Howard Shrier - Boston Cream

As I eased around the corner, a shot rang out and bits of brick blew into my face, breaking skin and drawing beads of blood. I dropped down and elbow-crawled forward until I could reach around the corner with the M4 and fire off another burst. As the sound died away I heard a door close. He had gone back into the building. If I followed him, I’d be on his turf and on his terms. I’d seen drawings of the building but he knew it cold. He could ambush me a dozen different ways. I turned and went back into the garage instead, vaulted up onto the dock. Denny was lying on his back, breathing. I turned him onto his side, found some strapping and bound his hands behind him. Back inside, moving down the hallway toward the foyer, I stayed close to one wall, my finger on the trigger of the Colt. When I came to the open space, only silence greeted me. Victor, the big man and Brendan were dead. The one Victor had clubbed, Kelly, was dead too, his neck unnaturally loose when I felt for a pulse. There was no sign of Ryan or Joey.

That left me nowhere to go but the prep rooms. I started down the hall that led to the extension where they were housed, where undertakers had worked their magic over the years to prepare bodies for viewing. Though the funeral home had long been out of business, the air smelled different in this wing. There was a chemical taint to it, a hint of preservatives. Maybe if I breathed it in I’d live longer.

I listened for the sound of steps, of breathing, anything that might tell me if someone was lying in wait. There was no room for hesitation or error. If Daggett or one of his men crossed my field of vision I would blast away, and keep blasting until they were dead.

Even though I’m not a violent man.

Wait. A floorboard creaked ahead of me. Ahead and on the right. I stopped moving and crouched into the smallest possible target. The hall ended in a T. To the right was a storage room where supplies were kept, to the left the two prep rooms. On the right side, something came into view at eye level. The barrel of a shotgun. My breathing was loud and ragged in my ear. A few more inches of the barrel showed. I knew Daggett only had a pistol. So did Frank. Ryan or Joey? Both had shotguns. I tasted salt on my lip from the sweat that was beading there. I put a little pressure on the trigger and kept it there until I saw the stock of the shotgun.

A Mossberg.

I ran my tongue over my lips and hissed, “Ryan!”

The barrel stopped moving. I heard him whisper, “Jonah?”

I stood up slowly, heard a crack in my knee as a tendon stretched. “All clear,” I whispered back.

He came around the corner, raising the gun barrel toward the ceiling, and waved me over.

“Where’s Daggett?” he asked.

I shook my head. “He got away. And he’s got a gun.”

“Whose?”

“The guy I laid out on the dock.”

“Shit.”

“I fucked up. Forgot to frisk him.”

“Never mind that. It was all happening fast. We’ll get him.”

“And Joey?”

“I had to chase him into an office and shoot him in the back. First time I ever did that. All my years in the game, I never had to.”

“You okay?” I asked.

“Hey,” he said. “This is me, Geller. Not some rent-a-fuck you hire off the street. I won’t lose a minute’s sleep over any of them.”

“All right.”

“What about you? You took another shot to the head.”

“I’m good,” I lied. The truth was I felt unsteady, weak, more than a little nauseous. “Any sign of Jenn?”

“Not yet. I was about to check these rooms.”

“Daggett said she was in Prep Room B.”

“You believe him?”

“He had a gun on him when he said it.”

We moved together down the hall, Ryan going forward, me walking backwards, covering us against any action from the rear. When we got to Prep Room B, he whispered, “How do you want to do this?”

“Kick the door in and shoot anyone who isn’t Jenn.”

“You’re the karate kid,” he said. “As soon as you kick it, drop to the floor so you’re not in my line of fire.”

“Use your pistol,” I said. “It’s too close quarters for a shotgun.”

He set the shotgun down carefully, stock down, and took out his Glock and nodded. I lined myself up in front of the door handle. There was no additional lock on the door. I focused on the area where the strike plate would be, took a deep breath and launched a front kick. The door flew open and I hurled myself forward and saw Jenn down on the bed, her wrists and arms strapped to the frame, a gag in her mouth, her body twisting back and forth, her eyes wide with fear. A man with hair like a scrub brush was standing next to the bed, dropping a cellphone and going for a gun under his arm. Ryan shot him twice in the chest. He fell backwards on top of Jenn; I leapt forward and grabbed his bloody shirt front, yanked him off her and threw his body to the ground.

She was alive. Thank fucking God she was alive. I sat down on the narrow bed and undid the gag first and she cried out my name. I leaned down and put my arms around her and felt hot tears on my neck.

“We got you,” I said.

She tried to say something but her sobs became hiccups and I just held her, feeling her chest heaving and shaking. I felt tears well up in my eyes too.

“I knew you would,” she finally said.

“Ahem,” Ryan said.

She turned her head and saw him and broke out in a grin. “And you,” she said. “I hoped you’d mix in.”

“When don’t I?”

I got her wrists free while Ryan went back to the door and retrieved his shotgun, covering the hallway. “Did they hurt you?”

She sat up, her cheeks shiny with tears. She wiped them with one sleeve. “I don’t think so. Not much, anyway. Daggett slapped me a couple of times because of what I did to his friend. But then he said he wanted me healthy so he could use me. You heard what for. He brought me in here and this guy put a needle in my arm. That’s all I remember except for-”

“For what?”

“Weird dreams. Really weird. I mean, I … What time is it anyway? Is it still Saturday?”

“Monday,” I said. “Monday night.”

“Jesus.”

“When did you wake up?”

“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago. Daggett’s friend, the one I hit with the car, he called a few minutes ago. He was on the way here.”

“Don’t worry about him.” I stood and held out my hand. “Can you stand up?”

She took my hand out and I pulled her up gently. I pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her and held her tight again.

“My clothes are on the chair,” she said.

I kept my arm around her shoulder. She took a few steps and grimaced and then tears started to stream down her face again.

“What?” I said. “Honey, what?”

“It hurts,” she said. “My-down there-it hurts. Oh, God. Oh God, what did he do? Did he-what, the whole time I was here?”

She looked down at the man on the floor and kicked him hard in the head, the sheet coming off her and falling to the floor, just as David Fine’s grey blanket had fallen to the sand on Plum Island. She threw her arms around me and I held her tight.

“Listen,” I said. “Daggett is in the building. On the loose. We have to go find him.”

“Wait,” she said.

We held each other another half minute. When I felt the panic subside, I let go of her and picked up the dead man’s gun-I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Ryan and I turned our backs while she got dressed. Then I handed the gun to Jenn and said, “Stay here until we find Daggett.”

“No.”

“It’ll only be a few minutes.”

“I said no, Jonah. I’m not spending another second in this room.”

“You’ll be safer here.”