There was no way that Paolo could physically tackle the man. John-Michael was going to give up the location of the cash any second now. He’d be beaten into revealing Paolo’s position. They’d probably be forced at gunpoint to call the girls.
Then all four of them would be potential hostages. Plenty of spare blood, in case the guy felt like throwing his weight around, killing or maiming one of them, just to show that he meant business.
All their lives would be at risk. And Paolo would be directly responsible.
He had to act before John-Michael gave him up. He crouched low, fumbling for any kind of fallen stick. The ground fell away so sharply underfoot that he had to use one hand to hold on to a low branch of the tree he’d been hiding behind. As the branch bent, Paolo’s teeth sunk into his lower lip, his jaw clenched in the desperate hope that the limb wouldn’t snap, or make enough noise to betray his position. But there was nothing within reach. John-Michael’s groans had gotten louder with every kick. And the seconds were ticking by.
Paolo swung to his feet and emerged from behind the tree. He moved swiftly, using John-Michael’s groans to hide any sounds he made. But he wasn’t quite fast enough. The man had already begun to turn his head as Paolo threw a punch.
It was a fierce strike, hurled with all the energy of Paolo’s fastest serve. The blow would have hit the back of the man’s head. But Paolo caught his right cheek instead.
Paolo’s fist connected, hard. His knuckles crunched into the man’s eye socket. The impact shot straight up Paolo’s right arm and into his shoulder. The shock of pain took his breath for a few seconds. Shaken, he watched the man reeling, his left hand clutching at his face. But it was a momentary victory. Then the man’s gun arm was swinging up. An automatic weapon was bearing down on Paolo, fast. He managed to swerve backward, narrowly avoiding the swipe.
“On your knees,” hissed the man. Paolo held still. His attention flicked back to where John-Michael had been only a second ago. He caught a glimpse of two legs disappearing into the darkness at the edge of the road. The man’s eyes followed Paolo’s glance, but he didn’t take his focus off him for a second. “Your boyfriend left you.”
He shoved the gun into Paolo’s face, pressed the muzzle up against his ear. The air of arrogant confidence had vanished. His eyes were narrow slits of steel, his upper teeth bared. Paolo dropped slowly to his knees, raised both hands in the air. The knuckles of his right hand dripped blood. He felt the cold metal of the gun roving across his skin, from his ear to his right eye.
“That. Hurt.” The man inhaled noisily. “I’m going to get a goddamn black eye.” He leaned forward. Paolo could smell tobacco on his breath.
“I know your little boyfriend can still see us,” the man whispered conspiratorially. “Better tell me where you got the money. Better tell me soon. I swear to God, I’ll hunt him down and skin him alive.”
“Behind the tree,” Paolo said suddenly. He said it again, louder. And began to mutter a silent prayer, a telepathic message to John-Michael, willing his friend to hear, to listen, to understand.
“The cash. It’s in a duffel bag behind the tree. We only just opened it. We didn’t touch your friend. Seriously. We were just cycling past. Our bikes are back there, behind where you parked your car, right at the side of the road.” Paolo risked a gesture then, his left hand raised, pointing behind him. He opened his eyes wide, shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry I hit you. But you were hurting my buddy, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Where’d you find the cash?”
“In the trunk,” Paolo said. The ring of truth could only help them now. Somehow, he had to get the guy to move over to the tree. “There was a padlock.”
“Where’d you find the key?”
“In the glove compartment. The whole car’s open.”
“Why didn’t you call nine-one-one?”
Paolo felt tears spring to his eyes. He decided to encourage them. “He was dead, man,” he whined, managing a sob. It was a relief to release some of his fear. “We couldn’t help him.”
A sneering note entered the man’s voice. “But you could help yourself to his gun and his goddamn money, is that what you could do?”
Paolo shook his head. The terror that had seized him a moment ago, that had filled him with self-pity, faded rapidly. Instead, his mind sped ahead, trying to figure out any way to escape his fate. “We didn’t know what was inside, we were just curious. Look, I’m really sorry, please just let us go. We won’t say anything. The bag’s just there, where I was hiding. You can take it and . . . and . . .”
The man snickered. “And what? Let you go? We’ll see about that. First off, I’m gonna need to see these bicycles. Where’s your spandex, kid? You sure don’t look like cyclists. And I don’t remember seeing any wheels up here except the ones on my pal’s Oldsmobile.” He stood back. “On your feet.” He raised his voice so that John-Michael could hear. “Hey, ‘cyclist’ number two, I know you’re still around. If you leave this one alone with me, it’s not going to go well for him. I’m an artist when it comes to breaking bones. I’ll snap at least six before I get started with the bullets. You’re gonna be amazed how badly a person can be messed up before death finally settles on a body.”
In the silence that followed, Paolo listened for any response. There was nothing. John-Michael had vanished in the direction of the two girls. The smart move would have been to get out of there ASAP. Maybe the older man was right, maybe not. But somehow, Paolo couldn’t quite believe that his friend had stuck around to take another battering.
“Start walking. Let’s see these bicycles.”
Paolo’s hesitation earned him another shove with the barrel of the gun. “Don’t you want to pick up the cash?”
The man stared, suddenly curious. “Why?”
Paolo forced himself to shrug. “It’s right there.”
“You get it.”
“Me?”
The man nodded once. “Yeah.”
Paolo managed a dumb nod. He began to shuffle toward the tree. This wasn’t what he’d been aiming for. This was going terribly. No sign of John-Michael. Now he was in the middle of nowhere, facing a sadist with a gun. He reached the tree and stared helplessly at the empty ground behind the tree trunk.
“Hurry up.”
Paolo stepped into the shadows, slipped behind the tree. There was only one thing left to do now. He pressed himself up against the back of its trunk and remained motionless, waiting.
A beat went by. Then the man called out, incredulous, “You’re actually hiding? We’re doing this?” There was a guffaw. “Do you have any idea what I’m gonna do to you?”
Paolo’s eyes closed. He could taste iron in his mouth from where he’d bitten his lip. He could hear the roar of his own pulse as blood rushed past his eardrums. His chest was rattling so hard with the hammering of his heart that he couldn’t believe the man couldn’t hear it.
But he didn’t move.
Footsteps. Paolo looked at the ground. There wasn’t more than a foot of ledge behind the tree. Then the ground fell away to blackness. There might be a ridge just below. Then again, maybe not. Maybe it went straight down to the ravine.
“Last chance,” said the man. He was right beside the tree now. He’d only have to lean forward, to peer around the tree trunk and see Paolo, shivering, desperately trying to melt against the bark.
Paolo shifted around the tree, further out of reach. He heard a hitch in the other man’s breathing as he waited for Paolo to reveal himself, probably wondering whether to risk taking a look.
Comeoncomeoncomeon . . .
The gun came first, stretched ahead of the man’s arm, almost skating against Paolo’s head before he could duck out of the way, but he managed to maneuver his way out of reach, behind the tree. “Now you’re being silly,” the man reasoned as he stepped onto the narrow ridge behind the tree.
Just as John-Michael had that first time, the man skidded a little, losing his footing. His arms reached out for the tree and grabbed a branch, one hand still clutching the revolver. Paolo was already speeding around the tree, his head down in a sprint as he aimed for the Oldsmobile. He had to get some cover.
He barely noticed the slender silhouette of John-Michael as he emerged from the shadows, hands clasped together and brandishing a large, heavy stick. Paolo heard but didn’t see the wood swing through the air and connect with something low. He heard the anguished scream of pain as the man stumbled—and, heard the strain in John-Michael’s voice as he raised the stick for a second blow. Two shots rang out. Then there was silence.
Paolo made his way back behind the tree. John-Michael stood breathing hard, a three-finger-thick piece of tree leaning against his shoulder. There was no sign of the hit man.
“Paolo. I think he’s gone.”