Jeff Abbott - A Kiss Gone Bad

‘Yes,’ Whit answered. His voice sounded raw.

‘Say it with conviction. I think judges need conviction.’ A small, sickening laugh. ‘Pick one of your brothers. I’ll kill him to prove I mean business.’

Horror flooded Whit.

‘Pick a brother,’ the voice said genially, ‘or I order them all killed.’

Whit gasped. ‘Please don’t. I’ll do what you want.’

‘Which one?’ The voice oozed enjoyment. ‘Teddy in Houston? It’d make Father’s Day rough for his three little delectable girls. Or Joe in Atlanta? That software company probably pays him big, his widow should live large on insurance. How about Mark in Austin, who so wants to be a writer? Isn’t he your favorite brother? Let’s spare the world another crappy poet.’

‘Please don’t hurt them. Please!’

‘Pick one,’ the shooter snapped.

‘Me. I pick me!’ he screamed. ‘Just leave them alone!’

A slight laugh. ‘Said with conviction. So how will you rule?’

‘Suicide, suicide, suicide.’

‘Fine. I’m generous tonight so all your brothers get to wake up tomorrow and fuck their wives and breathe the air.’ A pause. ‘Sorry about Irina’s computer, but better it than the back of her head.’ In the darkness he sensed the shooter leaning over the desk, toward him. To look up would mean death.

‘Now here’s what we’re going to do, asshole. You’re going to stay kissing the floor here for the next thirty minutes. Because a buddy of mine is watching this cafe, and if a light comes on, or you move, I come back and shoot you. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes,’ Whit answered. ‘I completely understand.’

‘Don’t let me down. Judge.’

Whit heard the door shut. He heard only the harsh labor of his own breathing. He fingered his neck, face, and ear; there was no wound. He lay perfectly still on the floor.

The guy sounded like – what? A polite psychopath? A government agent? Or like a tough guy who’d seen a lot of bad movies. Multiple operatives. Who the hell was this?

You willing to take a chance? With your life and your family’s?

He let the thirty minutes pass, not moving in the darkness. His cell phone rang, and rang, and rang, but he did not answer it.

From the bay Port Leo appeared as a luminous stitch against the black fabric of the night. The always open Port Leo State Pier glowed along its long thrust into St Leo Bay, and even from this distance Whit saw stick figures moving, eclipsing the lights, and he imagined he could see the lines the fishermen cast out into the bay, as thin as spider’s silk. Whit sat in the bow of Don’t Ask and sipped at a jelly jar full of bourbon.

He had left the cafe, hauling Irina’s ruined computer after him and cleaning up the debris. He’d phoned Babe, said he wouldn’t be home that night and that he’d dropped Irina’s computer while moving it. He promised to replace the computer.

Babe sounded unconvinced. ‘You’re not with this girlfriend of Hubble’s, are you? You better not be blowing this election thinking with your dick.’

‘I’m not, and thanks for the vote of confidence. Be sure all your doors are locked. Daddy. And keep your gun at your bedside.’

‘What? Christ, Whit, what is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Just do it,’ Whit said. ‘I got to go.’

Whit felt safe in one place, and that place was now settled in the calm of the bay, a big-ass moat between him and the world.

Gooch poured the right bourbon and was the consummate listener. When Whit finished, outlining the investigation, the attack, and the threats against him and his family, Gooch said, ‘Of course we have to destroy these people.’

Whit said nothing.

‘It’s an insult to the rule of law. Even when the rule of law is The Not-Always-Respectable but Ever-Honorable Whit.’ Gooch sipped his spring water and stared out over the empty dark of the water.

‘I should warn Dad and Irina and my brothers.’

‘If this jerk wanted them dead right now, he wouldn’t have bothered telling you. Listen to me. Whoever did this is scum and he deserves a quick ending.’

Whit listened to the water slap against the sides of the Don’t Ask. ‘If they’re following me, they might figure out that I’ve told you.’

‘I’m hardly the authorities. I’m simply a grizzled fishing guide.’ Gooch finished his drink. ‘I’m curious as to who could field this army of darkness, devoted to nothing but eliminating a legion of Mosleys.’

‘Junior Deloache.’

Gooch shrugged. ‘Junior doesn’t strike me as the forceful type on his own.’

‘So he sends one of his goons in his place.’

‘But this person knew details about you, your family. Junior is not oriented toward homework. Who else’s cage have you and Claudia rattled?’

‘Well, Delford took her off the case and she’s steamed about it.’

‘But Delford was threatened as well.’

Whit shrugged. ‘Could be a cover so I don’t suspect him. But there’s a huge stretch between Delford yanking Claudia off this case and then Delford ordering me to be shot at and my whole family threatened. My God, I’ve known Delford Spires for years. No way.’

‘What about our senator?’

‘Not Lucinda’s style. You may not like her, but she’s not the kind to use thugs.’

‘Lucinda Hubble is exactly the type to use hired muscle. I am not fooled like our fair electorate. I do not find her amusing or colorful or even particularly bright. There is something missing in that woman’s eyes, some common trace of humanity. I don’t doubt she lets Faith’s hands get dirty while she keeps her own gloves white.’

‘But this guy clearly didn’t know about the suicide note Sam found. The note makes it much more likely I’ll rule for suicide, even without a threat. If the shooter knew about that… why threaten me? I think it puts the Hubbles in the clear.’

‘Indulge me, Whit. What if it was a Hubble? Say your fair Faith.’

‘I’m indulging.’ Whit kept his voice steady.

‘At the least Lucinda is Pete’s mother. There’s a bond there that should survive just about anything, and you say she was clearly torn about him coming home. But Faith, this is nothing but nightmare for her. If Pete comes home and sours the election for his mother, Faith loses her job. Pete wants her kid and thought he had enough leverage against her that he hired a lawyer. If he did have dirt, it had to be radioactive for him to be considered the superior parent. She’s down two strikes. And she’s fiercely protective of Lucinda. Her I could see.’

Whit took a hard swallow of the bourbon, let it burn his throat. ‘She’d be capable of killing Pete. I have no illusions there. But they consider the case closed now because of the note. She doesn’t benefit from this threat against me.’

‘Unless she doubts you buy the note and wants insurance.’ Gooch showed compassion the only way he knew how, by shifting subjects. ‘And Jabez Jones? His name keeps popping up here.’

‘I think not,’ Whit said.

‘Why?’

‘Gunplay doesn’t seem his style.’

‘There’s a lot of testosterone in his ministry. You know, the Bible is deplorably violent.’ Gooch smiled. ‘You’re neglecting one other possibility.’

‘Who?’

‘Velvet.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Am not.’

‘She’s the one clamoring hardest for me to rule homicide. It makes no sense.’

‘Look, Whit, she could be working a carefully constructed sham. She looks like Pete’s advocate, but she retires from town quietly when you rule suicide. She nicely puts herself out of suspicion.’

‘I just don’t see her as a killer.’

‘Christ, Whit, are you sleeping with her, too?’