Bannerman's Law (53 page)

Felix could see B
u
nce's head. The fathe
r
stood for a long
moment, hands on his hips. Then walked toward it.

Felix saw an opportunity. Both women would be watch
ing the father. Their backs would be to him if he came in
through the rear. The sky was almost the color of cigarette
ashes but the house, blinds drawn, was dark enough for
the work he was good at.

Billy Mc
H
ugh saw the figure in black.

He had watched, not moving, from a spot several feet
into the path, deeply shaded by foliage. He had settled there
after seeing the women through the patio door. He could
watch them from there, he could see passing cars, he could
protect their rear. And afterward, he would put Carla over his knee. There was nothing wrong with her father.

But that thought left him when he saw a shadow move.
It broke off from a hedge on the property line and blended
into another at the side of the house. He eased a pistol
from his belt and lowered himself to one knee.

A sliver of light gashed the shadow's head. Light from inside. Must have opened the window a crack. Was look
ing through it.

That wasn't smart, thought Billy. You lose your night
vision. He was tempted to move on him but the shadow
was a good sixty feet away across open lawn. He wished
that John Waldo had come instead. Waldo could have done
it. Waldo could walk through tin cans and not be heard.

The sliver winked off. Then on again. New lights. Car
la's father moving through the house, turning them on,
Elena behind him, with a gun out, Carla flipping the lights
off again. The front door opened and closed.

The shadow eased toward the street, watching whatever
was happening there. Billy braced himself to move forward, cut the distance, but now the shadow was coming
back. He waited, watching, as it flowed to the rear of the
house and flattened against the stucco, one arm held out,
a knife in it. It now moved toward the patio door.
Good,
he thought.
Go right in.
He raised himself to foll
o
w.

Almost too late, a part of his brain sensed movement
behind him. His momentum was already forward but he
managed a sidestep and a dip. Something flashed where
his throat had been. Billy crossed his arms as he struggled
for balance. The knife flashed again, backhanded
.
The
blade missed but its spiked pommel smashed the wrist of
his gun hand. The hand went numb. The pistol dangled,
hooked on one finger. He was falling.

But his mind was fully focused on the knife and on killing
the man who held it. He slammed to the packed dirt of the
path, face up, hands and feet ready, willing to take a cut if
it would bring his attacker within reach. But the attacker
hesitated. Now he was scrambling, crabl
i
ke from side to side
as if looking for an opening but fearful of taking it. He
backed away, making odd noises through his nose. Whining
sounds. He snatched a broken piece of vine and flailed at
Billy's shoes with it as if in panic. Then he threw it, harmlessly. He began backing away. Billy rolled to his feet. Now
he had him. He would catch him in that path.

A distant shout. More like a wail.

It came fro
m
behind Billy. Loud but far away.

“
Oh, Jesus, God
.
.
.
Oh, Jesus
.”

It was coming from up the street. Then a loud crash.
Much closer. Billy's attacker squealed in rage. Then he
turned and ran. Billy could not give chase. That crash had
come from the house. The shadow was inside.

Elena had reached George Benedict.

He was on his knees, gripping the bumper of the car he'd approached, losing what little was in his stomach.

She had to ignore him. Her pistol low but ready in both
hands, she kept her attention on the figure inside the car.
She approached it from the passenger side window. She
saw the man, now upright behind the wheel. It seemed that the lower third of his face had been cut away. His
eyes stared ahead. The passenger seat was awash in blood
not yet congealed. Keys still in the ignition. She heard
George Benedict gagging, too loudly.

“
Be still
,”
she hissed.
“
Get home
.”

He began to groan again.
“
Jesus, God
.”

Elena knew that he must be seeing his daughter. But
there was no time to indulge him. She stepped to the front
of the car and slapped him.

“
Get home
,”
she ordered as he blinked up at her.
“
Walk quietly. Do not run. Open your garage
.”

The Mexican made no sound as he entered. He stepped
quickly to one side
,
then crouched, waiting as his eyes adjusted. He could see one of the women clearly. The one
called Elena. She was lit by the small glass panes that
framed the front door. He searched the darkness for the other one, and listened.

The noise came from behind him. A whipping of
br
a
nches. Grunts. High-pitched. The daughter, he thought,
must have gone out the back. He peered into the trees but
could see nothing.

“
Looking for me, fuck face
?”

He spun, the tanto ready, but the blow had already arched up from the floor. It struck his elbow, shattering
it. The knife tumbled through the air. He staggered back
ward into a plant stand. A large ceramic pot crashed to
the carpet. Agony, white hot, seared through his brain.
He gulped air for a scream. A scream came, but from
a distance.

He saw the daughter now. She held, in both hands, a
heavy Spanish candlestick, readying a blow that was aimed
at his face. But she hesitated, her eyes suddenly questioning.

Ca
rl
a had heard her father's voice. The front door had
opened. Elena was rushing to the sound.

The Mexican kicked at her, catching her full in the chest. She tumbled backward and rolled. He lunged for
the sliding door and jumped onto the patio, stepping into
a webbed aluminum lounge chair and tumbling with it,
tangled. He scrambled to his feet to see a man, very large,
coming fast from the trees.

“
Kill
him
,”
the woman said.
“
No noise
.”

The man had a gun. He was belting it. Felix seized the
chance. He measured the distance and aimed a spinning
kick. The big man dodged it, almost casually, pushing the
foot as it passed his face. The push sent Felix tumbling.
He recovered and, with a karate shout, tried a flying kick.
The big man stepped inside it. One hand gripped his
throat, the other his crotch. He was high in the air. He pumped his legs, searching for leverage. It did no good.
The man carried him, easily, to the sharp edge of the patio
brick work, then paused.

“
You sure
?”
he whispered toward the house.

“
Wait
.”
Ca
rl
a heard the sound of the garage door
opening. A car engine, racing. Her father stumbled through
the kitchen door, hands to his face.
“
No
,”
she said,
“
we'll
talk to that one
.”
_f

Billy dropped him into a choke hold. The Mexican kicked once, feebly, then went limp. Billy noticed the
flaccid elbow. A knee, he decided, would be all the better.
He stretched one black leg across the bricks.

Elena, gritting her teeth against her own revulsion, had
pushed Harry Bunce back onto his side and driven his car
to the Benedict garage. Carla backed her father's car out
to make room.

There had been too much noise. She could only hope
that no neighbor had called the police. But if they had,
the police might now come and go. There would be no
circus of lights and cameras.

Ten minutes later, no police had come. There was only
a call from a neighbor asking if George Benedict was all right.
He had gathered himself somewhat. And Carla had coached
him. He said that he
'd
been behaving badly, apologized for the
noise, he was better now, he had family with him. Carla urged that he wait in the kitchen. He did not object.

Elena was not surprised to see a second man, dressed
in black, being carried into the garage across the shoulder
of Billy Mc
H
ugh. Carla had anticipated him. She had
stayed to deal with him.

Carla stood now, flashlight in hand, examining the man
who was once one Harold J. Bunce. His wallet lay open
on the hood. The man in black, unconscious on the concrete floor, carried no identification.

Ca
r
la's lips were drawn
ti
ght. It was clear to Elena that
she, too, was struggl
i
ng to crowd th
e
image of her sister
from her mind. Elena had seen no compassion for the dead man. No revulsion. Ca
rl
a was too far b
e
yond such feelings.
But Elena did see a sense of wonder. A slow shaking of
the head.

“
Did your friend do this, you think
?”
asked Elena.

Carla could only shrug.

“
That guy
,”
Billy asked,
“
is he a fruit? About so
big
?”
He held a hand to the level of his chest.

“
I've never seen him. And don't call him a fruit
.”

Billy grunted. He sucked at his wrist where the spiked
pommel had punctured it.

The truth dawned on Carla.
“
You saw him? Here
?”

Billy displayed the wrist and gestured toward Harry
Bunce.
“
Tried to do me like that. Back in tha
t
path.
Started jumping around like some girl when he missed
.”

“
I'm a fucking girl, Billy
.”

Elena looked skyward. Perhaps, he thought aloud, the
issues of sexism and homophobia might be saved for another time.

”
A
twi
n
kletoes and a Mexican Ninja
.”
Billy couldn't
let it go.
“
It's a first for me
.”

“
So is being taken by a fruit, you asshole
.
You
couldn't even
.
.
.”

Elena clapped her hands sharply. Carla folded her arms.

“
The question
,”
said Elena,
“
is who sent these two
and why
.”

“
I'll ask him
.”
He pried back the Mexican's eyelid.
”A
few more minutes. Meantime, we ought to call Paul
.”

Carla reached into the car. She grabbed
Bunce's
shoul
der and pulled him upright.
“
Stick him in here
,”
she told
Billy.
“
Let him wake up to a smile
.”

Elena could only sig
h
.