Gregg Hurwitz - The Kill Clause

“Any guess as to who the next intended victim will be?”

Bowrick’s mouth didn’t move at all, but he creaked, “Oh, God.”

Tannino glanced away, just for a second, but it was a poker tell. “That’s all the information we can disclose at this point.”

Erika’s hand stopped making its circles on Bowrick’s back.

Tim leaped up, grabbed the protruding frame above the window, and slid down into the bedroom, landing on his feet. Bowrick and Erika reacted violently, lunging off the bed, dragging the comforter and sheets to the far side in the process. They stood side by side, cowering, their backs to the closet door.

The house smelled of bratwurst, and Tim thought, How’s that for stereotypes?

Erika fell to her knees, trembling, embracing Bowrick around his waist. He had one hand up, forearm angled as if shielding light from his eyes.

“Don’t shoot him, oh, God, don’t…” She broke down.

“Some men are coming to kill you,” Tim said. “Hide better.”

A moment of stark disbelief. Bowrick lowered his hand.

Tim leaned back through the window and swung the sturdy, German jalousies shut, blocking the view from the street. When he turned again to face the kids, tears were sparkling on both their cheeks.

“Let ’em get me,” Bowrick said. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Is that true?”

He sniffled, wiped his nose with his sleeve. “No.”

Erika found her voice. “Who are you?”

Tim gestured to the window, now shuttered. “This is stupid. Your coming to this location is stupid. There are trails to lead them here.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Saliva formed a bubble sheet in the corner of Bowrick’s mouth.

“Not this.”

“I got nowhere to go.”

“Go to the cops.”

“The cops fucking hate me.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“They won’t do shit for me, and if they do, it’ll be worse being in custody than being out here. Trust me-I know.”

Frustration tightened Tim’s chest. “You figured it out before.”

“They found me before.”

“No, I found you before.”

Bowrick’s hand came up, four fingers angled at Tim, like a wooden puppet pointing. Erika was still on her knees, her cheek mashed against Bowrick’s side, watching.

“You saved my life.”

“I didn’t save your life. I decided not to take it.”

A voice carried down the call. “Erika! Dinner’s on the table.”

Erika stared at Tim, a lot of white showing in her eyes. Tim looked at her and said softly, “I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m in the bathroom!” she called out. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Well, move it! I didn’t spend all this time cooking to eat a cold meal.”

Erika’s eyes jerked down at the floor-a hint of embarrassment, even here, in all this.

Tim tilted his head at Bowrick. “You know how to hide. Just do it better.”

“I can’t.” Bowrick’s lips started quivering, severely, and the tears came now, full force, fording his lips. “I don’t got nowhere to go.”

“You don’t have another safe house?”

“No, man. A buddy of mine helped me set that up. He’s in Donovan right now, went down for grand auto. I got…I got no one.”

“Save it for the talk shows. For now get lost. And well.”

Bowrick’s teeth clicked as he studied the floor. His voice came in a small whine. “They’re really gonna do it, aren’t they? Hunt me down and kill me?”

“Yes.”

His lower lip sucked in, wavering behind the line of his front teeth. Erika’s arms tightened around his thigh.

Tim said, “Go to the police.”

“I’m never going to the police. Never again.”

“Call your probation officer.”

“He’ll make me come in.”

“Go to Mexico.”

“I can’t…I can’t be apart from Erika like that.”

“This is not my problem, kid. Do you understand me?”

“Help him. Would you help him?” Erika sobbed out the words.

Tim stared at her, stared at him.

Footsteps coming down the hall, rapidly, sped with anger. “Erika Brunnhilde Heinrich, you get your rear to the dinner table right now.”

Tim clenched his teeth until he felt his jaw swell at the corners. “Come with me,” he said. He pushed open the shutters and stepped out into the night.

He was across the front lawn when Bowrick caught up to him, jerking slightly with his limp, breathing hard. “Where we going?”

“Don’t talk.”

A pair of headlights illuminated the street, and Tim grabbed Bowrick by the shirt and yanked him against the side of the neighboring house. The car passed. Green Saturn. Family.

Tim kept close to the house fronts in case the need arose to take cover, Bowrick doing his best to keep up. They reached Tim’s car and climbed in.

“What kind of car is this?” Tim asked as he pulled out.

“Acura.”

“Wrong. The first answer is, ‘What car?’ The second, if you’re pressed hard and need specifics, is, ‘A green ’98 Saturn.’ Like the one that just passed us. Think you can remember that?”

“I won’t tell nothing about this. I swear to God.”

“You’re a snitch, Bowrick. Answer my question.”

He looked out into the night, and Tim saw his sullen expression reflected back off the window. “Yes, I can remember that.”

They made it a few blocks without anyone talking. Bowrick played with his hair in front, grabbing it in a fist and tugging gently. “They raped her,” he said.

The wheels hammered over a divot in the road.

“Four of ’em. On the bus after an away game. The others cheered.”

Tim watched the road, the unending flashes of road reflectors.

“She wanted to testify at the trial, but I didn’t want to put her through it. My mousefuck of a public defender wouldn’t have given a shit anyway, and, hey, fuck, I never needed it since I made out pretty good with my immunity grant. It don’t change what I did, but I…I just wanted to say it.”

Tim turned on the radio. A beat-pumping dance number rattled the speakers. He turned it off. He stared straight ahead at the road. “I didn’t know,” he said.

Bowrick dug at something between his teeth with a nail. “Of course you didn’t.”

They’d driven about four blocks in silence when Bowrick laughed. Tim shot him an inquisitive glance, and he smiled-the first time Tim had seen him smile.

“God, I love that chick.” Bowrick shook his head, still smirking. “Her middle name is Brunnhilde.”

•Tim pulled into the parking lot of a Ralph’s grocery store, parked, and got out. Bowrick stayed in the car. Tim circled and tapped on the window. “Come.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you in the car.”

Bowrick unbuckled his seat belt and let it snap back on the recoil. Tim led the way into the store, moving aisle to aisle ahead of Bowrick, collecting Visine, Comet, Sudafed, three prepackaged wedges of poppy-seed cake, a six-pack of Mountain Dew, Vicks Formula 44M, and a jar of vitamin-C tablets.

Bowrick followed him, making noises to demonstrate his bafflement. “Just got a sudden urge to do a little grocery shopping?”

Back outside, Tim pulled around behind the store, near the dark loading dock. Digging through the trunk, he found the first-aid kit he’d transferred from the Beemer. He freed the empty syringe from beneath its leather strap, grabbed a needle in a sanitized paper sheath, and returned to the driver’s seat.

He removed the plunger and squeezed a stream of Visine into the empty shot barrel, then sprinkled in some Comet. Placing a vitamin-C pill on the dash, he smashed it with the butt of his gun and swept the resultant powder into the barrel as well. The liquid fizzed, giving off a slight crackling noise. Replacing the plunger, Tim cleared the air from the syringe.