Collision

Sam’s smile was a crooked slash of arrogance.

Jackie hauled Ben up by his shirt, shoved him to the living room floor. Now the futon was four feet away from him; the pillow, hiding the gun, was at the opposite end. The woman-Teach, he presumed-sat on a chair, pushed there by Hector.

Hector stepped between him and the futon. He held a gun, aimed at the floor.

“It would have been easier if you came to my house, like I asked. The customer’s always right, Ben.”

“I hate being wrong,” Ben said, “and I was wrong about you.”

Hector gave a twitch of a shrug. “You’ve been wrong about a great deal, old friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Ben said.

“True. And you’re not going to grow old.”

“Like Adam and Delia and your own guards down in Austin. You’re a murderer.”

Hector raised a hand, waved his fingers. “My hands are clean. Where’s your new friend?”

“Gone for good.”

“Give him his answers.” Jackie yanked Ben up from the floor, delivered a savage blow to the face that slammed Ben’s head into the wall. Ben felt a tooth loosen; blood oozed from his nose. The tip of the knife skimmed down to his stomach. “Or I’m playing cut-the-dick with you.”

A trickle of blood from his nose tickled Ben’s lip. “What did I ever do to you, Sam, except make your sorry ass richer…”

“You know I loathe people who delay. Where is Pilgrim, when’s he coming back?”

“He’s not coming back.”

“Jackie, check the laptop, see what he was doing,” Hector said.

Jackie went to the laptop, opened the recent documents menu item. “Writing a report about you and your contracts. Not very nice one. Paints you a real bastard, it does.”

“Delete it. See if there’s anything else interesting on the hard drive, then wipe it clean.” Hector tried the smile again. “You have been an unpleasant surprise, Ben. Seriously. I knew you had a brain, but I didn’t suspect the spine.” He eased down in front of Ben. “Where did Pilgrim go, Ben? I won’t let Jackie play with his knife on you if you tell me.”

Every time death loomed in the past two days, Ben had felt terror touch his bones, adrenaline igniting his blood. But now-the knowledge of death, no escape here-an odd calm gripped him. He had to protect Pilgrim, no matter what they did to him with knife or gun. The realization settled him. The lie was easy: “He went to your house to find Teach.”

Hector’s face-the mask that had fooled Ben for years-betrayed no reaction. Then Ben saw the barest twitch at the corner of Sam Hector’s mouth, a whisper of rage. “He’s not that stupid. Neither are you.”

Delay him. “How do you pretend to be a normal human being when you’re so clearly not, Sam? I trusted you, I was your friend…”

“Basic math: People are either help or hindrance.” He slid a sealed envelope from his jacket, tossed it on Ben’s lap. “If you don’t want to cooperate, Ben, so be it. I’ll show my cards.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You are. Open it.”

Ben tore open the envelope, pulled a set of photos free. The images hit him like a giant’s fist, crushing his lungs, flattening every thought in his brain.

Emily. Photographed with a telescopic lens, standing in the kitchen window in the Maui house in the moments before she died. Next photo. The same. Next photo, her clicking off the phone, looking pensive, almost looking up at the camera, a frown on her face. Then a photo of the kitchen window, a bullet hole marring the glass, Emily sprawled on the tiles.

The photos spilled from his hands onto the floor. His throat thickened, his chest tightened. “Why?”

Hector laughed.

“Why did you… Why?”

“You mean who?” Hector laughed, the cat batting the dying mouse.

“You goddamned murdering bastard-” Ben yelled, but then Teach bolted from the floor, threw herself at Hector. She closed a hard grip on his throat-Ben saw the astonishment in Hector’s eyes-and Ben jumped up, grabbing for Hector’s gun. Hector wrenched free from them both, kicked Ben in the face, sent him sprawling. Hector powered his pistol into Teach’s stomach and fired.

Teach collapsed, eyes open, mouth clenched. Ben got up again and Hector slammed the pistol into Ben’s face, kicked him in the stomach, to the carpet.

Lying on the floor, Ben’s eyes locked on Teach’s. She blinked once, twice, stopped, tried to speak.

“Jackie.” Hector watched Teach, the gun steady on Ben. When she stopped breathing he prodded her with the foot. “Dump her ass in the bedroom.”

Jackie picked up Teach’s body and carried her into the bedroom.

Ben crawled to the futon. He could hardly breathe. The gun. The pillow. His only chance to get away and to kill the son of a bitch.

“I suppose it’s rude to point out I’ve taken everything from you,” Hector said. “Your wife. Your good name, your business. Your dignity.”