Gregg Hurwitz - The Kill Clause

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Good,” Mitchell said. “Then let’s do him and split.”

Bowrick had back-stepped to the desk, his head ducked in anticipation of the shot. His thin arms crossed his chest, hands outspread over the balls of his shoulders.

“No,” Tim said.

Mitchell regarded him in disbelief, his eyes two white-shining orbs beneath the black fabric of the hood. “What?” The gun inched over, aimed now somewhere between Bowrick and Tim. “We’re doing this whether you like it or not.”

Before he could think, Tim’s hand was down and through the draw. He center-sighted on Mitchell’s head and saw Mitchell’s sights staring him back in the face. Robert swung his gun at Tim, then back at Bowrick, agitated in the unfamiliar role of mediator. “Let’s calm the fuck down here. Let’s calm down.”

Bowrick’s eyes were closed, his head still recoiled. Tim eased slowly over until he stood between Mitchell and Bowrick, squinting against the light of the Mini-Mag. When he leaned back, he felt the heat of Bowrick’s fear emanating from less than a foot behind him. He kept his eyes on the muscles of Mitchell’s forearm, reading them. His finger lay on the side of the gun parallel to the barrel, just outside the trigger guard, ready to flick and squeeze at the slightest prompting.

“Move. I’m not fucking around here. Fucking move!” Mitchell pulled his gun sharply right and fired, the bark matched by a flash of flame at the barrel. The bullet bit out a chunk of closet frame. Bowrick muttered something low and fearful behind Tim. Robert was yelling, but right now it was just Tim’s eyes and Mitchell’s eyes peering out from the depths of dark wool, locked on each other.

Tim stayed perfectly still, gun trained on Mitchell’s head. “If you make one more movement with your gun hand except to lower your weapon, I will shoot you.” He spoke softly, but he knew Mitchell heard every word, even over Robert’s yelling. “Believe me, you don’t want to exchange bullets with me at close range.”

They faced each other over their respective barrels.

Finally Mitchell rode the hammer forward and half spun his gun so it sat sideways in his hand, uncocked. He slid it into a hip holster and thundered out the rear of the house, boots pounding on the floor. Tim looked at Robert and jerked his head toward the door. Robert took a deep breath, then holstered his weapon and jogged out after his brother.

Tim half turned to keep an eye on Bowrick, then slid his own gun back into his waistband. Bowrick slid down to the floor, milk-pale and trembling, his eyes and nostrils red at the rims. His teeth were chattering.

“You’re gonna want to leave. Right now. Don’t wait for them to come back.” Tim’s footsteps broke the near silence. The rear door hung crooked on its frame, and Tim pushed past it and into the shitty backyard.

He was almost to the fence line when he heard Bowrick retching. He stopped, exhaled deeply.

A minute and a half later, Bowrick emerged, stuffing crumpled bills into his pocket, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He started when he saw Tim waiting, still wearing the hood; he turned to run but stopped when Tim made no motion.

“Oh. It’s you. I just…I just called a buddy, gonna pick me up in five minutes.” Bowrick’s eyes darted nervously to the yard’s perimeter, which Tim had been scanning assiduously. “Will you wait with me till he shows?”

Tim nodded.

TIM had barely exited into Moorpark when he noticed the flashing lights behind him. He eased over to the curb. It was a sheriff’s car, not CHP, but on the off chance he didn’t know the deputy, he turned on the dome light and kept both hands in sight on the wheel.

The deputy angled the spotlight into his rearview, so he squinted as the dark form approached. He waited for the knuckle tap, then rolled down his window. Dray leaned over, resting both hands on the sill, smirking. “License and registration.” She took note of his expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I figured. I pulled you over before you raced home and got into it with Mac.”

“Are you solo?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you follow me. Let’s get off the road.”

Tim followed her car. Eventually they pulled off onto a dirt road that crested the top of a little canyon, then rolled a few meters, gravel crunching under the wheels. Tim got out and joined Dray, sitting on the hood of her car. He’d forgotten how well she wore her uniform. Down below, a wedge of eucalyptus and a freestanding garage took shape in the darkness. Through a dimly lit window, Tim could see Kindell’s figure stooping and rising, as if moving items from the floor to a counter, and he was simultaneously surprised and not surprised that they had wound up here.

“He had a water pipe burst in there last night.” Dray’s lips pressed together until they whitened. “Don’t know how that could’ve happened. Unfortunate thing is, the place isn’t code, so he’s got no one to complain to.” She clicked her teeth and turned to him. “What’s going on? You look like hell.”

“I couldn’t go through with an execution. Today. At the last minute I just couldn’t…”

Dray laced her fingers and rested her cheek on the points of her knuckles, regarding him. “Who was it?”

“Terrill Bowrick.”

She whistled, let the sound fade slow. “You guys don’t screw around. Straight to the scum A-list.”

“Mitchell gun-faced me when I pulled the plug on the operation.”

“What’d you do?”

“Stared him down. He left furious, but he left.”

“Why couldn’t you go through with it?”

“When I confronted Bowrick, I saw his remorse. I saw him, not just a person who committed a crime I couldn’t understand.” Though the night was cool, he felt the tingle of sweat across his back. “And he looked a lot like me.”

Dray made a noise deep in her throat. “When I shot that kid, the first thought I had the minute I cleared leather, just as I was aiming and being aimed at-it wasn’t about life or death or justice. The only thought I had was that he was the handsomest kid I’d ever seen. And I shot him. And he’s dead. And that’s that. Procedure, rules, a deadly-force clause that I trusted in-those are the only things that let me quit prying at myself from time to time.”

She gestured to Kindell’s distant shadow in the window, bending and hauling. “I’ve come slowly to see you did the right thing. By not shooting Kindell that night. I can’t say I don’t relish the sight of him suffering, but I’ve put some miles between me and Ginny’s death, and the picture resolved a bit. Like this…” She waited, head cocked like a dog zeroing in on a sound too distant for human ears. “The law isn’t individual. Its aim isn’t to redress loss-it’s separate from loss, really. It’s not there to protect individuals but itself.” She nodded, as if pleased with how the sentiment had formed itself into words. “The law’s selfish, and that’s just how it’s gotta be.”

“Why all this clarity now?”

“You don’t ask why clarity comes, you just hope it does.”

Tim nodded, then nodded again. “Clarity came tonight when I saw Bowrick in my sights. I don’t know where I’ve been the past two weeks.”

Dray let her breath out through clenched teeth. “I fuck up fast and hard, but you’re always cool. Always level. So much so, if you’re left alone, you can talk yourself into anything. I mean, what were you hoping the Commission would give you?”

He thought hard, but the answer stayed dumb. “Justice. My justice.”

“Like against a fascist census? Like voodoo protection from evil spirits? Like against school bullies?”