Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“There’s no cash,” Knife said, but it sounded weak, unconvincing.

Nathan shook his head and looked at Fork, who was nodding furiously. “I think your brother has something to tell us.”

Nathan yanked the tape from Fork’s mouth.

“It’s buried near the garage. Leonard told us if we ever touched it, he’d kill us.”

Knife glared at his brother with pure hatred in his eyes.

“Your bro here sounds upset,” Nathan said. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t mention it earlier, Billy.”

“Look man, I’m sorry, I wanted to, I really did. You don’t understand, they said they’d kill us. Our cousins are crazy.”

Nathan faced Knife. “It’s simple, really. If anything happens to your beloved cousins, like life imprisonment or death, the cash would be yours, right? They’d be out of the picture, so it’s easy money. There’s no need to ask where your cousins are, because if you knew, you’d give them up. Then the money would be yours. Right?”

Knife didn’t respond.

Nathan looked at Billy. “Right?”

“I guess.”

“You mean you hadn’t thought of that? Your brother sure had.”

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid, Billy.”

“Easy now,” Nathan said. “He saved you a ton of pain. I would’ve wrung it out of you eventually. You might need a wheelchair and a colostomy bag for the rest of your life, but you would’ve told me. In fact, I think you owe your brother a thank-you for sparing you all that discomfort.”

Knife wouldn’t look at his brother. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Don’t you feel better now?”

“Yeah right, whatever.”

“Billy is going to show me where the money’s buried. You stay put, okay?”

Knife just stared. There was more than hatred in his eyes. Something else, something harder to pinpoint. Fear? Anxiety?

Nathan winked at his partner. “If he even looks at you funny, give him another phone call.”

Harv answered in his best gangster voice, “You got it, boss.”

“Cover us for a second.”

Harv pulled his Sig, triggered the laser, and pointed it at Billy’s chest.

Billy looked down at the tiny rose of death. “Hey, man, take it easy, okay?”

Nathan cut the tape from Billy’s torso. “Hands behind your back, Billy. Do it now.” Nathan was all business again. Although he doubted Billy’s blabbering cowardice was an act, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. He secured Billy’s wrists behind his back with several layers of duct tape. “Outside. Let’s go.”

Holly Simpson was standing just outside the door when they stepped through. She had her Glock 22 in her right hand and a flashlight in the other hand. “We need to get up to that cabin right away,” she said.

“They aren’t there,” Nathan said.

“How can you be sure? You really think there’s money buried out here?”

“I seen it,” Billy said. “They got it stashed in ammo cans right over there. Three of ’em.”

“And you believe him?” Simpson asked.

Nathan shrugged.

“You better be right about this.” She turned on her flashlight and shined it on Billy’s chest. “Show us.”

They followed Billy through a maze of junked cars, rusted farm equipment, and fifty-gallon drums. Coming from every direction, the symphony of ten thousand crickets filled the night. Gun held at the ready, Holly swept her flashlight back and forth through the jungle of Americana crap. Nathan knew she was looking for threats. This was a good place to get ambushed. Lots of hiding places.

Billy stopped at the corner of the single garage. The bottom of its stucco walls were stained with reddish-brown mud from rain splatter dripping off the eaves. “Right here,” Billy said. “I’m standing on them.”

“How deep?” Holly asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe a foot.”

“Shovel.”

“In there.” He nodded toward the garage.

SAC Simpson tucked her flashlight under her arm, pulled her radio, and thumbed the button. “Copy?”

“ Copy, ” came the response.

“Hustle up here. We’re at the garage north of the farmhouse.”

Henning acknowledged with a click. Thirty seconds later he arrived, but stopped about one hundred feet short. He flashed his light twice. Holly pointed her flashlight in his direction and issued three flashes in response. Henning’s beam bounced as he closed the distance.

Nathan was impressed. They’d used a predetermined signal in case Simpson was being held hostage and forced to use her radio. If Henning hadn’t received the three flashes in return, he’d instantly know Simpson was in trouble. Breathing a little heavy from his run, he closed the distance and focused on Billy.

Holly looked at Nathan, then back to Henning. “We’re going to open the garage door. You two okay?”

They both nodded.

Henning crouched down at the opposite corner of the garage.

Holly did the same on her corner. “On the deck, Billy,” she said, “right here in front of me.”

“In the dirt? I’m soakin’ wet.”

“Do it now.”

“It’s just a garage,” he muttered. Because Billy’s hands were secured behind his back, he had to drop to his knees first, then slide his legs out from under him. He plopped over with a grunt and lay still.

Holly nodded to Nathan. “Okay, lift it slowly.”

Nathan pulled his gun and stepped to the middle of the garage door. He grabbed its galvanized handle and began lifting. “Watch for trip wires,” he said.

Henning crouched lower and swept his flashlight in an arc across the garage floor, his gun tracking the beam.

“Clear,” he said.

“Clear,” Holly echoed.

“Check the rafters,” Nathan said.

They both swept the ceiling area.

Nathan raised the door the rest of the way. The garage was mostly empty. Its concrete slab was cracked in random lines, like a black widow’s web. A red Suzuki Enduro occupied one corner and looked like it had rarely been ridden. A small storage rack was mounted above the Enduro’s rear wheel. In the opposite corner, several shovels, hoes, and rakes were secured in a linear bracket screwed into the wall. A workbench occupied the left side. Various household tools were hung on hooks: Saws. Hammers. Pliers. Screwdrivers. Wrenches. Everything was arranged by type and function and nothing was out of place. The opposite wall hosted all kinds of power tools. They looked new or well maintained. And yes, there was a grinder. Most of the empty power-tool boxes were neatly stacked against the rear wall of the garage. Nathan frowned. This didn’t look right.

Henning stepped into the garage and was about to flip a light switch.

“Wait!” Nathan yelled. He looked at Holly.

She nodded her understanding. “It could be rigged.”

Henning stared at the switch for several seconds before backing away from it.

“Okay,” Holly said, returning her attention to Billy. “Stay put.”

“Better let Billy dig up the ammo cans,” Nathan offered. “They could be booby-trapped.”

“Good thought.”

“They aren’t,” Billy said.

“Your cousins tried to frag a dozen federal employees yesterday,” Holly said. “We’re a little short on trust.”

Henning stepped forward and cut the tape binding Billy’s hands. “On your feet. If you run, I’ll shoot you in the back. Clear?”

“I ain’t gonna run,” Billy said, tearing the tape from his wrists.

She and Henning tracked him with their pistols across the garage floor and back.

“I’m going to check the perimeter,” Henning said. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” Holly acknowledged.

Henning disappeared into the darkness.

Tight and professional, Nathan thought.