raped, and beaten into a near-coma. Her face was busted up, her pelvis broken. And Perlow told you to finish her off. Am I right about all that?”
“ ‘Bury her’!” Krista’s voice, coming from behind me. “Perlow told Charlie, ‘Bury her.’ ”
I turned and saw Krista walking into the study. She was barefoot and wore a white terry-cloth robe, her wet hair wrapped in a towel.
“I must have been semi-conscious,” Krista said, “because when I came to, I remembered hearing Perlow’s voice. ‘Goddammit, Charlie! Finish her off. Bury her in the ’Glades.’ ”
Amy followed behind Krista, similarly dressed. They’d come in from the pool by way of the solarium, scene of the crime.
“Helluva memory to carry around all these years, Krista,” I said. “You must have really hated the man.”
Krista’s tone turned suspicious. “Why are you two talking about this, anyway?”
Ziegler straightened in his chair. “No reason, hon. We’re just shooting the shit.” He gave her his
“Charlie, I told you not to open up to Jake.”
“Aw, c’mon, hon. He knows you shot Max.”
“He knows shit! Unless you told him.”
“What are you up to, Jake?” Amy demanded. The sisters were flanking me.
I gave my palms-up sign of peaceful coexistence. Three sets of eyes looked back. “Krista, you did what had to be done. I have no beef with that. Like I said to Charlie, rough justice.” I glanced at my watch, got out of my chair, and said, “Well, I’ve got court in the morning.…”
I wanted to get out of there. Slowly and casually and without any fuss. Not that the three of them could stop me.
“I need to frisk you,” Krista said.
“Oh, c’mon, hon,” Ziegler said.
“Jesus, Charlie. You’re the one who told me Lassiter wore a wire for Castiel.”
“Long time ago,” I said. “Got nothing to do with you guys.”
Krista took a step toward me. “Then prove it. Take off your shirt and loosen your belt.”
Getting out of there would not be difficult. I would pivot, grab Ziegler by the scruff of his neck, and slam him, nose-first, into his desk. I would gingerly pick up Krista and deposit her in a chair, and if Amy stepped in my way, I’d knock her aside and head out the door. Who says there are no gentlemen left?
“I don’t have to prove anything, Krista,” I said.
“Charlie!” Krista shouted.
Ziegler popped open his desk drawer, pulled out a handgun, and pointed it at me. “Do what she says, Lassiter.”
“Put the gun down, Ziegler, before you blow your dick off.” Trying to sound as if I were in control.
“Keep the gun on Jake while I search him, Charlie,” Krista ordered.
I was glad she wasn’t the one holding the gun. The fabric of Krista’s being was sinewy rawhide. If each of us is the product of the significant events of our past, the sum total of this woman’s life was survival. She’d already shot and killed a man. I had no doubt she could kill me without blinking. But the
“Ziegler, you’re not gonna shoot me, so just put the damn gun down.” Still trying to sound confident.
The shot-snapping like the crack of a whip-made me jump. Ziegler had fired into a marble sculpture across the room-a ballerina with her left arm above her head, right arm curled around in front, as if playing an imaginary bull fiddle. The slug caught the ballerina squarely between the eyes, splintering her marble head.
“Strip, Lassiter,” Krista said.
“Do as she says,” Ziegler ordered, “or I’ll put the next one in your thick skull.”
“Don’t think so,” I said. “It’s not in you, Ziegler.”
Krista walked over and faced me squarely, standing so close I could feel her breath. Her jaw was set, her greenish eyes colder than ice. I could see the power of the woman’s will. Doctors say broken bones heal even stronger. The woman before me had been forged, like molten steel, from her own crushed bones. She looked at me, not with hatred, but with fearless determination.
“Start with your shirt,” she said.
It was time to act. It would take only a second for me to grab her by the shoulders, toss her into Ziegler, and make my way to the door.
We were standing so close I never saw her good leg jerk upward.
She kneed me in the groin.
A solid hit. The pain pitched me sideways. I gasped for breath, my eyes tearing. Amy joined the fray. She caught me alongside an ear with a karate kick and I staggered sideways. Women nowadays, with their pilates and kickboxing and martial arts, are all aggression and attitude.
A second kick caught me just above the knee, and I toppled to the floor.
Amy hopped onto my back, raked her fingernails across my forehead, then reached under my shirt and grabbed for the wire. Her fleecy robe had come open, and underneath, she was naked and still wet from the pool. I turned and grabbed at her, but it was like trying to catch a fish in my bare hands. She kept wriggling and I couldn’t get a grip.
“You bastard!” she shouted at eardrum-breaking decibels.
I struggled to my feet and tried to shake her off. She bit my right ear. Chomped down hard and drew blood. I was already bleeding from the gouges in my forehead. Krista grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked, popping most of the buttons. Then she reached into my pants, searching for the recorder, finding something else.
“Ouch!” I yelled, twisting away.
Ziegler vaulted from behind his desk, screaming, “I’ll shoot you, I’ll shoot you!”
Amy was still riding my back, the shell to my tortoise. “I’ve got it!” she shouted.
Her hand came out with the battery pack that had been taped to the small of my back. The recorder was still on my thigh. I shook from side to side, like a wet dog, and she flew off me.
“I’ll shoot!” Ziegler repeated, in case I’d forgotten.
Blood flowed into my eyes from my forehead, and I could barely see. I wheeled toward Krista and saw the blur of movement. The People’s Porn statuette, coming at my head. Krista with a death grip on the naked woman’s torso. I raised an arm and caught the blow, the statuette breaking in two at the woman’s hips. An electric jolt, a stinger, shot through my shoulder.
Krista tried to slash me with the jagged bottom half of the statuette. I slid to one side, dodging her. She came at me again, but I grabbed the collar of her robe and tossed her to the floor. “Shoot him!” she yelled.
Amy came at me, arms flailing. I caught her wrist in one paw and twisted until she cried, “Ow,” then spun her into the credenza.
Ziegler moved between the door and me, holding the gun in two hands.
“I’m out of here, Ziegler.”
“Give it up and I’ll let you go.”
“You’ll let me go now.”
I took two steps toward him and he raised the gun to chest level. “Don’t make me.”
“Kill him!” Krista screamed, from the floor.
“I’ll do it. I swear I will!” Ziegler’s arms trembled.
“You’re a better man than that, Charlie. That’s the damn irony. Compared to these two, you’re the Humanitarian of the Year.”
I wrenched the gun from his hand. A Sig Sauer.380.
71 The Old Fumblerooski
