South Of Hell

He hadn’t thought about it until after he’d hung up the phone, but what he had done was stupid. Giving his address to a woman who could have been playing him, pulling his strings as easily as Brandt was pulling hers. The pit in his stomach was telling him that this whole thing could be a setup, that Brandt was on his way here now to kill him.

It wasn’t her fault, really. She was just weak, that was all. And he had let down every defensive shield he had because he himself was desperate.

He turned and walked back to the balcony.

Still no Gremlin.

He’d give her thirty more minutes, and if she didn’t show, he’d have to go out there to that farm and at least make sure the bastard hadn’t killed her.

But he couldn’t go alone, because he knew if he did and found her dead, Brandt would end up dead, too. And he would spend the rest of his life in jail.

He went back to the phone and dialed the Ann Arbor Hilton. It rang eleven times, then went back to the front desk. He asked them to try the room again. This time, someone picked up.

“Peeper? It’s me.”

“It’s three-thirty a.m.,” Louis said. “What’s going on?”

“I got a call from Margi,” Shockey said. “She’s ready to file charges against Brandt and said he threatened to kill me and you and take Amy.”

“Jesus.”

“I told her to come here,” Shockey said. “It’s been two hours, and she hasn’t showed yet. I’m going to give her another half-hour, then head to the farm.”

“Are you nuts?”

“What the hell else can I do?” Shockey asked. “It’s like Jean all over again. Don’t you see that? Her in trouble out there and me sitting on my ass doing fucking nothing!”

“Jake, calm down.”

“She’s dead, Kincaid. She’s dead because of me.”

“Shut up and calm down.”

Shockey closed his eyes and pulled in a fiery breath. From the open door of the balcony, he heard the putter of a car engine.

“I think she’s here,” Shockey said.

“I’m coming over anyway,” Louis said. “Stay there, and keep her there with you.”

Shockey moved to the sliding glass door, but he couldn’t see the parking lot below without putting the phone down and stepping outside.

“Promise me, Jake,” Louis said. “Stay there until I get there.”

“Okay, okay,” Shockey said.

He hung up and went out onto the balcony. The Gremlin was parked under a street lamp. He didn’t see Margi, and he called down to her, but no one answered. He went back inside.

He thought again about the possibility that Margi might bring Brandt with her. His revolver was on the coffee table, and he grabbed it before he went to the door. The chain was latched, and he opened the door two inches so he could see anyone coming up the stairs.

The door burst open, slamming into Shockey’s forehead. He stumbled backward and groped for something to grab on to, but there was nothing to break his fall.

He hit the coffee table with a splintering of wood and glass. Brandt was suddenly over him. A muddy shoe came down hard on Shockey’s wrist, pinning his gun hand to the floor.

Shockey started swinging at Brandt’s body with his left hand, pummeling him with punches that hit only hard muscle. He could feel Brandt’s hands close around his revolver. He tried to grip it tighter and get it turned toward Brandt, but Brandt was too close, too heavy, dripping water that was making everything slippery.

Brandt wrenched the gun from Shockey’s hand.

The knife came down in a flash of silver.

Shockey grabbed at Brandt’s hand, but the thrust was too powerful to stop. The blade plunged into Shockey’s shoulder.

“Christ… fuck…” Shockey gasped.

Brandt stabbed him again, slicing blindly at Shockey’s raised arms. The blade ripped through the sleeves of his shirt and sliced skin.

“You sonofa-”

Shockey groped for the knife, but Brandt’s thrusts were wild, puncturing Shockey’s hands and chest and spraying the air with a mist of blood. He could feel his strength fading with every furious beat of his heart.

“This is what I did to her!” Brandt screamed. “You hear me? This is how I killed the bitch! You hear me? You hear me?”

The next thrust of the knife plunged into his lower chest. In a flash fire of air, his lungs emptied, and he was paralyzed. Left with only the burn of the gaping hole and the feel of blood pouring from his body. His shirt grew warm and heavy. His head filled with the horrible image that he was sliced completely in half.

“Don’t you die yet, motherfucker,” Brandt said. “Look at me. Look at my fucking face!”

Shockey opened his eyes. Brandt loomed above him. His face was splattered with blood and mud.

“Where’s the girl?”

“Fuck you, Brandt…”

Brandt hit him with the same hand that held the knife. It tore a fresh gash across Shockey’s cheek.

“Where’s the god damn girl?”

“I won’t tell you… go ahead and kill me.”

Brandt shifted his weight, and for a second, he was gone. Shockey’s mind screamed at him to struggle, but he had no strength to raise his arms or even roll away. Brandt’s screams grew dull and distant, absorbed into the darkness that was starting to strangle his mind.

“Where’s the fucking girl?” Brandt shouted.

Shockey closed his eyes. An unexpected calm moved through him, something dull and hard and final.

He was going to die.

The bastard had gotten them both.

Louis climbed out of the Bronco and slammed the door. The Gremlin was sitting two spaces down. There was no one else in the parking lot and not a car on the street. A light burned on Shockey’s balcony.

He hurried through the drizzle to the steps. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a crash from above, like a door being back-slammed against the wall.

Louis froze, then spun back toward the Bronco.

Damn it. His Glock was in the glovebox.

A man appeared on the landing above him. Dark shirt, dirty jeans, a gun shoved into his belt. And holding a knife slick with so much blood it was dripping at his feet.

Brandt.

Jump the rail. Run.

Brandt barreled down the stairs, the knife raised. Louis pressed himself against the railing, hoping Brandt’s momentum would propel him down the stairs. But Brandt wasn’t off balance. He rushed into Louis, screaming something about Amy.

The knife came down into Louis’s arm, slicing the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Louis groped for Brandt’s wrist, not wanting to give him time to go for the gun. But Brandt was strong and slippery and fighting him like an animal. The blade plunged into Louis’s shoulder and hit bone.

Christ!

“You die, too!” Brandt screamed.

Louis was trapped, pinned against the railing. He ducked, throwing an arm against the flashes of metal. The blade sliced across his hand and his bicep as blood rained down in a warm spray.

Sonofabitch!

Suddenly, Brandt slipped off the step, and for a second, the struggle stopped. Louis lunged into a punch that