The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 130

        

The windows of the house shatter simultaneously. A blast of wind shovels snow inside. A cannon of cold joins the blisters of gunfire coming from outside. Headlights from the trucks illuminate the unreal carnage like an old film projector.

The gunfire drills holes in the heads of Les's men. They let loose a couple stray shots on the way to the floor. The kitchen and living rooms look like the containers under the grates in a slaughterhouse.

The shots skirt around Sam, Beth and I. We stay frozen in place. There isn't enough time to react anyway. The three of us look like parasites huddled inside an intestinal infection.

A second later the shooting stops. Les still holds the phone in his hand. The bullets missed him, too. They didn't spare the walls and floor, though. Drywall dust and sawdust hang in the air.

It's just the four of us now. And Jane on the phone.

"Are you there?" Jane says.

Les looks at Sam. Then at me. Seems to have a hard time believing any of us are still alive.

"Here," Les says into the phone.

"I know what this looks like. But in time you'll understand why I am in the right. I am the good guys. You are the bad guys," Jane says. "Now give the phone to Beth, the FBI agent."

Les wheels himself forward. Passes the phone to Beth. She keeps one hand on her pistol as she takes it.

I scan the shattered windows. No sign of anyone outside. Hard to see anything with the headlights and weather.

Beth palms the greasy phone over her ear for a minute or so. Hands it back to Les.

He holds the receiver up for us to listen. Jane resumes.

"It's time to wrap this up," Jane says. "Beth has a contract with her. The Betrug Café in town opens in about an hour. Beth, Wil and Sam will get in a truck. Head into town. Someone will be waiting for you at the café. That person will go over the contract. Wil will sign it. Donuts and coffee are on me. Doesn't that sound nice?"

I clear my throat. Start to say something. Then I stop. My thinking is getting foggy again. It's like that snow storm outside blew its way into my brain. Hell, the wind is strong enough, that might've happened.

Sam elbows me. "I don't think we have a choice here," she says.

"Yeah, I guess not," I say.

It helps to have her nudge me along. Straightens out my head.

"OK, Jane. Me, Sam and this FBI person. We'll go into town. Sure," I say.

The math doesn't add up in Les's favor. His face twists into a snarl.

"What about me?" Les says into the phone.

"My people will be coming for you. We're going to have a little talk," Jane says.

Les drops the phone. Reaches under the blanket on his lap. Hoists a big bore revolver hidden between his legs.

"You people can go to hell," Les says. Aims the gun at Beth's chest.

Four shots stab holes in my eardrums. One from Les. One from Sam. One from Beth. And one from outside in the snow storm.

Four shots. Two connections.

Les slumps in his wheelchair. Slinks to the floor. Beth takes a deep breath from the floor. It's her last.

Sam keeps her revolver on Les. Empties another two rounds into him. Pointless, but satisfying nonetheless. Nothing's rational in this room.

It takes a couple minutes of letting the adrenaline burn off for us to realize Jane's been talking.

"Pick up the phone," Jane says.

I pick up the phone. Hold it up so both Sam and I can hear.

"I'm here," I say.

"Change of plans. The contract is tucked inside Beth's jacket. Get it," Jane says.

Sam rifles through Beth's pants pockets. I wave her toward the jacket. Her cool veneer finally cracks. Nerves are getting to her.

"She's got it," I say after Sam shows me.

I expected the contract to be thicker. It's only a few sheets zipped inside a plastic bag. Not very impressive considering all the trouble it's caused.

"Good. Now find a set of keys for a truck outside," Jane says.

"Wait a minute. How do I know I'm not walking into a trap? Isn't the FBI trying to arrest me?" I say.

"Don't worry about that anymore. Sign that contract. Collect your money. Live out your life somewhere warmer. Free and clear. Just don't come back here," Jane says.

"And if I don't sign?" I say.

"Your life will quickly become much more difficult," Jane says.

Sam searches the warm pockets closest to her for keys. Comes up with a set for the black SUV.

"Keys. Got them," I say into the phone.

"Good. Head into town. Bring the contract," Jane says. "Go to the Betrug Café. Your contact will meet you there. You'll know when you see the person. No reason to go in armed."

Sam and I are in no shape to walk around town. Both soaked in gore.

"We're messy," I say.

"You're right. We want you clean at the signing ceremony," Jane says. "Check into the motel in town. I'll make the arrangements. Room 27 will be unlocked when you arrive. A fresh change of clothes will be waiting. Clean up. Then head over to the Betrug Café. It opens in a few hours."

The cold gets to Sam. She shivers. It's that or shock.

"Can't we just stay here?" Sam says.

I don't know who would want to do that. This place is a mortuary.

"No. Just go," Jane says.

We pick our way over the bodies. Head out the door.

I squint into the wind outside. Try to find whoever did all that shooting. No signs of life anywhere. Or of my mother's body. Fine by me. Too much snow anyway.

I fire up the SUV. No issues. Sam buckles in next to me. Closes her eyes. Stays quiet as the SUV heads out.

I pause the vehicle at the top of the driveway hill. Take a look in the mirror. Review the splintered image of the house peaking through the blowing snow. Feel the last vestiges of nostalgia. Only lasts a second.

Feels good to drive away. I'm not going to miss this place.

*** PLEASE SUPPORT MY WRITING! ***

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