seven

Mallen and Gato drove around the block a couple times before they got a bead on which house it was that Carpy had squealed about. The moon was high in the night sky now. A few backlit clouds hung heavy above. Somehow, and Mallen figured it was better not to know, Gato had replaced his old Falcon with a 1971 dark green Camaro Z28. The engine sounded like a purring dragon. The black interior was mint. The only nod to the modern day was the CD stereo with MP3 jack. A fit rig, for sure.

The house matched perfectly with the description they’d gotten out of Carpy, right down to the lawn gnome. No lights were on inside. Gato parked a block away, and they made their way back quietly in the direction of their destination. Stood across the street for a moment. Checked the place out. It gave off a very still air. Mallen was about to light a cig but thought better of it. Glanced across at the house. “He said in back, yeah?”

Gato nodded.

Mallen felt in his coat pocket. Gato’s gun rested heavily inside. He’d tried to leave it in the car, but it’d just been too hard to do. Would King Arthur leave Excalibur back at the ranch? Not a chance.

“Look,” he said to Gato, “let’s not have a repeat of last time. This time we go in expecting all Hell to fucking crash down upon us sinners, okay? I take the high road, you take the low. But remember: we want to shock, not to shoot. There are too many windows around, and this time of night, citizens are all cozy in their beds, yeah? Also, remember that we need him to be able to converse.”

“I hear you,” Gato said as he took off across the street. Mallen followed.

There was a driveway ahead of them, complete with green fiberglass carport. Like something usually seen in Florida. Past that was a tall, wood-slatted fence, painted white, blocking off the back yard. A gate was situated right in the middle. They crept low as they moved forward, hugging the wall of the house, moving quietly under the blank, dark windows. When they got to the gate, Gato reached up and tried the latch. It was unlocked, the gate swinging inward, giving off a faint squeak of tired hinges. The two men exchanged glances. In unison pulled their guns. Gato nodded at his pearl .38 in Mallen’s hand. Grinned with what looked to be an almost paternal pride. Mallen moved forward, every nerve wired tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been creeping along the side of a house, armed, with death on the line. Was surprised at how much of the old feelings and sensations he remembered. Wondered if this was how a once-sick, old dog felt going back out on the hunt.

The back yard was beyond dark, heavily sheltered by a couple large maple trees growing in the yard next door. In the far, northwest corner was a small, ten-by-fifteen wooden shack. A small light faintly glowed crimson behind red curtains. The two men moved forward silently, stopping only when a dog barked a couple houses away. After fifteen long seconds, the barking stopped, leaving a large vacuum of silence. Nothing else stirred. Mallen gave it a ten count, and only then continued on, Gato right next to him.

At the shack, Mallen stood to the right of the door, back to the wall. An old habit, choosing the right side. Gato crouched low on the left. It was then he noticed a thin strip of red light glowing in the darkness of the doorjamb.

The door wasn’t closed.

He tensed. The air was still. Cold. His old entry training took over. Using the muzzle of his pistol, he inched the door open. Through the crack he could see a dark splatter on the maroon carpet. Blood. He went in, Gato staying at the door, fanning the room with his pistol. The blood was tacky to the touch.

The contents of the single room were meager at best. A bar fridge. A hot plate. A chemical toilet behind a shower curtain. The rectangular window in the back wall had been completely broken out. The blood pattern indicated that someone had been shot as they crashed through it. The gunshots would’ve meant noise. And that would’ve meant cops camping out on the doorstep. Why weren’t they here?

The answer set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. Stood them straight up.

A silencer.

He wondered why Teddy hadn’t shot back. It looked like the man had taken a quick-ass powder. Mallen noted that there was nothing else in the room but an army bag half-filled with clothes and a handful of cooking utensils near the hot plate. Some blood had spattered over by the wall, and also onto the carpet. The crimson liquid had fallen on something small that was no longer there, as evidenced by the cut-off droplet pattern. Something rectangular. No bigger than a shoebox, by his best guess. He led Gato out of the shack, closing the door without touching the knob, using the barrel of his gun.

“You think what I think, vato?” Gato whispered.

“Yeah. T-Mac got jumped. Shot. Not bad enough that he couldn’t get away, though. I’d say it happened a couple hours ago, judging by the condition of the blood. Come on.”

They were returning to the back gate when Gato tugged at his sleeve. Mallen’s stomach tightened when he saw the open rear door to the house. The glass pane in the top half had been shattered, the few remaining shards glinting in the night like silver. He took a deep breath. This was getting sticky. Nodded to Gato. Mallen went in first, careful not to make any noise on the broken glass.

They found themselves in a large, old-fashioned country kitchen. Felt like they were alone, the house still, but his gut kept screaming at him that something was up. Impulse drove him to the nearby hall, a hall that in this type of house would lead to the bedrooms.

They found the two bodies on the floor of the master bedroom. A man and woman in their late fifties, maybe early sixties, both African-American. The man lay on his side, facing toward them. The moonlight streaming in from the nearby window illuminated the brutal beating the man had taken. The woman lay close by on her stomach, the back of her head exploded by a bullet. The same silencer, for sure.

“We gotta get out of here,” he said quietly, “but we need to check the rest of the house first.” Gato nodded as he said a silent prayer. His friend looked shaken by the finding of the two bodies. Mallen figured he was thinking what it might mean for his sister if killers who would do something like this were tied up with Teddy Mac.

The rest of the house told a bleak story. A blood trail led from the center of the living room back to where the bodies were found. A couple bloody footprints stepped in and out of the crimson liquid. Mallen couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the killer, or at least one of them, had followed behind the beaten man as he dragged himself along the floor back to the bedroom. For what? A gun? Maybe to stop what was happening to his wife. A coldness crept over him. Whoever had done this were some cold-ass motherfuckers, no lie. Who had these people been that they would take a beating like this—risk death, even—for Teddy? It didn’t make any sense. There was the muffled sound of a car driving by the house, but it was like an alarm going off in the room.

“Let’s split,” Mallen said.

“No quejas on this end.”

They left carefully, at Vietnam War patrol speed. Checked first from the shadows of the house before moving out onto the sidewalk. The street was quiet, oblivious to the violence that had happened. As they made their way to Gato’s car, Mallen wondered just what the hell they’d found themselves in.

Gato started up the Camaro. Drove away slowly and casually. Shook his head and spoke quietly to himself in Spanish as they rolled down the street and away from the house of death. Sounded like he was trying to reassure himself that it would all work out.

“Just because she’s gone doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Mallen told him.

“She was into something, man. It must be the reason she took off.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe she found out something. Maybe that’s why Teddy’s after her. Maybe she realized that what she knew would get her in trouble with the same people that are after Teddy.”

“You think he got out of that?”

Mallen thought back to the scene. There was no sign of anyone being carried or dragged away. “Yeah, I think so actually. I think he made it over the back fence, without shooting his gun this time. Otherwise, the street would be a cop convention.”

Gato didn’t look like he believed it, but wanted to with all his heart. Crossed himself again. “Lupe,” he said softly, “what have you done, girl?”

“You need to be home, G. Home with your mother. Try not to worry her. Just be with her.”

“True, vato. You’re right. I’ll drop you at your place first, though.” After a moment Gato added, “What’s our next move?”

“I have no idea, man. No damn idea, at all.”