Joel Goldman - Final judgment

Fish sat in a chair barely big enough to contain him, one hand on his chest, sweat pooling in the folds of his cheeks and neck. Sylvia stood next to Webb. Two shadows appeared on the deck and Webb quickly unlocked the sliding door, pulling it open as Dennis Brewer shoved Blues into the den, his gun inches from the back of Blues’s head.

“Facedown on the floor; hands behind your back,” Brewer said to Blues.

Blues looked at Mason, shaking his head in apology, and laid down. Brewer holstered his gun and pressed his knee against Blues’s spine, lashing Blues’s wrists with plastic cuffs. Finished, he stood and pointed to Mason.

“You’re next,” he said and then repeated the procedure.

“Put them downstairs with Lila,” Kelly said.

“What about him?” Brewer said, pointing to Fish. “Should we cuff him?”

“What for? He’s harmless,” Kelly said. “Put him with the others.”

“Why don’t you kill them and get it over with?” Webb asked.

“Because,” Kelly said, “having four bodies turn up at this house may not be in our collective best interests. We’ll get rid of them, but not here and not together.”

Brewer marched them down the deck stairs and deposited them in the storage room with Lila Collins, who lay on the floor unconscious, knees to her chest, her head on one arm, the other covering her face. The floor and walls were bare concrete. The deck provided the ceiling. The room was empty except for them.

A single bulb hung from the ceiling. Brewer turned the light on long enough to make certain the cuffs on Mason and Blues were secure, then shattered the bulb with the barrel of his gun, leaving them in the dark as he locked the wooden door behind him.

Mason felt his way to Lila, sitting next to her and bumping her gently until she moaned softly.

“They drugged her,” Blues said.

“You were supposed to rescue her.”

“I had her in my arms when Brewer showed up. He didn’t give me a chance.”

Mason sat next to her. “Lila. Lila, wake up.”

“Let her be,” Fish said, his words and breath coming slowly. He had slid to the floor and was propped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. “Sylvia said she’d come out of it soon.”

“I’m glad the two of you had a nice chat. What in the hell are you doing here?” Mason asked him.

“I came for the money,” Fish said.

“All of it or just your cut?”

“All of it.”

“Too greedy. If you’d been satisfied with your cut, you’d still be upstairs with them instead of downstairs with us.”

“Is that what you think, boytchik? That I helped them steal the money?”

“Mickey said you called him while he was in the vault with Sylvia and told him to let her take the money.”

“You were with me. You know I didn’t make the call. Wayne must have imitated my voice. The whole thing was actually very nicely done. I especially liked the car wreck. I’ll bet anything that other driver walked out of the hospital the first chance he got.”

“If you weren’t involved, how did you know Sylvia would bring the money here?” Blues asked.

“After Lou told me that Wayne was using this house, it was a good guess. I thought if I could get them to give the money back, it would settle my account with the government.”

“Did you really think they would just give it to you?” Mason asked.

Fish laughed, gasping at the effort. “Even I’m not that good of a con man. I had a gun. But that Kelly Holt took it away from me.”

Mason felt a surge of affection for the old man, mixed with guilt at having been so quick to condemn him. “You did good, Avery.”

“Well, boytchik, doing good is something new for me. I thought I’d give it a try while I still had the chance,” Fish said, struggling to get the words out.

“Take it easy. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Of course you will,” Fish rasped. “Such a good lawyer I’ve got.”

Blues felt his way along the wall until he came to the door, feeling the lock in the dark. “Damn,” he said. “Can’t pick the lock from this side even if I could see what I was doing. We’re stuck here until they come and get us.”

The sliding door overhead opened and two people walked across the deck and down the stairs.

“Won’t be long,” Mason said as he and Blues backed themselves against the wall opposite the door.

Brewer and Kelly opened the door to the storage room, shining powerful flashlights in their eyes. Hands behind their backs, Mason and Blues ducked their heads, unable to avoid the blinding glare. Though only a few feet away, they couldn’t see Brewer and Kelly well enough to attack them even if they were foolish enough to try.

“Time to go for a ride,” Brewer said.

“Lila is still out and Fish needs help getting up,” Mason said. “Take off our cuffs and we’ll move them.”

Brewer shined the light on Fish. His chin lay on his still chest and his open eyes didn’t blink at the bright light.

“This one doesn’t need any help,” Brewer said. He poked Fish with the toe of his shoe then pressed the flashlight against Fish’s cheek, the temperature hot enough to sear his flesh. Fish didn’t flinch.

Kelly set her flashlight down, pushing Brewer’s away, and knelt at Fish’s side, feeling for a pulse. “He must have had a heart attack. He’s dead.”

“Natural causes. We caught a break,” Brewer said.

Mason closed his eyes, seeing Fish in his living room, his grandchildren tugging at his ankles, his bitter daughters pulling them away from him. He heard Fish telling him that all he wanted was another chance with his family. It was enough to make Mason forget the odds. He opened his eyes, lowered his shoulders, and launched himself at Brewer with a piercing, guttural yell.

Leaping over Fish’s body, he caught Brewer in the belly, the two of them tumbling through the doorway and onto the frozen ground. Mason landed on his back like an overturned turtle, cuffed hands beneath him. Brewer was quick to his feet but was knocked flat an instant later when Blues flew into him like a linebacker blindsiding a quarterback.

Brewer made it up on all fours, shaking the cobwebs from his head. Blues was about to kick him in the ribs when Kelly fired a shot at his feet. Blues whirled around toward Kelly, measuring his chances.

“The next one goes in your knee, Bluestone,” she said.

Brewer staggered to his feet, gathered himself, and walked up to Blues. Without a word, he slammed his fist into Blues’s solar plexus. When Blues folded up, he hit him hard in the back of the neck with a two-handed blow, dropping him in the grass. He took a step toward Mason, drawing his gun.

“Not yet,” Kelly said. “Get Webb and his wife out of here and don’t forget the money. Somebody may have heard that shot and called the police.”

“What about them?” Brewer asked.

“Leave that to me, darling,” Kelly said.

Brewer kissed her hard on the mouth. “You are something else, Agent Holt.”

Mason and Blues managed to sit up as Brewer went back in the house.

“Stay where you are,” Kelly said, pointing her gun at them when they started to stand.

“Is this what you meant when you told me things weren’t what they looked like between you and Brewer?” Mason asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Kelly said, glancing over her shoulder at the house.

“Afraid the neighbors will hear?” Mason asked.

“For once in your life, just shut up, Lou!”

One by one, the lights in the house went out. A moment later, Brewer, Webb, and Sylvia climbed into the car parked in the carport. Brewer gave Kelly a final wave before they drove away.

When their taillights disappeared, Kelly walked over to Mason. “On your belly.”