First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1 Page 2

  “Report me? You should thank me. By the way, there’s this bear at Babies R Us. Makes a heartbeat sound, tricks a newborn into thinking he’s back in his mamma’s belly.”

  “Babies R Us. That by the mall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. What am I thanking you for again?”

  “I gave you a shot at Dr. Sky. Not my fault you couldn’t close the deal.”

  He lowered his voice. “Doctor Sky? She a good doctor?”

  “She cares about us, her patients I mean.” Nevaeh propped her elbows on the countertop’s outdated avocado linoleum. “You should try again.”

  “Pipsqueak, one thing I’ve learned over the years is it’s best to respect certain guidelines in life, one of them being not to poach another man’s woman.”

  “You were all touching her hair and shit. Didn’t look like you had any life guidelines to me.”

  “Well, I do. Guess I was hoping there was no other guy—that it was a dodge, like when a girl gives you the wrong phone number. Besides, I was caught up in the moment. Something you should understand.” He arched an expressive eyebrow at her pooched belly. “But now I see the guy’s real.”

  “A lot of girls give you the wrong number?”

  “Nah. Not me. I heard about that from my buddies.” He grinned and then heard a wrong sound separate itself from the right noises in the diner. From the scrape of Cookie’s spatula, from the hiss of pancake batter bubbling on the grill, the soft click of a cocking gun made itself heard above clattering silverware and muddled voices.

  Swiveling on his stool, Danny found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. His vision tunneled on the weapon. The gunman stood about three yards away, but he appeared much closer. The muzzle of the Colt looked like a cannon to Danny’s eyes. He’d only just glanced up, and already he was in full-tilt survival mode, sights amplified, noises diminished—like watching an IMAX movie without the sound.

  In a heartbeat, he assumed responsibility not only for his own survival, but for the survival of every man, woman—he glanced over at Nevaeh—and child in the diner. He even took responsibility for the survival of the asshole waving the gun. He gathered the precious weight of these lives onto his shoulders partly because he was a cop, but mostly because he didn’t know how not to.

  “Trick or trick,” the asshole said.

  Nevaeh dropped a tray, and plates exploded, scattering utensils and releasing a greasy egg odor into the air.

  “Hands up…all of you.” The man pointed the gun at Cookie. “Open the register, old man, and maybe…just maybe I’ll let you live to poison your customers another day.”

  Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn’t. And that was the crux of the dilemma. Danny surveyed the room and counted six civilians. The kid in the back booth. Sky, Edmond, Novak. Cookie. Nevaeh. Make that seven…Nevaeh was pregnant. Christ. Any move to take this guy out would surely put them in harm’s way. And at least for now, there was a good chance the asshole would take the money and leave. The most likely outcome? They would all escape with their lives. As long as no one ruffled his feathers, as long as he wasn’t psycho.

  The right thing to do in this situation was hang back, be a good witness, wait for the troops to arrive. Let them catch the bad guy later. For now, the number one priority was the safety of innocents. Be a good witness. He forced his focus away from the gunman’s hands and scavenged for telling details of the man’s appearance.

  The asshole was massive. Not as tall as Danny, no more than six foot. But bulky, muscular—looked like maybe he spent the last ten years lifting in prison. His blue-veined, bloated features were mostly concealed by a bushy, black glue-on beard that had likely been purchased in a gag shop.

  Hauling in a deep breath, Danny looked him in the eyes. They were clear as blue marbles, dodging about, animated by muscle and nerve, pupils dilating and contracting with the motion. But they were not living. If a soul had once haunted the owner of those eyes, it had long since fled. Nothing human lurked behind those blank orbs now. Danny had the eerie feeling he was staring into the eyes of a ventriloquist’s dummy, and it creeped him out.

  By now, Cookie had opened the register, and cash in hand, was edging out from behind the counter.

  “Freeze! I’ll tell you when you can move, old man. I want this one—” Blackbeard hitched his chin at Nevaeh, “—to bring me the money.”

  Adrenaline dumped sweat out Danny’s pores, kick-started his heart, revved every pulse in his body. He wanted to throttle this freak. Blackbeard had his Colt pointed at Nevaeh. One wrong move and she would be the first to pay. Danny’s fingers twitched, but he kept his hands high, his trap shut.

  Nevaeh turned pleading eyes on him, fixed her gaze on the spot she must’ve thought concealed his service weapon. She didn’t realize she was telegraphing cop to the gunman, putting them all in more jeopardy. Hoping the gesture would pass for a nervous tic, he gave his head a quick jerk. Nevaeh must’ve gotten the message because she looked away, briefly covered her face with trembling hands, and then carried the money to Blackbeard.

  From the other side of the room came a scraping sound. Sky’s brother clambered to his feet, hands fisted. The gunman’s face reddened. He yanked Nevaeh by the hair and stuck the muzzle of the Colt in her cheek. Her body went rigid in his grasp.

  Spinning to face Novak, he said, “Sit down, fuckhole, or first I’ll do her, and then I’ll do her.” He spat in Sky’s direction. “Then I’ll do the rest of the boys, and then I’ll ram this sweet baby in your mouth and watch you squeeze the trigger yourself.”

  Novak glanced protectively at his sister, and then nodded at Blackbeard before crumpling back into the booth.

  Time for a new plan.

  Be a good witness—no longer an option. Not with this asshole grinding a pistol in Nevaeh’s face. But rushing the guy was also not an option. Danny would have to cross a distance of three yards before he could make the tackle. Blackbeard had only to squeeze the trigger to blow Nevaeh’s face off. Danny was good at math. He opted for another tactic—gentle persuasion.

  Schooling his voice into a sincere tone, he said, “Please, let her go. You don’t have to do this. We’ll cooperate. All of us.” He nodded his head and made eye contact with every individual in the room until each one nodded back. “See. Every last one of us. You got what you came for. Just let her go, and you can leave with the cash.”

  “Fuck you, cowboy.” Blackbeard drilled the gun deeper, and then pulled it away to reveal the dimpled brand of the muzzle on Nevaeh’s cheek. “You can’t order me around.”

  “Damn straight. You’ve got the gun. You don’t need to hold the girl for protection. None of us here could take you on. In fact, the longer you stay, the greater the chance you’ll be caught. I’d like to see everyone get out of here alive, including you. So what do you say?”

  By way of an answer, Blackbeard popped off a shot, nailing Cookie in the foot. The old man went down sideways. His hip struck the floor with a bone-chilling crunch.

  Gentle persuasion—no longer an option. The gunman had just revealed himself to be no petty asshole, but rather a bonafide motherfucker. In other words, they were screwed. Danny had plenty of training in hostage negation, but most of what he knew didn’t apply in this scenario. He had no backup surrounding the building for leverage and nothing to offer in exchange for Nevaeh. He was going to have to wing it.

  Danny relaxed.

  He was good at winging it.

  Searching the room for cover, he took note of a wide pillar, center stage. The thick plaster might provide some protection from the gunman’s volleys, and even if the bullets could penetrate, at least it would give psychological cover. Most criminals were too ignorant to realize they didn’t have to see you to shoot you.

  Closing his eyes, he conjured an image of Grace holding their newborn Katie in her arms. Then, heart tumbling in his chest, he made his decision. He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to leave his Katie an orphan, but he knew this might come d
own to his life or the lives of innocents. He understood this, and he made his peace with it. Steeling his jaw, he said, “I’ve got ten thousand dollars in my boots.”

  “Never fuck with a man holding a Colt 1911. You know what this baby can do?”

  “I’m not fucking with you. Just let me remove my—”

  “Letterman or Leno?” Blackbeard tilted his head.

  “What?”

  “You must be a Leno fan. Me, I like Dave.”

  The guy really was psycho.

  “If you think I’m gonna let you reach down and draw on me, you seen too many of Jay’s ‘stupid criminals’ bits. You think I don’t know you’re packing ankle heat? I may be a criminal, but I ain’t stupid.”

  A standup comedian motherfucker. Swell. “No gun. I swear on my life.”

  “Not good enough. Swear on hers.”

  Danny winced as mascara streaked down Nevaeh’s face. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. You can have it all.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I’ve got the gun. But if you did have that kind of cash, why would you tell me about it?”

  “Like I said, I want all of us to walk out of here alive. That simple. Just let her go, and you can get rich without getting your mitts dirty. I’ll keep my hands in the air, and you can come get the bills yourself.”

  “I’m not putting my face in your boots for you to kick the shit out of me. In fact I’m not coming anywhere near you. So whatever you’re trying to pull, you can forget about it.”

  “You don’t want the money?”

  “We didn’t find no weapons of mass destruction in fuckin’ eye-rack, and I won’t find no ten Gs in your fuckin’ boots.”

  “You’re right about Iraq, but I’ve got ten one thousand dollar bills toasting my toes. Five in each boot, and I can prove it. Look out the window. See my sweet little Mustang out there?”

  Fuck it. Danny’s mouth had gotten away from his brain. They didn’t make one thousand dollar bills anymore. Hopefully, this guy wasn’t a counterfeiter or currency expert or…

  Blackbeard glanced sideways out the window. “That a 1965?”

  Apparently he was no currency expert, and he liked cars, maybe Danny could use that to form some sort of a bond. “Yep. I see you know your automobiles.”

  “What’s that got to do with your boots, fuckhole?”

  Or not. “I’m on my way to a classic car auction. Cash only. Just stopped in for a bite on my way.” Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. “I’ll show you. May I lower one hand?”

  Seconds ticked by with no objection from Blackbeard, so he reached his hand to the counter and picked up the newspaper article he’d torn out earlier.

  Dragging Nevaeh with him, Blackbeard inched closer. Danny laid the torn article on top of the folded newspaper and slid the whole thing real easy across the floor. The gunman stuck the pistol on the back of Nevaeh’s head and ordered her to pick up the paper. They were no more than a few feet away.

  Blackbeard studied the scrap of newspaper and growled. “This don’t say nothing about no car auction. Just some shit about breast cancer.”

  Got the bastard. “Other side.”

  Blackbeard turned the paper over and cackled. “Son bitch. You really got ten grand in your boots?”

  “I do. If you’re worried I’m packing ankle heat, just send the girl over to get the money. You can watch her raise my pant leg nice and slow, and she couldn’t out shoot a bad-ass motherfucker like you anyway, now could she?”

  “Not this motherfucker.”

  Danny had him all right. But it wouldn’t be long before this stupid criminal, and yes, he’d proven himself to be exactly that, would realize he’d been played. The truth of the auction advertisement had confused him, but he’d figure things out soon enough. All he needed was for Blackbeard to release Nevaeh, then he could make his move.

  “You better hurry,” Danny said.

  “Okay, but I’m warning you, any funny stuff and I’ll blow your brains out.” Jerking his fingers out of Nevaeh’s hair, Blackbeard let her go with a shove. “Go get Daddy’s money, honey.”

  He’d planned to count three before jumping Blackbeard, but he had to go early because on two, Edmond leapt to his feet for his own charge. Before Danny could spring, Blackbeard whirled and pointed the Colt at Edmond.

  A muzzle flash.

  A second too late, Danny’s high-kick sent the gun sailing. Danny lunged. His chest cracked against the floor as the cold muzzle of the pistol jammed beneath his ribs.

  Gripping the handle, he rolled.

  From a prone position, he locked elbows and raised the Colt, pointed it dead-center-motherfucker.

  He wished he’d made waffles for Katie this morning. “Police! Freeze!”

  But the gunman didn’t freeze, and time stretched into slow motion. The room went quiet, as if all sound had changed into a butterfly captured in the palm of his hand. In contrast to the soft focus around him, the motherfucker at the end of the gun barrel came into sharp relief.

  Blackbeard ducked, fumbled with his pant leg. In the palm of his hand, a Glock glinted in the sunlight. The motherfucker was the one with a backup weapon.

  Nevaeh’s mouth opened in a scream, drawing Blackbeard’s attention and his aim. Danny didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger twice. His elbow buzzed.

  A double flash.

  Like tie-dye, blood spread onto the front of Blackbeard’s shirt, but the motherfucker was still standing. With his Glock aimed at Nevaeh, Blackbeard’s hand jerked.

  A flash.

  Nevaeh went down. The stench of burnt powder drenched the air. Danny kept firing at Blackbeard. In time with the rapid squeeze of the trigger, his jaw twitched. His forearm recoiled from the power of the Colt. At last, Blackbeard grabbed gut and folded to his knees.

  A cottony sound penetrated Danny’s consciousness, and he turned his head left. There he saw, more than heard, the violent sobs that racked Sky’s body. There he saw a bloodied Edmond cradled in Sky’s lap, pieces of skull scattered like eggshells on a breakfast plate. There he saw, descending from a high window, ropes of sunlight braiding through the center of Edmond’s chest like a ladder to heaven. Oh Christ.

  He jerked around, inched over to the spot where Blackbeard lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless, or at least critically wounded. Stomach retching from the metallic scent of spilled blood, he crept closer.

  Blackbeard raised his head and arm off the ground.

  Danny squeezed the trigger. No more ammo.

  The motherfucker laughed.

  Danny knew he’d never make it to the pillar, but he kept moving, dodging, ducking his chin to protect his windpipe.

  A muzzle flash.

  He heard a flutter and felt a dull thud in the vicinity of his heart.

  Chapter Three

  Not a scratch on her.

  Sky still breathed in, still breathed out, still lived. The one dearest to her heart lay motionless in her arms, yet she’d survived.

  Again.

  Burnt smoke thickened the air and stung her nose, causing fluid to leak from her nostrils onto her upper lip. Her heart squeezed in odd pauses and rapid runs, at times banging so hard she feared it would discomfit Edmond, whose cheek rested against her left breast. Coated in warm viscous fluid, her fingers stuck in Edmond’s hair as she examined his wound. A fist-sized chunk of his skull had been blown off. Where his left eye had been, now gaped a pulp-filled socket. His body slumped against her, a heavy, lifeless mass.

  Edmond was gone.

  She knew this, but she couldn’t stop herself from checking for a pulse. She’d been repeating this ritual—examine wound, check for pulse—since the moment the bullet shattered Edmond’s skull. She considered gently moving him off her lap to perform CPR, but was afraid what remained of his skull would come apart without her support. She couldn’t let Edmond go.

  “I’m here, Sis. I’m here.” A low, comforting voice penetrated the fog that cushioned her mind—Garth.

  A
broken wisp of breath escaped her lips. Her big brother was with her, and she thanked God that he was okay. Then remembering that other, terrible Halloween, she curled her fingers tightly around Edmond’s collar. She clung on to him with every ounce of her being, but she couldn’t hold on to the present. Time started skipping like a scratched record played on an old phonograph.

  She didn’t want to go back there, to that other time and place. But there was no way to stop it. The room went dark around the edges; the atmosphere grew dense, palpable. Disoriented, she batted a hand through heavy air, tried to get her bearings. She was seventeen again, and she wanted nothing more than to rush into the safety of Garth’s arms. Her head throbbed. Her eyeballs vibrated in their sockets. Black. So black here, in this place. She wasn’t sure if it was day or night, whose corpse she rocked—Edmond’s or Papa’s.

  But then, a soft moan, drifted from across the room. “Help…me.”

  And just the same as a hypnotist can snap his subject out of it on the count of three, Nevaeh’s plea jolted Sky back to the present. That other night was over. Papa was dead. Now Edmond was too. She couldn’t change those things.

  But this day, this moment was not yet fully written, and there was still much she could do. The old Sky didn’t belong here; she’d only get in the way. Shaking her head hard, she drove away the ghosts of her past. No time for frightened children today. The girl inside was banished, and in her place stood Dr. Skylar Novak.

  As if from afar, she heard her voice reassure, “Stay calm and don’t move, Nevaeh. Help’s on the way.”

  Just as she’d feared, when she eased Edmond’s corpse off of her, the remaining capsule of skull fell open. Her heart lurched, but she managed to hold back the scream that rose in her throat. Pressing her palm against the plastic cushion of the booth for balance, she rose on liquid knees. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a young man racing toward the door. The kid with the hockey mask.

  That’s right. Run. Get away from this place.

  As he barreled past, her hand reached out and clamped onto his sleeve. “No!”

  He kept running, his jacket slipping down his arm as she held on tight. The jacket fell to the ground, and she wound her fingers around his wrist. “No!”