George Pelecanos - Right as Rain

'I hear you.'

'So I'm not gonna stop and wait for you, man. I get Sondra back to my vehicle, I'm gonna phone you from my cell. That beeper goes off, it's your signal that I got her out safe, hear? You get out then, but only then. Till you hear from me, you hold them in that barn.'

'I'll hold 'em till hell freezes over or you say different.'

'God damn, you are somethin', man.'

'Get goin', Derek.'

'Listen, Terry…'

'Go on,' said Quinn. 'I'll see you out front of Leona Wilson's house, hear?'

Strange went into the yard, zigzagging combat style through the light. He got up onto the leaning porch of the house, ready to use the crowbar in the jamb of the door. But the knob turned in his hand, and Strange opened the door and walked inside.

Quinn removed his coat. He dropped it on his day pack, lying on the pine needles at his feet.

Adonis Delgado stripped off his shirt and pants, and left them in a heap on the floor. He got out of his briefs and dropped them atop the rest of his clothing, walking naked across the bedroom to where the girl sat, backed up against the headboard atop the sheets. He thought he heard a creak on the stairs outside the closed door but then became distracted as he caught a glimpse of himself in the dresser mirror; he looked good, hard in the stomach and pumped in the arms, shoulders, and chest. His erection was fully engorged as he reached the foot of the bed.

'C'mere, girl,' he said to the Wilson junkie, depleted to bones and drawn skin, a mile away from the way she'd looked when he'd had her the first time, over in the Junkyard. That was all right. Her irises were pinpoints. He knew she'd just gotten high, and that was all right, too.

'Please,' said Sondra Wilson, her voice little more than an exhaled whimper.

Delgado grabbed hold of one of her thin wrists. 'Trick-ass bitch.'

Outside the bedroom, past the landing, Strange ascended the stairs.

'Where's your shadow?' said Ray. 'He's been gone twenty minutes.'

'He'll be back,' said Franklin.

'I'll get him back,' said Earl, standing from the seat in front of the electronic poker game.

'I will, Daddy,' said Ray. 'I gotta drain my lily, anyhow.'

Earl watched his son go out the barn door. He went behind the bar to mix himself a drink, keeping an eye on the one with the horse teeth. The bottle of Jack was sitting on the sink. While his hands were down there, Earl took the Colt off the nails and racked the slide, placing the gun on its side on the stainless steel.

Earl had his.38 in his coat pocket, but he thought he'd keep another weapon live and within reach. You never could have too many guns around when you were dealing with common trash.

'This is a good one right here,' said Earl, motioning with his chin to the jukebox. 'Orange Blossom Special.' But the colored cop sitting at the card table didn't respond. 'Whatsa matter, fella? Don't you like Johnny Cash?'

Quinn rolled out into the yard as he saw the barn door begin to open. He got up on his haunches and pinned himself against the Ford pickup that was parked beside the Taurus. He drew his Glock and jacked a round into the chamber, keeping the barrel pointed up beside his face. He rose slowly, watching the son, the one named Ray, go by and head for the house.

For a moment, Quinn studied the rhythm in Ray's stride. Quinn silently counted to three and stepped out into the yard, walking behind Ray, closing in quickly on Ray, and then shouting, 'Hold it right there!' as Ray put one foot up on the porch steps.

Ray stopped walking. Quinn said, 'Put your arms up and lace your fingers behind your head. Do it and spread your legs!'

Ray put his arms up, turning his head slightly. He was slow to spread his legs, and Quinn moved in and kicked one of Ray's legs out at the calf.

'Who the fuck are you?' said Ray.

'Shut up,' said Quinn, pressing the barrel of the Glock to the soft spot behind Ray's right ear. Quinn frisked Ray quickly, found an automatic holstered at the small of his back, pulled it, nimbly released the magazine, let it drop to the muddy earth, and tossed the body of the gun far aside. Quinn nearly grinned; he hadn't lost a step or forgotten a goddamn thing.

'Walk back into the barn,' said Quinn.

'Easy,' said Ray.

'I said walk.'

Ray turned, and Quinn turned with him. They moved together, the gun still at Ray's ear, and made it to the barn door. Then they were through the barn door, Quinn blinking water from his eyes. Then they were inside.

Quinn speed-scanned the scene: the father was behind the bar, his eyes lazy and unfazed, his hands not visible. Eugene was sitting at some kind of card table, drinking a beer. Delgado was not in sight.

'Get your hands up, both of you!' shouted Quinn. 'Don't come up with anything, or I swear to God I'll blow his shit out across the room.'

'Take it easy, fella,' said Earl, as he slowly raised his hands.

Quinn could barely hear him. The music coming from the jukebox echoed loudly in the big room.

'You at the table,' said Quinn. 'Lay your hands out flat in front of you!'

Franklin did as he was told.

'Move over to that bar,' said Quinn, giving Ray a shove. 'Put your back up against it, hear?'

Ray walked to the bar, stopping about six feet down from where his father stood on the other side. He turned and leaned his back against the bar and placed the heel of one Dingo boot over the brass rail. His forearms rested on the mahogany, and his hands dangled limply in the air. Blood trickled from one nostril and ran down his lip.

Quinn moved the gun from father to son. He moved it to Franklin and then quickly back to the Boones.

'You,' he said, his eyes darting in the direction of Franklin. 'Get up and pull the plug on that jukebox. Do it and get back in your seat.'

Eugene Franklin got out of his chair, walked to the jukebox, got down on one knee, and yanked the plug out of the receptacle. The music died instantly. Franklin walked back to his chair, sat down, and placed his hands flat on the green felt of the table.

Now there was only the sound of the rain. It beat against the wood of the barn and clicked steadily on the tin roof.

'What're you?' said Ray. 'FBI? DEA?'

'Whatever he is,' said Earl, 'he's all alone.'

'Must be one of those agents likes to do it solo,' said Ray. 'A cowboy. That what you are?'

That's what I am, thought Quinn.

They heard the muffled scream of a woman. Then the rain alone, then the woman's steady, muffled scream.

'You hear that, Critter?'

'I hear it.'

'Just shut your mouths,' said Quinn.

Delgado wrapped a meaty hand through Sondra Wilson's hair and dragged her toward him across the sheets.

The door burst open. Delgado turned, naked. A man was rushing toward him with a crowbar raised in his hands. Delgado took the blow on his forearm and used his fist to clip the man on the ear as the man body-slammed him into the dresser. Delgado threw the man off of him, the crowbar flipping from his grasp. The man stumbled, gained his footing, and took a stance, his feet planted firmly, the fingers of his hands spread wide.

'Strange,' said Delgado, and he laughed.

Strange saw Delgado glance at his clothing heaped on the floor. Strange kicked the clothing to the side. Delgado balled his fists, touched one thumb and then the other to his chin, and came in, Strange backpedaling to the wall.

Delgado was on him then. He led with a left jab that stung Strange's ribs, then hooked a right. Strange tucked his elbows in tight, his left bicep absorbing the blow down to the bone. Strange grunted, exploded with an uppercut, connected to Delgado's jaw. It moved Delgado back a step and brought rage to his eyes. He crossed the room in two strides. The right came furiously. The right was a blur, and it caught Strange on his cheek and knocked him off his feet.