Dirty Harry had nothing on him, Harry grinning and saying the difference between him and Eastwood was that he wasn't shooting blanks.
Mason stuck the gun in the back of his jeans, pulling his shirt out to cover it. He had a gun and a knife, neither of which could offset the odds Whitney had in his favor except for one thing. Whitney would assume he was unarmed. It was a slender edge.
He checked his watch. They were out of time. He studied his aunt. Her slate eyes were clear and unwavering. Her mouth was firm. Her hands didn't tremble. She was magnificent.
'Well, then,' Mason said, threading his arm around hers. 'Let's go for a walk.'
Chapter 53
Mason stopped at the edge of the courtyard, shielding Claire though she was nearly as big as he was. The raincoat added unexpected bulk to her frame. The grass was more brown than green, stunted by the summer's heat in spite of the recent rain. The sun had risen far enough to clear the hospital high on the ridge to the east, splashing the top of the raised north wall with a blinding glare, the courtyard still shaded. He held his ground, preferring to keep the open parking lot to his back rather than the claustrophobic ruins.
They stood there, not moving, the only sounds a stray cry from a crow drifting lazily overhead before disappearing into the trees. Minutes passed, Mason feeling King's unseen eyes on them waiting until he was certain they were alone.
'Mason!' King finally called out. 'Don't be shy. Come a little closer. I want a good look at my mom so I know she's okay.'
Mason shaded his eyes with his hand, scanning the ruins for King's hiding place. King's voice had come from in front of them, the most likely place being from behind the north wall where the sloping ground gave him added cover and a clear field of fire down into the courtyard. Sandwiched between the hillside and the limestone, the sun's glare provided added camouflage.
'Not until I see Mary,' Mason answered.
Mason heard her before he saw her as King flung Mary against the iron bars filling an otherwise empty window next to where he stood hidden behind the wall. She grunted in pain, swallowing her cry. Mason squinted against the sun, finding Mary clinging to the bars, her face pressed against them. King's gun was flush against her head. Mason started to reach for his gun, stopping when he realized Mary would be dead before he could clear it from his belt.
'Closer!' King demanded. 'Or she dies!'
Claire took the first steps, Mason quickly catching up to her. He grabbed her arm, stopping alongside her near the middle of the courtyard.
'This is as close as we're coming,' Mason said. 'She's not going any farther until you let Mary go.'
Whitney shoved Mary aside, standing in the window, his gun hand extended between the bars. 'That's close enough,' he said and shot Claire, the bullet slamming into her chest, knocking her to the ground and onto her side.
Mason screamed as he saw the muzzle flash, unable to knock Claire out of its path or take the bullet for her. He dropped to the ground, blanketing her, tensing his muscles, expecting a second bullet to cut into him. When none came, he rose up and rolled Claire onto her back, stunned that she wasn't a bloody mess. He ripped open the raincoat, blessing Harry's Kevlar vest that Claire was wearing, the slug cushioned firmly against it, still hot.
Her eyes were closed and he felt her neck for a pulse, finding a strong one. The impact had knocked the wind out of her, the shock causing her to faint.
'Don't move, Mason!' King shouted.
Mason stayed huddled over Claire, closing the raincoat, turning her on her side so that King wouldn't see that she was-n't bleeding. He found the handle of the knife sticking out of his pocket, wrapping his fingers around it, drawing it out. He listened to King's footsteps as he got closer, watching as King's shadow cast ahead of him by the sun marked his approach.
'For God's sake, Whitney! You killed your own mother!' Mason yelled, still keeping his head down.
'Had to,' Whitney said, now standing directly behind Mason, nudging him with his shoe. 'Can't trust a woman who'd get in a car with you, now could I?'
Mason slowly stood, palming the knife in his right had as he turned toward King. He caught a glimpse of Mary lying on the ground, her eyes open. There had been no second shot so Mason assumed that King had dumped her there, leaving her too stunned to move.
King raised his gun, aiming at Mason's face. 'Smile,' he said.
Mason whipped his right hand up, stabbing the short blade into Whitney's gut, ripping through muscle, warm blood coating his hand. Whitney's eyes widened, his jaw slackened as Mason knocked the gun from his hand. Whitney grabbed Mason's wrist, struggling against the knife as Mason drove the blade higher into his abdomen and buried his knee into Whitney's groin.
Moaning, Whitney collapsed to his knees as Mason let go of the knife, throwing it on the ground out of reach. Whitney pressed his fingers against his belly, looking up at Mason, his face contorted, unable to speak. Mason clasped his hands together like a mallet, swinging down hard against Whitney's face, the blow spinning Whitney into a heap. Stunned and bleeding, he lay still long enough for Mason to remove his belt and bind his hands behind his back.
Mason dragged him across the grass, propping him against the limestone wall. Breathing hard, he pulled his shirt off and pressed it against Whitney's wound, slapping Whitney when he spit at him. He couldn't tell how badly Whitney was hurt, though he expected he would live.
Wiping his bloody hands on the grass, Mason knelt beside Claire, loosening her collar and lifting her head. Her skin was white though her breathing was steady. He patted her cheek, smoothing her brow.
'C'mon, Claire. Wake up. Show's over,' he said.
Her eyelids fluttered then opened. She blinked at him and said, 'Whew.'
'My sentiments exactly,' Mason said, grinning at his aunt.
She smiled in return as he helped her sit up. She supported herself with one hand, feeling her chest with the other. 'Good old Harry,' she said, stroking the bulletproof fabric.
A sudden gunshot stunned them both. Mason jumped to his feet, whirling around as Mary walked away from Whitney King, dropping his gun at his feet, Whitney's face dissolving in a crimson blossom.
Chapter 54
Crime scenes grow like tiny cities. The victim and perpetrator are the founders. The police and paramedics move in next, annexing a wide ring of land around the small plot where the crime takes place. News media arrive like they are on a mission of manifest destiny crowding the cops for elbow room. Bystanders who sniff out calamity as if it had the scent of freshly baked bread plant themselves on the fringes like suburbanites enjoying the view and glad that someone else is there to do the dirty work, though they still find time to bitch about high taxes.
After the ambulance leaves carrying the dead and wounded and the cops finish picking over the ground like a prospector panning for gold, the voyeurs pack it in. Yellow crime scene tape is all that remains of the ghost town.
The Penn Valley Park scene followed the same boom-and-bust cycle. Reporters from the local Fox affiliate claimed special squatter's rights since the shootout took place within a stone's throw of their studio at Thirty-first and Southwest Trafficway. It all evaporated by early afternoon, latecomers consigned to a picnic in the park kept company only by the squirrels.
Blues and Mickey caught up with Mason just as he was getting into the Ford Escort, ready to return it to the young priest at St. Mark's. Mickey, breathless, bolted from Blues's car, slapping his hand on the hood of the Escort.
