Pyramid Deception (22 page)

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Didn't know if it was safe to turn on the TV.”

“Probably wouldn't hurt anything,” Hannibal said. “It certainly wouldn't make this house stand out from any of the others. Here, I thought this might be better than sodas. Why don't you pour us a couple glasses of wine while I fix up the door?”

While Cindy wrestled with the cork Hannibal hammered a nail into the edge of the bedroom door about four inches from the floor. Then he drove another nail into the doorsill at the same height. When he opened the door all the way it hit a doorstop on the south wall. Bracing the door with a foot, Hannibal tied a piece of fishing line to one nail then wound it tightly around the other. After four loops he cut it and tied it off. Just as Cindy was turning the television to an all music channel playing smooth jazz, Hannibal pushed the door almost closed. She was smiling as he joined her on the nice, firm mattress.

“And what was all that about?” she asked, handing him a glass.

“Just in case stuff,” Hannibal replied. “Where's the cheese?”

“Right here next to me, but you didn't bring a plate or anything.”

Hannibal glanced around for a substitute tray. After a moment of thought he pulled the drawer out of the table on his side of the bed. He flipped it over, sat it on the bed between them, and began to slice the bricks of sharp cheddar and Monterey jack with the knife he brought from the kitchen.

“If these people come home tonight they'll want to kill us.”

“And if they don't we'll have to leave them some money for the use of their house, not to mention the destruction,” Cindy
said. Her voice was light, the way Hannibal remembered it before that day in Rockland's when she interrupted their lunch with a suicide attempt. She opened a sleeve of crackers and put it on their improvised tray. “Now, what's the just in case scenario?”

Hannibal bit into a cracker and held his answer for a second while his tongue smiled. It was a common saltine cracker but the sharp cheddar was exquisite, with just the right amount of bite. He chewed slowly, letting the flavor melt around the entire space of his mouth. And the wine was a perfect match, a Riesling he had never heard of with a flowery, almost perfumed, aroma.

“Well I was gaming in my mind, what if the three Stooges find us here? They might spot the broken window and decide to come in and look around. I didn't want to be surprised. I figure that improvised trip wire will slow down anyone popping into the room.”

“You're planning for that?” Cindy asked.

“Of course. Here's the deal. If we hear someone in the house you hop over there and get in that closet. I roll off the bed over on this side. If I duck down I'm invisible from the door, but I can see whoever's coming in, in the mirror on the bureau.”

Cindy emptied her wine glass and refilled it. “Won't he see you in the mirror too?”

“Not right away, babe. His eyes would go to the bed first. Anyway, when he pushes the door open the fishing line goes taut and becomes a trip wire. He goes down, I pop up and land on him. Threat neutralized.”

“You, Mr. Jones, are too smart by half.”

She turned to him and offered a smile that he recognized, one that he hadn't seen in a few days. How odd that in these peculiar circumstances she was not just happy but relaxed, he might even say content. He wasn't just looking at the woman he loved. This was the woman he fell in love with.

Hannibal leaned back against the pillows and let the day fall off him. They were safe, it was quiet, and the last few hours had burned off his energy. As he took a deep breath Cindy tipped to
the side, leaning into him, her head rolling against his chest. His arm fell around her, holding her close. She giggled.

“You know, this is kind of romantic. Is that weird?”

“I no longer think I can spot weird when I see it.”

“Would it be wrong to get freaky on a stranger's bed without them even knowing we're here?”

Hannibal smiled and leaned up to gather the cheese and crackers back onto his improvised tray. “Nothing's wrong if you don't get caught, right? But we don't want to make a mess…”

“Yes I do,” Cindy said, nipping at his ear with her teeth and starting to work the buttons of his shirt. “I want to get real messy.”

Sometimes sleep is a gift the universe offers you. Other days you have to reach out and grab it for yourself. Sleep had come easily to Hannibal after the final release, but now he was having a hard time holding onto it.

He had been all tangled up with Cindy's soft, warm body. The sound of her breathing, deep and tender as her heart slowed, was a lullaby to him. But now something was trying to force him back into the world. He resisted. This was paradise, huddled in the darkness in a cocoon of love, breathing the scent of her hair, feeling her arms around him. He didn't want to wake up. If he did he might lose this effortless joy. If not for that stupid noise…

His eyes popped open. The sound was slow, but nonetheless rhythmic like a dripping faucet. Those were footsteps. Someone was walking but very slowly. Someone was in the house.

Hannibal's pulse rate tripled as reality rushed in on him. He pulled his head away from Cindy's gentle half-snore, not reacting when she cuddled in closer to him. The footsteps stopped, then picked up their regular beat again.

So someone was in the house. The owners? Unlikely. If they didn't know they had intruders they would move normally and make a lot more noise. Police? Even less likely. They would have announced themselves loudly just for safety's sake and to give any intruders a chance to show themselves without risking being shot. Putting aside the unlikely coincidence of an actual burglary, Hannibal knew one of the three brothers was searching the house for them.

The darkness was not as deep as when Hannibal had fallen asleep. Dawn was only minutes, maybe seconds away. Had those idiots searched the neighborhood for them all night? Had one of
them finally spotted the broken sliding glass door? Had they found the trail Hannibal and Cindy left when they crawled across the yard to the deck? That string of suppositions seemed outrageous, but nothing else made sense. And there they lay, naked under rumpled sheets.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered. Cindy stirred but clung to sleep as he had. “Cindy. Sweetheart. You need to wake up now. We've got company.”

Her eyes lagged behind her smile, snapping open a second after her lips moved into a frown. She looked into Hannibal's eyes to see how bad things were. He watched her expression pass through confusion to fear and then to that face that was an unvoiced question.

“Not to worry,” he whispered. “I got this. But I want you to go stand in the closet so you don't get caught up in it if shit gets serious.”

Cindy considered only for a second before nodding and rolling away from him. She made no sound lowering one foot to the floor, then easing herself upright. She was standing on her dress. She looked at her panties and blew a puff of derisive air at her absurd situation. She snatched up her red lace bra and the knife she brought from the kitchen and tiptoed to the closet.

Hannibal maintained his easy smile until Cindy closed the closet door. Then he pushed off the sheet and grabbed his pants from the floor on his side of the bed. He listened closely to the distant footsteps, feeling the timing. He timed his own feet hitting the floor with those distant steps, then quickly pulled on his pants. They were dirty, and the knees were still wet but he'd just have to deal with it. He knew the situation could turn violent and there was no way he was going to get into a tussle with another man naked.

Crouching between the bed and the dresser he went back over the events of the day, trying to understand how he had come to this place. So many misunderstanding, so much confusion and misdirection had led to this moment when a man he didn't even
know twenty-four hours before would try to kill him. And he may be forced to return the favor.

The unknown footsteps moved up the stairs. This was a cautious man, whose steps implied that he was looking around every corner before moving forward. Not Eddie then. He'd be more the bull in the china shop. Probably not Nas. He would go for help rather than explore the house alone. This would be Darryl. Darryl, the driver, the planner. He would have stationed his brothers at the front and back door while he came in to settle things.

Outside the room, Hannibal heard the explorer go to the master bedroom door. A pause. Shove it open. Stillness. Step to the second bedroom. Repeat the process.

Hannibal's hand was wet on the knife's handle. He tightened his grip as the enemy came to his room door. This would be it. If the man was armed Hannibal would have to kill him. He might never really know why this man had forced his own murder. That bothered Hannibal more than he wanted to think. His woman would see it happen. That bothered him more.

The steps stopped just outside the door. Hannibal tensed, teeth clenched, knife held tightly, tip forward.

The first weak rays of dawn sliced through the windows. Darryl shoved the door open. He held the pistol with the silencer with both hands, aimed at what had been Hannibal's pillow. Hannibal stood, braced to leap forward.

And Darryl took one long step forward, stepping right over the taut wire attached to the bottom of the door. His barrel swung to target Hannibal's bare chest, its muzzle only a dozen feet away from Hannibal's heart.

Yep, Hannibal thought. Shit just got real.

The two men stood poised just long enough for Hannibal to take one breath and for Darryl to start a smile.

Hannibal lowered his shoulders trying to look less threatening. “You don't look like a killer to me, Darryl. This is not the time to do something you will regret later.”

“Oh, I ain't going to regret killing you, you murderous son of a bitch.”

A lot can happen in one second.

Hannibal stepped to the left, pivoting his body so that its left edge faced Darryl, becoming as small a target as possible. Even at this distance the gunman could miss, and Hannibal was confident that he could close the gap and get his knife into the man before he could fire again.

Darryl began squeezing his trigger, adjusting his aim and looking down the sights with grim determination.

Both men froze as a terrorized scream filled the room and Cindy burst from the closet, diving forward, clutching her knife with both hands over her head.

Darryl spun toward her but she was already dropping. He was farther away than she realized. Her knees thudded onto the floor. Darryl's gun swung over her head as her arms drove the knife down, not into his heart but into his thigh just above his right knee. Darryl's scream picked up where Cindy's had left off.

At the end of that crucial second Hannibal left hand clamped around Darryl's right wrist, pointing the pistol toward the ceiling. His right fist crashed across Darryl's jaw. Darryl's head thumped into the door behind him and he slid to the floor, unconscious.

A voice filled with hate shouted Darryl's name from downstairs. Hannibal grabbed the gun and dropped to the floor. He lay with his head and shoulders in the hall, arms outstretched toward the stairs. His legs were over Darryl's. He felt his left calf pressed against the knife in Darryl's leg and quickly pulled it away.

Two pairs of feet pounded up the stairs. Eddie came into view first carrying the big magnum. As he turned toward Hannibal, Hannibal fired. It wouldn't be heard outside the house but it was loud enough. The bullet punched the middle of Eddie's chest, throwing him back against the wall. Behind him, Nas pointed Hannibal's own gun in the general direction of the source of the shot, but his eyes flicked back at Eddie.

“Put the gun down,” Hannibal said, using the command voice he had learned as a New York City cop. “Right now!” Silently he thought,
I'm a small target down here on the floor half behind a wall. You're fully exposed. Do the smart thing. Please.

Nas' hand began to shake. He took three quick breaths, as if trying to build up his courage. But then he slowly lowered the gun to the floor.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said, keeping his gun trained on the last man standing. “I didn't want things to go this way.”

Nas nodded. “My brothers,” he said. It was as much a question as a statement. Hannibal nodded back.

“Do you have a phone?” When Nas nodded, Hannibal said, “Call 9-1-1. If they can get an ambulance here fast enough, maybe nobody dies today.”

“You look like hell,” Orson Rissik said.

“That's just because you've never seen me without my glasses,” Hannibal replied. He was sitting on the porch steps of the brick front colonial in which he had spent the night, elbows resting on his knees, his hands hanging between.

Looking up at Rissik's passive face Hannibal knew his friend was right. His suit was a soiled, grass-stained mess. His shoes were scuffed and caked with mud. And there was a nasty bruise on his cheek thanks to Eddie's knuckles the night before.

The morning sun glared over Rissik's shoulder when he stepped aside to allow a stretcher to pass. Both men watched Darryl being loaded into the back of an ambulance.

“That's why so many people don't get you,” Rissik said. His gray suit was cut sharp as a razor, as always. He made Hannibal long for a shower and a change of clothes.

“Am I supposed to know what you're talking about?”

“Maybe not,” Rissik said. “Maybe that's why I like you. What I meant was, a lot of people who heard the story of last night wouldn't get why you would put a tourniquet on that boy's leg and keep him alive until the paramedics got here. He'd have killed you as easy as breathing.”

Cindy came out of the house wrapped in a blanket. She stood behind her man and rested a hand on his head. “That's kind of what makes him Hannibal, don't you think?”

When the police and emergency personnel arrived she had declared that she couldn't force herself back into her dress. She had sat wrapped in the blanket while they took her statement. Hannibal had given his in a different room. There were endless questions and the truth was a bit complicated but he was patient
with the young officers. He knew they were just doing their job but he was a lot more comfortable when Rissik arrived. After that, the conversation could be a little less one-sided.