Robert Crais - The Last Detective

Pike thought that if he was going to die, he might as well die here, and he might as well die doing this.

But not yet.

Pike went into the deepest part of himself, a green leafy world of quiet and peace. It was the only place where Pike could truly be free, safe in his aloneness, and at peace with himself. Pike went to that place now, and he drew strength.

Pike stared into Fallon's animal eyes. Fallon sensed that something had changed. Fear played over his face.

Pike's mouth twitched.

The gun moved toward Fallon.

Cole

The scars on Ibo's face glowed violet as he tried to turn the knife. He was a large, strong man, and he wanted to live, but I pushed so hard that the room darkened around me and filled with starburst speckles. Ibo's arm broke with a wet crack and his wrist folded. He moaned. More shots rang out behind me, but they seemed a part of someone else's world and not mine.

The knife touched the hollow at the base of Ibo's throat. Ibo tried to swing me away, but I held tight to his broken arm and pushed. He hissed as the knife went in. I pushed. The knife slid deep. Ibo's eyes grew wider. His mouth opened and closed. I pushed until the knife wouldn't go farther, then Ibo made a long sigh and his eyes lost focus.

I let go and watched him fall. He slumped like a great tall tree and took forever to hit the floor.

I turned, barely able to stand. Eric Schilling was crumpled in a heap on the money. Ben was with Richard. Pike and Fallon were locked together on the floor, struggling. I picked up the shotgun and staggered over to them. I pointed the shotgun at Fallon's head.

I said, "That's it."

Fallon looked up.

"That's it, you sonofabitch. It's over."

Fallon studied the end of the shotgun, then stared at me. They had a pistol between them. They were fighting for it.

I shouldered the shotgun.

"Let go of it, Fallon. Let go."

Fallon glanced at Pike, then nodded.

The pistol between them fired one loud time – BOOM! – and I thought Joe had been shot, but Fallon slumped back against the wall. Pike rolled away fast and came up with the pistol, ready in case Fallon made a move, but Fallon only blinked down at the hole in his chest. He seemed surprised to see it even though he had made it himself. He looked up at us. Then he was dead.

I said, "Ben?"

I staggered sideways, and fell to a knee. It hurt. My hand was bleeding badly. It hurt, too.

"Ben?"

Ben was trying to make Richard stand up. Richard moaned, so I guessed he was still hanging on. Pike kept me from falling onto my face, and pushed a handkerchief into my hand.

"Wrap your hand and see about Ben. I'll get an ambulance."

I tried to stand again, but couldn't, so I crawled to Ben Chenier. I put my arms around him.

"I found you, Ben. I have you. I'm going to bring you home."

Ben shuddered like he was freezing, and sobbed words that I did not understand. Pike called for an ambulance, then eased us aside. He tied off Richard's leg with his belt to stop the bleeding, then used Schilling's shirt as a compress on the belly wound. I held Ben tight through it all, and never once let go.

"I have you," I said. "I have you."

The sirens came as Ben's tears soaked my chest.

The ambulance arrived before the first of the radio cars. Ben wanted to go with his father to the hospital, but the paramedics, correctly and like always, would not allow it. More sirens were coming. That would be the police.

Pike said, "I'll wait. You take Ben."

Ben and I crossed the street to my car. The one dog still howled, making me wonder if it was alone. People from the neighboring houses milled in their front yards, watching the ambulance. Living here wouldn't be the same anymore.

I held Ben until the first radio car arrived. They didn't scream to a screeching stop like you see on TV; they cruised slowly up the street because they didn't know what they would find. We got into my car.

I said, "Let's call your mom."

When Lucy realized it was me, she said, "Is Ben all right? Please God tell me he's all right."

Her voice shook.

"He's as right as he could be. It was bad, Luce. It was awful."

"Oh, thank God. Jesus God, thank you. What about Richard?"

Ben sat quietly while I told Lucy what happened. I was careful in what I said; I didn't know if Ben knew about Richard's involvement, and I didn't want him to hear it from me. Lucy and Richard could tell him, or maybe they wouldn't tell him at all. If she wanted me to pretend that none of this happened, I would. If she wanted me to keep it from Ben, I would. If she wanted me to lie to the police and in court to cover for Ben's father, I would do that, too.

I told her where they were bringing Richard, and offered either to take Ben home or meet her at the hospital. She said she would meet us, then asked if she could speak with her son.

I gave the phone to Ben.

"Your mom."

Ben didn't say anything as we drove to the hospital, but he held onto my arm, and, when I wasn't shifting or steering, I held onto him.

We reached the hospital first. We sat on a long bench in the ER waiting room while the doctors did their work. We sat close, with my arm around his shoulders. Before it was done, Richard Chenier would have been in surgery for eighteen hours. That's a long time under the knife.

Two West L.A. detectives arrived along with a uniformed sergeant-supervisor. They asked the admitting nurse about the gunshot victim, then the older detective walked over. He had short blond hair and glasses.

He said, "Excuse me. Are you with the man who was shot?"

"No."

"What's that on your pants?"

"Barbeque sauce."

He moved on to ask the next person.

Ben said, "Why'd you say no?"

"Your mom's going to be here soon. We don't want to be stuck in a room with those guys."

He seemed to understand that.

I watched the cops until they returned to the admitting desk, then I leaned toward Ben. Here was this little ten-year-old boy. He looked so small. He looked so young.

I said, "How're you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"You saw some awful stuff today. You had some really bad things happen. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to talk about it."

"I wasn't scared."

"I was scared. I was really, really scared. I'm really scared right now."

Ben looked at me, and then frowned.

"Maybe I was a little scared."

"You want a Coke or something?"

"Yeah. Let's see if they have Mountain Dew."

We were looking for the soft-drink machine when Lucy came through the sliding doors. Her strides were so fast that she might have been running. We spotted her first.

I called to her.

"Lucy!"

Ben took off running.

"Mommy!"

Lucy crumbled into tears. She hugged Ben so tight that she might have been trying to crush him into her body. She covered him with kisses and smeared him with tears, but that was all right. Every boy wants that from his mother whether he admits it or not. Especially on days like this. I'm sure of it. I know that for a fact.

I walked over. I stood near. If the detectives thought anything of it, they were kind enough not to intrude.

Lucy opened her eyes and saw me. She cried harder, and then she opened her arms.

I said, "I brought him home."

"Yes. Yes, you did."

I held them as hard as I could, but even that wasn't enough.

Sixteen days later, Lucy came to my house to tell me good-bye. It was a bright, crisp afternoon. No hawks floated overhead, no coyotes had sung for as long as I could remember, but the owl had come back to the pine tree. The night before, he called me.