Greg Iles - Turning Angel

”It’s looking like something just might stick to the Teflon nigger this time. And get this: Marko says whenever Kate left the apartment, Cyrus would be crazy mad. He told Marko he didn’t think it was him being black that bothered her. It was that he sold drugs. Which was crazy to him, since she was there to buy drugs.“

”Drugs she wasn’t taking,“ I murmur, my mind on Drew’s words in his car on the night he told me he was involved with Kate: Ellen’s addicted to hydrocodone… You can’t imagine Ellen popping Lorcet Plus like M amp;Ms? ”Goddamn it,“ I whisper.

”What is it?“

”Nothing.“

”Don’t bullshit me, Penn. If it’s something I need to know, tell me.“

”It’s not,“ I assure him, wondering if Drew could really have sunk that low. ”Give me the rest of it, Sonny.“

”You’ve got most of it. Except that Marko’s scared shitless.“

”Why?“

”Because Cyrus doesn’t need him anymore. Now that Cyrus has the contacts at the colleges, Marko’s just one more middleman he doesn’t want to pay.“

”That’s good,“ I reason, thinking like a prosecutor. ”Maybe Marko will testify against Cyrus to save his ass.“

Sonny grins. ”He’s considering that as we speak.“

As we stand in the silent darkness, I realize it’s not silent at all. The high-pitched drone of crickets is almost a scream, and a spring breeze rattles the millions of oak leaves surrounding us. Across the road, a car engine starts, and a pair of headlights clicks on.

”Slut,“ Sonny mutters.

”Who? Kate?“

”No. My neighbor’s got a teenage daughter over there, about fifteen. There’s a different boy over there every week. I’ve even seen a couple of black boys pick her up. One jig from the Catholic school showed up at my front door saying he was looking for a girl named Karen-that’s this girl. I said, ’The only black girl on this road lives about three miles down that way.‘ “ Sonny laughs. ”He didn’t know what the hell to say.“

The screech of a screen-door spring silences the crickets, and the yellow rectangle appears again on Sonny’s porch. Then a little boy’s voice calls into the night.

”Are you coming back in, Daddy?“

Sonny turns back to the house and yells, ”Just a couple of minutes, Kevin.“

Across the street, the car pulls slowly into the road. It’s a Lexus sedan, an older model but still expensive for Beau Pré Road. As I watch, the window on our side slides down, and the car slows as though its driver wants to ask for directions. He’s probably reluctant to pull into Sonny’s driveway without an invitation, so I start toward the road.

As I walk, I see a glint of metal in the open window. In one paralyzed moment adrenaline floods my body. I’ve been shot at before, and despite the darkness, I know what I’m looking at. ”Get down, Sonny!“ I scream, diving to the ground.

Night vanishes in a starburst of white light and thunder, the explosions coming too quickly to count. Automatic weapon. As the seconds dilate, I whip my head toward Sonny, who for some reason is still on his feet, standing in full view of the gunman.

He’s returning fire at the Lexus. Orange flame leaps from his pistol, but the reports are lost in the roar of the machine gun. I look back at the Lexus, and for one instant a screaming Asian face is revealed by a perfect circle of light. Two holes appear magically in the door below the face. Then another fusillade of bullets erupts from the rear window. An explosive grunt sounds behind me.

Sonny’s hit!

As the spinning tires scream, I roll back toward Sonny Cross. He’s lying on his back, his eyes wide, his mouth gasping for air. His right arm jabs his gun toward me.

”Take it!“

I do. But by the time I come to my knees with the pistol raised, the Lexus is fishtailing up the road. I empty Sonny’s clip at the fleeing car, then drop the gun and fall to my knees beside him. The blood on his white knit shirt tells me he’s been hit at least three times in the torso. His chest rises and falls erratically, and the wheezes coming from his throat and chest tell me death isn’t far away.

”My kids,“ he says in a guttural voice. ”Check on…my boys.“

”You first, Sonny.“ I pull my cell phone from my pocket, but as I dial 911, the front door of the house bangs open again.

”Daddy? Daddy, where are you?“

Panic in the voice. ”Daddy’s still out here!“ I shout. ”He’s fine! He’s coming in just a minute. Go back inside, boys!“

”911 dispatcher,“ says a woman’s voice in my ear.

”This is Penn Cage. I’ve got an officer down at two seventy-one Beau Pré Road. Multiple gunshot wounds. I need an ambulance, stat. Now, connect me to the sheriff’s department.“

Up on Sonny’s porch, two small silhouettes stand wavering in the yellow rectangle.

”Sheriff’s department,“ says another woman.

”Deputy Sonny Cross has been shot at his home. Multiple gunshots. Repeat, Deputy Sonny Cross. Get some paramedics out here. He’s critical. The shooter’s fleeing the scene on Beau Pré Road, headed toward Highway 61. It’s a black Lexus with at least three people inside. An older-model Lexus. You need to set up roadblocks immediately. The shooter is Asian, repeat, Asian ethnicity. Call Sheriff Byrd at home. Tell him Penn Cage reported it.“

”Hold on, Mr. Cage,“ says the dispatcher.

”I can’t. Two seventy-one, Beau Pré Road.“

One of Sonny’s children has left the porch and ventured about half the distance to his father. ”Daddy?“ he calls tentatively.

Even in his distress, Sonny manages to shake his head. ”Don’t let them see me like this. Don’t-“ A gout of blood erupts from his throat.

I jump up and run to the boy, snatching him into my arms and trotting back to the porch, where his brother waits. When I set him down, I try to reassure them both, but the faces in the glow of the porch light already know the worst. I drop to my knees and grasp a thin wrist tightly in each hand. ”Are either of you hurt?“

”No, sir,“ says the oldest, who looks like he might be eleven. ”Should I get my gun?“

”Where’s my dad?“ asks the other, who’s eight at the most. Tears are running down his face.

”Your daddy’s hurt, boys. But he’s going to be all right. The ambulance is on the way. I want you to go inside and call your mom. Tell her she needs to come right over here. Do you understand?“

”Yes, sir,“ says the older, who I now remember is called Sonny, Junior.

The younger boy doesn’t want to go, but Junior grabs his wrists and pulls him inside. I race back to the end of the driveway. For the first time, I notice a light lying on the ground beside Sonny. It’s not a flashlight. It’s a spotlight mounted beneath the barrel of his pistol. He must have flicked it on before he opened fire on the Lexus. That was the circle of light that showed me the gunman’s face. It may also have been what guided the shooter’s bullets to Sonny’s chest.

”Penn?“ Sonny chokes, his hand grabbing at the air. ”Are you there?“

”I’m here, buddy.“ I use the gun light to illuminate my face. ”You hang on.“

His desperate eyes lock onto mine. ”My boys?“

”They’re not hurt. They’re both fine, and they know you’re fine.“

Somehow Sonny laughs, a wry sound that turns into a terrible coughing fit. ”Not…fine,“ he rasps. ”Not gonna make it this time around.“

”Bullshit.“ I take his hand and squeeze tight.

”Asian,“ he whispers. ”Shooter was Asian.“

”I saw him.“

”I’m cold, man. Just like the damn movies. Just like…“

”The ambulance is on the way, Sonny. Hang tight.“