David Morrell - Double Image

“You’ve come to pick it up?”

“Yes – and another shotgun.”

JENNIFER’S FACE WAS STARK WITH DISMAY AS COLTRANE SET THE shotgun in the backseat along with the briefcase-like container that the revolver came in. “It’s happening again .”

“I know how you feel about guns,” he said. “But I don’t see another choice. It’s my fault I got into this mess. If I’d stayed away from her… You don’t deserve to be at risk. You’ve already helped a great deal. I’m going to take you home and-”

“Like hell you are.”

Coltrane blinked.

“She makes me furious,” Jennifer said.

The force of her words made Coltrane study her in surprise.

“I’m furious at the way she used you,” Jennifer said. “At the way she’s threatening you. At what she did to us . So don’t give me any bullshit about taking me home. I’m going to do my damnedest to help you stop her.” Jennifer thought about her tone and started to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Just like old times. Did you ever argue with…”

“Her?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head.

Their laughter subsided.

“Never,” he said.

Jennifer remained silent for a long, somber moment. “Maybe you and I just aren’t a match.”

“Because we disagree about some things? Hey, it’s easy not to disagree when someone’s playing a role and constantly lying the way Tash was.”

“Maybe that’s my problem. I always tell the truth,” Jennifer said.

“I wouldn’t call that a problem… If I know what’s good for me, you said. I’ll tell you what’s good for me. You are.”

Jennifer studied him. Studied her hands. “But how will you feel tomorrow?”

“The way I feel right now,” Coltrane said. He couldn’t help thinking, If we’re still alive tomorrow.

HE HAD CHOSEN A REVOLVER BECAUSE HIS LACK OF EXPERIENCE with handguns warned him to get something simple. There wasn’t any magazine to be loaded and inserted, any slide to be pulled back, any slight possibility of jamming, characteristics of a semiautomatic pistol. With the weapon he had chosen, a Colt.357 Python, all he had to do was press a lever on the left side of the frame, tilt out a cylinder, push six rounds into its chambers, and shove the cylinder back into place. As easy as that, it was ready to use, an important consideration for someone with Coltrane’s inexperience. Granted, a semiautomatic in a similar caliber held more than twice as many rounds as the Python, but Coltrane had concluded that a weapon he didn’t feel comfortable with was almost as bad as not having a weapon at all.

He explained this to Jennifer after he pulled into his garage, loaded the handgun, and shoved it under his sport coat. It gouged his skin.

“You’re going to carry that with you?”

“If we need it, it’s no use in a drawer.” Coltrane loaded the shotgun. “You remember I showed you how to use this?”

“I swore I never would.”

“That was then. What about now?”

“Yes, I remember how to use it.”

Coltrane had closed the garage before loading the weapons. Now he held the shotgun in his left hand, used his right hand to unlock the garage’s entrance into the house, and pushed the door open. Jennifer came behind him. She closed the door as he turned to disarm the intrusion detector, but a fidgety corner of his mind was already warning him that something was wrong. The detector should have let out a thirty-second beep, reminding him to deactivate the system before it went into full alarm mode.

But it wasn’t beeping.

“No,” Coltrane said.

Jennifer secured the dead bolt on the door. “What’s wrong?”

The glowing words on the keypad chilled him: READY TO ARM.

He spun toward the murky stairs that went up and down, aiming the shotgun. “I turned on the alarm when I left, but now it’s off. Somebody’s in the house.”

Jennifer bumped backward against the shadowy wall.

It had to be Tash, Coltrane thought. Duncan had known the secondary codes that disarmed the intrusion detector. She must have made him tell her the sequence.

“Coltrane.” The man’s voice was deep, hoarse with anger. It came from the right, from upstairs in the dark living room.

“Walt?”

Jesus, if he sees me with this shotgun, he might not give me a chance to talk, Coltrane thought. Sweating, he set the shotgun on the entryway’s floor, close to the wall, where it might not be noticed. He buttoned his sport coat, concealing the revolver under his belt. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” The husky voice was unsteady with greater anger.

Coltrane flicked a light switch near the front door, activating a lamp in the living room. “I’m coming up. I’ve got something to show you.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve got something to show you .”

Coltrane took a deep breath and started up the stairs. Jennifer followed, her briefcase tight in her hand.

One step.

Another.

Coltrane gradually came up to the living room and saw Walt diagonally across from him, farthest from the illuminated lamp at the top of the stairs. His face in shadow, Walt was seated in one of the black tubular chairs, his hands on his knees.

“If you’ll give me a minute,” Coltrane said, “I need to tell you something.”

“You read my mind again.”

“Oh?”

“Because I came here to tell you something.”

“This is Jennifer.”

“If she’s smart, she’ll get out of here.”

“Let me explain. In her briefcase, she’s got-”

“I don’t give a damn about what’s in her briefcase.” Walt stood, his rigid body rising like sections of an unfolding machine. “What I do give a damn about-”

Coltrane winced when he saw that as Walt rose, he lifted something from beneath the chair.

A baseball bat.

Holding it in his right hand, patting its hitting surface against the palm of his left hand, Walt had never looked so tall and menacing.

“-is making sure you get my message this time.” Walt stepped forward.

“For heaven sake, listen. Tash has done this before.”

“I warned you to stay away from her.”

“I have stayed away from her.”

“You call following her everywhere yesterday staying away from her?” Walt came closer, patting the bat.

“I didn’t . I’ve been in Oakland!”

“Sure.”

“Ask Jennifer.”

“He’s right,” Jennifer said quickly. “Mitch was with me in-”

“You’re lying!” Walt smashed an Art Deco lamp, the impact ear-torturing, glass and beads flying.

Coltrane had never seen a more furious gaze.

“If the two of you were in Oakland, how could you have followed Tash and me to the stores she owns?” Walt demanded.

“Followed? But I didn’t-”

Walt shattered a glass table, shards exploding.

“Every damned store we went to, the minute we entered, the phone rang, and it was for her. From you!”

“ Tash is the one who’s lying.” Coltrane made a placating gesture, startled to see that when Walt raised his arms to swing, his leather windbreaker hiked up and revealed a semiautomatic pistol in a holster clipped to his belt.

Oh Jesus, if he realizes I’m wearing a handgun, too, he might drop the bat and reach for – Suddenly, buying the gun seemed a terrible idea.

“She must have somebody helping her,” Coltrane said. “Maybe she phoned ahead and told somebody in each store to claim she had a phone call when the two of you walked in. Then she pretended the call was from me.”

“Bullshit! Why would she-”

“To make you so mad that you’d come after me!”