Ian Hamilton - The disciple of Las Vegas

Ava began to count again. At thirty-six the car came to a halt. At forty-two it reversed. At fifty-five the trunk popped open. She raised herself on one elbow and peeked out. Nothing. No one. Ignoring the pain in her body, she climbed out and stood beside Douglas’s garage door. Andy and Carlo were right behind her.

Martin was standing beside the car. When they were all out, he closed the trunk. “I don’t see anyone at a window or the door,” he said quietly.

“What happened with the guard?” she asked.

“He took my ID into the security office and then made me get out of the car to get it back.”

“Lazy.”

“Whatever. I wasn’t going to argue with him.”

Ava scanned the street. There wasn’t a soul in sight. She wasn’t surprised; it was hardly the kind of neighbourhood where people went for strolls or lounged on their front porches.

“Okay, walk to the door. We’ll be behind you. When you get to the door, we’ll get on either side of it so they can’t see us through the door window or the peephole. Then you give it a good knock. When they open the door, take two steps back. We’ll take it from there.”

“And you want me to stay in the car?”

“I think that’s best, unless you want to head back to Vegas. I could phone you when we need you to come back.”

He looked doubtful. “This is nerve-wracking. Let’s get this over with and then I’ll decide.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Ava said.

Martin shrugged, took a deep breath, and turned the corner onto the walkway leading to the house. Ava tucked in behind him and the boys followed, clutching their paper bags. They separated at the door, Ava going to the left, Carlo and Andy standing with their backs pressed against the garage wall on the right.

“Do it,” she said.

Martin lifted the metal knocker and rapped. Then he stood back and waited. He was reaching for the knocker again when the door swung open. “You’re early,” a voice said.

Martin took two steps back and Ava slipped in front of him. She looked up to see the pale, fleshy face of the man in the white tracksuit who had attacked her in the parking lot. He stared at her, puzzled. He doesn’t recognize me, she thought, as she drove the phoenix-eye fist into his stomach, just below the ribs. He yelled in pain, then spun backwards and gagged. Ava pivoted to his right side, twisted her hips, and drove the toe of her Cole Haan pump into his ear. That’s how you kick someone in the head, she thought. He stumbled into the house and collapsed onto a white shag carpet.

She moved past him, Carlo and Andy flanking her, their weapons now in plain sight. Ava scanned the ground floor. It was one large room set up as separate areas. On the right was the den, which had a black leather couch, a La-Z-Boy recliner, and an enormous home entertainment centre. On her immediate left was a sitting area with two upholstered loveseats covered in plastic and a wooden coffee table. There were three doors in front of her. Two were closed but one was open; she could see a refrigerator.

Then a new player stepped into the kitchen doorway. The man was at least six foot six and as heavy as Ava, Carlo, and Andy combined. His long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and his tanned face was dotted with pockmarks. He stared at Ava, a mixture of anger and curiosity in his blue eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said.

Right behind the man she could see David Douglas and Jeremy Ashton, peering around him into the room.

“I said, what the fuck are you doing here?” the man repeated, and then he started to charge.

Carlo had been holding the gun against his hip. Quickly he aimed it and shot Douglas’s bodyguard, the bullet ripping into the giant’s right thigh. He lurched forward and then collapsed onto the floor. He grabbed his leg, but blood spread quickly onto the carpet. Then the man Ava had taken out threw up. The white shag was now covered with viscous yellow vomit and fresh blood.

“Holy shit,” Douglas exclaimed.

“Stay exactly where you are,” Ava said to Ashton and Douglas, who were still standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Holy shit,” Martin said.

Ava turned around. Martin was still standing at the front door.

“Holy shit,” he repeated.

“Keep everyone covered,” Ava said to Carlo, then went over to Martin. “That’s it — the worst is over,” she said to him. “Now please get in the car and stay there. You won’t hear any more gunshots, so don’t worry about that. Things are under control now.”

“Holy shit, Ava.”

She took him by the elbow and moved him outside, half closing the door behind her. “I need you to get in the car,” she said gently. “I also need you to stay here for a while. If you see anyone approaching the house, call me on my cell. But please, don’t wander into the house.”

When Martin didn’t move or acknowledge Ava’s words, she gripped his elbow a little tighter and steered him to the car. “I need you to keep calm,” she said.

“I’m all right,” he said as he climbed in.

“I know you are. And as I said, the worst is over.”

Ava walked back to the house, pushing Martin further out of her mind with every step. When she opened the door, Douglas’s man was throwing up again. His partner was bleeding badly, the leg of his blue jeans completely soaked from the thigh down.

“Where are the dogs?” she said to Douglas, who stood paralyzed.

He looked at her blankly, his mouth hanging open, a streak of saliva on his chin. His eyes flickered from her to Carlo, to Andy, to his two men on the floor.

“Where are your dogs?” she said.

“Out back.”

Ava walked over to the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. There were three Rottweilers, as the detective had said, each in its own steel cage secured by a padlock. “Do I need keys for the locks?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Where are they?”

“In the kitchen, on the counter by the toaster.”

“The two of you, sit over here,” she said, pointing to a loveseat. “Don’t move and don’t speak unless I tell you to.” Then she said to Carlo, “Keep an eye on them.”

She retrieved the keys and came back into the living room.

“What are we going to do with these guys?” Carlo asked, pointing at Douglas’s men.

“How badly is that one bleeding?”

“We should tie it off,” Carlo said.

“Andy, go to the bathroom and get what we need.”

Ava turned to the bleeding man. “What we’re going to do is put a tourniquet on your leg to help stop the bleeding. If you and your friend here behave yourselves, this should be over soon and you can go to a hospital. If you give us any trouble… well, these two won’t care what happens to you. Understand?”

“You fucking — ”

“That is exactly the wrong attitude,” Ava said, stepping on the hand he was holding over the gunshot wound. He screamed in pain as his partner nodded.

Andy brought towels, gauze, and two ACE bandages from the bathroom. Without a word he split the blood-soaked jeans with the cleaver and then went to work on the leg.

Ava took the duct tape from her bag and taped the other man’s hands and ankles together. She felt him tense when he saw Andy standing over him with the cleaver. She turned to the man with the gunshot wound to do the same.

“You don’t have to do that to me,” he said. “I can’t move anyway.”

“Sorry, but I can’t play favourites,” Ava said, as she wound the tape around his wrists and then his ankles.

She got up and tossed the keys to Andy. “Take them to the backyard and put them in the cages with the dogs.”

“What did you tell him?” the pasty-faced man asked nervously.