James Burke - Light of the World

There was a popping sound, high in the sky. Terry climbed on a chair below the window that was taped over with a black leaf bag. He peeled the bag from the corner of the glass and peered out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Boyd said.

“That noise. It’s people shooting off fireworks over the lake.”

“Tape up that window!” Boyd said.

“All right, don’t shit your pants. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Jack, but I think you’re out of your depth. You should stick to taking bribes.”

Surrette opened the upstairs door and came down the steps. “What’s going on down here? What were you doing on that chair?”

“People are shooting fireworks on the lake,” Terry said. “I’m a little tired of the way I’m being talked to, here. I’d like to finish this up and get paid and be on my way, if you don’t mind too much. I don’t like that stuff with the kids, either.”

Surrette approached, his formless suit loose on his body, his Roman sandals scudding on the concrete floor, a malevolent glow in his face. He took a coil of clothesline from his coat pocket. It seemed to drop like a white snake from his palm as he pressed it into Terry’s hand. “So show me what you can do,” he said.

“The broad and the old guy?”

“Yeah, you up to it?” Surrette said.

“I’ll handle my end.”

“Sure you will,” Surrette said. “Go ahead, get started.”

“The woman on the bed? She keeps moaning,” Terry said.

“That’s about to end. You dropped the rope. Pick it up.”

Terry shook his head. “I’m going back to Reno.”

“Walking, are you?” Surrette said.

“I’m saying include me out. I’m DDD on this. Deaf, dumb, and don’t know. I got no issue with you. I got no issue with these people. You don’t owe me anything. I’m gone. Okay?”

“No, not okay,” Surrette said. “Let me show you how it’s done. You might develop a taste for it.” He walked to the bed and took a switchblade from his coat pocket. He pushed the release button. The blade, seven inches long with the wavy blue-and-white glimmer of an icicle, sprang to life in his hand. Felicity opened her eyes.

“It’s time, is it?” she said.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Go ahead.”

“You really want me to?”

“I do. Untie my hand, please.”

“What?”

“I’ll help you. You mustn’t be afraid.”

“ I shouldn’t be afraid?”

“Please. Just release my right hand.”

“So you can do what?”

“Touch you.”

His mouth moved as though he wanted to smile. “You have things a little turned around.”

Her right wrist pulled against the rope. “Please,” she said.

“All right, your highness,” he said. He gripped the rope and sliced it in half. “Now what?”

She fitted her fingers around his wrist and guided the blade to her breast. “Push it in,” she said. “Make it quick.”

“Asa! Listen to that noise out there!” Boyd said.

“What noise?” Surrette said.

“Like thousands of people roaring in a stadium,” Boyd said.

“That’s the wind,” Surrette said. “Storms come off the lake almost every night here. The wind makes a roaring sound through the orchards.”

“You hear that ? You call it wind? What the fuck is it, man?” Terry said.

“I don’t hear anything,” Surrette said.

“I’m out of here,” Terry said.

Surrette started to reply. Then somebody began tapping on the window glass, the one he had blacked out with a leaf bag.

“Can you hear me, Mr. Surrette?” a voice said. “It’s Alafair Robicheaux. How have you been? We’ve surrounded your house and cut your phone line. No police are on their way. The people with me plan to do you great physical injury, but we will not bother your friends. If you release your prisoners, you can live. Otherwise you will die, and probably not at once. Tell us what you want to do.”

Surrette’s face went white, like a prune that had never seen light, his eyes brightening, his nostrils swelling like a feral animal’s.

Alafair remained crouched on one side of the basement window, listening for a response. She stood up and stepped away from the window.

“Could you hear anything?” I asked.

“I think I heard Surrette talking. Maybe Jack Boyd, too. There may be another guy down there, too.”

“Did you hear Molly or Albert?” I asked.

She shook her head, her eyes not meeting mine.

Clete had positioned himself at the rear of the house; Gretchen was in the front yard. I signaled to both of them. Clete picked up a scrolled-iron chair from the patio and threw it through the French doors, then broke two windows in back with stones the size of grapefruit that he had picked up from the rock garden. Seconds later, Gretchen flung a flowerpot through the picture window in the living room. Alafair and I moved around to the back of the house, staying close to the walls so no one on the second floor would have an easy shot. There was no sound or sign of movement inside the house.

“I hate to admit this, Dave, but this one has me creeped out,” Clete said.

“Why?”

“None of it makes sense. It’s like a story written for us by somebody else. Felicity turns herself over to this sick fuck, and now Molly and Albert and those girls are in his hands. One guy can’t have this much power and do this much damage.”

“Hitler did.”

“Bad comparison. They were just waiting for the right guy to come along and tell them it was okay to turn people into bars of soap. Let’s call for backup.”

“Do it,” I said.

He opened his cell phone. “No service,” he said.

“Good. He doesn’t have any, either,” I said. “I don’t think Surrette will do too well on his own. You want the M-1?”

He pulled his .38 from his shoulder holster. “No,” he said. “Streak, even if he puts a bullet through my brain, I’m going to kill him. But if this is my last gig, I want you to make me a promise. Take care of Gretchen. She doesn’t realize how talented and smart she is. She got a crummy deal from the day she came out of the womb, and it’s because her old man was a drunk and a bum.”

“Don’t ever say that, Clete. At least not around me,” I said. I could see the pain in his eyes, and I knew he didn’t understand what I was telling him. “You’re one of the best people on earth,” I said. “No daughter could have a better father. You saved Gretchen’s life, and you saved my life and Molly’s. You changed the lives of dozens of people, maybe hundreds. Don’t you ever speak badly of yourself.”

His eyes were shiny, his face dilated. “Let’s blow up their shit.”

“A big ten-four on that,” I replied.

Clete kicked the back door once, twice, and on the third try, he splintered the wood from the hinges and the dead bolt and knocked the door in on the kitchen floor. Alafair came in behind us. In the living room I could hear Gretchen raking the glass out of a window frame with a hard object before she stepped inside.

The first floor was completely dark. Through the window, I could see the shadows of the trees moving on the lawn, and waves from the lake sliding up on the lighted sand by the marina. I kept hearing the sergeant’s voice inside my head: Their sappers are the best, Loot. They beat the French with the shovel, not the gun. They’re behind you, Loot. They’re coming through the grass.

I felt like someone was pulling off my skin, the way you feel when someone is pointing a gun at you and you’re unarmed. Clete was in front of me. He froze and cocked one fist in the air. He turned and pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at a hallway door that was partially ajar.

I couldn’t concentrate on what he was telling me. I knew our vulnerability did not lie in the basement; it was behind us. You follow the money, I thought. It’s been about money from the beginning. Surrette got rid of Caspian Younger’s daughter so Caspian could appropriate the oil lands she would inherit from a trust fund left by her parents. Surrette got rich by killing Angel Deer Heart, and Caspian got free of his father’s control.