49

“You probably don’t believe me,” Joe said, “so hang on and I’ll conference you with the guy who’s going to kill Janet and Kimberly tonight.”

I listened to the high-pitched whine of the drill bits while waiting for the connection to go through. I didn’t think Janet and Kimberly were in trouble because Callie was with them and she hadn’t called. Sal’s men were guarding Janet’s house, where Joe’s men would have gone first.

On the other hand, it always gives you a sick feeling when someone threatens your child’s life.

Joe came back on the line. “Sal, are you there?”

“I’m here,” said Sal Bonadello.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Then Sal said, “Creed, it’s over. I got your blond trapped inside with your bitchy ex and your bratty kid and the family that owns the house. I got gasoline all over the outside walls and Molotov cocktails ready to throw.”

I didn’t say anything.

Sal said, “You think we got a deal, like I’m—whatcha call—monitoring Janet’s house, but your blond followed your kid to a friend’s house. Then your wife showed up, and now they’re all inside and the blond is so busy trying to keep everyone calm, she don’t even know we’re here. So this is payback time, my friend. For livin’ in my attic and jumpin’ through the fucking ceiling and shooting up my bedroom and scaring the shit outta my wife, you lousy prick.”

“I saved your life.”

“The life you put in danger in the first place.”

I didn’t say anything. Joe DeMeo said, “Creed, you’ve taken a shine to that girl in the burn center. So I’ve decided to burn your kid, too. And if she tries to run out the door or jump out a window, we’re going to shoot her.”

“Unless?” I said.

“Unless you put down your weapons and come to the front gate. All of you.”

Two of the clowns had gotten their drills through the wall. The third drill made a shrieking sound as it hit a steel reinforcing rod. That clown moved the drill a few inches to the left and started over.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Joe.”

“You’d let your wife and kid die?”

“Ex-wife.”

“Still,” he said. “Your kid?”

I sighed. “You’re going to kill them, anyway, Joe. And me, too, if you get the chance.”

“It’s your little girl, for Christ sake!”

“Which will give me that much more incentive to boil your body with the special weapon I’m bringing into your home.”

“Say good-bye to your family, Creed.”

“You tell them for me,” I said. “I’ve got work to do.”

The first two clowns put the nozzle of their ADS weapons into the holes they’d drilled. The third clown was nearly finished with his second attempt. We all waited for him.

Hugo walked over to me while keeping his eyes trained on the area behind us. “I heard that bastard on your speaker phone,” he said, “and I heard what you said to him.”

“And?”

“Are you okay?”

“That’s the question I’ve been asked all my life.”

The last hole was completed, and the last ADS weapon was fitted to it. At each station, a clown attached the power packs and flipped the switches. At the same time, a second clown jumped on each trampoline several times until he could see over the wall. When they felt safe enough, they angled their jumps and landed on top of the wall. Then the remaining clown at each station tossed them six knives, two at a time. The clowns on top of the walls placed the knives in their knife belts and scampered along the wall top until they reached the area where the second-floor roof overhung the wall. They jumped on top of the roof and got into position behind each of the three back gables.

Then I climbed down from my perch, pulled a tear gas gun from the back seat, and tossed it to Quinn. While I covered the entrance with the PEPS weapon, Quinn made his way to the gate. Once there, he started pumping tear gas into each window in the house.

I was surprised by the lack of gunmen in the yard. Once the fighting started, they all must have hidden in the house. The PEPS weapon will do that to people. Even so, why wouldn’t they station themselves at the upstairs windows? Maybe they were all hiding in Joe’s panic room. I hoped so. That would make it much easier for me.

I heard a scream. “Got one,” said one of the rooftop elves. “Trying to climb out the back window onto the roof.”

I heard several blasts of gunfire coming from the front of the house. Quinn ducked behind the wall just in time. Then I heard the types of screams one can only make when exposed to the ADS beam—except there were four of them.

“Got one,” said another rooftop elf. “Same idea, different window,” he added.

We heard an engine start up in the garage.

“Stay at your posts,” I yelled into my cell phone.

Quinn sprinted back to his post where he’d set his rifle down. He picked it up and aimed it at the front gate.

When the gate started to open, I fired up the PEPS weapon. Joe’s car came flying toward the entrance at an angle, and I gave him a full-power blast that melted his tires and caused his car to flip and slam into the corner of the gate. Several men jumped out and started to run, including Joe DeMeo.

They got about two feet before the ADS beam found them.

“Shut off the beams!” I yelled. I drove the Hummer through the gate, slamming Joe’s Mercedes out of the way to clear a path for Quinn and the three clowns who were standing by with the rest of the knives. There were four guys on the ground. We gutted the two who had followed me and Joe at the cemetery the previous Saturday, and twist-tied Joe and Grasso’s wrists behind them.

Joe spit at me and missed. “I should’ve stayed in the panic room,” he said.

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I said. “I’d have taken that machine off the truck and aimed it at the wall. You saw what it did to your car. Imagine what it would have done to your panic room.”

“If you knew where to aim it,” he sneered.

“You got me there, Joe.”

“By the way,” he said, “your family’s dead.”

“So you say.”

The first four that were hit by the ADS ray were dead, which was to be expected, having been exposed for several minutes. My personal best was less than twenty seconds, so I could only imagine their suffering.

We guessed we’d gotten all of them, and if not, I didn’t care. We gathered up all our equipment and headed back to the campground. We’d beaten nearly twenty armed men and eight attack dogs without taking a single hit in return. That’s a hell of a campaign, I thought.

Back at the campground, there was just one thing left to do: humiliate Joe.

It has never been my style to humiliate my vanquished enemies, but Hugo insisted it was a time-honored clown tradition, so I didn’t stand in their way. He grabbed a seltzer and sprayed it in Joe’s pants while the other clowns formed a circle, interlocked arms, and sang, “A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants!”

They had so much fun they all took a turn spraying Joe and Grasso. Before long, their pants were a soggy mess.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Joe screamed again and again. “But I got you, Creed. I killed your kid!” he shouted. “I killed your fuckin’ wife!”

“Ex-wife,” I said.