Little White Lies (53 page)

I look over to see Mary reach for the handbag she tossed on the desk when she entered the room. A.J. grabs her wrist and twists it behind her back.

“Come on, Mary, honey,” he says softly. “We’ve had enough killing for one day.”

I have to disagree with A.J. on that point. We may have had a lot of killing today, but I’m not sure we’ve had enough. By my count we are at least one shy of the mark.

I hold Monte’s gun in my right hand and pull him to his feet. His face is a mask of hatred.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he sputters. His rage overflows and he spits directly into my face.

He’s not the only one who has bottled up emotions and few things get to me like someone spitting on me… accidentally or otherwise.

“God dammit,” I yell drawing my arm back in a reflex action, preparing to hit him with his own gun.

My arm is grabbed from behind.

“No, don’t,” Karen yells holding my wrist.

I attempt to bring my arm forward, knocking Karen off balance and dragging her forward. That moment is all Monte needs as he twists free from my grasp and steps behind the sofa. Before Jennifer can move he reaches down and grabs her by the hair. She jumps upward as Monte pulls her bodily over the back of the sofa. The sofa table rocks crazily. A lamp crashes to the floor and glass flies everywhere.

Monte’s hand emerges from his pocket with a knife. The blade flicks open with a practiced motion. He puts the knife to her throat and begins to back out of the room, pulling Jennifer with him.

“Thanks, bitch, your brother’s bill is paid in full,” he snarls in Karen’s direction.

He looks back at the rest of us, savagely pulling on Jennifer’s head, “One move from you motherfuckers and she’s dead!” he shouts. “One move!”

A.J. and Sheri look at Karen and back at Mary, who A.J. is still controlling with her arm twisted behind her back. They are both in shock with looks of disbelief written clearly across their faces.

Jennifer tries to keep up with Monte as he drags her across the foyer, her toes barely touching the floor. The front door bursts open and several security men enter. Monte reacts by changing direction towards the interior of the house.

Seeing the security men I yell, “No shooting… hold your fire!”

Monte continues towards the kitchen as Jennifer struggles, more to keep her feet under her than to get away. He passes the cellar door and looks towards the kitchen, momentarily confused. Then he reaches for the cellar door and drags Jennifer through, slamming the door behind him.

“Cover the exits… one man at this door!” I yell running to the cellar entrance. As I reach for the doorknob, Karen slams her body against the door.

“Philip, don’t do this,” she pleads. “Wait for the police to get here.”

I brush her aside without bothering to answer and open the door, quickly stepping inside and closing it behind me. Standing at the top of the stairs I hear a crash and the cellar goes black. Monte has smashed the large florescent ceiling light located a few feet from the bottom of the stairs. I can hear crunching glass as he walks across the floor. Then silence.

I quickly take off my shoes and place them to the side. I place Monte’s gun on top of the shoes… it won’t be any good to me with Jennifer somewhere in the darkness… it’s far too dangerous to attempt any shot. I might cut my feet on the broken glass, but right now silence is more important. The cellar is pitch black. I wait a few moments before moving, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and trying to hear any sounds they might make.

My own breathing sounds like a huge bellows working in tandem with my pounding heart. I begin my descent, staying close to the wall to minimize the chance of the stairs creaking.

The first two steps are completely silent. The third creaks slightly. I pause… still no sound from below. There are probably ten or eleven steps to the bottom. I continue slowly… two more steps… pause… nothing. I ease onto the next step… suddenly there’s a searing pain on the back of my right leg, well above the ankle.

Hiding under the open staircase, Monte has cut me through the stair opening. I’m losing my balance. My left foot hits a step and I launch myself as far as I can into space, landing heavily on my right side. I roll a few more feet and remain quiet. Instinctively I put my right hand on my leg… it comes away wet and warm.

Monte’s voice comes through the blackness.

“It seems I came down here with one hostage and now I have two.” He chuckles.

I unbuckle my belt and slowly draw it through the loops of my trousers, trying to stay as quiet as possible. I loop it around my calf above the wound and draw it tight. This will do for now, but it’s not going to last. I’ll have to get him or get out… I can’t stay here for any length of time without doing something about this cut.

CHAPTER 28
 

I reach down and release the belt for a second and immediately feel the blood flow freely once again. This time I tighten the belt and continue to wrap it around my leg, tucking the end through the last loop. It’s fairly secure, but it probably won’t hold.

I have to get away from here. I crawl only a few feet when I feel the broken glass on the floor. It makes a scratching sound, betraying my position as I push bits and pieces across the smooth concrete surface.

Monte’s voice again… not far away but how far I can’t tell. He’s shouting and the sound seems to come from different directions.

“You can crawl but you can’t hide, Phil. The Monte-man is going to get you.” He laughs and continues his tirade. “And then I’m going to cut your heart out and hand it to you. You think you’re bleeding now, motherfucker? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

His shrill laugh penetrates the darkness… the laugh of a madman.

I’ve gone several feet now without encountering any new glass, a few more feet to be certain I’m clear of it. I don’t want any unexpected noise on that account. I pull myself to my feet, slowly… slowly.

I’m trying to control my breathing, but without much success. Each breath sounds like a locomotive. He must be able to hear me, but there’s no noise… no movement… and no more speechmaking. I can feel the sweat exploding out of my skin. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to catch my breath. For all I know he could be walking straight at me… all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing. Little by little I try to slow down… it’s so tough to do. God, I hurt.

And there it is… the faint sound of glass moving… more glass… louder this time. There’s something else, but I can’t tell what it is. A movement of some kind… clothing or something… there’s a lot of force. I close my eyes and concentrate. It’s rhythmical, back and forth. It’s as though he’s swinging something… swinging back and forth.

He’s probing the space in front of him with his knife! Like a man cutting his way through the jungle with a machete. That has to be it! He knows this cellar as well as I do… maybe better. There’s no advantage either way on that score.

I lower myself into a crouch and raise my left arm to protect my head and eyes.

He’s inching his way through the glass. The sound made by the scything motion of his arm grows louder. To his left… and now back to his right. I can feel slight air movement… hear his labored breathing with each pass of the knife.

I shift to my right knee to take the weight off my lower leg. My left leg rests on the floor, slightly behind me. I’m going to have only one shot at this. The knife is probably still in his right hand… holding it the same as he did in the foyer. The swooshing sound goes to my right… very close.

I strike out with my left leg in a sweeping motion towards Monte’s legs. I make contact and feelsomething give. He grunts with surprise and I feel him falling, our legs momentarily entangled.

Hands clasped together in front of me, I launch myself towards the spot where I imagine him to be and land square on top of him, except I can’t tell which end is up. His reaction tells me what I need to know and I reach for his throat. He resists… but there’s only his left hand.

The instant of realization and the moment of impact are the same. He drives the blade into my left shoulder just as my hands reach his throat, then twists out of my grasp and rolls free.

The first wave of pain is remarkable. The knife is still in my shoulder. I try to raise myself from the floor and find my left side to be virtually paralyzed. Breathing is difficult, my stomach contracts in a spasm of nausea and the darkness is filled with tiny pinpoints of light, firing on and off.

I hear a scraping noise a few feet away. I can’t concentrate… another noise… farther away this time. He’s headed for the stairs.

“You’re dead, Phil, or you soon will be!” he screams. “I’m going to find your girlfriend and then I’m getting the hell out of here.”

I take a deep breath… slowly. I’m dizzy… no orientation. The simplest movement brings excruciating pain… even breathing. I manage to get my right knee under me and then push to all fours… tasting blood in my mouth now… I push to my feet. Swaying slightly, I look up and see a tiny line of light showing under the door at the top of the stairs… a directional beacon.

I move forward and the glass cuts into my feet. Suddenly, the light goes out and then just as quickly partially reappears. It’s him.

“Still movin’, Phil?”

That’s a mistake. The sound and the light tell me almost exactly where he is. I shuffle forward and strike with my right hand at my unseen target, making contact but accomplishing little else. Monte grabs my arm and we slam together. I drop my knee behind his and shove hard. He pulls me down on top of him and we crash to the floor.

His head bounces off the bottom stair and hits me square in the face as we collide. I’m stunned, but I feel Monte’s body go limp. Completely spent, I can’t move forward or backward. There’s still no movement from Monte.

Taking deep breaths, I try to gather strength but there isn’t much happening. I just want to sleep. Time passes… I have no idea how much… moments, minutes… I don’t know. He moans softly and begins to stir.

This is it. Reaching out with my right hand, I find his chest. I pull closer and search for his face… I feel his nose, his eyes…

His hand comes up and grasps my throat. He’s coming around quickly now and understands the game completely. His hand contracts with tremendous force… I’m choking… no air…

I feel his eyelid and jamb my finger forward with all my remaining strength, into the socket of his right eye, driving his eyeball to the side. He screams and releases his hold on my throat. I withdraw my hand and strike at his throat… once, twice and again and again… finally crushing his windpipe.

His breathing is ragged and uneven as I move my hand back to his face. Everything seems to go in slow motion… it’s so hard to move. I feel his chin and pause for strength… this is all I have left. With the heel of my hand, I manage one violent strike, driving the bridge of his nose into his brain. His body spasms and then goes quiet. I’m falling away… into darkness…

CHAPTER 29
 

I think my eyes are open, but I can’t seem to focus on anything. It’s like trying to look through gauze or a film of some sort. There’s movement to my left… I look but I can’t see clearly. The room is enveloped in a dense fog. I don’t feel much of anything but complete exhaustion. I want to sleep…

I think only a few moments have passed, but it could be hours or even days. My eyes open again and this time I can see everything around me with refreshing clarity. I’m in a hospital room. A.J. is sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed, reading a magazine.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask in a voice I hardly recognize as my own.

My throat is dry and scratchy… I can barely talk.

“It’s about time,” he says smiling and throwing the magazine to the side. “I just stopped by to tell you we’re going to have to dock you another day’s pay, laying around on your dead white butt like this.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” I nod agreeably. “I’m so damn tired, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can hardly move.”

I look closely at A.J. His face is covered with a two or three-day stubble and he looks like he has been sleeping in his clothes.

“You look like shit,” I croak. “You should take better care of yourself.”

I glance to the side.

“What do you want?” he asks, following my gaze.

“Water. I’m really thirsty.”

He jumps up, grabs a water cup and directs the straw into my mouth. I take a few sips and immediately feel better. It’s an unusual sensation as the cool water makes its way to my stomach. I can feel it all the way down.

“What’s the story with Jennifer,” I ask, fearing the worst. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. I saw her earlier… she has a bump on her head, but that’s all. They checked her for a concussion. I think she will be released in the morning.”

A.J. picks up a cord hanging from the side of my bed and rings for the nurse. “They want to know as soon as you are awake,” he explains.

A nurse appears almost immediately and motions for A.J. to leave.

“We’ll have to check on him now… we’ll call you as soon as we’re finished.”

“I’m going to telephone Sheri,” he calls out as heleaves the room.

***

A slight knock and the door opens tentatively. I’m elevated to a partial sitting position in my bed. Sheri pushes A.J. to the side and hurries to my bedside. She leans over and kisses me on the forehead, her perfume a welcome change from the hospital aroma. I must stink like hell at this point.

“You gave us one heck of a scare, Phil,” she admonishes with a smile that contradicts the tone of her voice.

I nod. “A.J.’s buddy almost did me in,” I reply scowling at A.J.

“Here we go again,” he wails. “Every time someone steps in shit around here, it’s my fault. I was in my own home, minding my own business, when… “

“Shut up, A.J.,” Sheri cuts in. “If you don’t want to take up residence here, just watch what you say. Philip isn’t feeling well, but he’s going to be doing a lot better than you unless you mind your manners.”

I can’t help but smile. Just listening to the constant drumbeat of the bickering I know all is right with the world. In another minute they’ll forget all about me and just go at it.