then makes his report. No surprise, it’s a repeat of last night’s incident. No one broke in; the alarms were tripped by a heavy-caliber lead slug shattering a window in Jack’s room. “I don’t know what to tell you,” the security guy says. “Someone is using you for target practice. Obviously, stay away from the windows. And I’m going to suggest that we post armed guards in the vicinity. Maybe we can catch the perp in the act, if he tries again.”
Naomi is dubious about the efficacy of that. “We’re already under surveillance by at least two law enforcement entities. If they didn’t see anything, your men are not likely to.”
He shrugs. “Up to you.”
The Beacon Security men dutifully file out, and each is logged exiting the residence. In the resulting silence I decide it’s time to escort Ming-Mei, who is visibly trembling, back to her guest suite.
“A moment, please,” Naomi cautions.
The delay is explained, at least partially, when Jack appears in the hallway, finger to his lips. He says something to Teddy, too quietly for me to pick up, and our young hacker looks hopeful. Why that should be I can’t imagine until it becomes clear that he’s been instructed to take Ming-Mei back to his room instead. “Lock the door and stay in there,” Jack whispers. “Come out for no one but me, okay?”
When they’re gone Jack turns to me with a grin and says, “Can you sound like her? Like Ming-Mei?”
“Are you serious?”
“Just fake it, that may be good enough.”
“What are you talking about?” I hiss.
“Pretend you’re her. Just for five minutes.”
“But I can’t-”
“Sure you can,” he says, taking my arm and guiding me in the direction of the guest suite.
He reaches behind his back and removes a handgun from his belt. Again with the finger to his lips. I don’t necessarily trust Jack Delancey with all things, but as it so happens I do trust him with my life. So I stop resisting and follow his lead.
Naomi is trailing behind us, and damned if she isn’t armed as well, with a.38 Smith amp; Wesson Airweight, small and light enough for her slender hands. She’s not exactly a gun enthusiast, but a while back we all received a few hours of training at the firing range, under Jack’s tutelage, so my first thought is, what about me? What about a weapon for me? How about sharing with your friends? My next thought is how to avoid getting caught in a cross fire. What the hell is going on? And if it’s going to get dangerous, how come we’re not donning body armor? Not that we have any body armor, but still, the thought occurs.
We’re outside the guest room where Ming-Mei has been staying.
“Say something,” Jack whispers, his lips so close to my ear that I can feel the warm pulse of his breath. “Try to sound like her.”
This is more embarrassing than having to stand up in front of everybody at speech class in ninth grade-did I mention I had a slight lisp at the time, since corrected? — but with a sense of here-goes-nothing, I attempt to speak in a very slight but very cultured Chinese accent, with British overtones. The best I can do is drop
“Thank you ve’y ve’y much. You’re a big strong man, Mistah Jack.”
Jack scowls-obviously he thinks my impression sucks-and gestures for me to open the door. “You’ll be fine, Ming-Mei. It was just a false alarm,” he says, a little too loudly. “If you need anything, ring the buzzer.”
I open the door. Nice digs, nearly as nice as mine, but with a trace of perfume that isn’t my thing, not at all. The bed is rumpled from when I roused her, and her clothing is strewn about. Hadn’t noticed that, either, what with all the excitement. Nor do I have any idea what Jack has in mind-he and Naomi have slipped into the room behind me, and taken up positions in opposite corners. Jack gestures for me to shut the door. Actually, if there’s going to be gunplay I’d just as soon leave, but that doesn’t seem to be part of the plan.
Very carefully Jack gets down on his knees and looks under the bed. He shakes his head. Naomi has moved to get an angle on the open bathroom door. She silently slips inside and quickly returns with a shake of her head.
Jack gestures at me, making a yawn. He wants me to yawn? Am I supposed to yawn in Chinese or what? Follow-up gestures indicate that I’m supposed to be preparing for bed. We’ll never win at pantomime if we can’t do better than this.
The pair of them, Jack and Naomi, raise their weapons in unison and point at the closet door. Jack edges closer, keeping to an angle, and presses the latch, swinging the door open. As befits a proper guest suite, it’s a sizable walk-in closet. And standing there with a creepy grin on his face is a man I’ve never seen before.
A big, rangy guy with a wool cap snugged down over his ears, rapper-style, and crazy dare-me eyes, and a great big gun in his hand.
“What do you know,” he says. “Mexican standoff. Or is it Chinese?”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“Bang,” says the man in the closet. “You want to go that way? You shoot me, I shoot her?”
By
“Put the gun on the floor and place your hands behind your head,” Jack says.
The man in the wool cap gives us another loony grin, as if delighted that Jack is playing along. “Spoken like a real lawman. But here’s the thing, sunshine. I’ve got a gun and you’ve got a gun and I hate to say it, but mine is bigger than yours. You have, let me see, a nine-mil for the gentleman and a.38 for the lady. Nice firearms. Quality. But the gun in my hand is a Kahr PM45, nineteen ounces fully loaded, which means I can hold it all day long. And the nice thing about a large-caliber bullet, all it takes is one shot. I’m aiming at the lady’s torso, but even if I wing her in the arm or leg she’ll bleed out in less than a minute. So why don’t we go in the other direction? Put your guns on the floor and place
“Never going to happen.” Jack is adamant, and his eyes are subzero.
“Thought you might say that. Here’s the real deal. I’m coming out, so you better back up or I’ll shoot my way through you. And I will not hesitate.”
The man strides out of the closet. We all back up, keeping the same distance. Naomi’s gun is starting to waver. I know from the shooting range that keeping a handgun level is a lot harder than it looks. Tie a two-pound weight to your wrist and see how long you can hold your arm out. Not long, even if you’re bracing.
“Hey, this is great,” the man says, moving us backward. “Let’s use the momentum. Keep rolling. Or die. Your choice. Personally I could care less. Always wanted to die in a shoot-out, and tonight is as good a time as any.”
Maybe you had to be there, but there’s never any doubt about his personal interest in death. Which, believe me, is even more convincing if the man in question looks like he was turned on a lathe from hardened steel and smells like he’s been eating raw hamburger left out in the sun. I know about the bad breath because as he slips forward, accelerating the pace, daring us all to die in an exchange of variously sized bullets, he reaches out his left hand, snake-strike quick, and grabs hold of my neck.
In the same motion he somehow slips behind me, all in that one sly movement, like a conjuror’s trick. And his gun ends up jammed under my chin.
“Don’t look so embarrassed,” he says to Jack. “I’ve done this before. More than once. And you know what? I’m not even going to ask you to lower your weapons. Take a shot if you think you can take me down without hitting my new pal here. No? Then keep moving. I do enjoy the company.”
My knees don’t seem to be functioning, but that turns out not to be a problem, because the man wraps his arm around my waist, lifting me effortlessly. With the business end of the snub-nose buried under my chin I don’t even fantasize about struggling or fighting to get free.
He makes Jack and Naomi go down the stairs backward, which he apparently finds very amusing. Jack is really, really angry, looks like he’s going to snap off his own teeth he’s so pissed, and Naomi has an expression I’ve never seen on her face. Fear. She’s trying to mask it, probably for my benefit, but there it is. She fears for my
