on our side. Don’t be afraid. “True nobility is exempt from fear.” What we do is truly noble. Let’s talk.’
Ten feet now.
‘If you join us-’ Jose started.
Whit fired the assault rifle at the canisters, stacked by the fuel he’d poured. They blossomed into flame. Then he spun and ran up the steel steps, fired a long burst at the ceiling, at the array of fluorescents.
The lights shattered, sparking from the gunfire, plummeting into the spreading gasoline. Debris hit his shoulder, cut his arms. He reached the top of the catwalk and heard the whoo-humph of the gasoline catching in full fury, felt the sudden heat beneath his feet. The lights flickered in the other half of the warehouse and running hard along the catwalk, harder than he ever had, he saw his mother. Handcuffed to a folding chair, Tasha shoving her toward the office door, Jose screaming below him, caught in the flush of fire, screaming, screaming, and then not.
Bucks limped after the women, his pants leg torn and bloodied. Whit ran down the stairs at the other end of the catwalk, thinking Christ was I stupid, the fire moves faster than me and then he was on the floor, the crates erupting into fire as more canisters exploded, the warehouse’s very air seeming to ignite. He dropped the empty assault rifle, grabbed Bucks’ arm, hurried him through the splintered warehouse door. Heat rose like a storm surge behind them.
They ran through the outer office into the thin rain of the night. Eve lay on the ground, Tasha standing over her, forcing her to her feet.
‘Stop!’ Whit yelled. He grabbed the Sig tucked into his pants, tried to bring it to bear.
Tasha spun and fired at them as they came through the busted door and Bucks howled, staggered, fell to his knees. Whit jumped from the concrete steps, no place for cover, fired at Tasha. Missed.
And then Tasha had her gun at Eve’s head.
‘Scout! Back off!’
The heat flooded the air behind him, rising to an inferno. He aimed the gun at Tasha, at her shoulder. Eve dragged her feet, dragged the chair she was bound to, trying to slow Tasha, pull her off balance.
‘Let her go,’ Whit yelled.
‘You let me walk!’ Tasha shouted. ‘Or she dies!’
He moved faster toward them.
Eve screamed, ‘Whit, run!’
Tasha aimed at Whit, fired as Eve swatted at her arm, and the bullet cracked inches past his head. But Eve and Tasha were too close together for him to shoot.
‘Get away from my mother,’ Whit shouted.
‘You let me walk,’ Tasha screamed and Whit said, ‘Fine. Fine. Go.’
‘What?’ Tasha screamed. Disbelieving.
He turned the gun up, away from her, palms open. ‘Go. But don’t kill my mother. Please.’
‘Don’t do to me what was done to you, okay?’ Eve said.
Tasha backed away from them both, and Whit thought what are you doing, she’s guilty as hell, don’t let her go but letting her go meant saving his mother. Tasha ran. Whit hurried to Eve’s side, put himself between Tasha and Eve. Tasha bolted to her Honda, barreled the car through the closed gates, windshield breaking, metal screeching, but then on the street and careening away.
Eve was sobbing. ‘You came for me. You came for me.’
He held her for a moment. Then raced back over to Bucks. Blood welled from his chest, from his mouth. He checked Bucks’ pulse. Faint. Fading. Inside the warehouse a series of explosions shuddered. Fire department, police would be here any second.
Bucks opened his eyes.
‘Did… I get?’ Bucks said, looking hard into Whit’s eyes.
‘We’ll get an ambulance, Bucks, okay? Hold on.’
‘Did I get… the money?’ And then his eyes went vacant, empty as a useless platitude.
Whit closed Bucks’ eyes and pulled the Jag’s keys from the dead man’s pocket.
‘We got to go, Mom. We got to go.’ He steadied his mother’s arm, shot the handcuff off the chair. He hurried her through the now-broken gates, ran her back through the alleys to where the cars were hidden. One car was already gone. Frank and a hot wire, he decided. They got in Bucks’ Jaguar, and Whit tore out of the lot, headed down Mississippi toward Clinton. In the distance they heard the rising whine of a fire engine.
‘Whit,’ she said. ‘Oh, God. I love you.’ She clutched his arm, wouldn’t let go.
‘Mom, let go, I got to stick-shift and I’m not good at it,’ he yelled and it made her laugh, a long hysterical laughter that put her low in the seat as he shot the Jag onto Loop 610.
‘Where…’ she asked.
‘We’re leaving town,’ he said. ‘We are leaving Houston, Mom, right fricking now.’
‘But Frank…’
‘Frank is a lying, murdering piece of shit,’ Whit said, and Eve went silent. She held onto his arm, shivering, crying, squeezing his arm like she couldn’t believe he was there. He steered the battered Jaguar onto 1-10 West, toward Austin and San Antonio.
She spoke again when Houston was well behind them, the road an empty black band except for the occasional eighteen-wheeler, the gleam of the truck stops of Brookshire ahead on the horizon. He held the steering wheel in a death grip.
‘The money. So where is the money?’ she said. ‘I can’t help but want to know.’
He glanced over at her and now he could see the wreck her mouth was, her lips badly cut, her jaw a solid bruise. ‘Frank has it. Has had the money all along.’
‘Oh, Christ. Frank. No.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Mom, it doesn’t matter, okay? It doesn’t matter. We’re safe now.’
She started to cry. ‘Don’t let them take me away from you, Whit, okay? Don’t let them take me from you.’
47
They arrived in San Antonio by seven in the morning, and found a small motel. She didn’t want to be alone so he got a room with twin beds and while she showered he drove to a nearby Target, waited for it to open, and bought them cheap jeans, sneakers, underwear, shirts, duffel bags. When he got back to the hotel she was clean but sitting in her dirty clothes. He showered while she changed and then he drove her to a nearby emergency room.
The doctor was a young Pakistani woman who gave Whit a fierce, accusing glare as she inspected his mother’s bruises. ‘What happened?’
‘My boyfriend beat me up,’ Eve said. ‘My son came and rescued me.’ She gave Whit a little smile.
‘My word,’ the doctor said, checking in her mouth. ‘He pulled out two teeth, broke two.’
‘With pliers,’ Eve said.
‘You should file charges,’ the doctor suggested.
‘Perhaps later,’ Eve said.
‘I beat him up,’ Whit said.
‘Good for you.’ The young doctor cleaned and stitched up Eve’s lip, gave her painkillers, and made an emergency appointment for them with an oral surgeon on call with the hospital.
While the surgeon worked on Eve’s damaged teeth, Whit sat in the waiting room, watching the Texas Cable News channel. The report on the fire came third on the update. Two people found dead in the parking lot of a warehouse, investigators sifting through the rubble had found at least two more remains. It appeared to be arson and one of the dead had been identified as Gregory Buckman, a former Energis executive who had become of interest to the police after a recent attack at his home. A second man, as yet unidentified, had been mauled to death by two Dobermans, who were also found killed. Police suspected, the announcer said, that the killings and fire were drug-related.
