Mark Smith - The Inquisitor

“Sister.”

Ray carried Lily into the living room and put her down in a chair. Still half asleep, she listed side to side.

“Don’t do this to her, Harry,” said Hall.

Harry looked back at Hall and then broke into a grin.

“What’s funny, Harry?”

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Harry said. “You think she’s your ace in the hole, right?” He stood up, tying the sleeves of his jacket around his waist to keep covered.

“What’re you doing, Harry?” said Hall.

“Just watch, okay?” Harry walked to his sister and did the knuckle knock on her head. “Anybody home?”

“Can we go for a walk?” said Lily.

“What’s my name, sis?”

“Where shall we go?” she said.

Harry worked up a light, sandpapery chuckle and put it out there for them.

“Fellas, meet my little sister, Lily. She’s an institutionalized, mostly catatonic schizophrenic. She hasn’t known who I am for more than a decade-and at a hundred grand plus a year, she’s a fucking stone around my neck.” He shook his head at them. “I mean, I don’t want to see her get hurt, but if you think that’s gonna turn me around…” He gave them the chuckle one more time. “Guys, let me put it this way. Every night I get down on my knees and pray she’ll die. You’d be doing both of us a favor if you broke her in half.”

Hall and Ray shared a flat look.

“Harry,” said Ray, “she may be crazy as a fucking eight, but it doesn’t mean she won’t feel the pain.”

“Time for that phone call, Harry,” Hall said.

“I’m telling you-Geiger won’t answer.”

“Just make the call,” said Hall. “We’ll take it from there.”

Harry could see the reflection of the rising sun crawling up the sides of two crystal buildings across the river. The earth was turning at an incomprehensible speed. We’ll take it from there. If Hall could locate Geiger off an unanswered call from a cell phone, he had access to some major-league technology.

“So,” Harry said, “I’m thinking this isn’t about a stolen painting, huh?”

“Fuck you,” said Ray. He picked Lily up and tossed her across the room. She hit the floor like a rag doll, hardly making a sound. She lay facedown, limbs askew, and then began to whimper in short spurts. Looking at her, Harry suddenly imagined that the sadness swelling inside him would crush his heart against his ribs and kill him.

Ray turned to Harry and tapped his forehead with a bratwurst-sized finger.

“ That’s what this is about, Harry.”

“Know what, Ray? You are one shit-ass excuse for a mean motherfucker.” Ray’s huge hand flashed up and grabbed Harry by the throat. “And,” Harry croaked, “you owe me twenty bucks, asshole.”

Ray’s lips parted in a viperous grin, and for a moment Harry thought he’d take the bait.

“Stay on plan, Ray,” Hall said. “Get her on her feet. We’ll see how coldhearted big brother really is.”

As Ray let go of him, Harry took his last, best shot.

“You were real good down on the street, Ray,” he said. “Tell me something: do you do other stuff, or does Massah Hall always have you play the homeless nigger?”

Ray’s arm came up and across as if he was stepping into a perfect backhand. His forearm met Harry’s skull at ear level, and the blow sent him flying.

Harry hit the floor short of where he’d hoped to, but then went into a clumsy rollover, praying it looked realistic. He came to a stop lying faceup against one of the desk’s legs. He had a loud screech in his head, tears in his eyes, and a blurry but unobstructed view of the Beretta in its holster.

Hall was up on his feet.

“Jesus, Ray! What’re you-a goddamn plebe? Huh?”

“Sorry,” Ray muttered.

Harry closed his eyes. His left kneecap had taken the full measure of his weight and had a ballooning throb in it now. Clusters of stars skittered across the undersides of his lids. He thought he might pass out from the pain and cursed himself for not considering that possibility beforehand. And now that the gun was in reach, he felt tiny spiders of panic crawling up and down his spine. He had no plan for how to proceed beyond this point.

Harry heard Lily whimper again and felt tears bulge beneath his eyelids. The fireworks display in his head was abruptly interrupted by a bleached-out, undulating vision. He was in their bathroom on Ninety-fourth Street, soaking in the tub and reading about the latest exploits of his beloved Green Lantern. The door opened and Lily came in-she couldn’t have been more than seven. She lifted up the toilet seat and then her pleated tartan skirt, before plopping down and starting to pee. She turned to him and gave him a magnificent grin.

“Hear it?” she said. “That’s why they call it tinkle, ’cuz that’s how it sounds. Can I come in with you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“I used to.”

“I said no, didn’t I? You deaf?”

“How could I be deaf if I’m answering you, stupid?” She leaned toward him and rapped her knuckles on the top of his head three times. “Anybody home?”

Now, lying under the desk, the saddest, angriest part of him wanted to rip the Beretta from its holster and fill the room with bullets until the clip was empty and no heart among them could ever beat again.

“Harry?” It was Hall’s tired voice. “Harry, get up.”

Harry didn’t move. He heard a long sigh sift through Hall’s nostrils. He knew Hall wasn’t interested in any of this extracurricular activity. He was all about information, precision, clean angles. He was chafing at the waste of time.

“I swear to God, Ray,” Hall said. “If he’s out cold…”

“I hear you,” Harry said.

“Then get up and go sit in the chair. Ray, put Lily on the couch so Harry has a good view of her.”

Harry opened his eyes. Once Ray picked up Lily he was going to pass right by him. Harry rolled over and got up onto his hands and knees, sucking oxygen to counteract his dizziness.

Harry watched Ray lean down to Lily, take hold of the back of her blouse, and start dragging her across the floor toward the sofa. She could have been a mannequin en route to a window display.

“Rise and shine, Harry,” Ray said.

Harry’s right hand rose and grabbed the edge of the desk for support. The action gave him a second’s peripheral glimpse of Hall’s whereabouts-he was still standing at the sofa. Harry slid his left hand under the desk and closed it around the Beretta’s dimpled, hard-rubber grip just as Ray came abreast of him.

Ray paused and gave him a brittle smile. “Show’s about to start, pal.”

Harry pulled the gun free and stuck it into Ray’s wide, smooth forehead. “Move one inch and I swear to God that will be the last incredibly stupid thing you ever say.”

Harry liked the sound of that-he liked the delivery, too. He watched the lids of Ray’s eyes pull back to their limits, revealing angry mahogany irises.

“Jesus Christ,” Hall said. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

Harry pushed the gun’s muzzle deeper into the thin flesh. “Hands up.”

The joints of Ray’s jaw tensed and he scowled as if he’d bitten down on something very bitter. Then he let go of Lily and raised his hands above his head.

“Turn ninety degrees with me,” Harry said, “so I have Mr. Hall in my line of sight behind you. Baby steps-and slow. ” The two men turned on their shared axis. Now Harry could look at Ray and also have a head-on view of Hall standing ten feet away. “Mr. Hall,” he said, “take your gun out and toss it in the direction of the bathroom door.”

“Calm down, Harry,” said Hall. “You sound pretty antsy.”

“I am antsy. Very.”