The Grim Reaper's Dance

Casey went cold, thinking how easily Dixon could have harmed Johnny.

Death stood beside Dixon, an arm around his shoulders. Dixon shivered, glancing around him.

“Boys,” Westing said. “I think we need to persuade this lady here to help us.”

Mifflin didn’t wait for the others, but came for Casey quickly and ferociously, head down, fists up. Casey dropped onto her right leg and lifted her left, flexing her foot. Mifflin ran right into it, expelling all the air from his diaphragm in a gush and bending over, hands on his gut. Casey planted her left leg and brought her right leg up around and down, axe-kicking him with her heel between the shoulder blades. Mifflin went slack, doing a face plant on the ground. He was out.

Casey turned to run for the restaurant door, but Dixon had already gone around to the back of her, cutting her off. She darted behind the second car, which gave her about four feet to move between the brick wall and the little Focus. Dixon grabbed for her neck with both hands. Casey grabbed his right hand, bent his elbow down into an arm lock, and smacked his face against the trunk of the car.

One of the other men climbed onto the trunk and kicked at her head. She ducked and grabbed his planted leg, pulling it toward her. He fell backward onto the car, half on, half off the trunk, his elbow cracking against the back window.

Dixon, blood running from his nose, reached over the guy’s leg and grabbed Casey around the shoulders, spinning her and knocking her face against the brick wall, bear hugging her from the back, trapping her arms. Dizzily, she kicked back at his shin, but her foot glanced off his leg. Dixon spun her around, kneeing her in the stomach. When she bent over, he pummeled her in the face with both fists.

Other hands were grabbing for her now, yanking her from behind the car. Dixon continued to hit her.

“Dix, stop it. You’re done.” Casey thought it was Westing’s voice, but everything had gone fuzzy, and her vision doubled as she looked at the faces.

She stumbled, but was yanked upright, Dixon’s fist connecting once more, an uppercut to her stomach.

“Dixon! Bring her to the car.”

Someone grabbed under her arms while another picked up her feet. They carried her down the alley and tossed her into the back seat of a waiting car.

“Have a nice ride,” Dixon said, and punched her in the face.

Her lights went out.

Chapter Thirty

Casey hurt all over. Her head pounded, and her ribs throbbed, maybe not broken, but bruised, for sure. Her eyes, when she opened them, didn’t open far, and even when they did she couldn’t see anything in the dark. She tried to raise a hand to feel her face, and to remove the gag from her mouth, but her arms were tied behind her, roped in with her feet. Her cheek lay against a dirt floor, and her nostrils were filled with the tangy scent of peat moss and vegetation.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The last she could picture was the sight of Death’s anxious eyes in the unfamiliar back seat, just before she blacked out. She didn’t want to think about what had caused her to do that.

Voices mumbled in the background. Angry, low. Men. She had no idea what time it was, or whether anyone even knew she was gone. The kids. She took a sharp breath, gasping at the shot of pain it sent through her body. Were the kids all right? Where had they…the pizza place. They’d gone inside. Had they stayed inside? God, please let them have stayed inside.

“The kids are fine. Freaked out, but otherwise okay.” Death sat against a bag of fertilizer, hands clasped tightly at bended knees. “You, on the other hand…I thought you looked bad yesterday.”

Casey groaned.

“Martin called the cops as soon as he and the first two got inside. Told them there was a bad fight out back of the restaurant, and men with guns. He probably should have just told them to get there fast, because with his warning they weren’t about to come without back-up, and they took forever getting there. By the time they arrived you were long gone. The teenagers were a mess, all trying to talk at the same time, and the cops weren’t sure who or what to believe.”

Death leaned over and placed both hands on Casey’s ribs. For once it felt good—like an ice pack. Casey moaned, and Death shushed her gently. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Although I had to say I wasn’t sure if you were about to get your wish and go with me to the other side.”

Casey’s eyes blinked open. Had she really been that close? That close, only to come back here, to this pain, and this place?

“Sorry, hon,” Death said. “You have to hold on a little longer.”

Casey looked past Death’s face toward the ceiling. Her eyes were adjusting enough she could see foliage above Death’s head. Unfamiliar foliage. She let her eyes close again. Yonkers’ greenhouse. That’s where she was.

“Drove right here,” Death said. “Like Yonkers was expecting you to be delivered. Haven’t seen the man yet, but from the sound of their conversation he’s coming soon, and they’re not happy. You still haven’t given them what they want.”

A surprise, since Casey couldn’t remember what she’d given them. As long as she hadn’t given them the kids. The kids…her eyes opened. Were the kids okay?

“The kids are fine.” Death smoothed her hair with a chilly hand. “I told you that a minute ago. They’re all with their parents. Safe and sound.”

Casey relaxed, wincing as her ribs moved.

“Uh-oh,” Death said. “Here he comes.”

An overhead door opened and a vehicle drove into the building, its headlights illuminating the jungle standing over Casey. She was surrounded by plants and trees—hidden from the sight of anyone who might stumble in unawares. The overhead door slid shut, and the car turned off. “Where is she?” The voice was loud, echoing in Casey’s head.

“Over here.”

Casey looked up at Death, who crouched over her protectively. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”

Casey tried to take comfort in the cold cushion at her back.

“So. This is our troublemaker.” The man squatted, studying her face. “Looks like she ran into a little trouble herself.”

Casey blinked up at him. Yonkers. She recognized him from the photo in the paper. He was clean-shaven, with a receding hairline, and seemed to be wearing a suit. This was the man everyone was talking about? The guy they were so loyal to? He looked like…like a dentist.

“Seems you know a little bit more than is good for you, don’t you?” Yonkers studied her, as if confused. “But I don’t know you. Should I? I usually know people who come around, or I’ve at least seen them before.” He looked at her some more. “Of course, it’s hard to tell with your face being all…” He wrinkled his nose. “Dix!” He stood and Dixon appeared at his elbow, also looking down at Casey. His nose was swollen, and already the skin around his eyes was turning black and blue. “Bring her into my office. We’re expecting a delivery tonight and I don’t think it’s necessary to show off our little problem here.”

“Sure thing.”

Yonkers patted his hands together, as if shedding them of dirt, and walked back the way he’d come.

“Miff!” Dixon said. “Help me move this.”

Mifflin was chewing gum when he got there, his mouth open, like an ugly horse. Casey closed her eyes and braced herself, turning her face toward Death’s chill.

“Hang in there,” Death whispered. “It’s going to be—”

“Aaah.” Casey groaned beneath the gag as the men gripped her, one under each arm.