James Grippando - When Darkness Falls

“You hear correctly.”

“Who was it?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

The man’s chuckle was laden with insincerity. “Good answer.”

“It’s the only answer I can give you.”

“I can live with that,” the man said, and then his tone became sterner. “So long as it’s also the only answer you can give to the police.”

“That’s up to the bank and its lawyers.”

“Wrong answer.”

Riley waited for him to say more, but there was only a long, uncomfortable silence. Several strands of speculation began to race through his mind, and none of them ended in a very happy place. Riley could not escape the conclusion that the man was simply debating whether to shoot him here, in Riley’s own living room, or to take him somewhere else and do the job.

“Here’s my problem,” the man said finally.

Riley’s throat was dry, and he had to force his response. “Yes?”

“Police are such nosy bastards. If you tell them who cleaned out the money, what do you think their next question is going to be?”

“I-I don’t know, mon.”

“Think about it.”

“I’m having a little trouble concentrating right now. I’m sorry. I’m sure the bank’s lawyers will have an answer.”

“Screw the lawyers. You ask them for a straight answer, they’ll give you six wishy-washy ones and bill you for twelve. Let’s keep this simple. I’ll answer it, and you tell me if you agree with me. All right?”

The gun made it difficult for Riley to disagree. “Sure, mon.”

“When the police find out who took the money, they’ll have just one question: How the hell did all that cash get there in the first place?”

Riley said nothing.

The gunman continued, “Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” said Riley.

“Stop being coy with me. Do you agree or not?”

“Yes. I agree.”

“Now, here’s something else I’m sure we can both agree on. If the police unravel this money trail all the way to its source, things are going to get very ugly for you.”

Riley said nothing.

“Can we agree on that, Riley?”

Riley swallowed hard. He wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He was too afraid of saying the wrong thing.

The man said, “I need your agreement on that, friend. Because if I don’t get it, I’m going to have to kill you right here and now.”

Riley could hear himself breathing. He’d dealt with some unsavory characters in his time. Bank secrecy had its dark side. But no one had ever threatened his life, at least not in such a matter-of-fact tone. There was no doubt in Riley’s mind that the man meant every word of it. “Okay,” he said, his voice little more than a peep.

“Okay what?” the man said.

“No one will ever find out where that money came from.”

“Good answer, Riley. That’s a very good answer.”

He rose from the chair, a silhouette in the darkness. The face was obscured in shadows, but Riley could detect the faintest outline of a gun.

“On the floor,” the man said. “Face down.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice cried out, begging Riley to resist. He tried to ignore it, but he continued to hear the warning over and over, as he lowered himself to the floor and laid his cheek against the rug. The man approached, and Riley could feel the vibration of each heavy footfall. The man stopped, towering over him, and Riley could see only the tops of his shoes.

He imagined that the gun was pointed directly at the back of his head, and tomorrow’s headlines quickly flashed through his brain: “Banker Found Dead in Home, Shot Execution-Style.”

“Count to a thousand, out loud,” the man said. “Don’t even think about getting up before you finish.”

Riley started counting.

“Too fast. Slower.”

Riley started over again. One, two, three. The man walked away. Nine, ten, eleven. The front door opened. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Riley heard it close. He didn’t move a muscle, but his voice was shaking.

He didn’t stop counting until the first signs of daylight shone through the slatted wooden shutters.

M iami’s cold wave was coming to an end. Theo could feel it. The motel room was getting hotter, stuffier by the minute. It was growing brighter, too. Flickers of sunlight filtered through the top of the old drapes and broke over the heaping barricade of overturned furniture and mattresses like dawn over a hilltop. If Theo could somehow crawl across the room and yank those drapes off the window, the snipers might be able to scope the interior, see over the mound of furniture, and take a shot. He assumed there were snipers out there. Those guys lived for the chance to shoot something other than the ink out of a bull’s-eye at two hundred yards. All they needed was an opening, one kill shot straight to the head. Game over. The cop-killer would be dead. Unless they were under the impression that it was Theo who had shot those police officers. Surely, Jack had explained to them that the black dude wasn’t one of the bad guys. But would they believe it? Or would they see nothing more than a criminal defense lawyer covering for his old client? They must have pulled his record by now and seen that Jack had sprung him loose from death row. It wouldn’t matter that DNA evidence had proved him innocent. Like everyone else who professed to “know” about Theo’s past, they would assume that he’d gotten off on a technicality, that his clever lawyer had thrown some legal bullshit up against the wall and it stuck. They’d see a murderer in the crosshairs and a chance to serve the ends of justice-delayed but not denied. First shot, Falcon. Second shot, the black piece of shit who deserved to die. A tragic mistake. What a pity.

Calm down, Theo told himself. Maybe the sniper’s a brother.

“Hey, mister,” said Natalia. “Are you ever going to let us use the bathroom?”

Falcon looked in her direction. She’d apparently roused him from some very deep thoughts, as it took a moment for her request to register. “Use what?” he said.

“The bathroom,” said Theo. “We been sitting here for six hours.”

Falcon was standing at the front door. He pressed his eye to the peephole and stole one more quick peek of the parking lot, then turned and walked to Natalia. “She goes first.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Let him go.”

“Shut up! If I say you’re first, then you go first. Do you hear me?”

She glanced nervously at Theo. Their voices were loud enough to carry into the bathroom, and they both knew that all hell would break loose when Falcon opened the door. It would have been a stretch to call it a coordinated effort, but Theo was obviously the better point man on this side of the bathroom door.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go first.”

Both Theo and Natalia had their hands tied behind their backs, and Falcon had bound their ankles tightly with electrical cords that he had yanked from the lamps. Falcon knelt down slowly, pointing his gun straight at her face. With the free hand, he loosened the cord around her ankles so that she could walk. Then he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up so hard it cocked her head sideways, her cheek practically lying on her shoulder. She was sandwiched between Falcon and the wall as he jammed the gun under her chin and aimed straight at her brain. “Do not try anything,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Her clothing was tight, and Falcon seemed to like the feel of his body against hers. “And the door stays open,” he said.

“You mean you’re going to watch me use the bathroom?”

A vacant smile creased his lips. “Aren’t you used to it, jinitera?”

“Hey,” said Theo. “There’s no need to be calling her that.”