Anthony Horowitz - Nightrise

Frank Kirby passed the door, on his way out. They had worked with him for two years but they hardly knew anything about him. He didn’t speak much and he never smiled. He smoked too much. He was usually the last to leave.

“Goodnight, kids,” he rasped.

They heard him make his way down the corridor. The stage door groaned open and then clanged shut. Don White would be in his office, having a last drink, talking on the phone to Marcie. Otherwise they were on their own.

Jamie leant down and tied up his laces. There was a hole in his trainer. He could see through to his bare foot inside. “What happened?” he asked. “What did you see… out on the stage?”

“I don’t know.” Scott bit his lip.

“You said you saw someone called Daniel. You said he was being hurt.”

“Jamie, I don’t want to talk about it. OK?”

“Sure…” Jamie looked at his brother in dismay.

Scott let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He shook his head. “Something’s happening. I don’t know what it is. But something’s wrong…”

“What do you mean?”

“Tonight. That woman. Everything.” Scott ran a hand through his hair. It was thick with sweat. “Listen, Jamie. I’ve got a bad feeling. Maybe you’re going to have to look out for yourself…”

“Why? Scott? What is it?”

It was the dog that warned them.

The theatre should have been empty. The theatre was empty in that all the other performers had gone, leaving only the twins behind. But what Don White had forgotten was that Frank Kirby was staying in a boarding house that didn’t allow dogs, so every night he left Jagger in his dressing room. The German shepherd slept on a mat and normally no one would notice that it was there.

But something had disturbed it. Scott heard a low growling that suddenly rose, loud and threatening. It was coming from the corridor. Jamie looked up. He had never heard Jagger like that before. Scott raised a hand, signalling his brother to stay where he was, then stepped out of the door. And that was when he saw them.

Two men. One bald, one dark. Both in brown suits. Scott registered with a shock of disbelief that the bald man was holding a strange-looking gun.

Scott stared at them. They had seen him the moment he had appeared in the corridor but they couldn’t reach him. The dog was between them, hackles raised and teeth bared. Jagger was ten years old. It slept most of the time. But now, suddenly, it had changed. It was as if it had discovered the savage animal it might once have been. It was about to attack. There could be no doubt of it.

Scott realized instantly that he and his brother were in danger. He didn’t know who the men were or why they were here, but he knew he had to get away and had only seconds in which to do it.

Jamie! Come here!

He didn’t shout the words. He thought them. But it had the same effect. Jamie burst out of the room and saw the two men just as Jagger let out a final snarl and leapt into the air. He recognized them instantly. Banes fired the gun – not a bullet but some sort of dart. It hit Jagger in the neck. The dog screamed. Scott pushed Jamie ahead of him and the two of them began to run. Behind them, Jagger was still arcing towards the two attackers. The end of the dart – tufts of black feather – stuck out of the fur below its ear, but it was still conscious, snapping at the two men, snarling and barking. Kyle Hovey cried out as the dog sank its teeth into his arm and began to tear at his flesh. But then Banes got hold of it. His hands clamped down on the animal’s head, holding it against the floor. Jagger tried to reach him, tried to get back onto its feet. But then the drug, whatever it was inside the dart, took effect. The dog’s eyes glazed and it lay still.

The boys still hadn’t reached the corner of the corridor. Banes had dropped the gun when he had dealt with the dog but now he snatched it up, aimed and fired. The dart missed Scott by an inch and bounced off the wall. Banes didn’t have time to fire again. The boys had disappeared. White-faced, furious, he turned to Hovey, who was cradling his arm, half buried underneath the unconscious animal.

“After them!” he hissed.

Hovey stumbled to his feet. Banes reloaded his gun, pressing two more darts into the chamber. The two men set off even as the stage door clanged open ahead of them.

Jamie had reached the parking lot between the theatre and the motel. One end led onto Virginia Street with one of the casinos – Circus Circus – just opposite. The other tapered into a narrow alleyway leading to the quieter streets behind. There was nobody in sight. A few cars – belonging to the motel guests – had been left in the lot. The motel office, a box-like room looking out onto the main road, was closed with a NO VACANCIES sign in the window. Jamie came to a halt. The heavy night air seemed to fall onto him, instantly draining his strength. What was going on? Scott had called him – but he had done it telepathically. It had been like a knife going into his head. And then the two men from the audience. One of them with a gun. Jagger…

“Scott!” he cried out and at once he was angry with himself. He wasn’t helping. He had no idea what to do. As always, he depended entirely on his brother.

Scott wasn’t going to let him down. While Jamie had stood there doing nothing, he had snatched up a coil of electric flex that had been left on top of a rubbish bin. He had already slammed the stage door shut and was twisting the wire around the handles. Now the door wouldn’t open from the inside. He had bought them time. The two men – whoever they were – would have to go round the front.

“Who are they?” Jamie cried. “I saw them. They were in the theatre. They came twice.”

“Not now,” Scott rasped. “We have to move…”

It was already too late. Even as Jamie watched, a car appeared, a black Mustang, racing down the alleyway towards them. There was a driver and another man in the passenger seat and there could be no doubt that they had been waiting for the boys to come out. Two inside the theatre. Two sitting outside. How many of these people were there?

Jamie froze. Scott leant down and picked up one of the rubbish bins. It was full and must have weighed a ton, but maybe desperation had given him extra strength. As the car sped towards them, he threw it. The dustbin didn’t travel far – but the speeding car did their work for them. The bin smashed into the windscreen. Glass shattered. Scott and Jamie threw themselves aside as the car rocketed towards them. Rotten vegetables and leftovers showered down as the dustbin rolled across the hood. They heard the metal door panels crumpling as the car slammed into the side of the theatre. Then it swerved away and smashed into the motel office on the other side. An alarm went off. The car came to a hissing, shuddering halt.

The two boys had hit the ground and rolled out of harm’s way. Jamie was the first to his feet. He reached out for Scott and helped him up. For a brief moment, he wondered if the driver of the car and his passenger had been knocked out. But his hopes were dashed when the car doors opened and two men staggered out, one of them with blood oozing from a cut in his head, but both of them otherwise unhurt.

“Move!” Scott commanded, and Jamie set off, making for Virginia Street. They had to get out into the open where there would be other people, witnesses. But as they went, Jamie felt something streak past his ear and realized that one of the men had fired another dart at him. At least it wasn’t a bullet. The plan was to take the two boys alive. But what then? What had brought these people to the theatre in Reno? For years, nobody had cared about him and Scott. Why was all this happening now?