THREE DAYS to DIE (6 page)

      Michael foolishly hadn't considered that. He replaced his phone, then walked over and stood with Aaron at the window.

      "Aaron, I'm sorry," he said. "What's your mother's name?"

      Aaron rubbed his nose and spoke softly. "It's Ashley."

      "Don't worry, Aaron. I'd never do anything that could hurt Ashley."

Chapter 13

The Aston

      Michael cast around for a way to change the subject. After a moment he said, "Do you like cars?"

       Aaron smiled and wiped his eyes with the backs of his fingers. "I love cars," he replied.

      "Follow me," Michael said. "I have something I want to show you." Then he led Aaron down to the underground parking garage.

---

      The garage floor glistened with moisture, and the sound of dripping water could be heard echoing in the distance. Michael and Aaron walked past two dozen vehicles of every class and description parked in neat rows. At the end of the garage, in a space tucked away from the others, they stopped next to a tungsten silver Aston Martin DBS.

      Aaron's jaw dropped. "Oh my gosh ... This is yours?"

      Michael held out his wrist to Aaron. "Touch your finger here," he said, indicating the little OPEN zone between eight and nine o'clock on his transponder chronograph wristwatch.

      Aaron stared at the exquisite marvel of miniaturization.

      "A light touch is all it takes," Michael said.

      Aaron touched his fingertip to the face of the titanium watch, and the Aston unlocked itself and its dazzling electronics sparkled to life.

      "Oh my gosh!" Aaron said. "That is crazy."

      "Hop in," Michael said.

      Aaron opened the passenger door then hesitated, knowing he was breaking another cardinal rule; then he slid into the low-slung seat.

      He looked around the interior, running his hands over the hand-stitched leather and carbon-fiber accents. "This car is unbelievable," he said. "Aren't these like 300 grand or something?"

      "'Saturday Night Crash' – Have you seen that?" Michael asked.

      "I loved that movie," Aaron replied.

      Michael gave the steering wheel a little pat. "I can thank that movie for this car."

      Aaron cocked his head, puzzled.

      "I wrote it – the book, I mean," Michael said. "My novel was adapted into the movie."

      "No way!" Aaron said. "That's
very
cool. You know, I'm thinking about becoming a writer, too."

      Michael smiled, but he had heard it a million times. It seemed that nearly everyone he talked to was either trying to become a writer or had thought about it.

      "That's a worthy goal," he said finally. "My advice would be to read every day and write every day – and write for the love of writing, or you'll never be able to do the necessary work."

      Aaron deflated a little.

      "Maybe you and I could talk more about it sometime," Michael said, looking at him.

      Aaron smiled. "That'd be great."

      Michael fired up the DBS's sweetly tuned engine. "But for now, let's get you home."

---

      From his seat behind the wheel of the white van, Needles saw the silver Aston Martin exit the underground garage and head west. It passed under a street lamp and he recognized the boy in the passenger seat. Then he pulled away from the curb to follow.

      Michael hit the gas for a few seconds to give Aaron a feel for the V-12's awesome power. Aaron giggled and held on. Needles struggled to keep pace, while at the same time trying to keep his distance.

      "Do you have any brothers and sisters?" Michael asked as they approached Aaron's neighborhood.

      "Nope, just me."

      "Pets?"

      Aaron laughed. "Yeah, like Tom would ever let me have a pet."

      "I take it Tom's your stepdad," Michael said.

      "Unfortunately," Aaron said, sorry for the reminder. "How ‘bout you? Any family?"

      Michael paused. Leafing through those memories was difficult for him – talking about it only served to make it real again. But it was he who had brought up the subject and he felt obliged to follow through.

      "My wife and only son were killed in an auto accident," he said. The horrible memory flooded his senses.

      "Oh, wow ..." Aaron said, unprepared for such a dismal reply. But he was able to relate – at least to some degree. "I'm so sorry."

      "Thank you," Michael said. He hadn't spoken to anyone about it in years, and he felt the need to elaborate. "I wasn't with them that night. The other driver was drunk – he crossed over the center divide. Little Tyler was three; he was killed instantly. Jennie lived for 4 days." He paused for a moment to let his breath catch up. "It's been five-and-a-half years, now."

      Aaron couldn't say anything, so he didn't try.

---

      The Aston purred to a stop in front of Aaron's apartment. Aaron and Michael got out and walked up the front steps.

      Michael removed a pad and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, then scribbled something and tore out the page. "Here's my cell number," he said. "Call me tomorrow and let me know you're all right, okay?"

      "Okay," Aaron said as he took the slip of paper.

      Michael jotted down Aaron's number as well then raised a high-five. "You cool?" he asked.

      Aaron fived him back. "Yeah, I'm cool. Thanks for the brownies."

      He removed a key from under the welcome mat, unlocked the door, and replaced the key, then stepped inside and closed the heavy door behind him.

      Michael laid his hand on the door and felt the grain of the wood.

      "Good night, Aaron," he said.

---

      As Michael drove away, he passed the white van, parked across the street from Aaron's apartment.

      Johnny Souther was six blocks away, cruising the streets in a black van. He picked up Needles's call and listened for a moment.

      "Hold your position," he said. "I'm on my way."

Chapter 14

Batting Practice

      Aaron undressed, throwing his tattered clothes in the bottom of his hamper and covering them, making a mental note to trash them in the morning. He reached for his pajamas, but thinking again he decided to remain dressed. He put on a fresh pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a clean hooded sweatshirt, socks and sneakers.

      He thought of waking his mother, but he couldn't face the prospect of waking Tom. So he crawled under the covers to wait for morning.

---

      The black van pulled up to the apartment and parked behind the white van. Johnny Souther got out and walked over to meet with his thugs. Needles filled him in then told him about the hidden key.

      "Guard the exits," Souther said as he reloaded his .45. "I'll take care of the kid. Stay outside even if shots are fired, understand? No one gets in or out alive." He pulled out a large knife and checked the edge with his thumb.

      The thugs nodded, and Souther motioned for them to move out. He used the hidden key to unlock the front door, then drew his gun and quietly entered the apartment.

---

      Aaron was wide awake when his bedroom door slowly opened and the silhouette of a large man loomed in the doorway. He shuddered then watched in horror as the man picked up his little-league bat and slapped it repeatedly into his palm.
Smack ... Smack ... Smack ...
    

      "Out for a joy ride tonight, Aaron?" the man said.

      Aaron was only partially relieved to recognize Tom's voice.

      Suddenly Tom stopped, interrupted by a sound that came from downstairs. "Stay here," he said, motioning with his hand.

      Tom stepped out into the hall and moved quietly toward the stairs to investigate. It occurred to him to get the .22 caliber pistol he kept loaded and ready in his sock drawer, but the apartment was old, and at night, when it was quiet, it wasn't unusual to hear strange sounds. He gripped the bat with both hands and slowly descended the dark stairs.

      Souther was ascending the same stairs from below.

      They met halfway.

      Tom cried out and swung wildly. He heard a sickening thud, and the bat torqued in his hands as he connected with the side of Souther's head. Souther tumbled backward down the steps and lay motionless at the bottom of the dark stairwell. Tom's heart pounded the breath from his lungs.

      Ashley hadn't slept since Aaron ran away, and when she heard the fighting she grabbed her eyeglasses off the night table, jumped out of bed, and threw on her poly satin robe. She hesitated, then ran to Tom's dresser and retrieved his .22, a compact yet lethal weapon of which she had always disapproved. Then she clicked on the hall light and ran to the top of the stairs.

      She saw her husband, Aaron's baseball bat, and the shadowed stranger sprawled across the bottom steps.

      "
Thomas?
" she cried.

      Tom looked up and saw her holding the gun.

      "Shoot the bastard!" he shouted.

      "
What?
I –"

      "Kill the son-of-a-bitch!"

      Ashley pointed the gun at Souther, but hesitated.

      Souther came to and scrabbled around for his pistol.

      "Oh, God!" Tom cried. "Shoot him, Ashley!
Kill him!
"

      Ashley closed her eyes, fired and missed – the feel of the lethal round exiting the barrel sickened her.

      Souther found his gun, whipped it up and fired. The bullet smacked Tom in the chest, slamming him against the wall and sending the bat flying.

      Ashley screamed, fired again, and missed. Souther looked up at her, and for an instant their eyes met. Then she ran back upstairs, knowing her husband was dead.

      Souther stood and started up the stairs after her. Tom was sprawled on the steps, blood soaking into the carpet beneath him. Souther heard him groan, so he shot him again. Then he stepped over the body and continued up the stairs, reloading as he went.

---

      Ashley ran into her son at the top of the stairs. He had seen everything.

      "Aaron!" she cried, surprised, delighted, and terrified to discover that he had returned home.

      "Follow me," he said, snatching some car keys, a credit card, and a cell phone from the hall table. They ducked into his bedroom and he dead-bolted the door behind them.

      He slid the window open and climbed out onto the flat roof over the garage. "Give me your hand," he said, holding out his. "Hurry!" Ashley took his hand and stepped quickly through the window onto sharp gravel that cut into her bare feet.

      Aaron lead the way across the rooftop to the fire ladder, then motioned for her to wait as he peered over the edge of the low parapet. In the dark alley below he saw the huge black man from the cannery standing guard a few feet from the bottom of the ladder – he had his gun in his hand.

      Ashley shivered in her thin robe and nightgown. "I-I let Tom d-die tonight," she said.

      "What? No you didn't."

      "I c-couldn't shoot."

      Aaron huddled closer to her, not knowing what to say. He was struggling with his own feelings regarding Tom's death. He noticed the bruise under her eye, and he didn't have to ask her how she got it.

      He refocused his attention on his plan. "Mom, listen to me," he said. "We're going to use the fire escape and make a run for the garage. I'll go first ... then I'll help you, okay?"

      Ashley looked at him, clutching the neck of her nightgown. The plan terrified her.

      Aaron sensed her trepidation. "We have no other choice," he said. "If we don't move fast they'll find us and kill us." He placed the keys, credit card, and phone in her hands and squeezed them. "Take these ... you've got bigger pockets than I do." The pockets in his jeans were fine, of course, but in the likelihood that he and his mother got separated during the escape, he figured she could use them more than he.

      He remembered that she had had Tom's gun, and for a brief insane moment he thought they might be able to shoot their way out.

      "Do you still have the gun?" he asked.

      Ashley felt the cold steel pressing against her thigh and she nodded. But as she went to pull the .22 out of the pocket of her robe, Aaron came to his senses and laid his hand on her arm. His gun handling skills, although excellent, were limited to video games. He wouldn't stand a chance in a real gunfight, against what was likely a highly trained professional killer. Besides, if they did get separated, he'd want her to have the pistol as well.

      "No," he said. "You keep it."

      "Really? But you –"

      Aaron squeezed her arm, nearly to the point of hurting her.

      "Keep it," he said.

      Ashley looked at her son for a moment, struggling with her thoughts. Everything was happening too fast. Then she let the gun slide back into its satin holster.

      Aaron looked at her squarely. "No police ... okay, Mom?"

      "What?"

      "Trust me," he said. "You don't want to call the cops on these guys. Not yet, at least."

      Ashley had never seen Aaron act this way before – like a man – and she felt the warmth of maternal pride move through her. It relaxed her a little and quelled some of her fear. But still she struggled to hold back her tears.

      Aaron stood and breathed deeply. What they were about to attempt terrified him, too. "Okay, then ..." he said. "Let's do this."

Chapter 15

300 Horses

      Blood streamed down the side of Souther's face as he checked the upstairs of the apartment. In the master bath he found a clean towel and used it to wipe his face. Then he pressed it against his scalp to control the bleeding. He saw a utility bill lying on the dresser: It was addressed to an Ashley Quinn. He noted the name and left the room.