Richard Doetsch - The 13th Hour

Brinehart opened his trunk, lifted the two duffel bags out of his car, and put them in the open trunk of Dance’s Taurus.

“I could have been killed.” Dance continued berating the young officer.

“Relax, I saved your ass,” Brinehart waved his hand.

“Where are the diamonds?”

Brinehart pulled the black velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to Dance.

“So help me God, if a single stone is missing-”

“You talk a tough game for someone who just had to be saved from walking into a trap.”

“Watch yourself.” Dance jabbed his finger into Brinehart’s face. “I was smart enough to pull the bags from my car. Smart enough to have you gather some backup to save me. So in fact, I saved myself.”

“Yeah, of course. And if the two guys in the warehouse behind me know you’re involved in the robbery, how many others know?” Brinehart stepped closer to Dance, moving into his space. “And what the hell does he mean, that you are going to drop me in the reservoir? Are you thinking of killing me, Dance? Are you thinking of killing all of us? Because I don’t think you know me very well.”

“Listen to me, very carefully.” Dance leaned even closer to Brinehart. “Watch your step or you will not get a dime.”

“Hey, Dance,” Brinehart said. “Remember, they came for you, not me.”

“You think I would take a bullet for you, Brinehart? You don’t know me very well. Careful-if things get too crazy, I just may drop you in a lake.”

Brinehart’s face crumbled. He was outmatched. He quietly pulled a pistol from his waistband, handing it to Dance. “I pulled it off the one with hair.”

“Good job, Brinehart. Now both our prints are on it.”

NICK AND MARCUS sat ten feet apart, facing each other in a dimly lit room, the sole light coming from the wash under the steel bay door. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs, their feet secured to the legs of the chair.

“You all right?” Nick said.

“No, dammit. I’m pissed and my back hurts. And I’m going to break the jaw of that bastard who hit me,” Marcus shouted as he turned his head back and forth, trying to work out the kinks. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

Nick looked around the room, at the large open space. There were crates along the wall, a single desk in the corner. The power was out, as it was everywhere else in Byram Hills.

“In a dark room,” Nick said, trying to calm his friend.

“Smartass.”

“It’s a warehouse.”

“No shit?” Marcus said facetiously. “Where the hell is everybody?”

“Everyone is over at the plane crash or home.”

“You know how much money I give to the police retirement fund each year?” Marcus looked down at his wrinkled shirt, his torn pants. “That’s over. They ruined a perfectly good shirt and pants.”

Nick looked at the clock on the wall. 1:50.

“Stop looking at that clock,” Marcus said. “Time’s not going to slow down.”

Nick had less than ten minutes to get himself and Marcus out of here before he slipped back in time again, leaving Marcus alone and at the mercy of Dance.

Nick fought to keep the guilt out, the feeling of what he was putting his best friend through. He had set out to save Julia, but had inadvertently put his friend in mortal danger. Nick refused to have Marcus’s blood on his hands, and as soon as he had the chance he would free them, but he had to think quickly, as there was little likelihood they would survive if left in their current state.

Dance walked through a side door, slamming it behind him with a loud, jarring crash. He quietly walked into the room, circling his two captives. Finally stopping in front of Nick, he leaned into his face and whispered in his ear, “Where’s your wife, Nicholas?”

Nick stared at him, rage boiling in his eyes.

“Why do I bother asking you?” Dance turned to Marcus. “Where is she? Who else knows about the robbery?”

Marcus smiled a taunting smile, a Cheshire Cat smile, one he used often in toying with his business adversaries during negotiations.

“Listen to me, did you hear me?” Dance yelled, suddenly riled up. “Where is she? Who else knows about the robbery?”

Dance drew back his fist and unloaded it into Marcus’s nose, breaking it for the fourth time in his life. The blood ran down his lip, dripping on his white shirt and blue Hermès tie.

“Now,” Marcus said in a whisper, unaffected by the sucker punch. “You listen to me, you coward. Free my hands and hit me, let’s see how tough you really are.”

Dance pile-drived the side of Marcus’s face in answer.

“Tell me where she is,” Dance yelled at Nick as he pulled a gun, aiming at him, the moment hanging in the air. “Recognize your gun?”

And Dance spun around, smashing the pistol against Marcus’s head before jamming the barrel up under his chin.

“Tell me where your wife is, or he dies,” Dance said to Nick. This wasn’t just a threat, Nick could see Dance’s eyes confirming the truth in his words.

Nick stared at Marcus, his heart breaking as he was forced to choose one life over another.

Marcus looked at Nick, subtly shaking his head, and smiled. It was a warm half-smile, the kind he gave him after Nick had let the puck slip by into the goal, after he had missed a match-winning putt. It was the everything-will-be-okay-because-we’re-friends smile, the one they shared every time one of Marcus’s wives left him.

“You do it, so help me God, I’ll kill you,” Nick said with hate.

“That will be a pretty neat trick,” Dance said. “Seeing I’m going to kill you next.”

“You mother f-” Nick struggled violently in his chair, the veins on his neck distended, his shoulders and arms uselessly shaking.

“Nick,” Marcus said softly.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” Nick yelled at Dance, ignoring his friend.

“Julia is safe,” Marcus said, continuing his words in a softly spoken plea.

“I’ll rip your heart out!” Nick screamed at Dance, violently shaking his chair in frustration.

“Nick,” Marcus whispered, finally getting his attention, calming his friend, his soft words contrary to his character. “Julia is safe. Know that, take comfort in that. Don’t worry about me.”

And the door slowly opened. A heavyset man, a man Nick recognized, stood in the doorway. It was the accomplice to Julia’s murder, the gray-haired man who had stood at his front door ringing the bell, distracting him from protecting Julia as she was killed.

“Perfect,” Dance said, relief in his voice.

And he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gun shattered the moment. Marcus’s head exploded backward in a rain of blood before falling forward against his chest.

Nick couldn’t pull his eyes from his dead friend, the sound of the bullet’s report echoing in his ear, only to be replaced by a blood-curdling scream coming from the doorway.

And as Nick turned his head, all hope was lost, everything he had tried to do was for naught. His best friend was dead, he was powerless, and Dance would get away with it all.

For standing in the doorway, screaming in fear, with terror-filled eyes, was the last person he thought he’d see.

And his heart broke as he saw Julia helplessly standing there.

And his world went black.

NOON

NICK FELL TO THE floor of his library, howling in agony at his best friend’s death, at leaving Julia behind to die once again.

It was no longer just about saving her from her death at 6:40 P.M. It was about saving her at 1:00 from the future he had just created for her, in which he left her alone to perish at the hands of Dance. It was about changing the future he had created for Marcus, his best friend who helped him without question, who believed him when he spoke of impossible scenarios and gold watches, who gave his life to save Julia’s, a sacrifice that had proved in vain.