her life today, and that’s a big deal.”

  “I didn’t think quickly enough, apparently. My best friend is dead.”

  "I'm sorry about that. I'm going to make it right."

  “How are you going to make this right? You can’t bring him back. What can you do to erase everything that happened today?”

  She sighed. "If I had a magic wand, I would abracadabra all this shit. But I don't. All I can do is tell you I'll do everything in my power to make sure no one else dies as a result of what's already happened."

  Ben grunted but didn’t reply.

  “Are you somewhere safe?”

  “I’m at a Motel 6 in Westminster.”

  “Sit tight. I’ll have someone come by and check on you. I can’t at the moment, but I’ll come pick you up, first thing in the morning. We’re going to make a plan, Ben. And we’ll get these bastards who killed your friend. I promise you.”

  16

  Ember knocked on the door to room 105 at the Motel 6. She looked left and right one last time before deciding for sure no one had followed her here. There were good sniper positions in the trees across the street, but she’d walked underneath them on her way over to check. Rooftops were too far away for surveillance, and the room was in the middle of the row. No one would come at her without her seeing it first. No doubt about that.

  A moment later, the door swung back. Ben stood there, eyes darting left and right behind her.

  “Get inside,” he said.

  “It’s clean out here. I’m alone.”

  He flashed his eyes. “Please, come in anyway.”

  Ember walked past him and sat on the bed. “My first piece of advice: I could see you looking at me through the peephole. If I’d meant to do you harm, I could have put a bullet through your eye right there. Despite what you see in the movies, a wooden door won’t stop a bullet, and definitely not from one of my pistols. It’ll go through the door, and probably through you, too.” When he glanced at the curtains next to the door, she said, “And don’t pull back the curtains, either. That’s the second place I’d look for you.”

  “Then how am I supposed to know who’s at the door if I can’t stand in front of it?”

  “You lean closer to the door hinges and hold up a mirror to the peephole. If somebody shoots, the worst they’ll do is put a bullet in your forearm.”

  “Oh, is that all?”

  He shut the door and wandered past her. As he slumped onto the other bed, she got a good look at him. Hair mussed, dark brown bags under his eyes, wearing the same clothes as when she’d seen him yesterday.

  “Marietta is fine. Her mother lives down in Castle Rock, and it’s out of the way. I have no reason to think anyone knows where she is or has any intention of going after her.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Ember shrugged. “Sure, I guess I’m sure. I mean, not like go-for-a-true-daily-double-on-Jeopardy sure, but within reason. A member of the DAC has to have a really good reason to take out a civilian.”

  “And what will they say is their reason for killing Lucas Gòdia?”

  She thought about this for a moment, then said, "Dalton will say he came to talk to you about why you were in the alley and you attacked him, so Lucas was an unfortunate casualty."

  He scooted back on the bed. "‘An unfortunate casualty.'"

  “I know it sounds awful, but it will be a good enough explanation for the Review Board.”

  “Wow, well if that’s all it takes to get past your special little ‘Review Board,’ it’s a wonder your Club still even has rules.”

  She flashed him a glance but then changed the subject. "Did you sleep?"

  He shook his head. “Watched some TV. Did
a lot of thinking.”

  “That’s usually not a good thing.”

  Ben looked at his hands. “Wasn’t exactly the sort of night I can just sleep like a baby through.”

  “No, I guess not. Not if…”

  “What?” he asked. “Not if I’m not trained?”

  “I was going to say not if you’re not used to it. Death, killing. You sort of get used to it.”

  “I’m not sure I want to.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Ben sighed. "You know, one thing I realized last night? With all my wandering around the country lately, I've spent so much time alone. So, you'd think I would have had a lot of time to figure things out, being with just me and my thoughts. But, no. I realized my brain has been just… empty for a long time now. Basically, since I left Rocky Mountain. It's just a big blur of gas stations and highway rest stops. Isn't that weird?"

  “Not at all. I’ve spent plenty of time running from my problems.”

  Ben rubbed his temples. “Yeah.”

  "I didn't know Dalton would be there in the alley. Last I heard he was on a contract in London. If I had known I would never have sent you there yesterday."

  “You guys go all over the world?”

  "Some of us do. It depends on the Branch, and who's arranging the contracts. Dalton does contracts for some guy named The Chef. He's part of the Five Points Branch, but he's not public. He communicates mostly over the message board."

  “Like a Craigslist for killers.”

  “A little more organized than that, but, yes.” Ember smiled, but it didn’t stick.

  "I see." His voice drifted off, and he sat quiet, staring at the ceiling.

  “I really am sorry about your friend. I know that’s not enough, and never will be, but I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

  Ben held up a hand. “No. No more apologies. I spent a lot of time angry at you last night, but this really isn’t your fault. I wanted to do this. I wanted to chase a high, to feel something. I knew you weren't completely honest with me, but I went into that alley anyway. I knew it was dangerous, and I chose to do it anyway. That's not on you."