Steve Martini - The Rule of Nine

Herman listened for the noise of an engine starting and scanned the aisle on both sides looking for backup lights. But he didn’t see or hear anything.

“Damn it!” I tell her.

“What’s he doing?” says Joselyn.

“Herman followed Thorn to the garage across the street, now he’s going inside.”

“Who, Thorn or Herman?” she says.

“Both of them.”

“Why didn’t you tell him to stop?”

“I did. He wouldn’t listen.” I pull my shirt over my head and slip on my shoes sans socks.

“You’re not going over there?”

“I have to.” I press my phone into the holster on my belt and strap it down.

Joselyn throws the blankets off and starts to get up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“With you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why not?” she says. “If the two of you can be terminally stupid, why can’t I? Herman has rocks in his head. And you’re not much better. Neither of you listen,” she says. “The FBI and the police have Thorn covered. I have it from on high. You can trust me on this.”

“Tell that to Herman,” I say.

“I did. He wouldn’t listen. In other words, he doesn’t trust me,” she says.

“It’s not just you. Herman doesn’t trust anybody,” I tell her. “Herman believes what he sees with his eyes and smells with his nose. I think that’s how he’s stayed alive this long.”

“So it’ll serve you right if the FBI busts both of you for interfering with their investigation.” She has her bra on and is pulling up her pants, searching for a top. “And if they do, don’t call me to come post bail,” she says.

I glance at her and smile. “You mean if I called, you wouldn’t come?”

She looks at me, trying to maintain a stern expression. “I don’t know. What I want to know is why men are so stupid.”

“Probably has to do with the yin and the yang,” I tell her. “Testosterone versus the female hormone.”

“You mean estrogen?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. It’s why women find it so easy to manipulate us. It gives you that whole sexy package,” I tell her.

“Yes, that along with intelligence,” she says. “Don’t try to patronize me and don’t change the subject. If you guys want to think with your dicks, that’s fine, but don’t ask me to put my body on the block with friends in the future unless you’re willing to cooperate.”

“You stay here,” I tell her.

“Oh, sure.” She has her top unbuttoned and no shoes on her feet. “I’ll just lie back down and go to sleep,” she says.

“I’ll grab Herman and be back in a flash.” Before she can answer or follow me, I’m out the door. I hear one of her shoes slam against the inside of it before it can close.

Thorn was down on one knee between two parked cars about twelve vehicles down the aisle in the garage. He looked at his watch to check the time. This morning he was on a very tight schedule, and he had to keep moving.

Thorn knew that the three of them had been following him since before his last trip to Puerto Rico: the lawyer, his investigator, and the bitch Joselyn Cole. Thorn had been tipped off, been given detailed information and then told not to worry, that everything was taken care of. It wasn’t then, but it would be now. He had to get them off his back and keep them off for at least one hour. That was all he needed. After that it wouldn’t matter. By noon it would all be over.

In the meantime his luggage from Puerto Rico would catch up with him at the hotel. Thorn would be free to select any one of the three fresh passports from his suitcase and disappear, vanish forever into the luxury of a multimillion-dollar retirement.

He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later he heard footsteps moving in the shadows of the garage. They were coming from the direction of the sunlit entrance at the ticket kiosk out in front. He saw the large silhouette as the man moved slowly. He stayed away from the cars as if he knew that the blind spaces between them represented a risk. Instead, he kept his back to the front concrete wall of the building, where he knew there was nothing behind him.

The man stalking him tried to stay in the shadows, but given the bright morning sunlight and the fact that he was backlit against the opening of the garage entrance, it was impossible.

Thorn could have easily threaded the silencer on the small Walther PPK in his pocket, and even at this distance could probably hit the man at least three times without missing. The guy was that big. But he didn’t want to take the chance, not with the ticket attendant in the kiosk out in front. Besides, the Walther might not drop him. Instead, Thorn stuck to the plan, waited, and watched. He would use the gun only if one or both of the other two showed up. Thorn had arranged it all in the garage directly across from their hotel to make it as convenient as possible.

Herman started to wonder whether he might have lost him. He scanned the distance across the garage over the tops of the cars and noticed at least one lighted exit sign on the back wall as well as a bank of elevators leading to the offices upstairs. Thorn could have taken either one and slipped away.

The garage was quiet. Most people were already at work. Herman looked back toward the entrance, thought for a moment, then turned and started toward the next row of cars, the third aisle down.

Before he could take a second step, he heard a scratching sound on the concrete somewhere behind him and off to the right. He stopped, turned, and looked. He was certain that the noise had come from the aisle in front of him, and close.

Herman took a tentative step toward the line of cars, then decided he couldn’t be sure which side of the aisle the noise might have come from. He moved as silently as he could on the rubber soles of his running shoes, one hand plunged deep in his pocket, the other balled into a fist.

Thorn slipped down onto his chest and looked under the car. He could see the shoes of the big man as he came straight down the center of the aisle between the two lines of parked cars. No doubt he was checking between each vehicle on each side as he passed them, trying to make sure that no one got behind him. It was a good tactic as far as it went, but Thorn could see that he had already blown it.

Thorn waited until the man was almost even with the other side of the car he was peering under and then, without warning, he suddenly bolted upright, stood straight up, and looked right at him.

Herman stood there wide eyed. Adrenaline shot through his body. He recognized Thorn immediately. The only thing he couldn’t see was the man’s hands, to tell if he was holding a gun.

Thorn took a step out from behind the car and Herman realized that the only thing in the man’s hand was the briefcase.

Liquida would have preferred Madriani. But he knew that unless he could get the lawyer alone, sooner or later he would have to deal with the big investigator. So it might as well be now, when he had the element of surprise. He came at him with catlike quickness, the deadly stiletto in his gloved hand behind him.

Herman took half a step forward and was about to lunge toward Thorn when the searing pain in his back, up under his ribs, froze the soles of his shoes to the concrete floor. Suddenly Herman couldn’t move. He reached with his one free hand behind his back and felt the warm blood as it pulsed from his body. Herman knew instantly who it was and that the sharp point still jammed in his back had pierced a main artery.

Liquida’s blade found that magic place that paralyzes with pain. The big man’s knees buckled. As he went to the concrete floor, Liquida went with him, holding the knife in place and moving it around for maximum damage.

Herman tried to call out, but he couldn’t. It was as if his voice was paralyzed. He realized he could no longer draw air in his lungs, as the blade had punctured one of them and blood began to fill it.