“Jesus, I told them I wouldn’t say anything. I even paid them. Ten grand. All the money I have. I should’ve known they’d send someone to get me. Lying bastards.”
Robinson’s ramble came out too fast for Matt to take in. “Whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about?”
“The cops. I saw them kill that guy. Shot him in the face. I’d never seen anyone die before. It was horrible. I can’t get it out of my head. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t have been there. Wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t needed to take a short cut through the alley to Spring Street. I didn’t want to pay for parking and I have a space I use sometimes. Christ, I tried to save a buck and it’s cost me everything.”
The revelations slammed into Matt one after another. But instead of leaving him punch drunk, they gave him clarity. Pieces fell into place of a much larger picture.
Robinson had broken down into nonsensical sobs. If he didn’t get his shit together, he was going to crash the car.
“Hey, snap out of it. I need you straight. This guy you saw killed, what’d he look like?”
“I don’t know. Skinny. Hispanic. All I saw was the hole in his forehead and four pissed-off cops.” Robinson stared at Matt. He’d picked up on Matt’s change of heart.
Some things had changed. Some things hadn’t.
“Keep driving.”
“Do I get a last request?” Robinson asked.
“What?”
“All condemned men are granted a last request.”
“What is it?”
With a shaking hand, Robinson reached inside his jacket. Matt’s grip tightened on his gun and he fixed his aim on Robinson’s stomach just in case the bank worker carried a weapon. Instead, Robinson brought out a phone.
“Can I call my family?” Tears ran down his face. “Just this last time?”
Matt was softhearted but not soft in the head. He snatched the phone away. “No way. Do I look retarded? I’m not giving you the green light to call 911.”
Robinson broke down. Matt examined the phone. He wasn’t too up on these things but it looked to be the latest in cell phone technology.
“Does this thing have video capability on it?”
Robinson palmed away his tears. “Yes.”
Matt punched in a number and waited for an answer. “It’s me. I’m going through with it. I’ll be at the clubhouse as arranged.” He hung up.
Robinson looked at him with questioning fear. “There’ll be others?”
“Don’t look so worried. This’ll all be over soon.”
Matt directed Robinson to the derelict restaurant on Yesler that served as the Taskmasters’ clubhouse. He pulled Robinson out of the car and shoved him toward the rear of the building, ignoring the slowing sedan across the street.
The backdoor wasn’t as fortified as the front. Matt kicked it in without too much trouble. The dead bolt remained intact, but the rotted frame gave way. He pushed Robinson inside the building and into a large dining area. He wished he had the keys to the main doors; he only had one means of escape. He stopped Robinson by a table with a missing leg.
“Show me how to record a message.”
Robinson helped Matt record two video messages of him, one for his family and the other about the hit he witnessed.
“I’ll send these when it’s all over.”
“Thank you.”
Up until this point, there’d been a pleading element to Robinson. Everything from his posture to his expression had revealed a thin hope that Matt wouldn’t go through with the execution-but not anymore. He knew these were his last moments on earth.
“Facedown, please.” Matt pointed to a nook which must have served as some sort of station for the waitstaff. Robinson did as he was told and lay in the dirt and rubble without complaint. “I’m sorry to put you through this, but it should be all over soon.”
Matt waited for a response, but Robinson said nothing.
Matt took a breath, aimed, and fired the gun twice.
With the reports still bouncing off the walls, the Taskmasters, in uniform, poured in through the rear entrance with guns drawn and spread out until they each had Matt in their sights.
“Drop the gun!” Harry shouted.
Matt dropped the gun and raised his hands. “I figured this would come next. There’s no Taskmasters. No vigilante hit squad. Just a group of dirty cops who got seen killing a pimp. Who was Hernandez?”
“A scumbag who didn’t want to pay a toll for working our streets,” Stein answered.
“You should have taken him up to the roof to do your business,” Matt said. “Fewer witnesses up there.”
Stein ground his jaw in quiet fury. Chalmers and Tripplehorn didn’t like having their noses rubbed in their own mess. Harry was the only one unaffected by Matt’s jibes.
“So I’m the patsy you need to take the fall for Robinson. What happens now? You shoot me, pin it all on me, and you guys walk off into the sunset?”
“I’m afraid so, son,” Harry said. “You’re just a punk kid, a loser who’s going to pay for our mistakes. I hate to do it to you, but it’s for the greater good.”
“You left it a little too late to get smart,” Tripplehorn added.
“Maybe not.” Matt nodded at the cell phone. “That’s one of those phones with the video camera built in. It’s recording right now.”
Chalmers cursed and shot the phone off the table.
“There’s still the problem of the murder you just committed,” Harry said. “You’re still a killer.”
“No, I’m an innocent man with a witness.”
Robinson rose awkwardly to his feet, looking dazed and confused. He stared at the two bullet holes in the ground to the right of his head.
“We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way,” Stein snarled, and made for Matt’s gun on the ground.
“Hold it right there!” a voice barked.
The Taskmasters froze as the men wearing King County Sheriffs’ windbreakers from the courthouse just a street away stormed the room through the upper level and kitchen area. The Taskmasters quickly surrendered and the sheriffs relieved them of their weapons. The Taskmasters cursed Matt-except for Harry, who just smiled.
Matt walked up to Harry. “You kept a tail on me to keep me from leaving, but you couldn’t stop me from using the phone. I’ve been talking to some friends.”
“I underestimated you,” Harry said, as a deputy cuffed him.
Matt grinned. He’d underestimated himself. “You said you’d make me a better man.”
“Enjoy this moment.” Harry leaned forward and whispered in Matt’s ear: “Smile while you can. Do you honestly think we’re the only Taskmasters inside the SPD?” He winked at Matt as the deputy hauled him away. “You’ve still got a lot of work ahead of you, son.”
WHAT PRICE RETRIBUTION?BY PATRICIA HARRINGTON
Gus Maloney struggled awake, fighting the pain that shot electrical currents through his head. “Who the hell’s out there?” His words rasped, hurting his raw throat. The sound of his own voice thudded in his ears. His mouth tasted foul, like he’d been guzzling Lake Union’s polluted waters.
He pulled off his tangled blankets, belched, and tasted bile. He rubbed his gut.
