Lethal

“You want me to go see if your phone is in the bedroom? Fine. Only thing is, I’ll have to kill you first, because I’m not letting go of you until you tell me what I want to know or until you’re dead.” He let that sink in. “Makes no difference to me, but you could make it easier on yourself.”

“I think you’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Tell me where Tori’s at.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is she?”

“If I knew I’d be with her.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. But even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Tell me, or you die in the next five seconds.”

“I’m not telling you shit. I love her.”

Diego moved like a striking snake, but he didn’t cut the man’s throat. Instead, he bashed his head against the toilet. The big man fell heavily to the marble tile floor. His forehead left an interesting pattern of blood on the white porcelain toilet bowl.

Diego used a monogrammed towel to wipe his razor clean, then folded it closed and left the bathroom. The cell phone was exactly where Wallace had said. Diego, from his vantage point inside the closet, had missed him dropping it there on his way into the john.

Rapidly he made his way downstairs, avoiding the windows on the front of the house. He’d entered the house by way of the kitchen. There was only one light on and it was the one above the range. He held Wallace’s cell phone up to it and accessed his text messages. Tori. Eight forty-seven a.m. She said she was leaving town on short notice, but didn’t say where. Next Diego looked at Wallace’s call log. Many had been placed to Tori’s number. None had come in from her. The fat man had been telling him the truth.

Diego used his phone to call The Bookkeeper. “I’ve got Tori Shirah’s cell phone number.”

“I asked for her location.”

Diego recited the number and explained the text message.

“All well and good,” The Bookkeeper said tightly, “but where is she?”

“Wallace doesn’t know.”

“You didn’t get it from him?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t? Present tense?”

“What good would it do to kill him?”

“What’s the matter with you, Diego? A dead man can’t identify you.”

“Neither can Wallace. He didn’t see me.”

After a sustained silence The Bookkeeper asked, “Where are you now?”

“Still inside his house.”

“So try again. He’s got fingers, toes, a penis.”

“It wouldn’t do any good.” Above all else, Diego trusted his instincts, and Wallace seemed the type who would die protecting his ladylove.

“He says he doesn’t know where she is, and I believe him,” he stressed to The Bookkeeper.

“No loose ends, Diego.”

“I’m telling you, he didn’t see me, and I never mentioned you.”

“You’ve never left a victim alive. Why now? Why have you gone soft?”

“I haven’t. But I haven’t lost my marbles either. Killing Wallace would be risky because I can’t just sneak away. Once I open a door to this place, all hell’s gonna break loose. If I can’t outrun the police, I don’t want to be caught with a dead man.”

“You’re refusing to deliver what I asked for?”

“What you asked for can’t be had. It would be a waste to kill a man over information he ain’t got.”

There was a long silence on the other end, then, “This is the second time this week that you’ve disappointed me, Diego.” The silkiness of The Bookkeeper’s tone sent a tingle down Diego’s spine.

Anyone who knew anything about The Bookkeeper knew what happened to people who disappointed or failed. Diego didn’t fear being rubbed out. He was too talented to be squandered. No, The Bookkeeper would use some other means to punish him, some other-

Sudden realization came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. This is the second time.

Diego’s stomach lurched. He thought he might vomit. He disconnected and, without even considering the consequences, opened the kitchen door. Alarm bells went off. The noise was deafening, but it barely registered with Diego. The fear clamoring inside his head portended something far worse than arrest.

He sprinted across the stone terrace and over the lawn. By the time he reached the estate wall, he was winded, but he didn’t even pause to catch his breath. He scaled the wall using the leafy vine for footholds and handholds. When he reached the top, he threw his legs over and jumped. He landed hard on the ground twelve feet below. His knees absorbed the impact, and it hurt like hell, but the pain didn’t slow him.

He heard the whoop-whoop of approaching police car sirens, but he took the most direct route to his stolen car, even though it meant being out in the open as opposed to keeping to the shadows.

No one apprehended him. When he reached the car, he was wet with sweat and shaking so uncontrollably he barely managed to get it started. Heedless of it drawing notice, he pulled the car away from the curb with a squeal of tires.

He leaned into the steering wheel, gripping it with fingers that had turned bone-white with fear and fury. He’d never been taught to pray and knew no god, so he bargained with abstractions and fervently appealed to whatever unnamed supreme power was listening.