Hustle Page 19

  When he looked back out at the deck, Raphael was gone from his view. He didn’t think anything of it until a few more minutes went by. Usually Raphael only took a couple hits, then came back in. His young friend wasn’t one for spontaneous nature walks. Raphael wouldn’t leave houseguests unattended either—hosting was one of his only skills.

  Terrence watched the empty deck and waited. His instincts started to kick in; he got up and went to the front of the house, pulled back a curtain, and peeked through one of the many glass windows. Nothing out there, no strange cars, no movement. He still felt unsettled. He went back into the kitchen and reached down to one of the bottom drawers beside the sink. From it, he pulled a Glock 17 and a fresh clip. He slapped the clip into the gun.

  Miranda saw the gun in Terrence’s hand and looked like she wanted to say something, but fear kept her quiet.

  Not Dustin, he saw the gun and his senses immediately sharpened. “What is it?”

  “Nothin’,” said Terrence as he racked it and put one in the chamber.

  Dustin told Gabriel, “That’s enough readin’, sign it now.”

  Terrence stepped to the sliding glass door and pulled it open. Without going through, he called out to Raphael. No response. “Shit.”

  At the table, Dustin was hurrying Gabriel and Miranda up. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s go. Sign that thing. Gather up your shit, we’re going upstairs. Move it.”

  “Look,” said Miranda, “I don’t know what’s going on here. But, if I were called to testify that the signor was under some form of duress …”

  Dustin’s face curled up like a gargoyle’s. “Bitch, get your shit and move.”

  Miranda’s eyes and mouth popped into the same oval shape. “I … I …”

  Dustin reached across the table and took a fistful of her hair and gave it a sharp tug. She whimpered but didn’t speak. She started stuffing papers into her floral briefcase.

  “Raphael?” Terrence called again, louder this time. Still, no response. The clamor behind him at the table was making it hard to hear. He pointed the gun out the door, followed by one foot, then the other. He was studying the lines between the boards, trying to see if there was someone below him. There was no way to tell. Terrence edged closer to the railing, holding the Glock with both hands.

  “Goddamn it, Raphael, if you’re out here, say something.”

  “Something,” answered a voice. It wasn’t Raphael’s voice.

  At the edge of the wood, down the slope about twenty yards, Terrence saw Raphael being held from behind by a big, bearded man who was holding a revolver to his head.

  “Put down the gun,” the bearded man said.

  “You put down your gun or I’ll shoot you both.” Terrence lifted his gun up and held it with both hands.

  There was a long hanging moment when all they could hear was the commotion of people moving in the house.

  Bear repeated himself, “Put down your gun.”

  Another few seconds went by and Bear decided that the man on the porch would not shoot. He added, “Put it down and send out Thaxton.”

  Terrence fired twice.

  The first shot went right through Raphael. The force knocked them both backward. The bullet went clear through Raphael’s shoulder. Bear heard it hit a tree behind him. The second shot missed entirely, partly because the first one knocked them off of their mark and partly because the kick from the first shot forced Terrence to lose his aim. Still holding Raphael, Bear fired back once, but Terrence was already bent over, retreating back into the house.

  “I am shot, I am shot,” cried Raphael, then, “Don’t kill me, don’t kill me.”

  Bear left him laying there and moved toward the stairs of the deck.

  As soon as he saw the guy smoking pot on the deck, Big Rich slunk down at the side of the house. He wanted to keep out of sight. He could still see Donny hiding behind the bush in front, but didn’t know what he should do. Donny kept waving at him and Rich kept responding by shrugging his shoulders. He pushed his back up against the wall and kept static. He felt exhausted, his body crashing from the adrenaline he’d experienced when they’d come up on the house. He wondered if he and Donny’s phones were inside the Bentley or inside the house. Holding still was making his mind drift, and before he realized he’d begun to slip into a nod.

  Gunshots brought him out of it. Three of them.

  Rich got up and ran toward Donny.

  Donny stood up and shouted, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Get down, they’re shootin’.” Rich slid behind the bush with Donny like he was sliding into third base.

  “Where’s Bear?”

  “I dunno, last I saw he was walkin’ under the porch.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I dunno,” said Rich, still out of breath. “Donny?”

  “What?”

  “You think our phones are in the Bentley?”

  “You kiddin’ me? I don’t fuckin’ know. Why don’t you go check?” Donny wasn’t serious, but to his amazement, Rich got up and ran toward the Bentley. He watched as Rich cupped his hands and peered into the car’s window. Then, with a grin, Rich turned and gave him the thumbs up signal.

  Bear entered though the glass doors slowly with his gun raised, just like he’d seen a million times on TV. He panned the empty kitchen space looking down the barrel of his .38. The place looked deserted. He could smell the food, saw the abandoned drinks, and noticed blood on the floor. He must have winged Terrence. He listened. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating in his ears and the distant cries of the wounded man he’d left in the back yard.

  His mouth was dry with fear and he wanted badly to pick up one of the drinks left on the counter and have a swallow, but he kept the pistol raised, ready to fire. He stepped slowly through the kitchen till he could see the front door. A living room on his right—tacky white furniture—and a carpeted flight of stairs to his left. He saw drops of blood on the stairs. Like breadcrumbs, thought Bear.

  They were up there, somewhere.

  Fuck it, he decided, and reached out and grabbed a pint-glass of orange juice off the kitchen counter. Champagne, nice. He took another big gulp and got ready to go up to the second level. But, when he set down the pint-glass, he spotted his cell phone sitting on the counter. What d’ya know, thought Bear as he scooped it up and stuck it into his front pocket. He turned toward the staircase again and prepared to ascend. Where the hell were those boys? He took one step up the stairs and heard movement, someone was up there. He took another step and could have sworn he heard a woman’s voice. Then, from outside, he heard the sound of glass breaking.

  Rich was looking around for the biggest rock he could find. He found one, lifted it up, felt the weight in his hand like an oversized baseball, and pitched it at the Bentley’s rear passenger window. The sound of the breaking glass shattered the silence in the air. Big Rich leaned into the car, reached down onto the seat, and grabbed both the phones. He pulled back out through the broken glass and triumphantly held the cells up to Donny.

  Donny shuttered as the glass broke. It was like the sound of an alarm. He felt suddenly exposed as he watched Rich wave to him with the phones. Donny waved back.

  “C’mere,” he said in a whispered voice that only he could hear. Big Rich stood beside the Bentley, a phone in each raised hand.

  A window opened on the second story of the house and a gun appeared. That’s the way Donny saw it, no hand, no arm, just the gun. Bam. And Big Rich was down in a small cloud of dust.

  It took a moment to register what had happened. Donny sat helpless waiting to see if his friend would move. He didn’t. Rich lay still in the sun with the dust settling around him. Upstairs, the gun had disappeared back into the window, a yellow curtain waving there in its place. Donny sat frozen, looking at Rich’s body, looking at the yellow curtain peeking out of the window. His mind raced. Was Bear still alive? Were those shots he’d heard from the back of the house fired at Bear—or by him? How
would he get out of this place if the both Rich and Bear were dead?

  He didn’t know what else to do, so Donny got up and ran toward his friend. He got to him and squatted down, staring at the ugly gunshot wound in the middle of Rich’s chest. Donny felt the sun on his back and wondered if the eyes of the shooter where on his back, too. The hole in Rich’s chest was making a sound. Half gurgle, half whistle.

  Donny told Rich, “You’re alive.” He wanted to reassure his friend, but instead it came out sounding as though he were surprised.

  “Yeah, I’m fuckin’ alive. Get me outta here, man. Take me to a hospital or somethin’.”

  Donny did the only thing he could do: he dragged his friend around to the back of the Bentley and positioned him in the shade. It seemed like it was the best place to avoid being shot. From where they were now, Donny couldn’t see that yellow curtain, so he hoped whoever was behind it couldn’t see him.

  “Donny?”

  “What?”

  “I got the phones.” The cells lay in the dust on the other side of the car. “I got ‘em, Donny. Now we can get the money, right?”

  “Right,” said Donny, trying to sound comforting.

  “Donny?”

  “I don’t think you should talk, try to hold still. Just hang in there till we can get you some help.”

  “There really are pictures of my kid in there. There’s a bunch saved. I’m going back to Oregon, like I said. I’m gonna be with them again.”

  “I know, Rich, I know.”

  Donny couldn’t help staring at the gunshot wound. It was red and meaty; blood was pumping out of it with every beat of Rich’s heart. Whenever his friend took a breath, tiny red air bubbles would appear on the hole and make a wet, sticky pop.

  “Donny?”

  “Seriously, stop talkin’, save your strength. I’m gonna go in back and find out what happened to Bear and get his keys. We’ll drive you to a hospital and eveything’ll be okay.”

  “Don’t forget the phones. We gotta have the phones.”

  “I won’t forget the phones.”

  “Donny?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not gay.”

  “I know you’re not. Be quiet now, save your strength.”

  Donny held Rich’s hand as his friend slid into unconsciousness and he wished more anything that he was higher than he was.

  Chapter 20

  Bear was only two steps up the carpeted stairs when he heard the gunshot. His heart stopped, only for one beat, but it stopped. He realized how scared he was.

  “Shit,” he murmured under his breath and took another step up the stairs. By the fourth stair he could see hallway. It was empty. He had his gun raised and kept his sight-line down the barrel. He felt the sweat on his palms against the grip. He wanted to call Gabriel’s name, but instead took another step.

  When he reached the hallway, he heard voices. He couldn’t tell what room, not for sure. There were three doors on his right and he saw what he figured was a bathroom door on his left sandwiched in between two closets.

  The door to the first room on his right was ajar. He could tell it was empty, silent. He looked inside and moved past. The second door was closed. He held his position at outside the door and listened. He could hear Dustin. He could hear a woman crying. Nothing else. Not Gabriel, not Terrence. He stood still for a moment, wondering what to do. Was Gabriel in there, was he alive? Did he kill Terrence with that shot on the porch? Bear reached down toward the doorknob and froze. He couldn’t open it; he wanted to have both hands on his gun when it opened up. Five bullets, he thought. Should be enough. He moved and placed his back against the opposite wall and kicked the door as hard as he could.

  The door swung open and he saw Dustin holding a woman in front of him. He held her by her brown dirty hair with his left hand and in his right he had a black semi-automatic pressed against her cheek.

  “Don’t fuckin’ move,” Bear said. He had his gun pointed right at Dustin’s face.

  Dustin didn’t move.

  In his peripheral vision he saw Gabriel in a chair with his head in his hands and Terrence splayed out on the bed, bleeding from the leg.

  “Don’t you fuckin’ move or I’ll shoot her,” Dustin was sneering.

  “Put down your gun.”

  “Fuck you, asshole. You piece of shit. You put down your gun.”

  Terrence started to get up off the bed.

  “I said, don’t move,” said Bear, but Terrence kept getting up anyway—slowly, not because he was cautious, but because he was in pain.

  “Get the shit, Terry,” Dustin said.

  Gabriel hadn’t moved. He sat there with his head in his hands.

  “You alright, Thaxton?” asked Bear. He kept his gun pointed right at Dustin’s face. Gabriel didn’t answer; he kept his head in his hands.

  Bear watched as Terrence—Terry the lawyer—limped across to the dresser and pulled the floral briefcase off the top.

  “Stop fucking moving or I’m gonna shoot,” Bear repeated.

  Terrence stopped. He was in the middle of the room now, closer to Bear than to Dustin and the woman. He stood there, still, waiting for instructions.

  Dustin shot the woman. Right through the cheek. The shock of the gun blast was deafening. A huge splatter of blood and brain sprayed onto the ceiling, wall, and curtain. The second it happened, Terrence swung the briefcase at Bear. Bear ducked and fired at the same time. His shot went wild, breaking the window behind Dustin’s head. He pulled back into the hall as Dustin let three more shots go through the doorway.

  Bear retreated through the third door down the hall. He didn’t bother to consider if someone was inside or not. He stuck his gun barrel out the door and waited for Dustin to make a break for the stairs. He was going to shoot that fucker right in the back.

  But when Dustin came into the hall, he shot right at the door. The bullet splintered the doorjamb right beside Bear’s head. Bear pulled his head back into the room and said, “Shit.” He heard footsteps. When he poked his head back out, they were already down the stairs. Bear ran into the room where Gabriel still sat.

  “Thaxton, are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “Thaxton, fuckin’ talk to me. Say somethin’.”

  Gabriel lifted his head and said, “I’m okay.” But he didn’t look okay. He was pale and drawn, his facial muscles were slack. Bear figured he was close to being in shock.

  “Get up, man. We got to go,” said Bear. “Can you walk?”

  Gabriel didn’t answer, but he did try to get up. Slow and deliberate, looking like a man of a hundred years.

  “Fuck, Gabriel, let’s move. We gotta get you outta here.”

  “Did he shoot my friend?” asked Gabriel.

  “I got no idea, let’s get out of this room and find out.”

  As soon as Donny heard the shots and saw the window break, he started running to the back of the house. The first thing he saw was a man rolling and writhing in pain at the edge of the lawn. He’d remembered to grab the phones, but had forgotten the stun-gun. The injured guy wasn’t going anywhere, but Donny still felt vulnerable with no weapon whatsoever. From somewhere in front, he heard car doors slamming, and he felt a pang of panic and regret that he’d left his injured friend laying in the dirt.

  He moved up the deck’s stairs and into the kitchen without caution. The place was empty and quiet and felt like a crime scene.

  “Bear,” he called out. No answer. Donny could feel his heart beating in his chest.

  “Bear!” he cried again. This time he heard an answer. From upstairs.

  Donny bolted up the stairs, still calling Bear’s name.

  “In here, in here.”

  He heard a voice from inside the second bedroom and Donny went straight in.

  Bear was helping the old man up, holding him by the elbow. There was a body on the floor, a woman Donny had never seen. She lay on her back with her eyes wide-open, a pool of thick blood growing around her head.
He felt the urge to vomit, but his throat was closed tight.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Don’t look at her. You can’t help her,” said Bear. “Help me get Gabriel outta here.”

  But Donny couldn’t help but look at her. She had a dark red hole under her right cheek and her open eyes bulged out at him. Her limbs were twisted like a broken doll’s and she was bleeding. So much blood. It was still coming out of her, feeding that puddle around her head. Donny wished he could be sick.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  Donny didn’t answer; he gaped at the dead woman.

  “Where’s Rich?” Bear repeated.

  “Somebody shot him. He’s outside. I dunno if he’s gonna be okay. He looks bad.”

  “Let’s go find out. I think those assholes are gone. I heard a car. Did you see ‘em?”

  Donny shook his head, still looking at the woman.

  ***

  “We’re fucked,” said Terrence. He sat in the passenger seat of Gabriel’s Bentley while Dustin drove.

  “No, we’re not. This’ll still work. We just gotta get this thing filed.”

  “We’re fucked, Dustin. We fucked up. This is all bad. There’s no coming back from this. I got bodies in my house.”

  “I know it’s bad, but it can still work. We’ll make up a story. Self-defense. We’ll even get that old fucker to defend us. You’ll see. We just gotta make it to the recorder first thing.”

  “Defend us? He’s on the phone to the cops right now.” Terrence turned his head toward the window. “My life is over. I got to get this gunshot taken care of. Where am I gonna do that? There’s gonna be an investigation. There’s no coming back from this.”