Nicoletti drove past the front of the house. There was a light in the upstairs bedroom, Durbin’s room. He pulled the Jeep into the alley, killed the headlights, and rolled to a stop. The Suburban was backed in against the house. The snow was sticking to the roof but had melted on the windshield and the hood. It hadn’t been there long.
He walked quickly to Pandori’s car. It was angled to block the other end of the alley. Pandori wasn’t inside.
Nicoletti ran back to the house. One set of footprints in the snow led to the right side of the house. The basement door was ajar. Carefully, he eased his way down the stone steps and across the musty room. A dim light spread across the steps leading up to the kitchen. He saw Pandori’s cane leaning against the stair rail.
“I told you to wait,” Nicoletti whispered to himself. He drew the silenced pistol from his waistband and started up the steps to the kitchen.
He was at the top step before he saw the boots—men’s boots—then the legs, then the blood. A lot of blood. Lenny was partially rolled onto his side. He looked at Nicoletti and raised a finger to his lips. Nicoletti moved closer. Pandori moved the finger and pointed up to the second floor.
Nicoletti nodded and started to reach for his friend. Pandori’s jacket was open, the blood soaking through his shirt and smearing on the floor with every move he made. Nicoletti touched the face of his wounded friend.
“He was too fast. He’s got my gun.” He laid his head against the floor. “I’m sorry, Nico.”
Quietly, he started up the polished wooden stairs. Light came from the open bedroom door. Nicoletti noticed a line of light at the bottom of the closed door on his left. He remembered the door opened into the bathroom that connected to Durbin’s bedroom. He thought about yanking open the bathroom door. He reached for it but realized if it was locked from the inside, he’d lose the element of surprise. He pulled his arm back and moved toward the open bedroom door.
He knew he was making too much noise. The sound of the blood pounding in his ears and chest was enough to give him away. He crouched slightly, his arms fully extended in front of him, a two-handed grip on the gun. When the barrel of the gun reached the door jamb, he stopped. He balanced himself on the balls of his feet and gradually moved to his right, always looking over the front sight of the pistol.
Durbin’s bedroom revealed itself to Nicoletti in small slices. On top of the dresser, he could see Pandori’s 9mm pistol. At least Durbin wasn’t holding it. He moved to his right, half step by half step. He listened but heard nothing. He took another half step. He heard a noise, a woman’s groan.
A half step more and he saw Anne, her mouth gagged with a black cloth, her arms and legs outstretched, each tied to one of the four heavy wooden bedposts. She was in a red silk dress with golden dragons clawing across her shoulders. Her hair was pulled to the side and held with a silver comb. A red choker was tied around her neck. Nicoletti knew she was the living version of the painting hanging on the wall across the hall.
She saw him. Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened wide and looked in the direction of the bathroom. Nicoletti shifted his weight and entered the room. He stepped left, moving along the wall. Light escaped from around the partially closed bathroom door. He moved toward it and stopped to listen.
Anne let out a muffled scream. Nicoletti turned in time to see something large and dark, cutting through the air above his head. As it started to envelope him, he realized it was a blanket. He turned to his left but was stopped by the wall. Spinning to his right, he crouched low as the blanket began to fall. He instinctively ducked his head and raised his left arm.
Durbin’s first blow struck somewhere between Nicoletti’s left shoulder and bicep. The impact sent a spike of pain up his arm and into his neck. The blows continued in rapid succession.
Nicoletti stopped thinking. Instinctively, he kept turning into the blanket, hoping to get far enough under it to come out the other side.
He swung his damaged left arm over his head. The blanket wrapped around it. As his arm lowered, it pulled part of the shroud behind him. He could see a pair of boots in front of him.
From under the edge of the blanket, he fired three rounds: once into the boot, then a shin, then a thigh. The blanket was gone.
Charles Durbin stood before him, a blackjack in his left hand and a large combat knife in his right.
Nicoletti fired again, stomach, again, chest. Durbin fell forward onto his knees and his arms hung at his sides. He looked Nicoletti in the eye, then at the end of the silencer. His head lowered until his chin rested on his chest.
Nicoletti pointed the pistol at the center of Durbin’s skull. He lowered the barrel and lashed out with his left leg, smashing his boot into the right side of Durbin’s face. The killer spun on his knees, dropped the knife and the leather blackjack, and fell against the wall.
Nicoletti kicked the knife and blackjack across the room. He nudged his boot against Durbin’s head. There was no response, but he was still breathing.
Anne was tied with nylon dog leashes. He freed her hands, leaving the gag and the legs to her. He took a leash from the bed and bound Durbin’s arms securely behind his back. He used a second leash to tie Durbin’s ankles together.
A crashing sound came from below.
“Lenny.”
Nicoletti ran from the room into the hall.