52

Everything happens real fast.

Otis roars as he charges down the stairs towards us. Cabressa swings the gun from me to Otis.

‘No,’ I yell. But it’s too late for warnings.

Cabressa pulls the trigger as Otis launches himself down the last step. He slumps forward as the bullet rips through his chest, his body slamming into Cabressa and knocking him backward, into the banister. They grapple. Otis looks weaker, his movement less co-ordinated. He’s bleeding but he’s still alive.

‘Otis,’ I shout, as I move towards the two men, peering through the gloom, trying to see what’s going on more clearly.

Cabressa raises his arm, and I see the gun glint in the soft glow of the emergency lighting. He brings it down hard onto Otis’s head. Otis staggers sideways. Collapses onto the banister.

I see Cabressa reach for Otis’s shirt. Understand in that moment what he’s planning. I shout for him to stop. Throw myself towards them, grasping for Otis, to try and pull him back. But I’m too late. Too weakened. My fingers clasp at the air.

Otis cries out as Cabressa tips him over the rail. He clutches for the banister and for a moment stops his momentum. Then Cabressa pistol whips him again, and he falls, flailing, into the void of the stairwell. His screams fading as he drops the twenty or so storeys to the ground.

I reach the banister. Look over into the dark void. It’s too far to the ground to see Otis, but I know he’s gone. No one could survive a fall like that.

I turn on Cabressa. Fury making me spit out my words. ‘You asshole! You didn’t have to kill him. He was a good man. We’d have died in the penthouse if it hadn’t been for—’

‘He’d never have kept his mouth shut. All that God stuff; he’d start feel guilty and then start telling people. He’s done it before.’ Cabressa shakes his head and peers down into the darkness of the stairwell. ‘Better to take that burden away from him.’

‘This wasn’t about him. It was about you.’ Wincing, I press my fingers to the cut above my eye. Try to stop the bleeding.

Cabressa shrugs. Then hardens his gaze. ‘Maybe I just don’t like people challenging me.’ He looks down at the chess pieces shattered across the stairs. Gestures towards them with the barrel of the Glock. ‘Get them. Don’t miss any.’

I stand my ground. Don’t move.

He steps closer to me, sandwiching me against the banister. Prods the gun into my side, twisting it against my ribs.

I gasp from the pain.

He increases the pressure against my ribs. Twists the barrel again. ‘I said to pick them up.’

I push past him, away from the banister and the gun. I don’t want to do as he says, but I’m injured and outgunned. I need to play this smart. Level the playing field. If I can get him to ground level, hopefully Monroe’s team will be there ready to apprehend us. I just need to stay alive long enough.

So I crouch down and start collecting up the chess pieces. My body aches. My vision is a little fuzzy. And each time I bend down nausea strikes and I taste sour bile in my throat. But I keep going. Keep playing this mobster’s game. Just for a little while longer.

Cabressa moves across the stairs to the outer wall and leans against it. I’m a good five steps down from where Cabressa is now. I figure I could outrun him if I raced down the stairs from here. He’s not doing so well, but he’s still got the gun. Given his behaviour so far I doubt he’d hesitate to shoot me. He probably wouldn’t kill me, not right now, but he’d injure me enough to stop me getting away. Frustrating the hell out of me as it is, I decide not to try to escape. Once Cabressa’s out of bullets his advantage will be lost. That’s the time I’ll need to act.

I move down the steps, searching for the last remaining chess pieces.

‘How many more?’ Cabressa asks.

‘Two.’

‘Hurry it up, we need to get moving.’

‘Why the rush?’

He doesn’t answer the question. ‘You know I knew Otis virtually his whole life. My family own the boxing gym he started out in all those years back as a scrawny, nine-year-old kid. I saw he had something right off the bat.’ He glances towards the banister. Shakes his head. ‘Waste of a talent.’

Cabressa’s change of tone takes me by surprise. I straighten up. ‘This could stop right now. You could just let me go.’

He meets my gaze, and for a moment I think he’s going to agree. Then his expression darkens. ‘That’s never going to happen, Miss Anderson. I’ve worked it out. I know who you really are.’

I frown. Don’t know what he’s getting at. ‘Who I really am?’

‘That’s right,’ says Cabressa. ‘I know you’re Herron.’