The next two days crept by in seemingly normal fashion. Amy went to work in the city. David took the kids to school and tended house.
But underneath the facade of normalcy there was tension. David was the primary culprit. He knew what a criminal like Payne was capable of and kept thinking something bad was going to happen. His anxiety infected Amy, and even the kids seemed out of sorts, sensing there was something wrong in the house.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Payne doesn’t even care. With the witness dead, he’s off the hook. Maybe he’ll forget about us.
David knew he was kidding himself.
He picked the kids up from school and brought them home as usual. He forced himself to engage with them, helping with homework. He cooked dinner, did the dishes afterward. He felt like a fraud. The daddy robot going through the motions as the more active part of his brain thought about the perimeter of the house, how somebody might break in. He considered additional locks, entertained upgrading the alarm system. Sooner or later, Roy’s overtime cops wouldn’t be there anymore. What was the response time if he called the police? Could he count on them? And what, if anything, would keep Dante Payne at bay? Walls? Razor wire and land mines? How far was David willing to go?
When would David and his family get their lives back?
“Hey!”
David jumped. He hadn’t even heard his wife come into the kitchen.
She pinned him with a hard look. “Stop it, okay?”
“Stop what?”
“You’re stalking around like the grim reaper or something,” she said. “Brent keeps asking if you’re angry at him.”
“What? No, of course not. Look I…” He exhaled. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Ease up, okay? Don’t be so nervous.”
“Right. Easing up.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Good. Now take out the garbage.”
David saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
He took the trash bag around the side of the house. He waved at the cop across the street, leaning against his vehicle, smoking a cigarette. The cop waved back halfheartedly. The police that Roy had put on watch duty had gone through a lot of cigarettes and a lot of cups of coffee. Roy had mentioned he’d owed some of his boys some easy duty.
Doesn’t get any easier than this.
David dropped the trash into the can, snugged the lid back on. Amy was right. He was acting like an ass. Yes, he needed to be alert and ready, but he could do it without freaking out his family.
Amy might understand the danger, but he owed it to his kids to act like the father they expected and depended on. It was unfair to make them feel anxious when they didn’t even know why.
The sound of car doors slamming rapidly.
He turned to look as the squad car across the street cranked its engine. A split-second later the second squad car did the same. Both vehicles pulled away fast, squealing tires as they vanished around the corner at high speed.
David watched them go.
Okay. That’s bad.
Maybe they’d been called away, some emergency around the corner. He stood with hands in pockets and waited for the sound of sirens.
A bird chirped.
Distantly, a little dog yapped.
A breeze rustled the leaves.
One of the cop’s cigarette butts still smoldered in the street.
Okay, plan B. He’d go into the house and get Roy’s number from Amy, give the guy a call. There was probably a simple explanation and—
A black sedan rounded the corner and glided almost silently down the street. It parked in the same spot the police car had just vacated. David turned his head, saw a black van coming just as slowly from the other direction.
He started walking back to the front door, forcing himself not to hurry.
He paused at the row of hedges under his house’s front windows and picked out some vines and dead leaves. While he did that, he watched the sedan and the van in the window’s reflection. Nobody got out of either vehicle.
David knelt and pulled a few weeds before standing and stretching and going back into the house. He closed the door behind him, turned immediately to look at the vehicles through the peephole.
So far, they were just sitting there.
David made his decision in a split second.
He met Amy in the living room. “I need you to pack a bag for you and the kids and meet me in the garage in three minutes.”
She frowned. “Is there something you’d like to explain—”
“Do it now, please.”
Amy searched his face for a brief moment before turning and running up the stairs. “Brent! Anna! Get your shoes on. Now!”
David dashed down the hall and yanked open the door across from the kitchen, flew down the narrow stairs to their small basement. He went to his knees and pulled a footlocker from between the washer and the far wall. He quickly worked the combination and swung the lid open. There was a small, olive drab duffel bag within. He unzipped it and checked the contents.
David hadn’t expected to need the guns when he’d locked them away upon returning home. They were tools he didn’t need. The military had sidelined him. The duffel bag was filled with all the grim debris of a life that was slowly fading into memory.
A Navy Seal had put him onto the Sig Sauer P226 a couple of years ago, and he’d requisitioned a pair. They’d served him well in the field. He checked to make sure the pistols, shoulder holsters, ammo, extra magazines, knives, leather blackjack, and mace were all there. So was the little .380 automatic with the ankle holster. A light Windbreaker he could slip on to conceal the weapons. He zipped the bag and headed back up the stairs.
He closed the basement door behind him and heard the door leading into the garage open and close, the shuffle of feet and Amy’s voice shushing the children who didn’t understand what was happening.
David moved to join them, then froze, head cocked, listening. A low rattle. The back door. The knob turning.
David backed around the corner and waited. Whoever it was would have to come through the kitchen and past him. He debated briefly dashing for the garage, but even as he turned that idea over in his mind the back door opened, hinges he’d purposely never oiled creaking loudly. That decided it. David would have to deal with the intruder to cover his escape.
He tried to remember if he’d locked the front door. If they came from both directions at once—
A hand came slowly from the kitchen into the hall, holding a snub nose revolver.
David latched on to the wrist and dug his thumb into a cluster of nerve endings. A hoarse grunt and the man’s hand opened, dropping the revolver. David kicked it away as he pulled hard on the wrist, yanking him out of the kitchen and into David’s fist.
David cracked him hard on the nose, flattening it, blood and snot shooting from both nostrils. The guy howled. He was beefy and dark, black hair in a widow’s peak, three days stubble on his jaw. He wore a blue suit without a tie, red shirt.
The guy recovered quickly, wiping his nose and bull rushing at David, head down.
An animal growl accompanied the charge.
David sidestepped and caught the man around the throat in a headlock under his arm, but the momentum still slammed him back into the wall behind him, plaster cracking. The guy tried to stand up, but David hung on, keeping him hunched over. The intruder couldn’t get an angle to punch but tried anyway, flailing weakly at David’s back. David pushed off the wall and slammed the guy’s tailbone back into the kitchen doorframe with a sharp crack. He yelled in pain and doubled his efforts to twist out of the headlock.
David heard the garage door open.
He clamped down tighter on the headlock and pulled the man, back into the kitchen.
“You … mother … fucker,” the guy grunted, voice a rough croak.
David smashed his face against the dishwasher to shut him up. He stuck his head around the corner and looked back down the hall at Brent approaching.
David forced his voice calm. “Don’t come into the kitchen, okay, buddy? I spilled something.” The guy struggled, and David squeezed tighter.
“We’re all in the car,” Brent said. “Mommy said to tell you to hurry up.”
“Okay. Go back to the car.”
“Well, come on,” Brent insisted. “You know Mom doesn’t like waiting.”
“I know, buddy,” David told him. “We’re going on a fun trip, okay? I just need to fix something first.”
Brent nodded, turned, and jogged back to the garage.
David let go of the guy suddenly and he staggered back. He hadn’t been expecting to be turned loose, stumbled. David didn’t give him time to orient himself and kicked him in the balls. Hard. The guy went purple and fell to his knees.
David shifted to stand behind him, took his chin in one hand, the side of his head with the other. A sharp twist and a crack and the man went stiff a split second before going limp and collapsing dead to the tile floor.
David scooped up the duffel from the hallway floor and ran for the garage.