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Wiri didn’t appreciate Logan’s veiled threat. His phone vibrated in his pocket again. He imagined Phoenix trying to warn him of her father’s imminent arrival. Too late. He twisted his lips in regret. Larry wanted him to call Vaughan, and he’d resisted. No longer sure of what he’d expected to achieve, he observed Logan edge closer to Mari.
“It’s okay, Uncle.” He lifted his left hand to halt the inevitable catastrophe.
Logan cocked his head, humour lighting his grey irises and causing them to sparkle with his ready sarcasm. “Really?” His lips flattened into a line. “I hadn’t noticed. My mistake.” His voice held a gritty, threatening quality. His cowboy boots continued to gain ground.
Wiri winced. He turned his attention to Mari. “The big guns will come from Hamilton, Aunty. You don’t want that, do you?” An even bigger gun edged closer to her, and he sensed she’d vastly underestimated Logan’s presence. Wiri had seen his uncle in action. Logan Du Rose showed no mercy, but for once, his reputation hadn’t preceded him.
She wavered, mania glinting in her eyes. “I’ve lost Leilah,” she whispered. “Nothing else matters.” Her tendons showed as she strengthened her grip on the forearm of the shotgun. Logan rounded the end of the counter.
“One shot, Aunty.” Wiri’s jaw showed against his cheek as he ground the words through his teeth. “There’s no contingency in that. You need to be sure where you’re putting that cartridge, because it’ll be the last thing you do.”
Logan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head in disgust. He wanted to disarm her, not encourage her to shoot. The pursing of his lips told Wiri to shut up as he edged closer.
The wheelchair pressed against the backs of Wiri’s knees, offering relief on its uncomfortable seat. He longed to sink into it and wheel himself away from the tragedy unfolding before him. A siren echoed off the buildings in the main street, its wail of alarm ceasing as though killed by an anxious hand. Car doors slammed beyond the wide swathe of glass through which Ted usually surveyed his narrow, empty world. A police car blocked the thoroughfare, and he saw Tane waving his arms at the pedestrians gathered across the road.
Time slowed.
Wiri studied Mari’s calm expression with an experienced eye. He recognised his mother’s resignation in the steadiness of her finger on the trigger. “Don’t do it,” he whispered, his tone dull. “I know what you’re doing. Don’t wait for them to end it for you.”
A frown creased Logan’s forehead, and he narrowed his brows. He darted a glance through the window at the police car. In the street, Jet slipped a Kevlar vest over his head and secured the ties with an expert hand. He reached into the cavernous vehicle and withdrew a Bushmaster XM-15 rifle. Logan’s eyes widened at Wiri’s groan of dismay.
“I don’t believe it,” Wiri hissed. He shook his head. “He played Russian roulette with a stolen gun when he had access to that kind of firepower.” Anger clouded his rational thought, causing his knees to tremble as he struggled to remain upright. He glared at Mari. “Did you know he was a member of the Armed Offenders Squad?”
Mari swallowed, distracted by his tangent. Her lips moved, but she didn’t reply.
“I’m sick of that dude!” Wiri snarled.
Mari tilted her view to take in the rifle, which Jet slung diagonally across his body and the lethal thirty-round magazine he clipped beneath it. Her shoulder relaxed and the eye of the barrel shifted a fraction to the left. A chest shot then. Resignation flooded her eyes. She wanted Jet to finish it for her. To put an end to a lifetime of sadness. Wiri saw it written in the lowering of her heavy lids as the skin tightened over the knuckles of her index finger.
Logan moved with surprising speed and agility. He shoved the barrel to the left with enough force to knock Mari off balance. She gasped in a heady mixture of rage and dismay.
And pulled the trigger.
